Tied to the Tycoon (8 page)

That step didn’t seem so big now, up close. Or maybe it was Jackson who made it feel normal, less terrifying. It just seemed…inevitable.

Stop thinking, Ava.

She cuffed herself and turned to show him.

He looked down at her cuffed wrists and attached a length of soft black rope with a clip on the end to the cuffs with a definite
clink
. The rope extended to the other side of the room, where it was attached to a pulley that he’d hung on an eyehook that protruded from the wall. She jerked at the rope and the pulley gave slightly. There was some slack on the line. She followed it, and saw that Jackson held the other end in his hand.

He looked at her right back. Then he looked at her hands, cuffed, but still held up so they covered her breasts. His eyes flickered to the window and back to her.

“Close the chest and sit on it,” he said, and returned to his seat on the sofa opposite her.

Bewildered, Ava did as he said. Part of her felt like this was ridiculous. She was naked and restrained in plain view of much of Manhattan. And he hadn’t touched her since he’d come back. She’d been aching for him for hours now, and the more she thought about it, the more the pressure behind her clit grew. It was making it hard to focus, hard to think.

She remembered what he’d said only that morning, when she’d tried to run out:
You’ve been thinking for ten years. How’s that worked out for you?

She looked at the grey eyed man who sat across from her, his face giving nothing away. Could he really know her that well? Still, after all this time?

“Spread your legs for me,” he said, and began to slowly gather the slack on the line.

Ava looked out on the city and up at the windows of other apartments.

“Jackson, the window…”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Ava took a deep breath and scooted up to the edge of the chest, the metal studs along its edges digging into her soft skin. She risked another quick look to the window. She wished she hadn’t; it was dark outside now, and there were lights on in other apartments. She must be completely visible to anyone who cared to look. She brought her cuffed hands to her chin, hiding her breasts, and gingerly began to spread her legs.

“Wider, Ava,” Jackson said, frowning. “Don’t mess around.”

Why was this so difficult? To just spread bare, like that. Even in front of Jackson. Perhaps especially in front of Jackson.

Slowly she inched her legs apart, balancing on her toes, until her legs could get no wider. She’d always been flexible. Her chest fluttered nervously as she hugged her breasts with her arms, her hands still cuffed together, until she looked up and saw Jackson’s face, raw and hungry and utterly uncomposed for the first time since they’d been reunited. He was staring at her with his mouth slightly open. For a moment, she thought he might jump up right then and…

“Very nice,” he said hoarsely.

She smiled.

“First question,” he said, rising from his seat and walking towards her. “What is your favorite sexual fantasy?”

Ava blinked. She had a lot of fantasies. One by one, they flashed across her mind, but she didn’t focus on the sex, or the situations, or those key moments that made any fantasy a…fantasy. For the first time, Ava realized that the one thing they all had in common was the kind of man—or
the
man—who starred in the leading role.

It was shattering.

Had she really been thinking about him all these years? Had it really been always, only, forever him? What the hell was she doing here, thinking she could get away with just sex, that this wouldn’t…

“Ava.”

He was standing over her now, looking down. He wrapped the length of black rope around one of his hands and began to pull.

“Stay where you are, keep your legs spread, and
answer me
.”

She saw the coils of rope begin to pile up, and she felt the tug on her wrists. Slowly, the rope began to pull her wrists up and back, towards the ceiling behind her, forcing her to uncover her breasts. He kept going until her arms were held up above her head, bent at the elbows. She was totally bare now. Physically.

“Ava…”

“This,” she said softly. “Being tied down. Captured. Taken.”

By you.

Jackson locked the rope and knelt down beside her. He reached for the spreader bar at her feet, then stopped, his gaze falling on her spread sex. He placed one large hand on her knee and slowly pushed up the length of her leg, his thumb pressing into her thigh, until he couldn’t stand it anymore and he bent down to kiss her between the legs. Ava felt his lips surround her clit, and his hot tongue worked on her until she uttered a low, begging moan.

