by W Winters
Everyone knows it but no one can prove it. It takes me a moment to understand what she’s saying. A number of cold cases are linked to both the mysterious grim reaper who used to terrorize the area, but now the crime family known as the Cross brothers are suspected.
The blood draining from my face chills every inch of me.
Fear makes my heart beat faster despite all the chamomile and how tired I am. It’s not just The Club I’m a part of now. The conversations I’ve overheard while with Declan … I know the area the news anchor mentioned. I know the train tracks and I know Nate brought them up more than once.
Swallowing down the anxiousness, I close my eyes and my mind instantly goes back to the feeling of being wrapped up in that soft, black blanket he keeps stowed away in the bottom desk drawer to wrap me in when he’s done with me.
He’s strong underneath me, holding me tightly, kissing my hair.
I told him I heard nothing and I mean it. With the click of a button, the TV turns off.
All I know is that I am his and I haven’t heard a damn thing.
Even that lie sends a deep chill to ice my veins. It’s wrong. That’s a real line I thought I’d never cross: turning a blind eye. I’m in over my head. I’ve been ignoring that, because it’s easier. I don’t want a confrontation with Declan. I don’t want a confrontation at all.
But how am I supposed to do this? It’s one thing to be a plaything and a pet. It’s another thing if the man you belong to is a murderer.
Shivering, I glance at the black screen of the TV and then the stairs. If I had to, I could pack a bag right now and go. I could drive out of the city and keep driving until I saw an exit that looked appealing on the highway. Oh God, what would I do? Change my hair and try to get a job where people didn’t see me often? Even if I did that, how long would it take for him to find me? I remember Nate’s question, and thinking I could give Declan any reason to suspect I’m undercover or an informant sends true fear through me. I have no doubt Declan has influence beyond the city. I bet people would agree to whatever he said anywhere in the world. They can feel the power he has, and the dangerous energy.
Retreating to my bedroom, I take a seat on the bed. What I need is to know more about him. Scarlet would know more than I do. I bring up my texts and start to type one out, but it goes nowhere. Type. Delete. Type. Delete. I feel like I’ve been doing that a lot lately. But maybe I don’t want these questions in a text.
Falling back, the cheap mattress bounces with me and I cover my face with both hands. I wish I hadn’t seen the news.
Not out of fear or conflict. It’s because I’m falling for him.
Already. I am so fucked.
Declan
Her pussy is the prettiest shade of red after taking my cock. Swollen, used. Her right ass cheek is beautifully flushed from my grip while I took her.
She is the perfect distraction. I’m growing far too fond of this routine.
“Push it out,” I whisper with a hand on each curve of her ass. Kneeling on my desk, her heels hang off the table and her cheek presses against the desktop along with her breasts. I started the day by getting her off sucking her clit, then I found my own release buried inside of her. Sleep didn’t come easy last night. All I wanted to do was bury myself inside of her. I think her days off will need to come to an end. I’m far too greedy for that.
“I want to see my cum drip down that pretty little pussy,” I tell her and she moans a sweet, strangled sound as her entrance clenches and my semen slowly leaks out of her slit and then drips down to her bare thigh.
My satisfaction is evident with a deep groan as I lean back into my chair.
“You could start a war, you know that?” I compliment her, my gaze shifting from her ass to her simper as she peeks over her shoulder toward me.
The blush she gives me is everything. As if she isn’t completely aware of what she does to me.
It’s been days of this. I thought I could fuck my interest in this out of her, but every day I want more. Testing her, playing with her, fucking her until I’m spent.
Nipple clamps lay heavy on my desk. Snapping them off during her climax left bright pink marks on either side of her breasts, and more importantly, had her screaming my name in pleasure. She came harder with those than she has anything else.
Even the vibrator didn’t do it for her like the clamps did. Although, a bit of edging may have helped.
As I stand, opening the top drawer of my desk to put the clamps back, she moves. Lifting her upper body before I told her she could is going to get her in trouble.
Her obedience doesn’t end once we’ve both come. She damn well knows that.
Tossing the clamps in without looking, I chastise her with the ease of being her Dominant.
“Did I tell you …” I start and my hand raises to come down against her ass. I don’t get to finish, though. The words are silenced as Braelynn cowers back. Notably, her arms raise as if I was going to strike her across her face.
What the fuck? Everything drops. It’s like everything falls in that moment. That's the only way to describe her split-second reaction.
Collapsing onto her back, she nearly falls off the desk and I have to brace her torso to keep that from happening. Hissing, I barely catch her. “The fuck are you doing?”
Tension pulls at every muscle as Braelynn stiffens. She swallows, and only then does she look up at me.
What the hell just happened?
“Braelynn.” I say her name gentler before telling her to get back into position. My heart hammers in my chest.
Nodding she does so, eagerly, but fear is prominent in her gaze. My pulse doesn’t stop pounding in my ears, though. She lays her head down with the other cheek resting against the desktop. Back to position like a good girl.
I take my time, zipping up my suit pants and buttoning my dress shirt after wiping her down and cleaning up the mess she made.
