Derek led Sally above deck. Unlike her first time on the yacht, when it had been nighttime, the early morning sun rained down on them. The fog overhead was dissipating, although it still lingered over the water at the horizon. A slight chill hung in the air, brushing against the bare skin of her arms. She'd worn a light pair of pants and short-sleeved blouse for the day, uncertain as to what Derek had planned. Dressing for comfort, she'd forgotten about the chilly San Francisco weather and was happy to feel the sun on her skin.
Exiting the salon, he pulled her up the stairs to the second deck. Above them were the sky deck and one of three hot tubs on board. A smile ghosted across her lips, remembering the night she and Derek had shared in the hot tub.
But they weren't here for that, and as they approached the railing, it became clear their destination truly was close. They'd traveled across the gray waters to Vallejo, and were almost there, navigating the narrow channel markers to a marina.
"Wow," she said. “It’s amazing.”
Derek wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. "The gang should be waiting for us." He pulled out his phone and swiped the screen. "Yup, they're already there."
"And what exactly are we doing today?"
"Didn't I say?"
He may have said any number of things, but all she could remember was the heat of his kisses, the strike of his hand, and the ache in her butt. She rubbed her ass cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath her palm. He'd spanked her, and she'd liked it. She loved everything about it, and instead of feeling guilty about it, Derek helped her embrace the experience.
"I don't know," she admitted. "I'm still kind of in shock."
"Shock?"
"Yeah."
His brows pinched together, and the long fringes of his lashes shuttered the blue of his eyes. "Yeah?" He shook his head. “Try again, sub.”
“Excuse me?”
A frown darkened his features, making her take a tiny step back. “I accept you have reflexive speech patterns."
“Reflexive what?”
He tugged her close and kissed the top of her head. "The word 'yeah' is a reflexive word for you. It's not something you consciously think about."
What was he getting at?
"It's not an acceptable response for your Dom.”
Oh! Talk about a damn lightbulb going off. "I'm sorry, Derek. I didn't mean…”
"Try again," he schooled. "Between us, what have we decided?"
Damn! This was harder than it seemed.
"Yes, Sir?” Well, that sounded awkward.
She hadn't been raised in a household where the words 'Sir' and 'Ma'am' had been ingrained in her speech patterns.
"It sounds funny," she admitted. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude, or disrespectful, but I'm not used to that." Hell, she didn't even call her boss 'Sir.'
"Of course," he said. While his tone sounded casual, there was more layered under the surface. Disappointment maybe? It was hard to say.
"Um, Sir?” He'd asked for honest conversation. Perhaps this was one they needed to have.
He released her and turned, placing his back to the railing. The light breeze ruffled his dark hair and pressed the fabric of his shirt against his chest. He placed his hands in his pockets, and crossed one ankle over the other, seeming oblivious to his devastatingly handsome looks. A storm swirled in his eyes, the only sign he was not in fact relaxed.
Already, she'd managed to disappoint him. Knowing that crushed her.
He glanced ahead, perhaps following the progress of the yacht as it navigated the channel markers to port. What he didn't do was acknowledge her question, but then, maybe her question hadn't been clear.
"It just...it sounds funny to my ear, and it's not natural. How is this supposed to work? Am I even allowed to call you Derek anymore?" She hoped that wasn't the case. How was she to date someone she couldn't even call by name?
He tilted his head back, staring into the paleness overhead. A washed-out blue domed the sky and met a featureless gray at the horizon.
"Maybe I'm pushing too hard," he said.
She gripped his arm and paused at his power. Even in this relaxed pose, the man was an impressive force.
"I'm sorry…Sir.” It sounded forced and fake to her ears.
He tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. "We'll get there. If it's not natural, then let's not force it. Call me Derek if that's easier. I would prefer you use the title, but forcing things is only going to break us before we even begin."
"Wow," she snapped, stepping back, confused by the sudden anger heating her blood. Break them? Over not calling him Sir? The man had nerve. ”It's only been a minute. Give me time to adjust.”
