He pulled the strap again, quicker, sending the rush through her. “Oh, keep doing that,” she told him, nearly at the point of orgasm herself.
He continued as instructed, the combination of his tongue, the pressure against her clit and asshole, and him in her mouth, grunting against her, too much.
Her legs tightened around his head, falling forward when she couldn’t support herself, sending his length down her throat.
“Fuck, Jayla!” At the first taste of his cum, the pressure released, her body spasming as her orgasm rocked her.
They bucked against each other, each spending, continuing to lap at the other, leaving light kisses against their sex, thighs.
With one final throb of his cock, she moved her mouth, resting her head on his thigh as she caught her breath.
“Damn, that was good,” she breathed.
He laughed in return, the movement causing her to vibrate against him. He kissed her inner thigh, and she felt him stretch under her.
He placed her coat over her back, smoothing it against her skin.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Don’t want you to get cold,” he answered, rubbing her back over the coat. Such a small gesture, to think of her comfort, yet to her, it meant the world. Butterflies flitted through her stomach, having nothing to do with her orgasm, or the cold.
“Sir, with you, I’m always hot.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Jayla’s reflection stared back at her from the mirror, her head tilting as the smile formed on her face. Her fingertips instinctively moved to her neck, brushing against the cool metal of the collar.
More than once this past week, she’d found herself here — staring in the mirror, admiring the jewelry — as one would catch a glimmer of an engagement ring and stop to stare in awe.
Engagement. Her smile grew. She knew it wasn’t why he’d given it to her, it wasn’t an engagement. But she couldn’t help the pitter-patter in her heart at the symbolism. A piece of delicate, beautiful jewelry, given to her by Alistair, indicating she was his.
But you can’t really be his, can you?
Flashes of the conversations she’d had with Gene flooded her mind. She needed to tell Alistair the truth, but how?
The pitter-patter in her heart changed, faster, skipping beats. Her breath hitched, swallowing hard against sudden discomfort. What would he do when he found out the truth? What would belonging to Alistair mean in that moment?
Shaking her head at her own thoughts, her lips turned down. He would never do anything to hurt me. He doesn’t think he owns me. He would understand.
Her reflection mocked her.
Alistair attempted to convince her, time and time again, she was the one with the control. She allowed him to push her limits. She dictated their relationship.
But … what if it changed? What if finding out she was married changed how he felt about her. How he treated her?
Her stomach turned. Suddenly, the collar seemed tighter, restrictive.
Bending her head, she found his key and pressed it into the hidden clasp to remove the offending choker. With ironically perfect timing, his arms slid around her waist, pulling her back to his chest. He rested his chin on her shoulder, looking at them in the mirror.
“Hiya, Princess,” he cooed, kissing her cheek.
His touch, his gentleness, brought her back from the brink of overthinking. Smiling, she answered, “Hiya, Al.”
“Al, huh?” he smiled, his cheek pressed against hers. Catching her reflection in the mirror, he nodded to the collar. “I thought maybe I’d get a ‘Hiya, Sir,’.”
“You mean, you hoped for a ‘Hiya, Sir’,” she teased, turning around to face him.
“Always hoping,” he whispered. Moving forward, he kissed her. Soft lips against hers, nudging hers open. His arms squeezed her waist, sending a rush through her. “Although, I’m perfectly fine with just being Al tonight.” His sincere words carried an undercurrent of emotion she couldn’t place.
Running her fingers through his hair, she kissed him deeply. She was crazy to ever doubt him. He made her feel needed. Wanted. Lov—
No.
Her body tensed.
“Princess?” he spoke, face etched in worry.
His apprehension another reminder of who he was. Is.
He won’t change.
Right?
Moving her hand down his cheek, he leaned into her touch, rubbing his face into her palm in reverence.
Stop being ridiculous, Jayla!
She pulled him forward again, kissing him deeply. Their mouths intertwined, holding onto each other for some time, just enjoying the moment.
