Owned [Club Pleasure 6] (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Allyson Young

  Big body trembling above her, Maurice lifted his head enough to stare into her eyes. Possessed. The only way to describe how she felt. Possessed. In a good way. Experimentally, she pressed her palms flat against either side of his head and flexed her entire body in one long caress, relishing the coarser hair of his body against the softer textures of her own skin.

  As if given a signal, he took hold of her knees, pushing them up and open in one smooth movement, then unleashed himself. His heart thundered in his eyes—she could see it as he took her with pounding, calculated strokes, each thrust filling her and working against something high inside her. Unable to close her eyes for fear of losing herself, she clung to his gaze like a lifeline while he took his pleasure and gave her more. She didn’t participate, she couldn’t. He dominated her, not only with his size, the connection of their bodies, but with his very will. He needed this, as vanilla as he termed it, and she gave it to him. And not having to wonder where to touch, how to move, merely receive, was a godsend.

  Incredibly, something loosened inside her as she surrendered. It spiraled in concert with the building pressure of another orgasm.

  “Wait for me.” Maurice rasped the command, the cords in his neck as taut as his voice.

  She struggled to contain the sensation, willing everything to coalesce as he demanded. Her fingers fell to his shoulders, digging into the thick, packed muscle she found there, anchoring herself.

  “Now. Come now!”

  His cock swelled inside her, impossibly bigger, but she had to accept it, and the extra stimulation broke her concentration. Coupled with his decree and her own desperate need, she let go. His weight kept her from leaving her body as her vision splintered in sparking light and faded to black.

  * * * *

  Maurice gingerly eased away from Susan’s boneless body, their combined sweat cooling rapidly against his skin. He’d come so hard, the semen boiling up from his balls to erupt uselessly against the barrier of the condom, that it nearly erased all that had gone before. Nearly. Her welcome of his taking, the way she melted and never looked away from him, the emotional connection heightening the physical one, making it…He couldn’t come up with anything to describe. Never at a loss for words, Maurice cudgeled his brain and finally thought it. Love.

  He’d wanted his One, begun to desperately seek her, obsess over her, but had he ever thought of love? Dominating her, training her, bringing out the very best in her, yes. But his soul mate? Was he deserving of this gift?

  Susan was still floating on the cusp of sleep, as evidenced by her lax form and slow, deep breaths. She lay splayed, arms akimbo, legs sprawled, the picture of a well-used and well-pleasured woman. His chest swelled to accommodate his heart, and he climbed off the bed on weak legs to dispose of the condom, then turn off the lights, leaving only a small lamp to burn on the nightstand. He took his place beside her again, stretching out to loop an arm around her waist to drag her closer, tugging up a sheet to cover them both.

  “Mmmm. S’it morning?”

  Fuck, he hoped not. He wanted to take her again in the morning, this time with her riding him to completion. Take her in every position he could think of and devise. But before that he’d bathe her, feed her breakfast, tell her everything about himself, find out all her secrets…

  “Not morning. Sleep,” he urged.

  Nestling into his side, her breath huffing against his chest, Susan drifted off again. Maurice listened to her breathe, accustoming himself to a woman in his bed, and made a fierce promise to never give her cause to regret her ultimate surrender.

  * * * *

  That broken slat in the blinds allowed just enough sun in to cast a wakeup call against his eyelids. Had to fix the damn thing. Groaning, he rolled away from it, and then his eyes popped open.

  The room was the same, but the light he’d left burning in case Susan woke up and was disoriented had either burned out or been turned off. Her spicy scent still permeated the very air, over the undertone of sex, but she wasn’t in his bed. Maurice was seized by a sense of loss so profound his limbs felt leaden.

  Fighting against the immobility, he rolled off the mattress and set his feet down, eyes on the bathroom door. He strode to it, his morning wood slapping at his belly, and wrenched at the handle. A damp washcloth, neatly hung over one of the towel racks, and a small towel beside it suggested she’d tended to herself. It disappointed him, all his plans knocked awry. He’d flirted with the idea of tying one of her wrists to the bed and wished he had. His One was dependent on him for everything, including her morning routine.

