by Chloe Cox
Holt didn’t blink. He didn’t move. His dark eyes betrayed nothing.
“Fine,” he said.
Simone froze. She hadn’t expected him to agree so fast it almost hurt. She hadn’t expected him to stand up, his eyes locked on hers like a predator on its prey. She hadn’t expected him to reach inside that inner pocket and produce a pen.
“On one more condition of my own,” he said, and came around to her side of the table.
Forcefully, he pulled her chair out for her, jiggling the parts of her that jiggled.
“Take that contract out, put it on the table,” he said. Simone bit her lip.
And then, leaning down to growl in her ear, he said:
“And bend over it.”
8
Holt stood beside her, unmoving, and watched as Simone obeyed her first order of their new arrangement.
The contract wasn’t signed yet, of course. But it was about to be.
He loved to see the shock of his words ripple through her. It reminded him of how she looked when he was pumping inside her, breasts bouncing with every thrust, eyes lidded just before they rolled back inside her head. Now he watched as the ripple subsided and Simone took a deep breath, settling something inside her.
She bit her lip again. His cock jumped.
She moved so slowly. That or time fucking stopped. Either way it was somewhere between pleasure and pain, watching her and not taking her immediately. Something primal in him just wanted to be unleashed. And the Dom in him had it under rein.
For now.
Carefully, Simone reached down for her red leather briefcase, and removed the contract. She smoothed it out on the white tablecloth in front of her, her hands shaking only enough for him to notice. She moved the decanter and the water glasses to his side of the table. And then she stood up, smoothed her skirt with that same unconscious motion, placed her hands flat on the white tablecloth, fingers splayed wide, and slowly, so goddamn slowly, bent over until she was resting on her forearms.
Holt watched her face as her breasts swayed slightly, her already hard nipples brushing the surface of the table. She pressed her lips together and closed her eyes, swallowing.
And then she was his.
He’d waited for this for so long. So goddamn long. And it wasn’t everything he wanted. It wasn’t all of her. Not yet.
But he would take what was his. And he would do it now.
He moved behind her, watching her breath catch with satisfaction as he did. Just to toy with her, he dragged one finger up the back seam of her skirt, the pressure just light enough to tease.
Her fingers dug slightly into the tablecloth, and Holt clamped his jaw shut. He wouldn’t be able to keep this up forever. Even a Dom had limits.
As slowly as he could, he dragged her professional-looking red skirt up her thighs, inch by inch, until he could feel the pre-cum on his cock soak through his boxer briefs. He would make her pay for this, eventually. But right now, this mattered.
This fucking mattered.
He would make it last.
Finally he pushed her skirt up over her hips, bunching it up around her waist, revealing the perfect globes of her ass. He was wrong. She was wearing a thong that made his cock ache. A red thong, to match her red skirt.
Not for long.
On impulse, Holt let his hand hover just an inch away from her nearly exposed pussy, savoring the way her thighs trembled just so slightly. Fuck, he could feel the heat coming off of her. His cock was so hard it was beginning to hurt, the pulse at the base becoming more demanding, and he let his fingers brush the inside of her thighs just to share the pain.
He watched her head dip, and nearly lost it. The only reason he wasn’t already inside her was because he was a Dom. But it was a close thing.
He wrapped his fingers around that thong and pulled it over her hips, down her thighs.
“Step out of it,” he snarled.
She did. Last barrier removed.
The sight of her pink, swollen, wetness-glazed lips was almost more than he could take. He covered them with his palm again, touching her this time, the heat and wetness killing him, and gently squeezed.
“Did you amend the contract with your terms?” he asked.
He didn’t let go.
Simone shook her head.
“Answer me.”
“No,” she squeaked.
“No what?”
“No, sir. Not yet.”
“So I have to wait,” he said, letting the import of those words sink in.
Then with his other hand he reached into his pocket and produced the pen. He reached over Simone’s back and dropped it on the contract in front of her face.
“You’ll do it now,” he said.
Simone scrabbled for the pen, trying not to shift too much, her ass still presented to him and her weight still on her forearms. And as she did, he lifted his palm and delivered the first blow to her ripe ass.
She shuddered forward with the force of it. He remembered how she responded. He could spank her hard enough to make her ass match her skirt and it would never be enough.
Not this time. This time was different.
“This is for coming unprepared,” he said, and landed his palm on the other cheek, unable to stop himself from grabbing the flesh. He settled into a rhythm, one cheek and then the other, fast and then slow, harder and then soft, just so he could break it and surprise her. Every time he did she whimpered, and his cock grew even harder.
The contract was a goddamn mess, strike marks all over it, places where her pen had run off the page and onto the tablecloth. Holt was sweating. Not with the effort of spanking Simone. With the effort of not pulling her hips back and impaling her on his cock.
He saw her write what looked like the last sentence. The one that said he couldn’t kiss her. She’d initialed it.
He reached forward and put his hand on the back of her neck, relishing the feeling of power over her. Knowing it sent her even higher.
