Chapter 34
I’m not typically the clubbing type. It’s too loud, too crowded, and frankly, not my scene. At thirty, I’ve long outgrown the thrill of sticky floors and bass that makes your chest vibrate. But tonight is different. Tonight, I’m here with Blair, and that alone makes it worth tolerating the chaos.
The VIP section offers some reprieve from the crush of bodies, the faint hum of privilege allowing us to enjoy our drinks in relative peace. Blair looks stunning tonight, her smile lighting up the dim room as she laughs at something Desmond says.
Then, without a word, she stands after checking her phone and makes her way toward the dance floor, leaving me momentarily puzzled. “What the hell?” I mutter under my breath, my jaw tightening as my eyes follow her.
She weaves through the crowd with effortless grace, stopping to greet someone, a man. My chest tightens as I recognize him. Dylan.
My mood sours instantly. Sure, I respect him for reaching out and telling me what was going on when I needed to know.
But respect doesn’t mean I like him. Not one bit.
This is the same guy who had the nerve to try and sleep with Blair in my house.
And worse, he’s the one she did sleep with while we were apart.
“Who the fuck is that?” Desmond’s voice breaks through my brooding. He’s sprawled out beside me, looking like he owns the place. I’d nearly forgotten he was here.
“Her friend.” My gaze is fixed on Blair as she hugs Dylan and talks with another girl who must’ve come with him.
“Do we need to kick his ass?” Desmond asks casually, taking a sip of his drink.
“Not yet,” I say. As much as I’d love to put him in his place, I know damn well that if I laid a hand on Dylan again, Blair would probably leave me.
“Well, you let me know,” Desmond replies with a shrug, nonchalant as ever.
“Hm,” I grunt, my focus still locked on Blair.
She returns moments later, her smile radiant as she brings Dylan and a waif-like girl with her. I lean back in my seat, my fingers tightening around my glass of Hennessy.
“Dylan, meet Desmond, Calvin’s brother,” she says, her voice bright as she makes the introduction. “Desmond, this is Dylan, my best friend, and his girlfriend, Sophie.”
I study them both carefully. The music in the VIP section is muted enough to make conversation easy, but my patience is already wearing thin.
I toss back the rest of my drink in one swallow, the burn of the Hennessy doing little to cool my simmering irritation. Standing abruptly, I reach for Blair, my fingers wrapping firmly around her wrist.
“Come dance with me,” I say.
She looks up at me, startled but compliant. I don’t spare Dylan another glance.
“Calvin… what are you doing?” Blair asks, her voice barely audible over the thrum of the music.
I don’t respond. Instead, I lead her onto the crowded dance floor, the pulsing lights casting a kaleidoscope of colors over her flawless skin. As soon as we’re surrounded by a sea of bodies, I spin her around, pulling her flush against me.
The beat is unfamiliar, but it doesn’t matter. Blair moves with a sensuality that’s effortless, magnetic, like she was made for the music. Her smile is electric, laced with a teasing challenge I can’t resist.
It doesn’t take long for the vibe to shift. She turns, grinding her ass against me, moving to the rhythm like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. Every roll of her hips fans the fire inside me, until I’m hard and aching against her.
“Peach,” I growl into her ear, gripping her hips tightly to keep her close.
She spins back around, her eyes gleaming with mischief and hunger, and I snap.
I crash my mouth onto hers, kissing her like I might die if I don’t.
It’s rough, messy, consuming. She moans into it, giving just as much as she takes, her hands gripping the front of my shirt like she might tear it open.
“I need to fuck you. Now,” I rasp against her lips.
Her breath catches.
I lean in again, catching her earlobe between my teeth before I whisper, “Let’s get out of here.”
“What about the others?” she asks.
“I don’t give a fuck about the others. They’re grown, they’ll figure it out.”
I brush my lips along the shell of her ear, letting my voice drop dark and low. “Now you either walk out with me, or I carry you. Your choice.”
She laughs, sweet, wicked, knowing. It only makes me hungrier.
“Okay, let’s go,” she says, slipping her hand into mine.
I don’t waste a second. I weave us through the crowd with a firm, possessive grip on her.
The door clicks shut, and I’ve got her in my arms before the echo fades. Her legs lock around my waist, arms looped tight around my neck as our mouths collide, hungry, breathless, insatiable. I carry her to the bedroom, bumping into walls and laughing between kisses that turn dirtier by the second.
Inside, I drop her onto the bed like something I own, something I need. She scrambles to her knees, pulling off her red dress teasingly, painfully slowly. Her heels follow, and then she’s bare beneath the soft glow of the room, golden skin, flushed cheeks, and fire in her eyes.
It takes everything not to tear into her right then.
I strip fast, my dick already painfully hard. The air crackles between us, thick with lust. She reaches for me, but I’m already there, pinning her to the mattress with my weight, our bodies a perfect fit.
I kiss her again, slower now, deliberate, devouring. She melts beneath me like she’s made to be there.
Her scent, the soft gasp she lets out when my fingers graze her skin, the way she grips my shoulders like she’ll fall apart without me, it drives me wild. Tonight, I’m not just claiming her, I’m reminding her who she fucking belongs to.
I move to her neck, kissing, biting, sucking until I leave a mark that says mine. My hands find her breasts, fingers drawing lazy circles around her nipples until she squirms, chasing more. She arches, needy. Desperate.
So, I stop.
“What are you doing?” she breathes, uncertain.
I don’t answer. My hand trails lower, fingers hovering just above her soaked heat, so close she can taste it, but never quite there. She whimpers, thighs trembling, breath ragged.
“Sir,” she groans.
I smirk. My dick is throbbing, begging for her, but this isn’t about me. It’s about teaching her a lesson.
