House Rules: The Jack Gordon Story (11 page)

But
he was programmed by her somehow at that point—if anything more so than she was
to respond to his commands. He needed her, his Jenna fix, the way she would
obey, yet mock him at the same time. Addiction was the word that sprang to mind
more than once both at the club when they were making a public show of it with
floggers, hot wax, hard metal and loud, enthusiastic orgasms. Or at home after
a long day of class, eating a quick-fix dinner and drinking five-dollar bottles
of wine before studying.

He’d
catch himself looking at her, in a haze of needy lust that he mistook for love.
So when she did obey him and stayed away after he came back from Ann Arbor he
went nearly insane from withdrawal.

Finally,
he went to a party and caught her there, making out in the corner, letting some
asshole fondle her tits. Jack found that sort of behavior not really a surprise
which shocked him as he walked right up to them. Jenna opened her eyes when he
cleared his throat, their dark blue depths telling him one thing—she knew he’d
be there and was putting on this little slut show for his benefit.

That
look on her too-perfect face was one he never forgot. It was a cross between
pity and smugness. It took all he had not to yank the dude off her and backhand
the bitch into the next room. His inner Dom rose, choking him, making the room
fade when they locked eyes. That was his neck, those were his tits, that was
his ass and she was …letting…someone else touch them.

He
caught the glint of her collar, the thin chain he’d given her as a symbol of
their relationship—or at least what he thought was their relationship. That
tore it. He really should have walked away then. But he simply could not.
Something about her compelled him, made him crazed with lusty possessiveness.
He may not have wanted her all the time but by hell, no one else was going to
have her either. It was sick, but he didn’t figure that out until it was too
late.

He
pulled the guy off his woman with ease, keeping his gaze on hers. She stood,
chest heaving, eyes full of tears but with that evil-looking, bitchy smile on
her face. “Jack,” she said, putting a hand to the chain at her neck. “What do
you want?”

“Nothing
more than what is mine already,” he said, surprised at the calm tenor of his
voice. Because in his head he was howling, roaring with fury. And his cock was
so hard it made him wince when he took another step toward her and reached for
her arm. “Let’s go now, Jenna. We need to have a little chat.” He guided her
out, hand planted in the small of her back, firm, and in control.

He
drove them to his house in complete silence, opened her door, and helped her
out. Without a word, he took her jacket and hung it up before turning to her.
She stood, jaw set, eyes flashing, daring and mocking him at the same time. Her
look was not so much “bitch” anymore but it was definitely not the “sub” he
required. None too gently, he yanked her to him, threaded fingers in her thick
curls and pulled hard. She hissed but didn’t speak.

 He
used his other hand on her neck, his vision dimming as he imagined the utterly
unimaginable. “You are very lucky,” he whispered, keeping his fist in her hair
and his fingertips against her pulsing jugular vein. He leaned in and bit her
shoulder hard, making her shiver. “Very, very, very lucky,” he slid his lips up
her neck, slowly tightening his grip in her hair, “that I am a nice guy.”

When
he finally smelled what he required from her—fear—he let go. And left her
standing there, staring at the floor. “Go down on your knees. Now.”

She
obeyed him, shaky, sniffling, sufficiently afraid so that he knew he’d made his
point.  “Stay there, Jenna. Think about what you did. And what I should have
done
to
you. And what I won’t be doing
for
you.” He looked down
at his trembling hands. He had very nearly choked her. He, Jack, the guy who
loved women, who did not harm anyone to the point of danger.

He
looked at her, hating her guts at that moment. She did this—her constant
contradictory behavior—the willing sub, the eager slave, then the whiny, overly
dramatic bitch keeping him on a knife’s edge of horny frustration when all he
wanted was a little stability. And that little stunt tonight, letting that guy
paw her while she still wore his collar? He took a deep breath and walked away
from her.

