A Dominant Man (57 page)

“Good girl. Don’t forget, or I will add to your lashes. Clear?”

“Yes, Master, crystal.”

“Very good, Gabrielle…Why am I punishing you?”

“You’re punishing me for my indiscretions with Walker, Master.”

“Yes, you were extremely naughty today, and for that, I’m going to give you twenty lashings. Are you ready, Gabrielle?” I hesitate. “Gabrielle, answer me now, or I add five more.”

Without thinking, I reply, “Yes, Master, I am.”

His hands disappear, and the instant they do, I regret my answer. I turn my head to face him, but I’m too late, and the flogger is coming down on my ass with a blazing fury that causes me to scream out.

“You were a wicked little thing. You enjoy driving me mad.” He thrashes down again, and I whimper, biting furiously at my bottom lip.

“No, Master,” I yelp.

“You betrayed my trust.”

He snaps the flogger rapidly across both cheeks and every muscle seizes, clenching aggressively to the point they burn.

“Yes, Master.”

“You wanted him to kiss you,” he growls, whipping the beaded ends against my already blazing rear.

“I’m sorry, Master.”

“You disobey me constantly, over and over and over…”

He whips my hide with a ferocity that makes my bum sting and my eyes burn. I cry out with each wail of his hot hand, urgently clawing at the braided silk ropes tethering me to the antique four-post bed.

He continues his bittersweet assault on my inflamed, ruby red rump. I feel tears forcing their way to the surface, clamping my throat shut and stinging my eyes with a vengeance almost as painful as Damian’s. I can’t take the anguish for another second, and I allow the streams of lava to swell in my eyes and pour out over my face. They fall onto the sheets like little wet drops of sorrow.

I whimper through the excruciating agony, “Muffin, muffin.”

He halts his attack and unfastens my restraints in a flash, freeing me, and I coil into a ball on the mattress, cradling my arms about my legs and bringing them into my chest. I quietly weep with my head tucked into my knees, but when I feel his tender touch on my spine, I begin to wail stridently. The tears rush down my face in endless supply.

“Angel,” Damian whispers, panicked.

He scoops me up, hauling me into his lap, rocking me in his able arms. He kisses the top of my head as it lies heavily upon his shoulder. I can feel the rapid hammering of his heart against his chest. A beat so strong it thumps into the side of my blotchy, soaked face while he cups a trembling hand onto the other.

“Damian,” I sob, flinging my arms about his neck and digging my face into his shoulder, crying hysterically like that awful night back in my apartment.

I gasp jagged intakes of air, but my throat clamps shut, making it nearly impossible, and I choke on my tears. I cough and clear my airway, continuing my shrilly sobs into his toned, wet flesh.

“I don’t know what came over me. I’m so sorry, angel. Forgive me, please. I couldn’t live…”

He buries his face into my messy strands, and I feel the familiar, moist warmth of tears spilling into my hair and onto my scalp.

We hold one another and allow all the emotional, life-altering misery of our fucked pasts to flood over and drown us in its sorrow. We sway, weeping silently into one another, fingers grasping tightly into hot, sweaty flesh.

The song comes to an end and then repeats.

I wipe away my tears onto his shoulder, rubbing my face against it in long, slow strides. I breathe in the radiating pheromones fizzling in my nostrils like champagne bubbles. My breathing is stressed as I inhale the exhilarating cocktail of sweat, cologne, and Damian’s natural fragrance.

While I admire his aroma, a teardrop runs down his neck and over my lips. I lick them, savoring the salty taste of anguish, and attack his neck. I glide my tongue up the wet trail left behind, tracing it up to his chin, his lips, his cheek, where I peck softly. He groans, gently grasping the back of my neck and pulls me back, peering into my eyes with bewilderment and an urgent need that astounds me. I gape up and study him attentively, waiting on bated breath.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he states with a husky voice, scanning his dark eyes over my moist, flush face hungrily.

He smashes my mouth onto his, palming the back of my head, forcing me against him. He leans, lying us down on the bed, and fucks my mouth with his cogent tongue, ravaging it with a need unmet by any before, by any one in the vast history of time.

