Cuff Me: A BDSM Romance

by Cate Bellerose

  Fuck.

  I tear myself away with a shrug, watching Em and the bearded guy closely. That fucker doesn’t deserve her. Obviously. Still, they’re just talking. I wouldn’t even care if it wasn’t for our argument in the office the other day.

  I don’t care what Caleb said, I don’t love her like he thinks. She’s like… a little sister.

  Wait, where are they going? Fuck, they’re going towards the play area. Yeah, this is brotherly concern. That’s it.

  “Paul, if you don’t let up on your beer glass, you’re going to break it,” Caleb notes dryly behind me. I look down to find my knuckles bright white. I force myself to relax.

  “None of my business, right?” Reluctantly, I slide back onto my stool, but I can’t keep myself from looking over my shoulder, as if I should be able to see Em and the bearded guy through the walls.

  Who the fuck am I kidding? This isn’t brotherly love. So, how the fuck is this going to work? I can’t be with her, and I’m not doing such a good fucking job of not being with her. Is Caleb right? Am I just being a goddamn coward?

  “What if I do to her what I did to Anne?”

  Caleb looks at me, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say there was sympathy in his eyes. “What exactly do you think you did to Anne, Paul?”

  “I… I tried to make her something she wasn’t.”

  “But she never told you to stop? Never brought up her problems?”

  “I should’ve seen it.” The memory of our last session together still stings. Her throwing down her collar and stomping out. The divorce papers served a week later. How could I not have seen that?

  “Fuck, Paul. You’re not superhuman, and you never will be. Now, I’ll admit it. I only heard this second hand from Eric.”

  “Fucking snitch,” I mumble.

  “Maybe. Obviously I don’t know all the details, but your ex sounds like a bitch.” He sighs at my glare. “Go ahead and take some of the blame if you want, if it makes you sleep better at night. But don’t you think that Anne needs to take her share too? For letting it get that far without even talking to you?” He takes a sip.

  “We caught up later.”

  “Sure. And from the way you’re acting I’m guessing she was holed up somewhere, a broken mess?”

  I mumble into my beer.

  “What was that?”

  Asshole. “She’s married with a couple kids.”

  “Holy shit, it really sounds like you destroyed her.”

  “Fine, I didn’t destroy her, okay? I destroyed us.”

  Caleb slams his hand so hard into the counter it makes the customers look up at him curiously. “Paul. Wake the fuck up. You got married young and drifted apart. If it wasn’t BDSM it would’ve been something else. I don’t believe for a second that if you two had a healthy relationship that it would’ve come to that, but you aren’t that guy anymore. Em is into you. She’s been trying to make you change your mind longer than I ever would have.” He shakes his head. “She’s not dumb, other than a highly questionable desire for you, apparently. I’m your friend, and I’m still having a hard time seeing why she fucking bothers.”

  I look away, but the words stab deep. “Well, she isn’t anymore, obviously.”

  He rolls his eyes. “So that’s the way it’s going to be? That’s it? You’re running away with your tail between your legs? I bet that bearded dude’s going to do her better anyway.”

  This time, when I leap off my stool, it’s right into Caleb’s face, less than an inch separating us as I grab his T-shirt in my fist and raise my other one threateningly. He doesn’t even flinch.

  He’s the wrong target. If there’s anything I need to beat down, it’s my own damn insecurities. Of course Em isn’t Anne. And I already know she isn’t afraid of getting in my face and telling me what she thinks.

  In a way that Anne never did.

  So what am I afraid of? Ghosts? My past?

  Fuck. Em is the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I threw it all away because I can't see past the damn tip of my nose. She was pretty clear about that in the office.

  I look up to find Caleb's steel-gray eyes watching me closely, measuring me. Don't know what he thinks, but I'm definitely finding myself coming up short of the man I want to be.

  “I've fucked up.”

  The corner of his mouth curls up into a crooked grin as he nods. He looks into my eyes, not letting his gaze waver a millimeter. “So what are you going to do about it?”

