Page 53 of Wanted
Oh, he intended to.
* * *
Pony/Anna
“Clothes off,” Marcus announced, startling Anna. Nervous as she was, she hadn’t noticed him making his way to her through the increasing crowd of club members, nor had she heard his approaching footsteps. She jumped a little when he set an unfamiliar play bag on the end of the table and a glass vase full of water and ice down on the floor.
There was no one else with him. Her heart skipped and that flock of butterflies in her stomach leapt and soared.
“Are… are you going to do it?” she asked as he opened the bag and rummaged through the contents.
Stopping, he looked at her a moment, then abandoned what he was doing and came around to where she was sitting. He braced a hand on the edge of the padded table to either side of her hips. “Let me be very clear. I am not prepared to watch you with anyone else. Now, I need you to be very clear with me. Do you want to play with someone else?”
No. God, no. Her one experience tonight had proved that. But how to tell him that? The words for something that deeply profound just didn’t exist.
She shook her head.
“Let me be very clear about something else. I don’t know if I will ever be able to watch you play with someone else. Does that scare you, make you happy, sad… nervous?”
“Relieved.” The confession was out of her before she knew it was going to travel from her brain to her lips.
He nodded. “When I take you home tonight, I want to talk to you about renegotiating our contract. I’d like you to consider embarking on something less temporary than what currently exists between us. Is that something you want to do?”
She was going to cry all over again. She swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to cut back the tears, and nodded.
“If I have learned nothing else tonight, it’s that my end goal has just become to put my collar on you. I meant what I said in the hall, Anna. I want you as mine, all of you. Every part. I want to own you—your mind, your body. All the parts you like, the parts you don’t, the parts that still need work, everything. It’ll take more than one conversation stretched out over many months, but be brutally honest with me. If you have reservations, we’ll discuss them. If you have fears, we’ll face them. If you need more time, I’ll give it, as much as you need for as long as you need it. But if you know in your heart right now that being owned by me is something you don’t want, I need you to tell me. You’ve been through hell, and I’ll understand. But if you don’t tell me no right now, I am going to claim every part of your body tonight, and I have no intention of sharing you. You. Will. Be. Mine. So, what do you want to do?”
She was shaking, she was so happy. “I want to take off my clothes.”
“Do you understand that I intend to fuck your mouth tonight?”
She scrambled off the table in her haste to get on her knees. She opened her mouth, the tears she’d been trying so hard to fight back overwhelming her to spill down her cheeks.
“I’m going to take your ass too.”
She shoved far enough back from him to drop her head to the floor. Yanking her skirt up and her panties down, she thrust her ass into the air, grabbed her cheeks and spread them for him.
“Is that a yes?” He sounded amused.
“Yes, Sir,” she said, loudly and clearly.
“I won’t be gentle. Your body is going to feel my ownership every single day. You’ll never have reason to doubt it.”
She didn’t know that being so thoroughly broken on someone else’s words could be so beautiful. Letting go of her ass, she covered her face with both hands and just sobbed. “Thank you, Sir.”
“Strip,” he said again.
Scrubbing at her watery eyes, she crawled to her feet and stripped out of her dress. A milky stain coated the gusset of her panties, proof of his ownership of her pussy already. She wadded them up, embarrassed, proud, and flustered all at once.
He held out his hand before she could stuff them under her discarded dress. Reluctantly, she handed them over, helpless to do anything but watch as he turned them crotch out.
“Get used to this,” he told her. “I’ll be using you often and well.”
Shivers wracked her. She loved that terminology. She loved the instant visualization it inspired, and knowing he meant exactly what he said.
“Up on the table. Face down.” He held out a steadying hand until she was up and then went back to his bag. She heard the light click of bondage rings bumping against wood and hard plastic. She resisted the urge to look back over her shoulder, though the urge did get stronger when she heard the softer tell-tale clink of ice knocking about in a glass.
“Have you ever tried fire writing?” he asked.
