A Dominant Fallen (A Dominant Series Book 2) (9 page)

“To us,” I repeat, bringing it to my mouth and taking a slow draw of liquid gold. He sets down his glass and proceeds to cut one of my prawns in half. “Hunt, you don’t have to feed me every meal. I appreciate the gesture, but I would like to feed myself.”

He stares at me for a moment, noticeably hurt by my statement. “I want to take care of you, nourish you, love you.”

“You do,” I pause for a second. “Fine, then, I get to feed you, too.”

He shoots me a big, cheek-spreading grin. “Yes, I would enjoy that.”

I pick up my fork, stab the fattest half of the prawn, and hold it up to his lips. He parts them slightly, and I slide the tasty, pink morsel in, which he snatches up with his teeth and chews slowly. When he finishes, he slices into the largest crustacean on his plate, holds it up to my mouth, and slips it in. Right on cue, the instant the succulent meat touches my tongue, I moan with delight. His superb cooking never ceases to amaze me. In fact, he cooks almost as well as he fucks.

“Mmmm,” I moan appreciatively, “you’re truly gifted.”

“I’m so glad you enjoy,” he replies, reaching for my hand and bringing it to his lips. “I only wish to please you…Do I please you,
Gabrielle
?”

The way he utters those last words, the way he caressed them with his tongue calls to something deep inside me, something primal. I catch a sinister gleam in those pools of emerald, a look I haven’t seen since our last night together, since our session after the party. I spot Hunt radiating from his eyes as they watch me from under those thick, black lashes, framed by his dark, manicured eyebrows, and I shudder.

I manage to collect myself enough to say, “Yes, Hunt, you do…greatly.”

“You please me, too,
Gabrielle
.” There’s something in the way he keeps saying my name that causes me to mentally stand at attention and physically tremble.

I’m becoming restless again, so I move the conversation in another direction. “Where are we going tonight?”

He seems to notice what I’m doing and smiles his cocky grin, leaning back into his chair and rolling the stem of the flute between his fingers. “It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you what I have planned for you, would it?”

“No,” I reply, sinking back into my chair, “but as you’ve probably noticed by now, I’m not one for surprises.”

“Why do you think I do it?” His tone is a tad arrogant but still playful.

“Because you know it tortures me,” I reply with a light-hearted smirk.

He leans in, lifting the hem of my floor-length skirt and places his hand midway up my thigh, rubbing the inner most part with his thumb. “You look lovely in this gown. Do you like it?”

“Yes,” I whisper, my voice small from the hypnotized state his thumb is putting me under, “I love it.”

His hand creeps higher, kneading the silk stocking covered flesh, never stopping his ascent. He finally reaches the bare skin above the lace top, inserting his finger between the delicate fabric and soft flesh, running it back and forth at a ridiculously slow pace. This repeated act, so close to my exposed slit, makes me very alert to his seductive presence.

Finally, I feel the gentlest graze across my moist lips, and I whimper quietly, grasping the sides of my seat cushion.

“I see you got the message,” he purrs, teasing my crease by lightly gliding his pinkie between the lips, going just deep enough to spread them slightly.

“Yes, I did,” I answer, my head rolling back.

Oh my fuck, yes. I’ve missed this, his touch.

“That’s my girl.” He rips his hand away and sucks me off the tip of his pinkie. “Now, let’s finish eating.”

My head flies up, and I stare at him with bemusement. He picks up his fork, appearing unfazed by the feel of my flesh beneath his fingertips, and stabs the other half of the prawn on my plate. He puts the fork to my lips and I take it, still in a daze.

O
nce we finish our delicious meal and engage in some captivating conversation, we sit back and enjoy our second glass of champagne. All through dinner, we’re serenaded by the masterful compositions of the greats, currently listening to one of my favorites, ‘Clair De Lune’ by Debussy. I don’t know why, but it always reminds me of spring, innocent love, life anew.

As I ponder this thought, Hunt sets down his glass and rises from his chair, offering a hand for me to take. I know where this is going and grasp on gently. He pulls me into his arms, but instead of sweeping me about the room in some grand display of his skills on the dance floor, he holds me close so our cheeks lightly caress, swaying us in place.

He runs his hand along my back, tickling me down the length of my spine, and lets out an extended breath. His other arm curls about the small of my waist while mine wrap about his large back, pulling myself as close to him as humanly possible.

We remain this way, petting and swaying, until Hunt pulls away from me. He cups my face in his hands, staring deep into my eyes.

“I love you, Elle. I love you more than I could ever express.” My heart begins to beat rapidly and a nervous vibration rushes across my skin. “You are everything I want and will ever need…When you left me, I thought I was going to die. I mean, how could I live, when my reason to breathe just walked out on me? I’ve come to a decision that I hope you will agree to…”

Suddenly, I become full-blown petrified, that old familiar panic ceasing me.

He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t…He would.

He reaches into his jacket’s inner pocket and before he can extract the mystery object, I blurt, “Damian, wait. I can’t do this.” I yank myself out of his grasp and take a step back. “I won’t marry you.”

He appears stunned and hurt by my sharp words, but then it fades and morphs into amusement as a smirk plays across his lips.

“Oh, Elle, you really can be quite difficult sometimes. If you had waited a moment more, you would have realized that’s not where I was going with my speech…well, not exactly.”

He pulls out the iconic blue jewelry box from Tiffany and Co., and hands it to me, examining me as I open it hesitantly, floored by what I find.

Collar Me Yours

T
he inch wide, solid platinum collar glistens in the golden flicker of the firelight, hypnotizing me. I notice there is a delicately engraved word on the side when the light plays across it. I pick it up to take a closer look, Hunt filching the box from my hand, and I’m able to read the intricate writing.

