Knocked Up and Punished Read online

  “He’s done.” His words cut through mine like a knife, silencing any doubt or fear I might have that Jayce wouldn’t do anything about Cade. “He’ll never step foot in my club again.” He rubs his thumb across my lips, sending chills down my neck and making my breath catch. “He’ll never touch you again.”

  “I should go,” I say quickly. I try to push away, but he doesn’t budge.

  “Why are you always trying to fly away, little bird?” he asks with a wicked grin.

  I point to the bruise and give him a dry, unamused look. “Take a wild guess.”

  “Let me show you,” he says softly, still not letting me move. “You’re hard on the inside. I can see it.” His palm moves to my chest where he presses his fingertips, eyes never leaving mine. “You’ve been hurt. Scarred. But I can help you heal.”

  “You don’t even know me,” I snap with more anger than I intend.

  “Do you want it to stay that way? I’ll know if you’re lying,” he adds.

  I believe him. I don’t know why or how. But it really does feel like he’s looking straight through me--as if I’m laid bare before him. No secrets.

  “I don’t know,” I say. It’s the truth, or as close to the truth as I can manage to get, even in my own head.

  “You’re scared.” There’s something soothing in his voice. It’s deep. Rich. And the vibrations settle into me like massaging fingers, easing some of the tension from my muscles. “You’re afraid to trust again.” His hands are moving now, exploring me.

  I’m conscious of how we’re standing in front of a window where dozens of people can watch us, but somehow I can’t move that realization from the back of my mind to the front. Jayce is taking up all the space.

  “Let me show you how a real man treats a woman. Let me show you what it feels like to be coveted. To be claimed. To be owned.”

  His words intoxicate me. He reaches into the very essence of me, pulling out my fears and holding them up to the light, eradicating them with the heat of his breath alone. Every syllable erodes my conviction to fight, my will to struggle.

  “This is crazy,” I breathe.

  “Crazy would be letting you go,” he says, lips brushing my neck. “I knew I needed to taste you when I saw you. I want to know what it feels like to call you mine. To dominate you.”

  “Take me,” I say, shocked by how quickly he was able to batter down my defenses, but maybe I shouldn’t be. My heart feels like a gaping wound after yesterday, and Jayce is offering me a distraction, maybe even a soothing balm to take away some of the pain. “Just this once. Just for tonight. Take me away from it all.”

  His body is against mine, lips crashing against my mouth. His weight carries me backwards until I bump against the window, pressed tightly against it and pinned by him. My existence blurs into a tangle of warm lips, strong hands, and the hard pressure of his erection against my stomach. For a few blissful moments, I let go. I stop thinking about Cade. I don’t think about all the others before him. I forget my dad and his abuse. It all fades until there’s only Jayce and his touch, only the places where our bodies collide.

  “Jayce,” I say, “People will see us.”

  “Let them see. I’ll show them how you belong to me. How sweet your submission is and how jealous they should be that it’s mine.”

  I close my eyes, breathing out the tension and last threads of resistance I feel. I want it. It may only be temporary, and it may not mean anything to him beyond a meaningless hookup, but I want what he’s promising, even if it’s just a taste.

  “Take your dress off for me, princess. Nice and slow.”

  I bite my lip, opening my eyes slowly until I can see him standing there in the blue light and surrounded by the smoke lifting lazily up and swirling around his broad form. Desire is written on every inch of his face, and I can’t help drinking it in. He wants me. He wants to see me naked and he wants to take me. It’s only when I reach down to the hem of my dress and feel the slight tinge of pain from the other places Cade hit me that my self-consciousness takes over. I remember the bruises. I remember what it looked like when I stripped down before my shower this morning and looked in the mirror. No permanent damage. No cuts. No broken bones. Just purple reminders of what a stupid little girl I was for trusting Cade, for thinking I could let him be my dom.

  My hands fall to my side and a shiver runs through me, forcing up a well of emotion that makes my eyes prick with the threat of tears. I expect Jayce to be angry, to scold me or yell at me for not obeying, but instead he moves slowly toward me as if I’m a scared animal that might scurry away at any sudden movement.