  Scowling, he prowled through the house, greeted with the faint smell of coffee—and bacon? Susan, clad in one of his T-shirts, was standing in front of the stove, a finger pressed against her chin as she squinted at the myriad of dials. A pan sat on the back burner, crackles and splatters confirming the cooking of bacon, and he spied a carton of eggs on the adjoining counter. A bowl of sliced fruit was on the breakfast bar.

  She’d twisted back her hair, and the tail fell beneath her shoulders. His shirt flirted with her thighs, the volume of the material eclipsing her shape. As he stared, his cock aching, one slender foot lifted to stroke down the back of the opposite calf. He waited for her to adjust the heat on the bacon before speaking.

  “Good morning.”

  With a stifled shriek, she whirled, twirling on the ball of her foot, and he moved quickly to steady her.

  “Good morning.”

  Her eyes lowered, head ducking. Was she greeting him as her Master, or was it shyness? It didn’t matter in the moment. Tugging up the T-shirt, he cupped her ass cheeks and pulled her against him.

  Speaking against her hair, he murmured. “While I appreciate waking to breakfast, I would prefer waking to you. In my bed, available, waiting on my direction.”

  She looked up, her forehead wrinkling in confusion, violet eyes narrowing.

  “I thought you’d be hungry. After…” Color flooded her face, flowing up from the neckline of the appropriated shirt.

  “I’m hungry, sweetheart. But for more than food. First things first. I’d planned to wake you and show you how most mornings with your Master start, but you circumvented me.” He knew his disappointment was probably childish in her eyes, and he regretted not explaining things. But between her punishment and the ball-busting sex, there hadn’t been the time or opportunity.

  “Return to the bedroom. Present.”

  Reading the mutiny in the set of her mouth, he rested the flat of his hand on her buttocks in a suggestive manner. Susan gave him a considering look, but she went without another word. He lifted the pan from the burner and set it away, turning the heat off, before he followed her.

  The sight of her, T-shirt discarded, folded on top of his leathers and shirt from the night before…He faltered. She’d picked up his clothing…Maurice pulled himself back to the moment, shaken. Susan had risen, tidied the room, and went to make him breakfast. That wasn’t what he wanted. But was it what he needed? He pushed past the indecision to what he knew.

  She stood as he’d instructed, hands laced behind her head, breasts unfettered and available, sweet, pink pussy exposed by her stance. But there was no welcome. Quickly he went to her, noting how she looked past him.

  “Susan, talk to me.”

  There was a tiny shake of her head, but she said nothing. He gently pried her fingers apart and lowered her arms, pulling her closer. She was tense and continued to avoid his eyes.

  He sighed, and her glance flicked to his face. “We have to work this out. I’ve told you I’m in charge. I dictate your actions, when you rise, what you wear, if you cook for me, everything. Twenty-four-seven. I explained. I’ll do a better job in the future.”

  Those incredible eyes were stormy and her full mouth mutinous. Maurice felt a tinge of worry. He forced it down and waited.

  At last, she said, “I’m not a Barbie doll you can play with and put away when you’re finished.”

  Gathering her up, he stalk
ed to the bed and placed her on it, pulling a bench over to sit directly in front of her. When he was certain he wouldn’t lash out, wondering at his lack of patience, he answered her. “Never a Barbie doll. Not any kind of doll, Susan. Tell me why you got up and made breakfast this morning.”

  She searched his face, but he gave her nothing. “I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep. I needed the bathroom, and once I was up I decided to make you a meal.”

  “And did you think that was what I wanted?”

  “I…I didn’t know. I just thought I should.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s expected. You know, girl meets boy. They date and sleep together and she starts nesting, does things for him. It’s expected.” She worried at the nap on the quilt with the fingertips of one hand and wouldn’t look at him.

