by Lila Dubois
The reality was that she was falling in love with James. Maybe it was further along than that. Maybe she already loved him.
Not as a Dom, not just as a sexual partner, but him. As delicious and toe-curling as it was when he touched her, she found just talking to him to be even more pleasurable. She could, all too easily, imagine sitting beside him on a couch on a Friday night, each reading a book, just being together silently. She could imagine growing old with him, as ridiculous and overly romantic as that was.
She was falling in love with him, and he was training her to be a submissive, instructing her how to behave when he left her and she had to find someone else.
If she were smart, she’d leave. She’d walk out right now before she fell all the way in love. She knew that was what she should do, but that wasn’t what she was going to do. She was going to stay with him, soak up every minute of their time together, and when he left, she’d fall to pieces. She would rather have these two weeks with him—and then suffer what was sure to be a miserable heartbreak—than walk away now.
“You’re an idiot,” she told her reflection.
Wiping her hands dry, she walked out of the small, elegant bathroom under the stairs. James was waiting for her, one shoulder propped against the wall. He looked like a movie star—handsome, poised, a bit dangerous.
They stared at one another in silence. She wondered if he knew she was falling in love with him. He probably did. He’d probably spent his whole life having women fall in love with him. He’d made his expectations clear, so she couldn’t blame him for leading her on.
He pushed off the wall. “Shall we get some dinner?”
Christiana looked down the hall, toward the foyer where the windows above and beside the front door let in a faded gold light. It was late. So much had happened since he showed up at the site, she was surprised it wasn’t later.
“I am hungry,” she admitted.
“When was the last time you ate?”
“Breakfast, I guess.”
“Then we need sustenance. To fortify ourselves… for later.”
Her nipples hardened, and she knew he noticed because his gaze slid down to her breasts and he smiled.
“You did that on purpose,” she accused.
“I’ll make us some reservations.”
“Reservations?” she asked in alarm.
“Is there a problem?”
“Are you going to pick some fancy place?”
“Is that a problem?”
“I’m hungry.” And she didn’t want to go to some fancy place. She didn’t want to feel uncomfortable and out of place while they ate.
“They serve food at fancy places.”
She straightened, which was slightly ridiculous since she was still naked and bound. “I’m going to pick where we eat.”
He raised a brow.
“Is that problem?” she asked him, parroting his words.
He looked nonplused, but said, “Not at all.”
“Good.” She held up her hands—at least as far up as she could. “Can you untie me?”
Now his smile was totally wicked. “A good place to start negotiations.”
“Start negotiations?”
He stepped forward, but it was more of a prowl. “I do love to negotiate.”
“What are we negotiating for?”
“You want to be untied. That’s your goal.”
“And what is your goal?” she asked.
He stepped into her personal space, crowding her back against the closed bathroom door. “I want to make sure that while we eat, you’re imagining all the things I’m going to do to you.” His lips brushed her temple. “I want you to feel my hands on you, even if I’m not touching you.”
“H-how are you going to do that?”
“I’ll untie you—if you agree to wear a plug to dinner,” he murmured.
“A butt plug?” she yelped.
“Just a little one,” he practically cooed. “You’ll hardly even notice it.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Would you rather wear a butterfly?”
“What’s a butterfly?”
He smiled. “It wouldn’t be fun if I told you.”
“And if I say neither?”
“I won’t untie you.”
“I can probably untie myself.”
“You can,” he assured her.
“Then why bother negotiating?”
“Because I’m betting that you won’t untie yourself. I’m betting that you want me to do it. You could, if you wanted, tie yourself up, too. There are plenty of people who practice self-bondage with rope.”
Christiana looked down at herself. Damn it, he was right. She wanted him to do it. The idea of taking the ropes off herself felt odd, as if it would leave her itchy.
James started to laugh.
“What?” she asked.
“Your face.”
“You’re laughing at my face? That’s just rude.”
He caught her chin in his hand, tipped her head up, and kissed her. “I’m not laughing at your face. You have a gorgeous face. I should have said I’m laughing at your expression… because I can tell I was right.”
“How often are you right?” she demanded.
He quirked a brow. “When I was younger, almost never. But now that I’m older and wiser, most of the time.”
“That’s annoying.”
“Not for me.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, and his grin widened.
“What’s it going to be, Christiana? Plug or butterfly.”
“Plug.” She blew out a breath.
“An excellent choice.” He kissed her again, then stepped back and reached for her left wrist, stroking her forearm gently before skillfully releasing the knot.
Christiana slid into the ride share car she’d ordered. James held open the door, closing it once she was in. He looked grumpy, probably because she’d insisted on ordering their ride herself, rather than letting him call some town car service. They were picked up in a Prius—a nice, new Prius—and she had a funny feeling he wasn’t used to riding in non-luxury cars. She hadn’t wanted to tell him where they were going, which was why she’d insisted on being the one to make the arrangements.
