Give In To Me (14 page)

She shook her head, trying to banish the thought. And fortunately—or unfortunately,
perhaps—there was plenty to replace it. She’d come home expecting Amber to have dinner
ready, only to find that she’d forgotten she’d promised, was on her way out to meet
friends, and could she borrow twenty dollars? April, out of habit, had started to
reach for her purse—but then she’d remembered her talk with Rogan about this and gingerly
reminded her sister that she’d given her a fifty just over the weekend. Amber had
acted hurt and embarrassed, even crying—until April had relented and given her the
money. Yet then it had become a big game of shoving it back and forth along with a
repetition of, “No, I don’t need it,” and “I want you to have it.” Just recalling
the conversation now made April feel tired.

After Amber’s departure, April had found a message on her answering machine—Allison
needed her to watch the kids Friday night.
Needed
, not wondered if she could—like April was her servant or something. She’d not returned
the call, and she had every intention of refusing whenever Allison next approached
her.

But the truth was, she’d probably give in, just like with Amber and the money. She
sighed at her own weakness—she had a lot of nerve judging Kayla for being wishy-washy.
And she was surprised Allison hadn’t texted her about Friday by now, given that April
was usually quick to return a call.

Of course, Rogan had added to her stress, too. Funny—it was almost like a catch-22.
Her strange surrender during their kinky sex had left her oddly . . . relaxed in a
way, right afterward. Though she’d left his apartment sure she needed to escape, be
alone, once she finally
was
alone, she’d found herself quietly . . . calm. Acceptant. Practically happy. But
the catch part was that the more she thought about that, the more it disturbed her.
To be
happy
while a man dominated her, in any way whatsoever, went against everything she was.

And she wasn’t sure what she was going to do about this situation—she had no idea
at all. So maybe it was good she had so much going on at both work and home to occupy
her time and mind. And maybe that was why she was walking up the beach right now.
It seemed a . . . safer stress reducer than, say, calling up her new lover. And when
that idea had actually occurred to her an hour ago, she’d briskly shoved it away.
Changed into shorts and a tank. Then grabbed her keys to go get something to eat.
And it was over a grilled chicken salad at a neighborhood deli that she’d decided
to drive to the beach.

Of course, the fact was, Rogan’s apartment wasn’t far from here. And there were other
beaches she could have walked on.

But the
other
facts were that Miami Beach was certainly the best, biggest beach for taking a nighttime
stroll—and although quiet, the occasional couple or elderly person she passed on the
shore helped her feel safe. It was a populated area, and not all beaches in the vicinity
came with that luxury.

So coming here had nothing to do with him. This was about relaxing, unwinding, getting
away from her troubles. In a nice,
normal
way.

So quit thinking about him. Quit thinking about anything. Just concentrate on the
shushing sound of the waves. Look out on the dark water. Clear your head for a change.
That’s what you came here for.

And so she did. And maybe she’d forgotten how at once calming and invigorating the
ocean could be. She took it for granted, she knew. And maybe . . . maybe she even
resented it a little. She’d never wanted to come live here, after all. Having her
whole adolescent life uprooted had just added to the cold, hard reality that her parents
were dead.

Yet this seemed like a good time to stop resenting it and start appreciating it, maybe
in a whole new way. So she stopped walking and looked out on the water, a nearly full
moon casting a ribbon of sparkling light on the surface. And she took in the beauty
and felt thankful for it. And glad she’d come. And like . . . like she was exactly
where she was supposed to be in this moment.

When her phone softly chimed, indicating the arrival of a text message, she cringed
inwardly.
I knew it—there’s Allison.
Then she reached into the purse hanging from her shoulder, both irritated and curious
to see her sister’s next plea about Friday night.

Only then she gasped. Because it wasn’t Allison. The name
ROGAN WOLFE
blipped at the top of her screen.

She drew in her breath.

Though maybe I shouldn’t be so stunned.
But three days had passed without a word from him, and somehow she’d begun to think
maybe he wouldn’t contact her after all. That maybe he’d wait to hear from her, and
when he didn’t, he’d drift quietly away, right back out of her life. The truth was—seeing
his name on her phone was both unnerving and thrilling. She clicked to read his message.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

It was a simple question, harmless enough. But she immediately decided to lie. She
didn’t want to let him know she was so close to his building. She typed in a reply:
READING A BOOK.
She scarcely had time to read for pleasure, but she thought it sounded like something
she would do.

COME TO MY APARTMENT.

She drew in a quick, hard breath. So much for small talk.
NO.

