by Ally Vance
I lean down to skim my nose across her breast, then graze one of her stiff points with my teeth. She gasps at the sensation, her thighs clenching.
“Keep your legs spread, baby,” I say against her skin. “Which brings me to rule number two—obey my commands.” Another one that’s similar to Warren’s, but I’ll never order her to fuck another man—a rule I’ll get to in a minute.
“If something I demand of you makes you uncomfortable, I want you to voice the opinion,” I continue, linking my rule back to the first one. “We’ll discuss your concerns, but I will often tell you to trust me. Sometimes the best pleasure is gained through unfamiliarity.” I pinch her nipple for emphasis, and her back bows off the bed as a gasp leaves her throat. My tongue chases the pain away, laving the bruised peak and giving her the reprieve I know she craves.
She gazes at me through her thick lashes, confused ecstasy illuminating her expression. My poor little bride has no idea how good this can be. She’s spent her whole life learning how to please the elite males of our world. Which is why I’m going to spend the rest of her existence teaching her how to indulge in her own pleasures.
“Rule three.” I nuzzle her breast, then wipe the moisture away from her skin with the silk. “Only my commands matter. No one else can tell you what to do. If anyone tries to break that rule, you tell me immediately.”
I lay my tie on the bed, then wrap my palm around her throat to ensure she can’t break my stare as I hover over her.
“I don’t share, Camilla,” I tell her sternly. “If anyone implies otherwise, they’re lying. And I want to know who it is so I can handle it. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
She swallows, and her pulse thrums beneath the tips of my fingers. “Only your rules matter.” It comes out on a breath, her pupils flaring with a mixture of uncertainty and need.
I’ll address the latter in a moment.
And I’ll address the former now.
“Only my rules matter,” I agree. “And I don’t share,” I repeat. “Warren enjoyed tormenting you with his friends. I’m not him. No one is allowed to touch what is mine. Consider that rule four. Now repeat that so I know you understand.”
“You don’t share,” she whispers.
“So what do you do if someone tells you otherwise?”
She clears her throat, then says, “Tell you.”
“Good girl,” I praise, lowering to brush my lips against hers. “Do you remember Quinn from earlier?”
Unease enters her gaze. “Yes.”
“He’s going to be in charge of your security. So rule five is that if you can’t find me, you go to him. He’ll protect you.”
“Protect me?” she repeats, her brow furrowing.
“Yes. I’ve hired him to be your personal guard. Unless he makes you uncomfortable? Then we can interview other candidates.”
She frowns. “You’re giving me a guard?”
“That goes back to rule one, darling,” I say, running my nose across her cheek to bring my lips to her ear. “I own you. And I protect what’s mine.” I inhale her sweet scent, then draw my mouth downward to her neck, my hand leaving her throat to palm her breast. “Repeat the rules.”
I kiss a path down her throat, my gaze holding hers.
“Now, Camilla. And I’ll reward you.”
She licks her lips, her chest rising and falling in rapid succession. “Rule one,” she begins, her voice husky. “You own me.”
“Mmm, I do,” I agree and lave her nipple in response. “Next rule.”
“Rule two.” She swallows visibly. “Always obey your commands.”
“Yes.” I nibble her taut peak. “But what else did I say about rule two?”
“To talk to you if something… concerns me.”
“Very good.” I give her nipple a longer lick and release her breast to trail my fingers down her side. “Next?”
“Rule three is that only your commands matter.” She trembles as my fingertips meet her hip bone. “If anyone else tries to… to demand something… I talk to you. Or to Officer Quinn.”
“You’re such a good listener, Camilla,” I murmur before sucking her nipple deep into my mouth.
She cries out in response, her body arching into me as my palm settles between her splayed thighs. I drag my finger through her damp slit, rewarding her for keeping her legs spread this whole time.
“Fourth rule,” I remind her. “What is it?” I want her to say it again, to really drive the point home.
“You don’t share,” she breathes, her eyes falling shut as I slip two fingers into her slick channel.
“Damn right I don’t.” I move to her opposite tit, giving her the same treatment with my mouth while I add a third finger below.
“Oh,” she groans, her body writhing beneath mine.
Warren and his friends never did this.
They always took their own pleasure while forgetting all about my little bride. I intend to make it all up to her with my touch and my tongue.
“Last rule,” I whisper. “Tell me.”
“If… if I can’t find you… go to Quinn,” she pants, her pussy tightening around my fingers.
“So good,” I tell her, pleased with her acquiescence. She more than earned her reward, and I’m not going to delay it.
I lick a path downward to the apex between her thighs, my lips sealing around her clit without warning.
She yelps in surprise, then releases the most delicious sound of gratification. I use my tongue to inspire her to make it again… and again… until she’s a puddle of need beneath me.
“Master Kaiden,” she whispers, her voice holding a plea that goes right to my balls. But it’s her little tell—the way she says my name—that makes me nearly come from her words alone.
