The Art of Control

Chapter 2

Dylan

Isa’s command and her tight muscles clenching around my cock send me over the edge as she milks my climax from my throbbing member and I cum, filling her as per her request. My chest and balls are searing from Isa’s punishment and my wrists ache from the cuffs. I just want to touch her, God damn it.

Isa dismounts my softening dick and proceeds to unbind me, but I can see by the look in her insatiable eyes, playtime isn’t quite over yet. Once I’m unshackled, she gives her next order.

“Now finish me off,” she commands graciously.

Yes, that voice, that tone, it will be the death of me someday, I just know it. She knows how to get me to do exactly what she wants and I f*cking love it. I love doing this for her. I love doing this for me. More importantly and unnerving is that I love giving myself over to her, even if it means giving up control. I never thought I would feel this way. Never.

I kneel in front of her, sliding my fingers into her dripping honey hole and seek out her swollen sweet spot. Her lower tummy is full and hot and I’m eager for her release. I pull and tug at her and kiss her belly, dipping my tongue into her navel and swirling it around. Her hands find my hair and she runs her nails over my scalp, sending goose bumps down my spine. I feel myself getting erect again at the sloppy sounds of my fingering her and her panting breaths. I’ll never get enough of this woman - my wife. I want to please her. I want to own her completely: Mind, body and soul. I want her to be my physical property. She is my physical property. When her eyes meet mine, I know without a doubt that I would do anything for her - anything. She owns me, too, and there’s no denying it. Isa’s body flexes and her eyes flutter open and closed as wave of endorphins wash over her.

“I love you, Mistress,” I tell her, knowing that my words will push her over the edge and just like that, she rises up on her tiptoes and throws her head back and moans loudly as she cums. She falls to her knees and I carry her to the bed.

Grabbing a towel, I clean us both. I lie next to her and she pulls me close, kissing my welted chest and circling her fingers in the hair below my belly button again, tugging at it and scratching her fingernails into it. The sensation is relaxing.

“I love your hairway to heaven,” she says softly as we lie in each other’s arms and doze off.

I wake to the sound of Isa mumbling something. She looks exquisite when she sleeps. I’m lying next to her and propped up on one elbow, touching her bottom lip which only shows a faint hint of the damage done nearly two months ago. Her left eye still sports a small scar just over her eyebrow. I look at her ribcage where she was grazed by the bullet and there’s a scar there, too, and I suspect that will be permanent as well. I touch it and I’m thankful that she’s still alive and with me. I’m not the kind of man who prays, but I silently make my appeal to a God I’m not sure exists that He never takes her away from me again and no harm ever comes to her. I touch the mark on her eyebrow again, running my index finger across it and I’m grateful for Alex’s sudden and untimely death for having marred such a beautiful being.

Kissing Isa’s nose, she stirs awake, her eyes flickering open and slowly coming into focus.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Watching you sleep.”

“I wish you wouldn’t do that. It’s so creepy,” she says as she yawns.

“What can I say? I’m a creepy guy,” I reply.

“Don’t say that about my husband,” she responds while she touches my cheek and looks from my eyes to my mouth. “Tell me you love me,” she pleads.

“You know I love you.”

“Tell me I’m the only one,” she continues.

“Why do you want me to tell you what you already know?”

“Because I like the way your mouth looks when you say it,” she comes back with as she runs her finger across my lips.

“You’re the only one for me, Isa,” I reassure her.

She smiles sleepily but her eyebrows furrow like something’s troubling her.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” I prod her.

“I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone,” she says sadly.

“Why does that upset you?”

“Because I can’t help but feel like something really bad is going to happen to you; to us. I feel it, Dylan. Right here in the pit of my stomach,” she says as she gestures towards her diaphragm.

Isa has continued to have nightmares after everything that happened despite my and Maggie’s reassurances that it’s all in the past now. Alex and Cassie did untold damage to her already fragile psyche and with everything that has recently come out about her father, its intensified her fears even more.

