But he doesn’t speak. He carefully puts his arms around me, then kneels slightly to sweep my legs out from under me and carry me to the table in the center of the room. He sets me down like I’m the most fragile piece of glass.
Any words I could say are trapped uselessly in my throat. I can only watch this powerful man move deliberately to the big window, where he presses a button that brings down a thick black curtain covering the entire window.
He lifts the hem of my dress until it’s just below the line of my panties, where he sees the first bruise. His brow furrows with anger, but he still says nothing. He reaches beneath the table and opens a drawer. When he stands back up, he’s holding a small bottle, which he clicks open and squeezes into his palm. He massages the ointment into my leg. I gasp at the first touch because it’s warmer than I expected, and the heat seems to seep beneath my skin until it’s inside the muscle itself, but it’s soothing, though I think right now I wouldn’t care if he was rubbing mud on my legs with those big, strong hands.
“Lift up, princess,” he says. Making his intentions clear. There’s a commanding tone to his voice, but it’s gentle.
I press my feet down and arch my back, lifting my butt from the table, which allows him to pull my dress up and off, exposing me to his gaze and allowing him to see the biggest bruise from where Cade kicked me when I fought back. I can’t meet Jayce’s eyes. I look away, bringing a hand up to shield my eyes. The shame flows through me too strongly to see his reaction, to watch as he realizes what a weak woman I am to let something like this happen.
He takes my wrist and pulls my hand down by my side again, moving it away from my face. With his other hand, he tilts my face toward him again, locking eyes with me. “This wasn’t your fault. None of this was ever your fault.”
Chills spread through my body like ripples in a pond until they settle behind my eyes, where tears well up. My lips twitch uncontrollably as the emotion tries to flow out of me. It wasn’t my fault. It’s such a simple idea, so obvious, but I needed to hear it, God I needed to hear it.
“I always pick the worst guys,” I say in a voice thick with emotion.
He brushes away a tear with his thumb, grinning down at me like he’s known me his whole life. “Not always.”
I force a little smile. “Somehow I don’t think this counts. Whatever this is.”
“This?” he asks, pouring more lotion into his hand and rubbing it into the bruise on my side. “This is the first time I’ve ever found a woman I would consider taking as a submissive.”
“You can’t be serious?” I ask. “You own a BDSM club… you must’ve had dozens of submissives before.”
“Never,” he says. His hands work a slow, soothing rhythm at my side, never pressing too hard, as if he’s perfectly in tune with my body and my needs. “I’m a very particular man, and I have very particular tastes. I guess the right little bird never came fluttering into my window with a broken wing before. Until tonight.”
I look up at him, trying to decide if he’s telling me the truth or if he’s just trying to string me along with some kind of pickup line. “Well, I hate to disappoint you,” I say sourly. “But I apparently have terrible taste in men. And I’m starting to like you. So chances are you’re an asshole.”
He chuckles. “Don’t you see the difference? You didn’t choose me, princess. I chose you.”
I bite back a smile and give him a side-eyed glance. “Are you always this smooth?”
“I’ll always be exactly what you need,” he says. “Gentle. Strong. Rough. Whatever you need.”
“Always?” I ask. “Until you’ve had your fun with me tonight and we go our separate ways, you mean?” I hate that I’m unable to just enjoy this, to let this be an experience and leave my baggage at the door, but every time I think I can forget, it comes washing back into the present, poisoning my thoughts.
“And if tonight doesn’t satisfy my needs with you?” he asks. “What do you think will happen then?”
I half-smile. “What are you trying to say?”
“I’m not trying to say anything,” he says, smoothly unhooking my bra and pulling it away with a cocky smirk.
I itch to cover myself, but something in his movements and his eyes tells me I’m not supposed to. So I hold my hands still against my self-conscious impulse, letting my breasts feel the cold, open air until my nipples harden into points.
He takes his time admiring my breasts, not touching them, just looking with those breathtaking eyes of his.
