Pride & Surrender

by Jennifer Dawson

  He blinks as though I’d flipped on a bright light and his eyes hadn’t yet adjusted. He trails a finger along the line of my jaw, pulling me close to him so I can see the fire blazing in his gaze.

  My heart beats so fast I’m scared it will slam out of my chest.

  “I love you too, Juliet.” He strokes down my throat, hovering over the rapid pounding of my pulse. He raises my hand and flattens it on his chest. His own heart pounds under my hand, matching the frantic rhythm of my own. “Do you feel that?”

  I nod.

  “It’s you, Juliet. Only you.”

  Mouth dry, my tongue darts to wet my lower lip. When I swallow, I feel the press of his fingers against the fragile cords of my neck. “I think it’s time to go inside now, Christos.”

  His eyes hood and I can feel the change in him as he slips into the role I need. “That it is, darling girl.”

  * * *

  I don’t know why he closes the bedroom door, we are alone in the house, but I can’t deny that with the resounding click it feels as if there is no turning back. The decision is made. Final.

  I’m giving myself to Christos. Mind, body and soul. I’ve given parts of myself to others over the course of my thirty-five years, but never everything as I am now.

  His hands cup my shoulders, smoothing down my bare arms. Tingles explode over my skin.

  His lips fall to the shell of my ear. “You know, I hadn’t realized that I’m wearing all black and you’re wearing all white.”

  My brow furrows, thrown by his casual tone and subject. He slips his arms around my waist, pulling me against him until his hard cock nestles at the base of my spine.

  He chuckles, low and wicked. “Fitting, isn’t it?”

  I nod, staring at my bed in all its crimson decadence. The pillows piled high, it’s rich and lovely. We’d made it this morning, amidst long bouts of slow, deep kisses.

  He hugs me tight. “Do you trust me?”

  Again, I nod.

  “Tell me.”

  I swallow hard and manage to say, “I trust you, Christos.”

  “Then go stand by the bed.” With a soft brush of his lips against my neck, his arms fall away.

  My pride doesn’t disappear in the face of my surrender, and while I obey, I walk to my bed with my shoulders back and spine straight, turning to face him with a tilt of my chin.

  His lips quirk as he crosses his arms over his chest, that familiar arrogance alight in his features. “Do you remember the first time we kissed?”

  “Yes.”

  “And after?”

  “Of course.”

  He smiles. “You told me you didn’t obey orders.”

  My shoulders become a little straighter. “That’s true.”

  “Tonight, you’ll obey mine.”

  “Yes, Christos.” My tone steady and sure, I meet his eyes without flinching. Standing here before him, unable to stop the small tremble running through my limbs, ready to give myself to the man I’d sworn would never have me, every protest I’d ever made in shreds at my feet, I’ve never felt more powerful. More alive.

  In my surrender, I am free.

  “Strip for me.” Christos makes no move toward me. “Slowly.”

  I hesitate for only a fraction of a moment before I raise my hand to the top button of my sleeveless blouse. Even in my empowerment the nerves trickle in, I can’t help it. I’ve never done this before. And while my emotions are powerful, they are also new and I feel like a foal trying to stand for the first time. Wobbly but determined.

  Christos sees my hesitation and gives me a slight nod of encouragement but says nothing further. It’s just like him. Not to rush. Not to be impatient. Not to expect me to jump, but to trust I’ll give him what he wants when I’m ready to give it.

  My body hums with arousal. We’d barely touched but I’m wetter than I thought possible.

  My nipples are hard peaks.

  My cunt swollen and ready.

  Already desperate need twists in my belly.

  With a deep, shaky breath, I toy with the button, slipping it free.

  His gaze flares, trailing down to flicker over the next button.

  Something comes over me—I want him to struggle with his desire, threaten his control.

  I trace the open vee of my blouse, stroking over the silk like a lover. He watches my every move. The muscles in his biceps bunch and flex, and I imagine him clenching his fists under his folded arms. The thought sends a jolt of pleasure racing along my skin.

