by Maisey Yates
His.
Something to hold on to. Something to control.
Something to have that would be his. All his. He didn’t share Katy with his father. He didn’t share her with the world. He didn’t share her with any other man.
She was his.
All his.
At least she had been, for a while one night a week ago.
But she could be his again. And why not? Everything in his life was coming undone. He could find something with which to anchor himself.
So maybe he could grab on to Katy’s hips and ride it out. Ride her hard. Pour it all out on her. Make her hold him to the earth.
“Come here,” he said, his voice demanding and raw, even to his own ears.
She obeyed, walking toward him, her blue eyes wide, her red lips parted slightly.
And for one moment, the man he wanted to be saw the man that he was, and despised him.
But just as quickly, he lost his perspective, lost it in her eyes.
“Yes?” she asked, her voice so sweet. So docile. So unlike Katy was during the day.
“I need you,” he said.
“What...?” She swallowed hard, looking down. “What is it you need?”
He reached out and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look up, to meet his eyes. “You. I need you, all of you. I need you to do exactly as I say. I need you to be mine tonight. To do with as I please.”
“And what is it you want?”
He started to loosen his tie, to undo the buttons on his shirt. He shrugged the shirt and jacket to the floor, then started on his pants. She didn’t say anything. She just watched, until he was naked in front of her.
“I want you on your knees in that pretty dress. I want you to suck my cock like a good girl.”
For a moment, she held his gaze, and a spark flared in her eyes. He wondered if she would obey. It was like being in a free fall. Weightless, terrifying. If she said no, there was no amount of force that would ever satisfy. No coercion that would give him what he needed.
He had to have her willing submission, her complete and utter desire to give him what he needed, or it meant nothing. Less than nothing. If the submission wasn’t her choice, then it would never be true submission.
And his control would be nothing more than force. Nothing more than farce.
Then, with the lights of the city behind her, the windows open providing a view of the Christmas Eve snow that was falling, she obeyed.
She sank down to the hard floor, her dress flaring out around her like a dark cloud, her hair sliding forward, a glossy brown curtain that shielded her actions from him.
That wasn’t acceptable.
He reached back, wrapped her hair around his hand, as he’d done their first time together. He tugged it, pulled her head back. “Are you going to give me what I want?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He gave her a bit more range of motion, didn’t hold her so tightly, and watched as she leaned forward, the tip of her tongue sliding over the length of him before she took him into her mouth.
He swore and fought the urge to close his eyes, fought the urge to let his head fall back. He wanted to watch her. Wanted to enjoy the sight of her, giving to him as he’d instructed.
He hadn’t kissed her. He should feel guilty about that. About ordering her down on her knees and demanding she suck him off when he hadn’t even given her the smallest kiss on her mouth.
But he didn’t. Because this was his. She was his.
She would like it, because he’d told her to.
He flexed his hips in time with her movements, holding tighter to his as pleasure pooled in his gut, white-hot, threatening to boil over.
He pulled her away from him. “Not yet.”
She sat on the floor, still on her knees, her hands in her lap. He was breathing hard, his whole body tense.
He needed more than release. He needed control.
He moved back to her, bending down and forking his fingers through her hair, guiding her in to kiss her lips. He could taste salt on her tongue from his skin, evidence of what she’d just done for him. It sent a hot rush of need through him, one that left him trembling.
Put him closer to the edge than he’d already been.
“Now I’m going to take this dress off of you,” he said.
She rose slowly to her feet, and he allowed it, his fingers still woven through her hair.
He reached around with his other hand and gripped the zipper tab on the back of the dress, drawing it down slowly, letting it fall away from her curves. Revealing her slowly for him.
She didn’t have a bra on. Her breasts, plump and perfect, sank slightly, as the structure of the bodice gave.
Then the dress slipped down past her hips and she stepped away from it, a butterfly emerging from a cocoon. Wearing nothing but a black thong.
“Go upstairs,” he said.
She nodded slowly, and he watched her walk. As he’d done in the lobby of his father’s building a week ago. Watched the way her hips swayed. Watched her perfect ass as she walked up the stairs, her eyes straight ahead.
“That’s right,” he said. “Keep looking ahead.” He started to follow her. “Don’t look at me.”
His eyes drifted upward, the line of her spine, to her hair, dark against her pale back.
She turned her face to the side, lifted her gaze, her eyes locking with his just for a moment before she turned away again.
Something tightened in his gut. Not anger. Excitement. Because she was daring him. Challenging him. Asking what would happen if she didn’t obey.
“I forgot,” he said. “You like the idea of being a bad girl.”
He could see her slight nod as she looked ahead, walking down the hall and into his bedroom.
“Stop,” he said.
She did and he walked past her, going to sit on the edge of the bed. “Now come here.”
