by Gigi Thorne
“Is it my fault? It’s my fault. I’m so weak. I wanted to please him, I did, but he was hurting me. But that’s the whole point, isn’t it? I’m so weak. It’s all my fault,” she babbles.
“It is not your fault,” I say firmly. “Even in a BDSM relationship, you always have the right to say ‘no’ when you’re being pushed past your limits. Hell, especially in a BDSM relationship. Never forget that.”
Someone taps my shoulder, and I swivel around irritably. It’s Mistress Sara.
“Master Simon,” she says.
“Can’t you see I’m busy?” I snap.
She flashes me a frosty look and walks off. I take a deep breath, then get up and hurry after her.
“I apologize,” I say when I catch up to her by the St. Andrew’s Cross. “I know you wouldn’t interrupt me unless it was important. What’s going on?”
She shoots me a look of annoyance. “Your little schoolgirl fan was here for a couple of minutes, but she just stormed out. She saw you talking to Phoebe and looked upset. I thought you’d want to know.”
Fuck. I don’t want Josie to think that I’m here screwing around with other women. I don’t play those kinds of games.
“Will you please sit with Phoebe and make sure she’s okay?”
Mistress Sara nods.
I hurry out of the club. Josie is in her little red Porsche, about to screech out of the parking lot. I hurry to block her.
She almost hits me. She slams on the brakes at the last moment, then scrambles out of the car.
“What the hell are you doing?” she yells, running up to me. “I could have hit you!”
“What the hell are you doing?” I demand. “Why didn’t you answer my calls? Do you have any idea how worried I was when you didn’t show up?”
Tears fill her eyes, and her face flushes with anger. “So worried you went to work and moved on to your next victim!”
She flies at me, beating my chest with her fists.
I grab her and move her up against her car, pinning her against it with my body. I grab her wrists and hold them firmly.
She bursts into tears, crying loudly.
“Stop being a spoiled, selfish little brat,” I snap at her. “The woman I was talking to had just been physically assaulted by a man while she begged him to stop. We threw him out, and she was blaming herself for it, so I sat down to talk some sense into her.”
“Oh,” she gasps. She sags against me. “I…I didn’t know that. Is she all right?”
“I think she will be.”
She looks up at me in misery. “I know you’re bored with me already. Why even bother to come to the lessons if you’ve lost interest in me?”
I move against her, my cock rock hard, pressing into her soft stomach. “Does that feel like I’ve lost interest? I was dying to spank you on Friday. To punish you. To fuck you until you screamed my name. But you had earned a punishment, and your punishment was that you didn’t get what you want.”
She’s shaking all over. “Swear you’re not tired of me?”
I tip her head back and kiss her. It’s a hard, punishing kiss, my lips bruising hers, my tongue thrusting into her mouth and claiming her. She accepts it, opening her mouth eagerly, drinking me in.
“I will never be tired of you, Josie. And I don’t want you to be on your own when you’re like this,” I tell her. “I’m going to bring you home with me.”
“Really?” She looks up at me, her eyes huge and shining, and I feel warm all over. “You…you don’t need to stay at the club?”
“Nope. Park your car, right now. Don’t worry; there’s a security guard here all night. I’ll drive you back here to get your car in the morning.”
After she parks her car, I hold the door open on the driver’s side of my ten-year-old BMW. She slides in eagerly. I want to stroke her thigh as we drive, want to play with her pussy and make her moan, but I decide to make her wait until we get back to my condo.
When I accepted the job at Briarthorne, I could have bought a house, but that seemed too permanent. I was still at sea then, still reeling from my mother’s recent death, and a condo seemed like less of a commitment somehow.
“This is nice,” she says, looking around. My furniture is black leather and steel, and I have abstract paintings in silver frames on the wall. My bookshelves are well stocked with everything from the classics to the latest thrillers.
She heads over to look at them. “You wrote a book,” she says, running her fingers over the spines of the books. “I started reading it today. You’re really good. It’s kind of intimidating.”
