BOUND

by Akeroyd, Serena

  He tapped his pen on the sheets they'd printed off. She grunted at the silent reminder, noticed with a smirk that his shoulders had straightened a little with his pleasure at her compliment, and retreated to the seemingly endless list of kinks she had to determine whether they disturbed her or not. On a rank of no to five.

  “This is a stupid idea,” she groused.

  “Why is it? Because it means you might actually be able to have something you want?”

  “Your head is fucking huge,” she complained.

  “Shut up, brat.”

  She glared at him but added a 5 for anal sex and anal plugs (public, under clothes).

  Lucia wanted to tell him that just because they were doing this list didn't mean she was willing to do any of it. But, he was a clever bastard. He'd use her own words against her; she knew it like she knew her face in the mirror.

  Inexperienced, she'd told him, didn't mean unaware. And if the notion of this stuff got her hot, then what was to say she couldn't do it in real life?

  Nothing. That's what.

  But the idea of Martinez being in control, of dominating her...well, it freaked her out.

  On the other hand, he was willing to let her control him. To dominate him.

  Give and take.

  She couldn't take everything, because if she did, then she'd never have any of him.

  And she did want him. She couldn't lie about that.

  The first time in years, when the sexual being inside her came to life, it had been with him. And that siren wanted out. She wanted to play. She wanted to purr and rub herself all over the one man strong enough to take away Lucia's fears.

  Sucking in a breath, she carried on down the list. Unsurprisingly, the obvious ones were the kinks she put a definite NO against. Cutting, knife play, cuffs, bondage, watersports. Then, the freaky-for-her ones that really were a big 'No No,' like enema play, diapers, electricity play, and the like.

  But on the whole, the list wasn't one big line of rejections. In a way, that made her feel a little better. She wasn't a complete no hope.

  In fact, some of the stuff on the list had her wriggling in her seat. The only thing that made her wriggle harder was the notion of seeing what Martinez had on his.

  “You want us to switch, right?”

  His head popped up. Those beautiful brown eyes of his blinked at her. “Yes.”

  So simple. And so fucking terrifying. “I have good and bad days, Martinez.”

  He shrugged. “We all do. You just have to tell me, and I'll know to back off.”

  She nibbled her lip at that, wishing it was as easy as he made it out to be. But then, maybe it was, and she was just complicating everything. It was highly likely.

  The idea of belonging to Martinez was appealing. In a way, she'd realized in the BDSM community, this lifestyle enabled a kind of happily-ever-after for modern day times.

  Sure, Prince Charming wasn't kissing Sleeping Beauty awake, but it was a relationship that required one-hundred-percent trust. Without it, the relationship didn't work. It couldn't work. And in her experience, vanilla couples suffered mostly in this area. Trust was a big deal, but most people didn't realize how big.

  It was only at times like this, faced with a list of what you were going to allow another person to do to you, that you realized what you were handing over.

  So, yes, she was frightened, but it was Martinez.

  She had to remember that. All bark and no bite where she was concerned.

  Lucia thought back to that first night in her apartment and pondering it, asked, “Would you really have shot me?”

  He blinked, and she could tell he was tired of her questions, because he wanted to finish his list but wanted her to see he could be patient. “No.”

  “Then why put a gun to my head.”

  “To your chin, technically.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Splitting hairs.”

  “Because Rico was there.”

  “You put a gun to my throat because of peer pressure?”

  At her squawk of fury, he sighed. “If I hadn't shown a strong front, he'd have taken control of the situation in his own way. He was listening to everything we had to say that night. You had to realize I meant business, because if I hadn't, he'd have shot you himself.”

  “So you did it for my protection?” she taunted and watched him shrug.

  “Yeah. Rico was a loose cannon. Just like Matteo. Why do you think I dealt with him the way I did? You think I enjoy losing old friends? Sure, he might have gone off the rails, but he'd been with Matteo and me from the very start. Our mothers are friends, for God's sake. I have to see her, in church of all places, and know that I had her son killed. You think I wanted that on my conscience?”

