The Drazen World: The Tryst (Kindle Worlds Novella) Read online

  "Stalking isn't cute or proper behavior for a Dom. You misled me. You should've told me that we would be in this class together before I agreed to our arrangement."

  "I honestly had no idea you would be in this class. It was late add into this or not graduate. The academic advisor—"

  "Renee Clollie did your course planning too? She screwed up everything she touched. A year after she's gone, and her mistakes are still coming to light. A total fuckup." The woman's incompetence has been making my life a mess for the last two years, and it’s getting tiresome.

  "Truth be told, it's a win-win. Now we have an unassailable reason to be seen together without raising suspicions."

  "This is not meant to be a cover for your deviant activities. Professor Fabian gave us a direction and we are taking it seriously. Book a session with the liaison's office for tomorrow, and we can go over the impressionists' school at the museum. Good day, Mr. Drazen." I threw a smile his way as I made my way up the stairs and out the door.

  Rather than blurring the lines, I think this new role and the power dichotomy will help us to compartmentalize. It's just another tool to help avoid emotional entanglements. I heard him scrambling to pack his bag and catch up.

  “So you're the teacher and I'm the student. Should be interesting." His green eyes were twinkling—clearly, he was just as amused as I was.

  JON

  Missy refused my offer of a ride to her next class, so I headed straight for the athletic department to make arrangements. As promised, the professor had already called. While I jumped through the NCAA-mandated bureaucratic hoops, Coach DeMaio appeared out of nowhere and planted himself in front of me. Man-to-man talk time.

  "What's this about you needing a tutor, Drazen? I thought you're one of the smart ones—too smart for senioritis. Or am I wrong?"

  "No, sir. I had to late add a class. It's a requirement for graduation, and one of the instructor's conditions was that I work with Missy to get caught up."

  "Well, I have a few requirements for you as well, young man. Don't think that just because I don't say anything that I don't know what you boys are up to. That girl is different. She's got a lot on her plate. I get wind of any game-playing or disrespect, you will answer to me. Do not make her load heavier. She had to be burned out of that crack den she called an apartment before she would agree to use a resident advisor suite in the dorms as part of her tutor work-study package because she perceived it as charity. Keep you dick in your pants and treat her with the respect she deserves. She's not some Baseball Annie. Do we understand each other, son?"

  "Yes, sir." For a second, I was sure that we had been spotted at the rave with Beau and that had finally came home to roost. After the panic subsided, I really wanted to know more about Missy's circumstances. It certainly sounded far worse than the run-of-the-mill scholarship student’s, but pressing the issue felt intrusive. I’d just have to wait and listen.

  I found myself enjoying class on Thursday and the tutoring session that followed. Rather than just hand over copies of her notes for the lectures I had missed, Missy met me at the Philadelphia Museum of Art and walked me through the galleries. She translated her notes using the art on the walls to explain the concepts in history. She really relished the role of teacher, her passion for art shining through. The time flew by, even with me interrupting her with grade-school questions at every turn. Just because my education was expensive didn't necessarily mean it was well-rounded. I was an expert at avoiding things I found "boring." Most things that weren't baseball, construction, or finance were in the boring pile.

  Her innovative ways of explaining art theory to a decidedly not artistic, uninterested jock clicked with me, so much so I found myself moving art history out of the boring column. The fact that I got to leer at her ass didn't hurt either, even if she was wearing a dowdy black skirt and cardigan. The things she does to avoid notice. That is not going to work for her in New York.

  I tried to take her out for a late lunch to thank her, but she refused. It was her job. There was no need to thank her. She was being aggravatingly business-like about the whole thing. For fuck's sake, my cock had been all the way down her throat and she was acting like a museum docent who didn't know me from Adam. That was going to change.

  MISSY

  Surprisingly, sharing a class with Jon and being assigned to be his tutor made life easier. It killed me to admit that he had been right about it. For one thing, we didn't have to be so cloak and dagger. As long as no one was in earshot, we were able to make plans and spend some time getting acquainted. Contract or not, I held hope that this could be more than a cut-and-dry "service arrangement." Even though I wasn't looking for love, or even a boyfriend, I really didn't want to settle for clinical.

