Knowing the Ropes

by Teresa Noelle Roberts

  “And I still do, as a friend. But I wouldn’t want to…she doesn’t want to, and even if she did…” She could see Nick taking a deep breath. “Damn it, listen to me. I don’t want her. I want you. I love you. Do I have to be any clearer?”

  No, he was crystal clear.

  Crystal clear that he was angry and probably confused by the way the hot, sexy evening had suddenly taken a left turn into relationship hell. Crystal clear that he was at the point where he’d say anything to get her to shut up. Even tell her he loved her in a totally unconvincing way, at a moment when, even if he did love her, he would have been thinking, Oh, for God’s sake, shut up!

  She shook her head, fighting back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her.

  She’d opened her big stupid mouth and pushed him, just like Will had done to her. And Nick had said what he figured she needed to hear, just like she had with Will.

  No one would possibly say I love you for the first time in the middle of having a remarkably stupid argument. In this context, it was the last resort of a guy who didn’t know what else to say to appease an angry woman.

  She wanted to believe he loved her, wanted to with all her heart and soul and body.

  She didn’t dare.

  Selene pulled herself together, forced back the tears she wanted to shed, the damn female tears of someone who yearned to believe herself loved but couldn’t. “You don’t need to say that stuff about love. You want me. I want you. That’s good enough. And I’m sorry I’m getting frustrated with having Natalie around. I’ve gotten spoiled. A week or so without a good beating, and I get all grouchy and weird.”

  He still looked dubious, concerned, but he managed to laugh as he said, “Maybe I have spoiled you, but that’s the kind of spoiling I want to keep up.”

  She wrapped her arms around Nick’s neck, pressed her body against his, trying to will herself back to the state of mindless desire he could usually get her into with a glance.

  “We’ll take advantage of the privacy, then.” Nick pulled her close, rubbing against her so the movement yanked the fine stainless-steel chain connecting the nipple clips. His voice became molten, dark chocolate laced with whisky, and his eyes darkened to something close to navy blue. “You can scream all you want tonight. And I’m going to push for it. See how much you can really take.”

  God, she wanted that, wanted erotic pain and hard use to turn off her overly busy brain, wanted to come like a banshee and lose herself and her worries on a tide of red-hot pleasure. Wanted to lose herself in Nick and what Nick could do to her so she wouldn’t obsess about what that careless declaration of love really meant.

  “Yes,” she said, shuddering, rubbing against him like a wild thing. “No mercy. Break me. That’s what I need tonight, Nick. Sir. Please.”

  His only answer was a slap on her cheek. More a tap, really—it didn’t even sting—but it did something very strange to her already muddled brain.

  She felt as though she were divided into two.

  Half of her was just plain pissed. It made her feel small. Lesser. Like a kid who’d been smacked for sassing her grandma.

  Humiliated.

  Nick’s games of sex and power had embarrassed her in the past, in a way that made her blush and squirm and flood with arousal, but had never humiliated her. She understood on an intellectual level that some subs craved humiliation, but she’d always been sure she wasn’t one of them.

  Now she wasn’t so sure, because the other half of her had been rocketed into another world, a world where Nick was her dark god and she was a small creature whimpering at his feet. A world of nakedness and pain and lust where he ruled and she obeyed. Where she was unworthy but honored that Nick would deign to claim her. Where she knew she would take whatever he gave her, however unnerving, however brutal, because she was his toy and nothing more.

  The rational, pissed-off half didn’t think much of this half. It seemed broken, pathetic, a little too much like Natalie at her worst moments, or like an abuse victim rationalizing her situation because she was too cowed to escape it.

  Nick grabbed a thick handful of her hair and dragged her to her feet. “Inside. Now,” he barked, handling her as if she were either a sturdy parcel or an unruly kitten.

  “But I haven’t finished eating.”

  “Yes, you have, because I’ve said you have. Are you questioning me?”

