by Ashe Barker
Table of Contents
Legal Page
Title Page
Chapter One
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Copyright © ASHE BARKER, 2013
All Rights Reserved, Total-E-Ntwined Limited, T/A Totally Bound Publishing.
Free Story: THE DARK ART OF PERSUASION
Chapter One
She’ll be down soon. And she’ll come mincing in here, looking for her breakfast. All smiles and willing to please. If only you knew, darling…
Nathan Darke scowls at his omelette, prods it grumpily with his fork. He’s aware of the presence of his supremely tactful housekeeper sitting beside him at the breakfast table, serenely sipping her tea and buttering her lightly browned toast as though nothing’s amiss. Well, maybe it isn’t, not as far as Grace Richardson’s concerned, but it soon will be if he can’t get the delightful Miss Byrne tied up and thoroughly fucked before his balls explode.
Still, not a housekeeping problem. The unflappable Mrs Richardson sips her Earl Grey and smiles sweetly at her employer. Then, “Ah, that sounds like Eva.” She smiles calmly, placing her teacup back in its saucer. “I wonder what she’ll fancy today.”
Nathan manages not to choke on his omelette as he contemplates what he fancies today, and more specifically what he fancies doing to the delectable Miss Byrne, the first chance he gets.
He glances up as the object of his wishful thinking, and distinctly dark fantasies, comes swanning into the kitchen, seemingly unaware of the effect she has on Nathan. Miss Byrne waves pleasantly at Grace as the housekeeper starts to rise, telling her to finish her own breakfast, and heads straight for the coffee pot.
Nathan is intensely aware of Eva Byrne, of every lithe movement and soft footfall, every stretch of that shapeless black T-shirt across those exquisitely contoured breasts as she reaches for the coffee. Eva Byrne—music teacher, violinist, and soon-to-be submissive to his Dom if he has his way. And he does intend to have his way.
Not pretty exactly, certainly not in any classical way, but yet…she’s incredibly attractive. Utterly fascinating. To him. He can’t recall ever being so—captivated—by any woman previously, and he’s had ample opportunity. There’s something indefinable about the lovely and oh-so-tempting Miss Byrne. Since the moment he first set eyes on her a week ago, a tiny, skinny girl, dripping wet, shivering in his driveway as he contemplated the wreckage of his front bumper which had just experienced a close encounter with her rear end—Christ, the imagery. Need to get a grip!
The bottom line is—he’s smitten. Totally enthralled. He’s no idea how or why, but she’s managed this so artlessly, so effortlessly, just by drifting into his life one rainy night. And now he intends to shift things along. He needs to shift things along. He needs her to surrender. And soon.
Nathan watches her under his eyebrows as Eva pours her first coffee of the day and takes a long sip. She licks her lips unconsciously, tucking a wayward lock of shining red hair back behind her ear. She seems to have left her glasses off for now—pity really, she looks so beautifully intelligent and totally fuckable in her glasses. She’s the embodiment of his much loved Librarian Look—his favourite fantasy come to life and now facing him across his kitchen.
Nathan shifts uncomfortably in his seat as his cock swells to pretty much impossible proportions—a regular occurrence around Eva Byrne he’s finding. Christ, she’s sexy. Not that she seems to have any idea…
She’s turned now, leaning on the worktop, her coffee cup in her hand. She seems to be gearing up to say something, he can see her throat working as she gulps. The coffee? Or is she gathering her courage?
The latter, it would seem.
“I need my car back, please. Do you know when I can collect it?”
That bloody car! She’s fretting about that bloody car, the rot-box she dumped in his gateway for him to crash into. Over a grand’s worth of damage to his beautiful Porsche whilst that rust-bucket seems to have escaped with nothing more than a bent back bumper. Not that it’s road-worthy even so, nowhere near. The worn out brakes and close to derelict gearbox and engine are not the result of any near-death experience with his Porsche, but she’ll probably not see it that way. Still, that’s a problem for another day.
