by Trisha Wolfe
“Look at me.”
I force my eyes to obey. The depth of his blue irises is startling; the intensity in his gaze a threat. I fear I’ve angered him—that I’ve somehow offended him.
He cups my face, bringing me close. “I would never dare insult you with such a cheap, lazy declaration of my desire for you, Alexis.”
And that’s all it takes. In one fell swoop, I become his. Completely. The brutality of his authority, the derision he’s inflicted thus far and all he promises to come, is swept aside with one intimate lamination of his near affection for me. The fall I’m about to suffer will wreck me so much worse than any scorn he can inflict.
Still, there’s a curious glint in his gaze. A question masked beneath his conviction that flashes red with warning. He hasn’t asked—but he wants to know the why behind my request. And even as I’m tumbling, the fear of what he could do with that knowledge harbors on the edge of my consciousness.
Before memories long ago buried can wreak havoc, his lips touch mine, his mouth sealing me to him in a binding contract. “Is that all?” he whispers, his voice so soft I almost believe he’s capable of that tender affection.
But just as quickly, that gentleness vanishes when I nod my answer.
“Speak up,” he orders.
“Yes. That’s all I want.”
That devilish smile curls his lips, displaying the dimple in his cheek. “That’s hardly all you want, temptress.” He proves his claim with an expert caress between my thighs, lighting my body aflame. “Lift your arms.” As I do, he grasps the bottom of my dress and drags it up my body, over my head.
A shiver envelops me, the cool kiss of air licking my bare skin, the sight of him running the sheer material through his hand, stretching it out in front of me. Then with measured control, he raises the banded dress over my head and glides it down my back. Weaving it beneath my arms, he anchors the taut material around me. “Lie back,” he says.
As I do, the dress supporting me as he lowers me to the table, my chest arced toward him as he crawls above, the erotic way in which he poses me this moment shatters all my barriers.
This man could ravage me, body and mind. He could tear me down, and I’d beg him to do it again.
“You’re under my skin,” he whispers so close to my ear his lips graze me. “And the only answer is to deliver a brutal fucking.”
His threat steals my breath, the weight of him pressing me against the table as he covers my body prevents me from filling my lungs, and I know I’ll never take another breath without craving his scent.
He reaches a hand down between us, his movements as he unzips his jeans rubbing me, teasing me, heightening my anticipation. With a harsh groan, he releases himself. His hardness is heavy against the sensitive skin of my pelvis. A pulse reverberates deep within me; the need to have him filling me consumes my being.
Then he’s grinding between my legs, the smooth skin of his thick shaft sliding between my wet lips, drumming up my pulse until my breathing ratchets. A spike of pleasure travels through my back as he rubs against my clit.
Cupping my wrist, he drives my hand above my head, where he clasps my arms together. Rising up, he grinds hard into me, bearing down on my wrists as he physically asserts his dominance.
“I’m going to fuck you long and slow,” he says, each word enforced with a hard thrust, making my back arch off the table. “Make you feel how badly I’ve craved you all these months.”
I suck in a sharp breath as his mouth surrounds my nipple. His teeth graze, his tongue flicks, and as my body reacts, muscles clenching, he drives into me.
His groan travels the length of me as he pushes deeper, opening me up to take him. “Fuck. My tight little cunt—how I’m going to punish it for teasing me.”
“I didn’t…” I claim. For some reason, I desperately want him to know this.
Slamming inside me again with a deep, long stroke, just as he assured, he lowers his mouth to mine. “You did, temptress,” he says against my mouth. “Every time you bent over, daring me to take you. Every time you walked past and lowered your head…you were tempting me to make you mine. Now, I’m going to give you everything you begged of me.”
I did—I admit it. I wanted him to pull me into some dark corner and make me forget the world. “I wanted to know what it felt like to be touched by you.” I squeeze my eyes closed, unable to meet his gaze—the one I know is hungry with questions.
