by Violet Blaze
“Oh, honey, I've been waiting all day for this part of the plan.”
Dash pulled one of his hands out from under my shirt and lifted my chin, giving me a slow, easy kiss that tasted like unspent passion and caged desire. He put some space between our mouths, breathed in slow and deep, and then stole my mouth with a scalding press of lips and had me lifting onto my toes and throwing my arms around his neck.
His tongue parted my lips, taking control of my mouth as he eased me back with his body.
We bumped into the glossy black door that lead to Dash's fantasy bedroom, his hot hard heat crushing me against solid wood surface. His hands were everywhere, roaming down my back, cupping my ass, sliding across the smooth heat of my belly, unbuttoning my jeans.
“Go inside and get naked for me, pick a dress. If we're going to do this, we should do it right,” he said as tugged down my zipper and pulled away, smiling that liquid molasses smile of his as I reached back and grabbed the knob, letting myself into the room without even bothering to turn around.
I walked backward a few steps and spun, letting myself take the whole room in again. Now that I was even more confident that Dash was not the enemy here, I tried to examine the place without the filter of rage and frustration and grief that had clouded my vision this morning.
It really was a beautiful room—the floors were shiny white and black porcelain tile, just like the entryway, a huge black shag rug situated in front of the massive bed. To my left, there was a throne on a dais that I'd never noticed before with a tall handsome back tufted in purple velvet. A gas fireplace was situated in the wall next to it and when Dash flicked a switch on the wall behind me, it flared to life, lighting the room with a dancing orange glow.
“It doesn't give off much heat, thankfully,” he said as he pulled the door closed behind him—and locked it. I didn't look at him, not yet, still studying the room, still trying to absorb and accept the experience.
It was like a physical manifestation of all my desires, a dark tapestry woven of long suppressed need and want. Dash, with his dirty blonde hair and his stubble and his thick corded arms, he somehow fit the image perfectly.
“You built this fancy place and you don't even use it?” I whispered as he came up behind me and swept the purple curls away from me neck, pressing his mouth to my skin and making me shiver.
“I'd planned to eventually, when I found the right girl.”
“But you never did? Or you just like sleeping around?”
“I think I was waiting until I knew for sure.”
There was a long paused as he reached under the leather of my jacket and slid it down my shoulders, tossing it aside, across a long black leather tufted massage table. I stiffened up a bit when he went to remove my shoulder holster, but if he was going to be my partner from now on, I needed to trust him. I tried to imagine as cops or something, two people who had to rely on and trust each other, but who … God, I doubted most cops touched their partners like that. Dash caressed my body like he was a demon trying to corrupt the skin of an angel. Only, I was no angel.
“I'm sorry I screwed that up for you,” I told him as set the gun aside and pulled my tank top up, trapping it around my wrists and wrapping tight. Dash yanked my arms behind my head and I gasped.
“Screwed it up?” he whispered against my ear, still holding me there, trapped and helpless.
I loved it.
And I felt sick for it.
There was nothing fun or exciting about what happened at the Block. Trapped for real like that, knowing that people with twisted, fucked-up minds and empty cavities in their chests where their hearts should beat, it was my worst nightmare come true.
This was … different. Dash was controlling but tender, like a teacher or a guide.
I wanted more, more, more.
“Adelaide, you're the woman I've been looking for all this time. When I had this room built, I had it built for you.”
“Are you crazy?” I asked, struggling a little, gasping again when Dash inserted his knee between my thighs, teasing the aching pulse of my core. It was so wet and ready for him that it was almost painful to have him brush against me like that. I needed his cock ramming into me, hard and fast and greedy. “We've known each other for five days; you can't fall in love in five days.”
“Actually, we've known each other for sixteen years and five days and anyway, Miss Vaughn, did I say anything about love? It'll happen, I think. I mean, I can see it happening pretty goddamn easily. But what I meant was: I need you and you need me. I want to find your limits, Adelaide—and then I want to push you past them.”