He shrugs. “Jack’ll phone when it’s ready. If you need a car in the meantime you can borrow one of mine. The Discovery might suit you.”
He doesn’t offer to lend his precious vehicles to just anyone. And with the Porsche out of commission he might need the Disco himself. He can’t help thinking she might have the grace to look just a little bit grateful. Instead, she’s all excuses, insisting she wants her own clapped out Mini back. Not happening. His tone is sharper than he intended as he dismisses that fanciful notion.
“That bloody car wasn’t roadworthy even before you decided to use it as a roadblock, so don’t go getting your hopes up.”
He immediately regrets his curtness as her face takes on that stricken look he’s noticed more than once. Christ, it’s only a car, and a crap one at that. What’s the big deal? Still, he won’t get her on her back with her legs spread by upsetting her, and he’s grateful for Mrs Richardson’s timely intervention. With a snort of derision he contemplates what it’ll cost to make that car of hers halfway safe to drive. Wondering not for the first time why he wants to bother, he leaves it to the housekeeper to soothe and unruffle Eva as he makes a mental note to think before he speaks.
And to get a bloody grip. How hard can it be, really, to get one little music teacher into bed? Or more specifically, tied to his bed?
Eva’s taken a seat at the table next to Grace, and she and his housekeeper are now discussing shopping. It seems the lovely Miss Byrne’s wardrobe requires replenishing. Well, no argument from him on that one—it’s her nude body he’s most interested in, but some sexy little tops and slinky underwear would be very acceptable too. Suddenly all his senses hit red alert as she goes on to suggest getting her hair cut. Over his dead body!
He knows he’s now bolt upright, and glaring at her—so much for playing nice—but Miss Byrne pretends not to notice his reaction to her announcement as she starts to plan a shopping excursion to Leeds.
Leeds! Eureka!
Why the fuck didn’t he think of that earlier. Get her to Leeds. His apartment in Leeds. His apartment in Leeds where he keeps his toys and his equipment, his bondage gear, his not unimpressive collection of whips and canes and well, everything really. Leeds. Yes!
“I’ll take you.” His tone is sharp still, despite his good intentions, and both pairs of eyes swivel in his direction. He ignores the housekeeper though, his gaze intent as he pins the lovely Miss Byrne in place with his look, his stern Dom look, perfected and finely honed over the years. Never fails. She looks startled, scared even. And puzzled. He decides the former is good, for now, and opts to deal with the latter.
“To Leeds. I’ll drive you there.”
That suggestion seems about as popular as a rat sandwich. Eva’s expression is one of panic, sheer horror. She tries to demur, to put him off. No way is he having that. Sensing he’s found the chink he was looking for he moves in for the attack.
His tone is deliberately smooth, soft as he replies, pressing home his advantage. “No trouble. Not today though, next week.”
She’s frowning, confused, uncertain how to react.
Absolutely gorgeous.
His cock responds, thickening and hardening within the extreme confines of his jeans. He can’t resist reaching out his hand to gently stroke the creases between her eyebrows, his practiced Dom expression telling her to stay still, not to mo
ve. And she obeys. Dear Christ, she obeys him. How beautifully, how effortlessly submissive. He decides to press on with this, test the waters some more, find out how she responds to his instructions, to his rules.
“There, that’s better. Please try not to frown at me every time I talk to you. I’ve told you before, I don’t like it.” His tone is quiet, but deliberately commanding. He’s watching her reaction carefully, especially her eyes as the pupils dilate, and her mouth as she sinks her teeth gently into her lower lips, chewing nervously.
Fucking bloody gorgeous!
Her innate submission is so clear, so obvious it might as well have been illuminated in bright green neon across her forehead. And he knows he has her. He has to play her still, cajole and persuade, carefully and gently, but he will reel her in. She’s his for the taking now. And his plan is forming, taking shape, crystallising in his head.
He stands, strolling casually over to the coffee pot for a refill. He turns, a tilt of his head offering her a top-up too. She shakes her head, her face still a mask of confusion and nervousness. Perfect.
