by Joya Ryan
Control.
The more I was with him, the more I realized that there was a give with his take. I just didn’t know how much he’d take. But I trusted him. Closing my eyes for a moment, I rested my palms against my thighs. The soft lace that lined them was like a brand. A statement that said I was ready and wouldn’t challenge him. Not tonight. No matter what I wanted, how heated or needy or nervous he made me, tonight I was his. Truly and completely.
He’d told me, warned me from the beginning that his needs were different. Intense. I got a taste of that the other night. But I had a feeling tonight would go even beyond that. Beyond what I could imagine.
I could always say no. Not that I wanted to, or foresaw a problem. Jack wouldn’t go too far, of that I was certain.
I opened the door and walked into the bedroom.
The lighting was low, like a soft glow of candles, yet none were present. The room looked true to its old architecture, yet the bed and walls gave a sinful, yet vibrant, vibe. Like I was stepping into a naughty dream.
Jack stood near the bed, completely dressed. Shadows played over his face, and I swallowed hard at the sight of this powerful man and his dark gaze on me.
“Look at you,” he said. “Flushed skin.” He cocked his head to the side, examining me. “Those pretty thighs trembling. Are you scared?”
I shook my head. “No.” I was just nervous. Which was no surprise.
“You have an innocence,” he said, walking toward me. “White lace and silk suits you.” He plucked my nipple and I gasped as goose bumps broke over my skin, “But you’re more than that.” He circled me, his chest brushing my back as he leaned in to whisper in my ear, “Aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
He trailed his fingers down my spine, and I tried to stay still. Tried to not arch into his every touch.
“Yes, you’re more than this,” he reached around and ran his palm along my silk-clad thigh. “More than the naïve girl trussed up in white. But how much more?”
“However much more you want of me,” I said breathlessly.
“Is that right?” he rasped in my ear, his fingers scratching from my thigh, up my stomach, leaving soft pink streaks in their wake. He walked around to face me once more, his dark eyes looking at the trail he’d left, seeming pleased.
I thought he’d touch me again—hoped he would. So much that my back arched of its own accord, pushing my breasts out, silently begging. He took off his jacket in a hard swoop, then started on his shirt.
“Go to the bed and bend over. I want your stomach flat against the mattress and your arms stretched out.”
I did as he said, trying not to shudder too badly. This was a vulnerable position. But Jack had seen me in vulnerable positions before.
Deep breath…
I bent over, the cold sheets hitting my breasts and stomach, as I laid my upper half flat and reached out overhead. The feel of the soft sheets against my palms was somehow a welcome comfort. I’d been on these sheets before. This bed. A heady notion that I belonged there pricked my mind and flooded my veins. As if laying out over my own bed, only better, because Jack was there.
He kicked my feet apart, and I moaned a little. Mostly in nervousness, because I was on display. For him. How he wanted.
“I like this view,” he said, and I felt him stand between my legs. His pants were still on, but his erection was pressing against my bottom. As soon as he came, he went. I could no longer feel him, but knew he was behind me.
“You are to stay just like that until I say otherwise. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I said, the side of my face resting against the soft sheets.
A whirl of wind sounded, followed by a smack on my ass. A sizzle from the spank instantly surged and lit my blood on fire. I cried out.
It stung, but the heat spread quickly, and I was surprised to find that it felt…good.
“I told you I was going to punish this sweet ass of yours. You belong to me now. I make the rules, set the pace, don’t I?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you do last time in this bed?”
“I tried to take over.”
He spanked my ass again, this time on the other cheek. I held my breath and clenched the sheets in my fists.
“Give me a number,” he growled, and spanked again.
“Nine,” I moaned. “Nine, hot.” Because I was. So incredibly hot and so ready for him.
He may be exercising his will, his needs, but he was also considering mine. Because he didn’t confine me. Didn’t force me to do anything. He didn’t even touch or hover over me. He spanked me. A fast whip of his hand was all the touch I got. But I was free. Could get away if I wanted. Run. Hide. Scream.
