Declaration to Submit (6 page)

She nodded quickly, but that apparently was the wrong thing to do. He slapped her ass sharply, and she yelped. “Yes, Sir. That’s correct. I won’t come unless you give me permission.”

The relief was crazy. Why would she suddenly feel so light, so free? Every muscle relaxed as if he’d just poured warm water over her skin. She melted into the couch, her mind drifting. No, she would only do whatever he wanted her to do.

All her life, she’d had to manage her employers, her family, her friends to keep them on the right path to whatever fulfillment they were trying to achieve. Her own satisfaction was in serving them, or so she told herself. But even as she took care of the business of other people’s lives, finances, and dreams, she never felt a part of them.

Mark Connors was focused on her and only on her. He’d profiled her, studied her, somehow discovered this twisted part inside her that needed to be given permission to exist. It was the most real she’d ever felt. And the most vulnerable. How the hell could she explain it to anyone else?

She was making more of this than what it really was. It was just kinky sex. That was all.

“I see it didn’t take long for you to go back in your head,” he snapped.

Cold metal slid around her wrists as he cuffed her. He gripped her elbow and pulled her to her feet. He turned her and pressed down on her shoulder, forcing her to sit on the couch. Her ass was on fire, and the pressure from the cushions made her skin sting. She started to squeeze her knees together to maintain her modesty, but Mark placed his feet between hers.

“Spread your legs.”

The order should have offended her, maybe even frightened her, but she dropped her knees apart and bowed her head. She could feel the burning on her cheeks from the humiliation. No underwear and her legs spread, her dripping pussy was open to his gaze.

“Your cunt is beautiful,” he said in a quiet, calm voice.

She moaned as the desire to arch, to stretch, to rub against her clit almost swamped her good sense. Somehow, she knew if she wiggled at all, he would punish her again. She bit her lip and shifted slightly, enough to feel the rough material from the couch against her bare thigh.

So intent on the sensations that bombarded her, she missed when he moved to the coffee table and obtained another toy. Sudden pressure at her pussy’s entrance made her gasp. He slid her dress up to her waist, and she stared down at the silicon dildo glistening with lube. It was huge, bigger than her forearm. She’d never had anything that big inside her before. “Mark. Sir.”

His gaze met hers. The molten-hot expression in his almost black eyes and the strain around his mouth made her breath quicken. “Anelda. What do you need?”

“It’s too big, Sir,” she blurted out.

He smiled, and her heart thumped harder. “Trust me. If it hurts too much and doesn’t give you pleasure, what do you need to say?”

“Salmon.”

“That’s right,” he said, and his focus centered on her aching cunt. “But I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. I want to make it feel good.”

She didn’t think he was going to be able to do that. The dildo was massive, and she hadn’t had sex in years. The idea that—

His tongue slid over her clit; she couldn’t breathe or think or speak. His hot mouth devoured her, driving her pulse to a crazy level. The need to come washed over her, and she twisted helplessly. “Oh, oh.”

Then he moved the dildo inside her slick channel. It only dipped inside and stretched her, but she couldn’t stop the involuntary thrust to deepen its penetration. His tongue lashed her, and she fought the impending orgasm. Then he slid the dildo deeper and twisted it inside her. Pain streaked through her, but it was intertwined with the pleasure of his mouth. She jerked back and forth between intense desire and agony. Her hips rotated, wanting the dildo to fill her, to complete her. It was like death and life and need.

His tongue flicked faster across her nub, and she sensed her control leaving her. Now he fully seated the dildo inside her, and the anguish of its possession increased the pleasure. Her orgasm wasn’t a gentle wave of stimulation but a tsunami that destroyed everything in its path.

She screamed and arched toward his mouth. He nipped her with his teeth, sending shards of pain/pleasure careening along her nerves. When she flew over the edge again, she bit the inside of her mouth.
Oh God! Oh God!
Her body trembled from head to toe as she came down from a high place. Slowly, he eased the dildo out of her pussy, but his tongue continued its drugging torment. Then he removed his mouth and slid her dress back down. As he rose to his feet, he shook his head. “You disobeyed me, Anelda. I’ll have to punish you again.”

