Jackson: An Elite Doms of Washington Short Story

by SaFleur, Elizabeth

  A small sliver of anger flashed in her eyes.

  “You can choose to take it as society tells you.” He leaned close to her ear. “Or how I meant it.”

  He walked back to the head of the table, but remained standing by his chair. Dana faced him on the opposite side, kneeling with her breasts rising in fell in shaky breaths.

  “What should I call you?” she asked.

  “Titles don’t interest me right now. What does interest me is your fantasy.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Yes, you do. Given your situation, you have a bank of fantasies you rely on.”

  She sighed and gazed out the window. He sighed in return. It was going to be a long night if she continued to indulge in her nerves. She asked for this scenario. Yet he’d have to help her along. “Where does he place his hands on you?”

  Her eyes darted to his face. “Everywhere.” She answered without hesitation. Ah, so she did fantasize about someone.

  “Specifics, Dana.”

  “He grabs my hands and—and pushes my wrists. . .”

  “Overhead.”

  “Yes.”

  Dana Moore dreamt about being overpowered? Hardly a ringing endorsement she cared for submission. Her fantasies could mean she wanted aggressive sex, not loss of control. He knew only one true way to find out.

  “Crawl to me. Slowly, pet.”

  She hesitated.

  “Dana.”

  She lowered her arms and moved forward. In the dim light, he caught flashes of a crystal rosette at the center of her bra. She could afford the best after all. He pushed the thought aside, that she had no one to admire such finery from his mind, and concentrated on the woman before him. Yes, the woman. The thought occurred he’d never considered Dana a woman prior to five minutes ago.

  Half way across the table, she stopped and pulled back up to kneeling. “I feel like an idiot.” Her voice trembled.

  “You’re beautiful.” He lowered himself to his chair. “Feel me watching you, Dana. Resume.”

  Her hands fell to the table once more. She moved herself forward, her shoulders growing more rigid with each inch forward. He’d never seen a woman so scared—and that was saying something. The courage it must have taken for her to come to him? Uncharacteristic guilt hit him square in the chest from his earlier, dismissive behavior. He’d been in Washington too long.

  He concentrated on her movements, slow, deliberate and all because he’d asked. The familiar satisfaction of experiencing submission, even as frail as Dana’s, filled his insides.

  “Thank you, Dana.”

  She looked up at him. “For what?”

  “For you.” He ran a finger over his bottom lip. Time to concentrate—on her. “Can you feel the pull of your garter against the back of your thigh? Perhaps I’ll snap it, leave a nice thin red stripe on that ass you hide all day.”

  Her breath hitched.

  “Is that what you’d like, my little pet? A good smack on the ass?” He laid both hands on the armrests of his chair, wholly aware of the effect his stance held to someone so exposed.

  “Maybe,” she whispered.

  “You have to get closer to earn such a reward.”

  She looked up at him, surprised. Her breathing deepened and her chest flushed a deep pink. When she reached his end of the table, she pulled herself up to kneeling. He laid his hands on her thighs. Yes, she definitely shook—but not from fear. He tucked her hair behind her ear and curled his fingers around the shell of her ear. So, she was serious about this experiment.

  “Do you know when a woman is most beautiful?” he asked.

  “Twenty-five?”

  He laughed. “Only a woman would answer that way. No, when she’s being true to herself.”

  “So I should walk around in lingerie with my hair down?”

  “You already walk around in lingerie, don’t you?” He cupped her chin and raised her gaze to him. “Next time I see you, you’ll wear your hair loose, too.”

  “When will that be?”

  “I don’t know. So you’ll have to wear it down for a while. Sit up, legs over the edge.”

  After she complied, he pulled her forward so she perched on the edge. In his peripheral vision, he caught their faint reflections in the windows as night had fallen dark and heavy outside. He turned her face so she could see their images.

  He twisted a lock of her hair in his hands. “Yes, remarkable.”

  She lifted her hands and placed them on his chest. “One hour. Does anyone get more of you?”

  “Rarely.” He pulled her off the table and swiveled her so she faced it. She caught herself with her hands. He palmed her behind and leaned toward the ear. “We should make the most of our time together.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “What you’re doing.” He snapped her garter. A puff of air left her lips. He grasped a handful of her hair and pulled her head back. “More, my pet?” he whispered in her ear.

  “Yes.”

  He laid a sound spank on her ass. She grunted and lurched more over the table. When she tried to move a lock of hair that had dropped forward, he twisted her arm behind her, gently but firmly. Her mouth dropped open. “You don’t need to do anything. Take it in.” He drank in the sight of her cheeks, reddened from his smack.

  “Widen those legs. Good.” He dropped his grip and sank down in his chair. “Show me how you touch yourself.”

  Without any more prompting, she drew her hand to the inside of her thigh.

  “More,” he said. “Very nice. Leave the panties on. I told you I like your choice.”

  She gave him her profile, and he caught a glimmer of gratitude in her eyes. His gut lurched a little at how little he’d done and how much she’d already reacted. Was her life so empty? Likely. Here she stood, lapping up his minor attention like a kitten.

