On my knees, p.22
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       On My Knees, p.22

         Part #2 of Stark International Trilogy series by J. Kenner
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“Not a man,” I whisper. “Just you. Only you. ”

  I watch his face, and I see the way his mouth curves up in a flicker of a smile in response to my words.

  The smile doesn’t reach his eyes. They are still hard and hot and demanding. “Why?” he repeats.

  I know what he wants to hear. He wants me to tell him about my need to feel in control. About how I need to surrender it to him—I need to give it, rather than having it ripped from me. He wants to hear me speak about fear, and about how submitting to him is our way of giving me back control and battling the nightmares that these horrible photos will unlock.

  And all of that is true.

  But there is one reason that is more so.

  “Because I love you. ”

  He closes his eyes and draws a long, deep breath. And his cock, already hard against my abdomen, pushes almost painfully against me.

  I’d worn a dress to work today, and the low neckline dips to a V between my breasts. He draws his fingers down over the swell of my breasts, following the path of material and flesh. His eyes are on mine, as blue and deep as the sea.

  “Mine. ” The word is hard and harsh and full of passion and power. And in one bold, wild move, he fists his hands into the material, and rips the dress open, exposing my breasts and my stomach, all the way down to the band of my thong.

  I gasp. I’d liked that dress, but I like this feeling—wild and abandoned and taken by Jackson—a hell of a lot more. And right now, I’m certain that I have never been so wet and so aroused in my life. Page 87

  He strokes my breasts, finding and releasing the front clasp of my bra. He pushes the cups to the side, exposing me, then takes a single step back from me, breaking contact.

  His eyes skim me, and I shiver from the slow inspection. “You’re so lovely. ” His voice is rapturous, and there is something about such tender words said in a wild moment, that makes the words that much sweeter.

  Sweet, however, isn’t what Jackson wants or what I need, and I am breathing hard when he puts his hand on my shoulder and urges me down until I am on my knees in front of him.

  I know what he wants—hell, I know what I want. My wrists are still bound, but my fingers are free, and I manage to unbutton the top, then tug down the zipper on his jeans. I free his cock, hard and thick like velvet-encased steel, then use my tongue to tease up the length of him, all the way to the tip and the salty drop of pre-cum. My cunt clenches as I taste him, and my nipples—already tight with need—are almost begging for attention.

  “Go on, baby. ” His voice is raw, and I know that he needs this as much as I do. He needs it hot. Wild. But most of all, he needs us. “Suck my cock. ”

  The command, spoken with such precision and force, seems to ricochet through me, all the more powerful because those were the same words that Jackson said to me on his lot in the Palisades the day he told me that I couldn’t fight my nightmares unless I gave up control and submitted.

  And that is exactly what I’m doing now.

  I take him in, just a little at first. Teasing and tasting. Sliding my tongue along its length. Teasing the tip, then drawing him in. Playing and sucking and finding a rhythm that has his hands fisting in my hair and rough noises of pleasure escaping his throat. And though this started with the illusion that I have some control over this moment, that is all that it is—an illusion. Because soon enough, he has me at his mercy, and instead of me teasing him, he is fucking my mouth. Going deeper and harder until I have to concentrate to breathe. To take him in. Because I cannot move back or adjust, I can only submit to him and to this supremely intimate moment.

  I’ve never really loved giving head, but this is different. Hotter. Wilder. I’m subjugating myself for his pleasure, and that is strangely powerful, and supremely arousing. I’m so desperate for him. But not to fuck—not yet. Instead, I want him to take this all the way. I want to feel him explode. To have him lose his grip completely.

  I want that bite of pain when the fingers he has twined in my hair tighten. When he loses all reason and simply lets go.

  Most of all, I want to know that I am the one who caused that.

  I can tell that he is close—his body is tight and stiff, his cock throbbing with the need for release. And though I have very little use of my hands, I manage to squeeze his balls, and am rewarded when that added touch sends him tumbling over. He explodes in my mouth, clutching my hair tight. And as he does, hot threads of pleasure shoot through me to pool between my legs, bringing me that much closer to my own release.

  I manage to swallow, and when he pulls out, both of us breathing hard and satisfied, I cannot deny that despite my submission—despite being held in place and fucked hard—I am absolutely light-headed from the power of this moment.

