July
Time to put Keyne to bed. His most and least favorite part of the day. Least because it meant he would be without her for hours upon hours, most because he loved the way she fell asleep under his hands, the comfortable surrender she offered without a second thought. She trusted him so much she could sink into dreams, some that still haunted her, believing he would be there if she needed him. Because he would be.
Tonight he had a special surprise for her, one that had kept his cock half hard whenever he’d thought of it—which was a lot. He hoped she’d be as happy. But if he knew his little girl, and he prided himself that he did, she’d be thrilled.
She was already in the bathroom when he came in, a headband pushing back her burnished hair so she wouldn’t get soap in it. He admired her from the door, how comfortable she looked performing her bedtime ritual without a stitch of clothing on. Beautiful. When she was through she turned and noticed him, her face lighting up. “I didn’t see you there.”
“I know.”
She sank to her knees in front of him, lowering her head and spreading her hands, palm-up over her knees. He petted her, the soft hair smooth under his fingertips. “I have a treat for you, little one.”
“For me?” Keyne wasn’t much for trinkets and baubles and though he’d hand her the world on a platter if she asked for it, she wouldn’t. She had that ease of anti-consumerism that came of never worrying if she’d have enough. There was always more than enough and it bored her. You couldn’t throw objects at a girl like Keyne and expect her to be impressed. Carefully thought out, meaningful, spare gifts? That was the way to her heart.
“Who else would I spoil?”
She flushed, pretty clouds of pink blooming on her cheeks, overshadowing the sprinkle of freckles.
“No one.”
“Come on then, it’s time for bed.”
She followed him on hands and knees to the bed and he drew back the covers as per usual. Confusion darkened her face, but she didn’t protest, didn’t ask questions, and fuck did that make him hot for her. She climbed up and lay back, waited for him to tuck her in. Instead, he reached a hand under the covers at the foot of the bed and drew out her gift. When she saw what it was, her eyes went glossy and fever bright. He smiled as her hands curled into the sheets.
He wrapped the padded cuff around her ankle and she looked like she might die, but she closed her eyes, steadied her breath and only when she heard the click of the lock did a moan escape from between her lips. He’d bet his Aston Martin she was soaking wet.
When it was secure, he gave her permission to try it out. “Go on, see how much you can move.” Or, what would excite her more, how little. The chain that attached the cuff to the bed wasn’t long—she wouldn’t be able to stand on the floor—but it was enough to allow her to roll over, to seek his body on his side of the bed if they got separated during the night.
She made a tiny pleading noise when she tugged her ankle against the restraint, and her eyes had gone wide. “Thank you, Master.”
He leaned over to plant a kiss on her forehead and she squirmed underneath his touch. Perhaps this wasn’t a great idea. She was going to be so horny she’d be impossible to get to sleep.
“You’re welcome. Although it’s really for me.” The lie came easily, knowing his pretense would make her even hotter. “My cuff, my chain, my key, my girl. All mine. There’s a spare key under the mattress in case of emergency, but if you use it under any other circumstances, the punishment will be severe. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master.” Keyne wouldn’t touch that key unless the house were on fire, and the thought brought his desire to a boil. He stripped off his tie and jacket, discarded his cufflinks, and rolled up his sleeves before he fell on her.
He claimed her willing mouth with his, thrusting a tongue between her teeth and sweeping it through her mouth, tasting every inch of her. Fresh and cool, he kissed her until the last lingering taste of toothpaste was gone and then kissed her more while she pressed her slim, naked body against his.
He sat back, straddling her thighs and slapped a breast, earning a startled gasp that turned into a moan, silenced by another slap to the other breast. He hit her until her small, high tits were pink, nipples hard and begging to be suckled, so that’s what he did.
She was writhing underneath him and he could time almost to the second when the breathy desperate noises would turn into begging. How he loved to hear her beg. “Please, Jasper, oh, please.”
“Please what?”
“Fuck me, Jasper, please. I need to be fucked.”
He grabbed a handful of her hair and wrenched it in his fist, pinning her to the pillow. “You need what I say you need and you’ll get what I allow you to have. You’re such a naughty, undisciplined little thing. Haven’t I taught you better than that?”
