Taken

by Jennifer Dawson

  Fiery pain bursts along my skin, making my eyes water, before an indescribable pleasure quickly follows. Before I can process what I’m experiencing, he slaps me again.

  I groan, dropping my head down low as his hands weave a tapestry over my flesh.

  It hurts.

  It feels good.

  I hate it.

  I love it.

  I want it to end.

  I never want it to stop.

  It’s just an endless sea of contradictory emotions.

  My breath comes fast, matching the rhythm of his blows. I reach out and clutch at the floor as he increases his pace, the strength and power of his hand.

  He stops and I gasp out a breath. He reaches between my legs and ruthlessly thrusts two fingers inside me. Almost instantly the orgasm swells and he pulls away, and spanks me again.

  How long it goes on like this, I have no idea, but I’m mindless in a haze of pleasure and pain, overloading my senses, making me ache in ways I didn’t know I was capable of aching.

  Suddenly, without warning, he grips my hair and yanks me up, pulling me to my knees. I gaze up at him, blinking to orientate myself. His expression is cruel and unrelenting. With an evil smile he unbuckles his belt and slowly slides his zipper down, freeing his cock.

  I’m hardly able to breathe. My skin is on fire, radiating from where he’d struck me.

  He runs his cock along the seam of my lips. “Open wide, girl.”

  I open and he slides inside my mouth, filling me completely, not stopping when he meets resistance, just pushing past all that. I gag, and he fills my throat. When I swallow, he curses, his hold at the nape of my neck tightening. His features sharpen, harden, and I’ve never seen him look so beautiful.

  I’m so on edge, so needy, as he works his length into my throat, my fingers slide over my clit of their own volition.

  I need an orgasm. I need it. I have to find release.

  As I start to quicken, his hand strikes out and slaps my fingers away. He growls. “None of that.” Then he releases my hair, grabs both my wrists, and I lose my balance as he shifts me to the wall.

  I right myself, but he’s so fast I’m now pressed up against the wall, my wrists imprisoned by his hard grip. He’s ruthless now, as I’ve learned he gets when he’s full of the dominance that’s such a part of him. Immobilized, I can only sit there as he pumps his hips, filling my mouth with his thick cock.

  “That’s right, just let it happen.” He moves harder. Faster. With no regard to me, but instead of cooling me, it only makes me hotter, wilder. More desperate. He fucks my throat like he has every right to do so.

  My hands clench into fists as tears stream down my face.

  I want to touch.

  He looks down at me, and our eyes meet, and god, what passes between us something is feral and untamed. He shakes his head. “You were made for this.”

  Yes, that’s exactly right. For him. I want to speak the words, but that’s impossible.

  Thankfully, he fills them in for me. “Yes. Mine.”

  Helpless, my lashes flutter.

  Then he comes down my throat in a jolt, spilling so much cum it slips from my lips and slides down the length of my throat, and into the valley of my breasts.

  He yanks away, releasing me as I slide to the floor. Then he’s on me, his fingers on my clit. He was right. I can be much wetter. I cry out as the orgasm almost crashes down on me, but he stops, moving to my inner thighs where he strokes over their slickness.

  He grips my chin and forces me to look at him. His blue eyes burn. “I think you can do better.”

  I shake my head.

  “Yes.” He brings me close to orgasm over and over again, until I’m slumped against the wall, my mind completely blank, except for one thing. I must come.

  Only, he won’t let me.

  “Please.” My voice is reed thin, and filled with desperation. “Please, Brandon. I’m begging you.”

  He circles my clit. “No.”

  “I’ll do anything.” I promise, meaning every word.

  “No.”

  The orgasm threatens. I’m shaking all over. His spanking only managed to create an exquisite heat, a fullness that makes every touch more keen and biting.

  I clutch at his arm. “What can I do?”

  He pulls away, and whispers, “Suffer.”

  “I am.”

  “Good.”

