by Lila Dubois
To the woman with the braid.
She tensed as he approached. When he laid his hand on the bar only a few inches from her elbow he heard her inhale. Satisfaction flared through him. Satisfaction and desire. As odd as the interlude with Anderson had been, he was now determined to have this woman. He would give her peace.
Peace and pleasure.
He was about to say something when the bartender, Padraig, hurried over
“Due to health code, I don’t think we’re going to be able to accommodate your party.”
Edward nodded, never taking his gaze from the woman. “No BDSM acts would be performed in the bar.”
He said “BDSM” specifically to see how she’d react. She made a soft little noise of surprise and pleasure. Edward’s eyes closed briefly as he fought the urge to do something highly socially unacceptable.
Padraig pursed his lips. “Then why would you move the furniture?”
Edward was no longer interested in hosting a munch at Pat’s Pub. All he wanted was the woman—and to that end he said, “I thought I’d bring in a St. Andrew’s Cross, as a visual aid only.”
He was hoping she’d make some lovely noise when he mentioned the St. Andrew’s Cross. Her reaction was even better. She dropped her papers again.
Edward grinned.
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Padraig said.
“I understand,” he replied absently. He crouched to once more help the woman pick up her papers. She’d slipped off the stool, and her hands trembled as she picked gathered scattered documents.
From above, Edward heard Padraig mutter, “Well, this conversation was wildly inappropriate.”
The woman with the braid was kneeling, skirts spilling out around her. For the first time she looked up and met his gaze. Her eyes were the dark gray of storm clouds.
“Thank you.” Her lips tumbled and she smiled. “Again.”
Edward, still crouching, held out his half of the papers.
“I’m Edward. Edward Donal.”
The woman took his section of papers, but this time she didn’t touch him. “I’m Win.”
“Win?” he asked.
She flashed a rueful smile. “Winter. My name is Winter.” She winced. “Winter Storm.”
Edward raised a brow. “Your last name is Storm and your parents named you Winter?”
“Yea, they’re weird and—”
“It suits you,” he said quietly. “Your eyes are the color of a winter storm.”
She met his gaze, and something soft and vulnerable bloomed on her face.
“You know what I was talking about, don’t you?” He asked softly. “You know what a munch is, what BDSM stands for, what a St. Andrew’s Cross is used for.”
He expected her to prevaricate, maybe deny it, but she didn’t. She nodded once. “Yes, I do.”
Edward stood and held out a hand to her. She could have ignored it, or handed him the papers to hold while she stood on her own. Instead she put the papers on the bar stool, then placed her hands in his.
When their skin touched that same tingle of excitement and awareness shot through him. This was a rare thing—a pure, chemical attraction.
Edward kept ahold of her hand, moved the papers off the chair onto the bar, and then helped her back into her seat. He was aware of Padraig watching him suspiciously, but he ignored it. Testing her, he put one hand on the back of Winter’s stool, the other on the bar. That brought him firmly into her personal space. She didn’t lean away.
She actually leaned into him, as if seeking the shelter of his body.
Edward dipped his head, until his lips nearly brushed her temple. “Would you like to submit to me, Winter?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, please.”
“You’ve never done anything like this before, have you?”
“No.”
Edward smiled, though she couldn’t see it. “Then I’ll teach you.” He reached into his pocket for a business card. He scribbled his cell phone number on the back. “This is my cell phone number. After I walk out that door you may change your mind. You have that right. I won’t ask for your number, because you need to have the power…for now.”
Edward set the card on top of her papers and took a step back.
She turned to look at him, eyes wide.
Edward studied her face. “It was nice to meet you, Winter.”
He forced himself to turn and walk out of the bar. As the cool air hit him he had the strangest feeling that everything had changed, and he knew that he would never forget her. And if she didn’t call he would never stop kicking himself for letting her go.
2
They met at Pat’s Pub. The location had been her suggestion. Three days ago he’d first met her at the bar by chance; now they were meeting there to discuss their potential relationship as master and submissive.
Edward stared at the stool where she’d been sitting. Padraig was at the bar, and nodded at Edward when he came in, clearly remembering him.
He’d walked out of Pat’s that day sure he’d never hear from Winter again, but to his surprise and delight, by the time he got home, he’d had a text from her. It had said, simply and elegantly, “I’d like to talk about the possibilities.”
He’d proposed the day and time, and she’d selected the location. As tempting as it had been, he’d limited their conversation via text to only the logistics for this meeting. He wanted to have this conversation face to face, wanted—needed—to see her reactions to what he said.
The door opened, and he knew from the change in the air that she’d arrived. It had been a long time since he’d had this sort of primal reaction to someone. In a way it made him feel younger, almost inexperienced. It had been years since holding a woman’s hand had affected him this way, yet now her nearness was enough to make him tense with anticipation.
He turned to watch her. She wasn’t hesitant, but there was a wariness to her approach.
