Forbidden: A Standalone

by CD Reiss

  “Really?” he said. “Did you fuck him yet?”

  “It’s not your business.”

  “You’re right.” In a flash, he had me by the back of my hair. He yanked it until I was looking into his piercing blue eyes. “It doesn’t matter. It. Does. Not. You’re mine. Your home is with me. And you can stab me another hundred times, and I’ll bring you back. Because there is not another man on this earth who understands you the way I do and no woman who understands me.”

  “Let me go.”

  “Never.” He twisted my body under him. His teeth were clamped shut, making his jaw stronger, tighter, more square. He was beautiful when in power and anger.

  “I forgot…”

  He dragged me to my knees. “Forgot what? This? How much you need this?”

  “My safe word,” I said. “I forgot it.”

  His reaction was immediate, and he let me go. I was still on my knees, hands in the dried leaves and needles.

  “What’s he going to do when you need to be broken?”

  “Nothing.” I got up, shaking from nerves. “He’s not you. No one is.”

  “Do you love him?”

  I didn’t answer right away. I just stared at the face of the man I’d loved first, and would always love. I was hurting him. Every day I stayed with him, I cracked his armor, and if I left, I’d tear the armor away. It wasn’t fair. He was too strong, too confident to let me do this to him. I didn’t want to answer. I wasn’t ready to own how it would affect him.

  “Do. You. Love. Him?”

  “No,” I whispered.

  He surprised me by smiling. “No, of course you don’t. You can’t.”

  He laid his hands on my crossed arms. Bone and sinew, with a squared joint at the base of the thumb. The hands of a man. Hands that bruised and tied, fingers that disappeared into my body. I couldn’t deny them. My arms dropped to my side. I practically groaned when my throbbing pussy woke up. Elliot had left me unsatisfied, and here was Deacon, ready to take me.

  “I don’t want to be saved,” I said. “Not anymore.”

  “You never needed to be saved. You only ever needed to be broken.” He touched my lips with the pad of his second finger. “Remember this. Remember that you are not an average woman. You don’t have average needs.”

  He leaned in until I could smell his rough scent, his dominance, and I went liquid.

  “Open your mouth,” he whispered.

  I parted my lips. He put in two fingers, pushing to the back of my throat. I was mush. Oatmeal. The thought of his ministrations left me powerless.

  “Anyone can fuck you,” he said, fucking my mouth with his fingers. “I’m the only one who can break you.”

  I groaned against his fingers.

  “Pull your pants down,” he commanded.

  I unbuttoned them and yanked them to mid-thigh. Cool air hit my ass, and I had a moment of worry that was chased away when Deacon spoke again.

  “Pull your shirt up.” He jammed his fingers down my throat, and I took them, choking as I pulled my shirt over my tits.

  He grabbed a pierced nipple and pinched, pulled, twisted all at the same time, using the silver ring as leverage. The pain went right between my legs. He slid his wet fingers out of my mouth and put them between my legs, roughly running past my clit and hooking them into my cunt. I squealed. The pleasure was like a gunshot.

  “You want me to fuck you, Kitten?”

  “No,” I gasped, every breath a lie.

  “What does your wet little cunt want?”

  “Break me.”

  He twisted my clit, and I screamed in pleasure and pain. I was close. So close, and when he rubbed my clit again, I came, standing in the middle of the yard.

  “Get on your knees,” he said.

  I fell as if pushed by invisible hands, knees landing on the soft earth.

  “Crawl to the stables.”

  Pants at mid-thigh, shirt hoisted under my arms, I crawled, eyes on the leaf-strewn ground, ass out in the air, a man behind me.

  The last time I’d been like this—

  I’d said no.

  The last time I’d been on my hands and knees in a little forest, I was being ass-raped by a psychopath. But I didn’t have to think about that. This would be different because I was with Deacon. I felt a pressure on my back. He pushed me with his foot. It was humiliating, but I was safe, and I was aroused with a heavy tingling below the waist.