  17

  Paul

  As usual, the playroom is fucking packed. Where did they go? Hopefully not one of the private rooms. Gabe will have my balls on a platter if I bust into one of those while in session.

  I push my way through leather, latex and skin, hoping to catch a glimpse of them, but they’re gone. Eric and Amber are there, though, him in jeans and not much else, her in a baby doll and ropes running up and down her arms in a crosshatch pattern, securing them safely behind her back.

  I rush up to them. “Hey guys.”

  “Paul!” Eric holds out his hand while Amber smiles widely. “How are things tonight?”

  “Listen, I can’t talk. Just tell me, did you just see a gorgeous girl in a naughty goth schoolgirl outfit and a bare-chested dude with a beard walk by?” I can’t help but add, “He looked real douchey.”

  Amber laughs. “Did we ever. Eric made some comments about tying her to me and bringing us both home.”

  I’d laugh with them, but I don’t have it in me right now. “Where did they go?”

  Amber and Eric point toward the hallway with the private rooms. I was afraid of that. Eric narrows his eyes at me. “Wait a minute, that’s not your new girl, is it?”

  “Jesus Christ, doesn’t anyone around here know to keep anything to themselves? Does everyone know?”

  He grins. “Man, if you came to hang out more often instead of just poofing in to do your safety shows and then slithering back out, maybe I wouldn’t have to get my info second-hand. It’s been ages since we just sat down and chatted like friends.”

  It’s a good point. I haven’t been a good buddy, lately. There’s a pang of embarrassment and regret. I’ve been pretty preoccupied by a sexy little coworker who for some reason has refused to let me go. Until now.

  “Listen, next week, I’m totally here, all right? But right now, it’s really fucking important that I find her.”

  “She okay?”

  “Probably. But we aren’t. There’s something I need to fix.” And with that, I rush down the hall, looking at which rooms are occupied.

  Fuck. Almost all of them.

  If Gabe boots me from the club for this, I won’t blame him, but I can’t risk being too late. I have to know, and she needs to know that if she’ll have me, I’m here.

  Fuck. I’m really here.

  Drawing a deep breath, I go to the first door and pull it open. The hogtied woman whose head snaps in my direction when the door clicks open, definitely isn’t Em. And the two guys about to double end her definitely aren’t that bearded dude.

  One of them turns to me angrily. “Hey, what the fuck?”

  I hold up a hand. “Shit, sorry! Wrong room.” Then I shut the door as quickly as I can, hoping that I’m not about to trigger a long string of complaints from angry members.

  I try the next door.

  It’s barely open before I have to dodge an overripe tomato that smacks into the wall inches from my head. A man’s tied to a cross in the middle of the room, while another has a big basket of fruit, holding a plum between his fingers, poised to throw.

  He doesn’t even get the question off before I repeat my excuse from the previous room. I shut the door quickly, before moving to the next.

  Behind that door, I finally find them, though they don’t see me immediately. I freeze. Em’s on the spanking bench, her skirt flipped up, but the parts of her ass that are peeking out from underneath her panties don’t have the rosy tinge of anything yet. Her wrists are secured in the front, and her
ankles at the other end.

  She looks scared.

  The guy steps behind her with a grin I want to punch right off his damn face and raises his hand for the first spank.

  Not going to fucking happen.

  “Red!”

  I knew it.

  “Stop this shit right now,” I yell while charging forwards, launching myself at the bearded guy.

  I catch him around the waist into a full on tackle as both he and Em yell out in surprise. We roll around twice on the floor, before I end up on top of him, pinning him to the floor.

  “Paul!” A hard feminine voice behind me draws my attention. It’s Em, her eyes flashing lightning like I’ve never seen them do before. “What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Doing?” Each word comes down like a hammer.

  “I… Stopping him from hurting you.”

