by Zoey Marcel
The oldest Taylor, Brad, didn’t cry. He was a Dom, so he probably had a good rein on his feelings, though his eyes couldn’t hide the adoration that shone through when he looked at her sister.
Chanel looked breathtaking and her skin glowed with radiance. Her green eyes sparkled with love and devotion for her three husbands…and Masters. Jill couldn’t think about that too long or she’d get annoyed and roll her eyes. To each their own, but still, freaking alphas turning her bitchy sister into a slave.
But they were good to her. She knew that, and Chanel was very happy with them, so Jill had that to be thankful for, even if she didn’t understand wanting to give up all one’s rights to make a man—or in this case several men—happy.
In her experience there was no such thing as the humble, caring leader. Give a man an inch of authority and he turned into a bloody tyrant and an egotistical maniac, whose goals seemed to stem from a desire to tear down and control rather than protect and treasure, or whatever crap those lifestyle Doms dished out to those 1954 “walk on me, please” doormats.
Thoughts of rights and tyrannical assholes made her think of her husband. Jill looked over at Ben and saw his gaze shift from the newlyweds over to her. He offered her a weak smile, probably to get her mind off their problems so she could enjoy the wedding.
The standoffish turd. She wanted him to be a “Baby, please forgive me. Don’t leave me. I’ll do anything to keep you,” kind of man. Unfortunately she always seemed drawn to alpha dicks who wanted to control her.
Well, not always. Her best friend, Logan Weston, wasn’t like that. He was a gentleman. She’d heard he liked to top in bed or play Dom, but she figured that was all it was, bedroom play. He treated women like cowboys in the olden days treated ladies—with respect and a desire to protect and care for them, while giving them space when they required it.
No Dom she knew of would do that, though she didn’t really know of any aside from her brother-in-law, Brad. Even then she’d never seen him in action. Still, he was an assertive man like her father. That could only mean one thing. Prick alert. Strong men were sexy as hell, but they came with fine print written on them that spelled asshole all over it.
Well, Ben had better shape up and let her have her way. He’d agreed to talk about the issue of moving. They were a team after all. Of course they would talk about it…and then they would move back to California like she wanted. It was the only thing that made sense. Her whole life was in Malibu. Her daughters had friends there, and Ben could always get another job.
What was there for her here except for the constant reminder of two cowboys she loved and could never have? Her way was the only way, and she’d find some way to make Ben see that.
* * * *
Chanel and her men left for their honeymoon in Cancún. Jill would love to have an actual honeymoon with Ben and go somewhere tropical. They’d never had one.
Neil went home after the reception and left them alone. She would rather he’d stayed and cheered the cold, brooding sheriff up, but Neil probably thought they needed time for a husband-wife talk with one another.
No, no. Ben needed a lecture. She didn’t need talking to. Her way made sense. His way was just stupid. She needed to tell him this so he’d realize how inadequate his decision-making skills were and how much he needed her to take control.
He’d said they would be equal this time around, or had that merely been her understanding of their reconciliation? Well, they’d better be equal partners in the marriage from now on or she’d turn all domineering bitch on him again.
Powerful, dominant men like Ben needed to understand a woman’s need for equality, and if they refused, then they needed to be castrated of their chauvinism until they finally gave up and gave in.
She was a career woman, only slightly below a goddess really, and she demanded to be treated as such. He might not be able to afford to buy her a wedding ring from Tiffany’s, but by God he’d sure as hell better respect her if he knew what was good for him.
“Ben, we need to talk about the whole moving thing,” she told him.
God, he was amazing. He could piss her off quicker than anybody’s business, but when she looked at him she knew she was home. There was a surreal kind of magic in his voice that drew her like a moth to a flame. The way he said her name was different. He spoke it as though he carried the key to her soul, and she felt the doors that barred the deepest parts of her unlocking whenever he said her name in that special way of his.
Ben was seriously designed to be fucked and he pretty much asked for it nearly every time she looked at him and wasn’t distracted by the stresses of life. His six-foot-two height dwarfed her five feet, three inches with ease. His strong, sculpted body was a brawny testament to the hard work he’d put into building it.
His dark brown hair was short and close to his head, though the top had a bit of subdued spikes. Just enough to give him a trendy look without making him appear as a man trying to look like a teenager.
His warm brown eyes were almond-shaped beacons that occasionally shifted to a melted caramel color. Whenever he pinned them on her in a telling silence, she felt like she’d been eye-fucked by him.
Even now, when she had every intention of donning her feminist persona to tell him how it was, the shadowy dusting of soft stubble on his oval face made him look too manly for his own good. She loved the slight cleft chin he had. It wasn’t very prominent, but lord, it was sexy as sin.
Ben sighed as he grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge. “Let’s not ruin the weekend by complicating things. We’ll get around to that.”
“Oh no, the kids are getting dropped off in a couple of days, and I don’t intend to leave my stuff behind in Malibu.”
He popped the top off the bottle before taking a swig. “Then don’t. I’ll pay for the U-Haul for you.”
Of all the caveman presumptions. She could pay for her own damned U-Haul, not that she’d need one. She wasn’t leaving California. “I didn’t say I was moving here.”
