by M Never
“Lucky bastard.”
“What? Your Mexican getaway wasn’t relaxing enough?”
“Keep walking before I pummel you.” We split off, Kayne in the direction of the gym and me up the stairs to London’s room. This package is really for her.
“London?” I knock, but no answer. It’s Sunday, so she’s probably with the rest of the girls unwinding. There’s an entire mobile spa downstairs. The house will be quiet for a while.
I crack open the door with the intention of leaving the box with a note when I hear the shower. I know I shouldn’t. I should just leave her be. She’s had a long week. But even as I try to talk myself out of it, my feet gravitate to the sound of the running water and the image of a naked, soapy, redheaded goddess.
But the reality is far more different than the fantasy, because when I enter the steamy room, I don’t find London standing under the spray lathering up or washing off. I find her curled in a ball on the floor, sobbing.
Rushing to the shower, I haul open the glass door. “London?”
She looks up at me with a fright. Then her gaze turns lethal.
“Get out!” She grabs the bottle of shampoo and chucks it at me. I deflect it with my forearm before it hits me in the face. Damn, the woman can throw. “Get out right now!” she screams like a banshee, and I take the hint. Backing out of the room, I quickly give her space. My heart beats like a battering ram as I lurk by the doorway, waiting for the shower to turn off. Once the water stops, I peek into the bathroom, just to make sure she isn’t thinking about doing anything stupid.
Which, by the looks of it, she isn’t. She’s just standing in front of the mirror, wrapped in a towel, staring at herself.
Jesus, she makes my chest ache.
As much as I want to wrap her in my arms and demand she tell me what’s wrong, my instincts instruct me to do the exact opposite. To give her the space she needs and let her come to me.
I leave her tidy bedroom silently with high hopes she’ll do just that.
YOU’RE A FUCKING MORON, I chastise myself in the mirror. You just lashed out at the one person who can keep you safe. Keep you hidden.
He caught me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting anyone to come looking for me. But I should have known. No time is my own. It belongs to everyone else. Primarily Jett.
But the anxiety was building, and I had to let it out. I needed the emotional release. I’ve barely slept. Barely eaten. And been worked over continuously this week. It’s like every time I turned around there was another man to service. Including Kayne. He’s the most intense of all. A straight up machine.
I needed a minute. A breather. And as soon as I saw Jett, I knew what he wanted, too.
Sometimes the past collides with the present. Sometimes I find myself crumbling, and the only way to endure is to fall apart and then glue back each of the broken pieces. I’ll never truly be whole. There are cracks and crevices at the very center of my core. But I go on. Why? I’m not quite sure. It would be so easy just to end it. Just two quick flicks of a razor blade and all my suffering would be over. But even that doesn’t seem like a way out. Suicide isn’t appealing enough for me to actually attempt. Something inside pushes me on, telling me to live. I just wish I knew exactly what that something was.
Finding my second wind, I drop my towel on the floor and throw on some clothes. A pair of skimpy underwear, an oversized T-shirt that reads “Love Pink” across the shoulders, and a pair of white knee socks with black stripes around the calf.
I don’t even bother to brush my hair. I just hurry out of the room and prepare to grovel.
I search all over for Jett. His room, backstage, the mobile spa, the living room, dining room, even the kitchen and service kitchen where he found me making the chocolate crinkles. He ate almost all of them in bed that night. An entire pile of cookies and a huge glass of milk. I don’t know why that makes me smile. Maybe because he’s the first person to ever enjoy something I have to offer other than my body. Enjoy may be putting it mildly. He moaned like I was giving him head.
Baking is an outlet for me. Keeps my hands busy and my oscillating thoughts at bay.
The last place I look is his office. Hoping beyond hope he’s holed away in there. I knock on the door self-consciously. “Jett?”
Three heartbeats pass before the door swings open, and Jett leans on the frame. The same way he did the first day I met him.
