Thirty
Ara
Oh.
So we are going to discuss this as a business deal. I squash the tiny disappointed self of mine who expected something more because I didn’t do casual relationships. And also because for every irrational order, I actually thought there was something that he felt for me other than just ownership. Or something equally maddening.
For me, sex always came after feelings, and the one time I tried a hook-up, it backfired. For some reason, Zagan’s fixation on me made me think that he had feelings about me to resort down to this track. Why else would a man like him, who had women under his disposal to cater to his every whim, want me? But now, as I think again, the prospect of him harbouring any kind of mushy feelings that I hoped sounded ridiculous.
This way is better. This way, I know what I am getting into. Even if it would be hard to separate my feelings from physical relations, I would know upfront about what to expect from him. At least I won’t be deceived and let my heart suffer the repercussions of my horny libido.
Good.
This is good.
I mentally nod as I walk towards the chair which sits opposite him.
“On the table,” Zagan says just as my fingers brush the head of the chair.
I frown in confusion when his closed fist taps on the table once in front of him.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s either your ass on my table or my cock in your mouth. I’m winning either way, little siren and I hope you’re smart enough to back out of something you aren’t ready for. Yet.”
I learn one thing about him for sure.
Zagan does not despise talking, or at least not when he is scaring and turning me on at the same time. The carnal image he paints in my mind will take years, if not a whole lifetime, for me to purge it away.
Yet.
His promise stands clear in both of our minds. He isn’t going to push himself into my mouth now, but the promise of it coming true in the future is evident in the way his grey eyes look at me without an emotion crossing his features. I asked what it means to be his; this is his way of showing me. I give myself away— or at least my bodily inhibitions— to leap from the cliff, hoping that he would catch me.
My steps this time aren’t as sure as they were. As I circle the table, looking at his hand that is on the surface, I ask myself for the hundredth time what the hell it is that I am doing there. Am I ready to allow myself to be tied down, however long this deal goes on, with this person? I’m running away from a man like him, for god’s sake.
I try not to think about the point Harley made before she left with her jacket.
“Remember. Only monsters can keep other monsters at bay,”
It had been completely out of the blue, but I understood her intention. She might not let it show, but the woman understands far more than I say. I didn’t know whatever this is between entails, but I’ve seen the possessiveness in Zagan this morning. I’d be a fool to think that it is for me. Men like him are territorial, and it comes with who they are.
As ridiculous as this seems, for as long as I’m in this twisted sort of ownership with him, I don’t have to worry about Vir. Not as much as I do every day. Yes, the threat of Zagan hounding me about my past is ever present, but as long as I stay rigid about not letting it out, this should work. He won’t care enough to look past the complicated web lies I’m willing to weave.
I hope so. With the way things seem to go, I have a nagging feeling inside me, warning me something terrible is coming my way.
I’m not bothered about myself. I could care the least if I die. But I don’t want my past mistakes to hurt my loved ones. Not my Cas or Iyra or Ivy. Not my family.
I stand in front of the table, moving half of my butt cheek on the table and look at him.
“Both.”
Why is his voice the same ever since I entered the room? I am sure that if he asks me to talk, nothing apart from a breath or a squeak would make it out of my mouth. I do as told, and my feet dangle in the air as I make myself a seat on his cold wooden table, still refusing to look at his face.
“Spread your legs,”
This command has my head whipping in his direction, shock written all over my face.
“S…Sorry?”
His eyes spark with a flare of irritation.
“The punishment for making me repeat myself will not be pleasant, Ara. Now be a good little nerd and spread those fucking legs.” He growls his warning.
With my heart inside my throat, I reluctantly spread my legs until he drags his chair to situate between them. I am forced to part them further to accommodate his large frame and his armrests. Warmth coats my cheeks as I curse myself for wearing a skirt today. When those pools of dark blankness snap down between my legs, it is instinctive to bring them closer. But the firm grip of his large fingers over my left ankle stops me from doing so, and I gasp at his sudden touch.
“Lay back,”
“Wh-“
I shut up as he slants those eyes my way, which flash with a dark warning. Everything this man does is dark. And why does that appeal to me so damn much? With a body shudder ripping through me, I slowly lay my back on the thick wood, trying so hard to stop covering myself from his inquisitive eyes. I forgot what panties I had on today. I hope it isn’t one of those grandma panty days, and I put use to the thongs Ivy made me buy.
Who am I kidding? I hated the little pieces of cloth that dug into my arse cheeks, and I preferred my cotton ones more than them. But at least I loved my lacy friends, and looking at the flare of Zagan’s nose, I can only hope that I put on one of them.
What is wrong with you?
This man is asking you to do things that you had never heard of, and all you can think of is what underwear you wore.
Where the hell are your protective instincts?
Right now?
They are busy trying to figure out how to think, with his touch burning my skin and his gaze dampening my core. God, please don’t let it be evident. Please let there not be a wet spot in the smack centre of my panties. I cannot face him if he sees the evidence of what his mere look does to me, not after the way he called me out this morning. Please god-
“Touch yourself”
What?!
