Page 14 of Power Struggle

I swallow, petting his head in what I hope is a soothing motion. “I’m fine, Jack.”

He growls. Legit growls, and the sound goes straight to my clit. “That’s not what I asked. I asked what happened.” He grips my hand, holding my wrist out for inspection. Every cell in my body shivers when he trails gentle fingers over my skin with all the love and care in the world. “Is this why you ran? Why you were crying?”

I can’t help it. I scoff. He drops my hand and jerks back to glare at me. A giggle leaves me at the sight of him on his knees, sitting two feet below me but glaring up at me like he’d like to incinerate me or bend me over his knee. That I can get on board with.

He cocks a brow in question. I roll my eyes, shoving him away so I can continue to peruse the room. “No. I ran because I have no intention of watching you fuck a woman in the tank when you’ve spent the entire night trying to convince me to give you a chance.” The words are said in a sardonic huff, but the ache in my heart remains.

He sputters. “What are you–” he breaks off.

“Did you already forget the brunette? Fuck, I guess those five minutes really weren’t memorable.” I bark a laugh as my fingers glide over a spanking bench. The leather is cool to the touch, even in the warm room. Now that I’m really looking around, I’m also noticing more panic buttons throughout. I assume they send the cops, or at least a heavy security protection up the take care of those situations. “Tell me, Pet. Will you forget me so easily?”

Despite the coolness of my tone, I know he can hear the hurt.

“Addison,” he murmurs. “Look at me.” I don’t. He huffs. “I didn’t fuck anyone.” He can’t see me, but I roll my eyes, even as a ball of hope blooms in my chest. “I didn’t. The woman was drunk, and despite my incessant protests, she tried to pull me in. I didn’t want to hurt her by physically removing her, but when I saw you run, I decided I didn’t give a fuck. I shoved her away. I sent security to take care of her and let her sleep it off in a safe place.”

My heart warms to new heights, and I feel the last ball of the tension drain from my body.

“I don’t know what else you need me to do to prove to you that I didn’t touch her, but I’ll do–” Jesus. He’s practically begging now. I really am a fucking bitch, aren’t I?

I turn to face him, shaking my head emphatically. “I believe you, Jackson.” He inhales sharply. I could, should apologize, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I was hurt, and I had a right to be. But it’s not his fault. Instead, I offer him something else. My total trust. “A man was being aggressive with me tonight and grabbed my wrist when you were with that woman.” He hisses and moves to stand, probably ready to kill the guy. It makes me warm and fuzzy inside. I hold a hand up to stop him. “He didn’t hurt me, Jack. Not really. I got away, and security removed him already, but then I saw you with her. That’s why I ran. But I’m okay now that I’m with you.”

He pauses, some of the fight leaving him, and tilts his head, observing me. His lip tips up. “You trust me.” The words are like an awed praise mixed with shock.

I swallow, nodding. “I do.” I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. I wouldn’t stay. “Don’t break it.”

With that, he drops down into the perfect submissive position and bows his head. I don’t miss the full-blown smirk he tries to hide. “I would never dream of it, Mistress.”

Turning away from him before he can see my misty eyes, I go back to my previous task. My gaze lands on the St. Andrews Cross. Something that’s commonly used with female submissives, but in my opinion, there is nothing sexier than seeing a man strapped to one and helpless while a woman uses his body for her own pleasure. Takes what she wants—what she needs—forcing him to hold back until she gives him permission to let go.

The next thing I spot is a chest of drawers in the corner. I make my way to it slowly, rocking my hips as I go. Peeking over my shoulder to check on Jack, I give him a wink when I see he’s still in the exact position I left him, lips dripping with saliva, slacks sitting low on his hips as he rests on his knees. His large erection is tenting his dark pants, and I take a second to let myself take in his form finally.

He’s beautiful. His skin is smooth, but there’s a smattering of reddish freckles across his chest that matches his nose, and it only endears him to me more. His abs are cut, as is his Adonis belt. His shoulders are broad, his muscles rippling. He’s not huge or overly bulky. He’s just perfect. Just Jackson.

Mine.

Okay. Calm down, Addison.

Opening the top drawer, I skim the assortment of bondage straps, Shibari ropes, chains, cuffs, zip ties, and even a roll of saran wrap. I shiver, my intense claustrophobia rearing its ugly head at the idea of mummification. Nope. Definitely too extreme. I pull out a silk blindfold and gag-ball, skipping over the bondage since the cross has chains. I drop them on the dresser and move to the second drawer.

“Scene paused,” I call out, still digging through the drawer. “What are your limits, Jack? Hard and soft,” I ask, realizing we haven’t even had a chance to discuss this.

He answers without skipping a beat. “You can do whatever you want to me, Addy. I mean that.” I shoot a shocked look at him, and he simply shrugs. “I trust you, Princess.”

The nickname sends a shiver down my spine, unlike any other has before. For some reason, it hits different than your standard baby or sweetheart.

It also hit different when he called me his perfect little whore, but I digress.

“Really? Anything?” That can’t be right.

Jack chuckles and rolls his eyes, clearly taking advantage of our momentary pause. “Don’t shit on me.”

A bark of surprised laughter escapes, and I turn to face him. Hand planted on my hip, I give him a coy smile. “But if I decide to piss on you, you’d be okay with it?” His eyes widen, and he shifts back slightly.

Gulping, he nods. “If that’s what you want, I’ll try it.”

I shudder, turning back to the dresser. “You lucked out, handsome. I may like fluid play, but not that kind.” To each their own, but personally, I draw the line at cum and spit.

“What about you?” he asks, an odd quality to his voice. I brush it off, digging through the assortment of dildos and vibrators.

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