YES.

I CAN’T. DUE IN COURT IN THE MORNING.
Another lie. She didn’t care. Self-preservation seemed much more important.

When an answer didn’t appear right away, she began to think maybe she’d won, that
easily. Maybe he was even angry at her refusal. But she didn’t care. She still wasn’t
sure how she felt about this whole thing—the whole bizarre relationship they’d somehow
fallen into—yet right now her instinct was to rebel against it all as usual.

Just when she felt the pressure inside her beginning to fade, the phone chimed and
she glanced down.

DON’T FIGHT ME, GINGER. BE A GOOD GIRL AND COME TO ME.

This time when she drew in her breath it was with a combination of rebellion and . . .
temptation. Just a little. Because something in the demand
did
thrill her. Her body
did
pulse for him—there was no longer any denying their electrical chemistry.

And she couldn’t help wondering, just for a few seconds, what it would be like if
she went. The same as last time? Or different in some way.

But then she got hold of herself and typed in:
NO.

And again his answer was slow in coming, and she’d begun to think he’d given up—when
his reply arrived.
WE BOTH KNOW YOU WILL. NO SHAME IN THAT. NO SHAME IN WANTING ME TO FUCK YOU. NO SHAME
IN WANTING ME TO TAKE CARE OF YOU WHILE WE MAKE EACH OTHER FEEL GOOD.

God. He made it sound so . . . almost innocent. So . . . not kinky. Well, except for
the bossiness. Which both grated on her and . . . aroused her, damn it.

She kept walking, putting one foot in front of the other on the packed, wet sand,
considering her reply. Or maybe her reply would be
no
reply. That would show him a thing or two. Like who was in charge here. At least
who was in charge of
her
.

Of course, her heart beat like a drum in her chest. And her whole body seemed to pulse
with that strange hunger he inspired in her. A hunger only he could feed. Her pussy
felt like the biggest part of her body, aching for him to fill it. To fill all of
her. Every naughty, lusty crack and crevice.

She stopped walking, inexorably torn, and glanced back at the display on her phone.
WE BOTH KNOW YOU WILL.

Was she truly that weak? That predictable?

No, she wasn’t. She wouldn’t be.

Go back to your car. Now. Go home. Prove him wrong. Prove. Him. Wrong.

And she had every intention of doing just that, heading back toward where she’d parked.
She even turned around, facing northward on the beach again, the lights of tall hotels
in the distance coming into view.

But she stayed in place, her feet sinking into the sand. In the spot where she stood,
it was a bit softer, giving way beneath her. Or maybe she’d just been moving too fast
before to notice that if she stayed in one place for a moment, the earth beneath her
became more yielding.

Glancing across the beach toward the modern mishmash of condos and apartment buildings
just beyond the sand, she wondered exactly how close she was to Rogan. Her heart beat
harder still with the idea that he was very near.
God, he’s like a magnet to me.
And . . . had he somehow sensed her nearness, too? Is that what had made him text
her right now, of all times?

She shook her head.
Quit being silly.

But then she glanced at the nearby buildings again. And, like the lawyer she was,
she began to turn everything over in her mind once more, but this time she was able
to twist it, to think outside the box, to see it all in a brand new way.

She’d just told herself she was in charge of herself. And if that was true . . . and
if she wanted to answer him, wanted to be with him . . . if she wanted to give herself
over to him the same way she had before, understanding the compulsion better now . . .
well, then maybe to do so was . . . actually more of a strength than a weakness? Maybe
trying to run away from her desires—even the kinky ones—was actually the weaker move
here. Maybe the true way to show herself exactly how strong she could be was to . . .
face what she wanted. Boldly. To stop resisting it.

Ironically, maybe sometimes the strong thing to do was to . . . surrender.

Her breath trembled at the realization, at the . . . acceptance.

That she was going to surrender. Willingly this time. Because it was what she wanted.
That simple.

Her fingers quivered while she texted him back.
I LIED. I’M AT THE BEACH, WALKING.
She didn’t even pause before hitting Send.

He answered right away.
WHERE EXACTLY?
And her chest constricted.

Looking around, she tried to figure out how to describe a bunch of buildings that
weren’t particularly unique: pastel stucco, stark, modern. But then she realized there
were a couple of obvious landmarks.
THERE’S A PARK UP AHEAD, OFF THE BEACH. LOTS OF TREES. AND A LIFEGUARD STATION. STRIPED.
South Beach was sprinkled with more than a dozen colorful lifeguard huts, each unique
in design and color.

