Page 33 of A Man of Power

I try to elbow him, but he wraps his arms around me, locking my arms at my sides. He leans in, his breath tickling the shell of my ear. “Little dove, oh, little dove, what am I going to do with you? You are an enigma. You can start a war just as quickly as you can end one. That’s quite an impressive skill set. But what that smart little mind of yours didn’t calculate is that you aren’t dealing with your run-of-the-mill man. Did you forget that? You’re dealing with me. And I always get what I want.”

“Well, color me surprised that I’m the first one to not cave to the will of the great Sebastian North,” I hiss.

“Oh, Alexis, when will you learn that you aren’t a pawn in my game, you’re the fucking queen,” he growls.

I stop fighting his grasp at the sound of his last words. I don’t have any more time to process what he’s said as he spins me and grips my face, kissing me with such force that I stumble backward. His left hand goes to my ass, keeping me from falling as his mouth devours mine, and takes ownership in ways I shouldn’t let, yet I am. I want it. I want every angry, punishing kiss he’s doling out. Why? Why do I want this still? The answer scares me; it’s not what I want it to be. Because I’m his queen, and he knows it, which makes him my king. And that scares me more than losing my job, more than getting my feelings hurt; that’s a passion stronger than sex, stronger than friendship. It’s fucking carnal.

His kiss is beyond rough, its intent is to show he owns me. I’m not sure what switch was just flipped, but in a matter of milliseconds, we go from fighting to clawing at each other’s clothes, tearing them away from the other’s bodies and leaving a trail of material on the patio. He mutters something about my pants and smacks my ass. If that’s going to be my punishment for wearing pants, then it may become a rule that I regularly break.

The heat of the flames licks at our skin. He wastes no time in pushing me down on the lounge chair part of the sofa and spreading my legs. He pulls me to the edge and kneels before me, his body the only thing between me and the fire. The heat is intense against my skin as he leans down and blows on my clit. I waste no time in grasping the back of this head and pushing it right where I want it. He’s strong enough to stop me, but he doesn’t. He goes in for the kill, sucking and licking me with fervor. His fingers finding my entrance and pumping in and out at a rapid pace. He’s driving me to my release fast and hard. Then he does something I don’t expect. He pulls back and gets up, before I can protest, he’s pushed the entire sofa against the brick perimeter of the long rectangular firepit. He climbs over me, his thick cock in my face as he places my feet on the ledge of the pit. The flames are so close to the apex of my thighs that it’s almost too much. Then he reaches over to a side table and opens a small refrigerator, grabbing a cold bottle of water. I watch, completely transfixed as he opens it and pours a little over my clit. I cry out from the feeling of cold against my overheated pussy.

He wastes no time as he leans down and devours the water from my folds. Oh, fucking hell, that was hot.

I grasp his cock, and he moves so that his legs are on either side of my head. I take him in my mouth, both of us are transfixed by the other’s body and bringing it to climax. I reach mine first, my cries stifled by his erection in my mouth. He comes a moment later.

I don’t have time to register anything as he quickly turns and picks me up in his arms, carrying me inside.

“Our clothes,” I whisper as I look back at the firepit.

“Will be there tomorrow,” he mutters as he leans down and kisses me again. This time it’s slower, a little softer, and he doesn’t relent as he carries me up to what I presume is his bedroom.

He sets me down on a king-sized bed. He presses a single button on a remote sitting on the nightstand and dim lights that must be inside his crown molding illuminate the room in a soft blue glow.

His room isn’t at all what I thought it would be like. His furniture is made of intricately carved cherrywood. His walls are a pale blue.

I don’t have time to assess much else as he crawls onto the bed over me and looks down at the length of my body, his tongue running over his lower lip. It’s almost like he’s deciding which part of me to sample first and the thought has me squeezing my thighs together.

“Lie back, little dove,” he commands, and my body complies without my brain even contemplating what he says as if his voice alone controls my movements.

He’s over me, looking at me as his hands slowly spread my legs apart. I watch his hand cup my sex. His smirk tells me he likes what he finds.

“I think you like my firepit,” he states.

I open my mouth to answer him, but he flips me over before I can say a word. His hands grip my hips and pull them up, my knees dig into the firm mattress.

He gives no warning as he slams into me. It’s a delicious mixture of pain and ecstasy. He doesn’t relent as he takes what he needs, drawing out one last orgasm from me before coming and rolling us to the side.

We lie panting in the dim light of the room. He eventually gets up and goes into his bathroom. He comes back with a warm wet towel. I clean myself and he tosses the towel on the floor and peels back the covers, lying down and pulling me against him. I am satiated and tired and confused, but mostly tired because as he turns off the lights, I close my eyes and fall fast asleep.

* * *

The strumsof a guitar wake me. I sit up and realize it’s late or very early. I rub my sleepy eyes and focus. Glancing to my left, the bed is empty. I grab Sebastian’s white shirt and put it on as I walk out of the room and down the hallway. The only light is coming from a doorway at the end of the hall and so is the sound. I’m drawn to it like a lemming. I’m not sure I should go, but I can’t stop myself as I place one foot in front of the other. I pass photos on the wall. They are giant portraits of Kara. They are the only ones I’ve seen other than the photo of Kara and Sebastian that sits on his desk.

I walk up to the door and lean against the cool wood, listening to the melody beyond it. It is a slow version of “Yesterday” by the Beatles, so painfully slow that it makes my heart ache. Tentatively, I reach for the door handle and slowly turn it. The door is mercifully silent as I open it. Inside, I find him sitting on the edge of a chair, an acoustic guitar in his arms. His voice is so low as he sings, that I hadn’t even heard it in the hallway, but there it is. A deep rumbling verse, low and sorrowful, just like the slow beat of the song. He doesn’t look up as I lean against the doorframe and watch. His eyes remain closed. I am transfixed by him. The powerful man I see every day is a ghost in this room. In his place is a boy so filled with pain that his words bring tears to my eyes. I barely note the acoustic tiles on the walls, the blackout curtains over the windows, and the carpet covering the hardwood floors. This room is meant to be soundproof. But why? Why block out this beautiful music from the world beyond?

The song finishes, and his eyes open. They remain unfocused for just a second before shooting toward me and widening.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I woke and…you weren’t there. I heard music.” I bite my lip nervously as I wait for him to speak.

His only response is to strum the guitar before setting it back on the stand next to the chair.

“Don’t stop on my account. You’re very good,” I encourage as I nod toward the instrument.

He looks back my way. “I’m mediocre at best.”

“I didn’t know you played,” I reply as I take in the remainder of the room. There’s a piano, a violin, an electric guitar, and a second acoustic guitar. Why didn’t I know he had such a love of music? I’ve seen his athletic side. I did see a photo of him at a piano recital as a child, but nothing about all these other instruments. Not one article, not one photograph of him strumming his guitar.

With a shrug, he leans back into the chair, placing his hands on his knees. His shirtless torso’s muscles ripple as he moves. It takes me a minute to realize my mouth is hanging open, and I quickly shut it.

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