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  • Writer's pictureJill Marie Denton

Strangelove - Part 13

Part 13

She turned down the narrow tree-lined road at three-forty-five, determined not to be late. She’d made him wait too many times before. And his instructions had been crystal clear. Her hair hung pin straight down to her shoulder blades, she’d avoided temptation the night before, and she was wearing a new set of black underwear. It was the first black set she’d ever bought.

She’d felt dirty just picking it out.

His truck was already parked just inside the wire fence circling the simple building. He propped the gate open and she pulled into the garage.

He stepped up alongside and before she could tug on the handle, he swung the door open, reached inside, pulled her to her feet and pinned her back against the car’s backdoor. She gasped as he appraised her body, clad in that burgundy coat and knee boots once again. After pulling off his leather jacket and tossing it onto the hood of her car, Garrett lifted her in both arms. She couldn’t hold back the squeal as he carried her back outside so effortlessly.

He dropped her to her feet at the fence, stepping up behind so she was squeezed dangerously close to the barbs. She held her breath to keep from brushing against them.

His fingers moved to her hips, pressing in firmly enough to thrill, as his face dipped down. “You see out there?”

With sweeping eyes, she perused the dense forest. “There’s nothing out there.”

“Exactly,” he hissed. “It’s just you and me. Are you scared?”

She inhaled a shaky breath, his squeezing palms anchoring her in place. The scene reminded her of Peter, forcefully pressed against her in his kitchen. This was so much racier, though, so primal. His breath against her skin and the depth of his timbre sent a wicked chill down her spine.

“Should I be?”

He grinned at her reply, grasping and lifting her hand to the fence. Without warning, he plunged her fingertip onto one of the barbs. The piercing sting made her gasp. He released her palm to recapture her hips, demandingly pressing his huge frame against her back.

“Maybe. I told you I’m a patient man. I’m also a dangerous man. Now I’ll ask again, are you scared?”

“No,” she breathed, eyeing the red dot blooming on her fingertip.

“No, what?” He spun her, pulling her wrist close to his face.

“No, master.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, slipping her pierced finger between his lips to taste the copper blooming from within her. He brushed the barbell through his tongue over the fingertip and watched her eyes widen provocatively. “You’re in for all sorts of surprises, I assure you.”

He dropped her hand, leaving Jessica breathless and shuddering. Her wound was already closing, the dot of red disappearing as all the blood in her body rushed unapologetically to her cheeks and between her legs.

“Come on. Let’s clean that off.”

She glanced up at him to find his stare endearing, almost sweet. How he shifted from maniacal to merciful so quickly, she’d never understand. He ushered her back inside, lowered the garage door behind them and lead her into his office.

“Take your coat off. I’ll stash it with mine.”

She nodded once before shifting the wool from her shoulders. She’d chosen a black pencil skirt, a buttoned plum-colored blouse and simple gold jewelry. He fought the urge to rip off the prissy clothing, to expose whatever hid underneath and finally take what he’d coveted for months. Instead, he simply exhaled, turned and added his leather jacket to hers on the simple hooks above his safe. With her hand tucked safely in his, he eased her through the bathroom door, spinning her frame to trap her between him and in the sink.

She risked a sidelong gaze to appraise the space as he turned the water on and grabbed for a pump bottle of soap. The bathroom was modest, the size of hers, but with a new glass-walled shower, simple dome ceiling light, light blue paint and black towels hanging on an iron bar by the sink. Nothing adorned the walls, no art, no fixtures, and oddest in her mind, no mirrors.

He took both her hands in his, easing them under the warm deluge. Turning her palm up, she eyed the nick on her fingertip, all but healed. With soap applied, his hands joined hers, meticulously lathering with calloused palms. His chin hovered over her shoulder, his arms tucked under hers as he worked, caressing from fingertip to wrist. When his thumb grazed her pulse point in rhythmic circles, she sighed and dropped her head back to his shoulder.

His couldn’t hide his grin, hugging around her middle instinctively, supporting her as he moved their hands back to the water’s flow. Once he’d dried her off, he swept her off her feet again, tucking her to his chest as she eyed him sultrily. He nudged open the bedchamber’s door, pulling it closed behind.

The familiar scent of the space, musky and spicy, penetrated her senses. He dropped to his knees on the plush white bearskin by the bed, setting her down as she watched the fire flicker under the faux mantle to her right. Heat poured from the vent under the dancing flames, warming the rug under her bare knees. He sat nearby, his legs tucked under as she ran her palms over the fluffy rug below.

“Are you comfortable?”

Her gaze lifted, her brows nearly touching. “Asks the man who just pierced me with barbed wire.”

He chortled. “You’re certainly mouthy. Now answer my question.”

Her palms moved to her lap. “Yeah, sure. I’m just waiting for the shoe to drop.”

He nodded. He’d expected that. “It will. When you’re ready.”

“I told you yesterday I’m ready.”

“Not exactly. You said you wanted to know how far I can push you, how good a girl you’ll be. And that will happen today. But step three is very specific. Do you remember what I told you about step three?”

She thought back to the first week of February, before tax season really hit a fevered pitch, before their weekly appointments and before she knew the sordid details of his proclivities. Her mind carried her back to the booth where they’d first colluded among the crazed sports fans. His words eked through the fog, ringing in her ears.

“You said step three is me asking you to use what’s in this room on me.”

“Exactly. And you haven’t done that. So today is like step two-and-a-half, maybe two-and-three-quarters, but not three. When the client asks to be dominated, when they start making demands, then they’re comfortable. Then they’re ready to surrender. That’s not today.”

She exhaled. Disappointment and relief mingled in her soul. “I guess I got ahead of myself again.”

“Eventually you’ll believe me when I tell you I know my audience. I pushed you a little today and I will again before we’re done, but you’re doing great. I’m taking my time. And once you turn the corner, once step three happens, there’s no turning back. You’re all in.”

“Well I’m here, and you clearly have a plan. So, what’s next?”

“You’re going to be a good girl and show me your body.”


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