Chapter 25
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
Sleeping through the night with Jake would be the most comfortable, deep sleep I’ve ever gotten in my life. Better than sleeping at home with my parents in the safety of my childhood home, better than sleeping next to Michael, better than everything else, really.
But there wasn’t much sleep.
Waking up with a huge hard cock pointed at your spine isn’t exactly a lullaby. After taking a proud four inches in my mouth in the middle of the night and swallowing his cum, Jake made me come with his fingers, then made me come again with his mouth. We finally dozed off only to wake not more than two hours later, another erection begging me to play.
And now we’re here.
Eight in the morning.
Completely naked.
And I’m tied up on the floor, just like last night, only this time, both my wrists and ankles are bound.
What I haven’t said is that I was eager to do so much with him all in the span of fifteen glorious hours because I was afraid one night would all we’d have. Maybe on the drive over I worried about that.
But the chemistry we have, the way our bodies anticipate each other and work together—I know there will be more dates, more us, more this. It will be hard keeping it secret until we’re ready to share with Jo Jo, and I still feel an immense amount of guilt for not being transparent from the start, but I no longer worry I’ll have to memorize every moment of this night and morning to look back on forever. Jake Turner and I are going to make lots of memories together, I can feel it.
“I thought we’d sleep, but someone couldn’t keep their greedy hands to themselves,” he growls, the sudden snap of the quirt against my bare ass making my eyes roll into my head. How did I not know I loved pain and submission so much before? Maybe because Michael’s idea of dominance was just shouting. Not even in a sexual way, either. After a deep breath through my nose, my mouth bound by his leather gag, I bring my head up, my eyes meeting his. Mine are watery from the sting of the leather, but I keep mine trained on him, because all I want to do is meet his next command head on.
“Palms open,” he commands again, stalking around me, his foot falls rattling through my bones, strong and powerful. At some point he slipped into boxers, which, quite frankly, only made me want him even more. The heavy burden of his fully erect cock testing the weak cotton of those boxers in the form of the most impressive bulge ever? It’s no wonder I’m squirmy right now. I open my palms and keep my eyes on the bulge. “Does my hot little slut want a swat? Hmm? Does she need to remember that if she wants me, she waits patiently and she doesn’t assault me instead?”
I melt at his words, imagining a future where I wake up to him on my side, and legs spread, forcing that weapon of mass insemination inside of me as he cups his palm over my mouth, forcing me to come in silence. I nod, but I nod too late, and Jake whips my palm. Out of reaction, I close my hands, wincing and groaning into his leather gag, my eyes squeezing shut as I try to compartmentalize the pain.
“Ah, ah, ah. Open,” he says, trailing the quirt over my knuckles until I show him my palm.
“Mmm!” I scream into the gag, but it’s muffled so perfectly that it’s reduced to a faint moan.
He bends in front of me, tossing the quirt back onto his mattress. “You want some more? You want the handle of my flogger again?”
I nod and he grins.
“I bet you do, you slut.” he grabs me by the face, squishing my cheeks with his thumb and forefingers. “My perfect, beautiful slut,” he whispers, rasp and smoke, making my empty core tremble.
He snatches the flogger off the bed, and our eyes lock for a heated moment before he rears back, sending hundreds of leather tails along my chest and nipples. My head falls back as a cry, more roar than scream, floods the gag—my nipples burn. I want his mouth so fucking bad I’m starting to come undone. His lips chasing every painful swat, and the smooth cup of his hand exploring my marred skin—I need him so bad. I’m not done with this twisted, exquisite pain either, and neither is he.
Coming behind me, he unfastens the gag, bringing it in front of my eyes.
He collects the saliva from the mouth piece, reaching into his black boxers to stroke himself with my spit. “Oh my god,” I breathe out, my entire body trembling from how insanely turned on I am. His strong hand moving along the bulge in his boxers is dizzying, and between my legs, my body spills pleasure, readying for him, growing slippery and achingly wet.
“I’m gonna use this,” he says, holding up the handle on the flogger—it’s ornate carving clear in the daylight spilling past his curtains—“to make you come. But, before I do, I want you to beg for it.” He bends at the waist, the bulge peeking through the fabric opening. I get a quick sight of his blushed cockhead and nod, eager to please.
“Yes, sir,” I pant, my shoulders and arms burning from being tied behind me so long.
The sight of his arm reared has my entire body tightening, anticipating the hit, my cunt hungrily clenching. Fire rains down on my back as he strikes me, and I rear up onto my knees and calves, moaning out in pain.
“Oh my god!” I wail, as Jake drags the ends over my lips, fitting them into my mouth.
“You wanna come, little slut? Let me hear it.”
With the leather crowding my tongue, I moan, “Please, sir, make me come. ”
He cups his hand to his ear, listening intently. “I didn’t hear that. Tell me again.”
“Please, sir,” I moan loudly, a heated ache flooding my lower half. My legs are numb and my arms will join soon, but my pussy is alive and well, dying for release from all this teasing and pain. “I want to come. Please sir, make me come.”
There’s movement around me, or far off, I’m not sure. Closing my eyes, my body pulsing, my mind spinning, I think I’ve reached a stage of being slightly disoriented by the pain and pleasure. Because when I open my eyes, Jake is there, the tail of his flogger in his palm, the handle in his other hand. I’m hearing things. Maybe that’s my pulse that’s echoing in my head?