It was almost too sweet. Her anxiety heightened at her inability just tell him the truth. He’d shared himself with her, trusted her. The only thing he wanted in return was her trust.
Lying to him wasn’t trusting him.
Without trust, there is no love…
Pulling against him, she rubbed her body against his crotch, wanting more. Wanting him to distract her, to make her feel like he always did — alive. She needed him.
Luckily, he took the hint, his arms tightening as he lifted her body and moved them to the bed. Lips locked in embrace, he lowered her down, his body resting over hers.
Opening her legs wider, she moaned at the contact of his body between them.
He kissed down her neck, sucking at her collarbone, hovering over her as he nibbled her skin, slowly unclasping each button of her blouse as his mouth moved down her chest.
Her hands moved to her jeans, but he pushed them away, as if wanting to undress her himself. He took his time — licking, kissing. Laying claim to every inch of her skin.
Straddling her hips, he pulled his shirt over his head, exposing his abdomen. She’d seen him naked almost daily for the past two months, but the sight of his bare skin — his flat stomach, his broad chest, his flat, pink nipples that were just as sensitive as hers — still rendered her speechless.
Her hands moved from his hips up his rib cage, to his chest — trailing her fingers over the lines of ink marking his skin. She lingered on her favorite tattoo — the swallow on his right shoulder, just under the collarbone. The way the tattoo artist captured the image — indescribable. To some, it would look as if the bird hit concrete — it’s wings outstretched behind its body, head down, cracks emanating underneath it, as if it broke stone. She’d never seen it that way, though.
To her, with its body bent, the feet curling forward, it looked as if it were searching for something. The dark lines around it webbing of longing. When she’d described it to him, his face had dropped in shock. No one else had ever read it that way.
She caressed his arm, continuing her tactile journey from one tattoo to the next. Numerous designs, all beautiful in their own right, adorned the skin there. His esthetic? Gothic romance. A woman’s face with black eyes over one of his biceps, another female’s face — an angel, down the other. Filigree with thorns and raven on leafless branch adorned his forearms in varying shades of black and gray.
She closed her eyes and focused on the feel of his hands on her body as he finished undressing her. Where his hands went, his mouth followed. He caressed her calf, kissing her ankles, making her squirm. His tongue ran along her thigh, the back of her knees, as he wiggled her out of her pants.
He peppered kisses along her skin, up her abdomen, nibbling on her hip. He lifted one of her arms, his mouth closing around the skin of her wrist, leaving a hot, wet trail of him as he climbed back to her shoulder. Marking her as his.
No, just kissing me.
He took his time, tasting every inch of her, before standing to remove his pants and then moving on top. He lay over her, chest to chest, skin to skin, as he gazed deeply into her eyes. His forearms moved to either side of her face, his hands in her hair. His head bent, mouth finding hers, lips parting, licking her lips, her tongue, the roof of her mouth. As he kissed her, he rocked his hips, entering her slowly in one lon
g, deep stroke.
She moaned into his mouth as he flexed his hips, dragging his cock against her sensitive inner walls, plunging back in. She’d never get over the feel of him inside her, filling every inch — sometimes, too much. As if reading her mind, one hand moved to her ass, tilting her up to meet his thrust, allowing himself to enter her as deeply as possible without hurting her.
Stretching her so completely, hitting every inner spot she needed him to for maximum pleasure, she’d once wondered if they’d been made for each other — a sword and sheath. She’d hoped he felt the same. Hoped he would never tire of her, even when they were old and gray.
Her heart sped up again. She shook her head to clear her mind. Stop thinking about forever, she warned herself. It never goes as planned.
“Jayla,” he moaned, breaking her out of her thoughts. He never increased his pace, his hand squeezing her ass in time with his thrust, sending a rush through her at the bite of pain.
