by Wicked Ties
Jack’s laughter was filled with relief. He brought her closer, tumbling her across his lap. “Good girl. There’s nothing wrong with you, cher.” He looked right into her eyes, hoping like hell she believed him. “Andrew is the one with problems, stupid jerkoff. He didn’t like that you challenged his manhood, that you were stronger, that you wanted something he wasn’t man enough to provide. You’re not depraved. You need someone you can trust with your safety and pleasure, mind, body, and soul. I think that makes you wonderful and perfect.”
Morgan’s jaw tightened. She fought more tears. And he didn’t want her to fight them. Time to get them out, once and for all. He hoped like hell she’d be too busy fucking later to succumb to more of them.
“Tell me,” he coaxed. “It’s okay.”
“I just couldn’t get his voice out of my head.” She broke then, tears cresting from her eyes, down her cheeks, one crystal tear after another. She inhaled raggedly. “Over and over, I could hear his voice telling me how depraved I was. That I was abnormal and—and disturbed. That I was a whore.”
If the little prick was standing here now, even God couldn’t have saved him from Jack’s rage. Andrew had nearly destroyed this beautiful woman’s sexuality to preserve his own delusions about his adequacy. He’d be dealt with later. Jack would make sure of that. Morgan needed him now.
“You’re nothing of the kind.” He dried her tears with his thumbs, then kissed each damp cheek. “Did you like your pizza the same way he did?”
She frowned. “He didn’t even like pizza.”
“There was something definitely wrong with this guy.”
Morgan laughed through her tears, and Jack kissed her sweet, swollen mouth.
“My point is, cher, not everyone has the same taste. Pizza may be oversimplified, but you understand. Don’t let his voice play in your head for another moment.”
Another command, a stern one. He didn’t expect her to heed it completely right now. But if he could get his voice in her head to compete with asshole Andrew’s, his own voice would eventually replace it.
“A-and my mother. Shortly after my engagement ended, she came to visit me, to console me. She found some of my . . . books. Erotic ones with bondage and—”
“Cher, mamas don’t want to think about their daughters having sex, much less good sex.”
Morgan looked at him with tear-drenched eyes and nodded. “It was terrible. I grew up in a religious house. Sex was dirty to her. Evil. To say she was shocked by my private library would be an understatement.” She bit her lip as fresh tears threatened. “She shouted the same things as Andrew. Abnormal, d-depraved.”
And hearing that from her own mother had hurt. Jack saw the pale torment all over her face.
“They’re ignorant and misguided,” he vowed. “Neither understands the deep bond of trust and understanding a dominant and his submissive forms. You do. You’ve been looking for it subconsciously for years. Now that you have it, you’re too smart to let it get away, aren’t you?”
A bare hesitation. A tiny one. She’d feel a not-so-gentle hand on the back of her ass for it later, not because he didn’t understand her feelings or her need to think things through, but because she had to start associating her guilt with unpleasant consequences.
But she finally nodded in agreement.
“Are you ready to show yourself that you accept who and what you are?”
Morgan hesitated again. Swallowed. But she nodded once more. “Yes.”
Jack eased off the bed and stood beside it, drilling her with a hot stare that demanded understanding and obedience before he bent to retrieve the lingerie they’d discarded earlier with the intriguing cutouts he was dying to explore. He thrust the garments into her hands.
Her wide, wet eyes were a blue beacon, drawing him to the vulnerability shining there. She looked so fucking young with bare, tearstained cheeks. Damn, he’d done his best to bring her out gently, break her just a bit. Now it was time to remake her, if she could just trust him.
Morgan reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing as she tangled her fingers with his. As he reached out to stroke her cheek, Jack saw something new on her face. He saw resolve.
Now, he permitted himself the smile he’d held in earlier.
“Put these back on, along with the black stockings. Knock on the door of my playroom. Ten minutes. I’ll be waiting.”
