6. Chapter 3 - Lauchlan
F uck.
My body felt like I’d gotten railed by a steel rod up my arse through to my skull. Ol’ Conan musta had fun with me after he’d shoved a tranq in my arm.
Last thing I remembered, I was handcuffed to Kellan’s seat and then—a vicious slash of a sexy-as-fuck Viking mouth before I was injected with a tasty little cocktail.
Kinky fucker.
Even kinkier—my eyes were covered by a hard leather blindfold, and by the feel of things, it was attached to a harness strapped around my head. Not my first rodeo with BDSM t oys, not by a long shot, but not quite what I was expecting from the brute.
I knew I wasn’t in for a good night’s sleep when Blondie let him take me to his cozy little cartel den, but even in my dirtiest dreams, I never pictured being tied up by the big guy.
This was what soaking wet dreams were made of.
Had one of these just ‘lying around’ here, did ya ol’ Kell Bell?
My cock aside, I needed to find a way out of this situation. At least loosen the handcuffs. I didn’t want to escape from my Barbarian, but I wasn’t willingly playing the role of sitting duck. I knew a trick, but Kellan must have known it, too, because he’d placed a metal rod through the center of the chain.
Smart fucker.
Fighting the dizzy fuzz bouncing around in my brain, I reach out to my trusty five senses to make sense of my situation.
Small metal chair—check.
Arms bound behind me with the cuffs. Check.
The air was freezing, but it would have been warmer if he’d kept my clothes on. I’d been stripped in my unconscious state and wore nothing but my favorite red silk boxers and a pair of dress socks.
Not a foot fetish guy, then. Noted.
I was in a basement, judging by the damp smell of concrete and mold, but it might have been a basement in Timbuktu for all I knew.
How long ago did you put me out, Conan?
Stilling my body and slowing my breathing, I listened hard to my surroundings. Con men—good con men, at least—trained themselves to be observant through all the senses. It had saved my life on more than one occasion.
We were patient creatures—willing to put in the time for the payoff. I blocked out my own breaths and shivers in the ba rbarian’s basement to really hear the surrounding room.
Ahhh. There it was.
The faint, almost inaudible sound of another body breathing offered the slightest echo against the concrete near my head.
“You like watching another man cuffed in his drawers, do ya?”
My voice drawled sluggishly—I still had a good bit of drugs in my system—but no amount of drugs could mask my Irish sense of humor.
No response. But I’d have bet my left testicle he was in the room with me. Somewhere to my… right.
“What’d you dope me up with, Kell Bell? I’m having déjà vu of my college days.”
Better—less slow-motion action sequence and more coherent. I swore I heard a light snort, but still no confirmation came.
My theory Kellan couldn’t resist a good brat was about to be tested, and I was a snuffling little piglet on a platter.
“Not my first torture session, Conan,” I mused while wiggling some feeling back into my fingers. “Gonna have to try harder next time—got some nipple clamps back there?”
A wicked grin crossed my lips when a satisfying shuffle of feet came closer. Hints of lemony citrus and warm amber wafted toward me before I was hit with a whole wall of Kellan’s man-scent.
Intoxicating, really. Wish we weren’t in a real torture scenario, or this whole thing would have knocked a tasty little fantasy off the old bucket list.
The warmth of his body radiated against the freezing flesh of my own. He was hovering close. I licked my lips in anticipation.
Hard clips latched onto my tiny pink pearls and I squealed like the little metaphorical piglet I was. The famili ar voice of buttered gravel growled above the shell of my ear.
“Your wish is my command, Caperucita Roja .”
Little Red Riding Hood. Cute. And I thought this grumbly bear wouldn’t know a joke if it kicked him in the teeth.
“Now,” he continued, heated form directly in front of me. “We’re going to play a little game. I’m going to ask questions, and you’re going to give me answers. Capisce ?”
Not bloody likely.
I chose peace instead of violence.
“Sure, big guy. Ask away. I’m an open book. Practically the Bible, really, with all the—”
A large hand gripped my bare thigh, the rough calluses catching on the soft layer of hair there. The squeeze was firm but gentle—a warning.
“Why did you follow Hillary tonight?”
“No secrets—already told you that one. Had a taste of her already, and now I’m taken with the woman. Was hoping for another taste. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would ya?”
A blind man could have seen how the mafia man looked at my Blondie. Broody and protective, his attention never straying from her for longer than a few seconds. A man in love, or at least a man as obsessed as me.
“Don’t talk about her that way,” he spat. Bingo—man in love, no question.
