She took the proffered bouquet of tiny red carnations festooned with baby’s breath with quiet appreciation. “They’re lovely, Maurice.”
It took her but a few minutes to arrange them in a heavy crystal vase she unearthed from the recesses of the china cabinet. After adding water, she buried her face in the blooms, raising it with a beatific smile. “Really lovely. I haven’t had flowers in a long time, and despite where I work, well, I don’t bring them home either. I’m glad I kept this vase.”
No wonder men fought battles over the centuries for the favor of women. Maurice found himself wishing he’d brought a larger bunch—and maybe a box of chocolates, too. A part of him was vastly amused, but that was the cynical piece, the one eschewing romance. He’d have sooner bought her some jeweled nipple clamps, not that they wouldn’t be romantic in his lifestyle. He hadn’t missed Susan’s comment about the vase either, underscoring his belief she was struggling financially. That issue would be a minefield to tread carefully.
Inhaling her unique scent, he drew her across the threshold, curling an arm around the narrowness of her waist to guide her down the steps. Only then did he go back to secure the door. The first in the order of practical things would be to ensure Susan was safe simply getting in and out of her house.
“You look beautiful, Susan.”
A hint of uncertainty sparked on her features, but she smiled and murmured her thanks for the compliment. He wondered how long it had been since someone had told her how lovely she was.
“We’re going to Patrice’s. Do you know it?” They negotiated the narrow path to the driveway, him keeping a hand under her elbow. Her skin was soft under his callused palm.
“I do. I haven’t eaten there.”
Handing her up onto the passenger seat, he again secured her seat belt and carefully closed the door, resisting the urge to kiss her senseless and drag her back into her bedroom. Or the living room to the couch. Hell, the table in the kitchen would probably do. Gritting his teeth he hustled to get into his own seat, resolving to get to the damn restaurant as soon as possible. Maybe feeding the lion would remind him of the plan. Hadn’t he heard a clear warning from Rees? Or was it Owyn? Stick to the plan, made with your brain while your cock didn’t have a vote, or your heart either.
“It hasn’t changed a lot over the years. Still serving good steak and seafood.” He continued making small talk, every sense alert, aware of her sitting within reach. The stuff of her dress rustled against the seat as she shifted to face him.
“I’m looking forward to this.”
Maurice couldn’t find the words to respond without overwhelming her with his total accord, so he concentrated on driving and asked her what she worked at, although she’d given him a hint earlier.
“I work for a local florist, I do the books and end of day receipts at a bar in the evenings, take care of the orders and such, and I’m on call as a sitter with a local medical service.”
That brief summary shouldn’t have hit him as hard as it did. But she’d just described working brutally long days, likely seven days a week. Unconscionable.
He contented himself with a casual assessment. “No wonder you’re worn out.”
Catching the faint motion of what had to be shrug from the corner of his eye, he clamped back a smile when Susan immediately answered verbally. “I’ll have the bills paid soon.”
Yup, a veritable minefield. Maurice knew pride when he heard it, and it was going to take all of his skills of persuasion for Susan to accept his help. He made a noncommittal sound and turned into the lot at Patrice’s.
Using the valet service meant she didn’t have to walk, although the night was like dark velvet and another time he’d like to be lost in it with her. But he kept in mind how tired she’d been and the fact she was hardly recuperated. Maybe after a good meal. They were ushered to a reserved table and presented with the menus and wine list before the hostess left them to it.
“Is there anything you particularly dislike?” Maurice flicked through the pages, angling them to catch the light of the flickering candle.
“I don’t care for strong fish, and I don’t eat a lot of meat.”
“Do you drink?”
“Wine. And wine.” Her eyes glinted with mischief, and her lips twitched. Maurice matched her look and noted the faint pinking of her cheeks. Flirting wasn’t his thing, but damned if he didn’t like it.
Turning his attention back to the leather-clad menus he mentally composed their order then closed them up. Susan placed hers without comment in his hand when he stretched it out and regarded her across the table. Her lips were clearly suppressing a smile, although she’d momentarily cast her eyes down.
“Something funny, sweetheart?”
“You do like to be in charge.” There was no tone of judgment in her statement, merely observation.
“When it’s within my area of expertise.”
“Might you expand on that?” Again, no judging, although maybe a hint of challenge. He thought she was primarily curious though, her lovely face cradled upon the knuckled steeple of both slender hands as she rested her elbows on the table and stared at him.
“Would you care for a drink?” The server interrupted what was shaping up to be an excellent introduction to his chosen lifestyle.
“A glass of the house white wine for the lady. Whatever you have on tap for me.” Maurice snapped out the order and focused his attention back on Susan.
“This would be my first, ah, relationship in a long time outside of the club scene,” he said, deliberately using the R word.
Her finely drawn eyebrows drew together, and she narrowed her eyes. “Club scene? You don’t look like the night clubbing type, somehow.” She abruptly added, “Sorry. That was, uh, opinionated.”
Smiling, he shook his head. “Not that kind of club. Do you know BDSM?”