He breaks from me, breathless.

“Have me. Take me, please,” I plead.

“In due time,” he promises with a dark tone. “Be patient, my dear.”

He shifts on top of me, adjusting his hips so he’s between my arousal-saturated thighs, and I whimper. I love the feeling of his hips filling the empty space between my thighs, that special place made just for him, to harbor him, cradle him, sooth him and his licentious needs.

The tip of his steel cock crowds my entrance, and my juices coat the head, causing him to enter me slightly, just enough for the thick of his head to spread me open, informing me of his presence. I cry out a shaky moan.

“Do you want me, angel?” I shake my head, and he fists his hand in my hair, tugging sharply, forcing my face to tilt up. “Tell me. I need to hear it, Elle.”

“I want you. I want you so much it hurts,” I whimper breathlessly.

“I want you, too, baby. I need you so fucking bad,” he groans and reaches up to the nightstand. He rears back onto an elbow and holds the glass of wine over my face, tilting it slightly, allowing a few large drops to drizzle onto my lips. His tongue comes down onto me, licking and tasting the wine off my lips. He breaks away, holding the glass up again, and I oblige, opening my waiting mouth.

He slopes the glass, and the fragrant burgundy liquid trickles over my thirsty lips and tongue. He comes back in and savors my mouth, moaning with a thirst for me.

“You taste so good,” he rumbles from our impassioned oral caress, “I want to devour you, drink you in.”

He drags his pink stained lips from mine, scooting himself down so his face hoovers over my tender breasts. He slants the cup, dripping the wine onto my erect nipples. It seeps down my cleavage and over the plump sides of my breasts, soaking Hunt’s blood red tie and saturating the sheets. The wet sensation causes my back to arc and thrusts my girls into the air. They meet his coveting mouth with a biting nip of his pearly whites, and I cry out a jagged moan, licking my lips, tasting the mix of perfectly aged grapes and Damian.

He descends further, his face eclipsing my tensing apex. He inclines the glass, pouring the scarlet liquor down my pink slit. His tongue laps up the excess in a swirling tornado of pleasurable strokes. I writhe and bow as he devours me, pummeling my clit with his veracious, twirling tongue. He builds me up, higher and higher until I feel like I can’t hold on.

Abruptly, he pulls away, leaving me hanging onto the edge of that bottomless abyss, and I feel a dull ache deep with my womb. He nimbly slides up my quaking body, shoving me higher onto the mattress, and sets the wineglass onto the nightstand. His tip presses into my wine-soaked opening, making me squirm, shifting my hips. The repositioning causes him to sink root deep inside me, stretching me out, hitting the back wall.

I sheath him to the hilt and tense from the sudden fullness from his twitching cock. He lets out a husky growl in the depths of his chest and thrusts his hands into my messy strands, fisting them and yanking hard.

“I fucking love being inside you,” he growls. “Mmmm. You love it, too. You’re wet, greedy cunt gives you away.”

He lifts his hips and glides out of me to the tip, teasing me with a few shallow pumps before plunging back in balls deep. They slap against my ass, and my head rolls back, digging into the mattress with my mouth wide-open.

“Do you feel me? Do you feel me possessing you, filling you up?”

He slowly exits me again, allowing the head to float about my entrance, taunting me with its delicious thickness.

Is he trying to drive me fucking mad?

“Yes. Oh god, yes.”

I drop my hips and plummet onto him, bouncing back up when he drives into me at the same rough speed. This starts our deliberate pace, hard, abysmal plunges that cause our bodies to slide across the bed. We creep closer to the side of the mattress until my head is hanging over the edge, swaying and bobbing with each body-arching, lip-licking pump.

Suddenly, an overwhelming thought enters my head, a need I must have met.

“Choke me,” I moan out my command, gripping my tender, swollen breasts with my eager hands. “Use the tie,” I growl.