  “Christ, sweetheart. I think you just about destroyed me. ”

  My body tingles with the praise. “In a good way, I hope. ”

  “In the absolute best way. ” He scoops me up and holds me close to his chest as he bends to kiss me. When he straightens, I hold my still-bound hands up, then lift my brows in question.

  “Oh, no,” he says. “Not even close. ”

  And the words, said with such potent ardor, send a fresh shiver of anticipation coursing through me.

  He carries me to the bedroom and puts me gently on my feet in front of the mattress. “On your knees. ” He gives the order as he peels me the rest of the way out of my destroyed dress. “Facedown. Elbows on the bed. And, baby,” he adds as he tosses my bra toward a nearby chair, “I want to see your ass up high. ”

  I am now clothed only in my thong, the vibrator necklace that I have worn daily as ordered, and my shoes—black slides with three-inch heels. I do as he says, and as I climb onto the mattress, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the dresser. My skin glows, and my eyes sparkle. I look radiant with pleasure, and when I meet Jackson’s eyes in the reflection, his stern, commanding countenance breaks for just a moment to reveal a small smile of approval.

  “You were made for this,” he says. “For me. ”

  He nods toward the bed as he steps toward me, and I look away, positioning myself as he asked. He steps behind me, then strokes his palm lightly down the line of my spine before cupping the globe of my ass. Page 88

  “You are mine, Sylvia. From the first moment I saw you in Atlanta, I knew that there was no other woman for me. Not before, and not ever again. You are the light that fills my days and illuminates my nights. ” I close my eyes, lost in both the meaning of his words and the passion with which he speaks them. “You are the rhythm of my heart. ”

  He slides the thong’s thin strip of material aside, then slips his fingers into my cunt before stroking my perineum. He teases my ass, and I bite my lower lip. The sensation is incredible, and when he presses against me, I feel my muscles clench, then relax as he gently slides a finger inside me.

  “Oh yes,” he says, as I gasp from the unexpected pleasure of this new invasion. “You belong to me. But I’m yours, too. Wholly and completely. ”

  He is sliding his finger deeper inside, and his words, so sensual and soft, are in direct contrast to this deeply prurient touch. He orders me to stay still as he continues to tease my rear as my body adjusts. And, yes, as I crave more.

  Too soon, he slides out, and I whimper. “The lady liked that,” Jackson says, still standing behind me. “One day, we’ll try more than a finger. ”

  The promise excites me, and when he lightly smacks my bottom, the impact sets off a chain reaction inside me. I shiver as electric sparks seem to spread out from my clit, like a tiny preview of a massive orgasm to come.

  “Don’t move,” he says, and then leaves the room. I immediately mourn the loss of contact, and it is all I can do not to beg him to return.

  I hear him moving in the suite. Drawers opening. Things rattling. Is he in the kitchen?

  Then I hear his footsteps as he returns, and I start to turn my head to loo
k at him, but am stilled by his sharp, quick, “no. ”

  I stop, then move only long enough to face forward.

  Soon enough, he is behind me again. He rests a possessive hand on my back, and I am surprised by how much this calms me. As if the world is simply not right without the brush of Jackson’s skin against my own.

  “I spanked you once and used my hand, and loved the way the sweet sting lingered on my palm. But this isn’t entirely about me, and I’m wondering if you might enjoy something just a bit different. ”

  Oh. He is stroking me now with something slightly rough. Not leather. Not metal.

  Wood, perhaps?

  I’m not sure, and when he lifts it from my ass, then smacks it lightly down again, any potential for further analysis goes right out of my head. There is just this sensation—a light sting, and not nearly enough.

  “Do you want more?”

  “Yes. ”

  The word bursts out of me far too fast, and Jackson chuckles. “As you wish. ”

  He repeats the smack, this time harder, so that my ass burns with a deep red pain that thrums and throbs with each additional spank. Between each blow he rubs me, and that sensation—a gentle touch over tender skin—is both soothing and arousing, as if each sweet touch sends the deeper pain further inside. It builds and builds, until there is no longer any pain at all, but a floating kind of pleasure that spreads out from my ass to bathe my entire body, sensitizing me and making me wild and hungry for more.

  “Are you sore?”