  “No,” she murmured, shaking her head.

  “Exactly. But he didn't leave me much choice. Men like him don't stop. They don't go away. They just keep on coming, like wrecking balls.”

  “Why did it matter that he wanted to hurt me? I've betrayed you, Martinez. You can't forget that. All of this—” She waved a hand over the list. “—it's about trust. But how we can trust each other with the past we have?”

  “That's exactly why we can. I've murdered for you, Lucia. I've killed to protect you. Juan did the shooting, but he wouldn't have done it without my say-so. It was my call, and it's my shame and my guilt.” He pulled in a breath. “Even before I knew what had happened to you, you've called to me, Lucia. You're my personal siren. I'm not letting you get away.”

  Her pussy fluttered at that. His words were on a direct line to her sheath, and she wished she was normal. Wished she didn't have to show him a list of what she could handle and what she couldn't. Wished she could just slip out of her trousers, straddle him, and impale herself on his shaft.

  Why did it have to be so complicated? So difficult?

  Not for the first time, she cursed Josiah. It wouldn't be the last time. She was grateful he was rotting in hell. Before him, she'd been a believer but in no way ardent. Her parents didn't give a shit about religion. Her grandparents had gone to church on the important days, but not every day. Until he'd been murdered in prison, she hadn't believed wholeheartedly either. And then, she'd started believing again, because she wanted to think that evil bastard was burning, suffering the torment of the damned.

  Some nights, that was the only thing that helped her sleep. Who needed Valium, eh?

  Martinez dragged her from her thoughts, when he scribbled something on his sheet. Seeing he'd finished, she sucked in a breath and held out hers, taking his when he did the same. For a second, their eyes caught, and she ducked her head down, staring at the desk rather than continue the silent fight with him.

  Her eyes blurred as she looked at the list, and when she did, they blurred a little more. Her pussy clenched down hard, feeling desperately empty at the realization of what he'd allow her to do to him.

  Some of them, she'd only ever seen at the club. And she hadn't really frequented that place all that often. She'd certainly never served as a Domme there. More than anything, she'd watched and drooled.

  Had she drooled at the act of submission? Or had it all been about the Domination? He was so certain it was just about the control, but she wasn't sure.

  She pondered that for a second and thought back. Lucia had felt jealous at the scenes, wished like hell that she could take part in one of them. She recognized that jealousy. But her feelings had been jumbled. They were knotted, as was everything in her mind where sex was concerned.

  But when she thought back to a scene where a couple had been swapping, she realized she'd felt arousal at watching the woman wield the whip, felt flushed with the power the Domme must have experienced at controlling the man… But, at the same time, watching the female sub cry out, her pain and pleasure intertwined—Lucia realized that had aroused her too.

  The freedom of being allowed to fly. To escape the woes that cursed you. To break free from the ties that bound you to earth.

  Maybe Mar
tinez was right. Maybe this could work.

  Covering her mouth with her hand, she looked down the list and had to admit she was shocked. She wouldn't lie. That this man, this powerful, strong, dominant male would let her do this to him seemed like a gift sent from above.

  Her voice was croaky, when she asked, “Are you sure you could cope with this?”

  When he looked up, there was a glaze to his eyes that had her blinking. He was as aroused as she was at the idea of all the different things she'd allow him to do to her. Her lips twitched at the sight, and it took a handful of seconds for him to shake out of the sexual bind the list had entangled him in.

  “Yeah,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “It would be hard, but I'm being honest.”

  “I feel the same,” she whispered, lowering her head and retreating to his list.

  She couldn't help it. Lucia pressed a fist between her legs to still the throbbing pulse that pounded away there. He'd put a 5 to spanking, scratching, leather restraints, rope bondage, and so much more. His hard limits were similar to hers. The only one she wanted to pout at was a 2 for anal play.

