Hard Lessons

by Jasmin Quinn

  “I’m sorry I hurt you, Mira.” Jack said softly. “But I don’t think that’s what’s holding you back. I think you’re afraid to let completely go, to put yourself under my control and stop resisting. To completely submit to me.”

  Mira pushed her chair back and stood. “I…”

  But Jack was up too, in front of her, kissing her. She wasn’t going to go, he wasn’t going to let her. “Be with me tonight, Mira. I want you, I need you.”

  She let him kiss her, didn’t resist as he took her lips gently at first, then more passionately, didn’t stop him when he guided her to his bedroom, to his bed. He peeled off her dress, then her panties. Then sitting her on the bed, he removed her shoes and her lacy stay ups. She sat before him naked except for the diamonds at her throat. He was rigid. It had been months since he’d been with her, with anyone. He stripped himself of his clothes and then pulled her down on the bed into his arms. He had to go slow, he had to remember how vulnerable she was.

  He kissed her slowly, his hands caressing her delicate skin, brought his lips to her breasts and as she whimpered, a thrill snaked through him. She was responding to him, to his touches, his mouth. He drew his fingers over her belly, to her pussy. “You’re wet,” he whispered into her ear as he stroked her. She moaned under his caresses. Was it like this for her too? The wanting, the desire? He knew she hadn’t been with anyone. He’d had her watched every minute of every day that they were separated. Was she as desperate as he was?

  “I can’t wait to be in you,” he said as he rolled on top of her. She opened her thighs to him as he guided himself in, then brought her hips up, clasping her knees up to his waist.

  “Jack,” she cried as her fingernails raked his back. Her sheath was tight, hot, wet as he settled himself inside her. She was bucking already, moaning her pleasure. He wanted to go slow, give her a few more minutes, some time, but she wouldn’t let him, didn’t need it. She met his every thrust, maddened by her need of him. He couldn’t hold back, couldn’t go slow. He moved wildly, driving savagely into her, and she screamed as she peaked. She bit his shoulder, then keened his name, her eyes closed, her head flung back. It was his undoing and the pressure surged up from his core until he exploded into her, burying his seed deep inside her.

  They stayed that way for several minutes, joined, their breaths twining, settling. Then he slipped to the side, bereft at the separation, holding her in his arms, her head on his chest, her hand resting over his heart. He loved her in this moment and every single one from the day he saw her. He told her that, felt her tense, then soften again. But she didn’t respond, just clung to him.

  They made love one more time, soft, gentle, lingering. Jack fell into the curves of it, the caresses, letting it inside him, touch his core. He was not a gentle man, wanted it rougher, more intense. Wanted the reticence, the resistance before the submission. He wanted his woman to be a woman, wanton, moaning, begging, struggling and relenting. Following his directions, sometimes pushing back, sometimes getting punished. He knew Mira wanted it too, but tonight, he would be patient. Tonight, it was about lovemaking, sharing their bodies, him promising his love.

  Thirty-Four

  Mira woke with a start, disoriented until she remembered what had happened, Jack’s seduction of her. So easy, telling her he loved her, stroking her alive, her body responding, barely needing his caresses to make her come. Now she was in his arms, in his bed and she was panicking. The breath caught in her throat and she couldn’t draw air into her lungs. She couldn’t be here. Her heart was too fragile, her courage whisper thin. She slid from his arms, slid from his bed and padded softly to her room.

  She couldn’t hold in the tears. She was hurt and angry. She’d betrayed herself, fell for his pretty words and soft caresses. It would be like this, always like this. She couldn’t resist him but try as she might she couldn’t dig deep enough to let herself go, to give herself to him in total submission. She slipped between the sheets and hugged her pillow to her as she lay down. It hurt. She hurt. Her heart hurt. She wasn’t ready for what he offered.

  Thirty-Five

  Sometime during the night, she slipped from his bed. Jack heard her leave, waited for her to come back, but she didn’t. He thought about going to her, bringing her back. Thought about pressing the issue, a little punishment for her willfulness, but in the end, he decided against it. They’d turned a corner last night. He’d give her space for these few hours. He tried, but he couldn’t find sleep again.

