Lisette shifted on the wooden chair, watching the café patrons come and go with the late morning crowd. No matter how she sat, nothing was comfortable, and Mathieu hadn’t even spanked her the night before. The only marks on her body were a few scrape marks on her wrist that another person would never notice. But she did. Every movement she made reminded her that last night, Mathieu had shared the same bed with her.
She’d slept platonically with people, male and female, but she’d never had the kind of emotional baggage she had with Mathieu with them. Their chemistry and history were different.
The feelings he’d stirred up during their play hadn’t subsided. If anything, she felt more conflicted about the orgasm. Was it wrong? Had he over-stepped the boundaries he’d put in place? Was the orgasm really the problem?
For a few moments during their play, she’d fallen headlong into the belief that it was real. That Mathieu’s cock was inside of her, and it had changed her ability to deal with their relationship objectively.
She’d developed an emotional attachment he did not reciprocate.
The pieces clicked together in her brain and her fingers itched. The old driving desire to capture raw thoughts on paper she hadn’t felt since pre-Seth pushed her. She pulled her laptop toward her and placed the now empty plate on the table next to her.
Speaking from a psychological standpoint, it was understandable that the emotions would happen on her side. Orgasms released a bonding hormone into the body, which completely screwed up her ability to hold back with her old love. The problem wasn’t solved, it was just a little clearer.
Lisette brought up a blank document. This was for her—the first draft always was. She’d write and rewrite it to remove the personal context, filter out what she didn’t want captured for the public eye. But right now, she was raw.
Hello Kinksters,
I want to talk about something many of us do regularly. With many people.
Playing.
I know we’ve discussed play from many angles, and for some of you this might be a dead, tenderized and barbecued horse. Hang with me, because chances are you or a partner of yours has felt this way.
Many of us came into kink with expectations from porn or fiction that painted an unrealistic view of BDSM. Be that the latex-wearing Dominatrix or the idea there is “one true way” or even that there is a Prince Charming of Dominants out there waiting for us. For me, I came into kink with a romanticized view of what would happen between my partner and I when I consented to his touch. His play. I learned pretty quickly that was unrealistic, and I’m glad I did. But sometimes I still want that romance.
There’s something downright magical that happens when you play with someone you love. Especially a person who knows your body intimately. The reactions. How you respond. The emotional attachment between partners can heighten the power exchange and even add a new element to the play.
I’m probably waxing philosophic about this. It’s been a long time since I’ve played and before my relationship bungling, I was a serial monogamist. I like relationships. I like being with one person. I think that’s what I’m craving and desiring to the point that play without the romance, without the emotions or relationship, is giving me a rash. Okay, not a real rash, but it chafes.
Now, for the newer crowd, especially those who have joined us since the popularity of BDSM romance novels, I want to talk first to you guys about a practice that most novels don’t show. That’s the relationship dynamic of the platonic play partners. I’ve chatted with many of you who feel that the intensity of kink should only happen between lovers, and I will continue to respectfully disagree. As much as that is my preferred dynamic, I have almost always continued to play with people, non-sexually, apart from my Dominant. Some people need things their primary partner cannot give them and others simply haven’t met their forever partner(s).
To this end, many of us have play partners where we share the scene only. We may have fond feelings toward our partner, but emotions don’t, or shouldn’t, play a role in the dynamic. It’s that idea of play without the romance that’s bugging me.
I think it’s more than that which is bugging me. It’s a question I don’t really want to ask myself.
Do we ever have play without the entanglement of feelings?
I’ve been very open and honest about where I am recently and I think this has opened the floodgates. There is someone in my life helping me retake my kinky swagger, but it’s not a perfect process. There are bumps along the way, and I’m finding that the difficulty lies in my emotional attachment to my partner. I might be developing feelings which he does not reciprocate. We have amazing chemistry, he’s talented with a flogger, inventive and has introduced me to rope, which I very well might be developing a thing for. I have these rope burns on my wrist that are just sexy, and another time I’ll have to blog on how rope tweaks sensory perception.
((Note to self, take picture of wrist.))
Playing without the romance happens every day in the kink world. Someone needs a good caning, or they want to experience fire play, so they find someone who is good at those things and things progress. [[For new readers, please see the FAQ for The Progress of Play.]] I can’t think of a time when I didn’t like my play partner. Honestly, I wouldn’t play with someone I didn’t at least like because it’s a factor in the basic make-up of my ability to trust another person.
One of the alluring things for a person on the bottom side of the slash is the emotional high we get from subspace. The way it makes us feel is a powerful thing to control. Those emotions can often become something we don’t direct, and as a result, we can become emotionally attached to someone who doesn’t feel the same as we do.
((Getting off track, go back to the play without romance topic))
There is a vulnerability that comes with being the only person in a relationship dynamic who has feelings for the other.
((No, go somewhere else with the topic.))
