She laid her hands to either side of her hips and looked him in the face, bold as you please. Her eyes were so gorgeous. At first glance, they were a mossy, military drab, but up close, the pupils were framed with golden rods and the irises ringed with a green so dark it was almost black. He could stare at her, learn her forever, but that would have to wait.
“Do you want me to fuck you with your dress on or off?”
“Off, please, Master.”
Curious, he cocked his head. She wasn’t usually so forward. He’d been expecting a However you wish, Master. Not that he minded, and she’d asked so prettily. But still, he raised a calculated brow to tease her. “What, afraid you’re not going to get off without me playing with your tits?”
That wasn’t it. She could probably go off with a command. Shaking her head, she blushed so deep it leaked through her makeup. “No, Master. I—” Oh, hard swallow. Sweet little pixie. “I just want your skin on my skin. Please.”
How could anyone deny that plea? There was little he wanted more in this world than that himself. His hands found her face, cradled her head in his palms and held her still while he leaned in and ran his nose along the side of hers, brushing her cheeks with his thumbs, his heart and his cock clenching when they brushed tears. “You’ll have it, sweetheart. You’ll have it.”
He kissed her then, a hard press of his demanding lips to her pliant ones, thrusting his tongue into her welcoming mouth in a brief reminder that though he was doing what she asked, it was because he wanted to. His hands wandered from her face to her back where he fumbled with the corset strings that had been tormenting him all evening.
When they were loosened, he urged her off the bed and a breath skated through her teeth as she put weight on her feet.
“Just a second,” he assured her, and made quick work of the buckle at her collar, drawing the dress down her lithe body and letting her rest a hand on his shoulder when he told her to step out. He lifted her back onto the bed before he lay the dress over a nearby chair.
Shifting his focus back to her, he let his gaze rake over her body, and she squirmed as though he were drawing nails down her skin.
“What shall I do with you, little girl?”
His musing made her smile. “Whatever you want, Master. Just touch me, please.”
As if he’d do anything else. Not taking off her shoes, he stripped off her panties and undid the harness that had kept his toys inside her all night. He could take them out and fuck her right now and they’d both be satisfied . . . for a while anyway. There was no way he wouldn’t be waking her in the wee hours to have her again. Or maybe he’d let her sleep until morning and he’d wake her early enough to take her before they had to leave for the gym. He’d been gratified when she’d asked to go while she was home. And he was about to be a lot more gratified.
Her hips at the edge of the bed, he knelt on the floor and drew her legs over his shoulders. The smell of her was overpowering from here, so intense he could practically taste her though he was still inches away. But not for long.
Dipping his head, he grabbed her hips and held her still while he licked around the toys. The tiny space between the dildo and the plug made her particularly crazy and he dug his fingers into her flesh to keep her still.
“Don’t be naughty, or you won’t be allowed to come.” His scolding forced a tortured squeak from her throat and he laughed to himself. As if. No, he wouldn’t deprive her tonight, but the threat was enough to make her whimper and the sound delighted him. Almost as much as the taste of her around the dildo. Using his tongue, he pushed it into her before licking up to her clit which he nibbled and sucked. When she was close, he stopped, which elicited a desperate squeal.
“Jasper!”
“You are naughty. What a badly behaved little girl you’ve become without me to look after you. Discipline you.”
From where he knelt between her legs, he could still see her nod her agreement. It made the corner of his mouth twitch. God she was fun to play with. He tortured her some more with his teeth and tongue, making good use of everything he had at his disposal, and when he was confident she wasn’t going to last much longer, he withdrew the dildo, easing the silicone from her body and discarding it on a towel he’d pulled from the bedside table.
She arched her hips, likely assuming he’d strip and fuck her now, but he’d make this last a bit longer because she’d go off like fireworks if he played her right. So he slapped her. Right between her legs. The contact of his hand on her clit and her pussy made her jump and gasp, and then groan.
“Jasper,” she pleaded. He slapped her again and her hips bucked. It wasn’t apparent to him whether she enjoyed this or not. Perhaps it was the kind of pleasure masochists took that they couldn’t quite explain. It hurt, but it felt good . . . mostly it felt. Whatever it was, it was making her absolutely crazy.
He could’ve told her to be quiet—knew lots of dominants who liked their pets to take what they were given silently—but he liked to hear her. Even over the drone of the bagpipes in his head, he could still hear her, and it was the sweetest symphony. So he spanked her until she was trembling, until her pleas had grown watery with unshed tears, and his hand was slick with her wetness. If he felt like it, he could make her come like this, he was sure. But he suspected it would be of the short, sharp, bursting variety, and it wouldn’t be as good when she was half empty. Plus, he was a bit selfish, and lucky for him, that was his right. To be selfish with her.
So he left off as she mewled, a charming, desperate noise, and then he stopped.
“Stay open for me.” She obeyed as he stood, raising her heels to the edge of the bed and settling the spikes of her boots between the mattress and the bedframe. He couldn’t help but stare at her while he stripped off his clothes, his fingers clumsy because he wanted her so freaking bad.
