by Alex Elliott
He rocks his hips back, withdrawing his length, and without warning, slams his cock into me...far inside me.
I yelp and he thrusts again. Harder. His expression fiercer.
“Let me... own you.” Grunting, he pounds into me, the sounds of his low voice and the slapping of our skin against each other is spellbinding to my senses. What does he mean submit to him with his fingers forcefully holding me imprisoned? This can’t be the only thing he does in bed to rule his partners. He’s too skilled—too self-assured. But as he fucks me, I can’t focus on pursing that line of thinking. Not when he bends over me, pinning me completely to the mattress and ghosts his lips over my jaw.
He skims his mouth that feels like rough velvet, stopping at my ear. “Say it and I promise, I’ll take you over the edge into a world few ever get to visit.” He plants a wet kiss on my neck, sucks a spot, and then takes my earlobe between his teeth.
I gasp right before he takes a sharp bite. Soothing the spot with his lips, he draws my lobe between his lips, sucking. Biting. The feeling is erotically eviscerating and I’m losing ground in my attempt to deny him.
Without stopping, he pounds his hips against me, over and over and I close my eyes, riding this wave into a hedonistic storm where I can’t keep track of horizon. My goals and my reason for fighting his invitation to a hard-edged ecstasy dwindle. I want everything he offers even though a small part of me is screaming, “Don’t admit it!”
Opening my eyelids, I shut out the sound of that voice, and focus on Stone. His chiseled features are more arresting as he fucks me fiercely. Even clothed, his muscular body is undeniable. And the way he moves deeper inside me on levels I never realized existed... each thrust of his cock weakens my resistance.
“Bennett,” I moan.
“Baby, just let me inside you. All the way.” His hands grip me firmly, pulling me back onto his rod.
The pleasure he construes washes over me, not in drips but with a tsunami force. I’m soaking his cock as pleasure ricochets through me. Fucking him is like flying untethered each time his crown hits the tight bundle of nerves inside me.
“Yes. This is perfect,” I whisper hoarsely.
“Feel how close you are to ecstasy?” The harder he presses his thumbs against the side of my neck, the better his cock feels pounding into my pussy.
Yes. Oh yes!
“Please. More. Tighter,” The room around us fades, intoxicating sensations overwhelm my body as he pummels his cock into me inexorably.
“Feel how I own you? Completely.”
“Yes. So good.” His deep voice surrounds me, weaving inside me. He’s over me, his fingers controlling me, the pressure unrelenting but what a rush. I’m coming. That’s it. I’m coming so hard. He’s fucking me mercilessly and I scream his name right before the world shatters and turns in on itself. In on me. Ceaseless and black.
Chapter Six
Losing My Fucking Mind
KENNEDY SHOUTS my name, her pussy is clenching around my cock and I do what I swore I wouldn’t do again. I’m giving her a euphoric rush. And fuck¸ for all the wrong reasons. This isn’t about getting a girl off who wants this type of orgasm—this is me being a selfish cocksucking prick.
Well, fuck. I can’t stop.
Drowning in my hunger to own her, I curl my fingers tighter. And a little tighter as I watch her eyelashes flutter and let her milk my dick. Each thrust I deliver is harder as I calculate how far over the edge to take us both.
“Come for me,” I command her and realign my fingers with the pulsing artery along her slender neck.
Her silky skin is warm under my fingers...so slight is her neck, I can encircle from one side to the other with one of my hands. A little pressure from someone who knows what the fuck they’re doing and I give her a taste of rapture.
I inhale and yank her hair, gasping for breath myself, leaning over her and thrusting my throbbing cock inside her pussy, fighting to regulate my tempo. Yeah, she arches against me with her pale, toned body, begging for more and I give it to her. I’m fucking her full throttle, controlling the blood flow to her brain as her translucent eyes roll upward.
I’m giving Kennedy the best climax of her life as I ride her into bliss and oblivion. Screw me, I’m not far behind. An electrical charge jets up my spine, followed by jagged darts, tearing across my skin. My muscles constrict, I’m so close to the edge. Holy fuck, the pressure in my balls builds, and a fire ignites, and I’m there. Tripping with Kennedy as I come, harder than I’ve ever released.
