by Chloe Cox
“Yes, sir,” she breathed.
There was a beat. She almost had herself under control. Years of subbing hadn’t been for nothing.
And then he spanked her bare pussy.
She yelped.
Strained against the belt at her wrists.
Tried to remember desperately: Do not come.
Do not.
“Now tell me why,” he said.
Adra knew perfectly well what he wanted her to admit, knew he’d given her the answer already, knew that he’d done it on purpose. Worse, she knew that it was true. She had been fighting it for so, so long, and this, right here, right in this moment, was the last vestige of that resistance, and for the life of her she couldn’t find a reason to hold on. She’d been so afraid that if she gave in it would mean everything, but he’d just told her it wouldn’t, it didn’t have to. And he’d let her get away with fighting the inevitable for so long, but now he wasn’t having it anymore.
He spanked her again, this time dipping a finger into her, making her cry out.
“Adra,” he barked. “Tell me.”
“Because I’m yours,” she panted.
He thrust another finger into her.
“You’re my what?”
He pulled out, and she groaned.
“I’m your sub, sir,” she said.
He grabbed her again, this time with enough force to lift her on to her toes, spreading her legs further on the way down. His big hands rested on either side of her ass, his thumbs brushing close to her sex.
“And?” he said.
When Adra spoke, she could barely hear herself.
“And I always have been,” she said.
And then she felt his thumbs part her and his cock enter her in one sure stroke, his girth stretching her almost to he point of pain, her eyes and mouth flying open in surprise until he was fully seated inside her. Her body adjusted around him and her eyes lost focus, her pulse starting a heavy beat in her core, her every nerve begging him to move.
“Don’t come, Adra,” he warned as he pulled out of her slowly, the head of his cock dragging along her g-spot. “Don’t you fucking come.”
“Fuck,” she groaned, trying to dig her fingers into the hard, polished wood. Nothing would give, not the desk, not Ford.
She heard him chuckle again.
And then he grabbed hold of the belt binding her wrists to the skirt around her waist and pulled her back as he thrust forward, impaling her to the hilt. She screamed, felt her legs shake, her back arch. He kept ahold of her as he drove into her again and again, riding her, bringing her so close, too close, too close for her to…
“You can come now,” he growled. “Once.”
She did immediately.
She came so violently that her legs spasmed and he caught her by the hips, not stopping at all, still fucking her until her body stopped convulsing and she stopped crying out his name. And then only stopping long enough to pull out, pull her up, turn her around, and push her back on the desk, her arms behind her supporting her back and butt, propping her up to him.
She looked at him wildly, not entirely able to focus, and saw that animal look on his face, that feral ferocity as he lifted her legs where he wanted them.
“I want to see your face while I fuck you,” he growled and plunged into her again, sending her head back in a silent scream.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but take him. He owned her so completely, so thoroughly, it was like her body didn’t even belong to her anymore. It only responded to his commands, coming whenever he demanded, until she lost track, lost all sense of time and place, any sense of impossibility. She hadn’t really believed her body could actually do that. Having that many orgasms was like some kind of athletic feat; she might have been in training her whole life, but she never expected to get to the freaking Olympics.
By the time Ford was done she was a complete mess. She couldn’t speak properly, couldn’t stand, couldn’t do much of anything. It was Ford who wiped her down, Ford who carefully unbound her wrists, gently massaging the skin as he did so, Ford who took off the rest of her wrecked clothing—just a skirt and heels at this point—and then carried her, naked, to the couch he had in the back of his office, a tiny little snug alcove, where he sat with Adra in his lap and covered her with a blanket.
She was enveloped in him. In warmth. She found herself wishing he was naked, too, but it didn’t take away from the feeling of utter safety. Of comfort.
She came down from her subspace high onto a cloud, in his arms. She came to with his fingertips stroking her hair and the bare skin of her arms, his heartbeat in her ears, his lips leaving light kisses on her forehead.
And then, when her brain was in full working order, she got nervous.
No, not just nervous. Freaked the hell out.
Because this? This was bliss. This was tender. This was…
This was everything she couldn’t want.
Adra shot out of Ford’s arms, taking the blanket with her, and took several safe steps away.
Ford watched her.
“What happened?” Ford said.
“We didn’t set ground rules,” Adra said, wrapping the blanket around her with as much dignity as she could muster. “I think, given last time, we should set ground rules.”
Ford leaned back, his long arms resting on the back of the couch. “Agreed,” he said.
“So, like, this…” Adra began. She paused. Screw it—she had to say it. “I mean, this was really nice, afterwards, but I worry that it shouldn’t get too nice, you know?”
“I’m not compromising on aftercare,” Ford said, leaning forward. The intensity in his blue eyes was startling. “You’re going to get the aftercare you need, and so am I.”
“No, of course,” Adra said, wishing she could tear her eyes away and look somewhere, anywhere else. “I mean, yes, that makes sense. But after that.”
Ford smiled.
“You mean cuddling?”
“Maybe there should just be, like, a time limit?” she said.
“You’re putting a time limit on cuddling,” Ford said. Now he was smiling.
