by Joey W. Hill
Page 25
Perhaps Peter would take her to a booth with his friends, get a drink. She could kneel at his feet. She wouldn’t have to move, to fight the overwhelming urge to stretch out her arms and pinwheel, trying to figure out her surroundings.
When the crowd let up so she could breathe, move more freely, Peter eased away from her, letting the leash lengthen and slacken. Immediately she reached after him, but he was already beyond her fingertips. Before she could panic, the tether twitched. Not pulling her in that direction, merely letting her know he was there.
He was giving her ten feet to do as she pleased, but she didn’t want to move. This spot was safe because she knew it. Ground solidly beneath her feet. It was way too soon.
While the people were no longer crushed against her, there were still too many of them, stepping in and out of that personal space buffer. Too many scents, sounds, sensations, not the arousing mélange she’d experienced at the Adler home. It was too overwhelming.
Reaching up to grip the tether, she drew in the slack so she could determine and move in Peter’s direction with slow, uncertain steps. She walked out of the shoes, needing to grip the floor with her toes, health laws be damned. Damn it, he kept moving, staying out of range. He wasn’t going to let her cling to him. Frustration shot sparks through the anxiety. If she could see, this wouldn’t scare her at all, not even if she was alone. But she wasn’t alone. That light tug again. A reminder he was here. Nothing would harm her.
Then something unexpected happened. She had more space to breathe. Those strangers who’d been so close no longer were, though she still sensed a crush of people in the noise and air movement. Had they figured out she was handicapped in some way and moved back? Were they staring at her? No. She wore her mask and leash, so she was no more of a spectacle than any other submissive. Submissives were here to be seen, to serve.
Too many unknown variables. She struggled for calm, but even the reassurances weren’t enough. Oh, hell. I can’t do this. I can’t. Here she was in the middle of vast amounts of people, a fish alone in an indifferent ocean carrying her where it would. Isolated, where sound was a distant cacophony she couldn’t understand. How could he bring her here, when she’d been in virtual isolation for so long? Why was he doing this to her? He should know better. She wasn’t that same fucking Dana, was she?
“I can’t do this,” she said aloud, and then she shouted it, anxiety clawing raw at her throat. But her voice would simply be swallowed in all the other noise. That was the way the public areas could be. With a snarl, she wrapped her hands on the leash and jerked, a terrified, angry child wanting to bring him to her physically.
It came free in her hands, the strap slapping against her calves in gentle rhythm. Dana froze, her hands clutched on it. She’d pulled the leash from her Master’s hands.
Eleven
He couldn’t be more than eight feet from her, right? A staccato of heartbeats later, however, she still didn’t feel his reassuring touch, or a tug indicating the end of the leash had been picked up.
But then, he wouldn’t, would he? He was there, but he was waiting on her. With Masters she’d had in the past, her interactions might have been fun, occasionally intense, but that deep, soul-level bonding she’d sought with the right Master, who touched her submissive soul and achieved a link that went beyond posted rules, the one who understood it was a part of who she was and not just a way to liven up her sex life, had not appeared. Until Peter. He’d already proven he had a deeper understanding of her need to be dominated than even she’d admitted. She trusted him on instinct, not experience.
The rules were now specific to the two of them, not what was laid out on the wall. She’d pulled the leash from his hands, so it was up to her to give it back to him and accept his punishment. If that was what she wanted.
She’d broken out in a sweat, holding that tether in clammy palms. When she made the first step, she had to stop and steady her wobbling knees. But in his home, even at the Adlers’, she could feel him, separate from everyone else. If she could calm down, and focus, she somehow knew she could feel him, find him. He was watching her intently; she was sure of it. He’d promised to be no farther away than ten feet. He wouldn’t break his word. He just wouldn’t give in to her fear. Everyone else had, all these months, but he was ruthless, ruthless as only the Master of her dreams could be. He believed the submissive in her was stronger than the wounded creature she thought she’d become. He wouldn’t abandon her, but he would force her to trust that he was there, to find him and hand him the leash again.
She wanted to trust him that way, but she hadn’t let herself face the fear that came with increased dependency. She’d hidden in her room, let her ability to trust get as weak and flaccid as her muscles. Taking one step forward was harder than anything she’d ever done. Her heart rate accelerated. She had no idea what was in front of her. She should crouch down, go to hands and knees to feel her way along the floor like a groveling animal. But Gram would be appalled, clucking about hygiene, hundreds of feet that had been God knew where traipsing across the carpet.
