The Greatest Risk

by Kristen Ashley

  When she was face-to-face with him, his fingers around hers curled in cruelly.

  And she had the impatient, frustrated tyrant.

  “I could keep you suspended astride my cross and beat you for hours and that wouldn’t break you. I could keep you hovering close to climax without release for weeks and that wouldn’t break you. So how, Simone? How do I force it out of you?” he asked.

  “It’s just a word, baby,” she whispered pacifyingly.

  “I’m not talking about the word, Simone.”

  She shut her mouth.

  “I could give you everything, in my case literally, and it still would be nothing,” he stated, and her insides frosted over that he’d think such a thing.

  “That isn’t true,” she whispered.

  “You’re pulling away even when I’m inside you,” he stated flatly.

  She looked away, terrified but at the same time moved he’d sensed that from her, read it in her, knew her so deeply.

  “Don’t look away from me, and that is not a command as your Master, that’s your man demanding that of you, especially when we’re talking about this,” he said, and he furthered the words by letting her fingers go and starting to unlace the restraints.

  Slowly, she forced her gaze to his.

  “We’re having a good day,” she said softly. “Let’s just have this beautiful day.”

  “And then what?” he asked as she felt the laces loosening.

  “And then tomorrow we’ll have a different beautiful day.”

  “And then?” he asked, the laces loosened, he slipped the sleeves off and tossed them on the floor beside the bed.

  She had a feeling M wasn’t going to be picking those up and that was because Sixx would, and she’d put them away.

  “Simone,” he clipped.

  She focused on him.

  “We have three more weeks.”

  It was then her world collapsed. Like in the movies when the massive earthquake hits, the mighty crack opening in the earth, swallowing everything inside as it crumbles and disappears, letting out a mighty poof of dust that annihilates everything.

  This was because his face assumed an expression like she’d struck him.

  Stunned.

  Hurt.

  Wounded.

  Arms released, she lifted both hands to his face.

  “Baby.”

  “It’s just time spent,” he declared, “Or rather, time served for you.”

  “No, it’s not,” she rushed to say. “It’s brilliant, beautiful, perfect. You’re making me happy.”

  “And you’re still going to leave me,” he stated. “Fulfill your promise and then leave.”

  God, how did they get here?

  “I need you to understand,” she said.

  “I’ll never understand,” he returned. “After this week, Simone, honestly? You can ask that of me?”

  Her hands gripped him harder. “You don’t get it.”

  His hands came up and gripped her just the same, positioning her so they were nose-to-nose and his eyes were drilling into hers.

  “Then explain it to me,” he bit out.

  She automatically retreated, trying to physically, which he disallowed, so she did it verbally.

  “You push too hard,” she snapped.

  “Learn this about me, darling,” he drawled ominously. “When there’s something I want, and I have it in my sights, I will do anything, absolutely fucking anything, to secure it. You think this is pushing hard, you know nothing about me.”

  “You’re not making this better,” she warned.

  “Why won’t you allow yourself to be happy?” he asked, irate.

  That question, one Aryas had posed to her using different words what was now years ago, made her move so violently, she tore out of his arms and was across the bed before he could snatch her back.

  Naked, on three limbs, the last held up, palm out toward him, when he made to lunge at her, she hissed, “Don’t get near me.”

  His face turned gentle.

  As it always did when he took it too far and she snapped.

  Then fear spiraled up her spine when that wiped clean and his expression set to determined.

  Switching tactics.

  Doing absolutely anything.

  “Get over here,” he ordered.

  “No,” she denied.

  “Get over here, Sixx,” he bit.

  He called her Sixx.

  He knew precisely who he was dealing with.

  God, he knew her down to her soul.

  And that terrified her most of all.

  “No!” she yelled and moved to throw herself off the bed.

  He caught her around the waist and dragged her back, and this was good.

  This was great.

  With this, she could show him precisely who he was dealing with.

  He said if she took him to his ass, it would sting his pride. But the man Stellan was, she knew if she did that, it wouldn’t just sting his pride. It would alter who they were to each other forever.

  And when she went at him with no holds barred, it tore her apart at the same time it gave her hope that she’d finally found the means to save him.

  She discovered the faults in this hastily-formed plan immediately.

  The facts were that Stellan might be well-bred, well-dressed and wealthy.

  But a predator was a predator no matter how polished he appeared to the world.

  And when an urbane predator was pushed to claim something that was his, he was an animal.

  In the ensuing battle, she had a few openings, and he bested her at each one. He was strong, he was sly, and he was a fucking cheat.

  He—her Stellan, the man she was in love with, the man who looked at her adoringly when she held his balls in her mouth or anytime—knew he was bigger than her, stronger than her, and as she’d expected him to do, something he did not do, he gave her no quarter.

  It could be Ami he was grappling with.

  So when he had her facedown on the bed, her arm torqued up her back so tight, the pain in her shoulder was acute and almost blinding, but definitely immobilizing, and he commanded, “Spread your goddamn legs,” she did it.