“I’m sorry,” I immediately spill, wrapping my arms around myself and dropping my eyes submissively. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. I just wasn’t expecting anyone to walk in. I know I was out of line. I’m so sorry. Please don’t send me away. You can punish me however you want, just please don’t make me leave,” I beg.
Jett clutches my jaw and forces me to look up. An unfathomable expression on his face. “What would ever make you think I’d want to punish you for your outburst?”
Because that’s all I know. That’s what happens when I’m disrespectful or disobedient.
“Don’t you?” I question.
“No. Do you think you’re the first woman to walk into this house with issues?”
I shrug because I honestly have no idea. Jett releases my jaw and pushes the door open wider.
“In.”
I step inside the room, and he closes the door behind me. After which he saunters back to his desk in bare feet, slim blue jeans, and a white V-neck T-shirt. He has this whole European style with the attitude to match.
“Come. Sit,” he instructs as he settles behind his desk. I follow, going for one of the chairs opposite him. “No. Here.” He stops me before my butt hits the cushion, tapping the top of his sleek wood desk. “Directly in front of me.”
I sit where I’m told, sliding myself between his legs. He leans back in his chair, laces his fingers over his chest, and gazes up at me. Those aqua eyes picking me apart piece by tiny, broken, fractured piece. It’s unnerving.
I cross my ankles and anchor my hands, trying to look anywhere but at Jett. Which is nearly impossible because his immense presence engulfs the room.
“Do you want to tell me what that outburst was all about?” he asks evenly.
“No,” I shoot back almost immediately.
“Is there anything pressing I should know?”
“No. I was just having a moment.”
“A woman moment or I need to talk to a shrink moment?”
Shrink? I press my lips together, reluctant to answer that one.
“London?” His strict tone is probing.
“I’m fine.” I attempt to sound assuring. “It was just a very long week. I needed to decompress. I’m not used to anyone seeing me like that.” Jett was the very first, and I’m completely ashamed. My meltdowns are my business and not meant to be shared with anyone else.
“I see.” He exhales and leans forward, resting his hands on my bare thighs. Why do I like it when he touches me? “I want to be clear. You can come to me with anything. If you’re feeling overwhelmed or tired or just need a break, you have to tell me. You have to trust me,” he reiterates for the thousandth time. I still don’t. Probably never will. Even though his eyes are sincere and his voice is inviting.
I just nod, pretending to buy into his bullshit.
“I know you’ve had a very long week.” He begins to rub circles into my tender muscles with his thumbs. It actually feels good. Almost therapeutic. “That’s why I’ve stayed away.”
“From what?”
“Not what. Who. You.”
“Me, why? Did I do something wrong?” I frown. Besides throwing a shampoo bottle at your head.
“Wrong? No. You do everything fucking right.” He digs his fingertips into my skin. “That’s the problem. You’re impossible to resist.”
“You don’t have to resist me. If you haven’t noticed, I’m a sure thing.”
“I have noticed. I’ve noticed how you have every one of my clients eating out of your hand. How you walk into a room and steal everyone’s attention. How you
carry yourself. How seductive you are. How I can’t be around you without dying to touch you.”
“You can touch me whenever you want. However you want.”
“That’s only partly true. I’ve also seen how tired you are at the end of each day.”
“How I feel doesn’t matter.”
Jett sits up straight with a perturbed look on his face. “Of course it matters.”
“It never has before,” I argue.
“Well, it does with me.” He spreads my legs. “I don’t want what’s leftover when it comes to you. I want all of you. The entire meal. All seven courses.” He begins to kiss his way up my thigh and something strange tingles in my lower abdomen. “When we’re together, I want all your pleasure and all your pain.” He sucks on my skin still moving dangerously higher. “I want you strong enough to endure every dirty thing I desire. And I want you to enjoy all those things just as much as I do.” He plants a kiss right between my legs over the scarce scrap of material before sliding it over to the side.
“What are you doing?” I jump, grabbing a fistful of his blond hair.
