Controlled by His Voice Box Set (Erotic Romance)

by Cross, Skylar

  "You're fine," he said. "You're very lucky you have this guy. He risked his life to save you. You're also lucky because where the glass cut your forehead isn't long enough to need stitches." He turned to Tristan. "Just make sure she gets some rest. Nothing too taxing for a couple of days, okay?"

  "Thank you, doctor," said Tristan.

  "No problem," said the doctor. "Hey, this may not be the time or place but I have an idea for a company. I've had it for a few years. Do you mind if I run it by you sometime?"

  Tristan reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a business card.

  "This is a direct line to my private secretary. Call and make an appointment. Use the code word Meghan."

  "Code word," said Dr. Faust as he smiled at me. "Wow. Feels so dramatic."

  "Thank you, doctor," said Tristan.

  "Yes. No. I mean, thank you."

  He put out his hand and Tristan shook it. He turned back to me.

  "You're a very lucky young woman," he said and disappeared through the curtain.

  "Your clothes are over here," said Tristan. His tone was distant. Maybe irritated. Don't blame him. "Put them on and then we'll go."

  He stepped through the curtain and I was alone. Fuck, I've pissed him off.

  I sat up. Ow! My head hurt. That's what driving in a snowstorm gets you, Meghan. Not to mention all the vodka I had earlier. Shit, I drove drunk, didn't I? Bad. Very bad.

  I found a mirror and looked at myself. My forehead was bandaged up. My eyes were bloodshot and I had dark blue circles under my eyes. My skin was bluish and my lips were red. I looked like a long-lost cousin of the Cullen family from Twilight.

  I got my clothes on, found my bag... wow, he actually got my bag out of the wreck... and walked outside the curtain.

  His arms were folded and he was facing away from me. Just like the first time I saw him in the office with the floor-to-ceiling windows. I wished we could go back to that day and start all over again.

  He turned, the stern look still there.

  "Are you ready?" he said.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Let's go."

  We walked out through the quiet emergency room. Back into the falling snow.

  We were at Beverly Hospital. I recognized it. I had been here once before a long time ago.

  We got in his big SUV... cavernous would actually be a better word... and he started the engine.

  "I'm sorry, mentor," I said.

  "We'll talk later," he said. "And stop calling me mentor. Training is over for us."

  I felt a stab of pain in my head. Or was it my heart? I wanted to cry but I didn't know if I had enough energy. But I didn't want him to see me cry over him, either.

  Training is over for us.

  As the snowflakes fell through the night air, I drifted into a sadness that I haven't felt in a long time. It was like a loss of some sort. Like a part of my life was over.

  I blew it, didn't I?

  We drove in silence. His SUV handled the snow quite well. Before I knew it, we were back in his circular driveway.

  He parked and climbed out without saying a word. I guess I'm supposed to follow. What the fuck else am I supposed to do?

  I opened my door and stepped out into the snow. I felt a tear fall down my cheek. I followed in his footsteps all the way to the door, which he had left open for me.

  I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. This wasn't how I had hoped to return to this house. I wanted things back the way they were. I wanted to show up for submissive training and get back into the dark room, happily trapped in the stockade.

  He had vanished into his kitchen. I heard him clanging around in there. Pots and pans, it sounded like. I followed the sound.

  I stood at the entrance to the kitchen and just watched him. He was poetry in motion. He had shallots, garlic, and mushrooms out on the countertop. He diced them with the flair and speed of a master chef. He noticed me looking at him.

  "Sit," he said, motioning to one of the chairs in front of the low bar top attached to the island on which he was working.

  I did. The kitchen was huge. Funky yellow lamps hung in two rows from a cathedral arch. Two large ceiling fans sat in wait for summer humidity. Everything glistened. The marble countertop. The wood around the glass doors that led out onto a huge patio, now with a foot of snow all around the railing. The ocean beyond was pure black.

  "Coffee? Tea? Water?" he said.

  "Water would be great," I said.