“What are you talking about?” I whispered as Dash used his free hand to turn my face to the side, kissing me over my shoulder, keeping me restrained as he stole my lips with the fervent burn of his kiss. I could easily see how his song—the one I knew without even realizing it, that I'd memorized from the old radio in my mom's kitchen—could come true.
Dash kisses—if left unchecked—could very well burn me to ash.
I imagined as he held me there and slid his tongue across my lower lip, that I would probably be smiling while I burned.
“Adelaide, the things we'll have to do to get through this, it can all be a game. But if you want it to be more, I'm extending the offer. Let go and I'll show you that there's nothing to be ashamed or afraid of.”
“I don't—” I started, but Dash tightened his hold on my arms.
“I thought we weren't going to lie to each other?” he asked me, quiet and smooth, his accent as warm and soothing as sliding into a hot bath.
“I'm a strong person,” I said and Dash released me, waiting as I turned and stared into his rich, warm gaze. “I shouldn't want … to do anything like this. I'm not weak, Dash.”
“No, you're not. You are strong, Adelaide. And that's why it's okay. What we do in the bedroom doesn't dictate the rest of our lives. In here, I want a submissive and you … you want someone to take care of you. But out there, I want a partner and so do you. Let go and see what I can do for you. If you don't like it, we can always stop.”
“I …” I had no idea what to say to that. Dash's words scared the shit out of me—but they also made me feel this surge of acceptance and want and desire. Fuck, I wanted him. I wanted to see what he could give me, if I could really learn to accept this side of myself, the side that wanted to be tamed and teased and controlled. If he could balance that out with the other half of my soul, the part that stood on her own, that took down criminals the club couldn't touch, who knew how to take care of herself, knew that she was a woman—a person—just as important and worthy as anyone else on this planet, then maybe this could really work.
“Do you know anything about Dom/sub relationships?” he asked me, but I didn't.
“No.”
Dash smiled.
“Let's just start slow, okay?”
“Okay,” I whispered, heart thundering, sweat dripping down my naked spine. My cunt felt warm and liquid, raw and tender.
“Take your jeans and bra off,” Dash said, removing his shirt, still smiling at me. I did as he asked, enjoying the way his eyes flared with desire when he watched me slide out of the tight denim. “Let's get you into one of these dresses. Some of TSR's parties have dress codes—like the one tomorrow. Some are in clubs, private homes. I reckon wee'll have to get you a full wardrobe to pull this off.”
I didn't say anything. My throat felt too tight, too achy, my emotions too raw, like they were rubbing against my skin, chafing me. I was both incredibly uncomfortable and unbelievably turned on.
The stack of boxes from the personal shopper were sitting on the floor near the bathroom door. I moved over to them and knelt down, opening the one on top and pulling out a gorgeous silk tiered ruffle gown with a trumpet silhouette. It was black, light as feathers in my hand. I was more used to dressing in old jeans and boots, one of my brothers' discarded t-shirts.
Brothers … Maverick.
I scrunched my face up to figh
t the tears and rose to my feet, turning to look at Dash with the dress draped over my arms.
“Do I get a safe word?” I whispered because I wasn't completely clueless about this stuff.
“You do,” Dash said, coming over to me and taking the dress from my hands. He turned it over and pulled down the zipper, looking up at me as I lifted my arms over my head and waited for him to slip the garment down my body. “We need to be real careful with this one.”
He dropped the black dress down my arms and then helped me tug the tight fabric across the straining swells of my breasts, hips and ass, his breath hissing out between his lips as I turned and he pulled the zipper into place.
“Obviously, at the parties you can't use it. Or rather, they can't know you're using it.”
When I turned around, the expression on Dash's face was priceless. He looked like he was about to have a heart attack, in turn making my own heart thunder and beat fiercely in response. I could see the proof of his desire inside the denim of his jeans, thick and wanting, reaching for me. I had to swallow hard and force my eyes back to his face.
