Tied to the Tycoon (16 page)

Where was the riding crop?

“Spread,” he said.

She did. Her breasts hurt a little, pressed into the cold stone, and she was getting wetter every time she tried to move under his hold and found she couldn’t.

Powerless.

He stepped back, but kept his hold on her neck, and placed his boot between her legs to keep them wide open. He slid an easy finger into her, and swirled it around, as though hollowing her out.

“Do you remember what I said about discipline, Ava?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “No. I don’t know.”

“I said you would obey my orders, and accept my discipline. Did you do that?”

Ava’s mind reeled, but it was, as always, difficult to think with his finger inside her. It was like there was only room for so much at once.

“Yes,” she said.

She felt the bulk of his body move away, though he kept his heavy hand on her neck. She was about to ask what she’d done wrong when she felt the sharp sting of the riding crop on her bare buttock.

“No,” he said.

The stiff leather of the crop began to trace the lines of her inner thighs.

“You disobeyed me, Ava. Don’t lie.” The sudden crack of the riding crop streaked across her thighs, her buttocks, even close to her exposed sex. She whimpered, but not because she hurt. She liked the hurt.

“Tell me how,” he said. The leather tip of the crop probed her wet slit, and she moaned.

“I ran away,” she said.

“You ran away from me,” he said, close to her ear now, and she suddenly saw that the blue vibe was gone. “And you’re mine.”

He buried the vibrator in her as far as it would go. She let out a short, convulsive breath that turned into a groan, the shock and slight pain of being so suddenly full quickly overwhelmed by the pleasure of the same. He fucked her leisurely with the vibe in long, slow strokes until she was reaching out across the countertop for something to grab hold of. And then…

He stopped.

“Oh, no,” she cried. She had been so close, a deep orgasm building on top of her first of the night, and now she was teetering, on the brink of falling back still tight and wound and hungry.

“You won’t come again until I tell you to, Ava,” he whispered in her ear. He jiggled the vibrator inside her just once, as if to tease her, and then pulled it out.

She moaned her frustration, slapped a palm on the countertop. She heard him laugh. Then she felt it: a cold, cool, lube-covered finger, gently circling her anus.

“Jackson—”

“Shh,” he said, and his grip on her neck tightened.

Ava closed her eyes and tried to relax. This wasn’t something she was used to. His finger felt good on the delicate skin, the nerves alive in a way that she hadn’t expected. He pushed against her with more and more pressure until he finally forced his finger in. Her eyes shot open; it felt intrusive, invasive, wrong, but in all the right ways. He began to fuck her ass with his finger, curling it around and circling it to stretch her out.

He added more lube, and then another finger, and she moaned helplessly.

“Don’t come, Ava,” he warned.

She whimpered, and nodded as best she could with her cheek pressed into the counter. It was just becoming manageable when, all at once, he removed his fingers and replaced them with the tip of something much larger.

The red vibe.

It hadn’t looked that big—it hadn’t looked big at all—but now, pressed against her tight sphincter, it felt impossibly huge. She tried to shake her head, to lift it off the counter; it was just too big, there was no…

“Oh, God!”

She cried out as he pushed it past the tight ring of muscle. She felt a slight pop, and then it was in. It felt…she didn’t have words. Every move rubbed it against some new bundle of nerves, some part of her body that had never known pleasure. It was a constant, invasive reminder of his dominance.

“Stay like that, Ava.”

And then he was gone.

She saw him walk past her line of sight, past the counter. Heard him walk through the living room and into his bedroom. Heard him close the door. She was still bent flat over the counter, her bottom slightly tilted up, and now with a red vibe sticking out of her. She didn’t dare move. After a while, she found she didn’t even want to; the submissive humiliation of her position was only adding, bit by bit, to the explosive orgasm she’d been denied earlier.

It wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

By the time Jackson came back, she was so wet that she could feel the moisture dripping down her thighs.

“Get up,” he said from somewhere behind her.

