Possessive by Lena Little
7
Poppy
Paul’s hand finds the small of my back as he guides me through a restaurant where a single meal looks like it must cost more than all the money I’ve made in my entire life. I’m not sure if I’m more surprised to find myself in a place like this or that he brought me here. But what really shocks me is how some of these men look at Paul as he passes.
He’s dressed just as well as they are, in a well-fitting suit, but he clearly has an edge about him, an air of mystery that says either he doesn’t belong here or he’s some sort of athlete or artist type that might even own the entire place, which is fitting considering he’s big enough and strong enough to play professional football and works as an artist decorating people’s skin with his designs.
Some of the other patrons look at him with a look of recognition, but they don’t dare let their eyes drift to me. Is this how classy people operate? I have no clue, but I just go with it, faking it till I make it and continue moving forward in the direction Paul directs me.
We pass a pillar and then another, followed by some really nice artwork and toward the back of the restaurant.
Who is Paul? Really? And how did I wind up by his side, especially so quickly, and even more so with such a rapidly increasing level of comfort and feeling of belonging there?
The second we stop at a table, the hostess rushes toward a chair, but before she can get her hands on it, Paul extends one of his long arms and snatches it up with a couple of fingers and a thumb, pulling it out for me.
The hostess blushes and makes herself a ghost while I line myself up at the table and Paul slides the chair in behind me, making me feel elegant, and empowered. And the flickering candles and waiters in tuxedos don’t hurt either.
“I’m underdressed,” I whisper as he takes a seat right next to me that his thigh scrapes mine.
“I’ve been trying to tell you that, but you don’t have to worry about that here.”
A waiter appears out of nowhere, with a look on his face that resembles that of man’s best friend when one returns home from work at the end of the day to see your dog pawing at the window as you approach the front of the house. “Well, I wasn’t expecting to see back so soon, sir, but it’s wonderful that you’re here.”
“Thanks, Max. I’ll have the regular, and a shrimp cocktail and steak, medium-well for my future wife.”
“To drink, sir?”
“Champagne, to celebrate.”
“I’ll bring the best bottle, with our compliments of course.”
The waiter is gone in record time and we’re back to our privacy.
“Okay,” I narrow my eyes playfully. “Who are you? Really?”
His arm comes off the back of my chair and his tattooed hand engulfs mine. I study the tattoos he carries on only his left hand, but they give no clue about his life prior to meeting me. There seems to be no discernible rhyme or reason to them. I imagine that hand sliding underneath the table and his words earlier, his promise of bringing me to a climax, and goosebumps rake up my arms and my palms turn damp.
“Compliments of the chef,” the waiter says, appearing out of nowhere for a second time and placing a chocolate brownie with vanilla bean ice cream in front of me. He nods at Paul and it’s then I see him disappear behind a curtain, unlike the other waiters who maneuver to the kitchen via a more circuitous route.
Without saying a word, Paul takes the tiny desert spoon in between the tip of his index finger and his thumb, a comical sight to say the least, and scoops up some brownie and ice cream, bringing it to my lips.
Food. Never. Tasted. So. Good. If you consider rich dark chocolate with a warm, gooey center that explodes in your mouth ‘food.’ I’m not sure how many, if any, nutritional benefits it has, but it’s exactly what I need right now. The ice cream only makes it that much more irresistible.
“Sweets for my sweet,” my suited down stud says and I want to melt in his hands like the dessert he’s spoon feeding me.
“I can do it myself,” I protest, reaching for the spoon, but his other hand pins my hand to the table. He holds it there, staring at me but not in a threatening way. “Let someone else take care of you for once. You deserve it.”
“But-”
In a windstorm, he releases my hand, grabs a napkin, and dabs my lips. “You can, but you won’t. I won’t allow it.”
After the harsh way, Paul spoke to me earlier and considering he’s kind of bordering on it again, I should put my foot down and protest. But to tell me I deserve these nice things… handcuffs my ability to protest further.
“Poppy,” he breathes, using my real name to let me know what he’s about to say is serious. “Little one, you really deserve to have someone look after you. I know you don’t need it or potentially even want it, but you have to understand that I want to do it, and fighting it just isn’t an option. You can’t fight me. You can only submit.”
A lightning bolt forms in my hand where he’s touching me and shoots straight up my arm.
“I’m…,” I begin, but then I realize I don’t even know what ‘I’m’ doing.
“You need to be safe.”
“Aren’t I safe with you?”