  I wanted more vodka but I'd better not take the chance right now. He reached into the giant refrigerator and took out a bottle of spring water. He put it down in front of me with a glass. Where his fingers touched the bottle were naked spots in the condensation. Would those fingertips ever touch me again?

  I poured the water into the glass and drank some. God, that was good! Best water I ever tasted. I gulped the rest of it down.

  He put rice in a rice cooker with some water and turned it on. Then he walked back to the refrigerator, got another water, and brought it to me.

  I opened the new bottle and drank some, skipping the glass this time.

  I watched him as he trimmed broccoli rabe. I wanted to take out my cell phone and video him so I would have a memento of this time. I was pretty sure that once this snow cleared and he took me home I'd never see him again.

  He looked at me looking at him.

  "You can go in the lounge and put the TV on if you want," he said. There was a new sound to his voice. It was troubled and distant. "The remote is on the right-hand bookshelf."

  "Do you want me to?" I said.

  "Doesn't matter to me. I'm just making dinner. Thought you might be bored."

  Am I nothing to him? Is he even aware of me sexually?

  "If it's okay with you, I'd rather just sit here," I said.

  "Suit yourself," he said.

  Every time I look at him I lose control of my bodily fluids. Even in my damaged state. Why is it that he doesn't feel the same way? He'll never feel the same way, will he?

  Oh God, this is so fucking hopeless. I am such an idiot. I should have stayed with Jake.

  No, said a voice from somewhere. I love Jake, but Jake wasn't right. There was something missing.

  That's what I have to figure out. That's what I need to ask Meredith Zycroft about when I see her. This man making me dinner right now has something I need... something that Jake lacks.

  What is it? And why am I so drawn to it?

  But then again what does Meredith Zycroft know? She can't even get her lipstick right.

  As I sat there sipping my water, I felt like a little girl. Even though I've officially been an adult for four years, I am a little girl to him.

  He just chopped. Chop chop chop.

  He poured olive oil... at least I think it was olive oil, I'm not much of a cook... into a skillet. He placed two chicken breasts into the pan.

  Once they were browned on both sides, he lifted them out and set them aside. Then he added the shallots, garlic, and mushrooms to the skillet with some flour. Once everything was brown he added some white wine to deglaze, scraping up the fond with a wooden spatula. Then he added two squares of butter. Once it was bubbly again, he put the chicken breasts back and reduced the heat.

  He placed the rice, chicken, and broccoli rabe, which had been cooking in a separate skillet with some garlic, on two plates. He added some fresh chopped parsley to the pan sauce and poured it over the chicken. He took both plates over to the bar and sat down next to me.

  We ate in silence.

  His face was strained. I couldn't tell if it was because he didn't want to speak or wanted to speak but just couldn't bring himself to do it.

  He never looked me in the eye. He remained focused on his food.

  Every move he made was deliberate and with purpose. No waste. Like an efficient machine.

  I wanted to apologize again but I decided to wait until he said something.

  It was a long wait.

  We f
inished, then he cleared the plates and put them in the dishwasher.

  Without a sound, he motioned for me to follow him. I did.

  I soon found myself in a huge bedroom with its own bath. There was a large window but all I could see outside was snow and blackness.

  "There are some clothes in here," he said as he opened up the panel in the wall. There, on hangers was an assortment of female outfits in multiple sizes.

  Hmm!

  "Do you need anything?" he said. "I'm going to do some work in my office and then go to bed."

  "No, I'm fine," I said.

  "Good. Find me if you need anything."

  Find me if you need anything.

  How about your cock in my mouth? Or twat. Or ass. I don't care where, just in me.

  "Thank you for dinner," I said. "It was delicious."

  "You're welcome," he said.

  "And thank you for rescuing me. I'm sorry I got you into this mess. I never should have come out here and made a fool of myself like that. I hope we can continue like before."

  "We'll talk tomorrow."

  Then he was gone and I was alone.

  I took off my clothes and got in the king-sized bed. I felt lost in it. I pulled the covers up and watched the snow fall outside.

