But what I actually need is to surrender. And I need it desperately right now. Because the dark has cold fingers and they are starting to grab me.
“Come on,” he says, gripping my arm and firmly steering me toward the Porsche. “I’m taking you home.”
“No.” I swallow. I can’t say more. Can’t put into words what I need. Because part of what I need is for him to understand.
For a moment, he just looks at me, his expression hard, wary.
Then he pulls me to him, and bends to whisper in my ear. “You don’t get to say no, sweetheart. You say ‘yes, sir,’ or you say nothing at all.”
Immediately the tension leaves my body. He gets it. Thank god, he gets it. And more, I think, he needs it, too.
“Yes, sir,” I say, as my body tingles and I feel an intense pressure in my core. The need to be taken. Penetrated.
He steps toward me, closing the distance between us. It’s dark in this corner of the lot, and his face is hardened by shadows. But his eyes blaze. “You want to be fucked?”
I swear I almost whimper. “Yes.”
“You want it rough?”
“Yes.”
He strokes my cheek, sliding his hand back until he has taken a handful of hair. “Yes what?”
“Yes, sir.” I’m breathing hard, both excited and apprehensive. This is different than what we’ve done before. He’s different. And though I trust him—though I will always trust him—I do not know what to expect.
And oh, dear god, that excites me.
“You want me to spread you wide and fuck you hard?”
“Yes, please, sir.”
“Then you need to be a good girl.”
As he speaks, he’s pushing me to my knees, his fist in my hair guiding me. I descend willingly. Enthusiastically. I can think of nothing but this moment; everything before is gone. Ethan. My dad. My fears.
This is just me and Jackson and pleasure and submission. Letting him take me there. And letting him take control. Jackson, who needs this as much as I do.
“Go ahead,” he says, and I reach out and press my hand flat over his erection, now struggling behind the pressed cotton of his slacks.
I am eager, but I force myself to slowly draw down his zipper. I slip my hand in and free his cock, so hard that I imagine he must be close to exploding.
His fingers are still twined in my hair, and when I tease the tip of his cock with my tongue he tightens his grip. “No.”
I can’t tilt my head up, so I can see him only by lifting my eyes skyward, making me feel like even more of a supplicant. “I want that pretty mouth of yours,” he says, and then, instead of me sucking him off, he holds my head in place and actually fucks my mouth.
It isn’t easy—he’s thrusting hard and hitting the back of my throat, and I’m trying to find a rhythm and fight a gag reflex. But at the same time, I like it. For the first time, he’s using me—truly using me—just as I’ve wanted him to do every time he was gunning for a fight. And I know that’s part of it. Because he needs this as much as I do. Needs to take control hard and fast and completely.
This is about his pleasure, not mine, and that simple fact excites me, twisting it around and making it about me, too, because there is pleasure in knowing that we satisfy each other. That like a lock and a key, we fit and make each other whole.
Though we are in the dark, hidden by the shadows and the cars, I think for a moment that anyone could see us, me on my knees on the asphalt and Jackson fucking my mouth hard.
The thought makes me moan, and I’m so damn wet now, the evidence of my excitement creaming my thighs. As Jackson had ordered, I’m not wearing underwear, and I’m tempted, so tempted, to slip my hand under my skirt. But that, I think, is against the rules.
“Christ, Syl, that mouth of yours.” The tightness in his voice tells me how close he is, but just when I think that he is going to explode, he pulls out and hauls me to my feet. He yanks up my blouse, then unfastens the front clasp of my bra before bending me over the hood of my car.
The metal is cool against my skin, and my nipples tighten almost painfully.
“Tell me you liked that,” he says as one hand strokes my back and the other one slides up my thigh. “Tell me you liked my cock in your mouth.”
“Yes,” I say. “Oh, god, yes.”
He slides his hand between my legs and groans softly. “Oh, yes, baby. That’s how I like you. Wet and ready for me.” He hikes my skirt up around my waist so that I am completely bare from the waist down, with the exception of my shoes.