He pushed off from the railing. "Watch your tone, sub.”
"Sub? You watch your tone. I'm not a damn..." Oh hell, what had been the term used on that website? Oh! "I'm not a doormat. Give me a moment to breathe before you start laying disappointment at my feet for not calling you ’Sir!’ Seriously.”
“That’s not—”
“Well, maybe you didn’t really want to know what I was thinking?"
The color drained from his face. "Sally..." he croaked. "that is not..."
"Not what? Not what you meant? Not what you felt? Not what you intended?"
The temptation to spin on her heels and make a dramatic exit occurred to her, but he would only follow. Him pursuing while she retreated was not what she wanted. Not that there was anywhere to go. She was on a yacht in the middle of the San Francisco Bay. Why was she even yelling at him?
"I asked you to be patient. I know what it means to you. I was just trying to explain why it was hard for me." Except she'd failed miserably in that task.
Derek grabbed her, pulled her close, and threaded a hand in her hair. One moment, she was yelling at him, the next he was on her, over her, everywhere around her.
She breathed in the deep rich scent of him and pushed against the hard muscles of his chest. The press of his lips against her mouth stole her breath and silenced her mind.
The kiss.
His grip in her hair.
The way he towered over her.
Intimidating and powerful, all of it combined into a heady mixture of desire, want, and need. Strange how that centered her thoughts. That brief flare of anger—and the more concerning fear ripping at the edges—it all disappeared under the heat of his kiss.
“Derek,” she said with a sigh. “I’m…”
“Shush,” he said. “This is my fault. I would never treat you like that. Never.” His grip relaxed, and he trailed his fingers through the length of her hair. “It’s been a long time since I’ve taken on someone brand new to the lifestyle. Remembering where your mind is at is a constant struggle.”
“I didn’t mean to start an argument.”
He brushed a stray strand of hair off her face and tucked it behind her ear. “My desires should not lead me, but with you…” He shook his head. “I find it hard to temper myself. Allow me to be human. I make mistakes, too.” His fingers grazed her shoulder and trailed down her arm. He cupped her hand and brought it to his chest. “Let’s drop titles for this weekend.”
“I—”
He shook his head. “This is my decision. Honor it by not arguing with me further. You’ll know when it’s time.”
She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist, and pressed her cheek to his chest. “Okay.”
“I have a surprise for you,” he said.
“Mmm. I like your surprises.” The man knew how to sweep a woman off her feet.
“Good,” he said. “Come, let’s watch the ship dock.”
He released her, and side by side, they stared over the railing as the crew managed the complicated process of bringing the hundred and fifty-foot mega-yacht to rest at dock.
The squawk of a gull pierced the air.
What would ports and docks be without the ever-present call of the sea bird? The only thing missing was the barking of seals, but they seldo
m traveled this far into the Bay.
Water lapped along the hull, a low rhythmic tapping which matched the steady lub-dub of Derek's heart. Sally leaned against him, yanked against his chest after the harshness of her words. Rather than scold her, or worse, punish, his arm bracketed her in with comforting purpose.
He pointed to the pier. Another stretch SUV limo waited for them, as did his friends. Warren and Karl leaned against the side of the car, while Justine and Ellen peered over the cement dock. Ellen's shock of red curls glowed in the morning light, whereas Justine's sleek length of midnight black absorbed the light. Tall and willowy, Ellen towered over Justine's more diminutive height.
Something in the water had caught their attention, and Ellen pointed at whatever it was with enthusiasm. Warren and Karl appeared deep in conversation, their heads practically touching as Karl pointed at the screen of his tablet. From what she knew of the two men, they could as easily have been looking up stock prices or surfing porn.
Derek's throaty chuckle had her turning her attention back to him.
"What's so funny?"
"I'm glad to see you're looking forward to spending the day with them."
"Well, to be honest, it's more Ellen and Justine. Warren and Karl intimidate me."
Derek's grin filled his face. "You have no reason to feel that way."
"But they're Doms..."