No, not pain. Not this time. This time just … pressure. Everywhere. Her body under his, his length moving inside her, filling her body, her heart…
Keep your heart away, Jayla. Far, far away.
Her mouth caught his neck, kissing him in return, licking his collarbone as his breaths increased with her motions.
They kissed as they leisurely fucked, bodies moving against each other in a slow rhythm. Heat began to build, and she wrapped her legs around his hips, tightening around him.
He moved again, keeping to the same slow, deliberate pace, kissing her neck, her cheek. His hand holding her on his hip, the other stroking her hair gently.
Soft grunts filled the room as they moved. His movements, his touch, his kiss — adoring, gentle … devoted.
Her eyes shot open, her heart picked up speed as his mouth moved from her collarbone to the top of her chest
He’s making love to me.
This time, she couldn’t stop the tightening of her chest; her breath caught in her throat. She’d never been shown such passion, such reverence. Did she even deserve it?
No.
“Jasmine,” she croaked, her eyes shutting tight against her emotions.
Immediately, Alistair paused his motions. “What?” he asked, bewildered.
“Jasmine,” she repeated, with slightly more conviction this time, opening her eyes.
Jasmine … right?
Alistair pulled back, pulling out of her, as he gently laid her down. He sat back on his haunches, his hands finding his hips, turning his head to the wall to his right. He took a deep breath before returning his gaze to her. “Bullshit.”
Swallowing, she tensed, lifting herself onto her elbows, trying to scurry out from under him. “You told me I can use my safe word any time I need to.”
“I did. But, I’m also calling bullshit.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you in pain?”
“No,” she answered truthfully.
His chest lifted with his breath. “I can tie you up, spank you, punish you, edge you for hours, but this … this…?” He moved off the bed, taking another chest full of air. “You don’t need your safe word, you’re just scared.”
She didn’t like his tone. Or her emotions. Or the fact that he was right. She was losing control of herself. “Of course I’m scared!” her voice rose.
“You’re not scared of me,” he answered, voice soft yet firm. “You’re scared of us. And that’s what’s bullshit. If you call ‘jasmine’ on this,” he motioned back and forth between them, “on us—”
Her mouth opened in shock, cutting him off. “Then what?” Anger surfacing, she continued before he could respond. “‘Choose a safe word, Jayla. The second you say it — this all stops. No questions asked.’” She repeated the words he’d delivered to her dozens of times. “I guess you forgot to mention that if I ever used it, you’d be done with me.”
Why did that thought cause her chest to hurt? Her breathing grew ragged. Tears were beginning to form. We can’t be over.
“I didn’t say that. Damnit, Jayla, you can trust me.” He turned, moving to her side of the bed, running his fingers through her hair.
“You say that now,” she whispered, finally voicing her concerns, “but what if you’re lying. Worse — what if you don’t even know you’re lying. What if one day I do or say something and you … you…”
She could no longer hold the tears at bay. The air in her lungs fell heavy and thick. She need to be away from him. She just needed to think.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he spoke softly, as pleading for her to believe him. He found his pants on the floor and pulled them up over his hips. “I’m not going to change, Jayla. This is me. Now, and forever.” Turning, his gaze met hers, his eyes glistening. “But you have to make a choice. Either you trust me … really trust me, or this doesn’t work. You need to decide what you want to hold onto — your past, or your future.”
The ultimatum was like a slap in the face. She’d shared things about her past with him that she’d never told anyone. And now it was like he was using it against her.
Oh, hell no!
Her uncertainty increased into anger. She jumped from the bed, searching for her panties. “You want to talk choices? How about the choice of giving me a safe word, just for you to control the outcome in the end anyway?” Deciding going commando was better than another second in the room with him, she pulled on her jeans and glared at him. “This isn’t about me at all.”
He shook his head but said nothing.
“In fact, I bet this was never about me,” she lied, a fact only adding to her anger. Now, she was past the point of no return. She was going to try to hurt him, just because she was hurting.