STAY WHERE YOU ARE,
he texted.

She drew in her breath once more.
WHY?

And trembled anew when his reply came.
JUST BE MY GOOD GIRL AND STAY.

She wanted to. Be his good girl.
Just accept it. Just give in and let it be.

So even though the text didn’t really require an answer, and even though there was
something difficult—and final—about sending her simple response, she did anyway:
OKAY.

And in fact, she didn’t move an inch. She kept her feet rooted where they were, gradually
sinking deeper and deeper into the soft, wet sand. It felt almost as if taking even
one step in any direction might just unhinge her, send her running away still—and
she didn’t
want
to run away. She wanted to stay. Be his good girl. See how amazing he would make
her feel
this
time.

She wasn’t sure exactly what direction he’d be coming from, but it was less than five
minutes later when she spotted the dark figure crossing the beach toward her, coming
from the direction of the park. This part of the beach was empty—she hadn’t passed
anyone in a while, whether due to the hour growing later or the locale, she didn’t
know. But she knew even before she could really see him that the man headed her way
was her big bad wolf. Whom she wanted to please right now in a way that went beyond
reason.

Neither said a word as he approached, and she tried to tell herself the way her skin
tingled was simply because of the sea breeze—but she knew it was his nearness; it
was the wild anticipation in every nerve ending in her body.

Stepping up close to her, he lifted his hand to her cheek—his touch warm and sure—and
bent to kiss her. Firm, solid, but not lengthy kisses. Warm and delicious. The crux
of her thighs flared with delight as the sensation spread through her.

Then he lifted his other hand to her face so that he was cupping it between them,
and he said, low and deep, “You’re going to behave and do what I tell you tonight,
right?”

And the moment felt surreal to her even as she nodded.

And then he said, “Good girl. Now get on your knees. And suck my cock.”

Chapter 12

E
ven now, April wanted desperately to be offended. To just pull back her arm and slap
him. But she didn’t. Because she was beginning to understand—this was how the game
worked. And it was only a game. Only a game. And one she’d decided she wanted to play,
right?

Still, though, she looked past him, up the moonlit beach, to make sure they were alone.

“Don’t look around,” he said quietly. “Just do what I said.”

She bit her lip, caught off guard by that. By the idea that his commands over her—if
she was going to continue this arrangement—usurped even her normal sense of caution,
the ability to make sure no one would see her in a sexual act. The reality that, if
she was giving herself up to him, it had to go that far.

But she still wanted him. And she wanted—unaccountably badly—to do what he’d just
demanded.

So without being fully sure this was private, she tossed her belongings a few feet
away in the sand and dropped softly to her knees.

She’d never felt so keenly aware of every sensual detail. Her bare knees sank moistly
into the wet sand, digging in slightly. Her eyes landed squarely on the bulge in front
of her, hidden by denim but clearly large and hard. Her breasts ached with desire
as a salt-scented breeze lifted her hair, cooling the skin on her neck.

Her hands shook a bit as she reached to undo his belt, then his jeans, but she didn’t
let it slow or embarrass her. He surely knew her well enough by now to expect her
to be a little nervous.

When, after she’d lowered his zipper, his erection practically sprang from the confines
of his underwear, her heart lurched. The sight of his rigid shaft jutting from black
boxer briefs that apparently couldn’t hold him lacked elegance—and yet she’d never
been hungrier in her life.

Heart beating hard, breath ragged, she didn’t hesitate. Because she knew if she did,
she might stop. And she wanted to fling herself headlong into this now. She wanted
this adventure, this experience—all of it. Using one hand to pull his underwear the
rest of the way down, she wrapped the other fully around his long, hard cock and drew
it toward her. Taking one last shaky breath, she peered down at the drop of pre-come
on the tip, then boldly licked it off, like licking an ice-cream cone.

A soft, low moan echoed from the man above her and seemed to sink down into her soul,
like praise, like a pat on the head. It spurred her on, made her even hungrier.

And so she lowered her mouth onto him, taking in first the head, then more, more.
She filled her mouth with as much of his cock as she could take in and let herself
simply feel the pleasant fullness, the dirty thrill of it. And then she began to move
her mouth up and down, delighting in the slick glide. The breeze, the smell of the
air, the sound of the tide—all reminded her that she was out in the open, giving a
man a blow job, and that somehow made it more exciting, increasing the pinpricks of
exhilaration moving up her arms.

