by Jessi Bond
She was shaking all over, like a leaf, aching and needy, wanting and ashamed with herself for wanting. I could have ignored her question, I could have commanded her to be silent. But she deserved an answer. Even if it spoiled everything between us. Even if it meant this would be our last time together.
Slowly, I reached up and undid the blindfold.
She blinked rapidly, staring into my eyes, just inches away, before whipping her head around to survey the rest of the room.
Empty. We were alone.
Her lips moved a few times, silently. Then she found her voice.
“You...”
“I couldn’t bear to let them touch you,” I confessed, with a small smile.
For a moment she was frozen, a thousand different emotions running across her face.
“You...you let me think...” She let out a small, disbelieving laugh. Then, a smile twitched at her mouth. “I knew you wouldn’t.”
“No. You didn’t.” I leaned in and kissed her, swiftly. “That was the point.”
She kept smiling while I unshackled her, let her down from the dais, and lifted her up in my arms. Winding her arms around my neck, she closed her eyes and smiled against my chest as I carried her. I laid her down, gently, on the plush sofa by the fireplace.
Sliding the dress up past her thighs, following the movement of the fabric with heated kisses on her quivering skin, I forgot myself. This wasn’t the plan. I wasn’t going to let on so quickly, I was going to let her believe or half-believe in my trickery for a little bit longer. I was going to fuck her, hard and rough, before she knew who it was. I was going to give her what she needed from me.
Instead, I was taking what I needed from her.
Tenderly, I kissed her parted thighs. She spread them further for me, sighing in anticipation. She tasted like wine and honey and Madison. Her soft moans drove me on, licking and kissing, savoring her, giving her selfless pleasure because I was too selfish not to. She came long and slow, clenching and shuddering, her juices dripping down my chin. I ached.
When I climbed up on the sofa with her, she was smiling softly, looking at me with eyes that almost wanted more. Almost.
Madison would never be mine. I knew that. But for just this one moment, I could pretend.
Her body molded to mine perfectly as I slid inside her, my cock throbbing urgently, swelling and surging before I was ready. A very tangible sign of my body’s inability to treat her like any other submissive. There was a human element that I couldn’t switch off with her, that I wanted to, but the feelings were too sharp and bright and overwhelming.
When I came inside of her, jerking and shuddering, somehow, in whatever part of my brain was still aware of anything but pleasure, I knew it would be the last time.
***
For a long time, I felt frozen in place, my hand partially covering my mouth.
“So.” Dalton exhaled, leaning forward on his desk. “What do you think? Will that make for a good story?”
I cleared my throat. “With a few modifications,” I said, softly. “So you - so you never meant to let those other men...”
“Of course not.” He smiled, but it was a little subdued. “What kind of person do you think I am?”
“Sorry,” I muttered, taking the last sip from my wineglass. “But you sort of set me up.”
“But it’s much better that way, isn’t it?” He topped off his own glass. “Who doesn’t love a good twist?”
I felt like I’d been taken for a ride, and I couldn’t imagine what must have gone through Madison’s mind when she was shackled to that ceiling.
“People like to know what to expect,” I pointed out. “And I think a happy ending would work better.”
He didn’t answer this, didn’t even acknowledge it - almost like he hadn’t heard me, although that was impossible. Suddenly, he rose to his feet and walking over to the small wine rack in the corner. “I think it’s time for another drink. You?”
“No thank you,” I said, my voice husky. I cleared my throat. “You actually have quite a way with words, Dalton.” I re-crossed my legs, tugging my skirt down a little. “I’m not sure you need me.”
“Talking and writing are two very different things,” he said, smiling at me. “Am I making you uncomfortable? You’re not trying to quit on me, are you, Grace?”
“Of course not,” I said, tilting my head up. “It’s just a new experience for me. That’s all.”
Dalton swirled his glass. “Anything else you’d like to know?” He paused for a moment. “To serve the story, of course.”
I took a deep breath. “Did you ever see her again?”
He paused with his hand on the glass. “I thought you were going to change the ending,” he said, flatly, not looking at me.
“I’d still like to know,” I said.
Dalton shrugged. His eyes traveled across the desk, finally coming up to my face. “After her birthday, she didn’t call for a while. I stopped by her place out of curiosity some months later. A man answered the door. That’s all.”
His voice was very measured, putting a lot of effort into convincing me that he didn’t care.
“Did you ever find out why she was so sad?”
He drummed his fingers on the desk, softly. “I can guess,” he said, his voice going slightly quiet. “But it doesn’t really matter.”
Thoughtlessly, I nibbled on the end of my pen. I could turn it into a workable story, but if this was going to be a series featuring some stand-in for Dalton as the main character, then the happy ending ultimately wouldn’t be so happy. Maybe Madison could be the grand finale - the one submissive that he finally fell in love with.
I looked up, and immediately noticed Dalton’s eyes fixed on me. Instantly self-conscious, I pulled the pen out of my mouth and tried to think of something to say.
