Only For Him, page 11
There’s a knock at the door. Saving me, telling me I should go now. That I’m not in the right mindset for this. I can’t shake the feeling of Travis’s hands on me and I don’t want to do this right now.
Fuck, I thought I was long over this. It takes everything in me not to cry. At the disappointment in myself, at the shame, at the fact that Travis did such a number on me.
I just want to be okay.
“One minute,” Declan calls. Then his eyes are on mine again. “I have an appointment, so you’ll have to wait. You haven’t chosen your punishment, so this may count if you handle it well.” His tone sounds hopeful. His lips even kick up into a smirk as he brushes my hair back. I could lean into that touch, his strength and his warmth, but he pulls away too quickly.
“You’ll sit how I place you and stay just like that. It’s called mental bondage.”
Blinking, I question, “Mental?”
“Because the restraints are psychological.” Declan leads me back to his desk and guides me to the floor so I’m kneeling.
“I just … stay like this?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“For as long as I’d like.” The calm comes with this so-called punishment. Hell, I think I need it. Just a moment to sit and think. To get these thoughts out of my head rather than letting them stew.
Getting down on my knees, I peek up at him in all his authority. His hand runs down my hair as if he’s petting me and I’m able to lean into it for just a moment. I shouldn’t feel so comforted, but I do. It’s Declan. Declan takes my hair in his fist, tilting my head and bends down to whisper in my ear. “You are mine, aren’t you?”
It doesn’t hurt, to be gripped and moved by him as if I’m a doll. “Yes,” I whisper.
He pulls out a plush cushion and tells me to sit. It’s black velvet and at least two by two feet. It’s simple. Kneeling. Sitting. But I’m naked. He arranges my hands on my thighs and tips my chin up so I’m staring straight ahead. “Do not look at the floor,” he orders.
“Yes, Sir.”
My gaze shifts to my dress forming a puddle in front of his desk. He doesn’t cover me, or make any move to grab my clothes as he calls out for whoever is at the door to come in. My face heats with embarrassment when the door opens and a man comes in. He sees me on the floor with a flick of his eyes.
I have no idea who he is.
Declan gestures to the desk like I’m not even there. “Have a seat.”
“I like the furniture,” the other man comments with a quiet laugh. Declan doesn’t laugh. The look he gives the man is deadly.
The other man takes a seat across from Declan, and the conversation begins. Something about the docks and when a shipment is coming.
The news anchor comes to mind.
Every sordid rumor flicks through my mind. I can’t stop it and when I do, I wish I hadn’t.
It doesn’t take long for my mind to fly back to when I was with Travis.
I wish I could stop thinking about him. Wish I could stop remembering everything he did. He used to embarrass me, purposefully. The memories are upsetting enough, and now I’m naked on a cushion. My skin heats, and my heart pounds. I swallow heavily. Declan and the man don’t seem to notice my dilemma. Whoever he is, he keeps glancing over at me.
“What do you think?” Declan says, and it takes a moment for me to register that he’s not speaking to me. Both of the men stare down at me expectantly.
“Is she in trouble?” he questions.
“A bit of a punishment, yes.” The man readjusts in his seat and nods with a grin. “She’s doing very well if you ask me.”
I hate that they talk about me in front of me. This is different from before. I nearly speak up, moving from this position until Declan’s hand cups the back of my head and he says, “She’s a good girl. Just had a moment earlier.”
It’s odd to feel such relief, such warmth, while also anger. A moment. It was just a moment for him. It’s not one moment for me. My throat tightens, my emotions at war with one another.
The stranger asks, “Is she a new pet?”
“She’s mine.” Declan’s tone is severe as he takes his hand away. I love his possessiveness, but it’s not enough.
The conversation continues without me as the focus.
Travis comes to mind again, and it’s too much. It’s bringing up old emotions in a storm that won’t go away. I feel trapped on this cushion, just as trapped as if he’d tied me up, and I can’t stand it. It’s like I can’t breathe. I should have left. I don’t want this. I can’t do this. “I want out,” I say, interrupting them.
Declan turns to look at me, his face blank. “If you want to come out, you’ll need to tell me your punishment instead.”
Anger crashes over me as tears prick the back of my eyes. “Fuck you.”
“Get out,” he says, so quickly it shocks me. But he’s not telling me. He’s speaking to the other man. The stranger’s eyes go wide. “Get the fuck out.”
DECLAN
The door closes with a hurriedness in Joshua’s steps and with barely restrained anger, I rise and make my way to her. She’s no longer kneeling. Her arms are crossed over her chest as she sits on her ass, hiding herself from me. I command her, “Up now.”
“I want to leave,” she bites out, not bothering to even look at me.
“Like hell you’re leaving before I redden your disrespectful ass,” I grit out, my teeth clenched as I bend down to grab her. My entire being trembles with the need to punish her for speaking to me like that, then she doubles down, her words striking me with a force I couldn’t predict.
“You’re a psychopath.”