“Xavia,” I stutter out, holding onto her neck and a fistful of her silky hair with her legs draped over my shoulders.
She moans my name and goes limp. Sweat drips in torrents down my face and I shudder in pleasure-ripping satisfaction. My abs clench as I shoot cum out my cock. Not once but again. Holy fucking Jesus! This girl...who the hell is she?
My heart beats faster than a war drum and I suck in mouthfuls of air. Rapid gulps. Releasing my hold on her neck and hair, I’m shaky. The feel of her—controlling her—is my head rush. Lowering her legs, I lean forward, planting a kiss on her mouth, slightly sucking on her incredible bottom lip.
Her breathing is deep—yeah, she’s sexually sated—after our carnal blitz.
I roll onto the mattress next to her. The dumping of adrenaline into my system is a blaring signal. There will be no pretense that fucking Kennedy is predictable—not if I know what’s good for me. I rake my fingers through my sweat soaked hair, staring up at the ceiling. Instead of reveling in satisfaction, I want to fuck her again. My cock twitches.
What the hell have I just done?
This type of sex isn’t supposed to spill into my life outside the Clubhouse. My kink is supposed to be contained in my club for likeminded members—congressional representatives from the Hill. At the ‘House’ I’m the contracted Dom for Saturday nights—or rather was—currently, the only Dom on hiatus. Besides Noah, Ethan, and Jax, there’s Wesley, Jude, and Troy. All of us are business partners, and known within our privileged empire as the ‘Gang of Seven’—a Dom for everyday of the week—and a sardonic spin on another ballbuster congressional gang.
Our supreme Clubhouse rule demands we don’t do what can ruin us beyond the walls of our secretive society. Inside our elite club, the rule is there are no rules beyond membership bylaws. No one underage admitted and each person signs an ironclad non-disclosure contract. With a fulltime managerial staff, we specialize in delivering up hardcore fantasies within a renovated farmhouse at 633 Paddock Road, Maryland.
Outside the wrought iron fence surrounding the House, a regular universe exists where there are scads of rules on decorum that an inducted Dom has sworn to abide.
Even rules for what to do in a hotel room.
Tonight, I crossed the line and broke an insane number of rules that I swore to uphold as part owner of the Clubhouse.
No sex with Hill staff.
No edgeplay outside the club.
Fuck! Clearly, this type of sex is dangerous in the wrong hands. But worse, engaging in this type of edge sex without a safety net is unforgivable. The fallout too great. Fuck, it’s too risky for someone in my position with a girl who could turn on me come tomorrow. Why’d I do it?
I glance over at Kennedy and visually trace the silhouette of her traffic stopping profile backlit by the bathroom light that we left on. From her face down to her round tits and all the way down to her taut belly and the space between her splayed legs where I’ve sampled the best pussy, she rocks my world. My hard-on is throbbing for another round.
For now, she’s out of it. Will be for a while... unless I rouse her for an encore performance. But I can’t risk breaking any more rules, not tonight. I’m a hairsbreadth away from banging her again unless I get up and leave. My traitor dick pulses at the ludicrous idea of leaving her bed. Clenching my jaw and refusing to allow that fucker to counterman any more of my decisions, I roll away from her and sit, scrubbing my hand down my face.
With my head so
far up my ass, again, I swing my legs off the side of the bed before I touch her and shit, I want to. Stepping onto the carpet, I look down at my dick. Fuck! The condom broke. I glance at Xavia. More questions top my list concerning this girl.
On the way to the bathroom, I tear the rubber all the way off. Tossing it in the toilet, I flush away evidence—something Clinton should have done. Not that I’m any better with an intern I just fucked hard in a hotel bed—so hard I ripped a condom. Hindsight might be twenty-twenty, but in reality, given the chance, I’d fuck Kennedy again. And again. She’s responsive, spunky, and gives as good as she gets.
I dress, standing next to the bed and stare down at her. She’s wearing a bra, garter, and those sexy shoes. My dick hardens and my deliberation of what must be done splinters apart, into a million directions. I’m so screwed.