As soon as he was unclothed so he could have her skin against skin as she’d requested, he settled his hips between her thighs, debating whether to remove the plug first. But no. She’d like to feel full, and he’d enjoy the added tightness, the test of his control.
He grabbed her wrists and held them to the sides of her hips as he eased his way inside of her. The leather gauntlets still covered her forearms, and he wanted to take them off but she hadn’t said he could and he’d be respectful of her wishes. Gently, slowly, he pressed inside her because he didn’t want to hurt her. At least not that way. He’d fuck her to within an inch of her life, but only once he was confident she could take it.
Once he was in her to the hilt, he leaned over and kissed her. Hungry and desperate, they devoured each other while their bodies were connected and she used her whole body to beg. Without his bidding, she wrapped her legs around him, and as he’d imagined, the leather heels pressed into his lower back and his working buttocks, and while he wasn’t into pain, the added sensation was a killer.
Rising up and away from her, he thrust hard, making her yelp and then moan. Yes, this is what she wanted. So he fucked her for as long as he could, walking the sharp edge of his own withheld climax, allowing his fingers to dig into her flesh and bones of her wrists which were obscured by the leather of her gauntlets.
When he couldn’t take it anymore, he released his hold on her and sunk his fingers into her hips instead. “Touch yourself, Tinker Bell. I want to see you play with yourself until you come on my cock. Go on then, do as your master says.”
She didn’t need any more encouragement. The fingers of one hand flew to manipulate her clit while the others worked a nipple. Her eyes were closed, her lips pressed between her teeth as she toyed with herself in a desperate bid to do as he’d asked. And then, then, he felt that extra kick, the way her whole body tightened and then shuddered.
“Jasper, I’m coming. Oh, god, I’m coming.” And then she was chanting his name in time with every pulse of her orgasm. Between the stimulus of her voice, the way she was touchi
ng herself and the pulse of her muscles tight around him, he fucking lost it. Bucked into her with absolutely no control and then spilled. Spilled inside of her, flooding her, and hell if that didn’t feel like heaven itself.
“Sweet Jesus, Keyne. You’re mine, mine, mine.” He claimed her with every last erratic thrust, every mutter, every prayer. Tomorrow he’d come back to his senses and when she undoubtedly asked to stay with him, he’d be able to refuse her. But if she asked him at this very second to keep her, forever, he wouldn’t be able to resist. Because he was a man made weak, vulnerable to be honest, by the very thing that had made him so strong for the past year. His duty, loyalty, and yes, lust for her all added up to one thing: love.
***
When he was through with her, she lay against the covers, limp and replete, still bound by her shoes and her gauntlets. They were sexy as fuck, but he wished she didn’t feel the need to hide from him. She was crashing, hard, and he needed to get her settled and warm so she could sleep in peace. He shifted her until she was fully on the bed, then took her shoes off and ran his thumbs over the inside of her wrists and squeezed. “Can I take them off for sleep?”
She issued a sleepy, “Mmm.”
If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t take that as consent. But her rest was shallow. If she’d objected, she’d snatch her hands away or say, “No, Master, please.” Her eyes would snap open and it would take minutes of soothing to ease her down again.
Given permission, he unlaced the leather and stripped it off, rolling the material over her delicate wrist. They were a bit rough, the seam biting into her soft flesh, leaving a red line that sank his stomach. If she wanted to wear these, he’d get her new ones. Softer, finer ones that wouldn’t leave such marks. Or if they did, they’d at least be his marks.
Her hand lay still by her side and so he peeled the other one off, surprised when he ran up against metal. His heart burst open into a thousand shards of pleasure that streaked through his veins. She was wearing her bracelet. It had printed the star into her skin and he rubbed over the indentation with the pad of his thumb.
She’d made him believe . . . Who cared? She’d had it all this time and it knocked him flat. For such a tiny thing, she packed an awfully big punch, knew his soft spots. They’d joked about it when she was a child, the initials Bill and Marcy hadn’t quite thought through. TKO indeed.
He rubbed her wrists for a few minutes before he turned them over, almost absent-mindedly. She was right, skin against skin was soothing. But when he did . . . Fuck. Fuck. It wasn’t the bracelet. Or it wasn’t just the bracelet.
On the inside of each wrist, there was a small star, and circling each star, text. Tiny script he could barely read but as soon as he caught a word, he knew what they said. On the right, the letters spelled out second star to the right and on the left, straight on till morning.
Forget knocked out, he’d never get up again. She’d killed him dead, ripped out his heart and licked it clean. An unfamiliar sensation rose up in his sinuses and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think it was tears. He didn’t cry. He never cried. He hadn’t cried when his parents and his brother and Marcy and Bill died, he hadn’t cried when Keyne left.
He kissed her wrists, once on each star and then pulled the blanket over her, petting her hair. Her breathing was deep and even, she wouldn’t miss him for a few minutes. He went to the bathroom, took a quick shower, brushed his teeth and came back to bed. She’d turned on her side while he was gone and he slid in behind her, pulling her sleep-warm body up against him before he closed his eyes.
