He grabbed several paper napkins from the bar, cleaning himself and stowing his still spent cock. After washing his hands in the small bar sink, he wiped between Christiana’s legs and pulled her panties back up.
“You may rise, Christiana.”
He released her hands from his tie. Of course, Mark and Yvette would know immediately what had happened as soon as he returned to them with his tie now crumpled beyond repair.
Jonathan moved a stray hair from Christiana’s damp forehead and cupped her chin once more. He studied her eyes. She wasn’t too steady on her feet, still flying from her orgasm and processing all that had happened in the last few minutes.
“Come here.” He sat in one of the large chairs by the door and pulled her to his lap. She laid her head on his chest. For several long minutes, he nuzzled her hair and stroked her arms. When he felt her heartbeat slow to normal, he eased his hold.
“You are mine, Christiana. Never forget that. Now, I’m going upstairs. You’ll take a few minutes to pull yourself together. Then you’ll come take our lunch orders. After bringing us our food, you’ll check on us every ten minutes. When we’re through, I’ll walk out the door with them. In fact, you’ll hold the door open for us. The photographers out front will capture a picture of me escorting Yvette, a woman who heads the largest charitable fundraising committee in the country, out of one of the nicest restaurants in D.C. If we’re lucky, the photo will appear in Sunday’s style section, given Yvette’s impending divorce. This will make sure they leave you alone.”
Her chin quivered slightly. He knew which part of his speech she didn’t like; he didn’t like the thought of Christiana being forgotten any more than she did. She’d be etched into his past as the most beautiful and poignant memory he’d ever had the privilege of earning. If he wanted more opportunities with her, he needed to protect her from Washington’s most notorious wolves—the press.
“This will make it easier for us to go away this weekend, back to Charlottesville.” He pressed his lips to her mouth, and she leaned into him heavily.
“Yes, sir,” she said quietly when he released the kiss.
“Are you able to go back to work now?” He needed to know she wouldn’t drop the first tray of food she was handed on Yvette’s head—by accident, of course.
“I’m fine. Good.” She smiled.
“Back to work with you then, lovely.” He reluctantly released his embrace.
23
Christiana paused at the entrance of Covil Sereia, allowing the clean, sultry bouquet of honeysuckle and orange wipe away the tension from the last few strange days.
After Jonathan’s “correction” in the Cabinet Room, Christiana had served him, his aide and the beautiful, poised, perfect Yvette DeCord, as directed. Soft laughter had erupted from their table several times that afternoon, and Christiana strained to hear what in Mrs. DeCord’s banter had them so amused. Yvette’s polite words to Christiana only made her want to drop a plate of raw oysters over the beauty queen’s flawlessly coiffed head.
The afternoon had played out as Jonathan predicted, even down to the photographers rushing them at the door that Christiana held open. Too bad Jonathan couldn’t forecast and orchestrate the rest of her life.
Reality returned with a vengeance. She’d met with her dad’s accountant, gotten the dishwasher fixed, and had the oil changed in her car, mundane tasks that suddenly seemed illusory. She’d avoided Avery, but her constant messages only added to the surreal nature her life had taken on.
Over the week, Avery’s messages became increasingly sweet. Only after Christiana finally talked to her live did the reason become clear. Avery’s light tone couldn’t camouflage her intentions. “We should double date or something. Wouldn’t that be great?”
Over my dead body. Most people underestimated Avery’s intelligence. Christiana never had. Only after Christiana swore she wasn’t dating Jonathan, that their relationships resembled mentor-mentee, did Avery stop her inquisition. But even that half-truth didn’t prevent her from grilling Christiana about her weekend, and Christiana finally admitted to having out-of-town plans.
“My Dad, well . . . .”
“You’re going to go meet him? Be careful.” Avery’s honest concern had only thickened the guilt stewing in her belly. Christiana should have caught a plane to meet her father. His messages had grown less coherent as Avery’s attitude became more saccharine. A good daughter would have headed to whatever Holiday Inn in Tennessee he’d passed out in and chucked the mini-bar through the window.
