Yes, you should. Monica pushed against the wall, her breasts straining against her dress again. “Please.”
“Please, what?”
Monica ran her tongue against both lips. “Punish me, sir.”
“I should make you get down on your knees and suck my cock. Finish the job you started out there.”
“Yes, sir.”
“No, don’t call me sir.” Henry’s fingers tightened around her wrists. “Call me Master.”
“Yes, Master.”
Such a satisfying word to say. Monica hadn’t called a man her Master with such conviction since… Now Henry glared at her, his eyes hungry with desire. Desire to punish her, and desire to have her. Now this was the kind of thing Monica was hoping to have tonight.
“Let me suck your cock, Master.”
“As charming as it is to hear you say that, I don’t think so.”
Monica bowed her head. What had she done to displease him? If she had learned anything from her years as a sub, it was that being denied things like that meant her Dom was angry with her. Did I really go out of line when I did that to him? Wouldn’t he have brushed her off if he didn’t want it? He knew the safe word. How hard was it to work the word blossom into conversation? She even wore a flower-patterned dress. I’m so stupid.
Henry must have caught the disappointed look on her face, for he said, “I want to hear you beg for it. Tell me how much you want me to fuck you right here.”
Relief swept through Monica, and finally she felt that dam let up in her body, releasing a new wave of arousal. Now that she could fully express it, she did so, rotating her hips in his direction and lifting her chin toward his face. His eyes went straight to her chest.
“Fuck me, please.”
“Do better.”
Monica sucked in her breath. “Fuck me, Master.”
“And why should I do that? What have you done to deserve that sort of reward?”
What haven’t I done? “Everything you’ve wanted.”
Henry kissed her, quickly, as if the man couldn’t control himself. Go ahead. Lose control. What Monica would give to feel Henry completely go alpha on her! “You haven’t given me everything I want yet, Monica.”
“What do you want, Master? I’ll give it to you right now.” She tried to free her hands, but Henry was too strong. Boo hoo.
“I want you,” he began, staring deep into her eyes, “to beg for whatever I give you.”
She could do that.
“Yes, yes, take me right here!” Monica felt like a loose woman on the verge of losing the last of her morals. Henry was on her, kissing whatever he came into contact with, his arms falling to touch her breasts and to lift her hips around his waist. Monica slid down the wall but kept her balance by wrapping her arms completely around him. When he discovered that she wore no underwear that night, she could only smile and say, “My Master didn’t tell me to put all my clothes back on earlier.”
“You sly vixen.” Henry held her up with one hand and undid his zipper with the other. “Look at what you do to me. I’m supposed to be a collected man.”
It didn’t take long for his cock to pierce her where it mattered most. By then he had given in to his base desires, growling into Monica’s ear and squeezing her flesh as he drove himself right into her. She cried out, nails digging into his suit. Sure, she had been aroused for a good twenty or so minutes, but her body hadn’t been prepared for this kind of quick and rough sex. Pain seared through her as Henry forced himself deeper, his teeth in her shoulder and his determination winning out over how dry she still was. Not for long. The sheer rawness of his actions sent Monica to a different plane of existence in that dark abode.
This man wanted her so badly that he pulled her into this room to fuck her. Didn’t matter if she was ready. When Monica threw down her gauntlet back at the table, she had signed herself up for whatever punishment he felt like dishing out.
Taking her with a side of pain felt pretty appropriate.
“Henry!” Monica clung to him, her head bumping against the wall as he thrust up into her. “Yes! Fuck me! Please!”
It hurt, but not for long. Given the intensity of the situation she quickly acclimated, her arousal flushing her skin in time to Henry’s thrusts. The next time he completely pulled out and slammed into her again, he met almost no resistance.
Monica never forgot what he asked of her.
“Punish me, please!” Somewhere in the frenzy Henry found the ability to smack the side of her ass as he took her against the wall. Monica’s legs dangled around his waist, one shoe falling off and clattering to the floor. The front of her dress was pulled apart, her breasts hanging out for Henry to indulge in whenever it pleased him – which was every single second he wasn’t kissing her lips or leaving a bruise on her throat. This primal showcase of his affections had Monica riveted to the point she squeezed his torso and sang her pleasure into his ear.
“Shit!” Henry pinned her to the wall again, his cock buried deep within her and his cologne overpowering the last of her senses. This was it. This was what it felt like to be caught by the man who pursued her.
And claimed by him, which happened a mere moment after Monica began to climax, her voice echoing in the VIP room.
His grunts of release were better than any music playing in the main room of The Dark Hour. Monica squeezed her eyes shut so she could concentrate on the warmth filling her, connecting her to the man so enthralled with her that he couldn’t wait until they got home.
“Thank hell,” he muttered, staying still within her and catching his breath. Monica opened her eyes, leaning against him, kissing the underside of his chin as he tipped his head back. “You’re something else.”
Henry released her, and the first thing Monica noticed was that she missed the way he had held her against the wall. Now, watching him zip up and straighten out his clothes, Monica was acutely aware of his seed spilling from her for the second time that day.
