Chaning Cheyenne Page 7

  "If that's how you want to think of it,” he replied. “Either way, take care of your legitimate business in there and get out."

  Cheyenne couldn't believe her ears. The absolute, unbridled arrogance of the man. She was tempted to fling the door open and rip him a new one.

  She had a better idea.

  Time for a little improvisational theater.

  "Oh, Reed, honey, you don't know what you're missing.” She laid it on thick, making her voice sultry as one of those sex phone workers. “I am sooo horny, my pussy is just dripping. Oo, and doesn't it taste good."

  She slurped noisily, giving him an earful as she worked her finger, moving in and out of her mouth, like a lollipop, like a cock.

  Reed's voice was low, tense, the way it got just before he was about to do something. “Cheyenne, I am not playing games with you."

  She locked the door quickly.

  "It's all a game with you,” she said, though she wasn't sure the charge was entirely fair. “You've used me, fucked with my head, left me miserable."

  Wasn't it true he had also given her the best sex of her life? And unlike all the other men in her life he seemed hell bent on keeping her alive. Hadn't he rescued her once? She wasn't sure what the threat might be, but it had to be real. Men like Reed did not play at soldier. They did it for real.

  The knob rattled.

  He took a breath from the other side.

  "Open this door, Cheyenne."

  "No.” Her voice trembled. She was baiting a tiger. “Make me."

  "I'm going to count to three,” he said. “And then I'm going to knock the door down."

  She had no doubt he could do it.

  "One, two..."

  "Wait!” She undid the lock.

  No point having him throw out a shoulder.

  Reed swung open the door. He didn't look happy, despite her last minute acquiescence.

  "What's your problem? I let you in."

  Reed continued to move toward her, slow, purposeful. She did not like that look in his eyes.

  "You think you can intimidate me?” she asked.

  He backed her against the wall. She stood, pinned, afraid to breathe. His erect cock was against her thigh. His ribbed abdomen pressed her soft stomach. Her breasts burned against his pectorals. He was stronger, harder in every way.

  Suspense burned in her belly.

  The next move was up to him entirely. Sex, punishment, bondage, what would it be?

  "What do you want?” she said.

  The seconds ticked by. At last, stone faced, he took her hair, balling it up in his fist. He pulled it tight, enough to cause pressure but not real pain.

  "Show me,” he said.

  "Show you what?"

  "What you were doing, through the door.” His voice was a low growl, decisive, irresistible. Cheyenne could no more disobey his will than she could stand against a hundred plus mile an hour hurricane.

  Her only hope was to divert him. “You already know,” she said. “Don't you?"

  "You were playing with yourself,” he said, the words twice as obscene coming off his dark lips. “Your finger was in your pussy and then you put it in your mouth, isn't that right?"

  "Yes,” she breathed.

  Reed backed up a step. The tip of his long, thick cock still touched her thigh. “Show me,” he repeated, keeping his grip on her hair.

  Cheyenne's breath caught in her throat. Those eyes of his, what was behind her? She didn't feel judged, but he was certainly evaluating, making determinations.

  "Please, Reed,” she said, more than a little unhappy at her own meekness. “I would rather not."

  "That isn't true,” he said with surprising passion. “It turns you on. We both know it does."

  How could he know when she did not even know it herself?

  "I'm not an exhibitionist,” she said.

  "Except when you're told to be,” he said. “That's the key."

  Cheyenne's hand slid toward her pussy. She closed her eyes, indicating her yielding.

  "Eyes open,” he ordered.

  Cheyenne complied, having been denied her last shred of modesty.

  He intended to see the response of her soul to this act of control.

  "Take your time, Cheyenne, we're not in a rush."

  Her sex was red hot, she ached to touch herself. Seconds slammed by, shaking her brain. She felt the pulse in her finger tips. The first contact was going to be explosive, she knew it and sure enough it was, the merest graze across her sex enough to buckle her knees and draw a deep groan from her throat.