My admission spurs him on, his thrusts coming deeper and harder. My hands curl into fists as I wriggle against his iron grasp, seeking to touch him. My legs wrap around his strong hips as he slams into me, over and over. “You will,” he breathes against me. “You’ll learn what it feels like to be owned by me. I’ll memorize every inch of you. From the inside out. Every part of you belongs to me.”
His intimate declaration ignites all the places he’s touching, and those he’s not. As if just saying it, he’s already lain claim to each of those needy parts. And as he rocks into me, driving me closer with each powerful plunge, I tighten around him, desperate to hold onto him as I careen toward climax.
He reads my body, increasing his speed and delivering deep thrusts that have my thighs clinging to him. His name slips out on a frantic pant, and his hips pound against me mercilessly, as if his name on my lips tears away his control.
I come hard. My body quivering and pulsing with electric aftershocks that heighten every time he drives deeper. He releases my wrists and my hands go to his back. I feel him tense under my touch, and the excitement of him filling me steals over, but he forcefully rips himself away.
I yelp as he grasps my ankles and hauls me toward the edge of the table. His breathing is labored, his chest rising with each strenuous intake of air. “Get the anal plug.”
Dazed, I blink at him, but soon his state registers in my lust-fogged brain and I scamper off the table. My legs barely support my weight as I hurry to the bedroom. Dread hasn’t even seeped in yet—until my hands are on the object.
I creep toward him, wariness lacing my limbs. The clear jewel plug clutched in my hand as I take in his changed demeanor. His muscles corded tight. His firm grip on his cock as he strokes himself, causing heat to bloom deep in my core; the sight so carnal and savage, I could wilt under his ravenous gaze.
His eyes devour my body as he stalks toward me then, his hand going to my hair and angling my face to his. His erection presses against my belly, throbbing and making my thighs ache. “Bend over the table,” he orders.
Only he doesn’t give me time to process and act on his demand. He’s guiding me there with a firm hold in my hair, my feet struggling to keep up. My stomach hits the edge, then his hand flattens against my back as he pushes my chest to the table.
His feet spread mine apart, opening me up to him, and my eyes seal shut.
“Don’t clench up. Relax,” he says, taking the object from my hand. The feel of his cock sliding against me encourages his desired effect. I’m still wet and aching from before, and the thought of him entering me again sends a splash of heat all the way to my toes.
He backs away just enough to insert a hand between us, circling his fingers around my slick lips. A quiver rocks my body, and my fingers dig at the hard slab. Then, with sure movements, he spreads the wetness over the tight entrance of my channel. I flinch out of reflex. But the more he massages, the more pressure that builds as he firmly applies his fingers, my walls contract and I’m worked open.
“I will have your ass tonight,” he says, his voice a gruff promise. “You will not remove this unless I give you permission. If you have to use the bathroom, I’ll remove it for you.” I cringe at the vision his words evoke. His voice never sounds abashed, his tone never betraying any of the revulsion I feel when he talks about such things; only absoluteness. “Before we leave this evening, you’ll use an enema to prepare yourself.”
Oh, god…it’s worse. This feeling of shame, hearing him talk about my facilities with such exactness is more than humiliati
ng.
“What’s your reply?”
He rests the teardrop shaped plug to my back entrance, and I gasp in a breath. “Yes, sir.” My response rushes out as he eases in the tip.
A heavy groan follows his lead as he slowly inserts the plug. My legs shake at the feel of pressure, my back taut with strain. His hand slips around my front and his fingers quickly find my clit. The stimulation causes my internal muscles to flex, and the teardrop is sucked in.
“Oh, my god,” I pant, my arms stiff as I brace against the table.
“You’re doing perfectly,” he encourages, expertly working my clit. He slips his hard cock beneath my aching center, his mouth near my ear. “Now. Scream all you want.” Then he’s pushing inside—one deep, hard thrust.