“Don’t be intimidated. Your writing is excellent. With your skills, and your talent for snooping, I think you’d be an amazing journalist.”
She flashes me a shy, pleased smile. “I’ve always wanted to be a reporter. Dad told me I had to major in business administration, but I hate it. I might change my major to journalism.”
I stroke the small of her back, and she shivers in pleasure. I love how responsive she is.
“Are you going to write another one?’
Before I can answer, her stomach growls again. I get her some Chinese takeout from the fridge and heat it up for her. We sit at my living room table, and she wolfs it down, again attacking her food as if she hasn’t eaten in days. Why is she always so hungry?
“I’m sorry I flipped out on you. When I’m hungry, I get kind of hysterical.”
“Why haven’t you been eating?” I say, exasperated.
“Long story. I…” She glances around, starts to ask something, then stops herself. “Can I see your bedroom?” she asks.
“Of course.” I take her by the hand and lead her in. My bedroom has more bookshelves, more abstract paintings, and a king-size bed with a steel frame. She walks over, peering at it closely, peeling back the dove-gray comforter.
“Where are the cuffs?” she asks.
“The cuffs?”
“To tie up the women you bring back here.” There’s a wary look in her eyes as she says that. Testing me. Afraid of my answer.
I shake my head. “I don’t bring women back here. Ever.”
She looks up at me questioningly. “But then why…”
I sit down on the bed and pull her down into my lap. She’s sitting right on my cock, which is swollen with need for her, and she wriggles a little, sending a ripple of arousal through me.
“Because you’re special to me, Josie. Because I have feelings for you, feelings that I’ve never had for any woman before you.”
Her expression is haunted. “Are you telling me the truth? Because if you’re lying…” She tries to sound threatening, but then the tears come. “If you’re lying, you’ll break my heart. So please don’t do that to me.”
And right then, I feel my own heart ache. People look at her and see the beautiful, rich daughter of privilege. They think she has everything a girl could ever want. I see through the veneer. I see the fragile little girl underneath. Sweet, kind, caring…and lost.
I gather her in my arms. “Josie, we haven’t known each other for very long, but I have feelings for you like I’ve never felt for anyone else in my life. You realize I’m risking not just my job but my career to be with you? And it’s worth it. You’re worth it.”
“Why? What do you like about me? Is it my looks?” She sounds a little defensive.
I kiss her forehead. “There are plenty of hot girls out there. It’s more than that. It’s the sparkle in your eye, it’s your fiery spirit, it’s your smart mouth, it’s your intelligence, it’s other things that I can’t even put my finger on, but as soon as I saw you, I knew you were the one.”
She relaxes in my arms.
“And because I care about you, I’m worried about you. Stealing the wallet in the lunch room—what was that, Josie? Why were you hungry the last couple of times I saw you? I know how much money you get every month. You’re not spending it on drugs; I’d be able to tell.”
She looks away. “Do you need to talk to a couns
elor?” I ask.
She goes rigid and twists in my lap, glaring at me. “No!”
Jesus. A counselor did something really bad to her. I’m instantly furious with whoever caused that reaction.
“Josie, you can tell me. So you saw a therapist at some point and it didn’t go well. What did they do to you?”
She stands up, an unhappy expression twisting her beautiful face. Then she sits back down on the bed, next to me, but she’s tense and staring out the window.
“Not what you’re thinking,” she says. “I’ve never been molested by a counselor. Or anyone. I just haven’t had good luck with them. I don’t want to talk about it any more, please.”
Frustration surges through me. She’s a puzzle that I desperately want to solve.
But if I want to have any hope of her opening up and trusting me, I have to open up to her, at least a little.
“It’s fine, Josie. Just know that if you ever need anything, if you ever want to talk, I’m here for you. This isn’t just a fling for me. It’s the real thing.” I take a deep breath. “For a long time I was afraid that I’d never feel like this. My father…he never loved my mother. Oh, he was fond of her, but he really picked her because she’d make a perfect professor’s wife—she was pretty and charming and dutiful and just smart enough.” I’ve never talked about this with anyone, and it makes me feel raw and uncomfortable, but she needs this from me. She needs, she deserves, my honesty.
