Killing Me Softly: A Romantic Suspense Anthology, page 216
Fear that Grace will refuse my collar, compounded by the fear of what will happen if she accepts.
There are things she’s going to want from me that I cannot—will not—give her, and she’s going to want to know why. I won’t be able to answer honestly without confessing the damage that her patient, good, methodical Dom is capable of.
I’d just as soon cut my own heart out as tell her the devastating truth.
Of course, the irony is that I’ll end up losing her eventually anyway. It wouldn’t be the first time a submissive ended our arrangement because she wanted a sexual relationship with her Dom.
But the promise of future pain isn’t enough to dissuade me from the path I’ve chosen, the one that leads to Grace on her knees, should she choose to walk it.
I rest my fork on my plate.
“Go get ready for bed,” I say. “I’ll come to your room in a few minutes.”
She slides off her chair and walks primly into the hallway where her hurried footfalls betray her excitement. I take my time retrieving the flat, square box, wrapped in pink paper from my dresser drawer, along with a small pair of pliers.
I knock twice on Grace’s bedroom door before I enter.
My gaze finds her, seated on the edge of her bed, wearing a white lace camisole and matching shorts I haven’t seen her wear before. She must’ve gotten them today.
I point to a spot on the rug between us. “Kneel there. Palms in your lap.”
She lowers herself before me, her wide blue gaze locked on the box in my hand. I walk a slow circle around her, reaching out to capture a lock of golden hair around my finger.
“You’ve impressed me these past couple of months,” I tell her. Her chest rises, lifting her breasts. It isn’t cold in here, yet her nipples stand at attention. I imagine pinching them as I flog her breasts until they’re as pink as her cheeks are now. “Your dedication to service has far exceeded my expectations.”
She smiles. “Thank you, Sir.”
After a series of steadying breaths, I hold out her present.
“Happy birthday, little one.”
Grace takes her gift and tears the paper. Lifting the lid, she gasps as her gaze lands on the platinum O-ring, suspended on either side by delicate chains that end in a locking mechanism that’s currently open.
“Once that collar goes around your neck, it can’t be removed without damaging the chain,” I tell her. “Think carefully about whether you want to wear it, and don’t accept it unless you’re willing to dedicate yourself to me, mind and body.”
“I’ve been ready for you this whole time.”
The desire in her voice calls to me. I close my eyes, tensing for the moment I’ve been dreading.
“There’s something you need to know first,” I say. “When we started this, I said I wasn’t going to fuck you. That hasn’t changed.”
“Why not?” she asks, puzzled.
I swallow hard. I don’t relish the thought of lying to her, so I aim for the truth mixed with a little ambiguity. “Because I don’t have sex with my submissives.”
“Ever?”
I shake my head. “Never.”
Grace frowns. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s the way I do things. However, if you wish to continue serving me, you’ll need to accept it.”
She studies the collar, tracing the O-ring with the tip of her finger.
“Do you...do that with anyone?”
“I’ve had sexual relationships with people I didn’t practice kink with in the past. I recognize that kink can be arousing for a lot of people, but I won’t be touching you with the goal of making you come.” The fear that I’m beginning to lose her kicks my pulse into overdrive. “That said, unless I tell you not to, you’ll have my permission to touch yourself when you’re alone. And I have no interest in seeing anyone else while we’re involved.”
She nibbles her lip as she considers the choices I’ve set before her. I wish I could know what she’s thinking, or that I could divine the right things to say to persuade her to be mine. I’ve never felt this invested in a BDSM partnership, especially not at such an early stage.
But Grace isn’t just anyone. She’s my ward, my family. Mine...
“Will you do all the other stuff?” she asks. “The bondage and the flogging?”
“All of that, and more.”
She seems to like that answer. My chest tightens as she frees the collar from its velvet-lined packaging, holding it out for me to take. I grasp the collar, hoping she doesn’t notice the slight tremor running through my hands.
She lifts her hair, baring her neck to me. I place the collar around her throat and hold it there so she can get a feel for its placement and weight.
“Do you vow to give yourself over to me completely?” I ask one last time. I need her to be sure before I engage the locking mechanism.
“I’m already yours, Sir.”
Her words set off a chain reaction. Shifting into Dom mode isn’t just a mental transition. It’s a full-body response. I stand up straighter, plant my feet firmer. My attention narrows in on my little one, until she becomes my sole focus. The most important person in my world.
Drawing the pliers from my pocket, I step behind her so I can lock the collar in place. Pinching the mechanism closed, I feel a wave of satisfaction surge through me.
Grace belongs to me. I’m responsible for her.
“Stand up and turn around so I can look at you.”
Grace does as she’s told. Everyone and everything outside of this moment fades into the background as she shines her smile on me. Resting my hand on her shoulders, I walk her to the closest mirror so she can see how the collar looks around her neck.
“It suits you beautifully,” I say. “How do you feel?”
She meets my gaze in the mirror. Once again, I’m struck by how exposed she is in her nightclothes.
“I feel wonderful,” she says. “Like I can finally relax, knowing you want to keep me.”
