by Skylar Kade
He trapped her against the mirrored back wall of the elevator. “Three. And wipe that look from your face if you don’t want me taking you back upstairs and fucking you all night.”
Panties. Soaked. “What look?” Why did she have to get so turned on by the caveman act?
With one foot, he shoved her legs apart, filling the space between her thighs and shoving her skirt upward in the process. He skimmed one smooth hand up her thigh and under her skirt until he found the edge of her lacy boy shorts. He groaned, then stepped back and hit the STOP button on the elevator.
Now she was in trouble. “Turn around,” he bit out.
On shaking legs, she spun, bracing her arms on the mirrored wall. She caught sight of herself, dark-lined eyes soft with arousal, lips swollen and ready for him. Then her gaze slipped to Damien in the background, his jaw clenching and his lips pressed into a thin line.
“Don’t look away, sweetheart.”
A fresh wave of arousal made her dizzy and toyed with her womb. She couldn’t, for anything, break eye contact with his reflection. The few feet separating them grew heated, heavy, until he closed the space and fitted himself flush against her back. With one hand, he swept her hair off her neck, eyes locked with hers the entire time. Moving in slow motion, he set his lips on her exposed neck and bit down, just shy of leaving a visible mark along with the rush of tingles.
Cam wished he had. She’d never been fond of bruises or welts, mostly because they hurt and hickeys she saw as a result of juvenile fumbling around. But she’d gladly wear Damien’s teeth marks. Fuck. Who the hell was she turning into?
Before she could think more about it and ruin the moment, Damien flipped her dress up to expose her black panties. “I can smell your arousal.” His words brushed air over her neck and her arms shook with the stress of holding herself upright under his verbal and physical onslaught. One of his hands cracked against her ass and she jumped, expecting pain but getting nothing but hot pleasure and an aching reminder that she wanted him inside her. Before she could recover her equilibrium, he ripped both sides of her boy shorts, shredding the fine lace without effort.
“Hey! I love those!”
“Fine. I’ll buy you more. And I’ll rip those off too if they’re in my way.”
Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me? If I recall correctly, I’m not your submissive.” She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to keep hold of her righteous anger as desire burned it away.
“Four and five, for looking away. You are really begging for punishment, aren’t you? And as long as you’re helping me out with demos—and you’re not on loan from another Dominant—you will follow my instructions.”
Five smacks on her ass lit the skin and made her dance on her spike heels. Then he pulled her skirt down and moved away, hitting a button on the elevator panel. They began moving again, inching downward. For once, she was glad her ancient elevator moved so slowly. It gave her time to regain her composure before hitting reality again.
The nerve he had. How dare he boss her around, rip off her underwear…
She jumped and looked to the floor. No panties there. She scanned the whole area with one look. What had he done?
From the corner, she felt him smirk. “Looking for these?” Her torn panties dangled from one finger. He balled them up and slipped them into the pant pocket of his expensive suit.
Cam gaped at him, then blushed when a drop of arousal slid down her inner thigh. Her legs clamped together. “Damien, you can’t!”
The doors slid open and he linked her arm through his, leading her out. Cool air swirled up her dress, playing along her pussy. Fuck, this evening was going to be a trial. Ten minutes in, and she already needed to come.
In a desperate bid to avoid begging for release, she stayed silent as he led her to his sleek black car and off to the restaurant. In fact, not one word was said between them until they were seated next to each other in a back-corner booth. It afforded just enough privacy to be dangerous, a temptation Cam really didn’t need at that point.
“Comfortable?” Damien’s too-casual words, and eyes filled with sensual promise, set her back on edge—just like that. She couldn’t forget the juxtaposition of his cool voice and hot hands from that weekend, the utter control he showed completely undoing her. He could read the news in that voice and her betraying body would probably sink to its knees and beg for domination.
“Yes, Sir,” she muttered, the title slipping out before she realized what she’d said. His smile was broad and genuine. She wanted to please him if only to see it again.
