by Kendall Ryan
“Sure.”
“An order of each,” I tell the waitress, and we hand over our menus.
“Thank you,” Macey says.
I want to thank her for trusting me, but I don’t. I simply nod. There’s nothing more beautiful than a sub who can feel at ease and confident enough to fully hand me the reins. And something tells me we’re well on our way. It makes the Dominant inside me roar to life.
There’s a delicate dance happening between us. We know each other intimately, yet we don’t. I’ve changed a lot from the man she remembers. I’ve grown harder and more distant with every passing relationship that didn’t measure up to what she and I once shared. And Macey, I can’t even begin to imagine what she’s been through, having her heart broken by some MILF-chasing douchebag. Starting over in her hometown after living away for many years.
“It’s an interesting scenario . . . you and I . . . our history,” I say.
“How so?” she asks, her fingers delicately fingering the stem of her wineglass.
“Generally my first meeting with a new submissive is more question and answer. I’m working to gain her trust, but with you, I sense I already have that.”
She levels me with those big blue eyes. “You’ve always had it.”
“Back then, you and I . . .” I’m searching for the right words and failing. “Things got pretty heated between us . . .”
“You weren’t the first.”
A wave of possessiveness rushes through me. “I should have been.” There’s no hesitation, but after I say it, I wish I could take it back. I need to hold my cards closer to the chest, so to speak. I’ll give myself away if I’m not careful.
She nods. “In my mind you were.”
“What do you mean?” Now I’m intrigued.
“I was with someone who didn’t know what he was doing.”
“Did you come?”
A short bark of laughter erupts from her. “Not even close.”
“That’s a damn shame.”
“When I think back on that night, in my mind, we always go all the way.”
“Yeah? And how am I?”
“Eh.” She smiles that cocky smirk of a smile, the one I want desperately to kiss right off her face.
“Naughty girl.” I chuckle at her. Now that the mood’s been lightened somewhat, I press on. “Tonight will be about outlining your needs.”
She nods.
“You’ve stated that you’re looking to lose yourself. To clear your mind of clutter and enjoy carnal pleasures. In our lessons, my role will be to push you further than you’ve been before. Your role will be to trust me, and listen to your body.”
Nodding again, she takes a thoughtful sip of her wine.
Generally speaking, my role in this sort of meeting is to learn the person, learn her goals, limits, and any weak points she has. Later I will exploit those to the point of discomfort, with the goal of turning them into strengths and make her confidence soar at what she’s able to achieve during a session. Damn, if I’m not rock-fucking-hard just thinking about it.
Luckily, the waitress chooses that moment to deliver our meal. I take the opportunity to cool down by serving Macey a piece of chicken from the platter, along with spoonfuls of rice and beans.
“Eat up,” I encourage her.
Lifting her fork to her mouth, she’s quiet for now, but I can tell her brain is spinning. We enjoy half of our meal that way until my fiery Macey is back.
“Why do you do this?” she finally asks. “Why do you like submissive women?”
“First off, I don’t want you to see the word submissive with a negative connotation. It’s much more gratifying to watch a strong-willed woman submit to my desires than it is to engage with a doormat who’ll go along with anything I say. Don’t you think?”
She raises one eyebrow and stabs a slice of mango on her plate. “I suppose.”
“Don’t confuse this for what it is—I want an equal partner. Just because I’ll be the one calling the shots doesn’t mean you have no free will. In fact, I quite like spark in my women.”
“Does vanilla sex bore you?” she asks.
“No, vanilla sex doesn’t bore me. I just haven’t had a girlfriend or a serious relationship in a long time. And I tend to reserve that type of close, intimate sex with someone I’m involved with.” She doesn’t know the half of it.
“Makes sense, I guess,” she murmurs.
The wine has gotten to me, or maybe it’s just the effect this gorgeous girl has on me. She and I once shared so much.
Time to bring us back to business. “I only have two rules.”
She swallows a bite of her food, waiting for me to continue.
“That you use your safe word if things get too intense, and when this is over, it’s over. Three lessons, no strings, no attachments. I need you to agree to both rules right now, or the deal’s off.”
She frowns at the sudden change in my amiable mood. “Geez, so bossy.”
“I’m serious, Macey. Things are different this time.”
“I see that.”
Softening my tone, I add, “Your safety will always be a top priority, both physically and mentally. You don’t have to worry about that.”
She fiddles with her cloth napkin. “I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’m a little nervous.”
“It’s good to be nervous. It lets you know where you weak points are. Together, we’ll push past your comfort zone until you’re in that beautiful oblivion known as sub space.”
“What’s that?”
“If I do my job correctly, you’ll be transported into a trance-like state. It’s a euphoric glow, akin to being drunk on wine, I suppose. But what goes up must come down. Just like feeling the effects of a hangover after consuming alcohol, you may feel exhausted, emotional, confused over your role in what just happened, or even physical soreness.”
She raises her chin, almost as though she’s acknowledging my words as a challenge. “I see.”