Contrary to what my calm demeanor suggests, relaxation is the furthest thing from my mind—something she could easily tell if she pressed against me. I rub the thin fabric of her shorts between my fingers.
“Are these new?” I ask. “I don’t recall you trying them on today.”
“I tried them on but didn’t show them to you,” she says, her gaze locked on the reflection of my hand so close to her thigh. “I wanted them to be a surprise.”
“A surprise or a temptation?” I run the backs of my fingers down her arm.
She sucks in a breath, her cheeks reddening.
“Maybe a little of both.” She winces, no doubt recalling what happened the last time she tried topping from the bottom. “I’m sorry, Sir.”
“It’s all right, little one. I’m glad you like surprises.”
“Why?” She gasps as my hand makes firm contact with her backside.
“Because I’m going to enjoy keeping the ballerina on her toes.”
15
Grace
Aidan’s hand comes down hard on my ass. I’m jolted by the force of it, like lightning striking the ground outside my window. He hits me again on the same side, then twice on the other cheek.
Pain and heat spread across my skin like wildfire.
It happens so swiftly that I’m not sure if I like it until I’ve endured a few more slaps.
But once I start to like it, I can’t stop clenching my thighs.
He has to realize the effect his blows are having on me. Even when it hurts—especially when it hurts—being touched by him feels like a reward.
His hand lingers on my ass before he finally pulls away. I barely have time to register the hardness pressing against my hip before he guides me over to the bed. The skin on my bottom prickles as I sit down, hot tingles that ricochet throughout my pelvis. It feels like there’s a fist between my legs, squeezing tighter and tighter, drawing my attention to the spot he said he wouldn’t touch.
But from the intensity in his gaze, I can tell he wants to do something.
He grasps the front of my neck, pressing the collar tight to my skin. His intense gaze holds me hostage.
“You enjoyed that very much,” he says.
It’s a statement of fact, not a question, so I don’t respond.
Suddenly, his lips are on mine. I gasp at the unexpected contact, which he takes as an invitation to taste my tongue.
I moan softly into his mouth. Does he realize this is my first kiss? Or, is it my second? I’m not sure whether or not foot kisses count.
He pulls away, taking my breath with him, long before I’m ready to let him go.
“The spanking was a test,” he rasps. “I know you’re used to enduring pain, but not all pain is alike.”
If the spanking was a test, then the kiss must have been extra credit.
“How did I do?” I ask.
“You passed with flying colors,” he says. “Just like I knew you would.”
Warm satisfaction washes over me. “When you said no sex, I was afraid you also meant no kissing. I’m glad that’s not the case.”
As long as I can kiss him, I’ll be more than satisfied with whatever he’s willing to give me.
Aidan’s half-smile flattens as though he’s just recalled something troubling. Whatever it is, he shakes it off quick.
“It’s time for you to go to bed,” he says. “I’ll let you choose what to read tonight.”
I pull up a historical romance on my eReader and slide under the covers. Aidan stretches out above the blankets alongside me, tucking his arm behind my neck. I read aloud from the book as I’ve done every night for weeks. I wouldn’t normally choose a story with such racy love scenes, but I’m emboldened by Aidan’s closeness, and his kiss.
When we get to the part where the couple makes love for the first time, he doesn’t tell me to skip it. Even when my face is smoldering, he instructs me to read on.
I nod off in the middle of a sentence some time later. I feel my eReader slide through my fingers and look to find Aidan gazing down at me. He sets the device on the bedside table, then angles my face so he can kiss my lips.
“Goodnight, little one,” he says.
I sigh the words, “Goodnight, Sir.”
As he climbs out of bed, my gaze is drawn like a magnet to the bulge in his pants. I see it, and he knows that I’ve seen it. How long has he been like that?
“Don’t concern yourself with it,” he says. Though now that he’s brought it up, all I want to do is concern myself with it.
As soon as he’s gone, I thrust my hand beneath the waistband of my tap pants and panties. My clit is so sensitive that I’m halfway to Heaven in seconds.
With my free hand, I trace the delicate lines of my collar. The chains on either side of the center ring, then the ring itself, resting comfortably at the base of my throat. It’s a lightweight piece, but the meaning behind it is substantial.
I belong to Aidan now. Though at times it feels as if he’s owned my heart from the very beginning.
I wonder if this is what love feels like. Wanting to give yourself over to another person, offering up your still-beating heart on a plate for them to consume.
Pleasure mounts within me as my fingers dance over my clit. Aidan doesn’t want this part of my body. I’m trying not to take it personally. He must have his reasons, and I hope one day he’ll share them with me.
For now, my own touch will be enough. My touch, and the memory of Aidan’s spanking, and the taste of his kiss on my tongue.
I bash the tip of my pointe shoe against the stone terrace. My ballet instructor will be here soon, and I want to be warmed up and ready to dance when she arrives. Somehow, Jen managed to entice a third-year Jost Academy student with some time on her hands this summer to come to the house five days a week to train with me.