But I didn’t want any of that. I wanted him. He made me feel alive. Feel like I could handle not only myself, but this situation and him. However he’d give himself to me. I wasn’t scared the way I had been. Because in the past, I was restrained, used, terrified.
Not now. It was as if he understood an unsaid part of me. Everything, from how he spoke to how he positioned me, was calculated for my pleasure, as well as his.
“How do you do this?” he asked with a gravelly tone, palming my sensitive ass. His hands felt cold against the heated flesh. “How do you look so fucking perfect? Smooth skin reddened with my hand. Like a naughty girl. But so innocent at the same time.”
He bent over me and bit my shoulder. At some point, he’d shucked his pants, because I felt his hard cock slide against the back of my thigh. The sound of latex crinkling. He was hard and ready.
Clamping the back of my knee, he bent it and placed it on the bed, then the other, scooting me forward until I was on top of the bed completely. I was still laying on my front, my face against the mattress, only now, my ass was in the air and Jack probed my opening.
“What kind of woman are you right now?”
I considered his words for a moment. What kind of woman was I? What kind of woman did he bring out in me? So many sides I could barely count them. He made me feel innocent, yet naughty. Passionate, but shy at times. Only one answered made sense: “Yours.”
That was the only kind of woman I wanted to be.
He seemed to like that answer. He thrust hard inside of me, rocking me forward, my cheek sliding against the sheets. I kept my arms outstretched, and gripped the top cover as he withdrew and returned with another punishing thrust.
“Oh, God,” I moaned. When his hips hit my ass, the sting and heat he left only added to the sensation and made my blood pressure spike.
“You like this, baby?” He pumped, hard and fast. The sound of his skin slapping mine echoing.
“Yes, yes, so much.”
Clutching my hips in both his hands, he drove in and out, pulling me against him as he surged inside, hitting deeper and deeper with every motion.
I bit the sheets to muffle my screams of ecstasy. Blood rushed to my ears.
He kept up his insistent pace until both of us glistened with a sheen of sweat. He was prolonging this, keeping us both on edge on purpose. While I wanted to come so desperately, I didn’t want this moment to end.
“Touch yourself,” he said. I wasn’t sure I heard him right, nor what that meant exactly. He picked up on that, because he clarified with, “Rub your clit, while I fuck this tight little pussy. Now.”
I nodded and took one of my hands and reached to find my clit throbbing and wet. It was incredible that he could make me so wet that my pleasure couldn’t be contained. I began rubbing slowly at first, then the amazing sensation was too much of a tease, so I picked up speed, moving faster and faster as he drove in and out.
“Good. I feel you tensing, drenching me. You’re ready, aren’t you? You want to come, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I moaned. “Yes, please let me. Please.”
Based on last time, I tried asking. Another thing he seemed to like. He slung one arm around my waist, burying himself to the hilt, and fisted my hair in the other hand and gently tugged.
I rose up until my back met his chest. With his hand in my hair, he yanked my head to the side and kissed me hard. I palmed his nape, drowning in his kiss, his body, reveling in the feeling of being totally still and totally connected.
“Feel me deep inside you?” he said against my lips.
“Y-yes.”
“Good. I’m going to stay just like this.”
I frowned. I was so close to coming, I was ready to sob. He grinned and kissed me quick, but kept his mouth against mine.
“Rub.” He unwove his hand from my hair, slid it down my body, and covered my hand that was against my clit. Together, we rubbed. He whispered something against my mouth. Like he promised, he kept still, but my pleasure climbed.
“I’m going to come,” I said.
“I want you to, baby.” He kissed me, just as my release engulfed my entire body.
A groan escaped his lips and vibrated off mine. He came right behind me. Amazement raced at the thought that just my core gripping him—clenching and releasing—was what pushed him over the edge. A sense of power and pride flooded me. He kissed me, hot and hard and slow, as we came together. Feeling each other. Getting lost.