It’s as if she’s slapped me. I’m far too careful as I rise, standing tall and commanding her, “Get up.” I practically snarl. Why does she push me? Does she think I won’t punish her? That I can’t punish her in a way that won’t trigger her like it did earlier. Or that I won’t?
Heat bristles and I stay eerily still, waiting. “Stand up now, Braelynn.” The sentence is spoken so softly she finally peeks up at me, her wide eyes reeling.
I don’t know what the fuck happened. Something’s gotten into her head. Did she think I’d go easy on her because another man hurt her? That she could push and I’d let her. Hell, does my little pet want a fight?
“Stand up now,” I repeat and she finally obeys. “That’s better.”
“I just want to leave,” she tells me and her voice trembles.
“Walk to the desk and get into position, now,” I command her, ignoring her plea to leave. “Do not make this harder on yourself than you have to,” I warn.
If she leaves now … I don’t think she’ll ever come back. Chaos brews inside of me. What the fuck happened?
When she swallows, the cords in her neck tighten. Her arms are still loosely crossed in front of her. I watch as she takes the first step and then the next to the desk. She moves her clothes and then presses herself down, her legs spread, exactly how I like her.
Good girl.
The relief I feel is unexpected. Taking a step and then another, I watch her. The nervousness washes off of her in waves.
“Do you like pushing me?” I question.
“No,” she answers immediately and her voice tightens. The hardened veneer of her expression crumbles in an instant. She’s on the verge of tears again.
“Then what the fuck was that?”
“I don’t know,” she murmurs and her breath comes in a shudder. She turns her head, to look away from me.
“No. You will watch me and I will watch you,” I order and with the harshness in my tone, she faces me. Something twists inside of me at the sight of her. Bent over, unraveling into utter vulnerability.
“That is my good little pet. Unravel for me.”
Her shoulders heave as she attempts to calm herself.
“I’ll pick your punishment for you.” I move each hand where she can grip to keep her steady. “Don’t move your hands off the edge of the desk.”
Instantly I know exactly what instrument I’ll use. The collection I curated for her can wait. The top drawer opens easily and a wooden ruler is lifted.
This will leave marks, welts perhaps.
“Every time you sit, you will think of how you chose to move from your kneel,” I tell her before shutting the drawer and coming to position beside her.
I nearly put it back, but then I remember the “fuck you” and name-calling. I bring it down against her ass in a swift strike.
Her lips part, her upper body comes up, and she cries out in both shock and pain.
Her hands, though, they stay right where they should.
With the ruler hot in my right hand, my left splays against her shoulder blades, urging her back down.
Tears brim and then leak easily down her reddened face.
“You will keep count,” I command.
“One,” she whispers and then pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, taking the tears with it.
I’m quick to land the second an inch from the first, leaving a bright red stripe across her plush ass. Her back arches, and she holds back a cry. “Two.”
I lower the next punishing blow to her upper thighs.
“Three,” she utters, her knuckles turning white as she grips the edge.
Rubbing a soothing circle against the red marks makes her wince but when I squeeze, her mouth parts with a moan. She writhes for me.
That’s what you do when you’re in pain. You take hold of the wounds and turn them into sinful pleasure.
With that thought in mind, the next lashing lands between the first two. Spreading the marks, I take care not to strike the same place twice.
Another one lands and another. I move to stand behind her, fisting the ruler and lean over her draped form. When I press against her, only the fabric of my pants separating her from me, she protests with the most beautiful sound. Kissing down her neck, I grind myself against her and it morphs like it should, twisting that pain into the only thing I ever want her to feel.
“Just imagine how this is going to feel …” I whisper down the curve of her neck before nipping her earlobe. Again she protests, pulling away as the sensations smother her. Grabbing her chin, I force her to look back at me to finish, “… when I fuck you like this and every thrust brings this with it.”
My pulse races as I release her, those dark eyes swirling with every emotion imaginable. Her chest rises and falls just as mine does.
“Please stop,” she begs just as my arm is raised, to color the other thigh with a stripe.
“You have three more, Braelynn.” I pause, offering her mercy. I keep forgetting this is new to her. She said she wanted this, but does she even know what this relationship entails? “Or do you want to apologize?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t stay still.”
“For calling me a psychopath.” The pain I felt leaks into the correction and I hate it. I hate all of this.
“You wouldn’t let me leave,” she says, turning slightly to face me. Whatever’s written on my face, she sees it and her answering expression is one of sorrow.
“You didn’t use your safe word. You never stopped it when you could have. You didn’t even fucking try,” I mutter with the disappointment evident.
She blinks, as if coming back to me from wherever the fuck she went. As if realizing the extent of what’s occurred. “I’m sorry—”
“I would never call you a name to hurt you. I would never do anything to hurt you. Not real pain.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She’s quick to apologize and for a moment it seems like she’ll turn to face me, to beg me, but her hands don’t leave, they hold her back.
She has no idea how many times I’ve been called a psychopath by men who died minutes later. Their voices shriek at me from the depths of my memory. They were right. She’s right. I’m a psychopath. I’m a murderer. I’m going to hell once I’ve finally been killed. I’ll burn for the things I’ve done.
