Expecting Surrender (Dominion Trust Book 3)

by Trent Evans

  “Oh to be thirteen again,” she murmured as she slipped into the water, sighing at the pleasant heat. Before her pregnancy, she loved hot baths, almost scalding, the kind that left her feeling almost light-headed after a few minutes, but she knew those were no longer safe while pregnant. Still, compared to the shivering cold she’d felt earlier, the warm water was pure heaven, and she closed her eyes, laying her head back against the sill, enjoying the feel of the water lapping against her belly, the way the warmth almost licked up and down between the sensitive lips of her sex.

  Jesus, Kirsten. Already?

  The night they’d come home from their visit to the Trust, she’d felt wrung out, the emotions crowding in, both at the prospect of what might lay ahead and at the fear she’d felt at Keihl rejecting her — or somehow blaming her — for wanting to see what being part of the Trust might be like. She’d never told him how it had terrified her and fascinated her in equal measure, how the idea of giving herself over for a Term of Service was straight out of one of her darkest, most twisted fantasies. She feared he’d think it almost some sort of betrayal if she agreed to it.

  So it had been a stunning revelation when he’d expressed at least a guarded openness to it.

  Maybe he feared the exact same thing? Was it possible he feared she’d think less of him for it? Or worse — did he fear she’d think it meant she somehow wasn’t good enough for him? She knew they were so far past that point that it was almost laughable. Still those primal fears, and doubts, they were so very hard to shake. Those confused irrational feelings were crazy making, powerful though they may have been.

  What if this was too far for him? Was it even possible he’d be turned on by the prospect of handing her over to the faceless Trust? To become nothing more than an anonymous plaything, subject to the whims and lusts of its members?

  You remembered how he sat there, listening to Blaine. The idea didn’t horrify him at all.

  She shivered with the thought, her nipples tightening to aching points. She used her toes to turn the water off, grateful that the tub was deep enough that she could still submerge even her round belly fully into the warm, luxurious embrace of the water. She knew she had to enjoy that while she still could, before she became a landed whale, a waddling blimp of a woman.

  She smiled at the image, knowing — really knowing, now — that Keihl would still want her. That knowledge somehow rendering the image comical, amusing, that knowledge draining all the self-conscious shame and fear right out of it. God, how she loved him.

  Her breath hitched as she drew the pad of one finger across the perpetually swollen clit, the warmth of the water, rendering the hood thinner, more malleable as she slicked it back, exposing the bundle of nerves to her circling finger.

  That night they’d come home, he’d stood with her just inside the front door, the lights all off, the night’s shadows cloaking them, the tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the hallway accompanying the hushed sounds of their breathing, the smothered moans as he’d kissed her. It had been so simple, so sweet, and yet as profound as their first kiss. As his lips devoured hers, a growl sounding deep in his chest, as if he were claiming her all over again, her strong, broad-shouldered Keihl towering over her, clutching her to the hard, muscled planes of his body. He’d never let her be hurt. Never. And somehow the excitement, and fear, and anticipation of the night translated itself into a heat, a need, and drive to cement the foundation, to draw the bonds between them yet tighter, to leave no doubt that she was his woman. Now and forever.

  And that Keihl was her man.

  He’d taken her up in his arms then, cradling her as if she were still the petite women she’d been before becoming the bloated, pregnant lady. He’d shushed her quiet protests that she was too heavy, that he was crazy. He’d taken her upstairs, and she’d tucked her head under the stubble of his strong chin, sighing at the languid sense of safety she always felt in his arms, as if those strong muscles, his maleness could protect her from anything the world cared to throw at her.

  Safe. His. One.

  A moan escaped Kirsten’s lips as she circled her clit with her fingers, arching her back, her steel hard nipples breaking the surface, the comparative coolness of the air tightening the tips of her breasts further, making them throb in time with her swollen clit.

  She remembered the way he’d stripped her that night, slowly, reverently, but leaving no doubt at the possessiveness he felt for her, his strong hands handling, caressing every curve of her naked body. Touching her as if to mark every part of her as his own, his dominion, his property.