  “I hate you,” I yell as he denies yet another orgasm.

  “I know.” He moves, straightening to stand upright. “Up you go.”

  Still using the wall to support me, I blink at him. “I need it.”

  He nods. “You’re not going to get it.”

  “Why are you doing this to me?”

  He crouches down, cups my jaw and kisses me, so sweetly it’s hard to believe he’s being such a bastard. When he pulls away he says, “Because you love it so much, and suffer so beautifully.”

  Unable to speak, I shake my head.

  “I’ll make you a deal.”

  Hope springs up, filling my chest. I gaze at him.

  He smiles. “I’ll let you have an orgasm under one condition.”

  Deep in the recesses of my mind, where I’m still capable of rational thought, I sense a trap, but I’m not able to stop myself from stepping into it. “Anything.”

  “Look me in the eye and tell me this isn’t the most alive you’ve ever felt, and I’ll let you come.”

  I open my mouth, close it, then sag against the wall. I can’t. It would be a lie. Never in my life have I felt this alive, so aware of my breath, the brush of air along my skin, the heavy pounding of need. The longing, the lust, the awareness of everything, it’s like every cell I possess is engaged in him, in life.

  He pushes back my hair from my damp neck. “I’m giving you exactly what you crave. What you need. Remember that.”

  My throat tightens and I say in a shaky voice, “I still hate you.”

  He smiles. “I’d expect nothing less.”

  * * *

  Brandon

  * * *

  It’s in the middle of the game when I’m finally alone with the Leo, Michael and Chad. The girls all went to the bathroom together, and I suspect they’ll be gone for a bit as they recap to each other their own custom-designed torture. Submissive girls get disgruntled when they aren’t messed with on a regular basis, but they still need to bounce their indignation at our gall off each other.

  As soon as they disappear down the stairs leading to the concession area, I turn to Leo and Michael. “I may have a problem.”

  They both raise their brows at me and Michael says, “What’s up?”

  Ever since I found out about Winston Bishop I’ve had to restrain my temper. My first instinct was to go right to the guy’s house and fucking kill him, but a cooler head has prevailed. I understand Veronica now, understand her need to build her life and exert her independence. I have no desire to take that away from her. But I can’t sit idly by and do nothing while Winston makes things difficult for her.

  The trick is to help her deal with the problem of her ex-boyfriend on her own, but still support her. I’m hoping that announcing my presence in her life, and our appearance at the gala will solve the issue, but it never hurts to be prepared. And this is the benefit of having cop friends.

  I scrub a hand over my jaw, still able to catch her essence that’s seeped into my skin. Like she’s becoming a part of me. Although, it’s not causing the panic I’d have expected. No, I want her too much for that. She’s like a drug that has no signs of a half-life.

  I glance back to where the girls disappeared before returning my attention to my friends. “Veronica’s ex-boyfriend is stalking her.”

  All three of them frown, their shoulders tightening. We protect what’s ours, and because Veronica belongs to me now, that includes her.

  Leo’s head tilts. “What exactly is he doing?”

  “I found out by default, but apparently he’s been calling her and texting he
r twenty or so times a day. I’m guessing that’s a conservative estimate.” Anger flows through my blood at the thought. Not only at his persistence, but that she didn’t tell me about it. That all this time she’s been suffering and failed to mention it.

  “Has he escalated?” Leo asks.

  “What would that look like?” Because I don’t know what a cop’s definition is.

  Michael interjects. “Has he attempted to make contact? In person?”

  My brow furrows. “Not that I’m aware of. According to her he just calls and texts wanting to see her, to talk about their relationship.” The word tastes like dirt going down.

  I think of this morning, pumping my cock into her wet, hot mouth. The primal possession swelling inside me as I used her while denying her. Veronica has no idea how hard it was for me not to let her slip over the edge. The only thing that stopped me is her utter greediness and the knowledge that she loved it so fucking much. She’s been slippery wet every time I’ve touched her since. I’ve worked her needy cunt up periodically through the day, and when she looks at me with defiance and lust, it kills me.

