by Jenna Howard
The white band had been enough of a first box check of her being a sub, but he had wanted to know more. She had twigged his curiosity and imagination. The idea of tying up the daughter of Jace Jennings really should’ve cooled his jets. The girl had been a heartbreaking mess, so to suddenly see her as an adult had been a lightbulb moment.
Now here he was playing with her ass.
Life was crazy insane.
At least his was.
He reached for the black dildo and slowly pressed it into her pussy. She shuddered, her cry barely muffled by the pillow as he played. He eased the toy free of her completely and reached for the lube once more. “Now that you know it’s not scary enormous…breathe in and relax.”
“Oh, God,” she moaned, her hands squeezing his pillow continuously. He heard her draw in, and as she exhaled, he slowly eased the toy through the tiny ring of muscle. Her back bowed, she cried out because his girl was not a quiet one when it came to sex, but eventually her muscles relaxed bit by bit until she was nice and full. “Pretty ass,” he said again as he kissed where he had spanked, easing her so she was back on her heels.
Cupping under her chin, he tilted her head back. Her cheeks were flushed, her pupils dilated so there was only a small green rim left. He kissed her as he settled back on the bed. His cock was so hard it ached. He wished he had brought the clamps in from the bathroom because the image of her kneeling there with her face bright with arousal while her breasts were getting tortured hit all his buttons. “Eyes on me.”
Her long lashes lifted and she looked at him, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue. She was halfway there. He couldn’t wait to get her to Edge and on that cross. “So, Katey Jay, you owe me a story.” Running his fingers up his dick, she watched her, breath feathering out as she flattened her hands on her thighs. “So you’re going to sit there and tell me all about the moment Katey Jay dipped into the submissive pool. Let me see your pretty eyes,” he said when she closed them. “Shall I start you up?”
Her fingers flexed and he grinned slowly, well aware she was so far beyond start up that it was amazing to see. The knowledge that she trusted him was a blow to the gut. Not a lot, but just enough that she wasn’t running from him any more. Just enough that she was letting him into her head, giving him glimpses of who she should’ve been but for life and two very shitty parents. A Kate with no ghosts in her eyes. A Kate with a feisty, bratty side. A Kate who trusted. Those small glimpses made him feel like a god damn superhero. Those small glimpses were fucking amazing.
“Once upon a time,” he started, and his fingers wandered back down with her gaze tracking the movement, “there was a good girl named Kate and she had some baaaaaad thoughts.” Her eyebrows rose and she peeked up at him from beneath her lashes, a grin appeared. “Tell the big, bad Doyle all about those baaaaad thoughts. In intimate detail.”
“So,” she flicked a quick little look his way and returned to watching his finger sliding up and down his cock, “you know that video you made?”
He blinked slowly as her words hit him like a two by four. “I made a lot of videos. All kinds.”
She gasped, sitting up straight. “Liar!”
“Nothing but the truth. So perhaps you’d better get a bit more,” he took in the sight of her, hot and bothered, kneeling between his legs, “explicit.” He held up two fingers and parted them. When she shifted her legs open, the movement made her eyelids flicker thanks to her ass being bumped. “Which video?”
He wanted her to say the song. To voice it out loud.
“Other Side.”
He remembered what she said, how she’d turn the volume off and totally get off on imagining it was her.
“The first time I saw I was sixteen…seventeen.” She blushed and looked at his knee. “I had heard about it before. A video that controversial is going to be talked about. But I didn’t really comprehend it until I was eighteen. Maybe I hadn’t really paid attention before then. Truthfully the first time I saw it, it scared me. But it stuck.”
“At me, Kate.” He loved see her eyes as she sank deeper into her submission. The trust she gave him reflected in the green, and no lie, it hit all his buttons seeing that.
She nodded and met his gaze. “I don’t know what I was looking for when I played the video. I watched. I really watched and I felt like you keep saying: like this switch was hit and I came…alive. The second time I watched it, I had to mute it. Everything just vanished. There was only…” She shrugged.