SQUARING her shoulders, Morgan lifted her hand to the closed black door and knocked. As the sound echoed down the shadowed hall. She pushed what she was, or rather wasn’t, wearing out of her mind. No more thoughts of Andrew or her mother. Their opinions couldn’t matter. She wouldn’t let them.
Jack had opened her eyes.
Her mother had been a shriveled woman, bitter toward all men, thanks to Senator John Morgan Ross breaking her young heart. And her former fiancé, she realized, focused his energy on frustration. Andrew had elevated angst to an art form. He didn’t want to be happy or fulfilled. Their relationship had always been an emotional roller-coaster ride, towering highs and crashing lows all in one day—one hour, if Andrew could swing it. People on the Turn Me On set had called him a drama king. He’d been threatened by any show of strength on her part, any strong opinion she expressed. Rejecting her sexuality had been his way of creating the next calamity and making her every bit as frustrated as he’d been.
Yes, she could still hear their voices, their slurs, in her head. She just wasn’t going to give either of them the power to make her miserable anymore. If she was still not completely comfortable with her sexuality, Morgan suspected time and another man like Jack—he wasn’t hers to keep—would turn around her reluctance.
She pushed aside a sharp pang at the thought of no longer having Jack.
Instead, she concentrated on her body, the cool air on her exposed nipples, the bra lifting up her breasts like a proud offering. She focused on the crotchless panties that didn’t quite cover her ass or stop the gush of moisture rushing from her vagina to coat her inner thighs. She felt the thigh-high stockings hugging her in every way, emphasizing the small square of cloth covering her damp curls.
Nervous, yes. But far more aroused. And determined not to examine what she and Jack did or judge their actions. If it aroused her and felt good, she’d just do it.
That all sounded good, but without any idea what Jack might want—demand—from her, Morgan waited, aware of the ache of erotic fear and need building inside her.
Jack opened the door wearing black leather pants—and nothing else.
His gaze walked all over her, starting at the swollen mouth she’d been chewing on for the past ten minutes, down the pale slope of her breasts, gliding over the flat of her bared tummy, then zooming in right between her thighs, framed by lace, silk, and fishnet.
She watched his face. The heat raced to his eyes. The firm lines of his jaw grew tight. Her gaze skipped down past the bunched golden muscles of his wide chest and shoulders, down farther to the thick erection that grew at record speed.
Despite her nerves, Morgan smiled.
“I wouldn’t be too happy yet. I’m going to make your earn my cock and your orgasms tonight.”
Her smile faltered. If he noticed it, Jack said nothing.
“Come in and sit on the table.”
“But—”
“No speaking unless I give you permission. Is that clear? Either nod or shake your head.”
Stern, intense, beautiful. Morgan supposed she should have been furious with his high-handed attitude. Instead, she was curious and wet and wanting. And filled with an electric thrill.
She nodded and made her way into the room.
Jack swung the door wider to accommodate her, and it felt symbolic. A door opening. She would just embrace this part of her without judging it, without dwelling on what others would say.
“Sit,” he barked. “I won’t repeat myself again.”
Morgan snapped to attention and brought herself back to the present. There would be time for thinki
ng later. The time for obeying was now. With quick steps, she made her way to the center of the room and perched her ass on the table, scooting back until she was fully seated. She crossed her legs, clenching her thighs together to relieve the ache, and waited.
With a hot challenge lighting his eyes, Jack placed a hand on each knee and pried her thighs apart, then wide. “Don’t cross your legs to me. When we’re alone, they’re open wide, signaling your availability and showing me your sweet, wet pussy. Understood?”
She wanted to be angry that he was going to tell her how to sit now. It was damn demanding. Overbearing. And arousing as his stare made its way down to the wet flesh he exposed, and he caressed her with his gaze. A fresh ache tightened behind her clit, gently pulsing in time with her heartbeat.
And she understood. This was why she thrilled to Jack’s domination. He was so focused on her, so concentrated on taking her in with each sense, in every way he could. He enveloped her mind in the sexual experience so thoroughly, she couldn’t possibly think, much less think about anything else. Soon, she would have all his power, testosterone, and self-control directed at her pleasure. At the thought, she felt flushed, faint.