  And she’d reveled in every second of it, crawling onto the bed at his whispered command, looking back at him from her hands and knees, watching him as he revealed those broad shoulders, the tight abdominals, the strip of dark hair a slash of purest black down the center of his belly in the low light of the moon. Her mouth had gone dry when she’d finally seen the hard cock, its heavy weight bobbing before him before he’d taken it in his hand, the veins bulging as his fist stroked up and down its thick length.

  His curt order to lower her head and raise her bottom had been obeyed quickly, almost frantically, every second an eternity until she’d felt the broad head part her folds, the rough grip of his hands on her hips, his growl of triumph, her moan of surrender as he slid deep.

  Kirsten pinched her wet nipples, the pleasure-pain of her sensitive flesh simply sending her higher, her fingers swirling over her clit under the surface of the warm water.

  So much for not masturbating in the tub.

  How he’d taken her that night, the male animal at the forefront once again. His whispered promises and threats as he pushed her face against the pillow, his cock thrusting ever harder, seeking the core of her, conquering, claiming all of her for himself.

  How she’d opened herself for it, her moans and cries an unburdening of all the tension, the fear, the doubt, giving all of it to him, her husband, her Sir, her Master. All for him, nothing held back, nothing hidden from him.

  All his.

  She remembered the way he’d growled in her ear as she squeezed him, telling her how much silkier her cunt felt since she’d become pregnant, how she dripped for him on command now, now that it knew who its owner was. He’d made her say it as he’d penetrated deeper yet, the hard plunges taking her breath away, her words half moaning, half pleading, imploring him, begging him to take all of it, all that she had, all that he owned, to make her his.

  Always his.

  The memory finally sent her over, and she cried out, once twice, her entire sex burning, the muscles spasming, the delicious pleasure overwhelming all other senses, drowning her in white hot bliss, the sounds of her cries, the splashing of the water echoing off the walls of the bathroom. She came down, sagging back into the sweet embrace of the water, two fingers deep in her pussy, her nipples stinging from the frantic pinching and twisting of her own fingers. Slowly, her breath returned to her, awareness filtering in, pushing back the post-orgasmic haze.

  “So… good. So… good.”

  “You’re telling me!” Keihl’s amused voice replied.

  Kirsten yelped, sitting up, grasping wildly with her hands, the water sloshing over the side of the tub.

  “Oh my fucking God, you scared the shit out of me, Keihl!” She wiped water from her eyes. “W-Why aren’t you at work?”

  Keihl leaned against the door jamb, his navy suitcoat slung over one shoulder, the crisp white of his dress shirt perfectly showing off the pleasing vee of his torso. The dark slacks bulged at the crotch, his erection a testament to his appreciation of her unknowing performance.

  “Thought I’d come home and check on my woman.” He grinned at her. “I’m glad I did. I’d have hated to miss this.”

  Kirsten covered her mouth with both hands, water streaming down her arms. “Oh God.”

  He held up her phone. “Did you remember to time it, girl?”

  Despite the heat of the water, the steam that hung heavy in the air, h
er embarrassment hung heavier, her cheeks flushing hot. “Yes, Sir.”

  “What time did you start then?”

  Kirsten swallowed, meeting his bright, avid gaze. “10:50, Sir.”

  He beamed at her, the rapaciousness and glee she saw dancing in his eyes making her cheeks burn even hotter.

  “11:09. Damn, somebody was keyed up, weren’t they? Playing with that sweet pussy and moaning like the dying.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she murmured, wanting to sink under the surface of the water, even as the tips of her breasts tightened once more.

  Traitors.

  His jaw clenched at the sight of her erect nipples, and he let his jacket drop to the floor. His fingers worked at the top buttons of his shirt, the silver of his cuff links catching the light.

  “Now, move over. I know there’s still room for two in there, bad girl.”

  Chapter Thirty Three

  “You aren’t really going to make me do this are you?” She sighed, putting a hand on her hip. “This is — public, Keihl.”