She was crumpled up on the couch and turned sideways, still shaking. “Okay, Sir.”

Chapter Four

For months Mark had planned his sexual seduction of Anelda Armstrong. He’d wanted to show her the pleasures to be had when a submissive surrendered to a Dominant. What he hadn’t considered was the sheer need she would inspire in him. In his planning, he’d thought of her, of what she needed, of her reactions. He’d neglected to consider his own reactions. The raging hard-on was a minor inconvenience compared to the surprising strength of his feeling of ownership and possession.

He immediately recognized that he was going too fast. She was vulnerable, her walls torn down at his insistence. It was up to him to regain common sense. Yet as he stared at her disheveled hair and her trembling limbs, he wanted to forget sense and drown in pleasure. It was compelling, this sensation of being the first to own her, the first to experience her submission. Like a man who was tasked with giving a virgin her first sexual experience, he felt both the animal satisfaction of her innocence and the heavy responsibility of her well-being. It would be a simple thing to bind her to him, to make her believe that she only needed him for her very existence. The temptation was overwhelming, and he was surprised by its force.

He took a deep, shaky breath and closed his eyes. Dependency was not what he wanted. When he’d called this a “first date,” he hadn’t been kidding. A man like him needed a woman who understood kink. Instinctively, Anelda did. Her whole demeanor was to serve. She lived her life sacrificing for others and received none of the advantages from the exchange. Mark was going to teach her another way.

And he had to be prepared for the day when the student went out on her own. He knew he was in trouble when that thought made him tense. It took effort, but he forced his fists to unclench.

Until that time, she was his.
Enjoy the moment
. “Time for your punishment, Anelda.”

She sat up straight, her gaze narrowed on his face. He raised his eyebrows, and she caught the hint, dropping her focus to her bare feet.

“I’ll let you choose the instrument of your punishment.”

“But—” She rattled the cuffs. He gave her a wicked smile and reveled in the way her hazel eyes darkened.

She tightened her lips and rose unsteadily to her feet. When she approached the coffee table, he suppressed a grin as she made her choice slowly, with purpose. She chose the leather flogger, not realizing, perhaps, that it was vastly different and maybe more painful than the other two.

Gracefully, she bit the handle and straightened up. With a little flourish, she stuck her chin out until he took the flogger, then glared at him briefly before she dropped her gaze to the floor.

“Why did you pick this one, Anelda?” he asked her.

When she shrugged, he used his open hand to swat her ass. She jerked and then froze. “I-I thought it would…give me the right sensation.”

“And what sensation is that?” he asked. Had she thought about it? Had she fantasized?

“The rubber strands would be too stingy. My butt is sore.” She cleared her throat and shot a nervous glance at his face. “The suede would be too soft. The leather, I thought, would be in between.”

“Very good.” He pulled out one of the chairs from the table by the window. Then he unlocked the cuffs. “Bend over the chair.”

She rubbed her wrists and frowned. “How?”

“I want your breasts to hang over the edge. I want your knees on the floor. I want your ass in the air.” He tried to breathe normally, afraid he’d lose control just from describing the position he wanted.

And he required her to do it all willingly. He wasn’t interested in a partner he could manhandle and force into his will. He wanted her eager, hungry. As he waited, he noted that she became more agitated.

“Well?” He put a sharp edge on his tone, and she jumped.

She met his gaze, her eyes wide. “Will you catch me if I fall?”

There was more to that question than the words, and he knew it. She wanted to know if he was going to keep her safe, if she was more than a body with a blank canvas on which he would paint his own desires. Could he address both the spoken and unspoken question she asked? He wanted to write off his need to possess her as a trick of sexual arousal, but he didn’t seem to be able to do it. He needed more from her, something that was permanent, involving a collar and late dinners and talking.

Where the fuck did that come from?

It should be just sex, just kinky, mindless sex, not this deluge of his emotional shit.