She’d dressed for him. He was sure of that. She had on a long, casual dress once more, but this one was an off the shoulder style that was vaguely retro. Her shoulders and neck were completely bare, and she’d pulled her hair up into a braided bun. The pale column of her neck was naked, begging to have a delicate collar placed around it.
She stopped by the booth where he sat, the same booth where he’d talked to Anderson. She took her small purse off her shoulder, tossing that and the sweater she carried onto the seat as he stood.
“Winter.” He held out his hand, palm up.
She looked uncertainly at his hand, then placed her fingers in his. He raised it to his lips, kissing her knuckles. He saw the skin of her arm pebble with goosebumps as she shivered.
“Edward,” she replied. “Oh, um, Mr. Donal.”
“Edward is fine. Would you like to sit?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He held her hand as she slid into the booth across from him, then released it to resume his own seat.
“Are you hungry?” he asked her.
“Uh, no, thank you.” It was five-thirty, and the happy hour crowd was filling up the pub. He’d come early to make sure they got the relative privacy of the booth.
A server bounced over. Her name tag said Yvonne.
They ordered drinks—a Guinness Dark for him, and a white wine spritzer for her.
“White wine spritzer?” he asked with a smile.
“I’m not a big drinker,” she admitted.
Edward smiled so she’d know he was kidding. “I don’t know, I did meet you doing paperwork in a bar.”
She laughed and relaxed. “That’s fair enough, but I swear I come here for the food. It’s my weekly treat.”
“Treat?”
“Eating out.”
“You eat out only once a week?”
“You eat out more than that?” she countered, but it was not aggressive.
“I’m not even sure I own pots and pans.”
She blinked as if this were a completely foreign idea. “Do you own a t
oaster at least?”
“I’m not a complete savage.”
She laughed softly, and he was once again struck by how lovely she was. When her chuckle faded, she looked at him and the smile slipped from her face.
The server appeared with their drinks.
“Sláinte,” He raised his glass. The Irish toast seemed more appropriate than “cheers” given the location.
“Sláinte,” she repeated, tapping her wine glass to his.
“Are you Irish?” she asked.
Edward set his glass down. “I could answer that, or we could start to talk about the matter at hand.”
She swallowed and looked down.
“What do you know about BDSM?” he asked her.
“Just...just what I’ve read.”
“What kind of books?” he asked.
“Erotica,” she whispered.
“Not romance?”
She raised her chin. “I read romance too, but, I know that’s not what real life is like. And not just BDSM stuff. Real relationships aren’t like that.”
There was a weary sadness in her tone. It made him think there was more to be discovered in that statement. If they were here on a date, he would have asked a follow up question, but this wasn’t a date.
It could be a date. Why not? She’s lovely, sweet, potentially submissive...
Edward ignored his internal voice. “Based on your reading, what do you think BDSM is?”
“I think it’s different for everyone.”
“I’m impressed, that’s almost exactly how I’d describe it.”
She looked around nervously. “I’ve thought about trying to find someone to, uh, scene with.”
The idea of someone else touching her made him feel violent, but he only nodded to encourage her to continue.
“But I don’t know what I really want, so how do I find someone who’s into the same things?” She held up her hands. “And I’m perfectly well aware that even this is incredibly dangerous.” She gestured between them.
“You do have to be careful,” he said. “That’s why I didn’t take your number, and had you pick the location.”
“That’s why I came. Plus I Googled you, to make sure that wasn’t a fake business card.”
Edward grinned. “Then you know more about me than I know about you.”
Her storm-colored eyes studied him as she listed off his stats as if she were a sports announcer. “Edward Donal. Thirty-four, just recently moved to Baltimore. You’re a management consultant.”
“All true.”
“What is a management consultant?” she asked.
“My job is to get people to do what they need to do, efficiently and effectively. I’m here to oversee the revamp of a manufacturing company. It’s a big project. I’ll be here for at least a year.”
“So you’re...professionally bossy?”
Edward threw his head back and laughed. When he looked back at her, she was grinning. Before now she had only smiled. The grin transformed her face, made her look younger. Her eyes sparkled.
“I guess I am.”
“That explains why you’re a...”
He leaned forward. “I’d like to hear you say it.”
“A Dom,” she whispered.
“Yes. A Dom.” He sat back, running his fingers through the condensation on the outside of his glass. “So, Winter, what is it you think you’re into?”
Was she really going to tell a virtual stranger all of her darkest fantasies and desires while sitting in a booth at Pat’s Pub?
Edward—tall, handsome, rich, and just generally out of her league—leaned forward, his brown eyes intent on her face.
Yes. She was. Because she needed someone to look at her the way Edward Donal was looking at her right now. She needed to pretend she was someone else for a while—someone who was interesting and sophisticated enough to have a dark secret like a BDSM relationship.
“Anal,” she said. “I think I’d like...” She stopped speaking, gathered her thoughts, and then started speaking again. “Not just anal sex, but toys too.”