"Not yours." He brushed his lips against her cheek. "Treat them like you would anyone else."
Except they weren't anyone else. Those men embraced the same lifestyle as Derek, and she was entering this tight-knit group of friends not from a position of equality, like she would if meeting them in her professional life, but as a woman who explicitly handed power to another. Perhaps Derek didn't understand how that felt? For now, she wouldn't push the issue, but it was a lot to take in.
It took another ten minutes for the crew to maneuver Sea-duction into her berth. Derek excused himself to speak with the pilot during docking procedures, leaving her alone. Unlike her first time aboard, when she'd felt uncomfortable wandering around, she took advantage of her time without him. The first place she went was one level up, to the sky deck.
Instead of bubbling away, the hot tub's cover was firmly latched in place. Looking back out over the bay, the fog had been burned away by a brilliant sun. Puffy clouds were rolling in and dotted the sky.
Now that they were close to land again, the temperature warmed, leaving the chill of the water behind. It was going to be a perfect day to explore wine country. Derek hadn't said where they were going, but she had a few favorites she hoped to explore. For a moment, she debated telling him, but then she shook her head.
That's what she would've done with Thomas; taken control and directed their day. All the planning had always rested on her shoulders. Embrace the path! Let Derek lead. That would be her goal.
Instead of planning and controlling everything, she would step back, or perhaps she was really stepping forward. If Derek wanted to lead, if he had any surprises in store, she wanted to give him the opportunity to take charge. One day, if they made it that far, he would command everything. She squeezed her thighs together, surprised by the sudden thrill that thought had brought.
The sky deck turned out to be the perfect place to observe the docking procedures. For such a massive vessel, the crew worked seamlessly, using hand gestures more than calling out commands. She braced her forearms on the railing and marveled at their skill. Once the yacht seemed secure, she headed down in search of Derek.
Instead of finding him, Ellen called out her name from the main deck. "Sally! Where are you?"
Sally laughed and headed for the stairs leading down. She met Ellen halfway down the stairs. After a hug, Ellen grasped Sally's shoulders and leaned back as if studying her. Sally couldn’t help but do the same. Stunning didn't even begin to describe this woman. From the flawless ivory of her complexion to the wildness of her curls, beauty had been doubly graced on Warren's wife.
"Well?" Ellen demanded.
"Well, what?"
Justine appeared at the base of the stairs. Ellen’s exuberance was tempered in Justine's quiet demeanor, but even her dark eyes sparked with interest.
"Hi, Justine!"
Ellen released Sally, then gripped her hand, tugging her down the stairs. Justine embraced Sally with a more reserved hug than Ellen had given.
"Hi!" Evidently, Justine's ban on speaking had been lifted. It was nice to hear her voice. Light and lilting, it fit her perfectly.
"What did you say?" Ellen placed hand to hip, demanding an answer to whatever question was bursting to get out of her head.
“To what?" Sally teased, although she could guess what Ellen wanted to know.
"Argh!” She tossed her hands in the air, her frustration evident in her tone. "What did you say to Master Derek?"
Sally giggled. "Oh, you want to know that?"
"Yes," she exclaimed. "Red or green?”
Justine rolled her eyes. "Always with the histrionics. Sally wouldn't be here if it hadn't been green. The question you should be asking is sub or slave."
"And that is a question…” came the deep rumble of Derek's baritone, "that neither of you should be asking."
Sally jumped at Derek's sudden appearance, not having heard him approach.
Justine squeaked, placing a hand over her mouth, and practically slammed her gaze down to the teak decking. "Sorry, Master Derek."
He tsked and shook his head, pulling Sally's hand into his massive palm. Entwining his fingers with hers, he brought her fingers up to press against his lips.
"Ladies? Where are your men?"
Ellen, too, cast her gaze downward. "Waiting at the car. They asked us to collect you."
"Consider Sally and me collected." He gestured to the dock. "Lead on."
With a glance to Sally, Ellen's smile brightened her sapphire eyes, a hint of mischief in them. "Of course, Master Derek."
