Disclaim (Deliver 3)

“So damn wet, mi vida. Such a hungry slut.”

With her head hanging upside down, she snarled through clenched teeth. “I’m not—”

“A slut, my gorgeous girl, is brave enough to pursue her own definitions of pain and pleasure. She’s willing to explore and search for what she enjoys rather than shun her desires like a dirty secret.” He bit the delicate skin between her legs, wrenching a yelp from her. “You welcome sex with open legs, because you understand the benefits, the ecstasy it brings.”

“Okay, when you put it that way,” she said in a throaty voice.

“My slut.” He licked her from ass to pussy, his tongue probing in both holes with abandon.

She panted and shook, her tits swaying and head lifting to accommodate her breaths, but she held her bent position with flawless grace. A reminder that she’d endured a year of hell to master that composure. Anger simmered through his blood, but he pushed it down, refusing to let it ruin the moment.

When her moans grew shorter, faster, he knew she was peaking. He stabbed his fingers inside her, and in two hard drives, she came with a choked-off scream, her inner muscles spasming against his hand. Fucking beautiful.

He eased out of her and helped her straighten to her full height, pulling her chest to his as she wobbled.

Lifting her chin, he submerged his gaze in hers and saw unspeakable desire in the watery depths. Love was there, too—the love they’d always shared—but it seemed stronger now, pummeled and tested and resuscitated back to life. And in the strength of that love, he saw the tiniest glimmer of trust, the kind of trust that only a submissive could offer.

As far as she knew, he hadn’t done anything to earn her trust, yet she was handing it over, instinctively, bravely, and the only explanation was because she loved him.

He took her mouth, and the instant their lips touched, the fusion was frantic and visceral, hitting him right in the stomach. He felt her in his skin, every gasp, bite, and voracious lick connecting to an emotion that had endured the torment of time.

Her beautiful tongue flicked, twirling in greedy euphoric circles and following his lead as he demanded everything and took even more. She dragged her short nails down his back, bursting his nerve endings into a thousand frenzied pieces.

He pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth then kissed a path to her ear, whispering, “Do you want to come harder next time?”

Eyes beckoning, she nodded, shook her head, then let out a husky laugh. “Will I live?”

“For the first time in your life.” He reached up and tested the strength of the thickest branch. “Hold onto this.”

Lifting her heels from the soil and stretching her arms, she curled her fingers around the limb.

He snagged her bra from the ground, checked it for wires and found none. “Stand flat on your feet.”

When she lowered, she was still able to hang on. He used the strip of black lace to tie her hands to the branch.

“Comfortable?” He kissed her mouth softly.

With a glance at the belt in the grass, her expression tightened, but she gave him a jerky nod.

“How did you get into this…this kinky stuff?” Her voice cracked, and she cleared it. “You’ve done this a lot?”

“I’ll answer your questions, but first, tell me why you abstained for four years.”

Her eyes darted away, and she bit her lip. “I slept with a lot of men after I escaped, trying to prove to myself that I was the one in control of my sexuality.” She looked back at him. “I was also looking for…I don’t know. A connection? But after a while, I decided I had better luck with my vibrator.”

Exactly what he’d thought. He clenched and relaxed his hands.

“I did the same thing, fucking my way through countless women.” At her wince, he cupped her face and pressed so close he felt her heartbeat pound against his chest. “I was searching for something, too. Anything that might resemble what I had with you. I never found it.”

“I hate—” She bit back a strangled noise, and a twitch flickered her eyelashes. “I hate that all those women know you in that way.”

He wholeheartedly sympathized with the pain in her eyes. “No one knows me the way you do.”

The corner of her mouth bounced. “Smooth talker.” She slackened against him, almost as if trying to snuggle with her arms restrained over her head. “None of those women know what your fourteen-year-old ass looks like on a copy machine.”

“Or my ass at any age on a copy machine.” He chuckled into another long, delicious kiss.

She hummed against his mouth as her tongue traced the seam of his lips.

He brushed his hands through her hair. “What I discovered in my fumbling attempts at happiness is that bondage and pain have the potential to make sex more intense and intimate. People fuck all the time without conversation, commitment, or any emotional connection. But when I tie up a woman and beat the living hell out of her, there’s a crucial responsibility that comes with that, one that involves clear communication and acceptance—hers and mine. Those very things enhance sexual pleasure.” He paused. “Because it requires trust.”

“But the slaves you—”

“I’ve never fucked a slave.”

“Oh.” Her brows drew together then released with the flash in her eyes. “But you hurt me without communication or acceptance.”

“Tell me why I did it.”

“You wanted me scared.” She swallowed. “To protect me from your enemies.”

“Yeah.” His throat thickened. “I’ll hurt you again, Camila, and I’ll be the one to soothe it. Only me.” Lowering his hand, he trailed his fingers over the bruises on her ass. “I’m going to give you a different kind of pain. The kind that comes with acceptance.” He felt the heat of her lips brush his. “When trust surpasses that pain, the result can feel incredibly profound.”

“Okay.” Fear threaded through her voice.

“Imagine what it will be like for us. We already share a connection no other two people have. Our memories, our regrets, and this.” He kissed her hard and deep, with the entirety of his soul. “Us.”

“You think this is what we’ve both been searching for?” She subtly rubbed her pussy against the zipper of his jeans.

“Yes.” He was certain of it. “Listen carefully. If I hit you too hard or overstep your limits without explanation, you need to trust that I’m doi

ng it for you.”

“No safe words?”

“No.” He laughed and shoved a hand through his hair. “I’m not running a high-end glitter club here. I’m a fucking cartel capo who hangs people in chains to kill them, not to tickle them with a flogger. Dangerous and crazy is the way I operate, Camila.”

“Basically the opposite of safe, sane, and consensual.” Her eyes narrowed.

He refused to abide by anyone’s rules, but… “I want your consent.”

“Jesus. Everything you said was so fucking wrong.” She stared at him, absently digging her toe through the grass. “But I don’t feel a pressing need to kick you in the nuts.”

“You normally feel that need?”

“Maybe.” Her mouth flattened, but a smile touched her eyes.

“When I restrain you, it’s just you and me.” He glided his hands up her arms and squeezed the elastic strap around her wrists overhead. “No safe words. No rules. Have we reached that level of trust yet?”

“I’m trying.” She licked her lips. “I want to.”

That was closer than she was two weeks ago. His pulse kicked up.

Sliding his hands back down her arms, he rubbed her tits, pinched her nipples, and moved to her ass, her thighs, her pussy. He touched her everywhere, keeping his gaze on her parted mouth and the peek of her tongue as she wet her lips.

The rhythm of her breaths led the pace of his strokes. As she panted faster, harder, he added pressure and speed to his caress. Soon, she was trembling, gasping, ready.

As he adjusted his cock to relieve the agonizing pressure, he grabbed the belt from the ground and folded it in half. She tracked him with half-lidded eyes, her expression aglow more with curiosity than fear. He didn’t need to tell her how to breathe and relax into the strikes. She’d been mercilessly beaten against her will more times than he cared to think about.

With a steady inhale, he let the strap swing, landing the initial hits on her thighs and ass. He didn’t go easy on her, but he knew he wouldn’t. He’d pounded his fists against men to the point of bloodshed and death, and while he didn’t hit her with anywhere near that kind of strength, he wasn’t a gentle man. Nor was she weak.