The Fool Ch. 02

Her foot hit the side of his shin, and she felt pain run up the side of her leg as he stepped forward with the other leg as if expecting the move and remained on his feet. He spun as she sprung back to her feet and he reached out, grabbing her arm with one hand, holding her in a vice-like grip while the other mauled her breast through the thin leather.

"You like that?" she hissed, raising an eyebrow, and lifted her free arm to hit his shoulder with the heel of her hand, forcing him to loosen his grip on her so she could move away as she lifted her leg, aiming a kick between his legs. Even if he had worn some protection, it should stun him enough for her to manoeuvre herself to bring him down. He had turned with the blow to his shoulder, and her foot hit his thigh. His arm moved out, pushing her backwards hard so that she fell landing squarely on her back.

"Really?" he asked in an acerbic voice, "That's how you want to play this?" He knew where that kick had been aimed, but he allowed her to spring to her feet again without taking advantage. He was in no hurry for the fight to be over. When he was done, she would know he was the better man, so to speak.

Carrie shrugged and began to circle him again, looking for any opening she could use. He smiled an easy, relaxed smile that infuriated her, but every time she tried to kick or punch him he seemed to deflect it effortlessly or managed to seem unbothered by any contact she made. She realised he was tiring her out by making her take the initiative, so she stepped back, forcing her frustration down and resuming an air of calm patience. 'Let him be the one to tire himself out,' she thought, as she dodged and weaved from his first tentative attacks.

Sinclair noticed the change of tactics and smirked. Carrie wanted nothing more than to wipe that smirk off his face as he advanced on her. She watched carefully and dodged as he came within arms reach of her. He lunged and she side-stepped, feeling more confident in her decision and trying to remain ice cool in her thinking rather than let her frustrations take over.

The next time he lunged, and she sidestepped, he swivelled, and he grabbed the back of her collar, his free hand snaking around her to lower the zip of her body suit, exposing most of her breasts. The small crowd watching on cheered at sight of the newly exposed flesh as he held her back to his chest momentarily.She spun, not bothering to try and cover her breasts. Careful not to go higher than his shoulders, as the house rules dictated, she kicked directly into his diaphragm with a high side kick meant to wind him. He grunted, taking the blow, but didn't double up like she had expected and she backed off.

They continued to play cat and mouse games with every move seeming to take the zip of her body suit lower. She ignored it, hoping it would at least distract Sinclair enough to give her the edge in what she believed was a fairly even fight. The crowd was beginning to jeer at their cautious attacks and counter attacks. They were beginning to tire and, assuming he was more tired than her, Carrie gathered her strength for one last assault.

Carrie slammed into him with her shoulder. Sinclair fell backwards with her sprawled on top of him, he reached up and gripped the long ponytail of hair that escaped her mask during their fight. She twisted around, trying to free herself, but found herself pinned on top of him with her back against his chest. An arm held her just below her breasts, and one of his legs hooked around to hold her immobile.

It took her a moment to realise that the hand of the arm that pinned her chest had wedged beneath the gaping zipper and was palming her breast. She felt the bulge of his cock against her, and while she could feel that he wasn't fully erect, there was no mistaking that this fight aroused him.

Sinclair rolled, controlling her head, shoulders, hips and legs with his larger body. She was his in this position, and he knew there was little she could do about it now, but until she gave in officially, he could take no chances. Repositioning himself atop her, he let go of her hair and ran the hand over her shoulder and down to her ribs, snaking it beneath her bodysuit.

"Prepared to admit defeat," he murmured, lowering his head to her ear, keeping it out of range of a head butt, despite the rules against any shot above the shoulders.

"No!" she hissed, bucking her hips and trying to twist her body within his grasp.

"You will," he said, and she could hear the smirk in his voice, which made her crazy.

Carrie felt the hand that had been placed over her breast beneath her bodysuit squeeze the soft flesh, and, despite herself, she hissed softly at the feelings that ran through her. She felt the hand slide down her body, lowering the zip to its end just above her sex. His hand dipped lower, forcing the tight leather to mould to his fingers as he cupped her pussy. She gasped as she struggled to fight what he was doing, his hips forcing her harder against his hand and the floor below them.