A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Depends on your definition of safe.” He maneuvers in his chair, the weight of the wood creaking underneath his sizable frame. My nipples turn to tight screws and the taut peaks ache instantly. Everything inside me feels like it’s in motion. Suddenly I’m fidgety and I need a strong hand to hold me down before I drown in the quicksand I’ve found myself standing in. Only Paul has ever made me feel this way, to turn the dial inside me up to eleven and tap into a part of me that I didn’t even know existed.
And I want to explore why I never knew and make up for lost time in the process.
His dark eyes narrow in on me as his face inches closer to mine.
“You seem to know so much about me, even my favorite dessert. How about you tell me something about yourself. I want to know more about you?”
He leans back in his chair, the distance that was closing between us suddenly more spacious, feeling like the Grand Canyon and I curse myself for changing direction. His jaw tightens as his neck rolls so his head leans to the shoulder away from me. His body language is completely guarded and I feel I’ve done the wrong thing by not just going with the way he was making me feel so special, the way his words and actions and this place felt like the salve over a lifetime of open cuts.
“I’d rather talk about you, Little Girl. I don’t learn anything when I talk about myself and I don’t just want to know…so much…about you. I want to know everything.” He pauses. “Everything,” he repeats, his eyes wandering from mine as they affix to my cheekbones and then trail down my throat, watching me swallow as if he’s an unfed, and oversized, ferocious cat and I’m a canary in a cage. His gaze trails lower, roaming over my breasts and at this point I’m absolutely sure my nipples are hard enough to cut class, poking out of my top.
“So tell me,” he begins, his eyes ever so slowly rising again, up my chest toward my face as he slowly glides a single finger up my throat slowly, eventually tipping up my chin and cocking my head to one side and then the other as if he works in some sort of science fiction human quality control factory. “You do realize every single time I’ve seen you you’re dressed like a fucking wet dream?”
“I—“
His finger comes off my chin and slides presses gently to my lips as if requesting permission to enter. But if I know anything about Paul in my limited time with him, he doesn’t ask permission…for anything.
“I said that wrong. You aren’t a wet dream, princess. You’re a fantasy that’s come to life and having you by my side makes me the luckiest man on the face of the earth. Only thing is, other men, know that too, and these minuscule pieces of fabric that you cover yourself with have an effect on men you probably can’t comprehend. You could get yourself hurt. Just like back at the courthouse. That whole situation could have ended up so much worse.”
“But it didn’t.”
“No it didn’t,” he agrees, not adding that the only reason why is because he was there. He doesn’t gloat in his victory, because as a real man he realizes it’s not a victory. The only victory is having me to himself. “So…how about you cover up some of that smooth porcelain skin before not only I lose my fucking mind, but also every other red-blooded male on this planet?”
I really, really, really wish I had panties on right about now. My sex dampens, and instantly I worry about it being visible through my shorts when we go to leave, and the safety of any other men who dare to look even remotely close in the direction of my crotch.
“You realize how close I am to coming in my pants right fucking now?” he continues before I can respond. “And you know all the other men in here, all these fucks who think they’re civilized, acting all high-brow and shit are so fucking close to pulling out their dicks and beating them right there at their tables? I am not fucking around about this. The only reason they’re not and the only reason they didn’t dare look at you when we walked in is that they know I will kill them. End them. And I’m not joking. They’re not even dumb enough to risk trying to catch a reflection in their fancy silver platters or glass trays or anything else that reflects in the direction of our table, because they know it ends with them hanging from a rope…if they’re lucky and I do it quickly.”
“I thought you’d like it,” I blurt out and immediately realize my mistake. It’s just that I feel like I need to defend myself right now and my mouth proves that I have no shot as an attorney because his rebuttal comes back fast and hard.
“Oh, I do, because that tight little untouched body is meant for me. Only me. But when you show it off to other men, decisions have to be made. And I either need to sharpen up on my knife-wielding skills or keep you under lock and key. Is that what I need to do?”
I shake my head.
“Good.” His tense body calms and he scoops me up another scoop of brownie and ice cream, carefully bringing it to my lips again and I practically lurch forward to take it from the spoon in case he takes it away in a quick discovery of another perceived transgression I’ve made.
“Sweetheart,” he continues. “We both have needs. Know this…your needs will always be met first. Always. But sometimes you won’t realize that’s what’s actually happening because it won’t feel fun or my words sugar-coated. I’ll always be honest with you, like right now. Right now, my obedient girl needs to come. So Daddy’s going give her a place to rub her sweet little pussy while he teases her greedy little clit until she spills right here in this five-star restaurant. It’s that simple.”
I suck in a breath of air as Paul lifts me onto his lap like he’s readjusting a feather pillow in the night. But this is broad daylight, in a restaurant no less…with the lunch crowd still filing in by the droves.
“Good Girl. How do you like sitting on Daddy’s cock, my little Angel? You want to ride it with your bare naked cunt, don’t you?”