“Do you have any food allergies?”
What an odd question. But she already recognized that quirked eyebrow. Cam wouldn’t want to quibble over this answer just for the sake of being stubborn. “No, though sometimes I’d kill to be allergic to dessert.”
Damien laughed and slipped a hand under her hair to stroke her neck. The easy touch sent shivers through her body.
Their waiter appeared before she’d gotten a chance to look at the menu. She was about to ask for a little more time when Damien said, “A bottle of the 2010 Châteauneuf-du-Pape, calamari fritti and two tagliate, medium, with gnocchi. One homemade gelato, to share, for dessert.”
The waiter nodded. “Very good, sir.”
Cam choked back her protest. The food he’d ordered sounded delicious, what she understood of it anyway, and the last thing she wanted was to get all hot and bothered at the table. Since arguing with him always ended up with her uncomfortably turned on, she wouldn’t rise to the bait—this time. See? She could learn.
After a minute of Damien’s eyes roving her, waiting, he took a long sip of water. “Good girl.”
Heat suffused her body. Damnit, she hated that she responded to him so easily! It had never been that way with Shawn. And that thought doused cold water on her evening. She knew that Damien was a different kind of Dom, but the same fear was there. In the beginning, Shawn had been sexual and caring too. A little less focused on her mind than her body when they played, but still. How did she know Damien wouldn’t change when—if, she reminded herself—she put herself in his care, even for an evening scene?
Damien’s fingers linked with hers and he pulled her closer in the round booth. “What’s going through that gorgeous head of yours? And don’t bother brushing me aside. If we’re going to play together, I need you to be open with me.”
Cam’s initial resistance melted beneath the gentle stroking of his thumb along her palm. She sighed. “I’m nervous about this—” she gestured between them, “—getting out of hand.” There. That was true, but not in so much detail as to expose all her worries.
“In what way?”
She started to reply, but the waiter showed up and set the wine on their table. The men went through the wine-sampling ritual. At Damien’s nod of approval, the waiter poured glasses for both of them and left once more. Cam grabbed for her wineglass, hoping the alcohol would soothe her nerves. Damien’s hand over her glass, however, stopped that plan.
“Not until you explain.”
She sighed, staring into the restaurant as if the words would jump from the other tables. Well-dressed couples dined, some with the stoic look of those who always dined this well, others with the utter joy of experiencing such a nice place for a special occasion. One couple argued in intense, hushed tones, their gestures sharp and angry—another pair snuggled up in a booth much like hers and Damien’s, clearly enjoying their date.
Of the two, she wanted the latter. With a vanilla man… But she knew, deep down, that would never be enough. She’d tried vanilla, had been engaged to a nice, quiet man, before admitting her needs. Cam turned to Damien, searching his face for some kind of reassurance.
Where Shawn had always seemed like the wheels in his head were calculating and weighing weaknesses in her, Damien’s face was all open honesty. If there was one thing she’d learned from her past failed relationships, it was that secrets never festered well. “Okay, Damien, you want honesty?”
<
br /> He nodded, though there was wariness in his eyes.
“Fine. Here you go. Shawn was my first experience with BDSM. When we started out, he was sweet though tentative as a newer Dom, and he listened to my limits, which mostly involved staying away from heavy play. I have a low pain tolerance. Pain doesn’t do anything for me.
“After a year and a half of an exclusive relationship and playing at a local club, he asked to move in together and try the 24/7 thing. At that point, it was what I wanted. I was ready to push my boundaries and I’d seen some of the other subs at the club, and even the slaves, hitting subspace and flying during their scenes.
“Turned out, all he wanted was a service slave. But I figured that if I proved myself, obeyed him, he’d find me—” she swallowed down the bile that threatened to ruin their meal, “—worthy of him.”
His fingers tightened around Cam’s hand. “I was so stupid,” she whispered. “I’d always trusted my judgment, but that was the worst decision I’d ever made. I’ve never felt so objectified, so utterly useless and used at the same time. I’d never been a quitter, though, so I stuck it out far longer than I should have.”