His voice was low and rough. Not so much because a teenage Kate had gone cruising through YouTube. That was…pretty high on the creep scale. “You told me you used to imagine it was you being topped by me.” He released his grip, grabbed her arms and flipped her over so she was on her back. “When was the last time you watched it on silent, hand between your legs and wishing it was you on my cross?”
“Thursday before I went to the club,” she whispered.
“Fuck,” he moaned as he gazed down at her, his hand searching for the condom he had tossed out earlier, well aware he was going to end up in her. Finally he found it, tore it open and quickly sheathed himself. “Take it in.”
“Take…why—”
She shouted when he pushed into her, snug from the dildo filling her ass. He caressed his hand over her forehead and fisted it in her hair, tilting her head back. When he moved within her, she released a half-cry, half-gasp sound he felt in his balls. “So are you insinuating I was, in a way, your first dom?”
A shudder moved through her as she rose to meet him, a shattered sound come from her as he glided over the hard penetration in her ass, nudging it. “Yes, Sir!”
“Take it in. Hold it,” he demanded as he reached down and slowly dragged the artificial dick from her. A low moan came from her when he slid deep into her and reached over to set the toy on the nightstand. He felt the change in her body, felt the way it settled, the way she took the hard thrusts.
Simmer down, Kolemann.
He paused and gazed down at her. He ran his thumb over her mouth, feeling the softness of her lips. Leaning down, he kissed her. Sliding his hand under her ass, he eased them so she was above him. A soft gasp and then she was riding him, his fingers sliding along the curve of her hip, up to a breast. Her brown hair tumbled forward as she braced her hands on his stomach. The morning sun seemed to hit her at some interesting angles. His fingers combed into her hair and he drew her down to get to her mouth. “Finish that sentence, Kate. There was only what? Tell me.”
Her eyes were closed and he gave a tug on her hair until she was looking at him. “You,” she whispered.
He gazed into her eyes that were fogged with passion but empty of ghosts. For now. They’d come back. Ghosts haunted. For now though, it was all Kate. Talk about an intoxicating feeling. “Is that why you fled the first time you saw me in the club?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to put you on your back and then I’m going to fuck the hell out of you.”
She sucked in her breath and her eyelids flickered close. “Yes please, Sir.”
He flipped her to her back, caught her under her knees and slammed deep into her. She cried out, bucking up into him, welcoming him into her. “Let’s bring some of those pain screams into play.”
“Oh. God.”
“We both know he’s not here right now.” Lowering his head he bit the inside of her breast hard enough to make her sing with pain. Beautiful. Every good bass beat needed a melody, any halfway decent musician knew that. He was more than halfway decent and he played her body expertly. Doyle found every spot that made her scream, made her come.
Made her his.
****
“Yo, D! Just a warning, don’t come out naked.”
Kate’s eyes snapped open at the familiar deep voice that shouted through the door.
“Fuck.” Doyle didn’t move, his fingers gently sliding over her back. “Unexpected company.”
Had he heard? She looked at the door then at Doyle. The warning implied that
he had totally heard them having sex. “What do we do?”
His dark eyes looked at her while one inked shoulder shrugged. “Don’t go out naked.” He untangled himself from beneath her and walked over to where his jeans were. She watched him drag them up without bothering with his underwear. He grabbed his shirt, then her ankles, and pulled her down the bed, a surprised yelp coming from her.
“This is pretty,” he said, rubbing his knuckles lightly over the marks he had put on her. “While Max is one of the few I can tolerate, he doesn’t get to see them. So you put this on and I’m going to find your panties because he gets no sneaky looks either.”
“See?”
Doyle went still at her question and braced his fists by her hips, getting in her face. “I’m not a fan of dirty little secrets.”
“But I’m Jace’s…” her voice faded away as he caught her wrists and pulled her up so she was sitting. He dragged the shirt over her head and she had the choice of putting her arms through the sleeves or looking stupid. She put her arms through her sleeves.