“What I am saying is that I don’t see why I would ever let you go. You’re too special. The perfect catch.”
A hint of mischief trickles through me at his words, like we’re playing some kind of complex game of words that is a precursor to foreplay--or maybe it is the foreplay. “Who says you caught me?” I ask.
He’s so quick I can’t even react before he’s fastening one of the restraints on the table around my wrist.
“Hey!” I say in surprise, reaching for the restraint, but he takes my other hand, pinning it while he straps me down.
“Sorry,” he says with no hint of remorse in his tone. “I don’t want you to get skittish and fly away on me.”
“Am I your prisoner now?” I ask. The question makes heat flow between my legs in the dirtiest way imaginable. I would normally think the idea of being held captive, against my will, terrifying or wrong, but I don’t. In such a short time I already find myself wanting to trust Jayce, so much that to do anything else is like swimming against the current. Everything about him makes trusting him feel right, like he’s the man I’ve been trying and failing to find.
“I guess that’s a matter of interpretation,” he says, reaching for his belt and pulling it free in a smooth motion.
“Interpretation of what?” I ask, unable to take my eyes from the bulge in his pants as he strips his jacket and reaches for the top buttons of his shirt.
“Of what it means to be a prisoner, because no, I don’t plan to let you leave. But you are going to love every moment of your captivity with me.” His expression changes just slightly and he leans down until his face is close to mine. “Whoever did this to you,” he says, softly touching the skin above the bruise at my side. “They were a fucking animal. They don’t deserve to have a submissive or call themselves a dom. I’m going to show you a real experience--the kind you deserve. So let me make this absolutely clear, princess. Only two words have power from this moment onward. Say ‘yellow,’ and I’ll know you’re nearing your limits. Say ‘red,’ and everything stops. No questions. No guilt. I need to know that you understand me.”
“I understand,” I whisper. My heart is thudding against my ribcage and my throat feels so tight I can barely breathe. Being in here with Jayce feels as if I’m walking along when the ground suddenly opens up beneath me and swallows me into a rush of pure darkness, where I’m falling away from the world so fast I can’t stop--but right now I’m not sure I want it to stop.
He waits for a time, eyes roaming my body like he doesn’t have the slightest bit of shame over enjoying the sight of me, and wow, I’ve never felt as sexy as I do under his gaze, bruises, imperfections, and all. He looks at me like I’m a goddess laid out on display for him, like there couldn’t be a more perfectly crafted body in all of the world and he’s just barely containing his hunger to take me.
When he finally moves, it’s to begin stripping his tie and undoing his shirt methodically. When he pulls the fabric away, I suck in air at the sight of him. Every muscle is carved into him, like there’s not an ounce of fat on his body. He’s made entirely of hard lines and smooth, tan skin. He tosses his shirt to the floor and moves to his pants next. His every movement seems calculated, even the way his eyes flick up to meet mine teasingly just before he reveals even more of his exquisite body. He flicks open the button of his pants and lets them fall until he’s standing before me in nothing but his tight-fitting boxer briefs, which are doing a poor job of hiding the size of his huge cock.
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My eyes trace its length with more than a little trepidation. I’ve never had something that big inside me, and I’m not sure it’ll fit, but the thought of trying already has me wet and throbbing.
He hooks a thumb tauntingly in his waistband and waits with a knowing look on his face. He yanks them down in one motion, and his cock springs free. I let my eyes wander the entire package, from his length, to the sharp “V” shaped cuts of his abs, all the way up every inch of hard muscle until I find his face and gray eyes. I expect him to climb on top of me, but instead, he strides back toward the window where he pressed the button to lower the blinds and lets his finger hover there. He turns his head to me, waiting. I realize he is giving me a chance to safe word him, and when a moment turns into several, the faintest hint of a grin touches his lips.
He presses the button, retracting the curtains again.