He snaps me out of my fog. “Say it again.”
“Please,” I breathe, my brain thudding. Jake’s eyes move from me, behind me, but I snap my eyes shut and finish my command. “Please sir, make me come .”
“Miss Rivers?” a familiar voice peppers into my consciousness. I open my eyes again, and realize that Jake is looking toward his bedroom door. He reaches for a blanket, and panic ensues.
Draping the blanket over my shoulders, hiding my body from Jo Jo, Jake crouches in front of me, releasing my feet and hand ties in a matter of seconds.
“Jo Jo, I thought you weren’t coming home until noon,” he breathes, panic only slightly rattling his tone. He lifts me to my feet, knowing full well that after being suspended that way for the last forty minutes that I won’t be able to walk well until I stretch. He helps me sit, wrapped in his comforter, on the side of the bed.
While he scoops up toys and lube, and throws on a robe, that’s when I work up the courage to look at her.
“Jo Jo,” I start, but I’m unable to finish the sentence. I don’t know what to say. This moment was my greatest fear in seeing Jake—Jo Jo somehow finding out and being devastated. But then again, Jo Jo wants her dad to be happy. She told me as much… before she found out her dad is a dom who makes sex toys, but that can all be sorted through in calm conversation. Who knows, maybe I’m not giving Jo Jo enough credit. Maybe after the shock wears off, maybe all of this will be a funny story down the road, but a blessing in a really kinky disguise.
“How the fuck could you?” she hisses, her eyes alight with malice, her chest jutting out as she leans into the room, permeating the space with potent anger.
“Jolene, you will not use that language in this house,” Jake scolds her, coming to stand between us in his room, robe cinched tight around his waist.
Jo Jo looks between us, but focuses her attention on me. Nervousness swarms in my gut with her heated dark eyes lingering on me. “I told you about my mom! I told you about Rawley! I told you… everything! I told you everything, Miss Rivers! And you’ve been sleeping with my dad ? What, are you like, reporting back to him everything I tell you?”
“I’m so sorry, Jo Jo,” I start, but she cuts into me immediately.
“Lene. I told you both I don’t want to be called Jo Jo anymore.” Her nostrils flare, and I realize then she looks a little… pale. Darkness pools beneath her eyes in small crescents, and her dark hair sticks to her cheeks. “I thought you were like, different from all the other adults. I thought we had a connection, that you trusted me and I trusted you. You made me think I could trust you, Miss Rivers!” She stomps away, and before Jake and I can exchange a look, she comes back.
“Don’t say another unkind word to her, Jolene. Think about your words now, because they have an impact. I understand you’re hurt, and this isn’t or… I don’t know,” he huffs, smoothing a hand up the back of his head. “This wasn’t the way for you to find out but… let’s just calm down here.”
Jolene ignores him, and his face falls as she bypasses him, headed straight for me—for the jugular. “Did you even care about me or did you just use me to get to Bluebell’s hottest cowboy?” her gaze narrows on me with doubt.
“Jo— Lene , you know that’s not who I am.” I roll my lips together, hesitant to lay down this truth in the event it makes it worse. “I met him months before school started. I didn’t know he was your dad until that night I brought you home. But I met him before, I wanted to… what I have with your dad is completely separate from the relationship I have with you. I care about you, Jolene,” I say, using the very last of my breath before tears cloud my eyes.
Jake, who has intently been eyeing his daughter this whole time, steps toward her and sniffs. “Are you drunk?”
Jo Jo laughs maniacally, like her coming home hungover means nothing because of what she walked in on. “Yes. I got drunk last night with my cheerleading team, you know, the one Miss Rivers coaches.” She looks at me again, so much pain in her eyes, masked by anger. I hate that I put it there. I loved being her safe space. I love this girl. I don’t want to cause this. I hate this so much. “How many other dads are you sleeping with, hmm Miss Rivers?”
“That’s enough!” Jake insists, his tone powerful. She looks between us.
“Fuck you both!” And with that, she flees, slamming her bedroom door before twisting the lock.
Silence consumes us. Jake gathers the toys and puts them in the armoire. I slip into the bathroom, snatching my clothes off the towel rack, ignoring the beautiful pink marks on my body as I redress. Stepping outside of his bathroom back into his room, I’m already thinking of ways we can talk to her.
Except Jake is dressed too, and his eyes don’t meet mine.
“Jake,” I start, but he looks up and says, “Riley,” letting my name hang between us.
“We can talk to her,” I argue softly.
He strokes his hand through his hair, his broad chest testing the buttons on his plaid shirt as he sighs. “I think you should go. I think I need to talk to her alone.”
It’s his daughter. We’re not a couple. I have no claim to stay here. I only know my heart wants to be here. My heart wants to make it right with Jo Jo, and then make it right between Jo Jo and Jake.
But Jake doesn’t want that.
And neither does Jo Jo.
“Okay,” I say, smiling, nodding, doing whatever passive thing I can do to get past him, through the door, down the hall and onto the porch.
He doesn’t call after me. He doesn’t show up on his steps when I’m in my car. I don’t see him standing in the street from my rearview mirror as I drive away.
I drive home, climb into bed, and spend my entire Sunday crying.