  “Not by me,” he said quietly. “You had an overwhelming evening and an abrupt introduction into a taste of my expectations last night. It was my job to ensure you were feeling all right this morning, take care of you. You gainsaid me.”

  “I was just trying to do everything right.” Her voice was a mere whisper, and he didn’t think it was only because of his challenge.

  “What happens if you don’t?”

  Startled, she lifted her head and stared him in the eye. “What? With you?”

  “With me.”

  “You tell me, communicate your displeasure.”

  “And?”

  One perfect tear pushed over Susan’s left eyelid and meandered down her cheek. Maurice watched it, fascinated, as his woman puzzled things out. “And we move on.”

  “We do.”

  Sitting silently, waiting for her to assimilate her readings and his sharing, Maurice pondered his reaction to Susan’s attempt to please him with breakfast. He’d felt ambivalence, but it appeared he’d made the correct response. She had to have taken a guess at what he wanted, and it obviously weighed heavily. He took a chance. “Who taught you that everything had to be done right, but made you second-guess yourself, because there was no clear direction or a muddled response?”

  Another tear escaped from the other eye, and she reached up to dash it away. He grabbed her hand and kissed the moisture from it. The silence stretched out and became uncomfortable before she answered. “My father.”

  “We’ll talk about him.”

  “No. I never talk about him, and I’m not about to start.”

  “You’ll share with me, sweetheart. He’s not getting in the way of this. Of us. I’ll help you deal—”

  Susan scrabbled away across the bed, knees lifting in scissor strides as she used her heels to propel her, her hands flailing against the linens. “No.”

  “Susan.”

  She nearly fell off the other side, throwing her legs around just in time to get her feet on the floor, and despite the heat of the moment, he ate her up with his eyes. All that porcelain, silky skin, buttocks faintly marred by the paddle. He both lusted after her and wanted to offer her his heart on a platter. She pushed her hair back in an impatient movement and glared at him. “This isn’t working. I’m not the one you want. I can’t be or do what you need.”

  He paced to her, effectively caging her against the wall, and used his bulk to hem her in, heedless of their nakedness. Susan was as far from aroused as any woman could be, although his cock simply wasn’t appreciating the implication.

  “I want you to listen. As my submissive you won’t have to worry about doing things right or wrong. You’ll simply know or ask with no fear of any kind of retribution. Imagine the release, without the burden to carry. You’ve carried too much for too long. And it’s all tied up with your parents.”

  “Not my mother.” Venom laced her tone, and he nearly flinched but spoke the words anyhow.

  “If your father had such an effect on you, then he had to have had one on your mom. The dynamics of their relationship would also have an impact on you.”

  The intelligence he prized flashed across her face, and she obviously struggled to calm her emotions. He eased in closer and locked eyes with her until she spoke.

  “He ground her down. And me. The day he left us was the best day of my life.”

  But I wonder if your mom felt the same way? Abused women tended to cling to what they knew and found it difficult to leave the person—and the situation. Better the devil one knows…Maurice slipped his arms around her rigid form and tugged her close, keeping one arm around her waist, stroking her back with his other hand. He spoke against her temple.

  “How’d your mom cope?”

  “Fine. We were fine. It was the best thing that happened to us.” Her voice was shrill, defensive.

  “How old were you?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I won’t tolerate disrespect, Susan.” He felt her shudder and suck in several deep breaths and knew she was going to go either way—safe out or cooperate. There would be no middle ground. He couldn’t remember feeling such gut-wrenching fear, but he kept his body relaxed and held her close.

  “Eleven.”

  He instantly rewarded her, nuzzling her hair and intensifying the hug, his relief making him even more effusive. The hot rush of tears rained across his chest, and he soothed her. Who could have known that a slight battle of wills over bacon and eggs—and his thwarted morning plans for her—would have resulted in a purging of such intense, unresolved grief and loss?

  Turning with her still tucked into his hold, he sat on the bed and cuddled her onto his lap where she fit like she belonged. As indeed she did. Stroking her hair away from her face, he said, “She needed you then, too, and you were just a kid.”