They said hi to the driver, and she exchanged the customary small talk, enough to keep her rider rating high. Once that was done, she sat back and looked at James. He was watching the city go by out the window.
She touched his hand. “You okay?”
“Of course.”
“Not still pouting, are you?”
Now he turned to face her. “I do not pout.”
She wrinkled her face up in an exaggerated sad expression. “You were pouting a little bit.”
His lips twitched and he pulled his phone from his pocket. She watched, wondering what he was up to as he tapped the screen.
The plug settled firmly in her bottom started to vibrate. Christiana jumped and then grabbed the seat, holding on for dear life.
James chuckled.
“It vibrates,” she hiss-whispered.
“Did I forget to mention that?”
“We didn’t negotiate that.”
“Ah, well, you didn’t specify what type of plug. I said it would be a small one, which it is.”
The vibrations increased. With her legs clamped together, she could feel the hum in her pussy. She tried relaxing, to see if that lessened the sensation, but it didn’t.
The car pulled to the curb. “Here you go,” the driver said.
“Great, thanks,” Christiana squeaked.
James opened his door and got out, but Christiana didn’t move.
She wasn’t sure if the buzzing would mean the plug might fall out. She had on a thong, which would help a little to keep it in, but might not be enough. The driver was watching her in the mirror with a quizzical expression. Christiana smiled weakly. James opened her door, and the buzzing stopped. She breathed a sigh of relief and put her hand in his, stepp
ing out of the car. They were standing on the sidewalk in a still slightly industrial area south of Market Street.
James pulled her against his side, wrapping his arm around her as he scanned the street warily.
Christiana rolled her eyes. “Don’t be such a baby, come on.”
“A baby?”
She took his hand, leading him half a block north before turning into a small, dark alley between two tall, narrow buildings that at one point had probably been used for some sort of small-scale manufacturing.
“A dark alley?” he asked in resignation. “Now I’m worried you’re going to make me into a skin suit.”
“Where is your sense of adventure?”
“Apparently it is not down a dark alley in a bad part of the city.”
“This is not a bad part of the city. Just come on.” She tugged on his hand, and he reluctantly stepped into the alley, quickly closing the space between them so he was beside and slightly in front of her.
The alley was short, only twenty feet. It dead-ended into a brick wall with a small iron gate in it. There were white Christmas lights strung haphazardly around the brick arch.
“Festive,” he muttered. He looked at her, practically radiating with reluctance.
“Fighting the urge to take over and make us go someplace else?”
“With every fiber of my being.”
Christiana laughed and pulled open the gate. The space beyond had once been the rear courtyard and a loading dock for the warehouse on their right, and the alley they’d come down had been the access driveway. The space had gone unused, and in a place like San Francisco, where every square foot counted, the hidden gem had been repurposed.
It was now the best grilled cheese restaurant in the city.
The courtyard was surrounded by several-story buildings, yet if you looked straight up you could see the night sky, though with all the lights of the city, the stars were only dim pinpricks. Fat white light bulbs hung from zig zags of black wires, illuminating the eclectic mix of tables and chairs. In the back corner was a wheel-less food truck, which was where the magic happened.
Christiana watched James’s expression shift from shocked to amused to startled. She was betting that last expression was because he’d gotten a whiff of the delicious aromas of melting cheese, bacon, and warm bread.
“Where are we?” he asked.
“Cheese.”
“Pardon?”
“That’s the name of the restaurant. Cheese.”
He looked at her. “I am pleasantly surprised we’re not about to be murdered.”
“Well, we’re about to eat a whole bunch of cheese. And bread. But heart attacks come later.”
They joined the long line, James studying the menu, first seeming reserved, but by the time they got to the front of the line, he was as excited as she was. He ordered gruyere and parmesan with thick-cut turkey bacon and arugula on garlic sourdough. She went more traditional with a cheddar and Monterey jack on wheat with ham.
They stepped to the side to wait, and James put his arm around her. “Now I’m looking forward to this.”
“It’s so good. I’ve only been here a few times.”
He kissed her temple, a casual, caring gesture that made her heart lurch. She wished he wouldn’t do that, but, at the same time, she wasn’t going to tell him to stop.
“You live across the bay,” he said. “How often are you in San Francisco?”
“Almost every day for work. This place is only open at night, not for lunch, which is why I haven’t been more. I’m usually done for the day and back on the other side of the bridge before it opens.”
“Do you have a car?”
“Nope, I use my bike or public transit to get to work, and then I use a company—” She stopped and sucked in air as the plug started to vibrate. It was a low, gentle vibration.
She slanted a look at James, who was grinning like a kid in a candy story. “You were saying you use the company something?”
She took a breath and leaned into him, both to steady herself and because she wanted to rub against his hard body. “Truck,” she finished. “I use a company truck. Sometimes, depending on what I’m doing, I take a truck home with me, so I can go straight to a site in the morning.”
