19. Ana
19
Ana
I knew Charlie could tell something was off. The way the hurt spread across his face as I lingered on him too long, unsure if I was able to conceal the concern I felt deep in my chest. But then he surprised me.
I don’t know if it was to distract me or if the timing just happened to work that way. The leash and collar— dios mío, the control I felt over him overshadowed any power I ever felt, even when I was the First Lady. The way I could control him, his body, the way he reacted to me—it was addicting.
It didn’t make me forget, but it certainly helped shift my perspective.
And then came the Grammys, which almost made me forget about it all together.
I had never been to an award show like this. The glitz and chaos were intimidating, and as much as I tried to prepare myself, anxiety lingered in the pit of my stomach. I felt like I didn’t belong, like an outsider peeking in on a world I wasn’t meant to inhabit. I knew it would be like the party we attended, but multiplied a thousandfold.
My team worked their magic, glamming me up to perfection. I chose a gown that was both elegant and sexy: a tight red dress that hugged my curves and featured a plunging neckline that I knew would drive Charlie wild. My lipstick matched the dress, bold and red, while my hair was styled in soft curls that channeled Marilyn Monroe.
Charlie, of course, had his own flair. His ‘70s style black suit was a perfect mix of retro and modern, complete with bell-bottom pants, a wide-collared shirt unbuttoned just enough to show his tattooed chest, and a red handkerchief tucked into his pocket to match me. His presence was magnetic, as always, his charm amplified by the quiet confidence that had drawn me to him in the first place.
As we slid into a black car, I couldn’t stop the nervous shaking of my hands. Charlie noticed; he leaned in close, his breath brushing against my ear.
“You are absolutely stunning, mi diosa. I wish I could fuck you in front of everyone tonight to show them that you’re mine.”
I suppressed a giggle, biting down on my lip as I met his gaze. His green eyes burned with a dark intensity, in a way that only I seemed to be able to ignite. I felt my cheeks flush, but his words worked—my nerves began to fade, replaced by the thrill of being with him, of being his .
As the car pulled up to the venue, the roar of the crowd hit us, muffled only slightly by the windows. Flashes of light exploded outside, capturing every movement. I could feel the weight of the attention, the knowledge that every step, every glance, every whispered word between us would be scrutinized.
The door opened and Charlie stepped out first, smoothing his suit before turning back to offer me his hand. His grip was strong as he helped me out of the car. As I stood, the crowd’s energy doubled. Their shouts became louder, more frantic, and I knew that we were the cause.
Charlie wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me close as we began our walk down the carpet. He whispered low for only me to hear, although the roar of the crowd would drown out most conversation.
“You’re fucking stunning. You’re mine, Ana. Always.”
His words enveloped my body in goosebumps, but I maintained my composure, plastering on a serene smile for the cameras. His hand stayed on my waist, a physical reminder of his claim on me, and I realized that despite everything, I felt safe.
Inside the venue, the air buzzed with excitement. Charlie kept me close, never letting go of my hand as he navigated the sea of celebrities and flashing cameras with the ease of someone who had done this a hundred times before. For me, it was dizzying, overwhelming, but his presence calmed me in the storm.
We took our seats at a table near the front, and the show began. The performances, the speeches, the applause—it all blurred together. I was hyper-aware of Charlie, of the cameras on us, of his hand not once leaving my thigh or hand.
And then, the moment came.
“Album of the Year,” the presenter announced, her voice booming through the microphone. The crowd hushed in anticipation. My stomach tightened as the nominees’ names were read aloud.
“And the Grammy goes to…Charlie Ashford!”
The crowd erupted into cheers and I felt Charlie’s hand tug me up as he stood, the glow of triumph radiating from him. He turned to me, pulling me into a tight hug, before giving me a quick, gentle kiss. We hadn’t talked about the level of PDA we’d show, but I knew with how possessive he felt, he’d show off whenever he could.
“I love you,” he murmured after his lips left mine.
Then he was gone, making his way to the stage, shaking hands and exchanging smiles as the applause thundered around us. I sat back down and watched him, pride swelling in my chest, but also something else—anxiety. Charlie was unpredictable and I had no idea what he would say in his speech.
He reached the stage, holding the gold trophy in his hand, and the crowd slowly quieted.
“This is…wow,” Charlie began as he leaned into the microphone, his voice steady despite the tears in his eyes. “This award means the world to me and there are so many people I need to thank. My team, my fans…” He began listing names I didn’t know of and I was briefly relieved.
