Black Forever (Obsidian 4)

But sometimes I found myself wanting to dominate her even though she made it clear she didn’t want to be treated like a sub. When I walked in the door after being with Isabella, I wanted to fuck Rome hard—and the way I liked.

But to my surprise, she always did what I asked without giving me lip about it. Normally, she ran that sassy little mouth of hers until she pissed me off and got her way. But she hadn’t been doing that lately.

Because she liked it.

I knew she did—deep down inside. If she really kept an open mind and gave it a chance, she would love it. But I knew she was too stubborn to let me spank her with my belt. I’d have to accept her the way she was.

And she would have to accept me.

I sat at my desk and finished a meeting I had over Skype with a prominent donor. Unfortunately, most people only made donations to my nonprofit for the credit, so they called and requested new ways for their contribution to be announced, either with plaques, banners, or trophies.

Fucking annoying.

When I finished that, my assistant buzzed me over the intercom. “Mr. Owens, Isabella is here to see you. Should I send her in?”

The mention of her name immediately set my teeth on edge. If I wanted to be her Dom, I would go down to Ruin and make it happen. She had no right to come here and expect to get what she wanted. That wasn’t how it worked. “Yes, send her in.” I hit the button so hard I nearly broke it.

“Yes, sir.”

A moment later, Isabella walked inside. She wore a trench coat, and that told me everything I needed to know about her visit. She approached the desk with her gaze averted, not looking me in the eye because she hadn’t been given permission.

I was livid.

“Kneel.”

She did as I asked immediately, bending her knees and declining to the hardwood floor.

I stared at her, grinding my teeth together.

Isabella returned to her position as a sub perfectly. Despite how silent I was, she still didn’t ask me a single question. She took steady breaths, remaining as still as possible. She did her job, and she did it well.

“Did I command you to come here?”

“No, Sir,” she whispered.

“Then you had no right coming here. I never want you to come here again. Do you understand?” I leaned forward over the desk, my elbows resting on the surface.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Tell me why you’re here.”

She rested her hands on her thighs, her head still tilted to the floor. “I missed you.”

Not good enough. “Don’t ever miss me again, Isabella. I’m not yours to miss. When I want to rule you, I will. You have no say in the matter.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Don’t apologize,” I barked. “Just don’t do it.”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

Now I wanted to punish her for disobeying me. I wanted to hurt her for coming here. I wanted to break her for crossing the line. “On your feet.”

She rose to her full height, standing perfectly straight in her heels.

“What are you wearing underneath the coat?” I came around the desk and yanked my belt from the loops.

“Black teddy with garters.” Her voice picked up a notch, full of hope.

“Drop it.”

She undid her jacket and let it fall off her shoulders and to the ground.

“Bend over. Now.” I slapped the belt hard into my hand, feeling the bite of the metal against my own skin.

She bent over with her cheek pressed to the wood. Her hair was sprawled out across the desk, reaching over the papers I’d just been reading.

“Don’t make a sound. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I’m gonna punish you for what you’ve done. There’ll be tears in your eyes before you walk out of here.”

Her breathing hitched. “Yes, Sir.”

I pulled the belt back and swung hard, striking her hard against the ass cheek and making a dull clap echo around my office.

She clamped her teeth together to avoid letting out a whimper. Her hands dragged across the wood as she searched for something to hold on to.

I wasn’t letting her walk out of there until her skin was red and weathered. “Count to ten, Isabella.”

She swallowed hard. “One…”

Did I feel guilty for what I was doing?

That was a complicated question.

With a more complicated answer.

Yes, a part of me did feel bad for what I was doing. I was using another woman to satisfy my urges. But I didn’t touch her, fuck her, or let her go anywhere near me. I wasn’t even hard as I whipped her. Instead, I felt a surge of relief, an abundance of satisfaction. I felt alive in the moment, doing what I loved to do.

Then the other part of me didn’t give a damn what I was doing.

I resented Rome for not giving me what I wanted, and it was ridiculous to think I wouldn’t end up getting it somewhere else. She wouldn’t allow me to spank her, to chain her to the headboard and whip her bare ass. She wouldn’t allow me to make her cry, to let me get off to the sounds of her tears.