Dirtiest Secret

by J. Kenner

  "No." The word comes fast. Immediate.

  "Good answer, baby."

  "Dallas, this really is fucked up."

  "Sweetheart, we've barely scratched the surface."

  I swallow, wondering just where this could lead.

  "Watch the video," he orders. "Get yourself off. Then go home. Wait for me in your living room. In the leather recliner. No reading. No watching television. And no touching yourself." The command in his voice is like a caress. "I'll come to you."

  "When?" I am breathless.

  "Will you wait for me?"

  "Yes," I promise. I think right then I'd wait forever.

  "Then does it matter?"

  I say nothing.

  "And, baby? Wear a silk robe. And don't wear anything under it."

  I came so hard in the powder room watching that video. Watching another woman suck his cock. Pretending I was her. Knowing that Dallas was pretending the same thing.

  Listening as he groaned. As he murmured, "Christ, I want you," and I knew he was talking to me, not her.

  I touched myself as he tugged his stiff cock from her mouth and then pushed her back onto the bed. He kept his phone in one hand and wrapped his other around his cock as he told her to lie back. To pull up her dress.

  She was bare beneath, and I imagined that was me. That I was lying back on the bed, my dress up around my tits, my legs spread wide and willing. My chest felt tight, and I realized I was afraid he was going to fuck her or go down on her despite what he'd promised me.

  And although I was surprised to realize that some tiny, perverse part of me actually wanted to watch him do just that, I was relieved when he didn't touch her at all. Instead he stood over her, the camera on his erection. On his hand. On his cock.

  His words made me dizzy. "Only you, baby. Only you." And when he came on the anonymous woman's belly, I actually screamed from the hard, wild violence of my orgasm.

  It was kinky. It was fucked up. And it was an absolute, total, unexpected turn on.

  As soon as I'd pulled myself together enough to stand, I'd fixed my clothes, grabbed my purse, and headed straight for the door.

  I thought he would be right behind me--I assumed he would rush in the moment I was through my door, throw me down, kiss me hard.

  I thought he was as crazy for me as I was for him. As hot. As wild.

  I thought there was no way he could wait, because waiting was torture and he wanted relief.

  I thought wrong.

  He didn't come right away. He didn't come in ten minutes or thirty or sixty.

  At ninety minutes, I was starting to get irritated.

  At two hours, I was starting to get pissed.

  And now, when my clock chimes that it is one in the morning, I fear that everything about the night was wrong. That he doesn't want me. That he wasn't turned on. That he is off somewhere fucking that bimbo, and that he was simply playing a game to get rid of me or to prove a point. Though god only knows what that point is supposed to be.

  That I'm a fool, maybe?

  That when he said we weren't going to do this I should have listened?

  I remember what he said in his email: Hate me if you want.

  Is he trying to make me hate him?

  Finally, I can't take it anymore. I stand up and stretch--my legs are sore from not moving for so long--and then I tighten the sash on the damn robe that he'd ordered me to wear, the bastard.

  I stalk up the stairs thinking I'll take a quick shower to cool my red hot mood, and then I'll crawl under the covers and sleep for a year. Or at least until tomorrow afternoon when I have to go to Midtown to tape my television appearance.

  I consider firing off a nasty email to my darling asshole of a brother, but I decide not to. He'll be expecting that. Let him think I didn't wait at all. Let him think I didn't even notice that he didn't show. That I really don't care.

  Dammit, dammit, dammit.

  And while I'm at it, damn Liam Foster for convincing me to go to the mat. Because all that did was get my hopes up. All that did was cement just how much it matters to me.

  Because I do care, dammit. I care and I want.

  And now I'm hurt.

  And Dallas is the one person that I don't want to hate. That I can't hate.

  But after tonight, I think that I should hate him.

  My bedroom is dark when I yank open the double doors, just the barest glint of city light peeking in around the edge of the shades that Ellen must have pulled down when she was cleaning. Odd, because she knows I like to wake to the sun.

  I'm about to cross to the light switch when I realize my mistake. It wasn't Ellen who did this. It was Dallas.

