by Alex Elliott
Earlier, I’d dropped her off and fully intended on catching up on work. The load that’s raining down with subcommittee reports due yesterday.
No problem. I’m in my zone. Cranking out reports, reviewing research for a legal brief, and then Archer sends me intel on Xavia’s family. Something’s definitely going down and for once Archer’s message is cryptic as shit. Says I need to lay eyes on my sub’s condo—as if I haven’t been in creeper mode. I vow, not to do anything until I can get ahold of Archer, except he doesn’t answer my texts or pickup when I phone his ass.
Now four hours later, here I am, parked outside her apartment in stalker mode and it’s getting worse. I’ve got an inkling that I need to figure out how invested her grandparents are and if blood is thicker than water as the Veep suggested. With Archer’s obscure text that it’s not just Colin potentially screwing around where X is concerned, I’m more than on edge. Blood versus water is definitely a fucked up kind of situation—I know. It’s the type that can strangle, with chokehold ferocity. But I’m not a Kennedy or a Stillman. Those types don’t do automatic weapons, killer contracts, hit men.
I’ve buried my more troubling history aka my family’s Cosa Nostra ties. The Veep’s clueless as is the rest of world from where I’ve actually arisen and what I’ve experienced. So far removed from my mother’s side that here I sit, equipped with a pair of binoculars in hand in lieu of a scope on a rifle. Those days are over. And tonight, when I’m effectively operating blind in trying to formulate my next move, I keep repeating that sentiment. Those days are fucking over. They have to be. Tell that to my overactive instinct to watch over X. She’s all that fucking matters.
I glance up and nothing’s changed. The windows to her apartment are all dark except the one off the balcony. Apparently my little submissive isn’t sitting at home, knitting a sweater. I question where in the fuck is she? And with whom?
All I have to do is pick up the mother lovin’ cell twelve inches from my knee and ask her. I have a few rights as her Dom. Don’t I? Instead of stalking, I should just call her. It’s not like I don’t have a phone that can’t be traced to me. But here I am, acting as if I’m in high school and chasing my first lay. I pick up my second cell, running my finger over the smooth glass screen that lights up with one contact number. Xavia’s.
If I call her, demanding to know her whereabouts, that brainstorm will come across as the asshole move of the century. After the bullshit today with the Veep’s admission of gerrymandering, I’m not about to add more fuel to X’s fire that we’re cornering her—which I would if I fucking could.
Tossing the phone back into my glove compartment, I curse. Shit or get off the goddamn pot, Stone! Rightttt. I put the binoculars back into the leather case and stow them on the floor of the backseat. One more scan of X’s apartment and I groan at my own stupidity at being at a crossroad that splinters into half a dozen directions. Pulling away from the curb, I ignore my gut with the slow burn, and drive to my own apartment that’s starting to feel more and more like solitary confinement.
My plan: tomorrow I’m going to insert a larger plug in my beautiful sub’s ass and get her ready for Wednesday when I take ownership of her in yet another way. If she’s going to run all around this town, then I’m going to make damn sure to enjoy her when I have the opportunity. Using my official senator cell, I text Xavia an innocuous message. “Meet me early tomorrow. 7:00.”
As I drive, my phone buzzes. She’s texted me. “I’ll be there. Any special reason?”
I choke the leather padding around my steering wheel until it squeaks. How many times can we tell each other we need to talk? Since we’ve met, that sentiment when expressed leads the way to us disrobing and fucking.
My dick rouses and I text back, “Work. A.M. meeting.”
I keep my texts clipped and to the point, but I’m holding my cell...waiting to see if she’ll respond. When she does, I look at the screen, and smile. “Sure thing, boss. Bright and early.”
* * *
IT’S MONDAY morning and I’m early. There’s a dignitary meeting downstairs, and I’m keyed up, waiting for X. Well ahead of schedule, Oliver isn’t here yet, and I’m downing a cup of coffee as I answer the emails I didn’t get to last night thanks to me getting derailed. I hear a noise in the outer corridor and I finish the message that I’m typing and hit ‘send’ before I shift my focus. My little submissive appears in my doorway and fuck me. Dressed in a dark skirt and a blouse that accentuates her incredibly suckable tits, she smiles at me while glancing around my office.