So lost that I never wanted to be found.
~
The smell of freshly baked pastries had me groaning even before opening my eyes. After a long appreciative inhale, and I lifted my heavy lids to find myself engulfed in soft sheets, a massive down comforter, and piles of pillows. It was like sleeping in stuffing that smelled like Jack.
I sat up, realizing that I was completely naked.
The stockings were on the floor next to Jack’s clothes from last night. I didn’t remember taking them off. Maybe he took them off of me? All I remember was the most powerful orgasm I’d ever had, and going limp, satisfied and exhausted in Jack’s arms.
I scooted to the edge of the bed. My backside didn’t hurt, but a gentle sting throbbed from last night’s foray, reminding me of how hot and amazing it was. And the thought made me smile.
I walked to the master bathroom. My clothes were still neatly folded like I’d left them next to my purse on the shelves by the door. The bathroom was monstrous. I splashed water on my face, and dressed. I tried to compose myself and get ready to face Jack, so I could say my goodbyes and do everything I could to make a calm, smooth exit.
I was pretty sure he was in the kitchen, though the idea of leaving made me cold and already missing him. But it was a new day, weekend or not, and time to head back to reality.
With my chin up, I hooked my purse over my shoulder, walked out of the room and headed toward the kitchen.
When I reached it, my mouth watered instantly, and it had nothing to with the croissants that were on the counter, it had to do with the man hovering near the stove.
He stood, his bare back facing me, and I could see every perfect muscle in his shoulders flex and work as he scraped a pan of what looked to be eggs. Those broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, where low-slung black pajama bottoms hung.
Lord have mercy, the man had a fine ass. I could also see the faintest remnants of scratch marks from a few days ago when I had clawed him. Something about seeing him this way: tousled hair, relaxed, with my marks on him, made me…
Happy.
I cleared my throat.
He turned around, and my saliva glands went to double time, because the front, if possible, was better than the back.
“Good morning,” he said, then frowned hard at me. “What are you doing?” He stared at my purse, looking me over like I was wearing an “I support Satan” T-shirt.
“I was going to head out?” It was supposed to be a statement, but came out more like a question, because he was still looking at me like I was crazy.
“You’d like to leave?”
That was a loaded question. Would I like to leave? No. I’d like to crawl back into bed with the man in front of me and forget everything but his warmth. Instead, I went with, “Isn’t that protocol?”
“Protocol?” he stepped toward me. “You insult me and yourself when you say that.”
“What?” I exhaled a heavy breath. “I was just trying to give you space. Don’t women usually leave after they stay the night? Or do the women you have over stay for breakfast? How am I supposed to know? I didn’t want to assume anything, and just figured—”
“I don’t have women stay over.”
That stopped my speech dead in its tracks. “Really?”
“And I was hoping you’d stay for breakfast.” He looked me up and down again. “Actually, I was hoping you’d walk out here naked and I’d eat you for breakfast.”
I swallowed hard. “Sooo, not the protocol I was thinking.”
“No, baby,” he said, and turned back to take the eggs off the burner and put them on a plate. “There’s no protocol when it comes to us.”
Us. That word was even better than “more.” Or “boyfriend.” Or “arrangement.”
Us.
I bit my bottom lip to keep from smiling. Jack turned and held two plates in his hands. Apparently, he’d been cooking longer than I realized.
“Lana,” he said in a raspy voice with just a hint of softness. “Will you stay for breakfast?”
Nothing prepared me for that. Jack Powell just asked me to stay.
“I’d love to.”
He lifted his chin at the table behind me, but I didn’t miss the grin that lined his face. “Then, go sit.”
I put my purse on the counter and went to sit at the table.
“Wow,” I said, when I looked at the spread. Literally, everything imaginable you could think to spread on bread was in the middle of the table.
“I didn’t know what you liked,” he muttered. He set my plate in front of me, then sat next to me. I looked at him for a long moment. He was incredibly thoughtful. This was the Jack that was ratcheting his way into my heart. Because, he may not think so, but it was the exact thing that made him more. In every way.
