The Beauty of Surrender

by Eden Bradley

  She shivered as he said those words. What could she really take? She could barely wait to find out.

  “I want to try, Sir. I want to try it all. I need to,” she told him. It was the truth. And she suddenly felt that she couldn’t hide anything from this man. She didn’t want to.

  “Let’s discuss our arrangement, then. You should know how I operate. I don’t play well with too many limitations. If you are the kind of submissive who insists on no sexual contact, then I am not the right choice for you. Will this be an issue?”

  Her heart was thundering in her chest at a thousand miles an hour. Her sex went damp, aching.

  “No. That’s not a problem, Sir.”

  No, definitely not a problem. She had to bite back a moan.

  He leaned in then, took her hand in his, skimming his fingertips over her wrist beneath the edge of her cotton sweater. Her pulse was racing wildly under his touch, her skin on fire.

  “I believe we have an understanding, then.”

  She nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

  “You can call me Desmond. I prefer it, actually.”

  “Yes, Sir. Desmond.”

  Beautiful name. Beautiful man. And that accent was like warm whiskey in her veins.

  “Tell me what else you’re looking for, Ava.”

  She had to stop to organize the million images and ideas whirling through her head. How to explain? But it was such a relief to have someone ask her about these things she’d thought about, mentally dissected, her entire life, it seemed. “I’m looking for that headspace. I want to …go empty all over. And the pain play has never done that for me, although I’ve tried. It’s all about being bound for me. Being … peaceful. And there’s one more thing …”

  “Yes?”

  “I love to play in public, at the clubs. I’m an exhibitionist, I suppose. But I love to be vaguely aware of people watching. It makes me feel … beautiful.”

  “Ah, Ava,” he said quietly, “you just may be the perfect girl for me.”

  Too good, to hear those words from him. But she had something more to tell him. “But … I also feel that I have a tendency to use the exhibitionism as a distraction from my ultimate goal. So maybe sometimes it’s good for me, and sometimes not.”

  Desmond nodded. “You’re very thoughtful. I like that.”

  Sliding his fingers down, he took her hand, lifted it, and pressed his lips to her palm. She let out a small gasp, pleasure flooding her senses like an electric current: that hot, that shocking.

  Oh, yes, perfect.

  Ava shivered, a long, slow heat seeping up her spine, spreading, spreading. She was on fire. Burning. For him.

  When Marina had suggested that a male dominant might be able to take her deeper into that lovely space she craved, a man who could bring the sexual element into bondage play, Ava knew she was right. And she trusted Marina to choose a good partner for her. But she had no idea she would meet a man who made her feel like this.

  Desmond Hale was intense, a dominant through and through. There was something about his presence, the way he carried himself with confidence, as though he understood perfectly well that no one would dare to defy him.

  She wanted nothing more than to serve this man from the first moment she’d heard his voice, even before she’d raised her head and seen him.

  And now, knowing that what he wanted from her was exactly what she wanted—needed—to give, she could hardly stand to wait.

  “Sir … Desmond. May I ask a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “When can we get started?”

  He laughed, and she wasn’t sure at first if she’d made a mistake. But he squeezed her hand, ran his fingers over her wrist again so lightly she could barely feel it. It was enough to reassure her. To make every nerve in her body come alive.

  He let her hand go, turned to Marina. “Tell me what went on exactly when you played her.”

  He picked up his cup once more, took a long sip, and Ava watched, fascinated, as he swallowed, the long line of his throat working.

  “She was good,” Marina said. “Very submissive, as you’ve noticed. She follows instructions perfectly. And she loves the ropes; I could see that right away. She slipped into the edge of subspace easily, but she never went deep, no matter how long I kept her bound, the intricacy of the knots, just as she’s told you. I never tried suspension; we played only three times. She never went deep enough for me to try that with her. There is definitely some sort of block.”

  He turned to face Ava again, his gaze assessing her once more. “We’ll break through that,” he said, his voice certain, commanding. His accent was stronger than ever. “Whatever it is. Whatever it takes.”

  She nodded, her throat going tight. A small, lovely shiver of anticipation ran through her, imagining what he might do with her. Not that it mattered; she would do anything he asked of her, she knew that already. And she knew he would ask her to push her boundaries just enough, and no further than she could truly handle.

  “I think you will break through with her,” Marina said. “If anyone can, it’s you, Desmond. And she seems to like you well enough.” She grinned at Ava, who blushed, her cheeks heating.

  “Ava?” He was watching her, that green gaze intent on hers, gleaming in the dusky filtered sunlight coming through the windows of the café. “Tell me, is this what you want? For us to work together? For me to play you? Train you in the ways of Shibari?”

  She had to swallow past the hard lump in her throat, a lump made of exquisite anticipation, nerves, pure desire, to get the words out. “Yes. Please, Desmond.”

  “Very well. I will send you a questionnaire through e-mail. You’ve done these things before, I assume?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Fill it out, return it to me. And with it, you may ask any questions of me. I want us to be open with each other. This is the only way it will work.”

  She nodded, her head too filled with the possibilities for her brain to function properly.