  She was not at the breakfast table and he waited for her until she was 10 minutes late, then checked her bedroom. She wasn’t there either. Jack felt a sliver of anger overshadowed by panic. Where the fuck was she? He checked the rest of the suite, outside by the pool, and then her office. She was there, the sun at her back, framing her like a halo. She looked tired, sad. She’d been crying again. His heart bent a little, but it wasn’t swayed.

  She glanced up when he walked in, stood up when he closed and locked the door behind him.

  “Come here, Mira,” Jack said, the warning in his voice intentional.

  He saw her hesitation, saw her tighten her resolve. He tried to check his growing anger. He needed to give her this moment, let her have it, so she could let it go. He went to her instead, gripped her arms, yanked her to him and crushed his mouth to hers, kissing her hard, forcing his tongue into her mouth. She softened, open herself up to him, but just for a second, before she stiffened, yanked herself out of his grip, stumbling backwards.

  “No!” she cried. “No more, Jack! Stop this, I want to stop this.”

  “Why Mira?” Jack asked. He knew he was being a prick, sure as fuck wasn’t in touch with his heart even if his love for Mira was honest. He didn’t know how to help her through her internal struggle other than to bully her into acceptance.

  “I don’t want you, Jack.” Her words were pleading, her eyes tearful. She was begging him to leave her alone. Anything else maybe, but he couldn’t give her this.

  “Mira, you’re lying again. To me, to yourself. Let go, accept this, accept us. We’re right together.”

  Her face reddened and her eyes flashed daggers. “How can you say that to me? You hurt me, Jack. What you did to me cut so deep that it’s beyond repair. Then last night, you played me like a fiddle.”

  Jack grinned at her choice of words and she slapped him for it, across the face. The third time she’d hit him in the space of a few months. He’d let her get away with it before, but no more. He reached for her and she evaded him, ducking and slipping around him so that her back was to the door. He thought she might try to leave, to run from him and he’d have to let her. He wasn’t going to make a fool of himself by chasing his woman through the house. But she didn’t. Instead she clenched her fists and took another swing at him, yelling at him, screaming at him. He was ready this time, ducked the punch and grabbed her arms again, but she was thrashing, swinging at him savagely, out of control.

  He flipped her around, hugged her to him while she screamed obscenities and kicked and flailed. Calling him a bastard, hating him, hitting him with her elbows, her feet as she struggled. Twisting in his arms, trying to punch his head, trying to pry herself from his hold, but he held on, taking her blows, her anger, her filthy words, letting her struggle until she was spent and couldn’t fight him anymore. He sank to his knees, bringing her with him when the flailing stopped, when the curses gave way to tears. He was bewildered, off-balance, gutted as she cried in his arms, the anguished sobs shuddering through her body, scoring his soul. But even they became too much for her and turned to gentle weeping. He held her to him through it all. Maybe he should have seen this coming, maybe this was the turning point. He said to her as he wiped her face, used his sleeve to wipe her nose, “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

  “I know,” she said in a wispy tear-soaked voice.

  “It’s the last time I’ll apologize for it.” He kept his voice gentle, but there was hardness at the edges.

  “Okay.” Her voice was
still meek, but the single word effective as he felt a tension release inside of him.

  He shifted, leaning his back against her desk and straightening his legs out, then drawing her skirt up over her hips. A small sob escaped her, and he felt her hands feebly pushing at his, trying to push him away and then hesitation, stopping. She understood. This morning he let her have her moment, now it was time to move on and this was how Jack moved on. He opened his pants and pulled his cock out. It was erect, throbbing almost painfully. It had been from the moment he walked into her office because he knew how their discussion was going to end. Or at least his cock did.

  He pulled her tightly to him, pushing his chest against her back, spread her thighs wide and forced her to straddle him. He wanted to rip her panties from her, would have if she’d been working alone today. Would have made her spend the day without them, would have come in over the course of the day and fucked her without mercy. Took what he wanted of her. No giving back. Like now, as he entered her, held her arms in a steel grip as he thrust beneath her, forcing her to move on top of him, fucking her, making her fuck him. It wouldn’t take long, he was too wound up, gave her too much time to get past her hurt. “Fuck me, Mira,” he said, his voice low but gritty. “Don’t stop until I come.” He didn’t touch her breasts, didn’t squeeze her nipples, didn’t caress her pussy and held her so she couldn’t either. This was his fuck, this was about him, for him. She needed to understand that, she needed to submit. There was no going back after this. Not for him and not for her.