“Don’t,” he said, snatching her wrist as she began the walk to the nearest bathroom. “That’s your punishment until we leave.”
Monica stared at the floor, her common sense telling her to clean up. But when her Dom told her she was being punished, well…
Besides, she liked feeling him trickling down her skin, his claim on her spreading from her core to the world beyond. It made her feel like a glorious extension of him – just what she wanted that night.
“You go on ahead and rejoin the party.” Henry cupped his hands on her cheek and gently kissed her lips. “I need to use the restroom. I’ll catch up.”
Monica kissed him again, this time harder, their tongues searching for one another as Henry embraced her again. I want to smell like him. Even though Monica had to detach and fix herself up in the nearest mirror before heading out into The Dark Hour, she still wanted to bring as much of her Dom as she could with her.
Life went on as if nothing had happened in the VIP room. People mingled in the club. A show began on the main stage. Waitresses wearing collars carried trays of drinks. And Monica Graham sauntered back to the large table in the back, alone but not without Henry’s marks on her.
A chilling laugh came from the table.
She stopped. Her legs turned to mush.
No.
She’d recognize that laugh anywhere. She had heard it in her dreams. Her nightmares.
Sure enough, as soon as she turned the corner and encountered the table, she saw that a newcomer had taken Henry’s chair in their absence.
The conversation stopped. A blond man in a tan suit pulled a cigar out of his mouth and looked at who everyone else was staring at.
And Monica looked right back into the frigid eyes of Jackson Lyle.
Chapter 6
Crossing Boundaries
Everyone was silent and uncomfortable. Save for the man gazing at Monica over his shoulder.
“Monica.” He stood, and Monica took a step back. “Long t
ime no see.”
Yes. A long time, but not long enough. “Jackson.”
Her resolve was weak. For a woman who had felt like she was in heaven, she now stood like a statue, hoping that the stiller she stood the less likely Jackson would pay attention to her. Things didn’t work like that. Jackson approached, keeping a respectful distance but holding back what he really wanted to do and say. Hit me, probably. Monica refused to shudder in his presence.
“How are you doing?” He stuck the cigar back in his mouth like a pompous ass. To think that Monica once found his behavior attractive. What did I know? I was younger and dumber. “I’ve been hearing interesting stories about you. If I didn’t think it would make you uppity, I’d come visit that lovely business you started up with Cole’s money.”
Monica inhaled deeply. “I’m fine.” She didn’t ask how he was doing.
Now he approached, closer, his aftershave taking Monica back to those dark days in which she was a prisoner in his mansion. “What brings you here? Never thought I’d run into you in one of my… favorite places.”
He’s trying to get to you. Monica finally had to look away to keep from giving in to the chills she felt. “I go where I please.”
Jackson tilted his head. “With whomever you please, it seems like.”
Monica turned. Henry stood two feet behind her, his brows furrowed and his jaw set. “Jackson Lyle.”
The man in question took a long drag of his cigar before blowing a longer trail of smoke into the air. “Who are you again? Harry Wilson?”
“Henry Warren.”
They didn’t shake hands, thank God. “Oh, right. I’ve heard of you. Well.” He winked. Monica wanted to vomit. “I must be going. Merely stopped by to say hello to some friends.” His wave to the table was a bit too enthusiastic. “Hope to see you around, Monica. Always good to see a familiar face.”
He slowly passed by them, staring at Monica through the corners of his eyes. She stood, stoic, wishing Henry would do something, anything. What can he do? Besides stand protectively near her as that man went by.
“Warren.”
Henry’s hand went to the small of Monica’s back. “Don’t satisfy him,” he muttered into her ear.
The moment Jackson disappeared around a corner, it was as if a fog lifted from the crowd. People went back to chatting and the music became louder. Monica pushed herself from Henry’s extending embrace and cleared her throat. “Can we go?”
“Of course.”
They said curt goodbyes to everyone at the table before going to the coat check and collecting their deposited belongings. On their way toward the door, however, Monica released Henry’s hand and made a detour toward the bathroom. “Sorry. I need to.”
He said nothing aside from, “I’ll see you by the door.” Monica left her coat with him and slipped into the ladies’ room, which was blissfully empty at that moment.
She had to clean up. As erotic as it had been a few minutes ago, seeing Jackson made her feel… dirty. It was an irrational thought. Jackson had nothing to do with Henry. Henry had nothing to do with Jackson. I should feel comforted. Yet the last thing Monica wanted right now was something sexual left on her. That man makes me hate sex.
Not only did she clean herself up from head to toe, but she stood in front of the sink, staring at the makeup on her face and the way her hair curled across her skin. This was the face Jackson saw. The face he used to see every day. What had changed since their last meeting over a year ago?
Monica had changed her hairstyle. She also wore bolder makeup when she could be bothered. Otherwise? She looked exactly the same. No new wrinkles. No scars – aside from the ones residing inside her. With a sigh, Monica splashed some water on her face and sucked in some strength from the air. She would need it to walk out of that place with her head held high.
In front of all those people who knew what Jackson had done to her.
