Christian

Cat's out of the bag—I'm crazy.

If she didn't realize it sooner, the night before certainly spelled it out for her.

I reach my hand out for Anastasia, beautiful and indescribably enticing in nothing but a white towel clung to her siren's body, her hair wet and splaying across her shoulders. I know I've made a mark when even she can't withhold her dubious expression.

I try to brush off how aggrieved the look makes me, the way it churns me up internally. Jimmy Rushing and I belt out "Boogie Woogie" as I reach for her, a guileful attempt at wooing her. Winning back her somber affections.

Our fingers meet, and I flinch. Stricken with black flashes. From the edge of her towel, I can see what I'd done to her the night before. Her skin, thin and pale, is colored with the early signs of bruising, above her right breast. I withhold a groan at the sight. Horrified and horrifyingly taken that it was me who'd done this to her.

Grey is voracious. Fucking coward. If he was just going to insist on resurfacing, then maybe he should have been strong enough to endure whatever the fuck he was running from before he passed the reins.

This situation is unprecedented. Mortifying, even. I don't know how to keep him at bay anymore, and it affects me greatly. Irrational or not, I can't help but feel that the girl's presence has something to do with it. With 8 years under my belt, I've learned to deal with this caged monster. To keep him in check; and now I'm left unguarded, bereft of my own actions, as soon as she shows up on my doorstep.

But I cannot avoid her. The taste of her skin ignites me. She's been here just passing a week now, and the scent of her envelopes me like the most sensuous embrace when I return home from my workouts. Knowing that I will experience it again makes leaving her that much less unappealing.

Some ethereal, preternatural sense forebodes me. How much I crave her be damned—I know that if I find myself inside her, I will lose ground. Nearly too much to recover. Fucking her will be the last string that would undo all of this trying work.

And so with otherworldly strength, I resisted her last night.

God, at this very second, peering down into her endless ocean eyes, my cock floods for her, for the stimulus she drives in me. How capably she submitted beneath me, almost eager. The suggestion that she wanted me as much as I have yearned for her is too much to bare.

I understand how unfair this is to her.

I acknowledge how much money is required to even be considered to be here.

I despairingly accept that she came into this experience likely looking for a good, hard, dominating fuck.

I know how much I will wallow in suffering battling her allure.

But how willing am I to relinquish control of myself over one, temporary girl?

I wrap one arm around her towel-clad waist, lifting our hands up to one side as I shimmy her across the floor with me, hopelessly entertained by the shift from uncertainty in her brow to wry amusement curving one corner of her mouth. Whether it's my dancing or my crooning that entertains her, I don't know.

But I'm addicted to Miss Steele in a very bad way.

"Reading or writing?"

"Reading."

"Mathematics or science?"

"Hm… Science."

"Comedy or Romance."

"Comedy."

My eyebrows raise at this, and Anastasia observes me over her mug of tea. First me, then my hands paused on her feet, back to me again. I resume her massage at once; heaven forbid I displease her, the new object of all my inner turmoil. She is soft and compliant between my hands, aromatic almond and coconut oil sheening her skin.

"That's two things I wouldn't have guessed about you, Anastasia."

"Two things?"

"You like cooking programs and comedy specials, when you neither laugh nor cook," I chuckle to myself, delighted by the glare I sense her pin me with.

"I laugh," she sniffs, leaning over to deposit her mug on the glass table. Not expounding. Not noting when or what makes her laugh. My smile grows.

We're getting out of this house. The both of us. I would have preferred to hold off taking her down to the pub a while longer—most subs got to go around the first month mark—but I realize with some dismay that being wrapped in Anastasia's pheromones is making my struggle just that much harder.

On top of that, I am in desperate need of… something.

Guidance, help, a swift kick up the ass—something.

It seems when I'm out of the direct vicinity of the girl I can force myself to actually think. Which forces me to remember that, despite how it almost never feels like one, this is my job. This woman has paid a hefty sum of money for me to touch her and fuck her and I would be doing her a disservice to deny her that. As I had just resolved myself to doing.