“Hm?”
“Please,” she says in a barely-there whisper.
I lean in, lips brushing hers without kissing. “Please what, baby?”
Her eyes lock on mine, glossy with hunger. “Please touch me, Sir,” she begs.
“I am touching you,” I say as I trail kisses down her body, slow and punishing, until I reach just below her navel. The heat radiating from between her thighs is almost unbearable. Her hips lift, seeking relief, but I deny her, moving back up with a devil’s grin.
She groans, a needy, broken sound. “Why are you doing this?” she huffs, her pout barely hiding how badly she wants to snap.
I hover above her, smirking down like I’ve already won.
“Would you rather I stop?” I murmur, my lips grazing the curve of her neck.
“No!” she gasps, her panic unmistakable, and I revel in it.
But before I can stop her, that delicate little hand of hers slips between us, daring to steal what she hasn’t earned.
The smirk vanishes from my face. In its place, a warning.
I grab her wrist, pinning it above her head with a grip she won’t break. “Touch yourself again,” I growl, “and I’ll make sure you don’t see my dick for months.”
It’s a bluff. Of course, it’s a bluff. I haven’t had her in over two months, and it damn near broke me. I couldn’t survive that again, but she doesn’t need to know that.
She freezes under me, eyes wide, searching mine for a crack in the threat. A flicker of doubt dances across her face.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Fuck around and find out,” I snap, leaning in so close our noses touch. She can feel my breath, feel the heat in every word.
Her bravado crumbles, replaced with need. “Why are you doing this? Please, I need you,” she groans, voice breaking. “You haven’t fucked me in months.”
She’s right. The last time we fucked was at the masquerade ball. And though I’ve needed her just as badly, this isn’t about indulgence. It’s about discipline.
I don’t respond. Instead, I slide my fingers between her thighs. She’s soaked. Just one light stroke has her gasping, her hips bucking for more.
I tease her clit in slow, careful circles, dragging out the moan she tries to swallow. Her body arches, but I pull away before she can chase the high.
“Stay still,” I command, voice sharp.
Then I slide two fingers into her without warning, curling them just right. Her cry rips through the air, her walls fluttering around me.
She’s losing control, completely at my mercy.
I work her slowly, keeping her teetering on the edge, only to pull away again and again. She writhes, cries, begs.
“Please, Sir,” she sobs, trembling. “Please stop torturing me.”
Then her voice shifts. Clears.
“Is… is this because Dylan moved back in?”
The name makes my jaw tighten. My fingers still. I pull out, slick with her arousal. Her whine is immediate.
I grab her chin, making her look at me. “Do you think it’s acceptable to let your ex-fuck buddy move in while you’re in a relationship with me?”
“I… I didn’t think it was a big deal,” she says.
“Wrong answer.”
I flip her onto her stomach, her ass in the air, on display, vulnerable, waiting.
My hand comes down hard. The crack echoes. Her gasp is sharp.
“You don’t make decisions like that without consulting me,” I growl, spanking her again, softer, but just as meaningful. “You’re mine, Blair. That means something.”
“I’m sorry, Sir,” she breathes, voice shaky.
“Sorry isn’t enough.”
I bury myself inside her with a controlled thrust, inch by inch, watching her crumble beneath me. Her walls clamp down around me as I set a punishing pace.
“You don’t get to decide what is or isn’t a big deal when it involves my woman,” I snarl into her ear. “And my rules.”
She moans, her voice breaking apart into shattered pleas and half-finished apologies.
“You have a choice: he moves out, or you do. You’re not living with him. Understood?” I say, my grip on her hips iron.
“But, oh fuck,” she cries out as I drive deeper. “I can’t afford…”
My hand cracks against her ass again. “I’ll buy you the whole damn building if that’s what it takes. Now answer me.”
“Yes, Sir. I promise.”
“That’s better.”
I slow my thrusts just to torture her, to make her feel every inch of my control. “And if you ever pull some shit like this again, you’ll regret it more than you do now.”
“I won’t, Sir. I swear.”
“Good girl.” I soften just enough to press kisses along her spine, grounding her through the intensity.
Her cries grow louder as I quicken the pace again, pounding into her, relentlessly.
“It’s too much… please,” she whimpers, reaching back toward me.
I catch her hand mid-air. “Move it again and I’ll tie you down.”
She does it again.
No hesitation this time, I spot my belt on the floor and grab it. “Give me your hands,” I order, my rhythm unyielding.
“No, Sir…”
A spank silences her protest. “Don’t make me ask twice.”
She trembles, then finally gives them up.
I bind her wrists snugly, then resume. Her cries become sobs of surrender and pleasure, helpless to the rhythm I force on her.
“Oh my god, Sir!”
Somehow, here in this moment, all I want is to hear her scream my name and not sir.
“What’s my name, Peach?” I growl.
“Ahh… I…”
“Say it. Say my fucking name.”
“Calvin,” she screams.
“Damn right.” I grip her tighter, our bodies colliding, fire coursing through every thrust. “Now say thank you.”
“Thank you.”
Her release shatters through her, her whole body convulsing. She’s perfect. My perfect girl. My perfect brat.
Her climax drags me over the edge, and I follow with a guttural groan, emptying myself into her as the world goes still.
Afterward, she collapses onto the bed, wrists still bound but loose, her breath slowing. She’s out within seconds.
I undo the belt carefully, kiss each reddened wrist. Then I clean her up gently, every touch reverent.
Once I slip in beside her, I wrap her in my arms. Her breathing steadies, safe against me.
“Marry me,” I whisper into the silence.
She stirs and lets out a soft sigh.
And with her tucked against my chest, I finally let myself fall asleep.