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the crowd until it landed squarely on me.
“And Ana.”
My heart stopped.
“This woman right here,” he continued, his voice growing softer. “She’s my inspiration, my anchor, my everything. Ana, I love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything in my life.”
The room fell silent, his words lingering in the air. All eyes turned to me and I felt the heat rise in my cheeks. My chest tightened as I fought to keep my expression neutral, but inside, I was a storm of emotions.
He loved me. On live television. In front of millions.
Charlie smiled, his signature grin lighting up the room. “This is for you. Everything I do is for you.”
The applause roared back to life, louder than ever, but I barely heard it. My heart pounded in my ears as Charlie made his way back to our table, trophy in hand, his eyes never leaving mine.
When he sat down, I couldn’t speak. My hand reached for his and he held it tightly.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the noise.
“I wanted to,” he replied. “I need the world to know how much you mean to me.”
I wanted to be angry at him for putting me on the spot, but the sincerity in his eyes melted any resistance I had. Instead, I leaned in, pressing my lips to his cheek.
“I may have to punish you for this later,” I murmured against his skin.
His eyes grew dark as his gaze found mine. “Perhaps that’s what I’ve wanted all along.”
* * *
The after-party was a chaotic blur of champagne flutes, flashing cameras, and endless congratulations. Charlie moved through it all with effortless charm, but his hand never left mine. It wasn’t just possessive—it felt desperate, like he was holding on too tightly, as though I might slip away if he let go for even a moment.
Meanwhile, I could feel every glance, hear every whispered comment aimed at me. The attention was suffocating, the champagne dulling my nerves but doing nothing to ease the tension curling in my chest. By my third glass, I leaned into Charlie and whispered, “We need to leave. I can’t do this anymore.”
He didn’t hesitate. “Okay. One second,” he murmured, brushing a kiss against my temple before excusing himself to say his goodbyes. True to his word, he returned almost immediately, his arm slipping around my waist as he guided me out.
The car ride back to the cottage was quiet except for the throbbing of my heartbeat that was magnified by the alcohol. I stared out the window while Charlie’s hand rested on my knee, his thumb drawing slow circles every now and then. Normally, his touch would excite me, but tonight it only amplified the storm building inside me.
When we arrived, the cool night air was a relief against my flushed skin. Inside, I kicked off my heels and sank onto the couch while Charlie disappeared into the kitchen. He returned moments later with a glass of water, crouching in front of me as he pressed it into my hand.
“Drink,” he said softly, his green eyes scanning my face. “It’ll help.”
I took a sip, the cool liquid soothing my throat, but it didn’t do much to ease the tension. “Thanks,” I murmured, setting the glass on the coffee table.
“You’ve been quiet tonight,” he said, sitting beside me. His arm draped across the back of the couch, his eyes locked onto mine. “What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing,” I said sharply, standing up. The room tilted slightly and I steadied myself against the arm of the couch. “Or maybe it’s everything. I don’t know.”
“Ana.” His voice was calm but I could hear the worry in his tone. “Talk to me.”
“I said it’s nothing,” I snapped, the words spilling out too quickly, too angrily. “But fine. You want to know? It’s Sarah. It’s the fact that she’s dead, Charlie. And I can’t stop wondering if you had something to do with it.”
The air in the room shifted and he stayed eerily still beside me. Slowly he stood, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. “Why would you ask me that?”
“Because it makes sense!” I yelled, my hands trembling. “You had Jake followed, you’re always talking about protecting me, about doing whatever it takes. And now Sarah’s gone, just like that? What am I supposed to think?”
He stepped closer slowly, his jaw clenched. “You think I killed her?” His voice was too quiet and the calmness of it made me question myself entirely.
“I don’t know!” I shouted, my voice cracking. “I don’t know what you’re capable of anymore! You’re so fucking intense, Charlie, and it scares me!”
He froze as his gaze softened, then he took a small step back. “I’m scaring you?” he asked, his voice quieter now.
I nodded, my breath shaky. “Yes. You’re scaring me.”
For a moment, he didn’t move, his eyes searching mine. Then he exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing as he stepped closer. “Ana, I’d never hurt you,” he said softly. “You have to know that.”
“Then tell me the truth,” I said, my voice trembling. “Did you have something to do with Sarah’s death?”
