Crave

by Jennifer Dawson

  Neither will be easy for me. It’s merely a matter of if I want to continue to hang on to my stubborn refusal to ask for what I need. Those are my choices. End of story.

  Under the raging lust and demanding need, something eases inside me. He understands me. Understands I need to be pushed this way in order to be free.

  I press my lips together, unable to quite say the words.

  Casual as can be, Michael waits, as though we have all the time in the world.

  My gaze skips around the restaurant, crowded with people. To an observer, it probably looks like I’m an acquaintance that has stopped to talk at his table, but logic still doesn’t change my perception of exposure.

  I can’t help one last ditch effort, one test to see if I can get out of this. I laugh, and it sounds as nervous as I feel. “Umm, no?”

  One dark brow cocks. “That’s your final offer?”

  “Isn’t that good enough?”

  He shrugs. “I suggest you up your ante, girl.”

  I suck in my breath. This is it. My moment of reckoning.

  He’s laid it all out for me. Given me the vehicle to ask him for what I’ve been wanting. All I need to do is take the bait he’s handing me. I open my mouth but the words clog in my throat.

  He offers no assistance other than his sure, steady gaze. Those hypnotic, hazel eyes that have captivated me since I first saw him. I’ve traveled a million miles since then. I’ve taken the steps myself, but he’s a hell of a motivation.

  I know how lucky I am. Girls like me search their whole lives for someone like Michael and never find him. And for the first time since John’s death I don’t feel cursed.

  Gratitude washes over me, cleansing something twisted and wrong that’s been broken. The noise of the restaurant, the patrons, my surroundings all fade away. I slowly exhale into the silence. “I’m ready, Michael. Please, hurt me. Not in punishment, but to make me whole again. I need it, and I need it from you.”

  I clutch at his hand as we wait in silence for the stall to empty. There are people milling about, a couple talking close, while a gaggle of girls dressed in party clothes sing a chorus of giggles and oh-my-gods.

  I hang my head, my breath fast, my heart a heavy beat.

  It’s going to happen. I’m a mess of nerves. A bundle of raw emotions.

  Once I made my plea, he didn’t hesitate. Just stood, told the waitress walking by that we’d be back, and led me down the stairwell to the restrooms. In silence, we stand, waiting. His hand holding mine.

  The door opens and my heart lurches, and I clamp down on his fingers like he is my lifeline and I am drowning. Which isn’t actually far from the truth.

  He squeezes back. “I’ve got you, sugar.”

  I nod and he pulls me inside.

  Everything he described about the bathroom is right. It’s designed for fucking. The stalls are more rooms, the lights lit low and pushing up to the ceiling like candles flickering their shadows against the walls. The colors are warm, the floor bamboo, and it looks more like the bathroom at a spa retreat than for a crowded restaurant.

  But all that’s forgotten as Michael comes up behind me, one arm sliding around my waist, and his other hand curling around my throat. I swallow hard and meet his gaze in the mirror.

  He’s all hard danger and my body thrills and sparks with excitement. He leans down and his tongue flicks across my neck before he bites. His teeth scrape over my flesh and I groan as electricity sparks through me. He moves up and his lips brush my ear. “I want one more thing, Layla. And you’re going to give it to me. Understood?”

  He’s hardly touched me yet and I’m already aching, wet, ready and willing to give him whatever he desires. “All right.”

  He straightens and meets my gaze in the mirror and a smile of pure evilness spreads over his lips and I know whatever I’m envisioning, my price will be much higher. Panic jolts through me but I can’t move, not with his grip so sure, his hazel eyes so compelling.

  “Jillian’s birthday party. You’re going to go with me.”

  It’s the hardest thing he could ever ask from me and he knows it. I’ve been rejecting any suggestion of family events. Not ready to take that next step.

  I shake my head. His parents will be there, his sisters and niece. I can barely act normal around my own family let alone his. It’s too much pressure.

  His hands fall away. “Are you sure about that?”