“Alex is gone now and Cassie will never see the light of day. They can never hurt you again,” I whisper into her mouth as I lean down and kiss her. “And I’ll never let your father get his hands on you ever again. Don’t think about them right now, Isabel. We’re going on our honeymoon and you should only be thinking about our life and future together.”

I move my hands down her belly and slip two fingers into her. She closes her eyes and lets out a short breathy moan as I move them in and out of her.

“That’s it. Forget about all that and open yourself to me,” I say while I finger f*ck her. Her legs open further and I move on top of her. Her velvet tongue pokes out and slicks her upper lip and I lean down and suck it before it disappears back into her mouth. Her lips part and accept my probing tongue. I push another finger into her and explore deeper, seeking out that ridge of delight. By her groans and pelvic thrusting, I know I’ve found it. I pull my fingers out and massage her puckered entrance and slip a finger inside her ass. Her eyes pop open and she smiles devilishly. She’s grown to like this as much as me. She watches my mouth keenly and pulls my face down to kiss me again.

Moving down her body, I lick and bite her nipples, pulling them to a point with my teeth. When I get to her p-ssy, I inhale her unique scent and shove my face into her. I push my tongue into her wet hole and circle it around deep inside of her. Isa’s hands fist my hair and when I look up at her, she’s watching me possessively.

“I love your mouth on me,” she says hushed.

I smile and move up on top of her again as I wipe my face.

“F*ck me hard, Dylan.” she commands. One of her hands slides down between us and grabs my dick. She guides the head into her entrance and I thrust hard. She closes her eyes tightly and whimpers when I fill her completely. I still inside of her and push myself up so I’m kneeling in between her legs. My hands move underneath her ass and pull her by her hips to me, going deep again. Isa opens her eyes and watches me keenly while I continue to assault her tight, satiny hole.

“Tell me you love me,” I say to her.

“Oh, Dylan, I love you so much,” she moans out.

“Tell me no other man makes you feel the way I do.”

She smiles sweetly at me, “Why are you asking me what you already know?”

“Because I like the way your mouth looks when you say it,” I repeat to her, moving my hands up to her breasts, squeezing and pinching her nipples. I move one of my hands down to her * and press my thumb firmly on it as I continue to push into her, but slowing my rhythm to tease her.

“Say it, p-ssycat.”

“No other man makes me feel like this, Dylan. Only you,” she squeaks out.

I circle my thumb around her swollen nub and she squirms underneath me.

“I own you,” I tell her.

“Yes…” she whispers out, licking her lips and biting down.

“I want my mark of ownership on you,” I say soothingly.

“Yes,” she agrees as she tilts her pelvis up to take all of me.

“Yes, what?” I ask as I drive forcefully into her and pinch her *.

She pants out her answer and jerks from the powerful sensation, “Yes, Sir.”

I thrust into her over and over again while I kneel between her legs. Isa pulls herself up and straddles me, holding me around my neck. We’re eye-to-eye and the feeling of release is building hot and quick inside of me. She raises herself up and slams back down onto me fiercely, making me fill her completely and hit her cervix. She grunts out and buries her face in my neck. She moves her hands and wraps her arms around my waist and digs her nails into my back as she bites down onto my shoulder. The pain is searing and I moan obscenities into her ear.

I can give as good as I can take, so I bite down onto her shoulder blade and tug her hair hard and yank her head back. Isa whimpers and then shrieks out as I draw a small drop of blood from her shoulder. I quickly lap it up and her p-ssy tightens around me as she cums. I continue to ram into her, lifting her by her waist and pulling her back down onto my throbbing cock. Her eyes well up with tears, but she takes my pounding like a well-trained submissive. Her tightly closed eyes open and when I see the magnificent color they’ve turned, I empty myself into her and guide her face to mine. Slipping my tongue in and out of her mouth, I bite her bottom lip as I release my grip on her.

Isa falls backwards off of me and rubs her lower belly and whines while I stay on my knees and try to catch my breath.

