by Cynthia Dane
Monica was given one minute to do as she pleased before Henry took over. She gently stroked him, remembering how he came on her breasts the day she was collared. She wrapped her tongue around his tip, tasting his musk and the seed that managed to emerge even though Henry was also practicing his own form of self-control. She relaxed her gag and swallowed his cock as far as she could, her breath puncturing her lungs as she inhaled deeply through her nose.
Henry took a handful of her hair and dug his nails into her scalp. Even though Monica knew what was coming, she still squealed in surprise when he shoved himself down her throat.
He pulled her hair. He called her a slew of words that turned on the audience. He never let slip that he too was on the verge of climaxing at any moment. Monica could feel it, as his cock slammed into the back of her throat and almost made her choke. Henry was playing the professional Dom just as she was playing the professional sub. Just like she wasn’t allowed to come earlier, he wasn’t allowed to come now.
People loved watching others deny themselves pleasure. They loved it even more when that pleasure was finally granted.
Monica hadn’t come. She would be rewarded.
Henry pushed her off his cock, a gasp of air tumbling down her throat and filling her lungs as she fell backward onto her hands. Her reprieve was short, for Henry yanked her off the ground and returned her to the hook a final time.
Monica bent over at the waist, dangling while her Dom took their leash into his hands.
The leash he had custom made just for her shortly after they met.
No, Henry had known her long before that. Wanted her long before that. Now he was going to take her in front of all these people – the woman he coveted for so long.
Monica allowed one short moan to burst from her lips when he entered her.
His domineering hand hit her tender ass, making her quiver on his cock as it thrust into her. His other hand lifted her right leg, spreading her thighs and allowing him to take her as deeply as possible.
Monica forgot what was happening. Why they were there. That so many people watched them ravenously, their hands on donation buttons as they watched a Dom claim his sub for their enjoyment. All Monica cared about now was the feeling of euphoria gripping her heart. Henry was inside her. His body filled hers, and they were becoming one, as it was always meant to be.
He spanked her again. The pain subsided and turned to nothing but blackened pleasure. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head.
Her bliss was short lived. Before Monica could succumb to the beauties of subspace and become wholly Henry’s, the force of his thrusts loosened her blindfold and sent it halfway down her face.
Perhaps it was a cruel, cosmic joke. Perhaps it was her mind playing tricks on her as she entered a state of delusion. Either way, Monica never expected to see the one thing that would crush her heart.
There, sitting in one of the best seats of the house, was Jackson Lyle, the mirth on his face only rivaled by the joy once flooding Monica’s heart.
Chapter 12
The Princess And The Dragon II
The room was quiet. Probably because Monica’s ears closed themselves to the world out of pure shock. Jackson! Were her eyes lying to her? Was her ex, the man responsible for most of her woes, really sitting in the audience watching her with her new Dom? The Dom currently thrusting into her while Jackson continued to watch with that sick smile on his face?
Monica’s fears had come true. Ever since she made the decision to do this show, she fretted that Jackson would show up and make her life hell. Yet she hadn’t seen him in the beginning… wait, was this why Henry blindfolded her? Did he see Jackson sit down? Was he sparing Monica the trauma of seeing that man when they were in their most intimate moments?
Was that why Henry went off-script?
Reality came crashing back down. Monica averted her gaze, staring at the floor while Henry yanked her leash and pulled her hair. The blindfold had fallen far enough to cover her mouth, but not to muffle it. I can’t do this… They were toward the end of their show, and yet Monica could only think of fear, regret, and so much guilt that she was caught in this compromising position. A church choir could have sat down in the seats and she would have relished it. Her ex-Dom? It was all over.
You’re doing this because of him. Because the Warrens owed Jackson a ton of money that nobody could afford to pay back even if they pooled together their available money. Because Jackson wouldn’t leave her the fuck alone.
Because he had stolen ten years of her life and wanted to make sure she never enjoyed emotional freedom again.
Even now, with another man inside of her – another man who had collared her – Monica could only think of what Jackson had done to her. Hurt me. Hit me. Defiled me. She didn’t feel in love right now. Jackson’s presence had managed to overshadow everything she felt before.
Apparently, Henry could feel her sudden apprehension. Under the guise of yanking her up and biting her ear to the titillation of the audience, Henry pulled her close to his mouth and whispered, “I love you.”
I love you. I need you. I’ll protect you. The dragon roosted only a few yards away, and yet Monica was in the hold of another man who wouldn’t let someone like Jackson Lyle touch her ever again.
Monica opened her eyes. Faces blurred. Voices mingled as people openly betted on who would come first.
The only one not leaning in to whisper to someone else was Jackson, who tapped his fingers against his knee as if this were all done for his own amusement.
He probably truly thought that. All of this had been an elaborate scene playing out in their usual relationship. The breakup. The moving out. The letters. And now this.