  Obviously she had been, but it struck her as unwise to continue doing so. “No, sir,” she said, trying to make her voice sound respectful and humble, but not the small and cringing that Nick hated—even though she felt like cringing at this harsher side of Nick. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “You will be.” Somehow the menace in his voice didn’t sound as enticing as it usually did. “And tonight, call me Master. It’ll be good practice.”

  Was this the face of Nick Natalie had craved? The one she apparently hoped to see again?

  For the first time with Nick, Selene felt frightened rather than pleasantly nervous. She remembered the lingering bruises on Natalie, her stories of what had happened when she angered her former master.

  Still, she let Nick half drag her to the door from the roof and push her inside, still trotted ahead of him into the apartment.

  Obedience had become, if not instinct yet, at least habit.

  And some traitor part of her, the part that had utterly meant it when she begged him to break her, wanted to experience whatever he had in store.

  She might love it, she might hate it—but at least she’d know if she could take it.

  She might, on some level, scorn Natalie as confused and weak, but she suspected the little blonde could handle and enjoy levels of pain that would make her dissolve into a whimpering wreck.

  And being wimpy would be no way to win Nick’s heart.

  She had to show that she had Natalie’s depth of submission, Natalie’s ability to take pain, as well as all the qualities that Nick admired in her that Natalie lacked.

  Only that combination might convince him that love and BDSM could coexist, with the right woman.

  With her.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Nick was doing his best to ignore it, but he was pretty sure his heart was breaking. Cracking, at least.

  He’d just told the most incredible woman he’d ever met that he loved her, and she’d told him he was talking bullshit. Told him that she wanted hot kink and plenty of it but didn’t exactly want him. She wanted him as a hot-and-cold-running dominant, a playmate who would hurt her exquisitely and use her and make her feel both trapped and free—but would never show her his heart, show her anything but the storybook master.

  Just like Natalie.

  But damn it, he wasn’t going to make the same mistake he had with Natalie. If that was what she wanted, he wouldn’t force his feelings on her. He’d do his damnedest to give her what he could give her, what she needed, and maybe in time she’d learn to care.

  At the very least, she, unlike Natalie, would be safe with someone who treasured her.

  Even if he had to push all Selene’s limits—and his own—to keep her that way.

  Earlier in the evening, when he’d first threatened to tie her, he’d had in mind something like a rope bra and her hands secured behind her back, something more sensual than stringent.

  But his plans had changed.

  Now he wanted her to be pushed, to feel not just the security and sensuality of ropes but the strain of holding a challenging position.

  “Lie on the bed,” he commanded. “Face up.”

  Then he started arranging her.

  Arched her over so her thighs rested on her chest.

  Made her hold herself in place with her arms.

  Tucked a pillow under her ass to keep it raised.

  Tied her that way, ass in the air, pussy open and exposed, muscles straining. Helpless. Her eyes were wide, glancing about frantically like a panicked animal, but her labia were swollen, her pussy slick.

  Just as he’d suspected.r />
  “You love this,” he said, and it wasn’t a question

  “Yes,” she replied in a small, confused voice. “Yes, I do.” She sounded like she didn’t quite believe it herself.

  Slap to the face. “Yes what?”

  This time, to his own surprise, he left a pink handprint on her cheek. He hadn’t meant to give her more than a tap, but apparently his hindbrain had different ideas.

  Her eyes screwed shut, and for a second, he thought she might start crying. This was harder than he’d pushed her before, harder than he’d wanted to push her. Maybe harder than she could handle being pushed.

  Part of him wanted to cradle her in his arms and beg forgiveness.

  But that wasn’t what she needed, wasn’t what would win her over.

  And to be honest, it wasn’t what he needed or wanted at this minute. He needed to prove to her that, whether or not she was ready to call it love, Selene belonged with him.

  Belonged to him.

  “Yes what?” he repeated, letting all the hurt he was feeling transmute into harshness, arrogance.

  Selene took a deep breath. “Yes, sir,” she said. After a slight pause, she corrected herself. “Yes, Master.”