“Sign it,” he growled. And brought his hand down one more time, hard, watching the pretty red flush bloom on her ass.
She did, her hand shaking. But it wasn’t enough.
He grabbed the contract and the pen, and signed it in a demented scrawl on her back.
Still not enough.
It wouldn’t be enough until she was his again. Until he could claim her mouth. Her lips. Her fucking heart, all over again.
“This is for making me wait,” he said, and spanked her exposed, aching pussy, and then held it there, his hand cupping her wetness, catching it as her arousal leaked out.
Simone let out a happy, agonized yelp that carried through out the dining room. Good. He knew that would embarrass her, and that would get her even hotter.
Still not enough.
But now she was nearly his. And he would show her.
He cupped her mons with his hand and slid his thumb inside her. She was so fucking wet, so warm, so soft. So fucking ready. He squeezed with his fingers, putting pressure on her clit, and pressed in a slow, languid circle with his thumb, hitting her g-spot at this angle, and savored the low, keening moan that escaped her throat. She was close. He could smell her. He could make her come on command, if he wanted.
He could make her do anything, if he wanted.
And what he wanted was more.
“Not like this,” Holt growled in her ear.
Simone nearly screamed in frustration. She’d already been loud enough that they had an audience, something he knew made her crazy. And she was so close it was almost painful. It took all of her effort to hold her orgasm back, and she did it without thinking, because he told her to.
The man had total power over her. Total. She’d forgotten what this was like. What it was really like. Her mind scurried frantically back and forth, panicked with the knowledge of that, that she’d just handed this over to someone who could do whatever he wanted with her, who could make her want anything. But there was nowhere to hide anymore. Nowhere to run.
She wanted him too much. She needed too much. And only he could give it to her.
She knew she would do literally anything. Anything. It was terrifying.
And then it was freeing.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered, her aching nipples brushing against the table as her back arched towards him, all on its own.
And then he was gone.
His hand was gone. Both his hands were gone. The absence was like a cold wind, and she nearly turned around, desperate for more.
Jesus Christ what has he done to me?
“Stand up and turn around,” he ordered.
Simone pushed herself off the table in a daze. She was there, already. Sliding into subspace. It was different, but it was the somehow also the same. The same floating release. The same blissful freedom.
When she turned around, all she could see was Holt’s gray eyes.
He looked her up and down, and the heat began to build between her legs all over again. She would never know how he did that to her.
“Who do you belong to?” he whispered.
Simone blinked. She knew the answer to this. It was complicated, and it was simple. But above all, it was true. In this moment, it was true.
“You, sir,” she said.
“Say my name,” he said. “Say who you belong to.”
Automatically, she obeyed.
“I belong to Holt Manning.”
His gray eyes flashed, but his expression didn’t change.
“Pull your skirt back up around your waist,” he ordered. “And hold it there.”
Simone felt the flush of embarrassment spreading across her cheeks again, but she obeyed. She gathered the skirt that would never be the same, ever again, and bunched it up around her waist. She was bare from the waist down, now, exposed to anyone who might be looking. Holt had given her the seat facing the rest of the dining room when they sat down, but he’d turned her around now, so her back was to the rest of the dining room. She imagined she could feel eyes on her.
The chair was off to the side somewhere. There was nothing between them, as Simone stood there holding her skirt up for him.
Holt bent down, so quickly she couldn’t even react, wrapped his big hands around the bottom of her ass and lifted her up on the table as though she weighed nothing at all. Her breath hitched. She could feel herself seeping onto the tablecloth.
Holt’s eyes held her one more time, his gaze penetrating. She couldn’t hide anything from him. That’s why this was so terrifying.
And he was amused. The bastard was amused. It made her hate him—and it made her want him even more.
“Say it again,” he said. “Louder.”
Simone swallowed. She thought about those people who might be watching. But she’d been given an order.
“I belong to Holt Manning,” she said, her voice raised loud enough to carry.
The ghost of a smile appeared on his lips, but then he looked down, at her chest. The smile was gone.
Wordlessly, he pulled the low neckline of her top over her breasts like it offended him, and undid the front clasp of her bra, exposing her. He cupped her breasts in his hands, looking up to see the expression on her face.
“These are mine, too,” he said, and pinched one nipple, than the other. Rolling them in his fingers, like it was some sort of absent minded game, while Simone’s eyes half-closed and her throat betrayed her with noises that sounded more like they came from an animal than a woman.
And then he stopped.
She glared at him. He laughed.
“Now spread,” he said.
Her body on fire, her eyes never leaving his, Simone spread her thighs as wide as she could.
His eyes flickered down.
“I said spread,” he growled.
Simone blinked. She knew what he meant. She knew exactly what he meant.
Slowly she lowered her hand between her legs, the embarrassment rising in her again and turning, by some crazy screwed-up Holt-related alchemy, into arousal, until her fingers found her wetness, and spread her lower lips for him.
She watched his face as she did it, and she saw. She saw the look of pure animal lust flash across his face. That was her only reward, for the moment.
