Derision (The Broken Bonds 7)

“Put something on before I fuck you again,” he says, the severe gleam in his blue eyes backing up his demand. “And I won’t stop with just one hole this time, temptress.”

He pushes away from the wall, his cock still erect, his shadowed figure a beautiful, foreboding assurance of his avowal.

My gaze follows his long and sure strides as he moves toward his desk. He snatches his shirt and then walks back toward me. With lust still flickering in the depth of his deep blues, he slides his shirt around me, guiding my arms into the sleeves. His scent envelops me, and I almost beg him to take me…to make me feel how desperately he wants me.

But just as suddenly, exhaustion—my wreck of emotions and physical drain—overwhelms me, and I’m scooped up into his strong arms. I’m content to stay here, cradled within his embrace, but he soon sets me on the edge of the desk.

I watch as he leisurely dresses, sliding on his boxers and slacks, his suit jacket left open to reveal his toned abs and the hard, sexy slab of V peeking above his pants. He pulls out his phone and says, “Jefferson,” into the mouthpiece. “Get the car ready.”

I take in all this with a calm I shouldn’t possess—a calm that’s eluded me for years. Even as he again takes me into his arms, carrying me out of his office as if I’m his possession, dreadful awareness doesn’t hit until we’re passing the conference room.

“The party has long been over,” he assures, a hint of a smile on his face, flashing that slight dimple in his cheek. He peeks down at me. “Although I rather enjoy feeling you squirm. And the pretty blush on your face.”

That only intensifies the heat creeping up my neck. But I’m relieved no one will see my ass just hanging out in the open as he carries me toward the bank of elevators, and that relief depletes the last of my energy.

By the time we’re seated in his town car, his arms still locked around me and holding me securely against his chest, my eyes are closing. And as the car pulls away from the curb, I know I should ask many things: where are we going? Why are you holding me? What happens between us now?

Only I fall asleep as his fingers glide through my hair, assuaging any doubt and fear of the future away.

6

Contempt

Chase

To the ill informed amateur, owning a person may appear to be the ultimate power trip. And indeed, there is a rush like no other when you take complete dominance over a life. There is, however, a mood dampening byproduct that turns most would-be Doms off.

Responsibility.

When you take on a submissive, it’s not all kinky, fetish sex and spankings…though there’s also the benefit of those, if that’s your poison. But rather, it’s understanding your role, your obligation to that sub. It’s not unlike having a child. The tantrums, the mood swings, the endless need of nurturing. It’s the reason why I’ve been reluctant to instate that role over anyone until now.

I’m a selfish bastard. I know this even as I sit on the lounge in my bedroom, watching Alexis sleep. I’ve been warding off the urge to press my foot to her bare ass and kick her out of my bed since I first woke. It’s a reflex. Alexis is the first woman to ever share my bed.

Even in hotel rooms and my own personal room at The Firm, I’ve never allowed any woman to stay the night. They’re dismissed as soon as their services are no longer desired.

So I understand why the urge is even greater here as her hair splays over my pillow, her naked body curled beneath my sheets. This is my domain, and she has invaded it. She doesn’t yet understand the rules, or even her place, and this needs to be rectified quickly.

I steeple my fingers together, elbows to knees, brooding over just how to handle this delicate woman who has not only disrupted my life, but subverted my routine.

Responsibility. It’s a fucking bitch. My anger rises as I consider how to repay the partners for forcing this situation on me.

I rub the back of my neck, working out the stress gathering between my shoulders.

It’s easy to see now that I’m looking right at it. My pulling rank with the partners wasn’t the sounding alarm. It was the reasoning behind my choice that revealed what they believe to be a weakness.

And Alexis is their way to eke out more of that weakness.

Was I tormented lusting after her every day, wanting what I couldn’t—or rather, shouldn’t—have? Absolutely. There may’ve come a time when my willpower—which was increasingly becoming stretched—snapped, and I hauled her over my desk and ripped her panties down. But it would’ve been on my own terms.

I adjust myself through my jeans. Just the thought of it revives my hunger for her. And therein lies the proof that I couldn’t stop with just one taste. Rather, finally feeling her tight pussy hug my cock has only whet my appetite, and the craving to have her is stronger than ever.

This spurs me off the lounge and reinforces my purpose. We may have been thrust into this less than desirable situation, unprepared and without first establishing guidelines, but I can still reap the benefits.

I yank the covers off her.

She doesn’t stir. Her slumbering body is soft and tempting. One knee pulled to her stomach, the other leg stretched out as she lies on her side, exposing her smooth

slit. Kneeling down next to the edge of the bed, I run my hand up her thigh, over her ass, then rub my finger along the silky lips of her pussy.