by Jenna Howard
“I imagine I’m the only,” she admitted. Her fingers covered his, shifting him so his fingertip grazed her clit. Her hips rocked up and a sexy, soft sound came from her. She drew circles around that tender bud, using him to get herself off, lost in the fantasy. “There’s that one shot of you when you’re standing with your hand braced on the cross. The camera pans over your face and you mouth the word come to her.”
“Do you come when I tell you too?”
“Every time, Sir. Every time.”
Doyle exhaled slowly and lowered his head so his lips brushed her ear. “Come,” he whispered. She cried out, her body straining up as she came. “Every time you call me Sir, my cock throbs to be inside you, aches to lay claim to you. It makes me want to take you over and take you under.” He slid two fingers into her and felt her clutch his wrist. “It slips off your tongue and I want to taste it, own it. You say it as easily as you say my name. Easier. You’ll drop it into a text and I want you there because I get fucking hard as hell. Each time, every time, I want to fuck you until it whispers from your soul. I want you on your knees as I fuck that word along your tongue. Come.” Her orgasm was beautiful.
He opened the side table drawer and withdrew a condom, slipping it on. He moved between her legs and rubbed his thumb over her mouth. Her lips parted and the tip of her tongue touched his skin, the ring she gave him, and he sank into her, her cry sinking into him. “Jesus, look at you.” He thrust into her, her pussy snug from her orgasms, her body meeting his as she wrapped her legs around him, her fingers digging into his back. He wanted to give her every fantasy in her head. He wanted to not fuck up and satisfy that need that glowed in her eyes.
He wanted to make sure she never doubted herself in this because she was so beautiful when she submitted, so deep in subspace he could taste it on her skin. “Christ, Kate.” He kissed her, his tongue sliding over hers and there was that honeyed taste. He wished he had kissed her before he had topped her so he knew if this is was what her submission tasted like or if it was pure Kate. The leather creaked beneath their bodies while the gas flames flickered.
Not even Claire had felt this good. Right. Fuck. How the hell…
He wanted to come in her. Strip off the condom and come in her so she was marked. Every hidden inch of her coated in his cum. So she felt him on her thighs and knew that he had been there, that his cum made her his.
God, he wanted to come in her. Now. “Come,” he demanded against her lips and sweet little subbie that she was, she did. He drank down her cry while fucking hard into her as she came until he had to obey too. Come.
They stilled, breaths mingling. This girl who wore the face of the man he hated. She was in his skin, in his blood. Oz had been right. The minute he had caught a whiff that Kate was a submissive, he had watched. Wanted. Craved. Waited. Like that first time during the video shoot when he had held that crop. Like all the pieces of him finally made sense.
Fuck but he had missed being someone’s dom.
****
Kate traced the names that were entwined in a heart on Doyle’s chest: Claire, Willow, Danielle. It was a tattoo so at odds with the others. He watched her through lowered lids, his fingers tracing up and down her spine. The t-shirt had disappeared at some point. His other arm was bent behind his head.
Her gaze shifted to an upside-down creepy sun. She traced the jagged rays and moved to the zombie trying to crawl through his skin as if that sun was summoning it. No flowers, no tribal, no normal looking animals. She knew somewhere on his left arm there was a drum stick that was staked through a skull, there was an executioner with a bloody axe, because in the tattoo magazines they always focused on a couple. If they were doing a body shot, his hand would rest on his chest, like he was protecting those three names. The realization made her chest feel tight.
They were so lucky.
Sometimes she wondered if Jace even knew her name.
“How old were you, Katey?”
She continued to explore the dark images forever on his arm. She tried to answer but had to clear her throat to continue. “Twelve.” Her voice sounded scratchy. Broken.
He went still beneath her. “No.” It was stark and blunt and sliced into her chest like heated metal.