When he looked back up, his face was hard, another thin smile on his lips.
“I think Anderson and Lucas are getting ideas,” Holt said, naming two new Doms. Her cheeks flushed red-hot. He knew exactly what she was thinking. Wanted her to know who was watching.
Suddenly he leaned forward, close enough that she could see the sweat on his brow.
“Be good when everyone is watching,” he said. “Or I’ll have to punish you later.”
Simone groaned. She was living on that pleasure plateau now, too far gone to come down on her own, aching for release. She hated him, and she needed him, and she knew that was just how he wanted it. She hurt for him, the place where his cock should have been beating a gaping hunger in time to her own pulse.
She opened her eyes as she felt his hand on her chest, pushing her down, her back flat on the table. He lifted her legs over his shoulders. Oh God, she was close. Just being like this, in this position. Looking up at him like this.
Those eyes.
Holt’s hands were doing something. Freeing his big, beautiful cock. Positioning the wet, swollen head between her lips, teasing her entrance. Somewhere in the back of her mind she remembered the contract hadn’t changed, they were both current on testing, she was still on the pill. He was going to take her bare. Simone threw her head back as much as she could without breaking his gaze, her anticipation driving all thoughts from her addled brain. Oh God, she needed this. She would die if she didn’t get this.
She was his.
“Say it again,” he hissed. “Say it so everyone fucking knows.”
“I belong to Holt Manning!” she screamed.
And before she could finish he plunged into her, all the way to the hilt, and her words ended in a wail that became a growl. His eyes pinned her to the spot as he seated himself fully inside her, her walls stretching to take him, the pain transforming into pleasure and racing all the way to her fingertips.
“Eyes stay on me,” he rasped. “You’re going to know who you belong to, Simone.”
Simone swallowed, afraid to move, begging him to move. She was poised on the precipice, about to fall, and she didn’t know what the hell she’d find at the bottom. This was different than she remembered. More intense than she remembered.
She held his eyes as he pulled out of her, slowly, the head of his cock dragging along the sensitive nerves of her g-spot as he angled his hips, and she could see it there. She could feel what he felt. Knew he was feeling what she felt. Like paired mirrors, echoing each other for all eternity, blinding out the world.
He grabbed on to her hips and pulled her down as he thrust into her, deeper this time, and she moaned, her back arching, her arms spreading, her hands grasping. The decanter and the glasses crashed somewhere behind her, and she saw a flash of pure white pleasure as he hit her cervix. But she didn’t lose his eyes.
That’s what she remembered later. Holt’s gray eyes, fucking her with as much raw need and hunger as she felt welling up inside her, sweat dripping down his face as he fucked her to oblivion and back, until he finally let himself come inside her as the last of the silverware went flying.
9
Holt made the turn from memory, wheeling his government-issued Buick around the desolate corner. This neighborhood had been ravaged by drugs starting sometime around ten years ago. No one had cared much about it until the trouble started to leak out of this neighborhood and bother people in neighborhoods that had money. The locals had gotten pissed off about the sudden concern, as they did. This time they’d removed all the street signs in retaliation, hoping to confuse and annoy people like Holt.
But he already knew his way around.
They hadn’t lived here too long when he was a kid. It hadn’t been a paradise then, either, bu
t there’d been a heart to the place. There’d been people who cared. People who’d looked after him when he was little and wandering around the streets so he didn’t have to go home.
Now it was too dangerous for anyone to stick their neck out to watch out for some poor little neighborhood kid. Now you could drive through at five o’clock in the morning and see little kids playing on the damn street corner.
He hated drugs. He hated the people who made them possible, and he hated the people who made them feel necessary to survive a place like this. But he really hated the people who pushed them. Especially something like meth. No one really came back from meth, at least not often enough that you saw it in real life. That stuff just bred fast-moving zombies. Imagine having to watch someone you depended on…
He shook his head, seeing the red clapboard shotgun house at the end of the road and pulling over well in advance. This was obviously a law enforcement vehicle. No one would be dumb enough to touch it. Anyone watching would just hope he wasn’t there for them, and that he would get the hell out soon.
The red clapboard house wasn’t so lucky. This was his job. He was good at his job. His job allowed him to do good in the world.
Then why the hell wasn’t he getting out of the car?
His head had been clear for the first time in months, after claiming Simone again. After taking her submission, offered up freely. He’d felt like a whole human man again, something he hadn’t known was missing. Hell, he’d dreamt about it. He hadn’t done that since he was a teenager. He’d had a wet dream about a woman he knew he would have again.
And Christ, would he have her.
Any moment he wasn’t working, he was thinking about things he’d do to her. Not just sex. Ok, mostly sex. But thinking about being a better Dom. Because he wasn’t going to screw up the way he had before. He was going to take better care of her, not let it get to that point again. Simone could set whatever emotional boundaries she wanted on their relationship—they wouldn’t last. And they both knew that D/s didn’t work like that. Her state of mind mattered. They couldn’t play safely if she hid from him.