“Good morning,” she says. “I’m ready for your roundtable talk. Any last minute instructions?”
I turn my chair forward, and for a moment, I enjoy just watching her. Until I lower my gaze to her legs and recall how she felt wrapped around me yesterday. This impervious connection she and I share—the one that accompanies us wherever we go—ignites fully charged and I ache to take hold of her, drive my cock inside her until she’s begging me to go fast. Do her hard.
“Exceptional morning and yes, I have something I need to attend to before the talk begins. Close the door.” My words come out strained as I open my desk drawer and extract a case. It’s unlocked, but won’t be once I’ve changed the plug within X’s ass. I pop the locks and the sound of them rings out in my office. She comes up to my desk and I meet her gaze. “Did you obey me and keep the plug in place as I directed?”
“Yes, sir.” She blushes.
I should press her on that one...ask if she went out last night with my plug in her ass. “What’s it feel like?”
“Big. A substitute.”
“It’s time for another size.” I remove a larger plug from the case.
“Here? You’re going to do that now...right before the meeting downstairs?”
I rise. She’s wearing her customary killer shoes but I still tower over her and quirk my brow at her, savoring the blush on her cheeks that deepens under my steely perusal. “Would you rather I wait and do it when all the staff are milling about?”
She gasps and scoffs, “Of course not.”
“Then follow me,” I direct her, leading the way to the conference table. I should have waited and guided her over to the table, but I’m pissed that she’s gallivanting around town free as a bird while I’m sequestered in a prison of my own choosing. I never envisioned I’d be some overbearing prick concerning a girl—but fuck, X has this unshakeable power over me.
When I turn, she’s right in back of me, and I get a whiff of her perfume. The scent rips through me and crash lands right in my cock. I go from semi-erect to sporting a full hard-on.
“What do you have in mind, Senator?”
Is she taunting me? I grit my teeth and decide to give her a dose of her own smart-aleck medicine. “Lift your skirt. And do it quickly.”
For a millisecond her eyes dart back and forth between mine and she arches her brow as though she sees right through me. “Well alrighty.”
Slowly she bends and draws the hem of her skirt up her slender thighs and I go from cocky and smug to pulling at my collar. She’s wearing a pair of lace garters and matching panties.
“Turn around,” I growl, gripping the plug. I remove the bottle of lube and handkerchief from my pocket, maintaining my focus on the mind-blowing vision she encapsulates as she turns and presents her ass dressed in a tiny sliver of white lace that has me about to come in my pants if I don’t stop staring.
“Sir?” she asks, provocatively peering over her shoulder in what might be perceived as innocent if she were fully clothed. Standing as she is, semi-naked and gifting me with a view that is incomparable, I realize she’s not innocent...she’s playing me at my own game and my little sub is winning.
If she thinks bringing me to my knees is a simple task, she’d better think again. I curl my fingers around the plug, struggling to ignore the blistering hunger that feels like fire racing through my blood. I flip the cap of the bottle, and drip lube down the plug as she watches me, biting he
r lip. This close to X, the throbbing chant inside my head to free my cock and do her gets louder.
“Lean over the table and spread your beautiful legs. All the way and give me access to your ass, Ms. Kennedy.” Now, it’s my turn to gloat.
Her eyes narrow as she swings her face back toward the table. She plants her palms on the sleek wooden surface, partially bowing forward. She remains more upright than not, her chin notched in stubborn defiance, and I laugh.
“Lower and widen your legs, little sub. If I have to say the direction again, we’ll deal with your attitude on Wednesday. Trust me, you don’t want to add to the list already formulated after yesterday’s little meltdown. And for the record, it’s ‘Master.’”
“That wasn’t my fault, Master. It was more like a police sting,” she huffs over her shoulder, then stops when she sees me smile.