  He kept his hold on her even as she sensed him reaching, heard a nightstand open, knew he was doing something just out of sight, so she didn’t know what it was until she had a scant second to feel it and tense the muscles she needed to tense to refuse it.

  But the latter had no effect.

  He rammed the plug up her ass, which set her groaning and sliding slightly up to her knees.

  Then he spanked her, and if she thought the sharp blows he’d given her the day of the pool party had a good sting, this was a damned thrashing.

  “Stellan,” she breathed.

  “Master,” he bit.

  “Baby,” she tried.

  His hand hitting her flesh was his only reply.

  He gave it to her and he gave her more, holding her wrist twisted up her back, until she felt the pain in her shoulder rocket down her ass, gathering with the pain he was inflicting there, and scattering between her legs, down the backs of her thighs, and without any warning and thus with no control whatsoever, she started coming.

  “That’s it, darling,” he growled, she knew, taking her flesh from pink to red and welted.

  “God,” she whispered hoarsely.

  “No, sweetheart,” he returned, the spanking ending, the torture beginning. He held her down and dove his hand between her legs. “Master,” he finished.

  She quivered, she shook, she shuddered, she came again and again and again from deft, talented, relentless clit stimulation and deep, hard, penetrating finger fucking until her body was not her own … at all, even a little of it, all the way to her marrow.

  It was his.

  Only his.

  “I can’t … no more,” she begged feebly, but her muscles clenched and another orgasm burned through her.

  He took hold of the plug and started fucking her ass, and
she shoved her face in the bed and moaned.

  “Sorry?” he called.

  “Please.” The word was muffled in the bed.

  He filled her, and his hand went back between her legs.

  Abruptly, of its own volition, she shuddered in surrender.

  Her body going lax, her legs spreading wider, she turned her face again so her cheek was to the sheets and whispered, “Please, I can’t take more, Master.”

  In a blink, the plug was out, she was up, in his arms, her body wrapped around his, his arm tight at her waist, his other hand cupped to the back of her head, and he was kissing her deeply.

  Shifting his hips, he slid inside, and using his arm around her waist to lift and lower her, he was fucking her gently.

  He pulled her mouth from his, shoved her face in his neck, and moved her on his cock. Each time he filled her, she sighed against his skin, too spent to do anything but hold on and grip him as hard as she could with her pussy.

  “You won’t be able to leave me,” he declared thickly.

  She closed her eyes and centered on the pull and release, the push and seal.

  Seal.

  Seal.

  Sealed.

  His orgasm was lazy and so beautifully orchestrated, having Sixx in the state he put her in, she could do nothing but hear it, feel it, absorb it in every way that could come to being, accepting it as the precious gift he had every intention of giving.

  When he was finished, he impaled her on his cock and held her in his arms.

  “I thought I knew what I was doing,” he murmured. “But you’re full of surprises. And in matters of meaning, in other words, battles worth winning, I adore surprises, sweetheart.”

  Great.

  “You need a firmer hand,” he decided.

  She didn’t think she could have it in her, but apparently she did because she shivered.

  He chuckled.

  She loved the sound.

  God!

  “I think every weekend we play, I’ll command a day where I get Simone and a day where I get to break Sixx,” he said.

  And he could also find a way to get off on the messed-up insanity of her split personalities.

  Fabulous.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  “I think you’re more nuts than me,” she muttered against his skin.

  “I said something once that, at the time, I didn’t even realize how true was its meaning,” he shared.

  Sixx had a feeling she didn’t want to know.

  She also had a feeling he knew she didn’t.

  But Stellan didn’t give a damn.

  “Sweet pussy is worth any hassle. But to earn the attention of a queen…” He curled his hand around her jaw and used it to force her to look at him. The touch was dominant, but gentle, and achingly sweet, and when he caught her eyes, he concluded, speaking every word in a way each was laced with steel, “I. Will. Do. Anything.”

  “You have my attention,” she whispered.

  “I have your utter devotion,” he retorted, and she felt her body freeze. “But your devotion is twisted, Simone. In the way Sixx protects you, she’s trying to protect me. Shut me out, force me down. I can break your body. I can earn a ‘Master’ from your lips. But that is what I’m going to break to make you mine. And you can fight it, my sweet darling. Fuck, I want you to. It’ll make the process all the more interesting. But in the end, you’ll bow to your king and then take your place at his side. Trust me.”

  “I could disappear tomorrow,” she told him the truth.

  “And I would find you,” he told her his.

  His was probably more true.

  She dropped her head so her forehead rested against his and lifted a hand to stroke his cheek.

  “I wish I could give you what you want,” she said quietly.

  “You already do,” he replied. “I just have to prove that to you.” He pushed her face away slightly and said, “You’re finished serving, darling. I’ll make us some dinner, and we’ll have a quiet night in front of the fire.”

  When he let her jaw go, beginning to move like he was going to pull them from the bed, she caught his jaw tight and he stilled.

