by Gemma James
But I understood without him saying a word. I was to have no control. He didn’t permit me to take pleasure, nor to voice my distress in having to hold back. And God, it was torture not to grind against him, to moan and plead for more as he began to thrust.
Finally, he slammed into me the way I needed him to.
Then he did it again.
Deeper.
So rough and brutal and animalistic that the power of his cock drove me to my toes, pushing me higher onto the mattress until my back arched under the onslaught. He grunted while I sucked in quick, shallow breaths as our bodies slapped together.
I balled my hands around my skirt, squeezed my eyes shut, and tried to block my impending orgasm. And I would. I’d do whatever it took to hold back. I gnawed on my lip, bit down on the comforter, ground my fists into my sides. Desperation threatened to swallow me whole. Desperation appealed to the pressure building, whispering to just let go.
But I couldn’t. I’d broken my oath to obey enough already, and I’d atone for it. If—when—he learned of my deceit, I’d pay dearly. But stopping the eruption seemed damn near impossible.
Don’t come.
In my mind, I visualized a cage where I locked away my free-fall into ecstasy, but my pussy tightened around him anyway, becoming slicker. Needier. Greedy.
Shit, he felt good. Not even my burning ass overshadowed the way in which he claimed me.
With a strangled groan, he lifted me onto the mattress, spread my knees, and shoved me to my elbows before plunging deep—so deep that the base of his cock stretched me wide. He tugged on my hair, yanking my head back, and the smack of his balls on my clit almost sent me over the edge.
I will not come.
Not until he uttered the word. And he would, soon. Because he was close.
Just a little bit long—
“Come.”
A muted scream tore from my gaping mouth, and I did the only thing I could. I obeyed.
2. Treacherous
I often asked myself why I’d married Gage. He wasn’t the easiest to love, and he wasn’t the easiest man to live with. But on those dark days when his intensity became too much to bear, all I had to do was watch him with my daughter.
The following morning, I stood to the side of the dining room entrance and did just that. Pushing my bangs from my eyes, I saw him turn her pancake into a smiley face. He loved her, but more importantly, she loved him.
He’d not only kept my baby girl alive by bringing her back from the brink of death, but he’d given her something I feared she’d never have. He’d given her a father. So during those times when I hung from the ceiling, my toes barely touching the ground, and endured the bite of his belt, I remembered.
I remembered on days when the belt wasn’t enough, and he moved on to harsher toys. The paddle riddled with holes. The riding crop that induced a mystical sensation between my thighs—a feeling I couldn’t discern from sexual hunger. And the deceptive flogger with its soft strips of leather. That thing inflicted more pain than his belt if he put enough strength behind the lashes.
But paddles and floggers were child’s play to Gage. He reserved the truly horrific implements for severe infractions despite them being hard limits. Every time my gaze crossed paths with the bullwhip in the basement, a knife ripped through my chest. That symbol of agony bled memories from its coiled place on the wall. I couldn’t help but cower at the sight because I knew I wouldn’t escape it forever.
He’d promised a caning if I left the house without permission.
He’d promised to gag me if I lied to him.
He’d promised a date with the bullwhip if I spoke to his brother again.
I was three for three.
“Mommy!” Eve’s smile, along with the sweet scent of pancakes, pulled me into the dining room. As I greeted her, I spied the upward curve of Gage’s lips. He loved making her happy. I was certain the few times he’d scolded her for stepping out of line had upset him more than it had her.
I would have never guessed a man as complex, sadistic, and controlling as Gage could harbor such a soft spot for a child. Perhaps that hint of vulnerability in him, that glimpse of kindness he rarely displayed, was the reason he’d captured my heart a year ago when I agreed to marry him. If I were truthful though, I’d hurtled headfirst into loving him before then, and it hadn’t mattered if my sanity shattered upon the fall.
“Gage made me the smiley face again. Do you want one too?”