Ellen grabbed Justine's hand, and the two of them disembarked.
Derek led Sally, squeezing her hand briefly. "I think you're going to enjoy what I have planned."
Surprise
Everyone climbed into the SUV, taking the same positions they had that night after the ballet. Karl and Justine sat far forward. Warren and Ellen slid onto the long bench seat along the side, while Sally and Derek took the backseat. Derek gripped her hand and gave it a light squeeze.
Warren leaned back, kicked his ankle over his knee, and pulled Ellen against him. “It’s nice to see you again…” He glanced at Derek who gave a slight nod, “Miss Sally.”
The appellation didn’t go unnoticed. The one thing she’d learned about the D/s lifestyle, and protocols, was how varied they could be. Groups tended to develop unique styles, and she guessed this was the case now.
“Um…” Now was her turn to glance at Derek. “What do I call him?” she whispered.
Warren laughed.
“Relax,” Derek said. He addressed the small group. “Sally has agreed to try, but let’s keep things casual for the weekend. We’ll stick with first names, and adjust as appropriate.”
“Okay.” She bit her lower lip, appreciating the concession. Justine and Ellen called Derek, Master Derek, and she was fairly certain the same went for Karl and Warren. Eventually, she would have to do the same. Maybe one day it wouldn’t feel gut-wrenchingly awkward.
“It’s nice to see you, Warren.” She glanced at Karl. “You too, Karl.”
The Texan tipped his head, giving her a two-finger salute to his temple. “The pleasure is all ours, I assure you.” Gravelly and deep, his baritone thundered inside the car. “Has he spilled the beans yet?”
Sally gripped Derek’s hand on her knee, curling her fingers around his. “He has not,” she said with a pout. “One thing I’m learning is how much he enjoys his surprises.”
“Indeed,” Derek said. “Now, hush everyone. Don’t spoil it.”
Traffic congestion slowed their progress through Napa Valley down
to a ponderous crawl. Conversation inside the SUV began with boisterous teasing between the men and then shifted to cuddles and kisses with the women as time wore on. Derek had cautioned Sally about his friends, and now that she was 'out,' if out is what she now was, she expected major groping, and perhaps even open sex. But that didn't happen.
Warren and Karl continued to behave, satisfying themselves with nothing more than a kiss here and there. Derek remained quiet, glancing outside the window with growing impatience. He held her hand the entire time, keeping their fingers laced together. He didn't seem to want to let her go, not that there was anywhere she could go.
Finally, Warren spoke up. “Jeesh, Derek, relax! We’ll get there when we get there."
"I don't want to be late," Derek said.
"Late to what?" Her curiosity was getting the better of her, and his stoic refusal to give up his surprise was beyond frustrating. "Please..." she begged. "Tell me."
He glanced at her, his brows drawing tight together. "No."
"Ugh!" She leaned back and rested her head against the seat back. "What does it matter if you tell me now or later?"
"It matters," he said.
Despite her pestering, wearing down Derek LeMark after he'd made up his mind was a futile endeavor. He wasn't budging.
A little over an hour later, the car turned off the two-lane highway and down a private drive. As with most of Napa Valley, vineyards lined both sides of the road. Still winter, the vines had yet to leaf out. Their spindly branches clung to the posts and wire guides, while the vines stretched up, spreading outward. Silver streamers fluttered from the posts and wires. The flickering light was meant to scare birds out of the fields. Not much of a problem during the dormant winter season, but when the grapes grew on the vines, birds could be devastating to the crop. She thought the streamers looked pretty.
She loved weekend trips to wine country. George was more of a beer fan, but even he could be enticed to spend the day visiting any of the scores of wineries touting their finest vintage to locals and tourists alike. Tank liked the drives, too. The hairy Newfoundland had practically grown up in the back of a car. George took him everywhere, and most places in Napa were pet-friendly.
Becoming His, Learning to Breathe: Part Two - The Collective - Season 1, Episode 8 Page 8