I peek at him to see if he is serious. Looking at his hard jaw and hardened fist under his chin, which looks as if he is trying so darn hard to stop himself from doing something, I realise that he, indeed, is serious. And if I don’t want myself to be at the burning end of those angry eyes, I better do as told. But there is one teeny tiny problem.
It’s a good thing that I can hide behind my thighs, seeing as I had never done that. Not completely, at least. I tried doing the deed a few times after reading a raunchy book or the time after the day on the pier. It didn’t feel as great as I’ve read in books or read online that people rave about. According to Ivy, I was doing it wrong.
She tried explaining it to me and, being the nice friend she is, was ready to show it to me too. But I denied it. I wanted a release, not a nightmare, after watching my best friend’s private parts. She was relentless in sending me the self-help videos that went over my head. As a last resort, she bought me an adult toy, which stayed unopened in the back of my closet.
Well, bottom line, I have no effing clue what he was talking about.
Zagan somehow understands my silence, and instead of an impatient scowl like before, I see a flash of satisfied smirk flicker on his face before it is gone. It is semi-dark in here, I might have imagined the expression.
I am in an utterly compromised position with my bareness exposed to him as a doll on an exhibition on a table in his office, where anyone could come and see me. The looming danger of getting caught should not elicit the spark of lust as it did, but to my utter embarrassment, it does.
“Push your panty aside and rub your clit with two of your fingers,” His gruff order rings in the room, bouncing off the walls.
His fingers dig into the side of my ankle at my hesitation, and a glance at his face tells me about the looming danger ahead. He silently dares me to defy him so that he can show me what he is willing to retaliate with. And I have enough working neurones to know that whatever it is, I would rather not find it. At least not now.
It has been years since I let a man touch me, let alone have his eyes on my exposed private region with my life dangling in his hands. I reluctantly reach the panty—breathing a sigh of relief when I feel lace—and push the cloth away. I wish the darkness didn’t let him see the wetness already coating my nether lips as I rub my clit with my index and middle finger.
A spark of pleasure dances from between my thighs, weaves all over my body, and wetness pools around my fingers. My breathing turns choppy, and my eyes close in exhilaration, but my body is still aware of the predator looming closely.
“Push those fingers inside your little cunt and keep rubbing your clit with your thumb,”
It is illegal to sound sexy, controlled and unabashed like Zagan does while he orders me with his dirty words. And when did I become a fan of dirty whisperings at the same time my cheeks turned red?
I swap my thumb to my nub and push the two fingers into my slick heat, the pads of my fingers brushing over my velvety walls.
“Deeper,”
I push them deeper, not stopping circling my clit.
Maybe it is because of his masculine presence with me, maybe it is the satisfaction of whipping so many sentences from Zagan, or maybe it is his sexy voice that would undoubtedly be cast as a protagonist in my every wet dream carrying forward from now on, but this time as I pleasured myself it feels different. The pleasure I feel shooting down every nerve ending of my body is nothing like before.
I am not new to sex. Burke was good at what he did. He was a generous lover, but I am starting to realise that he did not bring out the reactions from my body like Zagan. He did not make me want to see a spark of something in those otherwise dead eyes, even by curling my toes inside my heels and arching my back in front of his face.
Zagan remains silent as a small moan erupts from my lips as I move my fingers inside me. He doesn’t have to tell me to keep going. Even if he orders me to stop, I don’t think I can. I pull hard on my bundle of nerves and try to push my fingers deeper. Alas, they aren’t as long or thick as the ones circling my ankle, their grip tightening with every moan coming out of my mouth. I imagine what they would feel like inside me. Those thick, veiny digits would be able to hit the spots I am not able to reach with my tiny, thin ones. Another throaty moan rips out of my mouth at the image.
I grow bolder in the abyss of pleasure and slip low on the table until I am sure that I can feel Zagan’s body warmth close to my body. With the heat of his gaze on me and his sizzling touch on my body, I push on my nerves one last time and rub the side of my walls. The orgasm is like a breath of fresh air that blows life into my starved lungs. It carries on, enveloping me in its loving warmth, making me forget about the surroundings for now.
I could not feel my limbs, and I couldn't care less about the fingers pulling the remnants of my panty off my legs, which had somehow found themselves on either side armrest of the chair Zagan sat on. My eyes are still closed, my fingers still inside me, and my chest heaves as I take in large gulps of air after the exhilaration I felt.
“That is the last time you touch yourself, the last orgasm that is your own. From now on, every orgasm, every moan, every cry, every scream of yours is mine, and no one but I will bring them out. And that includes you as well.”
Before I can understand what he means, he pushes away my hand, and a warm tongue laps on my leaking lips and tears out a loud moan from my lips as my back arches at the sensation. His other hand—the one not touching my ankle—splays over my stomach and pushes me down on the table as his lips enclose around my clit. He sucks on it hard, which has me bucking in his arms, shivers of pleasure coating the insides of my spent body.
