She shook her head no. As if she would ever say anything but yes to this man?
He lifted up a dime store bandana and stuffed it in her mouth. He stared at her with an indecipherable expression. “Keep your hands over your head, Dana, and I’ll reward you.”
“Wish wha?” Her garbled words earned her a smile from him.
“With what? You’ll see.”
He then spent another lifetime arousing every inch of her body with urgent kisses and caresses—all but the needy flesh between her legs. Sometimes he lay alongside her. Other times he straddled her to control her thrashing legs and still her writhing torso. At least he panted as heavily as she did.
She couldn’t keep her hands where he commanded. She tried. She really, really did. She clawed at his back and his ass trying to drive him inside her, whereupon, with a tsk of disapproval, he pulled out two more bandanas and, angling her on the bed, tied her arms to a bed post. She inhaled on a sob. She no longer cared if he was angry at her. Damn-it! She had to come!
His eyes grew harder, his breaths shorter and maybe, just maybe, he was suffering too? She couldn’t be the only one in agony, right? She started begging politely with a hundred whispered “please, sirs” that morphed into a full-on whining of, “I can’t take anymore,” that finally ratcheted up to screaming, “Fuck me! Please, God, fuck me!”
An eternity later, he must have decided she was desperate enough because he untied her arms. “Touch yourself,” he demanded. “Make yourself come.”
Her right hand dove to her wet, swollen clit and began rubbing. The other frantically worked three fingers in and out of her swollen center. So good. Her eyes closed at the extreme sensual gratification.
“Eyes on me,” he demanded, and one glance into those hard, dark pupils caused her orgasm to crash over her like a tsunami. He pushed her hand away, split her legs further apart, and drove his cock deep into her just as she lost herself to blinding ecstasy. He shuddered, his own release matching hers in intensity, his cock pulsing and twitching inside her.
In the aftermath, as she filled her lungs with gulps of air, a vision of Jackson in his suit, leading a business meeting, unruffled and calm, filled her mind. She’d made that self-possessed man come. Her body had done that. The potency of that reality wiped fifteen years of a sexless marriage—one to a man who considered her body something to avoid at all costs—off her very soul. Jackson Reese desired her. The power of that thought filled her with such happiness she didn’t care if this was all she got for the rest of her life.
Liar, murmured her subconscious. And just like that, her I-don’t-care-stance was replaced with an instant addiction to the man. One night would never be enough with Jackson. How did women sit in a meeting with him without falling apart? She had once. Never again.
After they both caught their breath, he eased off her. She didn’t move when he slipped out of her, didn’t move when wet trailed down her inner thighs. The old Dana would have instantly worried they’d ruined the bedcover, probably over an hour ago—ten hours ago?—when she was dying in orgasm-denial hell. Now the most primitive aspect of herself hoped she’d marked the spot permanently—a sign that she’d been here and Jackson Reese was hers. God, the possessiveness that consumed her genuinely registered as addiction.
“What’s going on in that head, Dana?” He pulled her into his arms, more wet releasing down her thighs. Yep, she was going to stain the silk coverlet. Good. “Dana.” He cupped her chin. “You okay?”
“I …” She couldn’t say the words. Sure, she’d promised honesty at every turn, but how does one tell a man who forced his cock down her throat, whipped her with his belt and gave her at least two life-altering orgasms that she might never leave his bedroom and might never let him look at another woman?
“Want to leave?” he finally asked. “I worked you over a little hard.”
“No, I’m fine. Better than fine.”
Satisfaction filled every corner of his smile. “Yes, exploration works for you.”
“I loved it, actually. Too much, maybe.” How would she ever be able to leave this room?
“No such thing as too much pleasure.”
Funny, before Jackson she believed there was a line you could cross that divided acceptable levels of pleasure and happiness from full-on hedonism. Tonight, her line relocated to Thailand. Or perhaps she no longer had a line at all.
The muted light of dawn rose behind the shades in Jackson’s bedroom. She’d slept like the dead, but then who wouldn’t after being taken countless times in the night by a man whose libido and endurance rivaled a porn star. Like an addict, however, she awoke needing more.