  In a way, I was also bored. I wanted to walk because it was more efficient, and I wanted to talk through my annoyance with him. I wanted to just fuck. Just get on with it.

  The stinging pain on my ass was a surprise.

  “Crawl, Kitten.” He thwacked my ass with the belt again. “To the door.”

  I was lost in the act. My pussy was heavy with wetness and lust. Giving up all pretenses of control, I was exploding with desire.

  As I crested the doorway to the stables, the leaves and dirt turned to wood planks.

  “Stop,” Deacon said.

  I did. He walked around me, and I could see his muddy boots and the cuffs of his jeans. He swung the end of the belt in my sightline.

  He crouched. “Look at me.” His face was perfectly calm and in charge. His voice was even and sure. “I’m not threatened by any man. Not when it comes to you.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  He looped the belt around my neck tenderly, threading the end through the buckle. He reminded me of the safe sign we always used when I was gagged. “Snap your fingers to safe out.”

  And with one motion so swift and sure, he yanked it closed until I couldn’t breathe. He pulled me up to kneeling, unbuttoning his jeans and releasing his beautiful cock.

  He let me breathe. “Your face is mine to fuck. Open your mouth.”

  He tightened his grip on the buckle at the back of my neck and thrust his cock down my throat. It tasted of sweat and skin. I kept my mouth open while he thrust into it, using the belt as leverage, pulling my head where he wanted it. Keeping it still when he wanted to push his cock down my throat in repeated bursts. The world went black, and he loosened the belt, moved his dick, let me breathe, and started again.

  I wasn’t even there. God, I did need this. I needed to not have a will, not exist outside his pleasure.

  He came down my throat, sticky and hot. I breathed through my nose and took all of it, because it was mine.

  When he was done, he let the belt go, and I dropped down on all fours. My pants were still around my thighs.

  “I thought I wasn’t submissive.” I said it coyly, trying to be gentle. It was a lousy time to try to prove a Dom wrong, but I couldn’t help it.

  “I smell the drugs on you. I only know one way to get the message across.”

  My scalp tightened as he took me by the hair and dragged me, dropping me on the carpet near a wooden X set into the wall. Each end had adjustable cuffs, and I went liquid as he dragged my wrist to an ankle cuff and pulled it closed. He stood over me, belt still looped in one hand, looking down at his property. I hated myself for disappointing him, and at the same time, I felt safe in his care.

  “Don’t cross your legs, and don’t come,” he said. “You sit there with your legs spread, and I’ll let you come after I break you.”

  He walked out and closed the door.

  CHAPTER 20.

  deacon

  There was a reason I didn’t fuck you for months when we met. I needed you to get control of yourself before I could control you. Otherwise there would be a lot of wasted effort. And you didn’t seem submissive to me. The perfect body type for knotting, and from working dressage, you knew how to control your legs and arms, but you didn’t seem truly submissive.

  So I watched. I had control of you for that length of time.

  The way you set your mind to it. The way you got on your knees for me. Fiona Drazen. We got all that coy sexiness stripped off you, and you were bare to me. Because of your public persona, you were more naked than anyone I’d seen before.
/>   You blinded me like a bright light in the night.

  I told you I was going to break you, and the night I did, I made the biggest mistake of my life.

  CHAPTER 21.

  Two years earlier

  fiona

  “Breaking a submissive isn’t an act. It isn’t a result. Breaking is a process.”

  I looked at the floor. I was on my knees before him, hands behind me. I’d just seen my friend Earl at an afternoon birthday party that had seemed innocent enough. He offered me flake and cock. I had to run out like a schoolgirl to avoid snorting a line off his dick, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Couldn’t breathe from wanting it. Everywhere, the temptation to do things that would risk breaking what I was building with Deacon. I wanted it too badly. To be pushed off some kind of edge into controlled freefall.

  “I still want it,” I said.

