Page 39 of Once Upon A Sale

“I’m listening.” I’m rewarded with three pumps of his dick in rapid succession, like he’s getting off on my compromise. In fact, he seems to be turned on by both my fight and my submission, which is original to say the least.

Wrapping my fingers around the slats of the headboard to relieve some of the pressure from his thrusts, I close my eyes for the briefest of moments as he works my lust to his advantage. He pumps in and out, slowly, reverently, using everything he’s learned about my reactions to subdue me. I allow him this leniency. I let him win this battle so I can slay him in the war.

“I’m a dominant at heart, a master at reading people.” He’s mastering this fuck is what he’s doing. “I have a gift for manipulating women’s bodies. I can exploit their needs and their fears so they’ll kneel at my feet and do whatever I want them to do.”

For fuck’s sake. I’ve heard of women falling for men who are mirror images of their fathers but this is next level daddy issues, right here. My father abused and manipulated my mother to the point she decided death was better than living with the memory of her torture.

“So…what you’re saying is…” Oh fuck fuck fuck, he’s sucking that sweet spot between my neck and collar bone into his mouth, probably leaving me with an unmistakable mark.

“What am I saying, Kitten?”

“That you’re an abuser?” Fuck, I hate myself for loving everything he does to my body. My only relief is that once I’m free from this lustful prison, I’ll be able to think more clearly without interruptions.

“No, sweetheart. I’m a trainer. My job is to make sure the girls are properly trained for their masters. But also…” I’m about to come but it feels dirty to do it now. In fact, this whole fucking bare-all sexfest is surreal. “I can anticipate when a woman is too broken so I fake their deaths and send them back to their families.”

My eyes pop open at his admission. We both stop fucking, staring at each other like this moment is defining.

“But…oh fuck, okay…right there.” Wait, what was I going to say? His dick is distracting me, I can’t think.

“Goddamn, you’re perfect. So tight and wet and always fighting me, but just before you come, you give yourself to me.” His words are strained, spoken through his teeth like he’s using every single muscle to keep from losing his control.

Reaching behind him, he unhooks my ankles, and in an instant, I’ve got my legs around his hips. This is the proverbial white flag and I’m waving it around at least until I come because I’m anticipating something fucking huge here.

Just as my hips fly off the bed, he palms both my ass cheeks and squeezes hard enough that I’ll have bruises for days. I don’tcare because this new angle is everything that’s right in the world.

“Yes, yes! Oh fuck!”

The headboard is slamming into the wall, causing the paintings and picture frames to shake every time his hips thrust into me. It’d be violent if it weren’t so fucking amazing. Every inch of him is hard and thick, the head of his cock hitting my G-spot like it’s on a fucking tracker app.

“Give it to me, Kitten.”

And goddamn him for making me so fucking pliable when it comes to my orgasm. Fuck him for making me feel so fucking good.

“You’re an asshole.” I’m panting, words muffled from the gulps of air I’m trying to take in as my body freezes and my cunt milks his dick for everything he’s giving me.

Jarrett pushes deep then tenses. He’s not breathing either as his dick spills everything he’s got. I can smell the mix of us, the hard core sex is strong and making me hornier than before. But the sounds? Those are addicting. That wet, gliding sound of his dick sliding, now, in an out as he begins breathing again.

“Hmm, all I heard is that you want me to fuck your asshole.” Bringing his lips to mine, he kisses me as hard as he just fucked me, then smirks. I want to growl at him or roll my eyes but it turns out I’m exhausted. Physically, my body can’t fathom moving an inch, and mentally, I’ve checked out of all cerebral activities for the foreseen future. “Give me a sec, sweetheart, and I’ll lube it up for you.”

Cocky bastard.

We spend the rest of the day trying to process what happened in that bed earlier. He runs hot water in the claw-foot tub, adding lavender bath bombs to give us total sensory pleasure. To my surprise, he doesn’t get in right away, but spends an hour washing and rubbing and rinsing off every deliciously battered inch of my body.

Before I get out, though, I’m lucid enough to continue our conversation because I’ve got a million questions running through my mind.

“What guarantees do you have that the girls don’t make it their personal ambition to find you and kill you for what you’ve done to them?” My anger has left my tone, for now at least. Earlier, it was the surprise element that had my emotions in overdrive, whereas, now, I’m going with calm and collected so I can get as much out of him as I can.

Our eyes meet, and without saying a word, there’s something like a truce made in that instant. Humming like he’s made a decision and plans on going through with it, he stands, unplugs the tub, and allows the water to drain right out. We both watch, mesmerized by the tiny tornado forming at the drain, and it feels a bit like foreshadowing.

Once the water is low, he takes the nearest big, fluffy, towel and extends his hand to me. I watch him, assessing him under this new light, and wonder why I didn’t see it before.

The dom is there, always has been, but because I’m searching for it, I can see the depths of his monsters. That darkness that’s embedded in the very fiber of his soul. I’m anticipating only seeing that but when his eyes meet mine, it’s like watching a transformation happening. The smile from his lips kisses the lines at the corners of his eyes. It’s not forced and it’s not fake.

When his gaze is on me, his darkness retreats and the green of his eyes brightens.

I don’t think I’ve ever had that kind of effect on anyone. Not Logan, who claims I make him happy; not Tabatha, who swears I saved her life in more ways than one; not Opie, who got a second chance with our friendship; and definitely not my mother, who, despite loving me, still saw me as the result of my father’s sins.

Jarrett, though? Jarrett…he sees me, and for that, I’m giving him an inch.

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