  Chapter 4

  I was awakened by a powerful stream of sunlight pouring in through the window. I opened my eyes to see a clear blue sky. I looked over at the alarm clock. 8:13 AM.

  The morning was bright and clear. The blackness outside had been replaced by a picture-perfect view of a rocky cove. Seagulls flew in circles, taking off and landing all along the rocks.

  My head was better but it still hurt. I went in the bathroom and peeled off the bandage. Not so bad.

  I showered, put a new bandage on, and selected a pair of jeans and a blue top to wear. All the clothes seemed brand new.

  I gingerly opened the door to the bedroom and looked out. All I saw was the empty hallway. No sound.

  I stepped out and walked softly across the carpet to the kitchen. No sign of him. I checked the lounge and the office. Nothing.

  I went back into the kitchen and noticed a note on the countertop. Scrawled in pen it read:

  Breakfast in warming oven.

  I wasn't sure which device was the warming oven but I soon found it. Inside was a plate full of scrambled eggs, Canadian bacon, and wheat toast.

  I took it out and ate it, using the utensils he had laid out on the table for me. Delicious again. If he fucks as good as he cooks, then he is not mortal. I wonder if I'll ever find out.

  Where is he? Shoveling out? No, he wouldn't do that, would he? He'd have a service, right?

  Should I wander? Will he get mad? He said to find him if I needed anything, so that by itself granted permission to walk throughout the house, right?

  I found a television room that was more movie theater than television room, another lounge with a different view, and another wing of bedrooms.

  But no sign of Tristan.

  I wondered how to get to the brick-lined room with the stockade. Next time, I'll have to make some mental notes as he leads me and compare them to what I'm discovering now.

  Then a pang of sadness hit me as his words returned like a hammer.

  Training is over for us.

  Fuck, if there's just some way I could get him to change his mind!

  Then I heard a noise. Sounded like a thump. It came from near a closet. I walked over to it.

  Another thump and a grunt. I noticed that to the left of the closet was a passageway. I moved over and saw a small hallway that led to a room full of fitness equipment. The room was glass on three sides, surrounded by the bright vista of the rocky shore.

  Tristan Slade was standing in the middle of a squat rack. He wore a brown T-shirt that fit tightly over his muscular frame. He was bigger than I thought. The outline of his shoulder and back muscles pressed clearly though the shirt. I felt my pussy spring to life.

  A heavily-weighted barbell rested on top of his back behind his neck. His carved-from-stone arms glistened with sweat as they held it in place.

  I noticed that the barbell itself was part of the frame, held with odd stretchy pieces of what looked like shiny plastic. I had never seen a contraption quite like this one before.

  He squatted down then back up again, grunting with each repetition. After about twelve reps, he made a final grunt and let go of the barbell. He must have hit a switch or something because the barbell just stayed hanging there in midair as he walked away from it. He wiped his face with a towel and took a swig of water from a bottle.

  I just kept watching. He couldn't see me from where I stood, peering around the corner.

  He got into the contraption again, did twelve more squats with a higher amount of weight. This time, I kept my focus on his ass and leg muscles. They were thicker than his dress pants ever revealed.

  I thought about masturbating.

  Oh, what the hell, may as well. I've moved past any sense of decorum. After all I've done lately, pleasuring myself while watching him workout is tame.

  I squeeze my fingers around my outer labia, tugging upward. My clit gets hard almost instantly. Tristan takes another swig of water and stares out the window at the ocean.

  Gushing now, I palm the head of my clit, pressing in circles while massaging my inner labia. I picture his cock underneath those cut-off shorts. It's in there. And I know what it looks like. I've felt it pressing into my face. I know what it tastes like on my tongue.

  But I've never had his cum in me. I can only imagine how salty and manly it must taste.

  He gets into the machine again, but this time positions an incline bench underneath the barbell. He adjusts the weight, sits on the bench, and presses the barbell upward.