“Talk about her like what? Like she didn’t give me the best fuck of my life? Sorry, Conan, our ‘7 Seconds in Heaven’ shower fuck was good, but I’m gonna need a whole lot more than that, if you want to measure up to Blondie.”
The grip on my skin tightened, the heat of his palm branding my frozen skin. That was the extent of it, though – I was impressed with his control. It would be even more satisfying to make him lose it.
“Why are you here?”
“ In a feckin’ basement?” I feigned confusion. “Some pervert drugged me and brought me here.”
The blunt nails of his hand might have punctured my skin with the vise-like hold, but I was on a roll. Kellan’s weakness was the need to tame an insolent brat—and here I was, at his disposal.
“Why. Are. You. Here?”
“Stop asking questions you know the answers to.” I shot back, goading him. “Work in tech, remember? Infiltrating Alvarez’s tech company. Gonna bring the baddies down. Weren’t you in the room when we had this conversation? Wait—what’s your IQ?—not related, just curious.”
To my disappointment, he removed his hand, and I heard the shuffle of his feet against the pavement floor moving away. A jolt of electricity shot into both of my nipples. My back arched off the chair and I howled. The handcuffs pulled painfully at my wrists from the spasm.
Jesus, fuck, that hurt. But my dick disagreed, because my shorts were fully tented, dick loud and proud, ready for more.
Fucking masochist, my dick.
A dark chuckle reverberated off the walls and deft hands unlatched the leather eye covering from the harness.
Blinking rapidly, my eyes adjusted to my dim surroundings. We were in what looked like a workshop; a collection of saws, hammers, and screwdrivers on a pin board in front of me. Unease settled into the pit of my stomach.
Did Kellan make children’s toys, or were those meant for torture? Definitely the latter. I just hoped he wouldn’t touch my face. I really liked my face.
Rough pads of his hands landed on my shoulders from behind, sliding down the front of my chest to tweak the nipple clamps. My body twitched again from the sensation, but my dick practically leaped out of my boxers.
Traitor.
“ You’ve got a tracker under there.” Kellan casually slapped the fleshy part of my shoulder from behind, a dull ache settling deep into the muscle tissue. “Ankle monitors can be too easy to manipulate. I made sure that one was deep, so you won’t be able to tamper with it. Since you work in ‘tech’.”
Didn’t need to see him to catch the air quotes on that one. But fuck, internal hardware had not been part of the plan.
“You’re not just a cocky little shit,” he mused, his hands moving from my arm to slide excruciatingly slowly over the planes of my chest. “You’re trained for interrogation.”
Coarse hair tickled my cheek when he lowered his mouth to my ear. Warm, soft lips gently traced the shell before a hot tongue laved down to the lobe and he sucked it gently between his teeth.
I squirmed in the hard seat. With nowhere to go, if this was how Kellan wanted to test me into spilling my secrets, I’d at least spill my load in the process.
Bristles of his beard brushed against my neck as his mouth moved southward, pressing bruising kisses along the taut muscle.
Fuck it. I melted into the seat, rolling my head to the side to give him better access. I could be a pliant subbie with the right motivation.
“Why are you here?”
The words weren’t a demand anymore; they were coaxing, commanding. Like a sexy siren call—if the siren was a buff gladiator.
Closing my eyes, I caught another strong whiff of his scent before whispering back the words he wanted so badly to hear.
“Tech. Revenge. Another ass-fucking by a billionaire.”
I practically leaped off the chair, chains and all, when he took a raging bite out of my shoulder.
“ The fuck, Kell!” I shouted in alarm; positive I was bloody bleeding all over the nipple clamps.
The sexy oaf finally moved around to the front of me and I got a good look at him.
Yeah, he fucking broke skin, all right. Blood coated his lips, the red tint staining the hair around his mouth. But the wolfish, satisfied smirk stopped me from unleashing a torrent comprised of every curse word I had ever learned.
Kellan, Viking God of all that was holy, was dressed in nothing but a pair of red and black plaid flannel pajama pants; every muscle, tattoo, and faint curl of blond body hair on display.
Sure, I’d already seen it before. I got a nice little eyeful when we were crammed up in the gym shower. But there was something about a man, shirtless and dressed in nothing but cotton pants, that just did something for me. Bubble butt outlined; sack perfectly molded as an imprint within the fabric…
I’d fucked a lot of men in my day—sexy men, ugly men, that Russian mark one time—but Kellan’s body might be the prettiest.
Even with my blood coating his tongue. Okay, especially with my blood coating his tongue. My cock was so solid it was going to force its way through my shorts at any moment. A small wet patch sat on top; what I wouldn’t do to have his mouth on me …
He spun around to the bench behind him and grabbed something plastic from the tabletop. I craned my throbbing neck to see.