The way his throat moved as he gulped his liquor was a surprising turn-on. The sound of him swallowing big mouthfuls of alcohol sounded so wet and naughty. He exhaled in satisfaction and studied her for a moment with a thorough scrutiny that made her nervous.
“You’re my wife, Jill.”
Uh-oh. Not the “You’re my wife” card.
He always turned macho man when he used that phrase.
She folded her arms to let him know that there had been a sudden change in command from his dumbass bachelor days during their separation. “So?”
His eyes heated when they fell on her generous bust, but when they lifted, his expression turned alpha male. “So the final decision is mine.”
Her mouth fell open and the outraged gasp she let out put an amused smile on his face. Well, she was glad he found this so humorous, because frankly it was about to turn ugly. “I don’t think so, General Dickhead. We’re a frigging team.”
“And what happens if we can’t agree on a decision?”
Jill was about to say, “Then I call the shots,” but she snapped her mouth shut when she saw the flicker of challenge in his eyes. “We should decide what’s best for my girls.”
He set his beer on the counter and folded his arms. “Your girls?”
“Yes, Ben. They’re my daughters. They came out of my body.”
“Well, I put one of them in you.”
“Yeah, the key word there is one, Ben. Coral’s not yours.” The words barely left her mouth when she realized the mistake of uttering them.
His dark eyes flashed with warning. “Oh, so is that how this is going to be? You call the shots where the kids are concerned and teach them that my rules and opinions don’t matter?”
“Of course you matter, Ben, but my girls are little princesses and I’m the queen bee. That’s just how it is. I’ll cook for you and help you financially with my full-time job in Malibu.”
She patted his arm to show him affection, but the way he st
iffened with anger told her he viewed it as condescension.
“They can go to daycare after school and we’ll hire a maid to clean the mansion. I’ll cook a homemade meal for you on weekends sometimes, but during the week it will have to be health or convenience food since I’ll be working with celebrities full-time. It would be nice if you took me to upscale restaurants a lot, too, though. And with both our jobs you can afford to buy me expensive jewelry and my girls all the toys they want.”
Ben looked like he’d spout water out of his head if he had a hole there like a whale. “That’s quite the little feminist dream world you’ve got going there, Jill. The problem with your little career-woman plan is that our kids will turn into spoiled brats if we give them everything they want. I love buying you things when you’re good, but I can’t afford to buy you jewelry from Tiffany’s.”
Jill snorted. “When I’m good? What the—”
“Your husband’s talking, Jill, be respectful.”
“You jerk! I’ll talk if I—” She squealed when he grabbed her by the arm and spun her around so her back slammed up against the front of him. Her body turned feverish with want when he covered her mouth with his hand.
“You’ll be quiet when I tell you to, woman. Your man is talking now, so you’d better listen good.”
His chauvinistic speech made her pussy flood with unnamed needs that only heated her body more. Still, it ticked her off to be spoken to in this way. She tried to hit him, but his hand was too fast and he caught her by the wrist suddenly. Ben squeezed her tighter when she struggled and he gripped both wrists together in a snug grasp she couldn’t get out of.
“Other flaws exist in your fantasy world. If you feed us convenience crap all the time we’ll be unhealthy and probably get some weird strain of cancer from all the chemicals and shit they put in the food. I work hard all day and sometimes night shifts. Do you think I want to come home to Hamburger Helper? I’m your soul mate, Jill. Don’t you want me to be fed well?”
She mumbled against his palm and he moved his hand. “If I’m working full-time I can’t be expected to cook from scratch every night.”
“Of course not.” His free hand ran down the side of her body and settled on her hip, thrilling her skin beneath his touch. She felt the heat of his hand through her dress. “That’s why you’ll stay at home.”
“What?” Jill struggled, but he gripped her wrists tighter and clapped his other hand over her mouth again. She screeched and yelled obscenities at him, but he wouldn’t let go.
“Shh. Daddy’s talking right now, babe. So just shut your little piehole and listen.” He chuckled when she gave him an angry screech against his palm.
Irritating, smoking-hot bastard.
“It should also be added that if we’re both working full-time that means we won’t get very much quality bonding time with them. Do you think I want someone else raising our kids, Jill? That’s our job and I intend to do it right.”
The obnoxious snot had a point, but still, who did he think he was telling her how they would raise her daughters?
His hand left her mouth and smoothed down her dress, making her skin tingle beneath his gifted touch. “And as to bringing our kids up in Southern California, I have a problem with that.”
“Well, I don’t give a shit.”
A wild gasp tore from her when his hand moved from her wrists to rest around the base of her throat. He didn’t strangle her, but the slight pressure let her know that he was in charge. Knowing that he was taking control of her pissed her off and made her panties dampen uncomfortably. The steady seduction of his words caused hot moisture to seep from her cunt, and her breasts to swell with readiness.
“Snap at me again and see what happens,” he warned in a low, threatening tone as his hand snaked up her bare thigh under her dress.
The rough, masculine ascent of his callused fingers made her feel womanly and defenseless beneath the sexual touch and the assertive hold he had around her throat.
