Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
“I don’t need you to hate me or love me or anything in between,” Gareth says, sitting up and narrowing his deep ocean eyes at me. “I only need you to obey me. To be a good girl for me.”
“I’ll do my best, Daddy.” With that he pushes my hips back from his face, and I climb off him. He stands and helps me up.
I make quick work of his shirt buttons, revealing his manscaped but not bare chest. My fingers skate through the trimmed, dark curls that remain. When I slide the shirt over his shoulders and down his arms, my palms map his muscles, and I want to touch every inch of him.
He unbuckles his belt and whips it free from the loops, doubles it over and snaps the leather against itself once. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
I can’t think of any other man I’d allow to do what he’s about to do to me, but I comply with his command. He binds my wrists with the belt, knotting it until it’s tight.
Keeping my smile turned toward the carpet, I relish the truth that I could probably break free of this if I really wanted, and I think he knows it, too. This binding is symbolic as much as it is physical.
He needs to know I will allow him to restrain me, that I will relinquish control to him.
If he only knew that he’s held a crucial piece of me in bondage since the first time he touched me, when he came up behind me in the kitchen in the middle of the night and the heat of his words against my neck made me quiver in his arms.
But I didn’t try to get away from him then either. Far from it.
That’s it. Lean back into me, let me explore this sweet little pussy. I’m going to make you feel good, baby girl. I promise.
He did more than make me come that night; he rewired me. I think I sensed even then there was something dark about him, and I know it awakened something within me that I didn’t understand. But he abruptly denied me any further knowledge of him, sent me back to bed full of questions and wonder.
I’ve been playing out what-if scenes in my head for so long. Tonight, I finally get to know what comes after with Mr. B.
I will do anything he asks of me.
“Face me and drop to your knees.” His voice is raspy and heavy, and I am spellbound.
He unzips his pants and shoves them and his underwear down to his thighs, bringing his erection to my lips.
I look up to meet his eyes as I circle the tip with my tongue, and then I open wider to let him push it inside.
He doesn’t grab the back of my head or pull my hair, just holds there, looking down at me.
“I knew your pretty red lips would look good stretched around my cock. Show me what you can do with that painted mouth.”
I lean forward to slide down his full length and retreat slowly, twisting my head from side to side to create friction, sucking in my cheeks with increasing pressure. His groan of approval is feral.
Keeping only the tip inside, I repeat the same moves several times, expecting him to take my head and shove it at a faster pace any second, but he doesn’t.
Gareth basks in the attention I’m lavishing on him, enjoying my performance. He told me to show him what I could do, and now he’s watching, not directing, as I kneel before him with my wrists bound, acting on his original cue.
He swells in my mouth, and I register the twitch that lets me know he’s not going to be able to retain control if I keep doing what I’m doing for much longer.
That’s when he slides his hands into my hair and takes over, moving me off him, extracting his glistening dick from my lips. He pulls me to my feet and crushes his mouth against mine as he walks me back to his desk.
“Turn,” he says when he breaks our kiss, and I obey the word. My shoulders relax in relief as he undoes the knotted belt, but when he tells me to plant my hands on his desk and bend over, I shoot a panicked look back at him.
I love having my ass slapped by a man, but no man has ever hit me with a belt, not with anything other than his hand.
“Dirty little sluts get their asses striped,” he says. “And then they take the rest of their punishment. But you can stand up and walk right out that door if you’ve had enough.” His eyes are swirling with lust, but brimming with challenge, too. “Or you can give me your safe word and bow your head.”
This is a test. And I’ll be damned if I’ll walk out of here now with my thighs slick and my legs weak, but not having felt his dick buried inside me yet.
“My safe word is Viking.”
His laughter tumbles out like the beginnings of an avalanche.
“Well, that might sound like a compliment in the right moment.”
“Like the kitchen appliances,” I clarify with my head still turned to look at him.
“The first time I was asked for my safe word, I didn’t have one, but I desperately wanted the chef behind me to unleash whatever beast he was holding back and he wouldn’t keep going until I gave him a word.
We were in the middle of the kitchen I was remodeling for him so I spit out the first word I saw. Viking.”
I flash a coy smile and turn my face back toward the windows.
The sting of the first lash takes my breath.
“Don’t ever talk to me about another man fucking you unless I’ve asked. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Daddy.” I lower my head, press hard against the polished surface under my hands.
“That’s my good girl.” He delivers two more lashes and stops, tosses the belt aside. “There we go. That beautiful ass looks good with pink stripes across it.”
He rubs over the rising welts, and I feel my juices gush at the alternating current of pleasure and pain, the sting that subsides when he caresses my skin, but rushes back the moment he moves his hand away and the cool air replaces his heat.
