Knowing the Ropes

by Teresa Noelle Roberts

  “Grill,” one of her companions, a boyish Asian woman with her short hair slicked back like a dapper Jazz Age gentleman, said, gesturing in the appropriate direction. “Since the man who said he’d help with grill duty was running late.” The woman winked at Nick as she said it, but Nick looked a little guilty.

  The expression, Selene decided, didn’t suit him at all. She much preferred the gorgeous, confident alpha-male face. And that made her feel bad for making him late, although certainly he hadn’t been fighting back when she joined him in the shower.

  They headed into the backyard, following Betsy’s gesture.

  Nice new pool.

  Slightly straggly plantings clearly stuck in to disguise the aftermath of construction, including a couple of potted ficus trees that looked like they’d been appropriated from someone’s office for the weekend.

  A deck so shiny and new that she guessed it had been put in with the pool.

  Various people milling about and a few splashing in the pool. Not a huge crowd, maybe twenty people.

  Garth was manning a stainless-steel grill that would give Selene’s dad a heart attack from barbeque lust.

  Alison was just stepping out the back door with a pitcher of what looked like margaritas in one hand. She wore a long, floaty turquoise silk-gauze skirt, a little matching halter, bronze sandals with moderate heels, a copper bracelet set with turquoise on her left arm. It looked gorgeous with her coloring but more formal than what most of the other guests were wearing. She seemed to find it as comfortable as shorts and sneakers.

  It made Selene feel a little better about her dress and utterly inappropriate high-heeled sandals, although she still planned to kick them off as soon as possible so she wouldn’t sink into the lawn.

  Alison put the pitcher of drinks down on a long table set up by the pool and met them halfway.

  “It’s my fault we’re even later that Nick thought we’d be,” Selene told Alison breathlessly. “I begged him to stop at TJ Maxx on the way in; I have no idea where my bathing suit is right now and I…” She stopped talking at Alison’s knowing smirk and just held up the TJ Maxx bag to prove that part of the story, at least, was true. “I’ve never picked out a bikini so fast in my life. Didn’t even try it on. I hope it fits.”

  Nice outfit, Alison mouthed before adding out loud, “No problem. I knew you guys weren’t dead in a ditch.”

  Garth joined them, slipping his arm around Alison’s waist. “Morning, Nick. Oh, sorry, afternoon.” He didn’t smirk at the two of them the way Alison did, just maintained the same calm half smile, but his dark eyes were knowing, and there was a world of kindly teasing in his voice. Oh yeah, he knew what they’d been up to last night and why they were late today. Thankfully, he seemed to approve.

  “I don’t believe we got officially introduced yesterday, but Alison told me a bit about you. Garth Saxon.” He extended his hand.

  For a split second, Selene panicked. Was she supposed to do something…something subby instead of just shaking his hand? Genuflect or kneel like that silly undergraduate yesterday or something?

  Deep breath. Pool party. It’s a pool party. Not a play party. Nick had already made that clear.

  Just to be on the safe side, she glanced at Nick, who gave a slight, encouraging nod. She followed his cue and took Garth’s hand, large, slightly calloused and definitely strong. What her father would call a good handshake, firm but not bone-jarring. “Selene Daniels. I really appreciate you and Alison letting me tag along on such short notice.”

  “My pleasure.” His dark-eyed gaze traveled up and down her body, and she was suddenly sure Garth knew she wasn’t wearing underpants. The lack of a bra was obvious. She was no Pamela Anderson, but her breasts, being real, were affected by gravity.

  The dark eyes flicked over to Nick, then met hers. A slow, lazy grin grew out of his half smile, very Cheshire cat. Oh yeah, Alison was a lucky woman. Garth wasn’t as handsome as Nick, but she was willing to bet he was an E-ticket. That look alone was enough to make her shiver, enough to flood her brain with vague but intriguing images of the ways he could reduce a woman to a puddle of happy goo if he put his mind to it.

  And then he released her hand as if nothing had happened, and looked so unperturbed that she questioned whether it actually had happened. Maybe she’d imagined that heated, assessing look because she was intrigued by him—his relationship with Alison, his air of natural authority so strong that even Nick deferred to him a little.

