by Marie James
“Someone had to help you move things along.” She looks over my shoulder, nodding her head. “Wren. Good to see you.”
Without another word, my traitorous friend walks away, leaving me smelling like fresh meat at the mouth of the lion’s den.
I feel the heat of him against me, but I refuse to turn to face him. Just knowing he’s there is hard enough.
“You look gorgeous,” he whispers, the finger of one hand sliding down my bare arm.
I gasp in shock at the sight of gold glowing from his wrist when he swirls his finger around my white band. Of course he’d choose that, and I imagine the women I’ve seen wearing yellow will be swarming him in a matter of minutes. Just the thought of him talking to someone else in this place makes me want to scream. But that’s irrational, right? I don’t own him anymore than he owns me.
The lie, even unspoken, makes my knees weak.
“I’ve missed you.”
My eyes flutter closed, lips trembling.
“Did you miss me?” His nose is at my neck, the soft breaths moving my hair and tickling my heated skin.
“You lied to me,” I accuse. “I hate liars.”
“And I’ll walk away.” My heart seizes. “If that’s what you want after I explain everything.”
“So talk,” I hiss, jerking my neck away.
“Not here. Put this on.” As if performing a magic trick, I look down to see a yellow band clasped in his hand.
“No.” That band gives him too much power, and I’ve already given him too much of myself.
“You have your safeword,” he reminds me. “Take the band, Whitney.”
I look up, finding the bartender standing in front of me.
“Are you okay?” His eyes dart over my shoulder, to my eyes, and down to the yellow band in Wren’s hand. “This is your choice.”
My mouth opens and closes, no sound coming out, and suddenly I’m too crowded—not just by Wren at my back, but because other people are going to be standing around witnessing my emotional break.
“You’re safe,” the handsome bartender reminds me, kindness filling his eyes.
I nod, letting him know I understand, and I do. I can talk to Wren here with the guarantee that I’ll be safe. I don’t have those assurances if I leave with him, because let’s face it, I want to hear his reasoning, want to listen to his excuses so when I walk away, I can do it fully informed and not second-guessing everything we’ve experienced together.
“You’re sure?” the bartender asks again.
“Yes.” The cool blade of scissors scoop under my band and with a quick snip it falls free.
Wren doesn’t waste a second replacing it with the one in his hands.
“Which room?” I shrug, but realize he isn’t talking to me but the bartender.
The bartender gives him a cool smile before letting him know that his reservation is for room six.
I sneer over my shoulder at the bartender as Wren leads me away. Is everyone in this place in cahoots tonight. The bartender winks at me, blowing me an air kiss before I have to face forward again to prevent myself from tripping and follow Wren. His grip around my waist is soft but insistent as he urges me along.
We enter a hallway; the rooms sweep past quickly as he leads me deeper into the building. Without a flourish, Wren opens the door to the room labeled six, and when we step inside, I’m honestly taken back by the simplistic nature of the room. Of course heavy curtains hang on the far wall, and I wouldn’t be surprised to find windows for viewing on the other side.
But it’s the huge four-poster bed in the center of the room that seems out of place. I’d expect something harsher than a mattress covered in decorative pillows and a comforter that looks as soft as clouds. I expected black leather and red implements for pain, but there’s nothing, just the bed.
It shouldn’t seem as welcoming as it does. Despite the call of comfort, I know this room will bring me the most pain I’ve ever felt before in my life. And to make matters worse, it’s going to be emotional pain, something that will probably take years instead of days or weeks to heal from.
“Take off your clothes.”
I still haven’t fully faced him, and as much as I want to deny him, I know I’d never be able to do it if I were looking into his gorgeous blue eyes.
“No.”
His warmth is once again at my back, and it forces my eyes to slam closed.
“I believe the correct answer is ‘Yes, Sir.’”
I tremble with need at his words, my body betraying what my mind is fighting so valiantly for.
“Choose,” he whispers, and it’s another way he’s giving me an out, but is it really a choice? He knows what his commands do to me. Is this another way for him to force my hand?
My choices are obeying or using my safeword.
But it isn’t that simple.
Obeying means giving in to him and accepting that I’ll listen to him explain why he kept the box and the multitude of other things that have ripped my trust away. Whispering zero-day is telling him I won’t listen, and it’s that fear, knowing that he will leave me like I ask and never reach out for me again that makes my decision.
He steps back when my fingers begin to slide the buttons of my blouse free. Chills race down my spine with eagerness and at the loss of his warmth. I don’t feel as overwhelmed, and honestly, I hate the feeling. I want him near. I want him commanding me, forcing my hand, giving me permission to obey when doing so scares the daylights out of me.
Even though I know how this night is going to end, I continue to strip down to my skin. There’s no doubt I’ll be broken when he’s done, covered in his cum and panting from my own release, and don’t I deserve that? Sex and emotion can be separated. I think of the woman on the platform in the main room. She had, at my last count, five men inside some part of her body, and she only looked to one with love in her eyes. She’s able to differentiate the two, and I’m determined to do that same thing.
“On the bed,” he commands the second my body is free of clothing.
