by Lilia Moon
The room swirls, like gravity just got drunk and went for a joy ride.
He reaches for my hands, and the crazy tingling runs all the way from my fingers up my arms, straight through my nipples and down to my clit.
I know exactly what scared me, but not until this moment, holding on to the hands of a total stranger, did I ever imagine it was going to be this big a deal in my life. I let go of his hands. I can’t think when he touches me. Whatever vat of sex-appeal juice he fell into at birth overrides everything my brain has ever known how to do.
He lets me take my hands back, but his eyes don’t leave mine.
I laugh, and even I can hear the nerves. “Do women tell you everything?”
He grins, and the results are seismic. “Mostly.”
I can only imagine. “Better than a priest, huh?”
He shrugs. “I like to think this is a place where people can tell the truth and have it heard and respected and not judged. That tends to get people talking.” His reaches out and brushes my cheek with the backs of his fingers. “We all have things we need to have heard.”
Intellectually I know exactly what he means. I often joke that I’m in the business of bridal confessions, although Meghan deals with more of those than I do. People tell us their hopes and dreams and everything else too.
I’m just not used to being the one doing the spilling. My ribs squeeze, like they’re having trouble finding air.
Damon leans forward, closing the space between us yet again. Respectful touch, and nothing about a hand on my shoulder should feel sexual, but it does. “You’re a beautiful woman who spends an enormous part of your life making everyone else happy.” He smiles, and I can hear the angel choirs singing behind him. “What aren’t you getting?”
He’s closer to the truth than I’ve ever let anyone get, and I suspect he’s nowhere near done digging—but that isn’t what’s doing a number in my insides.
It’s the acceptance. The casually delivered certainty that whatever I say next will be okay here, will be seen and respected and the only person who will have to melt through the floor in embarrassed horror is me.
I gulp. I can’t believe I’m thinking about telling him this. It’s not something I’ve ever told anyone, and I pride myself on my honesty and directness.
Mostly I’ve managed to convince myself it’s not a huge deal, but tonight has pretty much set that belief on fire.
His fingers are under my chin, and those eyes, the ones that I just want to sink into forever and let run my life, are waiting, like whatever I have to say next is the only thing he cares about. “What did you see, Emily? What do you want?”
I want to cower, to drop my head into my chest and hide as best as I can without actually moving away from the gravitational well of Damon Black. But I will not be ashamed of this, or at least I don’t want to be. I just want, very suddenly, to tell the truth. I look up at him and try to own the words I’m going to say next. They’re mine, and even if they mean I’m weird or broken or a fake, I refuse to cower as I say them.
“I saw women having orgasms. All over the place.” Just the remembering of it has the ache between my legs writhing fiercely. “Can everyone here do that?”
He’s still looking at me.
I get brave enough to ask what I really want to know. “The woman with the oil. She was begging to come, wasn’t she?”
He smiles now. “Yes. One form of play lots of Doms like to use is called orgasm denial. Her orgasms are his. She’s given him that power, to decide when she gets to come and when she doesn’t.”
I can’t keep looking at him. I’ve done my level best to do this like a grown-up, but I’m losing hold of that fast. I look down at my hands, no longer brave enough to meet his eyes, but somehow still compelled to talk.
Because the women I saw tonight were tied up and taking orders—and they were freer than I have any idea how to be.
I take in one more breath. “What if she can’t have an orgasm when he says? Or at all?”
Chapter Eleven
Damon
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I’ve heard it before, but not like this. Not from a woman like this. Emily was ten seconds away from coming in the dungeon and all she’d done was lean against a wall and watch.
There’s more here. She might not be my sub, but I can at least help her get the truth all the way out. I reach for her chin again—if I was her Dom, this would be lesson number one. “I need to see your eyes, sweetheart.” The endearment sneaks out and horrifies me, but that doesn’t matter right now. Only she does. “You’ve never had an orgasm?”
The world should be spanked for that. Hard.
She blushes the color of my favorite chair and yanks her chin out of my hand. “Of course I have.” I can see her firing up, ready to wave her sword and distract me from the real business at hand. And then I see her deflate, and that scrupulous need to be honest climbs into her eyes again. “My parts all work just fine. They just don’t perform for anyone else.”
Light bulbs of understanding go off in my brain and my hands and my cock and pretty much everywhere else too. One Dom, yanking to get off his leash.
I want to tell her that she’s crazy, that she’s picked all the wrong men, that if she spreads her legs for me right here and right now, I’ll take that belief of hers and shred it into tiny little bits.
I know I can. Two fingers and two minutes and she’d be shattering in my arms.
Except every Dom instinct I have says that’s not what she needs.
Instead, I lift her up and put her in my lap again. Not straddling my cock like I want, but cuddled in against my chest. “Ever?”
She blinks, trying to remember what I’m talking about.
She’s born to be a sub. She’s half into subspace already and all she’s met is my pecs. “You’ve never had an orgasm with a partner?”