  Mira moved on him, using his arms to pull herself up, then letting herself fall back onto his cock. She was still weeping even as she fucked him, her pussy contracting with each little sob that escaped her throat. He gripped her arms tighter as his need increased, forced her to move faster, impale herself on him, again and again, each stroke, each thrust, each sob from Mira, taking him closer to release.

  He came with a shout, a bolt of pleasure and pain, the tension in his body exploding with his semen, his spurts bathing her walls. He hugged her tighter, staying inside for a few minutes, letting his breathing even out. He wanted to carry her off to his bedroom, make love to her again, have her respond to his touch, hear her moan under him, watch her face as she came. But this was a lesson and she needed to understand that she was there to please him. Her pleasure would wait until he let her have it.

  He slid from her, slipped her panties in place then moved her off his lap, tucking himself into his pants. He left her on the floor as he stood up. She gazed up, her expression neutral, her eyes still wet as he towered over her.

  “I guess we both missed breakfast this morning,” but he didn’t smile, didn’t pretend that he was happy about any of this. “Today, Mira, you will not change your underwear, you will not clean yourself up. You’ll let my semen leak out of your pussy. You’ll be reminded who you belong to. And you will not touch yourself. You don’t get to come today unless I make you come and I don’t know if I’ll be home before your bedtime.”

  He didn’t wait for her to nod, didn’t wait to see the acceptance in her face. He left her on the floor, left her office, left the house. There were other things that needed taken care of. Rob had managed to track down one of the men who’d attacked their warehouse. He was in the basement of the club. Jack couldn’t wait to talk to the prick, ask him about his role in the siege on the Creed brothers, about his employer. It was going to be a good day, he decided.

  He was not wrong.

  Thirty-Six

  It was so good to have Rob back. He was harder than Jack, less forgiving. Had a lot of unreleased anger over Amber, over his six months in prison. He took it out on their reluctant guest. Jack asked the questions but stayed back so he didn’t get blood on himself. Each wrong answer was rewarded with a punch to the head, or the gut. Eventually, their new friend started talking. Mostly useless shit but telling because it wasn’t one of the rival gangs in Vegas. It was an unknown. This guy didn’t know who either, but he gave up a name who might. Hugo Marsden

  Hugo, a big dangerous fuck. Didn’t spend a lot of time in Vegas, but showed up here occasionally, usually on the trail of someone or something. Worked for no one and anyone who offered enough money. Had no allegiances. But he was that fucking good at finding people, bringing them back, sometimes wrapped up like a birthday present in the trunk of his car, sometimes in a body bag.

  Jack and Rob let the guy go. He’d be grateful enough, might be useful in the future. Certainly wasn’t going to complain to anyone about the misunderstanding he had with the Creed brothers.

  “We have to get to Marsden,” Jack said.

  “We could tell him we have a job, ask him to drop by,” Rob suggested but Jack shook his head.

  “He’ll know it’s bullshit.”

  “Then what?”

  Jack thought about it for a minute, then pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialled the Mirage. He waited for it to pick up. “Hugo Marsden’s room please.” And was put through. It was that easy. Marsden’s predictability was as notorious as his tracking skills. Jack sometimes had trouble understanding how the fucker was still breathing.

  He exchanged glances with Rob and then Marsden came on the line. “Yeah.”

  “Hugo, it’s Jack Creed.”

  “Hah! Funny you should be calling. I was just thinking about you.”

  “What were you thinking?”

  “That I could use a quarter of a million dollars, Jack. I’m a little down on my luck.”

  Fucking asshole, but nothing less than Jack expected. “And what do I get for a quarter mil?”

  “One name. You want more than the name, it’ll cost you more.”

  ‘What’s the name, Hugo?”

