Loving Her

by Jeanne St. James

  His words make me quiver, send a shock deep through my soul.

  I shouldn’t allow this. I should fight to take back the control. Punish him for doing something unacceptable and out of turn.

  I try to twist around to face him, but his weight keeps me pinned in place.

  “Let me up,” I insist.

  “No.”

  “Noah.”

  “No.”

  “You will be punished,” I warn him over my shoulder. Though, even to my own ears, those words don’t sound harsh enough.

  “Yes.”

  He rakes his teeth over my neck and then sinks them into my shoulder, drawing a gasp, then a moan from me.

  I work my hands from underneath my body and as soon as I do, he has my wrists circled within his fingers and stretched over my head, held tightly to the bed.

  “Release me,” I try again.

  “No.”

  In all honesty, I’m relieved he won’t. I’m surprised how this excites me. Him taking control, acting the alpha, taking what he thinks is his.

  But no matter what, at this point, I can’t let him know I’m enjoying it, he wants the battle.

  Because he wants to win it.

  I see that. And I know how to play that game, too.

  I squirm underneath him and he sits up, straddling my thighs, pulling my wrists to the small of my back, still holding them tightly.

  With his free hand, he snags my thong and rips it from me, my body jerking with the force of it.

  Fuck. I’m dripping wet. My breasts have fallen out of my corset from being thrown around and now my nipples rub against the stiff edge of the leather, stimulating them, making them even harder.

  I groan, once again shifting under the heavy weight of his thighs. He smacks my ass and the sting makes me cry out and squirm harder.

  “Noah,” I breathe.

  “Right now you’re mine. Then I’ll be yours. Not a moment sooner.”

  Fuck. I don’t like dominant men, that’s what I’ve always told myself. But my body is betraying me. Maybe I don’t like it from others, but I’m liking a forceful Noah.

  He grabs a pillow from beside my head and shoves it under my hips, then he bites my ass cheek.

  Fuck.

  He slides his body down my legs, his tongue tracing my cleft. The bed shifts and his knees are between my thighs, spreading them roughly. Then his tongue is there again, slipping between my ass cheeks, teasing all the way down, tasting my wetness, separating my pulsing, swollen lips, dipping, nibbling, scoring me with his teeth. He presses a finger to my throbbing clit and I jerk, unable to control my own reactions.

  “Noah,” I moan again. I should be discouraging his actions, taking him to task.

  But I don’t want to.

  I’m finding this current turn of events to my liking.

  And I never got to come yet. I had been so close when I had him in my mouth. Suddenly, I’m back there, at that edge, teetering.

  He sucks hard at my slick folds, and I feel that pull all the way to my center.

  “Fuck, these stockings,” he groans against my pussy and my breath escapes me in a shudder.

  He sucks me harder, tweaks my clit and I lose it. Totally lose it. My core clenches around nothing. Not his fingers, not his cock. It’s empty but still throbs as a climax rips through me. And it’s amazing.

  Then his hand digs in my hair again, pulling my head back until he can grip both my hair and my wrists in one hand. With a knee, he nudges my hips up higher, higher, then he sinks into me. Fast, hard, his hips slamming my ass. The vibrations from his cock ring bring me to a peak again almost immediately, then I tumble over that bittersweet edge once more.

  Twice in seconds. There will be no tears tonight, no running away in shame. I know my body now; he definitely knows his.

  He snakes an arm under my hips and pulls my ass even higher as he thrusts deeper, slamming me harder. The sound of our skin slapping melds with the words he’s mumbling, the encouragements I’m crying out.

  I’m not telling him to stop, I’m demanding he give me more, all that he has. All that he can be.

  I tilt my hips more as he slaps my ass again and groans out a “fuck.”

  “Again, Noah,” I demand. He smacks my flesh with his palm once more, and I cry out, “Yes. Again.”

  He does it.

  “Fuck, Bree.”

  “Again. And make me come. Now.”

  He does both. A crack against my bare ass. A third orgasm. And a complete switch. He’s doing what I’m telling him and he doesn’t even realize he’s given up the control.

  He’s lost in the moment, his own pleasure and mine.

  He thinks he’s doing what he wants. But he’s doing my bidding.

  “Noah, fuck me.”

  “I’m fucking you,” comes from what sounds like gritted teeth.

  “You can’t make me come again.”

  “I can. I will.”

  I smile, but I quickly lose it as my body rocks forward with the force of his thrust. His hand under my hip, holding me up, slides between my legs and his fingers drag through my wetness, touching us where we connect so intimately. And when his thumb strokes my sensitive clit, I clench around him, squeezing him as hard as I can then my body takes over, pulsing intensely.

  “Fuck,” he groans and his body curls over mine as he drives deep one more time and stays there, the root of his cock pulsating against my flesh as he spills inside of me. The cock ring is pushed so tightly against my pussy that the vibrations take me over the edge once more.

  “Five,” he murmurs against my neck.

  Five fucking orgasms in a matter of minutes.

  And not one tear shed.

  He’s proud of himself. As he should be.

