Break So Soft: Break So Soft Duet
Page 33
His jaw is so rigid I think he might crack something when he continues, “I want to ram a white hot poker up all of their asses for making you question your worth, talent, beauty—” he finally removes his hand from my mouth and cradles the side of my head, “—and general fucking amazingness. As well as the strength that continues to blow me away more with every day that I know you. You pursue your dreams against all odds. You survived and thrived when any other person would have given up.”
He grabs my hands and his eyes go glossy with emotion even as I see him struggling to keep it under control. He’s cracked himself wide open for me and I can’t imagine Jackson Vale doing that for anyone. “I was staring at you because I was taking you in, your beauty inside and out, all that makes you, you, and I couldn’t stop looking because I love you.”
My breath hitches and I try to pull away but he doesn’t let me.
“I know that scares the shit out of you but I don’t care. You’re not running. Not again. What I learned tonight was horrible but I was glad to learn it because I want to know everything about you. No secrets anymore. You are the strongest person I know and the only person I would ever submit to. I love you.”
Slowly, he slides to his knees before me and I see all that he is offering me.
Not just his submission, but his life. A life together.
Jackson Vale is on his knees before me. It was surprisingly easy for me to trust him with my physical safety only moments ago, but then I was just as quick as always to pull back my belief in him. Yet here he is offering more than I ever, ever could have dreamed for. So much that my brain will explode if I think about it for a second longer.
So I focus instead on what I can handle—the man at my knees.
Yes.
That, I can deal with.
That, I can control.
With pleasure.
A wicked smile curves my lips.
“Crawl to the bed, slave.” So, it’s not exactly a reciprocal declaration of love. But ya know. I’m thinking on the fly here.
Jackson doesn’t look up or bat the proverbial eye. He just starts crawling. My heart, which was beating so hard I thought some very un-Domme-like fainting might be on the agenda, finally starts calming down and I feel like I can breathe more regularly again.
I love you.
Wow. Okay. Yeah. So. Still registering that one. I look over at Jackson where he’s on all fours at the foot of the bed.
“Take off your clothes,” I snap in my bitchiest voice. He starts to comply and another wave of calm sweeps over me.
It really is like a wave. First my shoulders relax, then my arms, down to my stomach. Oh, except for my core. There, it’s heating up. I rub my thighs together and feel a delicious twist. Oh hell to the fuck yes. This is exactly what the doctor ordered.
I squat down to my suitcase and rifle through the black bag I buried underneath all my other clothes. The one I highly doubted I’d be needing on this trip. Turns out I’ll get to play with my new toys after all…
* * *
Over an hour later, I’ve decided that the penthouse suite is definitely worth it if only for the sturdy bed frame.
The cuffs were in Jackson’s bag, not mine. I’m betting he’s regretting packing them just about now. He’s cuffed naked to the bed, spread-eagled in the most deliciously vulnerable position.
And of course I’m taking advantage of that vulnerability. Turns out, I’m a sadistic bitch.
Not sadistic as in dealing out pain with whips or burning wax or anything. Well, not too much pain. But I am discovering the exquisite fun of orgasm denial.
As in, you bring your man right to the edge of coming and then BAM, take it away. Blue balls in the extreme, except you get to play with the giant rigid cock.
I stare down with a loving smile at Jackson’s massive boner, an elastic cock-ring fastened at the base around his dick and balls. A line of seven clothespins pinch the skin along the top of his cock like upside down mini-Eiffel towers.
Jackson jerks as I tap one lightly.
“Would you like me to take these off?” I gently swat each clothespin that runs down his long, beautiful engorged cock and grin evilly. His whole body goes taut as he tries not to show his discomfort. So macho, even now.
“Yes, Mistress,” he breathes out through his teeth.
We’ve been at this for an hour and fifteen minutes and Jackson’s eyes have gotten darker and darker until it seems like his pupils are blown. There’s only a dim light on in the room and the further I push it, the more it feels like just him and me in the whole universe.
His gaze never wavers from where I sit hovering inches away from his cock. I lean over and lick the slit of his mushroom head. He groans and his hips thrust up off the bed in a spasm.
“Bad slave.” I yank my mouth away and swat at his penis with a small riding crop I brought along. All the clothespins waver with the impact and he writhes.
I use the crop to tap individually up and down the line of clothespins. “Are you going to keep being such a naughty slave boy? Naughty slaves don’t get to have their cocks jacked so hard every ounce of cum in their balls spurts out and then they pass out.”
Jackson’s eyes widen and shoot to mine before averting to look down again. Immediately, my crop shoots up toward his chin. I don’t smack him with it, though. I gently touch underneath his jaw and lift his head so he’s looking my way. “Look at your Mistress when she’s talking to you.”
Jackson and I will never have the kind of relationship where he’s a boy licking at my boot heels. I’m not that kind of Mistress and he will never be that kind of man. It’s not what I want from him either.
I run the tip of the crop down his strong corded neck and then further down the defined line between his pectoral muscles.
“So much strength.” My eyes flash from his chiseled chest back up to his eyes at the same time as I grab his balls and squeeze mercilessly. I lean into his lips as the breath hisses out of his lungs, like I can catch it into mine. Taste his breath. Inhale him.
