by SE Reign
It’s mine – every drop, every quiver, every moan. Like the rest of her. I claimed her ass earlier, and I’ll claim that will tonight as well. She’s so close to the breaking point.
I drizzle the sauce around her clit. She’s trembling in anticipation. I make a hard stroke of her clit, loving the sweetness of sauce and the strong scent of her arousal. I’m not sure which I love more: the sticky sweetness of caramel or the sticky sweetness of her.
“Elijah,” she whispers.
She’s there. I know that tone, the one that says she’ll say, believe or do whatever I ask of her.
Which is good, because tonight, I feel myself slipping too far into the strange intrigue around her. If I’m going to topple down this unexpected path, I’m not going alone.
I lick her again, obsessed with every part of her, and then climb on top of the island. I settle between her shaking thighs and lean forward, resting on top of her, gazing down into her dazed features.
“Please,” she says again.
I kiss her deeply, licking the chocolate out of her mouth. Her response is passionate, desperate, but I keep our pace slow. I ease into her body, my dick sliding into her wet, tight cunt inch by inch, until she’s moaning again.
Then I stop, fully buried in her pussy, loving the way her body squeezes me.
I’m enjoying this too much. I don’t want to rush anything. Lifting my head, I begin to beat down the final wall she’s got between us.
“Tell me you trust me,” I direct her quietly.
Her large blue eyes are on me, her emotions exposed completely this time. She can’t hide anything from me, which is the way I want it.
“I trust you,” she whispers.
There’s no grimace or eye rolling, no sign she’s just saying the words.
She means it. She knows it.
I reward her by moving in and out of her a few times, until she grows tense and arches beneath me.
“Control it,” I order more firmly.
She shudders, her pussy gripping me harder and harder.
“Good girl. Now, who is your master?” I ask.
“You are.”
Again, her gaze is clear, her emotions open. She’s desperate to come – but scared. I can see it in her features. For some reason, her fear bothers me. I want her to accept her place, to be the submissive woman I prefer.
I don’t want her to be afraid of me. Everyone else on the planet is and I don’t give a shit.
I pause in my game and shift to smooth the hair away from her gorgeous features. Her makeup is smeared from our latest rounds of lovemaking.
“Whatever it is, you have nothing to fear from me, Natalie,” I tell her gently. “You are the one person in the world I’ll ever say that to. You’re mine, and I won’t let anything hurt you or scare you, so long as you trust me.”
Her expression turns to one of awe before tears fill her eyes. They trickle down her face into her hair, and I wipe them away, affected by the sight of her crying.
“You do scare me, Elijah,” she says without looking away. “Can you protect me from you?”
Fuck. It’s the second time tonight I’ve been faced with that challenge. I don’t want my farasha to cry like this. For once, I’d rather someone trust me because she chose to and not because it’s the well-practiced response of a seasoned sub.
We breathe each other’s air, the scent of chocolate, caramel and sex permeating every inch of our skin. We’re both sweating lightly, and I have no doubt her pussy is soaking the counter as well. She gets so wet … it’s a compliment and a turn on.
“I promise, Natalie. You have nothing to fear from me. Now, after this charade is over. Never.” I’m compelled to say the words, as much because I know it’s the only way to make her fully submissive as it is to win. I always win, and right now, I can almost taste victory.
It tastes like Natalie, covered in caramel sauce. Fucking her is a rush unlike any I’ve ever experienced and more addictive than any drug.
“Okay,” she says. “I trust you, Elijah. You are my master. You are the center of my world.”
While I’ve heard those words a million times, I’ve never in my life felt privileged to hear them from someone, never been honored or almost even grateful.
“Say it again,” I say in a hushed voice.
She swallows, and her tears stop. “You are my master. You are the center of my world.”
I start to smile. I like the sound of it.
“Please let me come?” she adds.
“Please …?”
“Please, Master, let me come.” Her gaze is clear now, her fear gone, and I can see it, the elusive emotion I’ve been looking for.
Trust. Submission. Acceptance. I’m not sure which it is, or maybe it’s all three.
“Yes, farasha, I’ll let you come now.” I kiss her and begin thrusting hard and fast. Her body tenses beneath me, and I press her to the countertop as she starts to buck. “Now.”
“Elijah!” Her strangled cry echoes through the kitchen.
She convulses beneath me, her pussy gripping my dick in waves as her orgasm tears through her. I pound into her, pushing her orgasm as far and long as I can, drowning in the scents and the sounds of her crying my name, over and over. She thrashes beneath me, and finally, my dick explodes yet again.
I ram into her one last time then collapse, breathing hard. She’s panting and trembling, murmuring my name in a throaty whisper that makes me want to keep fucking her until my body gives out.
“Say it again, farasha,” I tell her. The last waves of her orgasm squeeze my dick.
“You are … my master,” she says between quick breaths.
Raising my head, I gaze deeply into her eyes. Her face is pink from the orgasm, her expression open, lost.
“Remember tonight, farasha,” I say. “Remember this moment.”
“May I touch you, master?”
“You may.”
Her hands wrap around me, and she pulls me down to her. Burying my face in the nape of her neck, I breathe in her scent. Even her arms are shaking.
