In the Zone

by Sierra Cartwright

  Even though he’d already fucked her, he was getting aroused again.

  “Sir…?”

  He faced her.

  “May I wear a T-shirt or something?”

  “I’ll turn up the heat a few degrees.”

  “Ah… Thank you, Sir.”

  He went into the kitchen. First things first. He brewed a pot of coffee before tossing half a pound of bacon in a pan. With the plans he had for the horny sub in his bed, they’d both need protein.

  He cracked a few eggs into a bowl and whisked them before popping a couple of pieces of bread into the toaster.

  Nathaniel couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a woman stay overnight. He preferred to use their homes or a hotel. His place was his—private. Besides, he didn’t much care for the morning after.

  Oftentimes subs wanted to talk about making things more serious.

  It was easier to avoid the conversation in the first place.

  He’d never collared a sub. His lifestyle didn’t work that way.

  So why was he pouring enough eggs for two into a sizzling pan and wondering what color leather would look best fastened around her delicate throat?

  He heard the water running in the master bathroom, then a few minutes later heard it shut off.

  He buttered the toast, put the eggs in the oven to keep warm, and crisped the bacon, set the table, then turned in time to see her enter the kitchen.

  On all fours.

  Jesus.

  He wouldn’t have punished her for walking, but this… This was perfect.

  She crawled to the middle of the room and then knelt up, careful to spread her knees wide.

  She’d obviously taken a quick shower. Her hair was damp at the ends. She’d shaved again.

  Her motions calculated and erotic, she shook her head, spilling her hair everywhere, and she tucked her hands behind her head. He was thinking about far more than breakfast. “Did you shave the inside of your pussy lips?”

  “Of course, Sir.”

  “Mind if I check?”

  She lowered her gaze for a moment before looking up at him. She parted her labia.

  He leaned over to run the pad of his index finger over her damp folds. He nodded, satisfied. Then he held up his finger near her lips, and she sucked him dry. He fisted his hand in her hair. “You please me.”

  Her cheeks flushed red. Somehow that was more appealing than anything.

  “You may sit at the table,” he told her.

  “Sir?”

  “You should always assume that I expect you to kneel next to my chair.”

  She blinked. “And feed me from your plate?”

  She’d asked the question with a sneer. He tightened his hand in her hair.

  She winced.

  “Would you like me to put a plate for you on the floor?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Then express your gratitude for being allowed to use a chair.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “Not good enough. Figure out something else, fast.” He released his grip.

  She immediately lowered herself to the floor and shocked him by kissing his foot. Damn. She didn’t do anything by half measures. “That’ll save you from eating scraps from the table.”

  He heard her deep swallow. “Lesson learned?” he asked.

  “Yes, Sir,” she said, properly contrite. “Thank you, Sir.”

  He really was figuring her out. She liked to be spanked, but if she was out of line, he could bring her back with less conventional means. “Then sit in that chair.”

  She looked up, and he pointed.

  He took down two mugs and filled them with coffee. “Sugar?”

  “Just cream, if you have it, Sir.”

  He grabbed a container from the fridge.

  While she sat there, nipples pebbled, goose bumps dancing across her skin, he prepared her coffee and carried it, along with the breakfast foods, to the table.

  She took a sip of the coffee and then said, “Manna. Thank you, Sir.”

  “Now I really do know how to punish you.”

  She curled both hands around the mug. “You wouldn’t take away my coffee!”

  “Only if I feared for my life,” he said, carrying food to the table.

  For someone so small, she ate a surprising amount. In future, he’d cook the entire pound of bacon and double the eggs.

  “It’s all the exercise,” she said, snagging the last piece of toast unapologetically. “May I please have more coffee?”

  “I’ll take some as well.”

  She served them both. Maybe he’d made a mistake in not having her in the kitchen helping. Watching her behind sway, seeing the couple of faint red marks on her skin, having her wait on him was appealing on a primal level.

  After a second cup, he stacked the dishes in the sink and rested his hips on the countertop. “You’re off on Sundays.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she said. “But I’m ready to go home right away, if you’ll just take me back to my car.”

  She couldn’t wait to get away from him? And goddamn it, that made him all the more reluctant to let her go. “We need to talk.”

  “Again? I mean again, Sir?”

  “You know how to push, Alani.”

  She took a sip of her coffee. “I truly mean no disrespect, Sir. I’ve always resumed my normal life after a scene.” She shifted in her chair. “I’m not used to this.”

  “Get used to it,” he snapped.

  “If we have to talk, I’d really appreciate it if I could wear some clothing.”

  He shook his head. “I want you exposed.”

  “I’m not used to these kinds of expectations, Sir.”

  “I’m not used to dealing with recalcitrant subs,” he countered. “I warned you before you accepted my invite that I’m a dom.”

  “And if I safe word out?”

  He looked at her. Her voice sounded strained. She drummed her fingers on the mug. Her hair hung around her face protectively. He took a breath and gentled his voice. “I will always honor your safe word. But be sure you want to use it. There will be consequences if you use it in a situation such as this. Asking me to back off the amount of pain I’m inflicting is one thing. Using it to hide emotionally is another, and I won’t be as tolerant of that. I want to talk, Alani, constantly keeping the lines of communication open. And I want you naked as often as possible to reaffirm your position. You’ll find anything to hide behind, a coffee cup, your hair, clothes, even your attitude.”