“What does it look like?” He leans forward. “Showing no restraint whatsoever.” He steals a hot lick of my pussy, and I gasp. “Why so skittish, little bird? You’re acting like you’ve never been eaten out before.”
“I just don’t understand why you prolong the inevitable. If you want to fuck me, just fuck me. That’s what I’m here for. Why bother with foreplay?”
Jett halts all movement and looks up at me with just his eyes. His tongue a hazardous inch away from my dewy slit.
“I don’t want to just fuck you,” he snaps. “I want to pleasure you. I want to hear you moan as you come on my face and then again all over my cock. I want you begging me for more until you can’t speak and neither one of us can breathe. That’s what I fucking want.”
My jaw drops.
“Jesus, London. What has your life been like?”
Sheer hell. I bite back my response.
Jett stands and hovers over me. “Has anyone ever touched you?” He runs his thumb down my cheek so sweetly that if I could actually feel, it might make me cry. “Like, really touched you?”
“Not in the way I think you mean.”
“What a fucking tragedy.” He kisses me as sweetly as he touched me. It’s completely foreign. I want to hate it, but I don’t. I can’t comprehend why he even cares. I’m no one. Nothing. A woman he can use and then toss away. Isn’t that what every man wants?
“I want to touch you,” he asserts.
“You don’t need my permission.”
“I’m not asking for your permission. I’m asking if you want me to touch you. If you want me to be the first man who shows you what real pleasure feels like.”
“Does shared pleasure really even exist?” I counter cynically.
“God, you deprived woman.” He pets his hands down my damp hair. “By the time I’m through with you, there’ll be no doubt. Only faith.”
Nice try. But I had to learn what “pleasure” was all by myself. I had to navigate murky waters alone to understand how to alleviate the stress forced on my body. And even then, the “pleasure” was never really mine. It belonged to the man invading me at any given moment. He either stole the orgasm or denied it altogether. And if I didn’t obey what was being dictated, there were severe consequences. The only true “pleasure” I have ever known is from my own hand. It’s the way I want it, fast or slow, soft or hard. On my own time. In my own head. So unless Jett can penetrate more than just my pussy, I have little belief in this thing called “shared pleasure.” It might exist for some, but definitely not for me.
“You haven’t answered me, robin. Do you want me to touch you?” He slips his hand under my shirt and runs his thumbnail down the center of my abdomen.
“Yes,” I lie.
He cocks his eyebrow, and for a split second, I question whether or not he buys my b.s. Yes or no, it’s clear he wants to touch me. And so it goes. The story of my life. Another man added to the laundry list to please. This one just happens to talk a good game. Great game. He almost has me convinced he cares about my pleasure as much as he does his own. But if I’ve learned anything in my twenty-six years, it’s that talk is cheap, and men are selfish.
“Lift your shirt up. Show me that beautiful body,” Jett requests.
I pull the hem of my T-shirt up and tuck it under my chin, exposing my breasts, my stomach, and my wide-spread legs.
Jett moans appreciatively, scanning his bright blue orbs over the curves of my naked body before sitting back down in his chair. No touching, fondling, or pinching. He just admires. He admires for a long time, content with me sprawled out on his work space.
I start to feel the heat of his gaze creep into places that don’t usually respond. Pick up on the licks of the air tickling my nipples and the sheen of wetness coating my pussy. All from just his fucking stare.
“Do you believe me when I tell you you’re beautiful?”
“Yes,” I lie again.
He nods his head impassively. His aloof response makes me restless.
“I thought this was supposed to be about shared pleasure?” I question his methods.
“It is. Did you just think I was going to stick my dick in you and be done?”
“That’s usually how it happens.”
“Not with me. I had you begging last time we were together, no?”
I pause to think. He did. I thought it was a fluke. He’s hot. I’m attracted to him. I was already close to the breaking point. Kayne was already fucking me. There were multiple variables at play.
“I got wrapped up in the moment,” I reluctantly admit.