Above her, Rogan released still more low sounds of pleasure, telling her, “That’s
right, babe, that’s right—suck my cock. Suck it good. That’s so, so good.”

God help her, she loved his adulations, and it made her work harder, want more desperately
to pleasure him.

At some point, she felt the cool rush of water around her knees, toes. Not much—the
tide had just washed in a bit harder this time, making it slightly higher onto the
beach—but it turned out going into the water a little wasn’t so horrible, after all.
And it somehow made her feel all the more fully immersed in the moment.

“Look at me, my face,” he told her. “I want to see you going down on me.”

She leaned back slightly, raised her eyes in the darkness.

He groaned in response. And then he began to take a little more control over the situation,
with slow, soft plunges into her mouth.

His thrusts were slightly deeper than she’d taken him on her own, and more than once
she feared gagging, but at the same time she concentrated on relaxing, accepting,
pleasing—and it never happened. Each time he drove toward her throat, she focused
on how much she wanted him there, how strangely easy it was to submit to him, let
him take over. The rhythmic sound of gentle waves washing in, out, in, out, lulled
her, along with the slightly faster rhythm he took on with his strokes between her
lips.

Rogan didn’t know how long he’d been fucking her mouth—he was too lost in it. Or maybe
the part he was lost in was . . . her amazing acquiescence. The way she peered up
at him now, so docile and sweet and obedient. The way she’d come back to him when
they were texting, telling him she’d lied because
she
wanted
him
, too. The way she was finally, finally, giving in to him, totally and completely.

It fueled the hottest, darkest fires within him. And it made him want to push her.
Maybe that was cruel in a way—maybe he should let tonight be easier for her—but his
instincts told him no, that what they both needed was to take advantage of this situation,
to show her just how submissive she could really be. That, he understood with startling
clarity, was what this was going to be about: pushing her boundaries and bringing
them both more and more pleasure.

Soon he feared he would come in her mouth—and as inviting as that sounded, he wasn’t
even close to done here yet, so even though it wasn’t easy, he placed his hands on
her head and eased her back, off his cock. It stood wet and hard between them, and
he thought she’d never looked lovelier to him, her lips slightly swollen and her eyes
wanting. He could make out the blue tint even in the moonlight.

What pleased him even more was the realization that she was simply waiting to see
what came next, what he next wanted from her. She really
had
become his good girl, and he liked that. A lot.

“Pick up your stuff and come with me,” he told her, giving her just enough time to
grab her purse and shoes before holding down a hand to help her up.

Without bothering to zip his pants or allowing her the additional few seconds it would
take to brush the wet sand off her knees, he led her up the beach toward the park
she’d mentioned in her text. His apartment was a stone’s throw from the beach park—a
well-manicured rectangle of land sporting a large playground, restrooms, and a walking
path. He didn’t have a particular plan but just felt the urge to get out of the sand,
which he knew could be gritty when fucking. And he definitely intended to fuck her.

The truth was, he experienced the urge to tie her up, hold her down, just like last
time. He’d not gone into this relationship with that in mind, but now that things
had evolved that way, the kinky desire remained, his dick growing even harder at the
very thought. But this wasn’t the time or place for that, nor did he have anything
to tie her with—and he knew, as he’d just learned on the beach, that there were other
ways to force her submissive side out into the open where they could both enjoy it.

He led her past towering palm trees to the playground, where an elaborate array of
tubes and slides resided beneath the shade of a large, brightly colored sail. Once
there, he took the things she carried from her and wordlessly tossed them in the grass.

“Take off your clothes,” he told her.

Then watched as she gasped. “Here?” she asked in little more than a whisper. “What
if . . . ?”

“Just do it, April,” he said. Not too harshly. But with enough authority in his voice
that he knew she’d heard it. And that she would obey.

It was odd to him—he didn’t know her very well at all, and yet he knew her well enough
that a rough thrill surged through him from head to toe as she began to undress. Because
this wasn’t anything she’d ever done before—not even close; he could feel that. Not
just the dominant/submissive thing, but he knew in his bones that April Pediston had
never been naked outside before. Let alone in an area so public. Yet the park was
closed at night, so he was reasonably sure they’d have enough privacy. And the sail
above the playground would keep anyone in surrounding buildings from glancing out
a window and catching sight of the private party taking place down here. But even
so, he couldn’t guarantee they’d be left alone the whole time. And it required guts
for her to do this. And that made him like her all the more. And want her all the
more.