  He looked at her. She glanced away. “I’m onto you,” he said.

  “There are no surprises, and you’re going to be bored,” she warned.

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “You already know I’m a masochist,” she said slowly, a bit reluctantly, letting her hair drape forward, refusing to look at him, showing how difficult it was for her to let anyone in.

  He wondered how many men had cracked her veneer and if that was why she behaved if she were always on guard. He waited her out.

  “I’ve always been fiercely independent,” she said, finally meeting his gaze. “As a kid, I ran away from home a couple of times.” She smiled for a moment. “I didn’t get far. I mostly went to friends’ houses. But the point is, I’ve been taking care of myself since I was eighteen. That’s when I moved out to go to college. My parents never had a lot of money, so I put myself through school. I’ve never counted on anyone, and I don’t intend to start. I know how to behave like a submissive at work, I understand the protocol, and I mostly follow it there. But the truth is, I am in it for the pain, not for the joy of bending myself to suit someone else’s will.” She held the mug with a grip so tight her knuckles whitened.

  “Tell me about your first experiences with masochism.”

  “Do we really need to do this? You know more than anyone else ever has. I…” She drew her mug closer to her.

  “I know you’re uncomfortable, Alani. And I appreciate that you’re trying. Keep going and maybe you�
�ll earn a spanking.”

  She met his gaze. Her eyes were wide with the same spark of interest that had been there earlier when she begged him to fuck her.

  “There’s not a real big story,” she said. “Nothing exciting. I was terrible at taking tests in college. Anxiety. I stressed out, couldn’t sleep, stayed up all night studying and drinking coffee without eating, and that would put me in a worse state. I had a boyfriend—”

  “Was he in the lifestyle?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “He was vanilla. Anyway, he stopped by my apartment one morning because he wanted sex. I was doing some last-minute cramming for a final. To say I was rude to him is an understatement. In your terms, I goaded him. He actually spanked me. Over the knee, with my jeans on. I’m sure it hurt his hand more than it hurt my butt. But I loved it. Of course I kicked and screamed and called him names, but something happened. Because of the pain, I was able to focus and shut off the worry. I aced the test. And I was so hot for him, I couldn’t wait for him to spank me again.”

  “Did he?”

  “No way. He was really upset about it. He told me he considered it abuse, and he promised he wouldn’t do it again. He took me out for a nice dinner…well, as nice as a dinner can be when you’re working your way through school, and he made love to me that night. It was sweet. But I’d had a taste of something more, and I wanted to be fucked…” She swirled her coffee and looked into its depths. “I tried to talk to him about it, but he got disgusted with me, told me I was a freak. I never heard from him again. I dated around but only halfheartedly. I wanted pain. I went online. I did a little exploration, read a lot of articles, bought a couple of books. I bought nipple clamps from an online store and I…” She lowered her head.

  “Honesty,” he reminded her. “I beat you, ate your cunt, fucked you, and you had my cock down your throat. You can tell me about your shopping trips.”

  She brushed back her hair and met his gaze. Brave woman.

  She reached for the mug again, as if for security. “I got a small flogger, and I’d used it on myself when I masturbated. It magnified the feelings.”

  “Did it help?”

  “Some. But it wasn’t long until I wanted more. And a few years later, my parents were killed in a car wreck. I needed relief.”

  “So you found someone?”

  “Yeah, I did. Through a BDSM chat room. He was a bit extreme, but I wanted it. After he’d leave, I’d stand in the shower until the water ran cold. I don’t know, I still don’t….maybe I was trying to punish myself more for wanting to be hurt in the first place. But I could finally sleep.”

  “You used physical pain to numb the emotional pain.”

  “Don’t psychoanalyze me,” she snapped.

  “It was more of a question that a judgment,” he said without heat. “I’m trying to understand.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. The coffee sloshed over the mug’s rim, and she blotted the spill with a napkin. “That was unforgivable.”

  She was talking about her comment, not the spill. “It was human,” he countered. She was being more real than she had been up until now. He was willing to cut her some slack. “Please, go on.” He stayed where he was, several feet away. He wanted to hold her, to comfort her, but he knew for sure she wouldn’t welcome it.

  “The truth is, I thought there was something wrong with me. I’d read a lot of stuff that said it was a normal kink, but I was ashamed of it. I found a therapist who didn’t help. Only the spankings helped.”

  “And then?”

  “About six months after the funeral, I had a breakdown after a particularly harsh beating. Everything was finally too much. My parents didn’t have life insurance, so I was trying to figure out how to work a full-time job, pay their final expenses, deal with their estate, and juggle a relationship. The caning—”

  “Caning?”

  “It was sublime,” she said. “For the first time ever I achieved subspace.”

  “Is this the bruised kidney incident you told me about?”