Play without romance. Where does that take us? It should be a lot like a doctor’s visit. You schedule your play time. Everyone shows up. There’s a little chatting, a little setting up. You play. Hopefully it’s everything you negotiated and completely rocks your world. When you’re done there’s some aftercare. And then everyone goes on their merry way, closing the book on the whole thing.
It’s play for a purpose. There’s nothing wrong with it.
But what if you want the romance? What if that’s your problem all along? You want to feel loved and cherished and special?
Lisette shook her head. This wasn’t going anywhere good. She held down the Ctrl key, clicked A and pressed the Backspace button. The document blinked back to the pristine expanse of white she’d begun with. She picked her hands off the keyboard and stared at the screen, still seeing those last three questions.
She wanted the romance, and she wanted it with Mathieu, but there was a problem with this. A huge, glaring one that she already knew about. She’d walked into this play relationship knowing the issue.
Until he let go of the hurt his ex-wife had done to him and chose to be open to new possibilities, he could never love her—not the way she wanted to love him. It wasn’t about the orgasm; it was about realizing she’d lied to herself and him when she said they could play together and nothing would come of it.
chapter Eleven
Uncertainty
Mathieu watched a teenage suspect leave interrogation, his mother on one side, a lawyer on the other. He hated cases with kids. It didn’t matter if they were victims or perpetrators. Kids should be out having fun, not assaulting elderly women and stealing from them.
He flipped the file closed and picked up his things. The case was straightforward, but the lawyer would make them fight for every inch. It made him feel old and weary. He’d begun this job as a way of making the world a better place. And some people were determined to keep some corners as rotten as possible.
On his way back to his desk, h
is phone vibrated. He paused to dig it out of his pocket, brows lifting when he glimpsed Amber’s name.
“Tell me you have some good news,” he said.
“If you’re looking for potential pegs for your conspiracy theory case, yes.” And yet Amber’s tone was sad.
“What is it?”
She blew out a breath. “Another dead woman.”
“I’ll be over in a minute.”
He hung up the call as he stepped through the doorway into his office. A uniformed woman with her hair in a tight bun leaned against his desk.
Odalia glanced up from her phone. “There you are.”
“Hey, what are you doing on this side?” He slid the file into his active cases bin and scooted around her to drop into his chair. As much as he wanted to rush over and see what Amber had to show him that would make Odalia suspicious. He wasn’t ready to admit to his extracurricular activities yet.
“Seeing what you’re up to. Had to bring a guy in. You going for lunch soon?” She slid her phone into her pocket, one corner of her mouth curling up in a smile he didn’t think had anything to do with sandwiches.
“I need to run a file over for analysis. Meet me out front in thirty?”
“Sure.” She straightened and her gaze narrowed. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” He swallowed the instinctive, Why?
“Okay. You just seem more relaxed or something. I like it.” Her smile spread. “See you in a few.”
Mathieu waited until Odalia rounded the corner before grabbing an empty folder and tucking it under his arm. Hiding his investigation from Odalia ate at him, but this was becoming too real. If this was Seth, he was escalating. Or maybe Lisette was just the victim who got away.
He headed to the other side of the building and tapped on the door with Amber’s name scrawled on it.
“Come in,” she called, glancing up as he entered. “Oh hey.” She reached for a pile of papers on the corner of her desk. “Here.”
Mathieu accepted the papers and leaned against the corner of her desk while she propped her chin up on her fists. He flipped through the images, steeling himself for the brutality done to a middle-aged woman.
“Looks like they used some sort of object to make these puncture wounds.” He tapped the image.
“They’re still looking for the murder weapon, but it looks like an ice pick or something to me.” Amber scraped her hair up into a tail and grabbed an elastic band on the desk.
“My guy hasn’t used an object yet, unless it was something on hand, spur of the moment.”
“So hands-on, you think?” She scrawled the words down on a sticky note, no doubt adding it to her analysis.
“I think so, but let’s not eliminate this one yet.” He scanned the paperwork, but couldn’t shake the feeling that this suspect wasn’t his guy.
“How’s the investigation coming?”
“Nothing new, unfortunately.” Just the sweet sounds of Lisette orgasming in his bed, wearing his ropes. Was that the change Odalia had seen in him?
“I hope you catch him.”
“Me, too.” He sighed and straightened the papers. “It’s not my guy. I don’t know if I should be relieved or disappointed.”
“I understand.” She accepted the documents and laid them in front of her. “We don’t like to see anyone hurt, much less killed, but it would be easier on us if he was your suspect because then we take out one person, and we take out a lot of crime.”
Mathieu blinked at her. “Yes.”
“I get it—”
His phone rang, breaking the conversation.
“Sorry. One second.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Damn. I need to take this. Later?”
“Sure.” She waved him out of the office.
“Hey, Ma,” he said into the phone.
“Is that the voice of my son? I can’t remember what he sounds like. Is my son around there?” His mother’s voice rang with laughter and warmth. It was near impossible to not smile when speaking to her.
