Please Me (Crush Me Book 2)

by Stasia Black

  “So much strength.” My eyes flash from his chiseled chest back up to his eyes at the same time as I grab his balls and squeeze mercilessly. I lean into his lips as the breath hisses out of his lungs, like I can catch it into mine. Taste his breath. Inhale him.

  God I want this man inside me every way possible. Not just his cock in me. I want to eat him up. Consume him. Physically. Spiritually.

  Everything. I want everything.

  “You make me think crazy thoughts,” I whisper to him, my face an inch from his. I search his eyes desperately, back and forth.

  Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I’m supposed to be mastering him.

  And I am. I can see that I am. But there’s something about all of this that takes our connection and sends it to an even deeper plane of intimacy. Him so in tune with my smallest movement. Me responding to his every twitch and breath.

  “Like what?” His question is a breath. This close, I can see just the smallest ring of iris not consumed by his pupils. The darkest sea blue. A color that shouldn’t exist in nature, it’s too… extraordinary.

  “All your secrets. Everything.” I haven’t moved. We’re still so close. Sharing air.

  But at my words, our magnificent connection—it breaks.

  Jackson looks down. Ever since we began, his gaze has been locked on me like a laser. I’ve been his singular focus.

  But here, right at the moment of ultimate joining, he’s pulled back.

  What the fuck? In my head, I run over everything I said. And light on a single word.

  Secrets.

  I pull back from him like he hit me. His eyes immediately jerk back to mine. But they’re shadowed. Guilty.

  The bastard is hiding something from me! Something big by the looks of it. How dare he?

  Yeah but aren’t you hiding Gentry’s blackmail from him?

  I tell that voice in my head to shut the hell up. I’m not the one who’s been chasing a relationship and saying I love you... and… just… how fucking dare he?

  I take the clothespins off his cock almost recklessly and Jackson strains against his cuffs, seeing my mood switch and apparently guessing the reason why. “Wait, Callie, I can explain—”

  I glare at him like he’s a piece of shit underneath my shoe. “If you address me as anything other than Mistress,” I say, voice like a knife, “I will leave you cuffed to this bed and let you explain it to housekeeping in the morning when they find you like this.”

  He closes his mouth but a vein bulges at his neck and forehead. It’s taking every ounce of self-control for him to listen and obey. Normally I’d be proud, but I’m too fucking pissed right now.

  I smile at him and Jackson’s face goes on alert. As it should. He’s learning quickly to be wary of Mistress’ smiles.

  I lean over his cock and take him in my mouth. I bob on the tip several times. In spite of myself, I savor the way the ridge of his head feels on my lips as I dip it in and out. My hand wraps firmly on his lower shaft, controlling his movement.

  I peek up at him through my lashes. I know this is a huge turn on for him. It is for all men—it’s such a porno move, it’s all but programmed into their DNA to prep them to come on a dime.

  And fuck if it doesn’t make me wet as a little bitch. Sucking cock is supposed to be a job, but with Jackson, it does something to me. Even now, in this moment when I’m pissed as hell, bent over and mastering him with my mouth like this, the hand not gripping his cock is gripped in the sheets so I don’t start getting myself off. But fuck, I’m so goddamned hot for it.

  Which makes me even more pissed. I take Jackson deeper in my throat and groan my own arousal, effectively giving him a hummer.

  I feel his ass tense and his spine flex.

  And I jerk him off so fast he’s left gasping and fucking the air.

  “What aren’t you telling me, you fucking bastard?” I swat his thrusting dick with my crop and watch the look of absolute pained devastation on his face with complete dispassion.

  Using a pair of rubber-tipped kitchen thongs, I hold his dick in place while I start to reattach a few clothespins, this time on the underside of his shaft. At the contact of the kitchen thongs, a dribble of cum drips out the tip of his cock. It looks like a little bit more than precum, but not nearly enough to be a full load.

  I clip a pin right underneath the head and Jackson’s entire body jolts. And not in pleasure.

  I smile coldly up at him, only to find him watching the wall. I slap his thigh hard. “If you want to end the session, you say red or stiletto, you do not disrespect your Mistress by looking away or trying to zone out.”