Silence greeted his question as Susan subtly retreated, her body pressing back into the padded booth, head lifting and her hands slipping to rest on her lap. “Like whips and chains?”
He couldn’t suppress a scornful snort. “That’s hardly an encompassing description. More like an adjunct, even a symptom of the lifestyle. In BDSM, a true Dominant-submissive relationship is, without a doubt, the most intimate of any relationship. A good Dom will make his sub look at things she never knew she wanted to, look inside to the very core of her vulnerability and drag her out the other side—replete.”
Susan’s eyes had widened at his quietly passionate speech, and she gave a small shake of her head, the dark-golden hue of her hair catching the candle light.
“I don’t understand.”
Whoa. He had shot to the crux of things without any workup. He had to slow down and do a better job of explaining. “In my lifestyle I’m the Dominant. I’m in charge—of everything. From where my woman lives to what she wears, eats, where she goes and when, what she does in her spare time. She is subservient to me, serves me at my pleasure, and trusts me to do right by her. That includes everything sexual between us.”
“You want a slave.” Those four words fell between them, and before he could reply, the damn waiter materialized with their drinks.
After taking a large sip of liquid fortitude, Susan tracked the base of her wine glass in tiny, circling increments across the table and avoided looking at him. Maurice took a breath. He was fucking this up.
“When I told you what to wear tonight, what did that stir in you?”
Immediately, she said, “It annoyed me.”
“But you said nothing, and you dressed as I asked. You also waited for me inside your home when you thought about meeting me at the curb.”
“How did you—” Susan bit her lip and considered him, wine forgotten. “It annoyed me at first, but the ‘what to wear’ order didn’t seem worthwhile fighting about.”
“Uh-huh. And did it give you direction? Save you dithering over what to choose from your closet?”
A startled laugh escaped her sweet lips. “I suppose it
did. And while I thought about meeting you out front, saving you the hassle of coming around to get me—and climbing those confounded steps, well…I suppose I felt…special. I suppose I appreciated you wanted to be sure I was safe in my house until you arrived.”
“That was my intent. It’s my job to care for you, predict what you might need, and ensure your safety.”
“But that’s…medieval! And it assumes I have no ability—or the intelligence—to make good choices.”
“Not really medieval, but what this Dominant does, my job and focus. And I’d never underestimate your intelligence, Susan. It’s written clearly all over your face and what you say, how you act. But it pleases me to make your choices and have you look to me to make them. Put your trust and faith in me as you come to know me.”
Giving her time to think on it, he gestured for the waiter and ordered for them both. Susan said nothing, and her face didn’t reflect her opinion one way or another. That wouldn’t do. Her earlier exhaustion had initially stripped her ability to hide from him, but she was now exhibiting a very real ability to veil her feelings.
As the waiter left, Maurice asked, “What was it like for me to order for you?”
“What if I didn’t like what you ordered?” she countered.
“Didn’t you?”
“It was all right.” Her concurrence was grudging, and once again her intelligence was clear. She gave him her eyes again, adding, “You asked about my dislikes prior.”
“I did, although I have yet to determine what desserts you favor.” His attempt at humor was well received. Susan bestowed a winning smile on him.
“Chocolate. Anything with meringue. I don’t like cold desserts like ice cream unless it’s from one of those little mom-and-pop places.”
“I’ll remember,” he promised.
Head tilted, she stared at him. “I believe you. Now, please, tell me more. About your Lifestyle.”
“You were correct when you said I want a slave. But slave in this context isn’t a demeaning term. It’s a term bestowed upon the most precious thing a Dom can command. A Dom doesn’t own his submissive. She owns him. He has no power other than what she gives him. If she chooses to submit, then he must be worthy of such a gift.”
“It sounds like a dreadful responsibility.”
Her insight blew him away, and he had to grab a drink of ale before he could answer. “Not dreadful, but huge—one I would willingly assume. The give and take of such a power exchange is extremely addicting, and I won’t live without it. It defines who I am.”
“You talk as though you want something you’ve yet to have.” It was Susan’s turn to cut right to the chase. Maurice suddenly felt vulnerable and at her mercy, something he’d never experienced before. But then he’d never felt anything like he felt for her before, either. He owed her honesty and would tell her about his brother and Angela at some point. Share about Lois—after he talked with her Masters.
“I’ve played with subs—something I’ll explain to you. But there’s never been anyone I’ve truly cared to pursue a long term relationship with until now.”
“But you hardly know me.”
Forcing himself to crack a smile, wondering if it appeared the pained grimace it felt like, he covered her hand with his. “I felt you. You spoke to me. Inside.”
* * * *
The room shrank down to encapsulate their table, all extraneous noise erased and the other patrons vanishing like mist. The weight of Maurice’s hand on her own was the only anchor keeping her from being cast upon a sea of conflicting emotions. Holy shit.
She’d felt him, too, and wasn’t going to deny the magnetic draw, the chemistry between them. Spending that afternoon after her bath, in her bed, trying to take advantage of the comfort and grab more rest had been an exercise in futility. She was hot and bothered as her mom might say, thinking about Maurice and their time together. She’d known there was something different about how he related to her, and sensed his dominance long before he relayed his hopes and expectations, but holy shit anyhow.