The vibration turned off.
“What about you?” she asked. “Do you have a car?”
“Yes.”
She waited, but he didn’t say anything else. “Does it have an aftermarket rose-gold paint job?”
He snorted out a laugh. “No. It’s a gray Mercedes, and it’s a lease.”
“Well, your highness, I must admit I’m disappointed.”
“Oh? You expected better.”
“I did.”
He snorted. “If it drives, flies, or floats, it’s better to lease.”
“Better?”
“More cost effective.”
“Okay, I seriously doubt you know anything about being cost effective. You offered the town car people a thousand-dollar bonus to get you a limo.”
“But I didn’t buy a limo.” He winked at her.
Christiana rolled her eyes. “Oh, well, in that case…”
Their number was called and they went to the window, retrieving boxes of toasty, melty cheese and bread, bags of locally made chips, and vintage-style soda. They claimed a small bistro table near a heat lamp. Christiana tucked her feet together between the narrow legs of the table. She hadn’t exactly forgotten the plug was there, but sitting made it shift and move. Impossible to ignore. James very deliberately placed his legs along the outside of hers, on either side of her chair, caging her in.
His gaze was scorching, studying her with an intensity that was both arousing and made her feel like she was being hunted. Maybe that was what she found arousing, this feeling that he was a predator and she was his prey.
Their food was still too hot to eat, so they sat for a moment.
“How do you feel?” he asked softly, his tone making it clear he was talking about the plug.
“Full,” she whispered in reply.
“Does it hurt?”
“No.”
“What about your ass? Sitting in the car, and sitting now—both those must cause you pain.”
“The chair is cold, which feels kind of nice.”
“I will help you ice it again tonight.”
“That’s okay…”
He smiled. “I want to help you.”
Christiana touched her sandwich. It was still too hot to pick up, which meant she didn’t have the convenient “my mouth is full” excuse for avoiding the conversation. “I know what you’ll do if I let you near me with ice.”
“Oh? What will I do?”
“On the checklist, there was ice play. And ice insertion.”
His lips twitched, but instead of replying, he opened his bag of chips, offering her one. He’d gotten salt and vinegar, so she declined. He looked in the bag, selected a chip, and crunched.
“You’re bad.” She opened her own bag of chips.
“And does it scare you or excite you?” he asked
She popped a chip in her mouth and crunched noisily. That plan didn’t quite work the way she hoped it would, because when he said, “Do you like the idea of me pulling the plug out, pushing a hard, cold ice cube inside of you and then putting the plug back in?” she choked on bits of chips and had to cough into her napkin.
James sat back in his seat, grinning at her as she wiped her mouth.
She checked her sandwich again, this time picking it up and taking a bite. Once she did, James picked up his own sandwich. Sex was forgotten, if only momentarily, as they instead focused on the pleasure of a truly decadent dinner.
When they rose to leave, James slipped his hand into his pocket. The plug started to vibrate. Christiana grabbed his hand, dragging him toward the gate.
James chuckled, and it had a distinctly evil note to it.
Her nipples were hard, her pussy ached with need. She wanted to get back to the
house. Now.
Chapter 7
James opened the door to the rental property, motioning for Christiana to precede him. She was already taking off her coat by the time he closed the door, so he leapt to help her. She paused for a moment, as if surprised, then relaxed into it.
“Why don’t you go to the bathroom and remove the plug?”
She turned to look at him, frowning, but nodded and went to the small guest bath under the stairs. He quickly picked up the copies of the contract he’d made, then returned to wait for her.
She opened the bathroom door. She’d washed the plug and left it sitting on a neatly folded square of toilet paper on the edge of the sink.
“Let’s sit in the dining room.” James put action to words, leading Christiana through the first floor to the small formal dining room.
“I’m stuffed,” she protested.
“We’re not going to eat, we’re going to negotiate.”
“Oh. Oh.”
He held out a chair for her at one end of table, then took a seat across from her, the length of the table between them. He’d been thinking about, and rehearsing, what he would say since they left dinner. It had taken that long to work through his emotions enough that he was confident he would be able to discuss this without letting his vehement hatred of the idea of anyone else ever touching her show. It had also taken him that long to convince himself to go through with this part of her training rather than turning on the plug to max and eating her sweet pussy the second they walked in the door.
She looked at him expectantly. Time to get out of his head.
“When you negotiate a scene, it’s important that you do it on equal footing. That’s why I had you remove the plug.”
She perched on the edge of the chair, looking down at the tabletop. He wanted her to look up so he could read her expression, but that would be an order, and the whole point was for there to be no commands, not during negotiation.
“Here is a copy of a contract.” He rose and brought it to her, placing it in front of her. “Contracts can be used in different ways. Some people have a contract for every scene, some people have a standing contract between them and their partner, and once that is negotiated, they don’t negotiate each scene.” He took his own seat. “Shall we go over the contract?”