  Before we parted ways on Thursday afternoon, we decided to meet up before "bar thirty" on Saturday. That way, we could spend the evening together without exhausting ourselves for the rest of the week. To be honest, even though I slept well in Jonathan's bed, I wasn’t used to being up until two or three in the morning. I’d spent the rest of the week playing catch-up, but God, it was worth it.

  When we met on Saturday night, we were far more relaxed and casual together. Maybe even becoming friends. It was the lull between the afternoon basketball crowd and the Saturday night beer and pool crowd, which gave us a chance to chat with Mike for a bit before we made our way over to the Drake. No walking through the snow this time though. It was a quick drive instead, but that meant the garage and no opportunity to gape at the lobby.

  I sighed, furrowing my brow into the slightest of pouts. As Jon opened my car door in the garage, he asked, "Why the long face, pet? We're already here, and no frostbite."

  "No lobby time tonight. I felt like a Spanish princess on the flagship of the Spanish Armada when we walked through. Too many old movies, I guess." I blushed, feeling a bit vulnerable for that bit of oversharing, especially with the piercing look Jon gave me. "What? You asked."

  "That I did."

  His tone made me even more uneasy. As though he saw me for the gauche, unsophisticated charity case I was.

  Jonathan came out to play as soon as the elevator doors slid shut. "Lena, when we enter the apartment, you will prepare and kneel in the center of the room and wait for me to return."

  A shiver ran up my spine. This was more than I’d dared to envision. We really were creating our own secret playground where we could be our true selves. Without repercussions. Without censure. Most importantly, without the expectations that other people piled upon us each and every day. We entered the apartment, and Jonathan continued upstairs, ignoring my presence.

  I followed his order, stripping down and placing my clothes neatly on the bench. I knelt on the floor, my posture straight and proud, my hands at my low back. Eyes downcast. Was it a lifetime or was it three minutes before he came back down the stairs? I felt his swagger before I saw him. Rather, I saw his bare feet as he crowded what, in any other dynamic, would have been my personal space. But nothing was mine and I was his in this moment.

  He grabbed me by the hair, raising my eyes off of the floor and practically forcing me to look him in the eye. He was shirtless and barely wearing a ripped up pair of old-school Levi's that rode low on his hips, undone. Decadent didn't begin to describe him. I met his gaze, despite the ample distractions his body offered. His eyes were dark and shuttered, and the way he looked at me, it was as if he were searching my soul for something.

  The longer this went on, the more I feared I was lacking. I wasn't pretty enough. I wasn't sexy enough. I wasn't experienced enough. I wasn't submissive enough. I just wasn't enough for him. My training was kicking in and every cell in my body was shrieking, "Show your submission. Avert your eyes."

  But just as I was entering full-blown panic mode, Jonathan grabbed my chin, caressing my lower lip with his thumb and insinuating it between my lips. "So what pretty bit of plunder do we have here? A convent-bred princess of the realm? Or a spy for the king? Either way, you'll be
of use to me."

  We're going to play that game. My panic vaporized.

  I sucked on his thumb gently, my tongue tentative. His grip on my hair relaxed, and I sucked harder. With his free hand, he grabbed my breast hard, gathering all the pressure in my nipple and sending a jolt of pain through me with a twist of his wrist. He manhandled my tits until tears ran down my face, daring me to break the moment and avert my eyes. But instead, I focused on him and the pain he gifted me as it blossomed into tendrils of pleasure creeping across my abdomen and nectar at my thighs. I relaxed into his grip and his gaze, and my apprehension floated away.

  "Suck. My. Cock. Now." His thumb was replaced by his cock, and with both of his hands entangled in my hair, he just fucked my face, bottoming out at the back of my throat over and over until I could barely breathe through the tears and drool. My gasping attempts to breathe and keep from drowning in my own spit were met with harder, faster thrusts and the scrap of his zipper at my collarbone. Without warning, he came, chanting, "You're mine to use as I please. You will swallow every bit of this. Do. Not. Waste. A. Drop. If you don't, you'll be servicing the crew."

