He held out a hand and palmed the well-worn handle of a leather flogger. Grinning and ready to jump out of his own skin, yet at the same time sensing a familiar lick of power he nestled down in it, owned it, and at that moment found peace.
Chapter Nine
“Law school sucks,” the girl claimed as she flopped onto the couch nearby. Jack glanced up from his perusal of that very fact via mounds of torts and other random legal bullshit.
His shoulders ached as he stretched his arms up, not really paying that much attention to her. He allowed that that he may well have met his limit: being a full-time law school student at a premiere school and trying to fulfill his every sexual fantasy at a club he’d been invited to join not that far from the center of downtown Chicago.
The house he’d rented was a rattletrap piece of shit. The one roommate he’d found had bailed, and he was fast realizing something else important about himself—he did not like living alone.
He was lonely. And a little intimidated by how deep into the BDSM scene he seemed to be going. Plus flat out exhausted by all the flipping bookwork he had to do just to get through his classes.
Law school had occurred to him almost as a whim during his junior year at Michigan State. His roommate and new buddy, Rob, had been headed to medical school. As was Suzanne, whom he had managed to avoid more than he liked for the last years of undergrad.
He had no real idea what he wanted to do but was not about to join the “be a doctor” bandwagon, no way. Way too much blood and guts involved there. He could get his M.B.A., as he would be emerging with a Bachelor of Science in Business, but that sounded like more boring theory and stats.
He’d been messing around with a girl who’d been preparing for the LSAT. One morning while she slept off an epic fuck session, he picked up her study guide and settled down with it. By the time she woke up and booted him out of her place, he was convinced that should be his next step. The act of “practicing law” was not the draw but rather the challenge of taking that damn test. His interest was piqued so he got his own prep books and, in typical fashion, devoted hours to the goal.
Now, here he was at a very expensive school of The Law, while Rob had tossed his med school admissions letter and was in France, studying to be a chef. Suzanne had headed south and the last he heard had a serious future-doctor boyfriend.
The girl he’d been ignoring made a funny, exasperated sound somewhere between a snort and a sigh, breaking his reverie. He glanced at her again and did a double take.
She was curled up on the crappy student lounge couch in a corner of the main law building basement—a place he’d found and scoped out as his own for getting work done between classes a few weeks ago.
“Yeah,” he said, raking his gaze over her near-perfect form. She had big tits, which were a bonus, but since he was an ass and legs man he waited her out. His newfound inner radar started pinging the second her dark blue eyes met his. “I’m Jack.”
“Hi, Jack. Jenna.” She proceeded to ignore him for a solid hour, and he let her. He had already figured something important out about Jenna. And knew she’d stick around and chat some more. He smiled when he sensed her nearby, hovering over him. “Um, can you make heads or tails of this?” She pointed to an open passage in her book.
“Maybe. I think I need coffee first. Join me?” He got to his feet and gathered all of his papers. She watched, her eyes widening, then met his smile with one of her own.
“Yeah, sure, Jack,” she said, lingering over his name in a way that made him frown as she stuffed her book in her backpack and shouldered it. The look on her face confused him, as her body was sending clear signals that he intercepted and translated in an instant.
They walked, chatting about nothing in particular, and Jack got his first full look at her. She was about five foot four in flat shoes, with a curvy form, packed into nondescript dark denim jeans and red sweater that dipped into her impressive cleavage nicely. Her dark brown hair tumbled around her shoulders and her laugh was low, sexy. It rumbled around in his head in a way that he recognized.
He’d spent last summer learning something about himself that shocked him at first. Then had settled into his new reality as a sexual Dom with an eagerness that made that first girl who’d invited him to club a very happy camper.
The owner of the small place in downtown Detroit was an older guy, good-looking still, and content to show him the ropes…and the handcuffs…the floggers… the whips and ball gags. He’d made a project of Jack actually, grooming him, he claimed, for greatness.