Hunt’s

There are no more words necessary. This one word, this name says it all. I stare down at the symbol of servitude, the symbol for Master and slave. There are a million thoughts flying through my head.

They must show on my face because Damian chimes in, “As I was trying to say, I want to be your Master, and I want you to be my sub. No more testing the waters or figuring out what works for us. Yes, we will continue to experiment and explore limits, however, I want to make this official...I want you to belong to me, totally.”

Holy fucking Jeez. What the hell am I supposed to do with this information? How do I even begin to process this?

Then, my head fixes on one question and I go with it. “Do you expect me to wear this in public?”

“This is for when we play,” he explains, “or when I deem it fitting whether in or out of our home. I do not expect you to wear it twenty-four/seven, though you would be my sub all day, every day.”

I glimpse at him with narrowed eyes. “I thought we had agreed that we wouldn’t be doing that.”

“We did before you decided to lie, break my heart, and run off. I realized that I needed to take you in hand and these rules will do you good.”

“Well, you should’ve also realized that I am not one to be tied down,” I state, realizing my choice in words may not have been the wisest, “uh, you get what I mean. We’ve gone over this.”

“I don’t want to limit you like I did the others.” He clarifies. “I told you, you aren’t what they were and you never will be. I don’t intend to put you on a leash with no freedoms to live a life outside of us. My demands and expectations are simple.”

He runs his hands through his hair, appearing as if he were trying to find the right words to express his meaning, finally getting a look of clarity.

“Yes, we discussed this all before, and I told you, I don’t want you to change that feisty, opinionated nature of yours…I don’t want to put you in a cage, Gabrielle. I want to set you free.”

While I watch him blankly, I remember what Brooke had said to me about never knowing if you’ll like it until you try. I’d enjoyed what we had before, even his dominant behavior, and it probably wouldn’t change much from that…It seems what he’s actually asking for is commitment, some reassurance that I am his and I won’t be leaving again.

“You just want a commitment,” I affirm. “Things won’t change, correct?”

“No, things will change. Once you place that collar about your neck, you will begin your training, and I will hold you to a higher standard of subservience. If you break the rules, such as you did when you broke it off, I will punish you. I expect you to follow my rules without question, as they are there to benefit us both. However, the dynamics of our relationship and your right to an opinion will not be affected by this.”

“Bullshit!” I exclaim. “The dynamics would change completely…”

“How?” he interrupts.

“What do you mean, how? How do you think?”

“Let me ask you a question…” he says then places a finger over his lips, tapping on them gently.

“Shoot, slick.”

“How do you see me?” he queries. “Do you see me differently then you did before you left?”

“That’s a ridiculous question,” I huff, rolling my eyes. “You’re Damian, now, then, tomorrow.”

“I know who I am, Elle. I meant, what was I to you? Was I your friend?” I stare at him awkwardly. “Well?”

“Yes,” I reply.

“Was I your lover?”

What is he getting at?

“Yes,” I answer again.

“Was I your protector, your companion, your boyfriend?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” I say repeatedly, slightly annoyed.

“Was I your Dominant? Was I your Master?” He continues.

“Yes,” I whisper with my face tilted down, finally realizing where he’s going with this. He pinches my chin between his finger and thumb, gently forcing me to glance up at him.

“Do you still see me as all those things?” he asks in a tender, loving voice, setting his hand on the side of my face, and I nuzzle into it.

“Yes, of course.” I place my hand over his. “You know I do.”

“Then, how would the dynamic change? I don’t intend to stop being all those things to you. In fact, if I did, I couldn’t call myself your Dom, not a good one anyway…I told you, angel, the relationship between a Dom and his sub have many levels of commitment and dedication. Not everyone’s relationship is like ours, but we are not the minority either.”

“But, you want me to follow all those rules without question, and I don’t think I can,” I state.

“I don’t understand why.” He removes his hand from my face and wraps his arms about my waist. “I don’t think my rules were too farfetched, and you agreed to each one when we went over them in Seattle. You’re just frightened because I used the word ‘official’.”

“Yes, well, it’s just so…”

“Finite,” he adds, and I nod my head in agreement. “Yes, well, I am asking for a commitment from you, and not one you should take lightly…Which is why I will give you time to think about it and properly weigh out the choices.”

“What if I decide not to, will you end our relationship completely?” I ask, realizing the stupidity of the question too late.”

The look of appalled horror on his face speaks volumes, but he verbalizes anyway, “How the
fuck
could you ask me that? Did I suggest that it was all or nothing, one or the other?”

“No,” I reply softly, “but you didn’t exactly say it wasn’t either.”

He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “Touché,” he retorts, seemingly defeated for the moment.

“Yes, but you shouldn’t have to specify that.” I quickly add. “I should know you would never leave me.”

“No, never.” He grabs my wrist and pulls me into his arms, sweeping his finger over my cheek. “Will this factor make your decision easier?”

“Yes.” I nod my head.

“Good,” he murmurs, tilting his face in and pecking me softly of the temple. “I eagerly anticipate your answer.”

I breathe a sigh of relief, relaxing in his arms. “Well, you weren’t kidding when you said you had a surprise for me.”

He chuckles. “That was only the beginning. I have more in store for you this evening.”

He kisses me on the tip of my nose, releases me, and walks over to the couch, picking up a black wool coat and throwing it on. I watch him curiously, as he snatches up something else and walks over to me, tossing it over my shoulders. It’s a black satin shawl with white lining on the reverse side.