“Did I go deep?” I ask as she continues to rub herself.

“Yes,” she answers.

“Good. I like you to be reminded of where I’ve been. You should be feeling that for the next 24 hours,” I tell her as I get off the bed to clean myself.

“If I’m lucky,” she replies, smiling mischievously.

“Let’s get showered and packed. I wanted to leave tonight.”

Isa suddenly sits up and looks animated. “Tonight? But what about work?”

“What about it? I own the company and I can come and go as I please. Well, for the most part anyway. I already have everything taken care of. Sawyer has seen to it that our accounts will be taken care of and it’s all under control.”

“I mean my work. I’m scheduled tomorrow,” Isa counters.

This is still an area of contention between the two of us. I wish she’d just give up her job altogether, damn it.

“So? Our honeymoon is more important than your measly four hour shift, Isabel,” I tell her.

Isa sits on the edge of the bed and looks down at her hands. She knows I want her to quit and I’m only allowing her to work because she says she needs it. Ah, hell. What I just said sounded shitty and I know it.

“I didn’t mean it like that. This honeymoon means a lot to me, that’s all.”

She looks up at me and smiles. “It means a lot to me, too, and I know how you feel about me working. Can I at least let them know I won’t be in for the next few weeks? I don’t want to be a flake,” she tells me.

“Yes, of course.” She’s right; I don’t want her to come off that way, either. “You know, this wouldn’t be an issue if you would just give up working altogether,” I remark while I grab our clothes from the floor.

Isa doesn’t respond and when I look up at her, she’s sitting watching me with warm honey eyes. Because she’s not saying anything, I continue pleading my case to her.

“I just want you available to me at all times - 24/7. You know I crave total power exchange and I want to be able to f*ck you anytime I want or hold you when I get the urge, and not have to contend with the fact that you’re not accessible.”

“Can I speak freely?” she asks.

“Of course. Please do,” I permit.

Isa sighs and looks back down at her hand and touches her wedding ring, twisting it around her finger. She’s thinking about what to say and I love the fact that she’s considering the right words to use. She really has become an amazing submissive in such a short period of time.

“You work a lot as it is, Dylan. A lot. I’ve hardly seen you the last two months. I’m not complaining because I understand that you have a very important job to do. Well, okay, maybe I am complaining a little, but what I’m saying is - I need to keep myself busy so I’m not sulking around here and pining for you all damned day. Sorry, Sir, I didn’t mean to curse,” she quickly interjects and then continues. “It’s not like you can just leave work to be with me anytime you want anyway.”

I see her point, but she’s wrong. “Yes, I can leave work anytime I want to be with you. I’m the man in charge, Isa, and if I get the urge to be inside of you in the middle of a conference call or a meeting, then I’ll leave and be with you. It’s that simple. I have plenty of people working for me who can take care of the little shit. And what’s wrong with you pining for me all day? I like the thought of you missing me.”

Isa furrows her eyebrows at me but remains silent.

“Speak, Isa,” I tell her gently.

“That’s very selfish of you,” she retorts.

I’m taken aback at her accusation and feel the itch to paddle her, but I did insist that she speak freely. Perhaps I should reconsider what she said. Selfish? Maybe. But I hunger for her touch and I want nothing more than to be with her and have her at my beck and call at all times.

“I want you when I want you,” I reiterate.

“I understand that, but its torture not being with you and not the good kind of torture, either. I need to keep myself busy or my mind spins out of control. Sometimes it goes to places that are dark and depressing, and I don’t like it,” she whispers.

Christ. I drop the clothes back on the floor, kneel in front of her and pull her chin up so that she’s looking at me.

“Yes, perhaps I am being selfish. I don’t want you thinking about dark and depressing things. I want you happy and content at all times, love.”

She smiles and touches my mouth. “Thank you, Sir.”