  He releases my hair, my wrists and I press my forehead into the mattress, gathering my strength, sucking air into my lungs.

  Then he shifts and the vibrations stop but he stays deep inside me. His fingers brush over my ass, and I’m assuming my skin shows the mark of his handiwork.

  “Fuck,” he murmurs. Then he repeats, “Fuck,” in a sharp bark.

  He slips out of me and is gone. I feel the loss tremendously.

  I try not to groan as I turn over to see where he went. The light to the master bathroom is on and he’s inside but I can’t see him since the door is almost closed, although not completely.

  As I sit up my hair falls around me in a thick mess and I sweep it away from my face, run a shaky hand over my damp forehead and drag my fingers over the bite on my shoulder to test its tenderness.

  He marked me.

  As his.

  On my shoulder. On my ass.

  These are not the actions of a sub.

  Chapter Five

  Brianna:

  I haven’t moved an inch before the light extinguishes in the bathroom and the door opens.

  Noah strides confidently across the room. I think he’s coming back to the bed, back to me. To tell me that I was wrong, he’s not a sub. He’s a complete alpha, taking his woman, making her his.

  But then my breath hitches as, without ever meeting my eyes, he drops to his knees in the middle of the room, sits on his heels and curls his body forward until his forehead reaches the floor.

  He’s groveling.

  Jesus Fucking Christ.

  The man is begging my forgiveness without even uttering a word.

  Now I do want to cry because his actions are beautiful and simply breathtaking. He is offering himself to me.

  I push to my feet, pull down my skirt and zip it closed, tuck my breasts back into my corset and say fuck it to my hair. There’s no way I’ll get it back into a bun without a lot of fuss.

  And right now, I have more important things to do.

  Like take care of my precious pet.

  I move to stand before him, watching his ribs expand and contract with each breath he takes. His skin appears flawless, the curve of his neck delectable as he grovels at my feet.

  This
is not the man of minutes ago.

  I can’t say which I like better.

  Both, perhaps.

  “Speak,” I tell him.

  His hands slide closer until his fingertips touch the toes of my shoes. I could take him to task for touching me without permission. Since it’s barely a brush, I’ll let it go.

  “I’m sorry, Mistress.”

  Mistress.

  Though, it only makes sense that he’d call me that, that he would think to use that title, I won’t tolerate it. Not from him.

  As the title echoes through my mind, my body quivers as something dark and sad runs through me. “Don’t call me that,” I snap before I can contain my irritation.

  His head jerks up, his eyes meet mine, questioning, curious. Confused.

  “You called her that.”

  “Her,” he repeats on a whisper, his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes searching.

  “Her.” The woman who took him from me.

  I circle him, there on his knees in the center of my bedroom in a very subservient position. Waiting for his punishment.

  “I saw you. You broke my heart.” Then turned it to steel.

  I can see him working out my confession in his head. A look of shock flashes over him, but it vanishes, his expression quickly becoming schooled. His lips part as if he’s about to say something but can’t.

  “Did you like what Mrs. Callahan did to you?”

  His lips part again but it takes a few beats before he asks, “What do you know?”

  “More than you think. I watched you, Noah. You and her. At first, I thought she was just sick. Depraved. Then...” I trail off.

  “Then?”

  “Then...” I shake my head slightly. “Then I realized you liked it.”

  “Yes,” he says simply.

  “And you kept going back for more.”

  “Yes.”

  “And as you learned what you liked, what you needed, what you craved... so did I.”

  Once again, confusion crosses his expression. “What do you mean?”

  “I realized I wanted it to be me in there doing that to you. Not her. Me.”

  I barely hear him say, “You should have said something.”

  “Right. Because that’s how honest we were with each other at the time, at that age.”

  He closes his eyes. “All this time...” When they open they look different. Pained. Sad. “If I had known.”

  “It wasn’t the right time,” I murmur. Because it’s true. We were too young, too confused. Too embarrassed.

  “I hated her,” I admit, because that’s true, also. “But I’m also grateful to her. She made you true to yourself.”

  “Yes. She made me find something deep inside me that I never knew existed. I thought I’d outgrow it. I didn’t. I embraced it. But you still should have told me.”

  My nostrils flare and my jaw tightens as I stop in front of him. “Right.” I try to keep the bitterness out of my tone, out of my words, but it’s difficult. “And then what, Noah? I was no match, no comparison, for a woman with that level of maturity and experience. She could read you, figure out your needs. I knew nothing at the time except how the parts fit and even then...” I drift off, hardening my resolve, not trying to let this affect me, affect our limited time together. I shake my head. “So, don’t ever call me Mistress. I am not her.”

  “Bree—” is all that escapes him before I cut him off.

  “Now you need to stop talking,” I demand.

  “Bree,” he starts again, a little more firmly. A small step toward taking back control. I can’t let him have that. Not again. Not now.

  “Stop. If you want to remain in this bedroom, in this session, just stop talking, Noah.”