  “Hurting her?” The guy below me spits out the words. “She just called her safeword. I was going to unhitch her so we could figure it out. What the hell is going on? What are you doing busting in on us like this? I’m going to call for a fucking monitor.”

  “Carson here has been a perfect gentleman all evening.” If Em’s look could kill, I’d already be a smoldering wet spot on the floor. “Unlike some other people I could mention. What the hell has gotten into you? We’re done. Didn’t we already agree on that? I’m pretty sure done means not bursting into my play sessions and assaulting my partner.”

  “I…”

  “And someone get me out of this thing.”

  Carson pushes me off, and I roll off without forcing the issue. It doesn’t take long for him to have her loose.

  She gives him a weary smile. “Thank you. I’m really sorry about this, but I don’t think we’re going to work out. You’re nice, but I’m not quite ready.”

  He nods. “Sure. First times are always scary. Sorry it wasn’t right for you.” He looks at me with open disdain. “I’m getting the feeling there’s something going on here with you two. Do you want me to call in one of the monitors or walk you someplace public?”

  She looks at me like she’s really considering it, but shakes her head. “No, he and I apparently need to talk. Listen, do you mind leaving us alone in here? I might be about to commit murder, and I’d hate for you to have to be called in as a witness.” The tone of her voice is casual, almost friendly, but there’s an edge of steel underneath that has him looking at me with a little pity.

  I sigh. “I’ll be fine, if that’s what you’re worried about. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for crashing your party. I shouldn’t have.”

  “You damn right you shouldn’t have, you… you jerk!” Em puts her hands on her hips and glares at me.

  “You’re sure you’re fine here with him?” Carson looks back and forth between us with concern. “I could stay.”

  She shakes her head. “No. Paul’s a fucking idiot, but he’s not going to hurt me.”

  He nods. “All right. If you’re sure.” With a suspicious glance behind him, he leaves and closes the door behind him.

  As soon as he’s gone, Em steps up and slaps me. Right on the cheek. It smarts, but it’s nothing less than I deserve. “Em, I’m—”

  “Shut up. Just… shut up.” If she were any angrier, there’d be steam shooting out of her ears. “What are you doing, Paul?”

  “I—”

  “Rhetorical question! Shut up. I don’t get you. All this time, you’ve pushed me away. I finally agree, and you come bursting in here like some sort of caveman. I could arrest you for assault, you know. It’d be freaking awkward, but you’ve earned it tonight.”

  “Em, I’m sorry, I just thought—”

  “Just thought what? We’re not a thing anymore, right? As much as we ever were. You have to make up your mind. Either you don’t want me, and you leave me the hell alone. Or you do, and go cry in the bar, because you already blew that chance.”

  “I’ve fucked up.”

  She nods. “You can say that again. Over and over. Alone in this room, because I’m leaving.”

  “No, wait! I mean, not now. Well, definitely now, but all of it. I should never have let you go. I should never have…”

  “It’s too late, Paul. The funny thing? I was ready to give you another chance. If you’d tried in, you know, some way that wasn’t crazy. But now? I’d stay away from my desk for a while. Just saying.”

  “Isn’t there any way—”

  Her lips thin and she shakes her head. “Not tonight, no. Ask me again when I’ve calmed down.”

  And with that, she turns and leaves the room, slamming the door loudly behind her.

  18

  Emily

  “My God, Franco's has the best calzones!” Ramirez digs into his, dripping a goopy mess of marinara sauce and melted mozzarella onto the wax paper he's using for his plate. “I'm telling you guys, we should go there more often.” Kent only nods while tearing into his.

  Me, I'm kind of pushing mine around on my desk, tearing off a small bit of crust to chew on. It's not that it's not a good change from tacos. Ramirez is right about Franco's, but I still don't feel good about the other day, and my argument with Paul.

  And by not good, I mean I’m still pretty pissed off.

  I glance over at his office, but the door's shut and the lights are out. He’s barely said two words to me since the night at the club, and he jumps at any chance to get out of the office.