  While I struggled to swallow and catch my breath as he withdrew his cock, he pulled me to my feet by my hair and tossed me over his shoulder. Two well-placed smacks sent heat through that sweet spot where thigh, ass, and cunt met. I play-struggled like the about-to-be-violated, convent-reared virgin princess I was supposed to be, legs flailing and fists pounding ineffectually at his back. My squeals turned to moans and my blows to caresses the moment he dragged his hand through my sopping wet slit and insinuated not one or two but three fingers into my cunt. The bounce from his stride as he climbed the stairs intensified every sensation. I was like a cat in heat, and I just wanted to rub all over him.

  We got upstairs, and he put me down near his gym setup. The lighting was low, but I could make out scarves and several other items on a low table nearby. This could get interesting.

  Jonathan broke character for a moment. "Lena, have you ever been on a St. Andrew's Cross?"

  "Once or twice at a club. It was amazing. Scary, but amazing. Do you think we could . . ." I caught myself before I spoke further, but not before I took a glimpse at his gym setup. Between the pull-up bar station and the slant bench, he could certainly improvise. I shuddered at the thought. Trust me, it’s a good shudder.

  "Lena, this our contract and our rules. I'll never deny you your words. Especially as we try to figure out what works for us. I prefer a little fun with my domination and control. Try it. You'll like it. Like I was saying, it's not the true cross, but I think we can make do." With that, the game resumed. "Stand in front of the upright, spread your legs, and grab the pull-up bar. Hurry up, I don't have all night. Well, I do, but I have plans."

  The wolfish look he cast my way sent another shudder up my spine, and the wink that accompanied it made me blush bright pink. His wink was totally at odds with the fearsome pirate demeanor he was going for, but Jonathan didn't seem to care. He was indulging me, but he would do it with his own inimitable style.

  The pleasure is all mine, and I know you'll make sure of it. I did as he directed while he made minor adjustments to the equipment for my height, or lack thereof. Our bodies pressed back to front as he worked. He bound my hands snuggly to the bar overhead and gathered my hair into a quick ponytail high on my head. All the while, he caressed my body as he positioned me to his liking. He kissed me from my jaw to my shoulder, swirling trails of heat across my body.

  "I meant what I said about your words, pet. Don't hold back on me tonight. I'll always want to hear you, and I'm the only one you need worry about. Give me all of your secrets, or I will find a way to take them." His words were tactile, his hot breath scorching my neck. They wove a spell.

  I was wet and yearning for his touch, his mouth on me—anywhere. And suddenly it was—his teeth piercing the tender juncture of neck and shoulder. The pain morphed to pleasure as it radiated through me and from me, with a voice all its own, an almost keening whisper. Jonathan laved the spot with kisses, licking and sucking at the tender carnage he’d left behind.

  I twisted and writhed, deciding to play the part of the captive princess to the hilt. "I'm the betrothed of the governor of Santo Domingo. How dare you treat me like this? He'll have your head if you continue to treat me this way." I tried to play petulant, but all I felt was more aroused.

  "The only thing he'll have my head for is taking your dowry. Trust me, you hold no interest for him. However, if you play your cards right, you may get to hold more than just my interest." The last part was emphasized by a leer and a smack on the ass. He made his way over to the desk, which was directly behind me and out of my line of vision. I heard him playing with the objects on the desk, which only heightened my anticipation. "Hmmmmm. How best to make you talk? A paddle? A cat 'o nine? Maybe my bare hand? How best do I make my point and leave you fit for bed sport? I have the perfect thing." His voice was all caramel and sin. He’s really getting into this.

  "Please, my father will give you anything. You can have my jewels. My books. Anything you want. I can't go to my husband's bed anything but a virgin."

  "The status I'll leave your virginity in has already been determined. I already have your jewels. You can keep your books. What I need are your secrets and the king's."

  I heard rustling behind me before his hands reached around to assault my breasts once more. God, he could make me come just doing this. His fingers swirled and pinched, my nipples erect and sensitive to any touch at all. I felt as though I was on fire, and all I wanted to do was rub against him. He was behind me, just out of reach, and as I twisted in my bonds, the first blow fell.