He
left her there all night. He heard doors open and shut, assumed Evan was in for
the night. But his roommate knew not to interfere. They respected each other’s
proclivities, even though Jack realized Evan did not care for Jenna at all.

When
he woke with a jolt, he grabbed his phone and saw it was nearly five a.m., his
usual weekday alarm time. After staring at the ceiling for a few minutes, he
got up, went out to the foyer where she remained, now on her hands and knees.

Reaching
down, he gripped her arm and helped her to her feet. Knowing her legs would be
screaming in pain by now he led her to the kitchen and got her water and a
painkiller. She took it, swallowed the water eagerly, clutching the glass with
two hands like a little kid.

The
look she flashed him when she handed it back for more bordered on self-satisfied,
but he let it pass. When she’d finished the second glass she sighed and looked
at the floor. Jack pondered her for a moment, and let the fact that he was half
inclined to let her go right then for good hit his nervous system.

“Don’t
make me leave, Sir. Please,” she whispered, her voice rough. He tilted her chin
up, still in turmoil, his heart at odds with the increasingly powerful messages
from his brain. He had every intention of denying her sex, the rough punishing
play she adored with ropes that burned and whips that striped and wax that
sizzled. He closed his eyes a split second, getting a grip on his urge to shove
her out the door and out of his life. “Jack,” she said clearly. “I…I’m sorry. I
l-l-love….”

“Shh.”
He put a finger to her mouth, unwilling to hear her say it because he knew she
did not. She loved herself and what she got from him, pure and simple. He did
love her, however. That was the shitty part. And that breathless dual
realization made him even angrier.

She
looked up at him, huge blue eyes watery, color high, her need clear. Without
thinking or speaking he picked her up and carried her to his room, dropping her
without ceremony onto the bed. He stood and watched her a minute, pondering his
own utter stupidity as he reached down and ripped her dress in two, his
breathing loud in his ears. “You will never do that to me again, do you
understand? Jenna?” he growled. He put a hand to her neck, squeezed, then let
it trail downward, horny and pissed off all in one thick emotional stew.

With
a grunt, he shoved her over onto her hands and knees, trussed her, wrists bound
to her ankles, bare ass up in the air. He reached into the trunk of implements
pulling out the first thing he found, the cane—a simple wooden rod.

That
night was first and last time he ever wielded the harsh instrument. Every time
he smacked her she squealed, then after about ten strikes she sobbed, then
screamed. Jack’s hands shook, his body pulsed, and his brain rejected what he
was doing to her. But he dropped the stick, gripped her hips hard, and shoved
himself into her.

Because
there was no denying that he was so turned on he could hardly breathe.

She
was exposed and wet after the lashing even though she was sobbing nearly
uncontrollably into the bed cover. He fucked her hard knowing she wanted it
that way and finally reached around and down to stroke her rock-hard clit until
she yelled his name and came with the now-familiar pulse and spasm around his
cock. Then, he stopped, pulled out of her, and fisted himself. The orgasm had
him teetering on the edge but there was something he had to do first.

She
dropped to her side as he untied her, noting she had pulled against the ropes
again, bringing bloody streaks to her wrists and ankles. “Sit up,” he
commanded. “Suck my cock.” She was not a huge fan of this activity. Something
she’d made clear from the beginning. So he was gonna fuck her mouth and make
her take it all.

She
got up slowly, shaking, wincing when her well-spanked ass hit the bedspread.
That look was back—the one he had hoped to beat out of her but realized he was
totally kidding himself about. He sighed as she fisted him, swallowed him,
cupped his balls, and traced beneath them with a finger.

He
fisted her hair and pounded down her throat. Then as quickly as he came, he pulled
of her mouth and stood there, staring at her. Her lips were swollen. A trickle
of cum leaked from her mouth.