  “It was him. It wasn’t her,” she whispered huskily. “It was always him.”

  Stellan said absolutely nothing. He just stayed perfectly still and stared into her eyes, his having gone so hyper-alert, they felt like a laser burning through her.

  “There wasn’t much but he…”

  She trailed off.

  He stayed silent.

  “He loved me,” she pushed out.

  When it was Sixx who went silent, he urged gently, “More, honey.”

  “The bullets. He took those bullets for me.”

  “Okay,” he whispered.

  It was nearly guttural when she shared the awful truth.

  “It’s not safe to love me.”

  Understanding flared in his eyes so bright, it was like a beacon that lit up the room, and a growl so low, so predatory, it scraped against her skin as it rumbled from his chest, and he spoke like he’d spoken earlier, but there was a fiery flint to the steel of the words he gave her.

  “By God, Simone, I. Will. Prove. That. Is. Not true.”

  “You need to stay safe for me,” she said urgently.

  “I will.”

  “Always,” she begged.

  His arms around her went from strong and firm to gentle and sweet.

  “Always, honey.”

  “Even if it’s me that has to make you safe.”

  He hesitated on that, and she about opened her mouth.

  But he spoke first.

  “We shall see.”

  thirteen

  Happily Ever After

  STELLAN

  The next morning, leaving Simone standing at the bathroom mirror in her underwear making her hair adorably fuckable, with his suit jacket in his hand, Stellan walked down the stairs.

  With Simone as she was in their bathroom, he did not want to leave her.

  With what he knew was downstairs, he had to leave.

  He found what he expected to find after he’d sent the text he’d sent last night, hiding in the bathroom to do it.

  He was not annoyed he was reduced to hiding in his own bathroom to do what he had to do.

  Any tactic, any ploy, anything … he would do, without embarrassment, without remorse.

  M was in his kitchen.

  M was usually in his kitchen at this time of day to make him breakfast, but also to keep him company considering she worried about him living in this big house by himself.

  He’d asked her to give Sixx and him a couple of weeks to get used to each other before they resumed regularly scheduled activities.

  After what Stellan had discovered last night, he wasn’t moving cautiously forward with his Simone.

  She thought he was pushing too hard?

  She’d learn what that meant.

  “Mijo!” M cried in that welcoming way of hers, like it hadn’t been mere days since they’d seen each other last, but years. She was turning from whatever she was doing in the kitchen to him, giving him one of her big, bright smiles. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, M,” he murmured, throwing his jacket over the back of one of the stools at the island.

  She frowned at his jacket.

  She gathered his clothing from the floor, laundered it, and put it away or took it then picked it up from the dry cleaner’s.

  She was always riding his ass to take better care of his things.

  And thus would have preferred him draping his jacket around the chair, not tossing it over the back.

  Her gaze went from his jacket to his twitching lips to his eyes.

  “How is Simone?” she asked.

  And there it was.

  He’d discovered on Friday that Simone had invited M to call her by her real name.

  It had been a surprise at the time, a good one, but nonetheless a surprise. Stellan wasn’t certain anyone but Aryas and
Dillinger knew her true name, and neither man used it.

  At the time, whatever accord they’d reached that led them to drinking tequila he was delighted with and thought it was progress.

  And he felt more progress had been made over the weekend.

  But it was time to stop going slowly.

  It was time to end Simone’s self-enforced loneliness and show her that being loved and being around the ones who did it was the safest place she could be.

  Not the other way around.

  Stellan didn’t answer M’s question.

  He moved right to her, in her space, toe to toe, and watched her eyebrows arch up as he tipped his head down.

  Since it was time to speed things up, there was no time to waste.

  “I’m losing her,” he whispered.

  Shock and upset hit her gaze.

  “What?” she whispered back.

  “Her parents were drug dealers.”

  M’s eyes became huge.

  Stellan continued, “When she was twelve, they were killed when they were meeting their supplier and a rival supplier made a play to claim new territory. She was there when it happened.”

  “I-I-I…” She shook her head disconcertedly. “I can’t even comprehend this,” she said softly, her voice filled with horror.

  “Her father stepped in front of her to protect her.”

  Now her voice was pitched high. “Why was she even there?”

  Stellan shook his head as well, doing it with two meanings. One that he didn’t know why such a thing occurred, and the other that it didn’t matter.

  “As shocking as this is, sweetheart, that’s a moot point now. She was. And it’s clear she did not have a close relationship with her mother. But there was something between her and her father. What made matters worse in a situation that didn’t seem like it could get worse, when they died, she did not go to a relative who would show her love and care and give her what she needed to deal with what she’d witnessed. She went to her uncle, who is arguably worse than those two.”

  “How could he be worse?” she asked incredulously.

  “That doesn’t matter,” Stellan answered gently. “What matters is that he clearly did not counsel her or get her the help she’d need to understand what happened in that room when she lost her parents. She’s twisted it, not surprisingly. She thinks it’s not safe to love her.”