  The struggle wars inside me as I watch his hard, implacable face. He will not relent. I understand this. He can’t relent. If he does, it would ruin the whole power dynamic between us. That he asks me something that is so hard, and risks it affecting the rest of the evening, is a testimony to how much he wants me to go with him. How much he’s willing to fight to make this real, despite my desire to keep it in a safe little box.

  I have no one to blame for this predicament but myself. As he’s stated before, this is what I signed up for. I can pretend all I want, but it is the truth. And the thing is, under the fear racing through my blood, I want to go.

  My throat is closed so tight I’m unable to speak so I offer my body in acquiescence. I place my hands on the sink and arch my back.

  A lesser man would take it as the offering it is, but of course, Michael isn’t that easy. Which is why he is so irresistible. He crosses his arms over his chest and flicks a dismissive glance over my body. “Is that a yes, Layla?”

  I grit my teeth and nod.

  He shakes his head. “Not good enough. Say the words. I want to hear them.”

  My fingers clutch the granite countertop, so hard my knuckles turn white. I lick my dry lips and say, “I will go with you to Jillian’s party.”

  “Good girl.” He steps behind me and places his palm on my back.

  I shiver all over and watch with rapt attention, all other thought gone.

  He grips my waist and slowly moves his hands down my hips. It’s torture. Agony. Ecstasy. All rolled together. With excruciating slowness he lifts the hem of my dress and the slide of the fabric against my overheated skin is like a caress.

  My breath quickens.

  My heart slams against my ribs.

  He trails a finger over the base of my spine. Slowly. Oh so slowly. And soft.

  I want to scream at him to hurry but I clamp my mouth shut. If I do that, he’ll stop and I can’t have that. He smiles at me, that cruel smile that’s captivated me from the moment I saw him. “You’re a good girl, sugar, staying still.” He leans over my back and I feel his pants brush against my sensitive thighs. “You can beg though. You can always beg.”

  A whimper escapes my throat and my clit pounds to the rhythm of my heart. I am on fire. Near desperate and nothing has even happened yet. His thumb trails over my stomach and I jerk as a strangled gasp leaves my lips.

  “Mmmm…” he mummers in my ear. “That’s a good sound.”

  His erection presses against my ass and I fight the urge to press back, afraid one wrong move will make him stop. He grips my chin. “Give me that mouth.”

  I crane my neck and he’s there. His lips on mine.

  I try and turn but he holds me still, not allowing me to move as he takes me.

  It’s a raw, dirty kiss filled with promise and heat that threatens to consume me. I am possessed. I feel it everywhere. Sweeping across my skin. Settling into my bones. Sinking into my skin.

  I am home.

  He takes me and I surrender.

  I start to shake, terrified that a kiss can consume me so.

  He breaks away and runs a hand down my back. “Easy, sugar. You’re safe.”

  Tears well in my eyes and I can only whisper, “I hate you.”

  A small smile lifts his lips. “I know you do.” Then he taps my legs. “Spread them.”

  I instantly comply, pushing my feet farther apart. The obscene stance only makes me hotter. More needy.

  His hand glides over my ass, over my hip and he slips his fingers between my legs. His touch is an electric shock and I bit
e my lip to keep from crying out.

  He shakes his head. “None of that, I want to hear you.”

  I jerk and gasp as his hand slides effortlessly over my exposed mound.

  “So wet,” he says, then lifts his fingers to my lips and paints them with my own essence.

  The scent of sex and desire instantly fills the bathroom. I meet his eyes in the mirror. He gives me a sharp nod. “If you need to stop, say the word red. Understood?”

  “Yes.” A need-soaked plea.

  “No coming until I say otherwise.”

  “Yes.” My whole body is on fire, I brace myself for the first slap.

  “Relax, Layla, you know it’s easier when you relax.”

  I force my muscles to relent because he’s right. Tension only makes it hurt more. Although arousal makes it hurt less, so I don’t know what to expect. I just wait, suspended in breathless anticipation and intense desire.

  He raises his hand.

  I watch in the mirror.