“I know I haven’t called you lately.” He headed toward the front of the building to meet Odalia. Though he should have called his parents, he couldn’t feel too bad, not when he’d had Lisette underfoot.
“Boy, you aren’t sorry. You’re sorry you got caught.”
“You’re right, Mamma.” His grin spread and he chuckled. “How are you and dad?”
“Alive.”
“Good to hear. I like you that way.”
“I just called to tell you we are having dinner this weekend, and I expect you to be there.”
Mathieu hesitated. “I don’t know, Mamma. I have a guest…”
“That girl Lola said you’re helping?”
He paused, not sure how to respond. What exactly had his sister told them? How much did they know?
“Mathieu? Are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here. I didn’t know Lola had told you.”
“Of course she told me. She tells me everything. My baby girl knows how to call her mamma.”
“I know, I know, I’m sorry.”
“You going to bring this girl to dinner?”
“I—don’t know.” Who was he concerned about surviving the evening? Lisette? Or him? The moment his family saw her again, they’d remember meeting her. Then it would be a whole other world of complications.
Possibly one of the biggest betrayals about Amanda was that in the beginning she’d charmed his family into loving her as much as he did. They’d seen through it after the newness wore off. It had taken him longer to accept it. He didn’t want his family hurt again by his indiscretions.
“Does she have something against good food?” Mamma asked.
“No, but…”
“Don’t ‘but’ me. Bring her to dinner if you aren’t done with this problem. Girl could probably use a home-cooked meal. I’ve seen what you keep in your pantry and it ain’t much.”
When was the last time he’d gone to the store? Come to think of it, where was the food Lisette had been cooking coming from? He hadn’t bought sausage in ages.
“I’ll talk to her about it, how about that?”
“You do that and I’ll make sure we have another place at the table, honey.”
He wasn’t going to get to tell his mother no. There were still several days between now and the weekend; maybe something else would happen and it wouldn’t be an issue.
They spoke for a few more minutes before hanging up the phone. He pushed the glass door to the precinct open and stepped out into the weak sunshine.
“There you are. I thought I’d have to send out a search party.” Odalia rose from a bench. “Food?”
“Yes.” One problem at a time.
Lisette closed the document window and stretched her arms. A glance at the clock told her the noon rush would begin any moment and with that came butterflies.
Lafayette was meeting her for lunch.
In a way, their chance meeting made today’s get-together worse.
If he even shows up.
It was amazing what a difference one day made. Before now, she’d have been totally fine without any contact with her biological family. Now, the muscles in her hands wavered, her stomach was a riot of nerves and she couldn’t keep her foot from bouncing to save her life.
He’s going to show up.
She’d chosen to sit in the same seat as the day before, in part because the location worked for her and also because it was about as private as they could get in the café.
The door chimed and the first wave of business people out for a hurried bite to eat rushed in. She leaned on the table and watched the door.
The minutes ticked by, and still no Lafayette.
She picked up her phone and opened the texts.
Nothing new.
A few lunch goers sat at the end of her row of four-tops. The door swung back and forth as people came and went.
“Hey. Looking for me?” a voic
e said behind her.
Lisette twisted in her seat and gaped up at the blonde man leaning on the low wall to her back.
“When did you get here?” she asked. How’d she missed that?
He pointed toward the back of the café. “I came in the side entrance. Have you eaten yet?”
“No, I was waiting on you.” She couldn’t help it. She grinned at him.
He tapped her nose in a quick move of his hand. She’d hated when he did that as a kid, but now she didn’t care so much. They were together.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Surprise me.” She could probably eat napkins and be happy right now.
“Okay, you asked for it.” He flashed a smile and turned to get into line.
Lisette pulled her gaze away from him, still marveling that her brother, of all people, was actually someone she could get along with. She packed up her laptop, the unfinished blog post still to tackle, but later. For now, she was going to have a little quality time with her brother.
Lafayette rounded the wall with a tray loaded down with two meals and cups. Her stomach rumbled, voicing its protest now that her head wasn’t buried in the heavy, emotional business of her life.
“I went safe—ham, swiss and pesto with a side of whatever else you might want on it.” He set the tray down, and true to his words, two sandwiches were wrapped up on one side and in the middle were the makings of a salad.
“Thanks.”
“What do you want to drink?” he asked.
“Water would be great.” She was not used to the humidity, and as a result she’d been sucking down water like crazy. There was a huge difference between Miami and New Orleans humidity. In Miami, you had the sea salt. Here in New Orleans, the air was heavier, perfumed by the bayou. If she hadn’t grown up here, she might not have been able to tell the difference.
He returned with both cups full and set one in front of her. They began unfolding and dressing their sandwiches to taste. Her knee began to bob again. What did she say to him? How did they go about this normal stuff?
DutyBoundARe Page 13
