Hostile Takeover by Hill, W (best novels to read for students .TXT) 📕

could turn to her during the night and do whatever he wanted to do to her, make her sob with pleasure, wear her out. Give her the rest of those cane licks to make her behave.

His idea of a leisurely Sunday at home would be to tie her over a spanking bench, totally naked and legs spread. He’d keep her there through most of the day, her pretty mouth sucking his cock before he fucked her with it. He’d make her beg for food, water, trips to the bathroom. He’d blindfold her and paddle her ass at unpredictable intervals, keeping her on edge. One evening at the club, he’d done that to a seasoned sub for five hours, until she was so deeply mired in subspace she was speaking in tongues, begging to be fucked, for pain, for anything he wanted. The memory sent a shimmer of heat through his blood, especially with Marcie overlaying that picture.

Fine line between fucking sadist and a Dom, asshole.

There was no doubt he was a sadist. He needed to give pain to release something inside of him, and a sub craving it, willing to take higher and higher levels of duress just to please him and because she herself got off on it, she was a drug.

How did Marcie know that about him? How did she know so damn much? He thought of her body stretched out on the car hood, her glistening pussy lips. He’d like to taste what was there. Yeah, he might like assfucking, but he liked diversity, would take full advantage of the other pleasures a woman’s body could offer. Those piercings made him hot as hell. He liked that she didn’t have tattoos, all that creamy skin unmarred. He could mark it with his teeth, the suction of his mouth, the touch of a whip or paddle. He grinned like a feral animal, thinking of the play paddles he’d seen with words cut out of the wood so they’d imprint on the flesh. Slut. That would be hers, for sure. She wore the name like a badge of honor.

He sobered. It was a puzzle, how innocent she truly was, how inexperienced as a submissive, all of it bravado, and yet she sassed and defied him, begging for the worst punishment he could inflict. As if she’d known him as her Master for far longer than this one day.

Because she trusts you, asshole. It was like Matt had said. She followed her natural cravings because the environment told her she was safe, that she could make that leap and someone would catch her. Either that or she was just that damn brave. Fuck.

She’d followed him to Surreal. How long before that had she been studying him? What he wanted, what he liked. Jesus. She wanted to be an investigator, was top of her class…

He shook his head, climbed down off the top of the vault. Hearing a poignant ballad being wailed out on a sax, he followed a familiar track to its source. Sticking to the shadows, he watched Marvin Troxler stand before the grave simply marked “Bernie, Musician” and play his latest composition. Best fingers on a sax Ben had ever heard locally, but Marvin only shared with Bernie. If anyone appeared while he was playing, he stopped, walked away. His communication skills weren’t the greatest, but there was a pain burning in his eyes Ben recognized too well.

Ben had first heard him a year or so ago. Figuring out his habits, he’d tailed him home, figured out that he was a low-paid dock worker. He’d arranged an accidental meet one day at the docks, and offered the man a different job. He worked in one of Kensington’s warehouses now, earned better pay and had a decent apartment, but as far as Ben knew, he never sought gigs or any public outlet for his music. Ben never asked him about it, never revealed that he knew about Marvin’s midnight serenades. There were wounds that were private. That no one should touch.

Turning away, he slipped back through the vaults. Stopping at one that had fallen to ruin, he readjusted the broken head plate to make sure it stayed upright. To show someone remembered. Swallowing, he moved away. Couldn’t get into that shit. He had a damn good life. Friends who cared about him. The only reason one of them hadn’t tracked him tonight was because he’d deliberately had the limo drop him at Bourbon. If they checked, they’d think he’d gone to Progeny or one of his favorite watering holes.

They all had families who needed them. They didn’t need to be chasing after him. He knew the fact he was alone bugged them, but that was his choice. Marcie might think she knew what he needed and that she could handle it, but he’d decided long ago that was too much to ask of any woman.

Yet he remembered the way her fingers had covered his, the way her beautiful brown eyes had studied his face, seeing things she shouldn’t be old or wise enough to see or understand. “Your heart is closed. But it’s okay, I’m here.”

“Shit,” he muttered. He was way too aware she was here. That was the problem. He’d agreed to mentor her, and he needed to live up to that, but he was also way too aware that he wanted more than that. He wanted to take her over, Master her, show her the ropes literally and figuratively.

He wasn’t going to go back for her in the morning. He’d send the limo, have her taken home, and that was the end of it.

* * * * *

Marcie slept restlessly, even though Rachel had done a good job. She was only sore in the right ways when she rose, but her nerves felt all raw and exposed. He’d been inside her, around her, surrounding her. It made her twitch or shudder at odd moments as she was getting cleaned up and dressed. Rachel had hung up the