Chapter 14
14
Atlas
R owan stared me, open-mouthed, and who could blame her? She probably hadn’t been expecting me to dump all that onto her. But she’d been pushing me since I’d given her that orgasm, though to be fair, she had reason. I hadn’t been clear with her afterwards, too angry with that fucking beast inside me for wanting her, and with her for being so completely what it wanted. Which was unfair of me, but still. That didn’t change the fact that I was furious.
I shouldn’t have said anything, but her complete lack of understanding of the consequences of pushing me had been infuriating.
I’d been on the verge of showing her exactly what those consequences were when Charlotte had arrived for the wedding ceremony. I’d managed to pull it together enough to invite her in, but then I’d caught a glimpse of Rowan blatantly stripping her clothes off before stepping into the gown I’d bought her, all smooth, pale skin and rounded curves.
Afterwards she’d turned around, holding the flowers, the veil over her head and her hair loose, looking every inch the blushing, virginal bride. But I’d seen the way she’d looked up at me from beneath her lashes, deliberately sexy, deliberately sensual. She’d wanted me to see her undress, the beautiful little bitch. Getting me back, naturally, which had made the dark part of me stretch out, wanting to play.
I wasn’t playing though. I couldn’t give that part of me any airtime at all, so I’d kept an ironclad grip on myself the whole way through the ceremony. Ironic when I’d thought that she’d be the one to white-knuckle it.
It was difficult though, given I’d said those same vows — vows I hadn’t meant then and I didn’t mean now — to her mother. And I was painfully aware that it wasn’t Cait beside me now, but Rowan.
Rowan and her sweet, jasmine scent, the white gown molding to the curves of her breasts and hips, while the silk of her veil made a tantalizing mystery of her lovely face. Her cheeks had been pink beneath that silk when I’d turned to her, and her eyes dark. As dark as they’d been when I’d had her hair in my fist and my hand between her thighs.
I shouldn’t have been thinking that, yet I hadn’t been able to stop. And then things had gotten worse when I’d produced the rings — hers with sapphires for her eyes, because again, I’d thought she deserved something pretty — and she’d stared at me in surprise. It had given me a kick of illicit satisfaction, that surprise, another thing I shouldn’t be feeling.
Fuck, I should have gotten rid of her the same time I’d gotten rid of Charlotte. Called her an Uber and sent her back to work, let it all be done with.
But I hadn’t. I’d pushed Charlotte out the door instead.
So now we were here, alone. And I was furious. With her and with myself for being at the mercy of own my fucking dick, unable to turn her away when I knew I should. Wanting to show her the consequences of pushing me, because she needed to know that it was a very . Bad . Idea .
I hadn’t needed to give her the truth, but I’d demanded the truth from her, and since I wasn’t going a fucking hypocrite, I’d told her about my father. And now she knew, she’d at least understand why there couldn’t be more between us than the empty vows we’d said and the rings that meant nothing on our fingers.
“You want to own me,” she echoed, as if the words had no meaning.
“Yes,” I said. “And given what happened to my mother, you’ll appreciate why I can’t have anything more to do with you.”
Rowan’s dark brows drew down. She was still holding the peonies, the white silk of her wedding gown clinging to her curves, the silvery fall of the veil falling down her back, her glossy black hair gleaming beneath it.
Your virgin bride. Yours.
The muscle in the side of my jaw flexed as I ignored the thought.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “I’m very sorry about your mother, that must have been awful. But I’m not her and you’re nothing like your father.”
“No. But I am nearly twenty years older than you and have exponentially more experience, and I….” My hands were clenched into fists so I tried to relax them. “Want to do things to you that I should not want to do.”
Rowan’s dark gaze searched my face. There was no temper there now, just puzzlement. “What things? What does owning me even mean?”
There was no point trying to sugarcoat it so I didn’t. “You doing whatever I want, whenever I want,” I said. “No arguments, no protests. No compromise. You’re mine and only mine, body and soul.”
She blinked, long, silky lashes fluttering. “That doesn’t sound…too terrible.”
Yeah, she didn’t get it, not at all.
“You think so?” I held her gaze. “Everything will revolve around me, beauty. You are there for my pleasure and my pleasure alone. What you want is irrelevant. In other words, I have ultimate control of you. You’re my property, to do what I want with. That’s what owning something means.”
Her gaze wavered. “Oh.”
“And when it comes to sex, my way goes,” I went on, laying it all out for her so she knew exactly what she was getting into. Saying out loud the fantasies that I’d never let myself have, not with anyone. “I want you adoring me. I want you obsessed with me. I want you to submit to me, do whatever I tell you to do. I want you to be my little fuck toy that I get to play with when the mood takes me, and you don’t get to tell me no. You don’t get to deny me anything at all. Everything is about me. Everything. ”
A silence fell and I let it sit there. Let her process exactly what I was saying.
“Um…so…why me?” she asked eventually. “Surely you must have…uh…owned someone else before?”
