Desperate Domination (Bought by the Billionaire #3) (12 page)

“You’re not a klutz.” He slid one finger into her slickness. “You’re unspeakably elegant. Help me get these off.”

“I think you may be seeing me through rose-colored glasses,” she said, but she shifted to one side, allowing him to pull her bottoms down to her ankles and toss them away.

“I see you as you are,” he said, opening the Velcro at the front of his trunks, freeing his erection. “Beautiful.” He gripped her thighs, urging her to move, spreading her slickness along his shaft. “Sweet.” He reached between them, parting the lips of her sex. “And sexy as hell.”

He drew her down, impaling her on his cock, groaning as her body fought to slow him down. She was wet, but she wasn’t completely ready to take him. In the past week, they’d discovered a mutual love of this moment, the initial erotic battle as he demanded entrance and her pussy struggled to adapt, and then the sudden bliss as a gush of slickness eased his way and tension became sweet friction.

It was one of the many things he’d learned about Hannah. And now, he knew her last name.

But he wasn’t thinking about that as he fucked her in the hammock, making her come twice before he shot himself inside her clutching heat. He wasn’t thinking about family history when they washed the stickiness from their lovemaking away in the ocean and spent the next hour floating in and out on the waves. And during their lunch on the lanai and walk through the woods after, all he was thinking about was how much he enjoyed her company.

It wasn’t until after dinner, when they were settled on the couch reading—a history of Tahiti for him and the murder mystery for her—and Hannah fell asleep in his lap, that he began to think about the Masons. He sat watching her sleep, wondering how a family who had raised the extraordinary human being drooling on his leg could have also created a monster. He wondered and wondered until the wondering compelled him to pick up his phone and type a quick text to the detective he still had on retainer.

Harley Mason was the daughter of Stewart Mason. Find out everything you can.

Later, he would look back on that moment and wonder what would have happened if he’d resisted temptation, if he’d allowed his love for Hannah to be stronger than his morbid obsession with her sister. But at the moment, he hadn’t admitted that what he felt was love or realized how easy it would be to lose the precious thing he’d found.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Three Weeks Later

Hannah

What did a woman buy for her Dominant lover for Christmas?

Jackson had told her that Adam would pick up anything she ordered at a postage box near the airport the same morning he flew to pick up Sybil for their Christmas Eve celebration. But faced with an Internet filled with holiday offerings, she kept coming up empty.

A collar seemed too over the top, a paddle too blatant, and the tiny diamond earrings that spelled “His” too presumptuous. She
was
his, but he had yet to stake a formal claim. They’d agreed to tell her aunt that he was related to the family she’d worked for and that they’d started dating during his visit to the island and decided to stay on for a few extra weeks of personal time after the rest of the family returned home.

It was a decent story, but one that could create problems down the line.

What if she and Jackson decided to settle down? Wouldn’t Sybil wonder, sooner or later, why his sister and her children never came to visit?

Of course, she hadn’t mentioned her concerns to Jackson. It would only scare him and he would withdraw into one of his moods, hiding out in his bedroom until noon, wasting half a precious day they could have spent together.

“For a Dominant man, he’s very delicate,” she mumbled to the laptop, smiling when a grunt sounded from the other side of the bed.

“I’m reading,” Jackson said dryly. “I haven’t gone deaf.”

“You
are
delicate,” she said, wrinkling her nose in frustration “And very difficult to buy for. Can’t you give me some idea of what you want?”

“I already have what I want.” He pulled the laptop off of her thighs, clicking it closed before setting it on the bedside table with his book on top. “All I want for Christmas is you, wearing nothing but a bow tying your hands behind your back. Preferably, you’ll be bent over the end of the bed Christmas morning, waiting for me to wake up and redden your pretty ass.”

She grinned, pulse spiking as he rolled on top of her. “But I’ve been so good. You have no reason to spank me.”

“I’m sure I can come up with something,” he mumbled into her neck as he kneed her legs apart. “Pull down your shirt. I want your nipples in my mouth.”

Hannah hesitated for a moment before deciding she didn’t want to wait for Christmas Day for her spanking. Sybil would be in the house then and she didn’t trust herself not to make sounds that would carry to the guest bedroom. Besides, she and Jackson hadn’t played in several days. Sex was amazing with him, no matter what, but she still craved the game.

“No,” she said, deliberately omitting the honorific. “I don’t feel like being kissed there tonight.”

He arched a brow. “Who said I was going to kiss you? Maybe I planned to bite, instead.”

She shivered, arousal spiking at she imagined what it would feel like to have his teeth on her sensitive tips. “I don’t want to be bitten either.”

“Then what do you want, sunshine?” He dropped his hips, pressing his erection between her legs so tight she could feel his cock pulse through her thin satin panties and his pajama pants. “Do you want me to remind you why your pleasure belongs to me?”

She nodded slowly, holding his dark gaze as currents of anticipation zipped back and forth between them, charging the air.

“Because it does. Your pleasure and your pain. They both belong to me.” His fingers slipped into her hair, the touch gentle until suddenly it wasn’t anymore.

She gasped as his hand fisted tightly at her scalp. Before she could say, “Yes, sir,” he was off the bed, dragging her with him. It didn’t hurt—he had too large a handful of her hair for there to be any strands torn from her scalp—but it made her keenly aware of how strong he was, how powerful, and how easily he could bend her will to his, with or without her permission.

But her permission was what made it hot, not scary, when he opened the sliding door, propelled them both across the patio, and tossed her onto the grass in the darkened garden. She fell onto her hands and knees, but before she could even think about crawling away, he was in front of her, shoving his pajama pants low on his hips, baring his cock. It bobbed free—long, thick, intimidating, and so gorgeous her mouth watered for a taste of him.