Two sets of zipties. What the—
My questions were answers when he lowered himself to my feet and secured each ankle to the leg of the chair. His kneeling made him eye-level to my dick; He openly stared at the patch of pre-cum, his eyes now a dangerously dark blue.
Wit hout warning, he buried his face in my crotch, sucking at my throbbing shaft through the silky fabric. My legs tensed, thighs bucking up in a sorry attempt to ride his face. My muscles cramped hard against my new restraints. His hands held my thighs down as he buried his face deeper against me. His pillowy lips mouthed the underside of my cock before his teeth nibbled a path up to my trapped head. His mouth closed over the wet patch, his tongue pulling up on my sensitive head over and over until my spine erupted with tingles and—
Just as abruptly, he stopped and pulled away from me. Fierce determination filled his stormy eyes. He didn’t stand, though, his hulking body still kneeling at my feet in the sexiest form of dominance possible.
“Why are you here?” he repeated, a new dangerous edge in his tone.
I can’t say I’d ever trained to withstand edging torture, but I was into it—so into it. I’d add this to my training roster once this was all over and he handed me back to Hillary in pieces.
Blowing out a breath of desperate lust, I levelly met his gaze.
“I was hoping to get a chance to ass-fuck you. That still on the table, Kell Bell?”
The Viking God snorted, his eyes flashing with a combination of lust and irritation. “I don’t bottom.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I taunted. “You don’t do a lot of things. Doesn’t explain that chub you’ve got going on for me, does it?”
I couldn’t see it, but I knew it was there. Men like Kellan Carlos didn’t bury their face into some guy’s dick and not get a hard-on. I’d bet good money this man was a pleasure Dom, when he wasn’t all torturey and stuff.
Heat blazed through his eyes before a mask came down so hard I couldn’t read him anymore. Now that was a skill he’d be able to use as a con artist.
In one quick movement, he yanked my boxers over my ass down to my knees and unwrapped my very ready package for him. My cock sprang free, jutting into the air like a sword ready for battle.
Before I had blinked, my dick was in his mouth with no barriers between us. The smooth, silky wetness wrapped tightly around me like a pure pocket of Heaven.
He shoved his tongue into my slit and I saw stars—galaxies, even—his mouth expertly hitting every nerve in my cockhead and I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, until I was going to come down his throat.
But he didn’t give me the chance. The moment I was about to blow, he’d pull back, my squirming, sweaty body needy as fuck and begging for his mouth again.
“Why are you here?”
Softer voice this time. Coaxing again. Tender.
“Needed a face to fuck.” I grunted, bucking upwards into freezing airspace instead of his orgasmic mouth hole.
A burning pain met my answer as the neanderthal bit a chunk out of the inside of my thigh. I gaped at the bloody ring of teeth marks two inches from my taint and glared daggers into his eyes.
That fucker was going to scar.
“Fucking hell, Conan!” I shouted as my quad cramped hard from the pain. I was definitely reconsidering my pleasure Dom assessment. “Seriously?”
“I can break every finger and toe in your body.” His face was now a completely neutral mask, like a trained serial killer. “Be grateful.”
Aye, when he put it that way—
“I already told you why I was here, you caveman,” I spat. I was desperate for a release, but his pit bull style—if not a little unorthodox—questioning was exhausting. He wasn’t going to get the answers he wanted. I wasn’t a small-time mamby-pamby pussy—I was a professional. Hardening my stare, I stuck out my chin in defiance.
A m oment of silence passed between us—the sorry stubborn sap in the vintage chair and the lumberjack torturer with a blood fetish—we faced off like dueling partners of a bad porn script.
He unclipped the nipple clamps and threw them to the floor. He lifted the chair, then carried me toward the room's rear wooden stairs.
Well, this was a new one.
My head smashed against the low beam up the stairwell, but I stifled my cry of pain. I was way too curious to see where I’d end up. That, and I knew I’d end up leaving here alive, if Kellan wanted to leave here alive, too. I didn’t mind being under Blondie’s protection.
He carried me face-forward down a dark, carpeted hallway, then deposited me in a simple white bedroom with a king bed, nightstand, and dresser.
Wordlessly, he uncuffed my legs from the chair, then lifted me effortlessly onto the bed, spread me out and attached my bound hands to a metal ring on the headboard.
Kinky, kinky, kinky.
My head was pounding from the solid whack to the beam, but my heart pounded even harder. Was he going to break my fingers now? My dick?
Kellan stepped back from the bed and assessed his handiwork, his cock swollen underneath those sexy PJs. Slowly, he shucked them down his legs and the massive length of him sprang free, like an adult Jack-in-the-box.