He grinned and took a step closer to the alluring, sexy Jenna as they stood in line for coffee. He could smell it on her like lingering smoke—her plain-as-day willingness to submit to him. She looked up and met his gaze.
The moment that should have been awkward made his entire body go on the sort of high alert he now understood. He smiled at her, keeping it friendly. A corner of her full lips tilted up in a way that made him certain. He was no expert yet but well on his way. While sensing the sexual energy of every female in a room was sometimes tiring, now that he could channel it, figure out which of them would actually provide him the outlet he required, it seemed that it all led him to this precise moment. And to Jenna.
She leaned closer to him in a way entirely inappropriate for having just met. “I don’t want coffee, really. Let’s go to your place.”
He swallowed hard. Something was off, or shifted to the left, just far enough for him to sense its off-kilter presence. He looked down into her deep blue eyes. Noted the way her breathing had ramped up. The pulse in her throat caught his gaze, beating, beating. And those lips…dear god they were tempting.
He forced himself to keep his own smile non-committal. “I don’t know, Jenna. Maybe I’m not ready.” He raised an eyebrow. This was his scene. He was not about to let her call the shots.
“Oh I think you are.” She turned just enough to shield her hand, the one she put right over his zipper.
He didn’t move or shift away. He did, however, narrow his eyes at her on purpose, making sure she got the gist of his displeasure. “I’m not sure I said you could touch me yet, Jenna.” He kept his voice low and slow, but his brain was starting to hum with a familiar sense of rightness. She lowered her gaze, tucked the offending hand back into her jacket pocket, and started to step back.
He gripped her arm, loving the way the heat transferred from her to him, and shot down his spine. “Don’t move.” He glanced around then, and put his mouth near her ear, taking in a fresh breath of her intoxicating scent. “I can sense that you know what I like…Jenna….” Even her name felt exotic, unique, on his lips. “But just because you want it does not mean I’m giving it to you. Are we clear?”
Keeping her eyes downcast, she nodded. Then looked up fast, surprising him. Later, he would realize that was the moment he should have known, should have figured out Jenna’s manipulative tendencies. If he had been more mature, more at ease with his powers of perception, or at least in tune to the instantaneous, gut reaction to run away from her as fast as he could, right then he might have avoided a shit ton of head and heart ache.
Instead he smiled at her boldness, liking it and wanting to tame it—thinking he could. Which was his mistake number one.
“You don’t have to…Sir,” she whispered, not tearing her gaze from his. Something about her rubbed him both ways—wrong and right. He could not figure it out. Her neediness—that familiar aura he’d come to know and grasp those nights at the club that first summer—was tinged with something else, something ominous. He ignored it. And let his overwhelming urge to control her shove away the worry.
“I know that. Let’s sit. Have coffee.” He grinned at her exasperated look. Yeah, control this scene, Gordon. Otherwise she would, and something told him that would be very bad.
“After you.” He grabbed their cardboard cups and nodded toward an empty table in a sea of students drinking, reading, talking—doing all the normal things. He zeroed in on Jenna
and her many subliminal signals.
“So Jenna,” he said stretching his legs out under the table and letting his calf make contact with hers. He sensed her flinch ever so slightly at the touch. “Where are you from?”
She sipped her coffee and kept her gaze on his. “Southern Illinois, little town you’ve never heard of.”
“Okay.” Jack stayed apart, trying to remain objective, but something about her fairly screamed “take me now” so loudly he was surprised everyone around them couldn’t hear it.
He swallowed hard, willed himself calm, and made small-talk with her. It was not comfortable. The more they sat and the more he tried to make it “just a chat,” the hornier he got. He knew damn good and well she was throwing it, her vibe, just to see if he’d catch it. He did not like being tested. But at the same time wanted to prove he could pass with flying fucking colors.