  His eyes immediately shoot back to me.

  “Tell me what you’ve been hiding,” I command. “And if you lie to me, so help me God, we’re finished. Not this session. But you and me. Done.” The words shock me as soon as they come out of my mouth, but at the same time I know I won’t take them back.

  A lie or omission of truth has been acknowledged between us. I refuse to go on in this relationship without truth. I don’t care if that makes me a hypocrite because of what I’m not telling Jackson. That’s different. I have no choice in the matter and it involves my son, which is a trump card in my book. This, whatever it is Jackson’s not telling me, is between him and me.

  Jackson doesn’t look away from me but his mouth stays stubbornly shut. I don’t break his gaze as I reach into my bag of clothespins, pull out the skin of his balls and attach a clip to it.

  He flinches but only juts out his chin further. Stubborn fuck. I glare even harder as I do the same to the other side of his balls. Same reaction. Flinch but no giving in.

  I arch an eyebrow. Fine. That’s the way he wants to play it?

  I walk to one of the other rooms of the suite and grab a chair from the little dining area. I yank it behind me none too gently as I come back. I prop it beside the bed, eye-level with Jackson’s straining cock. Once there, I sit down, cross my arms, and continue glaring at him.

  We sit locked in a stare down for five minutes—I’m watching the time out of the corner of my eye on the bedside clock.

  Then, right after the five-minute mark, I get up and crawl back onto the bed.

  “Tell me the secret you’ve been hiding. I want to hear in detail what it is you’re so afraid to tell me.”

  Even while I watch him, I see it. He’s terrified. Stripped as he is, literally and figuratively, his normal armor is absent. His eyes twitch and widen and his furtive swallow doesn’t go unnoticed. I see everything. He looks so scared, almost lost. Whatever he’s carrying is such a burden.

  “You can talk to me.” I gentle my approach and it isn’t even a manipulation tactic. I rub up his thighs, massaging, wanting to sooth him. “I can see how this is torturing you. Let it go. Talk to me. Free yourself.”

  His eyebrows drop in agonized indecision before he finally shakes his head. “I can’t,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “You don’t— I just can’t—”

  “You can.” I urge, but he keeps shaking his head. And I start losing patience.

  “You will.” The chill returns to my voice.

  This time his body jumps when I remove each clip.

  “I can’t, I can’t,” he starts repeating over and over, and I don’t know if he means he can’t take any more of what I’m doing to him or if he’s talking about his precious secret. Either way, he always has a way out of this if he really wants to quit, and the word red hasn’t crossed his lips.

  Of course, with the ultimatum I tossed down, safe-wording would end a lot more than this play-session. Though ‘play’ is no longer applicable for what we’re doing. The stakes have become too high. We’re in an abyss here, going deep, deep down, and only Jackson can bring us out again.

  If we make it out again, I have the feeling we’ll be stronger than I ever imagined. That the paltry word ‘partners’ will seem silly in comparison to the rock-solid entity we could be. If…if.

  Once all the clothespins have been dis
posed of, I drop my head again. I lick the long vein running underneath his shaft up to his thick head that’s extra sensitive because of the clips. Jackson’s entire body shudders, finally in pleasure.

  I don’t have to command him to look at me, this time. His eyes are locked on mine. When I drop my mouth over his shaft, I give him everything I have. I worship with my tongue. I suck and swallow. At the same time I plead with my eyes not to break us.

  His face is agonized. Eyebrows low, mouth open, nostrils flared. His buttocks draw tight and his back starts to arch off the bed and again, I open my mouth wide and lift off him.

  He roars in frustration but when he looks at me, it’s not with accusation. It’s still fear. Not just fear. Ten times worse than that, he’s moved into a place of almost animal-like terror. Sweat mats his hair and there’s water around his eyes even though he’s not crying, exactly. Everywhere his muscles bulge—his arms, his neck, even his forehead. His eyes are huge as he tilts his head to the side as if in supplication.

  “Please don’t make me.” His voice breaks. “You’ll never forgive me.”