I move, my eyes staying downcast. I can obey without giving him the satisfaction of my full attention.
“On your back. Spread eagle for me.”
My legs go to the corners, as do my arms over my head, but I turn my head in the direction opposite of him, thankful for the curtains blocking the windows. Not only do they block others from seeing us, but they prevent me from having to look in his direction.
Gentle hands run down the length of my legs, and I squeeze my eyes closed when the sound of leather and metal echo around the room. I didn’t see the cuffs in the corners, but I’m not surprised. This is a BDSM club after all. I’m sure this room has a dozen more hidden toys for kink.
I don’t kick out at him or tell him to stop. I don’t open my mouth to say my safeword because I don’t want to stop. Not only am I determined to get the full story, but not once has this man made me feel unsafe. I knew I was full of shit when I told Sarah I thought he was a psycho who hurt women.
Even when he “abducted” me he was gentle, using soft cuffs to prevent marks and lowering me gently into the backseat of his rental car even though I had a hood over my head.
He’s not going to hurt me physically, but it’s my heart that’s on the chopping block right now.
His hands trail over my skin, completely bypassing my center as he moves his fingers down to latch the second cuff.
Once my feet are secure, I feel, rather than see him move to my arms. A slow finger dips between my breasts, and my traitorous nipples harden at the sensation. He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t tease me for being unable to control my body, and that’s infuriating.
With one hand secure, he moves to the other, only speaking after all four restraints are in place.
His breath is on my neck, soft lips brushing against my racing pulse, then his fingers are on my chin. The very first sight of him ruins me because I’m too enraptured by him already to look away.
After the softest
brush against my lips, a promise of what’s to come, he pulls back, using his free hand to brush hair from my face.
“Let me start by telling you that I love you.”
“Please don’t,” I whimper.
The emotional agony is harsher than if he were to strike my cheek with a heavy hand.
He doesn’t listen to me. He doesn’t stop even as my pain rolls in rivulets down the side of my face.
“I think I’ve loved you since long before I heard your voice the first time.”
My throat works, trying to swallow down the sob threatening to escape.
“I didn’t even look at the label on that box when I picked it up from the front desk. I had Puff with me, and with Adrian gone and the new girl blinking up at me, I just had to get away as quickly as I could.” Soft fingers trail down my arm, making me jerk from the tickling sensation. “I even forgot it in the car and had to go back and get it. When I opened the box in the breakroom, it wasn’t the speakers I’d been waiting two weeks to get. In front of nearly every single man that works for BBS, I opened a box filled with sex toys.”
His tone changes, becoming noticeably deeper, a sound very similar to the teasing lilt he used when taunting me for how my body responds to him.
“My shock garnered the attention of every man in the room, and lo-and-behold, it was a box stuffed with not only a ball gag, butt plug, and a feather tickler, but a twelve-inch cock I now know your tight pussy would never be able to accommodate.”
I shift my weight, my legs pulling at the restraints when I attempt to close my legs.
“Only then did I look at the label. You know me. I’ve told you who I am and what I do. So you already know my second action was to find out who W. Nelson in apartment 913 was. How could I not? My cock was half hard just looking at the toys, letting my mind run wild with the anticipation of finding out who was supposed to be the recipient of those things.”
His breath is hot on my skin, the slip of his tongue on my neck sensual enough to make my eyes flutter closed.
“Accessing the camera system in our building wasn’t hard. It was honestly easier than it ever should’ve been, but even the toughest firewall wouldn’t have been able to keep me out. My cock pounded, fucking raged inside my jeans when I got my first look at you, and it happened in front of all the guys. I couldn’t even turn around to force them from my office because my guilt was so thick it couldn’t begin to hide the way I responded to just one look at your silky purple hair and these fabulous tits.”
He punctuates his story by flicking fingers over both my nipples, and like a whore, I arch into his touch as much as the restraints allow.
“I wanted an explanation for the box. After seeing you, I couldn’t understand how lucky I’d gotten. You’re the girl of my dreams, and not just because I saw you. Your figure, your smile, the way your hips sway when you walk, fucking all of it has haunted my fantasies for as long as I can remember. I knew I had to have you. The need was instantaneous.”
“Mmm,” I moan when his mouth replaces his fingers on my nipples.
“I sought out others.” I freeze, my blood running cold with his words. “Before I ended up with that box, I was looking for you in every other woman. Before I ended up with that box, I structured my sexual exploits around the women I met online. Talking to a woman I met on the streets was impossible. What if she didn’t like the things I liked? What if she wasn’t a good fit for me? What if I’m too demanding and she isn’t compatible?”
My blood heats with the idea of him with other women even though he’s telling me everything changed when he intercepted that box sent from Sarah. And it makes me a complete hypocrite because he wasn’t my first either. The thoughts are irrational, but I’ll have to consider them later because thinking is damned near impossible with his mouth ghosting light kisses between my breasts and down my abdomen.