  Susan merely nodded, her tears still falling.

  “You were a good girl, sweetheart. You are a good girl.” Even Adam had seen it.

  “She died anyhow.” And there it was.

  “You’ll be pissed at her from time to time, Susan. For many things. Like any kid feels for their parents. Doesn’t diminish how much you love her.”

  “I’m so tired. Tired of everything. Make it go away.”

  “That’s my plan, sweetheart. That’s my plan.”

  He rolled and bore her down beneath him, taking her lips with as much passion as he could muster, successfully wringing an immediate surrender as she went lax. Her lips parted, and he forged inside, mapping her mouth and dueling her tongue into submission. His cock pulsed between them, and he cursed the need to move away even an inch to snag a condom, his hand patting ineffectually against the nightstand, before he grudgingly lifted his head to orient himself. Susan gasped for air.

  Sheathing himself with the ease of long practice, he pressed against the opening to her channel and surged inside without pause, eased by the wet heat of her. Wet for him just from a kiss. Her hands rested above her head, the tips of her fingers overlapping, as he took her. She lay, acquiescent, without binds, accepting his urgent demand, and he again rewarded her, working to find her G-spot, watching her cues as her hips lifted to meet his thrusts. Her face tightened and her eyes squinched shut as she crested. He insisted she come, and allowed the clenching of her sheath to milk his heavy erection. Once again his balls boiled and his spine melted with his release.

  “Maurice.” His name shuddered past her panting lips in completion, and he accepted it. Master was his preferred title, but he’d heard it often, from any number of submissives. It was only fitting that Susan use his given name. She’d come to call him Master, too, just as she’d already come to call him Sir. He levered off her relaxed body and dropped a kiss on her temple. She appeared to have moved past her earlier angst, as was his intention and hope, although there would be future discussions and revelations about her childhood.

  “Time for a shower, sweetheart.”

  A startled glance, those big blue eyes still glazed with the residue of her orgasm, but Susan obediently took the hand he offered as he stood from the bed. He led her into the bathroom and disposed of the condom then used the toilet. Her cheeks were flushed when he
turned to her.

  “Modesty?”

  “Uh, some bathroom things are…private.”

  He grasped a piece of her hair in disarray from her ponytail. “Nothing private between us, sweetheart.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing. Do you need to pee?”

  “No. And I’d like to negotiate.”

  He laughed, the sound clearly startling her, but it cajoled that beautiful smile. “Sure.”

  “You mean I can?”

  “Yes. Although ultimately, it’ll be my decision.”

  He heard her mutter sheesh beneath her breath and somehow managed not to smile, before ushering her into the shower. Cleansing her was his privilege, and she preened beneath his caring and questing hands like a kitten. His cock made a halfhearted suggestion, but he figured his sub needed breakfast more than he needed another orgasm. And if that wasn’t forbearance, he didn’t know what was.

  Donning a pair of jeans and a shirt, he allowed Susan the tee. Cooking without cover wasn’t usually a pleasant experience for the cook, and he planned to allow her to help. He towed her to the kitchen, her bare feet squeaking against the tile as she hurried to match his strides.

  “Sit, sweetheart.” He urged her onto one of the barstools against the counter before lighting one of the gas burners up and shoving the pan with the bacon into the oven to warm. He wouldn’t toss her earlier efforts, no matter he avoided cholesterol as much as possible.

  “What can I do?”

  “Make the toast in a few. The bread is in the freezer, butter in the cupboard above the sink. I’ll make an omelet.”

  She perched on the stool and watched him. He could feel her intent regard. “I prefer sunny side up, Susan. Bacon, when I indulge, crisp, and whole wheat toast. No butter. Marmalade. Coffee—”

  “Black.”

  “Black, and you take yours with cream,” he agreed, affably.

  “Why are we having an omelet?”

  “Because you prefer them, and you need to eat more. Gain some weight.”