***

Isabel

Dylan crookedly grins back at me, but I can see in his blazing baby blues that he’s conceding and not really seeing things my way. So be it. I don’t like being here alone all day. Dark and depressing is putting it lightly. I’ve tried to put the things that Alex and my father did to me out of my head, and I thought I could do it, but I sorely misjudged my own resilience. Alex’s actions only brought what my father did to me to the forefront of my mind. I’m suffering the consequences of pushing those things to the back of my mind all those years. I don’t know how to tell Dylan without sounding needy and weak, so I’ve kept it to myself.

As more and more details about my mother’s death come out, my nightmares have returned. Delving headlong into the BDSM lifestyle and learning how to be a better submissive for Dylan has helped to ease my mind of the gory details and I’m thankful for it.

It really is a complete change for me, but Dylan seems to be in his element being a Dom. It’s like a second skin for him. He’s a strict Dom with a vicious sadistic streak a mile wide, but I love it just as much as I love him. His hand is firm and he’s not afraid to use it when I’ve broken protocol, but his heart is soft and he’s gotten less and less afraid to show that side of himself. He still has a problem admitting when he’s wrong, but he’s working on that, too, and so am I.

I wonder if he was like this with Erika? Shit. Why am I still thinking about her? I know he was nothing like this with Erika. He was much harsher and more demanding with her. He’s told me as much. Dylan has opened up more about their relationship and been much more honest with me about his feelings towards her. He can deny it all he wants, but I know he had sentimental feelings for her. Why else would he have been so wounded when she betrayed him?

It still irritates me to no end thinking about how deeply she hurt him. On the rare occasion that we’ve encountered her at the Dark Asylum, I have to restrain myself from kicking her perfectly straight teeth in. As exhilarating as it was to dominate her, I regret it because she’s done nothing but swoon over me and beg me to whip her again ever since that little episode. Yuck. Dylan seems to be quite amused by it, but I’m not at all happy about it.

Dylan picks up the clothes, heads to the bathroom and calls after me so we can get showered and packed. We clean up quickly in the shower and I call work to let them know my plans. I feel bad that I’m giving such short notice. They’ve been very patient with me after the chaos with Cassie and Alex. All the publicity from that horrible night did wonders for Canyon Creek sales, though, so I suppose they’re not going to complain too much. All of my paintings flew out the door as well. It’s hard to believe that my artwork is hanging on the walls of some strangers’ homes. It’s a bit nauseating to think about really.

Not knowing what to pack, I stand in the closet looking at all of the clothes Dylan has bought for me and feeling like a deer in headlights. I peer out into the bedroom and at all the gorgeous furniture I’ve picked out, glad to be finally done decorating our bedroom. We just got our Soho Tufted Daybed a few days ago and now we don’t even get to enjoy it.

Dylan is swiftly packing his bags and not paying any attention to me at all. He’s on his Bluetooth headset talking sternly to an employee about what their duties will be while we’re away. He truly is a Dom. This is the same way he talks to me when he lets me know what he expects of me before he leaves in the morning. I turn back to the closet, still at a loss for what to take. Dylan goes silent and I feel his hands on my shoulders.

“Why aren’t you packed yet?” he asks.

“I don’t know what to pack.”

“Here, let me help,” he says.

He completely takes over and picks out several outfits without so much as asking me what I think, but I don’t mind so much. Dylan is quick to grab my corsets. I’m still getting used to wearing them on a regular basis, but I know how much he loves seeing me in them so I’ve accepted the ritual of donning them when he’s home. I grab a few things and pick out my skivvies, and we get it all packed into the suitcases.

“You’re such a clotheshorse,” I tell him when I see that he has more bags packed than I do.

He gives me his goofy really look and I laugh at him. While Dylan calls Carson and Raul, I find his birthday gift and stash it away in my bag. The thought of giving it to him sends butterflies fluttering in my belly. Next, I clean up the kitchen and the half made dinner that I had started before Dylan’s arrival.