Slowly Ava pushed herself off the counter, stiffer than she would have thought. The movement shifted the vibe inside her, and she clenched around it, sending another shudder rippling through her body. She turned to find him smiling, with a large duffel bag over his shoulder and leather gloves on his hands. He was wearing a thick fleece.

He picked up the receiver to speak to the front desk again. Clive. He’d made arrangements through Clive. Did Clive know about…?

“Everything ready?” Jackson said into the phone, his eyes resting hungrily on Ava’s naked breasts. “Good. Thank you. Much appreciated, believe me. Look for that envelope at the desk tomorrow.”

He hung up the phone, never once taking his eyes off her nakedness. His mouth tightened into a grim line, and he took a deep breath.

“Not yet, Reed,” he said to himself. “Ava, put your boots on.”

Ava gave him a perplexed expression. She was naked; she wasn’t—

“And only your boots.”

Slowly it began to dawn on her. His clothes. His gloves. Her boots.

“
Now,
Ava.”

chapter
17

Getting the boots on had been harder than Ava had expected with the red anal vibe still inside her. It didn’t seem like it was about to fall out of her, but the fear that it would kept her clenched tight. And Jackson had made sure to tell her to keep it in. He hadn’t helped. He’d just watched her, his eyes gleaming.

She still couldn’t quite believe what was about to happen. She didn’t know, not exactly, but it seemed pretty likely that it would involve being outside.

She risked a look over her shoulder. It was still snowing, the flakes coming down big and heavy.

“Ava,” Jackson said sharply.

She snapped back around at full attention.

“You’re going to follow me. Keep the vibe in. You’ll find walking a little strange at first,” he said, a smile playing at his lips. “But you’ll get used to it.”

“Follow you?” she said.

“Anything you don’t understand about that?”

“I just…don’t…”

“You are going to follow me, naked, and with that red vibe sticking out of your ass, into the hallway, where, yes, I suppose any of my neighbors could come out into the hall and see you,” he said evenly. “And you are going to do it
now
.”

That voice
.

Meekly, she nodded. He opened the door for her, his ingrained chivalry almost making her laugh under the circumstances. It was perfect, it really was. That was who he was.

But then there was the hallway. Cold and gleaming, the modern lines of the place designed to make everything look expensive and smooth. She took her first steps, paying careful attention to the way the vibe moved inside her. He was right; she could already tell the sensations would build and build, like they had when she’d stayed bent over the counter.

She could feel the folds of her labia sliding together as she walked past him. He took a deep breath.

Oh God, can he smell me?

The thought made her feel wanton, and easy, like he could get her to do anything and everything.
He probably can.

There. She was standing naked in the hallway of a luxury apartment building. And it did heighten everything, like some kind of insane drug. If he touched her…. But Jackson only stood in the open doorway for a moment, taking in the sight of her, standing there, shaking slightly, her nipples pebbling at the sheer excitement of it.

He followed after her without a word, letting the door close behind them, and then turned down the hall. She followed, walking quickly to make up for the short little strides demanded by the vibe.

Jackson walked past the elevator, and she could have died from the relief. So not the elevator, at least. But where?

The stairway. Of course. He already had the door open, and she sped up, hurrying for the relative privacy of the stairwell. She thought she heard him chuckle as she shimmied past him into the fluorescent gloom. The door clanged behind them with finality.

Ava hugged her arms to her chest and shivered. There was a certain chill in the stairwell. Jackson was on the top floor. The roof was just above and…the door was open. The door to the roof.

Ava looked back at Jackson in disbelief. He smiled.

Jackson slung the duffel bag around, unzipped it, and extracted a thick, warm looking blanket. “Wrap this around yourself,” he instructed. “It’s designed for arctic expeditions. Very warm.”

Dutifully, she wrapped herself in the soft blanket. He was right. He was always right. Already the chill was gone. But…the roof?

“Jackson…”

“Get up those stairs, Ava,” he said. “Now.”