  He’d gone with a leather belt. I cried out in relief, thankful for the distraction the pain created. Jonathan's ministrations had already sent me careening toward another orgasm, and I wanted to make this last as long as possible. He worked my thighs and ass with the belt, the heat blooming like hothouse flowers in those time-lapse photography sequences. The onslaught of feelings was so intense, my make-believe captive princess was forgotten. My pussy was drenched, a fact that Jonathan investigated thoroughly when he took a break from making my ass cherry red.

  "What have we here? Just what kind of convent where you reared in?" He wasn't going to let that scenario go. He pressed his front to my back, grinding his erection on my burning ass and clutching me to him as he thrust one finger, then two, into my sopping cunt. He curled them forward, relentlessly hitting my G-spot, not satisfied until I’d orgasmed all over his hand.

  Then he covered my mouth as if to stifle my screams. "Lick it clean." The friction of his jeans on my bare, tender skin and his relentless attention to my nipples with his free hand sent me climbing again. I tried, in vain, to stay in character, but my murmurs of "no, no, no" turned to "more, more, more."

  "Who am I to deny a lady's wish?"

  A shiver ran through me as he stepped away, leaving me alone and hanging, all of his delicious "Jonathanness" just out of my reach. Suddenly, the belt licked at my back and shoulders with a deftness that felt like an embrace. I lost all sense of time, swaying in my bondage and riding the wave of sensation, an unearthly sound somewhere between a coo and a cry escaping my lungs.

  The next thing I knew, Jonathan was undoing the scarves that bound me, loosening my hair and gathering me close into his arms. "I know your secret now. You're not a blackbird. You're golubushka."

  We retreated to the warm cocoon of the guest bed. Jonathan painted his handiwork with a soothing cream that smelled like beaches and dreams before we slipped into bed, where he caged me in his strong arms as he hovered over me.

  "It's time to deflower the princess." His eyes were twinkling, unable to keep a straight face. And he did just that.

  We kissed and explored for what seemed like ages, our hands roaming all over, kindling a gentle, steady heat that kept building and building, urging us to stoke the flame. It was slow and sensual, almost vanilla, but I was so raw
and broken open, it was a surrender nonetheless. He plundered my mouth, his velvet tongue exploring. Mine answered with a soft, tentative touch. It was a delicate duel, one that he ultimately won.

  His lips left a trail of heat skittering across my body as he showered kisses and soft nips along the tender skin of my neck, sucking my salty skin until it tingled, marking me as his. I couldn't get enough of him. I tried to consume him, worshipping him with my lips. Kissing. So much kissing. Especially his beautiful hands that brought me so much pleasure and pain. My lips brushed across each of his knuckles, light as a feather, then his palms, so thankful for the strength and skill of them.

  His gaze never broke away. The way he looked into me, so knowingly, almost felt as if he believed the fantasy. His arms locked around me, he flipped over, and allowed me to straddle his lean torso. His cock lay against his stomach, hard and erect, and I rubbed my clit against him like a cat with an itch looking for relief. I leaned over him, my hair brushing his chest, a hand on either side of his head, grinding against his cock. I leaned closer and closer, taunting him with my breasts, until he lost patience and grabbed my nipple with his teeth, bearing down until I leaned even closer. His hands slipped up my back until they were buried in my hair. When he finally released my nipple, pain bloomed, mingling with the pleasure his swirling tongue created.

  My other breast got the same attention as I reached down to the juncture of our bodies. His cock was so hard. The skin was so soft—steel encased in velvet. I relished the way it felt as I gripped it tightly, dragging my hand up along its length. When I teased the underside of the crown until pre-cum wept from its slit, Jonathan's cock grew even more engorged, prompting him to turn the tables and flip my body back under the sheltering weight of his.

  He had a condom at the ready, and before I knew it, he’d gathered me in his arms and plunged in, our eyes locked. His rhythm was like the tides, steady and unalterable. He slid through my channel, seeking shelter in its warm, wet depths. With every stroke, my resistance faded and my pussy tightened around his cock. We matched pace, urging each other to the precipice, as our pleasure ebbed and flowed. We climaxed together, pleasure expanding exponentially until we were both consumed.