“How should I know?” she said with a shrug. “If he is, he’s got every right to be. But so do you—if you two are an official item now, maybe he should have brought up the subject of whether you were going to be exclusive. Sounds like there was a little assuming on his part, too.”
As usual, a little validation went a long way, so I let Mariah lead me to the quiet area—a small office that wasn’t the most comfortable place to hang out, but it did at least have a couple of semi-padded chairs. She got me settled and then headed back out to tend to her vulvas, her many-tiered bustle swishing merrily behind her.
Once again I was left with the feeling that I was doomed to be forever out of my element in this lifestyle, always staggering along behind Mariah or Ellison or whatever other, more experienced kinkster I attached myself to next, trying and failing to understand why these people kept doing the things they were doing. Maybe I just wasn’t wired for this. Maybe I’d be happier going out and finding a partner to chase the American vanilla dream with me—white picket fence, 2.5 kids, and the only collar in the house buckled onto the family dog.
But for all my doubts, I couldn’t escape the facts: sex with Ellison was without a doubt the best of my life, and I felt more at peace when I was on my knees for him than I could remember being in a long, long time. Despite the difficulties it presented, the thought of giving that up made my heart clench and my skin feel prickly and far too tight.
Was it submission that made me feel that way, or was it him?
By the time Ellison found me, I’d been in the room with only my own thoughts to occupy me far too long. I was about a minute and a half from getting up and alphabetizing the books on the shelf on the far wall, so the sight of him was almost a relief even in spite of the unpleasant discussion that was sure to follow.
The door clicked shut behind him, and he stood beside it, arms folded across his chest as he watched me. His eyes were as piercing as always, but there was no trace of a smile on his face. The flat expression hit me like a kick to the chest.
“We need to talk.”
“Yeah,” I said, looking at the floor. “I guess we do.”
“Why were you so upset by what you saw?”
A harsh laugh burst from my throat. “Seriously? Look, I know I screwed up when I charged in there, but can you at least have the decency to stop pretending you don’t know every single goddamn thought in my head? You know why I was upset.”
Ellison’s mouth tightened. “I have my suspicions, but I want to hear you say it. I want to know that we both understand the situation.”
“Do you ever get tired of being so fucking wise all the time?”
“River, please.”
It was the “please” that got me. It wasn’t an exasperated sort of “please,” the kind that barely concealed a request for me to shut up—it sounded genuine, like he cared about doing this right.
And it turned out I cared enough about this guy to want to do it right, too.
“I was upset,” I said with a resigned sigh, rubbing at the bridge of my nose, “because I thought that ‘we’re dating’ meant ‘we’re exclusively dating,’ and also that ‘exclusively dating’ meant you wouldn’t play with any other subs.”
“We never discussed being exclusive.” His voice, so steady and reasonable and patient, grated on me. How was he still so calm? A little knot of fear was forming in my stomach, and it didn’t ease at all when he continued. “And I told you before that I had another regular sub.”
I ran a hand through my hair, tugging at the strands with a muffled groan. “Yeah, I realize that now. I wasn’t thinking—I just…saw you doing that and followed my gut reaction. I’m sorry I interrupted your scene, by the way. Mariah already kind of reamed me out for that.”
“I figured she would,” he said, and I saw a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth, a hint of a repressed smile. A wave of relief washed over me at the sight of it. “And I’m sorry for not clarifying the situation. We should have discussed that when we talked about how we were labeling things, and I didn’t think to do it at the time. That was a mistake on my part.”
“Thanks, I…apology accepted, I guess.” I looked back down at the carpet, tracing its patterns with my eyes because it was easier than looking up at Ellison’s face. “So is that another of your non-negotiable things? Do you not do exclusive?”
“I don’t—” The sudden hesitation in his voice was shocking enough to tear my focus away from the carpet. He was chewing on his lip, his brow wrinkled. I’d never seen him look so uncertain. “I don’t not do it. I just haven’t done it in a long time.”