Chapter Twenty-six
September
Boys. She hated them. Stupid, smelly, immature boys. They didn’t even have the good sense to be sweet as pie like Gavin had been. They had all of Jasper’s swagger without any of the qualities that backed it up. Jasper was crazy smart, ridiculously hot, and, though she supposed this shouldn’t have turned her on yet, not when she wasn’t exactly soccer mom material, responsible.
The contrast was especially stark after having spent the weekend at Jasper’s. Or more accurately, as Jasper’s. She was still sore in the most delicious way, and she wouldn’t be forgetting this weekend for quite some time. If he were aiming to make her want to date, he was going about it in a completely ass-backward fashion. Not that she was complaining. Well she was now, because boys. Ugh.
And now to add insult to the injury of these obnoxious creatures taking up oxygen on her campus, one of them had taken her favorite study spot. She’d found it the second week of classes: close enough to the dorm that a bathroom break didn’t take forever and a day, but far enough that even with windows open the music wafting out the windows was more soothing white noise than distraction, a tree whose roots cradled her when she sat down and whose leaves provided good shade with a view of most of the quad. Perfect. And now one of those dumbass boys was ruining it.
She paused to assess him. Cute, she guessed. If you liked that kind of thing. Light brown hair parted to the side and a preppy dresser. God, those Nantucket red pants. She couldn’t see what he was reading, but it didn’t matter. He was going to be reading it elsewhere shortly.
When she got closer, she realized it was a book of constellations. Her feet and her heart stuttered at the same time. She’d felt a vague twinge looking at him before and couldn’t quite figure out why, but now it had become a full wrench of her heart. Gavin. He reminded her of Gavin. And when he looked up and smiled at her, she had to clap a hand over her mouth. It was too much.
Her plan to give him a talking to and drive him away flew from her mind. She gripped the handles of the tote she’d slung over her shoulder so hard the canvas dug into her palms and she turned to go back to her room.
Most of the time Gavin was a dull ache, a phantom limb she could still feel but she’d adjusted to its absence in reality. Every so often, though, it was like he was being ripped away from her again and the appearance of tree boy had sparked one of those times. She had to get away. The urge to call Jasper gripped her, maybe he would—
“Hey.”
The voice was close behind her. She didn’t turn around. He probably wasn’t talking to her, but even if he was, maybe especially if he was, she didn’t want to—
“Hey.”
This time the voice was accompanied by a hand on her shoulder.
She whipped around, smacking the hand away, barely restraining herself from lashing out with a kick to her intruder’s knee or a punch to his face. “Don’t touch me.”
That’s the other thing she didn’t like. These college boys, they felt entitled to touch you. No one had before, but she was learning it had been because all the boys and men she knew had thought of her as Gavin’s girlfriend, Bill O’Connell’s daughter, Jasper Andersson’s ward. It wasn’t being a person that entitled her to the integrity of her body, it had been belonging to another man. The more she thought about it, the more it pissed her off, so she snarled when she repeated, “Don’t touch me.”
Tree boy held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry. I won’t, I . . . Are you okay?”
“Fine. Leave me alone.”
“You look like you saw a ghost.” He ducked his head and looked at her from his brows that had gathered together above the bridge of his nose. He was almost looking up at her even though he was a good six feet tall. It was his posture and the way he was lean. Not a lot of muscle or fat to spare on him, but not scrawny. Probably a lot like what Gavin would’ve looked like, given the chance.
“I did.”
His eyes widened. “Me?”
“Yeah, you.” Why was she still talking to this guy? She wanted to get back to her room, have a good cry, indulge in her tics of rubbing her star and her scar in peace, maybe talk to Jasper and—
“I remind you of someone?”
“Yeah.”
“Clearly not in a good way.”
It was true she was
outright glowering at him, but that wasn’t the problem, not at all. If she squinted, let her eyes go unfocused . . . Her chest hurt and she bit back tears. “Maybe too good a way.”
“Who’d you lose?”
“How’d you know?”
He shrugged. “My parents died a few years ago. I’ve gotten pretty good at spotting other lost souls.”
“I’m not lost.” She wasn’t. She had Jasper. Jasper wouldn’t let her get lost. No matter where she was, he’d find her. There was no way for her to be lost, not with Jasper always looking out for her.
“Not even a little bit?” he prodded.
She rolled her lips between her teeth and bit down until it hurt. “Maybe.” The concession felt like a betrayal of Jasper somehow, and she felt guilty for it, but if he hadn’t abandoned her to her own devices she wouldn’t feel that way, so really it was his own egotistical pigheaded fault. “And I’m sorry. About your parents.”
“Thanks. I’m sorry about your . . . ?”
The question hung in the air. She could not answer him, maybe lie. Sometimes she downplayed her loss. Being an orphan was one thing. Being an orphan whose godparents and boyfriend had died, too, was another thing. It reminded her of that Oscar Wilde quote: “To lose one parent may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness.”
What did that make her? Reckless? Cursed? Whatever it was, it didn’t make people like her. Her roommates were pleasant to her, but mostly they avoided her and she didn’t blame them.
“Boyfriend. He’s who you remind me of.” He opened his mouth to offer condolences and she shook her head, silencing him. “And his parents. And my parents. About a year and a half ago.”
His Custody Page 26
