by Zoe Mullins
“Your house and your condo were both featured in numerous magazines. This isn’t the furniture. This is Ikea.”
“I likeIkea. This is my furniture,” she said again, holding up her head. “Just like this is my house.”
“And the house in the burbs? The waterfront condo in the city? Those were yours too.”
“The bank didn’t see it that way. Assets of the business.”
He stared at her and she realized that he hadn’t yet wondered where her car was parked or why she walked to and from work. Now it dawned on him.
“Your car? The Lexus?”
“The lease was up.” She fought not to squirm under his scrutiny. Logan had given her the Lexus as a birthday present not long before he died, but with him gone, she couldn’t afford the payments.
She hadn’t been able to afford much once she realized how deeply in debt they were, living the lifestyle of Logan’s dreams. The only thing not owed on or borrowed against was his Roadster, and it had been totaled in his crash.
Cait sighed again. She hated the look on Jackson’s face, and she realized that her coming home was making things hard on him, as he learned his best friends wasn’t as on top of things or as successful as he’d let on.
“He had to have left you something. Insurance?”
“A little. Logan thought he was immortal. Why would he need life insurance? Anything of value that the bank didn’t take, I sold so I could afford the studio and a modest lifestyle.”
She watched as Jackson ran his hands through his hair and cupped them behind his neck as he paced the room. He was angry at Logan, in the way she’d expected him to be a decade before. She felt a tear slip down her cheek as she realized that she had expected him to fight for her that day. When she left St. Augustin. Now she knew why he hadn’t. Part of him believed that Logan would protect her. Maybe give her the things Jackson wouldn’t have been able to.
She wiped at her cheek angrily. She couldn’t stand Jackson’s silence. “What else would you like to know Jack?” He stopped looked up at her. “Maybe you’d like to know how I failed him?”
“He failed you, not the other way around.”
“Don’t be so sure.” Her fingers curled into the back of the upholstered dining room chair. “I was your submissive. My limits were a reflection of you and what you awakened inside me, not of what Logan needed.
“You enjoyed it enough when the three of us were together,” he reminded her. “And as you said, I woke the devil in you, but you still had a lot to learn and to try.”
“I tried,” she whispered. “I always tried to give him what he needed, but…” She turned her eyes to meet Jack’s.
“But?”
“I wasn’t enough for him.” She dragged her teeth over her quivering lower lip. “I was his wife, and his hostess, and his arm candy.”
“Don’t put this all on you, Caitie.” He warned her.
“Why not?”
He didn’t answer. Instead he crossed the scant distance between them with long strides. He lifted her against him, walking them back until her head and spine came in contact with the wall. She wrapped her legs around him, and remembered why she felt safe with him. He was so much bigger than she was.
He kissed her cheeks and her eyelids. “Caitie, you were his perfect sub, even if your limits didn’t always align.” His hands dug into her ass as he held her immobile. “You were perfect because you were mine, and he would give anything to possess what was mine.”
“Jackson, wait.” She sighed and weakly pushed against his shoulders. “I don’t know what you want. I don’t know that I can do this.”
“I do. Tomorrow doesn’t matter. Right now, right here, I want your submission.” He nipped her neck. “You can give me that. One night. Can you do that?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. She shouldn’t but she wanted to. Yes, she could give Jackson that. One night of submission before she asked him to walk away. She nodded and said slowly, “Yes Sir.”
He released her thighs and let her slide back down his body. She felt the proof of his desire, and saw his eyes flare when she realized she felt the hard press of his erection.
“Go to your room. Strip down to your panties.” She hesitated and he added, “Go now before I have to punish you for dawdling.”
She had wanted to resist him, to tell him to go to hell. But that’s not what had happened. She’d stared at him for maybe half a minute, until he had warned her not to dawdle, before she’d scurried to the bedroom. Yes, she knew she’d scurried. How completely mortifying that I should obey him so easily.
She sighed, carefully folding her jersey-knit sundress and putting it on the chintz chair across from her bed. She kept on the lace boy shorts and her jewelry. She glanced quickly down at the chain that attached between her nipple rings. She had put the chain on this afternoon, as she often did when she was feeling stressed. She liked the comforting feel of its weight.
She dropped to her knees in a modified Virasana, and found a tall, comfortable seat. She sat on her heels, her knees slightly spread, her back arched just a bit. She slid her hands to the back of her neck, pulled her shoulders down, and lowered her head to the side. She waited.
She concentrated on the quality of her breath. She heard him on the phone. It was a quick call and she soon heard him walking down the hall, then a door closing. Then the sound of running water in the bathroom. She cringed, knowing he couldn’t help but notice the bucket in the middle of the floor that caught the worst from the leaky roof. She breathed out deeply, pushing that worry aside. Like a leaf on the wind is what she told her students. Let the thought float in, acknowledge it, and then let it go.
A few moments later, a few more steps. He paused. She thought he was there at the door. She thought so but she didn’t dare break pose to look.
He stepped into the room. With her head tilted down she could see hisbare feet. He had removed his socks and shoes. He moved to the chair to inspect her folded garments before he stepped back to her. He squatted in front of her.