“But wait. What was in those rooms?” I cleared my throat. “The other rooms, the doors that Madison saw in your...”
Dalton smiled. “That’s not part of the story,” he said.
“Maybe I’ll just go downstairs and look,” I said, with considerably more boldness than I felt.
“You could try.” He reached into his pocket, withdrew a small keyring, and held it up in front of his face, jangling it slightly. “Or, you could wait for the right story.”
I laughed, stretching my legs out in front of me. A few moments ago I’d been on the verge of walking out, going home and trying to forget about Dalton and his captivating voice. But now, all I wanted to do was stay here and get to know this strange man a little better.
“So that’s how it is, huh?” I said, smiling at him. “You just have to play games.”
“I guess so,” he said, eyes sparkling. “But isn’t it better this way? When you read the whole Wikipedia article before you crack the cover on the new book, don’t you always wish you hadn’t?”
“Not always,” I countered. “Sometimes it saves me from a very disappointing book.”
“Well.” He straightened some pens on his desk. “If it helps any, I always strive not to disappoint.”
My throat tightened a little.
He’s flirting with you. Don’t let this go any further, Grace, you’re going to regret it.
The last thing I needed in my life was yet another emotionally unavailable man who was really in love with someone else. Dalton could try to convince me otherwise, but Madison was still under his skin. I could tell. I’d seen it enough times, with enough failed relationships.
Why couldn’t I ever be the one they couldn’t get out of their head?
“Maybe I will have some more wine,” I said, shaking my head to clear the unpleasant thoughts.
Dalton’s face changed slightly. “Actually,” he said, “I’m sorry, but I have some work to finish tonight. I didn’t think it would take me this long to get through the story.” He frowned, slightly, glancing at the clock. “My apologies - same time next week?”
The abrupt chill in the room wasn’t just my imaginatio
n. I was sure. Taking a deep breath, I stood up, gathering my purse and notebook. “Please don’t apologize,” I said. “We’re doing this on your timeline.”
“Thank you,” he said, his face an impassive mask with no hint of mischief or flirtation. I much preferred the playful Dalton, even if he occasionally made me squirm.
Standing there, helplessly, I wondered if there was anything I could say or do to get the old mood back. Had I done something? Or had his story affected him more than he expected?
“I’ll see myself out,” I said, finally.
Dalton just nodded.
He didn’t show any signs of getting up from his chair, so I did exactly that. The hallway leading to the front door was long, with many doors, and my fingers itched to open one. But I knew he’d hear me, and anyway - those weren’t the rooms I was interested in.
Once I reached the living room, I spent some time lingering there. Imagining the scene he’d described, letting my fingers run over the back of the leather sofa. I wondered if it was the same one. How often did a man like Dalton replace his furniture?
Not that often, apparently. As my fingers ran across the seams, I was surprised to notice some wear, some of the stitching coming loose.
And that was when I noticed the door.
It was next to the kitchen, glossy wood planks, one of those wrought-iron pull-ring handles that somehow universally indicated what I’d find behind it.
Stairs.
Going down.
And I was pretty sure it wasn’t a root cellar.
Before I knew what was happening, I found myself standing in front of the polished wood. It was a beautiful door, but it stood out like a sore thumb. He wanted it to be noticeable. He wanted people to see it and wonder what might be behind it.
I glanced down the hallway again, but sensing no movement, I risked tugging the handle just a little.
The door swung open, silently. Like an invitation.
As my foot landed, I prayed the first step wouldn’t creak. It didn’t. Holding my breath, I pulled the door closed behind me so I could slowly flick the light switch.
The room was exactly as he’d described it. And then some. The bed in the corner, the array of toys on display - some beautiful, some diabolical, mostly both - and the massive St. Andrew’s cross, so much more imposing than I’d imagined.
I was drawn towards it like a magnet. Laying my hand on the supple leather, I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to imagine how it would feel pressed up against my naked body.
With an effort, I shook myself out of my trance. Against the wall, I saw two doors.
That’s them. That’s the rooms.
Again, my feet seemed to move of their own volition, and I approached one of them. My hand was on the knob when I heard him speak.
“They really are locked.”
I nearly jumped out of my skin, but managed to turn around slowly, and somehow, miraculously, I wasn’t blushing.
“Just wanted to make sure you’re a man of your word,” I said.
“I am.” He leaned against the doorjamb, smiling, and I felt a tiny thrill. The real Dalton was back.
“Well,” I said, adjusting my purse on my shoulder. “I’ll get out of your way, now that I’ve satisfied my curiosity.”
He let me halfway up the stairs before he called up after me:
“Have you?”
I paused, and turned around, just far enough to glance down and see him, still smiling, one lock of jet-black hair fallen over his eye.
“No, actually,” I said. “Not even close.”
I could feel his eyes on me, all the way to the top of the staircase.
***
Want to be a part of the story?
Visit the official feedback post on my blog to share your thoughts about what you’d like to see happen next!
More from Jessi:
Other Books
Join Mailing List
Facebook
Twitter
Tumblr
Official Website
Email