My mind may have already been made up but it was foolish not to remember that Anastasia is not mine to control, in the grand scheme. If for any reason she doesn't believe she is getting her proper due, she can and very well may decide to leave. The thought is inconceivable. I can't allow it.

But I can't allow myself to slip into the void that my baser subconscious occupies, either.

If ever a more vexing conundrum existed…

So we'll both go out. I can treat Ana to a nice pub meal and atmosphere and hopefully catch Grace or Carrick for their advice on the matter.

I don't know if they can help me. I don't know if anything in the world can help me with this creature. But they've gotten me this far. They put a name to my face and the faceless man within me.

I trust them; the only two people in the world with the favor.

Evening hours of The Hub are a stark contrast to its day counterpart, which are my frequent. It's the perfect time for doms to get their subs as flustered as possible before parading them about to the rest of the community. Humiliation and public display were a large part of the allure; the alcohol and communal spirit of sharing temporary property another.

The very thought of another man—woman, entity, spirit, insect— touching Anastasia incites bewildering rage in me.

I have never experienced such a contemptuous feeling, but I can label it: blind possession.

I've not only offered up my girls to the other doms while under my watch, but offered them to the other subs as well. The idea now, for Ana, seems so brazenly heinous that my teeth suddenly snap together.

I'm certain I'm staring off into space again; Anastasia's undeviating attention always greets me when the haze breaks.

"I'm sure, mouse," I muse, recollecting myself, picking up where we left off. "The science preference makes sense."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"You are a very no-nonsense woman. Dare I say, even clinical?"

"I do laugh," she snaps insistently, and a bark of laughter escapes before I clap a hand over my mouth. She fumes. It does nothing to halt the shaking in my shoulders. When she kicks out at me, I grip her foot fast, placing a kiss on her instep. On an impulse, I sober, holding it to my face as I look back at her.

"If you kick me, pet, I reserve all rights to retaliate."

I shouldn't be doing this. Goading her.

From the very moment I met her, Anastasia has been promising me nothing but a challenge. Where other submissives showed fear and trepidation, Ana boldly bodes the opposite. Grey counts on her defiance, prays for it. As soon as I realize this, I drop her foot back to my lap like she's burned me, in case she is tempted by the offer. I resume rubbing between her toes as I clear my throat, redirecting my interests to anything other than punishing Anastasia.

Her watchful eyes miss nothing.

"I wouldn't have kicked you very hard," she offers.

I glance up at her ruefully. "I don't know about that, pet. You may be a lot stronger than I initially would have guessed."

Beneath her satin-smooth pale skin I've discovered an unexpected amount of muscle cording her calves, between her thighs. The indecent amount of times I gawk and paw at her is without question, but somehow I really managed to miss just how toned she is. Belatedly I wonder if I should have equipment delivered. If she would be pleased by this. She obviously takes very good care of herself. Unfortunately, that attracts me to her even more.

Definitely a siren.

Ana's previous little smile falters. Wavers. It's so rare, there is no way I wouldn't have noticed it. In the blink of an eye, her profile seems to have cooled. "I used to run here and there, back home."

Unable to resist the opportunity, I ask, "Would you be interested in running with me here? I'm happy to have a partner."

She deliberates for a moment, unblinking. "I'd like that," she says quietly.

"We'll start this week?"

"It's a date."

Fuck's sake, I'm hard again. If it weren't so irritating I would be embarrassed. I don't specifically remember teenage years but I doubt even then I would have been reduced to such raging hormones. If these erections are also due to Grey's restlessness, then I'm completely ready to snuff him out of existence.

I'm not the only one who has noticed.

With one patient, slow look down, Ana lifts her other leg, skimming her foot over the tent of my pants. "Does that excite you, Christian," she asks. "Thinking about seeing me panting and sweating beside you?"

Fuck's. Sake.

She knows exactly how much her image excites me; her toes are "palming" my cock beneath my sweats, and I quickly need to release her other foot; I'm not sensible enough to stop her, but I don't want to hurt her.

Well… I do.

But for the sake of my sanity, I do not.

"Pet," I warn, my hands balling to fists at my side, teeth grit. "Don't start something we don't plan to finish."

"Who said I wasn't planning to finish?"