  She was astounded at how much liberty he'd grant her, but couldn't help wondering if submission, as new as it was to him, would provide him an escape from the daily grind.

  Looking at him, it was impossible not to see the power he exuded. Sure, it wasn't the regular sort. Nothing like a 'Christian Grey' super tycoon or Obama. Hell, anything but. This man led a gang. His orders meant life or death for some little guy out on the street. Who he was, what he represented, should have revolted her. Instead, he was going to let her whip him.

  Fucking whip him.

  The mind boggled. But in the best way imaginable.

  She studied him a second, knowing she'd pore over the list at another stage. She wanted to see him read her own limits. Why, she couldn't say. But a part of her wanted to revel at the sight of seeing the man in his natural surroundings, and know that soon, she could dominate him.

  The library they were sitting in was like something out of a dream. As a lover of books, she knew that at some point before they left and when she built up the courage, she'd have to have sex in here with him. It would be a wet dream come true.

  Floor to ceiling cedar shelves lined the walls, a carpet with a silvery sheen to it, and a thick tread, covered the floor. While the books acted as natural soundproofing, one wall acted as a huge window onto the gardens. In the middle of the room, where they were seated, was a large plantation desk, oiled and gleaming but quite obviously hundreds of years old. The leather seat he sat in was an antique. It didn't creak when he moved. It probably wouldn't have dared to. Her own chair was a low leather club chair. Modern but fitting with the rest of the decor.

  And what decor.

  Every inch of it screamed money. Not just a little amount, a whopping pile. A pile that only came from power, and that was the buzz.

  Seeing Martinez sit in his thousand-dollar throne, behind a thousand-dollar desk, in a room worth tens of thousands, in a house worth millions, and knowing that soon, he'd be hers to command...well, he'd done it.

  He'd convinced her.

  For the chance to have him on his knees, she'd cooperate, give him what he needed to make it happen. And if that meant handing over control, if it meant letting him top her, then she'd fucking wrestle her demons to let it happen.

  That, if he only knew, was a fucking promise.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Excitement throbbed through Lucia's body, making her heart pulse harder, her lungs ache, and her skin feel so sensitive it hurt.

  For years, she'd dreamed of having a man kneel at her feet. She'd watched, studied, read, all with the knowledge that she'd probably never have the guts to do anything she was learning. And that it was finally going to happen, and she felt close to expiring with the delight of it.

  Maybe it would go down like in the clubs. She'd seen the Dommes. Watched them, dreamed about emulating them. She'd winced at their high heels, at the leather and PVC they wore.

  Certain aspects hadn't appealed to her, and she doubted she'd ever be as rough as the pros, but she was doing this her way. Everything about tonight was going to be how she wanted it. No one else.

  Twenty-four-hour delivery was really a Godsend, she mused, because if she'd wanted to wear leather or PVC, she could have bought it. But that wasn't how she wanted to play this. She had it circling around her head, how this was going to go down, and enduring what he did to her tomorrow would be worth it for this one day.

  Armed with thousands of dollars of sex toys—they'd both gone mental online—she was ready, even if Martinez wasn't.

  Sucking in a breath, she sought calm, took a seat in the armchair across from the bed, and crossed her legs. It was perfect timing, because a knock sounded at the door.

  “Come in.”

  Her barked order had her nerves settling. The role was one she'd craved for so long that there was no longer any room for butterflies. He was giving her this, enabling her to experience it, and she refused to waste any of it on pointless agitation.

  The door opened at her command, and just like she'd told him in her note to him, he was on his knees in a pair of tight, black boxers.

  Over the last two years, this routine of hers had always encircled him, and in it, she'd always imagined his gleaming, golden flesh highlighted by the expensive black shorts. Maybe it was weird that she didn't picture him naked, but hell, she was used to being weird.

  Kneel outside the door, she'd told him in her note. Come with nothing but yourself and a pair of black Jockeys.