“Something that I might say under duress?” I said, a thread of steel in my voice as I thought about the smug look in Ingvar Dunham's face as he looked me over like I was a piece of meat. I'm sure there were horrible things on that phone Apollo gave us that included him. I just couldn't bear to watch a single more minute of it.
“Something …” Dash starts, taking a deep breath and curling his hands into fists, like he's having trouble holding himself back from touching me. “Something that could reasonably slip out given the circumstances, that nobody watching would suspect.”
I thought of the assholes at the Block, how much I wanted them dead, wanted their blood all over my hands, their hearts beating on the floor after I cut them off, my boot crushing the beating organ into a pulp. Yes, it was vivid, but the things those people had done … they deserved to pay. There were no thoughts of forgiveness in my heart, no way I could ever imagine a possible universe where people like the Mistress and the Auctioneer could be redeemed.
“Blood,” I said with a shudder, closing my eyes for a moment. “It'll be blood. Then I can … I don't spin it however—I want your blood, their blood, you're making me bleed.” Suddenly my mouth felt dry and my throat tight again and I had to look away.
This wasn't just a fun bedroom game; this was all real. My life depended on playing this role to perfection. I didn't just get to giggle and be handcuffed to a headboard; I had to make an entire society full of crazy rich people who thought they were gods believe that I was, indeed, submissive.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
But I had to do it. I had to.
I thought of that poor girl's screams, let them ring around in my head until any thoughts of myself, my fears, my doubts, were gone. That girl and others like her need champions—Apollo, Dash, me, we could be those champions.
“Blood,” Dash said and the way that word slid off his southern tongue helped reignite my passion. Bluhd. It was sexy as hell. “Okay, honey pot.”
He smiled at me and made his way over to a black chest near the foot of the bed, opening it and pulling out a thick coil of silver rope. It was gorgeous, studded with little crystals, the most glamorous length of cording I'd ever seen in my life.
Perfect.
“Come here, Adelaide,” he said and my heart started to pound again. I wanted to run from that room at the same time I wanted to throw myself on Dash's bed and spread my legs wide for him. This dichotomous thought process was going to drive me insane.
I might as well give in and embrace it.
It was all part of the job.
It was also my deepest, most secret desire.
I strode over to Dash and stood there with my heart in my throat, my eyes fixed to his handsome face, his stately jaw line, full lips, strong nose. I stood in front of him, fully prepared to give this a try, give into my temptations, the sin of my own heart.
Dash reached over and ran his fingers up either side of my bare neck, gathering my hair into a ponytail and sliding a tie over it that I hadn't seen him grab.
“This is jute rope,” he told me as he walked slowly around behind me and took my wrists in his hands, rubbing his thumbs over my pulse point, making my breath catch. “We're gonna start real simple, take it nice and slow.” Dash leaned in and kissed the side of my neck as he maneuvered my arms behind my back and crossed them. I cradled the points of my elbows in the opposite hand, my arms forming a square shape against my back. The silk of the dress rubbed against my skin, a sensual tease of fabric as Dash teased the back of my bare neck with a bit of rope. “This particular strand has tiny diamonds embedded into it.”
“You're insane,” I whispered and he shushed me.
“If you have a legitimate question, ask me. Otherwise, I want you to stay quiet and just relax into what I'm doing. You're so stiff, Adelaide Vaughn.” Dash reached up and massaged my shoulders with firm, sure fingers, digging into my muscles and making me groan. “We'll work up to more elaborate designs, some suspension …”
Suspension.
Chills raced down my spine as I listened to Dash unwind the rope, the only other sound the frantic rush of my breath and the crackle from the fireplace.
“For now,” he continued, “let's start with a kimono tie and dazzle those cocksuckers with glitter.”
“Who did you get the diamond rope made for?” I asked and Dash paused. Did that count as a legitimate question? I felt like I needed to know the answer to it.