  For the second time tonight he breaks eye contact, his head slumping between his shoulders like an invisible weight is pressing him down from behind.

  Oh God. It was too good to be true. I knew it. I knew it but I believed in him anyway. Stupid. I’m always the stupid, stupid girl never learning from her mistakes.

  “What?” I pull away from the bed. “What is it? Just tell me!”

  Jackson looks up at me, eyes full of regret and remorse. Oh God, I’m going to throw up. My hand goes to my stomach. “Tell me now or I walk,” I demand. “What did you do?”

  “It was Gentry,” he says. I back away from him, shaking my head, tears pricking. Oh God, they haven’t been working together, have they? I’ll do more than throw up. I’ll never be able to get anything down ever again. Or trust anyone. Anything.

  “It was back when we were in college. I told you the games seemed harmless at first.” Jackson’s torso strains off the bed, arms pulling against his cuffs. His eyes beg me to understand.

  I keep shaking my head. College? A small seed of hope starts to bloom. Maybe he’s not going to confess partnering with Gentry recently in the horrors against me?

  Jackson sounds no less tortured though. “He always had a different girl on his arm and three more who wanted to be with him. He was so charismatic.” Jackson spits the word like it’s poison.

  “So one night, we’re all partying together.” His eyes flick up to meet mine but then drop again. “Gentry had a girl hanging all over him, but like I said, that was nothing new. At the end of the night, though, he comes over to me and tells me the girl is actually into me.”

  Jackson swallows hard and the moisture that was just a sheen earlier gathers at the rim of his eye. “He tells me she’s kinky and that she’s waiting, blindfolded, for me in his room. She thinks it’s hot to call me the Dark Knight instead of my real name, so I should just go with it. And I do. It’s not the first time he’d done that kind of thing. Gotten me girls.” Jackson closes his eyes, face ashen.

  I look at him in confusion. What does this story have to do with anything? Is he ashamed he couldn’t get his own girls in college? It’s not awesome and the fact that it was Gentry is… just ugh, but still, so what? Watching him as his eyes come back to me, though, so dark and lost, my stomach sinks. And then it hits me—Gentry’s a part of this story. Of course something absolutely horrible happens next.

  As Jackson goes on, every word only confirms my suspicions. “The girl was waiting there, just like Gentry said she would be. When I came in and sat beside her, she jumped me and started making out, immediately taking off my clothes. So I thought everything was cool.” He chokes a little as he continues. “She said how hot it was to finally get to be with the Dark Knight. She said that over and over. How long she had wanted that. So we sleep together and I think we’re all good.” He squeezes his eyes shut.

  “What happened?” I ask. I didn’t realize it, but as he’s been talking, I’ve walked closer so that now I’m by the bed again. I sit down beside Jackson and put my hand on his thigh.

  “The morning happened.” He looks up and meets my eyes. “I wake up and she’s screaming that I raped her. The whole dorm floor freaks out and the next thing I know I’m in cuffs.”

  I suck in a shocked breath. “Gentry paid her off to say you raped her?”

  He shakes his head. “God, I wish that’s all it was.” His voice hitches as he looks at me, eyes haunted. “No, to this day, she believes I raped her. And in a way, I did.”

  I jerk back from him.

  “Gentry must have given her something, some kind of ruffie.” Jackson’s voice evens out to a monotone and his eyes drift to the wall. “She doesn’t remember anything about the night before except that she went to the party wanting to sleep with Gentry. He was the only guy she’d wanted to sleep with all year. No one else. Then she woke up in his bed with me, some guy she didn’t know at all other than having seen me once or twice at a party.” Jackson’s eyes flick briefly to me before going back to the wall.

  “Gentry set us both up. He told her it was him who’d be meeting her in his room, and that he liked it kinky with the mask and the Dark Knight bullshit.” Jackson’s face pales, like he might be sick and when he meets my gaze this time, the tear that’s been threatening finally falls down his cheek. “All my dad ever wanted was for me to be a good man. Instead I let Gentry make me a rapist.”

  Oh my God. The devastating reality of what he’s lived with for all these years. Of what Gentry did to him. Of what happened to that girl.