  “It’s not something you want. It’s something that happens when you’re ready.”

  I didn’t say anything. He put his fingers under my chin and forced me to look up at him.

  “What’s on your mind, Kitten?”

  “Make me ready. Please.”

  From his face, I knew he would. I’d won. Whatever that meant.

  CHAPTER 22.

  fiona

  I’d gotten my back to the wall and my pants back up most of the way. Deacon had locked the cuff with a key and left me alone. He wasn’t finished with me, but he had left me nonetheless. I was overcome with sadness. The bottom dropped out of me, a black feeling made worse from the dopamine rushing out of my brain.

  He had to go. I couldn’t deal with this all the time. This was the last fuck. He was out. Gone. Done.

  I wanted him, and he gave me what no one else could, but he had to get out of my life.

  Goddamn. After everything, I still wanted him to come back and fuck me.

  My phone buzzed. I wiggled and got it out of my pocket with my free hand.

  Elliot.

  “What happened the day you left Westonwood?” His words were clipped, but the tones were a balm on my wounds. Any urgency surrounding Deacon went away in the smoothness of his voice.

  “You stopped me at the door and chickened out.”

  “I had sessions after I saw you yesterday. Warren Chilton implied something in his group session that I need to confirm before—”

  My blood curdled, and I cut him off before it went solid in my veins. “What kind of something?”

  I heard a tap tap from his side. Pen on the desk? Finger on the counter?

  “That he took something you didn’t want to give.”

  I couldn’t answer through my shock. He’d taken something I wasn’t willing to give. What a nice way to say rape.

  Elliot continued before I could answer. “And he smiles like a cat whenever he mentions you. And he mentions you too often.”

  I was tempted to deflect, just tell him Warren had gotten me sleeping pills and be done with it, but I didn’t want to open that bag of shit until I could get a handle on the outcome.

  “Maybe he wants to fuck me.” I stretched out, wrist still bound to the bottom of the X. I was talking about Warren, but blocking him out with thoughts of my therapist made me purr.

  “I don’t doubt that, but there's something more to it.”

  He hadn’t gotten the message, and that annoyed me.

  “Isn’t there some kind of rule about not talking about your patients?”

  “I break rules with you. I’d break more. I’d break all of them.”

  “Doctor,” I said, “you’re not yourself.”

  “He’s an antisocial psychopath who’s fixated on someone I care about.”

  “Someone you want. It’s different. You want me.”

  I heard him breathing. I’d downgraded our whole relationship after Deacon’s exquisite humiliations, which was wrong. The light over Los Angeles was getting flat and grey in the late afternoon. Maybe Elliot and I were the only two souls awake in the world.

  I waited for him to answer. Make up some lie about loving me or some bullshit.

  “I want you,” he said. “And I’m concerned.”

  “You want me?”

  “You know that I do.”

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “You. The you you hide from everyone. You’re under my skin. I can’t live with myself until I make your world right and share it with you.”

  I lowered my voice so he’d get it. “That’s not what I meant. What do you want to do to me?”

  Another pause. This one shorter.

  “You want to do this?” he challenged me.

  “Yes.”

  “I want to fuck you.” He roared a little. Like a lion prince who could grow to be the king of the jungle.

  “How?” I clicked the speakerphone on and put the phone down. “Tell me. I’m all alone here.”

  “How?” His voice had changed, as if he’d made a decision to engage in this game. “By bending you backward on the kitchen table. By holding you down by the throat and pulling off your underwear. Spreading your legs so far apart. Then eating your pussy. It tastes like honey.”

  I throbbed. His tongue on me, sweet flicking softness on my cunt. I put my fingers under the crotch of my underwear. I was soaked. Slick.

  “God, yes. I want that.”

  A laugh of relief escaped his throat. He’d taken a risk by engaging in this conversation, I knew that.

  “I don’t let you come. But you get close. I can feel you tighten on my tongue.”

  “Fuck me,” I said.