“Oh, I’m sorry. That sounds terrible.” She looks at me with sympathy.
“It was. He treated her decently, but there was no passion and no romance, ever. That’s why she started drinking. She died of liver failure. She was barely there for me when I was a child, and the older I got, the more she faded away. I’ve held myself back from real relationships all my life, because I would never risk hurting a woman the way my father hurt my mother. Until I met you, I thought I’d die alone.”
She looks at me shyly. “You really mean it. You do,” she says, as if to reassure herself. Then she flashes me that sweet smile of hers, the one that melts my heart. “Thank you for telling me that. But what’s going to happen when the semester is over?”
I take her hand in mine and kiss her palm, running my tongue over it. She whimpers and makes a frustrated little mewling sound.
“When this semester is over, I’m still going to be your teacher.”
“Really?” She gazes up at me adoringly.
“Yes. I’m going to teach you all kinds of things.”
At that, she smiles through her tears and wriggles against me.
“Like what?”
“Well, right now, I’m going to teach you what happens to little girls who don’t show up for their tutoring sessions and don’t answer their phones.”
Chapter Ten
I strip off her clothes, slowly, taking the time to enjoy every inch of her lithe body as it’s revealed. The scent rising on the heat from her skin is intoxicating, and I want to lick her and taste her all over. I unclasp her bra, allowing her pert little breasts to pop free, and I can’t resist lowering my head to suckle briefly on her nipple. She moans and arches against me. I skim her panties down her long, slender legs. You’d think Josie Caldwell, trust fund brat, would wear hundreds of dollars-worth of designer satin and lace, but they’re innocent-schoolgirl cotton, and the palest of pinks.
I lay her on the bed and I roll her so she’s lying face down on the coverlet, lingering over the curve of her spine and the sweet curve of her ass. She sighs and wriggles, and she doesn’t resist when I lift her hands over her head and curl her fingers around the slats of the headboard. No cuffs, but no matter—a good Dom knows how to improvise. How to give a submissive what she wants. I use two silk ties to bind her wrists to the bed, tugging hard on them to test the knots. She won’t be able to get free. She won’t want to.
I spread her legs wide apart. Should I tie her ankles too, binding her spread-eagle? But no, I want her to be able to wriggle and thrash as I use my cock to drive her into a frenzy of lust and want.
Punishment first. I encourage her onto all fours, and I spank her little butt until her juices soak my fingers. She gasps out a count with each blow, her voice becoming more breathless as the skin of her ass gets pinker and warmer with each firm smack.
Then, when she’s soaking wet for me and I know her skin is singing with a bright, sharp pain that’s almost pleasure, I push inside her.
This time, it’s not as slow. I plunge the full length of my cock into her grasping pussy, feeling pleasure wash through me as she gasps with arousal and her internal muscles clamp tight around me. I hold her hips and work in and out of her, rolling my pelvis so I hit that sweet spot inside her, thrilling to her moans.
It’s not enough, though. It’s not what I want. It’s too much like screwing some anonymous sub at Club Surrender, but this is Josie—my Josie—and I’m not just her Dom or her Daddy, I’m her lover.
I untie her hands and she rolls onto her back, twining her arms around my neck and eagerly parting her thighs so I can settle between them. She’s pliant and submissive, bound by an instinct stronger than a silk tie or leather cuffs, and I marvel again at what a natural she is; what a gift she is. I can’t imagine the rest of my life without her in it.
I scoop one arm under her spine, and with the other I hitch up her hip so she’s wide open to me. I suck and bite greedily at her mouth as I thrust into her hard and fast, claiming her. She clings to me, trembling as her moans crescendo and tremors of orgasm rock her body.