Still she resisted raising her gaze. She could see his bent legs, still clad in his woolen slacks. She could see the waistband, and above, bareflesh. Naked, tanned, tightly muscled flesh. No shirt.
He reached one finger, hooking it on the chain between her breasts. He gave it a small tug that caused her to sway, almost imperceptibly toward him. He took his hand away, braced both arms on his thighs and laced his fingers together. He said nothing for several moments. “Why the chain?”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “I like the weight of it. When I’m anxious, it’s an anchor.”
“Do I make you anxious?”
“You make me yearn for things I can’t have.”
His fingers tensed against his knees and he sighed. “What am I going to do with you?”
She had a few suggestions but she knew better than to voice them. Her body was buzzing with desire. If only he would touch her.
“Your breasts are more beautiful than I remembered,” he said reverently, stroking the gentle curve of one. “I am going to suck those ripe little nipples until they ache. I am going to spend days worshiping them with my lips, my tongue, my teeth. And when they are more sensitive than you thought possible, I am going to fuck my cock between them and come all over them.”
She purred at the thought, her sex clenching. Oh yes please, her body screamed.
Still looking at his hands, she allowed her eyes to follow him as he stood. “Baby, should that be your second punishment?” he asked, and she hastily lowered her gaze, squeezing her eyes shut.
He slid one hand into hers, which were still clasped obediently behind her neck, and pulled her into a standing position. “Take off your panties.”
She hooked her fingers under the waistband and shimmied them down her legs. He held out his hand for the discarded bit of lace. He squeezed them in his palm and brought them toward his nose. “I think that made you wet, didn’t it?”
“YesSir.”
“Turn around and bend towardthe bed. I want just your head and your shoulders braced on the mattress,” he instructed as he eyed the tall height of the bed. “Can you do that?”
“YesSir.” She did as he asked, with him only making minor adjustments to her stance. He used his foot to move her feet farther apart then lifted her hips until she stood in demi-pointe. “Perfect,” he whispered, and she felt a shudder of relief roll over her.
Mine, he thought, as he ran one hand over her taut ass. He wanted to see it redden beneath a flogger, or a paddle. He knew she had been trained to take her punishments well, he had made sure of it. But he had didn’t have his toy bag with him, and if she still had any… Well, he didn’t want to use Logan’s equipment. They would make a fresh start together.
Making do with what he had, he unbuckled his soft, worn leather belt. He had threatened her with it in the living room when she hesitated and had seen the way her nipples puckered at the thought.
“Do you know why I’m going to punish you, Caitie?” he asked as he slipped the belt from its loops. He doubled it over in his hand, slapping it against his open palm. He saw a shiver wash over her. His Cait liked her spankings. But this was no erotic spanking. This was punishment. At least to start.
“No Sir.”
He spanked her with his open palm, lifting her up higher on her toes. He watched her bite her lip to keep from crying out. If she thought he was going to go easy on her, she’d been wrong.
“Come on, Caitie,” he cajoled. “I have so many reasons to punish you. Surely you can think of just one.” His palm connected with the opposite cheek, the sound like a crack of thunder.
“Because I left, Sir,” she said, already breathless.
“Yes, that’s one good reason.” He spanked her again, starting a rhythm of left to right, pausing occasionally to smooth away the sting with his palm. Her skin warmed beneath his hand and he could smell her arousal.
“Because I came back without telling you.”
“Keep going, Cait.” He didn’t let up.
“Because I didn’t call you when I was in trouble.”
“You’re getting warm, Cait,” he said, smiling at the double meaning. Her cheeks were pink with his handprints. He saw her smile at the joke too. “Pay attention.”
“Because I didn’t trust you.”
“When, Cait?” he asked and he was surprised when his voice nearly broke. He rested both hands on her lower back. “When didn’t you trust me?”
He felt her take a long, shuddering breath. “Ever,” she said. “Not ever, Sir. Not when I ran away. Not any of the times I wanted to run back to you and have you tell me everything would be all right. And not when Logan died and I was alone.”
He could feel her crying. “And now, Caitie-girl?” Please god, he prayed, let her give the right answer.
She shook beneath his hands and he was ready to take back the question. It didn’t matter. He would earn her trust. He would help her believe in them because he believed in them.
“I was a fool,” she whispered. “You were always the one I could trust. I want to trust you.”
He wanted to drag her onto that bed and make love to her deep into the night. And when the early rays of dawn woke them, he would take her again. That’s what he wanted to do, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. She already held too much power over him. Thank god she didn’t know it.
“Submission is about trust, Cait. I have to know that you trust me to take care of you and your needs. All of your needs.”
“I do, Jackson,” she whispered. “I will.”
“You’ve said that before, beautiful.”
“I’m sorry.”
He sighed. “Keep your head down, your arms stretched on either side. I don’t want your shoulders lifting off that mattress,” he commanded, stroking her back with the warm leather. “Am I understood?”
“Yes Sir.”
“Good girl, Caitie.” He smiled. “You can moan or whimper, but if you cry out, I’m going to push your naughty little panties into your mouth to gag you.”