  He strikes. So hard it brings tears to my eyes and I cry out in pain and relief as I clutch the sink to keep from falling forward. Despite my request to be hurt, I’d expected soft. Expected easy.

  I’m blissfully wrong. I need hard. I can’t explain why.

  He slaps me again and fiery heat explodes over my skin. I jerk forward and he catches me by the hip with one hand to hold me steady.

  And then it begins in earnest. Over and over. Alternating between hard and gentle. Blows land over every inch of my rounded cheeks and upper thighs until I am panting for breath.

  It hurts. Hurts in the way it used to and not in the punishment it’s become.

  He knows exactly what he’s doing and it isn’t long before I am desperate. I push back against the blows. Wanting them to stop. Needing them to continue. Sensations crest over my skin and I lean my head down, closing my eyes as I get lost.

  I don’t think about John. I don’t think about anything. Finally, at long last, my mind is blank, my heart is open, and I am free. Free from everything but this man at my back, his palm striking me, and the indescribable pleasure and pain heating my skin.

  The small room fills with the sound of his hand on my flesh, my gasps and moans and our mingled heavy breaths. Suddenly, he has a fistful of my hair and I’m being yanked. Our gazes meet in the mirror and he’s got that look in his eye. All mean lust and brutal strength. He hits me again.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Three times.

  I flinch as each strike sears through me even as wetness slides down my thighs.

  He steps forward, the fabric of his pants a delicious irritant against my skin as he slides his hand down my quivering belly and strokes my clit. The orgasm immediately swells like a tsunami. Relentless in it’s greedy desire. “Oh god. Stop.”

  He shakes his head, still holding on to my hair so my head can’t slip forward and hide my reaction. “Don’t come, Layla.”

  I bite my lip and think about anything but the monstrous climax building inside me. “Please, Michael.”

  “No.” His fingers slide effortlessly inside me. He pumps in and out, hitting my G-spot.

  A cry tears from my throat. It’s too much. It’s not enough.

  The heel of his hand grinds against my clit. His grip tightens in my hair.

  I become a pinprick of focus. My whole world narrows to this room, this man, his ruthless fingers and my sore, red skin.

  He leans close, whispering into my ear, “You ready?”

  “Yes, god, yes,” I choke out, hanging on by a thread.

  “Ask me for it.”

  I’m frantic and I don’t even hesitate. “Please let me come, Michael.”

  He presses against my ass and I can feel his hard cock and I want it. I need it. “Don’t hold back.”

  Then he shifts, pulls my hips back from the sink, and slaps my clit. Hard enough I see stars as the orgasm tears through me like a violent storm.

  He strikes me again.

  And again.

  And again.

  I come harder than I can ever remember coming in my entire life. My body shakes as the spasms rack through my frame. Everything is a quivering mess. My knees and thighs tremble, my arms shake. My body keens as he works every last bit of my release from me and I collapse in an exhausted heap.

  It’s like something has splintered apart inside me, breaking through the hard knot of tension, cleansing me.

  All of my muscles relax, melting in a way that’s a distant memory. My eyes close. My spine eases and when he releases his hold on my hair, my head drops forward.

  Gentle now, his hands slide over my back, smoothing down my hips.

  I’m boneless. I could sleep for a week. He straightens my clothes, strokes down my back, and smooths my hair all while treating me like the rag doll I am. He lifts me. Gathers me close and turns me into his warm chest. He kisses my temple. “Feel better?”

  I nod against him. After all this time, I finally have the relief that I’ve been craving and it is pure heaven. A peacefulness I’d almost forgotten settles into my bones.

  He tilts my chin and runs his thumb over my cheeks because, of course, I was crying. Part of me wants to curl into him and cry a river but another part of me, a stronger part wants to be done with my tears. I blink away the wetness. “Thank you.”

  His expression flickers and he shakes his head. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a complete heartbreaker?”

  I shake my head. That’s one thing John never said to me.

  “You are.” He leans down and brushes his mouth against mine in the sweetest of kisses. “We need to go.”