“Uh huh,” I whimper as his hands take my hips and guide me forward and back over his covered bulge. Then I feel it, his hand sliding inside my shorts, slower than rush hour traffic, my thighs quivering from the anticipation
“When you’re not by my side who’s going to check in every hour, on the hour, via a call…not a text.”
“I-I am,” I moan.
“That’s right. One for one. Let’s try another question and see if you can keep your perfect score, just like you’ve kept this perfect little slit untouched…just waiting for me all these years.”
His finger traces my folds and he manages to slip his thump inside, quickly circling my nub while his other hand cups one ass cheek while mine stays firmly pressed against his erection.
“Who is going to sleep at my side, in my arms, every night from now on?”
“I am,” I gasp, and he flicks my pearl, apparently signaling a correct answer.
“Very good.”
“And remember, these two things are non-negotiable.”
“How can it be negotiable when I don’t even get a say,” I blurt out without thinking, my feisty streak not ready to die a quick death yet.
“Watch your bratty tone,” he warns, sliding a finger inside my opening. “Fuck,” he grunts into my ear. “God sure sealed you up tighter than an envelope, but he sure didn’t do the same with your mouth, did he? If you’re not careful, Daddy’s going to have to put something inside it again, so you can’t talk back.”
His borderline threat makes my breasts sensitive and my thighs shudder even more. “Sorry, Daddy,” I apologize, fidgeting on his lap. “But being a bad girl is part of who I am.”
“Then you’ll have to be taught how to behave.”
“What if I like being bad? What if you like it too sometimes?” I push my hips back and grind my globes into his pants.
“You really don’t want to be a bad girl. Trust me.” His hand that’s not in my shorts rises up and he cups my chin, while his index finger on his other hand starts to move in and out of me more quickly, making a come hither motion with the curled tip of his digit. “When you’re bad you make Daddy lose his mind. Hell, I damn near checked into the insane asylum last night after you ran away from me. I want you to know that because it’s true.”
“I want…I want to come, Daddy,” I announce, willing to agree to anything at this point to reach the climax that’s rising inside me.
His nose brushes across my hair and he inhales deep. “That fruity scent gets me every time, robs me of my common sense. It’s time for you to employ some common sense of your own and quit fighting me. Because when you do I’ll give you exactly what you need.”
Paul’s hand drops from my chin and his forearm wraps around my torso and he starts bouncing me up and down on his lap while his other hand slides in and out of my dripping channel with so much speed, the friction alone puts me on the precipice.
“See what Daddy can do for you when you’re a good girl?”
“Uh huh,” I whimper.
“Isn’t it fun being a good girl?”
“Yes.”
“Do you promise to be a good girl from now on?”
My head is spinning, my body nearly boneless. If I had a million dollars I’d sign it over to him right now just for him to finish me off. I’d say or do anything. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I promise to be a good girl.”
On my confirmation, his thumb moves wildly in a horizontal manner over my clit while he sides a second finger inside my sex. Heat and pressure reach there maximum level in my lower belly, tightening and centering around Paul’s two digits.
My body explodes, as I flop on his lap like a fish out of water, my juices slipping right into his hand, which he quickly cups. I convulse a second time and then a third, my chest heaving until my body turns boneless and I collapse back onto him.
Carefully, he removes his hand from my shorts, taking all four fingers and sliding them into his mouth like a soup ladle. His head tips back and I look over my shoulder to see his eyes rolled back in his head.
Slowly his head returns to center. With one hand he lifts up my hair, and with the hand that was inside me, he takes a single finger and writes my initials on the back of my neck…with my own juices mixed with bits of his saliva.
Leaning in, he nibbles on my lobe and then smears his hand down the side of his face. “How much do you think Daddy’s going to love walking out of this restaurant later with your cream right on the side of his face. I’m going to walk past every fucking table just so the other men can smell it, leaving no question who you belong to.”
And if I ever questioned just how possessive Paul was the answer is now in. He’s approaching batshit crazy bunny boiling levels, and the scariest part is I’m right there with him. At this point, I don’t know what I’d do if my Big Bear left me. He’s been the possessive one since day one, but now I’m the one who’s developing an unhealthy addiction to him. The man has demonstrated he can control my body like a marionette, and now he’s reaching the point where he’s gaining control of my mind.
I’ve got a lot to learn, and he’s ready to teach me. But will I learn that love, at first sight, goes just as quickly as it comes, or can this experienced man show me that things can be different in the life I’ve lived up to this point?
There’s only one way to find out and that’s by jumping in headfirst. I just hope he’s there to catch me because I’m falling for him…fast.