  She’s starting to feel made for me. Her secret kinks aligning too perfectly with mine.

  I tighten my hand into a fist. That asshole doesn’t understand she belongs to me. But I’ll rectify it soon enough.

  “Has he threatened her?” Michael asks.

  “No, not that I’m aware of.” I scrub my hand over my jaw. “I’m going to make my presence in her life known and see if that stops him.”

  “Good idea,” Chad says. “That’d be my first step too.”

  Leo crosses his arms. “She can file a report, but it might not be useful at this point. He’s operating in a bit of a gray area. Emotional distress is a component of stalking but harder to prove.”

  “What do you suggest?” When the crowd cheers, I turn my head to see a runner flying around second base.

  “See if he stops when he knows you’re with her,” Michael says, his voice hard. “If it doesn’t, maybe we can pay him an unofficial visit.”

  I nod. “We’ll have to be careful, his family is powerful, and I don’t want to cause trouble with you on the force.”

  “Understood.” Leo nods. “Keep a close eye on it, detail records, screen shot all text messages and email communications. Records of his calls. That will help build a case if he doesn’t back off.”

  Michael’s eyes narrow. “Whatever you do, don’t try and take care of it yourself.”

  I scoff, air huffing out in a bite. “Do you expect me to idly stand by and do nothing?”

  Michael glances at Leo and Chad before returning his attention to me. “Yeah, make it clear she’s yours, but do not fucking engage and end up the one in jail.”

  “All I intend to do is talk to him.”

  Again my three best friends look at each other as if they know something I don’t.

  Chad is the one that speaks for them. He shrugs. “Easier said than done when you feel like the girl you love is being threatened.”

  I jerk back at the word. I’m not in love. I don’t do love. I’m incapable of it.

  Granted, I’m infatuated with Veronica, there’s no question about that, but that’s not the same as love. It’s chemistry. The protest fights for purchase and I let it free. “It’s not love. It’s not like that between us.”

  Leo raises a brow. “Sure as shit looks like love from here.”

  I shake my head. That panic I hadn’t been feeling begins a slow simmer. Love means weakness, and I’m not good with weakness. Weakness makes me stupid and impulsive. I roll my eyes, dismissing them. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Michael sighs. “Just do not engage. Understand?”

  I nod. “Understood.”

  I can see the logic in his point and decide to let it go for the time being. I’ll play my hand and figure out my next move if it doesn’t resolve the problem.

  Over my shoulder I see a flash of white. I turn my head and watch as Veronica steps out of the dark corridor and into the sun. The wind blows her hair, and she’s smiling. My chest gives a hard thump at the sight of her.

  Christ I want her.

  Want her as much as I want my next breath.

  However, there’s no way I am in love with her. I don’t even know what that feels like, but this can’t be it.

  She catches me watching her and her entire face brightens as she meets my eyes.

  She doesn’t look like any other woman here.

  She looks like mine.

  But it’s not love. It’s lust and chemistry.

  That’s all.

  21

  Veronica

  The limo pulls to a stop in front of the Navy Pier Gala Ballroom, and Brandon squeezes my thigh, left bare by the slit of my black dress. “You ready?”

  It’s my first public event since the night I met Brandon, which now feels like a lifetime ago. So much of my life has changed since then, including the man beside me. The man that’s opened me up to new experiences and helped me discover who I am.

  The man I’m desperately in love with, although I’ve kept that to myself.

  Despite my nerves—and I am nervous—I’m ready. It’s like I’m presenting the new me to these people that I’ve known my entire life. As both part of, and removed from, this world that until a short time ago was all I’d ever known.

  I peer at Brandon, devastating in his tux. They’ll all talk, we’ll be the highlight of gossip behind whispered fingers, but secretly there won’t be a woman there that isn’t jealous of me because of him.