Finally he stood, slowly, never more unsure and sure of something at the same time in his life. She rose at the same pace, her body drawing his eyes and making him have to bite his tongue not to say something that would tip the scale of power in her favor. Because that is exactly what this was, as they stood and stared at each other across the small, coffee shop table—a power play.
Her hair tumbled around her face. High cheekbones were flushed red, dark blue eyes flashed, the hands she put on her hips all tempted. It was as if she were dressed the way he preferred, in a short, easy-access dress and towering high heels, hair done up, all ready for him. When really she just stood there in jeans, a sweater, and little makeup. The minute flowed into two as the world continued to orbit around them.
He frowned, pissed at himself for being so weird. Attaching emotion to something that should contain none, trying to focus on his ability to show her a good time, nothing more or less. It was not until many years later that he understood keeping himself emotionally aloof from so many for so long had been a mistake and led him to this moment, when he allowed himself an ill-timed moment of vulnerability.
She leaned back then, cocked one hip as if pulling away. He nearly fell forward but caught himself on the table. This was too much. He should bolt, fast, before he did something really dumb.
“C’mon,” he blurted out, his voice gruff. “We need to clear the air.”
She let him put a possessive hand in the small of her back and guide her out without speaking, as if they were already a couple. His house was a ten-minute car ride from campus but he toyed with walking there, if only to use the time to get his head straight.
Then he found himself opening the passenger’s side door and handing her in. She moved in a fluid way like a dancer. Jack couldn’t help but be mesmerized even as she did something so innocuous as get into his truck. The ride was quiet but in an oddly comfortable way, as if they were used to each other’s silences and willing to let them happen.
When he parked in the drive, apprehension gripped his gut and gave it a painful twist. She sat, waiting for him to make the first move like a good submissive. He shuddered when the word hit the front of his brain. She was that, to be sure, but his? That was another question and one he was not sure he wanted the answer to, yet.
The months he had spent calming his excess energy by learning how to dominate, how to please, how to be in complete control of his partners’ pleasure had been a pure buzz. He loved it. There was no denying that, or that he was a natural at it.
More women had been pleasured by him and his abilities than he could even remember now. He’d “graduated with honors,” and while the old club owner guy would not yet call him a Master, he knew if he hadn’t left for law school when he did, it would have been a matter weeks before that happened. But now he felt queasy and decidedly un-masterful.
A hand touched his leg. He stared at it. The short nails were painted a funky brown like dried blood. The gut-deep reaction Jack was having to her was freaking him the fuck out. He gulped and decided to make this short and sweet and bid her farewell as quickly as he possibly could. Without looking at her he climbed out, then stomped up the steps and unlocked the door, tossing his stuff on the entryway floor. Continuing to ignore her, he escaped to the small kitchen to gulp some water.
He sensed her enter. Felt her walk up behind him after a few minutes. She waited quietly until he turned. When he did, gaping at the sight of Jenna, completely naked in his kitchen, her firm, large breasts tipped with deep pink nipples, Jack sensed something in his brain click into place.
Her sex was nearly bare but for a small triangle of dark brown fuzz. He could see it all, including an intriguing piece of body art that he reached out to touch. The black vine-looking thing emerged from around her side, bloomed like a leafless tree across her stomach, reaching down into her tiny patch of pubic hair. His finger shook as he touched it, but the heat of her skin soothed him. The feel of female flesh under his hand cast a pall over his zinging nerves. He pulled her close and everything slowed, including his racing pulse.
She tasted like coffee and like something exotic, as he parted her lips and she went up on her tiptoes to put her arms around his neck and mold her body against his. He stopped. She stepped back, dropping her gaze. “I’m sorry. I should not have touched you…yet.”
Wiping his lips as the nervousness tickled his brain again, he took her hand, led her back to his room. He hadn’t had any women in his house in a while, much less in his room, even after a year of school. Which was odd considering his previous preference for intimate house parties.
His time at the club had changed his taste for play and he’d kept it separate from where he lived on purpose. Problem was, he wanted this one close, in his personal space. The strength of the wanting terrified and exhilarated him all at once.