I looked at the plethora of options in the middle of the table. Everything from an assortment of jams to apple butter, to Nutella, to…was that jalapeno spread?
I’d never seen so many options. “Did you have all this lying around?”
“No.”
I looked at him. “You went and bought it?”
“Like I said, I didn’t know what you’d like.”
“When?” I asked quickly.
“What?”
“When did you buy all this?”
“The day after I met you.”
I stalled for a moment. I didn’t know what to think, or how to react, but shock seemed to be the typical reaction. He may not have given me his information, but he’d known after the night we’d met me that he wanted me, not just for a night, but for a morning?
Yet he didn’t push it. He was patient. Controlled. But then sideswiped me with little details that showed his plan of seduction…or maybe it was wishful thinking? Either way, no one had ever taken an interest in me like he did. And no one had ever considered my comfort or desires like he did.
“What has you frowning?” he asked, glancing at the options on the table. “Did I forget one?”
“No.” I smiled and scooted out of my chair, hitting my knees before him so I could be as close to eye level as possible. Resting my palms on his thighs I looked at him. “You surprise me.”
He laughed! I’d never heard him laugh before, and it was so amazing that I wanted to record it and play it over and over. The deep chuckle was so sexy, and the way it made all those hard stomach muscles flex was an added bonus.
“You are the one who surprises me.”
He cupped my face and kissed me softly. Something very real, very scorching notched into place. Like a piece of my soul I’d lost that night so many years ago was mending. Being replaced and healed by the kindness and new experiences Jack was giving me.
He cared.
His methods kept me on my toes. His needs definitely had a story behind them, a story I wanted to know
about. Jack was my single interest. But, at the end of the day, he thought of me, showed up, and cared.
And I found myself giving up a lot for that. Whether it was control, trust, or maybe more, I was giving it happily to him. Pushing past the walls that once held me like a vise was freeing. Trusting him to guide me through this next chapter of my life—show me what certain feelings meant—was wonderful. Feelings like appreciation. Warmth. Kindness. Heat. Lust.
It was all wrapped into a big ball that had my body flickering with the need to get my mouth on him however I could, while my chest ached to understand him. To know him.
“Jack?” I whispered against his lips. He leaned back and looked at me, his thumb brushing along the corner of my mouth.
“Yes?”
“Will you tell me something about yourself?”
His thumb stopped its gentle stroke. “Like what?”
“Anything you’re willing to share. A secret? A happy memory?”
He leaned back in his chair. I kept my hands on the tops of his thighs, and then it hit me, I was on my knees, asking him to indulge me. Asking for a piece of him.
And I waited, praying he’d give it. Because a piece was something I could work with. A sign that this was going somewhere on a deeper level than just sex. We were going somewhere.
“Okay,” he said with a long breath. “Here’s something: I love the sound of bare feet on hardwood floors. The way the wood creaks a little with each movement.” A smiled played over his face when he said this, and he looked past me, as if recalling a happy moment. “You know someone is coming for you when you hear a sound like that.”
I smiled back and rubbed his thighs a little with encouragement. I’d never thought about the sounds of footsteps on the floor before. But for Jack, it was obviously something good. Something I wanted to hear more about, because his usually hard, controlled façade was currently casual.
“Who do you hope is coming for you when you hear it?”
As soon as I asked, I steeled myself for his answer. He could say an ex-lover. The love of his life. A woman he once knew—
“My mother.” He placed one hand over mine. “When I was young, we had this little house on the outskirts of Denver. Wasn’t much—a one bedroom. We couldn’t afford anything bigger. But she made it a home. She gave me the bedroom and slept on the couch.” He shook his head, a vicious look plaguing his face, like he was mad at himself for that. “I would lay in bed and hear her walking around. Cleaning the house at night after she’d already worked a long shift. But I knew she was there. And the boards creaked and it was actually soothing to fall asleep to.”