by Julia Sykes
She came at me again. I waited. Just before she made contact, I ducked under her outstretched arm and swept my foot out, lightly knocking her ankles out from under her. She dropped, and I covered her immediately, pinning her in place with my body atop hers.
My breathing came faster than it should for such little exertion. She was looking at me now, her eyes wide and her lips parted as she stared up at me.
A feminine giggle called my attention away from her perfection beneath me. I glanced up to find Elena Briggs smirking in Natalie’s direction. McMahon was at her side, also looking at us. His lips were twisted in cruel satisfaction as he noted Natalie’s position beneath me. I tensed as rage took hold.
“It’s okay,” Natalie breathed, her voice barely audible. “I don’t care.”
“I do,” I growled softly. “He’s gone as of tonight.”
She nodded, unsurprised. “I figured.”
The knowledge that she’d had faith in me to take care of this for her shocked me. I’d anticipated her resentment, possibly even her anger. She’d made it clear that she didn’t want me fighting her battles for her.
And yet, she was soft and still beneath me, trusting that I would do what was necessary to prevent McMahon from touching her ever again.
I nearly groaned as desire flooded me, my entire body aching to claim her. She turned her face away before I could bring my lips too close to hers.
“Not here,” she whispered.
She moved faster than I could comprehend in my distraction, and she managed to roll, flipping our position so she was on top. She brought her forearm down on my throat, signaling her victory.
My beast in me couldn’t stand for it. I gnashed my teeth with the effort of resisting my dark urges. I wanted to curve my fingers into her hips, lift her up, and slam her down onto my cock until she shuddered and surrendered.
“I have to talk to you,” she urged, keeping her voice low. “Your office?”
I jerked my head in refusal. If I got her in my office, she’d be bent over my desk again in a matter of seconds. If she wanted to talk, it needed to be somewhere neutral, but still private.
“Meet me in the parking lot at eight-thirty,” I murmured. “We can talk in my car.” The recruits who made it through the first two weeks would be given the weekend to spend as they wished, and it wouldn’t be out of place for Natalie to be in the parking lot. Many of them would leave base to let loose for the night. “It’s a black Jaguar. I’ll be in the back of the lot.”
She nodded, then pushed up off me. The entire hushed exchange had taken a matter of seconds, but this prolonged contact in front of the other recruits was dangerous. As it was, it took everything in me to keep my hard-on under control.
“You’re doing fine, Simmons,” I said more loudly as I got to my feet, more for Brigg’s and McMahon’s benefit than for Natalie’s. “Go help Cross.”
She nodded and walked back over to where Nathaniel waited for her. He was watching us with open curiosity. I didn’t like the keen light in his dark eyes. I knew he wasn’t interested in Natalie—if he were, I would have assigned her another partner—but that didn’t mean he was blind.
Struggling to keep my expression impassive, I jerked my attention back to the rest of the recruits. I’d see Natalie again soon enough. She’d said she needed to talk to me, and I owed her that. I’d thrown a lot at her yesterday, and we’d barely covered BDSM and the Dom/sub dynamic we’d been exploring without her knowledge.
The next ten hours until I could be with her again were going to be torture.
I watched her as she crossed the parking lot, her lithe body moving toward me with confident strides. I marveled at her strength, her acceptance. I’d told her the worst of my sins, and she hadn’t flinched. Instead, she’d demanded that we meet in secret again. Although I knew we were walking a dangerous path, I couldn’t help hoping that she still wanted me. She’d said she wanted to talk. I certainly owed her more answers, and I needed her near me. I was a selfish bastard, and I was being reckless with both our lives.
But I couldn’t bring myself to deny her. Not when I craved her more fiercely than I’d ever craved any drugs.
She arrived at the passenger door, and I popped the lock so she could get in. She slid into the seat beside me and shut the door softly. It was dark in this corner of the lot, and few cars were parked this far back. No one should have noted her approach, and even if they did, I’d been waiting in my car for over half an hour. We wouldn’t have been seen together, and it was dark enough that no one would be able to see inside the car unless they were standing right beside my Jag.
“Thank you for meeting me,” she said softly. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to.”
“I did,” I replied. “I owe it to you to answer all of your questions.”
Her lips pressed together, and she was silent for a moment, as though not fully satisfied with my response. “I do have more questions about BDSM,” she finally admitted. “I would have researched it on my own, but obviously I don’t have the privacy here I would need to do that. I understood what you meant when you talked about a power exchange. What I don’t understand is why I react to you this way. You keep saying I’m submissive, and with you, I can’t seem to help acting that way. But submissive isn’t a word I’ve ever used to describe myself. Just the opposite, in fact.”
I nodded my understanding. “I’ve seen you in action. You’re a tough woman. And you must have worked hard to become as skilled as you are. Why did you choose to pursue a career with the Bureau?”
“Well, if I’m being honest, I’ve always known I didn’t want to be some simpering southern debutante like my mother wanted me to be. I never felt comfortable in cocktail dresses, making small talk with people who were just waiting for the chance to gossip about me to someone else as soon as my back was turned. That life never felt real. I never fit in. Training to join the FBI academy was my rebellion.”