  He circled around her as he spoke, the fawn cornered by the wolf.

  “And nothing’s going to happen that’s not suitable for public, girl. Don’t doubt me.”

  “Keihl.” She plucked at the tight gray cotton stretched over her belly. “In this? It’s embarrassing. They’ll — they’ll be able to see. Everything!”

  “Precisely the point, my dear. I want them to.” He stood very close, nuzzling the hair above her ear. “God, I love your hair. It’s so soft and shiny. I can’t get enough of it.”

  He wasn’t kidding either. He’d become fascinated with the luster and body the pregnancy hormones had imbued her dark hair with. He’d taken to making her rub various parts of his body with it whenever the fancy struck him. After being spanked for her reluctance the first time, she’d learned to carry out that particular order quickly and without complaint. So she’d sometimes find herself kneeling between his legs, running the thick locks over his balls, his inner thighs. He’d make her kneel for what seemed like hours as he stroked his fingers through her hair, something she rather enjoyed, truth be told. His touch could be so gentle it almost made her cry — especially if it occurred after a stern lecture, or a stiff spanking for some minor transgression.

  That very morning, he’d instructed her to kneel between his wide spread thighs and wrap the locks around his upstanding cock. She’d looked up at him, hoping he’d relent, and yet hoping in her heart that he’d never, ever relent.

  He hadn’t disappointed her, his eyes narrowing as he barked at her to get going. She’d masturbated him with her hair, until he’d groaned. He’d made her use first one hand, then two, cupping a handful of the luxurious tresses around the heavy balls, his cock jumping as she gently squeezed them. Finally, he’d stood, and he’d made her hold a handful of the now quite long locks stretched between her palms, as if they were an offering to an angry god. Then he’d taken hold of his cock, his fist stroking fast and hard, his groan one of triumph and possession as the heavy liquid ropes of pearly semen spurted onto her hair, sticking between her fingers, her cheeks burning bright. Spent, he’d stood over her, chest heaving, ordering her in that thick, deep voice to clean his cock with her hair too.

  As she’d stood in the shower a few minutes later, bowing her head to him obediently as he took his time washing his seed from her hair, she’d marveled at the depths and creativity of male lust. She’d thought she’d seen it all then.

  Until now, standing in the bustling supermarket, her pregnant body wrapped, enhanced, shown off by the tight gray cotton top, the leggings that clung to every inch of her hips and thighs. She glanced down, embarrassed, the swell of her belly blocking the view, sure the contours of her shaven, eternally wet and swollen pussy were rendered into stark relief by the sheer fabric.

  Keihl at least had taken some pity on her, assuring her that it wasn’t.

  Well, no camel toe at least. Thank God for small favors.

  The words of protest were on her lips, but she didn’t speak them. It wasn’t just that she knew he’d make her do it anyway, but it was something else too.

  She was curious.

  Kirsten wondered if she’d get as many looks as she feared she would. She wondered what she’d do when it happened. Most of all, she wondered if she’d be as turned on as she was at that very moment. She didn’t know if her arousal was because she was essentially going to be paraded through a store showing everything off, or if it was the “force” that was turning her on. She didn’t know if the prospect terrified her, or fascinated her. Probably both.

  She did know one thing though. She was about to find out.

  His breath blew soft and warm against her ear as he spoke.

  “Remember what we talked about? Eye contact, look at those around you as you shop. I want you to see their reactions, I want you to know you’re turning them on. And you will. Remember the behavior I want to see from you too. Anytime you find you need to bend over, what do you do?”

  Kirsten dropped her head, swallowing down her mortification, trying not to think about the seething heat between her legs. “Legs together, and bend at the waist.”

  “And?”

  “Jesus, Keihl…”

  “Tell me so I know you understand, bad girl.”

  A sound of carts clanging together erupted a few aisles over, and Kirsten jumped. Keihl chuckled lightly, kissing her ear.

  “Well?”

  Oh God.

  “Turn my bottom toward you as I do it.”