  He never understood people who settled for scraps. Of course she agreed to marry Senator Moore—and stay married to him. Besides, who was he kidding? Work in Washington often replaced matters of the heart. Perhaps he knew why people settled after all.

  But not tonight.

  Her fingers had moved under the elastic of her panties. As she stroked herself under the slip of lace, he kept his eyes on her back, now reddening in desire. Her breath accelerated, and she leaned more forward on one arm. When her head fell back, her long hair nearly touched the crack of her ass.

  “Stop.” He grew heartened at her growing confidence, but he wasn’t ready for her to come.

  Air sputtered between her lips.

  “Turn around," he said. "Give me your fingers.”

  She withdrew her hand from her panties and turned to face him. Jackson lifted her fingers to his lips. He fought the urge to suckle the wetness from her fingers, settling for flicking his tongue across one tip. She gasped on contact, and her eyes glazed. He expected no more back talk from Dana—only the reality her desire was winning, which meant he was winning.

  He grabbed her waist and placed her back on to the conference table. Then he picked up one of her feet and placed it on his cock, now rock hard and uncaring about her marital status.

  “You’re having quite the effect on me.” His brain would win this battle, of course. He’d settle for a cold shower later. “Lean back,” he said.

  After she lowered herself on to the table, he leaned over her. His crotch connected with hers. Her glorious hair spread in all directions around her head, forming a chestnut halo. He leaned down, pressing his hands on either side of her shoulders, keeping himself from leaning too much on her body. He’d make no more contact – a contract he had with himself about who he’d get intimate with and who he would not. Unhappy or not, Dana was married and off limits.

  “Put your finger inside yourself.”

  He didn’t need to see that she’s complied. He could feel her fingers move. She gasped and arched her back.

  “Jackson, please.”

  “Keep going,”

  “I’m not sure I can.”
Her eyes had moistened.

  He cracked her hard on the side of her ass. A choked cry released from her throat, and her fingers quickened. Ah.

  “That’s not the only place he puts his hands, is it?”

  “No.” A tear slipped down her cheek to disappear into her hair.

  “Where?”

  She drew her free hand to the base of her throat, unable to say the words.

  Jackson placed his hand on hers. “Do you trust me?”

  She nodded.

  He nearly encircled her entire neck with his large hand. She released a long breath, her face relaxing. He tightened his grip around her throat. “Now, Dana. Make yourself come.”

  A long cry emitted from her throat as she released. Her mouth opened into an oval, her neck arching into his hand. He knew after tonight, he wouldn’t ever see her as beautiful as she was in that moment again.

  Her body lay limp on the glass tabletop as he released his grip around her throat. He pulled her up to sitting and ran his fingers through her hair for some minutes. When her breathing returned to normal, he sat her in his chair and retrieved her dress from across the room. She sat dazed.

  “Dana?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Don’t get embarrassed now.”

  “I-I’m not. I’m just . . .” She looked down at her dress, scrunched in her lap. “I don’t want to put this on. Is that silly?”

  “Not at all.”

  He gave her a glass of water, and they both stared out at the skyline for an hour, unspeaking. When the traffic sounds outside died down to a low hum, she finally spoke. “Weren’t you supposed to beat me or something?”

  He laughed. Wait, she’s serious. “No, Dana. I was not supposed to beat you. I was supposed to do what you needed.”

  “And that was it?”

  “You needed to be seen.”

  “That’s not all. Thank you for being . . . affected.”

  “A man would have to be dead to not be affected by you.” He turned to face her.

  She returned his smile. “I’m not sure what to do next.”

  “I do.” He took in a deep breath and pulled a card from his wallet. He handed it to her. “Call me when the ink’s dry on your divorce papers.”

  She stared at the card for a long minute and then cocked her head at him.

  “And think about what you want. No subtly, Dana. I want specifics.” He still wasn’t convinced Dana had a submissive bone in her body. But he’d help her discover her true proclivities—once divorced. He owed it to her. Her moment of giving herself to him was worth a thousand dates with bottles of Scotch.

  She fingered the card. “You’re kind, Jackson Reese.”

  “Shhh. Don’t tell anyone.” He winked at her. Jesus, he was flirting? No, he just wanted an unhappy woman to feel better about herself. He had little tolerance for men who mishandled women, and Senator Moore was clearly mishandling his wife if she was reduced to attempted seduction. But what did he know about their marriage? Nothing. And that’s the way he’d keep it.

  She sighed. “You sure you couldn’t . . .” Her words stopped when he cupped her cheek.

  “Yes, I’m sure. Call me when you’ve decided you are more important than your husband’s career.”

  “I think I already have, now that I have something to look forward to.” She blushed.

  “No promises, Dana. And, be very, very sure before you act.” He dropped his hand and stared back at the same skyline. “But when you text me with an image of your signed divorce decree, I’ll answer it.”

  ~~~The End~~~

  About the Author

  If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review.

  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. Look for the continuation of this tale, Dana. Sometimes, a girl’s got to go after what she wants.

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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