“I’d love one,” I said with a shaky smile as I slid into a seat. I wanted to share her enthusiasm, her perspective on life, seen through the veil of innocence. But for me, enthusiasm was only found in the bedroom, and I’d lost my innocence long before Gage had gotten his hands on me.
Somehow, that quiet acknowledgment made what I planned to do today a little easier, made the guilt a little more bearable. I liked to think I was an honest person, someone with a healthy moral compass, but I was far from a saint. I’d crossed that line the day I’d stolen ten grand from Gage to save Eve.
And I’d do it again without hesitation or remorse.
Eve shoved a huge bite of pancake into her mouth and dripped syrup onto her nightgown. She didn’t seem to care, and neither did Gage, even though some of the sticky goo dropped onto the dining table, which would surprise most people if they didn’t look beyond the carefully groomed man in the expensive suits. Something could be said about a man who didn’t mind the sticky fingers of a six-year-old.
Gage set a plate in front of me, squirted a smiley face made of whipped cream onto the perfectly golden pancake, and then he bent and pressed his mouth to mine. It wasn’t a passionate kiss. We didn’t even part our lips. But the way he brought his hand to my cheek and feathered his fingers over my suddenly flushed skin melted my heart.
Eve giggled and said something about kissing and a tree, but I was too breathless and flustered to hear if she’d recited the ageless rhyme correctly.
He drifted to my ear and imparted a whispered, “Good morning, beautiful.”
He made me feel beautiful, and that only added to my treachery because I’d dressed with someone else in mind.
“Morning,” I said, sidestepping my guilt as I cut my pancake into neat little sections. “I forgot to pick up the dry cleaning yesterday. They close early today, so I thought I’d take care of that after breakfast.” Willing my face to give nothing away, I met his eyes and silently asked for his permission.
We had a system in place to protect Eve from our alternative lifestyle, an unspoken code of rules and protocols. If the answer was yes, he’d give the go-ahead, but if I wasn’t allowed to leave the house, he’d tell me not to worry about it today.
I held my breath and waited. Not only would I get a spanking for my failure to do the chore, but I’d “forgotten” on purpose so I’d have an excuse to leave the house. Deep down, I’d known I’d go, regardless of what I said in my texts yesterday. Even so, I’d deliberated too long over stopping by the cleaners, and the consequence had been coming home late.
A close call, and all because I couldn’t help but flirt with disaster. Flirt with the forbidden.
I continued to hold his gaze, praying he wouldn’t read the subterfuge in my expression, the stress threatening to pull at the corners of my mouth.
Finally, he gave a slight nod. “I need to speak to you before you go.”
“Okay,” I said, hoping my relief wasn’t too apparent. Showing signs of relief upon confirmation of an impending punishment wasn’t a typical reaction. He made it hurt when he spanked me for an infraction, and if I got wet, he used the nipple clamps and started over.
After breakfast, Gage loaded the dishwasher while I settled Eve in her bedroom with her collection of Barbies. While she quietly played, lost in her own realm of pretend, I waited with my stomach in knots.
Gage stepped into view, and one glance at his firm mouth commanded me to my feet. I bent and placed a kiss on the crown of Eve’s head. “Be good, baby. I need to run an
errand. I won’t be long, okay?”
“‘Kay.” She was too wrapped up in her dolls to notice me leaving. I quietly shut the door before following Gage down the hall to our bedroom. He’d had the room soundproofed after we’d married. Neither of us wanted Eve to hear our loud cries of ecstasy. Or my howls of pain.
He didn’t punish me often in this room—usually only when Eve was home, and we needed an accessible space where we could still be close in case she needed us.
Gage turned down the child monitor, and Eve’s soft voice faded to a static whisper. He sank into the designated spanking chair, but I stalled in the middle of the room.
I fucking hated this.