  “Okay.” There’s something different in my voice, it’s lighter.

  A smile flickers over his lips. “I see a lot of spankings in your future if they make you this compliant.”

  I laugh. An honest to goodness belly laugh.

  He smiles. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “I’m sure you’ll think of something.” I straighten and look at Michael. My mind is mush, and I’m more relaxed than I’ve been in forever. “I’m ready.”

  We start to walk but at the last second he swings me around and pushes me up against door. His mouth is on mine and he is devouring me. I moan and throw my arms around him, hanging on for dear life as he consumes me. His hands roam down my body. I twine my fingers through his hair, holding him close. I never want this to end. I could kiss him for days and never grow tired of it. His tongue tangles with mine as our breathing turns heavy. He growls, a low vibration that sends shivers through me. His grip tightens on my waist. He shakes his head. “See, what you do to me.”

  I open my mouth to speak but no words come out. I’m at a loss.

  “I intended to wait.” His voice is low and deep as he grips the nape of my neck. “But I can’t. I’m going to fuck you right here, right now.”

  My breath catches. Yes. I need that. I manage a soft, “Please.”

  With quick, sure hands he unbuckles his belt then undoes his pants. That expression that makes my blood surge slides over his features. His gaze flickers over my mouth. “On your knees, girl.”

  Without hesitation, I drop, and then tilt my head up. His fingers work into my hair, and he says in a soft, rough rasp, “You wreck me, Layla.”

  My heart skips a beat, and something intangible shifts the air. In that moment, I’m completely his. I have no other thought or desire but to please him.

  He rubs his thumb over my jaw.

  My attention never leaving his, I part my lips.

  His cock pushes against my mouth as his grip on my hair tightens.

  I don’t suck. Don’t lick. I just let him fill me. Open and willing, completely compliant, I surrender.

  It’s hard to explain the power that comes from being used for his pleasure. Being taken. He thrusts, and I relax all my muscles as his cock kisses the back of my throat. Our eyes locked as I gag on his next pass but make no effort to pull away, and his eyes flash and he growls low i
n his throat.

  Arousal flames like wild fire as I fight the urge to improve on his behalf. But that isn’t what he wants, or what he needs. No, he wants my submission. My acceptance that I will let him take control.

  A muscle in his jaw ticks as he once again pushes past my body’s barriers and slides down my throat. There he pauses, and time suspends as he blocks my airway.

  And all the while, I don’t resist. There is no struggle, only acceptance.

  He pulls out, lifts me off the floor, presses me against the wall, and impales me.

  I cry out, gasping for breath. He jerks my legs around his waist and I hang on as he pounds furiously into me. The stillness from mere seconds ago is gone, replaced by the storm that rages between us.

  My head bangs against the wall as I clutch at his shoulders, desperate to hang on and ride out the fury. He fucks me like he’s starving. Like a feral beast.

  My muscles contract at the first telltale sign of orgasm.

  He leans down and sinks his teeth into my neck.

  A fierce climax rips through me.

  “Goddamn it,” he bites out, thrusting hard and fast. Then he buries his mouth in the curve of my shoulder and shudders in release as the waves carry us both into oblivion.

  I have no idea how long we stay like that, but finally my legs drop and he pulls out of me. He straightens his clothes as I pull at my dress until we are reasonably put back together again. When we’re through, he kisses me, just a soft brush against my lips. “I’m going to enjoy dinner even more knowing my come is dripping down your legs.”

  I flush, I’m sure ten shades of scarlet, but I can’t help laughing. It rings through the air, the tone different from before, like it’s lost all its rough edges. “You’re depraved.”

  He flashes that smile I love so much. “And you’re the most gorgeous girl I have ever laid eyes on.”

  “Thank you,” I say, my voice husky and soft.

  He takes my hand and I glance in the mirror, freezing at my reflection.

  I look exactly how I feel, wild and free, just like the girl I used to be. I want to reach out and touch my reflection to assure myself she’s real.