“You honestly think I believed that bullshit about wanting to be a Dom ‘to make women feel good’? Ha! It’s always been about you — about needing to be in control.”
“You said it yourself,” she continued, her voice wavering. “The first time you saw me on the street, you wanted to fuck me. Well, I was right then! This was all a sick ploy to get me in your bed. You couldn’t handle me turning you down, could you? So … so, you … you just did whatever you thought it would take to get me. And the only way you could do that, was to tie me down. To control me! All you’ve ever wanted was to break me!”
“Jayla,” he spoke, voice firm yet gentle.
Always fucking firm and gentle. She couldn’t handle the way he treated her. With respect. With … love.
The fact he was patient with her, letting her go off on him for no real reason — even more maddening. She needed him to fight back. Needed him to push her away. All because she couldn’t handle her own emotions. Couldn’t accept the truth standing right in front of her.
She was scared … because she trusted him.
Her own demons clawed their way forward, digging themselves into her mind. Finally giving a voice to her own insecurity — that she didn’t deserve him.
Heartbroken at the thought, she went for the low blow, hating herself as the words tumbled from her lips. “Everything you’ve said, that we’ve done. It’s all one big, fucking game.” She changed her tone to mock sarcasm of his voice. “’Let’s see, how far I can push the little princess?”
He shook his head, shutting his eyes in seeming disbelief. Softly, he spoke. “Jayla, you know me. Just as much as I know you—”
“Oh, you know me? Okay, so, go ahead, why not just make the decision for me?” Her voice wasn’t her own. “What’ll be, Sir? Past or present?” She couldn’t allow herself to say “future”. Not when she knew she was ending all hope of one with him by her very words. She pulled her shirt off the chair, buttoning the blouse, sans bra.
He straightened, grasping her arm and holding her in place. Looking directly into her, he spoke, “Here. With me.”
She pulled away. “Exactly. And I can’t do this with you.” It was too raw, too … real. He was real, and she didn’t know how to handle it.
He nodded, his confusion and shock evident in his expression.
&nb
sp; She left him in the bedroom and hurried out into the hallway to find her shoes. She pulled the zipper of the second boot when his arms circled her waist and pulled her against him. Voice soft, he spoke, “You’re scared. I get it. This is new for me too, and I am fucking terrified. But I want this,” he turned her around to face him. “I want to do this with you.”
His features softened. “I can be as patient as you need. I can catch you before you fall. I can be with you as you fight your demons, Jayla. But I can’t fight them for you.”
His voice rose with each word, obviously trying to hold his emotions in, and failing. “You are the strongest fucking woman I know. You didn’t do anything wrong. He did. When are you going to realize it? Stop blaming yourself?”
Warning bells rang in her mind. She felt the honesty rolling off him, but she wasn’t ready. Push away, Jayla. Save yourself the heartache.
“You want me to choose you, but I chose Jeffrey,” she replied, the sarcasm thick. “And we all know how well that turned out.”
Alistair’s jaw clenched and an emotion she’d never seen on him before flashed quickly across his features. Defeat.
He released her and picked up her purse from the hallway table.
He didn’t say anything, and his face wore a painfully neutral expression.
He’s letting me go.
The thought shredded her heart, but it offered her an escape and she took it. She took the purse from him and opened the front door, allowing it to slam behind her. By the time the elevator doors closed she was a heaving mess.
She’d let her emotions get the better of her. Left the possibility of the kind of life she truly wanted.
Left … him.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Hey, li’l buddy!” Gene called from his perch on the balcony, overlooking the stage floor. Alistair skulked up the stairs for their weekly team meeting. Since accepting the contract at Madame Lily’s, it just made sense to hold the meeting at the club since most of his team was already slotted to work there. It was a chance to review any issues from the past week, address any new security threats, upcoming job offers — anything business related.
Finders Keepers (Fairy Tales After Dark Book 2) Page 25