I loved the kinky play between the sheets, even the more brutal sessions with his various toys in the basement because he usually mixed pain with pleasure. But the punishments…they were bullshit. I thought I could tolerate his never-ending need to control me, but I had to admit, if only to myself, that these past few weeks of stolen freedom had opened my eyes to how he’d isolated me inside his vortex of sex, dominance, and sadism.
Why couldn’t I have the good without the bad? Did I not deserve that? More importantly, why did he need to hurt me? To punish me. I’d turned this puzzle over in my head too many times to count. I figured it stemmed from losing Liz. His world had cracked and fissured under him, and that single, irrevocable moment had forever changed him.
Part of me wondered if this was his way of punishing her for her affair with Ian. Was he unconsciously using me as a proxy?
“Look at me.”
My gaze snapped to his, and only then did I realize I’d been staring at his feet. I loved him in pajama pants, his feet bare, hair mussed. God, he was sexy as hell, more sinful than the devil himself because he appeared more human that way. Less intimidating.
“You know the rules, so quit stalling.”
I wanted to argue with him, but that never ended well. In fact, it ended with an extended date with his firm hand, and I didn’t have time for that today. The sooner I gave him what he wanted, the sooner he’d give me what I wanted.
The freedom to walk out the front door.
I trudged across the room and let him pull me over his knee. He lifted my skirt, using his usual method of slow torture. It shouldn’t take thirty seconds to bare my ass, but he managed to draw it out that long.
“Do you have anything you’d like to tell me, Kayla?”
“I forgot to pick up the dry cleaning yesterday. I need to be punished.”
He gripped my hair and tugged. “Who am I?”
“My Master.”
“I will always be your Master, but apparently you’ve forgotten lately.”
The title had never settled on my tongue with ease, but in certain situations, he wouldn’t let me get away with calling him anything else. I’d learned when to choose my battles, and calling him Master wasn’t one I intended to fight.
He settled me against his abs, tucking me in with a strong arm and leaving his right hand free to deliver the punishing strikes. “Your disobedience needs to stop.”
“I’m sorry, Master.”
“Apology isn’t enough. You’re going to beg me for each swat.”
I gritted my teeth. He was infuriating! His rituals and rules and consequences for the slightest offenses…they were too much. They were downright absurd. But I had no one to blame but myself. He’d shown his true colors from day one—that day in his office when he’d used Eve’s cancer to blackmail me into sexual submission.
Shameless and without remorse, he’d forced my legs apart and fingered me while my coworkers went about their business like any other day. But my entire life had changed in that fifteen minutes. I’d signed the contract on his terms and promptly fell down the rabbit hole.
Fell into an addiction named Gage Channing, and not even putting a year between us and running half way across the country had stopped him in the end.
“Beg,” he said.
“Please spank me.”
“I’m not convinced. Convince me, Kayla. Tell your Master how badly you deserve to be punished.”
“I need to be punished. Please, Master. Spank me.”
“No.” He pulled me flush against his hard body. “Explain to me why I should give you my hand.”
“Because I forgot to pick up the dry cleaning?” A note of question entered my tone.
“That’s part of it, but I think you know the real reason.”
He knows! Shit, he knows.
Icy dread sludged through me. I hoped he didn’t notice the shudder in my bones. How I managed to keep my voice steady remained a mystery.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you tell me, then I can beg you for what I deserve.”
“You’ve been absent from this relationship lately. I don’t know where your mind is, but it’s not on how to serve and please me. Remind me again what your job is.”
“To serve, please, and obey my Master.” I recited the oath with such precision it fell flat to my ears.
He didn’t seem to hear the lack of truth in those words. “And what is my responsibility to you, baby?”
“To love and care for me.”
“Have I not done those things?”
“You have.”
“Then I won’t ask again. Beg me to make your ass red, and mean it.”
I closed my eyes and uttered the words, swallowed the self-disgust in my throat. His hand came down with too little force but with obvious intent. The easier he went on me, the faster I’d get wet.
And he never passed up an opportunity to clamp my nipples.