  “I’ll look it over, and we’ll talk again about whether or not you’d still like to do this.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she will, Desmond.” Marina turned to Ava, her gray eyes sparkling. “She’s practically vibrating with need already.”

  Ava’s cheeks heated once more. It was true. She’d never been so full of yearning in her life.

  He laughed, a low, rumbling sound that Ava swore she could feel reverberating through her body.

  Oh, yes, anything for him.

  “Go home now. And wait to hear from me.”

  “Now?”

  “Impatient, Ava? But don’t worry, you’ll be in my hands soon enough. In my ropes. Unless you change your mind, of course.”

  “I won’t, Sir. Desmond.”

  He smiled, lifted her hand, brushed his lips over her knuckles: the lightest touch, yet it burned through her.

  “I’m afraid I must be off; I have an appointment. I’ll speak with you soon, sweet Ava.”

  Marina stood, and she and Desmond hugged briefly while Ava sat in her chair, hardly daring to stand on her shaking legs. The damp ache had started to pulse between her thighs, and she crossed them.

  Excruciating.

  Lovely.

  How was she going to manage to wait to hear from him? To see him again?

  He walked off, and she could only stare after him, her head spinning.

  “Ava?”

  “Yes? What? I’m sorry, Marina.”

  Marina laughed, taking her chair once more. “No need to be sorry. I think you two have made a connection, yes?”

  “Yes.” She put a hand to her hair, smoothed it away from her face. “God, yes.”

  “I thought you might. Go home now, as he said. Think about the conversation today, about what you want from him, what he might ask of you.”

  “I won’t be able to think of anything else!”

  “No, I don’t think you will.” Marina’s cool gray gaze was steady on hers. “But are you truly ready for thi
s, Ava? Because I think this could be a life-changing experience. I think with Desmond you may be able to open up in ways you never have before. You might finally get what you’ve wanted, and that can be terrifying sometimes.”

  “Yes. I’m ready.”

  She was. Ready for anything, because it would be with him.

  Desmond.

  She’d never met anyone like him in her life. Never met anyone who made her feel this way: so full of desire she thought she might burst. Filled with the need to please, to do anything to make him happy. She realized then that she’d always held a part of herself back, had never allowed herself to tap into the full extent of her desires. But with him, anything else was impossible.

  Impossible to feel this way after having talked with him for twenty minutes! Impossible to know, on some very deep level, that this man was going to change her life, just as Marina said.

  Her pulse was racing, her heart hammering. With desire. With anticipation. With the old dread pounded into her head by Michael, telling her that what she wanted was wrong. Different. Bad. Even as he gave it to her in some twisted, hurtful way.

  But she was not going to think of him now. No, she’d worked past all that, hadn’t she? Realized the urgency of her desires had simply made him afraid because he didn’t really understand them, and that’s where it had all gone wrong.

  Stop thinking about the past. It’s ancient history.

  All she wanted to think about was right now. Because she was about to get everything she’d ever dreamed of. And Marina was right. No matter how badly she wanted it, it scared the hell out of her.

  Chapter Two

  AVA JAMMED THE KEY into her front door, nearly stumbling into her apartment. She wasn’t quite sure how she’d made it home, all the way across town to her place in the Sunset district, near the beach.

  Heading straight to her bedroom, she dropped her purse on top of her low antique dresser, startling her cat, Wicked, who jumped off the bed and darted down the hallway, a blur of black fur. She shed her clothes as quickly as possible until she stood, naked, in front of the ornate oval-framed mirror over the dresser. She stopped to look at her reflection. Her hair was its usual wild mass of pale blond curls falling around her shoulders. But her round, blue eyes were glossy, enormous. Her skin was flushed: her cheeks, her breasts. And her nipples were two hard, pink points, begging to be touched.

  Yes …

  She yanked open the top drawer of the dresser, dug around until she found a pair of nipple clamps, two small alligator clamps attached by a length of chain. She paused to caress her breast, her fingers grazing the nipple, and she moaned softly. Touching it again, she twisted it between her fingers, tugging on the tender flesh, and a flash of damp heat answered from between her thighs. She teased both nipples, pinching, twisting, until they were hard and pulsing. And then she took one between her fingers, pulling it out, elongating it, and fastened a clamp there.

  A shock of pain and pleasure went through her, and her sex swelled, went soaking wet.

  Oh, yes …

  The small, metal teeth were cool against her skin but heated quickly. Taking her other nipple between her fingers, she pulled on it, pressed the other clamp closed, and hissed at the sensation rocking her body. It wasn’t the pain itself so much as the sense of restraint on her flesh, the image of subservience.

  Her gaze went once more to the mirror. She loved to see herself like this: flushed with need. Her breasts, her sex, engorged. Sliding her hand between her thighs, she found her wet, aching slit.

  What would Desmond think if he saw her like this?

  She pictured his rugged face, his large hands. They would be on her soon, but not soon enough.

  Her camera sat on the dresser next to her discarded purse, an old Nikon she’d had since she’d learned to develop her own photographs in high school. She should take a picture of herself for him, record her flushed skin, her glazed blue eyes. But no, nothing unless he asked for it, and then she would do exactly as he asked.