This wasn’t the right time. I knew that. We’d just had a fight—or sort of a fight, I guess—because I’d screwed things up. I knew I should let things sit for a while, let the raw feelings scab over and fade until he wouldn’t be starting from a position of reluctance. But my heart was racing and the half-civilized caveman part of my brain was jumping up and down and screaming, “Mine, mine, mine!”
“Would you consider being exclusive with me?”
Ellison crossed the room to me; his steps were slow, but they lacked the deliberate focus he had when he was in Dom mode. He dragged a chair to face me and lowered himself into it, leaning forward to peer at me. His knee was so close to mine they could have touched if one of us would just move our leg, but neither of us did.
“In a romantic sense?” he finally said, cocking his head to the side. “Or with regards to our Dom/sub relationship?”
“Either. Both.” I scrubbed my hands over my face, trying to gather my thoughts. “I don’t think I’m wired for the whole freewheeling relationship anarchy thing. I know it works for some people, but just…with all my issues, I kind of need stability I can count on, you know? I know it’s kind of a lot—”
Ellison placed his hand on my knee, and my voice cut out the instant I felt the warm weight resting on me. I risked a look at his face, and sort of regretted it—his lips were pursed, his brow furrowed as he regarded me curiously. It was the look of someone who was mulling over a sticky issue, and as much as I knew that was important—it was a relationship we were talking about here, not a pizza topping—it made my heart sink just a little with each passing second.
In a perfect world, he would have answered without hesitation. He would have thrown his arms around me all weepy eyed and promised he’d only ever wanted me. Maybe he would have declared his love right there. That’s the way it would have happened if I’d been writing the script, anyway. My readers loved that stuff.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, whisper-soft and slow, like he was considering each word, “I haven’t seen anyone else romantically since our first date. I don’t exactly date a lot to begin with, and since I met you, I honestly haven’t felt much of a drive to. If you’d like to to continue that going forward…I’d be happy to.”
“I—yes. I would. That’s—very much.” This seemed like a pretty important moment, and I really wished I could string more than two words together at a time. I took a deep breath to try to curb my useless stammering. “And, um…I know you like, you know, tying people up. If…I don’t know, sometimes maybe if you want to—see someone for that—”
“River.” His hand cupped my cheek, so warm and solid against my skin that I couldn’t help but press myself into it. “Do you really think you’re not enough for me?”
I pinched my eyes shut, lashes brushing against his palm. “I know I’m not.”
“River,” he said, slow and patient. God, the sound of my name on his lips was sunshine-warm right down to my bones. “You submit to me so beautifully, so naturally. Look at you right now—so eager for my touch.” He moved his hand slightly away, and I followed it on instinct, seeking his warmth. My reward was a stroke of his thumb over my cheekbone, and I drew in a shuddering breath.
He was right here, touching me, and still I ached for him.
“It doesn’t matter what specific acts you might do for me,” Ellison said, slow and patient.
“What’s important is what it means.”
I shook my head; all I could manage was a hoarse whisper. “It’s just…it seems…”
Suddenly his hand was gone and I gasped, the loss of it almost stinging my skin. “Stand up,” he said, his voice clear and firm, full of authority.
My eyes opened wide and I looked to him for confirmation, but he only watched me with glittering eyes. Waited, both of us knowing what came next.
I pushed myself to my feet, trying to remember which way my knees were supposed to bend. Ellison’s hand skimmed down the side of my thigh—it was a businesslike touch, obviously not intended to arouse, but more like…to claim ownership. I bit my lip, willing myself to silence.
“Go sit in that chair,” he said, pointing, and I did. “Cross your legs.” I folded one leg over the other obediently. “Other leg on top.”
The muscles of my hips and thighs felt strange and tight—I rarely sat with my legs crossed to begin with, and when I did, it was always right-over-left, never left-over-right. It was such a small thing, but it gave me such a deep feeling of wrongness, a hyper-awareness of my own body and the ways it wasn’t fitting together, that I couldn’t help but make a face of discomfort.