He never took his eyes off her as she removed her beaded tank top over her head, then
let it drop to the ground next to her. She watched him, too, the connection of their
gazes just as powerful as always, even if they were shrouded in more darkness than
usual right now. But there were a few lights in the park, enough that he could see
how inexplicably pretty she looked standing before him in simple khaki shorts and
an aqua-colored bra with a lace bow between the cups.

“Shorts now,” he whispered, watching as she reached down and began to undo them. A
second later, a soft push sent them falling around her ankles and she stepped free
of them, leaving her in bra and panties—the panties simple cotton, bikini style, bearing
pink and aqua flowers.

“I like your panties,” he told her, his voice coming out deep.

She seemed barely able to draw a breath to answer, but managed, “Thank you.”

“Now take them off,” he said.

She hesitated for only a second, maybe two, but then pushed the underwear down. Her
pubic hair was a slightly paler shade than the hair on her head.

“Bra, too,” he told her—and she reached behind her, unhooking it, then gently let
it fall from her shoulders and away.

And hell—the sight of her almost stole his breath.

“Damn, honey, you’re beautiful.”

She stood before him looking truly stunned, and it was then that he realized maybe
he’d never told her that before. And it seemed like a gross oversight on his part—since
she should know.

“You really are, Ginger. Fucking beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she whispered again, looking vulnerable and amazingly brave at the same
time. Her nipples stood as pointed and erect as his dick, and this was actually one
of the only times he’d had the opportunity to pause and really take in the sight of
her full, pale breasts. “You have great tits,” he told her. “I want to slide my cock
in between them.”

A small sound of passion escaped her lips—unbidden, he thought. Maybe no other guy
had fucked her tits before. Maybe she’d never even thought about it but instantly
realized she liked the idea. And maybe
he
liked the idea of being the first.

“Sit down on the end of the slide,” he said, pointing to the nearest one.

She looked a little nervous, uneasy, but did as he told her. And he couldn’t help
thinking she looked all the more lovely in her vulnerability, and he reveled in the
knowledge that she was opening herself up, putting herself out there like this, for
him.

Had anyone ever done that before? Made themselves so vulnerable, so open, just for
him, just to please him? Mira maybe, at certain moments in time. Maybe even the last
time he’d seen her, at that cabin in Michigan where he’d made one last play for her
love. And he knew the ways she’d let herself open to him then, the things they’d done
together, had indeed been difficult for her—but this, with April, felt different.
More extreme.

Because April barely knew him—as she liked to keep reminding him. And April was a
naturally much more constricted person than Mira—after all, his very first impression
of her had been that she was buttoned-up, and that had been about a lot more than
just her business suit.

And yet, here she was, trusting him. Because when you came right down to it, that’s
really what this was about. Control, yes. But also trust. An immense amount of it
was required from her right now and he’d never truly realized that until he watched
her taking a seat, completely naked, on the bottom of a silver slide. And somehow
it aroused him all the more even as, deep inside, it also touched him in a way he
hadn’t anticipated.

“Now . . . spread your legs for me.” In a way, the command was difficult to make right
now, because of the unexpected tenderness for her currently rushing through him. And
yet the power she gave him came into play, too. Neither of them would be as satisfied
if he went easy on her, even if she didn’t quite realize that. Giving him that power
meant she wanted him to
take
it,
use
it,
fully
. “As wide as you can,” he added, to make sure she understood exactly what he was
asking of her.

He felt her hesitation and he understood it. It was as if the demand held unspoken
words as well.
No matter how raw I make you, how vulnerable I insist you become, I still want more.

Slowly, though, she began parting her thighs—wider, wider—until her bare feet dangled
from either side of the slide, over the raised edges. The move, as intended, put her
pussy on bold display, and the dark of night didn’t prevent him from seeing how wetly
it glistened. His cock, still jutting from his open pants, tightened further still.

“Touch yourself for me,” he said then, voice lower, almost a whisper.

He heard more than saw her sharp intake of breath—but he chose not to acknowledge
it. Instead, he just encouraged her. “Stroke your middle finger up the center of your
hot, wet slit. And know how much it excites me.”

Her breath seemed shaky then, and in one sense he was sorry to push her so hard, but
in another he felt relentless, determined to make her open to him completely, totally,
with nothing held back.

And then he watched as she gingerly reached down and traced a small, gentle line up
the center of her open pink flesh, shivering at the sensation.

And damn—he shivered a little, too. He hadn’t seen that coming, expected such an intense
reaction from
himself
, but there it was. “That’s so good, baby,” he told her sweetly. “So fucking good.”