God I want this man inside me every way possible. Not just his cock in me. I want to eat him up. Consume him. Physically. Spiritually.
Everything. I want everything.
“You make me think crazy thoughts,” I whisper to him, my face an inch from his. I search his eyes desperately, back and forth.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I’m supposed to be mastering him.
And I am. I can see that I am. But there’s something about all of this that takes our connection and sends it to an even deeper plane of intimacy. Him so in tune with my smallest movement. Me responding to his every twitch and breath.
“Like what?” His question is a breath. This close, I can see just the smallest ring of iris not consumed by his pupils. The darkest sea blue. A color that shouldn’t exist in nature, it’s too… extraordinary.
“All your secrets. Everything.” I haven’t moved. We’re still so close. Sharing air.
But at my words, our magnificent connection—it breaks.
Jackson looks down. Ever since we began, his gaze has been locked on me like a laser. I’ve been his singular focus.
But here, right at the moment of ultimate joining, he’s pulled back.
What the fuck? In my head, I run over everything I said. And light on a single word.
Secrets.
I pull back from him like he hit me. His eyes immediately jerk back to mine. But they’re shadowed. Guilty.
The bastard is hiding something from me! Something big by the looks of it. How dare he?
Yeah but aren’t you hiding Gentry’s blackmail from him?
I tell that voice in my head to shut the hell up. I’m not the one who’s been chasing a relationship and saying I love you... and… just… how fucking dare he?
I take the clothespins off his cock almost recklessly and Jackson strains against his cuffs, seeing my mood switch and apparently guessing the reason why. “Wait, Callie, I can explain—”
He closes his mouth but a vein bulges at his neck and forehead. It’s taking every ounce of self-control for him to listen and obey. Normally I’d be proud, but I’m too fucking pissed right now.
I smile at Jackson and his face goes on alert. As it should. He’s learning quickly to be wary of Mistress’ smiles.
I lean over his cock and take him in my mouth. I bob on the tip several times. In spite of myself, I savor the way the ridge of his head feels on my lips as I dip it in and out. My hand wraps firmly on his lower shaft, controlling his movement.
I peek up at him through my lashes. I know this is a huge turn on for him. It is for most men—it’s such a porno move, it’s all but programmed into their DNA to prep them to come on a dime.
And fuck if it doesn’t make me wet as a little bitch. Sucking cock is supposed to be a job, but with Jackson, it does something to me. Even now, in this moment when I’m pissed as hell, bent over and mastering him with my mouth like this, the hand not holding his cock is gripped in the sheets so I don’t start getting myself off. But fuck, I’m so goddamned hot for it.
Which makes me even more pissed. I take Jackson deeper in my throat and groan my own arousal, effectively giving him a hummer.
I feel his ass tense and his spine flex.
And I jerk him off so fast he’s left gasping and fucking the air.
“What aren’t you telling me, you fucking bastard?” I swat his thrusting dick with my crop and watch the look of absolute pained devastation on his face with complete dispassion.
Using a pair of rubber-tipped kitchen thongs, I hold his dick in place while I start to reattach a few clothespins, this time on the underside of his shaft. At the contact of the kitchen thongs, a dribble of cum drips out the tip of his cock. It looks like a little bit more than precum, but not nearly enough to be a full load.
I clip a pin right underneath the head and Jackson’s entire body jolts. And not in pleasure.
I smile coldly up at him, only to find him watching the wall. I slap his thigh hard. “If you want to end the session, you say red or stiletto, you do not disrespect your Mistress by looking away or trying to zone out.”
His eyes immediately shoot back to me.
“Tell me what you’ve been hiding,” I command. “And if you lie to me, so help me God, we’re finished. Not this session. But you and me. Done.” The words shock me as soon as they come out of my mouth, but at the same time I know I won’t take them back.
A lie or omission of truth has been acknowledged between us. I refuse to go on in this relationship without truth. I don’t care if that makes me a hypocrite because of what I’m not telling Jackson. That’s different. I have no choice in the matter and it involves my son, which is a trump card in my book. This, whatever it is Jackson’s not telling me, is between him and me.
Jackson doesn’t look away from me but his mouth stays stubbornly shut. I don’t break his gaze as I reach into my bag of clothespins, pull out the skin of his balls and attach a clip to it.
He flinches but only juts out his chin further. Stubborn fuck. I glare even harder as I do the same to the other side of his balls. Same reaction. Flinch but no giving in.
I arch an eyebrow. Fine. That’s the way he wants to play it?
I walk to one of the other rooms of the suite and grab a chair from the little dining area. I yank it behind me none too gently as I come back. I prop it beside the bed, eye-level with Jackson’s straining cock. Once there, I sit down, cross my arms, and continue glaring at him.
We sit locked in a stare down for five minutes—I’m watching the time out of the corner of my eye on the bedside clock.
Then, right after the five-minute mark, I get up and crawl back onto the bed.
“Tell me the secret you’ve been hiding. I want to hear in detail what it is you’re so afraid to tell me.”