Holy shyte. Is this—am I—what?
He pulled my legs to the end of the bed. My arms strained against the cuffs as he lifted my upper body into the air. Spreading my legs wide, he brought his dick to my ass, and rubbed the head all over the sensitive ring of muscles. The wetness of his pre-cum slid over me.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a shiny blue foil packet of lube. It wasn’t going to be enough.
Rip ping the packet open with his teeth, he slowly spread the lube over the crown of his head and down the length of his shaft. My dick twitched in response, in a fucking tailspin over this sudden turn of events.
Torture by fucking. Other than some disturbing porn I’d watched as a teen, this was definitely a new one for the books.
My Viking Dom released his hold on his coated cock and reached for me. Gripping my thighs so tight I’d have thumb prints all over them in the morning, he forced his head into my tight hole. Painfully stretched, I saw stars behind my eyelids. He looked down at the space where our bodies met and aimed a huge gob of spit onto his dick.
He thrust into me, hard. I cried out, in pain, in pleasure, in fucking delicious lust. He withdrew and thrust back into me again, holding me completely fucking hostage by my hands and thighs and dick.
I took it. Welcomed his dick inside me and squeezed him as fucking tight as I could. I opened my body to take more of him as he loomed over me, sweat matting the long hair against his face.
His face betrayed nothing, but those sexy stormy eyes said everything. How much he wanted me, how much he hated me, how much he needed to fucking rail me into these sheets to punish me.
I bucked against him, my dick ready to explode all over his stomach. My back arched painfully upward…
Edging fucker.
He pulled out and flipped me over on my stomach; the handcuffs chafed hard into my skin. He clenched my hips and notched himself into my hole again, but he didn’t move anymore, despite me pressing my ass into him, begging for more.
“Why are you here?”
Sweat beaded my brow, my whole body on fire.
“ For this, you cunt. I’m twenty moves ahead of yeh, and knew you couldn’t resist a–a”
I jolted forward as his cock threatened to break me in half, his rutting so frenzied, I was afraid for the sanctity of my asshole for anyone else. I’d gloat about the ability to unravel this man later. For now, I needed to just. Fucking. Come.
His hand reached around and stroked my cock in time with his thrusts, and fuck me, I was going to come—finally come—I—“FUCK!” I cried out when he pulled away again in the nick of fucking time. “Just FUCK ME, you wanker!”
He resumed his thrusting, harder and faster, rubbing my cock, massaging my balls, bringing me right to the edge again, and pulling away, over and over, until I had almost come 47 times.
I whimpered and writhed, now completely at his mercy. Fuck, I needed to come. I needed to come, I needed to—
“Why are you here?”
His thrusts were slow, torturous, and easy now. His hands stroked down my back in a sensual massage as he soothed my aching form. He had to need to come by now, too. What was bloody wrong with him?
I wasn’t in my right mind anymore, every brain cell glazed with drugging desire and the raging need to feel his cum flood my asshole. Every cell in my body was completely on fire.
Fuck me. Just fuck me, dammit.
His pace increased by a thousand. I couldn’t handle another edging—another disappointment. If he didn’t let me explode right now, I was going to dive into a pit of absolute madness.
I was there—right there—my balls drawing upward and my spine tingling with electricity. Tears sat at the edge of my eyelids as I inwardly begged for my redemption.
Swallowing hard, I gave him a tidbit—something I hadn’t planned on giving up, but I needed to get my happy ending , or I would die on this bed from sexual dissatisfaction.
I was already caught in their snare, anyway. One piece of information wouldn’t destroy everything I was working towards.
Please, let me come.
“He killed my sister.”
Kellan made no acknowledgment of the admission. Instead, his thrusting became that of a man possessed, driving me into the bed with such force I knew I wouldn’t be able to sit down in the morning. Or ever.
Worth it.
With a deep-throated cry, the sticky jets of my cum shot all over my stomach and the comforter as he let out a bear-like growl from deep in his chest.
I collapsed into the sheets, shoulders on fire from the handcuffs, and buried my face into a puddle of my own tears. The euphoria of my release turned my whole body into a shaking, spasming mess.
He’d won this round—I had never planned to give him a damned thing. But I’d won, too—there’s no way Kellan-the-controlled-Cartel-king had planned on losing his mind with me tonight.
So now I knew for sure; the man had a weakness for cocky Irishmen. And you’d bet I was bloody going to use that power to my advantage.
Tomorrow.
The last thing I remembered was a warm cloth over my backside and a blanket pulled over my lifeless form before I fell into a blissfully dreamless sleep.
Touché, Conan. Touché.