  He tilts my chin up until I have no choice but to look into his eyes. His gaze devours me again and I feel that same sense of being stripped bare again.

  I know what the other men I’ve been with would do. They would get defensive at the sight of my bruises and demand to see what was done to me. They’d rage and make a show of protective violence, trying to prove how different they were, all while still planning to fuck me and use me just the same.

  I wait for the inevitable, for him to ask to see what I’m hiding and then to somehow make this about him until I feel like I’m the one who messed up.

  But he doesn’t speak. He carefully puts his arms around me, then kneels slightly to sweep my legs out from under me and carry me to the table in the center of the room. He sets me down like I’m the most fragile piece of glass.

  Any words I could say are trapped uselessly in my throat. I can only watch this powerful man move deliberately to the big window, where he presses a button that brings down a thick black curtain covering the entire window.

  He lifts the hem of my dress until it’s just below the line of my panties, where he sees the first bruise. His brow furrows with anger, but he still says nothing. He reaches beneath the table and opens a drawer. When he stands back up, he’s holding a small bottle, which he clicks open and squeezes into his palm. He massages the ointment into my leg. I gasp at the first touch because it’s warmer than I expected, and the heat seems to seep beneath my skin until it’s inside the muscle itself, but it’s soothing, though I think right now I wouldn’t care if he was rubbing mud on my legs with those big, strong hands.

  “Lift up, princess,” he says. Making his intentions clear. There’s a commanding tone to his voice, but it’s gentle.

  I press my feet down and arch my back, lifting my butt from the table, which allows him to pull my dress up and off, exposing me to his gaze and allowing him to see the biggest bruise from where Cade kicked me when I fought back. I can’t meet Jayce’s eyes. I look away, bringing a hand up to shield my eyes. The shame flows through me too strongly to see his reaction, to watch as he realizes what a weak woman I am to let something like this happen.

  He takes my wrist and pulls my hand down by my side again, moving it away from my face. With his other hand, he tilts my face toward him again, locking eyes with me. “This wasn’t your fault. None of this was ever your fault.”

  Chills spread through my body like ripples in a pond until they settle behind my eyes, where tears well up. My lips twitch uncontrollably as the emotion tries to flow out of me. It wasn’t my fault. It’s such a simple idea, so obvious, but I needed to hear it, God I needed to hear it.

  “I always pick the worst guys,” I say in a voice thick with emotion.

  He brushes away a tear with his thumb, grinning down at me like he’s known me his whole life. “Not always.”

  I force a little smile. “Somehow I don’t think this counts. Whatever this is.”

  “This?” he asks, pouring more lotion into his hand and rubbing it into the bruise on my side. “This is the first time I’ve ever found a woman I would consider taking as a submissive.”

  “You can’t be serious?” I ask. “You own a BDSM club… you must’ve had dozens of submissives before.”

  “Never,” he says. His hands work a slow, soothing rhythm at my side, never pressing too hard, as if he’s perfectly in tune
with my body and my needs. “I’m a very particular man, and I have very particular tastes. I guess the right little bird never came fluttering into my window with a broken wing before. Until tonight.”

  I look up at him, trying to decide if he’s telling me the truth or if he’s just trying to string me along with some kind of pickup line. “Well, I hate to disappoint you,” I say sourly. “But I apparently have terrible taste in men. And I’m starting to like you. So chances are you’re an asshole.”

  He chuckles. “Don’t you see the difference? You didn’t choose me, princess. I chose you.”

  I bite back a smile and give him a side-eyed glance. “Are you always this smooth?”

  “I’ll always be exactly what you need,” he says. “Gentle. Strong. Rough. Whatever you need.”

  “Always?” I ask. “Until you’ve had your fun with me tonight and we go our separate ways, you mean?” I hate that I’m unable to just enjoy this, to let this be an experience and leave my baggage at the door, but every time I think I can forget, it comes washing back into the present, poisoning my thoughts.

  “And if tonight doesn’t satisfy my needs with you?” he asks. “What do you think will happen then?”

  I half-smile. “What are you trying to say?”