He clenched his jaw, his gaze dropping for a moment before he looked back at me. “I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he admitted quietly, and my heart dropped. “I just…I wanted her scared. I wanted her to know that she couldn’t hurt you anymore. But it got out of hand. The people in there…they took it too far.”
His words hit me like a punch to the chest and I stumbled back a step, my hand gripping the arm of the couch for support. “You…you had people go after her?” I asked, tears falling down my cheeks.
“I didn’t tell them to kill her,” he said quickly, his voice rising slightly. “I swear, Ana, that wasn’t the plan. I just wanted her shaken up, enough to back off for good. But…it escalated.”
I stared at him, my heart pounding as fear and disbelief collided with something darker—a sick, twisted thrill that I couldn’t ignore. He did this for me. He crossed that line for me. And while part of me was horrified, another part felt flattered. Protected. Desired.
“Do you even hear yourself?” I asked loudly, trying to snap myself out of it. “You can’t just…send people to scare someone in jail and then be surprised when it goes too far!”
“I didn’t know they’d take it that far,” he said, stepping closer again. “But I don’t regret it, Ana. Because now she’s gone, and she can’t hurt you or anyone else anymore.”
“You don’t get to make that decision,” I snapped, my hands shaking as I pointed at him. “You don’t get to decide who lives or dies!”
He stopped in his tracks, his eyes softening as he reached for me. “Ana…I did it because I love you. Because I couldn’t stand the thought of her hurting you again.”
The room was spinning, my emotions a tangled mess as his words sank in. I wanted to push him away, to scream at him, to tell him he’d gone too far. But when he stepped closer, his hand brushing against my cheek, I didn’t move.
“I’ll protect you, Ana,” he whispered. “Always. No matter what it takes.”
I should’ve pulled away. I should’ve been disgusted. But instead, I grabbed his shirt, pulling him down to me as my lips crashed against his. The kiss was messy, desperate, charged with anger.
His hands gripped my hips, pulling me flush against him as the tension between us ignited. The fear, the questions, the doubt—they all melted away as his touch consumed me.
I pushed him away quickly, knowing what I wanted to do to him. I needed to take control again. I watched the way his chest heaved with surprise, his green eyes darkening with need.
“Sit.” I pointed to the chair behind him and he moved instantly, lowering himself onto it. He spread his legs wide, his arms resting on the sides, but his fingers twitched slightly, as if restraining himself from reaching for me.
I stepped closer. “I want you to behave,” I commanded. “No touching. No speaking unless I ask you a question. Do you think you can handle that?”
“Yes, mi diosa, ” he breathed, his voice trembling slightly. I could see the way his body responded to the command, his cock hardening, his breath hitching as he submitted to me without hesitation.
“Good boy,” I said with a proud smile.
I could see his effort, the way he was trying to hold back. I pulled his pants down slowly, revealing his hard, aching cock, then lifted my dress. I aligned my body with his and lowered myself onto him, moaning quietly as his cock filled me. I moved deliberately, every shift of my body designed to remind him of the control he didn’t have. His chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths, and I could see every fiber of him desperate to touch me but knowing he wouldn’t dare.
“Don’t ever forget this,” I said as I leaned in close, my lips brushing his ear. “I’m the one in control. I decide what happens, when it happens, and how it happens. Not you.”
“Yes, mi diosa, ” he rasped, his voice shaking with restrained need as I slowly rolled my hips over him.
I tilted his chin up with one finger, forcing his gaze to meet mine. His green eyes were dark with hunger, his pupils blown wide, but there was something else there—something more dangerous. Devotion. Worship. An unwavering, almost frightening intensity.
“You belong to me,” I whispered, running my thumb over his lower lip, my other hand splayed against his chest. “Say it.”
“I belong to you,” he said desperately.
“Good boy,” I murmured, pulling his lip down slightly before letting go.
His breathing continued to pick up speed, his lips parting as if to speak but he caught himself, obeying my rule of silence. A flicker of pride curled in my chest at his restraint but it was quickly overtaken by something else. Even as I said the words, even as I reveled in the power of making him submit, I knew the truth.
I wasn’t really in control.
Charlie Ashford was an unshakable force, a man who would do anything— anything —for me. He had proven that with Sarah, with the terrifying way he justified what had happened to her. And though he was under my hands, under my commands, I knew the undeniable pull he had over me. It was like standing at the edge of a storm, knowing the winds could sweep me away at any moment but being too captivated to step back.
But I couldn’t let him know that.
