by Liz Durano
And definitely not over a woman.
“And you think this would get him off your case? What if it doesn’t?”
“If he values his nonprofit, he’ll know not to bark up the wrong tree. Just make sure my name isn’t attached anywhere,” I said through gritted teeth as Margie chuckled. “What the hell is so funny?”
“Nothing. She must be special, this girl.”
I almost said no. It had nothing to do with Sharon being special. She was, but not in the way that Margie would have appreciated. My oldest sister was as straitlaced as they came. She wouldn’t understand what drove someone like Sharon to like the things she liked done to her behind closed doors…or me for enjoying doing them to her. But even I had my limits.
I’d read the restraining order Kristen had forwarded to me. Sebastian had chained Sharon to the bed like an animal all because some guy looked at her funny at a concert. The mark around her ankle made sense now. He’d scarred her. The guy was a control freak and there was no way he’d take her no for anything but a yes. I saw it at the restaurant. This also wasn’t just about her. It was about my projects in the region–and my reputation.
“Whether she’s special or not is not the point, Margie, unless you don’t mind seeing your baby brother’s name dragged in the media,” I said. “Who knows? Maybe they’ll find out about Westonwood and–”
“I’ll do it, Jonny. Don’t worry,” Margie said, pausing. “He won’t even know what hit him.”
I thanked her, said goodbye and hung up. I could always count on Margie. That’s what family was for, no matter how messed up we were. And if there was one thing Sebastian would learn about stepping into someone else’s parking lot: No one fucked with the Drazens.
Chapter Eight
Sharon
I could have taken the cab back to the apartment the next morning, but Jonathan insisted on driving me home on the way to his office. In the car, he talked about his meetings with developers and lawyers, and one with an advocacy group that was giving him trouble. Suddenly, I remembered Sebastian’s text messages. Was the asshole causing problems? I hoped not though I wouldn’t put it past Sebastian to do just that. Twenty minutes later and with three more blocks to go before we’d turn onto my street, Jonathan changed the subject.
“I’d like to see you tonight, but I’ve got a meeting at 6:30 and I don’t know what time I’ll get done.”
“Just text me and we can figure things out from there.”
His expression grew serious. “What about the bruises? Are you going to be okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” I said before catching the uncertain expression on his face. “Jonathan, it’s okay. It’s par for the course. What matters is that we both enjoyed it. Otherwise, I would have told you to stop.”
He cocked his head as he looked at me. “Is vanilla really your safe word? Somehow, I don’t buy it. But I have to admit that it was a good reminder of what I didn’t want with you.”
“And there you go. It worked,” I said, chuckling. “I didn’t need to use it anyway. You were perfect.”
He made a left turn at an intersection, his attention on the road. “So, what is your safe word? The real one this time.”
“Indiana.”
“The state or the movie?”
“Indiana Jones, of course,” I said, smiling. “You do know who he was really named after, right? It wasn’t the state.”
Jonathan grinned. “Nope. His dad named him after the family dog.”
As he turned the car onto my street, I had to admit that as much as I enjoyed seeing the Dominant in him, I also liked to see him smile and hear him laugh. It made me believe I was giving him something he needed outside of the bedroom, something normal. I didn’t have much to offer in the way of intelligent conversation, but if he was okay having me the way I was, then we could probably work out even if it was only whenever he was in town. Besides, I liked Jonathan. I wanted more of his presence, his laughter, his intelligence.
I also wanted the feel of his hand on my skin, punishing me again.
Jonathan texted me at noon while I was looking at apartments in the Mission District. The area wasn’t on the top of my list of places to live, but Lacey had gotten some appointments set up and it was too late to cancel.
– What are you doing? –
– Looking at apartments. –
– Where? –
– Mission District. –
He didn’t respond right away which worked out because Lacey and I were done looking at the apartment on 18th and needed to hurry to the next one four blocks away. Our plan then was to check out the vintage shops on our way back to the car. Five minutes later, my phone blooped.
– Where exactly are you looking? What streets? –
His question made sense. Lacey’s apartment wasn’t exactly located in the better parts of the Mission District. I didn’t even let him come up to the apartment to pick me up the first time he took me out to dinner or he dropped me off. I didn’t want to chance a mugging.
– On Valencia between 23rd and 24th. It’s a bit on the hipster side. –
– You’re not a hipster. –
He sure was right about that.
– I know but the rents are reasonable. –
– What’s your budget? –
I hated having him wait for a reply but Lacey and I were in a hurry and I didn’t want to crash into anyone on the busy sidewalk while formulating my answer. I also didn’t want to talk about money, not with someone like Jonathan who didn’t have to worry about coming up with the rent for the coming month or year. While I earned a good living as a catalog model, it wasn’t a regular nine to five job. Some weeks I could have back-to-back modeling shoots which were good for my bank account, while other weeks, I wouldn’t have a single paying gig. There was also my lifestyle. Bruises didn’t look good on a model’s contact sheets.
As Lacey beckoned for me to hurry up, I knew I still had to answer Jonathan’s question, no matter how uncomfortable it made me feel.