All the while she’s silent, occasionally looking back at me, questions staring back at me.
Oh, my little pet, there are certainly questions coming.
Rolling up my sleeves, one by one, I stalk around the desk. “You thought I was going to hit you,” I speak, focusing on my shirt.
She only moves to turn her head.
“I just …” she trails off and swallows audibly.
“Yes. You did, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
There’s a numbness that crawls over my skin. It’s sick and cold, two things I’ve been dubbed more than a time or two.
I thought she was enjoying this. My mind travels back to the thought I choose to silence: she could be doing this for ulterior motives.
“Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know,” she murmurs, and refuses to look at me. I have to bend to grip her chin, my other hand bracing myself. Her wide, dark eyes peer back at me, begging me for something and I don’t know what. “Is it because of that first night? When I hit that fucker who tried to sleep with you?” The cords in my neck tense. It was a fucking stupid thing to do. “I don’t—”
“It’s not you.” She rushes out the words, cutting me off.
Letting go of her, she lies back the way she’s meant to, and I take a guess. “Someone else hit you?”
She only nods and then sniffles like she may cry.
There’s not a damn thing I like about any of this. Every alarm is ringing, my body tense.
“Like this? Like I punish you by—”
“No. Not like this.”
“Do you not enjoy this? Do you want to stop?”
Her words are rushed, “I don’t know why I—” Tears brim at her eyes and I fucking hate it. “I don't know why I reacted like that.”
“Are you going to cry?” I don’t know what compels me to ask her. Of course she is. She’s already crying.
My hand moves to the back of my head and I rake my hand up as she shakes her head as much as she can before saying, “I’m just embarrassed.”
Her face reddens further as she attempts to hold back her tears.
Settling on what I have to do, my strides are purposeful as I wrap my arm around her waist. “Come here. You can get up. Come here.”
With her small frame cradled in my arms, I move her to the chair. She does what she always does, clings to me, buries her head so I can’t see her. And I do what I do, I hold her.
I prepare for her to cry, but she doesn’t.
“Tell me what happened.” I give her the command in a low murmur. Patience does not come easy. All the while we sit, I kiss her hair, and I stare ahead at the bookshelf, lined with a number of heavy trinkets I could so very easily bash against a man’s skull.
“I was married. Young. At eighteen. I didn’t know any better. We divorced.”
Each statement is spoken quietly, carefully.
I already knew she’d been married, but I assumed it was done and over. It hadn’t occurred to me that he’d tainted my little pet with reactions I can’t control.
“And he hit you?” It’s not so much a question as it is a statement.
Maneuvering in my lap, she sits up straighter, not a tear in sight. Her dark eyes search mine and I give her nothing. My expression is impassive.
She whispers, “A couple of times.”
“His name?” I question, needing to make sure I’m certain of the man who put his hands on her in a way that left fear where all I crave is desire.
“Travis.” With a short nod, I end the conversation.
Resting my nose against her hair, I take a moment breathing her in, staring ahead to calm myself. With even and steady breaths, I force my body to relax until my little pet rests easily against me once again, absolve of the heavy weight of her confession.
“Do you enjoy what we do?” I whisper the question and her answer is immediate. “I do.”
It’s a soothing balm, but only so much as it can cover.
When I kiss her temple, she relaxes further. I can’t be sure she’s already aware, so I tell her simply, “Any pain I give you will be heightened by pleasure tenfold and never out of anger, never to harm you.”
My gaze is still straight ahead, her head nestled against my chest. She offers me a murmur of understanding, her warm breath tickling my throat.
Although it would seem as if the situation is settled, that statement can’t be further from the truth.
My tone is firmer as I tell her, “I must punish you when you misbehave. Do I make myself clear?”
Her body stiffens slightly but she acknowledges what I’ve said quickly enough. “Yes.”
“I didn’t tell you to move and you did.”
“I know,” she answers, easier now, more accepting.
“I’ll let you choose your punishment,” I offer her in an attempt to assuage her worry.
“I’m sorry,” she says as I help her up and onto her feet.
“Don’t be sorry, I rather enjoy punishing you—” I begin to tell her, but she cuts me off.
“No. No,” she says and glances up at me but she’s quick to look away, biting her lower lip to silence herself. I don’t miss how her fingers nervously intertwine around each other, or how she doesn’t look at me in the least as I take her to the hidden door in the bookshelf. It opens with a single push.
Braelynn
Holy fuck. Whips and all manner of implements for fucking hang in front of me. The door in the bookshelf hides so many toys and tools I don’t know where to look first. The light shines off of metal handles and the muted black leather brings a scent of sin to engulf me.
There are at least a dozen whips. A fucking dozen. Some are longer, some have thinner strips of leather, and others aren’t leather at all. I’d reach out and touch them, but it’s all too shocking.
A shiver runs down my spine. Some of these are intimidating. More than intimidating—they honestly look like weapons intended to do severe damage.
“Do you like any of them?” Declan asks. His deep baritone startles me and I take a step back, my hand over my chest.