“Stand up.” He steps in close behind me, wraps his arms around my waist and presses his body against my back, letting one hand slide down and between my legs.
A replay of how he approached me and cupped me inside my sleep shorts when I got up for a drink of water, not knowing he was sitting at that table in the dark, drinking the spiced rum I still taste in my dreams.
“I bet the chef has excellent memories of you every time he enters that kitchen. I still get a hard-on whenever I walk into the kitchen at my lake house, still stand there and wish every time that you’d been a few years older and my divorce had already been final, so I could’ve known how it felt to replace my fingers with my dick.
God, I wanted to fuck you sore, and I hated myself for it.
Have ever since. I’ve thought a dozen times about selling the place to try to escape the guilt, but I can never bring myself to make the call. ”
“Maybe you just need to have the kitchen remodeled. I know a girl.”
“That’s not a bad idea.” His fingers probe deeper and he bites my shoulder. “Or maybe I just need to finally ravage you in it to complete the fantasy.”
“Mmm, that’s another viable option.”
“How long are you in town?”
“Undecided. Only booked a one-way flight in case a job came up and I needed to go in a different direction when I was done here.” I lean harder into him, tilt my hips to give him better access as he inserts another finger. “Just packed a heavy bag and got on a plane.”
“Still a free-spirit, wild and unbroken. I love it.” He claims my clit between his thumb and index finger, pinches and rolls until I flinch. Then he eases to a firm massage under the pad of his thumb.
“I wouldn’t say unbroken.”
“Everybody is broken in some way, Jewel. Hold still.” He steps away to retrieve his belt from the floor, stretches it in front of my face, brings it to my mouth.
“Bite down on it and resume the position you were in when I spanked you. Show me that pretty pink pussy, let me see how ready it is to be punished.”
He holds both sides of the belt in one hand behind my head, pulling it taut like a gag to keep my neck extended while I bend over his desk again. I couldn’t lower my head this time if I wanted. My back arches, and he gets the view he’s requested.
His hips thrust with force from the first stroke. I’ve never been wetter, but his stiff cock stretching my tight walls still abrades my tender skin within minutes and ignites a burning sensation that lights me up in exactly the way I need.
My teeth sink into his leather belt.
Fuck, yes. Make it hurt.
I’ve never been able to fuck the pain away. But a better pain replacing a worse one always works as a temporary fix.
Tomorrow will be another day where I feel no sorrow for my latest dead parent, only another level of resurfacing anger, but I will be physically sore and bruised. And that will be enough to get me through whatever stage of grief I should feel next, but won’t.
And my curiosity about Gareth will be sated. I’ll finally know, and I can let him go. My last tie to this place will be severed.
He yanks on the belt and my head snaps back. When he simultaneously pinches my nipple like a clamp, I yelp at the additional twinge of torment, and he erupts like a volcano. I clutch at the desk, and my thoughts spin like a roulette wheel.
My delicate silk and lace lingerie is twisted and shoved askew on my body. A sheen of sweat coats my back, and my neck feels like I have whiplash from a head-on collision. But it wasn’t enough.
I look back at him still panting from his orgasm. He smiles, and my rage surges. No, we’re not done here.
“Spank me again,” I say. “Use your hand this time but longer. Don’t stop hitting me until my ass is covered in your handprints, until I beg, until I safe-word out—”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“You don’t get to decide when or how I punish you, sweet girl. That’s not how it works.”
“Fuck you!” I straighten and turn on him. “Fuck you, Gareth. Oh, I’m sorry. Mr. B! Is that better? Am I too grown for you now or what?”
The lights blur, and I launch myself at him, slapping and clawing at his chest and his face. I’m flailing blind, no idea where my assault is landing, and I don’t care. I can’t stop.
His voice is loud, until it’s not.
Until he has my arms trapped in his, holding me pinned against his chest, and I’m shaking like I’m having a goddamn seizure and my vision is still blurred so I can’t see his face. I can’t move to hit him. I can’t stop shaking. I can’t get free. I can’t breathe.
I’m sobbing but not breathing, and shaking and shaking and shaking...
When the room comes back into focus, I’m wrapped in his arms on the sofa.
He’s holding me, rocking me, telling me it’s okay, I’m okay, everything is going to be okay.
I try to apologize, but he shushes me with his fingers against my lips, kisses me softly.
Blood trails from a deep scratch on his cheek.
“I did that to your face? Oh, God. I’m leaving. No more psycho outbursts, I swear. Just let me up, and I’ll get out of here.”
He holds me tighter. “The only place you’re going tonight is my house.”