Raw Act of Possession
Part Eight
by sarAdora


A few days later...

Shortly before the evening rush home, Jonas walked over to her office to tease Teddy about the upcoming training seminar for his division. He couldn't wait to ask her if it would be "intensive" and paused in mid-step when he heard her crying softly, a small fist in front of her mouth.

Teddy hadn't heard him enter and looked up when he approached. Quickly, she turned her back but he had seen the tears streaming down her face.

"Tell me," he said sharply, coming up behind her and tilting her head back to look at her.

"It's nothing," she insisted, pulling away from him, trying to regain her composure.

"Let me help you, Teddy."

"Nothing you can do." Her voice trembled, alarming him... alarming her.

"Tell me," he ordered, the voice of the AD, a command meant to be obeyed.

"Will you...?" she paused, unsure what his reaction would be when she asked the question. "Will... will you ho.. hold me for a m-m-moment?" she stuttered the words, her voice barely audible.

Jonas pulled her into his arms, the feel of her as natural as drawing breath. How the hell did I ever let you go?

She broke down, sobbing against his chest, soaking his shirt and when she could take a breath, she tried to pull away. His arms had comforted her, giving her a feeling of safety, and leaning into him, she had relished the familiar scent of him and realized that no matter what he had done to her, she had missed his touch.

"You can let me go now," she whispered when she had calmed.

"Not going to happen, Agent Sullivan, I'm going to hold you until you tell me why you were crying."

"Can't tell you," she protested. "You'll..."

"Tell me," he said softly, stroking her back, desperate to kiss her, touch her intimately.

"There's a man who stalks me... threatens me... He... he scares me. I'm... I'm..."

"Do you know his name?"

She nodded.

"Tell me," he growled. "I'll take care of it."

"I don't think you will," she breathed raggedly, looking up at him with eyes bleary from crying and too many nights without sleep.

"I'll take care of it," he snarled, enraged that she was so frightened, forgetting for the moment that he had also frightened her. "Tell me his name."

"Roger Cavanaugh."

The bastard.

"I'll take you somewhere safe. Trust me. He won't find you."

"But you...," she hesitated to remind him that it was the same Roger Cavanaugh that had given her to him... to his possession... that time when he... that long weekend when he had... He had worn a hood but it was him... She knew... She knew he knew...

"I know what you're thinking, Teddy," he said, his arms tightening around her... firmly... gently... his desire for her shaking him badly.

"You don't know what I'm..."

"I do," he insisted. "You and I... we... Christ! I want you! I've missed the feel of you in my arms. How did I ever let you go?" he moaned, confirming his identify. His voice was ragged with need and his breath was rough and warm in her ear. Holding her had brought everything back... the feel of her soft sweet body against him, the scent of her filling his nostrils, and now an overwhelming need to keep her safe. "Teddy..." he murmured. "Tell me.

Have you missed my body loving yours? Do you want me?"

"Yes," she whispered so softly that he had to strain to hear her words.


He left a clean FBI T-shirt on the bed in his guestroom thinking she'd nap after her shower, the stress of the last few days overwhelming her. She did lay down and when he looked in on her, he was hard pressed not to join her in bed. He wanted her badly but his first priority was to protect her; he had to make arrangements to ensure her safety.

By the time she woke and was eating the takeout he had ordered, agents in two unmarked FBI vans had emptied her apartment. Her furniture was placed in storage and her clothes and personal items were brought to his condo.

"You'll be safe here," he told her as he finished his meal.

"Is this an FBI safe house?" she asked, curious as to her location.


"Who lives here?"

"I do."

The simple statement assuaged her insecurities. He would keep her safe. He might spank her till she cursed him to hell but he would keep her safe.

"Are you going to make love to me?" she asked, desire mixed with trepidation coloring her words.

"Do you want me to?" he countered, his words neutral, his cock ever ready but a slight doubt in his mind.

"Yes. Are you going to spank me?" she heard herself ask and blushed.

"Might have to, sugar woman," he smiled as he reached for her, glad she had made the first move. "But right now, I'm going to make love to you."

"How?" her words clinical as if she were removed from the scene.

"I'll show you."

"Yes, show me now," and settled her body against his as if she had known him for years.

They came together with the passion of lovers long parted, their bodies in concord and harmony, fitting perfectly. Their hunger for each other overwhelmed them and when they finally achieved bliss they knew the need had been mutual.

"I remember you," she murmured, her body sated, her mind at ease in his embrace.

"Every day I remember you," he whispered.


"I want you to stay here for a while," Jonas told her the next morning as he got out of bed. "I need to ensure your safety and until that's done to my satisfaction, you'll stay out of the office."

"But," she began to protest, throwing the covers off, unconcerned about her nude state. "I have responsibilities. I have..."

"I'll clear it with the Director. Obey me in this," he whispered as he pulled her into his arms and nuzzled her neck. "Obey me, sugar woman."

Her brows arched at his words and without thought, she opened her mouth to object. He grinned. Her body language told him everything and he flipped her under his arm and delivered a few firm swats to her bare behind.

"Damn you!" she shouted when he set her on her feet. "You can't lord it over me like..."

