Yield (11 page)

“Why do you think you’re not good at this?”

“Because I always do something wrong. If it’s not good and I’m the common denominator, then I’m doing something wrong.”

Hm. With the edge of her fingernail she traced out the letters and the light scratching was making his cock ache. How she didn’t seem to notice the shirt was snagged over his hard on was mind boggling, but she wasn’t in a good head space to notice much.
 

“I can’t snap my fingers and get you there. This isn’t a hypnotist show on a stage. I told you earlier, it starts in the head.” He caressed her calves and she nodded in response, though he felt like she didn’t believe him. “It starts here.” He laid his hand between her breasts. “The foundation of all BDSM play, no matter your kink, is trust, Katey. You’re trusting me with your body. You’re trusting me to hurt you, but in a way that won’t leave a scar on your body and here.” His fingers pressed against her chest. “You’re trusting me to not treat you like a puppet when I demand something, whether it’s for you to hold in an orgasm or kneel at my feet.” She was watching him now, her eyes hidden beneath the shield of her lashes but she was paying attention. “You don’t obey because you’re weak and have no mind of your own. You obey because it makes me feel good and it makes you feel good. Sometimes something goes south. Sometimes the worries here,” he feathered his thumb over her forehead, “are bigger than the both of us. Maybe it’s because it was your very first time or you have trust issues. Your mother was negligent, your father let you down continuously; you feel small and lost and there’s this horrific thing crowding up on you, taking over. Swallowing you down and down because you were hurt in the most vulnerable way. So yeah, that first time isn’t going to go good. But it’s not because you’re doing something wrong. It’s because he’s not looking into your pretty green eyes and seeing that you are lost in the weeds.”

A tear slid down her cheek and he wiped it away. “Your eyes, Katey Jay, hold no secrets. He should’ve seen. It’s his job to pay attention to the details. I’m going to see if my sub isn’t doing well. It’s in her eyes. It’s in the way her body tenses instead of flows with a touch or a word. It’s her voice if she’s struggling. If, for whatever reason my sub isn’t going to safe word, I’m going to stop it. We’re going to slow down until it works and if it doesn’t, it doesn’t.”

“I threw up all over your balcony.”

“Someone threw up in my hot tub, Kate. People were puking in plants and in someone’s purse. One of the most stunning things I have ever seen in my life was you on that very balcony. You so lost in what you wanted from me was beyond erotic. Watching you not just slide into subspace, but sink into it, is amazing. It makes me want to put you there all the time. It makes me want to carry you over my shoulder into Edge to give you that need. Nothing went south tonight. We’re just having a small drop.”

He tumbled her to the couch and she stared at him; the need in her gaze could put him to his knees. The need to believe him. “I want you to tell me that first pivotal moment where the light bulb went on and you went ‘Oh.’”

“Will you tell me yours first?”

He stretched out, his back to the room. “It was during the video shoot of Other Side. Not our best song, but that’s what happens when I’d rather get drunk and leave the writing to Carl, Anderson and Jace.”

“You’re so modest, Doyle.”

He grinned. “I know. I need to work on that.” He brushed her hair off her face. “It was doing mediocre on the charts and there was a lot of pressure for us to not suck as it was the second album. So when they decided that we needed a video, the director pitched an edgy idea. I was drinking when I watched them tie this girl up to a St. Andrew’s Cross and it hit all my buttons. There I am standing there and my cock is hard because it was the most erotic thing I had seen. When they said one of us needed to be the dom I was all over that role. It was one of the few times I came alive. They brought someone in to show me what to do because hurting one of the actresses would’ve sucked, but it wasn’t like I could tap the air. I was rocking massive wood that entire video shoot and I may or may not have fucked some of the girls between takes because… Jesus. It was amazing.” The video had been banned pretty much everywhere. It had been the early nineties; shit like that didn’t fly. Thanks to online videos and that book, the video’s viewings had skyrocketed a couple of years ago. The song still sucked, but the video was hot.