Even while I watch him, I see it. He’s terrified. Stripped as he is, literally and figuratively, his normal armor is absent. His eyes twitch and widen and his furtive swallow doesn’t go unnoticed. I see everything. He looks so scared, almost lost. Whatever he’s carrying is such a burden.
“You can talk to me.” I gentle my approach and it isn’t even a manipulation tactic. I rub up his thighs, massaging, wanting to sooth him. “I can see how this is torturing you. Let it go. Talk to me. Free yourself.”
His eyebrows drop in agonized indecision before he finally shakes his head. “I can’t,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “You don’t— I just can’t—”
“You can.” I urge, but he keeps shaking his head. And I start losing patience.
“You will.” The chill returns to my voice.
This time his body jumps when I remove each clip.
“I can’t, I can’t,” he starts repeating over and over, and I don’t know if he means he can’t take any more of what I’m doing to him or if he’s talking about his precious secret. Either way, he always has a way out of this if he really wants to quit, and the word red hasn’t crossed his lips.
Of course, with the ultimatum I tossed down, safe-wording would end a lot more than this play-session. Though ‘play’ is no longer applicable for what we’re doing. The stakes have become too high. We’re in an abyss here, going deep, deep down, and only Jackson can bring us out again.
If we make it out again, I have the feeling we’ll be stronger than I ever imagined. That the paltry word ‘partners’ will seem silly in comparison to the rock-solid entity we could be. If…if.
Once all the clothespins have been disposed of, I drop my head again. I lick the long vein running underneath his shaft up to his thick head that’s extra sensitive because of the clips. Jackson’s entire body shudders, finally in pleasure.
I don’t have to command him to look at me, this time. His eyes are locked on mine. When I drop my mouth over his shaft, I give him everything I have. I worship with my tongue. I suck and swallow. At the same time I plead with my eyes not to break us.
His face is agonized. Eyebrows low, mouth open, nostrils flared. His buttocks draw tight and his back starts to arch off the bed and again, I open my mouth wide and lift off him.
He roars in frustration but when he looks at me, it’s not with accusation. It’s still fear. Not just fear. Ten times worse than that, he’s moved into a place of almost animal-like terror. Sweat mats his hair and there’s water around his eyes even though he’s not crying, exactly. Everywhere his muscles bulge—his arms, his neck, even his forehead. His eyes are huge as he tilts his head to the side as if in supplication.
“Please don’t make me.” His voice breaks. “You’ll never forgive me.”
For the second time tonight he breaks eye contact, his head slumping between his shoulders like an invisible weight is pressing him down from behind.
Oh God. It was too good to be true. I knew it. I knew it but I believed in him anyway. Stupid. I’m always the stupid, stupid girl never learning from her mistakes.
“What?” I pull away from the bed. “What is it? Just tell me!”
Jackson looks up at me, eyes full of regret and remorse. Oh God, I’m going to throw up. My hand goes to my stomach. “Tell me now or I walk,” I demand. “What did you do?”
“It was Gentry,” he says. I back away from him, shaking my head, tears pricking. Oh God, they haven’t been working together, have they? I’ll do more than throw up. I’ll never be able to get anything down ever again. Or trust anyone. Anything.
“It was back when we were in college. I told you the games seemed harmless at first.” Jackson’s torso strains off the bed, arms pulling against his cuffs. His eyes beg me to understand.
I keep shaking my head. College? A small seed of hope starts to bloom. Maybe he’s not going to confess partnering wi
th Gentry recently in the horrors against me?
Jackson sounds no less tortured though. “He always had a different girl on his arm and three more who wanted to be with him. He was so charismatic.” Jackson spits the word like it’s poison.
“So one night, we’re all partying together.” His eyes flick up to meet mine but then drop again. “Gentry had a girl hanging all over him, but like I said, that was nothing new. At the end of the night, though, he comes over to me and tells me the girl is actually into me.”
Jackson swallows hard and the moisture that was just a sheen earlier gathers at the rim of his eye. “He tells me she’s kinky and that she’s waiting, blindfolded, for me in his room. She thinks it’s hot to call me the Dark Knight instead of my real name, so I should just go with it. And I do. It’s not the first time he’d done that kind of thing. Gotten me girls.” Jackson closes his eyes, face ashen.
I look at him in confusion. What does this story have to do with anything? Is he ashamed he couldn’t get his own girls in college? It’s not awesome and the fact that it was Gentry is… just ugh, but still, so what? Watching him as his eyes come back to me, though, so dark and lost, my stomach sinks. And then it hits me—Gentry’s a part of this story. Of course something absolutely horrible happens next.
As Jackson goes on, every word only confirms my suspicions. “The girl was waiting there, just like Gentry said she would be. When I came in and sat beside her, she jumped me and started making out, immediately taking off my clothes. So I thought everything was cool.” He chokes a little as he continues. “She said how hot it was to finally get to be with the Dark Knight. She said that over and over. How long she had wanted that. So we sleep together and I think we’re all good.” He squeezes his eyes shut.
“What happened?” I ask. I didn’t realize it, but as he’s been talking, I’ve walked closer so that now I’m by the bed again. I sit down beside Jackson and put my hand on his thigh.