“I haven’t. I’ve never let that part of me out of its cage. At least not until you came along.” I didn’t hold back the note of accusation that had entered my voice. “You watching me fuck Tina in Arcadia, and it got you all hot and bothered. You giving me big eyes at the restaurant last week, looking up at me like I was the one star in your sky. You being everything I shouldn’t touch and shouldn’t want.” I’d stalked slowly towards her as I said the words, hardly conscious of it until I realized that we were only a breath away from each other. “You being a virgin and untouched. You giving me your trust when you let me touch you, and not even knowing what you’d given me.” I bared my teeth. “You making me feel like my father for wanting a woman half my fucking age and wanting to own her the way he fucking owned my mother.”
She blinked again, but didn’t back away. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but you don’t have to do that with me. We can just?—”
“No,” I interrupted, beginning to lose the already fragile grip I had on my patience. “No, we fucking can’t. You’ve got me crossing a line, Rowan. You’ve got that beast in me rattling its cage. I’ve got no control when it comes to you, and that’s why nothing can happen between us, because you give me a single inch, I’ll take a fucking mile.” I took another step to really hammer home the point. “I’ll take everything.”
Another rapid blink, her knuckles white where she gripped her bouquet. “So, what? That’s it? We can’t even have a conversation about it?”
“We are having a conversation about it.”
“No, we’re not. You’re telling me what you want and expecting me to turn tail.”
“Of course I am,” I snarled. “And if you had any fucking brains that’s exactly what you should do.”
“Well, perhaps I don’t have any fucking brains. And perhaps you should ask me what I think before making any decisions.”
“But that’s what it’s about, Rowan. It’s not about what you think, it’s about what I think.”
She let out a little breath. “You don’t care what I want?”
“No,” I said, brutally frank. “It’s about me, Rowan. Me and what I want.”
Her jaw was tight as she glanced down at the bouquet she was carrying. She was having problems with this, and of course she would. Any woman in her right mind would, let alone one strong, stubborn, buttoned up twenty four year old.
She fiddled with the white silk tie around the flowers in a nervous movement, not meeting my eye. “Give me an example then. Of what you want.”
Jesus, really?
“Rowan—”
“Why not?” She looked up at me. “Come on. If you think what you want is so bad then give me an example.”
Christ, she was so naive, it was painful. But if she wanted an example, I’d give her one, and hopefully if I made it explicit enough, she’d stop arguing and finally leave me the hell alone.
“Okay.” I folded my arms. “How’s this? I wouldn’t have allowed you to argue with me about the dress and the flowers. In fact, I’d have punished you for it, maybe by not giving you that orgasm you so desperately wanted.”
She flushed. “That doesn’t sound.…bad.”
“Really?” I held her gaze with mine and this time I didn’t bother to hide the dark hunger in me. This time I unlocked the cage and let her see it. “Me stroking that wet little pussy of yours until you screamed? Taking you so close to the edge you’re almost there, but not pushing you over it? You could have handled that?”
The flush in her cheeks deepened but she gave a little shrug.
But of course. She was brazening it out, the beautiful, stubborn little bitch. She had no idea what orgasm denial or edging was. She’d never been worked up so intensely that she would have done anything to come, anything at all, and then denied.
Maybe she should learn.
I shouldn’t. Taking that step with her would be a mistake, but I was tired of fighting not only her, but my dark side as well. This was my own fault. I’d let her push me to the edge and now there was now coming back from it.
There were consequences and she needed to learn them.
“I wouldn’t have given you that orgasm, beauty, make no mistake,” I went on. “I’d have left you hungry and made you take your panties off. Then I’d put them in my pocket to keep while I took off the rest of your clothes. I’d dress you in all your wedding finery myself, fingering your sweet little cunt until I got you hot and wet, and then I’d make you stand there, suffering through the ceremony with a hungry pussy, aching for me, knowing what I had in my pocket. Thinking about how desperate you are to come as you say those sacred vows and knowing only I can give you what you need.” Her big eyes had widened as I spoke, then darkened. “And after the good father pronounced us husband and wife, I’d have put back your veil and stepped in real close to kiss you, and I’d slide my hand down the front of that gown to where you’re all slippery and needy, and I’d have touched you through it, making you come in front of the priest and your grandmother. And there wouldn’t be a thing you could do to stop it.”
I was very close to her, looking into her eyes, her pupils dilated, her cheeks red and her mouth opening. So fucking beautiful…
Desire beat like a drum in my head, in the pulse of blood in my cock, and I wanted to put my hand on the back of her neck, force her to her knees in front of me, make her open her mouth for my dick, and then teach her how to suck me. Teach her how to worship me, to look to me for whatever she wanted, make me the most important thing in her universe. Me, her one obsession.
It was wrong and toxic, but for over twenty years I’d catered to women’s fantasies. Now I wanted a woman to cater to mine.
No. I wanted her to cater to mine.
“And you know what I’d do after that?” I went on softly. “I’d put you on your knees, still in your gown and veil, and I’d get you to do what any good bride should do after getting married. Worship her new husband’s cock.”
Her gaze wavered and I could hear the quickened sound of her breathing.
“You think you could do that, beauty?” I stared at her, the darkness in me laid bare for her to see. “You think you could give a jaded old playboy like me, who used to be your step-father, the best fucking blow job he’s ever had in his life?”