“Fuck, Camilla,” I reply, utterly gone for this woman. “How did you know to call me that?” It wasn’t one of the rules. Not for her, anyway. I may own her, but she’s not my slave. There’s a difference.
“I… I always have,” she admits, her eyes still closed, her expression one of exquisite agony. “The maids… I heard them…” She swallows, her body vibrating beneath me. “Master Kaiden,” she repeats, a soft moan underlining her words. “Please.”
My abdomen clenches with the need to take her, the display of her beautiful submission undoing me inside.
I always knew she was perfect.
But to experience it… Fuck, to experience it is unlike anything I could have imagined.
I pull my fingers out of her, drawing a sound of distress from her throat. “Don’t worry, little beauty. I’m going to give you what you need.”
She squirms, her thighs clenching in an attempt to find friction. It’s something I would typically reprimand, but she’s been so damn good that I can’t find it in me to even comment on it.
I need to be inside her.
To fuck her.
To finally claim her in every way.
To mark her with my seed and culminate our marriage vows.
Two years.
Two. Damn. Years.
It’s been an exercise in patience, and that patience is about to be rewarded.
I kick off my pants just as her eyes open, and the vixen on the bed is nothing like the scared little damsel from earlier. This female is looking me over with interest, her desire evident in her lust-blown pupils.
I growl in approval, moving over her. She spreads her thighs in welcome, and fuck if that’s not the most beautiful sight of my existence.
“I’m going to fuck you all night,” I vow. “This is just me taking the edge off.”
She bites her lip, her heated look one I’ve been dreaming about for too long.
I angle her hips to where I want them and drive inside her without warning or kindness. She screams in response, my size larger than what she’s accustomed to.
I don’t give her time to adjust.
I can’t.
I have to move. And I do, drawing myself out to the tip and slamming in
to her again, taking my female to the brink of pleasure and pain with my cock deep inside her.
My name falls from her lips, her tone a plea and a demand all wrapped up into one.
I give her what she needs—just as I promised—driving into her over and over again. Her pussy clamps down around me, her body reacting to the ferocity and fervor of the moment, her nipples hard little points against my chest.
“Camilla,” I groan, my lips brushing hers. “Fuck, Camilla.” I kiss her. I spear my tongue inside her mouth and fuck both her holes. I own her. Claim her. Take her as mine in the way I’ve desired for what feels like an eternity.
And she accepts me.
Her beautiful fucking body cradles mine, allowing me to bruise her with my hand on her hip, accepting my violent thrusts, and hugging me in that tight little sheath.
Perfection.
I dominate her tongue.
I steal her breath.
I drill her into the bed so damn hard that her body will forever leave an imprint.
And all the while, she pants, her lithe form strained from her need to climax.
I know what she needs, but I make her wait, wanting to intensify the moment, to ensure she never forgets our first time. To truly introduce her to the man she will now refer to as her husband.
It’s carnal and cruel and so damn right.
Tears glisten in her pretty eyes, her muscles straining as she clamps down even harder around my shaft, begging me to finish it. To spill inside her, to draw the pleasure burning through her veins to the surface and allow her to explode.
But that’s not what she needs.
No, my darling little beauty requires a hint of pain to thrust her over the edge.
I thread my fingers through her hair and deepen our kiss while my opposite hand shifts along her hip, dipping between us to find her swollen clit.
She jolts as I stroke it once with my fingertip.
I smile against her mouth. Then I pinch her sensitive nub, just like I’ve seen her do countless times in the bath. And she completely falls apart beneath me, her shriek unlike any I’ve ever heard from her.
She always comes quietly.
Not anymore.
Not with me.
And that knowledge shoves me over the ledge with her. “Fuck.” I press my face into her neck, my body spasming savagely above hers and momentarily ceasing my ability to move.
It’s intense.
Hot.
And so, so good.
I empty myself inside her. My seed. My heart. My own damn soul.
She owns me entirely.
She always has.
And now she knows the gravity of what that means.
Because rule number one applies to her as well—she owns me just as much as I own her. I’ve loved this woman for too long. I killed for her. I realigned our fate, removing the obstacle that never should have been there.
Which allows us our own revised version of a happily-ever-after.
She may not find it perfect.
Not yet.
But one day, she will.
My beautiful bride.
My wife.
My Camilla.
I kiss her, tying us together until death do us part.
And on this night, I finally say the two words I couldn’t voice that day. “I do.”
The end for now
An extended version of Always Second Best will be available in spring 2021.
In the mood for another erotic short? Meet Savannah in The Possession and find out what happens when her master brings home two friends for her to satisfy.
https://www.sincaveromancebooks.com/the-possession
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About S. Firecox
S. Firecox is the sinful pseudonym for a USA Today and international bestselling erotica author. She publishes secretly under this name and fully embraces her dark side with Sin Cave Publications.
https://www.sincaveromancebooks.com/
I Can See You
D.S. Wrights
Chapter One
Kate
I can still remember the moment when I saw him for the first time. It is hard to put into words how I felt.
