They're really taking this politically correct thing too far.
Stepping from the foyer into the living room, Callie spied a twinkling Christmas tree in the corner. On the mantel, a lit menorah burned, the candles flickering as the people nearby jostled for position as more and more guests crammed into the room. This was a boisterous crowd, already drinking like it was New Year's. Advancing farther into the room, she noticed the Kwanzaa decorations and rolled her eyes.
Pick a holiday and go with it, people. You can't please everyone.
She sought out the host and hostess, old friends from her grad school days, and said hello, handing over the obligatory "thanks for inviting me" bottle of wine. They chatted for a bit to catch up before she grabbed a cocktail and made her way toward the dining room in search of other former classmates and some food. The smells of the various delicacies wafted by, making her mouth water in anticipation. She had just gotten into town and was starving. Plopping a slice of cheddar cheese onto a cracker, she stuffed it into her mouth and then looked up--and everything inside her came to a screeching halt.
Jack was there.
With a beer hanging from his long fingers, he leaned against the wall, casual as can be, while her world tilted on its axis. He looked good--still the same tall, well-muscled body, still the same olive skin, black hair, and full lips. His Italian ancestry lent him an air of exoticness, and she'd always been a sucker for that.
Her stomach roiled. The cracker caught in her throat, choking her. As she began to cough and sputter, he turned to see what the commotion was, and their gazes met. Callie watched as his eyes went dark with heat and recognition. A blush rushed up her chest, through her neck, and into her face. With suddenly cold fingers, she touched her burning skin.
He brought his beer to his lips and took a long pull, his tongue sneaking out to catch a stray drop from his top lip. Her gaze followed the movement. His never left her face. Even when his companion said something to him, he merely nodded and kept the whole of his attention on her. She took a fortifying sip of her vodka and cranberry juice, then another, longer gulp, trying to dislodge the cracker from her throat. And still he stared.
And she did the same damn thing she'd done three years ago when she'd gotten scared by his demands, his power--she ran. Cursing herself for her cowardice, she nonetheless wove her way through the crowd, setting her drink down on the nearest available surface as she rushed past. But before she made it to the front door, she felt his hand, still chilled from holding the beer bottle, curl around her overheated arm. "Long time no see. Leaving so soon, Callie?"
Pulling her around to face him, he then backed her against the wall in the foyer. With him this close, with his touch and his smell and his sheer size surrounding her, her body betrayed her, just like it always had where he was concerned. Her nipples tightened, her pussy ached, and her breath quickened. "What are you doing here?" She sighed at her own stupidity for asking something so obvious.
"These are my friends. A better question to ask is--what are you doing here?"
"I came back to town for the holidays, and I wanted to see some of my old grad school buddies. I guess I-I didn't think about the possibility of you being here."
"Is me being here a problem?"
"No," she answered too quickly.
"I miss you."
"I miss you too."
Dammit! What else am I going to admit to him?
"I still want you. I want to touch you. I need to touch you. May I?" At her silent nod, he lightly rested his hand around her throat. Not hard enough to choke, but enough to establish his dominance over her.
Like he needs to establish that. How could I possibly forget who and what he is?
Callie shivered. God, she wanted him. She'd never been as scared or as excited or felt as alive as she had during the year and a half she had subbed for Jack. Seeing him again made her want to get down on her knees and give him anything he wanted. If she remembered correctly, that was everything. But could he give it back to her? Before, he'd been unable or unwilling to, and when she couldn't handle loving him without reciprocation anymore, she'd left.
Her lips were parched, and she darted her tongue out to wet them. His eyes turned black as they blazed back at her.
"I want you too." And it was the truth. She wanted him, and this time she'd have him. If she ran away again, she knew she'd regret it for the rest of her life.
"Are you collared?"
She turned the question around. "Are you seeing anyone?" A strange look passed over his face, but Callie couldn't interpret it before it was gone.
"No. Answer me, Callie--are you seeing anyone?"
Letting out a soft growl, Jack cupped the back of her neck in his large hand and kissed her. There was nothing gentle in his kiss--there never had been. This kiss was one of possession, of establishing even more control. He pressed in farther, molding his body to hers while he continued to plunder her mouth. He didn't force his tongue inside; he didn't have to.