“Twelve,” she repeated on a whisper. Twelve. She went to move, but Doyle flattened his hand on her, keeping her still. “I can’t like this. Please.” She slid down to the other end of the couch and he sat up, easing his leg from behind her. He rested his elbow on his bent leg, his inked fingers forming a loose fist at his mouth. Needing contact more than she thought she would, she leaned against his leg, the dark hair soft against her skin, while she rested her head against one of his dark and twisty tattoos.
With his other hand, he cupped her cheek, his thumb catching every tear that began to escape. For the first time in a long time, she felt safe. His hand made her think of those pictures where he was protecting the heart on his chest. Made her think he was protecting her too. Aways wanting.
****
Kate - 2002
She had never had a Christmas tree before. Sitting on the couch, watching the large fir tree being decorated, Kate decided it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. This morning she had woken to find the house overrun by a woman with a clipboard and clear plastic bins filled with all kinds of decorations. There was something very efficient about her as she directed an army of people on where to put things. Shaelynn sashayed about telling people what she wanted, but the clipboard woman ignored her.
There was going to be a photo shoot because apparently there had been some bad publicity with the band trashing a club and walking off in the middle of a set. The band’s manager, Charles Haversley, had decided they needed good publicity and what was better than a girl’s first Christmas? Ever. So now the house was under holiday siege for the photo shoot and interview, even though Christmas wasn’t for a while.
Kate didn’t care.
This was unlike anything she had ever seen. Shaelynn had said they needed a black Christmas tree with white and silver decorations so it fit with the decor of the house. Everyone, even Jace, had looked at her like she was crazy. Black fake Christmas trees didn’t say “we’re celebrating Kate’s first Christmas. Ever!”
A catering service was going to provide them with a turkey dinner because apparently that’s what families did at Christmas. The entire band and their families were coming later because this was all about salvaging their reputation.
Kate didn’t care.
She knew none of this was real, but that didn’t stop the warm glow from growing in her chest. The tree was becoming something beautiful, magical. Lights blinked and glowed. Some were flickering white ones and others were clearly for Halloween because they were little white skulls, because they were, to quote Jace, bad ass. The tree was rock and roll. Jace had said the only way he was going to do this was if they didn’t make some cotton candy, pussy decorations.
She wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but this was not a tree she’d see in the mall.
The hair stylist arrived and not just for Shaelynn. According to her, Kate also had to be treated so she didn’t look like a homeless waif who was living off their kindness.
So she found herself getting her hair washed and blowed dried.
“That one is a right a bitch,” the guy with the hair dryer and a round brush said as he made Kate’s hair look soft and shiny.
“You’d think she was screwing someone important instead of a fading rock star. What do you think of this one?”
“Too frou-frou.”
Kate watched as dresses were held up and discarded. All of them were so pretty so to see them flung onto her bed as if they weren’t important, made something tighten in her chest. She twisted a knot in her ribbon, worrying it back and forth as she watched as another dress was lifted then flung aside when it was nixed. She had no idea where the clothes had come from.
“This is not a frou-frou face.” The hairdresser cupped her chin an
d tilted her head up, studying her. She wished she remembered his name. He was nice and that he didn’t like Shaelynn made him even better. He smelled of cologne and had vibrant blue streaks in his black hair, plus he wore make-up. Who did that?
“No, it’s not.” The clothes flinger tapped a finger against his mouth. “It’s a sweet face. Far too sweet for this house. Hm. Angelic. Let me see…”
“Old eyes,” her stylist said as he returned to making her hair glossy and straight. “Let’s not emphasize that. This is about joy, not the heartache in those eyes. That won’t help Jace Jennings out if the world saw the sadness in his daughter’s eyes.”
She blinked at the word daughter. She looked down her ribbon, mentally mapping the way the ribbon made the knots. Being called Jace’s daughter by someone made her body tingle while her heart felt like it was trying to explode from her chest.
“Oh, that’s it. That’s the one.”