  Quickly I pull the key to the handcuffs out of my bra and undo the restraints at his wrists and ankles. Then I prop myself back on the headboard and pull Jackson into me. He collapses against me, head curled down against my breast and does something I wonder if he’s ever allowed himself since it all happened. His entire body shakes silently. I imagine he’s crying, but he’s so quiet I can’t tell. I stroke his enormous back and wrap as much of my body around him as I can.

  Which is when I feel it. As fucked up as he must be about everything that went down years ago, I’ve gotten him so revved up over the past couple hours, he’s still hard as a rock. His cock is engorged so much it’s got to be almost to the point of pain. Then there’s the matter of the ring I put around his cock and balls, only contributing to the issue.

  I know what needs to be done.

  “Get on all fours.” It comes out in my harshest Domme voice.

  In spite of everything, there’s no hesitation. Jackson drops to the floor, his head sunk low between his shoulders, face to the ground.

  “Did I say get on the ground? I said on all fours,” I snap. “It should have been perfectly obvious I meant on the bed.”

  Jackson winces at the harsh tone of my voice, but gets back on the bed and on his knees. Never once does he look my way. He assumes the position on his knees with a military-like precision. Except for his head, which is bowed so low his forehead scrapes the bed.

  I rear back and give his ass a hard smack. “Head up.”

  His head jerks up, eyes on the wall now.

  “What do you say when I address you, slave?”

  I give him another wallop.

  His body doesn’t even jerk with the impact. “Yes, Mistress.” His voice sounds lifeless.

  That is not acceptable.

  I reach between his legs and grab his hanging cock. He lets out a groan that sounds more like a growl and I feel an answering roar of satisfaction in my chest.

  And then he tries to pull away from my touch. “Mistress no. I’m a fucking monster. You heard— You know now—”

  I grip his cock like a vise the further he tries to move until he half-crumples to the bed. “On your knees,” I demand again.

  This is not Jackson the business mogul, the self-confident dominant man everyone else in the world knows. This is my man stripped down and at his most vulnerable, may
be more than he’s ever been before in his life. Well, at least a moment that he’s shared with someone else.

  I think of the morning he woke up to that girl screaming that he’d raped her. His confusion and terror and the horrible, horrible fear that somehow she was right and he’d done the unthinkable.

  All my dad ever wanted was for me to be a good man. After a life being bumped around the foster care system, landing with his foster parents who eventually adopted him, changed everything for Jackson. Jackson was so close with his adopted dad—from the little he’s told me before, I know it was the emptiness after his death that in part led to Jackson hanging out with Gentry in the first place.

  And then to have the foundation of who you thought you were as a person and as a man questioned and ripped apart. How many years later and Jackson still calls himself a rapist and a monster—the opposite of the legacy his father wanted for him. And all this done by someone who was supposed to be a friend. Betrayal on top of devastation. Jackson didn’t finish the story, I realize. He said he was taken away in cuffs. Obviously it all got settled somehow, though to him, that’s not the important part of the story.

  And I see it now—why Jackson really chose me. In the beginning he did want to save me from Gentry. But not because he saw me as some pitiable whore. He wanted to save me because he himself had been used, manipulated, and at least for a time, broken by Gentry. We’ll both forever bear the scars of that bastard.

  But it’s not all Jackson and I have. We are so much more than the victims Gentry made us.

  I reach out and put a hand on Jackson’s flank, this time not a strike but a gentle touch. We are more than victims, I repeat it to myself to make sure it sticks. We’ve connected on so many deeper levels and become more than the game pieces Gentry tried to craft us into.

  I rub Jackson’s hips with both hands. His cock hangs huge like a horse between his legs and twitches with each deep massage even though my hands are nowhere near it.

  I pause in my ministrations to open my bedside table drawer and pulled out an eye mask. Usually I like seeing his eyes, but for this, I want him completely lost in the sensory experience. I place the dark fabric over his head and make sure it’s secure over his eyes so that he can’t see anything. Once I’m satisfied, I go back to my bag and grab a couple other items. Then I return, drop the items by his feet and continue my massage.