Part 9 (1/2)

”W-why?”

”Call it another experiment. I'm going to f.u.c.k you, Amelia, hard. I'll enjoy it but you won't because you don't have permission to come, not this time. Right now, it pleases me to withhold your o.r.g.a.s.m. Understand?”

Gaping is getting to be a habit. ”You can't be serious. How am I supposed to not come?”

My unintentional acknowledgement of his prowess coaxes a grin from him but it doesn't linger. Without a hint of emotion, he says, ”If you really are designed to please me, you won't have any choice. You won't be able to come until I tell you to. In fact, you won't even want to try. Just giving me what I want will be all the satisfaction you crave.”

In what universe? ”Of all the arrogant... If you think for one moment that I'll--”

He eyes me coolly. ”Do you have a better idea how to find out what you really are?”

I want to say that anything would be better than what he's proposing but the words are swamped by the dark lure of desire that is building in me. With it comes an agonizing realization. I want to be on my knees in front of him. I want to submit to him. I want him to own me and use me completely.

I feel sick. Slowly, praying that I wouldn't be better off never knowing, I sink down onto the rug.

The moment I do so, Ian kneels beside me. His hand strokes lightly down my back from the nape of my neck to the small hollow at the top of my a.s.s. The caress is oddly rea.s.suring.

He repeats it as he says, ”How about it, baby? Can you do anything other than please me? Are you capable of that? Or are you just what you called yourself, a f.u.c.k toy with maybe a few glitches to work out?”

s.h.i.+vering under his touch, I murmur, ”s.e.x toy, that's what I said, not f.u.c.k--”

He shrugs dismissively. ”Whatever.” His palm settles between my shoulder blades and he presses me forward. ”Face down, sweetheart... Put your arms at your sides... Raise your a.s.s... a little more... Spread your knees... I want you completely open for me... Good.”

Inch by reluctant inch, I do as he says. Nothing can protect me from the awareness that the posture I a.s.sume is one of utter submission, designed to turn me into nothing more than a receptacle for his release. My throat tightens painfully.

This is--is not--who, what I want to be. The conflict is almost too much to bear. I squeeze my eyes shut, determined that I am not going to cry.

Softly but implacably, Ian says. ”I'm going to f.u.c.k you hard and fast. Knowing how frustrated and needy I'll be leaving you pleases me. I may let you come later, I may not, but you can't now. You can't even want to because nothing matters to you except serving me, satisfying me, giving me pleasure. You don't exist for any other purpose.”

The thought flashes through my mind that what he's describing may be heaven for him but it's h.e.l.l for me. I know all too well what it feels like to be controlled in a completely dehumanizing manner, treated as an object solely for the benefit of others.

If I could, I would end this right now but I can't get past the fact that I am desperate to know the truth about myself no matter how agonizing it may be. I take a breath, holding it, and hope that I can endure whatever is about to happen.

Ian positions himself behind me. I feel the warmth of his powerful thighs covered with fine hairs like rough silk behind my b.u.t.tocks. The velvety tip of his p.e.n.i.s strokes my cleft. I'd like to believe that I'm only wet because of what happened in the shower but the gathering of tension in my groin says otherwise.

He eases into me slowly. As he does, he leans over me so that his broad chest rests lightly against my back. Close to my ear, he begins a low, seductive chant, keeping time with his long, deep thrusts. His voice is low, smooth, inviting. It resonates within me. My muscles begin to vibrate in response, fluttering to the l.u.s.tful rhythm of his words.

”I love the way your tight little p.u.s.s.y feels as it stretches to take my c.o.c.k...

In...

”I love how deep inside you I can be and how full I make you...”

Out...

”I love your helpless whimpers...”

In...

”The way you smell and taste...”

Out...

”How you clench all around me when you come...”

In...oh, G.o.d, so far in!

Without warning, he closes his teeth on my ear lobe, sending sweet pain lancing through me. ”But you're not going to come, baby. You don't even want to, isn't that right? Because you know I don't want you to.”

He's picking up the pace as he speaks, thrusting faster, harder, impossibly deep. His hands grip my hips, controlling every movement.

Faster...harder...

”Nothing matters except pleasing me, right? That's what you're made for, every inch of you inside and out. I'm going to possess all of you in every way possible. Before I'm done, it won't be Susannah you're imprinted with, it will be me.”

Faster...

I can feel the warp of the carpet against my cheek and b.r.e.a.s.t.s but Ian is everywhere else, inside my body, inside my mind. I feel his power, his hunger, his demand. His hand fists in my hair, using it to pull my head back. My neck arches, my shoulders come up off the floor. He bows my body even as he claims it, reshaping me to his will.

Harder...

His breath rasps from deep in his chest as his grip on me tightens even more. He's battering against my womb, stretching me almost unbearably. Tears well up in my eyes again and this time I can't stop them. They pour down my cheeks as the thick, heavy length of his p.e.n.i.s jerks suddenly inside me, gus.h.i.+ng s.e.m.e.n in a hot stream that goes on and on and-- I come, so hard, so fast, so utterly that everything else, even my own heart, seems to stop. My vision darkens, then is replaced by brilliant, exploding lights. I'm hurled so high that there is no air, no gravity, nothing but endless revolving s.p.a.ce, the universe itself, in that instant revealed in all its exquisite, infinite beauty.

I come and come and come in o.r.g.a.s.mic waves beyond anything I've yet experienced or would have thought possible made all the more glorious by their ringing affirmation of who I truly am. I, Amelia. My own self.

As a submissive vessel designed solely for a man's pleasure, I'm a failure. But as a woman, I no longer doubt myself. I exist. I am real.

Take that, you would-be o.r.g.a.s.m-denying jerk!

A cry of triumphant ecstasy erupts from me. At the sound of it, Ian softens his grip. He gives a grunt of satisfaction and slumps onto the rug. He's breathing hard but he still manages to throw a heavily muscled leg over both of mine, his hand cupping my breast possessively.

With perfect understatement, he murmurs, ”Well, what do you know? You have a will of your own after all.”

Strangely, the idea doesn't seem to displease him. This is so starkly at odds with how he taunted me just a few minutes ago that I'm at a loss to understand it. With some difficulty, I twist my head around and look at him.

”Is this a game to you?” I demand. ”Figuring me out? Because if it is, you should know that it's far more to me. I couldn't live being what I was afraid I was. That's why I ran yesterday. I was trying to run from myself, from what you said I was.”

His grip on me tightens fractionally. ”You're not going to run again, are you?”

The question surprises me. Haven't I given my word that I won't? Unless he gives me reason to.

What is he thinking? That I would run because he compelled me to confront my true nature? Granted, what he did was harsh but considering how it worked out, I'm not inclined to hold a grudge.

Softly, I say, ”I'm not going anywhere.” I wiggle a little more. ”I just need to breathe.”

He relents and eases his hold, turning me so that we are face to face. I feel his quick gasp when he sees the evidence of tears on my cheeks.