  “Yes,” I whisper, as he slips his hand between my legs and strokes me slowly, teasing my clit before slipping two fingers inside me. I am still wearing the thong, and the sensation of the material rubbing against me as he enters me is one more piece to this puzzle of wild sensuality. One more thing that is pushing me toward the edge.

  “Do you like it?”

  I hesitate, my eyes closed. “God, yes. ”

  He doesn’t reply, but rewards me with another spank, but as this one lands, he thrusts his fingers in deeper. I gasp at the unexpected sensation and at the hard and fast way my cunt tightens, clenching around his fingers as if in a silent demand to be fucked—and fucked hard.

  He does it again and again and again, and I am so wet that I am dripping, so desperate to be fucked I am almost crying. The pain from the spanking has transformed completely. It is pleasure and need and demand, and when Jackson takes my hips and yanks me toward him so that I slide along the bed, it is all I can do not to burst into tears of joy.

  Behind me, I hear Jackson strip. He is out of his clothes in a heartbeat, and inside me just as fast. Soon he is thrusting hard, and with each slap of his pelvis against my red and sensitive ass, another wave of pain-like pleasure crashes over me. It is all so much, and I feel like I am spinning from the cacophony of sensations that are assaulting me. I need an anchor, and as always Jackson knows what I need, and even as he pistons hard against me, he slides his hand around my body until his fingers find my clit. Page 89

  He strokes and teases me, building me up higher and higher until I can’t take it any longer and all this pleasure and pain and wild writhing ribbons of electricity come together in an explosion so violent and wild that I am certain I will not survive.

  My body convulses, my muscles tightening around his cock, my back arching up as I try to contain the pleasure. I am still on my knees, my wrists still bound, but I fist my hands in the sheets, then cry out again as Jackson thrusts once more into me, then groans from his own wild release, his body shaking as he bends over me, hot and hard and satisfied.

  “Oh my god,” I finally say. “That was—”

  “Amazing. ”

  I make a soft noise of agreement, but say nothing else. I am so wiped that even those few words exhausted me. We stay like that for a bit, but soon Jackson moves to my side. He helps me turn onto my back, then reaches for the belt that binds my wrists.

  I tug them away. “Not yet. Jackson, I want—”


  I lick my lips, not certain I should say this thought that has come unbidden into my mind. It’s too wild, probably too stupid, and if it all went wrong I would be mortified. But it is also a symbol that I’ve not only survived Reed, but thrived. That I’m strong now. And that it is Jackson—not Reed—to whom I have surrendered.

  He watches my debate play out on my face. Now he says, “Tell me what you need. ”

  “I want you to take my picture. ” I speak quickly, the words spilling out before I can change my mind. “Like this. Bound. Only for you,” I add quickly. “But I need—”

  “To know that it exists,” he finishes, and my relief that he understands is a palpable thing. “To know that you’re mine and that you’ve given this to me. ”

  “Yes. ” I lick my lips. “Will you?”

  “I only have my phone. ”

  I nod.

  “And I want to capture you when you come. ”

  “I—oh. ”

  His smile is a little wicked. “If we’re doing it, we’re doing it right. ” He walks to me and takes the necklace from around my neck. He turns it on, then puts it in my hand. “Spread your legs, baby, and tease your clit. ”

  I think I should protest, but I am already wet again from the thought that Jackson will watch me. Will photograph me.

  I do not know what it means, but I know that it excites me.

  He puts a pillow under my head and I do as he asks. I close my eyes, spread my legs, and with my wrists bound, I tease myself with the small pendant. I can’t touch my clit directly—I’m way too sensitive for that—but as I move the vibrator in small circles—as I think about Jackson at the foot of the bed watching me, the camera photographing me—my body rises up again, getting wet again, tightening again.

  The metal pendant turns warm and that change in temperature makes me gasp even as the controlled vibrations push me up. Higher and higher, and then higher still.

  I come fast and hard and quick, and as I do, I open my eyes. Jackson holds the phone in one hand and he’s stroking his cock with the other, and I think it’s the sexiest damn thing I have ever seen. “Fuck me,” I whisper, and he tosses the phone onto the dresser behind him and takes me once again, wild and fast, because we both need it that way.

  And when we explode together, and I lay in his arms and wonder how a day that had started so horribly could become so incredible.

  I know the answer, of course. The answer is Jackson.