  “We got a deal?”

  “The name, Hugo.”

  “Michael Black.”

  Jack clutched the phone as he inhaled through his nose. Michael fucking Black! “Yeah, Marsden. You got a deal.”

  After he hung up, Rob said, “Never heard of the guy, but obviously you have.”

  Jack nodded. “He’s Isabelle’s fuck-of-the-month.”

  “So she’s still pissed.”

  Jack shook his head. “No. We worked it out, but the boyfriend seems to be holding a grudge.”

  “What we gonna do about him?”

  Jack scratched his forehead as he thought. “The problem with Michael Black is that he’s a ghost. No one knows a fucking thing about him.”

  “Maybe Marsden could be persuaded to give up more than a name.”

  Jack thought about that. If Hugo knew enough to give him a name, he knew more. But Hugo was not the kind of guy you threatened for information.

  Thirty-Seven

  The ghost in question was losing his patience. Michael had a plan and it was contingent on Mira Richardson taking a road trip. Coming into the city, doing any fucking thing but staying in the heavily guarded estate outside the city. He wondered if she was being held in the house, a prisoner, but his inside source assured him she was not. She was free to come and go, she just chose not to.

  Michael had no choice but to wait until he got the call that she was outside the estate. He thought about storming it, but worried that Mira would get killed in the process. And he wanted her alive, at least for the time being. After he was through with Jack, then she was disposable.

  Thirty-Eight

  Mira didn’t move from the floor until well after Jack left. She’d lost, she failed herself. She was Jack’s again. She knew it and he knew it. Until he hurt her again, rejected her, threw her out, married someone else. But she tucked the thoughts down where she couldn’t easily access them. It was fucked up, but she wanted Jack, she wanted everything about him. Who he was, how he was, what he wanted from her, what he expected of her. He made her feel wanted, safe, whole. He was the missing piece, had always been. He claimed her, owned her and promised to keep her. And if she was going to preserve her sanity, she had to believe it to be true, had to believe him.

  Her rumination w
as interrupted by the arrival of Shonan, who looked shocked when he saw her on the floor, her hair a mess, her clothing skewed, her face scored by her tears. She held her hand up to stop him from rushing to her.

  “I fell,” she lied, then laughed. Isn’t that what abused women did? But she wasn’t abused, she was a submissive. A difference of seven leagues. “And once I was down here, I liked it and thought I would just sit for a minute.”

  Shonan furrowed his brow and pursed his lips but said nothing as he walked to his desk and dropped his briefcase onto it. It didn’t matter what he thought anyway. He would have jumped to his conclusions, known there was nothing he could do for her and they’d move on. Which they did. The strangeness disappeared by mid-day and they were back to their usual work pattern. His day ended at 6pm, hers at 8pm when Sophia came in to tell her dinner would be in 15 minutes.

  Mira was excited to see Jack, and then disappointed when he didn’t show. Then annoyed as 11 o’clock rolled around and he still hadn’t returned. She couldn’t take off the underwear, couldn’t shower. It wasn’t sexy or fun to be like this all day. She didn’t want to be like this all night too and what if she missed him in the morning? Or he didn’t come home? How long did he expect her to wait for him?

  She almost showered, almost, but decided she would give him until tomorrow. He came to her in the early morning hours, woke her with his caresses as he crawled in bed with her, forced her T-shirt over her head and off her arms, pulled her panties off and slid his finger into her.

  “Good girl,” he said as he thrust up, raking her walls, finding her pleasure point and curling his fingers, rubbing relentlessly. Then he pulled out, and flipped her onto her belly, laying on top of her, his erection shoved against her ass. He pulled her to him, one hand on her throat, the other folding across her belly, bringing her to her knees. His entry of her was hard and punishing. Bruisingly holding her, savagely fucking her, her cries fueling his lust. She could smell him, the sweat of the day, the scotch on his breath, the hint of aftershave long gone. His whiskers were rough on her back as he leaned over her, leaned his weight on her, forcing her to carry him. He moved his hand from her throat to a breast, squeezing it too hard, pinching her nipple, not touching her clit, not giving her pleasure.