For more than half a year, I worked as an assistant to Rory James, one of the most prestigious law firms in San Francisco. I quickly realized that my job title was nothing more than that. My tasks were those of a well-paid intern: making coffee, getting breakfast and lunch, answering phone calls, archiving data. Basically, everything that no one else wanted to do.
My salary was barely enough to rent my furnished one-room apartment and the things that you need in life. Saving money was out of the question.
A few days after I started my job, I noticed that the lawyers always ordered way too much for breakfast and left many things lying around. Nobody touched this expensive food, not even the other assistants. Since I was the one who disposed of everything anyway, some of the food disappeared in a small bag in my desk drawer.
As far as lunch was concerned, I quickly learned who the picky eaters were, and so I asked them for the extras they didn’t want to be packed up separately. Like that, I could make my own meal from these leftovers. With no parents and no financial support, I had no choice but to do this thankless job, and it didn’t just have its dark sides.
My ray of hope was the appointments with Mr. Tanaka, Mr. James’ most important client. He was a Japanese businessman who had settled in San Francisco and ran his company from there. Mr. Tanaka was always accompanied by at least three men. One of them was an interpreter, and the other two were his bodyguards.
The appointments with Mr. Tanaka were the only ones I was ever involved in. I had a skill that Mr. James appreciated very much: I was fluent in Japanese.
I had learned this language from my orphanage’s janitor: Mr. Watanabe. He had worked until old age to provide his grandchildren with a good education. I spent almost every free minute with Mr. Watanabe during that time because he was calm, structured, and reliable, and because of that, completely different from everyone else in this house.
Officially, my job was to serve Mr. Tanaka during these meetings. Unofficially, I listened to the conversations and told Mr. James if the interpreter translated things wrong or if there were words not translated at all. Although it made me feel uncomfortable eavesdropping, I soon realized that this was the only reason Mr. James had hired me in the first place.
So I bit the bullet and did as I was told.
It was clear to me what kind of business Mr. Tanaka was involved in from the first meeting, which made it more apparent why he needed bodyguards. He was Yakuza, the Japanese mafia.
The regular meetings with my boss were less about civil lawsuits and more about contracts that legitimized certain business dealings. Every time Mr. Tanaka and his interpreter exchanged information, there was no translation. Still, they talked about various ‘projects’ of a more or less legal nature.
I guess it was to my advantage that I grew up in an orphanage, where it was always a matter of not letting anything show. Otherwise, my face would have given itself away quickly.
But when it came to passing everything on to Mr. James, I found it challenging. I made it clear that the interpreter was not one, but that the Japanese still had some code that I had to decipher.
Several meetings went by until I knew enough to match Mr. James with various names of Mr. Tanaka’s business and enterprises.
My boss was so pleased with this result that he extended my six-month contract to one year and even gave me a raise. I knew that this was not only a reward for me but that he wanted to spur me on. Of course, I hoped to perhaps even get a permanent contract with the firm. But most of all, Rory James bought my scruples with it.
If eavesdropping on Mr. T
anaka meant that my life was secure, then I would be happy to do it.
So, six months flew by in a flash, and I knew that the next meeting with Mr. Tanaka would be the date that would possibly decide my future in the law firm. But when Mr. James handed me two hundred dollars the day before with the order to buy myself a decent dress, I knew that this meeting was important for my boss as well.
Anjelica, Mr. James’ assistant, looked at me a little skeptically when I asked her where she bought her clothes from. She didn’t answer me until I told her how much money I had available. Then she became very precise and told me what I should best get: a black sheath dress with matching pumps. Not too high, because otherwise, it would be too sexy and not too flat to not be a dull creature.
When I came to work that day, I felt part of the workforce for the first time.
As it was customary in the company, I had always worn a blouse and skirt. Still, it seemed to me the other employees had been able to see that it was clothing from the thrift shop. These clothes had always been a little too big.
The routine, however, was the same as always. Mr. Tanaka would appear at three o’clock in the afternoon. I had my usual duties until then. I was cautious not to ruin my new dress with powdered sugar or something similar.
That was the only thing that was different until Mr. Tanaka finally arrived.
As usual, I was already waiting, standing by the conference room wall near one of the short sides of the long black table. It was coated with piano lacquer and polished to such a high standard that you could see your own reflection in it. I would stay there until Mr. Tanaka or his interpreter had finished his glass of water. My only task was to top up the water. It was Rory James Art to pay respect to his Japanese client. But that in no way changed the opinion Mr. Tanaka had of my boss: he thought he was a snake. This was a fact that I never mentioned in my report to Mr. James.