  Soon, when we can move again, he unbinds my hands. I turn and prop myself on my side so that I can face him.

  “Thank you,” I say. “I feel whole again. Like I’m not going to shatter. ”

  “I’m very glad to hear that. ”

  “But it’s all still out there. Reed, I mean. He still has us in a horrible position. The pictures or the movie. We’re between a rock and a hard place, and in the end, one of us will get screwed. ”

  “No. ” He says the word so quickly and firmly that I almost believe him.

  “How?” I ask. “How do we fix this? How do we untangle ourselves from this hell?”

  “I don’t know,” he admits. “But we’ll figure it out. I love you, Sylvia. I love you, and I will make this right for you. ”

  Love. The word washes over me, warm and sweet and wonderful.

  “Jackson …” His name is a caress upon my lips. “That’s the first time you’ve said that. ”

  “No,” he says. “It’s not. ”

  I’m about to argue the point when he continues.

  “I’ve said it every day since I saw you. I say it in the way I look at you. The way I touch you. The way I never stop thinking about you. I’ve said that I love you a million times, Sylvia. This is just the first time I’ve said it out loud. ” Page 90

  I tremble from the force of his words, and from the emotion with which he said them. They are like a blanket, keeping me safe and warm, and I wrap them tight arou
nd me.

  “We’ll figure this out together,” he says, telling me what I said to myself earlier when I was lost in tears and anger.

  But now the world is clear and I’m staring into the crisp, cold light of reality.

  And even with Jackson’s love to bolster me, I cannot help but be afraid.


  “Good morning, beautiful. ”

  I open my eyes to the warm comfort of Jackson’s voice washing over me, followed by the brush of his lips against my temple.

  “Good morning yourself. ” I smile and stretch, and despite the worry that still hangs over me, I feel as bright and shiny as the California sun seeping in through the window. “Any brilliant ideas in the light of day?”

  “None yet,” he says. “But the morning is young. ” He moves toward the bathroom and I slide out of bed to follow him. “Don’t worry. He won’t do anything too quickly, that would be foolish. ”

  “Foolish?” I repeat as I lean into the shower to turn on the spray. “So far, he hasn’t exactly proven to be a brain trust. ” Then again, he was managing to very efficiently fuck with both of us, so maybe he wasn’t an idiot, after all.

  The thought doesn’t make me happy.

  I move my towel closer to the shower and then reach in to check the water temperature. Jackson eyes me, his head slanted to one side. “Are you going in today?” he finally asks. “You have to pick up Ethan. ”

  “Well, yes. ” The thought of staying in the suite or going home hadn’t actually occurred to me. “But that’s not until later. I can leave a bit early, but I have a ton to catch up on. ”

  “Syl …”

  He doesn’t say anything else, but I know what he is thinking. I slide toward him and enfold myself in his arms. We’re both naked, and though this moment isn’t sexual, I can’t help but notice the hard press of his body against mine. He feels safe and solid and perfect, and I tilt my head back so that I can look at his face. And at the concern in his eyes.

  “Yes,” I say again. “I’m going in. And I’m strong enough to do it because I know you’ve got my back. And that somehow we’re going to figure a way out of this mess. ”

  He is silent for a moment, just holding me. Then he kisses the top of my head. “We damn sure will. ”

  I take his hand as I step back, then smile, wanting to lighten the moment. “Come on. I want to enjoy the feel of you in the shower. ”

  He doesn’t protest, and soon the water is sluicing over our bodies, and as I stand in the spray wrapped in his arms, I can’t help but think how perfect this feels. “I like this,” I tell him, though that is about as much of an understatement as an understatement can be. “Intimacy. It feels good. It feels right. ”

  “That’s because it is. ”

  “Tell me again. ” My voice is soft, but it holds a plea, and though I do not tell him, Jackson understands exactly what I need to hear.

  “I love you,” he says, and I hold him close and sigh with contentment.

  “I had a thought,” he says when we’re in the Porsche and heading to the office after a late morning. And not a late morning in bed. No, Jackson bought me some sweats and a T-shirt from the gift store, and then we’d walked to the Century City mall, where he’d bought me a fabulous new outfit from Michael Kors to replace the dress he’d so deliciously destroyed. I’ve left my car at the hotel, but I figure we can pick it up anytime.

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