The consultant had been an actual dom and had taken Doyle under his wing as kind of his mentor. The friendship had become pretty important to him and when James had been killed, Doyle had spiraled out of control. It had, in fact, been one of the early coffin nails in his marriage.

“I watch that video,” Kate confessed. His attention snapped to her face and the blush on her cheeks.

“Is it in your spank box, Miss Jennings?” The blush spread further and she gave a small nod.
 

“I turn off the sound and,” she shrugged one shoulder, “you know.”

He slid his hand between her legs. “Like this?” She was already slippery and her mouth parted on a tiny gasp. “Use your words, Katey.”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

“Show me what you do when the sound is off and you watch me beat three girls. Do you pretend you’re one?”

“I imagine I’m the only,” she admitted. Her fingers covered his, shifting him so his fingertip grazed her clit. Her hips rocked up and a sexy, soft sound came from her. She drew circles around that tender bud, using him to get herself off, lost in the fantasy. “There’s that one shot of you when you’re standing with your hand braced on the cross. The camera pans over your face and you mouth the word come to her.”

“Do you come when I tell you too?”
 

“Every time, Sir. Every time.”

Doyle exhaled slowly and lowered his head so his lips brushed her ear. “Come,” he whispered. She cried out, her body straining up as she came. “Every time you call me Sir, my cock throbs to be inside you, aches to lay claim to you. It makes me want to take you over and take you under.” He slid two fingers into her and felt her clutch his wrist. “It slips off your tongue and I want to taste it, own it. You say it as easily as you say my name. Easier. You’ll drop it into a text and I want you there because I get fucking hard as hell. Each time, every time, I want to fuck you until it whispers from your soul. I want you on your knees as I fuck that word along your tongue. Come.” Her orgasm was beautiful.

He opened the side table drawer and withdrew a condom, slipping it on. He moved between her legs and rubbed his thumb over her mouth. Her lips parted and the tip of her tongue touched his skin, the ring she gave him, and he sank into her, her cry sinking into him. “Jesus, look at you.” He thrust into her, her pussy snug from her orgasms, her body meeting his as she wrapped her legs around him, her fingers digging into his back. He wanted to give her every fantasy in her head. He wanted to not fuck up and satisfy that need that glowed in her eyes.

He wanted to make sure she never doubted herself in this because she was so beautiful when she submitted, so deep in subspace he could taste it on her skin. “Christ, Kate.” He kissed her, his tongue sliding over hers and there was that honeyed taste. He wished he had kissed her before he had topped her so he knew if this is was what her submission tasted like or if it was pure Kate. The leather creaked beneath their bodies while the gas flames flickered.
 

Not even Claire had felt this good. Right. Fuck. How the hell…

He wanted to come in her. Strip off the condom and come in her so she was marked. Every hidden inch of her coated in his cum. So she felt him on her thighs and knew that he had been there, that his cum made her his.

God, he wanted to come in her. Now. “Come,” he demanded against her lips and sweet little subbie that she was, she did. He drank down her cry while fucking hard into her as she came until he had to obey too. Come.

They stilled, breaths mingling. This girl who wore the face of the man he hated. She was in his skin, in his blood. Oz had been right. The minute he had caught a whiff that Kate was a submissive, he had watched. Wanted. Craved. Waited. Like that first time during the video shoot when he had held that crop. Like all the pieces of him finally made sense.

Fuck but he had missed being someone’s dom.
 

****

Kate traced the names that were entwined in a heart on Doyle’s chest: Claire, Willow, Danielle. It was a tattoo so at odds with the others. He watched her through lowered lids, his fingers tracing up and down her spine. The t-shirt had disappeared at some point. His other arm was bent behind his head.

Her gaze shifted to an upside-down creepy sun. She traced the jagged rays and moved to the zombie trying to crawl through his skin as if that sun was summoning it. No flowers, no tribal, no normal looking animals. She knew somewhere on his left arm there was a drum stick that was staked through a skull, there was an executioner with a bloody axe, because in the tattoo magazines they always focused on a couple. If they were doing a body shot, his hand would rest on his chest, like he was protecting those three names. The realization made her chest feel tight.
 

