Falling for the Forbidden: 10 Full-Length Novels

by Jessica Hawkins

  “You’re correct.”

  Alena reached out and stroked his cheek. “Back to being my quiet man?”

  He shrugged, slightly uncomfortable, even as he was secretly pleased she’d referred to this space as being “him”.

  The fifth floor was his private space. No one except his valet and the cleaning staff, under the watchful eye of the house manager came up here. He had his own kitchen and oftentimes cooked for himself, which never failed to make his mother sneer.

  The interior designer had taken his sparse directions and somehow created a space that felt right.

  The open floor plan had kitchen, dining room, living space, lounge, and library all occupying the same large rectangular space. A dozen evenly spaced windows looked out over the trees and greenery of the park, and had been treated to prevent anyone from being able to see in, even if he had on all the lights, and reinforced with pressure sensors and bulletproof coating at the insistence of his security team.

  Alena walked slowly around the room, which was done in shades of blue and green with pale silvery gray accents.

  The floor was blue-veined gray marble, the modern but very comfortable couch a deep gray-blue with gray and green accent pillows. Alexander usually tossed them into a chair to get them out of the way, only for the maids to return them to their rightful places on the couch.

  The colors reminded him of his family’s residence near Beleu Lake in Moldova, where the landscape was dozens of shades of green from the grass to the leaves of the trees, and the sky above and lake itself added cerulean and azure to the palette.

  Alena abruptly stopped and looked back at him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t ask if I could explore. May I?”

  He gestured for her to go ahead, then went to the kitchen and opened the oven to check on the plates he’d put in there—on instructions from his chef—to keep warm.

  He cooked for himself, the important part of that statement being for himself. His chef had prepared the meal they were about to eat.

  When he turned around, Alena had slipped out of her shoes, leaving them by the door. Something about her wandering around his home barefoot made him want to scoop her up and kiss her. Not a pre-fucking kiss, but a kiss just to tell her, without words, how he felt.

  She trailed her fingers over the backs of chairs, then drifted to the library area, where two reading chairs waited, surrounded by beautifully crafted bookshelves. Alexander walked over to join her, ducking his head to look at the cover of the book she’d plucked from the shelves and was currently reading.

  It was a noir mystery book, written in English.

  “Hardly worthy of this,” he said softly, gesturing to the shelves.

  “There’s nothing wrong with reading for pleasure.” She closed the book and slid it back into its spot on the shelf. “You have a fancy library with books I doubt anyone ever reads downstairs. Why not focus on pleasure here?”

  She leaned back, resting her shoulders against a shelf. Alexander braced his hands on either side of her, as he had that first night in the hallway.

  “You are the pleasure I want tonight.”

  “Are you planning to have your way with me before doing me the courtesy of feeding me dinner?” She pressed her hand over her heart in mock offense, her accent slow and thick.

  Alexander grinned, feeling lighter than he had since breakfast. Since the last time he’d seen her.

  “I will feed you, before I have my way with you.”

  “Or maybe I’ll have my way with you.” She cocked her head to the side and frowned. “That’s what we agreed on right? You topped me last night, so tonight I get to be the Domme, and you’re the sub.”

  Alexander froze.

  Alena held the puzzled expression another few heartbeats then broke into a grin. “I wish I’d had a camera to capture that expression.”

  “I was not amused.” He’d damn near had a heart attack.

  “I was.” Alena ducked under his arm and padded across to the kitchen area in her bare feet. Her shawl slipped from her arms, landing on the floor.

  When he’d called her the captured queen, she’d asked who that made him.

  And now he couldn’t get the image of himself kneeling at the foot of her throne, his armor dented and dusty from battle, out of his head.

  Alexander scooped up her pashmina, tossing it on the couch as he followed her to the kitchen.

  Despite his brief protests, she helped him with dinner, popping the bread into the still warm oven as he added the finishing touches to the plates, opening and decanting the red wine, which he probably should have done before he went downstairs.

  Ten minutes later they sat at one end of his heavy wood dining table enjoying seabass with Spargel. There was even some Schnitzel, which wasn’t an item Chef normally prepared from the list of acceptable foods a nutritionist had drafted. Schnitzel breaded and fried, unhealthy and delicious. His housekeeper must have told Chef his guest was an American.

  Dessert was another traditional Viennese dish, Kaiserschmarrn, and discussions of food and wine dominated their conversation.

  Alena ate sparingly, and drank only half a glass of red with dinner. When he opened a bottle of chilled sparkling wine for after dinner drinks, she gladly accepted.

  He’d have to remember she wasn’t a red wine drinker for next time.

  What next time?

  “I managed to arrange a meeting,” Alena said after several sips. “I’m headed to Madrid tomorrow.”

  Alexander stiffened. “What time?” He cleared his throat, realized that sounded accusatory. “My driver can take you to the airport.”

  “Nine.”

  She’d need to be there at six, and it was already just after 20:30. “If you would prefer to go back downstairs and sleep…”

  Alena set down her glass and rose. She stood next to his chair, waiting.

