The Submission of Alistair Ingram (10 page)

Ten
years of being held captive inside herself broke loose. Her body jerked. Her
back arched. She heard herself crying out somewhere in the distance, outside of
her body rocking with jolt after jolt of electricity.

Alistair
kept pulling it out of her, parting her legs when she squeezed his hand tight
between them. “Not yet,” he whispered. “You’re not done yet.”

His
fingers kept circling and darting in and out of her. She whimpered as the
spasms changed from earth-shattering shocks to a never ending current of
bittersweet pulses that brought tears to her eyes.

“That’s
it,” he whispered, lowering his mouth to hers, his kisses soft and light on her
lips. “That was beautiful.”

He
wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him so her head rested on
his chest. His fingers combed through her hair as she came back to herself, her
breathing slowing, her heart climbing back into her chest.

She
hadn’t thought it possible, but he’d done it. He’d found her. But, it wasn’t a
Bethany she’d ever known before. With Alistair, she was new. She wasn’t afraid.
She was trusting and allowed herself to be opened like flower blooming. She
felt like a flower blooming.

And
she hated it.

She
didn’t know who this person was who’d taken over her body—who’d let this man
pull her apart. She didn’t know her body anymore that wanted him again already,
that wanted even more from him.

Tears
streamed from her eyes, soaking into his shirt. “How could you do this to me?”

Beth
Bethany

“How
could I do what to you?” Alistair tilted his chin to his chest, watching
Bethany cry. “Hey,” he said, scooting up and holding her back far enough to
look her in the eyes, “what’s wrong?”

“You’re
wrong.” She shoved him away and clamored off the bed.
“I’m wrong!”

“What
are you talking about?” He swore if there ever came a day he understood this
woman, it would be the day that he had to be put in a mental ward, because she
was absolutely insane.

She
stepped into her panties and shimmied them up her legs. “I have to go back. I
can’t be here with you.”

Alistair
stood and taking slow, deliberate steps, approached her. “Bethany, that,” he
pointed to the bed where they’d just been laying, “doesn’t change who you are.
It’s okay to enjoy it. It won’t kill you.”

She
spun from him and shoved her fingers in her hair. “It almost did kill me! It
changes everything.
Everything
!”

He
grasped her shoulders and pulled her back against his chest. “Tell me what
happened to you.”

She
shook in his arms. A sob broke from her throat. “Haven’t I given you enough?”

Funny,
Alistair thought he was the one who’d done the giving back on the bed. “What
did I take from you just now?”

Her
body went limp against him. He wrapped his arms around her and sat on the bed
with her in his lap. “Tell me,” he urged.

“Black
Betty,” she whispered, burying her face in his shoulder. “You took Black
Betty.”

Stunned,
he wasn’t sure what to make of her confession. “No. I can’t take what’s not
real. Look at me.” He lifted her chin and waited until she met his eyes. “I
don’t know why you need her to shield you, but with me, she’s useless anyway.
I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I
don’t know that.” She jerked her chin out of his grasp.

Alistair
groaned. “God damn woman. Usually the trust talk comes after you’ve gone out a
few times, had sex, are easing into a committed relationship. We have to do
this first?”

Bethany
bolted from his lap. “No! There’s no going out. No sex, and sure as hell won’t
be any talk about a relationship—committed or otherwise.”

He
couldn’t help but glance down at himself. “What the hell’s wrong with me? You
act like I’m a leper or something.”

“You’re
not. That’s the point. You’re normal, you’re amazing looking, and you’re
famous. You’re nothing like me, and I shouldn’t be here.” She strode toward the
door.

Alistair
darted in front of her and blocked her way. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Move.”
She shoved against his shoulders, but he didn’t budge. “Let me leave!”

“No.”
He gripped her arms and steered her back to the bed. “Sit and calm down. I
don’t know why you’re all freaked out over one orgasm. Jesus, imagine if we
would’ve had sex. You probably would’ve slit my throat.”

Bethany
sat on the edge of the bed. “We’re not having sex.”

He
paced back and forth, pushing his hair back with both hands. “I’m trying to
understand, but I’ve got to tell you this is frustrating as hell. Just when I
think we’re cool, you pull some split personality shit on me.” He stopped and
faced her with his hands on his hips. “Can you please just be Bethany with me? Whoever
she is, just be her. Okay?”

Bethany
laid her hands, palms up, on her thighs. “I don’t know
how
to be her
anymore. I don’t know her.”

Alistair
knelt down in front of her and took her hands in his. “How long has it been
since you let Black Betty lock her away?”

“Ten
years.” Her voice shook, and Alistair’s chest tightened at the sound. He knew
what it was like to want to hide yourself away and never let that side of you
see the light of day again.

“Then
don’t be either of them,” he said. “Be Beth. How about that? Someone new. Get
to know her with me. How would that be?”

She
held his gaze for the longest time, her blue eyes wide, hesitant…anxious. He
wasn’t sure what to expect. It had only been a couple days, but he could know
this woman for a thousand years and still never know what to expect.

She
didn’t answer him.

She
slipped her hand around his neck and pulled him to her. Her mouth was warm and
wet, her tongue teasing his lips. He’d take this as a yes. They’d figure her
out together.

On
his knees between her thighs, Alistair wanted to touch her again—make her moan
and cry out again. But he didn’t dare. He wouldn’t touch her until she told him
to. She might not be able to find Black Betty inside herself anymore, but he’d
be damned if he’d take control and have to hold her back from running out on
him again.