  “Very good.” He forced an evil smile, found as he did so that he didn’t need to force it. Despite his mood, there was definitely something to be said for a beautiful woman, securely bound, at his mercy and not sure whether to be more aroused or alarmed.

  The fear in her eyes was painful to him, because it looked like it was approaching real panic.

  But she should trust him by now, should know that he wouldn’t harm her. Even knowing she didn’t care, didn’t give a damn about anything but the sex, the kinky games, he still loved her.

  And even if he didn’t, he wasn’t Derrick the Dick.

  Just a man who needed to make a point.

  He picked up the NAUGHTY paddle from the bedside table, admitted to himself as he did that, hurt or not, angry or not, he was also hard, despite his recent orgasm, straining against his fly at the thought of what he was about to do.

  Nick had never been comfortable with dishing out the level of pain Natalie craved, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t enjoyed it. On the contrary, he’d enjoyed that aspect of things a little too much—and that was what scared him, that he might go too far, might step over the line from good pain to damage, and, wired as she was, Natalie would just take it.

  Selene had boundaries, though. He could trust her to let him know how she was doing, to use her safe word if it were more than she could handle.

  If she was ready to heat things up a few dozen degrees, then he’d give it to her.

  With pleasure.

  Usually he’d warm her up with light spanking until her bottom was rosy, then work up from light, percussive pops with the paddle, interspersed with lots of stroking and kissing, pinching at the tender places, tracing the letter imprint and then soothing the hurt, playing with her plump nipples and fingering her juicy pussy until she was panting and slick and begging for more.

  Only then would he strike her more heavily, knowing that she was ready to transmute pain into ecstasy.

  Not tonight.

  The paddle cracked down on her lovely ass.

  Selene shrieked, bit her lower lip, then glared at him.

  And while she was still glaring, he struck again. Several more whacks followed in rapid succession. Selene stopped shrieking after the third but continued to gasp with each blow.

  After about eight, Nick stood back, studied the red effect of his handiwork, “Naughty” repeated several times in bold white letters against a rosy ground. It was starting to get hard to read, though, from overlapping blows. Before long, he hoped it would be illegible.

  “Should have gotten the SLUT one,” he growled. “Or better yet, CUNT. That’s what you are, isn’t it? A cunt.”

  He smacked her again. “Isn’t it?”

  When she didn’t answer, Nick grabbed a handful of her hair, pulled her head back roughly. “Answer me when I talk to you.”

  “Sorry, Master,” she said, her voice gloriously meek and quavering. “I…I couldn’t catch my breath.” She breathed in and out a few times before answering the question he’d asked—but not the way he’d expected. “No. I’m not a cunt.” A second’s hesitation. “Master. I have a cunt. But I’m not one.”

  Nick felt like Jekyll and Hyde. Cunt was a word that women reacted to strongly—it made them either hot and bothered or just bothered, and part of him loved Selene for saying how she really felt instead of giving him the pat answer he’d expected, under pretty trying circumstances.

  His inner caveman growled in frustration, and at the same time, in arousal. She’d begged to be broken. He wouldn’t break her, not really, but he’d be happy to bend her. Soften her up. Make her yield.

  And by the end of the night, she’d agree she was a cunt or any other damn thing he suggested—because by then she’d want to.

  “You’re not a cunt?” He ran two fingers along her slit, scooped away some of her juices, moved so he could show the thick slickness threading between his fingers. “What other kind of woman gets wet when she’s tied up and paddled?”

  “A wanton one. A sexual one. A horny one. A slut, even.” Selene hesitated, then added, “One who wants you very much, Master.”

  The inner nice guy, the one who’d fallen hard for Selene, wished she’d said love instead of want.

  The inner caveman crowed at the admission of how much she wanted him.

  “Do you want me? You’ll have me, little one. But first you have to admit you’re a cunt.” There, that ought to set up a nice little dilemma in her mind, the kind of thing that should turn her brain to Jell-O by defeating any effort to think logically. “Admit you’re a cunt and take whatever I choose to give you. But I know you’ll do that, because you love it, and that’s why I say you’re a cunt.” He didn’t give her a chance to answer, just started paddling her again.