I can feel her discomfort building. I let her feel my ease. In my world we have conversations like this all the time. If she’ll let me, I can give her at least that much. “I run a BDSM club. I can promise there’s nothing you can say that is going to bother me, embarrass me, or make me laugh at you.”
Air whiffs out of her. “I think it’s a control thing. I’m not good at letting other people be in charge.”
She’s so wildly wrong about that. “Control and power are things we play with a lot here. Sometimes the people who most want to surrender need someone to be holding a really strong container. Those scenes you saw in the dungeon are carefully negotiated so that the sub has exactly what she needs to be able to let go.”
I can see that she doesn’t believe me. And I know words aren’t what will convince her. I’m glad she was drawn to Marla and Jacob’s play. Marla’s one of the most passionate subs I know and not remotely shy about showing it.
Emily needs to know that’s possible here.
She also needs to know just how much I want to bend her over a spanking bench and plunge my fingers into her wet pussy.
I debate. She’s brand new to my world, but she seems to get that honesty matters.
It’s time to make her an offer and let her choose. Because sitting here talking about her orgasms is going to mangle us both. “What are your days off?”
She looks at me suspiciously. “This time of year, I work most Saturdays, some Sundays. I mostly get Mondays off and we start late on Tuesday mornings. Why?”
If our schedules are any indication, we’re a match made in heaven. “Come meet me tomorrow for lunch.” I pause for a moment, debating how hard I want to push, and decide that I need to respect the fact that this woman isn’t even kind of a wimp. “We’ll talk contracts.”
Her eyes blink very slowly. “For the wedding?”
Hell, no. “This is totally separate from that.”
Her face scrunches up in cute schoolteacher confusion.
I reach out for her adorable chin. “You know what a Dom is, right?”
She swallows hard, right under my fingers. “I t
hink so.”
I might soft-pedal this with some subs, but not with her. “There’s something getting in the way of you taking your own pleasure in sexual encounters. There’s usually something about power and control going on with that, and that’s exactly what BDSM play explores.” This time I slide my hand onto her thigh. “Let me play with you, Emily. Spend next Monday with me.”
Her eyes get huge and she pretty much stops breathing.
I don’t laugh, but I can feel the strangely happy bubbles in my lungs. “Short-term Dom/sub contract, and you can cancel at any time.” Although I’m pretty sure she’s going to find that harder than she might imagine. Clearly all the men in her life so far have been idiots.
She’s still staring. And breathing harder. I can see all the subtle signs of arousal, and I know damn well that if I move my hand up her thigh and between her legs, I’ll discover she’s a pool of luscious and wet.
My cock is very unhappy that I don’t do this. I ignore him. He’s not the most patient dude in the universe, but he knows that I usually get him what he wants.
Emily’s breathing is speeding up now. Maybe she’s thinking about my hand between her legs too. If she shows up on Monday, I won’t let her think of anything else.
I don’t want to give her time to think about her answer, but I’m a professional. This is what I do, and I’m not going to break all my own rules just because I want her hot and wet and panting.
I stand up and pull her to her feet. “Lunch tomorrow. I’ll text you the details.”
I need to get her out of here. Before I do something eternally stupid.
Chapter Twelve
Damon
She’s here.
I’m sitting at an outside table at one of my favorite Fremont cafes, watching Emily walk across the pavers in jeans and a pretty, flowered top, and the sight of her makes me unreasonably happy.
I’m also pleased she’s not in a suit. She looks less buttoned up this way. More free. I realize just how much I want to see her all the way there.
I grit my teeth and keep my hands on the paperwork. That needs to be her choice.
She’s seen me now, but she’s mostly keeping her eyes on the cheerful waiter who’s walking her over. It’s a more private table than it looks, set up out of earshot through a well-designed combination of waterfall planters, acoustic panels, and traffic noise.
I’m trying to send a message. This isn’t something that needs to be done in hiding.
She smiles sweetly at me as she sits down.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come.” I can’t believe I’ve blurted that out.
Her eyes get that open, honest look in them again. “I don’t know if I’m going to stay. Or if I’m going to agree to what you’re asking me to do.”
She’s been thinking. Good. This meeting isn’t about holding her in my lap and overwhelming her senses. It’s about giving her truth and letting a grown and very competent woman make her own choices.
If she gets in my lap after that, I intend to overwhelm her very thoroughly.
I wave at our server, who happens to be one of Quint’s friends. If she catches some of our conversation, I know it won’t travel any further. I smile up at her. “Hi, Mattie. Got something good brewing in the kitchen today?”
She casts a curious, astute look at Emily. “Yup. You want the deets, or will you trust me?”
I’m an omnivore and the food here rocks. “I trust you. Emily can make her own choices.”
Mattie’s eyes flick down to the papers under my left hand and then back to Emily. “The chef’s great if you like fusion stuff.”
“I know.” Emily’s eyes are twinkling. “He works events for me on the side. Tell Tonio I’m here and ask him to make something I’ll like, if that’s okay.”
And here I thought this was my turf.
Mattie’s full on grinning now. “Sure thing.”
