Hostile Takeover Hill, W (thriller books to read .txt) 📖

“Okay, you’re going all Yoda on me. Giving me the ‘Luke, you dumbass—figure it out’ look.”

He grinned, appreciating her, but then he sobered. “Ben is a very demanding Master. However, if you’re right, if you are what his heart truly desires, you won’t have to worry about keeping up with him, or being one of many women. When each of us found the woman we knew was the one for us forever, that was it. She could have been an invalid, and she’d have been plenty for us physically. You’ve said you believe Ben is no different from the rest of us in that regard, so that’s your answer.”

She frowned, looking down at her plate. “Finding that one person,” he added, touching her hand to bring her gaze back to him, “it’s a shift of paradigm that changes everything. What we always thought we wanted, what we know, what we don’t. But when it clicks into place, that’s also when everything makes sense, often for the very first time in our lives.”

“You’re scary,” she decided. Picking up the toast, she took a bite. “This is fabulous.”

“Just think how it will taste on Rachel’s skin.” Those blue eyes gave a wicked flash that made her toes curl.

“Another important point.” He pointed at her with his piece of bread. “You have to be who you are, Marcie. If you believe deeply you belong together, then you must do it on your own terms, as who you are, because you can’t pretend to be someone else. Not for a lifetime. Don’t sell yourself short. He’d know anyway. There’s a reason he’s a very good lawyer. He can scent a lie like a bloodhound.”

He rose. “I’m going to finish getting dressed. You can stay here or I can take you into the office. The choice is yours. But remember this. You’re pushing a Master pretty hard. For everything he’s done so far, I can tell you that Ben has showed a great deal of restraint, given what he’s capable of doing.”

There went that shiver again, part fear, part…longing. She wasn’t brave enough to share with Jon some of the things she’d imagined Ben doing to her. She would stand in a stock like those women, her neck and wrists bound, body bent over in servitude. Ben could put her on display in the center of his living room and she’d stay that way all day while he went about his routine, enjoying his Sunday coffee, reading his paper, working out, whatever.

He’d gag her of course, so she’d be unable to do anything but await his pleasure. Whether it was fucking her in that helpless position, smacking her ass, clamping and weighting her nipples, whatever. He could punish her endlessly for her defiance, because she knew he wanted to be pushed. He wanted someone who wasn’t afraid of his form of Mastery. At least not in the wrong kind of way.

As much as she craved that, she also hungered for the other side of that mountain. Him removing the restraints, bathing her, brushing her hair, holding her against his body at night. Laughing with her, dancing with her. Sharing everything with her. He was the two sides of that coin, and she just wanted to spin with him, taking either side, whenever, however she could get them.

“Marcie? One more thing.” Jon stepped closer, tipped up her chin with two fingers. He held her in place with a firm, unexpected touch, pulling her out of her reverie. “Hugging my wife, affection, is one thing. But you want to touch her other ways, you need my permission. She’s mine. You understand?”

Wow. His unyielding tone was in direct contrast to the mild conversational attitude from before. It was potent, seeing the Master inside him up close and personal.

“Yes sir.”

He nodded, stepped back. When he retrieved his plate, took it to the sink, other things rose inside her, demanding to be said. “I know I’m out of control, irrational about some of this. I’ve planned this for a while, Jon, and now that the reality has kicked in, I’m following this feeling inside me. The more he tries to push me away, the more it tells me to push back. I know a lot of what I’m doing is wrong, but I can’t seem to calm myself down, make myself take it slower, especially now that I’ve opened the door.”

She’d raised a forkful of eggs, but the more she talked, the more her fingers shook, such that she put it back down, uneaten. That raw feeling was back.

Jon’s brow creased in concern. Coming back around the counter, he slid his stool closer. Picking up her fork, he nodded. “Open up.”

She gave a nervous laugh. “I can—”

“No arguments. Open up.”

She nodded, opened her mouth. As she chewed the first mouthful, he scooped up another, patiently waiting on her. “Breathe, and eat. No talking.”

She obeyed, because his calm command steadied her nerves. It was odd to have Jon feeding her, his thigh pressed alongside hers on the outside of the stool. As she ate, the knot in her stomach loosened. She realized suddenly, with mortification, that tears were trickling down her face. Putting aside the fork, Jon patted at them with the napkin, and then slid his arms around her. Before she realized it, he was lifting her, taking her to the couch to sit her down in his lap.

“Cry now,” he murmured. “Just cry.”

As if a dam broke loose, she did. Nerves and stress, pleasure and pain, all the memories of the previous night, good and bad, were rolled up into her sobs. She buried her face in Jon’s bare chest, held onto his dress shirt and wept. She wasn’t a crier. She really wasn’t. It astounded her, even as she couldn’t stop it.

Jon stroked her hair, her back, the line of her hip. He wasn’t infringing on what was Ben’s, but they all understood this. Ben should be sitting where he was sitting. When a Dom broke a