  She didn’t seem to know how to react. Her eyes were bright with tears that she wouldn’t shed, and she was biting her lip to keep from screaming, and her ass looked like it was on fire. But still her nipples were hard, her pussy gleaming.

  And still she would neither safe-word nor call herself what he wanted to hear, either one of which would have stopped the pain and let him give her the sound but tender fucking his cock ached to administer.

  Wet pussies didn’t lie, he figured. And in his experience, neither did Selene.

  If she wasn’t using the safe word yet, she must be all right.

  Soon it would be time for the cane.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Selene’s ass was ablaze and so was her brain.

  She’d asked for this, begged for it. Begged Nick to break her.

  That meant she had to take it, didn’t she? Otherwise she’d be a wannabe, a smart-ass masochist who topped from below, a poser, all those terms Natalie had thrown around, scarcely bothering to hide that she was talking about Selene.

  Besides, she deserved it. Deserved to suffer for pushing at Nick’s emotions, forcing him into a declaration of love he wasn’t ready to make.

  Worse, she wanted it. Needed it. Nick was right about that, although she wasn’t sure she could admit it to him even if she could get her brain and her lips in synch.

  It wasn’t fun pain, but it balanced the pain inside, the pain of knowing how badly she’d fucked up.

  And for non-fun pain, pain that shouldn’t have been any more enjoyable than having a root canal, it was making her awfully wet.

  Not the pain, perhaps, but the yielding. The knowledge that she’d put herself completely into Nick’s hands, that intense as this scene was, her only choice now was to trust him and endure.

  Trust. That was why she was enduring, why she wanted him to break her open, to get past the fear and doubt and emotional blackmail and back to the trust.

  Every muscle in her body cried out for release, relief from the challenging position he’d put her
in, and her ass was on fire, and open as she was, the paddle sometimes caught still more tender areas—her anus, her swollen pussy lips.

  Then she’d scream.

  But she wouldn’t use her safe word. She refused to use her safe word, to admit her wimpiness. It was only a paddle, dammit. Not a singletail, not a riot whip, not a knife, not any of the implements Nick had used on Natalie when they were together and that Natalie had described to her in breathless, wet detail. This was nothing. Just a paddle, used harder than usual.

  Dimly, as the pain built, as the paddle cracked down again and again on her tender ass cheeks and reddened thighs, she knew she was dripping.

  And why shouldn’t she be? She was a cunt in the sense that Nick meant.

  But she couldn’t bring herself to say it, not after hearing Molly’s father shouting it at Molly’s mother, not once, but often, usually coupled with worthless. She hadn’t known what it meant then, just knew instinctively it was a terrible thing to call someone.

  Nick didn’t mean it that way. He meant a woman who liked sex, who gave herself shamelessly to pain and pleasure, and she certainly was that. He just wanted her to say it in the starkest, most embarrassing way possible. And she couldn’t.

  This was beyond the level of pain she thought she’d wanted, but she found she could take it, take joy from knowing she was taking it. Each blow made her tense her buttocks—and each time she did that, she tightened around the toy inside her and felt surges of pleasure rippling out to meet the surges of pain.

  Finally he stopped, ran a hand softly over her hot, tingling bottom. The touch soothed her, and when he smiled a smile of sweet evil and whispered, “Good girl. Good, brave girl. That was new for you, wasn’t it?” she swore the pain melted into waves of… Well, her ass was still throbbing and sore, but it was a good kind of throbbing and sore, the kind she didn’t ever want to stop.

  And when he ran his fingers over her slick, swollen pussy, smiled approvingly, then ever so casually circled her aching clit…she surged, tried to arch to meet his touch against the chafing rope, cried out her pleasure as she convulsed around the toy inside her and some of the almost-unbearable tension melted away on a river of bright pleasure.