Buttoning my shirt, I frown remembering her dress. Shit! It’s ripped. Did she bring extra clothes? Tonight has the makings of insanity written all over it. The more I contemplate the threads of risk that exist in keeping what we’ve done under wraps, the faster my pulse races.
I fully realize this should be a zero-time deal, and shouldn’t continue. Tell that to my twisted hunger for this girl that’s shredding my sense of self-preservation.
Have I lost all my marbles? It’s been two months since I first set eyes on her, a slew of months since I last engaged in this type of hardcore sex and back then, I didn’t have a campaign in full swing. No, you had a lunatic on your case.
I slip my belt through the loops, the leather twisting in my hands, and I refuse to think about Angela, the last sub I contracted with...a former member of the Clubhouse, manipulative, and a senator—but nothing like me. She two-timed my ass, and her other partner ended up dead. Fuck, don’t go there, Ben.
Obviously, I’m a prick to point fingers. From the moment I set eyes on Kennedy, my unofficial hiatus unraveled. One heated kiss in a hall, and this girl had me. Tonight, common sense would say I should have taken a cab from the airport. I look down at my newest intern and realize, fuck...I’ve got no remorse where she’s concerned. If anything I’m hungrier than the first time we kissed, the last time we fucked, and now aware of how good her pussy feels, I’ve got to have her. Splayed open.
I’m assured this isn’t the last time my cock will own her. Kennedy’s far different than Angela, and that’s part and parcel of the problem I’m battling. I don’t fear bumping into that Angela on the Hill—it’s how to satisfy my sexual appetite for hardcore when I take Kennedy back to D.C. Now that I’ve found her—like an addict, I need another hard hit. But why her of all people?
For months, after cutting all ties with Angela, the threat of a scandal blew me away—far away, and I took a break from the House. The hiatus has worked in my favor, giving me more time to focus on my campaign.
Before tonight, any hint of scandal had me backtracking.
There are no strings for what goes on in the House.
No names.
No commitments.
No backlash. There’s only rough unadulterated sex.
If I wanted hardcore sex, minimizing the risk, I should have waited. I’d be back in D.C. in hours. But the way Kennedy reappeared in my life, seeing her was like encountering a magnetic force field that is growing stronger—more powerful with her snappy comments and stubbornness. This slip of a girl has me wanting to come at her with everything I’ve got. In all my thirty-six years, I don’t believe I have ever encountered anyone like Xavia Kennedy. Fuck, she pushes my buttons and we’ve only just met.
Now, I have the pleasure of working with her for the next month...unless she wakes up and decides to throw me under the bus.
Picking up the covers off the floor, I walk around to the opposite side of the bed, and gingerly arrange them over her sleeping form. She doesn’t stir and I brush back a few stray strands of her hair. God, she’s beautiful and I close my eyes, aware that she’s the opposite of what I need career-wise. I inhale, and stop touching her face.
Backing away, I see her shoe peeking from the bottom edge of the blanket. Shit, I’d better remove her heels. Kneeling down on one knee, I hoist the covers, and examine the tiny buckles along the ankle strap. I pinch the narrow band of black leather which requires my utmost concentration to unbuckle. Or is it that her shapely legs are a compelling distraction? Affirmed when my gaze keeps wandering up her calves.
I set her shoes next to the bed and yank the covers down over her feet, pissed that this girl has got me between a rock and a hard place.
We’ll be in close quarters for the next week, at least, and I can’t deny being in striking distance of her will be at best taxing. Worse if I deny this hunger. It’s either can this whole idea of taking her back to D.C. right now, or figure a plan of how to make it work. I want my slice of cake and I’m damn well going to enjoy eating Kennedy too. Lost in thought, I rise and slip on my shoes without my socks, and spot her key card.
Shit, I need to get mine, but I don’t see it. It’s probably inside her bag and I go to the bureau, opening her purse. I can feel my eyes widen—this woman has a mini-office here. She’s brought folders, a laptop, an iPad, and not one but two iPhones. Over indulged much?