There are at least six couples and one large group of five or so people standing and sitting just outside the glass. My heart immediately pounds harder, blood rushing to my cheeks. But the embarrassment doesn’t come without a white-hot thrill that feels like molten lava just beneath my skin, setting me on fire with both need and desire.
All my worries, doubts, and fears from my past are dulled until they don’t seem as important, and for the first time in a long time, I feel free. I feel like myself, just stripped of all the extra baggage and weight I carry around with me every day.
Jayce stops at a small box spewing smoke before he comes back. He plucks out a handful of ice cubes and brings them to a small rollaway table beside the table where I’m strapped in tight. He sets the ice down and brushes his hands off before reaching for the restraints near my ankles. He ties them tight and gives a good hard tug until they are so snug I can barely wiggle my legs. For the first time, I feel truly trapped. Before, I could at least entertain the idea that with some creative work, I could use my toes to free my hands, but now? I’m at his mercy.
My fate lies in my trust of him--my trust that he won’t give me a reason to want to escape, and that he’ll listen when I used the safe words. Unlike Cade…
“Jayce” I say.
“No,” he says. “You will call me Sir until told otherwise, do you understand?”
“Yes.”
His eyebrow raises in a mixture of amusement and scorn. “Naughty little princess.”
“Sir,” I say quickly.
“Too late.” His lips curl into a smirk. “It’s time I teach you how pain and pleasure are really just two sides of the same coin.”
He picks up an ice-cube between his thumb and forefinger. I watch the way his warmth immediately makes the ice start to melt down his arm and how the water traces a path across his skin, where it drips from his elbow into the blue mist curling up from the floor.
I’m reminded that we have an audience when I notice movement on the other side of the glass--another couple realizing a show has begun and deciding to stop to watch. I can’t say why being watched sends such a jolt of excitement and dirty pleasure through me, but I feel more more sexually alive than I ever have in my life right now. I feel objectified and owned, but with none of the negative context I’ve come to expect those words to carry. It feels tender and scorching hot at the same time. Everything I ever imagined being a submissive could be made real.
He brings the ice cube just above my erect nipple, waiting with patience as a drop of cold water forms and drips down to my areola. I flinch, momentarily shocked by the cold water but my skin quickly warms it. I think he’s going to put the ice to my skin, but he seems to be in no rush. He’s watching my face instead, studying me.
“Pain is often misinterpreted,” he says. “Some do enjoy true agony, but for most, pain is only a tool. Like any tool, it can have horrible results when used wrong.” His eyes trail down to the bruise at my side, sending a fresh wave of shame through me.
He notices, and turns my cheek when I try to look away so I’m still facing him eye-to-eye. “I won’t ever pretend to know how that must have hurt, princess. Never. I won’t pretend I understand the physical or emotional pain of being betrayed by someone you trust. But I will promise you this. I will never take your trust for granted. I will cherish it. I’ll treat it like the precious gift it is, and a day will never pass that you don’t thank God you gave it to me. I swear it.”
“And what if I don’t trust you enough to believe that?” I ask.
“Sir,” he growls. “Don’t forget where you are.”
“Sir,” I add, though not without a defiant bite to my voice.
“Then it’s up to me to change your mind, kiss by kiss and inch by inch.” He pops the ice cube in his mouth and leans down to kiss me.
It’s like no kiss I’ve ever experienced--like being embraced by some ice king on a distant planet or taken to a cold, dark cave by a barbarian who just came in from a blizzard. It’s all my childhood fantasies wrapped into a single, startling sensation. His tongue flicks across my lips, already cold and biting from the cube of ice, and his lips leave chilly memories of his touch everywhere they press against me. The movement of our tongues sends the ice cube from his mouth to mine, where it chills my mouth until the numbness makes the comparative warmth of his mouth a new shock all over again. When the cube eventually melts down between the passion of our mouths, he pulls back, dragging his hand along my jawline as he does.
“Pain doesn’t have to be unpleasant. Served up with pleasure, it can have the same effect without any of the discomfort. Or,” he says, picking up a another cube and pressing it gently against my nipple. “It can be uncomfortable.”