He hesitates for an instant, but when he sees the stern gleam in my eyes, he tightens the silk about my neck, just enough to apply slight pressure and stress my breathing pattern. I groan out, palming my girls as he pounds into me fervently, inching my shoulders over the side of the bed. As gravity takes hold, I begin to slide off, but he miraculously manages to adjust us so I fall on top of him.

His back crashes with a thud onto the floor, and his cock slams into me viciously. The colliding force of the hard ground doesn’t stop his tantalizing assault. I straddle his waist, and he clasps onto my gyrating hips, guiding me onto him until our thighs mill together, grinding in a savage circular motion.

“I can’t get deep enough. Fuck me, angel. Show me how you like it.”

I splay my hands on his chest for balance and leverage, shoving myself onto him until his tip grazes my back wall. His head violently tilts back as a hedonistic growl burst from his parted lips, hands clasping roughly to the curve of my hips. His thick shaft hits my G-spot flawlessly, and I feel the familiar tightening all over. I’m rising to the peak, climbing higher until I reach the top.

“I feel you. Cum, baby. Cum for me.”

With a few more hard pumps, I answer his plea and tumble down hard. I quake wildly above him as he releases himself into me, the generous surges of warm, gooey honey fills me to the brim until it drips down my thighs. My head falls back lazily while I struggle to take in a sufficient amount of air, my chest heaving rapidly.

His worshipping hands run over my waist, hips, breasts, neck. He gazes up at me from pained, heavy lidded eyes.

He doesn’t say anything as he lifts me up off him, shifting me onto the floor. He doesn’t say anything as he puts on his clothes, and I lie naked on the rug, studying his sullen manner. He doesn’t say anything when he heads out to the living room and returns with my party getup, tossing it on the bed.

He stares down at me for a moment and strides back out of the room, never uttering a word.

What is his problem?

I jump up off the floor and head into the bathroom to clean up. I’m wiping Damian off from between my thighs when I notice how sore my ass feels. I turn around to get a look at the damage in the mirror above the sink, shocked by the blotchy, hot pink mess that was my rump. I spot a jar of Hunt’s soothing cream on the counter and apply a generous amount on my warm buttocks.

Once my back end isn’t as raw, I head into the closet to scrounge up an outfit and find it full of Damian’s clothes, opting for an oversized V-neck tee and faded jeans with holes in the knees. I slip a belt through the loops and fasten it on the last hole. They hang low, but they stay on. The hem drags quite a bit, but when I put on my cherry red pumps, they barely touch the floor. I find my clutch in the pile on the bed and snag a hairband. I throw my hair into a sloppy bun atop my head, with loose, wispy strands falling about my face.

I pick up my clothes and shove them into an overnight bag I found on the floor of the closet. I snatch it up and head out to the living room where Hunt sits on the couch with a crystal whiskey glass in his hand, filled a third full with an amber liquor. He glances over his shoulder and finds me with vacant, green eyes, though I swear I can see a hint of a smile, I can’t tell because it’s so minute.

Did I do something? What the fuck went wrong?

Once again, he doesn’t say a word. In fact, he remains silent the entire ride home. Liam drives us in the black Land Rover after our long night of champagne, hard liquor, and even harder sex.

I only make one attempt to open the lines of communication. I place my hand over his, resting between us, but he jerks it back and sets it in his lap. He just stares out the window, chin in his palm, gliding his forefinger across his bottom lip. I turn away from him and gawk out the window, sulking silently.

Why won’t he talk to me?

T
he elevator doors slide open into the palatial main room, and I clamber out after an excruciatingly awkward, tense ride up. I stride across the large space, heels clicking loudly on the hard wood floor as I make my escape for our bedroom. I rush upstairs, kicking off my heels once I’m inside, and sprint to the bed, tossing myself onto it face down. I scream at the top of my lungs into the mattress.

I flop over onto my back and stare blankly up at the high ceiling. The room is dark except for the dim light coming through the glass wall from the buildings below and the hallway light beaming from the open doorway.

Then a long shadow casts across the room, blocking the light from the corridor. I slope my head up to glimpse at him then let it fall back onto the mattress. I turn onto my side and curl up, my hands tucked under my head. I shut my eyes and let out a long breath.