“Get your clothes on and get out.”
I don’t know where it’s come from, but I need her to leave. With the emotion that swarms me, the realization of the power she has over me, to compel me to feel this, I can’t be around her right now. “Now.”
“Declan, I’m sorry,” she repeats, slowly standing but not reaching for her clothes just yet.
“You can go home for the rest of the night,” I add as I move away from her attempt to press her hands against my chest. Dropping the ruler to the drawer, I detach myself.
“Get dressed.”
“Please, Declan. I’m sorry—”
“How many times must you make me repeat myself?”
“I’m sorry,” she pleads as she obeys, slipping her dress over her head.
“… you would do anything to stay, wouldn’t you?” I doubt if I should be so sure that she’s not the one who’s the informant.
“I didn’t realize it would hurt you like that.” Brushing her dark hair from her face, she tells me, standing awkwardly by the desk, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“When you say that … I believe you.” A whisper at the back of my mind reminds me that this isn’t some paid service or a rendezvous with a flame. She could be working with Scarlet. Using me. Fucking me just to get close. And yet, I can’t stop the words from slipping out. “So don’t hurt me. I don’t ever want to hurt you either.”
A shuddered breath shakes her shoulders as she nods up at me. “I won’t hurt you. I promise,” she tells me in lowly spoken words. Her longing gaze reflects an eagerness to start over, to leave all of this conflict behind.
Today has been difficult, between her admission regarding her abusive ex and our current dispute. There’s a tension between us unlike what’s been there before.
Glancing down at the desk, I consider telling her to bite down on the ruler and fucking her from behind, giving both of us exactly what we need. That’s all we need right now and then all of this goes away. It’s what I’d planned on. Every thrust from behind would give her a hint of pain, heightening the pleasure. It’s what she needs. I need it too. The haze that clouds my judgment vanishes as my phone rings, disrupting the moment.
It’s Jase, no doubt with more information about the informants.
“Declan?” My name is a whispered and cautious question on her lips. Her cheeks are blotchy and her hair disheveled. I should love this look on her, this obvious need to make things right with me, but I loathe it.
What the fuck am I even doing with her?
“Get your shoes on,” I command her and she’s quick to move. I assume in hopes that this conversation is over, but it is far from over. “If you behave like that again, I’ll lock you in a real cage.” Pausing in her movements, she peers back at me silently. “Do you understand?”
She nods and swallows thickly before saying, “Yes.”
The phone rings once more and I answer it. “One second.” Bringing the phone down to my chest, I watch as Braelynn fixes the sleeve of her sweater dress. It’s not until she’s somewhat composed that I speak.
Although it’s more than evident that she’s emotional and still shaken.
“If you keep secrets from me, I won’t know and you’re going to end up hurting yourself.” Fully clothed, she stares back at me with her eyes glistening, her arms crossed over her chest. Her bottom lip wobbles and the thoughts that flit through my mind are insane. Truly deranged.
The desire to hang up on my brother, to coddle her and love on her until she doesn’t look at me like that any longer … it’s unfathomable.
So I do what’s best for her, what I should have done from the very beginning. “Go home, Braelynn.” She should have left the first time I warned her and never come back.
She doesn’t respond verbally, only with a single nod before briskly leaving.
The moment the door closes and I answer my brother, all I can think is she might do just that after today.
She may never come back. It leaves me with a sinking feeling in my chest, and a chill and numbness that stay with me for the remainder of the night and into early morning. I stay up the entire time knowing all too well, if she were smart, she’d never step foot in this office again.
BRAELYNN
Last night I cried over Declan Cross.
I don’t know that I can do this. It’s not just money and lust. I’m not okay and I keep crying every time I glance at the clock. With the shift of the red digital display, it turns to 4:00. I have two hours before I’m supposed to go back to him and my stomach is still in knots.
Rubbing my eyes, I splash cold water against my face and rub them again.
I’m so torn on what to do, I feel both drained and sick.
It’s been two weeks since I started working for him, but it feels like a lifetime. I swear a part of me feels as if I know him, but he doesn’t know me and really, what do I know about him?
Other than this compulsive need to be beside him. The only thing I’ve done today is stare at the expensive bottle of wine he had delivered this morning. My check came wrapped around it. Does he think that will make this better? More importantly, am I supposed to pretend yesterday didn’t happen? Am I supposed to be okay with this?
I collapse onto the sofa, peeking at the clock again and wishing I could pause time. Just enough to feel better, even a hint better. As every minute ticks by, it all feels heavier.
I’m still on the couch, wrapped in my blanket, when I get a text from Amy. She’s a friend from a lifetime ago, and the perfect kind to have. She checks up on me here and there since moving to California to start a better life, but there’s never any pressure between us. We always pick up right where we left off. It’s good, because sometimes my life goes through drastic changes. Like when I left Travis. It never shocked her; she only wanted to make sure I was okay. She was the first person I told when he hit me. We were young and dumb and only nineteen.
I’ll never forget that lonely feeling, like I couldn’t tell anyone. I could always tell Amy everything, though. And she could do the same for me.