“What did you say earlier, girl?”
She wet her lips as she met his hard stare. The girl part told her things were about to either get kinky or serious. She was going for the latter. Focusing on the sleeve of tattoos on his right arm, she rubbed her thumb over a rather gruesome image. He caught her chin and made her look at him, waiting for her to answer. A lot was said earlier.
“The only ones with power and control over you are you and me.”
“I didn’t say that exactly.”
A black eyebrow arched up but she nodded. Hard to argue with the truth.
“How’s you hiding in my bedroom because Max is out there you holding onto that? I’m calling bullshit on that because you’re still giving Jace way more power than he ever deserved.” He pushed upright and walked out of the bedroom.
Kate sat there and crossed her legs. The low murmur of male voices drifted to her. Jace sure as hell wouldn’t care who she was in bed with so why would anyone else? She plucked at the bottom of her shirt as she thought.
She could hide in here as Doyle had said, or she could take a deep breath, be an adult and own the fact that since Friday night, the man had been inside her. She had a feeling hiding wouldn’t end well for her. Exhaling softly, she slipped on her panties and jeans because somehow facing Max without either made her feel vulnerable. She ran her fingers over her stomach and felt all the sore spots Doyle had put on her. Bites and bruises. Knowing they were there made her feel light-headed in a good way. Since she’d like future marks, she shook the nerves out of her hands and left the safety of his bedroom.
She followed the two voices into the kitchen: Doyle’s deep one and Max’s low, raspy one. Doyle was setting ingredients on the island while Max was lighting a cigarette while he talked. “Fuck, I dunno, man. This shit is getting old.”
She stopped in the doorway and rubbed her foot on the back of her calf. Maximillian Jones was a bit older than Doyle and hadn’t been one of the original band members. He had come in just before their second album when the other guy, Eps, had wound up in jail. She found out a lot on the internet when it came to knowing about the band. Who was going to tell her? Jace?
Doyle didn’t respond but instead began to butcher a green pepper.
“It’s a god damn mess,” Max said as he blew smoke out, bracing his hands on the island. “What…the fuck?”
She blushed when he spotted her. Staring. Doyle winked at her, making her smile.
“Jesus, D. Seriously? She’s what? How old are you again?”
“Old enough,” Doyle said cutting off his band mate. “You like eggs?”
“I like eggs,” she said. Doyle Kole was making her breakfast. How crazy was that? “Hi, Max.”
“Fuck, Doyle.”
“Yes, she did,” Doyle said as he turned his attention to breakfast. She tugged on the bottom of his shirt as Max continued to stare, his cigarette forgotten. “Stop making her uncomfortable and blink. Come help me, girl.”
Did he have any idea what it did to her when he called her that? Maybe she should be offended, but she wasn’t. She had witnessed too many doms calling their subs that and to have him call her that left her feeling aglow. “What do you want me to do?” When she walked over to him, he grabbed her by the waist and lifted her onto the smooth marble.
“You’re doing it.” He tapped her thigh with the back of his chef’s knife and she stared at the stainless steel, then at him. His grin was dangerous and she decided it was a good thing Max hadn’t seen it. “Noted,” he murmured as he resumed chopping.
Oh hell, she thought, trying to calm her racing heart.
“This is all kinds of fucked up,” Max said as he sucked on his cigarette. “Do you have any idea what he does?”
The knife paused briefly before it resumed its steady rhythm. “He’s the drummer. Right?” This time Doyle stopped cutting and she could feel him staring at her with an intensity completely at odds with the frown on Max’s face. She had always thought of Max as the nice one. He didn’t drink, he didn’t do drugs. His addiction was weddings. She couldn’t even remember what wife number he was on now. She’d Google when she got home.
She picked up a slice of pepper and chewed on it while she looked at Max, giving him her most innocent eyes. What he does? What the heck did that mean?
“Aside from that.”