He didn’t smirk at her, or looked shocked. He nodded. “Good. What else?”
“Bondage.”
“Cuffs, ropes?”
“Cuffs. Ropes look pretty, but what if you get a cramp, or have to use the bathroom?”
“There are ways to deal with that, but unless you are drawn to the idea of rope bondage, cuffs are perfectly adequate. What else?”
She lowered her voice, partially out of embarrassment, partially because she was aware of the growing crowd in the pub. “Nipple clamps.”
“You like the idea of pain?”
That made her sit back. “I don’t think I’m a masochist.”
“What about nipple clamps attracts you?”
“I...I’m not sure. I just...I like, um…”
Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she couldn’t do this. Win slid her glance towards her purse on the bench beside her. Maybe she should just get up and leave.
Edward reached across the table and wrapped his fingers around her wrist, holding her firmly. Win’s eyes fluttered closed. The first time hadn’t been a fluke—when he touched her, she felt something, something she’d never felt before.
“Do you enjoy having your breasts and nipples played with?” he asked quietly.
She kept her eyes closed. “Yes.”
“What about punishment?”
“I think I could be good.” She opened her eyes. “I want this, so why would I need to be punished?”
He held out his other hand, offering it to her. “Punishment isn’t always meant to correct behavior, though of course that can be a major component of play. Instead of saying punishment I’ll be more specific. Do you want to be pulled over my knee and spanked?”
Win blew out a slow breath and nodded.
He wiggled the fingers of his empty hand. Win reached out, and was about to place her fingers in his, but at the last minute she changed her mind, and instead placed her wrist in his hand, the soft skin on her inner wrist in his palm.
Edward closed his fingers, both her wrists now manacled by his hands. He pulled, stretching her arms across the table top, until she was leaning forward, the edge of the table just under her breasts.
“Everything you’ve mentioned could be found in a normal relationship, assuming you have a partner who is willing to be adventurous.”
Win looked at the table top, between her arms. She’d said the wrong thing. He didn’t want to play with her. “Okay,” she whispered, throat tight.
“Winter, look at me.”
His voice had deepened and there was a hard, almost angry, edge that made her look up. “You understand the power exchange?”
“You mean the domination and submission part?”
“Yes.”
“I understand, but it sounds so dangerous.”
“It is. Physically, but also emotionally. That’s why trust and communication are important.”
Win tried to pull back, but he wouldn’t let her. “I don’t know if I could do it,” she admitted.
“Submit?”
She nodded. “Give up control. Trust someone else that much.”
“But you want to. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be drawn to BDSM. As I said, nothing you mentioned is so extreme that you might not be able to get it from an adventurous vanilla partner.”
“Thank you for letting me know.” She was fighting back tears—not of sadness but of embarrassment and frustration. “Better that I know now before I make a fool of myself. I mean, more of a fool.”
“You’re upset. Why?”
“I feel stupid,” she whispered, anger lacing the low words. “Please, let me leave with as much of my dignity and pride as I can.”
“You think I’m warning you off?”
“Aren’t you?”
“No.” He squeezed her wrists. She looked up, met his intense gaze. “But I am warning you.”
“Warning me that it’s dangerous.”
“Warning you I will expect your submission. I will pleasure you, use you, maybe even give you some pain, but above all, I will master you.”
Win sucked in air, and her nipples tightened. She was wearing a thin bandeau style bra, and she had a bad feeling the material was not thick enough to hide her hard nipples. Edward’s gaze never left her face.
“I understand,” she said.
He nodded. “I’m going to give you a checklist, one my old club in L.A. uses.”
“A checklist?”
“It lists every kink, toy, and position. You will go through it and mark your interest level for each item.”
“Then what?” she whispered.
“Then I look it over, and make sure we’re compatible, though I suspect we are.”
Win nodded, a bit too quickly. “And then?”
Edward smiled and his thumbs stroked her forearms. “Then you decide if you’re willing and ready to submit to me.”
Win shivered at his words. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Give me the checklist, please. I’m going to fill it out.”
Edward released her wrists. “Now? You could take it with you.”
Win drained her white wine spritzer. “I’d like to do it now.”
Edward raised a brow, then picked up a folder from the seat beside him, pulled a pen from his pocket, and passed them over. She opened the folder and glanced at the first page of the checklist, skimming over the list, a few things jumping out at her.
Abrasion
Anal Sex
Anal Plugs (small)
Anal Plugs (large)
Ball Gag
Beating (soft)
Blindfolding
Being Serviced
Bondage
Her fingers shook when she clicked the pen, but she set ink to paper and started filling out the checklist. Edward’s gaze never left her as she worked. When she was done, she passed him back the folder and the pen.
Edward set it on the seat beside him, then raised his almost empty beer glass. Win looked at her full glass in surprise.
“I took the liberty,” he said. “A toast.”
“A toast.” She raised her glass.