“That’s pretty admirable, as far as rebellions go.” I couldn’t suppress a small smile, undeniably charmed by her answer. Truthfully, it was similar to my own reasons for joining the Bureau: to defy my father, even though it might appear that I was following in his footsteps. He’d always berated me for being weak, a disappointment. I’d been determined to prove him wrong, to spite him with my success.
My plan had been working perfectly, until the nightmares set in and I became an addict.
“Hey.” She covered my clenched fist with her smaller hand, calling me back to her. “Where did you go just now?”
I struggled to wipe away my grimace and school my face to a blank mask. “I used to want to be a great agent, too. But my father was right. I’m a failure.”
“Don’t say that,” she said with surprising heat. “You might be here because you made a mistake, but you’re not a failure. I don’t care what your father says. He’s wrong.”
I bit my tongue against further argument. Now wasn’t the time for me to slip into self-loathing. Natalie had asked me about BDSM, and she needed to understand her submissive nature. Her reactions to me confused her, and I didn’t want her to be upset by our connection.
“We were talking about you,” I redirected the conversation abruptly. “I think I understand why you enjoy sexual submission.”
“Oh?” she prompted. “And why is that?”
“You mentioned that your mother pressured you to conform to the life she wanted for you. Based on what I know of your nature, I’m guessing you always strived for perfection, even though you were unhappy with what she wanted from you.”
She frowned, and her gaze turned inward. “I did have the best posture of all the girls at cotillion. And I guess I wanted to be the best ballroom dancer, too. Perfect manners, perfect poise. I hated it, but I wanted to make my mother happy. Well, until I went to college and realized I didn’t have to live under that pressure to be someone I didn’t want to be. That’s when I started studying Psychology and making plans to work my way toward joining the FBI academ
y.”
“You made the decision to pursue a life that would make you happy, but you’ve carried that perfectionism over into your pursuit to become an agent. You’ve been ahead of your entire class since the day you arrived at Quantico. That’s natural talent, but it’s also the result of hard work. You put a lot of pressure on yourself, and not just because you want to be the best. You’re not vain. You want to excel because you want to please the people around you. You want to make them proud.”
She bit her lower lip, considering my words. “I guess I never thought about it that way.” Her eyes roved over my face, as though searching for something. “So, what does this have to do with sexual submission? I still don’t really understand.”
Her hand still covered mine, and I pressed my palm against hers, lacing our fingers together without a thought.
“Submissives want to please their Dominant partner. They are often empathetic and giving. I think that describes you. I’ve admitted my darkest secret and imposed my most twisted desires on you, and you’re still here, choosing to support me despite everything. You’ve given me your trust, willingly placed yourself at my mercy when I desperately needed to feel in control.”
“Of course I trust you,” she said softly. “But I’m more selfish than that. You’ve given me more pleasure than I’ve ever known. You say I’m giving, but I’m fairly certain you’ve brought me to orgasm more times than I’ve done the same for you.”
“It’s not like that. The Dom/sub relationship is reciprocal. You give me the control I crave, and you honor me with your trust. In return, I give you the release you need. You put a lot of pressure on yourself, and when you put yourself in my hands, you don’t have to worry about anything. When you’re mine, I take care of you. That’s something I need, too. I need to be needed, necessary. You’ve given yourself to me, and even though I don’t deserve you, I—”
“I have given myself to you,” she interrupted me firmly. “But am I…” She hesitated, her eyes searching my face again. “Am I yours?” she finished quietly.
“I want you to be,” I said, my voice strained with the depth of my desire. “But I have some things I need to work through first. I’m trying to get better. I want to be good enough for you. Once I get back into the field, we—”
She silenced me by closing the distance between us and pressing her lips to mine. The kiss was fierce, demanding. For once, she was the aggressor, and in my raw emotional state, I couldn’t resist her. I’d never been so open with a woman, revealing my scars and exposing my soul. Her touch was almost painful. Not because she was physically stronger than I, but because my nerves were frayed and vulnerable. Despite that vulnerability, I didn’t feel at all powerless. As I deepened the kiss, taking her mouth more thoroughly until she shivered and melted against me, a sense of peace settled over me. She soothed me; her devotion and unwavering belief in me made me stronger than I’d ever been. She’d entered my life in my darkest hour and illuminated my world, forcing the blackness away. When I held her like this, I felt as though I truly could be the man I’d always wanted to be: powerful, worthy, good.
Light flashed against my closed eyelids, and I snapped back to reality. I ripped myself away from Natalie, going on high alert as instinctive panic spiked.
Someone was standing outside my car, the light on his phone shining in our direction as he recorded us.
Rage descended on me in a red haze.
McMahon.
Chapter 11
Natalie
I barely had time to gasp in horror before Jason launched himself out of the driver’s side door and tackled Trent to the ground. I heard Trent’s head crack against the pavement and the crunch of his phone shattering as it fell with him.