  "That's it,” he said, clinical, cool. “Make that little pussy burn. Make it need some hard, mind blowing fucking."

  She stifled a whimper. Her fingers brought the boiling heat, an itching that no amount of scratching could improve.

  "Open your legs wider,” he commanded. “Don't be shy."

  Cheyenne did as she was told. If he was trying to prove that he could treat her like a slave and make her like it, it was working. Or did he want more?

  It was worse, far worse, having him see her expressions, her vulnerability than having him look at her pussy.

  "You wanted to tease,” he said. “You played with fire. Little slave girls get burned that way."

  Cheyenne didn't know where this was leading. She hated that ... and loved it, too. With the others, Frankie included, she could outguess, outthink him. Her domination was scripted according to her wishes.

  Reed wouldn't go against her desires, she knew that, but he could and would push the envelope.

  What answer could she give now that they had come so far?

  "Put it in your mouth,” he said, abruptly ending her wary pleasure. “Taste it."

  Cheyenne slipped her fingers between her lips.

  "Slurp them,” he egged her on. “Just like before."

  Her cheeks reddened.

  "What was it you said to me?” he goaded.

  "It-it tastes good,” she whispered, hoarse.

  His fingers moved to her nipple. He did it without looking, practiced like he had done so one million times before.

  "You were right about one thing,” he said. “Your body does have power. I imagine you can bring most men to their knees, can't you?"

  "I-I don't know,” she said honestly.

  "You can,” he confirmed. “You just don't know it. Or maybe you do and that's what kills you. Because you want to find a man who won't bend."

  "A real man doesn't control through sex, Reed."

  He shook his head. “Sex is always about power. Someone has it, someone wants it."

  "And what do you want, Reed?"

  "I want you on your knees,” he said, his answer piercing her like a hot blade. “Sucking, greedy, desperate to please."

  She tried to keep her voice steady. “I thought you didn't like feeding other people's desperation."

  "That's in relationships,” he corrected.

  "And this ... is not?"

  "Don't be coy,” he chided. “It does not suit you."

  "Just like word games don't suit you."

  He studied her. “Did Frankie make you suck other men's cocks?"

  She moved to slap him again. He caught her wrist in midair, lightning fast. “I asked you if Frankie made you suck other men's cocks."

  His grip was like steel.

  "Not if I didn't want to,” she said.

  "So the answer is yes."

  "No,” she shot back. “He didn't make me. I wanted to, okay?"

  "You're lying, Cheyenne. Or did you lie to yourself, thinking that doing his dirty work would make him love you?"

  "I'm submissive,” she tried to brush it off. “You told me that. I get hot when men use me."

  He frowned, looking genuinely unhappy for the first time since she had known him. “You need to be kept on a short leash, missy. One man's loving, a man who doesn't fucking share."

  "You're swearing,” she pointed out.

  Reed put an end to the conversation, turning t
hings physical once more. Guiding not forcing, he put her in place before him. When she was fully on her knees he gave the order, though it was hardly necessary.

  "Take it in your mouth, Cheyenne, give me pleasure."

  His hand rested on her silky hair, stroking. With trembling, quivering lips she kissed the head of his cock. It was purple in color, every bit as full and hard as it had been before. She could still feel the pulsing inside her from when he had claimed her.

  She wanted that fullness again, but that was not his will.

  Reed wanted pleasure. He wanted her mouth.

  Passionate, sucking, obedient.

  Oral sex was not necessarily submissive, but Reed was leaving no room for interpretation. Not the way he was touching her, guiding her.

  He was taking her mouth. She was serving him.

  Wickedly, she popped the head of him into her mouth. He was hot and pulsing. He moaned in reply indicating she was on the right track with her technique.

  "Good girl,” he said, reinforcing the dynamic. In another context she would fight like hell to be called a girl, but here, to be Reed's girl, to be good was everything, all that she needed to be fulfilled.