She cried out in protest when he pulled away. He turned back to the spreader bar, as though he hadn’t just sent her sky high only to leave her there without release. Her legs were shaking as he fastened the cuffs to her ankles. She couldn’t close her legs now if she wanted to.

“You’re lucky, Ava,” he said, resting his hands on her hips as he looked at her face. “You remember that first question, the one you answered ‘yes’ to so bravely?”

She nodded, trying not to breathe too hard.

“The question was whether or not you’d be allowed to come.”

“Oh, please,” she begged.

He laughed.

“Next question,” he said, and selected a large, textured, blue vibrator. “I want to know more about these fantasies. What do you think about? What gets you off?”

She shook her head, afraid to speak. She wasn’t trying to be disobedient; she just didn’t want to tell him the whole truth. He’d be gone in a week. He’d said no strings. How would he react if she said, “You?”

Jackson frowned and grabbed the riding crop. Quickly, he swatted both of her nipples—one, two. The sudden, sharp sting took her breath away and set the rest of her on fire.

“Tell me. Don’t think. Answer.”

“Being powerless. Being…” She gasped as she felt the pull on the rope again, and she had no choice but to lean back. Her abdominal muscles burned, and her hips strained until she was lying prone on her back, her arms pulled back behind her, immoveable, her breasts falling slightly to the side, her legs held apart by the spreader bar. She couldn’t see him now, couldn’t see where he was, or what he was about to do.

“Being under your control,” she finished. She was panting.

“Good,” he said from somewhere in front of her spread legs. “You answered ‘no’ to anal, though I’m considering a veto on that, I’ve got to tell you.”

She clenched involuntarily. He laughed.
Oh God, he could
see
that.

“I’m not done with these questions, Ava. You’ve got to relax.”

And she felt his finger slip inside her, quickly, as though just testing. She didn’t even have time to miss it before it was replaced with the head of something larger—much larger. Something cool and rubbery.

The vibrator.

She tried to think. It had been big, as big as Jackson himself. God, she wished he would just…

She cried out as he pushed it inside her. Not knowing it was coming made it seem about five times as big, and he filled her to the hilt. He moved it around inside her, pivoting in a slow circle. Her hips tilted up as far as they would go, and her back arched.

“Goddamn, that’s beautiful,” she heard him say.

She didn’t think she could speak.

“C’mon, stay with me,” he said, and came around her side, one hand still holding the vibrator inside her, the other smoothing the hair on her head. She felt like she was stretched tight and thin, impossibly so, like a bubble that was about to burst, and she had no idea what would happen when she did.

“Ava, look at me,” he said, and his free hand moved to her breasts. She did, and she realized her lips were pressed tight together, like there was something she was trying hard not to say.

He pulled the vibe out, slowly, and pushed it back in. She groaned.

“You get off on being under my control?” he said. She nodded.

He fucked her a little faster with the vibe.

“On being vulnerable?” he asked.

Again, she nodded. She felt tears welling up in her eyes. She had no idea why she would be crying.

“On being with me?” he said.

Oh God, please…
She didn’t want it to be true. Why would he ask her that, why would he…

She writhed, and he held the back of her head and looked into her eyes.

“Why did you run away from me?” he said.

She shook her head and tears fell out of her eyes. She was crying. She couldn’t do this. She could do just sex, she couldn’t do…

“Please,” she begged.

His eyes softened, and his thumb brushed her cheek before he kissed her. “Shhh,” he said. “You don’t have to answer, it’s ok.”

Then he turned the vibe on and fucked her with it until she came, screaming his name.

chapter
9

Jackson had been rocked by Ava’s orgasm almost as hard as she had—he was sure of it. Just the sight of her, flushed, a sheen of sweat shining across her arched body as she was pushed over the edge—Jackson was no choir boy, he’d seen plenty of women enjoy themselves, but that was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. If he could make that happen every day, he’d be happy.