  She’d vowed to make sure she didn’t buy a thing on a low shelf. She knew she was deluding herself too.

  “Good girl.” He kissed her on the cheek, her face heating, knowing that people were probably already watching them.

  “Remember, if your belly gets in the way as you bend, do the best you can. Do not do anything that will endanger either you or the baby. I won’t be close, but I’ll be watching you. Got it?”

  “Yes, Sir.” She turned to him, looking up into those dark eyes, knowing she’d not find any mercy there, knowing she’d see only the relentlessness that she craved, embarrassment or not. “Do you — do you have to watch?”

  “Oh yes, girlie. I do. That’s the entire point.” He lifted her chin on a finger. “You’re going to love this. And if you don’t? I guarantee I will.”

  His hand patted her bottom. “Now get going.”

  * * *

  It was possibly one of the hottest things Keihl had ever seen. Regular Kirsten, even without being pregnant, turned heads — even if she never noticed it. It happened to be one of her most endearing qualities.

  But as she walked tentatively down that aisle, no doubt wishing the wire mesh of her cart shielded much more of her than it did, he’d never see her look sexier. The swell of her hips, accentuated by the snug leggings drew the eye of any male she passed. Some tried to hide it of course, but they all stared. Keihl stayed at least twenty feet back, far enough away that nobody mistook him for being with her, yet close enough to witness all of it.

  You know you’re a bastard for enjoying this.

  He didn’t give a fuck anymore. All he cared about, all his world revolved around, was the beautiful, blushing, lip nibbling pregnant beauty of Kirsten. And he intended to enjoy it in all its wonder, profound and intimate.

  She turned down the bread aisle, and just as she’d been instructed, she looked directly at the box boy who’d stopped to ask her if she was finding everything fine.

  Judging by his dinner plate eyes, he certainly found everything fine.

  The way Kirsten looked away as she waved him off, her cheeks beet red, had Keihl beaming. He was extremely glad he’d worn jeans for this little foray — his cock was already hard, screaming for release from behind his zipper.

  He followed her down several other aisles, this time noting the reaction from the women she passed. Some pretended not to notice the provocatively dressed woman, the way her swollen breasts moved without a brassiere, the way her belly
drew the eye as if it had its own magnetism. Other women simply smiled at her, while a few scowled disapprovingly as she passed them. One even stared, going so far as to turn and watch Kirsten as she continued down the aisle.

  Probably watching the movement of that same round bottom Keihl couldn’t keep his own eyes off of.

  Kirsten finally stopped, looking down at one of the shelves. She tapped a nail against her front teeth, looked either direction down the aisle — Keihl stepped from around the end cap to make sure she saw him. She blushed as soon as she laid eyes on him, then took a deep breath, those luscious breasts rising and falling in the clutch of that soft, gray cotton.

  Oh you good girl.

  Turning her back to him, she bent double, the wide beam of her bottom thrust up and back as she counterbalanced the weight of her belly. He had to stop himself from striding over to her, laying a possessive hand across one of those cheeks, squeeze it hard, show everyone there whom she belonged to.

  As long as she knew whom she belonged to though, that was all that mattered to Keihl.

  The top pulled up just a little as she bent further, revealing a momentary glimpse of pale belly as she snatched a package of pasta from the shelf, quickly yanking the shirt back down as she righted herself.

  Keihl wondered what the loss prevention boys upstairs were likely thinking as they watched this go on aisle after aisle. He trusted they’d seen them enter the store together, so there was unlikely to be an issue. But you never knew.

  No guts, no glory.

  He couldn’t hold out forever though, and finally approached her as she got to the meat section, stepping close as she leaned over one of the coolers that held the chicken cuts.

  “You should’ve seen the women.” He said in a low voice, standing right next to her so that their hips just touched. “I expected the males to ogle you. And they did. I don’t think that box boy heard a thing you said to him. He was staring at those big tits of yours the entire time. I’ll bet he’s out back now, walking around in a fog, imagining what it would be like to take those tits in his hands, squeeze them around his cock—”