She sat back on her heels, anticipating being told to open her mouth and take him down her throat. Instead, he fisted the base of his length in his hand, guiding his pulsing erection down one side of her face and then the other. His skin was burning hot against her cheek and so soft all she wanted to do was kiss him. She wanted to lick the pre-cum from the tip of his shaft and suckle his plump head into her mouth, but she stayed still, nerves sizzling as she waited to see what he had planned for her.

“Have you ever had a man come on your face, Hannah?”

“No, sir,” she said, heat rushing onto her panties at the thought.

“What about your tits? Have you had a man shoot his cum on your tits?” he asked, leaning down far enough to grab the top of her black camisole with his free hand. A second later, he jerked hard on the fabric, tearing it in two.

Hannah swayed on her knees, fear and arousal rocketing through her as her breasts were freed to the night air. Her logical mind knew this was the game, but her primitive mind insisted any man who would rip away her clothes with such violence was dangerous.

The result of the war between the two sides of herself was lust so intense her pussy began to pulse like a second heart, thudding between her thighs.

“Answer me, Hannah,” Jackson said. “Don’t make me wait.”

“Y-yes, sir,” she stammered. “You did. That first day. You came on my tits.”

“I’m the only one?” He cupped her breast in his hand, his thumb tracing the outer edge of her nipple, close enough to make her ache for contact, but not close enough to trigger sensation.

“Yes, sir,” she said, arching into his touch. He answered her unspoken plea by slapping her breast hard enough to set it bobbing back and forth and to send a sting of pleasure-pain coursing across her skin.

“You don’t make demands,” he said. “Not even silent ones. You aren’t in charge. The only thing you control is your safe word and whether or not you say it. Now turn around and present your ass.”

She hurried to obey, swallowing a bleat of surprise when Jackson reached down, tearing her panties in half before she’d made it all the way onto her forearms. She bit her lip, fighting the urge to press her thighs together. He would know she was seeking relief from the desire making her clit swell and her pussy slick and he wouldn’t be pleased.

“If you’re obedient, you will be rewarded with release,” Jackson said in a low voice as he knelt behind her. “If you are not, I will come and you will spend the rest of the night with your hands tied to the headboard, wishing you could get a finger between your legs, sobbing because you so desperately need to get off. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Hannah said, muscles tightening as his palms settled on her ass, warming the skin.

“Good.” He stroked her flesh with a gentleness that sent her fear spiraling higher. A soft start didn’t mean anything. She knew that from the last time he’d reddened her ass. “Now I’m going to show you what happens when you forget who you belong to.”

Before she could properly brace herself, he’d delivered two sharp swats to the insides of her thighs. The speed and the unexpected location made her flinch in surprise. Surprise that he could move so quickly, and surprise that being spanked on her thighs was even more arousing than on her ass. He slapped her again in the same places, the stinging sensation seeming to flow directly up her leg to coil around her entrance, making her body burn.

But not with pain, with longing.

By the time Jackson had reddened her thighs and moved on to her ass, Hannah was trembling all over, her pussy so swollen and wet her arousal had begun to run down the inside of her legs. Slowly, as his rhythm grew faster and the blows harder, the need building in her core became the center of her world.

She was no longer Hannah or even a woman kneeling before a man, she was a hurting, aching, frantic void. She was a stinging, grieving, exposed nerve so desperate for contact, for relief, that tears ran down her cheeks. By the time Jackson told her to start counting to fifty, her throat was so tight with misery and wanting she could barely force out the words, but she did.

It was almost over. God,
surely
it was almost over.

She couldn’t take much more. She was so near the edge her voice sounded foreign to her ears, a strained, high-pitched yelp that echoed through the garden, scaring all the other night creatures away.

“Keep counting,” Jackson demanded as his hand continued to torment her flaming cheeks, his blows coming so fast she could barely keep up.

But she did and finally, when she cried out, “Fifty!” Jackson delivered her promised reward. He gripped her hips and positioned his cock, telling her to come at the same moment as he drove inside her.

And come, she did. Her pussy began to contract before he’d rammed home the first time and kept clenching and releasing, clenching and releasing, as he fucked her so hard his hips slammed into her ass, making it feel like the spanking continued. She came until her entire body was in the midst of one long, never-ending orgasm, until her abdominal muscles ached and her lips went numb and her limbs dissolved into boneless appendages too weak to hold her upright.

By the time pleasure was finally finished with her and she came back to her body, Jackson was carrying her into the bedroom and laying her on the bed. She sniffed hard, reaching up to swipe the tears from her cheeks, but he captured her hand and laid it gently on her stomach.

“Let me,” he said, reaching for a tissue from the bedside table. He dabbed her tear-streaked cheeks and upper lip before positioning the tissue beneath her nose and ordering her to, “Blow.”

And so she blew, her mind still so deep in the scene she didn’t consider disobeying him. It was only after he’d wiped her nose that she flushed with embarrassment.

“I can blow my own nose,” she said, her voice thick and rough.

“Not right now you can’t,” he said, grabbing another tissue. “Right now I’m taking care of you. Blow.”

She blew, studying his expression as he continued to clean her face. He looked so relaxed and happy, the skin around his eyes no longer pinched and his full mouth resting in a lightly curved position.

“If it makes you this happy to blow my nose, you can do it all the time.”

His smile widened. “It’s you who make me happy.” He cupped her face in his hand, staring deep into her eyes. “Do you know how perfect you are?”

She blinked, emotion making her throat tight though she wasn’t sure why. “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay to cry,” he said softly. “After an intense scene a lot of feelings can come up. And when that happens, you’ll need after care from me and kindness from yourself.”