“Yes, I am rationing cuddling,” Adra said, trying to keep from smiling too. This was serious. “There should be a cuddle quota.”
Ford stood and tucked his shirt back into his slacks, his eyes dancing while Adra thought again about how well she’d just been fucked by this god of a Dom. She was surprised she could even form sentences.
“So what’s a friendly amount of cuddling?” he said.
Adra tried to look stern. He was making fun of her. “Five minutes?” she said.
Ford just looked at her.
“Ten?” she said.
“Ten,” he said, shaking his head. “It is well known that after ten minutes cuddles turn from friendly to sinister.”
“Take this seriously!” Adra said. She wished she were wearing more than a blanket as she said it.
Ford looked her up and down, not bothering to hide his amusement. But when he got to Adra’s face, his expression changed—he was serious. Solemn, even.
“I’ve never taken anything more seriously, Adra,” he said. “If you think I’m going to risk losing you again, you’ve lost your damn mind.”
For a moment, Adra couldn’t breathe, all over again.
“But if you think I’m going to let something like the cuddle quota go by without teasing you mercilessly for it,” he said, striding toward her. He paused standing over her, then smiled. “Well, then you’ve also lost your damn mind. Stop losing your mind, Adra. It brings up worrisome issues of consent.”
When she could breathe again, Adra stuck her tongue out. That was the only possible response.
Ford raised an eyebrow. “You keep sticking that tongue out, I’ll put it to work.”
Something in her belly lurched, and her body came alive again as if she hadn’t just been fucked into a total stupor. She actually really wouldn’t mind giving her tongue a work
out…
Someone walked by Ford’s office, footsteps heavy on the wooden floor, and Adra flinched.
“What?” he said.
“We’re in your office,” Adra said, suddenly feeling naked despite the blanket. It was ridiculous. She’d been naked in many places, and this was the room it felt suddenly weird in? It was Volare, for crying out loud.
But…Ford’s office.
Ford held her steady. “And we’ll stay here until it’s sorted out,” he said.
The implication was clear. This was real. They were both going to have to navigate it.
Somehow Ford’s insistence was comforting. His hand on her arm, steadying, guiding. At least she wasn’t going to be figuring this emotional quagmire out on her own. There was some solace in that.
Then he touched her face. He was looking at her with such heat and such tenderness, it was stunning.
And then she realized: They hadn’t even kissed yet. Not since that night.
“Oh God, Ford,” she said, her eyes searching his. “What about... I mean, I’m not making a big deal about it, and it’s ok if you don’t want it, I understand, because maybe it is weird? It’s just…I haven’t even kissed you since—”
Suddenly Ford’s arm swept around her waist and pulled her in close so he could shut her up with a kiss. He kissed her hard, he kissed her thoroughly, and he kissed her well, until she was melting into him all over again, supple and willing to bend whatever way he wanted. It was a claiming kind of kiss. The kind that showed utter dominance. Even ownership.
“I won’t compromise on that, either,” Ford said gruffly when he was done. Adra looked up at him through half-lidded eyes and tried to nod.
“Ok,” she said.
“There’s a shower through there,” he said. “And I’ll send someone for your clothes. We have dinner in an hour.”
“What?” she said, still not thinking clearly. Was he asking her out?
Ford smiled. “We have dinner plans. Roman, Lola, Olivia, Derrick. Roman set it up.”
Adra stared at him, horrified. She was supposed to sit through dinner after what they’d just done? She could barely remember her own name, let alone small talk. Oh God, small talk with her ex. And she wouldn’t be able to think about anything else; they’d all know!
Ford only laughed and grabbed hold of one end of the blanket. “You better get moving,” he said. “Because the blanket is coming with me.”
Ten
Ford barely tasted his food. He was thinking about what Adra tasted like. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t taken the opportunity to try her again.
He’d fix that later.
She sat across from him at this weird dinner that Roman had set up, her brown eyes big and soft, barely able to conceal what she was thinking about. She kept looking at him. It was hard not to just pick her up and take her to the nearest room.
Christ, it was like he’d been starving all this time and now he could have whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. It was tough not to be a barbarian about it.
Hell, maybe he would be a barbarian about it.
She was still looking at him. Her lips were parted. He knew her well enough to know she was about to lick them, and he knew his cock would jump when she did.
And he was interrupted.
“I hear you let a photographer get on the grounds,” Derrick said pointedly.
Ford turned his head. While Adra had spent most of the meal locking eyes with Ford, Ford had noticed that Derrick had spent most of his time watching Adra. Something that also did not escape the notice of his girlfriend, Ellen.
“A photographer made it onto the grounds, yes,” Ford said. “Whoever leaked the location of the shoot made that inevitable.”
“You know what? We were promised security, and this is bullshit. You can’t understand what it’s like. I can’t go anywhere without getting mobbed,” Derrick said.
He seemed kind of satisfied with that fact. Like he was complaining in order to brag. Out of the corner of his eye, Ford saw Olivia roll her eyes.