  I smile. “I’m ready.”

  Instead of getting out of the car, he leans over and brushes my mouth with his. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you, so do you.”

  He laughs, those dimples of his flashing and making my heart melt. “If he approaches us, let me do the talking.”

  At the suggestion I frown.

  Brandon shakes his head. “Not a discussion. Let me do this.”

  “But…why?” I brush my hair back over one bare shoulder. “I am perfectly capable of handling it on my own.”

  He sits back and stares at me for what feels like endless moments before he speaks. “You are fully capable. It’s one of my favorite things about you. All that fierce independence mixed with such a little slut.”

  I gasp, my mind instantly returning to this afternoon where he’d spread me over his desk and been so wicked until I’d been a hot, needy mess. Between my legs is still wet and swollen, a fact impossible for me to ignore, considering my lack of undergarments. By his command, I’m naked under my slinky dress, which is floor length, but skims over my body like it’s been painted on. Earlier, I’d mentioned that I feel practically naked, to which he responded was precisely the point.

  I bite my lower lip. “So why?”

  He trails one finger over the skin of my thigh, making distracting little circles. “Honestly, my reasons are purely territorial. I want there to be no doubt in his mind that you fucking belong to me.”

  “That’s honest.” Still looking at him, my head drops back along the seat as his hand travels higher.

  He pauses when he reaches dampened flesh. “You like the idea.”

  “I do.” He has no idea how much.

  “Me too.”

  “Is it true?” I want it to be true.

  His expression turns fierce, a direct contrast to the softness of his stroking touch down the curve of my neck. “Yes. You’re mine.”

  I want to tell him I love him, but I hold the words back. I don’t think he’s ready and I can’t risk scaring him. Instead, I nod. “Yes.”

  His thumb brushes my clit. “Let me have this, Veronica.”

  When he talks like that, in that voice, I can’t deny him. “Okay.”

  “Good girl.” He kisses me hard before pulling back. “Let’s go.”

  I nod, and his hands slip away, leaving me cold, as he knocks on the window and the driver that’s been waiting patiently for us ope
ns the door. He steps out first, and I see the flash of bulbs go off as the society rag photogs catch their first glimpse of him.

  He holds out his hand to me, and I grasp it, stepping out to face the public. Brandon, who’s always ignored the press, slides a hand around my waist and pauses, letting them photograph us.

  I glance up at him. He’s making sure we make the papers, which is a surprise. So…when he meant public claiming he really meant public claiming.

  He squeezes my waist, and we walk up the red carpet always laid out for events like this. I hold my breath as we walk into the room. The massive domed room is decked out, dripping with a sparkling but understated extravagance. Twinkle lights, huge white floral bouquets, and linens are everywhere, like Cinderella’s ball.

  We stand at the threshold and it only takes fifteen seconds for our presence to register and ripple throughout the room. For those who care about that sort of thing to notice. Once it occurs, Brandon takes my hand and leads me through the crowd, stopping every few seconds to greet people, shaking hands like a politician. If you didn’t know his true feelings, one would think he was in his element. But I know the truth, he’s doing this for me, and me alone.

  My heart swells with pride.

  We reach his parents first, and his mother glances between us. Both his parents are well kept and elegant as is expected of old Chicago money. His father, a distinguished, handsome man in his sixties, nods. “Brandon, Ms. Westwood, this is a surprise.”

  We shake hands and I give him my most brilliant smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Townsend, please it’s Veronica.”

  His mom, who actually kind of resembles Helen Miren, takes a sip of her Champagne before saying, “You said you weren’t coming.”

  Brandon shrugs, curving a proprietary hand over my hip. “I changed my mind.”

  She turns her attention to me. “I presume you had something to do with this, Veronica?”

  I laugh. “Hardly, as you know, Brandon doesn’t tend to do anything he doesn’t want to.”