She liked that thought. He could tell. Her body undulated and she made one of those pretty little moans. “And if you come before I tell you to, I’ll start all over again.”
He could tell by the way she stiffened her spine she didn’t like that order. “I’m serious, Cait. You wait for my command.”
She pushed back against his hand. “I understand, Sir.”
“When I begin with the belt I want you to count out each stroke.”
“YesSir.”
“Good girl.” He brought his hand down again on her ass. “Is your safe word still canoe?”
“YesSir.”
“Say it now.”
“Canoe.”
“Use it if you need to.” He began inspecting his work. Her skin was already uniformly pink from the top ofher thighs to her top of her bum. He dragged his nails over the distressed flesh and watched as goose bumps rose.
He slid his hand between her thighs. She was already wet. Nearly dripping onto his fingers. He rewarded her with the lightest of touches, stroking his fingers across her folds. Flicking the piercing he knew he’d find there. He grinned. If she became his, he would probably add a few more.
She moaned and pushed against his hand in response. She already wanted to come. “Not yet, Caitie,” he warned. She whimpered and he raised his fingers to his lips. So sweet, he thought, always so sweet.
He picked up the belt. When he was just discovering his needs, the belt had been his tool of choice. He knew how to use it to get a good sting but not leave welts or break the skin. Folded over, it sounded so much worse than it was as the two sides of the leather slapped against each other with every strike.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
Each stroke was disciplined, controlled, as he landed the belt again and again across the smooth skin of her thighs and rear.
Cait was arching back to meet the belt, wanting the pleasure and the pain. He could tell she was close to coming when he had to remind her to count.
When he stopped, they were both breathing hard. He ran his hands over her hot flesh. The heat exciting him. “These next couple are going to be the hardest,” he warned. “But you are going to be very good. Do you remember what it means to close the gate?”
“Yes Sir, I remember.”
“Tell me what it is, and I’ll give it to you,” he promised.
She growled, her fingers clutching the quilt. “Four horizontal strikes, like gate rails and one that goes across them all. Like the gate on a picket fence.”
“Good girl. Count for me. Five strokes. We’ll take our time and let you ride out the pain between each. Are you ready?”
“Yes.” She tensed. “Please, Sir, hurry.”
He brought down the belt with a crack. She screamed into the quilt, muffling her cry. In a moment, she lifted her head and said, “One.”
“That’s right, Caitie-girl.” He gentled her with an even hand, caressing her redbottom. He had no intention of hurrying, despite her plea. His nextstrike landed parallel with the first. She was moaning, whimpering, as he laidstripenext to stripe. Her bottom was red. She was shaking and he knew it had little to do with the pain and all to do with her impending orgasm.
By the last strike, which he laid diagonally across the previous four, he knew she had drifted in subspace, where pain morphed into pleasure and peace.
He needed to see her come. Her sweet cream was dripping, making her slick. He slid his fingers between her folds and found the hard little nub and the little steel barbell. He pushed back and forth on the protruding end of the piercing. “Come for me.”
At his command, he could feel the orgasm sweep through her like a wave. He quickly turned her over on the bed and sank down between her thighs.
He had never needed anything as badly as he needed the taste of her. He bent his head to her sweet core and licked through her folds. Her whole body shook with the contact of his tongue to the end of the barbell, pushing it t
o the left so he could press down hard on the right. He remembered where her sweet spot was.
She cried out, her fingers digging into his scalp, reminding him to tie her down next time. He pressed her thighs open with his hands then dragged one hand across her inner thigh to her pussy. He speared two fingers inside her, scissoring them as he stretched her, then curling them to rub against her G-spot.
He could feel her grinding down on his fingers. He bit her inner thigh, pulling her back from the orgasmic high. This is my show and she will do well to remember that, he thought.
He focused his attention directly on her clit, sucking it into his mouth, between his teeth, as he slid one wet finger farther south. He stroked it over her asshole in easing circles.
“Jack,” she gasped and pressed down. She wanted it. Needed it.
“Is this my ass?” he asked her. He knew he had no right, but he’d been the firstman in there, and heaven help him, he remembered Logan wasn’t an assman.
“Yes Sir,” she gasped again as his finger slid in past the first knuckle. “No one else’s.”
“You are a dirty girl,” he told her, pushing in more. He couldn’t wait to have her ass again. Another time, when he could prepare her properly to receive him.
He had asked for her submission tonight, but one night would never be enough. She was his. He began working her in earnest. His tongue on her clit as he pressed relentlessly into her pussy and ass.
She was trying so hard to be good, to hold off her orgasm even as she writhed on the bed and begged.
“Come, baby,” he whispered, and then watched her fly apart again.
When he gave the command, Cait felt the tidal wave rush over her. No control, no dignity. She began to cry with her release. Soft sobs escaping her throat. Tears she had hidden inside for so long. They all came out now. Even as the tide of orgasm began to ebb, she continued to cry.
She scolded herself for being a weepy mess, but Jackson didn’t seem to mind. He brushed the hair out of her eyes, and wiped at her tears with his thumbs. He lifted her against him, picking her up. He sat down heavily against the headboard, his arms holding her, stroking her back as she curled into his lap. He let her cry.