“You regret what exactly?” Shifting in this expensive dress on the sofa, I feel cheap and unworthy. “You can change what you want to tell me if you prefer that. But what you tell me must be exact.”
“It hurts because I needed surgery after I drank something I wasn’t supposed to. I also needed a blood transfusion.” I stare at the floor as I speak, focusing on anything other than Zander.
“Look at me,” he commands and I do. I obey even though it pains me to do so. “You were aware of what you were drinking?”
I nearly whisper that he told me to tell him only one thing. Just one. Instead the words get caught in my throat, and my eyes prick.
“Good girl,” Zander murmurs in a low timbre. Closing my eyes, I do what I’ve always done, I hold back the tears.
“You have a powerful voice. They will want to hear it even if it sounds different.”
I slowly open my eyes to find Zander’s expression full of both want and approval.
“If you want to record something, we can. I will be selective about what’s saved for you to share.”
Pressing my fingers to the corners of my eyes, I comment dryly, “All the men in my life are.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Kam is also monitoring what I post. Damon monitors what I write.” For the first time today, my throat feels hoarse and sore; it’s definitely gotten better with time. The silence doesn’t go unnoticed as I pick up my teacup and drain the now cold tea, leaving behind nothing. It clinks when I set it back down on the table.
It’s not until I look back up at Zander that he tells me, “Understood.”
Leaning forward in his seat across from me, Zander rests his elbows on his knees and steeples his fingers, resting his chin on the tips of his pointers. “Do you acknowledge that you are my submissive and I am your Dom given the verbal agreements we discussed tonight?”
There is a calmness in his question, but a threat in his hungry gaze.
I murmur, “Yes.”
“Say it,” he demands.
Swallowing down any hesitation, I give him my submission. “You are my Dominant and I am yours.”
He moves all at once, as if my admission opened a lock that held him chained to the chair. So quickly I hardly register it until one hand of his is wrapped around my throat, holding my head against the sofa, with the other on my hip, pinning me to the cushion.
The shock warrants a gasp from me, his touch a smoldering heat.
He stares at my lips as my racing heart pounds in my chest. “What is your safe word?” he questions. “Say it out loud now.”
There is no hesitation when I answer him, “Pink.” When I swallow, his fingers grip my throat tighter, not constricting, but holding a steady pressure that makes my pulse race with desire.
His right hand moves ever so slowly as he commands me to lift up my dress for him.
My motions are slower than I’d like, but he’s patient. The soft fabric glides against my sensitized skin. A low hum that’s nearly a growl, of approval resonates from deep in his chest. The air around us is suffocating enough, but his hand on me, controlling me and possessing me, is everything.
I move slowly, but he does not. His right hand cups me through the thin cotton fabric and with his eyes closed he groans, “So fucking wet.”
His thumb strums against my clit and I’d throw my head back in pleasure if I could. As it is, I’m pinned where I am.
“You’ve been a good girl tonight,” he tells me, his eyes darkening and holding me still as much as his hand at my throat does.
Pushing the fabric to the side, he runs his fingers along the seam of my pussy lips. Once, twice, spreading the arousal up to my swollen nub where he puts more pressure and runs sweeping circles. Goosebumps race down my arms and then lower.
I struggle to say or do anything, staring at him and for the first time in over a year, feeling wanted. Truly wanted.
When his fingers dip inside of me, not deep, only testing, two things happen at once. My bottom lip drops and I moan from the sudden pleasure. And Zander hisses, “Fuck.”
His eyes shut and he stills for a moment. A long enough moment that I question him.
“Do it,” I utter and in an instant, he’s flipped me over so I’m on all fours. His hand that was at my throat fists the hair at the nape of my neck. His knee is on the sofa, my ass pressed against his jeans. With my back arched, he tugs just slightly.
Again my heart races. He’s not gentle with me as he grips my hip, and lowers his lips to the shell of my ear. “Do not test my control, you will regret the punishment immensely.”