I willed my body to behave and waited for the next swat, but it never came. Silence ticked by, ringing in my ears, increasing the speed of my pulse. What was he waiting for…?
Oh.
“Please, Master. Again.”
“Should I go easy on you?”
“No, Master.”
“Why not?”
“It pleases you to hurt me.” It was true enough, and if he stopped playing with me and just fucking struck me with a punishing hand, maybe I could control myself. “Please, Master. Spank me hard.”
He complied, and I asked for another. I asked for so many that I lost count. When would it be enough for him?
“Please…” My voice trailed off, and I resisted squirming on his lap as my ass blazed. I didn’t want to push him and prolong the punishment. I’d learned to accept his sadism, his need to mark me as his for the smallest of reasons. Life was easier when I gave in.
“Please, what?”
Please stop.
“Please spank me again, Master.”
His hand came down with a loud smack.
Harder.
Faster.
He was escalating from punishing to vicious. I couldn’t contain my strangled cries after a while. I’d never been more appreciative of the soundproofed room. Last thing I wanted was for Eve to hear me.
“Please!” I yelped, then forced a plea for more between tight lips.
“More, you’ll get. My hand loves your ass. I have all day.” Each time he hit me, I jerked atop his lap, blinked through the burning tears pooling in my eyes. But on some masochistic level, I knew I deserved every strike of his hand.
A desolate tear fell to the floor, and I fell silent for too long.
“Do you think you’ve been punished enough?”
I thought long and hard about my answer, but there was no right one because either option could potentially land me in his lap for another twenty minutes…or longer. “Yes, Master. I won’t forget the dry cleaning again.”
“Are you wet?”
“No, Master.”
But it wouldn’t take much to get me there. I stood, facing away, and bent so he could complete the punishment by checking me. It was a degrading thing to do—bending over, fingers grasping my ankles so he could probe my sex for signs of forbidden arousal. At the first touch of his fingers spreading me open, seeking my hot center, I bit my lip hard.
I did so, and he pushed his fingers so deep, I was sure the full length of them laid claim to my treacherous cunt. The needy thing was a cunt. It didn’t know when to fucking behave, and I was a stroke away from creaming all over his hand. I counted the various lines in the hardwood, watched the way my hair gently swished the floor. And I thought of the front door and how I needed to be going through it now.
That wouldn’t happen if I let my body betray me. Again. I should have more self-restraint by now. How many times had he tormented me with denial? With orgasm control? He’d trained me so well that I rarely came unless he commanded me to. But controlling my body on the cusp of a punishment, no matter how degrading or hurtful, was torturous, and he knew it.
“Good girl,” he murmured, slowly withdrawing his fingers from me. I rose to an upright position. But he wasn’t through with me; he spun me around and pulled me onto his lap.
“You did well, baby.” He caught my mouth, drawing me into a kiss that made my muscles tense and freeze. A kiss that torpedoed through me and did what his punishment hadn’t; turned me to liquid fire. Unfurled me into abandon. Obliterated my mind because I couldn’t think beyond his tongue sliding against mine.
His cock grew heavy between my legs, and I fell victim to need. I was free of thought, doubt, or regret as I pushed against his hard shaft, tainting his pajama bottoms with my arousal and wishing like hell the flannel wasn’t between us.
He broke our fevered connection and inched back, pinning me with hooded indigo eyes. “Do you deserve to be fucked?”
I almost said yes, but the gleam in his gaze bespoke of sadistic fuckery. It was a trick question. “No, Master.”
“Good answer.” Gently, he untangled my quaking body from his and pushed me to the floor between his spread knees. I must have fallen under some devious spell because I couldn’t tear my eyes away as he tugged his pants down and freed his erection.
Adrenaline rushed my veins, heat erupted at my core, and I licked my lips, already tasting him on my tongue. Already hearing the way he groaned low in his throat whenever I teased the head of his gorgeous cock.