She did, keeping her eyes on his the whole time.
“What should I do now?” she asked.
“Sit with me.”
She sat next to him, her lashes fluttering as she looked down and bit her lower lip. Her teeth stark white against the red.
He cupped her face with one hand, holding her, and kissed her. Hard. Delving deep, sliding his tongue against hers. He was starving for her. Making up for the lack of kiss earlier.
“Now I want you to bend over this way.” He guided her so that she was over his lap, her knees on her side, her head on the other. “Lay down.”
She did, her hair spilling over the blankets, over the edge of the bed. She wasn’t nervous. She was like a cat, her body heavy and warm over his, at complete ease. As though she were waiting for him to pet her.
But that wasn’t quite what he had in mind.
He put his palm flat on her ass, smoothing it over her rounded flesh, before lifting it and bringing it down hard on her, the sound loud in the silent room.
A small sound escaped her lips. Pleasure and pain in one.
“You shouldn’t disobey.”
He brought his hand down on her again, eliciting another sound that echoed in him, fueling him, amping up his arousal.
She was his. She had submitted to him entirely, was enjoying everything he gave to her. Allowing him to open up a part of himself and beg for control.
In that moment, he fully realized how much control she held. On her knees or over his, she was the master of the game. Because it was her allowance that gave him power, her pleasure that let him release this part of himself.
Her willingness that let him feel that, even for a moment, she belonged to him.
But he needed more. He needed to be in her. Suddenly he needed it more than he needed air.
To be surrounded by her. To be able to watch her face when she came. To feel it around his shaft.
He bent down and kissed her back, between her shoulder blades, grabbing hold of her hair, pulling her head back and kissing her neck.
“I want you,” he said. “I need you. Do you know how much? Do you know what you do to me?”
“Yes,” she said.
He released his hold on her hair and moved his hands over her curves, bending again to kiss the red mark he’d left behind on her skin.
He shifted his hand, felt the wetness between her thighs, pushed one finger deep inside of her. “You need me, too,” he said. “Say it.”
“I need you, too.”
“Say my name.”
“Austin. I need you, Austin Treffen.”
She’d known, somehow, that he’d needed to hear all of it. In that moment, on her lips, his name felt like his own. Because she felt like his own.
He slipped away from her. “Lie on your back and put your head on the pillows. Spread your legs for me and wait. No touching yourself.”
He went into the bathroom and got a box of condoms, took a strip out and tore a packet open, rolling the protection onto himself quickly. When he walked back into the bedroom, she was there, ready for him.
He joined her on the bed, gripping her thigh and tugging it up over his hip as he sank into her. He watched her face as she took him in, sliding in slowly, making sure she felt every inch. Making sure he felt it, too.
“Austin,” she said, his name on her lips better than any alcohol.
He could have drunk it all away. But losing himself in her was so much better.
He thrust in deep, taking her hard, swallowing the little gasp of shock she made. He kissed her as he drove into her, the thrust of his tongue matching his movements inside of her.
She was perfect. So tight and hot. It was better than anything he could have imagined. She was more than he’d imagined. Her scent was around him, her body around him. And he felt driven by a deep, primitive need to make her his. To brand her. So that she would never forget that she belonged to him and no one else.
He slid his hands down and cupped her butt, pulled her up to meet his every thrust. She wrapped her legs around his waist, opening her to him, letting him deepen his thrusts.
He was close, so close. And he could see that she was, too. In the flush of her skin, her short, quick breaths. She put her hands on his shoulder, her fingernails digging into his skin, a sharp spike of pleasure butting up against the pain, nearly sending him over the edge.
Her hands hadn’t been free last time. And he hadn’t been able to watch her face. The way her brow creased, the way her lips formed an O, a silent scream working her throat.
She arched into him, her breasts against his chest.
“You have to come for me, baby,” he growled, “because I can’t last much longer.”
He pushed into her again, pulling her up so that his body would make contact with her clit. And that was when she went over the edge, her internal muscles contracting around him, her fingernails digging in so deep, he was sure she drew blood.
And he liked it.
Mine. The word throbbed through his brain with every beat of his heart, with every thrust into her beautiful body.
She was his. And he would make sure she didn’t forget it.
He felt his orgasm rushing up on him and he pulled out of her, tugging the condom off and stroking his hand over himself as he came on her stomach, the strong need to brand her the only thing in his mind as he did it.
His muscles turned to jelly then and he leaned forward, breathing hard, bracing himself on either side of her as he slowly came back to himself.
As he started to see himself clearly again.
A monster of some kind. Who used a woman in a vulnerable position. A man who unleashed his demons on someone who had enough of her own.
He looked down at her, fully expecting to see disgust. Fully expecting to see her anger, her hatred.
Instead, she was looking at him with a sleepy, satisfied expression. Not quite a smile, but then, they hadn’t had much to smile about lately.