I don't answer her. I can't. She's taken to stroking my abdominals with her left foot, caressing me, teasing my nipples. Toying with the waistband of my pants as her toes curl and play with my concealed erection.

I hiss once, hard. "Ana," and I would like to tell her, but this is her last warning. I will not allow her to stop if she continues now. I didn't come last night; and while subjecting myself to the wiles of this woman daily, that was a mistake.

"Pull your pants down for me, Christian," she murmurs.

Grey can't contain himself. Thrashing and gnawing at the edges of my vision, hooding my eyes; but I endure. Focusing entirely on the anchor that is Anastasia's gorgeous eyes. Not on the sensations she's driving me mad with. Not on my heartbeat resonating straight to the organ commanding all blood flow. I lift my hips for her, dragging the band of my sweats into my lap.

I groan as Ana licks her lips when I bob into view, and even in the very little she is wearing I need to see more. Invite more torture unto myself. "Scoot closer, pet. Part your knees. Yes, baby, just like that."

She's delicious. Between the milky smoothness of her thighs, her pussy glistens with her arousal. She's using both feet on me now, straightening me with one instep before gliding both up and down my length. The oil I've massaged her with is being used against me. Her strokes are lubricated with just the right speed, just the right amount of pressure.

"Touch yourself," I ground out, fighting off Grey. Fighting off orgasm before I can see the treat of Ana playing with herself.

She does so with no hesitation, sliding her shorts to the side before spreading her wetness over her sex.

I almost can't take it. Almost. The inky shadow hovering on the edge of my consciousness staves me off, and even though the unbearably erotic visions of Ana—tied up, naked and squirming in this very position while I flog her porcelain skin—pervade me, I hold out. Unwilling to share this experience. Wanting this moment with her all my own.

But, fuck, she doesn't make it easy. I can reel in but so many forces at once. I can smell her. Her and almond and coconut and the scent is dizzying.

Up, down, up, down, her slick little feet stroke me, her movements somehow clumsy, but not sloppy; the control that she always carries herself with is in her touch, pushing me ever closer. Her gaze is hot and heady as she masturbates herself—two fingers fucking her tight pussy, two fingers rubbing quick, lazy circles over her clitoris.

Wet slicking of her feet over my dick and her fingers over her precious cunt gloss the air; accompany Ana's quiet mewls and my diaphragm-deep moans. And she never looks away. Not once.

She comes then, her body tensing as a shudder vibrates her frame, locks her muscles in place. Growling, I grip her feet with both hands, forcing them to fuck me root to tip until my hips rock up and lock as well, cum shooting and roping straight into the air before landing on the tips of her toes. The back of her feet. Her ankles and my thighs.

No sooner than I release her feet am I dragging Ana down to me by her legs, pulling her into my lap and cupping her neck to fasten my lips to hers, thrusting my tongue past her parted lips to lick across her sensuous mouth.

The things this girl does to me. How quickly she has me spun for her. You could have warned me a thousand times and I wouldn't have believed it. I've never wanted another person more in my entire, recognizable life. Bordering on ridiculous and excess. Whatever spell she's casted in showing up here, she's succeeded. She's got me by the balls, strung up and awaiting.

I'm in far too deep.

I reluctantly release Ana for a shower, and to dispose of my cum laden sweatpants.

With the sun setting low, we dress light and start for dinner.

The Hub glows with a distinct, unhasty energy. The evening not yet dark enough to invite the night patrons while ushering out the afternoon crowd in preparation for them. Like an old western saloon transplanted to a remote island, various uncomplicated paintings hang from the wide space. The decoration is almost antique but atmospheric. I recognize the faces dotting the intimate round tables among the room. I nod in all of their general directions. My hand on the small of Anastasia's back pressing closer.

We cross the threshold, proceeding over the heavy unpolished wood planks that add a particular charm, our steps loud and creaking.

Ros stands dutifully behind the smooth, marble bar, a glint in her eye as she whistles a catcall at our approach.

"Look who's decided to surface. I haven't seen you in some time, Christian." Naturally, no. I only come during the day, and she is purely a night hostess.

