8. Chapter Eight #2
She’s stiff in my arms, her body a taut wire of tension.
“Relax,” I murmur against her hair. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
She sobs, her body shaking with the force of her emotions. I just hold her, letting her cry. I don’t say anything else. I don’t try to soothe her with empty words.
Her sobs eventually subside, replaced by quiet, hiccupping breaths. Her body slowly relaxes in my arms, her muscles unclenching one by one until she's a soft, pliant weight against me.
She’s exhausted. Drained.
She turns her body and clings to me, burying her face in my chest. I stroke her hair.
"It's always difficult the first time," I say, keeping my voice gentle and soothing.
"How do you know?" Her voice is muffled, but the bitterness isn't. "You do this often?"
She makes a small sound, a soft, hitching breath against my chest. She’s trembling again, a constant, fine shiver that runs through her entire body.
Her arms tighten around me, her fingers digging into my back. She’s seeking comfort, seeking safety. And she’s seeking it from the man who just bought her virginity, who just reduced her to a sobbing, begging mess.
The irony is not lost on me.
I tilt her head back, my fingers cupping her jaw. Her eyes are red and puffy from crying, but they’re clear, focused on me.
"If you mean buying women," I say. "No, I don't. Never, in fact. I don't need to."
Her breath hitches, a small, almost imperceptible sound.
"But if you're asking if I like to be in charge, to have control, to give a woman pleasure that's so intense it makes her cry," I say, my thumb stroking her cheek. "Then yes. I do that often."
A fresh wave of color floods her cheeks. She tries to look away, but I hold her in place.
"Why?" she whispers.
"Because it's who I am," I say simply. "It's what I need."
Her gaze searches mine, looking for something, for some answer that I can't give her. I can feel her mind working, trying to process everything, to make sense of the conflicting emotions, the overwhelming sensations.
"Does it... does it always have to be like that?" she asks, her voice a hesitant whisper. "With the... the control?"
"Not always," I say. "But mostly. Yes."
She's quiet for a long moment, her gaze locked on mine.
"There's no shame in wanting that, Erica," I say, my voice a low, hypnotic murmur. "You don't have to feel shame for enjoying it."
Her body tenses, and panic hazes her eyes. "I don't. I didn't," she says quickly.
The hand in her hair tightens in warning. "I told you what would happen if you lied to me," I whisper.
Something else comes into her eyes then. Need. I'm willing to bet if I slipped my hand between her legs again, I'd find her wet for me again.
But I let it go. This time.
In time, she'll have to learn to face the truth about herself. Tonight isn't that night.
I lower my head and capture her lips. It's not a demanding kiss. It's a gentle, exploring kiss. A coaxing kiss. I'm not demanding, not taking. I'm tasting, learning.
Her lips are soft, hesitant. She's still unsure.
My tongue traces the seam of her lips, a silent request for entry.
She hesitates for a split second, then she's kissing me back, a soft, tentative response. Her lips part under mine, inviting me in.
A spark of satisfaction lights in me. It would only make her tense up again to tell her what a natural submissive she is.
Instead, I deepen the kiss, my tongue sliding into her mouth, tasting the salt of her tears on her lips.
My hand slides down her back, coming to rest on the curve of her hip, and I pull her flush against me.
My cock, which I thought was well and truly sated, begins to stir.
I break the kiss, and she lets out a soft, breathy whimper, a sound of protest.
"You need to recover," I say. It's as much for me as for her.
The words must break whatever spell she's under because she jerks back. "I don't want this," she says, trying to pull away. "Just... let me go. You got what you paid for." But her body doesn't move to get away.
Her words are a direct challenge to my control. The carefully constructed calm I've maintained since my release shatters. My jaw clenches. "What I paid for was a night with you. You're mine until morning."
She looks at me then, really looks at me. And she sees the darkness. She sees the predator lurking beneath the surface.
I let her see it. Let her feel it.
I roll over, pinning her beneath me. She instinctively spreads her legs for me, a perfect, willing offering.
My eyes roam over her body, over the flushed, tender skin, the hard pebbles of her nipples.
"Y-You said I needed to recover," she says, breathless with fear.
"So I did," I say. My thumb brushes a nipple. "And you will. Look at yourself, Erica. Splayed out for me, and I've barely touched you." My knuckles ghost down her stomach, tracing the sensitive skin.
My hand moves lower, my fingers tracing the soft skin of her inner thigh. Her breath hitches, her body trembling.
"You're already wet for me," I murmur. "You loved every second of it." I slide my fingers through her wet folds.
She's soaking.
"You liked it. You liked being told what to do. You liked being restrained. You liked begging me to fuck you."
"That's not true," she says, but her voice is weak, unconvincing. She's trying to convince herself as much as me.
Quick as lightning, I flip her over to her stomach.
"Get on your knees," I say.
She hesitates, and I know she's fighting a war with herself.
"Now, Erica," I say, my voice a low growl.
She flinches at the threat, her body going rigid.
I press a kiss to the small of her back, a gesture that's both a comfort and a claim.
Then, with a shuddering breath, she obeys. She pushes herself to her knees, her ass in the air, while her head dips submissively in a beautiful arc in the dim light of the room.
"I warned you about lying to me, didn't I?" I ask.
She doesn't answer.
I stroke my hand over the taut skin of her ass.
"Answer me."
"Yes, sir," she whispers.
The word "sir" naturally tumbling off her tongue sends a thrill through me.
"I'm a man of my word, Erica. A lesson must be learned."
My hand comes down on her ass in a sharp, stinging slap.
She cries out, her body lurching forward, a strangled gasp escaping her lips. It's not a cry of pain, not really. It's a cry of pure, unadulterated shock.