  “Are you touching yourself?”

  “Yes. Don’t stop.”

  “I pull your knees toward the table. I can see your cunt. It’s beautiful. I slide my dick along it. You’re so wet for it.”

  I heard him swallow. “Fuck me, Elliot. Just fuck me.”

  “You’re so tight. And you look at me. You feel so good.”

  “I’m going to come.”

  “Yes.”

  I tightened around my fingers, pulling against the cuff that held my wrist. It was a good one. A warm wave over my body. Just as I heard him groan, the phone fell, skidding away when my foot lost leverage and kicked from under me.

  I stayed sprawled there, breathing hard, looking at the ceiling as it turned dark grey.

  “Fiona?” Elliot called from the phone.

  I twisted to get it but couldn’t reach. “Yeah.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m at Deacon’s. I can’t reach the phone.”

  “What do you mean you can’t reach the phone?” he asked.

  “He cuffed me to the wall.”

  “What?”

  “Take it easy. This is not a big deal,” I said.

  “What do you mean it’s not a big deal?”

  “It’s the kink, Doctor E. Like phone sex. Stop being a prude.”

  “I’m coming for you.” Somewhere in his world, a door slammed. Keys jingled.

  “You don’t even know where I am,” I protested.

  “You underestimate me, and you underestimate what I’m willing to do for you.”

  “I don’t even know what that means.”

  “He couldn’t just take you past the gate without saying where he was taking you. You’re still an outpatient.”

  “Please don’t come here,” I said. “It’s not going to be okay.”

  “It is going to be okay. It’s going to be better than okay. I’m giving you permission to make it okay. And me, I can’t live like this anymore. I can’t settle anymore. I spent my entire life holding back. That’s why I almost entered the priesthood. And I love God. I do. My faith is real, but my vocation wasn’t. I used it so I’d have rules to follow to keep me in line.”

  “You see what happens when there are no rules, Elliot. You end up like me. I’m not what you want to be.”

  “I don’t want Yesterday Fiona. I want Today Fiona. Tomorrow Fiona. We can break the right rules together. I got through that session yesterday with y
ou, and I beat off like an adolescent. And when I went over to Westonwood and heard what they were saying—I want to kill him.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “I am.”

  I didn’t answer but closed my eyes. I was used to being wanted by friends and strangers. Deacon protected me from those who wanted me by letting my world revolve around his, deflecting their desires and putting them under our control.

  But Elliot was different. We’d met without Deacon’s protection. He’d spoken to me in a way no one else had. I believed him. He may have been misguided or wrong, but he meant what he said.

  “I don’t know how I feel,” I finally said. I’d committed myself to putting Warren down, and that goal precluded me from getting closer to Elliot, phone sex notwithstanding.

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  Deacon’s voice cut through the room. “You’re going to get an eyeful, doctor.”

  He entered in trousers and a button-up shirt, carrying a wooden paddle over his shoulder.

  Without missing a beat, Elliot answered, “Let her go.”

  “See you later.” Deacon scooped up the phone and hung up, then he slipped it in his pocket. “Well, Kitten. How was your afternoon?”

  Deacon was in fine form, dropping the paddle to his side and tapping his knee. It had three large holes in it to cut air resistance.

  “Fine, Master.”

  He tucked the paddle under his arm and unlocked me. I could smell his soap. He’d showered for me.

  “You touched yourself,” he said as he turned the key. He didn’t say how he knew—he just did.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t supposed to.”

  “You never touched yourself before. That place did you more good than I anticipated.”

  I was on the floor, and he stood above me. I was afraid, and it was the fear and the anticipation of pain that turned me on. I was wet all over again. Yet it seemed too soon for the paddle. The paddle was the end of the line for me, and he was starting with it.

  “Put your back to me. Hands over your head.”

  I did it, holding two thoughts in my head at the same time: that I was worthy of Elliot and that I was a piece of meat for Deacon to use.