And Jack hadn’t really even touched her.
“Do you understand?” Jack asked between gritted teeth.
Morgan answered him with a nod.
He turned away to open a few boxes on the counter behind him. He stuffed something she couldn’t see in the pocket of his pants, then turned back to her with something long and sparkling and golden. When he held it up for her, she saw it was a thick gold chain with a dangling rubystudded heart. It was beautiful. Stunning. Too big to be a bracelet, certainly. Too short to fit around her neck and have the pendant dangle between her breasts. What did he intend?
“If you agree to wear this, you agree to be mine. Only mine. Sexually, you do what I say, when I say, how I say, and where I say. If you put this on, the word no leaves your vocabulary. You answer me with a polite ‘Yes, sir.’ ”
He stroked the ruby pendant across one exposed nipple, then the other. The cold of the gems, the riot of sensations, forced her to draw in a trembling breath.
“You may speak. Ask me questions before you answer.”
Be his? For tonight? That had to be what he meant. No way was the man talking forever.
Morgan licked her dry lips, aroused, oh-so-needy. “I have no questions, sir. I want to be yours.”
The pulse jumped at the base of his neck. He swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed. This meant something to him, and the fact that he couldn’t quite conceal it touched her heart. But her eyes didn’t stop their visual dessert. Her stare moved onto the veins roping his heavy forearms, bulging as he formed fists. His flat belly taut, as if he was poised to spring into action. And his cock. She hadn’t thought it possible but he seemed to lengthen another inch.
“I want that, too, cher.” His stare seduced and revered her at once.
Palms sweating, Morgan longed to press her thighs together to relieve the fresh, heavy ache he’d created . . . but she didn’t dare.
“You understand that once I put this on you, you are mine to tease, punish, torment, and fuck at will?”
Yes. Fine. Hurry. The waiting was killing her. Quickly, she nodded.
“You know that your entire body will belong to me?”
Again, she nodded.
“That any time I indicate I want to make use of your mouth, your cunt, or your ass, you assume the position I request, no matter what?”
Morgan hesitated for a moment, then nodded. The unknown, anal sex, and anything else he could dream up, wouldn’t worry her. She had to trust Jack to make everything good. God knew his words alone were reaching into her deepest fantasies, pushing her past caution, past her inhibitions.
She shot a deferential gaze up to him, her nipples hard as diamonds. “Yes, sir.”
“I will take care of you. Trust me to know when and how you need my cock. Trust me to understand your fantasies and make each of them come true. Trust me to know when you need a good spanking and when you just need me to wrap my arms around you.”
Wrap his arms around her? As if he would, what? Support her? Love her? He talked like he meant this to be beyond tonight. Like he did mean it to be forever . . .
“Understand?” His voice was soft but no less demanding.
Not really. But she was too impatient to ask. “Yes, sir.”
Without another word, he stepped behind her and clasped the jeweled pendant around her neck. It clung to her like a choker, snug but not restrictive. The pendant of rubies pooled in the hollow at the base of her throat, rapidly warming to her skin. He walked around the table again for a peek.
“It looks perfect on you.” With a gentle finger skimming her skin, Jack outlined the pendant.
His gaze never left hers. Never wavered. A world of promise and sinful mastery lay in his eyes. Morgan had seen Jack a lot of ways in the past few days: angry, asleep, protective, aroused. But never like this: possessive and totally determined.
Morgan exhaled a ragged, aroused breath.
“Perfect,” he murmured. “Lie back and keep your legs spread so I can see that sweet pussy.”
She only hesitated long enough to remind herself that she’d come here to be with Jack, to experience the ways he could make her feel. To embrace her sexuality.
Dark, hungry, his gaze roamed over Morgan, heating her up from the inside out. He looked so big, so . . . male standing over her, the hard ridges of his torso taut, defined, rippling with every breath. Her mouth went dry.