I want her as irked as I feel, and hope she gives me cause to demonstrate who is top here. “If you want to talk about a sting, maybe you’d better consider how your ass is going to feel when I take a cane to your cheeks for your defiant tone. Fucking lower yourself to the table, or I’ll show you what happens to little subs who play with fire.”
“Don’t threaten me,” she retorts.
I come up to her, itching to lay her over my lap, and show her just what threatening feels like. Pressing over her back, I curl my fingers around her neck, grazing my jaw against her face. “I never threaten. If I have to fuck your ass this very moment to remind you which one of us is the Dom, I will.”
“What about the rule of no sex in the office?”
“Fuck the rules.”
“Real way to build trust, Master.”
“I am. You can trust that if you step out of line, it doesn’t matter what the fuck is between us...I’ll teach you. My promise to you means more than anything that materializes in the world. Didn’t you hear? Where you’re concerned, I’ll break the rules. Every time. There’s only one edict where you’re concerned. Only one that exists. You’re mine. That’s all that matters.”
“Don’t I have a say?” she hisses.
Not in my book. I inhale her scent, driven right to the edge as I press myself into her softness. I reach down, skimming my fingers over her tits, then lower. Yanking up her skirt, I’m so close to giving her a say... my name on her lips as she moans in ecstasy. I want to splay her legs open on this table and sample her cunt for breakfast. I remove my cell and snap a photograph of her partially clothed. I knead the curve of her ass and snap! I take another picture.
“This is mine,” I rasp, showing her what we look like. “What do you have to say to us...like this? I could be fucking and photographing you.”
Her lips drift open, and her near translucent blue eyes darken. “Please,” she whispers as a shiver passes through her body. For once she doesn’t fight me tooth and nail. “Take another and another.” Spreading her thighs, she tugs my hand down to the scrap of lace between her legs.
“Not good enough. I want you to beg for it, X.”
“Please, Ben. Photograph us and fuck me hard.”
“That’s not begging.” I lean over her ass and smack her soundly. “Stop. Playing. Games.”
“Master, I’m begging you. Teach me. Own me. Fuck me hard.”
Her voice and body are so sweet—collectively beauty personified and I bury my face against her neck, savoring her softness.
“I want you.” I don’t bite her, instead I suck a bruise into her skin, skating the edge of pure desire. This woman tempts me to be gentle. A sliver of a distorted image flashes in my brain. I don’t react. I sweep my fingers across the supple flesh of her stomach—yet another slice of brutality flashes. This time sharper focused—the memory from my childhood comes with the scent of acrid smoke and pain. I can’t ward off the past. Degrading images escape the recesses of my memory when I let down my guard. Clenching my jaw, I force myself to stop feeling. Anything abstract. Only my body exists and X as my submissive.
“More,” she begs and I dig my fingers into her flesh, and bite her neck finding bittersweet relief when she cries out.
I snap another photo, ghosting my fingers along her dampness. Sweet Jesus, this is torture. I’m hungry for her. It’s getting harder and harder to seal the lid on what I feel when I’m next to her—I can’t pick and choose which emotions to deaden. I pull myself off her, running my fingers down to her hip as she folds over the table, obeying me. The strip of lace between her legs is an enticing tease that I push aside, and with the plug visible, I take another photograph.
“So good,” she whispers.
“I own you. Say it!”
“I’m yours. All yours.”
She lifts her hips and I remove the plug and snap! Her ass is open, her pink flesh an invitation, and my cock strains my zipper. Click! Click! I snap several photographs in a row as I fuck her ass with my finger.
“This is what I want. You. Open. All for me.”
“Ben. Please. I need you.”
“You’ll wait!” I demand harshly as much for her as for me.
I touch the tip of the larger plug to her entrance and she arches. That’s it. My sub is so responsive. I enjoy slowly inserting the plug into her ass then withdraw it, pumping it in and out of her. I reach around and push my hand down the front of her, splaying open her plump slick lips and she soaks my fingers with her arousal. “You’ll let me photograph you...your wet cunt...however I want.”
“Yes.”