  “I’m not trying to say anything,” he says, smoothly unhooking my bra and pulling it away with a cocky smirk.

  I itch to cover myself, but something in his movements and his eyes tells me I’m not supposed to. So I hold my hands still against my self-conscious impulse, letting my breasts feel the cold, open air until my nipples harden into points.

  He takes his time admiring my breasts, not touching them, just looking with those breathtaking eyes of his.

  “What I am saying is that I don’t see why I would ever let you go. You’re too special. The perfect catch.”

  A hint of mischief trickles through me at his words, like we’re playing some kind of complex game of words that is a precursor to foreplay--or maybe it is the foreplay. “Who says you caught me?” I ask.

  He’s so quick I can’t even react before he’s fastening one of the restraints on the table around my wrist.

  “Hey!” I say in surprise, reaching for the restraint, but he takes my other hand, pinning it while he straps me down.

  “Sorry,” he says with no hint of remorse in his tone. “I don’t want you to get skittish and fly away on me.”

  “Am I your prisoner now?” I ask. The question makes heat flow between my legs in the dirtiest way imaginable. I would normally think the idea of being held captive, against my will, terrifying or wrong, but I don’t. In such a short time I already find myself wanting to trust Jayce, so much that to do anything else is like swimming against the current. Everything about him makes trusting him feel right, like he’s the man I’ve been trying and failing to find.

  “I guess that’s a matter of interpretation,” he says, reaching for his belt and pulling it free in a smooth motion.

  “Interpretation of what?” I ask, unable to take my eyes from the bulge in his pants as he strips his jacket and reaches for the top buttons of his shirt.

  “Of what it means to be a prisoner, because no, I don’t plan to let you leave. But you are going to love every moment of your captivity with me.” His expression changes just slightly and he leans down until his face is close to mine. “Whoever did this to you,” he says, softly touching the skin above the bruise at my side. “They were a fucking animal. They don’t deserve to have a submissive or call themselves a dom. I’m going to show you a real experience--the kind you deserve. So let me make this absolutely clear, princess. Only two words have power from this moment onward. Say ‘yellow,’ and I’ll know you’re nearing your limits. Say ‘red,’ and everything stops. No questions. No guilt. I need to know that you understand me.”

  “I understand,” I whisper. My heart is thudding against my ribcage and my throat feels so tight I can barely breathe. Being in here with Jayce feels as if I’m walking along when the ground suddenly opens up beneath me and swallows me into a rush of pure darkness, where I’m falling away from the world so fast I can’t stop--but right now I’m not sure I want it to stop.

  He waits for a time, eyes roaming my body like he doesn’t have the slightest bit of shame over enjoying the sight of me, and wow, I’ve never felt as sexy as I do under his gaze, bruises, imperfections, and all. He looks at me like I’m a goddess laid out on display for him, like there couldn’t be a more perfectly crafted body in all of the world and he’s just barely containing his hunger to take me.

  When he finally moves, it’s to begin stripping his tie and undoing his shirt methodically. When he pulls the fabric away, I suck in air at the sight of him. Every muscle is carved into him, like there’s not an ounce of fat on his body. He’s made entirely of hard lines and smooth, tan skin. He tosses his shirt to the floor and moves to his pants next. His every movement seems calculated, even the way his eyes flick up to meet mine teasingly just before he reveals even more of his exquisite body. He flicks open the button of his pants and lets them fall until he’s standing before me in nothing but his tight-fitting boxer briefs, which are doing a poor job of hiding the size of his huge cock.

  My eyes trace its length with more than a little trepidation. I’ve never had something that big inside me, and I’m not sure it’ll fit, but the thought of trying already has me wet and throbbing.

  He hooks a thumb tauntingly in his waistband and waits with a knowing look on his face. He yanks them down in one motion, and his cock springs free. I let my eyes wander the entire package, from his length, to the sharp “V” shaped cuts of his abs, all the way up every inch of hard muscle until I find his face and gray eyes. I expect him to climb on top of me, but instead, he strides back toward the window where he pressed the button to lower the blinds and lets his finger hover there. He turns his head to me, waiting. I realize he is giving me a chance to safe word him, and when a moment turns into several, the faintest hint of a grin touches his lips.