“I...I’ll be right back.”
He went into the bathroom and found a towel, then came back. He stopped and looked at her for a moment, sprawled on the bed, looking completely relaxed and satisfied.
He bent over and ran the towel over her stomach, cleaning her skin.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?”
“For...that. For hurting you. For doing a bunch of crazy shit without even talking to you about it first.”
“I appreciate it. But it’s not necessary.”
“No?”
“I like it when you’re in charge. I figured the same rules from the first night applied. That if I told you to stop, you would. Am I wrong?”
He hoped not. “No,” he said.
“Okay, then.” She sighed deeply and rolled onto her side. “It’s midnight.”
“So it is.” He wasn’t sure if he should get in bed with her or not. He wasn’t sure what the rules were, or what they should be.
She scooted to one side and got beneath the covers, patting the spot next to her twice.
He took a deep breath and made the decision. He got in beside her, covered them both, his arm draped over her waist.
“Merry Christmas, Austin,” she said.
He lay there, awake, listening to her breathe, watching the snow fall outside, his heart still beating like a bloody, raging beast in his chest.
After an hour, he gave up sleeping and got up again.
He could go burn off the tension in the gym. Hell, his muscles already felt like jelly. His heart was already on the verge of cardiac arrest. Why the hell not punish himself for a while?
Like he’d punished her.
The memory made his neck prickle with shame.
He went to his dresser and tugged on a pair of shorts, heading down the hall to the room that had all of his workout equipment.
Yes, working himself to the point of exhaustion was definitely better than getting back in bed with her. Than putting his hand on her bare skin, cupping her breasts. Covering her mouth with his other hand while he thrust into her from behind.
He scrubbed his face with his hand and went toward the weight bench.
This was what he had to do. Not that. He wouldn’t touch her again. At least not until he could get himself under control.
He lifted weights until the bench was slick with sweat, until he was shaking. Then he ran on the treadmill until his legs were ready to give out.
He wiped his chest and back down with a towel and went toward his home office, sat in the chair and leaned back, closing his eyes and hoping he might get a couple hours of sleep.
“Merry effing Christmas,” he said.
* * *
Katy shifted and stretched, rolled onto her back. It was Christmas morning. That had never mattered to her very much. Christmases growing up had been inconsistent. When Sarah had gotten older she’d made sure they had trees and gifts. She’d come back home for the holidays often, bringing good food and her warm smile.
Until that last Christmas. She hadn’t come home that year at all.
For some reason, this Christmas morning felt different from most. She felt a sense of change. Of possibility. As if when she got out of bed, things would be different. Like there was even something to look forward to.
It was a wonderful feeling. A perfect, newly formed hope that hadn’t met up against reality yet.
She couldn’t recall ever feeling anything like this before.
She burrowed down deeper into the blankets, desperate to hang on to the feeling. To put off reality for as long as possible. The bedding was so soft,
so heavy and warm. She could feel the quality against her skin. Her bare skin.
She didn’t usually sleep naked.
Except... Oh, yeah.
Flashes of last night popped through her mind. Austin and his intensity. The desperation with which he’d taken her, from the moment he’d first turned to her and said he wanted her, to that last moment when he’d come on her skin.
He’d given her every feeling. Pain, pleasure, aching, deep need and satisfaction. For a woman who had spent years aspiring to numbness, seeking out this sort of thing, reveling in it, was foreign. And intense. He gave her so much more than she’d imagined sex could be.
Oh, wow. She put her arm over her face and took a breath then rolled over onto her side.
The mattress was big. And it was empty of anything but blankets and her.
And her little happy glow waned a bit. Because Christmas morning would have been a lot sweeter if she would have woken up in his arms.
But no, he wasn’t there. And she had a feeling there were reasons for that she wasn’t going to like.
She slipped out of the covers and went into the bathroom, looking at her naked reflection in the mirror.
She turned and let out a sharp breath when she caught the reflection of her butt. It was still a little red, but she found she liked the lingering evidence of his passion.
Though, she had a feeling he didn’t see it as passion. Not the way that she did.
He got all weird and self-loathing after they had sex.
All two times.
So strange. She felt like it had been more. Like there had never been a time when she hadn’t been intimate with him. Maybe it was because they’d known each other only about an hour before they’d gotten it on the first time.
Or maybe because being with him was such a soul-baring experience. So it made her feel like they must know each other.
Because she’d shared her body with him. And pieces of her childhood trauma, over noodles and diet soda. It was a level of intimacy she’d never had with anyone else.
Still, Austin felt like a mystery to her. Even knowing what he was going through. Even understanding why he acted the way he did.
There was something deeper. Something that she didn’t have a hope of reaching without a pickax. To dig through all the rock he had walled around his heart.