They were so lucky.

Sometimes she wondered if Jace even knew her name.

“How old were you, Katey?”

She continued to explore the dark images forever on his arm. She tried to answer but had to clear her throat to continue. “Twelve.” Her voice sounded scratchy. Broken.

He went still beneath her. “No.” It was stark and blunt and sliced into her chest like heated metal.

“Twelve,” she repeated on a whisper. Twelve. She went to move, but Doyle flattened his hand on her, keeping her still. “I can’t like this. Please.” She slid down to the other end of the couch and he sat up, easing his leg from behind her. He rested his elbow on his bent leg, his inked fingers forming a loose fist at his mouth. Needing contact more than she thought she would, she leaned against his leg, the dark hair soft against her skin, while she rested her head against one of his dark and twisty tattoos.

With his other hand, he cupped her cheek, his thumb catching every tear that began to escape. For the first time in a long time, she felt safe. His hand made her think of those pictures where he was protecting the heart on his chest. Made her think he was protecting her too.
Aways wanting
.

****

Kate - 2002

She had never had a Christmas tree before. Sitting on the couch, watching the large fir tree being decorated, Kate decided it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. This morning she had woken to find the house overrun by a woman with a clipboard and clear plastic bins filled with all kinds of decorations. There was something very efficient about her as she directed an army of people on where to put things. Shaelynn sashayed about telling people what she wanted, but the clipboard woman ignored her.
 

There was going to be a photo shoot because apparently there had been some bad publicity with the band trashing a club and walking off in the middle of a set. The band’s manager, Charles Haversley, had decided they needed good publicity and what was better than a girl’s first Christmas? Ever. So now the house was under holiday siege for the photo shoot and interview, even though Christmas wasn’t for a while.

Kate didn’t care.

This was unlike anything she had ever seen. Shaelynn had said they needed a black Christmas tree with white and silver decorations so it fit with the decor of the house. Everyone, even Jace, had looked at her like she was crazy. Black fake Christmas trees didn’t say “we’re celebrating Kate’s first Christmas. Ever!”

A catering service was going to provide them with a turkey dinner because apparently that’s what families did at Christmas. The entire band and their families were coming later because this was all about salvaging their reputation.

Kate didn’t care.

She knew none of this was real, but that didn’t stop the warm glow from growing in her chest. The tree was becoming something beautiful, magical. Lights blinked and glowed. Some were flickering white ones and others were clearly for Halloween because they were little white skulls, because they were, to quote Jace, bad ass. The tree was rock and roll. Jace had said the only way he was going to do this was if they didn’t make some cotton candy, pussy decorations.

She wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but this was not a tree she’d see in the mall.

The hair stylist arrived and not just for Shaelynn. According to her, Kate also had to be treated so she didn’t look like a homeless waif who was living off their kindness.
 

So she found herself getting her hair washed and blowed dried.
 

“That one is a right a bitch,” the guy with the hair dryer and a round brush said as he made Kate’s hair look soft and shiny.

“You’d think she was screwing someone important instead of a fading rock star. What do you think of this one?”

“Too frou-frou.”

Kate watched as dresses were held up and discarded. All of them were so pretty so to see them flung onto her bed as if they weren’t important, made something tighten in her chest. She twisted a knot in her ribbon, worrying it back and forth as she watched as another dress was lifted then flung aside when it was nixed. She had no idea where the clothes had come from.

“This is not a frou-frou face.” The hairdresser cupped her chin and tilted her head up, studying her. She wished she remembered his name. He was nice and that he didn’t like Shaelynn made him even better. He smelled of cologne and had vibrant blue streaks in his black hair, plus he wore make-up. Who did that?

“No, it’s not.” The clothes flinger tapped a finger against his mouth. “It’s a sweet face. Far too sweet for this house. Hm. Angelic. Let me see…”

“Old eyes,” her stylist said as he returned to making her hair glossy and straight. “Let’s not emphasize that. This is about joy, not the heartache in those eyes. That won’t help Jace Jennings out if the world saw the sadness in his daughter’s eyes.”