  That must be it. Garth wouldn’t have actually been flirting her when he was all cuddled up to Alison like that, would he? Not when he obviously adored and lusted after his wife. He had too much class for that.

  The sun glinted off Alison’s locking choker.

  Not just wife. Slave.

  Garth and Alison played by different rules, rules she couldn’t begin to understand yet.

  And maybe if she was lucky, she’d get to find out what they were.

  She was here with Nick, and while they hadn’t made any commitments beyond having fun and exploring her fantasies, it seemed tacky to be speculating about his friend. His very married (whatever else the relationship was) friend.

  But she couldn’t help it.

  Not, she realized quickly, because she was seriously interested, but because that moment underscored that she’d stumbled into an erotic fairyland, a world where anything might happen.

  If she’d been wearing panties, they’d be damp. Maybe she’d better get used to going without them around this crowd; otherwise, she’d have to carry spares in her purse.

  Nick put his hand on her butt, a little, friendly gesture that the party guests milling around them wouldn’t notice.

  Then he pressed in discreetly, letting her feel again how tender her ass was.

  Yup, underwear was definitely optional when she was around Nick. Although it might come in handy sopping up some of the moisture welling between her legs so it didn’t run down her thighs.

  “Nick, I could still use a hand setting up the sun shade,” Garth said. “Alison tried, but it’s not a job for short people.” He gave his tiny partner a kiss on the top of her auburn head. “Mind if I borrow you?”

  “No problem. Just a second.” Nick moved so he was looking Selene in the eyes, then put his hands on her hips and pulled her into a kiss.

  A kiss that short-circuited Selene’s brain, curled her toes and reinforced the notion that, as long as she was seeing Nick, she might as well give up on panties and save on laundry. A kiss that involved nipping at her tongue, sending thrills of lust through her body.

  A kiss that wasn’t nearly long enough.

  Then he whispered in her ear, “You’re in a virtual collar while we’re here, Selene. Call me sir, obey me, all that stuff. You’re mine today, do you understand?”

  She nodded mutely, too confused—or maybe the proper word was excited—to speak. Did that mean he would…

  As if reading her mind, he added, “Trust me, I’ll find ways to take advantage of this. This isn’t a play party, but Garth is an accommodating host.”

  Selene felt her cheeks flaming, felt her sex melting. “Yes, sir,” she mouthed. “Thank you.”

  She forced herself to look up and drown in his intense blue gaze. Those eyes seemed to see deep inside her, see parts of her that she herself had been afraid to look at, let alone reveal to anyone else. How could he know her so well after so little time?

  He didn’t really know her, she reminded herself rather sternly. He’d figured out some of her fantasies, including some she hadn’t known she had, like this, used his experience and his cleverness to ask the right questions and make the right guesses. It didn’t mean he had some secret insights into her heart and soul. It just meant he was smart and damn good in bed.

  And what was not to like about that?

  It was impressive that he’d figured out her hot buttons better than long-term lovers had—definitely a good recommendation for sticking around and seeing what crazy and utterly er
otic idea he came up with next.

  “If you and Nick are going to be busy, Master, I’ll give Selene the ten-cent tour,” Alison said. The “Master” was said completely naturally, at the same tone and volume as everything else, cuing Selene in that, while this wasn’t a play party, most of the guests were not precisely shockable. “And you can change into your suit if you’d like.”

  Nick nodded his approval.

  Twitchy with arousal and fighting the feeling she’d fallen down a rabbit hole and turned into Alice-in-Leatherland, and expecting at any moment to see a white rabbit—in this crowd, would that be a furry, or maybe a pretty woman in a little teddy, fishnets and bunny ears and tail?—Selene let Alison take her arm and guide her into the house.

  The kitchen was open and bright, with white appliances, a breakfast nook on one end and a green countertop that looked like malachite but wasn’t. Joe-Bear from yesterday was reducing carrots to carrot sticks, stopping long enough to ask Alison if she wanted more celery done.