Ellison smiled when he saw it, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Fuck, but I’d missed having that smile turned on me.
He rose from his chair and crouched in front of me while I tried not to squirm. “Comfortable?”
“Not really.”
“Good. I want you to look into my eyes.” The intensity of his gaze, as always, made my chest feel heavy and my neck go all prickly. He watched me, unblinking, his smile relentless as my breath grew shorter under his scrutiny. Once again, I was pinned by him, by his too-intimate looks and his persistent disregard for my comfort, and I couldn’t help but look away, desperate to escape that cool blue pressure.
He snapped his fingers sharply. “Look at me.”
Reluctant, I dragged my eyes back to his. It was too much, too close, too deep. I looked away again, and Ellison snapped his fingers so close to my ear it made me jump. I looked back at him, swallowed, and let myself plunge into the endless sea of his eyes.
The breath slid gently from my lungs, my racing heart slowing back down as I tried to give Ellison what he was asking for, tried to offer him my obedience as apology, or promise, or desperate plea for his touch. I had no idea what I wanted in return—I only knew that I wanted to give him whatever he demanded.
“Perfect,” he murmured. He stood up again, finally breaking the stare, and I stifled a quiet gasp at its loss. As uncomfortable as it had been, I still wanted his eyes on me, but he gave me something even better: he cupped my chin gently in his hand, and a whimper escaped my lips at the simple dominance in the touch. “I could do anything to you right now,” he said, and I knew it was true. “I could tell you to pat your head and rub your belly at the same time. I could have you stand up and sing ‘I’m a Little Teapot.’ I could order you to piss yourself right here in front of me. Does it matter to you what I make you do, as long as I reward you with my touch and shower you with my praise?”
I fought down a wave of terror, a sudden fear that he was about to make me do any or all of those things, but even with the threat of humiliation hovering over my head, I couldn’t lie to him. “No, it doesn’t,” I whispered.
“Stand up and give me your hand.” He took the hand I offered him and brought it to his crotch, pressing it against his cock, straining solid and thick under the fabric of his pants. I groaned, the heat and hardness of it filling me with a desperate need to taste him, to touch him, to feel his hands on every part of me. “It doesn’t matter to me, either. As long as you obey.”
“Ellison—” I nearly choked on his name, and the next words flew out of me in a desperate rush. “Ellison, please kiss me.”
The press of his lips against mine was the sweetest relief I’d ever felt. It washed over me as his tongue swept into my mouth and claimed me as surely as his hand had earlier. I melted into it, lost in pleasure and the scent and the sound of him.
He made a soft humming sound against my mouth, and my chest swelled at the sound of it, at the loss of control and the unashamed display of pleasure as he touched me. I threw my arms around him, pulling him even closer to me. I’d never taken the initiative like this before with him—every kiss had been on his terms, with him giving and me receiving. To be fair, this was still mostly him giving, but for the first time I was pulling at him greedily, taking even more than he was offering. I clutched desperately at him, completely consumed by need and raw, aching desire. I was sure I would die if I didn’t feel him against me for one glorious instant before he took control back again.
He didn’t push me away, though. One hand wrapped around my waist to press against the small of my back, drawing our bodies even closer as the other hand tangled in my hair, reminding me with a grab and a tug who was really in charge. I didn’t care; I drank my fill of him, thrilled beyond belief that he was allowing it.
I shifted without really meaning to and felt his cock slide against mine; we both let out a little groan, and I felt a little thrill of victory once again. Ellison wasn’t untouchable. Not for me. It made me a little bolder, and my hands slid down to his ass, squeezing tight to rock his hips against mine, but before I could do it he reached down to capture both of my wrists. I may have whined a little; I certainly made some sort of noise, but I was too desperate for more friction on my cock to make any kind of objective judgement on dignity.