To answer her, he moved behind her, put his hands on her hips, and placed his lips on the back of her neck. He used his weight to bend her over the chair, and the handle of the flogger dug into his palm as he pressed her down. She wobbled, unable to keep her balance, and he steadied her. Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought she twisted slightly to increase their closeness, to slide her body against him.

When she was in position, he gently backed away and flicked the flogger out. “I like when you count. Count them, Anelda.”

He swung his arm, not giving her full power but making those strands spread over her ass. She jerked forward, and her voice was hoarse. “One.”

Though he wanted to see the marks on her skin, he refrained from lifting her dress. She liked it when her ass was bare. There was plenty of time for that later. His next strike was harder. She’d have to learn to breathe. “Two,” she choked out.

“Breathe through it, Anelda.”

“How many, Sir?” she finally asked. He’d wondered why she hadn’t questioned him sooner.

“As many as I want,” he answered in a hard tone.

When he struck her again, she cried out, and it took her a minute to say, “Three.”

The way her body squirmed, her hands clenched and unclenched, and the desperate catch in her throat all settled into his heart and mind until he was insatiable for more. Again, he felt a connection, a link between them as if he experienced the pain with her. The sensation both surprised him and aroused him. It took every ounce of control to remind her she had an out. “Do you want the punishment to stop?”

She inhaled, a shuddering breath that seemed to travel through her body to his. “No, Sir,” she said in a very quiet, small voice.

He whacked her ass again. “I can’t hear you,” he demanded.

“No, Sir,” she shouted.

“How many is that, Anelda?” he asked her.

“Four.” Tears streamed down her face, but when he brought his arm back, she arched toward his next blow.

This one was full strength. She shouted and twisted against the chair. “Five.”

He placed the flogger on the coffee table in her line of vision where she could see it and know this punishment was over. She sobbed and blinked up at him. “Five,” she whispered.

With a brutal jerk, he gripped her hair and lifted her head to face him. “And why were you punished?”

“Because I came without permission, Sir,” she said, her voice husky, and her eyes wet.

Efficiently, he helped her to stand. “You are so beautiful when you cry, Nell.”

At the sound of her shortened name, her head snapped up, and she stared at him. “Are you finished?”

He led her to the couch and pulled her into his lap. “For the moment. What did you think?”

“I-I…“ She closed her eyes and relaxed in his arms. “I’ve never been like this.”

No, she never had. He sensed her need for closeness, and for once, he enjoyed the aftercare. She was relaxed and her body was limp as he laid her facedown on the cushions. When he rose from the couch, her hand caressed his thigh, a stolen touch that made him smile. With tender care, his lifted the tight skirt of her dress to reveal her reddened skin. He rubbed ointment over her ass and reveled in the way she leaned into his touch. When he wiped his hands with a towel from his bag, she watched him, a drowsy, seductive stare that made his cock twitch. When he sat beside her, it seemed natural to wrap his arms around her and pull her onto his lap. As he stroked her hair and cuddled her against his chest, he had a moment of sheer panic.

Women had always been an open book to him, an easy gain for pleasure. This seemed more substantial, more solid. He wanted to shove her away from him and run like hell. A committed relationship, something involving a collar and more, might be for some people, but not him. Yet Nell was everything he’d always wanted for himself. She was a submissive and accepting of his kink. The idea of having everything—a submissive sexual partner and work companion—was terrifying. It meant revealing himself, uncovering his secrets to someone else, and sharing his life. Just the thought made his blood freeze.

Her hand rested over his heart. “Your heartbeat has gone way up.” She lifted her head to gaze at him. “What did I do wrong?”

Under the pretext of holding her hand in his, he moved her fingers away from the center of his terror.
Fuck
. He was a risk taker, a man who understood the rush that came from appropriating companies and playing in the dangerous monetary game of business.

This kind of fear was alien to him.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Nell.”

Apparently, she had put her own spin on his reaction and his soothing tone. She reared away from him, putting space between them.

“I’m not stupid, Sir.” She snapped his title, and her eyes narrowed to slits. “It’s not like I’ve never heard the whole ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ speech.” She twisted away from him. “Spare me.”