It was all part of the game. He loved that she could only hold out for so long before she started begging. He supposed he could train it out of her, but he loved how frantic and desperate she got, how wild he could drive her. He didn’t want a stony, perfectly obedient submissive. She was flawed and needy and he liked her that way, enjoyed gently mocking her lack of self-control.
“Yes, Master. You have. I’m sorry. I know better. It’s— Oh!” He’d cut off her apologies with a hard twist of a nipple.
“You’re new, aren’t you? Not used to being used like this? Is it too much for you?”
He punctuated his questions with hard rolls and tweaks, eliciting squeaks and squeals and he knew she was close, so close. She loved having her breasts treated so roughly.
“Teach me,” she begged while he worked her over. “Please, I promise I can learn to be good for you. Please, Jasper, keep me.”
Though she didn’t do it on purpose, those words were just as good as her safewords to him. Keep me. Whenever the thought entered her mind that he might not, he knew he’d pushed far enough, maybe too far. He unzipped his fly and spread her legs, a surge of blood rushing to his cock when her ankle caught on its tether. God that made him burn for her.
He pushed inside her with no preliminaries and fucked her hard, driving moans and pleas from her with every thrust. He fucked her with abandon, letting his control slip for a moment because no matter how crazy it made her to get fucked this hard, she couldn’t come from it. So he drove into her until he was close and then pinched a nipple, twisting the hard peak between his fingers and tugging away from her body. “Come on Tinker Bell, come for me. Show me you’re my good little girl and come for me.”
She mewled and twisted underneath him and a second later, her pussy clenched around his cock. It took a few more vicious thrusts on his part until he spilled his release inside her. Was there any better feeling in the world than claiming a woman like this? One who wanted to be claimed, conquered? If there was, he hadn’t found it and he’d looked. Alcohol, drugs, nothing compared to this.
He rolled off her, zipped up and took her in his arms, holding her tight and close. She was still pressing against him making those desperate noises and he smiled. So sensitive, so pretty. He held her until her tremors stopped and her breath was deep and even, well on her way to sleep. At the first sound of her piglet snores, he disentangled himself, dragged the covers over her and headed down the hall to get back to work.
When he came back to their bed several hours later, she was curled up on her side, hands tucked up by her chin. He briefly entertained the idea of restraining her that way at night as well, but then she wouldn’t be able to finger the star on her bracelet. If he couldn’t be there to comfort her if she woke, he wouldn’t take that from her. So not a regular thing. Maybe a special occasion. He climbed in beside her, tempted to lift the covers to see her ankle tethered to the foot of the bed, but he knew if he did he wouldn’t be able to get to sleep without shagging her again. She needed her rest; they were going to Yale tomorrow so she could start getting used to campus before September.
It was thoughts like that that brought him up short. Most of the time, she was Keyne and he was Jasper. How old they were and what they did while they were apart didn’t matter nearly as much as what happened when they were together. So often he felt like the hours he didn’t spend with her were filling in the gaps between time when he could have her by his side again. A distraction, an annoying dream to be waded through until real life restarted.
But sometimes he remembered she was only eighteen. He’d been mastering her in one way or another since she was seventeen. Though he’d like to think he’d gone about it honorably and with the best of intentions, he sometimes worried this life he’d introduced her to wasn’t what she would have chosen if she’d known anything else.
Power exchange was intoxicating and heady, but just because you were addicted to something didn’t make it good for you, didn’t make it what you really wanted. He’d seen more than a couple of people who did a line or two at the occasional party turn into serious cokeheads to maintain that delusion.
Would Keyne have stumbled into this if Gavin had lived? Would Gavin and Keyne have ended up playing these games? Would his bounding puppy of a brother have been able to get it up to offer her the control and the dominance she craved? Or would his brand of enthusiastic affection have been enough for her? Would she not have realized this was an option? Would she have wanted it if she did?
An idea started forming in his mind. One that would let him keep her if this was truly what she desired, but would offer her a release valve if it wasn’t. He’d feel like his veins and arteries had been ripped out, his body a useless shell with a heavy aching heart the only reminder he was alive, but he would live. And so would she. Maybe more happily than she would with him. The thought of her with anyone else made his muscles tense so hard he had to mindfully relax and bury his face in her hair to forget.
Not yet. He wouldn’t have to give her up yet. For now, he would keep her.