A tear slipped from her eye and she ducked her head, not wanting Damien to see her cry. He didn’t let her hide her face, instead tucking her under his arm and resting her head on his chest. From the kitchen, she saw their waiter approach with the calamari, so she halted the rest of her explanation. He set down the hot plate, nodded at Damien and left them again. She appreciated his efficiency, but longed for more time to pull herself together. No dice. Damien tilted her chin up and stared at her until the rest poured out.
“He got fed up with my ‘inability to properly submit’ and it made him…heavy-handed. Not too much, but we’d removed safe words when we took our relationship full time. I’d never been much for pain, which he knew and used against me. Discipline wasn’t fun—punishments were worse.”
Dishes on the table clattered when Damien slammed his fist to the table. Cam shrank back. Was he angry that she was bad-mouthing another Dom? Diners from other tables cast speculative looks their way, but she ignored them. All her attention stayed locked on her water glass, condensation running down the sides to turn the pale-red tablecloth the color of blood.
Lips pressed against her temple and Damien grabbed for her hand where it was twisted in the tablecloth. “Camille, sweetheart—” His words ended in another kiss to her forehead, then to her fingertips.
She’d never seen him look so serious. It shook her to the core. His eyes bored into hers, absent all all the lightness and devious intent she was used to finding there. His lips thinned to a dangerous line.
“That bastard better pray I never see him.” His words slashed at the bonds of self-recrimination she’d tied herself with during her disastrous relationship. His hands shook as he cupped her cheek. “Sweetheart, as much as I would love to partner with you, maybe it’s not a good idea. I don’t want to hurt you more.”
Yeah, that’s what she’d expected. Her heart sank and when she turned away from him, he let her go. “I understand,” she whispered. She was a risk, she knew that. She understood why such an intense Dom wouldn’t want to deal with it, but she couldn’t shake the disappointment. At least that resolved her indecision from earlier—she’d really wanted to bottom for him.
Cam scooted a little farther around the bench, needing space to breathe without inhaling Damien’s subtle cologne. The distance only made her ache more.
Their food appeared on the table, and the steak that had seemed so appealing earlier now curdled her stomach at the mere thought of it. Good thing she hadn’t told him about the shit that had gone down at work. She didn’t need to see the mistrust on his face alongside that pity.
She waited for him to dig into his plate—instead, her neck prickled with awareness. She snuck a glance at him, taking in his rigidly held body and blazing eyes.
“I don’t think you understand me at all, Camille.”
“It doesn’t really matter now, does it?” She shrugged and reached for her wineglass. This time he didn’t stop her. She knew a wine this nice should be savored, but she just wanted the alcohol to dull her rough edges.
Halfway through her glass, Damien’s hand wrapped around the stem. “I think that’s enough for the moment.”
Cam hated how careful he was being, like she’d shatter with a little manhandling. She’d dealt with worse from Shawn, and Damien had been severe with her Saturday, even that very evening in the elevator—she hadn’t broken. But that was before she’d opened her mouth to air her dirty laundry. “Thank you for dinner,” she said, needing to get out of there before she cried over losing something that was never hers to begin with. But no matter how she tried to reason with herself, Damien’s rejection stung more than it should. “I think I’d better go.”
He set her wineglass on the table, then looped his fingers through her hair and tugged until she was looking at him. “Like hell.”
How could he be so cruel, teasing her with the domination she couldn’t have? She pulled at his grasp, but that only prickled her scalp, a reminder of pleasure she’d be indefinitely deprived of. “I’m sorry I can’t be the sub you need,” she rasped around the lump in her throat.
Damien squeezed his eyes closed then ducked his head until their foreheads touched. “Sweetheart, you didn’t do anything wrong.” His lips brushed against hers in an agonizing shadow of a kiss.