I squirm against the cold after only a few seconds. The mild discomfort starts to transition to a dull, biting kind of pain. I take a deep breath, which only pushes my breast harder against the cube and drives the spear of cold farther into me. Just when I’m about to ask him for mercy, he pulls the ice away and sinks his head down to the spot, where his warm lips feel like fire after the cold of the ice.
I gasp, arching my back and bucking against my restraints. He runs his hot tongue along the edge of my nipple and then sucks the hardened nub into his mouth before lifting his head to smirk at me. “But the discomfort only makes the relief that much sweeter. Doesn’t it, princess?”
“Yes,” I say breathlessly. “Sir,” I add.
He chuckles. “That’s good. You’re learning.” He caresses my cheek, holding his hand there as he leans down to kiss me on the lips just as tenderly. The way he’s able to shift from fiery passion to smoldering tenderness is a shock to my system--and not a bad one. It might be easy to get used to his tender touches or even his reckless, passionate touch, but not when I don’t know what to expect. It keeps my nerves alive and ready for everything as if they are truly drinking in the world for the first time.
He picks up a fresh ice cube and takes it between his front teeth. I think he’s going to kiss me again, but he moves by my feet and starts to--
Oh God.
He climbs on the table and grips my panties in both hands, yanking so the fabric splits down the middle and splays open, lying uselessly beneath me and dangling over the edges of the chair. He lowers his head dragging the ice cube along my inner thigh in a way that makes me jump, but only as much as I can while pinned down.
I’ve never been as wet as I am now, never felt more blinding need to be filled and fucked. He’s not going to give me the relief I want, yet. I don’t know how I know, except that he seems so supernaturally in tune with my body and my needs that I think he must know exactly how bad I want him inside me right now--how bad I want to cum for him. And I think he’s enjoying dragging it out.
He gently sets the ice down just above my clit where it starts to melt against the warmth of my skin, cold rivulets of water trickle down the creases of my inner thighs.
“Pain isn’t just about enhancing pleasure,” he says.
I squirm, but I’m careful not to move so much that the ice falls from me. Though he didn’t say so, I suspect Jayce won�
��t be pleased if I let the ice fall. So even as the cold starts to feel more like a numb, burning sensation, I stay still, looking into his eyes--using them as an anchor to push past the discomfort.
“It’s also about establishing lines of trust. Learn to trust that I know your limits better than you do, and only then can you truly let go. Only then can you truly submit.”
I close my eyes, biting my lip against the mounting discomfort. He brings his mouth down over the ice, giving me just the barest tease of warmth before he draws a trail from my mound to my clit with the tip of his tongue. He attacks my pussy with his mouth like he’s been dying to taste me for his entire life. I struggle to spread my thighs more for him, but can only do so much with the restraints. I don’t even notice the people watching us anymore beyond the vague awareness in the back of my mind that we’re putting on a show and the dirty undertone that it adds to situation.
His touch is fire one second and ice the next, with the heat of his tongue lapping at me only to be replaced by the icy sting of the cube. When the first ice cube melts down to nothing, he lifts his head and I can see the glimmer of my juices on his mouth. The sight of it is so hot I wouldn’t be able to stop from tackling him to the ground and taking that cock of his myself if I wasn’t tied down.
He picks up another ice cube and gives me a look that makes me nervous, like he’s excited about something dirty he’s going to do, and if what he has already done wasn’t dirty and exciting enough for him, I can only begin to imagine what he’s planning.
25
Jayce
My princess is laid out for me like a treasure. Curling hair as silky and black as raven’s feathers, but with the most stunning sky-blue eyes I’ve ever seen. She’s beautiful, but not just because of her curves or the shape of her face. There’s a beauty in what lies behind her eyes--the set of her mouth and the way she carries herself. She’s wounded. I knew it from the moment I saw her. My little bird with the broken wing…
Baby for the Beast Page 16