When I’m done, Raul drives us to the airfield. It’s almost spring and the cool breeze outside excites me as I think about flying away to an exotic location with my husband. Dylan’s birthday is coming up and I realize that we’ll be in Paris when his special day arrives. I think maybe he planned this out so that his birthday will be celebrated in Europe. Sneaky, boy.

When we get to the airfield, Sawyer is waiting to see us off. He looks happy and I know it’s because of Sonya. I inwardly pat myself on the back for my matchmaking skills. He smiles broadly at me and I think it’s the first time I’ve seen his teeth. He looks handsome when he smiles and I almost voice that sentiment, but I hold my tongue, not wanting to make my Dom jealous.

“You two have a wonderful time and don’t worry about anything,” he says as he nods to Dylan.

Dylan squeezes Sawyer’s shoulder and we bid our farewell and load ourselves and our luggage onto Mustang Sally. I dread the long flight and dig out our itinerary to see exactly how long it will take. We’ll fly from here to New York to fuel up before our long flight to Paris.

“Can Sally really fly such a long distance?” I ask, feeling my nerves kicking in.

Dylan squeezes my hand and assures me that, yes, this new upgraded version of Sally can.

“She can fly 4,000 nautical miles nonstop,” he tells me.

I never did figure out why he wanted a bigger jet. I had grown fond of the smaller Sally that only seated four people. It seemed more private. This large jet now seats 10 and I just can’t seem to get used to her. Men and their toys. Dylan leans over and dutifully buckles me in and then himself. I do enjoy how he’s always watching out for my safety.

When we’re safely up in the air, Dylan removes his seatbelt and digs out his satchel. Pulling out an English-French pocket-sized dictionary, he starts thumbing through it. I’m surprised and, frankly, amused that this man of the world, this former NSA agent, and possibly secret-spy, doesn’t know how to speak French. Hell, even I know how to speak French. I let a giggle slip out and he turns his head, looking befuddled by my response.

“What?” he asks.

“You’re cute.”

“I know, but why are you giggling?” he says cockily.

“Because you don’t need that, silly boy, I can translate for us,” I tell him.

Dylan’s eyebrows go up and he looks shocked. “You speak French?” he asks as if he doesn’t really believe me.

“Uh, yes. I thought you knew everything about me?” I ask.

“I didn’t know that. What else have you been keeping from me?” he replies, sounding a bit hurt.

“I haven’t been keeping anything from you. It just never came up. And I thought with all your technological expertise and the stuff you looked up about me, that would’ve been in there.”

He furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head at me. “What other languages do you speak?”

“Spanish and a bit of Portuguese,” I whisper.

“Shit, Isa, you never cease to amaze me,” Dylan replies, kissing the top of my hand.

I suddenly feel shy though I’m not sure why. No – I do know why. It’s because I’m reminded of how and why I know how to speak those languages. I turn to look out the window as a flood of horrible memories wash over me. Pulling my hand away from Dylan, he immediately senses my withdrawal.

“Isabel, tell me,” he simply states.

I shake my head, no, “Don’t make me.” I know honesty is the key to this relationship, but there are just some things I still don’t want to share. “Please, Dylan. I don’t want to. I just want to enjoy this trip, not think about the past.”

Dylan lifts the armrest between us, unbuckles my belt and pulls me over to him, forcing me to look at him. His look reflects kindness, yet he is also stern.

“I need to know,” he tells me.

Fine. I know he won’t drop this until I tell him. “My father taught me Spanish and forced me to learn French. He said it would make me well-bred. My mother taught me Portuguese. She was insistent on teaching it to me before…” I trail off.

“Go on,” Dylan prods.

“She wanted me to know Portuguese before we left my father. She had planned on taking us away to Brazil so she wanted me to know the language,” I say brusquely, pulling away from him and looking out the window again. I hate being forced to answer questions about my past. Why can’t he just leave well enough alone?

“Are you angry?” he asks.

Dylan is so dense sometimes. I don’t respond because I don’t want to say anything rude, but I’m seething at his persistence.