  I got what I wanted. Sort of. At first I figured after the way he chased me down, he’d come after me, but it seems pretty obvious now that we’re over before we ever really began.

  So we’re done. I shouldn’t be staring longingly at his empty office. Or letting my finger hover over his contact in my phone. Crap, if I don't do something, I'm going to forget why trying again isn’t good for either of us.

  Not for the first time this week, I consider getting a transfer. It's not like there aren't other departments needing people.

  “Hey, Em, you okay?” Ramirez looks my way. Or maybe it's just my calzone he's eyeing, since his appears to be gone already. “You've hardly touched your lunch. You're not going all dainty and ladylike on us, are you?”

  Despite my morose mood, I can't help smiling at him. He's a good guy, and I'd hate to have leave him and Kent behind just because I can't get Paul out of my head. Even Johnson is starting to grow on me, and Captain Fowler, if she doesn't hang around too much.

  “Hardly.” I stick my tongue at him to make a point. “Just my stomach not agreeing with me today.”

  “I knew those gyros we had yesterday tasted funny.” Kent looks up from the remains of his lunch. “Didn't I say they tasted funny?”

  Ramirez shrugs. “I feel fine.”

  I roll my eyes and force myself to take a real bite while ignoring them. Once they get going, they won't shut up for a while, and I'm not in the mood to get drawn into their word play today.

  Eventually I make my way through half and wrap up what's left. It'll make good leftovers tonight. I don't think I'll feel like cooking, anyway.

  I pull open my drawer, expecting there to be room. Instead, there's a box I don't recognize filling up the space. Narrow and rectangular, it’s covered in velvet with silver trim, and on top is a simple note in block letters, “Open privately.”

  What the hell?

  Looking up, I glance at the guys, but they're wrapped up in a discussion about football vs. soccer and rates of head injuries. Apparently they both rate high, but more importantly, the guys aren’t looking my way. I'm way too curious to let this sit.

  Pushing carefully back from my desk, I pull the box out and slip it into my lap so what I'm doing is hidden. Then I tug the lid off the box.

  I have to force back a gasp. Inside is a flogger, cushioned on white satin. Dark blue and violet leather strands entwine with purely black ones, connected to a handle wrapped in more of the same color leather. At the end of the handle, a silvery metal bolt keeps everything together, with what looks like a sapphire mounted in it. I assume that's just colore
d glass, right? If not, it's the most unique piece of jewelry anyone has ever given me.

  Whoever that someone is.

  I glance at the others, who aren't looking my way at all, then at Paul's office again. He's the only one who knows that I've been to the club and has access to my desk.

  But I don't understand. He’s not even talking to me.

  The temptation to take the flogger out and look at it more closely is strong, but there's no way I could do that without drawing attention to myself. Instead, I run my fingers along the handle and down along the tails. Soft, but made to sting. I close my eyes and let a shudder race down my back.

  Why is he doing this to me?

  My fingers catch on something pointed. A folded piece of paper. I unfold it, finding more words in the same blocky handwriting.

  Friday night 8pm.

  Play area.

  Please.

  -P

  I blink, then read it again. This is so out of character for him. Is this a prank? That doesn’t seem like something he’d do, but neither does this.

  Please.

  I'd be an idiot to go. Even if his intentions are good, he’d probably just be playing with my emotions before running away again. I'll just be pulling off the Band-Aid slowly instead of ripping it off. Which I'm obviously doing such a great job of. Paul and I can’t keep going on like this.

  Still, obviously he's got something in mind. So if I go, maybe we can get some sort of final resolution to this.

  You know, like the last time since that worked so well.

  It's stupid, but I've already decided. Even I know that. Besides, what could it hurt?

  Other than my heart.

  19

  Emily

  Is this really a good idea?

  Around me, the dance floor is a constant swirl of moving bodies, my own among them. Part of me just wants to dance for a while and forget the mess that my emotional life has become. The rest of me is screwing up my courage to continue into the play area.