But he backs off just as I'm about to reach the edge. Keeps me pinned to the door but stops moving—just plain stops moving.
“Wha…” I whimper.
“You still haven't said the magic words,” he growls, low and mean.
“Please!” I plead.
Another evil chuckle. “Stop acting like a norm, angel. That real-world shit isn’t going to get it done in your yellow dream house. I told you my price. Submit. You need to submit right now.”
Submit. The word bounces into my lust haze, confusing and alarming.
I don't know what he wants from me. He has me completely pinned against the door. How can I submit any more than I already have?
“You belong to me. I need to hear you say that,” he growls as if reading my thoughts. “Last time, you took me by surprise with your virginity. I lost my mind and didn’t make sure we were on the same page about the permanent nature of these words I want to hear come out your mouth. But I'm not making that mistake with you again. You belong to me, and I need to hear you say that.”
“I belong to you,” I gasp out.
I'm so close I'd probably say anything at this point. But the words they have a feel to them this time…a gravity. Genuine and binding. Like a contract signed in blood.
However, Waylon doesn't reward me for my submission. Instead, he pulls out and says, “Strip. Then meet me upstairs.”
CHAPTER 36
I think I understand the game now.
I do as he says. I meet him upstairs in a giant bedroom with bay windows overlooking the pond. Naked as the day I was born.
I find him in the same state. Lying back on a big bed like a king.
That’s what he is, I realize, as I take him in—a king of his own making.
He was born into nothing, so he made his own kingdom. And now he wants me to submit.
I should feel powerless, and I do.
But I also don’t.
This is the difference that comes with choosing. With asking to be taken. With being given a magic word just in case.
Delaware.
It floats above us in the room, allowing me to breathe.
Allowing me to present myself naked and trembling. Not because I’m afraid but because it feels good to tremble. It feels good to submit and give someone else all your power.
It feels right to be claimed by a king.
Actually, it feels strangely powerful.
There is something about having a king’s full attention….having him track you as soon as you enter the room with hungry eyes. This is the hidden secret of the animal kingdom.
Yes, the predator is the most powerful beast. But everything else falls away for him when he sees the thing he most wants to eat.
I was afraid before, but I approach the bed with a new kind of awareness…an ancient power, raw and wholly feminine, rippling through me.
“Stop right there,” he says when I reach the edge of the bed.
He looks me up and down, his eyes burning.
“Show me…show me where you want me,” he commands. “Rub it and beg.”
It takes me a moment to realize…he wants me to touch myself. Something he forbade me to do at the apartment. Something I’ve never done in front of another person, much less a man.
My new awareness statics and blips with self-consciousness.
“Get out of there, angel,” he intones, tapping his head with one of the fingers he had inside of me earlier. Is it a command or a reminder? Either way, the static calms.
I reach down with a quieter head and find myself slick with wetness. Slick with all the things I want. And touching that evidence of my desire makes me want it even more.
My eyes start to flutter close with images of all the things he did to me downstairs looping through my head. But he says, “Un-unh. Look at me, angel. I want your eyes on me the whole time.”
He puts on a condom as he tells me, “You’re allowed to get close, but don’t you come. You still got lessons to learn.”
I give him my eyes but wonder if it’s even possible to get close to coming in this situation. Usually, I’m reclining in a bed when I masturbate. Could I really become that aroused while standing up and touching myself as he watches?
Waylon’s stare, though—it’s not like any other. The way he watches me while fisting his erection up and down like he’s making all sorts of plans.
I get close to the point of no return faster than I think I will.
“Stop,” he commands, knowing somehow without me telling him where I am. “Come around the bed and sit between my legs with your back to me. And keep your right hand up in the air.”
I do as he says. Rather awkwardly. Climbing into a bed with one hand raised isn’t easy or graceful.