"You're enjoying this," he murmured. "You could enjoy it more once you give in," he teased her, his fingers moving against her clit and playing at the entrance to heated depths. "Perhaps you'd rather wait until I made Diego's feral bitch purr in front of him." He curled his fingers, pressing one into her.

She growled in frustration and, in a last-ditch effort, she bucked hard, undulating her body, and catching him off guard managed to roll them. She ended up facing the ceiling, his fingers still assaulting her, and his legs wrapped tightly around hers. They rolled again, and he took advantage of her momentary confusion brought on by anger and frustration to press his advantage and forced a second finger inside her and curled them, stroking against the ridged wall at the front of her wet insides.

"Say it, Carrington. Say it loud enough for Diego to hear," Sinclair murmured, his voice low and deep as his fingers continued to move.

"Argh!" she cried out in disgust. "I concede," she hung her head and tapped the mat, humiliated by the man who held her at his mercy.

Sinclair stood and looked down at the woman he'd been fighting for over an hour. He reached down and grabbed her by her hair, pulling her to her feet. He saluted Diego with a slow, respectful nod of his head, and then, holding her hair tightly, led Carrie to the victor's room.

"Do you need time to recover?" Sinclair asked solicitously.

"Recover? No," Carrie shook her head.

"We're leaving, then," he announced. "Do you need to take your car home, or will your brother come pick it up for you?"

"He'll come if I call him," she said. "I should probably tell him I won't be home for a day or two," she paused and looked at Sinclair.

"Three days was the agreed term," he said, unwilling to compromise. "Are you ready to go?" he asked. He had loosened his hold on Carrie's hair but hadn't moved from her side or released her entirely, as if afraid she might walk away from the agreement.

"I'd like to collect my things from my locker, please," she said quietly, unsure of this authoritative version of Sinclair and how far to push her own agenda.

"You may, but you won't change," he instructed, and slowly lifted the zip on her body suit, concealing her body behind the leather once again, not that it left much to the imagination. He walked her down to the locker rooms and changed back into his suit, removing the disguise he had worn. He kept her close, allowing her little freedom. This was the game she had agreed to, and now she would suffer the consequences. Once they had their belongings, Sinclair walked her out to his car and solicitously opened the door for her.

"You know, it might just be easier to let me drive my car to your hotel, you can follow me. Then I will have a way to get home Sunday night," she said. "I've never gone back on my word."

"No," he said without explanation, and helped her into the car, closing the door firmly. He walked around and slid into the driver's seat. "Call your brother, but put it on speaker."

"Hey, Bro," Carrie said when Jordan answered the phone.

"Hey, Sis, what's up? I thought you had a big date tonight?" Jordan said in an offhand manner, despite the alarm he had at the code she used to let him know someone was listening.

"I did, I mean, I do," she seemed to trip over her words. "It's complicated. Let's just say I lost a bet and I'm spending the weekend with Sinclair Mansvelt. I need you to pick up my car from Diego's."

"Lost a bet, or lost a fight?" Jordan asked disapprovingly.

"Both," she admitted, lowering her head in humiliation, even though Jordan couldn't see her. "Can you pick up my car, please?"

"Yeah, I guess, but I'm on a date of my own right now," he grumbled. "Are you alright? After the fight, I mean."

"Yeah, I'm all good. I'll see you Sunday night. Thanks, Jordy," she said and hung up. Carrie looked over at Sinclair, who nodded but said nothing.

Feeling strange walking into the hotel in her leather body suit, she was grateful she still wore her mask as Sinclair led her to the elevators and they went directly to his penthouse suite. He hadn't touched her since their bout, except to guide her where he wanted her to go by a gentle hand on the back of her neck.

"Everything in here," he passed her a soft black leather bag, and she placed her clothes and purse that she had retrieved from her locker into it, neatly folding the teal dress. "Strip," he said as he picked up the bag, zipping it up and placing it on the sideboard. He smiled, allowing himself to enjoy the sight of her peeling away the thin leather, revealing the golden tones of her honey coloured skin.

