On My Knees (Stark International Trilogy 2)

“Hate it? Hate what?”

“Not this,” I say quickly. “Not us. The situation. The not knowing. And the fear that they might find out that your run-in with Reed wasn’t about the movie at all, but about me. And the fear that you can’t protect me.”

His posture has stiffened as I’ve spoken. And now he says only one word. He says, “Yes.”

I nod, because that is what I expected he would say. So I continue. “You were right about me, you know. I do like to submit so long as I’ve willingly relinquished control.”

“I know,” he says. “I can tell.”

Since I’m certain that he can, I don’t argue.

“But what about you? I want to be there for you when you need to keep control. Like the other night, with the fighting. But what about now? Is it as satisfying for you to take control when I’m already giving it?”

He looks at me for a long moment, his eyes traveling up and down my body. “Sweetheart, nothing could be more satisfying than you giving yourself to me.”

It’s the perfect answer, even better because I can see the truth in his eyes.

After a moment, though, his smile turns wicked. “It occurs to me, though, that you’ve changed the subject. I believe you were telling me how you want me to touch you.”

“Oh. Right.”

“I suggest you continue.”

“Or?” I ask, feeling playful.

He crosses his arms and looks stern.

“Or what?” I press. “Or you’ll spank me?”

“Careful, Ms. Brooks. You’re walking a line.”

“Am I? After all, I already told you I wanted more. In fact, I believe that more is just what you promised me.”

“Definitely naughty,” he says, making my smile grow even wider.

“You want details, Jackson? You sure you want to know what I really want?”

“Very much.”

I meet his eyes. “All right. I want it rough.” It’s not until I say the words that I realize how very true they are. “I want it wild. I want you to fuck me hard. And I want to forget everything that’s going on out there. I want to be lost in you, Jackson. Lost in us.”

He remains perfectly still, only the tightening of his jaw revealing that my words have affected him.

“Those are dangerous things for a woman to say when she’s all tied up.”

“Maybe I like danger.”

I watch as the storm builds in his eyes. “Do you?”

Gently, he presses a fingertip to my lips. Then he starts to trail it lightly down my chin, my neck. “Oh, baby. What you do to me. I want to give you everything you want. See pleasure bloom in your eyes.” The finger dips lower, and he takes one nipple between two fingers, then rolls it, tightening his grip as he does.

I bite my lower lip as the pressure increases, tighter and tighter, bringing more and more pleasure-like pain to the surface, until I feel it not just in my breast, but in my clit as well.

“I want to take you to the edge and bring you back in my arms. And then I want to hold you close, calm you down, and take you right back out again.”

He releases my nipple, and I gasp, unprepared for the amazing sensation that accompanies the return of blood flow.

“Is that a promise?” I have to concentrate to force out my whispered question.

“Sweetheart, it’s a bond.”

He makes a crooking motion with his finger and tells me to lift my head. I do, and he removes the vibrator from around my neck.

“Jackson …”

I’m not sure why I’ve said his name. A warning not to go too far? A plea that he take me as far as I can go, and then some?

It doesn’t matter. Because Jackson will do what he wants. And in doing it, I know that he will do what I need.

He presses the tiny button to rotate through the settings. And though the vibrator is very small and very quiet, I hear the whisper-soft hum of the pulses, then the increase in frequency as he sets it at maximum.

He slants a look at my face, and then he very slowly trails the tip of the pendant over the swell of my breast. The sensation is delicious, and I close my eyes, giving myself permission to simply float as he ministers to me.

The touch cuts through me, rousing me, but it is also relaxing, and I drift a bit, letting myself simply feel.

And then he ramps it up.

He moves the pendant in a spiral, as if drawing a series of decreasing circles on my breast. Getting closer and closer to my nipple, until finally the pendant edges up against my now-tight areola.

I am no longer drifting. Now I am on the verge of begging. Because the sensation has started to grow, and I am not sure that I can keep it all inside, and I am moving back and forth as much as I can with my arms and legs bound, as if by writhing and swaying I can somehow regain control over the riot of sensations inside me.