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- Herausgeber: Boruma Publishing
- Kategorie: Erotik
- Sprache: Englisch
Reclaiming His Rights
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
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Reclaiming His Rights
Artwork by Moira Nelligar
Copyright 2021 Elena Nix
All characters in this book are fictional and are over eighteen.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Lila’s hand froze on the knob for a fraction of a second before she regained her composure.
“You know perfectly well where I’m going,” she snapped at her husband. She had been meeting a few girls from the office for drinks on Friday nights for the last several months.
“You didn’t say anything to me about it.”
She whirled toward the sound of Jason’s voice, startled by how quickly and quietly he had crossed the room. Another few steps and he was beside her, leaning casually against the door she was about to open. Despite his relaxed posture, there was a keen watchfulness in his gray-green eyes that reminded her of a cat waiting for the movement that would trigger it to pounce. She turned the knob and pulled, but he held the door closed.
“Knock it off, Jason. I’m meeting the same friends I’ve been meeting every Friday. Now let me open the door.”
Without taking his hand off the door, he angled his body behind hers. She spun to keep facing him as he pivoted toward the wall. She didn’t realize she had been backing up until she felt the wall against her backside. He moved closer until she was backed completely against the wall. He waited for her to make eye contact. When she didn’t, he reached for her chin and tilted her face up toward his. She tossed her head, but he caught her chin.
“Look at me, kitten.”
Her eyes locked on his automatically. She was too busy sorting out how she felt about being called “kitten” to balk at his order. “Kitten” was a name Jason hadn’t used in nearly a year—not since the day he decided their relationship would change forever. “Kitten” had been the name he used to signal that he was speaking as her Dominant and that he expected her to respond as his submissive.
Even before Jason had unilaterally eliminated the Dominant/submissive dynamic of their relationship, they hadn’t fully inhabited those roles at all times. Using “kitten” and “Sir” allowed them to signal the transition from everyday life with its equally shared responsibilities to the sphere in which she craved his dominance and he demanded her submission. Jason had locked them both out of that sphere the day he made a mistake he refused to forgive.
There was no reason Jason should be calling her “kitten” now. As far as Lila was concerned, he had thrown away that right. She still loved him and she always would, but she was also hurt and angry. The months since Jason had sliced out that part of their relationship had been hard, but she was finally starting to adjust. The last thing she needed was to have those feelings stirred up again.
She tried again to jerk her chin away, but he tightened his grip. Unwilling to acknowledge the heat in his gaze, she let her eyes wander to the lock of dark hair that had fallen forward to rest rakishly over his eyebrow.
“Kitten,” Jason warned when she broke eye contact.
His voice was low and serious. She thought of it as his “I mean business” Dom's voice, and it made her shiver. She ignored the fluttery feeling in her stomach.
“Don’t call me that!”
He searched her face without responding to her demand. He expected her anger, but he was looking for something else. The arch of her eyebrows and the set of her mouth conveyed her indignation, but he knew it was her eyes that would tell him the whole story. They were large and expressive, fringed by sable lashes that shielded her gaze when her eyes were averted. Anger smoldered in their dark brown depths as she glared up at him.
She narrowed her eyes and tried to pull away, but she had nowhere to go. Undeterred, Jason shifted to insinuate his leg between her thighs. Her eyes widened in shock, and for a moment she dropped her guard. Beneath the anger, he could see pain and longing. He took his hand from the door and brushed her honey-brown hair back from her face.
“You’re staying home with me tonight, kitten.”
“Stop calling me that! You have no right!”
She pushed at his chest, but he caught her wrist and pinned it back against the wall. When she tried to pull his hand away from her chin, he caught her other hand. He gathered her wrists in one hand and held them crossed against the wall over her head, leaving his other hand free to roam.
“No right? That’s what we’re going to find out.” He ran his hand slowly down her side. “We have all night to see whether or not I still have the right.”
He watched her face, gauging her reaction. She looked furious, but also a little lost, like she was torn and didn’t know what to feel. Her guard came back up quickly, but not before he had seen faint hope warring with her resistance. For months, she had kept her anger tightly controlled as it simmered beneath the surface, vented only in impatience, frayed nerves, and occasional discourtesies. Far worse was the emotional distance she had put between them, all for the sake of suppressing the accusations against him that he knew her mind was screaming. That was going to end tonight.
He ran his hand up over her ribcage. She let out an outraged squeak when he reached the underside of her breast.
“Stop it! I’m going to be late!”
He palmed her breast and kneaded it, denying her a chance to regain her composure. Her nipple hardened, straining against the fabric of her bra and blouse. He flicked the side of his thumb back and forth across it until her eyes began to dilate, a sure sign that arousal was overtaking her.
“I’ve already texted your friends to let them know you aren’t coming.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but he pinched her nipple to keep her off-balance while he leaned down to cover her mouth with his. His kiss was hungry and aggressive, borne of need and frustration. She froze for a moment, but when his tongue pushed past her lips, she tried to yank her hands free from where he held them above her head. He pulled back from the kiss and shifted his stance to force his leg further between her thighs, grinding it against her mound.
Satisfied that she couldn’t easily slip away, he released her wrists. He tangled his hand in her hair and pulled her head back. Before his mistake—before he had given up his role as her Dominant—Lila had often unconsciously tilted her head to expose her throat in an instinctive display of submission. Now he forced the position and exaggerated it, hoping to remind her of the feeling.
Lila wasn’t ready to feel that way. She pulled against his grip on her hair until her eyes watered. When that failed, she grabbed his forearm and tried to pull his hand away from her breast.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Jason? You have no right.”
He pulled her head back further. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we? Or are you asking for mercy?”
“Mercy” had been Lila’s safe word. He had chosen it for her because he knew how reluctant she would be to use it. She never had. Asking for mercy went against her nature. He was reminding her of it now not because he thought she had forgotten her safe word or would actually use it, but to make a point. She could stop him with a single word if she was completely unwilling to let him reassert his authority. He was gambling that her aversion to asking for mercy was strong enough to give him the opening he needed to reclaim her submission.
He released her nipple and wrapped his hand lightly around her neck, restraining her without applying any pressure. She grabbed his arm and tried uselessly to pull his hand away.
“Do you want to ask for mercy, Lila?”
His taunt was the last straw.