“Come back to me.” Jonathan’s voice stopped her black thoughts. He set her bag down inside the door and stood straight and strong before the entranceway’s Buddha.
“I’m here.” Christiana stepped into his open arms. She inhaled his pure male scent. This is where she wanted to be. She just hoped she hadn’t fucked it up with her jealousy.
He nuzzled the top of her head. “Go into the bathroom, strip off all your clothes, and slip into the tub. Wait for me there.”
Warm steam enveloped her body two steps into the blue, glass-tiled tub room off the master bathroom. The surface of the water in the sunken tub glistened with milky bubbles in the soft candlelight flickering from a dozen candles. A tall bamboo ladder propped against the wall was hung with white fluffy towels. She knew they’d be warm without having to touch them.
Blanca must have been here only moments before they arrived, to prepare the bath. Christiana marveled at how Jonathan directed the dozens of people who must float around him and his life, making things happen as if by magic. She wondered if a few of them might have gone to Tennessee to check on a certain reporter.
Christiana undressed and laid her clothes on a chair in the corner. She smiled at a hair tie that sat on the counter, another detail he’d probably dictated to the unseen Blanca.
After securing her hair, now curling in the humidity, she sank her body into the warmth. Fizzy, paper-thin jets of water rose from the bottom of the tub, massaging her limbs. She rested her head on the terry pillow affixed to the back edge and opened her legs, letting a single angel-hair stream of water shoot up to tickle her inner folds. She focused on the tiny water fingers playing with her skin, teasing her calves, the backs of her knees, and areas she hoped Jonathan might attend to later. She adjusted her behind so another stream ran up her cleft. So good. One by one, her worries flitted away on a thousand playful bubbles.
Jonathan’s leg brushed hers under the water. She hadn’t even heard him enter the room.
“Lean forward,” he said and eased himself behind her. His strong hands enclosed her shoulders, pulling her back to connect with his muscled chest, her ass firmly nestled against her favorite part of the sensual man. He wasn’t aroused, but his considerable size trailed up past her crevice.
Jonathan’s arms encircled her ribs, and she absorbed his strength. They relaxed in the water for several minutes, not speaking. His fingers ran up and down her arms. Soon her chest rose and fell in rhythm with his breath. He nuzzled her neck and, despite the hot water, a tremble ran through her middle.
“I’m sorry.” Where did that come from? Their conversation in the car down to Charlottesville had been light, even fun. The water must have coaxed the unsaid and unfinished up and out into broad daylight.
“For what?” he asked.
She wasn’t sure she could articulate her feelings. Maybe Jonathan could think on his feet, but she found her mind only caught up days after the events. Somehow words tumbled from her lips anyway.
“For everything. For getting drunk, for getting your picture in the paper, for not answering my phone so now Avery knows, for you having to correct—”
“Shhh, lovely. Forget that.” His voice rumbled deep in his chest, vibrating through her back straight to her heart.
“For not trusting you before,” she whispered.
His index fingers teased her nipples. The peaks awakened under his touch, hardening and tingling. His wet mouth latched onto her shoulder, an
d she sunk into relief over his silent proclamation. His tolerance of her obvious immaturity made her want to weep.
Before her mind could sift through more of her mistakes, Jonathan hooked his legs over her calves and pulled them open. All thought dissolved. Her legs relaxed from the magical water-angel fingers teasing her crevices. He seemed to know exactly where to place her, so she’d feel the most sensation, enough to stimulate but subtle enough to keep her on edge, a climax promised but kept in the distance.
“All’s forgiven.” His lips pulled into a smile on her shoulder. “But know you will beg to serve me before the sun sets tonight.” The energy shifted in his hands, now kneading her flesh urgently.
“Christiana, this weekend you’ll give me everything. We’re going to crush that worry you seem to carry around your neck like your pearls.”
Jonathan grasped her wrists in one hand and trailed the fingers of the other down her stomach until they found her mound. He held her splayed open with his stronger legs, refusing to let her twitching legs close an inch in defense.