“That won’t work,” she protested. “We’re having an argument. I’m not letting you fuck—”
He squeezed her throat with just enough pressure to send her overcome body into meltdown mode.
“Just listen.” His voice lowered to a heady murmur as the hand under her dress ventured higher to tease her damp cleft through her lacy panties. “Shut up and listen to your husband for once. You might even enjoy being Daddy’s little hausfrau.”
Jill squirmed as her vagina unleashed its juicy proof of her reluctant approval.
“I can see you do,” he added with smugness in his voice. “Admit it, babe. You like to be controlled, and not just in bed. You like strong men because they challenge you, and despite your protests you want them to win because it turns you on being vanquished by a dominant man and forced to surrender.”
She tried to protest, but the only sound that came out was a tiny mewl of elation when his fingers climbed into her panties and palpated the silky, wet heat coating her folds.
“I know, because I know you and what you like. I’ve watched you for years, wondering what the hell it was you needed from me.” He tugged the panties down her bottom and lowered them only to her thighs. His fingers returned to her sex and strummed lazily through her wetness while he spoke. “I know now, your needs complement mine perfectly. I spent those years we were apart trying to better understand my needs and the kind of life I wanted with you. You left thinking we were wrong for each other.”
A tormented cry slipped from her when he shoved two of his big fingers up into her vagina. A ravaging bolt of white-hot need raced through her body at the rough, filling invasion in her slick pussy. “Ben, not so many fingers.”
She choked on a ragged breath when he clutched her throat tighter, sending fiery chills all over her skin.
“Yes, two fingers,” Ben growled as he fucked them slowly, deliberately into her aching cunt. “As many as your man wants, whenever he wants to, for as long as he wants to.”
“Oh god,” she whimpered in unrestrained bliss, unable to prevent the surge of moisture flowing from her sex and coating his ravaging fingers.
“Christ,” he growled, pulling her even more snugly against him so she felt his erection prodding her back. “You got so much fucking wetter when I said that. You were wrong about us, you know.”
Wildfire sprang up with a vengeance inside her when he grazed her clit with his thumb. He massaged it gently with a nonchalant confidence that said he knew her body better than she did and was more than willing to prove it to her.
“We’re perfect for each other,” he told her as his fingers unhinged her below. “My dominance and your submission. Your desire to be forced and my hunger to coerce you. We both enjoy a good challenge, but deep down what we really want is to stop fighting and just assume the roles God intended us to have.”
The roles God intended them to have? What the fuck?
“Do you think it’s by accident that you feel the most feminine when you’re submitting to me, and you’re most fulfilled when you’re keeping house like a good little wife?” He worked her clit and cunt faster, crowding out her instinct to argue with him and try to put him back in his place. “Do you think I’m attracted to you when you’re acting like a spoiled brat and a domineering bitch?”
“Fuck you,” she spat. That ought to show him. In actuality he ended up showing her breast with a swift motion of his hand. “Ow! You jerk!”
“I’m still talking, Jill. I admit I enjoy the challenge.”
His hand returned to her throat, squeezing her feminine need to surrender back into his touch. The desire to be under him spread all throughout her body even as she tried to fight it.
“But you’re your most beautiful to me and your absolute hottest when you’re submitting to me.” He slowed the motion of his fingers, leaving her frustrated, relieved, and horny. “Some men like women to be in control. I don’t, sweetheart. I want you under me. I always have. And if you keep pushing me like this, someday I’m going
to make you.”
“Ben,” she pleaded, feeling her pussy gush all over the fingers fucking up inside her.
He squeezed her throat tighter, and his lips hovered near her ear in a dark, controlling whisper. “Ask me, Jill. Ask me what it is that I want from you.”
Jill was afraid to. She knew what he wanted from her, had probably always known in the back of her mind, though she’d denied it with a passion. “No.”
“You’re not leaving or coming until you do as I say,” he stated firmly.
Not come? That was intolerable. She was too horny and achy right now to be denied. If he dared to deny her she’d find some clever way to punish him in day-to-day life. “What do you want from me?”
Oh god, did I really just give into him?
“I want the exact opposite of your little fantasy, babe. You see I have this vision in my head of our ideal life together.” He rubbed her pleading clitoris faster and pumped his fingers into her dripping channel furiously, making her moan and whimper. “That’s it, girl. You just surrender and let Daddy hear all your slutty sounds.”
“Oh god, Ben.” Her pussy hugged his fingers and released them repeatedly in a conflicting effort to expel and embrace the forceful fucking up into her body. “This is no way to argue.”
“We’re not arguing, love. This is me stating plainly what I want from you. Put your legs together for a second and let your panties drop, you dirty little bitch.”
She cried out softly as she obeyed and her panties fell to her ankles. “I want to come. Now stop teasing me.”
“Your orgasms are mine to control, Jill.”
“No, they’re not. It’s my body.”
“No, babe.” His hand left her throat and dipped into her cleavage to play with her left breast. “It’s my body and it’s going to behave in the manner I dictate. Every part of you is mine, body and soul.”
Rich sensation flared in her breast tissue where he groped her. His words electrified her sex drive and pissed off her inner feminist.