  His eyes close and a shudder runs through him, strong enough I can see it but I steel myself against his reaction. And when he opens his eyes again, his golden-green eyes are no longer soft, they’re dark, determined.

  He wants to continue to play. He’s ready to hand over the reins again. But I think he struggles with it also.

  As do I.

  “Ms. Brianna?”

  “Just Brianna if you’d like.”

  “Do I have another choice?”

  “I’ll accept Ma’am.”

  “As long as it’s not Mistress?”

  I’ve accepted it from others, but I can’t from him. “No.”

  He nods and lowers his eyes, no longer challenging me.

  Surprisingly, I find myself a little disappointed.

  “You removed your cock ring.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “To the floor, as you were.”

  He plants his palms to the floor and drops his forehead down.

  “What would be a good punishment for my pet?” I step forward until the tips of my shoes are within his line of sight. “You removed your cock ring without permission. You touched me without permission. You challenged me. You planted your seed inside me without a condom.”

  At the last, his body twitched.

  “I did not give you permission to do that, and you didn’t ask, did you?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “I did not give you permission to remove your cuffs and your blindfold, did I?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “So many infractions. You disrespected my authority, did you not?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What am I going to do with you, Noah?”

  “What you will, ma’am.”

  “I should send you away. Back to your hotel.”

  His body tenses at my words. I imagine he wants to sit up, to plead his case, perhaps, but he doesn’t. He remains.

  “I should put an end to this. Should my pet be rewarded when he has been nothing but naughty?”

  “No. Please, ma’am.”

  “No? You don’t want to leave?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “But is it your choice?”

  He hesitates. “No... ma’am.” His answer is so low I almost don’t hear him. His fingers, once spread wide, now curl into fists.

  I am pushing him again. He is being reminded of his place.

  If he doesn’t want to do this he could get up, get dressed and walk out. That easy.

  He doesn’t.

  He won’t.

  He needs this as much as I do.

  “Hands and knees,” I order.

  Immediately, he pushes into position, keeping his eyes to the floor. I weigh my options.

  He needs to be punished but I want us both to enjoy it. I leave him there to go to my dresser and dig in the top drawer, pulling out a wide, round leather paddle. Another of my favorites. The one with the flat metal rivets that outline the edge. For the inexperienced, it would be intimidating. However, Noah is not inexperienced.

  I approach him, tapping my palm with the paddle with each step I take. I stop in front of him.

  “Look, my pet. Do you approve?”

  I do not need his approval, but I want to see his acceptance.

  When his gaze lands on the instrument in my hand, his lips part and his eyes darken. “Yes, ma’am. I approve.”

  “How many times should this touch your flesh to make up for all your transgressions?”

  “As many as you deem necessary, ma’am.”

  Good answer. He’s no longer pulling at the control, but instead accepting that it’s held in my hands... just like the paddle.

  “I’ve seen you paddled before, Noah. I’ve seen how hard it makes you. I’ve seen that paddling alone can make you lose yourself. Will you give me that gift tonight?”

  A hesitation. Though, I know why. He’s only just come, and he’s no longer eighteen. It takes longer for a man our age to recover. I’m asking something of him he may not be able to deliver.

  He may be willing, but it may not be possible.

  But, God, I want to see it. I want to be the one to bring it about. I want it to be me and no one else that’s in his mind when he feels the sting of the hard, flat leather a
gainst his skin.

  I want to wipe all that I’ve seen through Mrs. Callahan’s open window out of my memory and his.

  I want this to be ours instead.

  I need this to be ours, because if it’s not, we will never work. She will always be there between us. And the woman needs to be cleansed from our past so we can work on our future.

  If we decide there is one.

  But that’s not a concern right now. Right now, I must mete out Noah’s punishment, remind him of his mistakes.

  “You haven’t answered me, my pet.”

  “Brianna, I will do my best.”

  “That’s all I can ask.” I move behind him, slide the paddle over his ass cheeks and watch the muscles flex underneath his taut skin.

  Anticipation is a powerful tool.

  “Head down,” I tell him.

  He drops his head once more, his ass high in the air. His thighs are tight, the muscles strained, his hands are still in fists on either side of his head. His hair is long enough that it covers the sides of his face. Once again, I think that’s a shame that any part of his glorious body is covered. But that’s just the way it must be.

  His sac hangs heavily between his thighs and I’ll have to watch I don’t hit him there. I don’t want to hurt him; I want to excite him. I want to see if the strikes of the paddle will bring about another erection, another release on its own.

  The dampness between my thighs grows as my body clenches in its own anticipation.

  “Are you ready, my pet?”

  “Yes,” hisses from him as I step to his left and raise my right arm. And as I do so, his whole body jerks.

  As I said, anticipation is a powerful tool. It can fuck with your head.

  “Mississippi?”

  “No.”

  I nod, pleased, even though he can’t see it, and bring the paddle down with as much force as I can. The sharp sound of leather meeting skin fills the room.

  “Fuck!” he yells, his whole body moving forward from the impact. His fists are no longer that. He now has his face buried in his hands. And I fight back the panic.