“He writes the music with Carl too. Right?” The knife made a soft click and when she glanced at Doyle, she saw he had laid the knife down and stood with his hands braced on the sleek grey surface, watching her. “Right? That’s what you do?”
“God damn it,” Max snapped out. “I mean fucking, Kate.”
“Oooooh.” She nibbled on her vegetable, enjoying the sweet tart kick to it. “You do things?” The corners of his eyes crinkled but his face had this intenseness to it, his nearly black eyes were even darker and his mouth was in a flat line.
“He doesn’t fuck normal, Kate.”
This was fun. “So…like abnormal? Abnormal how? I saw that a kind of snail inseminates through the neck. You don’t fuck necks, do you? Because that’s just…not normal.”
She swung her feet, drumming her heels on the door beneath her as she picked up another slice of pepper.
“God damn it,” Max now shouted. “He’s into kink, Kate. The kind that causes pain. With whips and shit.”
“Oh,” she said quietly. “That. Are these from the market on Granville? They’re amazing. What?”
Doyle moved, pushing her legs open so he could stand between them. “Remember when I said the day you trusted enough to brat out would be fucking fantastic and would lead to fantastic fucking?”
She nodded once.
He caught her, tossed her over her shoulder, and then carried her out of the kitchen, Max staring at them with his mouth open. “Now’s a good time to fuck off, Max.”
****
Kate - 2003
It was so innocent and innocuous, but standing by her bed she felt nauseous and terrified. As scared as she had been when her mother had been in her chair, the needle in her arm and the stink of death in the small trailer. As scared as she had been when the cops showed up and she had cowardly hid in her spot, tears of fear and heartache sliding to the floor. As scared as when she had come home and there was nothing.
Terror clung to her as she stared at the hockey jersey carefully laid out on her bed, the arms neatly folded in an almost lewd fashion. She felt dizzy when she saw the NO. where names went and the giant one smack dab in the middle of the back.
“You taste sweet, my pretty little No One. I bet you taste sweet all over.”
Resting at the bottom was a simple note. She clamped her hands over her mouth as the sob strangled there. She actually tightened her thighs, afraid she was going pee down her leg and over the sock of her uniform. Danger, danger, danger.
Her knees buckled and she collapsed to the floor. She did what she always did when there was danger or a threat
. She slid under her bed, craving the darkness and wishing there was the plywood door she could wedge in place. Just in case.
Just in case.
She pressed her body up against the pictures taped there. As if the glossy images from the magazines could save her. As if he would save her. No one. No one. Her uniform clung to skin turned clammy. Had he been in her room? Danger, danger, danger.
No one.
No. One.
Number 1.
Happy birthday, No One.
Happy birthday, Kate.
Chapter 11
Kate was pretty sure she was the only one who used the storage room. Jace wasn't the type to hold onto things. Carefully wrapped in protective padding was her beloved white desk, and the matching chair was wrapped in its own layers and lay on the top. One day, when she had her own space, she would bring it out of this basement. There was a cedar armoire that held her favorite pieces of clothing. Her first uniform for school, the outfit she had worn when she had met Jace, her dress from the first Christmas and way too many concert tees for Cyanide that were of various ages. Sometimes she felt like a stalker in her own life when she saw the shirts from all the tours. Shows she hadn't seen but had wanted the mementos for the very reason that they were a part of Jace's life.
She had kept everything. School assignments, articles and magazines from when her existence had broken in the news. She had stopped hoarding food and had resorted to hoarding pieces of this life. Even now, years later, she justified holding onto everything with the simple reason that for one terrifying moment she had lost everything.
She wished she didn’t have this urge to keep items from crucial moments in her life, because then things wouldn’t be tangible for her. The box shoved under the blanket draped over her desk was very tangible.
Wiping her damp palms on the thighs of her jeans, Kate stared at her covered desk, well aware of what was buried under its shadows. She would have left it alone but for Doyle. Not that he knew that the box even existed, but talking about her past made her want to confront the dragon. A small part of her wanted to set it on fire and forget the box ever existed, to let it go.