Carrie dropped the mask and bodysuit to the floor beside the boots she had worn before and after the bout. Then she reached up with both hands and removed the clip and several pins from her hair, letting the long tresses bounce down over her shoulders and back, dropping those into one of her boots.

Sinclair stepped forward, running the fingers of both hands through her hair to ensure no pins had been left behind, then he bunched it tightly in his fists and drew her closer, tilting her head up. She whimpered at the pull of her hair, parting her lips, and he lowered his head to kiss her.

Carrie froze momentarily. His kiss was not the lip bruising aggressive kiss she had been expecting. He was soft, almost tender, and she could feel his desire as a well-controlled entity just beyond the lips and tongue that explored hers gently. He held her head tightly in place as the kiss lengthened, and she felt oddly aroused by this fully dressed man holding her naked and spellbound by a kiss. She felt her body relax, not realising how tense she had been. It was as if she had been the feral cat the mask portrayed, coiled with tension and ready to pounce.

Sinclair felt her relax under his kiss and held it for a few moments longer, slowly releasing his hold on her hair. She became infinitely softer and more feminine at that moment. He broke the kiss and smiled softly, looking into her eyes and saw the corners of her mouth lift.

"Welcome back, little mouse," he said softly, his smile becoming larger as her eyes widened. He'd never force himself on anyone, he had no need to, but there was something so powerful about subduing a woman like Carrie, and he imagined that this was going to be a tempestuous couple of days as she fought her submission to him.

*****

Carrie prowled the hotel suite. Being so high up, there were few who would be able to see her if she went close to the windows, but good sense told her not to do it. Sinclair had locked away the bag that held the clothes she had worn on their date, and he had sent her leather costume to be cleaned, essentially leaving her naked for the entirety of their time together. His bedroom and, therefore, access to his wardrobe had been made strictly off-limits to her, and he was careful during their love-making not to leave any clothing where she could take it.

He reminded her constantly of the terms of their agreement as her frustrations with him grew. He was a master at keeping her on edge and denying her any satisfaction until she begged for release from his torments. Even now, as she prowled around the apartment, she was hot and horny. She felt so out of control, and he had done this to her. She felt, rather than saw him approach her where she looked out of the windows from a distance at the magnificent view.

"Here," he held out a white business shirt. "Put this on, but don't do up the buttons," he instructed. "You can see the view better from the balcony."

"Thank you," she whispered and took the shirt, hating the smirk and dancing eyes of the man who tormented her so expertly. It was Saturday evening, and the final burst of colour was hitting the horizon as the sun set over the city. Lights twinkled for kilometres in any direction, making her acknowledge just how big the city was. She felt a small pang of homesickness for the small city on the bay she had called home for most of her life.

Carrie turned from the railing, expecting to find him behind her, but he stood in the living room directing room service staff out to the balcony where she stood. Grateful for the shirt which hadn't been afforded her to the last two times room service had been called, she pulled it tightly around her nakedness, bending forward slightly, so its edge rested lower on her thighs. She lowered her head in embarrassment, even though the waiters barely acknowledged her presence on the balcony.

The comfort she had found in pulling the shirt tightly around her body suddenly horrified her as she saw her dark nipples clearly around and outlined by the thin white material. She was confident in her body and her sexuality. She paraded around often in skimpy figure-hugging clothes that left little to the imagination, but she was always in control of who saw her and how much she revealed. Being forced to expose herself in all her naked glory to these men was just too much.

She lifted her eyes to where he stood and saw that dreadful smirk which drove her crazy with the need to wipe it off his face. Well, two could play this game. Taking a large steadying breath, she straightened and forced her hands away from her ribs to her sides, letting the shirt gape open and causing one of the waiters to drop the cutlery he was laying on the table.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I do that?" she asked in her rendition of a brainless bimbo. "Here, let me help you," she moved towards him.

"No, I've got it," the young man said almost in a panic and held his hands up as if surrendering.

"Kitten! Come!" Sinclair's words were short and clipped, and she tilted her head, letting a small smile dance on her lips. So, there was a way to get under his skin, she thought and went to his side.

"You will not flirt with the staff here," he murmured in a low hostile voice in her ear.