“I
want you to leave,” he said, shaky, pulling his jeans on and turning away from
her. Her hand on his back made him turn. The sweet Jenna was back, the one who
did whatever he asked—as long as she got her way. He smiled and ran a finger
down her red face, feeling manipulated and too tired to think about it anymore.
“I told you to leave. I don’t like…what you’re doing to me. Go…away.”

“I
don’t want to leave, Jack. Ever,” she said simply, pulling him back to the bed.
And he let her.

The
night after their uneasy and very rough reunion, they sat watching a movie.
Jack was exhausted in mind and body. He put a hand on her hip as she lay draped
over his lap. The vision of them together was so clear he had to close his eyes
to it. This was it. This was love—the give and take, the understanding and the
miscommunications. God knows, he wasn’t perfect. Why would he expect her to be?
He needed this, the intimacy, her company, her warm body next to his every
night. At the end of it all he wanted to be sitting here with her watching a
movie. She rolled over and put a hand to his face. He gripped her wrist, kissed
the rope burns she loved giving herself.

“Jack,”
she sighed sliding up and straddling his lap.

“I
love you,” he said simply, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. She
stared at him, opened her lips to speak but a sudden urge over took him and he
kissed her and didn’t stop kissing her until he had her pinned beneath him and
he was on her, inside her, owning her, or so he told himself.

He
woke later alone and stumbled into the bed, remembering she had her bar exam
study session the next day and had gone home to get some sleep. He lay staring
at the door of his room and realized he never gave her a chance to answer, when
he’d told her—had used the “l” word for the first time since blurting it out to
Mindy all those years ago.

And
he had not let her say it the night before. Mainly because he knew she’d be
lying. His trust level was low. But in some crazy backward-ass,
emotionally-needy way he wanted her more. Something empty in him had opened up,
something he wished he understood but didn’t, not until the next
week—graduation week.

* * * *

“Hey,”
Jack said, watching Jenna move around the kitchen, aggravated that she wouldn’t
settle. The jeweler’s box pressed against his thigh reminding him why he was
here. It held a ring, a nice one, one he’d be proud for her to wear.

She
turned, put her hand to the thin platinum chain that he’d given her about six
months before, declaring her as his to the world. He touched the box, something
bugging him, but he’d determined to do this. He had a job lined up back in Ann
Arbor and had every intention of bringing her, his fiancée, with him. If this
is what it took, this is what he would do.

There
was no real logic to the move and he knew it. But he was going with his gut for
a change. Something about the finality of this week—graduation from law school,
the end of what he considered three of the most important years of his life as
he had learned so much—mostly about himself. “Would you hold still a second
please?”

She
let him pull her close, and threaded her fingers in his hair for a minute. Then
stepped back with a look of shock when he held out the box. For a minute, he
was surprised, and then when a terribly familiar, ugly expression dropped over
her face and into her eyes, he blinked.

They
froze, a strange tableau, before she burst out laughing. Jack sat back,
confused, his brain doing a little “told you so” song and dance as his heart
pounded. She kept laughing. He kept staring.

“Oh
Jack,” she fingered the expensive chain still around her neck, “this is just
so…oh my god.” She dissolved into giggles. Fury forced him to his feet. She
stared up at him, the “ugly Jenna” look in place. The one he hated but thought
he could live with if just to have some stability, some normalcy, some kind of
“This is what we need to be regular people.” That was all he wanted, really,
all the Dom and sub bullshit aside. And now?

“What
the fuck, Jenna,” he growled. She glanced up from her laughing fit.

“Oh
please, get a grip, Jack. You….” She stood, wiping her streaming eyes. “You and
I? No way. I’ve had too much fun with…you know, the guys upstairs,” she pointed
to the ceiling indicating the two younger men upstairs who he’d rented the
place to. “We had a nice little time while you were dicking around in Ann
Arbor. Oh sweetie, you thought I…?” She reached for him. He smacked her hand
away before she could touch him.

“Get
the fuck out,” he said, not looking at her. His brain had shut down, and his
body was tensing up in a way that did not bode well for her.