I turn her over on the table, spreading apart her knees. “Show me what I own.”
Leaning back, she spreads her pussy lips for me. And snap—I take another picture of her. She’s pink and sleek—her clit is an erect nub. I press the pad of my thumb to her, bruising her clit, and she cries out in pain and pleasure. That sound is pure nirvana.
I press harder, and ask, “Do you enjoy when I play with your ass? When I photograph you?”
“So much,” she whispers, rocking herself against my fingers. “Please, Master.”
I want to do her. Mount her brutally and mark her like an animal. Right here. Right now. But fuck, she’s got me coming undone and that’s not going to continue. She’s right about me—I’m tearing up the rules. Somehow, I need to draw a line, and not to cross it where she’s concerned. Rein in my rampant hunger. That’s what this lesson is all about. Not me falling under her spell one more time.
“That’s all we have time for today,” I say coldly and am rewarded by her soft gasp. Yet the reward is hollow. Everything I desire is before me—contained within my untamed sub.
* * *
BEN CURSES then stoops and kisses my mouth. I arch against him, pressing my belly against the hard bar of his cock. Biting my lip, I claw the table, moaning when he lifts me off.
“We need to rock and roll. I’ll meet you downstairs...in say, ten minutes,” he announces coolly as he pulls the hem of my skirt down from around my waist.
“Downstairs,” I parrot in my sexually drunken state after I just splayed my pussy and ass cheeks for him and let him photograph me. All of me. In my stunned state, I mumble, “You’re sure no one will recognize me?”
“X, not with the mask and wig you wore,” he assures me, sliding his lips along my forehead. My eyes drift shut at the sound of his deep voice. “Your secret is safe with me.”
I nod. He’s right. And I need to get my act together as in right now! Opening my eyes, I focus on the here and now—relegating Saturday onto a shelf. There’s already enough simmering inside my brain—let’s not burn all the neurons at once.
Speaking of fire. Over me, his body feels like an inferno. Heat doesn’t just radiate between us; it roils in waves as if I’m hyperaware of him. He plants a hand next to me, pressing his mouth on just the right spot along my neck.
The one...that makes...me...lose my mind. “Please!” Shamelessly I plead, stretching against him.
Then boom.
He backs away.
The time we spent this morning feels like eons. I’m disorien
ted as I push away from the table. I turn and our eyes meet. He lifts a brow. One arrogant brow and it’s like a glass of ice water is dumped onto my senses. Oh Jesus. A dart of electricity pulses through my chest, making my nipples bead uncomfortably within my bra. I utterly ache for him. With the plug in my ass, my focus detours to the swollen and slick space between my legs. I lower my gaze to his mouth and shiver.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
Like the camera he snaps. Click! And he’s back to business.
How does he do it?
Lover.
Prick.
Saint.
“I guess it’s late,” I reply, corralling what I crave from him. I’ve got to stop acting like I’m putty whenever he touches me. It’s ridiculous that all my goals—heck all my good sense—fly right out the window when he’s next to me. Proof is accumulating on that score! He now owns scads of risqué photographs of me, plus I’m wearing a larger butt plug...two and half days away from him fucking my ass. “What are you going to do with the photographs?” I ask him.
“Enjoy them.”
“Hello? Time to think with your head. That one!” I point toward to the one above his neck and snarl, “Your phone can be assessed by the FBI in case you don’t remember your most recent goal...Mr. Veep.”
“Not this one, baby.”
I glance at his palm. The cell he’s holding looks like his other—or does it? “So you have two phones. Why?”
“Pot. Kettle. Don’t you have two phones? Where do you think I got this idea?”
I frown. “It’s a product of...I don’t trust my family.”
“I’m not far behind. I don’t trust my employer, but I trust you.” He collects the other plug that’s wrapped in his handkerchief.
“Meaning?” I don’t follow where he’s going with this idea.
“We can talk outside of work...you and I.” He flashes me one of his predacious smiles, and I remind myself, no crumbling.
“Yeah. I understand the premise. Especially after yesterday and what the vice president is setting in motion.”