"Well then, you should have given me some proper clothes to wear instead of leaving me naked and vulnerable in front of them," she argued. "You left me nowhere to go and hide like the meek little mouse you would prefer I be." She turned to stare at him belligerently.

"Thank you, gentlemen, we'll dine in an hour," he said in a loud voice as he took her arm in a vice-like grip.

He didn't like her confident sex kitten persona, and yet he constantly seemed to be challenging her, which only brought it out even more. Like a cat played with a mouse, he was a hunter playing with his prey, and once again she had risen to the bait, and she cursed to herself as she realised her mistake. The staff left, quietly closing the door behind them.

Spinning her quickly, Sinclair pushed her to the wall, his hand wrapping around her throat firmly without being tight. She gazed into eyes, feeling their heat and letting her own soften in an attempt to convince him she was once again the mouse. She felt him move closer, pinning her with his body. His mouth descended upon hers, kissing her deeply, passionately, taking her breath away.

"You don't fool me, kitten," he crooned, belying his mood. He kissed her again, his hands removing the shirt before travelling to her breasts, his fingers finding and pinching the sensitive nubs, hearing her gasp into his kiss. He twisted them then, and her answering whimper made him smile. His hands travelled down her sides and around to her ass, pulling her against him and grinding his hips into hers.

Growling into her mouth, he picked her up and moved swiftly across the room. He draped her over the back of a lounge chair so her ass was high and her head rested on the cushion. She squeaked and wriggled to gain some balance, her hands resting beside her head as his hands travelled up her thighs to her ass as she hung before him. His hand crashed down onto her, making her gasp loudly but otherwise remain silent.

Holding her hip to steady her with one hand, the other travelled down the crack of her ass, pressing lightly on the dark star there before moving down to her pussy, "So wet already, Kitten? I like that you are always so responsive to my demands." He heard her draw a deep breath as if she would argue the point, and he lifted his hand and spanked her again to silence her. His fingers travelled back down to her pussy, teasing lightly at her swelling clit, her hips rolled seeking more contact with his hand, but he withdrew it once more and spanked her again.

"I'm in control here, kitten, and as soon as you truly accept that, the happier we will both be," he growled at her, lowering his shorts with one hand. "You purposefully embarrassed that young man, and for what? So you could try to punish me for putting you in that situation?" he asked and spanked her again, satisfied that she whimpered this time. "I gave you that shirt for their benefit, not yours, now, instead of a sexy image he could have had wet dreams over, he's stuck with the fact that he embarrassed himself by being an awkward idiot in front of you and me!" His hand landed three more times, and the cheeks of her ass shone red.

Moving against her, his cock nestled in the groove of her ass as his hands ran the length of her body. Dragging his hands back over her ribs he could feel her squirm against him in need. His need for her at that moment was also strong, and for the first time in the last twenty hours, he dismissed his reasons for self-restraint and, stepping back slightly, he smacked her ass again, eliciting another mewling whimper. He parted her cheeks, fingers delving for her tightest hole, stretching and resisting as he placed his finger into her, making it clear that he had been gentle up until this point.

The heated attraction she felt to this man only heightened, as he teased and smacked her with the increasing force of his need. 'Oh god,' she thought, 'This man knows how to make my body sing.' Her hips rolled, begging for more as her breathing turned to ragged gasps and she panted like the feral bitch Diego had called her. Her ass was on fire, and the heat of it travelled through her body, his finger entered her ass and gave her the knowledge that nothing was off-limits to him. She quivered in dread and anticipation.

Sinclair's restrained interactions with Carrie since their arrival last night had built up a need in him he could no longer deny. He saw her quiver and fucked her with the finger in her ass. She squeaked delightfully, his little mouse submitting to his needs, her body trembling in heat and need of her own with each thrust of his finger. His free hand lashed out to spank her again, and her hips rolled over the edge of the couch seeking contact on her pussy.

She was such a hot bitch, and, each time she took more from him than he thought she would or could, she surprised him with her obvious pleasure. The thought stopped his unrestrained punishment of her. He took a large step back, removing the touch of any part of his body from her and shook his head trying to clear the lust fog he felt. He heard her whine loudly, her hips rolling, making her bright red ass dance before his eyes.