  “Yes. I was black-and-blue for weeks afterward,” she said. “Anyway, after I returned to earth, I was… I’m still not sure how to explain it. When the euphoria wore off, all I knew was that I hurt.” She took a breath. “I broke down. I curled into a ball on the floor and started to sob.”

  He reached across the table and touched her hand. She pulled back slightly, and he tried not to take it personally.

  “It’s mostly my fault. The man, the dom, tried to help. He knelt next to me, and he told me I needed to pull myself together.”

  “He didn’t touch you? Hold you?”

  “I told him not to.”

  “And he listened?”

  “Not everyone is as overbearing as you. Sir.”

  “I’m not sure if that’s an insult.”

  “He said he needed to be with someone who was more grown up, more emotionally stable. So he left. He told me to call when I got my shit together.”

  Nathaniel stroked her index finger. She didn’t pull back this time.

  “He walked out. My parents were gone, my boyfriend/dom was gone. Therapy was a failure. I was all alone. And I faced the fact that no one was coming to rescue me. There was no such thing as a fairy tale, no Prince Charmings would ride to the rescue, there would be no happily ever afters. Surprisingly, after that, I managed to pull things together.”

  He waited.

  “I eventually learned to do the one thing my therapist had suggested: I learned to comfort myself.” She gave a wry smile. “I decided I didn’t want a permanent relationship, either BDSM or vanilla.”

  “There’s a difference between comforting yourself and shutting others out.” But he understood a lot more. She’d been vulnerable, and her dom had turned his back. No wonder she lacked trust. He had his work cut out for him.

  “I still had urges, though,” she admitted. “A friend had heard about Zones, and I attended a theme night. I played with one of the members, and I liked it. I especially enjoyed the fact that I could go home by myself at the end of the night.”

  “No strings.”

  “No attachments. I could get a beating, feel better, and I didn’t have to give anything of myself. I was working as a bookkeeper at a large firm, but I figured I could make more money working for myself. So I eventually left. But I was still playing at Zones, and I wanted more social time than I was getting working by myself. It turns out I missed the watercooler conversation and being part of a team. But I still didn’t want to go back to corporate America. So when I learned about an opening at Zones, I applied. You know the rest. I worked my way up from a part-time receptionist position to professional submissive. Which, as you pointed out, I’m not very good at.” She took a breath. “You found me out. I have to admit, until now, I’ve been in it more for the beatings than for the feeling of submission.”

  “Until now?” This time, when she tried to pull away, he gave her hand a squeeze, but he allowed her to put some distance between them.

  “There’s something about what you bring out in me…”

  He waited, but she said nothing further, evidently waging an internal battle, deciding how much to trust him. “Until now, I didn’t want a submissive,” he admitted. Wading into this open discussion was uncomfortable even for him. It made him appreciate her willingness even more.

  She met his gaze. “Especially one who isn’t very good at it.”

  “That may be part of the appeal.”

  “How soon until you leave?” she asked.

  He frowned at her. “Leave?”

  “You told me you travel a lot. Master Marcus said you wouldn’t be in the US for very long. I don’t know much about what you do. But it’s some sort of civilian contractor job, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s dangerous.”

  “It can be, yeah.”

  “Now who’s being evasive?”

  “I don’t like to talk about what I do.”

  “Neither do I,”
she countered.

  “Fair enough,” he said. She was right; she definitely wasn’t good at the submissive thing. “The military is outsourcing some jobs that used to be handled by soldiers. I did a stint in the military after college, but I wasn’t well suited to the life.”

  “But you like the danger. You thrive on it? Can’t imagine life without it?”

  His gaze sharpened and he looked at her intently. “Now who’s psychoanalyzing whom?”

  “You’re right,” she said with a shrug, not seeming at all intimidated by his tone. “I have no right to do that.”

  “I’m leaving in a few weeks,” he said. “For three months.”

  To his shock, she smiled. Obviously she’d meant it when she said his travel schedule appealed to her. Jeanine, his ex, had been the opposite. She’d been needy and pouty. Instead of helping him pack, she’d hidden things he intended to take. She was supposed to have driven him to the airport one time but disappeared with the car. He had no doubt Alani would pack for him, drive him to the airport, and blow him a kiss before speeding away.

  “Then this…this time together is limited. So we should make the most of it.”

  For the first time ever in a relationship, a woman unsettled him. She would be involved with him because he was leaving? It made it safer for her?

  He wasn’t sure he liked the way she was reacting.

  “Spank me, Sir?”

  “Who’s the dom, Alani?”

  “You, Sir. But you did ask me to be honest about what I wanted and needed.”

  “I’ll meet you in the bedroom in twenty minutes. In the meantime, you’ll find an enema under the sink in the master bathroom.”

  Her lips parted. “An enema, Sir?”

  “Unless you’d like me to administer it, figure it out.” He pushed back from the table. “Crawl to the bedroom,” he told her.

  She gracefully stood and then lowered herself to the floor.

  He gripped the chair back and watched her leave the room. The relationship—such as it was—with this sub had become significantly more complicated. He supposed he should appreciate her; after all, he’d found clingy women unappealing. But an unaccustomed feeling of possessiveness clawed at him, spurring relentlessly.