She’d
wanted him to be her Doll, and now he was. Because he was afraid she’d leave.

He
braced his hands against the edge of the mattress on either side of her as she
pulled him in and squeezed her thighs around his chest, hooking her ankles
behind his back.

Black
Betty, Bethany, Beth…whoever this woman was, she devoured his mouth like she
was starved. Alistair wondered what he was feeding her with each deep, urgent
kiss. Trust? Comfort? Understanding? Or just basic, garden-variety lust?

He
shouldn’t be thinking so much, analyzing this to death. His body sure as hell
wasn’t. He was hot and needy with arousal. If he were buck ass naked standing
in a snow pile, he’d still be on fire. No other woman had ever turned him on as
much.

His
fingers gripped the duvet, balling it in his fists. Her chests heaved against
his with her gasps for breath each time she reluctantly tore her mouth away
from his. Her silky, blond hair touched his cheek, his neck, tickling and
teasing. The barely audible whimper that came from between her lips was more
torture than her whip could ever be.

Who
the hell needed Black Betty when this beautiful woman could dominate him with
one whimper?

“Touch
me,” she whispered, and Christ, he was done for.

Pretty
Boys Make Good Dolls

“Where?
Where do you want me to touch you?” Alistair brushed her hair back behind her
ear and looked into her clear, blue eyes.

“Anywhere.”
She kissed him lightly. “Everywhere.”

“Will
you run from me?”

“I’ll
try not to. I don’t want to.”

He
smiled against her lips. “That wasn’t too convincing.”

She
grabbed his hands and brought them to the sides of her waist. “Slowly,” she
whispered.

If
someone would’ve told him the whip-wielding woman who dripped hot wax on his
chest was the same woman sitting above him on his bed, skittish of his touch,
he would’ve said they’d lost their mind.

But
it was her. He’d broken through her hard exoskeleton and found the soft,
breakable woman inside. Now, he wasn’t sure what to do with her. He wanted to
put her on a shelf where a person puts fragile things so they don’t end up on
the floor in pieces.

He
also wanted to glue the protective shell back around her, bend her over his bed
and fuck her like she’d never been fucked before.

His
mind was at war, and her lips were sliding across his jaw…down his neck.

God,
she felt too good.

Alistair
eased his hands up her sides and stopped where her breasts rounded under her
arms. She gently nibbled his neck with her teeth. Encouraged, he ran his palms
over her breasts to the front of them, slowly lifting and squeezing through her
sundress.

Her
lips darted up, and she sucked his earlobe in her mouth.

Alistair
closed his eyes, relishing the sensation, her quick gasps of breath, loud in his
ear. He could still taste her on his tongue, still smell her, and feel her
nipples harden under his palms. It was all he could do to hold back and not
push her back on the bed and shove her dress up to her ears.

“Should
we try something you’re used to?” he asked, hoping anything familiar to her
would give her confidence and ground her here in his world. “Something in your
bag?”

She
drew away, only inches. “You want to?”

“It’s
what you’re here for, right? To teach me for the
Hues of Black And Blue
audition?” If he bought into the lie, maybe she’d play along. “I heard the
driver drop your bags in the hall.”

She
narrowed her eyes, studying him for a moment before unlocking her ankles from
around his waist, pushing him back on his heels and standing up. “Bring it
over,” she said, the familiar command of Black Betty in her voice.

Thank
God, something he knew what to do with.

Alistair
opened his door, grabbed her bag and hauled it over to the bed. Sitting it on
the floor at her feet, he clasped his hands behind his back and lowered his
chin to his chest, keeping his eyes down. He’d give her submission…for now.

She
knelt and unzipped her bag. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she
rummaged through.

Please,
not wax again.

When
she pulled out a red vibrator shaped like a cock, his ass clenched. No fucking
way was she violating him with that thing.

She
laid it on the bed and kept digging in her bag. “Take your clothes off,” she
commanded. “Quickly.”

“What
are you going to do with that?” he asked.

She
shot up to her full height and grasped his cheeks squeezing until his lips
pursed like fish lips. “I wasn’t going to use it, but now that you’ve spoken
without being told I’ll give you something you won’t forget.”

“I
dow wan ih neah me.”

She
jerked his head up so his eyes met hers. “Every word you utter earns you more
punishment, Pretty Boy.” Black Betty put her hand on top of his head and shoved
his chin back to his chest. “Take. Your. Clothes. Off.
Now.”

Alistair’s
pulse quickened. He shed his clothes, overly aware that he’d never been fully
naked in front of her before, and stood straight and tall in front of her.

She
raised her hand and brushed a short whip with several soft leather strands
knotted at the ends across his chest. Goose bumps rose on his skin. “Look at
me,” she ordered. “I want to see the pleasure—and the pain—in your eyes.”

She
flicked her wrist. The hard little knots at the end of each leather strip came
down on his stomach hard and stung like hell. He squeezed his hands into fists
but didn’t flinch or make a sound. Her blue eyes bore into his like a demon—and
angel sent from hell to torment him.

She
did it again, a little lower this time, and his cock twitched. He inhaled
sharply, his breathing choppy. She wouldn’t dare hit him
there,
would
she?

He
wanted to say something, but Jesus, what if he did, and she shoved the vibrator
up his ass for talking without permission.

Alistair
choked back a laugh. He was twice her size, and he was afraid of her because of
some toys she carried around in a duffel bag? What the fuck?

“Beth--”

She
grabbed his balls and tugged. “You have a problem with authority, don’t you,
Pretty Boy?”