“Even in this water, I can feel how wet you are. A woman’s lubrication isn’t easily washed away, just as our deepest fantasies can’t be rationalized away.” He dipped his fingers inside to prove his point.
He released her wrists. “Put your hands behind my neck and keep them there. I’m going to wash you.” His hot breath heated the side of her neck. “I am going to push you toward an abyss. You’ll be afraid. You’ll set aside your fear. Let go. You know I’ll be there to catch you every time. I’ll make sure you don’t go over the edge too hard or too fast.”
Her heartbeat rose under his sensual threat. She closed her eyes and focused on its heavy pounding.
“You’re tensing,” he said.
“I’m—I’m sorry.”
“For today, you won’t say ‘I’m sorry.’” Water sloshed as he slowly rubbed a washcloth over her breasts. “You’ll let go of any responsibility. I’m here to take care of everything.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jonathan ran the soft cloth down her belly and around her hips. He held on to her rib cage, rolling her nipple between his fingers, gently, slowly, but never stopping.
“I love your curves, Christiana. The way your waist dips in and then slopes out to that glorious ass.” His cloth-covered fingers dipped between her legs and curved in between her butt cheeks. Out of reflex, her legs jerked anew, trying to close. He held them open.
“You won’t bring them together unless I say so.” The cloth rubbed gently over her most forbidden area. Her legs quivered at the invasion.
“You liked when I touched you there, didn’t you, angel?”
She knew better than to lie even if the thought of anything happening there scared her out of her mind. “Yes.”
“Today, I’ll take my time, linger over what is mine to take. I’ll touch you, lick you, penetrate you, slow and easy.”
He drew the cloth upward and swirled it inside her inner creases, sending a finger up one side and down the other of her petals. Washing her. Preparing her.
“I’m taking away your choices. I’ll decide everything. You’ll scream, thrash and beg me to take you. You want this now. You’ve always wanted this.”
Adrenaline spiked as she focused on the way he swirled the cloth over her clit. A small moan escaped her throat.
“I’m glad you agree,” he said. His legs released hers, but she kept them on either side of the tub. Jonathan pulled her arms free of their grasp on his neck—she hadn’t realized until that moment she’d dug her fingernails into his flesh.
Water streamed down his torso as he stood, reaching for a towel. “Good girl. You may get out now.”
She hadn’t moved. She had kept her legs open as directed. But now she stepped out.
Jonathan slowly ran the warm, downy towel over each of her limbs. His intent devotion to each part of her quieted the unrest inside and allowed desire to rise.
He pulled a stray strand of hair from her cheek. “I’m going to give you a safeword, for the weekend. It’s ‘Washington.’”
He stared down at her in that way he had, as if giving her time to catch up. She both loved and hated that he had to do it. She knew what a safeword entailed, but hadn’t thought she’d ever need to utter one with Jonathan. His ability to perceive her needs, her discomforts or fears—even before she could comprehend them—had seemed enough. Yet if last weekend was any measure of his capabilities, anything could be in store.
As if reading her mind—or at least her quivering body—he gave her no more time to consider what was next. In seconds, he’d scooped her up, stripped off the towel, and gently laid her on the bed. Red lights from tiny recesses drenched the room in an eerie glow. An erotic chill danced over her skin.
“Get on all fours. Forehead on your hands. Bottom up.” She heard Jonathan open a drawer. Clinks and muffled scrapes of objects from the drawer piqued her curiosity. She quelled the urge to peek. What else had he pulled from his cache of delicious torture?
Jonathan’s jean-clad legs kneeled between her open thighs. The contact helped her manage the fear mixed with excitement.
A musky scent rose up as his hands slid down her buttocks, oiling them with a warm emollient. He worked his fingers between her cheeks and breached her anal ring, sliding past the resisting muscle with no warning. She gasped at his immediacy.
He moved his finger in and out a millimeter. “This is a special oil with benzocaine to help you relax more,”
“But you said—”
“And I meant it.”
Oh, God, did he really think she’d beg for that?