  Alexander scooted out from the table and she sat on his lap, winding one arm around his shoulders. “I want to have my third night with you. But I may not have time to say goodbye in the morning. I’d like to get at least four hours of sleep, and I suspect to do that I’m going to need to sleep up until the last possible moment.” She leaned in, lips hovering near his cheek. “Are you going to keep me awake all night…Sir?”

  Alexander ran his hand up her back, found the small tab of the zipper and pulled it down.

  “I intend to do far more than merely keep you awake.”

  Alexander lifted her off his lap. As she stood, the dress slithered down, catching briefly on her hips. He solved that with a simple tug. She wore a black strapless bra and solid black panties. Simple, everyday lingerie, but on her it was just as alluring as any fet wear could be.

  Right now, here in his home, he found her irresistible. He wanted her with a passion so strong and deep that “want” hovered on the edge of “need”.

  “Strip,” he commanded. “Then kneel.”

  Chapter 11

  Alena reached back and unhooked her bra. Taking off a strapless bra was always a good feeling, but even more so when removing it meant she was one step closer to having his hands on her.

  As she held the bra out, then dramatically let it fall to the floor, she also let go of the real reason she was here. She boxed up the part of her mind that was furiously working and reworking her plans.

  Right now she was Alena the submissive.

  His submissive. What was about to happen with him had nothing to do with what was on the first floor of this building.

  Alexander sat back in his chair, one elbow on the table. A king at ease in his castle?

  Funny, but that metaphor didn’t seem as fitting as calling him a knight.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said last night.” Alena hooked her fingers under the waist of her panties.

  Alexander raised a brow.

  “The captured queen.” She slid her underwear down to her knees, then let it fall to the floor. “Is that how you see all subs?”

  “No.”

/>   Alena stepped out of her panties, then dropped to her knees. The marble was cold and hard.

  “Are you going to make me beg you for every word?” She reached up and removed the comb that held back one side of her hair, setting it on top of her discarded bra.

  “No.” He smirked down at her.

  Alena inched closer to him, until she could fold her arms on his knees and prop her chin on her wrist. “What are the other types of subs?”

  Alexander slid his hand into her hair, tugging until she scrambled to her feet, her hands braced on his thighs, their faces close enough together that she could smell the rich scent of red wine when he exhaled.

  “The brat.”

  Alexander forced her to turn towards the table. They’d shoved their plates away, and that meant there was plenty of space for him to bend her over the table, her bare breasts pressed against the wood.

  “Hands behind,” he murmured, tapping the small of her back.

  Alena managed it, though it was awkward and difficult to do while facedown on the table. Alexander helped her, his touch slow and deliberate.

  “Lace your fingers together.”

  Alena shivered, and it had nothing to do with being naked. Her butt was sore from two back-to-back nights of impact play and here she was, in the perfect position for more spanking.

  When his hand grazed her bare ass cheek, she yelped in alarm.

  “Sore?” he asked.

  “Yes. I’m not sure…” She sighed. “I was going to say I’m not sure I’m up for impact play tonight, but I trust you.”

  “You shouldn’t.”

  Alena twisted awkwardly to look back at him, her fingers curled around one another to make sure her hands didn’t separate and slip off her back.

  “That’s not something you should say to me right now,” she half warned.

  “Face down.” Alexander grabbed her shoulder and forced her torso down onto the table.

  His hand slid over her ass again, then he added a quick, hard swat. It hurt enough to tense her muscles. She squeezed her eyes closed.

  Another spank, then another.

  At the fourth one, she broke. She shoved off the table, her shoulder knocking into Alexander’s chest.

  She whirled away from him, backing up several steps. Her breathing was labored, fueled by newborn panic.

  “Alena.” The word cracked like a whip and she winced, taking another step back. Her dress was on the floor by his feet, as was her underwear.

  “Alena?” His voice softened, her name now a question.

  “You said I shouldn’t trust you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you see how I might find that alarming when I’m alone in your home with you?”

  Alexander frowned. “You’re…scared?”

  The panic folded in on itself, making way to exasperation. “Yes, Alexander. I find it alarming when you say I can’t trust you when, unlike at the club, there would be no one here to help me if you…” She swallowed heavily. “If you really hurt me.” Her fingers twisted together nervously. “It didn’t help that I told you I’m sore and you still started to spank me.”

  He crossed his arms. “You’re a lazy sub, then.”

  “Excuse me?” Alena’s fear disappeared in an instant, replaced by outrage. She mirrored his posture, arms folded under her bare breasts.

  “You’re submissive because you’re lazy. You want the Dom to do all the work, make all the decisions, while still controlling what happens.”

  “I am not a ‘lazy sub.’” Alena narrowed her eyes at him. “You can be infuriating. First you walked away because I have an entirely normal reaction to you smacking me with a weapon—”

  “A crop is a weapon now?”

  “And now you’re calling me lazy because, once again, I am having an objectively justifiable reaction to both pain—that spanking hurt—and your implied threat.”

  “I know the spanking hurt. You have to trust me.”

  “Lord, preserve me…” Alena pantomimed strangling him, then took a deep breath. “You literally just said I shouldn’t trust you. That’s the implied threat I was talking about. But now I should trust you?”