  I smile at him then, the way I’m sure Eve had when she held out the apple to Adam, and slip one more button free.

  Christos takes one huge step toward me.

  My heart leaps in my throat.

  He freezes mid-step, stopping as though some magnetic force holds him back.

  I run my hand over the lace of my bra, stopping to fiddle with the next button.

  “Are you toying with me, Juliet?” His tone is a husky rasp.

  I tilt my head, giving him my best innocent expression and slide the next button free. “Would I do that to you?” I’m startled by my voice, all low and suggestive.

  All-knowing woman.

  He raises one dark brow, and I see the exact moment the challenge slips into his eyes. “You’re taking a risk here, darling girl, because I will win this game.”

  Anticipation seeps through my veins like the most powerful aphrodisiac. Another button free, I open my blouse wider, cupping my breasts, circling my nipples through the lace now abrading my sensitive skin, increasing the ache between my thighs.

  His jaw ticks and I see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

  “You said slowly.” I trail down to the next button, then stroke back up to my breasts, biting back the moan as my nails scrape over the hard buds. “I’m obeying.”

  Green eyes flash, his mouth firms into a sensual line. He gives me a slow once-over and a thrilling danger thickens the air.

  It’s decadent. This mood between us. This game. I want to savor it.

  “I see.” He walks to grab the wingback chair that matches my small writing desk. He brings it over and places it next to the end of my bed before sitting down. “In that case, I want a show.”

  Confused, my hands still, he can’t possibly mean… “What?”

  “Dance for me.”

  Open-mouthed, I stare at him, trying to process what he’s asking me.

  “This is my fault, I underestimated you, and I’m sorry about that. You need something a little more challenging than stripping naked, don’t you, Juliet?” All evil and confident he’s won, he gives me his best smirk, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You’re begging to give me a show, so turn on some music and give me one.”

  “I will not!” I blurt the words before I can even think about them, face flushing what I’m sure is scarlet.

  “You will.” His eyes go to the small stereo system on my dresser. “The music you had on last night will work.”

  The confidence I’d experienced moments ago disappears, replaced by horror. I scowl. “You’re ruining this for me!”

  “Take off your blouse.” His voice doesn’t hold even a trace of give.

  Quickly, I shed the last two buttons and let the white silk float to my feet, my brain already working on ways to escape my fate. My fingers move to the clasp of my bra.

  “Stop. Leave it.” His gaze falls to my waistband. “Now the pants. I like the sandals, so keep them on.”

  My fingers fly as I work to get them off as fast as possible, awkward as I maneuver the slacks over my white sandals.

  How can I talk him out of this? I can’t do this. It’s impossible.

  “Christos,” I say, my voice a plea. “I don’t want this.”

  “Come here.” He crooks his finger, motioning me closer.

  Unsteady now on heels suddenly too high, I walk to stand in front of him. I look down, and despite my position of power, we both know who holds all the cards.

  “You’re going to give me a s
how, Juliet.”

  I open my mouth, but his gaze narrows, and I shut it with a click of my teeth.

  “This isn’t a discussion or a negotiation. You wanted to tease, and that’s what you’re going to do.” He places his hands on my hips and bends his head to kiss my stomach, his tongue dipping into the swell of my belly as the silky strands of his hair flutter over my skin. “Stand wide.”

  I do, desire still pounding through me despite my fears. His mouth covers my mound, hidden away by satin. I gasp, tangling my hands in his hair. He licks me through the fabric, applying pressure in just the right spots. My head falls back and I close my eyes. Then his mouth is replaced by fingers he slides into my panties. He glides over my cunt, a quick, fleeting touch before he’s gone. “You’re wet.”

  I nod, unable to speak. He raises his head to meet my eyes. He doesn’t need to say the words You want this. It’s understood. He’s made his point. “Go over there and turn on the music, then come back to me. Do it now.”

  My breath comes fast as panic beats at my chest.

  His hand squeezes my ass. “Go.”