“Jason!” I cried out as I quickly got out of the car and darted to where he crouched over Trent.
Jason’s fist came down on his jaw. Trent’s head snapped to the side, blood spraying out into the darkness as his lip split.
“Jason, stop!” I spoke as loudly as I dared, not wanting to shout in case anyone was nearby. The last thing we needed was witnesses. Well, more witnesses. Trent had already seen us together.
Jason dropped his fist before he landed another blow, but he kept Trent pinned. Despite his predicament, Trent give him a shit-eating grin, his white teeth stained red with blood.
“You might have broken my phone, but the video is already uploaded to the cloud,” he said, triumphant. “I have a permanent copy. You’ll be fired for this. Both of you.” He turned his vindictive gaze on me. “You shouldn’t have tattled on me to your boyfriend, bitch.”
He choked when Jason’s fingers closed around his throat.
“Don’t talk to her,” Jason snarled. “Don’t look at her.”
“Jason,” I said his name as calmly as I could manage. “You have to stop. You’ll only make things worse.”
His muscles rippled with the effort of suppressing his violence, but he eased his grip on Trent’s throat. Trent gasped for air, his face contorted in pain.
“Get me back in the program,” he forced out, keeping his eyes trained on Jason rather than me. He’d clearly learned his lesson. “I know you’re the one who made them kick me out. I saw the two of you in the woods yesterday. You got me kicked out because of her. All I had to do was follow her tonight to get evidence on the two of you. Your careers are over if I share the video. But I won’t,” he said quickly, staying focused on Jason. “If you change your assessment and get me back into the academy.”
A low, feral sound rumbled from Jason’s throat.
“Jason,” I said his name again to call him back from his blind rage. “It’s okay. You have to do it. Just let him up.”
“He hurt you,” Jason ground out, his voice rough and primal.
“I can handle him,” I replied with confidence. I addressed Trent directly. “Jason’s going to let you up now. He’ll get you reinstated, and in return, you won’t show anyone that video. And if anyone asks how you got hurt tonight, you’ll tell them I’m the one who kicked your ass. Are we clear?”
Trent grimaced at my final stipulation, but he didn’t dare insult me again when Jason’s fist was so close to his face.
“Fine,” he barked out. “I’ll keep your secret, if you make sure I get to graduation without any more problems.”
“He will,” I promised for Jason. “You’ll join the Bureau, but how long you last in the field is on you. They don’t keep misogynistic assholes in the FBI. If you touch one woman in a way she doesn’t like, I will personally make sure you’re fired.”
He shot a quick glare in my direction before refocusing on Jason. He was obviously still intimidated by my fearsome protector.
“Let’s go, Jason. You can deal with his paperwork in the morning.” I spoke with as much authority as I could muster. Jason might have taken the lead in our relationship thus far, but he was nearly out of his mind with possessive fury at the moment. He needed me to stay calm for both of us.
I placed a tentative hand on his shoulder when he didn’t respond. He blinked and looked up at me, his fierce expression easing somewhat.
“Take me away from here,” I said, softening my tone to something pleading rather than demanding.
His jaw firmed, and he pushed off of Trent without another glance. His focus was honed solely on me. He wrapped his arm around my waist and curved his body around mine as though to shield me from harm. After he ushered me to the car and secured me in the passenger seat, he quickly circled to the driver’s side and slammed the door behind him. He shoved the keys into the ignition and pealed out of the parking lot, leaving Trent huddled and bloody on the pavement.
“Talk to me,” I requested. “Tell me you’re okay.”
His knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “I can’t do it,” he seethed, not looking over at me. “I can’t let him in the field. Not knowing what he is.”
“He’s an ass, but I don’t think he’s a threat. Not anymore, at lea
st.”
“He’s an abusive bastard,” Jason railed, still on the edge of control.
“He won’t try to hurt me again,” I tried to placate him. “You won’t let him. And neither will I.”
He sucked in a deep breath in a visible effort to calm himself. “Of course I won’t let him touch you again. If he even looks at you the wrong way—” His teeth snapped together before he could go down that dark path. “I just can’t stand abusive men.”
“You said something like that before,” I said, pressing gently. This must be linked to his need for control. He’d read me so easily, understanding why I reveled in submitting to him. I suspected I was beginning to understand why he needed to dominate me. And why he felt like he didn’t deserve love. He’d spoken of his father with bitterness. “What happened to you? Was it your father?”
He stiffened, and he didn’t respond.
He didn’t have to. I could read his answer in every taut line of his body.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “Whatever he did to you, you didn’t deserve it.”
“But he was right,” he said, anguished. “I am weak, a failure. He was always right about me.”
“He was not,” I said firmly. “If this is about the drugs—”
“Of course it’s about the drugs,” he snapped. “I started using because I couldn’t function. My brain decided to break one day, because I couldn’t handle the shit I’ve seen. I became an agent to spite my father for every bad thing he’d ever said about me, but he was right. I’m too weak to deal with it.”
“What do you mean? What did you see?”
“You don’t want to know,” he muttered.