– Under 1.5k? –
As embarrassed as I was to quote such a low rent budget, Jonathan was acting like a Dominant would, and it was something I was used to. Besides, I couldn’t crash on Lacey’s couch forever.
Other than my manager calling me about two modeling gigs the following week, my phone was quiet for the rest of the afternoon as I spent the time with Lacey. She and I met in college when I answered her ad for a roommate. She was on her third year of nursing while I was just starting out with my general education units. Two months later, a modeling scout discovered me on campus and I started working full-time a month later. By then, I’d moved out of Lacey’s apartment although we remained good friends. Unfortunately, I couldn’t maintain my GPA, not when I kept missing classes because I had to travel a lot for my modeling shoots. For a time, I was based in LA where I met Debbie, but always kept San Francisco as my home base.
I loved what I did. I loved traveling to exotic places and wearing beautiful clothes. I wasn’t too thrilled about the men I met while on the job. Some days, I felt like a glorified hooker with a much better wardrobe and a well-stamped passport. It was chaotic.
Discovering the kink scene changed everything. There were protocols in place that resonated with me. Dominants who set the rules were exactly what I needed–until they weren’t. Unfortunately, I kept attracting the wrong kind of men, the ones who ignored my safe word and my boundaries.
Lacey had been there for me every time a relationship went sour and she mostly kept her thoughts to herself. She finally drew the line with the bruises, the ones from men who went too far like Sebastian. In the three weeks since I’d crashed on her couch, she worried that he would track me down and hurt me. Now, she worried about Jonathan.
“Are you sure he’s okay? That he won’t hurt you? I don’t care how rich he is. I hear they’re even more kinky than the rest of them,” she said while we were checking out a vintage shop on the way back to the car. Her tastes were eclectic, and
she went crazy over anything retro. Stepping into her apartment was like stepping back into the 50’s.
“We’re still getting to know each other.”
“Yeah, but you spent the night with him on the second date.”
I shrugged. “I like him. He’s actually nice.”
She gave me a look through her thick-rimmed glasses. “Don’t forget—you liked Sebastian, too. And he hasn’t given up, you know. He showed up at the hospital the other day asking about you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, right. He can keep asking.”
“That’s what I told him. That guy’s not going to give up, Sharon. You’ll probably need to have a different name on your lease in case he pokes around. I’m sure his nonprofit can find out where you live if he really wanted to.”
I sighed. “I’ll figure something out.”
“That man has control issues,” Lacey said, shaking her head disapprovingly. Then she laughed. “You know what you need, though? That guy who dropped you off this morning. Damn, if I had your looks and your figure, I would totally sleep with him on our second date, too…even the first date if he’d say yes. He was, like, hot.”
I found myself blushing, remembering how Jonathan had held me after our scene was over, apologizing for hitting me too hard. He worried about the bruising and the pain I’d be feeling in the next few days while he was out of the country. But if Jonathan knew me better, he’d realize he didn’t have to apologize for anything. I’d counted eight strokes. Hard strokes. Perfect strokes.
When everything was over, it brought clarity and a certain calm I could never explain to anyone. This was the reason Debbie had paired us together. Jonathan was a natural Dominant. He just had to find it again and claim it.
Master it.
Chapter Nine
Jonathan
– Be ready at eight. –
– Yes, Sir. What would you like me to wear? –
What if I told her to step out of the house naked? Would Sharon do it? Would I let her? I stared at my phone for a few seconds before I typed my reply.
– Wear something to match your eyes. –
– Underwear? –
– Your call. –
– Thank you, Sir. I’ll be by the front door at eight. –
It felt strange to have someone so compliant–too compliant–but I figured it was part of the arrangement. All I’d ever known were Jessica’s rejections of every one of my requests that it was like I was caught in someone’s twisted idea of a Pavlovian experiment. At the sound of the bell, I’d expect rejection to every one of my demands.
I’d become a broken record, constantly replaying Jessica’s words and remembering how she’d look at me with shock and horror after every request. I needed to snap out of it and if I had to fuck every woman within a ten-mile radius just to get Jessica out of my system, I would. But of course, I wouldn’t. Not anymore.
I already had one, and she happened to be a submissive.
My submissive.
Sharon was ready at eight, standing by the door of her friend’s apartment building. I stopped long enough to double-park, open the door for her and get back behind the wheel. It had been like that since the first time I took her out to dinner and it just wasn’t my style. But Sharon had insisted, saying she lived north of 18th Street in the Mission District and she didn’t want me parking a few blocks away only to get mugged just to prove to her that I was a gentleman. Still, if we were to see each other every time I was in town, we had to talk about her living arrangements.
Sharon wore a teal dress this time with a short pencil skirt and stilettos that could substitute as deadly weapons. She looked beautiful, out of place in an area of San Francisco known to be more bohemian. She needed to live somewhere else, somewhere that would suit her better than where she’d been crashing for the last three weeks. I couldn’t stop staring at her gorgeous legs and imagining them parted for me, my fingers in her pussy teasing her to the brink of orgasm only to deny her release until I said so. But first, I had something more important in mind.