  "How did you get in?" I ask the dark room.

  "You disobeyed," he says from the far corner. "I think you've forfeited any right to ask questions."

  I turn toward the voice as a wash of light sprays over him from the reading lamp he's just switched on. He's seated in my burgundy leather reading chair, still wearing the suit he wore to the party, a half-empty crystal tumbler beside him.

  "I told you to wait downstairs."

  "I did." My heart is fluttering. I'm actually nervous about what he's going to do about my disobedience. More than that, I'm incredibly turned on, and I wonder if he can see how hard my nipples have become under the robe from all the way across the room.

  His brows rise. "And yet here you are. Why?"

  "I was angry," I admit.

  "Is that all?"

  I lick my lips. "I was jealous."

  He nods, but he doesn't tell me about the girl. He doesn't tell me where he's been for the last three hours.

  I start to ask him, but I swallow the question. Not because he told me I hadn't earned the right, but because I don't want to know the answer.

  "Take off the robe," he says. "And then walk to me."

  I lick my lips. "Dallas."

  "Do you want me to make you come?"

  The question is so unexpected it shocks me, though under the circumstances, it really shouldn't.

  "Yes," I say, because he would know any other answer is a lie.

  "Then I want no hesitation. No argument. Walk to me, Jane. I want to see you move. I want to watch you and anticipate touching you. I want to study your body and ponder the best way to get you off."

  Oh. Well, okay then.

  I untie the sash on the robe, then push the silk off my shoulders so it falls to the ground. Naked, I walk to him. I move slowly, and with each step I'm becoming more and more aroused. And I can see by the bulge in his slacks that he is, too.

  When I'm a few feet away, he unzips his slacks, takes his cock out, and starts to stroke it. He's huge and hard, and I imagine him filling me--and I hate that I want that because I don't know if he will ever be inside me. But that's just one part of everything I want with this man.

  Right now, I just want this moment. The way I feel, so sexual and alive. And the way he's looking at me, his jaw tight as if he's working to hold everything in. His cock rock hard. His eyes so focused on me I can feel the heat.

  "You are so beautiful," he says. "So beautiful. So sexy. So goddamn hot."

  I lick my lips and keep walking.

  "Tell me you want me."

  "I want you."

  "Tell me I can do anything to you."

  My pulse kicks up. "You can do anything to me."

  "Should I punish you? You were supposed to wait for me, Jane. How should I punish you for being such a bad girl?"

  "Any way you want to," I whisper, and I hear his low chuckle.

  "Good answer," he says. "But you don't mean it."

  I'm right in front of him now, and I stop. "Yes, I do."

  His mouth curves up. "Baby, you don't have the slightest clue what 'anything' means with me."

  The way he says it gives me chills, and I can't help but think that he's right. Brody's given me an idea, but I don't truly know. And I wonder if Dallas is going to show me.

  I really want him to show me.
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  He stands, his cock tucked away again. He is right in front of me, still in his perfectly tailored, extraordinarily sexy five-thousand-dollar suit. He looks like a man who owns the world. A man with the confidence to have any woman he wants. A man who asks for and expects obedience. A man who will punish those who get in his way.

  He's a man with demons, and this is how he fights them. He knows that. He owns it.

  I'm a woman with demons, and I've been searching for years for a way to fight back. Hiding behind a laundry list of crutches, everything from meaningless encounters, to a bad marriage, to pharmaceuticals.

  Now here I am, naked and submissive in front of the man I've wanted my whole life, and I can't help but think that the weapon against my demons was him all along. And all those years I spent running the other way were wasted.

  He puts his hands on my hips and starts to ease them up, the slow movement of his skin against mine making me crazy. When he gets to my breasts, he cups them, and they feel heavy in his hands, my nipples so hard and tight they are almost painful.

  "Maybe I should take my hands away," he says. "Maybe I should punish you by not touching you. By making you crave, but never have. Is that what you want?"

  I shake my head.

  "Then tell me how to punish you," he says. "Tell me what you think you deserve."