Surrendering, she relaxed and let him take her. He let out a grunt of satisfaction and changed the angle of her head so he could deepen the kiss. He slid a powerful thigh between hers as she moaned from the sensual onslaught.
After long moments, he pulled away, grabbed her hand, and led her toward the back of the house. Callie gasped when he pushed her into a bedroom and kicked the door closed. She whirled to face him but couldn't bring herself to look him in the eye, reverting to the naturally submissive pose of staring at his feet, her hands behind her back. She hadn't subbed for anyone in the three years she'd been gone and was amazed at how quickly the submissive veil slipped over her again. He chuckled.
"My pet, you're still a delightful submissive, I see." He took a gentle hold on her chin and pulled her face up to his. "I've always wanted you, since the moment you walked into my classroom. I know I'm a selfish bastard, but I'm going to ask for this most exquisite Christmas present anyway: will you submit to me again?"
Callie nodded, too overcome with emotion to speak.
"I want to hear the words--I want you to be sure."
"Yes, I'll sub for you," she managed to get out around the lump in her throat.
"Good. Then you'll be available to me insofar as you're able to, barring other commitments. Do you understand me?"
"Yes," she answered, the word hardly loud enough to be considered a whisper. She licked her lips again.
"By the way, I'm clean. I was tested a few months ago. You?"
"Yes, Sir, the same."
He stepped forward and shoved her to her knees. She went willingly. Callie wanted this--she wanted to show him she could handle him this time. Keeping her eyes trained on the floor, she waited for his next move. He let her stew for a minute and then pulled her to him, undoing his pants with his other hand. He guided his already erect cock into her mouth, and she took it, letting his essence wash over her tongue, relearning the contours of the head, the smoothness of the shaft, as he sawed in and out of her mouth with brutal strokes. He'd never been easy on her, and tonight was no exception.
He pulled his still-hard cock out of her mouth, resting just the very tip on her bottom lip. "How long are you in town for?"
Callie drew back enough to answer. "Through the first of the year."
She looked up in time to see him smile. "Excellent. We have a few weeks, then." He thrust all the way to the back of her throat, and she struggled not to gag. He plunged both hands into her hair, forcing her to take his dick all the way to the root, and held it there for several seconds. "Where are you staying?" He pulled out again. He had always liked carrying on conversations as Callie sucked him--reinforcing his dominance by repeatedly pulling out and then shoving back into her mouth as he saw fit.
"With Lora," she answered, naming her oldest friend.
"Ah, not far from me. I still live on Tremont. Is she going to let you play?"
"Lora lets me do whatever I want--she doesn't judge."
"I think I'm really going to enjoy the holidays for the first time in a long while." To get the angle he wanted, he went up on tiptoe and tilted her head just so, then began ruthlessly plundering her depths. "It's been a long time since you've tasted my cum, pet. You're going to swallow it--every drop, like the gift it is."
A scant few seconds later, Callie felt his cock swelling even larger, growing even longer, and then after pulling back until only his cockhead remained inside her mouth, he was coming, straining, as jet after jet of warm, salty liquid shot onto her tongue and slid down her throat. When he was finally spent, he withdrew completely and put himself back together. She remained on her knees, the denim of her jeans little protection from the hardwood floor.
Some might say she gave in too easily, but as Callie considered the man before her, who'd turned her world upside down now for the second time, she knew that wasn't true. Not at all. Her soul was at peace for the first time in years. She was a different person than she'd been all those years ago. Callie was what and where she needed to be: she just had to figure out how to hold on to the fragile sense of contentment she'd discovered tonight.
He briefly stroked the side of her face, then leaned down to touch his lips to hers. "Give me your number." She started to reach into the purse that had fallen beside her on the floor. He chuckled. "You may rise."
Standing up with her purse, she pulled a small sheet from the memo pad she always kept with her.
"Still jotting notes, I see."
"Yes, you never know where or when you'll find inspiration," she answered, quoting one of his own mantras back to him. After writing down her cell phone number, she handed him the paper.
He held it up and kissed it. "I'll be in touch." After taking one last look at her, he left the room.
She sat down on the bed, touching the tips of her fingers to her lips. Undoubtedly he thought he'd scored a great coup, bringing her back into his fold. Little did he realize, though... Sometimes the hunter becomes the hunted.