Page 38 of Entrapped
His thumb brushed over my lips, lingering there before slipping into my mouth. I sucked on it instinctively, hollowing my cheeks, and watched as his eyes darkened with a raw hunger that made my pulse race.
“I want it my way, Josephine,” he said, his voice a low growl. “I want tears leaking down your cheeks by the time I finish.”
My heart skipped a beat. I knew that tone. There was something simmering beneath the surface, something he wasn’t saying. Colson had a way of channeling his emotions into sex—sometimes it was passion, sometimes tenderness, but tonight... tonight there was anger.
“Colson,” I began cautiously, “do you need to ask me something?”
His expression hardened, and the gentleness in his touch disappeared. “Open my zipper, Josephine.”
I hesitated, feeling the tension coiling in my stomach. “Not like this,” I said, trying to rise to my feet, to meet him on equal footing.
But his hand was on my shoulder in an instant, pressing me back down with a firm, unyielding grip. “Just like this,” he growled, the command in his voice brooking no argument.
I could feel the heat of his frustration, his need to assert control, and I knew there would be no reasoning with him tonight. As much as I wanted to resist, to challenge him, I also knew that this was how he purged his demons. And maybe, in some twisted way, it was how I purged mine too.
With a resigned sigh, I reached up and unzipped his trousers, my fingers trembling slightly as I did. He watched me, hiseyes locked on mine, daring me to defy him. I swallowed hard, pushing down the flutter of nerves in my stomach, and lowered his pants.
Colson’s hand slid from my shoulder to the back of my head, tangling in my hair as he guided me toward him. “Good girl,” he whispered, the words laced with a dark satisfaction. “Take it out.”
I closed my eyes, knowing what was expected of me, and surrendered to the moment, letting him take what he needed. As I did, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was losing a little more of myself every time I gave in like this, but it was a price I was willing to pay to keep the peace—to keep Colson content.
I took him in my mouth, and he was rough. It had been a few weeks since I did this, since he was like this. I kept my composure as tears leaked down my face. As he hit the back of my throat. As he closed his eyes, lost to the sensation of what he was doing.
His hand tightened in my hair, and I let out a small whimper, the sound barely escaping as I did exactly what he wanted, feeling the weight of his control pressing down on me. This was his way of reminding me who held the power, and tonight, there was no question about it.
When it was over, Colson’s grip on my hair loosened, and he stepped back, adjusting his trousers with a satisfied sigh. I stayed on my knees for a moment, catching my breath, my cheeks wet with the tears he had wanted to see.
“Next time, don’t make me ask twice,” he said, his voice now calm, almost gentle, as if the storm had passed. He cupped my chin again, lifting my face to meet his gaze. “Understood?”
I nodded silently, my heart still racing. He offered me a hand, pulling me to my feet with surprising tenderness, his thumb brushing away the remnants of my tears.
“That’s my bride,” he said softly, his tone now almost affectionate, as if rewarding me for my submission. “Come to bed. I’m not done playing.”
I rose from the floor, my legs shaky as I wiped away a stray tear with the back of my hand. “Not until you tell me what’s wrong,” I insisted, trying to keep my voice steady.
Colson’s expression remained blank, his voice devoid of any warmth. “Nothing is wrong.”
But I knew better. I could feel the cold distance that had settled between us, like a thick fog that refused to lift. Something had shifted, and I didn’t know what it was, but I couldn’t ignore the gnawing dread in my stomach.
“Then I prefer to come to bed later,” I said, trying to sound casual as I wiped my hands on my robe. “I’d like to read in the library.”
The truth was, I needed space. The old Colson, the one who could turn icy and distant at the drop of a hat, was back, and I wasn’t sure what had triggered his sudden change. Had I done something to embarrass him during the evening? Or was it something else entirely?
He waved his hand dismissively, barely looking at me. “Suit yourself. I have some work to do.”
I stood there for a moment, waiting for him to say something more, but he didn’t. His focus had already shifted, his mind elsewhere. With a heavy heart, I turned away and headed to ourroom. I changed out of my clothes, pulled on a robe, and quietly slipped downstairs, needing the comfort of the library and the familiar pages ofThe Count of Monte Cristoto distract me.
As I descended the stairs, the soft glow of the kitchen light caught my attention. I found Easton there, indulging in a large piece of Dutch apple pie. He looked up, his face lighting up with a warm smile when he saw me.
“Hungry?” he asked, gesturing with his fork.
I shook my head, taking a seat across from him at the kitchen table. “Not really. I came down to read.”
He frowned slightly, concern flickering in his eyes. “Did you have an argument with my father?”
“No,” I replied, though the truth was far more complicated. “He’s just not in a very good mood, and I thought it better to take a breather.”
Easton nodded, understanding without pressing further. “Want to play backgammon?”