“Isabel Young, look at me,” he tells me in his fatherly tone which irritates me even more.

I shoot a look of anger at him and his eyes widen at me.

“I’m a grown ass woman, not a child, so don’t speak to me like one,” I snap at him.

Dylan turns his face away from me, looks forward and sighs. He’s trying to contain his temper, which is what I should’ve done. I immediately feel like hell for speaking to my Dom in such a manner. I still have my moments of immaturity and lack of self-restraint, but there’s no excuse for being so rude to the man I love. Damn. He’s angry with me and I hate that feeling. I want only to please him and to make him happy. Trying to make up for my bad behavior, I grab his hand and kiss each finger.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I know you’re just curious,” I tell him.

Dylan doesn’t like to hear I’m sorry, he believes that actions speak louder than words and he’s right about that. He doesn’t respond and this is his way of punishing me. To be ignored by him is worse than a spanking or paddling, because most times a spanking is quite enjoyable. He’s learned that receiving pain from him is my weakness and not really a penalty at all and so he’s taken to different forms of true punishment when the situation calls for it. I sigh and turn back to the window, leaning my head back and closing my eyes.

During my nap, I dream about my mother. She’s speaking words that I can’t quite understand and I can only make out some of them. “Eu te amo, anjo,” she tells me. I understand those sweet words spoken to me; she loves me and I’m her angel. She wants to run away with me. I’m hot and uncomfortable. My father’s hands are wrapped around my neck and I can’t breathe. I gasp and try to claw his hands away from me but I can’t get loose. I try to scream, but my mouth betrays me and nothing comes out. Please Dylan, help me…

“Isa, love, wake up!” Dylan says loudly.

I wake to him shaking me violently and when I open my eyes he looks panicked. I throw myself into his arms and bury my face in his chest, sobbing silently.

“I shouldn’t have made you talk about it,” he says softly and sadly.

“Just hold me,” I cry.

Dylan wipes my tears and whispers sweet nothings in my ear, calming me completely. I match my breathing to his and my heart rate slows.

It’s not long before we land in New York. We make our way off the plane for a breather and to stretch our legs before our long journey. Dylan looks upset and keeps squeezing my hand as we walk through the terminal, never letting go of my hand the entire time. When we get to the restrooms, I’m finally able to pry my hand from his and do my business.

After finishing up, I stand in front of the bathroom mirror to inspect myself. I look horrible. My eyes are bloodshot from crying and I have dark circles under my eyes from my recent lack of sleep. What does Dylan see in me? I’ve been feeling more and more pathetic lately.

I need to talk to my counselor again before the old self-loathing Isa rears her nasty head and damages my fragile self-esteem. Damn Cassie and Alex. I was fine until they showed up and f*cked everything up. Damn my father for killing my mother. Life could have been wonderful if we had just gotten away from him. There are several people staring over at me and I wonder why. Looking in the mirror again, there are tears streaming down my cheeks. I didn’t even realize I was crying. Several voices are heard near the restroom entrance, one of them being Dylan’s. He comes walking in and a handful of women give him the evil eye, but it doesn’t deter him.

“Are you okay?” he asks concerned as he turns me around to face him. “You’ve been in here for more than 20 minutes.”

Have I? I feel dazed and out of it. He guides me out of the restroom and sits me down in a café chair and orders me a raspberry spritzer.

“Drink this,” he says, handing me the beverage.

I chug it down promptly and the cool bubbly drink refreshes me. Pulling a chair up next to me, Dylan runs his fingers through my hair.

“Isa, please don’t do this. I know that look and what you’re thinking,” he says evenly.

His words are gloomy and make me feel worse than I already do. I just want to forget about everything and hide somewhere warm and dark.

“Maybe we should call Maggie and postpone the honeymoon,” Dylan says.

I feel wretched. “Please, no. Take me somewhere far away,” I beg him. My voice sounds unfamiliar to me and I hug him, hiding my face in his chest again. Why do I have to be so pathetic?