I dragged my nails down his chest, the red lines standing out starkly against his skin. His body tensed under my touch, a low groan slipping from his lips despite his best efforts to hold it back.
“You’re trying so hard, aren’t you?” I teased, my voice dripping with mockery as I continued to roll my hips slowly. “Do you want to touch me, Charlie?”
“Yes,” he gasped, his head falling back as his body trembled beneath me. “So much.”
“Too bad,” I said, leaning back slightly, my hands trailing down his arms to where his fingers gripped the chair. “Because tonight, you don’t get to. You’ll take what I give you, and you’ll be grateful for it.”
His head snapped up, his eyes locking onto mine. “I am grateful. I’ll take anything you give me, mi diosa. ”
“Good boy,” I praised, my tone softening. I leaned forward, my hands bracing against his chest as I moved, watching the way his self-control unraveled with every shift of my body.
But even as he submitted, even as he obeyed every command without question, I could feel the storm beneath the surface—the unrelenting power that he held back for my sake. It thrilled me. Terrified me. Consumed me.
“You need to remember this,” I started, trying to contain how much I reveled in this. “No matter how much you want to take control, no matter how much you think you can, you’ll never be the one in charge. I am. Always.”
“Yes, mi diosa.” His voice was hoarse, his hands gripping the chair so tightly I thought the wood might break.
But as I looked into his eyes, the unshakable devotion there, I felt a sliver of doubt. Did he believe me? Or was he simply letting me think I had control, knowing full well that his power over me ran deeper than I was willing to admit?
The thought made my movements falter slightly, but I recovered quickly, leaning down to kiss him, hard and fervently, swallowing the soft groan that escaped his lips. His obedience only fed my need to push him further, to test the limits of his submission and remind myself that, for now, I held the reins.
“You don’t come until I say so,” I commanded against his lips. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, mi diosa, ” he rasped, his entire body trembling with the effort of holding himself back.
I smirked, rolling my hips harder, faster, savoring the way his head fell back, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to keep control. My hands braced against his chest, feeling the way his heart pounded beneath my touch. He was mine—entirely, completely mine—and the power of it overwhelmed me.
“Look at me,” I demanded.
His head snapped forward instantly, his green eyes locking onto mine. The desperation there, the sheer devotion in his gaze, was addicting. My movements quickened, my nails digging into his skin as I felt myself unraveling, the intensity of the moment crashing over me like a wave.
I threw my head back, a sharp cry escaping my lips as my release hit me, my body trembling as I rode out the aftershocks of my orgasm. But I didn’t stop there.
I slowed my movements, my breath still uneven, as I leaned down to brush my lips against his ear. “You’ve done so well, mi buen chico ,” I murmured, my voice soft and teasing. “But I’m not finished with you yet.”
I slid off of him, standing in front of him as I let my dress fall, smoothing it back into place. He groaned softly, his body tense and his cock throbbing, his hands still gripping the chair as though it were the only thing anchoring him.
“You’ve been so good,” I said, circling him slowly, my fingers trailing along his shoulders. “So obedient. So patient.”
“ Please ,” he groaned, his voice strained.
I stopped in front of him, leaning down until our faces were inches apart. “Please what?” I asked, my tone playful as I ran a finger down his chest.
“Please let me come, mi diosa, ” he begged, his voice trembling.
I smirked, leaning in to brush my lips against his, but pulling back just before he could deepen the kiss. “You want to come for me?”
“Yes,” he whispered, his eyes pleading.
“Then do it,” I said softly, stepping back. “Come for me, Charlie. Now.”
The words were barely out of my mouth before he let go, his body shuddering as he finally gave in, a low, guttural moan escaping his lips. His cum shot up, landing over his lap and chest, his head falling back as he surrendered to the release he had been holding back.
I watched him, proud as I took in the sight of him—vulnerable, worshipful, completely mine. When he finally stilled, his breath ragged and uneven, I leaned down and pressed my lips to his.
“Good boy,” I whispered, my voice full of praise. “You’ve earned it.”
His green eyes flickered open, still hazy with the remnants of pleasure, and he looked at me with a mix of awe and adoration. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice coarse. “I don’t deserve you.”
I smiled, turning on my heel and heading towards the bedroom.
And as I left him there, still recovering in the chair, I couldn’t help but feel the thrill of power coursing through me, even as the quiet truth lingered in the back of my mind.
Control was an illusion. But for tonight, I let myself believe it was mine.