“The studio is responsible for security,” Ford said. “They’re actually in breach of contract right now, though they are working on it. But if you’re feeling frightened, Derrick, I can accompany you on set.”
Derrick's face reddened.
“I don’t need you as a bodyguard,” he said.
“Glad to hear it,” Ford said.
Adra smiled at that. Derrick saw. And Derrick got even angrier.
Derrick Duvall was the worst kind of Dom, because he wasn’t really a Dom at all. He was all about ego. That alone wasn’t necessarily a problem; domination was often about ego. But with Derrick it came from a place of insecurity, of needing validation, and that made him fucking dangerous.
Ford hated the idea that a man like that had ever come anywhere near Adra.
And Derrick seemed to know it.
“Adra, how’s Charlie doing?” Derrick said, looking at Ford for a reaction.
Subtle.
Still, Ford wracked his brain to remember everything he knew about Charlie. He was Adra’s brother. But still not someone she had talked about enough that Ford felt the need to check in on his well-being.
Worse, Adra seemed distracted by the question. Upset, even. She was looking down at her plate, denying Ford those brown eyes.
What the hell did Derrick Duvall know about Adra’s brother?
“He’s fine,” Adra said, staring at her food. “Doing well. Everyone’s doing well.”
So not fine, actually. Ford wanted to curse. There had been something wrong with her family for long enough for this jackass in a Dom costume to know about it, and Ford had not only been largely ignorant of it all, he hadn’t done anything to help.
That was another thing he was going to fix.
It looked like Derrick was going to launch another attack when his long suffering girlfriend stepped in, demanding, in that friendly, dinner party kind of way, that Olivia and Derrick walk her through the drama of the day’s shoot. The relief emanating from Adra was palpable. She’d been stuck interacting with the movie people while Roman and Lola, on the other side of the table, had been in their own little world.
But now she was staring at Ford again.
And for the life of him, Ford could not look away. Why would he want to? Every second he took in her beautiful face, he thought of another thing he wanted to do to her. Wondered what that pale skin would look like properly bound, wondered how red her ass could get, wondered how many times he could make her come when he took his time. Wondered how big he could make those brown eyes.
She licked her lips, and Ford gripped the side of the table.
“Ford,” Roman said.
“What?” Ford asked. He was actually annoyed to have to look anywhere else but at Adra’s face.
“I asked if this Olivia woman knows yet,” Roman said, his voice lowered.
“That she’s a sub?” Ford said. “I don’t know, I didn’t spend the day with her.”
“She doesn’t, but she’s finding out,” Lola said with a broad smile. “I always love watching that process. It’s like my favorite thing.”
Adra smiled at Ford, her eyes shining, and he thought, Yeah, that’s a pretty fun activity.
Too late, Ford realized that Lola was watching them. That woman had an eagle eye, and he and Adra hadn’t discussed whether their new arrangement should be public.
Damn.
“So what’s up with you guys?” Lola asked, leaning her head on her hand. Looking devious.
“Working together is going well, I trust?” Roman added.
Adra started to blush.
“We’ve worked out a pretty good system,” Ford said.
“No news?”
“None,” Adra said quickly. “I mean, just that everything is good. The movie is challenging and everything, but Ford is really good at taking charge, so…everything is good. It’s good.”
“So it looks like everything is good,” Lola said with a smile.
“Great, even,” said Ford.
“Definitely great,” Adra said.
Her voice had dropped to this throaty, velvety pitch. Ford’s cock was ready to punch through steel. The tension between them was unbearable.
He’d show her great.
“Glad it’s working out,” Roman said, pouring himself—and Ford—another glass of wine. “Because Claudia and Jesse have applied for membership.”
“Roman!” Lola said.
“It has to come up some time,” Roman said, shrugging. “And it’s not like Ford objects.”
“Of course not,” Ford said. There wasn’t a bone left in his body that cared about what Claudia and Jesse chose to do. They were like strangers to him now. In fact, they’d proven themselves to be strangers to him.
Adra, on the other hand, seemed to care.
“Who?” she said.
Then it dawned on her.
“Oh, your ex-wife,” she said softly.
“I’m fine with it,” Ford said gently.
“They asked if we had a nursery at the club,” Roman said darkly. “A nursery.”
For the first time in years, Ford felt a pang of loss. A stabbing, icy pain piercing his chest, reminding him of what it had felt like when Claudia first told him the truth. He had not counted on the kid being around. He had not counted on having to face that particular loss all over again. Already he could feel that hardened cynicism begin to takeover, to calcify over his heart, to…
Fuck.
He didn’t want to be that guy. He wanted to be able to trust people. He wanted to believe that people were worthy of trust.
“Well, if I can’t get a nursery in this place, Ford’s cheating ex-wife and former best friend aren’t getting a goddamn nursery for their kid,” Lola said, stabbing at the last piece of her chicken.
For a second, Lola seemed just genuinely annoyed at the idea of Claudia’s presumption. Then she realized what she’d said.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” she said.
But Ford wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at Adra. Adra, who’s face had fallen, who’d looked more hurt than he had at that particular revelation. Adra, whose heart was just too big to fit into the world on most days of the week.