No.
No!
Monica couldn’t let this go on. She didn’t want to live the rest of her life afraid of Jackson’s next move, wondering if he would find a way to bother her in her new life. That wasn’t any way to live. Especially now that she had a new Dom wanting to build a life with her. Henry loved her. Truly loved her like a Dom was supposed to. Monica wasn’t a toy to him. She was his partner, his equal on the other end of the Dom/sub spectrum. She felt safer with him in their short time together than she ever had in ten years with Jackson.
When Henry pulled her hair so hard that she let out a gasp of pain, Monica looked Jackson straight in the eye and dared him to do something.
It wasn’t easy. She was at her most exposed, not just in front of the audience, but in front of Jackson as well. This was when he would hurt her.
She dared him to hurt her now.
Those eyes. That set demeanor. The look of a man on the verge of lashing out. Monica skated upon the thinnest ice in the world. While the man she loved readied himself for climax, Monica stared down the man she hated.
More than one person in the audience glanced to where she looked. Cheeks paled, reddened, and twitched. They knew. They all knew, whether they had ever done something about it or not.
Jackson lost his smile.
I’m not yours anymore. I never was. Monica opened herself to the pleasure her real Dom gave her, feeling his cock fill her, delight her with every quick stroke. His fingers traveled from her thigh to her clit, wetting themselves in her arousal as shiver upon shiver of need overcame her. Still she did not look away from Jackson’s visage. She wouldn’t until it was all over and he never bothered her again.
Although she felt pleasure, her face twisted into anger. The spirit of the wolf erupted from her, teeth baring, claws slicing through the air, her most primal instincts begging her to finish her rutting and tear out Jackson’s throat in the audience. If she were Yin and Henry Yang, then he gave her too much now.
Her Dom was quickly losing himself, no matter how much he tried to hold back. The audience would love to see him make Monica come from his cock alone. They wanted to see her succumb to him like that. They wanted her climax to make that composed Dom come undone, the true sign of their mutual pleasure.
> Monica wanted to prove that Henry was the only man who could do that to her.
As she shot a thousand daggers into Jackson’s eyes, she came, her body filling with rolling waves of pleasure that nearly knocked her off her one foot and sent her sprawling to the ground – assuming there were no binds holding her up.
Since her concentration floated elsewhere, her orgasm not only surprised her, but dragged her to another plane of existence that only Henry Warren could give her. She was high. Her mind escaped the dark club, laughing in the faces of everyone who wanted to see her be denied pleasure and then forced to take it. She felt more powerful than she ever had since the day she realized she wanted to serve and submit.
She was so high that Jackson couldn’t touch her if he wanted.
A cry of relief burst from her body, her core holding on to Henry, refusing to let him go. He kept her grounded, as a Dom should, but he could not keep her from releasing the scream she had kept pent up inside her for ten years.
“Thank you, Master!” she exclaimed. The clamps on her nipples tightened. His touch on her clit quickened. His thrusts gave way to stillness, letting her ride out her orgasm on his cock while the world came crashing down around her. “I love you, Mr. Warren!”
The hand holding her thigh tightened before his release. In front of half the world’s elite, Henry Warren spent himself inside her, his warmth filling her. Claimed, Monica let herself fall from the brief glimpse of subspace she had, her mind returning to her body.
Fatigue washed over her, but she could not fall from it as she wished. She still had to stare at Jackson, his lips taut, his ego bruised. For as much as he didn’t mind watching “his” woman get fucked by another Dom, he was not charmed by the aftermath.
Henry released her. Monica’s right foot touched the ground, her true Master’s seed running down her thighs as gravity attempted to claim her. The binds gave in to the pressure she put on them and let her sink to her knees. Henry put his booted foot on her rear, as if to kick her over.
Instead, he pulled on the end of her leash, forcing Monica to her hands as one clamp came undone and clattered to the floor.
“Do you belong to me?”
His voice was both in her ear and a million miles away. Monica looked up, locking her eyes with Jackson’s for what may be the final time in her life.
“Yes, Mr. Warren,” she gasped. “I belong to you.”
“You’re pretty happy about that, aren’t you?”
A diabolical smile crossed her subdued face. “You have no fucking idea.”
Monica wasn’t a knight. She couldn’t cut off the dragon’s head on her own. She could only distract him with her wiles and beauty, as any classic princess could. Even if the dragon tried to keep her locked in his prison, Monica still had the means to make him lower his guard. So while Henry ripped her corset off her body, stripping her completely bare in front of the audience, Monica sent every ounce of emotion she had right into Jackson’s face.
Henry left her on the stage, still bound and spent on the floor. She lost her strength and collapsed onto her side, although her eyes never left Jackson’s. Even while her Master’s seed covered her skin for everyone to see, those same people were too busy focusing on Henry Warren – who made a grand ascent into the audience carrying Monica’s soiled corset.