  I swallow, completely unsure. I have no idea what he expects. "Spank me?" I suggest, though it's hardly a punishment when the thought of his palm on my ass makes me wet.

  For a moment, I think he's disappointed in my lack of imagination, but then his smile blooms. "Very appropriate. I've been thinking about turning your ass the same shade of pink as your cheeks when you blush for me."

  "You've really thought about that?" Just the idea sends shivers through me.

  "Baby, I've thought of a lot more than that. Come here."

  He leads me back to the chair, and once he's sitting, he bends me over his knees. I've never actually been spanked before. Even when I tried kink with Brody, we didn't go there. But I've read about it. And I've wanted it.

  Honestly, I've wanted it from Dallas.

  But though I expect a smack on the ass, it doesn't come. Instead, he rubs my rear, then thrusts his fingers deep inside me. I moan at the unexpected intrusion and it feels so damn good I actually start to hump his fingers.

  "That's it, baby," he says. "You're so close. So close to exploding for me. Can you feel me inside you? Can you feel how tight you are around my fingers? How much your clit throbs as it rubs against my slacks?"

  His words only make this hotter, and I can feel him inside me, and my clit is so hard, so ready, and I can feel the tightening in my groin that signals a rising orgasm, and I'm right there, right there, right--

  He pulls out his fingers and smacks my ass so hard that I cry out.

  But I also come harder than I ever have. He thrusts his fingers back inside me and my core clenches around him, milking him, and yes, I do wish it was his cock, but this feels so damn good that right then I don't care. I just want more and more and more.

  When the tremors fade, I am limp and exhausted. It's past two now, and I am spent. He lifts me up and very gently carries me to the bed. He pulls back the covers, puts me in, and then gets in beside me.

  "I thought you were going to punish me," I murmur.

  "Who said I was through with you?" He brushes my cheek and his touch is so gentle that I want to purr with pleasure.

  "Thank you," I whisper.

  "For what?"

  "For giving in. For playing my game. For this." I prop myself up on my elbow. "I missed you so much. My friend and my lover."

  "Not your brother?" He says it simply, but I can hear the harshness.

  I reach out and cup his cheek. "My brother, too. The whole package, Dallas. I just missed you. It's so unfair."

  "It is," he agrees. "On so many levels."

  "Dallas--" I know where his mind has gone. "Don't you get that it doesn't matter? I've never felt like this before. Sexual. Playful. Who else could I do this with? Be like this with?"

  "No." He presses a finger to my lips. "If we're doing this--whatever this is--you need to really understand that I may never be able to fuck you the way I want. The way you need and deserve. And there's no pill, no medication, no special oil that's going to change that."

  "I just told you it's okay. And it really is. But don't say never. We have a crazy history, I get that. But if you can do it with all those women, then--"

  "No."

  I frown because I don't know what he means.

  "No? But tonight with that girl. After the video, weren't you with her? And all the other women?" I'm completely confused.

  "I sent Nina home in a limo," he says.

  "Then where were you?"

  "Not here." His grin is just a bit wicked. "Making you crazy."

  Since I can't argue that, I skip over it. "But you have a reputation. And in your bed--I saw those two women, and--"

  "None of them," he says firmly. "Not one."

  I don't say anything. I just stare at him, because I don't understand at all.

  He leans in and captures my mouth with his. The kiss is long and deep and I feel it all the way down to my toes, so intense that I feel like I'm floating. So passionate that I feel like I'm melting.

  When he breaks the kiss, his expression is gentle, and he is looking at me as if I'm the most precious thing in the world to him. "Never," he says. "I've never fucked any of them, though at first it wasn't for lack of trying."

  I push myself up to a sitting position. "But--but you're--" I cut myself off because this isn't easy to talk about. Except that's stupid, so I try again. "But you're hard. Like rock hard."

  He half-smiles. "Nice of you to notice."

  I roll my eyes. "I get why it happened with me," I say. After all, we have a history--a dark history and so much of a guy's performance is in his head. Any girl who reads Cosmo knows that. "But with other women..."

