“It’s not like that.”
“He’s too old for you.”
“What makes you think I’m not his new intern?”
“Are you?”
“No. He knows you’re on the road, and he’s . . . .”
Her father laughed. “Don’t tell me. Mentoring you.”
“Yes, that’s it.” It wasn’t a lie.
“You hate politics.”
“He knows lots of other things, too.”
“Be careful, Chrissy. He’s got quite the reputation. You’re a little—”
“What?”
“Gullible.”
“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad.”
“I’m worried about you.” He had to be sober. Well, it was only noon. There was time yet.
“Gotta go, Dad.” She killed the call and ignored the barrage of missed notifications from Avery, though she knew she’d have to confront her friend—find out if they were still friends—sooner or later. If Christiana continued to ignore her, she might show up at The Oak.
“You’ve been rather distracted lately,” Henrick said behind her. He handed her a plate loaded with a sizzling rib-eye steak and loaded baked potato. “Table seven.” Before letting go of the plate edge, he added, “Be sure he’s worth it.”
Jesus, where’d everyone’s sudden interest in her personal life stem from? Wasn’t privacy nine-tenths of the law? Oh, wait, that was possession. Well, with Jonathan it felt the same, even though his recent texts had been short and noncommittal. She prayed she’d misread the good-bye in Jonathan’s eyes as he pulled his arms away after tucking her into bed after the bar incident. At least she’s managed to hold back the first tear until the closing click of the front door.
Christiana pushed the kitchen door open. The low roar of a full house helped dam the unshed tears. It was time to go to work, and she’d hold back her weeping if it killed her.
A young redheaded girl led Jonathan and Yvette to a table in the back where Mark sat already, waiting for them. Mark rose as they approached. Jonathan noted the surprise half-hidden behind Mark’s face.
“Mark, you remember Yvette DeCord?”
Mark took Yvette’s outstretched hand.
“Hello, Mark. Good to see you.”
Yvette set her pert butt, covered in an ivory pencil skirt, down onto the plush chair Jonathan held for her. She did a good job of hiding the wince when the welts on her ass contacted the chair seat, memoirs of her last session with Carson. Jonathan vowed to find out the rest of the story from the other Dom. Yvette was many things: bratty, vain, needy. But Jonathan had never known Carson to leave a submissive in a bad state. Something wasn’t right.
He wished he’d had a moment with his current sub-in-training, so she’d understand why he was handling things this way. The way Christiana’s blue eyes widened upon seeing them showed him he didn’t have that kind of time. Before Jonathan could rise from his chair and make an excuse to Mark and Yvette, Christiana had turned on her heel and headed downstairs.
“You’ll want to go after her, Jonathan.” Yvette never raised her eyes from her menu.
“Sir—” Jonathan silenced Mark with a raised hand.
“Mark, be sure Yvette has what she needs.” He laid a chaste kiss on her cheek.
Several familiar sets of eyes from nearby tables caught his movement, and he knew the word would spread. Later he’d ensure a photo was taken of the three of them in front of The Oak. That should about wrap things up in the Christiana rumor mill.
His mind sorted the many things he’d say to Christiana when he caught up to the wounded girl. She’d be inside the ladies’ room at this point. No matter, he’d have to risk shocking the ladies by barreling inside anyway.
When he entered, Christiana rested her head on the lagoon-blue tiled wall at the far end of the elegant room. Her eyes were closed in deep thought, and she rolled her head back and forth as if she was trying to massage out a kink in the back of her head.
“Do you have a headache, lovely?”
Her eyes snapped open. “You’re standing in the ladies’ room.”
“I know.”
She pushed herself off the wall and walked to the counter, laying hands on either side of a white marble sink. “You lied to me,” she said to the basin.
Jonathan appreciated many things about Christiana. Her honesty and direct words were welcomed when she chose to speak, that is, though it pained him to hear her perspective now. He didn’t want Christiana to accept anything that wasn’t true.
“No, I didn’t. Yvette and I are friends, and she’s in trouble. I’m helping her through something right now.”
Christiana straightened and faced him. Her stony face gave little away, but he knew hurt when he encountered it. Christiana was more disciplined than any nineteen-year-old he’d met. But he could tell holding back what she really wanted to say cost deeply. “I’m being punished for the other night,” was her only response.
“No, you’re not, though you should be. You’re underage. You were in a bar.” He ran his hand over his chin, acutely aware of how hypocritical his words sounded. Shit, he’d given her alcohol in measured doses.
Jonathan captured her chin. She tried to wrest her face from his grip, but he held a little tighter.
“I am not sleeping with Yvette DeCord. Not now. She needs my help. Mark is going to get her fed and then make sure she’s safely back upstairs in her suite. I’m here to see you.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re covering your tracks. I saw the picture.”
Of course she had. Avery probably sent it.
“Do you honestly think if I were still seeing Yvette DeCord, I’d bring her to a restaurant where you work?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you’re a sadist.”
A smile quirked up his lips. He grabbed her arm before she could step around him. “You’ve been researching. What did I tell you about that?”
“Let go of me, Jonathan. I swear—”
“Or what?” His clipped words snapped her eyes back to his face.
