His Dom facade carries over far beyond the bedroom. He texts me to check in multiple times a day, ensuring that I’ve drunk enough water (especially after I work out or run), eaten (something other than cherries), spent time socializing (with Mercy and Tessa), that I know I’m beautiful and brilliant (his words), and that I trust him to take care of my needs. The latter generally arrives with a reminder not to touch myself or an order to bring myself to the brink and wait for him, even when I’m in my office.
It hasn’t been difficult to endure because he manages to sneak away and make me come several times a day. Our evenings include phenomenal meals, time with his family, rigorous sex, and massages, baths, and reading together before he tucks me in his bed. He wasn’t hyperbolizing when he claimed that his dominance was synonymous with servitude. His altruistic command is even apparent when we sleep, when he cuddles or comforts me during a nightmare, or when I awake in his arms or to a thoughtful quote that he left for me. He’s always there.
But last night, after he thought I was asleep, he left his room. When he didn’t return after forty-five minutes, I went in search of him.
I wandered around the penthouse, which was still and void of the life that normally imbued it. But then I spotted a light filtering from a cracked-open door. It wasn’t my intention to eavesdrop, but the closer I crept, the more I realized it wasn’t a conversation I should interrupt.
“I’m not ready yet,” Axel said. His voice was brittle, inflamed with anguish. “We need time. I want—”
“You don’t have time. What’s your plan, to spring it on her next week?” It was Ryker in there with him, and his intensity was not concealed in the least. “And what if she’s not on board? Then you’ll really be out of time to figure out an alternative solution.I can’t bear to think of you—” He broke off, clearing a wounded crackle from his throat. “It’s not just you. We’re all attached, Axel. Everyone.Remyis attached.”
An ache spread through me. There was an alarm bell ringing in my mind, but somehow, that was faint and distant because Ryker’s affliction was louder. His suggestion that there was something I didn’t know sent my pulse skyrocketing. And his declaration that Remy was attached burrowed into my bones. I haven’t been around kids much since I stopped being one, so the mention of my little Music Man struck me. But it was their pain that had me most on edge. I didn’t understand why Ryker was fighting for me, fighting against Axel.
After a few minutes, it was apparent he wasn’t fighting against Axel. Ryker was appealing to his brother’s inability to let others down because if it were only Axel hurting about whatever they were discussing, he would shoulder it.
“You think I don’t know that?” Axel barked, and glass slammed against wood. “That I’m not sick about what this will do beyond the hell it will inflict on her and me? One wrong step, and it’s Mom all over again. Incinerated in the very place that was supposed to set her free while the rest of us rot in the ashes. If I make a mistake here, I fail everyone.”
Ryker began to soothe Axel, but I wanted to rush in and hold him, to crawl into his lap and remind him that he’d sworn I could stand by his side. I realized that perhaps that was something he’d hoped for, knowing it couldn’t happen. Certainly not concerning whatever this was because I suspected I was his mother in that analogy. Destined to burn.
For the first time in years, I cried myself to sleep. I mourned my mother, my father and Tripp, my place in our assassin camp, my bond with the Noire family, and the relationship with Axel that would likely never be mine beneath blue skies and sunshine. I accepted my fate like a disease eating away at me day after day.And sure, I’ll fight like hell—I decided that too. But the reality that fighting might not be enough seeped into my veins and poisoned the blood flowing to my heart.
Until I determined I’d enjoy all the minutes I had left.
Maybe all assassins are struck with that enlightenment. That we sin in ways others couldn’t or wouldn’t. No matter how noble the stone is, how many lives are saved, we still do the taking. Evil destroying evil is still evil. I don’t regret what I’ve done, but there is no sense in lamenting the inevitable reparation.
This morning, Axel woke me up with his face between my legs, but before I orgasmed, he stopped. I whined for more, and he thrust into me, still not permitting me to climax before he finished inside me. Without apology, he showered and dressed me and instructed me to wear a vibrator in my panties. He’s been controlling it from an app all day. Never enough to let me come and always at inopportune times, which essentially discloses that he’s still watching me.
After days of orgasming until exhaustion, you’d think I’d be sated. But instead, he’s created an addict. I’ve been shaking and panting all day.
At six o’clock, my phone rings with a call from the king himself.
“Hello, Dr. Evil.”
“Hello, Miss West. I see your manners require more training.” He turns the vibrator up so high that I lurch in my seat and gasp from the sheer, blinding pleasure, only to have it halt completely after fifteen glorious seconds. “I need you in my office immediately. Come in the back way.”
Turned on and all too eager to have him relieve this torment, I hurry through the passageways on the route he showed me, using my bracelet access to move through a coded entry. The concealed door into his office dressing room is open, so I letmyself in and lock it up behind me. When I round the corner, he’s all stern authority and resolute power.
“Undress and place your clothes in the closet. Vibrator off. Heels on. Panties in your mouth. And crawl back out to me.”
“Jesus.” A thrill of sheer depravity ripples through me.
He removes his glasses, and his eyes flick to mine. “What’s your safe word?”
“Coin.”
He dips his chin, pleased with my swift response, and those elderberry irises boast of both hazard and healing. “We can take care of that ache between your thighs, or I can spank your ass raw and leave you needy indefinitely, but praying won’t affect either outcome. Only obedience, the lack thereof, or your safe word will.”
I don’t know why that’s so hot, but I think I could come just from hearing his husky timbre issue erotic ultimatums.
“Yes, sir.” Somehow, I maintain my dignity and make it to his closet. But my thighs are trembling and sticky, and my clit is throbbing so hard; I feel it in my abdomen.
There’s a whisper in my mind, questioning why I want this. But the adoration on his face whenever I comply fuels me more than anything ever has. That’s my answer.
So, I remove my clothes and vibrator, storing them in his closet. I slip my heels back on, stick my own panties in my mouth—which is far more humiliating than if he’d done it—and lower myself to the ground. Just the position without his eyes on me, the cool air greeting all my private areas, has my entire body quivering. Goose bumps sprout on my sweltering skin as I crawl out to him.
His office is huge, so it’s not like I’m plodding on all fours for a few steps. This is a journey, one that his carnal gaze only makes more challenging. His hunger feeds my raging libido. His veneration caresses my curves.
“You are gorgeous on your hands and knees for me, Zara. Stunning.” His staggered breaths proclaim his authenticity. “Your breasts and hips swing so beautifully, darling,” he praises, and when I finally reach him, he cradles my chin, drinking in the lust vibrating off me. “You were a good girl not to come all day, but it turned you into a desperate slut, didn’t it?”