  Seeing them, the contrast between that beautifully tanned skin and the silky obsidian, was better in reality than her imagination.

  “Come here,” she told him and watched as he crawled to her. His jaw whitened a little, telling her he didn't like this, but he didn't stop until she said, “That's far enough. Kneel and look at me.”

  He did as bid and stared at her. There was an insolence in his eyes, one that she knew he tried to fight, but that was naturally there. His arrogance, his determination, and his self-possession were ingrained in him. He wasn't naturally submissive, just like she wasn't, but the power of this moment, the power of tomorrow's session, was that they were willing to be what the other needed.

  They were willing to fulfill those desires, those dark passions.

  He was handing her his trust, and she'd do the same tomorrow.

  In a way, that hit her heart more than an 'I love you' would have. Whether she felt anything so gentle for him was another matter entirely, but in her world, trusting him meant a hell of a lot more than loving did.

  When tomorrow was over, she couldn't help but wonder what would happen.

  Neither of them were naturally submissive, but she knew they'd both enjoy the experiences. That was what the list of limits had been about. Determining how far the other could go so that they could both enjoy themselves.

  “You're angry,” she murmured, smiling when he shook his head. “Yes, you are.”

  His eyes flared, but again, he shook his head.

  “If you're not angry, what are you?”

  “Nervous,” he bit out.

  “Why?”

  “Because I don't know where this is going to go.”

  “But you trust me to follow your limits?”

  He stared at her, too long. In the clubs, she'd seen Dommes slap their subs for less. Then, she realized that some of the play in the clubs was just posturing. This, here, was important. It mattered. She hadn't expected it, but he was going to verbally hand over his control...or, this was over.

  The thought twisted her insides into a knot. She didn't want this to be over. She wanted it to be the beginning, but it all depended on him.

  He seemed to realize that because he sucked in a huge gulp of air and whispered, “I trust you.”

  Her smile was probably as bright as the sun outside. “Good. Now, grab your cock.”

  He started to pull down the ela
stic band of his boxers, but her leg whipped out, and she pressed hard against his shoulder.

  “Did I say that? I said, grab your cock.”

  Martinez's jaw clenched down, but he fisted his shaft over the fabric. She left her foot resting against his shoulder then bent the other at the knee. The move spread her legs, baring her pussy to his gaze. Hell, it was in his direct line of sight. There was no way he could have missed it.

  As she watched him, he licked his lips, his gaze intent on the flesh she'd exposed to him. Her fingers swept down, down, and the tips began to play with her clit. The sight of him on his knees had already created the sticky mess she was so unaccustomed to, and the direct stimulation had her rocking back slightly, jerking her legs wider, displaying more of her cunt to him.

  She moaned, enjoying a sensation that she didn't experience when she was alone. But with him there, watching her, all of a sudden, she felt desire.

  Bodies were strange. Or maybe it was the mind that was stranger.

  She slipped a finger down, circled the entrance to her body, before sliding that digit deep. Her eyes were trained on him, and she watched, a Mona Lisa smile on her face, as he licked his lips again.

  Energy thrummed down her bloodstream, revitalizing her in a way she hadn't experienced since Josiah.

  She could come, so easily, and she knew it. Her body knew it.

  A tremor trickled along her nerve endings, telling her that climax was near. It seemed impossible, unlikely, but her body wasn't lying. She'd wanted to grab his face, hold it to her pussy, make him lick her, drench his features in her orgasm, but she couldn't. If she did, it would be over soon. And it couldn't be. Not yet. Not until she'd done this.

  Swallowing roughly, she ceased teasing herself. It was hard pulling her finger away from her clit, especially when no part of her wanted to stop, but she did. Because how could she control him, if she couldn't control herself?

  Sucking in a jerky breath, she moved her foot away from his shoulder and used the momentum to get to her feet. She held out a hand, blindly seeking the rough hemp rope that had been a part of her fantasies for so long.