“You, darlin'. I told you. I was saving this room for the right girl. I actually had the fantasy that”—Dash wound the rope around my wrists a few more times and then lifted it over my left shoulder, walking around to stand in front of me—“that I might tie my wife up with this one day on our wedding night.”
I had no idea what to say to that, so I didn't bother to try. It definitely wouldn't have been a legitimate question. I wasn't Dash's wife—nor did I want to be—but the fantasy was there and I felt myself relaxing into it. My lids felt heavy and weighted with desire as I watched Dash's shirtless form pass back around me, the sleek smooth surface of the rope nestling between my breasts and pulling it tight around my right side.
“Japanese rope bondage is called shibari or kinbaku, dependin' on who you're talkin' to.”
The sound of Dash's smooth, warm voice relaxed me, as did the way he said everything with confident authority, like he knew exactly what he was doing and loved every fucking second of it. His fingers were warm when they brushed against me, a nice compliment to the sleek surface of the rope. He slipped it under my arms and then up and around my right shoulder, passing by my heated gaze again, looking beautiful and perfect and sexy in the firelight.
I swear, I could feel my heart in my throat. I figured he must be able to hear it since it was beating as loud and hard as the drummer in Pistols and Violets, a wild rhythm that sounded like the beginning of a song.
Dash nestled the rope between my breasts, making an X shape across the front, the diamonds embedded in the cording sparkling in the flickering orange firelight. The silver stood out against the black silk of the dress, the design a piece of jewelry in its own right. This was where he paused, using the bit of rope to tug me closer.
“Fuck if I can help myself around you, Adelaide. I can't stop thinking about that full mouth of yours.”
His next kiss put all the others to shame, electrifying me, swirling through me like a tornado and tossing all my inhibitions aside. When Dash kissed me like that, I was his.
He used his right hand to slide up my side, tracing a finger along the edge of the rope and cupping my breast through the black silk fabric, groaning against my lips, making me question whether he even had enough self-control left to finish.
“Damn it, Adelaide,” he whispered, smiling sharply, the expression as darkly beautiful as it was dangerous. I could fall into that smile, drown in it. “Why didn't you drag that assassin'
s ass of yours to one of my concerts sooner?”
I didn't answer as Dash continued his work, tracing the rope back around so that it sat atop the swollen roundness of my breasts, lifted and teased into place by my bonds.
At first, all I could concentrate on was the rough brush of his fingertips, the whorls on his skin almost too much for my sensitive flesh, and the satiny flavor of the rope kissing my body so snugly, so intimately. But then I started to feel that ache between my thighs grow into a roaring hunger, a violent, terrifying need drawing a small mewling gasp from my throat.
“There we go,” Dash whispered as I felt his fingertips glide across the back of the dress, tying and knotting the ends into place. When he came back around to look at me, his pupils were dilated and his tongue was running across his lower lip. “Fuck, Adelaide, you are gorgeous.”
“I'm—” I started and he raised his eyebrows.
Fuck.
This practicing being silent thing was going to kill me. Actually … not being silent at the function tomorrow could kill me in a horrible, awful bloody way. My mind flashed to that girl and the Mistress' knife plunging into her throat, all of that thick syrupy red pouring out.
No.
No, no, no.
I refocused back on Dash when he came around to look at me again, reaching up to run his fingers through his honeyed hair, the gold strands reflecting back the firelight, the black and grey and purple of his tattoos drawing my attention.
“I want to keep going,” he told me, his voice rough with need, “but I don't know if I've got the self-control right now. I need to be inside you, Adelaide.”
Dash stepped up to me, cradling my face in his hands. It killed me that my arms were tied, that I couldn't touch him back, but it was exhilarating, too, because he was in complete control of it all—his pleasure, my pleasure, whatever position it was that we would take.
“Tomorrow, we'll tie you up like this and take you to the party for show. If it comes down to it and we need something else, I'll try the futomomo on you and fuck you until you forget where we are and what we're doin'.”