"Ros," I reply in greeting, sliding into my barstool after Anastasia is in hers. "Are Grace and Carrick in?"

"Yep. They're in the back. Need me to grab them?"

"It's nothing urgent," I assure her, "But let them know I'm looking for them. Its quiet tonight, isn't it?"

"Everyone must've gotten the memo you were showing up." Her dark eyes slide over to Anastasia, a smirk forming. "And this…?"

"This is Ana. Ana—Ros."

Anastasia's head is lowered when I glance down at her. For a fleeting second I wonder if she's alright, before I realize that this is a show of subservience. I'm struck by the fact that Ana hadn't shown me, her dominant, such docility. Apart from the very first few seconds of our meeting. From there it ranged from icy standoffishness to coolly impassive.

"Nice to meet you, precious," Ros purrs. I see her interest plainly. Hard to blame her.

"And you, Ros," Ana replies, her voice low but level. She doesn't lift her head.

I frown at the curtain of hair blocking my view of her. Shock had framed her wide eyes in our first meeting. And she'd been disciplined without my need to say so with her body, so I'm not surprised by her good manners in the presence of strangers.

But she never bothered to hide her face from me. I feel blockaded now. To already be so unreadable, my fingers twitch with the desire to pull her head back and force her eyes to mine. To see what momentary glimpses into her thought processes I can decipher.

Ros steals the honor from me. She takes Ana's chin between her thumb and forefinger, studying the brunette's face, twisting her this way and that. I hide one supremely balled fist in my hand, my eyes tight as I watch every movement between them. In my head, Grey and I agree on one simultaneous thought: Mine. The intensity of the claim stuns me.

Ana makes no unnecessary moves under Ros's uninvited touch, but she doesn't resist. Bemused, I look on as the encounter goes on for far longer than I appreciate.

Foolishness, I chide myself. Folly and hubris.

This is reprehensible. To be regarding this woman as I am; so… personally, and not for the first time! The possession I feel for this girl is repulsing to a stomach flipping degree. As if her showing up here released her of all rights to be found attractive to anyone else.

And if she had only a clue…

If she had any idea what nightmares my baser side would perform on her… The things we would subject her to if given half the chance… No.

She is not mine.

I stiffen in my seat as a volley of violence erupts behind my eyes.

Grey doesn't approve.

The first day I led her into my home, I'd considered what life it was she'd put on hold that brought her to me. I'd pegged her for business. For the wife of an unsatisfying husband. Despite knowing full well she has no such man in her life, Grey has a sidereel playing of all the ways to eliminate any competition from taking Ana away from me. Horrible, ghastly, expensive ideas that relieve me that he is locked away and I have taken his place.

Competition…the thought is insufferable.

All of my thoughts are suddenly insufferable.

"I think I'm jealous, Christian. This one is a catch and a half."

I'm snapped back to glaring at the side of Ana's head. When I don't reply to Ros, annoyed and willing my jaw to relax in its clenching, she asks if we'll be ordering. I wave her away, admittedly a bit rudely, telling her we'll need a moment. Taking stock of myself.

Beside me, once Ros is clearly out of earshot, Ana raises her eyes to mine. Looking almost as curiously at me as I am at her. She doesn't say anything. Really, she doesn't need to. Her face, for once, says it all.

What's wrong with you?

I turn away from her then, bothered by how desperately I wanted to see her mere moments ago but decamping as soon as her clever eyes call me out on my strange behavior. I don't understand my actions, my reactions, any more than she does.

They're new to me, too.

"Are you ready to eat, pet?" I ask, releasing my fist to slide the menus between us, not awaiting a response.

"Do I have a choice?"

I smile despite myself. "No."

In a way, Ana's rigid discipline is soothing. She doesn't fidget. She doesn't twist and turn to take in her surroundings. There is no fear or tension in her posture. And in that way that is distinctly Ana, I know that some part of her mind is trained on me, studying me quietly and without interruption.

Feeling more composed, I lean into her, gathering her traitorous hair off of the shoulder facing me and twisting it unto the other. I nuzzle her bare cheek, then skim the tip of my nose across to whisper into her ear.