"I can and I will," he growled, dropping back to the bed and hauled her squirming body over his lap. "And until I'm certain you're safe from Roger Cavanaugh," he said firmly as his hand expertly seared her bottom cheeks, "You'll obey me!"

"Son-of-a-bitch!" she yelled. "You fu...!"

"The more you object," he lowered his voice and though he slowed the pace of the hard spanks, continued to light a fire on her bare butt. "The longer and harder I'm going to spank you!"

"You * are * staying * here! Is * that * clear?"

She couldn't talk. She was barely breathing. The pain was... "Yes! Yes! I'll stay!"

"Your word," he demanded, landing another harsh swat.

"My word!" she wailed.

"Teddy," he murmured, picking her up and cradling her close. "I want you safe. I know it doesn't make sense coming from me... when I was the one... who... but I... Teddy, please stay here. Let me do what I do best. It won't be long, I promise."

"You didn't have to spank me so hard," she pouted, leaning against him. "I don't think you spanked me that hard when you..."

"Sugar woman," he murmured, his palm cupping her sore bottom. "I want to love you... again and again. I don't think I'll ever get enough of you," he added as his mouth covered hers.


When he finally dragged his body away from hers and was settled behind his desk, he thought about what had to be done with Roger Cavanaugh. It wasn't enough to corner him, beat him up and warn him to stay away from her. He had to do something more lasting, something that would make a permanent impression on the bastard. And it was important that Roger didn't know he was behind the matter.

Mid day, inspiration struck and he burst out laughing at the revenge he would take on the man who had tricked Teddy. A few phone calls later, a devious plan was set in motion. All he had to do was go to the assigned location and watch it unfold.

He called Teddy and told her he'd be home late and not to wait up for him. He had sent her files home for her to work on; she'd be occupied till he returned.

An hour later, Jonas was at the "Basement," one of the many available playrooms for the local BDSM community. He showed a membership card for entrance, grabbed a bottled water from the bar - no alcohol allowed in the club - and settled in a dark corner of the room to watch the action.

A leather clad Dominant man was whipping an eager submissive woman into orgasmic bliss while another was wielding a wicked looking paddle on the backside of a sweet young thing that was sobbing. Other "couples" were doing similar things and all seemed to be enjoying themselves.

He was getting bored.

A flurry of activity drew his attention to center floor. There, in full Dominatrix regalia was the six-foot, hard-core BDSM Lady Jessica - with a 5-strand tail whip in one hand and a wicked looking beveled paddle in the other. She had a furious look on her face as her eyes sought out each nook and cranny of the room. When she spotted her prey, she nodded to two shorter but equally strong women who were dressed in similar fashion. Before a totally unconcerned audience, the two assistants grabbed one Roger Cavanaugh from his table, dragged him kicking and screaming to center floor, stripped him and positioned him in front of Lady Jessica.

"Kneel!" she hissed at the startled man.

"What the fuck!" he yelled and extended his arms, his fists making contact with one of the women. Their fists retaliated and in seconds, he was prostrate on the floor, his sides heaving, blood seeping from a gash in his cheek.

"You owe me," Lady Jessica announced. "You took what was mine. In return, I will take you. You are mine now, my slave, and you will learn. Won't you?" she smiled at the confused man who had no idea what she was talking about. Neither did anybody else but no one in their right mind questioned Lady Jessica. Roger Cavanaugh was in for some serious training - painful training.

Retribution would be extracted. Jonas was satisfied. Exiting the club, he had no regrets.

There was a beautiful woman in his condo; it was time he paid her a little attention - very personal attention.

Quietly, he entered the condo, stripped down to his boxer shorts and donned a hood. Once his face was covered he silently climbed the stairs to the bedroom.

She wore shorts and a T-shirt, sitting at his desk with her back to the door.

One arm went around her waist, lifting her while his other hand immediately covered her mouth. She struggled against him until she recognized his scent and relaxed in his arms.

"Take your clothes off," he growled at her, his deep voice husky with desire.

"Fuck you," she said softly as she pulled his hand from her mouth.

"That's what you're going to do, sugar woman," he murmured, pulling her head back and kissing her, the contact hard and bruising.

"Strip," he told her when he let her up for air.

She arched a brow and drew her hand back to slap him.

He caught it in mid swing, ripped her clothes off and upended her in the blink of an eye. His hand descended... she cursed... he laughed and dropped her on the bed. Dropping his shorts, he bent over her and kissed her bottom cheeks until she moaned.

"I refuse to kneel," she gasped as his hand slid around her hip, caressing her smooth mound. Her thighs had already melted... "And I won't call you Master!" she added as he lifted her to her knees, thrusting hard and deep, filling her.

Later, he held her in a tight embrace until he could talk without gasping. Her nipples were taut against his chest, one leg draped over his muscled thigh, her own breathing heavy and warm on his throat.

"Are you mine, sugar woman?"

"Never," she moaned as her arms snaked around his neck and she pulled his hood off. "You'll never own me," she swore.

"I *will* own you," he promised, his hands caressing, teasing. "And when I take you for my own, it will be a raw act - a raw act of possession."

"Do it now," she urged.

~ End ~

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