“You have enough for another round?” I ask, nipping her earlobe.
“Yes, master.” She’s breathless but firm.
I chuckle. “Good girl. I’m fucking you in the ass this time.”
Her breathing catches, and I smile, uncertain when I was last so satisfied by a lover.
*
We make it into bed finally after an all night fuck-a-thon. Naked and trembling, Natalie offers no resistance as I lift her into my arms to carry her upstairs. She’s almost dozing by the time I set her in bed, and I smile down at her, pleased both with her performance and mine.
Jamil, however, is not going to be pleased when he sees the mess in the kitchen.
I settle into bed with her and wrap her in my arms. She’s soon asleep.
Unexpectedly, I can’t sleep. I’m not sure what it is or why, because we fucked a lot tonight, and I made real progress with her.
Can you protect me from you?
The question won’t leave my mind and I realize it’s not because of her necessarily, but because I’ve been asking myself that question all night. First about producing an heir then about Natalie.
I’m not accustomed to not knowing an answer like that. I know myself, and I know how fucked up I am. What I can’t figure out: will I really hurt someone that I might someday want to care about?
Like my father did.
Thinking of him, of his sickness, makes my stomach churn. I’m not him, I know, but I think it’s the fact that I’ll never be able to control an illness like his, if it takes me over. I’ll never know if I am hurting people I might want to care about. I know George and our friends from Eton and even Fiona can take care of themselves.
Natalie can’t. An heir couldn’t. They’d be at my mercy in every way.
I can’t let that happen.
Restless, I gently tug my limbs from Natalie’s slumbering frame and get out of bed. It’s nearly five o’clock in the mornin
g anyway. Time for me to get up.
I grab my phone and go to the bathroom to clean up, hoping the sauce is easy to scrub off me now that it’s dried and sticky. I smell my fingers, loving her scent, then check my phone for messages.
The first is from George.
Bringing A. in this morning. She hacked all the way into The Files.
I freeze in the middle of the bathroom. “Shit.”
If Alisha accessed the files I’ve spent millions to hide, then so could others, which means my run at the throne might soon be over, once the news of what I’m hiding leaks.
The second is from my father, of all people.
I’m giving you one chance. I need an heir.
“Double shit.”
The warmth inside me flattens and turns cold once more. Just when I feel a spark of life, I have to crush it. I can’t live like Natalie – hoping and believing in the good in people and the world.
I know the truth. There is no good in the world. Anywhere.
Even in her.
After a pause, I leave the bathroom and go downstairs to the kitchen, where her purse is. My pulse is racing with what I’m about to do- prove to myself that there is no such thing as a pure soul.
I pull her phone from the purse and see there are already a few messages, one from Alisha and six from different phone numbers, all saying the same thing.
Dread sinks into my stomach. Swiping my finger across the screen, I check Alisha’s first.
Dude – call me NOW. I know what he’s hiding and you’re right – you can definitely use this against him, if you need it.
“So Natalie put you up to this.” Do I disapprove of what my farasha has done or do I applaud her for knowing not to trust me?
I delete the message and open one of the six that all have a message saying, Watch this now!
I press play on the video and watch. It’s the scene of me on the balcony. Fiona comes out, kisses me and starts to masturbate. The video cuts out right before I tell her I’m not interested.
“Convenient,” I mutter. I see the long list of other texts from different phone numbers, none of which I recognize. George would probably say they’re burner numbers, that someone is using different numbers in case someone like George gets a hold of the phone and tries to trace it.
A stillness is settling into my chest. I don’t feel angry. I’m not sure what I feel. I read through the strange messages, and a rock drops into my stomach when I see Natalie has answered two of them. Her responses are mostly innocent. She’s not plotting with this person and as of yet, doesn’t seem to be drawn in by the messages.
But she never told me, either. This has been going on for four days, according to the dates on the messages.
“There are no good people in this world,” I say, almost satisfied to know I was right. For a few hours tonight, I almost hoped I was wrong.
I consider deleting the rest of the messages that say watch this now but decide not to. It’s easier to let this mysterious stranger drive a wedge between us than to confront Natalie about all of this.
After all, George will have Alisha talking in a couple of hours, and I’ll let him know to be monitoring Natalie’s phone. We’ll find whoever it is that filmed me, then have a little talk with him or her.
For the first time in my life, I feel like a fool. I promised her I’d take care of her, that she had nothing to fear from me, while she was working with her little friend to dig up dirt to use to blackmail me. I never let my emotions do my thinking, let alone my speaking.
My numbness melts into anger. Fury, like that I felt earlier, when I thought of her fucking another man. I won’t let anyone else have her, and I won’t let her fuck me over, either.
Replacing her phone, I return to our suite and head straight to the bathroom. I start the shower, mind working quickly. My gaze falls to the small collection of toiletry items she has in a basket on her side of the bathroom. The clamshell with her birth control pills is there, and I cross to it. I know doctors normally give three to six month supplies at once and open up the drawers of her vanity.
She’s got two more months worth in a drawer.
Find a way or lose the Crown. My aunt’s insistence returns.