  For the moment.

  Placing her hands on his muscular thighs she licked along the sides of him. She knew a lot about cock sucking. All men wanted it and enjoyed it, Frankie included. Only twice had he wanted to see her service another, both times it had been visiting friends. He had given her wine to loosen her up and lots of encouragement. It wasn't so bad, kind of hot really, knowing her lover was watching and getting so turned on by the show.

  Reed was wrong, she hadn't been made to suck and she didn't feel resentment. She ran her life just fine. She didn't need one man, certainly not a man like him. Frankie was dominant but he knew how to have fun. Reed was intense, far too intense.

  A man like that would hem a woman, a girl in for life.

  He responded with a low growl as she flicked her tongue along the under side of him, pleasuring the thick vein.

  He must have been close to orgasm because he took the top of her head, encouraging her to take him into her mouth.

  Was he going to come that way? Would he expect her to swallow?

  Cheyenne was not fond of swallowing. In a pinch she would hold a man's semen and spit it out later.

  She had had fantasies, though, about being taken away somewhere, by strong men who would not take no for an answer. A sultan, perhaps, and his dark handsome men.

  "You are our white slave girl,” they would say. “You will drink our emissions, savoring them as gifts of the gods."

  "Yes, Masters,” she would reply, bowing before them, on her knees, kissing their long curling whips.

  One by one they would open their trousers, long snake like appendages emerging for her to service. Naked and collared, under the watchful eye of eunuchs she would perform. Each load she would swallow until her belly was full.

  She would thank them, humbly, the taste on her lips, the hot feel of all those cocks still fresh and powerful.

  Strangely, the vision empowered her. What belonged to them and made them hard became hers. She had literally drained off their strength.

  Cheyenne made an oval of her lips, carefully drawing him in. He smelled of musk and the deep woods. Her nostrils flared. She was hungry and not for food. She might well milk him at this point, not waiting for his own decision to ejaculate.

  This was Reed, though, and he was not about to cede control.

  His hands moved to the side of her head. She felt oddly sheltered, protected. He knew just how to let things unfold. She closed her eyes. It was like a dream, his cock going all the way to the back of her throat. Sometimes with a new man she feared gagging, but not this time. Everything was right, perfect. He fit. They fit, together.

  In and out, gently she treated him, providing the kind of suction to make it feel like he was inside her pussy, sheathed. He was too long to take all of him so she cupped her hands around the base of him to complete the warmth, the covering.

  As her speed increased, her hair began to brush him, long curls sliding over his thighs. He seemed to appreciate the detail, along with everything else. She wanted him to come, quickly.

  He had something else in mind, though.

  After letting her continue for just a few minutes, working with mouth and lips and tongue in concert, bathing and caressing him, he pulled out. There was a popping sound as she reluctantly surrendered her prize.

  She looked up, giving a small questioning whimper.

  "Hold up your breasts for me,” he said.

  Cheyenne obliged, allowing him to press his erection into her cleavage. She held tightly to her orbs, giving him the pressure he needed to fuck them.

  "Yes, that's it,” he voiced his approval, sheer male in its energy and enthusiasm.

  Vigorously, he fucked her, his breath coming in short stabs.

  "Fuck my breasts,” she encouraged. “Come all over my chest, please?"

  Reed clenched his buttocks. The vein in his neck was sticking out. She could see his cock swelling in readiness to burst. At the last second he grabbed his shaft in his hand, pumping the length of it and directing it to the desired target.

  "Yes, yes,” she sighed. “Come on me. Mark my body with hot come."

  The words served as some kind of tripwire, the idea of branding and ownership, probably. Reed roared like some kind of jungle beast and then he was there, spraying, hot and white and thick across her breasts and neck and even her face.

  "Oh, god,” she groaned as spurt after spurt landed on her. “It's so good."

  Reed arched his back, trying to milk every drop. She had never heard a man sound so wild, so free ... so completely untamed.