“If you keep doing that, I’m going to end up fucking you over that desk, and we’re both going to get kicked out.” His voice was mild, a little breathless but otherwise unaffected, like he was reporting the time of day after climbing a short flight of stairs. “If you want my cock, you’re going to have to wait until after the party.”
I probably could have broken out if I put all my strength into it, but I loved the feeling of his fingers circling my wrists, the pads of his fingers feather-soft against my pulse point. I writhed in his grip, just enough to remind me I was at his mercy. “Do we have to hang around for the rest of the party?” That probably came off as a little petulant, but I really couldn’t bring myself to care.
Ellison chuckled, soft and wicked. “Look at you. I love how desperate you are for me.”
“I can’t help it,” I said. “You do things to me. Please, can we go?”
“Soon. I have to say a few goodbyes first.”
I sagged bonelessly against his body, groaning low in my throat.
“It won’t take long,” he said, a smile in his voice as he carefully relaxed his grip on my wrists. He kept his hands close, like he didn’t quite trust me not to frantically grab for him again. To be fair, I didn’t really trust myself on that either. “You should compose yourself before we go out there.”
I was about to make some snarky comment about how he should compose himself, but then I realized that apart from the bulge he was adjusting in his pants, he looked entirely unaffected by everything we’d done. His face wasn’t flushed, his breath wasn’t short. Even his smile was perfectly measured, as always. How could he stay so placid when I was in this uncontrollable frenzy?
I fell back into the chair, rubbing my hands over my face as if that could dispel the blush I felt lurking under the skin. Ellison sat next to me, leaning on his hand while he watched me with an amused twist in his lips. Having his eyes on me wasn’t helping me “compose myself” one damn bit.
“Do you get a lot out of these parties?” I asked, more to take my mind off my cock than anything. “Like…the whole public thing? Is that something you’re really into?”
He nodded. “I enjoy public displays of dominance. Subtle ones out in the world, of course—I don’t want to force my kinks on an unsuspecting audience. But yes, in spaces like this, I thoroughly enjoy showing other people the fruits of my labors.”
My stomach fluttered with uncertain desire. “Is it something you’d want to do to me?”
“River,” he said with a smile, my name once again turning me right to jelly, “I want to do absolutely anything to you that you’ll allow me to do.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re not helping with the composure thing, you know.”
“Oh, was I supposed to be trying?” What a smart-ass.
“If you want to sometime, that’s…” I swallowed, glancing up at his face and flicking my eyes away at the intensity of his stare. “I think I might be into that. Kind of a lot.”
“That’s interesting. Tell me what about it appeals to you.”
Chewing on my lip, I stared down at my hands twisting together in my lap. “It’s hard to say in general, but right this moment, I think it’s kind of a needy thing, or like…residual jealousy or something. The idea of you doing something to me in public feels…sort of like you’d be claiming me. Acknowledging that we’re, you know, together. So you couldn’t take it back.”
“Do you think I want to take it back?” he asked, his voice dancing with amusement.
“Well, look at me,” I said, gesturing vaguely at myself. “I’m a neurotic, paranoid, compulsive wreck of a person who—let’s be honest here—probably ought to be on some kind of medication. I mean, if I started dating me, I’m pretty sure I’d want to take it back as soon as I’d slept on it.”
“I see what you meant before about the raging self-esteem issues.” He was still smiling crookedly, like he wasn’t taking this entirely seriously, and I couldn’t tell if that was helping or hurting. Where was that Gently Reassuring Ellison I’d come to expect from these conversations?
“What can I say—my insight on myself is unparalleled. Too bad I can’t reason my way into mental health.”
Ellison gave me a long look up and down, like he was trying to make a decision—which didn’t help my anxiety one bit, but I clenched my hands on my knees and tried not to freak out too much. What was he even seeing when he looked at me like that? What was it about me that kept him coming back?
Truth By His Hand Page 17