I draw back and I place one hand over her throat, delicate and vulnerable. Her pulse is strong and rapid beneath my palm, and she gazes up at me with trusting, lust-drugged eyes, trusting me to keep her safe and give her what she needs. Her hair is damp, sticking in curls to her flushed cheeks, and I have never seen anything so beautiful.
She wraps her other leg around my hips, trying to draw me closer, and I oblige her, bracing my hand on either side of her head and pushing into her as deep and as hard as I can, circling my hips and pressing forward again and again.
This time, her orgasm makes me come too. It’s like she’s turned to electricity in my arms and fused my spine, and for a moment my vision whites out. I don’t know what I’m saying, or if I’m saying anything at all—my head’s just full of incoherent noise and the blinding intensity of fucking her. Making love to her.
I slump on top of her, burying my face against the sweat-slick skin of her throat, and we pant and shudder together as our hearts begin to slow.
Chapter Eleven
Josie
In the morning, I wake up to the smell of something buttery and delicious. When I stumble into the kitchen wearing just my T-shirt and panties, I see that Carter—I’m not thinking of him as Professor Lowe any more—is cooking me an omelet. And there’s already a pot of coffee brewed. Heaven.
The fact that he’s wearing nothing but plaid boxer shorts doesn’t hurt either. My God, that body. So sculpted, so perfectly proportioned. There’s not an ounce of fat on him, but he’s not overly jacked like a bodybuilder either. I openly ogle him. His hard cock is straining at the fabric of his boxers; I’ll have to do something about that sooner rather than later.
“Shouldn’t I be cooking for you for you?” I ask with a stretch and a yawn. “Since I’m your…sub, I guess? Am I your submissive?”
“You’re not my sub, you’re my angel.” He smiles at me. “Most of the time, anyway, when you’re not being a naughty little devil. I am the dominant in this relationship, but we don’t yet have a formal Dom-sub dynamic. It’s a work in progress.”
He slides the omelet onto a plate. “You’ve got a big goofy grin on your face. It’s adorable. What did I do to make you smile like that?”
“You said ‘relationship’.” I grin at him, taking the omelet plate from him. I sit down at the table and wait for him to join me before I start eating.
“By the way, I know I keep forgetting to call you sir. Should I be?”
&
nbsp; “When we’re alone like this, just spending time together, no. In public, or as soon as I start giving you orders, I am sir to you. But good girl for asking.” He winks at me, setting off a swarm of butterflies in my tummy.
I feel so good right now. I’ve had an amazing night’s sleep, and I won’t go hungry today. I’m happier than I’ve been in ages. As I’m enjoying the omelet, though, I wonder if Louise is all right. I should have been at her house cleaning up for her. I don’t get my next trust fund check for another few days, and I can’t afford the caregiver or a maid until then.
“You okay?” Carter asks, putting his hand on mine, and I smile at him again. No need to burden him with my problems.
“I’m good. I’m better than good. Although parts of me are still sore.”
“I’ll kiss them and make them better.” The glint in his eye is wicked.
“I need to make a phone call after breakfast.”
“Not to Savannah,” he says, a frown creasing that perfect brow.
“No. You don’t like her, do you?”
“Not at all. There are rumors that she’s dealing drugs. She gave you the ecstasy you overdosed on, didn’t she?”
My face flushes. “Well…when she realized she’d forgotten my birthday, she felt bad and she wanted to give me something. She happened to have just one hit… It wasn’t her fault I had a bad reaction. And she did take me to the hospital.”
“Melody was the one who drove, right?”
I shrug uncomfortably. I thought I remembered Savannah arguing with her, telling her that I’d be fine, worrying about getting in trouble if they took me to the emergency room…but Savannah had denied that the next day.
“She came with me. And anyway, she’s not dealing, she’s just using. That’s why she’s always broke. If she were dealing, she’d have money.”
He shakes his head. “She’s always broke because she samples the product. She’s been careful so far, but sooner or later she’s going to get busted. You need to steer clear of her. So, who are you calling?”
