He perched on the back of her sofa that delineated the space between the entryway and the living room, and he took the hand that betrayed her nerves between his larger ones. “Amy, tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Bullshit. You only get bratty when you’re upset. Tell me how asking if I’m homesick turns to you getting upset that I call and text you.” Yeah, he’d noticed how her bottom lip turned down in a pout whenever something bothered her, and he’d also noted how she lashed out childishly when she wasn’t happy. These were behaviors he’d deal with when she gave him the right.
She tried to take her hand back, but he didn’t let her, and that bottom lip sprang into action. “Nothing’s wrong. Maybe I had an off day, okay? It’s nothing to be concerned about.”
“Babe, I know when something is bothering you. You can say anything to me. Let’s have it.”
She looked away, and he let her gather her thoughts. “Your behavior puzzles me. I get that you took me out to dinner to thank me for helping with your sister, but I don’t understand the roller skating and the laser tag. I don’t understand why you’re suddenly calling and texting. I’ve known you for almost a year, and before last week, I didn’t even have your phone number. You’re younger than me, and I’m totally not your type, and none of this makes sense.”
It made total sense to him. “I like you, Amy. I always have. If you need to put a label on what’s going on between us, I’d go with friendship. Maybe it will develop into something more and maybe it won’t. I think it would be a mistake to rush into defining what’s still forming.”
Her gaze returned to meet his, and he let her search his face for as long as she needed. Finally she nodded. “Friends. But you’re hiding something.”
Releasing her hand, he stood and headed toward the door. “Just because something hasn’t been revealed doesn’t mean it’s hidden. People take time to get to know.”
She grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder. It dislodged one of the straps, and immediately his gaze dropped to her breast, but the bodice fit too tightly. It remained in place, and Amy fixed her strap. “You’re right about that, but I still think you’re not telling me everything.”
He opened the door to his truck for her. “In time, little one.”
Her putt-putt game was a mess. There was no way in hell he’d ever invite her to play eighteen holes on a real course, not that she’d enjoy it anyway. No matter, this way he could stand behind her and correct her swing. By the tenth hole, she was able to sink the ball in nine strokes. He’d given up keeping score.
“Malcolm told me that he’s interviewing Doms for you.”
She missed the ball completely. Glancing up, she gave him the evil eye. “He was. I’m taking a break.”
“Why?”
She wound up for the swing. He stopped her before she could bat the ball all the way to the next putting green. With one hand on her hip, he corrected her stance yet again. “If you want, I can take you to the batting cages next weekend.”
“Don’t be an ass,” she said. Wiggling her ass, she settled into the wrong stance again. “You’re asking things on purpose to distract me and make me miss.”
“There’s nobody behind us. Stop playing for a minute and answer my question.”
“I don’t want to answer your question. It’s none of your business.”
He got out of the way as she swung and missed. “Since we’re friends who aren’t defining anything yet, it is my business.”
She leaned on her putter. “If you must know, I don’t like the process. I don’t know what Malcolm asks these guys, but whenever I meet one for coffee or lunch, they always want to know my hard limits and fetishes. Since I’ve never done any of this before, I don’t know what those are, and then the last guy—he started in on how I should kneel in his presence and I should like what he tells me to like. He was upset because he’d ordered a bran muffin for me. He didn’t even ask what I like, and I don’t like bran muffins. That’s not going to ever change.” She lined up the next shot. “Maybe I’m not submissive. The idea of being tied up appeals to me, but the rest of it—” She pursed her lips in that bratty pout.
A streak of jealousy ran through him, especially when he pictured her on her knees before anybody else, but he forced himself to focus on her concern. “No dominant who is worth anything would expect your submission based on a meeting or ten. It takes time to get to know someone, to understand what makes them tick, and to build trust. After that, you can begin to have conversations about limits and kinks. All that has to happen before you can want to give something so precious as your submission. You’re not being unreasonable. Go with your gut. You have good instincts.”
She swung, and by sheer chance the ball came very close to her target. She celebrated with a loud woo-hoo before turning back to him. “That’s right. I forgot you were one of those mentor people like Dustin. I probably should have you vetting prospective dates instead of Malcolm. He means well, but I haven’t been impressed by his selections so far.”
The idea of her dating anybody else made his blood boil. Maybe they weren’t dating, but they were heading in that direction. “Not a snowball’s chance, babe, but I’ll tell you one thing.” He lined up his shot and sank it in one swing. “You are thoroughly submissive.”
She eyeballed the distance between her ball and the cup.
“The green is curved. Hook it to the left.”
“Thanks.” She positioned herself incorrectly. He moved her and helped her line up the shot. She sank it easily. “How do you figure I’m submissive? You’ve only seen me socially.”
A chuckle escaped. “You are one of the most giving, nurturing people I’ve ever met. Even your business is designed to give you ways to serve others in order to make them happy.”
“I don’t plan events because I want to serve others. My business is successful because I’m good at what I do.”