I cry out. My stomach tenses at the feel of him filling me and the heaviness penetrating my channel. My immediate reaction is to push back, clenching to alleviate the spiking pressure.
Anticipating my body’s response, he rests his pelvis against my ass, keeping the plug in place. He continues to knead my clit as his other hand cups my breast, adding stimulation and willing my body to accept the pain as pleasure.
I’m torn in too many directions—too many sensations assault me to focus on any one feeling. With each swirl over my clit, my body spasms, my walls tightening around him. His thick groans follow each contraction, encouraging his heavy thrusts. As if my body’s refusal to accept him only drives him deeper, his thrusts coming more forceful, more possessive.
His chest presses against my back, the friction of his taut muscles bearing down on me a pleasurable command over my body’s resistance. And as he pins me against the table, delivering a brutal fucking…a euphoric clarity grips me.
I crave this.
I accused him of being sick…of getting some twisted fix…but it’s me who desires to be forced into submission—me who called out to him. Pleading to be dominated.
I’m the one who willed this man into my life.
I’m going to give you everything you begged of me.
As his words ring true, answering my beckoning cry, fiery currents sweep along my body. Blazing. Destructive. A fierce orgasm rips through me.
I scream. And scream. Over stimulated. Unable to lock on to any one point of origin as the orgasm detonates all over; a trail of devastation left in its wake as my body sags from the outpour.
He’s not slowing. Not stopping. Battering my insides with a vicious pounding that I’m suddenly afraid will break me…just as he promised. My mind tries to drift—tries to tunnel under the pressure…
“Stay with me,” he rasps, increasing his thrusts as if he’s a machine, bent on making me feel everything. “My fuck toy doesn’t get off that easy.”
He releases my breasts only to grab my hair, forcing me flat against the table. His other hand lifts up on my mound, kicking my ass up toward him as he rams inside, harder and harder, my screams barely masking his groans.
Soon, the pain builds into another all-consuming pressure that has me cringing against the cold steel table, my skin aflame and muscles straining. I ache…everywhere. But the pulse of his cock matches the rhythm of my racing heart, and when he drives in a final time, I shatter. I’m so wet he slicks against me as he bears down to keep inside, his own release thrumming deep and hot within me, shooting electric currents through my back.
I’m lost. So lost. All I can do is feel and breathe through the aftershocks as he pulls out of me and scoops my languid body into his arms. Arms that are still strong despite having worked so hard, like his chest that cradles me securely, as he walks us toward the bedroom.
He lays me down on the cool sheets, his heat pouring off him and covering me from above as he hovers. His eyes meet mine, and I swear I glimpse a flicker of fear behind the hard mask. Just a second to see beneath…and then it’s gone. His mouth firm as he drags a hand down my body.
“I can’t let you go now,” he says, his voice resolute.
It’s right on the tip of my tongue. My avowal to never want to be released.
But he steals that, too. His mouth dips down, his lips sealing over mine. Our tongues mingle and taste, slowly, tenderly, so in conflict with his demanding, controlling nature. I moan into the kiss, irrevocably sated.
When he pulls away, a beautiful smile curves his lips. “I fear I’m going to break my word.” His gaze flits over my face, inspecting the furrow of my brow. He brushes his fingers across my skin, smoothing away the crease. “I told you I’d give back what I take, but I fear that’s impossible now, Alexis. I simply can’t stop myself from taking.”
Though I should be alarmed, his confession sends a tingling thrill coursing through my blood. He’s there too now—coursing along my veins, speeding my pulse. Traveling right to that pumping organ his touch threatens to combust.
“So,” he says, seating himself between my thighs. “You best confess what you need from me, before I completely devour you.”
There’s no tease in his tone. The seriousness in his blue eyes urges his sincerity, and his weight bearing down on me enforces his intent. I’m almost afraid to speak, shocked that he plans to fuck me again.
Am I not broken?
Am I not a puddle of submissive goo beneath him?
The heated look in his pale gaze answers my unspoken questions. I haven’t even begun to feel the extent of what this man is capable of.