Now all she had to do was trust him with her pleasure.
Slowly, Morgan did as he commanded and laid back on the table, legs parted. She wanted to ask what he had planned for her, for them. But she knew that wasn’t allowed. She had to trust him. So far she had—with her life. And she was still alive.
Maybe for the first time, totally alive.
For a long moment, he did nothing but gaze at her, his dark stare penetrating her body, her mind. She couldn’t have looked away, even if she had wanted to. But breaking the connection between them was the last thing she desired. The jolt of it was like a live wire, stunning her, shaking her to her core. Breathless. Suspended. Tormented with anticipation. She waited.
“Close your eyes.”
Oh, what did he have planned? Not seeing what he was doing . . . Morgan wasn’t sure she could handle it. But the weight of the choker around her neck reminded her of all she’d agreed to. The twin slashes of Jack’s black brows warned her against further hesitation.
Stomach jumping, heart pumping, Morgan allowed her lids to flutter shut, concealing Jack and anything he might do from her view.
A moment later, a scrap of something soft and silky fell over her face. Jack adjusted it over her eyes, then tied it off at the back of her head. A blindfold. She gulped. God, he meant for her to go into this totally blind and give him complete trust.
Morgan took a calming breath. She was up for this. She could do it, even if she had to disregard the wild thump of her pulse to believe it.
Jack leaned closer. She could feel his heat, scent his heavenly musk as he approached. It soothed her, as it made her even more aware of herself as a woman, even more wet.
His lips settled over hers like a whisper. A brush of heaven, a slide of hot taste, a forbidden brush of his tongue. “Thank you for your trust.”
She relaxed into the table and arched her neck to receive more of his kisses.
Instead, she felt the grip of his fingers around her right wrist. He lifted her hand, easing it a few inches to her right. She felt cold metal around it a click later. Not tight . . . but not giving either. There was no way she was moving this arm. He repeated the process with her other wrist. Then he bound her ankles in the same way he had her wrists, locking them on either side of the table, knees bent, thighs wide.
“In time,” he murmured, “and, I’m sure, after your fair share of punishments, you’ll learn to trust me as you sho
uld.”
The soft note of censure reverberated through her belly like a warning. Without being told, she knew she had punishment coming now.
Still, the sharp rap of his fingers slapping the mound of her pussy shocked Morgan. The sensation vibrated through her, down her nether lips. Then the ache centered right under her clit—but it wasn’t pain. Pushing past the alarm and desire flooding her mind at once, a ferocious need seized her body, concentrated between her legs.
Jack repeated the process, this time just a fraction harder. The ferocious ache became monstrous, gripping her in its clutches with an unavoidable grasp. Morgan bit her lip to hold in her moan.
Then once more, the flat of his hand struck the pad of her pussy, with more force. Sensation zinged through her, ricocheting through her vagina. Equal parts pain and pleasure. The vise of need tightened until it strangled her thoughts. The moan lodged in her throat broke past her resistance and filled the silence between them.
“One more like that, and the pain will outweigh the pleasure. I’ll reserve that . . . unless you hesitate again. Understood? Shake your head or nod.”
The rumble of his voice dug down inside her, inciting a fresh wave of want. He’d already reduced her entire existence to her beating heart, her pounding pussy, and that line that seemed to run between them with some link she didn’t understand.
Finally, she realized that Jack was waiting for an answer. She nodded.
“Good. Tonight, I’d rather pleasure you than punish you.”
Footsteps across the hardwood floor told her he’d turned away, crossed the room. Was he leaving? No! She’d pushed away her inhibitions, resolved to embrace what he wanted to share with her. Dismay stole over her, and she tried to fight the cuffs at her wrists and ankles.
Then the footsteps announced his return, measured in a precise military-like cadence.
“You aren’t going anywhere. Neither am I,” he vowed and placed his palm in the center of her stomach. His skin was like a hot brand, promising more, swearing to make her completely his.