I pause while the waitress clears our dishes from the table, and when we’re alone again, I lean forward and reach under the table. Giving the legs of her chair a tug, I pull her closer. My desire for her has been building all throughout the meal. The need to give her a taste of the fun we’ll have together overwhelms me. My hand finds her thigh and skims the hem of her dress.
Macey sucks in a sharp inhale.
Our table in the dimly light restaurant is secluded, but not private, and the secret thrill of being discovered only adds to the sexually intoxicating mood.
Pushing my fingers under her dress, I slide my palm against the bare skin of her thigh. Her skin is silky smooth, and her legs part under my touch.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this, Pancake?” I clip out in a low tone.
She makes a small murmuring sound in the back of her throat, signaling to me that she’s more than ready for whatever I can dish up.
Jesus. Am I ready for this?
I lean closer across the table and my fingers find her center—and the lacy fabric covering her pussy. As I brush my fingers over her clit, she swears under her breath and grips the edge of the table.
“Has it been a while since a man’s properly taken care of you?”
She nods, her chest beginning to show the telltale signs of arousal. She’s flushed and pink, and breathing hard already.
Sometimes I still dream about her. Macey was a shy girl but confident with her body, touching her breasts for me while I watched, opening the delicate petals of her pussy to show me her swollen clit. I liked giving orders back then, and she took every one like a personal challenge. Maybe this won’t be so different after all. I find the hard nub of her clit and press down, eliciting the most beautiful little whimper from her.
With my free hand, I raise a finger to my lips. “Shh. Quiet.”
Macey nods.
As I move my fingers back and forth, Macey’s panties grow damp and her breathing is ragged. Just when her thighs begin to tremble, I shove the l
ace of her panties aside and ever so slowly sink one finger inside her heat. Her tight pussy grips me, sucking at my finger.
My cock is so hard it hurts. I don’t know why I insist on torturing myself where Macey’s concerned.
“I just remembered. Rule number three. You don’t come until I say so.”
“Reece,” she whimpers.
“You’re close, aren’t you?” That didn’t take long. She’s right about one thing. She’s wound up tight and in need of relief. And I’ll deliver, but not before I demonstrate to her exactly who’s running this show.
Whether her eyes are pleading with me to stop or continue, I can’t tell. “I’m going to . . . ,” she whispers, her voice hoarse.
I pull my hand from beneath the table, and the look painted across her features is pure anguish. She was right there. Right at that beautiful, blissful moment where nothing else exists but blinding pleasure and the building sense of release.
“Not yet. When you come all over my hand, we’ll be somewhere private where I can enjoy every second of it.”
“Then why the hell did you do that?” she asks, breathless and clearly frustrated.
I shrug, my mouth turning up in a smirk. “Just wanted to see if I could still get you off in under a few minutes.”
She frowns. “Well, don’t you deserve a pat on the back? Are we done here?”
“Eager,” I remark. Her pussy juices are drying on my finger, and it takes all my restraint not to bring my hand to my mouth to taste her. I’m a caveman, but I still have some impulse control. “Yes, let’s go.”
I leave a wad of cash on the table, including a generous tip for our waitress. I’ve never fingered a submissive under the table before, but something tells me our little show might not have gone as undetected as I thought. The waitress and busboy are grinning at me like we’re sharing a private secret. Great. That better not be in the headlines tomorrow.
I escort Macey back to my apartment, both of us quiet on the walk.
When we reach the club, Crave is in full swing, and I keep my hand at Macey’s lower back as we maneuver our way through the crowded club. Sex and money are in the air, and normally I’d feel jovial, and probably sit down at the bar for a while to see if anyone interesting caught my eye. Tonight, I shoot scowls at the men openly admiring Macey. I can’t wait to get upstairs. And lock the goddamn door.
When we get inside, I turn on the lights and head for the kitchen. “I’m going to get a Scotch,” I call over my shoulder. “Would you like one?”
Macey slams the door.
What the hell? “Is that a no to the Scotch, sweetheart?”
“Are you serious right now?” She storms into the kitchen and squares off with me, anger slashed across her pretty features.
“About?”
“That’s it? The night’s over?”
I swallow to avoid revealing the smile playing at my lips. She’s angry about earlier and wants to continue playing. Perfect.
Taking a step closer, I pin her with my gaze. “I’m not your boyfriend, and I’m not your fuck friend. I’m your Dom. We’ll play on my terms, in a private room I’ll reserve for us in my club. Not before then. Do you understand me?” I finish pouring my measure of Scotch and wait.
She huffs out a frustrated breath. I think she’s going to argue, but instead she stomps from the kitchen, calling out an exaggerated, “Fine,” over her shoulder. When she heads straight for my bedroom, curiosity takes over and I immediately follow.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I find her in my closet, down on her knees and rummaging through a black duffel bag that just happens to hold all my sex toys. Apparently she did see this when she cleaned up.
“Ah, here we go.” Her fingers close around a generously sized flesh-colored vibrating dildo. “You won’t do the job? Well, I have a feeling this baby will.” She waves it in the air like she’s found the damn golden ticket. Then she rises to her feet and smiles sweetly at me.
For the love of God, this woman does not fight fair. She never has. “Where do you think you’re going with that?”