  “I…” Alexander unfolded his arms, shoulders sagging. “There’s a reason I prefer silence.”

  “Which is it? Can I trust you? Or should I walk away?”

  “Both.” Alexander ran a hand through his hair, then scrubbed his palm across his face.

  She waited for him to say something, but after a painfully long minute he walked to the kitchen and braced his hands on the countertop, his head hanging low.

  Alena’s heart clenched. She couldn’t hold on to her outrage. She walked over, silent on her bare feet. He tensed when she slid her arms around his waist from behind, but relaxed when she lay her cheek on his back.

  She’d never forgotten something a fellow sub, one who was married to her Dom, had said back when she’d been new to the lifestyle.

  They need us to be soft because they’re hard. Everything the world has done to them...all the scars, they put up walls and only our softness, the trust we give them can let them know it’s okay to come out of that prison.

  Alena had thought the other sub was full of shit at the time. She hadn’t been able to hear the truth of those words, because she had her own scars, her own walls.

  Now she was older and wiser. She knew her mental health was far from perfect, and her moral compass no longer functioning, but she had coping mechanisms. She’d found a way to live with her scars, put windows in her walls.

  She didn’t think Alexander could say the same.

  Alena closed her eyes and hugged him tighter. He was at war…with himself. He needed her, if only for this one brief moment.

  Alena lifted her cheek and kissed his back. She wished he’d undressed so she could press her lips against bare flesh.

  She hadn’t yet seen him naked. It was one of the things she was hoping would change tonight.

  But before they could do anything, she had to help him find his way out of the prison within his mind.

  “When I pull away, what do you feel?” she asked softly.

  The silence was long, but less painful than before because now she had her arms around him.

  “I feel like a monster,” he finally said.

  “You’re not a monster.”

  “Deep down, I am.” Alexander straightened, then turned within the circle of her arms. “That’s why you shouldn’t trust me.”

  “Because your monster might emerge?” Alena wiggled her eyebrows and pressed her pelvis against his, hoping humor would work.

  Alexander snorted out a laugh, and his furrowed brow smoothed out.

  Success!

  She waited, giving him time to answer her question, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Hey, sugar, talk to me. Please.”

  “I started classifying subs, as a way to make sure I never partnered with someone who would tempt the darkest parts of me.”

  “And subs like me bring out the dark?”

  “Yes.”

  “You were going to tell me what your other classifications were.”

  “I was…” He slid his arms around her in a mirroring of how she was holding him. “A brat is looking for an excuse to be spanked so they can cry. They are looking for an outlet for their emotions.”

  Alexander was staring into middle distance. Alena rested her head on his shoulder and listened both to his words and the faint thump thump of his heart.

  “A lazy sub is focused more on kink and sexual pleasure than being a sub. They want to be strapped down and played with until they come. The more toys, the better.”

  Alena held him and listened, glad he was talking again.

  “Then there’s the abuse-fantasy subs. They want to be abused, but safely. They like humiliation, being used as an object.”

  Alena was glad he couldn’t see her face when he said “humiliation.”

  “Then there’s the CEO sub. She’s tired of b
eing in charge. Tired of making decisions.”

  “Why aren’t I a CEO sub?” Alena asked, adding a little outrage to her tone.

  Alexander turned his head, bringing his lips within millimeters of her forehead. She wanted him to kiss her.

  “Because you don’t need to be helpless. Powerless.” He frowned. “I’m not sure I’m explaining it correctly. These classifications are probably overly simplistic. I’ve never told anyone else about them.”

  Alena rubbed the line between his eyebrows. He jerked, looking down at her as her hand shifted to cup his cheek.

  “If I used my safeword, would you respect it?” she asked softly.

  “Yes.”

  “And if you gag me, will you give me a physical safeword sign?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then I trust you.” Alena grabbed his hips, then slowly slid down the front of his body until she was once more on her knees.

  “I trust you, Sir.”

  * * *

  He bound her wrists using simple metal handcuffs, then forced her hands behind her head, locking the chain between the handcuffs to a D-ring on the back of the collar.

  She knelt in the center of a large bed in what she assumed was a guest room, given the Spartan, almost hotel-like feel. If he had a playroom, he apparently wasn’t going to use it. Given his status, and how many people probably came in and out of his home on a daily basis, it was very possible that he banked his urges and desires, letting them burn hot and bright once a month within the safety of the Orchid Club events.

  He set his kit on the bench at the foot of the bed and opened it, glancing inside, then looking at her, as if considering where he would use her first.

  She held back a whimper at the thought of a spanking. Their conversation had veered in an unexpected direction, and she hadn’t gotten around to telling him that she was so sore, so tender that if he spanked her, she might have to safeword out of the scene.

  He smiled faintly, slender gold chains spilling from between his fingers.

  “On the floor,” he commanded softly.

  Moving was awkward, her sense of balance thrown off thanks to the position of her arms, but she knee-walked to the edge of the bed and then stepped off. The floor of the guest room was wood, which was easier on her knees than the stone.