She looked at the dress in the mirror, turning in the chair to stare. It was a soft silver color and was the prettiest thing she had ever seen. She wanted to stroke her hand over the fabric. Thin strips of fabric reminded her of ribbons. Along the top and the straps were shiny silver sequins.
“The color isn’t what they wanted, but if we put her in a bold color with a heavy fabric she’ll be overwhelmed. Go tell Jace’s stylist we changed the color. Must have them coordinated.”
“The bitch with the bump?”
“She’s a big girl.”
Reaching out, Kate brushed her fingers over the fragile strips. “Wow,” she whispered. They dressed her, and sent her off. Shaelynn was in a body-hugging red dress that showed the world she was going to have Jace’s baby. Her hair looked like gold had been poured over her. Jace looked bored as he stood there in black pants and a pale grey shirt.
“Okay, try to look like you give a damn,” Charles said as he came over to study her. “Not the look I was wanting, but there is something to you. Okay, happy faces, Jace, and let’s save your ass.”
She watched as Jace popped a pill and chased it with scotch. He handed his glass to his assistant and flashed a smile at her.
Just like the house, she was going to pretend. She was going to pretend this was real because she wanted it to be like this. Not just Christmas, but every day. If she believed in Santa, she’d ask for this moment to last forever and to be real. So, she pretended it was because she was had little hope in Christmas really being like this. She wanted this magic. She wanted Jace to smile at her, to see her.
Always wanting.
Chapter 9
For the first time in a long time, Kate dreamed of him. He slipped through the cobwebs of her dreams. He slithered like a snake and hunted like a shark. The predator to her prey and her brain told her that this wasn’t real but he was there. “Hello, pretty little No One.”
With a gasp, she sat up and was momentarily confused. Not her room. Once that registered, she kicked off the sheets and tumbled out of Doyle’s bed, sprinting for the bathroom. The tile was icy beneath her feet and hurt when her knees crashed down. At least she wasn’t throwing up on his deck. Stupid thought as she heaved over the toilet. Light exploded, making her head hurt because this much light was too much. A much larger hand than hers gathered up her hair but she didn’t want him touching her. Not now. Not with him there. “Don’t.” She pushed against Doyle’s stomach, moaned, then let the acid out, let him out.
Doyle crouched down beside her and she just wanted him away. “Go. Away.” She shoved him as she screamed and he caught her hands.
“Okay.” He squeezed her fingers and left her as she felt her throat squeeze and twist. Her stomach rebelled.
The tears came as the bathroom was plunged into darkness. From the other side of the narrow tiled wall, she heard the roar of water as he filled the tub. More tears came because he hadn’t left her. Her hand was shaking when she flushed the toilet and she leaned against the wall, too beaten down to get up. That was when Doyle appeared.
“Rinse, girl.” He held a glass out to her and she took a mouthful of minty water, swished, and spat it into the toilet. Another rinse and he tucked a toothbrush in her hand with a brisk, “Brush, girl.”
She brushed, rinsed the last of the acidic taste away and watched, too limp to move, as he took the glass and toothbrush from her. He was back, scooping her up like she weighed nothing. The tub was filling with water and bubbles and tears escaped because no one had ever prepped a bubble bath for her. He stepped in and sank down, lowering her into warm water. Doyle stretched out at the other end, watching her. Always watching.
You know your tub is big when Doyle Kole could sit in it with room to spare.
When the water reached her breasts and the bubbles were a fluffy, cool cloud at her shoulders, he turned off the faucet. Staring at him was too much. She turned, rising onto her knees so she could look out the window, see his reflection in the glass. With her breasts flattened against the wall of the tub, Kate pillowed her head on her folded arms and gazed out at the night.
A bare foot slid up and down her back, contact so she would know she wasn’t alone. That was, however, the extent of their communication.
She didn’t know how long she ignored him, though it was hard to ignore Doyle. The bubbles popped and he added more hot water, but he didn’t say anything. He was just there.
It was enough.