His teeth nip my lips as his tongue delves into the hole, thrusting into it with a harshness that has me clenching around his organ. I must have imagined the slight growl or not because there is no way anything other than his touch and mouth is making sense anymore. He sucks on my juices as if he were a starved man, and try as I might, my closed eyes wouldn’t open. It is physically impossible for me to concentrate on anything other than his delirious tongue and lips, bringing me towards the deep dive of the cliff. I want to look at him and watch how the great Zagan Devlin looks as he goes down on me. But for the love of everything holy, I couldn’t.
His movements are sure, precise and without a doubt. Zagan knows how to use his tongue and lips to wreck a woman’s body. Every lick, every nip, every nibble and every frigging suck pushes me closer and closer towards the point of no return. His hard grip on my thighs is delicious, and his tongue lapping on my juices, as well as circling my nub, languidly drives me to insanity, bringing absolute gibberish out of my mouth. One huge palm splays on my lower stomach, holding my body firm on his desk, while the other makes sure to keep my legs open while he goes on a mission to kill me with pleasure.
“Oh god! P…Please stop”
He doesn’t.
If anything, he increases his force, sucking hard on my clit and using his teeth until I cannot differentiate between pain and pleasure any more. This orgasm comes out of nowhere. Like the giant wave crashing down on me with such ferociousness that I scream his name until my throat turns hoarse, and I feel pain dig into my nails with the tightness I scratch his table.
If the orgasm I gave myself turned my limbs into jelly, this one made me numb while the witness from extreme pleasure danced behind my closed eyelids in the form of stars. I feel Zagan licking me clean, and when I open my eyes, I can feel myself getting wet once again at the image that lay in front of me.
Zagan’s piercing grey eyes are fixed on me as wetness coated his beard and shone on his lips. He takes one last lick, starting from the base of my centre to the tip of my clit, which makes my whole body shudder in delight and carnal desire. With the moon keeping his unscarred side hidden and with only his scarred side visible, he looks like a vengeful god whose purpose of revenge is to crumble me until there is nothing inside me to fight.
And I am ready to be the wilful spoils of war if it means being eaten by this man here who looks at me with the first real expression in his eyes other than anger.
Desire.
And it is addictive.
“No one touches you but me. No one even breathes your way, and no other man sure as fuck should even think about having you. Your pleasure is no longer yours. It is mine to control and yours to surrender. Even you are not allowed to bring yourself the pleasure that I own. Cross me, and you will not like the repercussions, little siren.”
Done with this ministration, he wipes his chin with my yellow lace panty, pushes it inside his pocket and looks at me with the dark hunger of an insatiable man. His message is clear on his face. His words should make me want to smack him. But why could I think about nothing but wonder what it would feel to have his fingers inside me? Or him? Would I survive? Maybe not.
I could barely consider my breathing after he gave me the most intense orgasms of my life, and I couldn’t even start to imagine the state of my body or mind if he decided to use his…well…his member.
I could say the word inside my head, can I not? Of course, I could. But why couldn’t I?
“Understood?”
His rough voice makes me look up at him and momentarily forget his words. I nod without actually knowing what he had asked for.
This is what being owned by him means.
It means that he would own every single inch of my body, fill my mind and do with both of them as he pleases.
“I won’t hurt you, not unless it is for your pleasure. You come whenever I send for you, you part your legs whenever I say so, and let me fuck and own whenever and however I please. I own your time, your exclusivity and your attention.”
I think this is the longest he has ever spoken. It is just my luck that when he does, it is to punch the last nail into my coffin.
Outwardly, maybe I might have appeared confused or blank, but inside, there are so many emotions running around that it makes no sense anymore. I am aroused, insulted, disgusted, elated, affronted, shocked, angry, afraid and also excited. Nothing made sense anymore.
“How long?” I ask.
Even if I need two or three business days to let his words register inside my brain, I have enough sanity left in me to ask the question to prepare myself. He says nothing as I sit up and adjust my skirt around my legs. I look at the pocket into which he stuffed my panty earlier.
Well, I’m not getting that back anymore. At least that perverseness should disgust me. But it only makes me excited and slightly giddy imagining him growing hard whenever he looks at it and thinks back to this night.
“Until I say so.”
His words squash down that slight happiness and have me jumping down the table. My legs are a little wobbly, and the jerk of a man does nothing to help me. Maybe he hopes I will fall face-first on the ground.
I glare at him. “You need to give me a specific amount of time to prepare myself. You will-“
His hand that is on the table shoots out suddenly and pinches my cheeks together in a tight grip. His thumb caresses my forcefully hollowed-out bottom lip while his eyes flash in danger, and he stands to his staggering height.
“You forget that you are in no position to be making demands, little siren. What I say, goes, and I say I will own you until further notice. If you are not okay with it, find a way.”
My heart pitter-patters inside my rib cage, every single word of his sending it into overdrive.
“And you will tell me who this bastard is. You are playing your little game now, but I will own every single part of you. I will not stop until I own your loyalty, fear and godly worship and by the time I’m done with you, there will be nothing left for anyone else to take,”
He promises before his lips come crashing down on mine, drawing blood.