But it had come with a price, for both of them. He’d done it again. He’d pushed her too far, too fast, and only just caught himself in time. He’d felt the old self-loathing rising within him as he had uncuffed her and carried her to the couch, and it had kept him from being fully in the moment with her. Now, as he held her close, wrapped in his old bathrobe, and he rubbed her legs up and down to keep them from cramping, he didn’t want to be thinking about anything else. He wanted to be there, with her, only.

Too bad
.

He had to think about things he’d rather not, or risk hurting her. Risk becoming the person he’d fought so hard not to be.

Fine.

His original plan—if it could be called that—was still a good one. He knew he knew Ava better than he’d known anyone—really, better than he supposed he had a right to, after ten years. He just did. Couldn’t explain it. Knew enough to know that he had to tread carefully, that there was something deep inside her that she had to learn to let go of slowly, and he knew that for an over-thinker like Ava, the way to do that was through the physical. Just side step the rational altogether, let her body show her the way forward, and her mind might choose to follow. Otherwise, she’d fight. He could see it happening a little already. He’d seen her do it over a million little things back in school.

Ava was a fighter in every possible way. He figured she had reasons to be.

She was starting to come to, her heart slowing, her breathing returning to normal. She curled into his chest more, and he squeezed her tight. He wouldn’t let her go until he had to.

He let his face fall, his lips brushing her head. He’d been careful, hadn’t he? All that work he’d done, all that introspection, all those years learning about how to be a loving dominant. Hell, he’d read books. That had worked, hadn’t it? He hadn’t ended up that way. He’d never wanted to hurt anybody; he’d only been thinking about her welfare, how she felt, what she needed.

And yet, still, he’d pushed her too far. Pushed her past a boundary that mattered to her.

If he had hurt her—again—he’d never forgive himself.

“Hey,” she said, and looked up at him with those sleepy blue eyes.

“There you are,” he said, and kissed her forehead. “How’re you doing?”

She seemed to know what he was asking. It was in the pause, in her slow blink, in her thoughtful expression. Like she was taking the time to compose herself, make a decision. She must have been coming to in his arms for a while. That, or he was so crazed that he was imagining things.

Finally, she gave a lazy, playful shrug. “I guess I’ve been worse.”

He laughed out loud with relief. She might still be coming out of subspace, but he knew Ava. And she wouldn’t have forgotten the questions he’d asked. Maybe she wasn’t answering them, but at least she wasn’t holding it against him.

“Oh, really?”

She squealed as he went in to tickle the bottoms of her feet and rolled off of his lap with surprising agility, considering. She hopped away, robe wrapped snugly around her, shaking her finger at him before he could get up.

Jackson stared after her. With just her expression, just that gesture, it was like she’d sent them back in time. Just like it had been when they’d last stayed up all night, talking and laughing, as though he hadn’t lost ten years with her. Like they were still young and stupid, and free to joke around without worrying about what unseen landmines lay beneath the surface, what emotional baggage lay around, just waiting to trip them up. He knew it couldn’t last like that, that the past would have to be dealt with. But at that moment, he chose to believe it would last at least a little bit longer.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked as she sauntered towards the kitchen counter.

“For some inexplicable reason, I’m feeling kind of hungry,” she said over her shoulder. “And I distinctly remember cupcakes.”

She flipped open the box, then paused as something else caught her attention. She held up the red envelope he’d brought back with him and shot him a questioning look.

“What’s this?”

“You’ll find out.”

She smiled sweetly, bringing her cupcake back into the living room where she sat on his toy chest—he assumed so she could taunt him while she licked icing off of her fingers. “Tell me now,” she said. “And you can have some of this.”

Jackson hadn’t pulled every string imaginable to score the most exclusive invitation in all of New York City—hell, the entire east coast, maybe—just to blow the surprise over a cupcake. A cupcake that he had bought. He told her as much.

“Unless you were talking about something else,” he said, standing up. He was still hard from making her come, and he hadn’t forgotten what she had looked like, spread and prone. “But I thought I should give you a break. I put you through quite a workout.”