Tack sat down and looked at his son.
“Bud, I need you to phone your mother,” he stated.
Rush sat up straight. “Why?”
“I called her a while ago. Left a message. Told her to get down to Denver. We’d cover her, keep her safe while bodies are dropping. She didn’t call back.”
Fuck.
He hadn’t thought of that.
Naomi was so not Chaos anymore that it hadn’t crossed his mind.
“Spoke with Pope,” Tack shared. “He says she’s up in Spooks’s shit to take her back, so I know she’s still breathing. She’s not my biggest fan, but she might pick up, you phone. Get on that. Get her down here. Get her covered.”
Rush nodded. “I’ll phone.”
Tack nodded back.
“Tab’s gonna be pissed as shit everyone’s met Rebel but not her,” Tack continued. “I’d get on that, I was you.”
Rush nodded again.
He also needed to check in with his sis. She’d gotten it together after losing Natalie, but she was still struggling. He had to keep his finger on that pulse.
“I’ll call her too,” Rush told his dad, then said, “Heads up about Valenzuela, he’s into Rebel.”
Tack was visibly unhappy. “Come again?”
“Told you all about the convo with him and Rebel this morning. What I didn’t say was that he didn’t mind at all she was shutting down production. Offered to help out if there was anything she needed. He’s totally into her. The man wants in my woman’s pants and I do not have a good feeling about it, and not only how I’d naturally not have a good feeling about it.”
Tack nodded. “I hear you.”
“He finds out who she is, what she was up to and that she’s taken up with a brother of Chaos, he’s not gonna like it.”
“He doesn’t have a choice. But hopefully by the time he learns all that, he’ll be outta commission to do anything about it.”
Yeah.
Hopefully.
That made Rush nod.
“Right. We done?” Tack asked.
“We’re done,” Rush told him.
“Later, son,” Tack said, pushed out of his chair on a sigh, came to Rush and wrapped his finger’s around his son’s shoulder for a squeeze before he strolled out.
Rush dug out his phone.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d phoned his mother.
He still didn’t hesitate to make the call.
He got her voicemail.
“Mom? Rush. I know Dad called, you didn’t call back. You need to call back, Mom. Shit is happening and I want you safe. So call me as soon as you get this. Yeah?”
He took in a big breath as he disconnected.
Then he moved down on his contacts and found his sister.
A Successful Afternoon
Valenzuela
He was going to come.
And he was going to do it hard.
Interesting.
His fingers tightened around the leather straps binding his wrists, his arms spread wide and stretched so he felt pain in his shoulders. His toes curled, digging into the bed, pulling at the straps around his ankles, furthering the pain at his inner thighs that were overextended. His breath came heavy through his nose since his mouth was gagged, his forehead digging into the mattress.
And his hips moved uncontrollably, humping his aching cock against the silk sheet under him until everything stiffened, strained. His balls drew up so tight, he felt piercing pain before he bucked violently against his bindings, his head jerking back, and he experienced the sweet release, grunting against the silk in his mouth, warm wet suffusing the area at his stomach.
It kept coming, that release. His body beginning to jerk, the bindings digging into his flesh, the noises from his mouth escaping around the cloth as he saturated the sheet under him, his movements almost desperate, the rubbing of his cock against that warm, sodden silk that felt almost like a pussy and getting more of all the rest.
All of it.
And it went on so long, in some small part of his brain that was not about his orgasm, he actually felt genuine fear it would never stop.
It stopped and his body sunk lax into the bed.
He set his face to the sheet, eyes closed, and drew deep at his nose.
It took some time to register what was causing the gratifying feeling he was still experiencing.
His eyes opened.
“Like that?” her voice purred at him.
He stared up close at the red sheet.
“They always think they won’t like it,” she murmured victoriously. “But they always like it.”
His fingers tightened again on the straps.
“Wonder if I can make you go again that hard if I keep doing this,” she said, continuing to glide the large, rubber phallus in and out of his oiled ass. “But sad to say, your time is up. You’ll have to book me again. Double up. I’ll keep this goodness going and we’ll see.”
He gritted his teeth on his gag as she slid the cock from him.
He felt her move from where she was kneeling by his hip on the bed and turned his head.
He watched her saunter into the bathroom, her short, shiny pleather skirt looking cheap, because it was. Fishnets held up by suspenders. Thigh-high, shiny red leather, spike-heeled boots. Pleather bustier with a variety of thin straps that led to a thick one around her neck, the whole garment dotted with studs. Gauntlets with more studs that ran from wrists to elbows.
A good deal of auburn hair.
He’d told her no ridiculous outfit.
When he’d arrived, he’d seen that she had defied his instructions, but he’d been interested enough at what would result from their session to allow that defiance.
He’d also told her no ass play.
She’d gagged him, and he had been fine with that.
What he had not known at the time was that she’d done it so he could not verbally protest.
He had not read the handbook, but it was his understanding that was against the rules.
Benito did not have a lot of use for rules.
However, he was feeling them right then, lying in his own ejaculate, gagged and strapped to a bed, his cock spent, his ass used.
This had been a tryout. Just to see. And if he enjoyed it, practice for Tallulah.
He assessed his condition.
He would do this again.
Absolutely.
All of it.
Though with one minor change.
She came back after cleaning the black rubber cock, set it on a blood-red towel she had laid out on the black lacquer nightstand by the bed and then her eyes came to his.
Hers were blue.
He thought he’d chosen wisely.
And in a sense, he had.
In another one, he had not.
She sat with her hip brushing his outstretched arm.
He looked at the cock.
His first time, and she knew it, she’d given him length and girth.
He’d be feeling that up his ass, probably for days.
He’d relish the feel then the memory of it.
However . . .
She slid her hand down his spine, over his ass and reached to stroke his spent balls.
“I’m gonna let you go now, pet,” she purred.
At her last word, Benito felt the stillness seep through him as the biting cold swept in.
He had long since learned that he felt much less than others did, save the satisfaction at besting an interesting challenge, or his enjoyment when one of his concerns rendered exceptional dividends.
He also felt that frigid cold.
It was by far his favorite.
Yes, it would appear that he’d relish the memory of this session for some time.
His eyes slid up to her to see she had a supercilious smile curling her over-glossed, red lips.
She had used him as he had not asked to be used.
This was her mistake.
A mistake, considering what came of it, he could have let slide.
He could be reasonable.
He wasn’t a monster.
But calling him “pet?”
She stopped stroking and shifted to the knot that bound one of his wrists.
When he was free, he moved away from his cum to sit on the side of the bed and pulled off the gag himself, dropping it to the sheets.
She was up and four feet away, standing at a podium that held an open book, her back to him.
“I accept gratuities,” she declared, the purr gone, it was business now. “And if you want more, we can schedule you again before you go. I suggest a double booking. You liked that. I’ll blow your mind if we have more time to play.”
Unhurriedly, Benito got up from the bed.
He walked to her.
Then he lifted a hand, cupped the side of her head and enjoyed her shocked gasp before he slammed it against the wall.
He used her hair to pull her back, turn her, then he backhanded her.
She cried out, stumbling to the side.
He caught her by the throat, held her there, that hold needing to tighten as he planted his fist in her face.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
Blood came from her mouth and nose as she took her fourth and fifth.
He moved his fingers from her throat, curled them around the side of her head again and smashed it into the wall, pulling back, and again, before he turned her to face the wall.
He held her there with an arm at the back of her neck, shoving her cheek against the garish, flocked wallpaper, and he reached down to yank up her skirt.
“No, please, no,” she begged, hands slipping on the wall as she struggled ineffectively against his hold.