“I used to watch you do that with Claire. She’d be kneeling on the floor, and you’d rub your foot over her back. It took a while to figure out why she was always kneeling. She was your sub.”
“Yes. The floor was her choice though. Try explaining why your eight month pregnant wife prefers kneeling. It was a little easier when Willy was born because there was a visible reason of why Claire was down there. She still kneels; just for someone else now.”
Kate cupped some water in her hand, spilling along the smooth surface of the tub, watching it trickle into the bath water. She peeked at the window and saw Doyle sat with one arm bent, his head resting on his fist as he watched her. Watched over her.
“I used to wonder if you married her because she was pregnant but that would’ve been a pretty epic pregnancy. I mean, that’s why everyone else got married.”
“I married Claire because I loved her. Antiquated idea, I know.”
“What happened?” She shifted sideways so she could see him. He ran his foot up her side to her arm and back to her hip. “Can I ask that?”
Dark eyes watched her. “You can ask me anything you want, Katey. I got clean. When we learned she was pregnant with Willy, she told me to shape up or ship out. It was a moment of clarity. I loved her. I didn’t want to lose my wife. I didn’t want to lose my sub. I didn’t want to lose my daughter. I didn’t want to lose myself. It was happening. I could see it, reflected in Andy. My drugs were getting harder and he gave me some bad shit. I wound up in the hospital. There was my pregnant wife, crying because she was so scared I was going to die on her, but if I did that would be okay because she was tough enough to raise the baby on her own. Nothing like learning you’re superfluous.”
He let out some of the cold water and refilled the tub with hot, watching the flow. “So I checked myself into rehab. There are few people I want to emulate. Anderson Reeves and Jace Jennings are on that short list. Detoxing is hell. Don’t go through that. Your body turns inside out and you can feel your soul being strangled in all the shit that’s oozing out of you. We were good for a while. I was a better version of me but I was still me.” He flicked off the water and returned to his position.
“I was still an asshole, still full of anger and hate, but only now I had nothing to hide behind. When Willy was born, there was this perfect human being I was responsible for creating. Jesus, Katey. She was beautiful. Is beautiful. Then came Dani and it was like my life was getting better and better. Sober I was way better as a dom, which works when you’re a kinky couple. Problem is when you find your wife fucking someone else you realize you were shitting yourself, that the
dream was fragmented all along. We fought. About stupid shit. I was never around. Why did she have to deal with potty training? The baby was sick but what good was I if I was in Germany? Who was I fucking? It just swelled until the walls collapsed and it was over.”
“She slept with Jace. Didn’t she?”
His gaze locked on hers and he nodded once. “On purpose. Knowing they’d get caught. Knowing I hate that cocksucker. Because someone needed to pull the trigger and Claire felt that was the only way.”
She rested her cheek on her knee and looked out the window. Jace Jennings was a horrible human being. “Am I here out of some form of revenge? He slept with your wife so you’re fucking his daughter?”
“No.”
He didn’t say anything further. The water rippled against her as he moved. An arm hooked around her waist and he drew her between his legs.
“Nobody is in this but you and I, Kate.”
She rested against him and traced one of the tattoos on his forearm. “Why are these so dark and twisty?”
“Aside from Andy, we all came from shit. When you come from the shadow places, it leaves an impact. These all represent what I saw when I looked in the mirror.”
“And now?”
He pressed his lips against her shoulder. “They still resonate.”
That made her sad. He turned his arm so she could trace the words Do not go gentle that met a sinister moon. On his other inner arm was more of the Dylan Thomas poem Rage against the dying that met a candle snuffed out. Out of all his tattoos, the poem quotes were the ones that got her the most. “What is this? You said this, but what is it?”
“I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out. Tell me about this.” His hand dipped beneath the water and his fingers circled her own tattoo.
“I wanted to be able to look in the mirror. To not fear. To remind myself sex isn’t about hate and evil.”
His sigh rubbed against her back. “Claire was right. You are strong. I want to push you, to get it all out but I’m won’t.”