  I go. I don’t have any other option. The rational part of my brain knows I can walk away. Logic tells me all I have to do is say no. But somehow that doesn’t seem possible. To walk away and admit defeat is unthinkable. I can’t fail. Not at this. Not when I’m close to something I can’t name that hovers right out of my grasp.

  With a press of a button, music fills the room. I close my eyes and listen. The song is slow and melodious, completely wrong. There’s nothing sexy about it, nothing to lose myself in.

  My lids snap open. I’m about to make a complete fool of myself. Embarrass myself. What the hell does it matter what kind of song it is?

  I don’t have the nerves to flip through my phone looking for songs that might be good to dance to, so I flip to satellite radio, turning the dial until I come to an eclectic station. At the beat I jack up the volume until I can feel the bass pounding in rhythm with my heart, feel the bass vibrate in my body.

  It’s too loud. I don’t care. Unless the music drowns out everything, I’ll never be able to get through this. And that’s when I realize I’m doing this. For Christos, I’m going to be brave.

  I’m sure I’ll make a fool of myself. Sure I’ll trip or fall and look like an idiot. Sure nothing about my performance will be sexy. But I’m going to do it anyway because he asked and I love him.

  If I had a shot of whiskey sitting in front of me, I would have downed it, but I don’t, so I settle for a deep breath and turn back to Christos.

  He watches me, arm resting on the back of the chair as he twists to see what I’m doing. The look he gives me smolders. Dark and dangerous, he’s pure carnal sin.

  The devil himself.

  The song changes and the cords to “Fever” strum their low, sexy beat. Not perfect but slow enough I won’t stumble and fall on my ass.

  He smiles then, with all the cocky arrogance of a man who knows he’s in the gods favor. He has to be, there is no other reason why everything always works out for him.

  The beat of the drum and snap of fingers pulse through the air in time with my desire. If ever there was a song meant to strut through the room, it’s this one. With the words Never know how much I love you I take my first step, swinging out my hip in perfect time to the music.

  His expression darkens, eyes flashing.

  Another slow, sensual stride.

  His fingers tighten on the chair.

  That power comes flooding back as I walk with an exaggerated sway of my hips. By the time I reach him, his knuckles are white. I run my fingers over them as I move to stand in front of him.

  His gaze rakes over my body, taking in every inch of me. Those damn nerves start again as self-consciousness rears its ugly head. I don’t want it. I want to give in and lose myself in the moment. Be brave.

  Christos shifts, pulling off his shirt in one fluid motion before undoing the buckle of his pants. He unbuttons and unzips, leaving them to hang open in a triangle. Long legs stretch out, he rests one hand on the edge of the bed.

  My mouth waters.

  “Give me that show,” he says in a harsh rasp. “I want wanton slut.”

  The words inflame me to the point my knees actually go a bit weak, but they surprise me too. Last night, even when we were at our most primal, he’d never said anything like that.

  Something must show in my eyes because he nods. “Yes, I’m exactly that way.” His gaze flicks over me. “And so are you.”

  Heart beating a mile a minute, denial sits perched on my lips, but I push it back where it belongs. Denial has no place here in this room with us.

  I step forward, raising my hand to trace his mouth with my finger. “I guess I am.” I lean down and brush a kiss over his lips. “With you.”

  And then I begin to dance.

  My hips move, tentatively at first, before finding the rhythm of the music. I close my eyes, trying to capture the feeling of being alone as I sway. I recall every sexy dance scene I’ve ever seen in movies, every swish of arms and legs, and let the song, this moment and Christos carry me away.

  Something happens with the music pounding through the room, my eyes closed, I transform. My nerves melt away and my inner temptress takes over. I tease. I give him the best wanton slut I have to offer.

  Later, I’ll critique my performance and rule it a disaster.

  But now I’m emboldened.

  I open my eyes and meet his. I’ve never seen anything like the expression on his face or the look in his eyes, but I’m sure of one thing—he wants me. As I swing my hips, my arms over my head, hair wild around my face, I can feel his hunger. Feel the strength of his lust. His entire body taut, his gaze rakes over me with such absolute possession, and passion heat floods my cunt.