"You're never this well behaved when it's just me."

"I'm always well behaved." Her tone is a honeyed mewl, soft and low and only meant for me.

"I very much recall you wanting to kick me in the face an hour ago, pet."

"You offered." Her head turns to me, a fraction of a smile on her lips. In just this small exchange I regret having brought her here, regret sharing her intoxicating presence with anyone else. I want to swing her over my shoulder and pound the pavement to get home. To throw her down on the nearest flat surface and ravage her raw. Fireplay is one of her hard limits, but I want to brand her with my essence. Mark her irrevocably so that there is no mistaking whom she is with.

Impossibly clever, she must see into my fantasies. Must know how degraded and elementary my feelings toward her are. She's not simple-minded. By now she's seen more than enough of my tumultuous displays around her to have formed her opinions. Likely plotting a time to make the call that would whisk her away from me.

But her hand has somehow found its way into my lap.

And she's looking up at me in a way that says the complete opposite of my thoughts.

"I'll eat If it means we can go back home," she teases.

Home.

We…

In a blink she's quelled my delirious haze. My shoulders suddenly ache as I relax them, sagging from the weight of seeing straight again. My sadistic fascination with her lives on; the too-vivid revelries dripping down from my chest and settling hot and heavy in my balls.

I know instantly that I've just dipped a toe into Grey's eyes.

"Hungry yet?" My eyes shoot to Ros who bounds back over to our section of the bar but pauses as she gets a good look at me, oblivious to the mess of myself I'm making in her pub. "Whoa… Sorry, Christian. Am I interrupting?"

Fuck man, get a grip.

"No. You're fine. What would you like, Ana?" I straighten in my seat. Focus on the laminated plastic in front of me.

"A burger, please. Medium-rare."

"Same." I prefer my burger well done, but I don't correct the order.

"Drinks?"

"Hm…" Ana passes me a short glance as she hums, thinking. "A long island for me."

My reply is automatic, "Water."

"Coming right up."

"Thank you. Not drinking for the occasion?" Ana inquires once Ros departs.

"I never drink, pet."

"Why's that?"

"Not for me." I collect her menu, stacking it with mine to slide back to its original position beside me. "And what's the occasion?"

"Our first date night, of course." I still as I raise my eyes to hers. The feigned expectation in her eyes has a smile tugging at me.

"We're on a date, are we?"

"Aren't we?" she challenges, mischief in her.

I give her a look. One eyebrow raised.

"Do you remember your first date, Christian?"

"I don't."

"Your first kiss?"

"Nope."

"First fuck?"

Desire pools hot in my stomach a second time hearing the word fall from her lips. "No, again." I just narrowly stop myself from asking her the same question, but know exactly where that will lead me. Enough baiting the beast. "Thank you, Ros."

Ros sets our respective drinks down in front of us and winks at me when she leaves. She was once one of the women I thought I was attracted to. Had no trouble sleeping with and then moving on the next day. I feel next to nothing now towards her. Not with Ana sitting in the same room.

"It must be nice," Ana muses, startling me. The jury is still out for debate as to if she can read minds. "Not being tied to your past. Being able to forget things you probably don't want to remember."

I shrug under the weight of her suddenly lofty gaze. No single part of me feels unseen. Even Grey frolics in the attention, but I send a silent prayer that he is the one thing she never uncovers. "At times. As anything."

"As anything," she echoes.

We lapse into an easy silence, but it doesn't last long with Grey battering at my concentration, so I pull Ana into another round of menial questions that give me tiny peeks into her mystery.

She doesn't have any cousins. She's well-traveled. She has never been to New Zealand but wants to go. Her favorite comedian is a British man I've never heard of, but vow to watch with her this very week. I don't cease my interview when the food arrives. I've only ever had my burger well done, that I can recall, but Ana has converted me, and so my meal with her is made just that much more enjoyable.

Medium-rare is superior.

In the midst of some choice tongue-in-cheek humor, I feel a hand clap me on the shoulder.

I'd been watching Ana, so I knew that they were there before they'd ever touched me, and I turned to look up into Carrick's warm and sun-worn smiling face, matched only by Grace's behind him.