She was startled, and found that her feet were moving, almost of their own accord, one in front of the other, step by step. It was that voice—that voice that was like a psychic leash, leading her around while she was in this state. She was moving inexorably toward the roof. Toward whatever he had planned. And she liked it.

The roof was beautiful in the snow, in a way that was unique to New York. The maintenance sheds and vents and various other functional things that took up part of any large rooftop created their own topography, giving rise to wind currents and eddies, visible only because of the falling snow. And below was Manhattan, the snow cover lit up by the life of the city.

“Over here,” Jackson ordered, pointing to an area near the edge where the snow hadn’t accumulated. Ava felt it as soon as she stepped in: warm gusts of air billowing out around her blanket. This was the part of the roof where the heating vents were. And there was some kind of apparatus constructed out of sturdy looking pipes and beams, something that rose above her head and extended out to the edge of the roof.

“You are a freaking lunatic,” she said, almost dazed.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” he said, laughing. She couldn’t see his face in the dark. “Give me the blanket.”

The air from the vents cut the ice from the wind, but it wasn’t exactly warm. She shivered, and she felt her whole body contract. The wetness on her thighs was cold now. But she obeyed, and gave him the blanket. She watched him fold it carefully and place it in the duffel while retrieving something else she couldn’t quite make out. It was surreal to be standing in the middle of falling snow, chilly but not freezing, and
naked
.

Jackson moved under the main beam of the contraption that rose above them and said, “Come here.”

She couldn’t help but look up as she did. The grey sky and the falling snow hid any details of the appartus.

“Look at me,” he said.

She did. His eyes were steady, and burned with that look she’d come to know. There was a beat where they only looked at each other, and everything seemed to pass between them—what she’d asked him for, what he’d promised her—and then he tied a blindfold around her eyes.

Ava felt the beginnings of a panic response. She flushed with heat, and her lungs gasped for air. She reached out blindly, clawing at the empty space, filled with terror at finding nothing, and then he was there. He caught her hands and brought them to his chest, wrapping his arms around her.

“Not going anywhere,” he said gruffly, and held her so tight that she could hardly breathe. Somehow it calmed her. She vastly preferred this feeling to the horror of being suddenly alone.

He stroked her hair. “That’s better,” he said.

She sighed into his chest, feeling sleepy until he spanked her right over the vibe. It sent a jolt right through to her clit, and she took a sharp breath. She couldn’t help but rub her nipples ever so slightly against his sweater. She felt the chuckle deep in his chest more than heard it before he stepped away.

“Put out your arms and spread your legs,” he ordered.

Ava did as he asked immediately, not questioning or wondering.  She found she wasn’t surprised to feel soft ropes sliding over her skin, or at the feel of leather wrapped around her waist, thighs, and ankles, or the sounds of latches and buckles. With each knot he tied, she surrendered a little more of herself, let one more psychological bind unravel. It felt like finally taking off uncomfortable clothing at the end of a long day, only…so much more so.

Finally, he was done. She didn’t know what she looked like, but the ropes were cutting into the skin around her ribcage and breasts, and she could feel them already starting to swell. As if he was reading her thoughts, Jackson grasped her breasts and pinched both of her nipples, hard.

“Oh God, Jackson,” she said. Her knees buckled. Her nipples were sensitive, swollen, and raw. Her clit was throbbing, and the vibe in her ass was demanding that she get some relief—soon. “Please,” she said.

“Turn around.”

He grabbed her arms and pulled them behind her and bound them there. It was a little uncomfortable, and it thrust her back out and her chest up.

And then the ropes started to pull.

She was lifted from the seat first, and she realized he must have her in some kind of harness. But she was pulled from multiple points until she was lifted into the air, totally unable to move on her own. The lines attached to her lower half pulled tighter, raising her legs and her bottom until she felt like her head must be angled toward the ground. And then the lines attached to her ankles began to pull in opposite directions, spreading her legs. They pulled, and kept pulling, until she thought she would split.

When it all finally stopped, she was blindfolded, suspended in the air, bottom angled up, arms bound behind her, and legs spread wide. She was panting for breath.