I pick up the two packs and gaze at them. It’ll be easy to find someone to replace the legit pills with dummies. With all the sex we have, I’ll have her knocked up in a week or two.
My gut is turning for a few reasons.
Natalie had been too honest and open tonight for me to do this. Maybe she’s simply being smart about finding dirt on me to use, just in case. It’s what I’d do. Maybe I should just wait it out, play this game, to see if what my instincts tell me is true.
She won’t hurt me the way everyone else has. I don’t know what she’s doing or why, and this is normally enough to make me hold off acting until I gather enough information to make a smart decision.
I replace the pills.
My emotions are in the way, and this alarms me more than anything else. Still, I know what I saw. I’m used to things being cut and dry, but with Natalie …
I need an heir to claim the throne and right now, I’m furious enough at Natalie to turn the three months into a lifetime. Picking up the pill packs again, I’m still, arguing with myself.
The sickness in my family stops here. This voice is the clearest at a time when I’m not able to focus through my feelings.
I promised her that she could trust me, and I’ve seen the signs she’s going to betray me.
I’m not sure what to do, and I hate that I feel paralyzed by emotions I never wanted to feel in the first place.
Chapter Eight: Natalie
I can’t get the sauce out of my hair. I’ve tried scrubbing and even using dish soap without success. The stuff hardened to the point that it’s impervious to everything.
Frustrated, I finally get out of the shower and dry off. I wrap the towel around me and pause in front of the large mirror, staring at my hair in dismay.
“I’m gonna have to cut it,” I mutter, picking at it. My hair is halfway down my back.
I know Elijah likes it. He’s said as much.
“Omigod, Natty! One halfway decent night and you care what that man thinks?” I yell at my reflection.
Last night was amazing in every way. I saw a side of him I didn’t think existed. While I’d never say he’s nice or normal or gentle, he’d been a lot more human than before. He tried to make small talk because I asked him to, held me as if he wanted more than a body to fuck, almost seemed interested in me.
Fucked me like he permanently owned me.
“Oh, my.” I fan myself, fevered by the memories. “He keeps getting better and better in bed.”
The fact our physical chemistry is moving into something deeper, though …
“No.” I sigh. “Business deal, Natty. Just because last night was amazing …” My god. What would it be like to spend a lifetime with a man like this who can sweep me away with one look?
What if he does have a good side? What if I saw it last night, and that’s what bothers me the most – that I’m right about there being something inside him that’s not cold or heartless or constantly calculating how he can use everyone around him for his own means?
What if he’s the way he is because of the black history he’s hinted at? What if the man and the goodness inside him are buried deep, deep within him – but still present? Is he capable of reaching it, or is it too far gone?
Am I capable of finding that part of him?
“Dangerous road, Natty,” I whisper to the pretty girl in the mirror. “One good night does not make a functional relationship.”
Yet it’s more than my hormones tugging me in his direction. He somehow put a chip in my walls, threw an anchor over the top that I can’t dislodge. I spent my life helping people who needed it. What kind of person would I be if I walked away from the one man who probably needs it most?
“A sane person!” I insist, talking to myself in the mirror.
/>
I rummage through the drawers until I find a pair of scissors. As I lift them to cut away my destroyed hair, I stop.
You do nothing to your body that I don’t approve of.
I debate for a moment, recalling his words too well. He owns me. I belong to him, whether or not I want to.
You are my master. I said those words last night, over and over. For a moment, I’m lost in the memories of how earnest and gentle he was last night, how he made love to me with real passion and not just his normal, possessive fucking.
“Dammit!” I’ve never belonged to anyone, but I put the scissors down and march out of the bathroom to find my phone.
Jamil brought my high heels and evening clutch and placed them on the table near my closet while I was in the shower. I grab my clutch and open it, my anger melting when I see all the autographs I got last night from celebrities. Fishing out my cell, I see there are a ton of text messages. The one that catches my eye, though, is from Elijah.
“Don’t be drawn in,” I warn myself.
And then I open his first.
Have a good day.
My shoulders sag. He’s doing it again. Being nice. I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my emotions in check if he keeps this up. I forbid myself from responding pleasantly and instead, send him a quick note.
Can’t get the sauce out of my hair. Have to cut it.
Then I walk into the closet to change, telling myself I’m not asking for his permission but telling him how it’s going to be. That doesn’t stop me from running out of the closet when I hear the sound of a message pop up. I snatch the phone and open his note.
“You have my permission,” I read out loud. Son of a bitch!
It makes me not want to cut my hair at all now, except that I really have no choice. Feeling as if he’s defeated me again, I finish dressing and return to the bathroom.
A short time later, the deed is done. I now have a long bob with pretty layers that will tighten up into cute curls once it’s dried. Too poor to go to salons, I learned young how to do my hair and Alisha’s.
Recalling the rest of the messages on my phone, I return to it and start scrolling. Alisha, my mother, and a bunch from the mystery texter. A sense of dread drops into my stomach. I never should’ve responded to the mystery texter. I’m beginning to think that Elijah isn’t who everyone says he is, that I won’t need saving from him.