He stopped in front of Jackson’s seat and dropped the corset into his lap, like a knight dropping a sword on the dragon’s neck.
Never before had Monica heard such a large group of people fall utterly, reverently silent. She wanted to laugh, but she was so tired that the only sound she could make was a peep of retribution.
Chapter 13
His Healing Hands
The height of summer was not so bad that year. Every time Monica thought it a tad too hot, a cool breeze would start up and tickle her skin until she relented. Today, especially, it was refreshing.
Of course, it helped that she rode in Henry’s Rolls-Royce, a blue Drophead Coupe that tore down the countryside highway.
The sun warmed her skin, but the breeze kept her cool, especially with her hair tied down to her shoulders and her sunglasses keeping the debris out of her face. Beside her, Henry drove with one hand on the wheel and the other hanging over the edge of the driver side door.
It felt like another paradisiacal weekend in their life together. Not that it was a bad thing. Monica had no problem spending her days at Henry’s house, in town with him, on a beach in the Caribbean, or even in her own Château where he sometimes came to spend the night, even if it was out of his way.
Their current arrangement wasn’t ideal, but it would do. Monica wanted to keep the Château going until she was confident enough to leave it entirely in Judith’s hands. Otherwise, she prepared to move in permanently with Henry, the Warren Manor about to acquire one new resident. The East Wing sorely needed a woman’s touch, anyway.
My future is mine. She was glad to spend it with Henry, however.
They turned down a familiar road leading up into the mountains. Here summer felt more like spring, the air chillier, the plants blooming green instead of brown. Yet Monica shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold.
Henry gave her a sympathetic look before focusing his attentions on the road. It curved here, and he couldn’t be too cautious.
It didn’t take long for them to reach a gate manned by more than one security guard. Both men dressed in padded black took a good look at the well-to-do people in the Drophead Coupe before glancing at each other.
“I believe we are expected,” Henry said. If he were at all intimidated by these men, he did not let on.
I’m intimidated. These weren’t like the security guards on the perimeter of Warren Manor or keeping out the weirdos at the Château. Those men were genial to anyone not causing trouble. These men looked like they were waiting for trouble to shake up their day. Monica did not miss those types.
One guard was about to check Henry’s ID when the other smacked him on the shoulder and pointed to Monica. “You’re too new to remember her. Let ‘em in.”
The electronic gate slid open without a sound. Henry forced a smile at the guards before gently stepping on the gas and taking them to the private road leading up to a compound in the mountains.
Nothing had changed in the year and a half since Monica was last up this road. The same trees grew. The same outposts manned with armed guards stood tall in the shrubbery. Once upon a time, young and naïve Monica thought it was normal for a rich man to be this paranoid about security. Now she knew it was nothing but power – and not the fun kind. Henry didn’t need this kind of security. Neither had Ethan, and he was more public in his persona than Henry. Since breaking up with Jackson, Monica had come to regard this kind of security as a sign that the man in charge had something to hide or was too paranoid to function – or both.
Once upon a time, Monica had felt trapped on this mountain. If she tried to leave, someone would drag her back. The fact she escaped when she did was a miracle.
Ten minutes later they passed the final gate leading to the front driveway of Jackson Lyle’s luxurious mansion. The place Monica once called home. No, my prison. She frowned, her body stiffening as Henry shifted in his seat and parked only a few yards from the main entrance.
Monica had promised herself that she would never pass through those doors again. She was about to go back on her word.
Henry lightly touched her shoulder. “You ready? You can wait here if you want.”
The sun glared off the windshield and into Monica’s eyes. She shielded them, even though she wore a pair of thick sunglasses. “No. I need to do this.”
Henry nodded. “Let’s go, then.”
He got out of the car, rounded the front bumper, and opened Monica’s door for her. She was quick to take his hand, searching for his strength as one foot was placed in front of the other. I can do this. Breath steadied in her throat. Monica was sure to keep her chin up. The last time she w
as here, she ran away with fear striking her heart. Now she was returning on her own terms.
Not to be Jackson’s girlfriend.
The doorman took one look at her and squared his shoulders. They recognized each other, but shared no greetings. If anything, the man was probably paid to keep his mouth shut around Monica. Lots of the staff had been like that. Jackson didn’t like her getting too cozy with people. Jealousy? Maybe. Power-tripping? Definitely.
Jackson stood in front of the grand staircase, his lawyer beside him – and Henry’s lawyer on the other side of him. He came an hour ago to smooth things over for us. Monica felt no qualms stepping right up to him with Henry behind her.
The tension in that grand hall was thick enough to choke on. Nevertheless, Monica Graham kept her posture straight and her intentions clear. She was not here to make nice with Jackson. Quite the opposite. She was here to make sure he never bothered her again.
