Chapter 68

Ollie’s POV

Surrender myself to him?

The words send a shiver down my spine. While I expect to be put off by the words, instead, I find myself wondering about their true meaning. I’m not put off. At all. It’s the opposite actually.

To surrender myself…

To leave myself at his mercy…

Does that mean he would pin me down…? Or maybe tie me up or something?

Or – I think with a blush – does that mean that he would follow through on his threat to spank me?

I’m not sure how such a thing can be pleasurable, but I’ve seen enough pop culture to know that some people enjoy such a thing. I’m surprised to find that I’m not entirely turned off by the thought either. Instead, I’m more curious…

In his messages, Declan promised that it would be pleasurable. A whole new level of bliss…

My body reacts. Heat rises within me as my nipples star to harden, imagining Declan looking at me. Maybe touching, maybe not. Maybe he makes me wait for it. Or earn it?

Even my fantasies are confused. I have no idea what any of this means or looks like.

I think what I need is some sort of help, perhaps a visual aid. Or a story.

I’m embarrassed, but I go to my laptop at my desk and flip it open. Blushing fiercely but too curious to stop, I search in dominant sex.

Before I even click on anything, the images that provide nearly have my eyes bugging out of my head.

The first image is of a woman tied to the headboard with handcuffs. There’s a black ribbon over her eyes, blinding her, with her face otherwise twisted with excited anticipation.

There’s a man standing at the foot of the bed watching her. While she is in nothing but a black bra and panties, he is fully clothed in a tailored suit.

The model isn’t Declan, but I can easily imagine him so. Dressed in one of his suits, perhaps with the tie undone, as he stares at me, tied up and nearly naked on the bed. He would watch me, patient as a slow-moving glacier, as I squirm, begging for him to touch me.

“Declan…”

I imagine his eyes, thawing slightly with amusement. “What do you want, Ollie? Use your words.”

“Touch me.”

I imagine him touching my ankle with a single finger. “Like this?”

I whimper, both in my imagination and in reality.

My panties are starting to get wet. I press my thighs hard together to feel some press of friction against my budding clit.

In my mind, he knows what I want, but he’s toying with me. Is that what I would be? His plaything, existing only to amuse him?

Oddly, I’m okay with that.

“Say what you want,” he commands. “If you are good, I might even let you have it.”

“I can be good,” I promise.

“Then tell me what you want.”

It’s difficult to give voice to such things, even in my fantasies. But I press on, wanting to please the imaginary him of my mind.

“I want you…”

“Yes?”

“…inside of me…”

“You want this dick?” he asks. “You think you deserve it?”

“Yes… Please…”

I imagine him creeping closer to the bed. Maybe he unzips his pants and pulls out his dick, stroking it gently at the sight of me. Or perhaps he doesn’t.

Declan always has so much self-control, he likely wouldn’t touch himself until it’s vitally necessary.

I don’t have the same restraint, so I slip my hand down under my pants and panties, and search out my aching clit. With the press and rub of my fingers, I finally feel some measure of relief and gasp.

All it has taken is this single picture, and yet, my imagination has gone wild with thoughts and potential premises.

All of which come with the promise of Declan’s attention.

Perhaps that is what truly turns me on most about these scenarios. Having Declan’s full attention, and being at the mercy of his whims.

I want to please him. I want to hear him hum and say, “Good girl.”

It doesn’t take long for me to find release, dancing my fingers over my clit.

I just imagine Declan standing there, perhaps at the end of the bed, watching me.

“Come for me, Ollie,” he says in my mind. “Don’t make me wait. Come now.”

At the command of the imaginary Declan, my climax crashes over me like a wave pounding against a rocky cliff. I drop my head back, I gasp, and I cum.

Later, I’m somewhat embarrassed by what I’ve done, by what turned me on. The Declan of my imagination hadn’t even touched me really, and yet still I found my climax as surely as if he had.

Is that what it’s like to surrender to someone? Their commands become your whole world? And when they tell you to cum, you don’t dare disobey.

My thoughts so somewhat cloudy, so even as I head upstairs to the kitchen, I’m distracted.

When I come out of the stairwell, I’m not as careful as I normally am. I’m not looking where I’m going at all, and walk straight into a hard body.

Declan.

He doesn’t move an inch, but I start to topple backwards.

A pair of strong hands grip me by the hipbones.

I moan.

We both freeze.

Humiliation surges through me. I didn’t mean to do that! It’s just that Declan has been on my mind, and the dominant sex, and then his hands were finally on me, right on my hips, and I…

I have no idea how I am going to explain any of that to Declan.

I slowly turn my gaze up to his, bracing myself for the potential disgust I might see there for the noise that I made.

Instead, he is looking at me like a predatory might his prey. His focus is intense, his eyes unblinking. Though his gaze remains cold, there is something else to it now… He’s looking at me like he is looking through me. Like he can see exactly what I was thinking about.

And he doesn’t disapprove.

I want him to tell me, Good girl, I realize with startling clarity.

His hands are still on my hips, his thumbs pressed into the dips of my hipbones. He’s not squeezing me, not hurting me at all, but his grip is firm and unyielding.

He holds all the power here. He could hurt me if he wanted, but he doesn’t. He just wants to keep me trapped in this moment. I’m a willing prisoner.

So willing. Even more willing than I’m letting on with my frozen posture.

Can he see it in my eyes? Can he see how much I want for him to do those things to me that I imagined?

Then he blinks, and the moment ends.

This isn’t a fantasy, this is reality. And right now, he can’t tell that I am his fated mate. He only knows that I’m Ollie. The girl he believes deceived them all. The girl he hates.

His hands fall away from me. The moment I’m free, mortified by my own embarrassment, I scurry around him and hurry toward the kitchen.

I can feel his cold gaze on me with every step.