Page 49 of Under His Control

Well, fuck.

For over twenty years, I’ve rubbed shaving cream on my face and it’s never felt this arousing. My body recognizes this generally innocent task as foreplay and my cock agrees.

It doesn’t help that Penelope is standing close. She’s between my legs, her scent wrapping around me, and her amazing tits in my face.

What I would fucking give to shove my face between them right now.

Done with applying the cream, she picks up the razor next. The concerned look on her face switches to determination. She tightens her grip on the razor and begins shaving me.

She goes slow. A bit too slow. It would’ve been much quicker if I’d done it myself. At this rate, I’ll probably be late for work by the time she’s done. I don’t mind, but the longer I’m here with her, the weaker my resolve not to do something stupid.

“Hold still,” she murmurs

Penelope leans forward, her hair swaying with her movement. She slips her hand to the back of my head, her fingers sliding into my hair as she sweeps the razor under my chin.

Her fingers in my hair is fresh torment. My cock doesn’t obey her order and twitches in my pants. I move my hand over my crotch, willing the bastard to behave.

She’s finally done a few minutes later. I stand and wash my face. Yeah, this was a bad idea. I’m not going to let her shave me again. It requires too much willpower to keep my hands to myself.

Penelope hands me my towel. I take it and dry my face then investigate her handiwork in the mirror.

I nod. “You did a pretty good job.”

She smiles, looking proud of herself.

“And I didn’t cut you.”

She reaches up and caresses my cheek. When I go still, she yanks her hand away, embarrassment on her face. A charged energy fills the bathroom and it suddenly feels too small for us.

Dark hunger stirs inside me as I look at her.

I want her.

I want this woman who I’m supposed to resent, who I’m not supposed to want, who can never be mine.

A voice whispers I can press her up against the wall beside the door and have her anyway. I turn away from it and from Penelope, quickly leaving the bathroom.

14

Penny

Prison is so dull that new bottles of shower products are exciting.

I place them on one of the shower shelves and start to undress, looking forward to smelling like mangoes and roses instead of 5-IN-1 DEEP CLEANSE FOR MEN.

Before Jacob left for work this morning, I asked him if he would take me shopping. I chanced it because he seemed to be in a nicer mood than usual, and I’d hoped shaving him had put me in his good graces. Sadly, I was wrong.

“You’re not on vacation,” he said in a voice that brought down the room temperature. “Tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you.”

I tried to stick to the barest necessities, but I had to say “underwear” while wishing I could sink into the floor. Thank god my period came and went a week ago so I didn’t have to add related items to the list.

Undressed, I stare at myself in the mirror, my gaze lingering on the last thing left to take off: the collar. I trace the edge of the black leather with my finger.

The collar looks good on you.

I hate that Jacob is right. I don’t want to like the symbol of my imprisonment. Yet it draws the eye and gives me an edge.

Without it, I’m a plain, dark-haired girl. With it, I’m sexy and mysterious. I look like I know all the tricks to sexually satisfy someone.