He fished their balls from the cup and carried them to the next hole. “I’m craving lasagna. What is your first inclination?” He set her ball on the tee.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Make you a lasagna?”
“Really? That’s the first thing that came to mind?”
She blushed. “Sort of. I wished I would have known you wanted lasagna, and then I would have made it already so we could have it when we got back from playing golf. I’d have to heat it up, of course, but lasagna takes some time to make if you’re going to do it right.”
He let her have four shots in a row before he put his ball on the tee. “What if I changed my mind, and now I want steak?”
She frowned. “I don’t have any steak. I’d have to go shopping.”
“That’s submissive, babe. You’re a people pleaser, but only for people you care to please. If you’re not careful, someone will take advantage of your good nature. A good dominant will protect you, leave you free to be who you are.” He aimed for the center hole on the windmill and was rewarded when it spat his ball out in the upper part of the green near the cup.
She exhaled hard. “Do you want steak or lasagna?”
“Ice cream. It’s hot out. Take your shot. After this hole, there’s an ice cream stand. We’ll get double scoops and take a break.”
He waited until her pink tongue darted out to lick a drip of ice cream from her cone to ask her about bondage. “So you want to be tied up?”
“In theory. I’ve never actually tried it.” She licked again, and he decided that ice cream wasn’t such a good idea. The imagery was almost too much, and the crotch of his jeans suddenly became very snug.
“Would you like to?”
She looked at him, curiosity bursting from her in a shower of unvoiced questions and sputterings.
“Under controlled circumstances and with someone you trust.”
“And then what? Bondage for the sake of bondage doesn’t seem to have a point.”
Oh, it did, but they’d get into that later. He bit into his c
one and chased the rest of
the cold vanilla ice cream stuck in the narrow bottom. “Sensory play. I’ll blindfold you so that you can focus on what you’re feeling.”
“I’m not into pain,” she said. “I don’t want to do anything that will hurt.”
“Not a problem.”
Her eyebrows drew together in a sharp V that echoed in the crease marring her chin. “Jordan, I don’t know. This doesn’t seem like the sort of things friends do.”
“Friends do things like this all the time.”
She stared out over the landscaping dividing this hole from the others. “It just seems so intimate.”
“It’s very intimate, and many people scene who are just friends. Scenes do not have to—and frequently don’t—include sexual elements. It requires trust and an adventurous spirit. Don’t you want your first experience to be with someone who simply wants to help you get to know yourself better and who won’t put pressure on you to do more than you really want?” He had a huge list of reasons why he was the perfect person to introduce her to this world, but he knew that pushing too hard would be counterproductive. Amy was brave and curious, but she was also facing every fear and insecurity she’d ever harbored about bondage and the lifestyle. He squeezed her hand. “Just think about it. We have nine holes left before you have to make up your mind about what you want to do afterward.”
Chapter Seven
Did she want steak or lasagna, or did she want to let Jordan tie her up and do things that belonged to the mysterious Sensory Play category? Amy frowned as she lined up her shot for the sixteenth hole. He was putting no pressure on her at all. After they’d finished their ice cream, he hadn’t brought it up. She felt his touch on her hip, pushing it into alignment to improve her aim. Relaxing, she let him correct her stance. “Thanks.”
“You’re getting better. By the end of the course, you’ll have it down.”
It had occurred to her that she could continue doing it wrong just so he’d keep touching her, but then, she reasoned, he’d eventually give up, and she’d still be doing it wrong. She hit the ball a little too hard, and it sailed past the cup. “Darn.”
“Not bad. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You came close, and that’s an improvement.” He lined up his shot and sank it neatly.
“Would we negotiate everything beforehand? Plan out every detail?”
“No.” He didn’t pretend to not know she’d changed the topic. “If you had any experience, then yes, we could do that. For this, I’d try a few different things so you could decide what you do and don’t like.”
She thought about that as she tapped her ball into the cup. “What if I don’t like it?”
He retrieved their balls. “You’re familiar with the concept of safewords.”
She didn’t have the sense he’d asked a question, more that he wanted her to explain what she knew. “I know the stoplight system. Red halts everything. Yellow pauses the scene for communication, adjustments, and bathroom breaks.” Once she’d come to accept that the BDSM lifestyle wasn’t a form of abuse, her sister had opened up about many of nitty-gritty details. And she’d heard the guys talk about being dominant. They took the safety precaution aspects of it very seriously.
“So you’ll have safewords. I’ll be talking to you a lot so you know you’re not alone.”
It hadn’t occurred to her that he would leave her alone when she was in a vulnerable position. She set her ball on the tee, lined up the shot, and took a swing. It rounded the bank perfectly, bounced twice from the edges of the narrowed curve that linked the two parts of this tricky hole together, avoided the waterfall, and went straight into the cup. Her draw dropped. She looked at Jordan, her eyes so wide she felt they might pop out. “You saw that, right?”
He wore a wide grin. “Your stance was perfect.”
Dropping her putter, she clapped her hands over her heart. “A hole in one. I never thought I’d be able to do that.”