“That moment was the very beginning. Think about how hard you came.”
My cheeks inflame. I came pretty fucking hard, and it shocked the shit out of me.
Jett smirks haughtily. He thinks he’s making headway. One fluky orgasm doesn’t prove a thing.
“I can make you feel like that every single time. I will make you feel like that every single time. I’ll give you things you didn’t even know you wanted.” He leans forward and blows lightly on my pussy, the warm air over my cool, wet flesh causes it to prickle.
“Mmm.” I bite my lip to stifle my reaction.
“It’s okay to like it. You’re supposed to like it.”
“I like when I do it,” I boldly admit.
“You’re going to like it when I do it, too. When we’re together, your enjoyment is my responsibility. You don’t need to think. You don’t need to worry. All you need to do is feel.” He blows again, closer this time, causing my clit to burn.
“And what do I have to give you?” I huff as he teases me. Nothing in life is ever free. There’s always a price, and I know that better than anyone.
His facial expression morphs into something devious. I think I just asked the million-dollar question. “Your obedience.”
“Is that all?” I quip.
“For now.” He hooks his arms around my thighs and pulls me toward him so a portion of my ass is hanging off the edge of the desk. He never takes those devious eyes off me as he slowly inches his face closer and closer to the center of my splayed legs. I brace myself, but the connection never comes. He halts his mouth a breath away from my glistening pussy. What is he doing?
I don’t move a muscle, anticipating his next move. Waiting until my impatience grows like a pestering weed, blanketing my entire body.
Men have tortured me before but never like this. Never in a way that twisted my desire in a titillating direction. What is he waiting for? He wants to prove himself so badly. He wants to make me come and actually like it? Do it already.
Then I realize. He’s waiting for me. He wants me to ask for it. Beg for it. He wants to know that I’m in this for real. As skeptical as I am of his intentions, I’m also curious. Does he just talk a good game or is he the real deal?
He wants a submissive? I can be that. I was trained by the most ruthless
man on the planet. Submission was implanted into my bones. But I don’t know if I can be more than that. If I can give more than that. If I can just let go and hand over my pleasure on a silver platter. That seems impossible. I have relied on myself for so long, I’m not sure how to rely on another. How to let go of that control.
Our eyes lock as I deliberate. It seems he’s content to wait forever, just dangling whatever he has to offer like a carrot on a stick.
There’s something about him, though. Something calming. Something alluring. Something undeniably seductive.
Trust him.
I can’t trust anyone. It’s too dangerous.
Jett blows on my clit again, and I feel the arousing sensation splinter across every boundary. I drop my head and arch my back. An unexpected feeling of impunity rolling over my exposed limbs.
Why does that simple gesture affect me so? Why do I like it so much? Why do I want more?
“Jett,” I sigh unconsciously, as if a plea, not even realizing his name escaped my lips. But my simple supplication is all it takes to spark him on. I nearly catapult off the desk the moment hot flesh connects with hot flesh. Something inside me ignites as Jett unleashes every wicked thing reflected in his eyes. My fears come screaming to life as I’m sucked into a brave new world of desire.
I gasp as his tongue explores, rolling and sliding and flattening over my hot, pink, buzzing bundle of nerves.
I don’t recognize myself or the reaction my body is having. The want spreading through every extremity. I try to spread my legs wider, coax him closer, gain more pressure, but I’m trapped.
“Ohhh,” my cries ring out as he buries his face between my legs and gorges on my pussy like it’s his all-time favorite sweet treat. His indulgent moans are as deafening as mine. The vibrations from his mouth and his insistent tongue send me to my safest place. I drift into the darkness, escaping my past and disconnecting from the present so I can find my release.
“You’re going to make me come.” I jerk in his iron grasp as butterflies do revolutions in my lower belly. I’ve never declared that to a man and actually meant it, but here I am, flying freely, handing Jett something I thought I could never give anyone. The lashes of his tongue get harder and faster over my stinging clit, as I bolt toward my breaking point.