It was never public knowledge. As far as she knew, Jackson had only told people that they broke up, and that was that. Yet people talked. And she and Jackson had been together for about a decade. That kind of intense relationship couldn’t be swept beneath the rug. People talked. Monica heard them all the time in her Château. “Did you hear that he was beating her? No, not in the fun way. The bad way.” “I always knew there was something off with that guy. Have to be if you’re going to bust balls like he does in the boardroom.”
Monica turned off the sink and used a paper towel to dab her face dry. After throwing the towel away she went back into The Dark Hour, where Henry patiently waited by the entrance.
She made it all the way to his car before breaking down. Henry opened the door for her and she crawled in, muttering a greeting to the driver while Henry got in on the other side. The partition went up the moment he told the driver to take them home. Henry kept to his side, but his eyes lingered on Monica as she grasped the door handle and stared at the back of the seat in front of her.
The first sob to claim her was like listening to an iceberg crack.
Monica covered her face with her hands and leaned forward, elbows digging into her legs as her scalp came dangerously close to scraping against the leather seat before her. I’ll never be rid of him. As long as Jackson lived – as long as Monica lived – he would be lurking in the shadows, reminding her of the hell he put her through. The more Monica thought of that toxic smile and that bone-breaking laugh, the more she howled into her hands.
And the more she thought of that prison she was taken back to earlier that day.
Something pressed against her back. When she sat up, she saw Henry caressing her, his other hand gesturing for her to come to him. Monica flung herself into his embrace, her tears wetting his shirt and the jacket on top of it. This wasn’t like the affection she received after lovemaking earlier that day. This was the comfort she craved after going for so long without it.
“It’s all right.” Henry held her close, his protective arms encircling her and giving Monica a tight squeeze. “I’m here.”
That only made Monica cry harder. As the car lurched through the streets and made its way toward the highway, Monica held herself to him as if he would abandon her if she let up. “I’m so tired of thinking about him.”
“When else have you thought about him? Today?”
She didn’t want to say it. Yet when Henry stroked her hair, his comforting touch sending a ripple of relief through her, Monica sat up and told him what had happened to her earlier that day.
“I wish you had told me,” Henry said, both hands still gripping her arms. “I wouldn’t have done that if I had known.”
“You didn’t need to know. It’s my problem. There’s nothing wrong on your end.”
“Still, I need to know these things. I can’t go pushing boundaries I don’t even know exist.”
Monica sat up, wiping her cheeks. “You’re not. You’re not that man.”
The solemn look she received didn’t inspire her. “You don’t know that, do you Monica?”
She pursed her lips. “I…” Something choked in her throat. “I have to believe that.”
“And I have to keep proving that to you. Come here.”
When they embraced again, Monica couldn’t tell if she was holding him the tightest or if it was him holding her. It didn’t matter. Her soul was weary, but her heart was opening with love.
Chapter 7
What She Needs
It was the sweetest day of the year thus far. The sun was warm, but not scalding to those choosing to sit in it; the breeze brought with it a nice chill, but was not too strong to blow about the lunch Monica laid out.
She was dining on the main balcony with two of her friends. Well, if a man like Ethan Cole could be called her friend. Ex-boyfriend. Business partner. Confidant. When Monica made her great escape from Jackson’s prison, it was Ethan who was there for her. The same man who once shared her with his former best friend before he decided the ménage life wasn’t
for him. Too bad. In truth, Monica and Ethan made better friends than lovers. There was a lot of mutual respect, but without the drama Jackson infused everywhere he went there was little romantic passion. Just as well. Monica had her life, and Ethan had his.
Part of that life was also dining with them that early afternoon at the Château.
“This place is a lot bigger than I expected.” Jasmine, Ethan’s girlfriend of over a year said as she looked around. Even though she came from a lower middle-class background, she hid it well with her boyfriend’s money adorning her body – in the form of a black and white dress and a wide-brimmed sunhat that covered most of her silky dark hair. Yet when she picked up a regular spoon to eat her soup, Monica saw the tell-tale sign of a woman new to the world of billionaires and their desires. Took me two years to figure that out. She hoped she wasn’t being obvious when she picked up the large soup spoon.
“For the amount we paid, it better be big,” Ethan looked at Monica across the table.
She picked up her iced tea before answering. “It’s adequate for the job. Still a few rooms leftover if I decide to hire more personnel.”
Ethan jerked his thumb to the woman sitting at the end of the small four-person table. “She needs a job. She’s unemployed now.”
“Ethan!”
“What?”
Jasmine stuck her tongue out and Ethan pretended to be offended. Another one that was almost destroyed by Jackson. She wouldn’t bring it up today, but Jasmine was the poor soul Jackson kidnapped and intended on “breaking in,” her consent be damned. Only because of Monica’s fortitude were they able to make their escape. Oh, and Ethan providing the getaway car, of course.
Monica didn’t get to see them often enough. They lived farther away, although Ethan made a concerted effort to keep in touch on a weekly basis – and not just because he was Monica’s #1 investor in this enterprise. He put up most of the start-up costs and gave Monica the money necessary to buy the Château. She had made sure it was a good investment for them both.
Caught: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (His Domination Book 2) Page 7