“I’ve never had sex with a woman that wasn’t from an online-hookup site. My virginity was callously handed over to a blonde woman by the name of Cherise, although I’m certain that’s merely the name she used for the agency she worked for.” My eyes flutter open but he’s too far down my body to confirm what he’s actually saying. “Yes, Whitney. I paid a woman seven hundred dollars to take my virginity. And that’s very difficult for me too, not because I’m ashamed or regret that decision but because it means I’m telling you I’m nowhere near as in control and commanding as I need you to believe. I’m not perfect. My past isn’t perfect.”
I want to open my mouth and tell him no one is, but he continues before I can speak.
“I’m awkward at best, and even though commanding your body comes as natural as breathing, I’m also very unsure of myself. My head is a constant battle of what to say or how to act. All things I could never overcome until you. I’d avoid social situations at all costs from fear of embarrassment. I nearly packed my shit and moved the first time I tripped over my own feet in front of you.”
Doesn’t he know that his imperfections are a huge part of his appeal?
His mouth trails down past my stomach, and I groan in need when he bypasses the apex of my thighs to focus his attention on my legs. Can’t he see that I’m burning for him? Surely, he knows I’m ready to be taken. I’m spread so far open he can probably smell my arousal.
“I obsessed over you for weeks. I spent countless hours researching you, finding out what you like to do. I found the forums you posted in and jacked off so many fucking times, imagining I was the one you wanted to fulfill your wicked thoughts.”
My cheeks are on fire, and when I angle my head down, I see him grinning up at me. “When you blush, your cheeks turn the same exact shade as this beautiful cunt of yours.”
His filthy words should make me cringe, but they don’t. They never do, and probably never will.
“On paper, you’re the perfect woman for me, down to your insanely unhealthy obsession with Taco Bell, but I knew we could never be compatible. So I had to settle with watching you, grinning every time you scowled while jogging on that fucking treadmill, mesmerized by the bounce of your tits.” I whimper when he nips the area where my leg meets my body. “My obsession grew by the day. The guys taunted me for it. My boss insisted I return the box which we both know by this point was impossible. I was already pretending not to know how to play Orc’s Realm so you’d help me. We were already flirting online. I was already weak from just the sound of your voice. Returning that fucking box wasn’t an option. Returning it meant opening myself up to scrutiny. I knew I’d never have you, but I could live for the moments we had together online. Mmm.”
He licks at my skin, nose barely brushing my pussy, and the embers that have been gaining strength ignite into a roaring fire. I’m burning for him.
“Then we met on the elevator. My cock was hard the second you stepped on. You found my bird charming rather than being disgusted by his filthy mouth. That’s the day I stopped tracking you. That’s the day I turned off the video feeds and relegated myself with only finding things out that came from your lips. I knew then I was ruined. I knew my actions leading up to that would end with me losing you, but it was already too late. Had I known that things could be different, that we’d be compatible, that you were everything I fantasized about, I would go back and change it. But I can’t. I can’t change the fact that I stalked you. I can’t turn back time and let it happen naturally because I know that I would’ve somehow fucked it up.”
His deep inhale of breath makes my pulse pound in my throat, and I close my eyes, content to suffer his teasing and the sound of his voice. It’s the most delicious torture.
“We met in the elevator by chance. That day in the mail room was by chance. I didn’t orchestrate any of that.”
“You lied to me. Everything was a lie,” I whisper, emotion once again clogging my throat.
“My feelings for you aren’t a lie. My attraction to you isn’t a lie. The way we fit together, the way nearly every aspect of our individual lives lines up with the other wasn�
��t created to win you over.”
“I can’t trust anything because of what you did.”
His chin rests on my tummy, and I can feel his eyes burning into my face, but I can’t look down at him.
Silence surrounds us, but the game he’s playing isn’t over. His mouth finds my breasts, first nipping at the bottom before gentle but insistent teeth bite my nipple.
The groan that rushes past my lips is broken and full of a need I refuse to beg him for.
“Did you search my name after I told you what it was?” His words are whispered against my flesh. “Did you look for information on me?”
My jaw snaps closed.
“So it’s okay for you to look into me, but not the other way around?”
“I didn’t find anything,” I huff.
“But you looked. It’s what we do. It’s second nature to find things out, to try to control the narrative. I understand you’re mad. I’d be pissed too if I found out my systems were overridden. I’d be livid, so angry. But then I’d think about who was doing it and why. Put my shoes on for this, Whitney. A failed attempt is still an attempt. I wasn’t phishing you. I wasn’t using information against you.”
“You read the forums,” I argue. “You found out my secrets.”
“Secrets you posted online, baby. Secrets that only made us even more suitable for each other. I didn’t change my opinions. I haven’t adjusted my expectations. I need someone who obeys as much as you need someone who commands.”
I hiss a needy breath when his fingers skate over my clit. I feel like I’ve been here hours, waiting for him to touch me there, and now when I’m at my most vulnerable, when I’m actually listening to what he’s saying and beginning to believe he’s right, he makes me lose my mind.
“Make me come,” I demand with what little power I have spread out and chained to a bed.
“Tell me you love me, too.”
My breaths rush past my lips. I can’t do that. I’m too vulnerable to make that decision, to confess my heart could only be this broken because I gave him the power to hurt me by handing that stupid muscle over in the first place.