  At the end of each rep, I stroke my nub. I begin to lose control of my breath. An orgasm starts its dance of fire within me.

  Will I be able to come? He said training is over. Does that mean I'm released from his commands?

  Whatever. I just stroke myself as I watch his powerful movements. He screams as he pushes his final rep upward.

  My breathing takes on a life of its own as I tap my clit. I press firmly into it and grip the doorjamb tightly with the fingers of my other hand.

  Tristan goes to the table where he put his water down. He picks it up and takes another swig from the bottle. In that moment his eyes meet mine.

  I step out from behind the side of the doorway. I don't stop rubbing myself. Fuck it if he sees what I'm doing. Nothing he hasn't seen me do before.

  His eyes are locked with mine. Even though we are separated by a short hallway, the blue coral reef in his eyes envelops me. More powerful than the real ocean through the window, I dive into the warm waters of his irises.

  He seems lost himself. He stares and his eyes go wide. As I draw circles on my clit, I walk toward him. I'm not even in control of my own movements. He's like a magnet.

  Then I'm in the small gym room standing directly in front of him, pleasuring my eyes and my pussy at the same time. He smells of spent masculine musk mixed with pine.

  As I get about six inches away from him, he roughly grabs my forearms, holding them tight.

  He lifts up my right hand. I feel the band of the panties snap. He moves my hand upward and holds it directly between our two faces, only inches apart now.

  Then he takes my wet fingers into his mouth, licking my juices off them. My knees go weak as his tongue dances around my fingertips.

  He pulls my hand away from him and lets go of it.

  "More," he says.

  "More?" I say.

  "Get me some more down there."

  He doesn't break eye contact. His tone is commanding, the rich velvety deep voice I have come to love and obey.

  I reach down and collect some more nectar for him.

  "Feed me," he says.

  I reach up and bring my fingers to his mouth. I put them inside. He sucks ravenously on them. I lose my breath, making an odd
sound that comes from the back of my throat.

  I don't care about anything anymore. My life can fall apart if I can just stay here with this man and do this. I don't understand the power he has over me. I'm not sure I even want to understand it. All I know is that I'm in some sort of a blissful state whenever I'm near him.

  Then he grabs my arms and pulls me into him, looking directly into my eyes.

  Oh God, he's going to kiss me!

  And he does.

  Oh.

  My.

  Fucking.

  God.

  So good. I breathe in his sweat, taste his saliva. My hands fall to his back and meet his rock-hard muscles. I try to squeeze them but they're like granite.

  As our tongues wrestle, I lose myself and fall backward. He pulls me harder into him, his hands on the small of my back. I feel his massive cock pressing into me over the pants I'm wearing. Damn pants.

  I reach my arms around to his buttocks, feeling more solid mass as his tongue leaves my mouth and presses into my neck. His breathing is rapid now and I feel his rod twitch in his pants.

  Then I find myself suddenly airborne. I lock my legs around him as he spins me around.

  He's now sitting on the incline bench again, this time with me on top of him. We make out again, uniting our tongues in a whirl of mixed fluids.

  His rough hands explore me. They ruffle over my breasts, down my sides, under my panties and into my pussy. Soon he has a finger inside me. Then two. I spread my legs wide for better access.

  He finger fucks me, taking me to the edge while I bounce on his thighs.

  In that moment, I make a decision.

  I'm not going to come until he does.

  He drank my juice, so I want to drink his. I'm not going to allow him to just get me off. We've done that several times now. Now it's my turn to make him come!

  I get an idea. I pull away from him and pull my pants down, kicking them off. I take my shirt and bra off but leave my panties on. Then I turn around and straddle him backwards on the incline bench, using the handles on the sides for balance. I press my ass into his face.

  Okay, buddy, I know you're into ass. I'm giving you this one. But I want your come as payment!

  I feel his hot breath all around my ass cheeks. I know it's only a matter of time before he reaches up and gets those panties out of the way. In the meantime I lick his salty sweat off the insides of his thighs.