Bullshit! She wanted to scream at him, act out, make him punish her, anything but this rejection. “Then why are you pushing me away? Please, Damien— Sir, I need—”
His finger on her lips cut off the begging before she lost all her pride, though at this point that was a sacrifice she was willing to make. She didn’t know where this desperate neediness was coming from, but it erupted as soon as he’d denied her. A pathetic tear squeezed from her eye, but she didn’t look away this time.
As their food cooled on the table, Damien sighed and let go of her hair. The loss of his touch stabbed at her chest. “Hands on the table,” he snapped.
Cam complied without a thought. His easygoing Dom voice was killer, but when he let all that power fill his words, she would never be able to say no. He nodded at their waiter, who trotted over. “Please package up our meals and the dessert.” He handed over a black credit card. When they were alone again, Damien turned to her. “We have a few issues to resolve, it seems. All of which would be better addressed in privacy. For now, until things are resolved, you will obey.”
Hope jump-started her heart. “Yes, Sir.”
In an impressively short amount of time, their food was packaged and the receipt returned. Damien signed with sharp, bold strokes that matched his personality. Her hands never moved from the table, even when they tingled to stroke the frown lines that bracketed his mouth. She hated bringing him any distress, which was ridiculous. She’d known the man for all of, what, a day? Yet somehow they’d connected. Stupid, maybe, but her instincts were pushing her toward him. Even though they’d been unreliable of late, she couldn’t ignore them, or the growing pile of evidence that he was an upstanding man and Dom.
Damien led her from the restaurant, food bag in one hand and her wrist in the other. She would have felt like a recalcitrant child being led around if not for the slow, sensual stroke of his thumb along her pulse. The valet brought the car around and Damien opened her door, then buckled her belt. This was the care, attention to detail, she’d envied in other Dominants.
His powerful car pulled onto the streets of LA. Cam couldn’t help watching him drive. With one hand on the steering wheel and the other shifting, he was every inch a man who controlled his surroundings. He navigated through the lingering Thursday night traffic and returned to her apartment without one direction from her. The only noise in the car, aside from her breathing, was the rustle of his suit when he was shifting gears.
The closer they got, the heavier her lungs became. She needed to know what he had planned. She even suspect
ed he might give her a chance to bottom for him, but uncertainty still lingered. That tore at her.
They pulled up to her building and into the passcoded underground-parking structure. Damien guided the car into a visitor parking spot, shifted into Park and turned to face her. “I am demanding, strict and I do not tolerate lies. I expect all this not only from any woman who becomes my submissive, but anyone who bottoms for me.”
Cam swallowed. His self-description was intimidating, but it also hit home for her. She wanted rules, needed them, almost as much as she craved the freedom of submission that she’d barely tasted with Shawn, but gorged herself on last weekend.
He filled the silence. “I also promise to be fair. We will never work without a safe word. But if you agree to bottom for me, even just for these two events, I cannot promise it will be pain-free. These two demos are more intense than last weekend’s. I do not want to put you through that if you are not ready to openly communicate and work with me.”
Shit. Dread filled her. How could she agree, knowing what he had planned?
Chapter Ten
Damien waited anxiously for Camille’s reaction. He’d wanted to top her during his demonstrations and her unwitting submission this evening had only made him crave her more. Until her story… But even that sparked his Dominance, albeit in a more dangerous way.
Hearing what she’d suffered, knowing she’d willingly submitted to him Saturday, only increased his respect for her. Such a strong woman would be a beautiful submissive.
Not his, though. He’d accept her as a bottom, for his lessons, but some other Dom would have the privilege of discovering all the hidden depths she kept locked away when not submitting. He’d seen glimpses of them when she’d hit subspace, but suspected she’d need to go deeper, harder, before letting them free.
His stomach clenched at the idea of Evan or Jaxon or any other Dominant playing her. But he knew her true submission would come with an emotional price he couldn’t pay. By her own admission, Camille wasn’t looking for more either, which was another point in her favor.
