sound like as he walked across the deck of his pirate ship. Arrgg matey, he thought, tapping the bloody knife against his left leg as he walked. I’m coming to get you wench. Coming to collect my bootie!
***
Sarah Sweet’s reprieve ended when she heard strange sounding footsteps coming into the room. She lifted her head to try and see, the blood from her forehead tinting the world red as though she were wearing rose-colored glasses. She snickered momentarily at the irony of that thought. Fucking bastard! Got me good this time. My stomach too. Probably even leave a scar. Christ! He’s gonna pay for that!
At twenty-four years old, Sarah was only older than Mason by five years but she looked much younger than that in person, still getting carded every now and then at the liquor store or going into a club. Several people had mistaken her for Mason’s younger sister, which was embarrassing but secretly quite thrilling as well. Sarah was a beautiful woman, and she knew it. Everyone knew it, which was why no one seemed to understand how a girl like her had ever ended up with a guy like Mason. Not that there was anything wrong with him, he was a big teddy bear of a man with high cheekbones and dark brooding eyes that drove Sarah wild with lust whenever he looked at her. His facial hair tickled her in all the right places too. Mason had been born and raised in rural Colorado while she had grown up in the bright lights of Brisbane, Australia, half a world away. Still, opposites attract, right? And besides, they had more in common than any of their friends realized.
Secret things.
Mason was walking back into the room, but for some reason he only had one boot on. He looked like a drunken fool as he walked, his body rising with one step and falling with the next. Diddle diddle dumpling, one shoe on . Her mother had always sang that to her when she was a kid. It never really made any sense to her — then or now — but it was the first thing that popped into her mind. Other than her burning desire to get even with her boyfriend of two years. She intended to make him pay big time for the bullshit he was pulling this weekend. Either that or fuck him raw. A shiver ran down her belly at the thought, her nipples turning hard as the sensation tickled and buzzed all the way down between her legs. Yeah…maybe that was a better idea. After the violence always came the sex — truly amazing sex — and Sarah was more than ready for as much of that as she could get.
Mason was holding what looked like a sock to his nose trying to staunch the flow of blood. Good , she thought, thrilled that she’d accomplished something when she’d lashed out at him. As he got closer she also noticed the bulge in his pants, his impressive manhood straining for release from his tight denim jeans. Sarah started to smile at the thought of pleasing him but then felt a shadow of uneasiness creep over her at the way he still held the wickedly sharp blade in his other hand. Slightly nervous but not willing to admit it — to Mason or to herself — she scooted the chair to the side, spinning slightly as she did. Mason had bound her naked to a rolling desk chair before any of this had started. She was used to him tearing her clothes off and wanting to tie her up, and had submitted to the blue silk rope willingly. Eagerly, in fact. The only issue was Mason’s choice of chairs. Who the hell used a desk chair on wheels for something like this? In the movies or in books it was always an old straight back wooden chair; the kind that in a manic fit of adrenaline you were able to rock back on, toppling over and smashing, freeing yourself and getting your choice of sharp pointy chair legs to use as weapons. But no, not her psycho lover. He’d used a rolling office chair with molded plastic arms, five wheels on a pedestal base that caused her to spin slightly with any little movement she made on these uneven wooden floors.
“I don’t know why the fuck
***
Sarah Sweet’s reprieve ended when she heard strange sounding footsteps coming into the room. She lifted her head to try and see, the blood from her forehead tinting the world red as though she were wearing rose-colored glasses. She snickered momentarily at the irony of that thought. Fucking bastard! Got me good this time. My stomach too. Probably even leave a scar. Christ! He’s gonna pay for that!
At twenty-four years old, Sarah was only older than Mason by five years but she looked much younger than that in person, still getting carded every now and then at the liquor store or going into a club. Several people had mistaken her for Mason’s younger sister, which was embarrassing but secretly quite thrilling as well. Sarah was a beautiful woman, and she knew it. Everyone knew it, which was why no one seemed to understand how a girl like her had ever ended up with a guy like Mason. Not that there was anything wrong with him, he was a big teddy bear of a man with high cheekbones and dark brooding eyes that drove Sarah wild with lust whenever he looked at her. His facial hair tickled her in all the right places too. Mason had been born and raised in rural Colorado while she had grown up in the bright lights of Brisbane, Australia, half a world away. Still, opposites attract, right? And besides, they had more in common than any of their friends realized.
Secret things.
Mason was walking back into the room, but for some reason he only had one boot on. He looked like a drunken fool as he walked, his body rising with one step and falling with the next. Diddle diddle dumpling, one shoe on . Her mother had always sang that to her when she was a kid. It never really made any sense to her — then or now — but it was the first thing that popped into her mind. Other than her burning desire to get even with her boyfriend of two years. She intended to make him pay big time for the bullshit he was pulling this weekend. Either that or fuck him raw. A shiver ran down her belly at the thought, her nipples turning hard as the sensation tickled and buzzed all the way down between her legs. Yeah…maybe that was a better idea. After the violence always came the sex — truly amazing sex — and Sarah was more than ready for as much of that as she could get.
Mason was holding what looked like a sock to his nose trying to staunch the flow of blood. Good , she thought, thrilled that she’d accomplished something when she’d lashed out at him. As he got closer she also noticed the bulge in his pants, his impressive manhood straining for release from his tight denim jeans. Sarah started to smile at the thought of pleasing him but then felt a shadow of uneasiness creep over her at the way he still held the wickedly sharp blade in his other hand. Slightly nervous but not willing to admit it — to Mason or to herself — she scooted the chair to the side, spinning slightly as she did. Mason had bound her naked to a rolling desk chair before any of this had started. She was used to him tearing her clothes off and wanting to tie her up, and had submitted to the blue silk rope willingly. Eagerly, in fact. The only issue was Mason’s choice of chairs. Who the hell used a desk chair on wheels for something like this? In the movies or in books it was always an old straight back wooden chair; the kind that in a manic fit of adrenaline you were able to rock back on, toppling over and smashing, freeing yourself and getting your choice of sharp pointy chair legs to use as weapons. But no, not her psycho lover. He’d used a rolling office chair with molded plastic arms, five wheels on a pedestal base that caused her to spin slightly with any little movement she made on these uneven wooden floors.
“I don’t know why the fuck
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