  "I swear to you, Jane, you're the only woman I've ever been inside. And yeah, I hate it. Maybe I'm not as strong a man as I'd like to believe, because even though it shouldn't, losing my goddamn wood--not being able to fuck--it makes me--"

  He cuts himself off, but I know what he was going to say. Makes him feel less. Makes him feel broken.

  Isn't that what he'd told me? That he was broken.

  "But everyone knows you fuck around," I say. "You're practically famous for it."

  "Smoke and mirrors. An illusion. Just like a magic show."

  "I don't understand."

  "I've been building that reputation for years. It's important to me."

  "Why?"

  "What could be more important to a man who can't fuck than the reputation of being the best there is?"

  It's a reasonable answer, and I certainly can't argue. But at the same time it doesn't quite ring true for me. But why he wants the reputation is his business. What I'm really curious about is how.

  "What woman is going to admit to being the only one not fucked by the great Dallas Sykes?" he asks, when I beg him to explain. "And honestly, no woman has left my bed unsatisfied. So on the whole I think they're getting a pretty good bargain."

  "I am sorry," I say. "I know it can't be easy. And this is going to sound terrible, but I'm glad it's not just me. On the island, after what you said, I thought I was the only girl you couldn't fuck."

  I shift so that I am sitting up with my knees to my chest. "You said stuff that night about how they destroyed you, but you kept me in your head. So I guess I thought that it was just me. I guess I thought you blamed me."

  "Oh, baby, no."

  "You do remember, don't you? All these years you've said that you don't remember anything between them releasing me and you being ransomed. But it's not true, is it? You do remember, and you were alone." I feel a tear spill down my cheek. "You were all alone without me."

  He pulls me close and kisses me. My lips. My cheek. My brow. He strokes my face and looks in
to my eyes. "Jane. Oh, god, Jane."

  For a moment, he just holds me. Then he gets up and walks to the window. He stands there for a little bit, just looking out. When he speaks, his back is still to me. "I do remember," he says. "The truth is, I haven't forgotten a single moment of those days in the dark. Honestly, I wish I could."

  My heart hurts simply from the pain in his voice. "It's okay," I say. "You don't have to tell me."

  "Honestly, I don't think I can. Not all of it. Not at once."

  I want to stand up and go to him. I want to touch him. But his back is still to me, and I don't know if going to him would help, or would simply draw him back inside himself.

  "It was the Woman," he says. "It was only her. He may have watched, I don't know. But she was the one who was there. Always there."

  "After I was gone?"

  He turns from the window, and his eyes are full of pain. "Before, too, but it was more after."

  "When they took you away from me," I say flatly. "You'd come back and be so distant for a while. I thought--I thought they were doing something horrible to you."

  "They were." He draws a deep breath. "I was terrified they were doing--stuff--to you, too."

  "She tied me down. Arms and legs spread-eagled and then bound with those leather straps. And she'd strip me first so that I was naked."

  "Oh, baby. Like what they did to you that first week. You should have told me back then. You must have been so scared."

  I nod, hating the memory. Hating how afraid I'd been, but I hadn't wanted to make it worse for Dallas. "She'd call me a slut. A whore. But it was all better when they shoved me back into the cell with you, so I never wanted to talk about it. I just wanted you. And she never touched me except to tie me down. Did she touch you?"

  His laugh is harsh. "Yeah. You could say that."

  I swallow, because I don't want to hear this. And at the same time, I do. I want to know because I want to help him heal.

  For a second, I think it's a moot point. He's silent, and I think he may be done talking about it. Then he begins to speak, so softly I have to strain to hear. "The room was always dark, and she always wore a mask. But not the carnival style she would wear when we were together. This one kept her mouth free. She liked to use her mouth," he adds harshly.

  "The first time she made me get undressed, then strapped me to the wall. Bare cement. Metal hooks that held the straps. She bound my legs and ankles. She jerked me off until I came--and then she whipped my cock and my balls until I begged her to stop."

  His voice is flat. Toneless.