  “Your guy’s here. Go enjoy the party,” she said, ruffling where his hair would have been if he’d had any as she passed. “Thanks for helping out.”

  The kitchen led into a formal dining room with cream chair rails and forest-green upper walls. They didn’t linger but moved on quickly through a living room decorated in jewel tones, with William Morris touches applied with a light hand. A wide-screen TV dominated one wall, which should have looked incongruous but somehow didn’t. Alison pointed out the office—desks and computers and two walls hidden with floor-to-ceiling bookcases—then whisked her to the stairs.

  “We have a changing area—a glorified shed, really—by the pool, but with so many people here, almost everyone’ll be changing in the spare bedrooms.”

  Up the stairs and into the first bedroom. It was small and painted a lovely shade of sky blue. The white wrought-iron bed sported an old-fashioned white chenille bedspread and blue-and-white-striped pillows, like you’d expect to see in a summer house on Cape Cod. The mermaid art on the walls was all topless, and some of them were smooching each other, making it a slightly funky summer home, but every other detail was there, right down to a scattering of shells on the dresser. Tote bags and clothes were tossed here and there. They must belong to the people already in the pool.

  Joining them sounded like a great idea. The house was lovely, but it didn’t have central AC, and while the downstairs had been bearable, this little bedroom was warm and sticky.

  “Well,” Selene said, “I guess it’s time to see if this thing actually fits. If not, I’ll jump into the pool in my dress and take my chances with chlorine.” She took the suit, a black-and-white zebra-print bikini, out of the bag and started snapping off the myriad tags.

  When the door closed, she figured Alison had stepped out to give her a little privacy, but when she glanced up from her struggle with a particularly recalcitrant tag that was holding the two pieces of the suit together like Siamese twins, the redhead was still there.

  “Give me that,” Alison said. Selene complied, expecting her to produce scissors from a dresser drawer or something like that.

  Instead, she dropped the bathing suit unceremoniously onto the floor, put her arms around Selene and kissed her.

  Not a friendly peck, not one of those hostess-Hollywood-Eurotrash air kisses on the cheeks.

  A wrap-your-arms-around-someone, pull-them-close, let-them-feel-the-soft-heat-of-your-lips-until-they-yield-to-you kiss.

  Perhaps at some other time, some time when she was sane, in control of herself, not half melted from Nick’s caresses in the car, Nick’s whispered promises and threats, Garth’s flirting, the whole atmosphere of the party—completely mundane on the surface, yet buzzing with an unconventional sexual current—Selene might not have yielded so quickly, so utterly, to the kiss.

  But she did.

  Opened her lips to the soft but insistent pressure, nibbled on those delightful lips delicately flavored with Alison’s dark lipstick and an undernote of vanilla-and-honey lip balm, enjoyed the small, skilled, firm fingers tangled in her hair, opened her mouth to a sweet, cinnamon-tasting kitten tongue darting in to tease all the surfaces of the inside of her mouth. Reveled in the sheer delightful novelty of a petite, curvaceous body in her arms instead of a big male one, breasts against her breasts, a sweet floral-and-spice scent filling her nostrils.

  Selene had kissed girls before. It had never been anything more than pleasant, but she’d always wondered if it had been the chemistry with those particular girls that caused the lack of spark or maybe the fact both she and the girls she’d kissed had been spectacularly less than sober. Kissing Alison—a sober, grown woman who knew what she wanted—seemed to be a different story. Far more than pleasant. She wasn’t about to change teams on a permanent basis, but she could definitely see the appeal of playing for both teams.

  She ran her hands down Alison’s back, savoring the animal softness of silk, the fine lines of her body. Cupped her hands over the curves of Alison’s ass—they were compact enough to fit nicely into her hands—pulled her in closer so their pelvises rubbed together.

  Alison did the same, grasping firmly at the still-tender curves of Selene’s ass.

  She gasped into the other woman’s mouth at the surge of sensation, the warmth radiating out from her slightly bruised skin and pulsing in her nipples, her cunt.

  Selene had been damp to start with. Now she was flooding.