“I hope you’re hungry,” I said as I eased the car into traffic.
“I am.”
“Good,” I said, my gaze drifting down to her breasts before I tore my gaze away and focused on the road. I’d have time to play with her tits later. It was a short drive to the Embarcadero and as I drove past the restaurants and into the underground parking garage of a high-rise building, I caught her perplexed look.
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
We entered the sparse lobby decorated in dark woods and chrome, with an Italian stone tile floor. I nodded to the doorman as we walked in and had her sign in the ledger before making our way upstairs to the 12th floor.
The condo was spacious and could fit up to four people. Right now, it was going to be for two people whenever I was in town and one when I wasn’t. The place was impeccably clean, every inch made of glass and steel. A leather sectional sofa was arranged in the living room before a teak coffee table. Mirrors and chrome were everywhere.
“Is this where you live?” Sharon asked as she stepped inside.
“No.”
She frowned. “So why are we here? Who owns it?”
“I do,” I replied.
“You own the apartment?”
“I own the building.” If Sharon was surprised, she didn’t let on. “Go look around. The view from the balcony is amazing.”
She went straight to the balcony overlooking Rincon Park with Cupid’s Span, a sculpture depicting a partial bow and a 60-foot tall piece of an arrow rising from the ground. Behind it was the Bay Bridge.
“You’re right. It is an amazing view,” she said as I stood a few feet behind her.
“It sure is. I especially like her ass.”
She turned her head to look behind her and smiled. “Thank you, Sir.”
“You’re welcome,” I said just as someone knocked on the door. “Stay here. I’ll get that.”
We could have gone out to dinner to one of the many places in the area but I’d been working all day and now, all I wanted was this—to be somewhere private and just be myself—with dinner delivered to my door.
“French-Vietnamese food okay?” I asked as I shut the door behind me and brought two baskets into the dining room. Sharon walked back into the apartment.
“Whatever you like, I’m fine with it, Sir.”
I looked at her sternly. “Sharon, we’re not in a scene right now. Call me Jonathan.”
“Yes, Jonathan.”
“So, is French-Vietnamese food okay?” I asked again.
“It’s perfect.”
“Why don’t we eat here?” I said, setting the baskets on the floor by the coffee table as Sharon went to the kitchen and returned with plates and silverware. The basket yielded a bottle of wine and while I opened it, Sharon set the warm food on the table, careful not to damage the finish by putting down place mats first. I liked how she was neat and tidy, careful with her movements. I liked how the informal arrangement and the spontaneous decision to have dinner in here instead of a restaurant seemed to disarm her. True, she was my submissive, but I preferred that dynamic in the bedroom until I’d become more confident. Right now, I just wanted to eat.
An hour later, with most of the food eaten and the rest put away in the empty refrigerator and the dishes stacked in the dishwasher, it was time to talk. It was interesting to see Sharon’s behavior shift the moment I changed my tone. She went from normal to submissive in a blink of an eye. They were subtle changes but they were there. One day I’d be comfortable with it but for now, I needed to figure out what the hell I was doing.
It had grown too chilly to stand on the balcony but not by the glass doors. As Sharon admired the view of the Bay Bridge, I stood behind her and brought my arms around her waist. I inhaled the scent of her hair, of neroli and jasmine. I felt my cock stir as she took a deep breath and sighed, her backside rubbing against the front of my pants. I took
hold of her skirt and pulled, raising the hem higher above her thighs and bunching it around her hips. I could see her skin red from my hand the night before and knew she was probably still too sensitive for another round. But I had other ideas. Her ass wasn’t the only thing I could play with.
My hand drifted between her legs and encountered the soft lace of her underwear. I felt her wetness through the fabric. I nudged her legs apart with my foot.
“May I call you Sir?” she asked.
“Yes, you may. Now put your hands on the glass…above your head,” I murmured, unbuttoning her top and pushing it aside. Her nipples hardened instantly, pebbling between my fingers.
“Sir, people will see–”
“No, they won’t. It’s tinted. You can see out but they can’t see inside.” With the only light coming from a lamp behind us, even if someone could see something, they wouldn’t see much. They’d also have to have wings.
I lowered one hand to her pussy, rubbing her through her panties. Fuck, she was so wet. I pushed the lace aside and circled her clit with my finger. She leaned her head back against my shoulder, her chest heaving as her breaths grew shorter. I slid one finger inside her and then another, feeling her pussy clench around me. Her thighs quivered as I wrapped my other hand in front of her neck, feeling her pulse throb under my fingers. The power she granted me was intoxicating. It felt so right, so perfect.
“Sir…” she moaned.
Her breasts pressed against the glass as I pushed her forward, my hand pinned between her body and the window. “Don’t come until I tell you,” I said in her ear. She was dripping in my palm, my fingers finding that spot that made her beg for release. But I didn’t want her to come. Not yet. I withdrew my hand and pulled her back, slipping my fingers between her lips. “Suck it.”
Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked hungrily, tasting herself on my fingers. She was putty in my hands, willing and compliant.
“Tell me what you want.”