  For a few moments afterward he was lost to the world. Bracing his palm against the bathroom wall, he took a few measured breaths.

  Cheyenne remained on her knees, adorned.

  She was a bit lost herself. Any moment now some emotion would come flooding in to fill the void. If past experience with Reed was any indicator, it would not be positive.

  "This needs to stop,” he said at last.

  Cheyenne was instantly defensive. “You think I am leading you on? You keep turning this shit sexual."

  "I blame both of us.” He held out his hand. She took it, reluctantly.

  "How convenient, spreading the blame. Considering I didn't even get a vote to be here in the first place."

  "You're under protective custody, why can't you grasp that?” He reached for a towel off the shelf for her. “Clean yourself up,” he ordered.

  "What's the matter?” She took the towel. “Does your conscience bother you, seeing the evidence of your brutality."

  The words made little sense, even in her own head. Yes, he was her captor, but she was hardly helping matters the way she kept egging him on.

  He arched a brow. “I don't what dictionary you use, but you sure have a screwed up way of defining words. Last I saw, brutality was something a whole lot different."

  "I'm not talking to you anymore,” she decided. “And I'm not cooperating."

  With that she handed back the towel and sat down on the floor, legs crossed.

  Seeing her intention he lost his cool. “For crissakes, Cheyenne, this isn't a sit in."

  She considered humming a verse of “We Shall Overcome” but decided that might be pushing matters a bit. The fact was she had lost all fear of him, if she had ever been afraid at all. “Feel free to move me where you wish, but you'll have to drag me. And I'm not going to eat on my own either."

  Reed sighed, massaging his temples. She resisted laughing. There was something irresistibly cute about him, especially when she knew she was getting on his nerves.

  "Cheyenne, I didn't want to tell you this, because I didn't want you any more upset than you already are..."

  She listened, offering no response.

  "The fact is, Frankie's killers weren't after him."

  What was he on about now?


  "They were after you, Cheyenne."

  She stiffened.

  "Enemies of your father's. Very dangerous. The fact is you're a very lucky woman. From my experience, those kind of killers don't miss a second time."

  "You're lying.” She was on her feet. “No one cares about me. Anyone who knows me at all knows my father hates me."

  "That isn't true. He doesn't show it, but he cares. And his rivals know that. They are unscrupulous and they will hit him where it hurts most. That's why your father hired me to protect you."

  "You're just a psycho,” she denied it all. “You intend to brain wash me and keep me here forever."

  "Cheyenne, be reasonable.” He grasped her upper arms, trying to make eye contact.

  Cheyenne did not wish to be comforted, controlled or made reasonable.

  Remarkably, she was able to get in a solid kick to his groin. She didn't stay around to press her luck.

  "Cheyenne!” He called out her name, groaning.

  This time it was him on his knees.

  Running straight to his abandoned pants she fished the keys from his pocket. This time it wasn't a trap, she was going to get away for real.

  "Don't worry,” she called from the doorway. “I'll send for help when I get back to civilization. It will be the police, though, to arrest you. Sorry about that."

  She didn't bother slamming the door.

  That way he could hear the SUV starting up and driving away.

  The trouble was it didn't start.

  "Mother fucking god damn it!” she screamed, cranking again and again.

  She heard nothing but clicking from the engine.

  Now what?

  Chapter Six

  Reed recovered himself and stood, painfully. What an idiot he had been giving Cheyenne an opening to kick him in the balls. Thank goodness he had had the foresight to disconnect the battery cables from the SUV.

  Judging by the angry sounds coming from outside and the lack of any engine noise, Cheyenne had yet to figure out the ruse.

  Still naked he walked to the front door. She was sitting in the driver's seat, trying to find the latch to open the hood.

  "It's underneath the steering column,” he said.

  "Fuck you,” she said, leaping out of the SUV.

  She was running straight into the woods. In the pitch darkness.