  My body is straining with my movement and my desire. I want to fuck. I want to climb on top of him and ride him, but that isn’t the way this is supposed to go so I settle for the next best thing. I run my hands down my body, over my breasts, gasping at the pleasure.

  I move closer, straddling him, placing my palms on his bare shoulders, the muscles twitch under my fingers. A low, guttural sound escapes his throat, and he grips the arms of the chair. I skim my nails over his chest, dragging my thumbs over his nipples. He tries to grab me, but I push his hands back down and he lets out a frustrated growl.

  Another song flips over, to one I’ve never heard before, with a bluesy soulful beat. I change the rhythm of my hips to match the vibrating thump in the room.

  Leaning down to lick the salt off his skin, pausing to scrape my teeth over one of his nipples. He reaches for me again, and this time I let him slide his hands over my back, down my hips, before pushing him away.

  I work my body in ways I hadn’t known possible. Gyrate my hips in small circles. Press my breasts close to his face, let my nipples graze his lips before pulling back. I grind my cunt just over his hard cock but refuse us both contact. Sweat beads my back as I work muscles I didn’t know I have.

  I’m so turned-on, so unbelievably hot, I forget to care about how I look. Forget to care if he likes my performance.

  His gaze is glued to my oscillating hips, the strain of my thighs, my silk-covered pussy moving relentlessly. Under my fingers, his skin is hot, his chest a rapid rise and fall, his breath fast and harsh.

  The song ends and he lets out a hiss. His hands come to grip my waist, stilling me. I meet his gaze and give him that wicked smile I’d learned from him. “Did I give you what you wanted, Christos?”

  He growls, his fingers tightening on my hipbones so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if he leaves a handprint. “Get on the bed.”

  I’ve never moved so fast. I’m on the bed, spread out on my red velvet pillows before he even moves from the chair. He stands—lids half-closed, nostrils flared, as he pursues my body. “Bra. Off.”

  I do as I’m told, flicking it open and peeling the cups over my breasts before tossing it to the floor.


  “Panties.”

  My belly tightens and I hook my thumbs in the waistband and strip them from my legs. He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he rids himself of shoes and socks, standing up straight to slowly pull his black belt from his unzipped pants.

  “Arms.” He points to the headboard and motions for me put them over my head.

  My heart leaps in my throat as wetness coats my thighs at his hard commands. I don’t know why I like this so much—maybe it’s because no man I’ve ever met would have dared—but what we are doing thrills something deep inside me.

  “Spread them.” He trails a finger over my calf.

  Clad in nothing but high-heeled white sandals I spread my legs open wide. He traces a path over my knee, making me jerk when he touches a sensitive spot. He moves up, pausing to stroke over my inner thigh, saying nothing at the moisture he finds there.

  Arousal, hot and heady, weighs me down so all I can do is pant for breath. His fingers sink between my thighs, and he rubs my clit in a slow, maddening circle, featherlight and oh so frustrating. Pleasure pulses through me, and shockingly, I begin to crest. Only he pulls back, denying me the orgasm with a raised a brow.

  I groan, arching my hips in silent offering.

  He leans down and licks my clit, and I bow off the bed, sharp points of my heels digging into the mattress. His tongue dances over my hot, swollen flesh, once again building me up to the very pinnacle of climax only to pull away.

  I let out a frustrated scream.

  A muscle ticks in his jaw, and with a quickness that startles me, he pounces, covering me, his hard thighs straddling me. He grasps my wrists and pulls them tight against the iron bar.

  He works his belt around my wrists, wrapping and twisting so I’m bound tight, the iron pressing into the soft skin of my inner wrists.

  It doesn’t hurt. Instead the soft rasp of metal on my skin when I move makes me throb with hot need. My thighs start to tremble with the force of my desire, working up to my belly. I press my legs together, unable to stop the rush of sensations flooding over me, rotating my hips so my clit receives pressure. Impossible as it sounds, an orgasm wells and I throw my head back, a loud moan escaping the depths of my throat.