He softened his voice at the sight of worry lines growing deeper in her forehead. “Don’t test me, my beautiful girl.”
“Avery was right.”
Her flippancy filled him with apprehension. Only a fledgling, green submissive would toy with her lion this way. He suppressed the notion that perhaps she was too young for what he’d let loose. No, he wouldn’t let this go unchecked. Now that Pandora’s box had been opened, he’d see it through. Jonathan measured his next words carefully. “If you mean what I think you did . . . .” he whispered into her ear.
She looked up at him. “Avery said you took pity—”
Jonathan spun her, so she faced the mirror. She tried to push away, but he pinned both arms to her sides in a bear hug.
“We have a problem,” he said into her reflection.
“I don’t have any problems.”
“Oh, lovely, you have many. Right now I am only concerned about the one at hand.”
“And what’s that? Being your charity case of the week?”
“That you don’t trust me.”
“You don’t earn trust by appearing with ex-girlfriends—”
Jonathan’s instincts kicked in with a vengeance. He gave her a resounding whack on her butt. The black skirt muffled the slap, but the gasp that erupted from her startled face showed she’d felt it loud and clear. She stilled.
Jonathan steered her out the door past two startled older women, hands extended to push the bathroom door open. He only hoped their eyesight was as bad as their facelifts.
“Please, Jonathan. You’ll get me fired.”
“No, I won’t. It’s past the lunch rush hour.”
Christiana didn’t have a manipulative bone in her body. She responded moment by moment to whatever he said. She wasn’t trying to win or make him angry. She was lost. Of course, she’d think he flaunted Yvette. Or perhaps Yvette flaunted him. Had Yvette planned the encounter? She knew Christiana w
orked at The Oak. He didn’t know how she would’ve found out about his relationship with Christiana.
No matter. He wouldn’t have Christiana questioning his fidelity—or anything else.
22
Jonathan ushered her across the hall into the Cabinet Room, where he had spent many late nights pretending to enjoy the company of seasoned members of Congress over whisky and cigars. This afternoon it was empty. It presented a perfect space for what he needed to do.
It’d be risky as hell, but she needed him. A submissive cannot wonder about her Dominant’s loyalty or dedication to their arrangement—not ever. If she did, she’d never fully submit to him and always fear her safety. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—let her worry.
The door closed with a soft thunk behind them, and he clicked the lock. Enough light seeped through the smoked glass to show the outline of Christiana’s surprised face. Her eyes also held a hunger. She needed him to prove his commitment. He would—in only the way a Dominant must.
She stood unmoving.
“Hold out your hands.”
She slowly raised her palms, inches from his waist.
“Keep them there.” He slid the short end of his tie from its silk knot, wrapped the silk around her wrists and brought them up to his chest. He pushed a finger between her wrist and the fabric to make sure the bond wasn’t too tight.
Whispers of breath came from her parted lips. Her deep indigo eyes shone in the muted light, the soft planes of her face so perfect she could’ve been mistaken for an ancient Madonna.
“Now you’re being disciplined,” he said. “Not for using a fake ID to get into a bar but for discounting your worth to me.”
She parted her lips to respond, but he pressed his mouth to hers to silence her. When he pulled back, her eyes flooded with acquiescence.
“And for believing the manipulations of a false friend,” he added.
He led her to the long dining table, farthest from the door. Spinning her to face the heavy oak surface, he lowered her upper body to its surface. Her arms automatically stretched, above her head, and her cheek rested on the wood, presenting an angelic profile.
“Tell me what I should do with someone who doesn’t trust me, Christiana.”
Her forehead wrinkled as she searched her mind.
“And don’t tell me to earn it,” he added.
“No, I wouldn’t—”
“You already did tell me, lovely.” He placed his hand on the small of her back to remind her of his control. He pulled the elastic binding of her ponytail free. She moaned as he ran his fingers through her unbound locks.
“What happens when you don’t believe me or trust me?”
A desperate sigh escaped her lips, and a single tear running down her cheek shimmered in the subdued light. She rubbed her cheek against the wood in a nod. A single word tumbled from her mouth. She barely whispered it, but he’d heard.
“Sir.”
“I should remind you. Don’t you think?”
His cock grew thick, as thick as the emotion in his throat. He tamped it down. This was no time for uncontrolled sentiment. She needed something more valuable—his full commitment.
Jonathan captured the stray tear with a kiss. “You didn’t answer me.”
“Yes, I—you should remind me.” She choked back her fear. Always in control. Always in need.
“You will not indulge in mistrust. Your imagination tells you lies about me. If I have to paddle your ass every day until it rivals the sun to remind you that you are mine—that you are precious to me—I will.”
He reached around under her waist, lifted her skirt. She pushed her ass back into his crotch, now bulging with the need to be inside her. Her pale skin glowed against the black lace panties in the murky light. His heart swelled with pride that she’d worn the lingerie he had gifted her.
He ran his fingers over her warm butt cheeks. “You trust too many of the wrong people, and they make you doubt yourself. I will not permit it.”
He lightly pinched her flesh. She squirmed.
“So much beauty, so much worry.” He knelt down and kissed her silky butt cheek.