  He presses the button, retracting the curtains again.

  There are at least six couples and one large group of five or so people standing and sitting just outside the glass. My heart immediately pounds harder, blood rushing to my cheeks. But the embarrassment doesn’t come without a white-hot thrill that feels like molten lava just beneath my skin, setting me on fire with both need and desire.

  All my worries, doubts, and fears from my past are dulled until they don’t seem as important, and for the first time in a long time, I feel free. I feel like myself, just stripped of all the extra baggage and weight I carry around with me every day.

  Jayce stops at a small box spewing smoke before he comes back. He plucks out a handful of ice cubes and brings them to a small rollaway table beside the table where I’m strapped in tight. He sets the ice down and brushes his hands off before reaching for the restraints near my ankles. He ties them tight and gives a good hard tug until they are so snug I can barely wiggle my legs. For the first time, I feel truly trapped. Before, I could at least entertain the idea that with some creative work, I could use my toes to free my hands, but now? I’m at his mercy.

  My fate lies in my trust of him--my trust that he won’t give me a reason to want to escape, and that he’ll listen when I used the safe words. Unlike Cade…

  “Jayce” I say.

  “No,” he says. “You will call me Sir until told otherwise, do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  His eyebrow raises in a mixture of amusement and scorn. “Naughty little princess.”

  “Sir,” I say quickly.

  “Too late.” His lips curl into a smirk. “It’s time I teach you how pain and pleasure are really just two sides of the same coin.”

  He picks up an ice-cube between his thumb and forefinger. I watch the way his warmth immediately makes the ice start to melt down his arm and how the water traces a path across his skin, where it drips from his elbow into the blue mist curling up from the floor.
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  I’m reminded that we have an audience when I notice movement on the other side of the glass--another couple realizing a show has begun and deciding to stop to watch. I can’t say why being watched sends such a jolt of excitement and dirty pleasure through me, but I feel more more sexually alive than I ever have in my life right now. I feel objectified and owned, but with none of the negative context I’ve come to expect those words to carry. It feels tender and scorching hot at the same time. Everything I ever imagined being a submissive could be made real.

  He brings the ice cube just above my erect nipple, waiting with patience as a drop of cold water forms and drips down to my areola. I flinch, momentarily shocked by the cold water but my skin quickly warms it. I think he’s going to put the ice to my skin, but he seems to be in no rush. He’s watching my face instead, studying me.

  “Pain is often misinterpreted,” he says. “Some do enjoy true agony, but for most, pain is only a tool. Like any tool, it can have horrible results when used wrong.” His eyes trail down to the bruise at my side, sending a fresh wave of shame through me.

  He notices, and turns my cheek when I try to look away so I’m still facing him eye-to-eye. “I won’t ever pretend to know how that must have hurt, princess. Never. I won’t pretend I understand the physical or emotional pain of being betrayed by someone you trust. But I will promise you this. I will never take your trust for granted. I will cherish it. I’ll treat it like the precious gift it is, and a day will never pass that you don’t thank God you gave it to me. I swear it.”

  “And what if I don’t trust you enough to believe that?” I ask.

  “Sir,” he growls. “Don’t forget where you are.”

  “Sir,” I add, though not without a defiant bite to my voice.

  “Then it’s up to me to change your mind, kiss by kiss and inch by inch.” He pops the ice cube in his mouth and leans down to kiss me.

  It’s like no kiss I’ve ever experienced--like being embraced by some ice king on a distant planet or taken to a cold, dark cave by a barbarian who just came in from a blizzard. It’s all my childhood fantasies wrapped into a single, startling sensation. His tongue flicks across my lips, already cold and biting from the cube of ice, and his lips leave chilly memories of his touch everywhere they press against me. The movement of our tongues sends the ice cube from his mouth to mine, where it chills my mouth until the numbness makes the comparative warmth of his mouth a new shock all over again. When the cube eventually melts down between the passion of our mouths, he pulls back, dragging his hand along my jawline as he does.