I rifle through the pockets, but no key. The muscles along my neck tighten. I spot her wallet and figure, what the hell? It’s not like I’m snooping to find out her dirty little secrets. I open it, scanning the contents. An Amex card, B.C. student ID, driver license. I flip the leather flap and tighten my brow as I study the photograph of Kennedy and some dude. He’s familiar but wearing sunglasses so I can’t—holy fuck. It’s Jon, our driver, with his arm thrown around her shoulders and she’s got her head tipped upward, and she’s laughing.
It shouldn’t matter that the volunteer is a friend of hers. We didn’t do anything in the backseat and I sure as shit kept all of my actions above board. Rapidly I try to recall the whole trip from the airport to the coffee house, and then to the hotel—nothing outlandish comes to mind. Okay, I tell myself. So, they’re friends. No big deal.
Only I’m clenching my jaw, and staring at the way she looks so open...so happy, and I recognize this is me getting a little ticked off.
Fuck! No, I’m not. Matter of fact, that sentiment can go straight to hell. I train my focus on finding a piece of white plastic, not who and what interests Ms. Kennedy.
Bingo. I find the other room key and drop her wallet back into the recesses of her bag. I smirk, telling myself if Jon was so important to her, she wouldn’t have ended up naked and in bed with me. Right? And then I wonder if she’s ever fucked him. Christ! Stop, Stone.
In that moment, I get that Kennedy isn’t some passing interest of mine. And if anyone is going to fuck her, it will be me. ONLY ME!
Glancing over my shoulder at Xavia, I can see the edge of a plan forming, and I dig for my phone inside my pocket as I exit her room. Out in the hall, I scroll through my contacts as I walk toward my suite. My room is a couple doors down and I enter then dial.
“As I live and breathe. Are you back in town, Senator Stone?” Jax answers with his deep Texan drawl. I haven’t woken him. Not with the running of the House. Tonight is Jax’s turn to showcase his talents. We all have a night to run, manage, and staff the House; that was until I took an extended break. The other members understand and have picked up the slack.
“I want back in. Rumor has it, my night is still available.”
“It is,” Jax relays. “Damn, I never believed for a second that you’d leave us altogether.”
“Had to get my head on and now, I’ve got a situation...” I don’t know how else to classify my predicament. “A girl who’s new and I want to break her in.”
“Nothing to get riled about. Shit, a new member. We’re taxed to the limit, but if she’s your sub, we’ll adjust. No problem if it means you’re back in the fold.”
I inhale, assessing how much I should tell Jax. He and I go way back and I know as much about him as he knows about me. “We both went over
the edge.”
“How far over the line?” His voice drops an octave.
“No harm, but if I don’t contain this fucking thing, it’s gonna get out of control between this girl and myself. Can you put her on the schedule? For this weekend?”
Silence. He must be considering something. “You understand she has to be willing and you say she’s got no experience. Has she ever been to a sub-contracting ceremony?”
Kennedy, standing naked as men or women bid on her... I doubt she’s been to this kind of club, forget being claimed in a privately orchestrated auction of submissives. I’d bet my Senate seat on that, but in all truth I don’t know shit about her. Other than if her family finds out what I plan on doing with her, they’ll hire a hit man to take me out. There are plenty of wealthy and powerful men and women who require the secrecy of the House, but none are from media-hyped dynasties of old money, extreme wealth and power that basically run this country.
There are unwritten rules for those like Kennedy, and I’m about to re-write the playbook if I can coerce Jax to act as her keeper in an auction where I’ll secure the rights to own her. Controlling her within the House for as long as she and I both agree to the exclusive terms of a mutual—albeit secretive—contract. The muscles over my shoulders and down my arms tighten.
“Put her on the books under my name. I’ll take care of the details.”
“Consider it done. What about a pick-up on Saturday evening?”
Here’s where it becomes dicey. “Jax, I want you to be her keeper for the night.”
“Holy hell...” His words cut yet I don’t offer more. “Only for you. I’m booked but I’ll deal with shuffling my own appointments.”
“Man, I appreciate this,” I offer up, leaning against the desk inside my suite.
“Boy, how can I refuse you of all people?” He laughs, then says, “I owe you.”