Jonathan ran a finger up under the scalloped edge of the panties, then hooked it over the elastic and drew it downward. They slipped off easily over her snow-white ass.
He stood.
“Sir, please.” Christiana’s fingers entwined with one another and clenched.
He unfastened his belt and slowly drew it from his waist, knowing full well the effect the sound of the slither of leather through fabric had.
“Please, please.” Her pleading held an urgency. She wanted to be corrected. Jesus, he’d never met anyone who wanted to trust as badly as Christiana. No wonder she was such an easy target for someone like Avery Churchill.
He traced his belt up her butt crack. “You will count each stroke with your fingers.”
He held the buckle securely to make sure it was covered. Then, without warning or hesitation, he cracked the leather across her ass. She cried out, but she unclenched her middle finger. He chuckled. So he hadn’t quashed all her defiance. He was proud of his little submissive. Still he said, “For that little bit of nonsense, I’ll add an extra stroke.”
By the time he reached five plus the additional smack for her impudence, her chest rose and fell on the hard wood surface. He slid a finger up her pussy, now slick with juices. Jesus, she loved being handled.
She’d be so easy to fuck here, only feet from the doors creaking open and clicking shut just across the wall from them. People going about their own business, not realizing the power play being enacted feet from their business dealings and small talk.
Fuck the risk.
Within two weeks, Christiana had risen to the top of his priority list. He would do anything to ensure their connection remained intact.
Jonathan freed his considerable hard-on from his pants. His knees dug into the back of hers as he crouched to nestle his erection between her moist lower lips, slipping inside her. He grunted as his low belly connected with the angry, red stripes across her butt, pushing his length slowly through her slick, petaled opening.
Christiana pushed her behind impatiently backwards.
He grabbed a handful of her hair and lifted her head off the table. She relaxed her grinding and laid herself down on the wood. God, she was good, responding exactly as he wanted. He pulled out, letting his cock, now slick with her personal liquor, hang heavy. He ran a finger up her inner folds and then brought the finger to his nose, inhaling her sweet but strangely sophisticated scent. He let his fingers dip into her nectar.
“What do you use, here? Your scent . . . .”
“Baby powder, lavender scented. I run around a lot.” She breathed the words, still overtaken by arousal. Her practical assessment of something so sensual broke something in his heart. Her honesty slayed him. She was no brat. She told him exactly what went on in her head, moment by moment. He had asked her to open to him, and she complied. He kneeled behind her and told his cock to stand down.
“You are so beautiful, Christiana.” She struggled as he sent his breath over her heated slit.
Without warning, he dipped his tongue deep between her swollen nether lips, searching for her opening. She gasped at the invasion but didn’t pull away. He stilled her convulsing hips with his hands as he circled and stabbed with his tongue. He trailed up her labia taking in her unique flavor until he reached her tight back hole.
Christiana moaned excitement as he rimmed the floret. His fingers worked her lower lips, now flooded with response. She would come in seconds if he didn’t stop.
Jonathan released his mouth and rose. His cock jutted forward like a heat-seeking missile, and Christiana offered an irresistibly hot target.
“I only want to bring you immense pleasure, Christiana,” he said, as he oiled her anal opening with her own lubrication. She didn’t hide the distress in her voice.
He let the casual name slide. Her vulnerability in this position demanded
a little leniency.
“Many emotions come up from this area. Ride it out.” He rubbed her puckered hole in circles and then pressed his finger past her muscle. His cock responded as she groaned from the invasion.
“Relax. Breathe deep.” He rubbed her lower back with his other hand.
A soft coo released from her chest.
“Good girl.” He sent kisses up her spine as he slowly pushed his finger in to the first knuckle. “There are so many things I think you’ll enjoy.”
She whimpered as he withdrew his finger.
“I can’t wait until that sweet ass is mine. For now I’m only preparing you for the day you want me. And only when you beg me for it, will I take you there.”
He grabbed her hip and arrowed his aching hard-on into her pussy. She accepted his invasion with no hesitation. He fought the urge to impale her with battering strokes. Instead, he pulled back and left only his cockhead inside her hot cunt.
“You think it’s important to earn things, so you’ll earn this climax. I’m going to stay still and you’ll move.”
Her soft choking sounds showed she fought for composure. Christiana pushed backwards to recapture his cock. He circled his arms under her rib cage and lifted her up a few inches from the table. She flattened her bound hands down onto the surface, so she could push and pull, forward and backward, stroking his length. His eyes rested on her pale rear moving in front of his groin. As she pulled forward, his cock glistened from her juices in the low light. She dragged herself over him.
“That’s it, lovely. Show me how much you need me.”
Her whimpers were louder now. She was so close.
“Sir, may I?”
“Do you trust me?”
“I-I do.”
“You won’t ever question my judgment?”
“No, oh, please.” She panted heavily.
“Then show me how much you mean it. Come hard.”
She let out a wail as she shuddered underneath him. He dug his fingers into her hips. He wanted her marked with a reminder of his lesson, his loyalty. He released and flooded her convulsing channel. She collapsed forward as if praying to the table.
Elite (Elite Doms of Washington Book 1) Page 20