Emily holds out the breadbasket to me. “He makes killer sourdough, too, and it’s still warm.”
I busy myself with bread and butter I don’t really want. Keeping my hands off of her is a lot harder than it should be. I reach for my paperwork and hand her a neatly clipped set. “This is our standard club contact for newbies.”
She takes it from me and raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t expect an actual written contract.”
“Most clubs have them. It helps keep things clear.”
“So do most wedding planners.” She’s nodding. And reading. “Why is this contract specifically for newcomers?”
I shelf my usual speech about how she needs to actually read it. Apparently this sub already knows that lesson. “The range of activities this contract covers is more limited. There are lots of options in the BDSM lifestyle, and Fettered makes space for many of them, but we take a harder line than most clubs on what people new to the lifestyle should be trying. It’s important to build skills first, and relationships. It’s not meant to be overly restrictive—many people, including me, rarely or never go further than what’s covered here.”
She looks up at me with a wry grin as she flips to page two. “We should have couples who want to get married sign something like this.”
I somehow keep getting surprised by her a sense of humor. I hope she can hold on to it. “Keep reading. I’m pretty sure you’re about to meet several clauses that will change your mind.”
She laughs.
I want to pull her into my lap, just to feel the movement of her body. The food better arrive soon. One of my appetites needs quenching or I’m going to be a complete mess.
I can see her relaxing as she finishes the first two pages on the responsibilities of Doms and subs, on safewords, on the importance of communication. I’m glad—a lot of my blood, sweat, and tears are in those words.
Page three isn’t going to relax her.
Her eyes jerk up as she gets to the list of possible areas of play. “I thought the Dom decides these things.”
No way am I letting her duck out of her responsibilities here. I don’t let any sub do that, but especially not this one. “Once you’re in a scene, yes, unless you use your safewords. But this is your chance to communicate clearly so that I know what you like, what you don’t like, what turns you on, what interests you, what scares you.”
She reads the list again, more slowly. “I don’t even know what some of these things are. And I don’t know how I feel about a lot of them.”
Standard newcomer answer, one I’ve dealt with a thousand times. I wait until she looks up at me. “First lesson—that’s not good enough. It’s my job to keep both of us safe, and I can’t do that unless you let me see and hear from you.”
I don’t need to see the list. I know it by heart. I put my finger on the first item. “You saw a woman in soft bondage last night. How did that make you feel?”
She closes her eyes, and the pink jumps back into her cheeks.
I want to put my fingers under her chin, but I won’t touch her. Not yet. “Open your eyes, Emily.”
They snap open.
“Most Doms like downcast eyes. I don’t—too much gets hidden that way.”
She nods slowly. “Okay. Do you have other expectations?”
Smart woman. I smile at her. “Page four. Let’s get through page three first. I’m not all that difficult to work with, I promise.”
She snorts and manages to make it sound ladylike.
Mattie chooses that moment to deliver two plates of fusion sandwich food from the gods. I let Emily off the hook long enough to inhale several bites of food I barely taste.
When I look back up, she’s watching me.
Chapter Thirteen
Emily
I have to tell the truth. I spent all morning before I got here telling myself that, and I’m not wimping out now. A sexy, dangerous, and very confident man wants to help me fall apart in his hands, and every cell of my body wants to let him.
My mind is another issue, but he’s wooing that with contracts and smart words and the clear, easy in
sistence that this is my choice.
I already know I can’t do it halfway.
I need to be all in with this, which means I need to let him see things I’m barely beginning to figure out. I look down at his list again, but I don’t need to—it’s seared on my brain. “I wanted to be that woman in the chair with the oil.”
Something lights up in his eyes, almost like he’s proud of me. “So light bondage interests you, arouses you.”
I can’t believe I’m talking about this over a sandwich on a Seattle sidewalk. “Yes.”
“Anything else?”
I close my eyes and then yank them back open. He’s only asked one thing of me so far, and it’s to let him see. “The other woman, the one who was being spanked. I don’t know how I feel about that, honestly, but it seemed to ground her, to help her be totally there with her Dom.”
He’s smiling at me now, pleased. “Most people new to BDSM don’t see that.”
That makes me laugh. “There are some pretty distracting things going on in your dungeon.”
He grins, takes another bite of his sandwich, and says nothing.
Waiting for my choices. “So I think that makes spanking a soft limit, right?”
He nods. “It’s one of my favorite ways to play, so if it’s on your list, even as a soft limit, we’re going to go there. Which means you need safewords that are going to be really easy for you to remember.”
I’ve seen way too many brides and grooms forget their fancy vows. I plan to stick with simple. “I like the traffic light ones.” Even in a panic, I should be able to remember green, yellow, red.
It’s not panic I feel when I think of Damon spanking me.
He’s nodding. And watching me with those eyes that see everything. “Good.”
I swallow and look back down at the list. I’m a grown-up. I can do this. I start marking off hard and soft limits, being as honest as I possibly can. I’ve Googled enough to know there are a lot of things that aren’t on this list, and I’m deeply grateful. This is stretching me more than enough.