“Next Thursday I’m going to an awards do in Leeds. I’m up for a couple of awards for designs my firm did. It’s prestigious, a black tie affair. I want you to come with me.”
The invitation’s been kicking around in his in tray in his office for weeks. He had no intention of going, not until now. He normally hates those sorts of affairs and leaves it to his associates in the firm to fly the corporate flag. But with Miss Byrne on his arm, and later in his bed, well that’s a different matter entirely.
Her expression, though, is one of utter incredulity. She apparently can’t believe what she’s hearing. Sure enough. “You must be joking! Me? At an awards dinner?”
Nathan knows the value of stretching out the agony, and just leans against the worktop, sipping his coffee as he contemplates her for a few moments, enjoying the display of emotions now parading across her gorgeous face. Shock, surprise, horror, disbelief. And panic. Sheer blind panic. Interesting, that last one. Eventually he breaks the silence.
“No, I’m not joking. I want you to come with me. You’ll enjoy it. And I know I will if you come…”
She may be in shock, but she’s not daft. The innuendo is not lost on her, and he smiles inwardly as her pupils dilate further. He’s sure she’s moistening despite her apparent reluctance to engage, if she’d just let him slip his hand into her panties to check…
But he’s getting ahead of himself. First he needs to deal with the torrent of avoidance babble coming his way. She tells him she’s nothing to wear, he tells her to go shopping. She was intending to anyway, and he’ll pay for the evening dress. She’s not having that, indignant it would seem at the prospect of letting him buy her clothes. He quite likes that, he likes independence in a woman, even in a submissive, but he knows she’ll accept anyway. Eventually.
But now she’s looking really upset, really starting to lose it, and he has to stop that. A degree of nervousness is good, he can work with her uncertainties. Transform them into curiosity, anticipation. But blind panic is counterproductive. There’s nothing much you can do with a submissive having a panic attack except wait. Or call her a cab and let her go home. All of that’s quite out of the question, so he needs to calm her. Now.
Seating himself alongside Eva at the table he reaches for her hand. She doesn’t struggle so he holds it gently, continues to hold her hand as he leans in, catches her startled gaze. His eyes are warm, and he hopes his arousal is sufficiently banked not to alarm her again. His tone is soft, sensual, as he whispers his next words. “I don’t want anyone else. I want you.”
He needs to get the excuses out of the way. This is really not about clothes. “The shopping’s no problem. I have a friend who’s a shopping consultant at Harvey Nicks. She’ll sort you out. And fix you up with the rest of the stuff you want as well. And like I said, I’m paying for the outfit because I invited you.”
She’s looking at him blankly now, at a loss. The ball’s in his court, and it’s time try a few passing shots. He needs to heat things up, and for this, he doesn’t need an audience. He glances at Mrs Richardson, still hovering by the sink, clearly wondering whether now’s a good time to start the washing up, or maybe she should be finding something else to occupy herself. Elsewhere. He solves that little dilemma for her with a brief glance towards the door. He notes his housekeeper’s not entirely comfortable expression as she slips out of the kitchen, closing the door behind her, and he’s quite sure it won’t be that long before she comes bustling back in. He may have the delectable Eva to himself just now, but that happy state of affairs won’t last. At least, not until Grace is sure of her wellbeing.
He’ll have to make his peace with Grace later, reassure her that all is indeed well with the delightful little violinist she’s taken under her wing. And it will be. He turns his attention fully back to Eva, using his finger to tip her chin up, forcing her to meet and hold his gaze. There’s to be no escape now, no evasion. Now it’s just the two of them, and their relationship is about to shift. He’s controlling it, totally dominant, totally in charge. But he needs her willing participation. And he knows just how to get it.
First, with words. “Miss Byrne, Eva… I want you to come.” He lets the suggestive phrase linger, only just managing not to lick his lips in anticipation as the range of possible connotations sinks in. He can’t help but smile, his satisfaction with her ready response evident. She is so totally open, so readable, so expressive. Her brain might be struggling to process all this, to come to terms with what’s happening between them, but a swift glance down at her nipples, now erect and jutting against the thin fabric of her T-shirt is enough to convince him her body’s right up there with him. And it’s time to home in on her body.