“Probably my bed, then the shower.” A line creases her forehead. “Do you have spare batteries for this thing? It might be a long night.”
“No way. Not happening. Give me the toy, Macey.” I reach out a hand, my voice as stern as the set of my jaw, my fingers barely avoiding crushing the crystal tumbler in my other hand.
A slow smile uncurls on her mouth. “Why, Reece Jackson, are you jealous?” She eyes the toy in her hand and then lets her gaze slip seductively down to the crotch of my pants.
If she really thinks that toy’s size has me feeling insecure, she’s insane. Certifiably. “You really don’t remember, do you?” Now I’m the one smiling. She’ll be in for a pleasant surprise later.
“I remember everything. I remember how you always made me keep my underwear on, and that I never actually saw you”—her gaze flicks downward—”down there. I only felt you with my hand, and since I had nothing to base it on, I assumed all guys were like that.”
“Well, in that case, you’ll be sorely disappointed with this toy.” I snatch the dildo from her hand and toss it back in the open bag.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks, planting a hand on her hip. “You left me hanging at the restaurant.”
“And you will stay like that until I say so.”
“You can’t be serious. I’m not allowed to masturbate?”
I shake my head. Unless she wants to perform a private show for me, no. “No touching yourself, no toys, and definitely no other men, until I say.” I take her hand. “Come on, I’ll show you how to drink Scotch.”
“Reece, stop.” Her voice makes me pause on my way from the closet.
I face her and place my finger against her plump lower lip. “You’re trying to top from the bottom, and the more you fight this, the longer it’ll take. Give up control. Go with it, okay?”
I’m not going to explain every small detail to her. Now that we covered how this works, I need some time to properly set up a scene. I won’t rush this. I’ve been waiting six years.
“Fine,” she says, her voice small.
She follows me into the living room and we sit down on the sofa, side by side. It’s not lost on me that we’re alone in my apartment. We could be fucking each other’s brains out right now. I have a drawer full of condoms, and God knows, she’s willing.
But I know myself better now than I did six years ago. I need to keep the control in this situation, separate the sex from the emotion. And the only way I know to do that is through carefully crafting a scene and performing within its parameters. And that takes planning and preparation.
I wanted to give her the world at one time, and I would have. Now I'm questioning my decision to share three sessions with her.
“Good things come to little girls who wait,” I murmur, tucking a stray lock of chestnut-colored hair behind her ear.
“You’re a confusing man,” she says, blinking those stunning baby blues up at me.
“For good reason, my pet. Trust me.”
“I do,” she says without hesitation.
Ignoring the little pang I feel in my chest, I continue. “Now, I know you drink whiskey, but what about Scotch?”
“What’s the difference?” she asks, leaning closer and watching me swirl the amber-colored liquor in my glass.
“I’ll show you. Drinking Scotch is like having a one-night stand with a grizzly bear. If you’re not careful, you’ll regret it in the morning.”
She glares at me, not amused, probably still cranky from the orgasm-denial tactic I used with her earlier. Too fucking bad. I didn’t get off either, princess.
“And for another thing,” I continue. “Scotch is whiskey made in Scotland and aged in oak barrels for at least three years.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“Close your eyes.”
“Stop being ridiculous. A little bit of Scotch isn’t going to douse this need
I have.”
“The sooner you cooperate, the sooner—”
“Fine.” She closes her eyes and fixes a polite smile on her face. “Happy?”
“For now.” I bring the glass under her nose. “Inhale.” She does, drawing a deep breath, and with it the distinct harsh scent. “Good. Open your eyes.”
She does, blinking them at me, clearly wondering what game we’re playing.
“Scotch is a man’s drink. The taste is raw masculinity filled with complex, biting flavors, a rich caramel color, and even a price tag that speaks of sophistication and dominance.”
“I see,” she says, her response coming out as more of an exhale than actual words.
“Scotch is a drink that’s meant to be savored and enjoyed slowly. Just like my first time with a new submissive, it’s important to use care and go slowly. Tossing it back as a shot would be a damn shame for something so exquisite.”
Her eyes follow mine as understanding dawns in them. I’m not in this for a quick fuck. We will do this, explore this thing between us, but it will be in a controlled fashion, and it’ll happen when and how I say.
“Open for me.” I bring the glass to her mouth and allow her a tiny sip, knowing the smoky flavors are burning her tongue as she swallows.
Everything I do, the core of who I am now, is all about restraint. I don’t know why it’s so important for me that she see that. It just is. I’m not that carefree, hope-filled guy of twenty she remembers. From the way I conduct my business to the scenes I share with my subs, it’s a transaction. A give and take. Goal. Set. Match.
“Reece?” She averts her eyes, her fingers toying with the hem of her dress in the most distracting way.
“Hmm?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course you can.”
“Will you be . . . are you . . .”
“Get it out, sweetheart.”
“Are you sleeping with anyone else?”
Straightening my shoulders, I set the glass of Scotch on the low table in front of us. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” My tone is gruff and I instantly regret it. I hate how all my reactions with her make me feel as if I’ve done something wrong.