  She gasped into Alison’s mouth as the pain/pleasure flooded her. She ground her mound against Alison’s.

  She was pretty sure Alison was also a panty-free zone, based on what both her hands and her mound were feeling.

  And her clit—her clit that felt as huge and swollen as a cock—kept brushing over what felt like jewelry.

  Alison was pierced.

  That surprised her.

  A lot of people had body jewelry these days. But Selene associated it mostly with artists and the tattooed chick who dished out the falafel at her favorite food truck, not someone as sophisticated as Alison. Not someone who fell, without a doubt, into the category of grown-up.

  But she could feel the firm press of metal, both there and possibly at Alison’s nipples.

  Hottest. Feeling. Ever.

  Her hand moved, without her volition, slipped down Alison’s thigh and around toward the front. She took the edge of Alison’s skirt and bunched it up, not caring that someone might come in at any moment, just consumed with the need to see Alison’s ornamented lips. To touch them.

  To see if she could make another woman come.

  A tiny but surprisingly strong hand grabbed her wrist.

  Alison chuckled deep in her throat. “Oh, sweetheart, Nick’s going to have so much fun with you—and you with him. But slow down!” Alison’s voice sounded husky, aroused, amused and more than a little regretful. “This is just a kiss to welcome you to the family. That’s all for now.”

  “To the family?”

  “Nick’s like Garth’s little brother. We see a lot of him, and I have a feeling we’re going to be seeing a lot of you too. You’ll take good care of him for us, won’t you?”

  Chapter Eight

  Selene blinked, stunned by the sudden change of tone from sex goddess to concerned friend. “Uh, I’ll try. But we’re not… I mean you know we just…” She shook her head, saw from Alison’s expression that the older woman had her number. “Okay, Nick’s sexy as hell and we’re having so much fun it’s probably illegal, but we just met, and neither of us is looking for anything serious. This is all so new to me—I don’t want to get in over my head, and Nick was pretty clear he wants to keep it casual. Friends who play.”

  Alison’s smile was knowing as she said, “So he says. But take good care of him anyway. Friends take care of each other. Right?” She patted Selene’s arm, as casually as if they hadn’t been kissing like crazed things a moment before. “See you outside, sweetie. Gotta keep the party lubricated. In margaritas, that is.”

  The bikini
fit, although it showed a little more of Selene’s butt than made her entirely happy. She craned her neck to check the mirror. It was a nice view—maybe Nick’s appreciation of her round ass was rubbing off on her, because she didn’t remember it looking that good, and it wasn’t like she’d been working out.

  And thank goodness, she couldn’t see any evidence of the night’s activities on display for all the world to see. She was tender, but there were no bruises except for a few faint marks hidden beneath the zebra-print bottom. Not that anyone in this crowd would be shocked—envious, maybe, but not shocked—but she wasn’t sure she was ready to share the evidence of the night’s adventures with all the guests.

  Which didn’t explain the surge of lust she’d felt at the thought of going out to the pool sporting obvious marks of kinky play or erase her small whimper of disappointment when she realized there were no black-and-blue handprints, no flogger marks, nothing anyone would notice.

  So much for being concerned her fantasies wouldn’t work in reality. If anything, they worked too well. No wonder people like Craig-the-asshole and that girl he’d tried to pick up took the game too seriously. It was brain-scramblingly seductive. Far too easy to mistake role-play for reality when you were this high on hormones, or to mistake lust for love.

  That brought her up short.

  She wasn’t likely to think of herself as a mindless doormat, and she suspected that if she showed signs of it, Nick would stop her. If Alison didn’t do it first. Selene was still reeling over how non-doormat-like the first self-proclaimed slave she’d met was. But the other…that was a danger.

  Face it, she was already head over heels in lust with Nick, hooked on his hot body and even hotter imagination. And it would be way too easy to slip from there.

  She needed to take care, to make sure she didn’t convince herself she was falling for Nick when what she was simply enjoying the fantabulous sex. That, she figured, was what Alison meant by taking care of Nick: guarding both their hearts so nothing stupid and painful happened.