Aidan and Jen are both working from the Manhattan office today. He hinted that he might bring back cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery, since I’ve been especially good at following his instructions lately. Over the past week, Aidan has been introducing me to different tools and sensations. Rope bindings, paddles, and riding crops, on top of what his own skilled hands are capable of.
To go from hardly being touched at all to being touched nearly all the time was a heady transition, and one that I welcomed. If he could keep his fingers in my hair from morning till midnight, I think he would.
Of course, there are places he still won’t touch me. He’ll spank my ass, but he won’t explore the cleft between my cheeks, and he’ll slap my pussy with the riding crop, but only if I’m wearing panties. In fact, he rarely tells me to take my panties off—out of sight, out of mind, I suppose.
Sometimes I think his rules frustrate him even more than they madden me. He seems to be constantly holding himself back from crossing lines he’s drawn in the sand.
Last night, he brought me to his bedroom for the first time.
Unlike my room, which is all pastels and gauzy drapes, his room is decorated in rich, dark woods. His bed isn’t a normal bed. He had the frame custom built with bars across the top for suspension play and hooks along the headboard and posts.
When I saw it, I thought it looked like an adult jungle gym, and I told him so. He told me to take my clothes off and get ready to play.
I’m still not used to being undressed in front of him. It’s the way he looks at me, like a caged lion staring down a toddler at the zoo, only the cage is of his own making, and he holds the key. The black track pants he wears during scenes make it impossible for him to hide his excitement. He’s virtually given up on trying to downplay his erections. As much as it turns me on to see him hard, it’s agonizing to know he’s not going to let me see or touch him.
“Stand at the foot of the bed with your hands clasped behind your back,” he told me. Doing so raised my breasts, placing them front and center. He pressed his palm to the center of my chest, right over my heart, which began knocking at my sternum like it wanted to jump out and greet him.
I gasped as he swept his hand across my breast to capture my nipple. He squeezed, gently at first, then harder. I felt the echo of his touch between my legs, in my clit, and I pressed my thighs together. He switched to the other breast, teasing and pinching my nipple hard enough to make me whimper, before letting go.
“Turn around,” he said. I desperately wanted him to continue playing with my breasts, but he’d given me an order.
I turned to face the bed with its gray comforter and burgundy pillows. I pictured myself lying there, with Aidan on top of me, his mouth around my nipple and his body between my legs.
He guided my hands apart and buckled my wrists into soft leather cuffs, which he clipped to leather thongs that hooked to the bedframe. Then he cuffed my ankles and fastened them to an adjustable rod called a spreader bar, which he extended to keep my feet apart. Bound to Aidan’s bed, I felt completely at his mercy as he tied my hair back into a loose bun.
Hooking a finger around my collar, he asked, “What does this chain mean, little one?”
“It means I’m yours, Sir.”
“What else?”
“It means I belong to you. That I serve you.” I swallowed as he gently pulled on the chain, pressing the center ring tighter to my throat. “It means you can do anything you want to me.”
As if to prove my words true, he began gliding his hands over me, down my back and around to my stomach. He scraped his teeth along my shoulder and skated his palms over my breasts. Then he pulled away, leaving me wanting.
Something tickled my backside. I glanced over my shoulder, catching sight of red and black leather.
“I’m going to hit you with this flogger.” He draped the leather strips over my shoulder, letting me feel the soft suede against my skin. “This is what you’ve been begging for since the first night you offered to serve me. Let’s see if it lives up to your expectations.”
The first stroke landed square between my shoulder blades. I cried out more from surprise than from pain. The second blow hit slightly lower and to the side. It felt like a punch, deep and thudding. It hurt, but not in a way that I couldn’t tolerate.
The pain reminded me of physical therapy, or a deep-tissue massage. Pain that was meant to heal and strengthen.
“Is it everything you thought it’d be, little one?”
I sucked in a breath. “No... It’s better.”
He hit me again, and again. I closed my eyes and used the techniques Aidan had been teaching me. Allowing the cuffs to support me, relaxing further and further into myself. When I began to get used to the rhythm he was using, he’d switch it up, swiping the tips of the flogger upward against the bottom curve of my ass. The sting woke me up, pulling me back into the moment.
Tears escaped my eyes and trailed down my cheeks. I couldn’t believe I’d gone my whole life without this feeling. This total letting go. This surrendering. I’d only ever felt a similar release when I was dancing.
But this was different. I wasn’t in control; Aidan was. He decided how hard the next blow would be, if he would go easy or kick like a horse.
And when it was over, he laid the flogger on the bed and ran his palms up and down my burning backside. He pulled me against him, and his chest felt cool in comparison to my own flushed skin.
“You took that beating beautifully, little one.”
He kissed my neck gently, and I melted into his arms.
He uncuffed my wrists and guided my front half onto the bed, with my feet still planted on the floor.
Bent over with my ass in the air, I felt something hard between us, and realized it had to be Aidan’s erection, still trapped in his sweatpants. My racing pulse broke into a sprint. His grip on my hips tightened as he angled his bulge ever so slightly toward the crux of my legs.
He wanted me. I didn’t care how many times he’d insisted that he never fucks his subs.
Right then, Aidan wanted to fuck me. And I—
