Page 12 of Power Struggle

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. She shoves me away with a beastly grunt. I could refuse to let her go, but even I know when space is needed, as much as I hate it.

“You’ve got me?” she snaps, batting her tears away angrily. Huffing out a disbelieving breath, she pushes past me to stand before the doors, crossing her thin arms tightly. “You know,” she drawls when my confused silence stretches on too long. “You talk a big game for a man who can’t even last five minutes.” She shoots a disapproving look over her shoulder, scowling at my dick for some unknown reason.

Before I can ask what the hell she’s going on about, the door slides open, and Addy gracefully exists, her head held high, her spine rigid. I follow her out without a word, unwilling to let her leave my sight, even for a second. Her head swivels back and forth as she tries to find her room. I take note of the floor, realizing it’s the same as mine. Wordlessly, I turn her to the right and herd her toward room 36. The room I made sure to stock with every single thing my girl could want and more. All the desires and kinks on her list can be made possible with the contents in my room. But, more than that, it’s also their largest suite and the only one with the features it has.

“Where are we going?” she mutters, slightly less combative than seconds ago, like she’s deflated.

I have so many questions. So many things I want to say. Number one being: Why the absolute fuck was she running away and crying, and who hurt her? The second being: I will most definitely last longer than five minutes. In fact, I have every intention of fucking her so long and so hard she’s unlikely to remember how to speak, let alone complain.

However–I’m pretty sure saying either of those things right now will result in a swift kick to my aching cock, and that’s not something I’m willing to risk right now.

My hand skims down her shoulder, her bicep. I find her skin covered in goosebumps and icy to the touch. “To warm you up,” I grumble, unable to hide my irritation at her discomfort. She really needs to take better care of herself.

Without my permission, my eyes trail down her body, burning as I note the obvious weight she’s lost in the last four months. Addison didn’t have weight to lose as it stands. Now, her collarbone and hips are protruding, something I couldn’t make out clearly in the dim ballroom. Don’t get me wrong. Addy is stunning in any way, shape, form, or size–but seeing someone you care about, someone you love the way I love her–unhealthy and malnourished makes me want to scream and rage.

I bite my tongue so hard I swear it bleeds. Now isn’t the time. It will probably never be the time; I know that. I’ll just have to take care of her, so there’s no question that she’s well and healthy.

Nodding to myself, I softly grip her hip to hold her still when we reach our room for the night. I pull my phone from my pocket and scan the code on my invitation with the black glass scanner next to the heavy chrome door.

Addy blinks up at me, eyes narrowed, and shakes her head. “This isn’t my room, Jackson.” She looks behind, searching the room numbers. “I’m in 2—” The door clicks open, and I gently shove her through the threshold. “Fuck. Do you ever listen? Jesus Christ, Jack. You’re the pushiest, bossiest, most persistent arrogant asshole I’ve ever met.”

She’s telling me off. Calling me every name in the book. Hissing and fussing and stomping like a toddler. Yet, she’s also moving deeper and deeper into the expansive, luxurious room and stripping herself of her shoes—her jewelry—the blasted bracelets on her arm.

Thank God for that.

Leaning against the door, I cock my foot up and cross my arms, perfectly happy to watch her tirade from here. My lip twitches when she grumbles something about big dicked, perfectly chiseled Greek god of a man-child. I nearly puff up my chest at that, firmly ignoring the underlying insult.

Finally, she stops rambling and freezes in her tracks. She sucks in a sharp breath and spins in a circle, taking in the room. When I first arrived, hours before the event, I came in to set everything up and make sure it was stocked properly. It really is beautiful, as far as kink rooms in a luxury sex hotel go.

The walls are matte black with a glossy filagree pattern, similar to the one downstairs. The accents are all chrome and sleek, including the massive chandelier suspended from the center of the main room. The ceilings are high, as are the huge windows, currently hidden by heavy black-out curtains. The bed is off to the left against the center of the wall. It’s on a raised platform, making it appear regal. It has a solid, sturdy shiny black frame with a built-in hook system for rigging and bondage.

They offer rooms with attached degradation and sex-slave play cages beneath the beds, but I opted out, knowing we wouldn’t need it. Don’t get me wrong, if my girl really wants to role-play like that someday, I’m down, but not tonight. Tonight is for us, just as we are. Jack and Addy.

The comforter is plush with grey tufts. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows on the far wall is a large leather drop bench for different positions. Leather straps line the edges for strapping and restraining. To my direct right, the last wall has an ornate wooden and black leather St. Andrews Cross with archaic-looking chain restraints. Through a door next to the bed is the massive en-suite with a large rainfall shower and soaker tub big enough to fit four large people.

I chose this room not only because it’s the largest and grandest with the best views—ones we’ll be able to appreciate when the sun rises in the morning, but also because it’s the only one with a hidden gem hiding just beyond the bathroom. A space I hope she trusts me enough to use tonight.

A harsh chuckle pulls my attention from the opulent room that, with the low lighting, feels more sex dungeon than anything. My head snaps to the center of the room, finding Addy in front of me, mirroring my position. Her tears are long since dried up. Her usual bitchy, annoyed façade firmly in place.

I almost laugh. I know what she’s doing. I see right through her. If I had to guess, my woman is feeling a whole hell of a lot right now, and she’s trying to hide it. Trying to push me away and protect herself.

Good luck, Princess.

“So, you just thought you’d drag me to your room, and what? Hoped I’d be your willing submissive for the night?” She cackles like her words are the funniest thing she’s ever heard.

Smirking, I shake my head, unfolding my arms from my chest as I push off the door. She glares at me, but I see it in her eyes. The anxiety. The panic. I just don’t know what exactly she’s afraid of.

Is it because she thinks I’ll truly force submission on her unwillingly? Is it because she has feelings for me and is afraid to acknowledge them? Does she think she’s setting herself up to get hurt?

Unfortunately, I think it’s all of the above.

That’s exactly why I do what I do next. Ripping my already untucked shirt over my head, I throw it to the side and kick off my shoes before closing the distance between us. Her breathing is labored as she takes in my chest and body for the first time. I don’t give her time to explore. She can have that later.

Leaning in, I press my forehead to hers, devouring the sound of her gasp like it’s my last meal. “No, Princess. I’m hoping I can be yours,” I whisper.

And then, I drop to my knees, bow my head, and exhale a shuddering breath.

“I’m yours to do with as you wish, Mistress.”

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