He lowers his hand, gently, slowly trailing the backs of his fingers down her neck and across her collar bone. He slips his hand farther, lower, until he feathers the backs of his fingers across her taut nipple, first one, then the other. Her eyes widen in surprise, as if she can’t believe he’s really doing this. And more to the point, that she’s really letting him.
Oh, yes, baby.
He can feel her nipples hardening even more under his questing fingers, but he’s careful not to rush. And he doesn’t forget what this is about, his primary goal. Catching her gaze again, but maintaining the contact with her breast, now gently caressing the lower curves, he repeats his request. Or is that his command?
“Come with me.”
Her lips part on a gasp, and for a moment he wonders if she’s going to take his instruction literally and come right here. Now wouldn’t that be sweet? He continues to lightly stroke her breasts, deliberately grazing his fingers across her nipples over the loose fabric, lightly, not enough to create the intensity of friction she needs to build the arousal, but enough to suggest, to tease, to tempt. He continues to murmur his persuasive words, urging her to come with him to the dinner, enjoy an evening together, eating, drinking, then an overnight stay in Leeds…
That’s the crux of it, the prospect of spending the night with him. Here’s where she either refuses point blank or—doesn’t refuse. And she isn’t agreeing, not quite yet, but she hasn’t turned him down flat. And he knows, the moment she starts to make excuses, that she’s considering it.
He drops his hands from her breasts and smiles inwardly at the small moan of disappointment she seems unable to contain. Oh yes, darling, you are so made for this…
He hears her deep gasp as she sucks in a lungful of air, and realises she must have been holding her breath as he caressed her. How absolutely wonderful. He wastes no time now in slipping his hand under the T-shirt to quickly slide his palm back up her body to cup her naked breast. His tone is low, still sensuous, still whispering those persuasive, sensual words into her ear as he lightly feathers his fingertips over her swollen, hard nipples. He feels her shift towards him, subconsciously seeking more. More pressure, more friction, more intensity. He obliges, taking he
r right nipple between his thumb and forefinger and rolling it. He squeezes, not much, nowhere near enough to hurt, but sufficient to absolutely grab her attention and hold it.
Completely caught up in the moment, her doubts seem to evaporate as she arches her back, offering her breasts to him, and he accepts. He cups her right breast, moulding the soft, firm curves in his hand as she writhes and squirms in her seat. He face falls forward to bury itself against his shoulder, and he knows she’s battling with her rapidly shredding modesty. He needs to deal with that, and fast. He needs her to face this, to know and accept her desires, to surrender to him.
Gently but firmly he cups the back of her head and eases her away from his shoulder. He tilts her face upwards, catching her gaze, now heating to match his own, before he lowers his head to brush his lips across her mouth. The kiss is light, reassuring, intended to calm and soothe. It does its work, and he feels her mouth relax under his. He teases his tongue along the seam of her lips, and as she opens he slips inside, savouring and testing and exploring. She opens wider, letting him in at the same time as she lifts her arms to loop them around his neck. No longer just the quiet, passive recipient, she’s participating now, tangling her tongue with his as her arousal builds.
Nathan doesn’t want her active participation though, not yet. For now, he wants her to receive and accept. He breaks the kiss, ignoring her moan of protest, and moves quickly. He grasps the bottom of her T-shirt and before she’s quite realised what he intends he’s pulled it up and over her head, dropping it on the floor behind her. He’s ready for her instinctive reaction, and grasps her wrists as he moves to cover her now naked breasts. He pulls her arms down to her sides, leaning forward to place her hands behind her on the chair. He firmly folds his fingers over hers, placing her hands in a secure grip on the back of her seat. Wordlessly she grasps it, her eyes on his, watching him with a mixture of surprise, embarrassment, and unless he’s sadly mistaken, a healthy dollop of lust.