  Yes …

  She slipped her fingers between her swollen folds, finding the hard nub of her clitoris.

  Desmond.

  The telephone rang, and she jumped.

  Pulling her cell phone from her purse, she flipped it open.

  “Yes? Hello?”

  “Ava.”

  Desmond.

  She was shaking all over.

  “S-sir?”

  “I have some instructions for you.”

  Oh, yes. His voice in her ear, commanding her. And her body already shivering with need, the clamps tight on her aching nipples.

  “Yes, Sir. I’m sorry. Desmond.”

  “This is something very basic. But necessary.”

  “Anything.”

  Oh, yes. Anything for him.

  “Until I see you again, you are not to touch yourself. Is that understood? I don’t want you to climax, in any way.”

  God! As though he could read her mind. She could barely breathe.

  “Ava? Are you there?”

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  And she did, all too well. She understood, and she would not disobey him. No matter how hot she was right now, no matter how her body trembled with the need to come.

  “Very good. I’ll contact you again soon. Check your e-mail for that questionnaire. Get it back to me as quickly as possible, but don’t rush your answers.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “And, Ava?”

  “Yes?”

  His voice lowered. “I need to tell you … I can hear your panting breath. I can almost smell your desire over the phone. I know exactly what you’re feeling at this moment. But you are to hold back. For me.”

  Yes, for him!

  “Yes, Desmond. I will, I promise.”

  “Good girl. Wait to hear from me.”

  He hung up.

  She wanted to cry!

  But she would do it, do whatever he asked.

  She put her cell phone down, but not before she caught the faint ocean scent of her own juices on her hand.

  Oh, God …

  Looking at her reflection once more, she took in her eyes: glowing, luminous. And the clamps sharp on her nipples, the metal chain swinging gently between her breasts with every breath, taunting her. She shook her head at herself, pressed on one of the clamps, hissed in pain as she took it off and blood rushed back into the taut flesh. Taking a deep breath, she removed the other, tossed them back into the dresser drawer.

  She was vibrating with hunger, desperate. But she would do exactly as Desmond had told her. Even if it made her crazy. Had anyone ever lost their mind from unsated desire? She was about to find out.

  DESMOND PULLED ONTO Doyle Drive, passing the densely tree-lined road through the old Presidio military base, heading for the Golden Gate Bridge. The windows in his black Lexus were open, letting in the scent of ancient eucalyptus trees and salt air.

  Have to get home. Just get home and …

  What? How was getting home going to be any better? At least he’d had the distraction of work today, a long meeting with a client in the financial district. At home he’d be alone with his thoughts.

  Every thought he’d had was about Ava Gregory since the moment he’d met her, seen her perfect doll-like features, that creamy porcelain skin, the flawless curve of breasts beneath her sweater. They were almost too large for her tiny figure, her breasts. Pornographic, with a face so sweet. And that little pink mouth of hers …

  He groaned, shifted in his seat against the erection that was becoming painful again.

  Had to have her. Touch her.

  Yes. And he would. Unless the girl changed her mind. He didn’t know what the hell he’d do if she did.

  She wouldn’t.

  Was he as certain of that as he wanted to be?

  When was the last time he’d doubted himself this way? Doubted anything in his life?<
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  He’d spent his entire adult existence being certain about everything. He’d chosen his life very carefully. He chose his bedmates every bit as carefully.

  He had no choice when it came to Ava.

  But it would be good. Better than good. If he could just get through this damn introductory period that he was too noble to bypass. He’d been the one to set up the rules this way: get to know the girl, the formal questionnaire, the long conversations by e-mail, by telephone, in person, before he ever touched her. Fucking torture, thinking about waiting this time. But he would not break his own rules. They were there for a reason. It was his responsibility to handle a submissive correctly. Safe, sane, and consensual, as always. And part of that saneness, that consent, was everyone involved being well informed.

  Foolish to even imagine going back there, into the city, going to her house, getting her to let him tie her up …

  But that was exactly what he was thinking.

  Control!

  Yes, control was the key. Always had been. Always would be.

  He downshifted as he pulled onto the Golden Gate Bridge, slowing as he rolled through the toll gate, then speeding up a little as he moved onto the long expanse.

  The San Francisco Bay stretched out on his right, the lights of the city gleaming against the velvet dark of the water beneath him. To the north was the paler glow of Marin County, the small seaside town of Sausalito, which was his home.

  Home. Have to get home. Be alone.

  He’d ordered Ava not to touch herself, but he had no such strictures.

  He hit the gas a little harder, the sleek car shooting smoothly over the half-empty bridge. He reached the other side, swung off the highway, and took the road curving down into Sausalito. Even through the wispy fog he could see the moonlit water, the boats bobbing in their docks. A million-dollar view, one he never tired of. But he didn’t care tonight.

  Taking the road a little faster than he should, he gunned the engine, the car holding fast around the turns. Making a left onto his narrow street, he shifted again to climb the steep hill. Finally he reached his driveway, pulled in. He switched the engine off, not even bothering to put the car in the garage.