I lick my lips, watching the way his gaze follows the path of my tongue. Predatory. “What if I don’t know?” I admit.
He raises his eyebrows, forcing his eyes back to mine. “Everybody wants something.”
I don’t have any friends. My parents are dead. The rest of my family distant and estranged. All I have is my job and the worry over my brother. There are so many…too many things I don’t have that I don’t even know where to begin to long for them. Besides, anything and everything can be taken away. Stolen in the blink of an eye.
While it’s true that everybody wants something in this world…it’s also true that once obtained, there’s a constant fear of losing it.
I raise my chin, employing confidence I don’t feel. “I reserve the right to answer at a later date.”
A true smile breaks across his face, his burst of laughter unfurling a flight of pleasurable shivers within me. I almost amend my answer, stating that what I want is to see that—being the only recipient of his heart-melting smile, instead of the one he flashes too often. The sultry, panty-dropping smile he uses to reel in prey.
I bite down on my tongue, preventing myself from exposing what I have no doubt he’ll see as a weakness.
“Still fighting for a promotion, I see.” His smile is gone, but the silver gleam still lights his blue gaze. “I admit, I don’t like surprises. Nor do I like not knowing the stakes.” Something flashes in his narrowed gaze before he inhales deeply. “But as I’m unable to get enough of your sweet pussy…” He rocks into me then, eliciting a soft cry from me. “I’m at a disadvantage.”
I’ve nearly forgotten about the plug until he’s filling me, increasing the pressure in my channel as my hands push against his chest.
When I open my eyes again, as the pain ebbs and pleasure sweeps in, his slow and steady thrusts not as intense—but just as demanding—I see the primal need strike like steel meeting flint in his gaze. That spark of desire to annihilate me.
Lowering himself, he presses me into the mattress, driving inside me deeply, as he whispers against my ear, “But be warned, temptress. A disadvantage doesn’t deter me. I’m not to be fucked with.”
8
Disdain
Chase
I stand before the bathroom mirror, flipping a silver makeup compact over in my hand. My guest bathroom that has never been used is littered with feminine touches, suddenly making it look very lived in.
It’s at my request, of course, that Jefferson fill it with every assortment that Alexis might need, but that doesn’t stop the irrational frustration at having my sanctuary invaded.
Control and routine. Routine and control. They go hand in hand, and are the foundation of my life. It was my budding law practice that, years ago, became the base of what Lark and Gannet is today.
My ideas. My routines. My connections.
Mike Gannet offered a flare for marketing and a delicate finesse with the clientele that I didn’t possess, which made him a necessary asset. Otherwise, I hate change. Each partner henceforth was hand selected by me, because I deemed them worthy as they offered some valuable benefit for the practice.
And, they had a similar foundation. A belief system that afforded them an invitation into The Firm—an association of the most elite, a membership, if you will, of likeminded, powerful men who like to play and still keep their reputations in tact.
Politicians. Judges. CEOs. Too many great men have been brought down by their pricks. The Firm gives men with means—lots of means—a lucrative way to fulfill their needs without the fear of exposure.
Truthfully, Lark and Gannet makes money—but it doesn’t accrue the kind of wealth that The Firm rakes in.
I built my enterprise one client at a time, safely and securely, into the staple that it is now—and I’ve done so with an idealism and routine that was never questioned. Never challenged.
Until now.
I hate change.
I toss the compact to the counter and look up when Alexis’s reflection appears in the mirror.
My breath stalls in my chest. The elegant black dress hugs her curves as if it was painted on; the silky material stopping right above her knee and revealing her sexy thigh with a long slit that travels all the way back up. The thick straps at top cross over her breasts, wrapping her shoulders.
It was a battle between us; me desiring her to adorn the sheer dress from earlier, and her negotiating for this one now.
As much as I’m loath to admit it, the battle was well worth these results. “Turn around,” I say as I stalk toward her.