Dark Control (Dark Dominance 1)

I arched, letting out a stuttering breath, riding the pleasure while being ridden in return. His thrusts never stopped as I contracted on his length. He was so hard and deep inside me. My orgasm vibrated with intensity before it ebbed into a wrung-out bliss. I curled my fingers around his hands, feeling his grip slacken as his own climax arrived. He let go of one wrist and grabbed my ass instead, pressing my pelvis to his, drilling me with brutal force. It triggered another orgasm for me, my body caught up in passion and sensation. Our bodies hit a heightened note together, both of us straining through a gasping finale.

He came to rest, but his hands grew taut again. One held my ass, keeping me close, while the other slid around my fingers and closed tight.

“I can’t move,” I whispered.

“You’re not allowed to move.”

He was still inside me, his cock buried deep. When I squeezed on him, he groaned and pressed his lips to mine. His kiss was voracious, and I kissed him back, transported by our closeness.

“I never want to move,” I said when he let me take a breath. “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

His hazy gaze sharpened, fixing on mine. All the softness, the connection of the moment before disintegrated. I realized too late that there had been too much love in my voice, too much need and affection.

“I’m sorry,” I said, which made his expression darken even more.

“What are you sorry for? Don’t be sorry.” He stroked my forehead, his voice pitched to distance, rather than the need I’d communicated. “Are you okay?” he asked after a moment.

I wasn’t sure what he meant by “okay.” Was my body okay after his forceful fucking? Was my mind okay? Was I okay with the aftermath of The Gallery? Maybe he meant all of that.

“I’m okay,” I said, but it might have been a lie. “I feel a little tired, even though you were doing most of the work just now.”

“I like working you over. And if you’re tired, that’s a good thing, because I’m sure you’re ready for bed.”

I sighed as he withdrew. “You can stay here if you like. If you’re tired too.”

He didn’t look at me as he moved away, sitting back on his haunches. “Thanks for the invitation, but I have to go.”

“Oh.”

“I would stay, but I’m flying somewhere with Devin in the morning. I’ll be gone until Friday.”

“Where are you going?”

He hesitated just a moment too long. “Morocco.” He caressed my cheek, then busied himself buttoning up his jeans. “You should get some rest, some quality sleep after those orgasms.”

“Yes, Sir. I’ll try.”

He wasn’t going to Morocco. I knew him well enough now to know when he told a lie. I’d royally fucked up with my I wish we could stay like this forever. He’d obviously only wanted to see me tonight to get his rocks off. I flushed, thinking about how excited I’d been when he called me, how thrilled I was that he cared about me. As usual, my understanding of my relationship with someone was way off. Pathetically off. Embarrassingly off.

I reached to collect my yoga pants and pull them on, wondering if this was it, if I would ever see him again.

“So, have fun on your trip,” I said, trying to sound casual. “I bet it’s beautiful in Morocco.”

“Yeah, I’ve been a lot of times.” He turned away, heading to my door, then turned back again. “Do you want to go to The Gallery with me next Saturday?”

“Oh. Sure, if you want to,” I said.

It doesn’t mean anything, I scolded myself silently. It only means he wants to get off again.

He gave me a quick kiss and strode to the door, ready to go. No tea, no cuddles, no insistence on my company tonight.

It didn’t escape me that he’d allowed me to stay with him after the regimented, public experience of The Gallery, but after what had just happened between us—the comfortable intimacy we’d just experienced—he was anxious to leave. It was so easy for me to forget that he preferred distance to intimacy. Whenever we were face to face…

What we’d just done felt like love, but it wasn’t love. From the way he kissed me on the forehead and retreated, it felt more like an impulsive mistake.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Fort

Dev, I need to go somewhere

??? Where?

Doesn’t matter. Just somewhere that isn’t here.

I’m flying to Geneva in the morning if u want to go.

OK

Why, what’s going on

Nothing. Just need some air.

Chapter Twenty-Four: Juliet

I plodded through the next week like a zombie. It was the week of Valentine’s Day, with love and roses everywhere, but for me, there was so little joy. Goodluck gave me the silent treatment and canceled two appearances, leaving me to clean up the mess.

I started to think seriously about quitting as his manager, maybe leaving the art world altogether. I could say goodbye to the weirdness and high-maintenance personalities, go back to school to learn something new, something practical like nursing or accounting.

Would I feel like quitting in a week? In a month? I’d never last a month if Goodluck didn’t forgive me for abandoning him during his candlelight epiphany.

And all this drama was because of Fort, because of the angst and upheaval he brought to my life. Damn it, I was falling in love with him, and it wasn’t only that Valentine’s Day was in the air. I couldn’t understand my deepening feelings for him, but I also couldn’t deny them anymore. The way he looked at me whenever he saw me, the way he kissed me, the way he put his hands on me all the time, it read like love to my heart, but it wasn’t love. At thirty-two, I was finally realizing that the men I gravitated toward were men who couldn’t love.

All day Saturday, I thought I should cancel that night’s foray to The Gallery. I picked up the phone, my finger hovering over Fort’s name, but in the end I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to give up the chance to see him, the chance to enter that fantasy world again, because once I ducked out of going to The Gallery, Fort would be lost to me.

So I tamped down my inconvenient and unreasonable emotions and pulled my wild hair back, smoothing it into a tight bun. I shaved and put on my revealing uniform, and applied new waterproof makeup that wouldn’t run when I cried. I took my coat from the closet, pulled off the dry-cleaning plastic, and stared at the elegant black garment before wrapping myself in it. Juliet’s invisibility cloak.

When Fort arrived, I felt a little better about my decision. The Gallery would be fun. We would be two adults having sexy fun together. He looked relaxed, all put together in his suit and tie. He kissed me, a quick, rough kiss before we headed downstairs. I felt less nervous than last time, now that I knew what to expect. The collar felt a little more natural around my neck, and the harness-like garter belt seemed to caress rather than confine me.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he said in the car, delving under my coat and rubbing his hand up and down my thigh.

“I’ve been thinking about you all week. How was Morocco?”

“Hot.”

I still didn’t believe he’d gone to Morocco, but his hand felt so good and firm against my bare skin that I didn’t challenge him. He seemed tight-lipped. I guessed he was doing his Dominant thing, so I looked out the window and summoned my inner submissive. It was Saturday night in Manhattan. There were couples everywhere, laughing, holding hands, heading out for dinner or drinks. I wondered if any of them got off on pain the way we did.

“We don’t have to go to The Gallery,” he said, abruptly. “We could play at my house. We could…I don’t know. Go see a movie.”

A movie, like a normal romantic couple, so I could fall even deeper in love? “I’m not dressed for a movie. But I don’t care. It’s up to you.”

He frowned. “We’re on The Gallery guest list. We might as well go.”