A half laugh, half sob choked out of her. As if that mattered right now. The pulse of the music drummed through her feet, loud enough that she could hear the song and words.
Sade. “Nothing Can Come Between Us. ” It had been one of her favorites. It was one of her favorites. Taking a step, she breathed. One step, one breath. She could have been any sub whose Master had blindfolded her beneath her mask, a sensory deprivation to increase the intensity of the experience.
Intense was definitely the right word. She took another step, and brushed cloth.
A suit jacket. Her knuckles grazed a shirt’s small, smooth buttons, then moved to a lapel.
It wasn’t Peter. She’d known that as soon as she came within range, because she knew his scent, his heat. But this man wasn’t unfamiliar. Jon. Sage, a smell she’d associated with him, mixed with the whiskey he’d been drinking. When he’d asked her what drink she’d like, he’d taken her hand in an easy motion, pressed her knuckles to his chest, so she recognized the texture of the jacket. He passed his own knuckles over her cheek now, below the mask, and grazed her lips with . . . chocolate?
Chocolate and brandy, a cordial. When she parted her lips, he placed it on her tongue, caressing her throat as she took it. While she was occupied with savoring the unique, rich taste, he let her feel that he was holding something soft, almost like a clay, in his other hand. It had a form to it, as though there were wires beneath the malleable substance. He leaned in, his mouth against her ear.
“Peter’s demand. I’m going to put these two things on you, dearest. Draw a breath in, so I have a little room. He’s got you laced quite tight, the sadist. ” That voice was pitched exactly as she’d suspected. Despite his tone of gentle amusement, Jon was quite capable of issuing a command as a Master. Whatever bound these men together, it made it impossible for her to feel threatened by him now.
Peter had reminded her in the car that she’d been a submissive for as long as she could remember. The relief that could come from obedience to a man she knew could handle her, that she could trust and test by turns, was an elusive but familiar shadow she wanted to chase down, pull into herself and leave fear behind. Peter’s demand . . .
Holding still, she took a breath, the chocolate melting on her tongue. Jon’s long, clever fingers slid into the corset, worked across to her nipples and then pinched that disk of clay over each. He had a sensual touch, functional and caressing at once, so that the pressure made her catch his sleeves, steadying herself at the rocket of sensation. Then his hands slid free, resting on her shoulders. It was like Play-Doh. Her lips curved at the ridiculous thought; then something began to happen that drove away any thought of a child’s toy.
It was warming. Warming, and something else. It penetrated her nerve endings and . . .
Holy God, her nipples were getting terribly aroused, as if Pete
r were suckling them, tugging, creating a liquid pool in her lower belly that had her off balance.
While her body shuddered with arousal, Jon turned her, sending her from him with a gentle nudge. With fear being supplanted by physical desire, she dared a few more steps, wondering if he’d sent her toward Peter.
Instead, she stumbled over her shoes, but someone caught her from behind as she gasped.
Ben. He was easy, so larger-than-life sexy, his aftershave a rich, teasing scent.
“Need to get you back in those shoes to protect your feet, darling. ”
. . . you can touch or explore anything within your range . . . It was too much to resist.
Rather than complying, she reached back, found the knot of his silky tie, and threaded it through her fingers. His hands closed on her hips, steadying her. She arched, her tongue teasing her own lips at the additional stimulation to her nipples. The movement brought her ass fully against his groin, and holy God. Talk about a portfolio. Ben had gotten extra blessings from the cock fairy. She couldn’t help it, not with that stimulation happening to her nipples. Thinking about Peter watching, remembering their lap dance, she made a slow, sensual circle, her lips curving at an expulsion of air on her nape that suggested she’d inspired a half chuckle, or a muttered curse. Ben tightened his fingers, made her step into those shoes.
“You’re trouble, darling. That’s for sure. Go on with you, now. ” Since she’d let Ben’s tie drape over her shoulder, the silk passed over the high top of her breast as she moved away. This time she attempted that pendulum saunter, biting her lips at the sensations that sparked through her nipples like electricity. Straight ahead she went, not at all surprised to come up against Lucas. This was why she could move ten feet however she wanted. Peter’s friends had formed a loose circle around her.
How they were doing it in a crowded club environment, she had no idea, but she was learning not to question the miracles Peter could pull off. She wouldn’t run into anything, touch anything Peter knew she shouldn’t. Of course, he might have something to say about that little tease she’d given Ben, but if he reacted the way he had in the car, she’d go back and give Ben a full lap dance to experience that punishment again.