He opened a small chest, pulled out a length of soft cotton rope and nothing else. “Lie down,” he said, his voice so low he could barely hear it himself. “Hands over your head.” He bound her wrists, allowed himself a few moments to stroke her amazing body, watching as she reacted, loving it so much he felt like he could keep her here forever. She bent one leg as her breathing quickened.
He kissed her then, unable to stop himself, dove into her mouth as his fingertips found their target. She sighed, writhed under his touch and his lips. Then he stopped himself, got off the bed and left her there without a word.
He needed space. He should not have brought her here. He wasn’t ready for something that felt so…incredibly…strange. What should be right simply was not. He couldn’t figure it out. After whimpering a little, Jenna stayed quiet.
Jack sat at the small kitchen table and contemplated the odd sensations fluttering around his brain like trapped insects. Yeah, his cock was hard enough to cut diamonds but that he could handle. It was his heart, which kept pounding and his head, which buzzed so loudly he could barely hear himself think. What was this?
He ran a hand down his face, around the back of his neck. The longer he sat, the worse it got. So he stood and stomped back into the bedroom, stripping out of his clothes under her gaze. She bit her plump, delicious, lower lip. An odd sensation of ownership enveloped him. That was his lip. He would bite it, and she would do exactly what he told her.
As if in a daze, moving slowly and with purpose but not even understanding what or why—just that he had to do it, he rolled her over. Yanking her hips up, he smacked her ass, hard, open-handed, once, twice, again. Watching as her flesh reddened and hearing her sighs and squeals of pleasure. The ropes at her wrists caught his eye for some reason. She was pulling against them so hard they burned her skin and a drop of blood had appeared, catching his eye with its contrast against the rope’s whiteness.
He stared at it, caressing her hip and ass that he’d just smacked yet again. To her credit, she stayed quiet, emitting only little sighs and moans as he ran both his hands up her back and into her hair. He gripped tight and pulled with one, then used his other to trace that wild tree-thing covering her lower back and snaking around to her front.
“I don’t know what it is ab
out you…but….” He let go of her and rolled a condom over his cock, still feeling trancelike, outside himself, unable to stop or breathe or think. His control was slipping. He knew it. When he slid into her, inch by exquisite, inch, her body gripped him so tight he gasped. And her sighs turned into a low groan of satisfaction. He closed his eyes and let it happen. The moment was sublime and meant more to him than it likely should.
He moved slowly, watching as if from a distance, gripping her hips then reaching around to tease her until she cried out. Her whole body seemed to pull him toward something he honestly believed he should run away from.
“Oh shit,” he moaned and grabbed her hair again, yanking her head back as she continued her low moaning and her body kept such a firm hold on his dick it almost hurt. Everything froze just as the orgasm exploded across his nerve endings, making him lose himself utterly for the first time since Mindy.
He sighed and draped his body around hers. Pulling her down, he cradled her close as he unbound her wrists. She still hadn’t spoken but was shaking, trembling so hard her teeth chattered.
“Shh…,” he whispered, pulling the quilt up over her while he hit the bathroom. “Shh…Jenna,” he caressed her name when he returned, loving the feel of it in his mouth as his brain sent up warnings to let her go, not allow to her stay. But she was just so right, here in his arms. Burying his nose in her hair he sighed, and slept.
Chapter Ten
By the time Jack had found a roommate, a fellow second-year student named Evan Adams who was hiding from his own inner Dom with a vanilla girlfriend, Jack felt like he had a complete handle on his life for the first time ever.
It was a buzz. He was on top of everything including the hot woman who was now his full-time sub. They’d declared themselves as such at a new club he’d found, thanks to a contact back in Detroit. Jenna was brash, the definition of high-maintenance. At once eager to please and hard to manage, she totally got off on being punished, so it worked. Or at least he thought it did.
What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 3) Page 23