It was too much to process and yet not enough information. Might this be like moving away from home, entering a new culture and being expected to conform? Adjust? Or something different…She sucked in a deep lungful of air and tried to slide her hand from beneath Maurice’s. He tightened his hold and stroked over her knuckles with his thumb. Despite the cacophony of her emotions, her body responded. With a final squeeze he let her go, and she absurdly wanted his hand right back where it was.
“It’s a lot to think about, sweetheart. I’ll give you some sites to visit—ones that best explain my take on the lifestyle. There are a variety of ways to interpret it, and it can be a place for unscrupulous bastards to hide within so they can abuse women with impunity.”
Their salads arrived, and she picked through the greens listlessly, managing only a few mouthfuls as her brain churned over and inspected the information he’d presented.
“Sweetheart. I didn’t intend to put you off your food.” His tone was both concerned and teasing, but she couldn’t make herself smile or eat more.
The main course was an ordeal, eased only by Maurice sharing about his large family back in Louisiana. His parents were both still alive—she hoped he knew how lucky he was—and his brother and his wife, and two younger sisters, still lived outside Baton Rouge.
“Does your family know about…do they know you’re in this…Lifestyle?” It felt okay to ask, but his face clouded for an instant.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Not prying, Susan. I want you to know me. I won’t withhold from you as you won’t withhold from me.” She saw his last comment as highly presumptuous and felt herself tense.
“Susan?” He missed nothing, and she felt a spark of anger, trying to breathe it away, because she knew he was trying. But he was clearly miles ahead of her in whatever they had going on, if they indeed had something going on, and if he really was that all-knowing Dominant he kept asserting, he’d know that.
“You need to tell me what you’re thinking, sweetheart.”
“Actually, I don’t.” The snark fell from her lips before she could stop it, not that she wanted to. It was a defense and she knew it, so she continued, desperate to build some distance. “You have some kind of vision, and I’m not sure I share it. Hell, I don’t know it. And I don’t have to share my thoughts with you.”
Instead of the anger she expected, Maurice, after a long look, laughed. A deep, rich booming sound that filled the air and attracted the attention of those seated around them. A few of the men smiled, and a lot of the women considered him openly. Susan had to fight the urge to glare at them.
“Do you think I want your soul then? Sorry, sweetheart.” His deep voice was still choked with mirth. “And I needed that set down. I’m a hard Dom and used to subs who obey me instantly and share when I demand. But it’s because I need to ensure their safety and not push them too hard.”
Too much information swirled through her head, but she again grasped the fairness in this man. So it wasn’t always about him having his way and expecting her to be mindless.
“Susan? You’re right. I’m getting ahead of myself. Of us. I want you in my bed so badly I can’t think straight, but I owe it to you not to put you there so fast. Because it won’t be a simple fuck. And once I have you, I won’t let you go.”
A gush of warmth infused her belly and settled between her legs. He was looking at her like she was dinner, and she so wanted to be in his bed, losing herself in pure sensation, conveniently ignoring all this talk about his lifestyle. She warred with fear and sexual need, reminding herself she didn’t lie down easily.
“I can take you to my Club. Let you see what happens there, and you’ll better understand the dynamics of the relationship.” He had unerringly read her reaction this time.
“Maybe another time. I’d like to go home now.” She wanted to go home and huddle in her bed to consider things she wasn’t certain she had nee
ded to hear, and sort out how they impacted her thinking.
Without further comment, Maurice signaled for the bill and offered her his hand. She hesitated, but it felt churlish, so placed her own on his palm, watching as those long, callused fingers closed around it, engulfing with warmth and gentleness. The symbolism wasn’t lost on her, but neither did it give her enough strength to accompany him. Yet.
He kept her close, choosing to walk her to the truck, tucked against him as they negotiated the sidewalk to the parking lot. He exuded that quiet, restrained strength, and she began to second-guess herself, spellbound by what should have been intrusive yet wasn’t. Instead, she again felt protected and secure, cherished. It very nearly brought tears to her eyes. All her emotions were roiled up and simmering beneath the poised surface she usually presented to the world. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to accompany him to that club and get a more in depth, visual glimpse into what he’d tried to explain.
“When would you want to take me? To your Club?” She swore she felt his body heat intensify as his arm tightened around her waist, but his tone was quiet and measured.
“Whenever you are able to go, Susan.”
She walked the remaining few paces to his truck and allowed him to settle her inside, trying to recall the last time a date had been so chivalrous. Never. Thinking hard, as he rounded the hood and levered his muscular bulk into the driver’s seat, she waited for him to shut the door. “I’ll have a look at those places on the Net and see the next evening I can get off at the bar. It won’t be soon. My boss expects me to keep up, and I need the job. But I’ll call you.”
Latching his seat belt, he looked over at her, features barely visible in the dim light, but she could feel his stare. Feel it. It was unnerving. Before he turned away to crank the engine over, she saw him nod. She wondered what had just gone through his head and thought to ask.
Owned [Club Pleasure 6] (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 5
