On My Knees (Stark International Trilogy 2)

He strokes and teases me, building me up higher and higher until I can’t take it any longer and all this pleasure and pain and wild writhing ribbons of electricity come together in an explosion so violent and wild that I am certain I will not survive.

My body convulses, my muscles tightening around his cock, my back arching up as I try to contain the pleasure. I am still on my knees, my wrists still bound, but I fist my hands in the sheets, then cry out again as Jackson thrusts once more into me, then groans from his own wild release, his body shaking as he bends over me, hot and hard and satisfied.

“Oh my god,” I finally say. “That was—”

“Amazing.”

I make a soft noise of agreement, but say nothing else. I am so wiped that even those few words exhausted me. We stay like that for a bit, but soon Jackson moves to my side. He helps me turn onto my back, then reaches for the belt that binds my wrists.

I tug them away. “Not yet. Jackson, I want—”

“More?”

I lick my lips, not certain I should say this thought that has come unbidden into my mind. It’s too wild, probably too stupid, and if it all went wrong I would be mortified. But it is also a symbol that I’ve not only survived Reed, but thrived. That I’m strong now. And that it is Jackson—not Reed—to whom I have surrendered.

He watches my debate play out on my face. Now he says, “Tell me what you need.”

“I want you to take my picture.” I speak quickly, the words spilling out before I can change my mind. “Like this. Bound. Only for you,” I add quickly. “But I need—”

“To know that it exists,” he finishes, and my relief that he understands is a palpable thing. “To know that you’re mine and that you’ve given this to me.”

“Yes.” I lick my lips. “Will you?”

“I only have my phone.”

I nod.

“And I want to capture you when you come.”

“I—oh.”

His smile is a little wicked. “If we’re doing it, we’re doing it right.” He walks to me and takes the necklace from around my neck. He turns it on, then puts it in my hand. “Spread your legs, baby, and tease your clit.”

I think I should protest, but I am already wet again from the thought that Jackson will watch me. Will photograph me.

I do not know what it means, but I know that it excites me.

He puts a pillow under my head and I do as he asks. I close my eyes, spread my legs, and with my wrists bound, I tease myself with the small pendant. I can’t touch my clit directly—I’m way too sensitive for that—but as I move the vibrator in small circles—as I think about Jackson at the foot of the bed watching me, the camera photographing me—my body rises up again, getting wet again, tightening again.

The metal pendant turns warm and that change in temperature makes me gasp even as the controlled vibrations push me up. Higher and higher, and then higher still.

I come fast and hard and quick, and as I do, I open my eyes. Jackson holds the phone in one hand and he’s stroking his cock with the other, and I think it’s the sexiest damn thing I have ever seen. “Fuck me,” I whisper, and he tosses the phone onto the dresser behind him and takes me once again, wild and fast, because we both need it that way.

And when we explode together, and I lay in his arms and wonder how a day that had started so horribly could become so incredible.

I know the answer, of course. The answer is Jackson.

Soon, when we can move again, he unbinds my hands. I turn and prop myself on my side so that I can face him.

“Thank you,” I say. “I feel whole again. Like I’m not going to shatter.”

“I’m very glad to hear that.”

“But it’s all still out there. Reed, I mean. He still has us in a horrible position. The pictures or the movie. We’re between a rock and a hard place, and in the end, one of us will get screwed.”

“No.” He says the word so quickly and firmly that I almost believe him.

“How?” I ask. “How do we fix this? How do we untangle ourselves from this hell?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But we’ll figure it out. I love you, Sylvia. I love you, and I will make this right for you.”

Love. The word washes over me, warm and sweet and wonderful.

“Jackson …” His name is a caress upon my lips. “That’s the first time you’ve said that.”

“No,” he says. “It’s not.”

I’m about to argue the point when he continues.

“I’ve said it every day since I saw you. I say it in the way I look at you. The way I touch you. The way I never stop thinking about you. I’ve said that I love you a million times, Sylvia. This is just the first time I’ve said it out loud.”