He reached around her waist with his other hand and circled her nerve center with clever, knowing fingers. The two sensations together sent a gush of pleasure up her back and down her spine. She would have never anticipated the dirty thoughts his invasion created. His finger slipped out, and she moaned from the release.
Okay, maybe the idea wasn’t off the table completely.
“Tell me what your safeword is, Christiana.”
“Washington.”
“If you say that word, everything stops. Do you understand?’
“Yes.”
When the whirring started, Christiana’s heart set off racing. Now that she knew what such sounds led to, a new level of foreboding, both thrilling and frightening, fueled her nerves.
Four long swaths of midnight blue cascaded from the ceiling. For a second, she was sure she’d suffocate with so much fabric surrounding her.
“Sit up,” he said.
More electrical sounds. He eased a tight leather mask over her head. Her sight gone, her hearing muffled, she calmed herself with deep breaths. He pulled the offending mask down to the bridge of her nose. The image of Catwoman came to mind, and she might have giggled at her thought if a crushing alarm hadn’t threatened to take over.
“Jonathan?” She couldn’t help herself.
She wished she had. She yelped at the unexpected impact of his hand to the side of her ass. She knew her direct question in such an informal address had earned her the resounding swat.
“Permission.” His tone, quiet.
“Sir, may I ask you a question?”
“You may.”
“Can I see you? Please?” She needed him to say yes.
“Not yet.” He fastened a thick heavy cuff to each wrist and ankle, inserting fingers in between cuff and skin, pulling to check their fit. He raised her hands so high she rose up to her knees. The click of a metal clip sent another jolt of nerves through her middle. Her arms and legs shook as she realized she hung from the steel girders overhead by some devious contraption.
His breath ran hot over her breasts, as he leaned in close to deftly wrap a swath of fabric around one knee and up her thigh. “In case you have trouble keeping your legs open, I’m going to give you a little help.”
One knee pulled out, and the slip of fabric being draped around something else filled the quiet space. Jonathan treated her oth
er leg similarly, the silk teasing her inner thigh under his careful wrapping. Moisture leaked down her legs in response to the erotic constriction of fabric encasing her limbs and the stretching in her groin. Another pull and her knees splayed out wide. He must have secured the ends to the bedposts.
Jonathan pinched her nipples, and then his tongue swirled around the tips until they were raw. She heard a low, muffled snap. Sharp pain shot through her breast, and she cried out. She pitched backward as much as she could.
“I have many presents for you today. That one’s a nipple clamp.” Another yelp erupted from her throat as he attached another to her other tip. A thin metal chain touched her belly. He tugged on it, her nipples pulling with the unexpected jar. She wriggled.
“So beautiful,” he said, tracing his fingertips along her jawline, down her neck to rest on her shoulders. “Anything hurting too much?”
“No, sir.”
The bed dipped, and a rush of cooler air replaced Jonathan’s body heat.
“Good. I’m going to take a moment to admire your beautiful body, bound and hung for my pleasure.”
Jonathan’s seductive touches and soft kisses had always accompanied firm, demanding hands and cock. But something in his voice revealed a new, brutal intent.
Christiana balanced on her knees and calves and . . . waited. In the silence, splayed out for Jonathan’s wishes, a new insight formed. Today, Jonathan would demand her complete submission. He’d indelibly stamp his dominance on her heart and body. She wanted it, craved it.
24
Christiana hung in space, unanchored and disoriented. The thin chain dangled oddly heavily on her stomach. Her nipples, clit and backside all competed for attention. Her awareness fought for a tranquil place to settle—and lost. Long minutes passed with no sound, no touch and no warmth from Jonathan’s body to keep her company in uncertainty.
She startled when his hand touched her behind. More warm oil was rubbed over her butt cheeks, his fingers skating her crack. Then he pushed a finger into her tight back hole. He curled his finger, earning a contented purr. She pushed her ass back to meet his probing finger, which earned her another slap on the fleshiest part of her ass. Her skin flushed with blood when he chuckled, withdrawing. A flash of almost-unrestrained desire to capture his cock into her rear shook her to the core.
Elite (Elite Doms of Washington Book 1) Page 21