He hugged her with one arm and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You can do anything you set your mind to, little one.”
“Yes.” She didn’t necessarily agree with him, but she was no longer talking about her amazing feat. “I want to try it with you.”
“All right. Let’s finish this, and then I’ll take you to my place.”
She’d never been to his place. It made sense that they’d go to his apartment because that’s where his equipment would be located. The drive took a little time because he lived two counties away. They mostly chatted about movies and television shows. She figured he wanted to keep the conversation light to put her at ease.
His apartment was exactly like Jamie had described—pristine and sanitary. Amy chalked that up to his modern décor. There was too much shiny metal and not enough color. It could use some fabric and softness to make it homey. Normally she wouldn’t judge anybody’s home, but this seemed so unlike Jordan. Standing there in a black fitted shirt and worn jeans, his face scruffy from a day’s growth, he didn’t seem to fit. The lack of color was him, but the sharpness of the furniture reminded her that perhaps she didn’t know him all that well.
“What do you think?”
“It’s clean.” She wasn’t going to say anything critical, not to a guy who was planning to tie her up.
He frowned. “You don’t like it.”
“It’s fine. I just pictured your place with more leather, and maybe framed photos of your family on the walls.”
He gestured to the sofa. It was the kind with an exposed metal frame and thin cushions for the seat and back. “It’s more comfortable than it looks. Take off your dress and sit down.”
She hadn’t expected him to say that. She looked at her bright yellow sundress, the only spot of real color in the room. “You want me to get undressed? In here?”
“I need to do a few things before we can begin. If you need to freshen up, the bathroom is the down the hall, first door on the left. When I return, I expect to see that you’ve followed orders.”
Orders. His tone had shifted, becoming harder and more commanding. This was definitely his Dom tone. A shiver of anticipation ran up her spine. Finally, being with a Dom seemed right. “Should I call you Sir or something?”
“Let’s hold off on titles for now.” He disappeared down the hall.
Amy made use of the bathroom. She combed her fingers through her hair and redid her ponytail, and then she checked to make sure she didn’t have anything weird going on with the parts of her skin that would be exposed. Standing in front of the mirror wearing only her bra and underwear was a sobering experience. Though she’d worn her prettiest, laciest underthings, there was no way Jordan was interested in her as anything more than a friend. With a sigh, she hung her dress on a hook on the back of the door. He found her a few minutes later perched on the edge of the sofa, which was surprisingly comfortable, without her dress.
He sat down next to her, but he leaned back and stretched his arm along the back. “What’s your color?”
She stared at her hands, folded neatly on her lap, and hoped he hadn’t meant for her to be completely naked. “Green.”
Moving, he slid his leg on the other side of her so that she sat between his legs. He tugged at the band holding her ponytail, taking her hair down. She didn’t move, but she did close her eyes when he ran his fingers through her hair and massaged her scalp. A little mew of pleasure escaped as his thumbs moved lower, pressing circles on either side of her spine. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d indulged in a massage.
He touched her shoulders and back, alternating caresses with light massages. When he finished, he rested his hands on her thighs, this fingertips feathering barely-there caresses on her skin. “The idea of sensory play is to engage most of your senses. I’m going to put a blindfold on you so that you can focus on what you’re feeling.”
Without waiting for her response, he tied a silky blindfold around her head. It was wide enough to block all light, and it was soft enough that she didn’
t mind wearing it.
She felt him move, and now she had the sense he was kneeling in front of her. He tugged at the edges of the blindfold. “Open your eyes. Can you see anything?”
Her eyes had been closed because she didn’t see the point to having them open under a blindfold. She opened them now, and she realized she could make out some light through the fabric. “I can see some light, but no shadows.”
“Perfect.” He stood and tugged at her hands. “Stand up. I’m going to lead you down the hall to the guest room. I’ve set it up for our scene. Ready?”
He put one arm around her waist and held her hand as he led her down the hall. She sensed the air change as they passed the open door to the bathroom, and she thought about what she looked like without her dress on. Her generous curves were probably a bit too much for a man like Jordan who was made up of solid muscle. “Jordan, you know, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
“I do know that. Thanks for reminding me. Safewords work both ways, little one. If I want to stop, I’ll call red.”
She had not known that, but it made sense. There had to be times when the Dom needed or wanted to stop a scene. He turned her to the left and led her into the guest room.
“I’ll give you a tour later. I kind of think it’ll be a better experience if you don’t know what the room looks like. Stand here. Push your feet into the floor to avoid swaying. I’m not going to tie you to anything just yet.”
He draped a heavy necklace around the back of her neck, and she realized it was rope. She stood as still as she could while he wrapped it around her torso, looped it around her shoulders and between her legs. He moved around her, pulling, tying and sliding the rope around her body. Though it wasn’t too tight and it didn’t inhibit her movements, it held her like a firm embrace, and that made her feel safe and calm. She didn’t know how long she stood while he did his thing, but when he turned her and took off the blindfold, it seemed like an hour or more had gone by.
ReDefined Page 7