Her thigh muscles twitched, igniting the soreness between her legs. She glanced at the still-sleeping man responsible for her state, his arm thrown over his head like a king and breathing deeply. Slipping out of bed, she tried not to pull on the sheet, more not to wake him than from shyness. Modesty left the building sometime in the middle of the night between fucking number one and fucking number three. She thought the crude language without a flinch and rolled her eyes in hilarity at herself.
His bathroom was cold. Shivering a little, she did her business as quickly as possible, wanting to get back to a warm Jackson waiting for her in bed. After padding back to the bedroom, she grasped his shirt lying on the floor. Was there a thermostat somewhere? Maybe in the hallway? She peeked out the door leading to the hall.
“Leaving?”
She jumped nearly a foot at his bark. He sat up against the headboard, arms crossed over his chest as if annoyed.
“No, I just had to go to the bathroom, and …” She lifted his shirt. “You’ve got the temperature set to man mode. I was looking for the thermostat.” She snuggled back into bed with him. Her cheek met his hard bicep, his arms still crossed. The lines around his eyes were too deep, his shoulders too rigid. “What’s wrong, Jackson? Was I supposed to ask permission?” If so, asking to go pee was going to be a hard limit.
His eyes softened at her teasing and he brushed the hair off her forehead. “Don’t ever leave without saying goodbye in person.”
“Okay. Sir.” She gave him a half-smile.
He stared at her, then leaned back against the pillows and sighed.
“My fiancé walked out on me in the middle of the night.” His arm rose and encircled her.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“I heard the front door close. I thought maybe she was ill and running to the drug store. She’d complained earlier of a stomach ache. I wasn’t going to let her go alone. Followed her straight to a parking garage in Georgetown. She was meeting up with her ex-boyfriend who wasn’t an ex at all.” He shrugged. “Deep down I knew I was being played.”
She chewed on the impossible thought of Jackson being played, yet there he sat, face not so blank or devoid of emotion as he’d been yesterday when talking about his failed engagement. So, he wasn’t the impervious man she’d thought. If he’d wrestled with feeling unwanted and used to the level she had felt, she’d track down that cheating ex-fiancé and … do what? The worst punishment she could imagine would be to lose the man who now rubbed her shoulder with his broad palm.
“I won’t ever leave without saying goodbye,” she promised. “I’d at least leave a note.” She couldn’t stop her mouth, could she?
“Oh, no. If a three-word text took you weeks, it’d take you too long to tell me you’re gone.”
She laughed into his chest, inhaling his warm male scent, and just like that, her need for the man moved past addiction to obsession. “If last night is typical, it would take an act of God to drive me away. Me gone? Ah … yeah … not possible with you, Jackson.”
“Good. Now about last night. Was that as good as your imagination?”
The simplest of words—yes—sat on her tongue, but she had taken an oath to tell the truth. So she did. “No.”
“No?” He stiffened and his chin dropped to his chest to regard her with a frown.
She grinned. “I
t was better.”
He relaxed into the headboard with a grunt. “Care to share any specifics?”
“You’re such an attorney.”
“And you”—he tapped a fingertip to her nose—“are a brat.”
“Like the real definition, or are you just teasing?”
“For real.”
“I’m sorry.”
“S’okay.” He stretched his legs out and murmured. “Be yourself. I know how to handle brats.”
“With loving care and attention?”
“With loving, hardcore care and quick and thorough punishments.”
“Now who’s the tease?”
He inclined his chin and stared at her. “You did like it rough.”
“Loved it.”
He pushed down, taking her with him until they both lay back against the pillows. “Then, it begins.”
“What does?” She knew what he meant, but she wanted to hear the words.
He pulled her in close. “Last night was the opening statement. Now we explore for real. You game?”
“Game.”
~THE END~
About the Author
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The Elite Doms series will include a minimum of six books and several short stories and novellas. You’ve just read a stand-alone Elite Doms of Washington short story, and sequel story to Jackson. Something tells me Jackson and Dana are not done. In fact, they are just getting started.
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Also by Elizabeth SaFleur
The Elite Doms of Washington Series
Lovely
Holiday Ties
Untouchable
Perfect
Lucky
The Elite Doms of Washington Short Stories
Riptide
Jackson
Dana
The Justice Series
The White House Gets a Spanking
Spanking the Senator
The Burlesque Series
Coming in 2018
Dana (Elite Doms of Washington) Page 3
