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"It's me giving up my power to you in this arrangement!"
I scoff. "And how is that?"
"By handing over choice to me, you are charging me with taking care of you. You’re charging me with overseeing your welfare, your pleasure, your needs. You’re placing the onus of your wellbeing on me. You’re landing the task of steering your happiness on me. It’s a responsibility I take very seriously. To ensure you’re satisfied with my every decision, every action I take on your behalf. And underlining it is the fact that you have the power to say no. You can use your safe word anytime, and I will stop."
I open my mouth, but he raises his hand. "And if I push things to the extent that you use the safe word, it means I've failed you. It means I didn't gauge your requirements correctly. It means I’m not delivering to your expectations in which case, you can leave. So, the onus is on me to deliver. I may be in charge, but it’s you who has the power, not me."
I trace his features, trying to understand everything he just outlined.
"So outside of when I’m performing, you’re in control?"
He nods.
“Can I have friends? Can I go out and do things without you?”
“Sure you can, as long as I agree to it.”
“Eh? That sounds like I have no freedom at all.”
“If you want more freedom, all you have to do is ask, and we’ll discuss it until we reach an agreement that works for both of us.”
I blink. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It is, as long as we keep communicating. Also, you’ll find, little Rabbit, the intense pleasure and the multiple orgasms you derive from our arrangement will more than make up for your perceived lack of free will.”
Madonna Mia, he said the O-word, and my pussy instantly dampened. Is there a direct connection between the filthy words he spews and my cunt, or what? And I must admit, the confidence with which he handles my body, the way he makes me come, how he touches me, holds me, caresses me, punishes me… All of it is something I miss. Something I crave. Something I want in my life. The pressures of being in the public eye means I constantly have to make decisions about what to say and do. To have the freedom not to in my private life, to give up that choice to him, knowing he’ll make the right choice for me... is ... Freeing. Even if I can’t admit that aloud... Yet.
I fold my arms across my chest. "And you won’t direct what I wear when I’m on stage?"
A muscle over his jawline tics. The pulse at his temple picks up speed. Also, he’s doing that whole gritting-his-teeth-with-such-force-that-he’s-going-to-crack-his-molar thing. Anger vibrates off of him, and the atmosphere seems to close in on me. It’s a little frightening but also, so hot. I squeeze my thighs together.
Of course his gaze drops to the delta between my legs. Ugh, now he knows even his anger has the effect of turning me on. I hop from foot to foot, and that’s when he raises his gaze to mine. "Okay," he growls.
"Okay?" I tilt my head. Then because I can’t resist the urge to push at his control further, I ask: "So you’re okay with my wearing clothes ofmychoice on stage?"
He nods then makes that growling sound at the back of his throat, the one that seems to arrow straight to my core and makes me drench my panties further.
"So, I can wear the dress I had on the last time we met? The one you said I should only wear at home for you?"
He looks like he’s going to refuse, then slowly dips his head. "On one condition."
55
Declan
She’s agreed this far. At least, in principle, she’s not against the Dom/sub arrangement which, I’ll be honest, is what I worry about more than the fake relationship. The fake connection between us which could help rescue my career… and hers. And it’s important her future is secure. For the first time since I embarked on this journey of becoming the top-billed actor in Hollywood, my goals don’t matter.
And why was I so keen on that objective anyway? Was it to get the approval of my father? He’s never begrudged me my dream, but somewhere deep inside, I’ve always felt I’d let him down. Like he views my career as frivolous.
Sure, my brother Arpad is running the company on behalf of my father. And neither of them have ever compelled me or guilt-tripped me into feeling I shouldn’t pursue my own dreams, but I’ve always felt I was being disloyal to my family by striking out and wanting to make it on my own.
In that way, she and I are similar. We left behind everything known and wanted to be the masters of our own destinies. Only… I want more. I want her sighs, her acceptance, her consent… Also, her defiance and her strength to hold her own against me. I want to show her how much pleasure I can wring from her body. I want her submission. I want her. More than I've ever wanted anything in my life. More than the success I’ve craved, more than the adulation from my fans, more even, than the recognition of my peers… And coming from an actor, that’s something. We are narcissistic, self-focused, and obsessed with ourselves. I’ll do anything to feed my ego… Or rather, I would have done anything to feed my ego…
Until I met her. Now, I want her pleasure, her orgasm, her comfort, her love… I’m focused on her gratification. Obsessed by thoughts of how to fulfill her. Of how to ensure she enjoys this new association between us. I’ll do anything to feed her rapture. To stoke that craving I’ve sensed in her. I’ll set the world on fire if it means I can seduce her into submission.
"Declan?"
Her voice cleaves a path through the noise in my head. I zero in on her, and everything else fades. I go down on my knees and bring her hands to my lips. I kiss her fingers, then pull out a ring and slide it onto her finger.