I turn to face him, my heart in my throat. “Have you used all these before?”
He narrows his gaze, dropping down to my chest before answering. “They’re new.”
“No, like … have you …” I correct myself. “You know how to use them.”
“Yes.”
Tension remains between us. It’s awkward, and not at all like it normally is. Or maybe it’s just me. I don’t know. I can’t get out of my head. I genuinely thought he might hit me for a moment, not that he would. Not that Declan would … but when I was lying down Travis used to hit me; he always waited until I was lying down. I can’t shake the feeling. It was too much like the memory.
“Do you like any of them?” Declan questions again. Staring up at him, I wish I could tell him, but I don’t want to go backward. Instead I focus on the collection of toys … if you could even call them that.
I hug my arms to my chest and warm myself, running my hands up and down my exposed skin. It’s a little cold. Or maybe it’s my nerves. “Some of them scare me,” I admit. There’s a belt with studs hanging right at eye level. “This would hurt.”
“Very much,” Declan agrees, “but it wouldn’t break your skin.” Is he always so matter-of-fact like this? It feels different.
“You want to use it on me.”
He nods. “I will use it on you, and you’re going to fucking love it.”
My heart races even faster. A lightheadedness takes over at the idea of having all these things used on me. I can trust him. I’m sure I can trust him. But something in my body isn’t so sure. I just want to leave.
There’s a knock at the door. Saving me, telling me I should go now. That I’m not in the right mindset for this. I can’t shake the feeling of Travis’s hands on me and I don’t want to do this right now.
Fuck, I thought I was long over this. It takes everything in me not to cry. At the disappointment in myself, at the shame, at the fact that Travis did such a number on me.
I just want to be okay.
“One minute,” Declan calls. Then his eyes are on mine again. “I have an appointment, so you’ll have to wait. You haven’t chosen your punishment, so this may count if you handle it well.” His tone sounds hopeful. His lips even kick up into a smirk as he brushes my hair back. I could lean into that touch, his strength and his warmth, but he pulls away too quickly.
“You’ll sit how I place you and stay just like that. It’s called mental bondage.”
Blinking, I question, “Mental?”
“Because the restraints are psychological.” Declan leads me back to his desk and guides me to the floor so I’m kneeling.
“I just … stay like this?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“For as long as I’d like.” The calm comes with this so-called punishment. Hell, I think I need it. Just a moment to sit and think. To get these thoughts out of my head rather than letting them stew.
* * *
Getting down on my knees, I peek up at him in all his authority. His hand runs down my hair as if he’s petting me and I’m able to lean into it for just a moment. I shouldn’t feel so comforted, but I do. It’s Declan. Declan takes my hair in his fist, tilting my head and bends down to whisper in my ear. “You are mine, aren’t you?”
It doesn’t hurt, to be gripped and moved by him as if I’m a doll. “Yes,” I whisper.
He pulls out a plush cushion and tells me to sit. It’s black velvet and at least two by two feet. It’s simple. Kneeling. Sitting. But I’m naked. He arranges my hands on my thighs and tips my chin up so I’m staring straight ahead. “Do not look at the floor,” he orders.
“Yes, Sir.”
My gaze shifts to my dress forming a puddle in front of his desk. He doesn’t cover me, or make any move to grab my clothes as he calls out for whoever is at the door to come in. My face heats with embarrassment when the door opens and a man comes in. He sees me on the floor with a f
lick of his eyes.
I have no idea who he is.
Declan gestures to the desk like I’m not even there. “Have a seat.”
“I like the furniture,” the other man comments with a quiet laugh. Declan doesn’t laugh. The look he gives the man is deadly.
* * *
The other man takes a seat across from Declan, and the conversation begins. Something about the docks and when a shipment is coming.
The news anchor comes to mind.
Every sordid rumor flicks through my mind. I can’t stop it and when I do, I wish I hadn’t.
It doesn’t take long for my mind to fly back to when I was with Travis.
I wish I could stop thinking about him. Wish I could stop remembering everything he did. He used to embarrass me, purposefully. The memories are upsetting enough, and now I’m naked on a cushion. My skin heats, and my heart pounds. I swallow heavily. Declan and the man don’t seem to notice my dilemma. Whoever he is, he keeps glancing over at me.
“What do you think?” Declan says, and it takes a moment for me to register that he’s not speaking to me. Both of the men stare down at me expectantly.
“Is she in trouble?” he questions.
“A bit of a punishment, yes.” The man readjusts in his seat and nods with a grin. “She’s doing very well if you ask me.”
I hate that they talk about me in front of me. This is different from before. I nearly speak up, moving from this position until Declan’s hand cups the back of my head and he says, “She’s a good girl. Just had a moment earlier.”
It’s odd to feel such relief, such warmth, while also anger. A moment. It was just a moment for him. It’s not one moment for me. My throat tightens, my emotions at war with one another.
The stranger asks, “Is she a new pet?”
“She’s mine.” Declan’s tone is severe as he takes his hand away. I love his possessiveness, but it’s not enough.
