by Maren Smith
“What?” she says, real shock on her face.
“So you didn’t know.”
“I knew nothing, but you need to fill me in right now, Noelle.”
“I met him when I was in LA a few years ago. Before Patrick. It was pick-up play at a club down there, and he came with references. One of my subbie friends in LA set it up for me—you remember my friend Jeannie? So I’d never met him before, but it was…incredible. The man has talents.” “Wait a minute. He’s Mr. Transcendent?”
“Yep. He sure is. What am I going to do, Rox?”
“Do? You’re going to show him the town and see how it goes. And if it goes well, then maybe you’ll want him to remind you exactly what those hands can do. You’re overdue for some happiness, my friend.”
I chew on my lip, a bad habit of mine when I’m nervous. “I just don’t know.”
“What is there to know? He’s gorgeous, he comes with the best possible references, which you don’t even need at this point because you’ve already played with him and you know he’s responsible and apparently an amazing player. Did you feel safe in his hands?”
“I did, absolutely. But that was before…well, before Patrick. But Rox, a guy like that? He’s the kind of Dom the women at the clubs practically arm-wrestle to get to, and those guys are players.”
“Noelle, I don’t think it’s fair to make that kind of generalization. And let me ask you this: did you have sex with him? Any sexual play?”
“No. I mean, I don’t do that anyway, but he said he doesn’t either with pick-up play.”
“Kinda sounds like the knight-in-shining-armor type to me. The real ‘players’, the wanna-be Doms, fuck every woman they play with.”
“Maybe,” I say neutrally. “No, I know you’re right. He doesn’t operate like that, or he would have tried it with me. And Adam and Skye would never have sent him my way.”
“So, now for the big question. If he wanted to play, would you?”
“Well, of course I want to, Rox. That’s not the issue.”
“Maybe it’s time to start working past those issues, honey, and simply enjoy yourself then, see where it goes. You deserve it, you know.”
She makes it sound so easy, when it’s absolutely not. But it’s a moot point, because I know damn well I’m not going to say no to seeing Kane again. And I’m probably not about to say no to playing with him again if he wants to, despite the battle going on in my head between wanting him and the old fears Patrick created. Pretty sure the wanting is going to win.
His hands are on me, holding me down, and all I want is to hold as still as possible for him, to do as he demands of me. When he pulls out a pair of shining cuffs, I extend my hands, palms up, almost in supplication, silently begging for him to bind me. It’s been so long, and my body is full of yearning. Craving. Wanting.
When he leans over me, I can smell his unique scent, I can feel the heat of his body, and then there’s the snap as he closes the cuffs around my wrists.
Yes. This is what I’ve needed. Why have I rejected it for so long? Is it because I needed it to be him?
A strange calm settles over me, even as the heat of desire builds in my system, hotter and hotter, spiraling now, taking me with it, up to the sky.
If only he would really touch me, then I’d be able to fly.
And as if by magic, his hand moves between my legs, stroking my clit, and need is like some liquid moving through me, undulating, sinuous. I am bound and he’s here with me, touching me, using me, and it’s everything. Every. Thing. My body trembles as orgasm hovers on the edge.
Please, Daddy, just one more touch.
“Kitten,” he whispers, “come for Daddy.”
As I begin to climax, pleasure crashing like a wave over me, I wake up.
This has been my morning for the last three days. I’m covered in sweat, needing, needing, with an edge so acute, so sharp, I could cut myself on it.
My hand slides down to tease my clit, which is already swollen. Pleasure shafts through me as I close my eyes, picturing him, remembering the smoothness of his palms, the scent of his skin, the breadth of his shoulders. And his hands, God, such strong, capable hands. I’m breathless, sensation a hot throbbing sensation in my belly, my pussy, my mind.
I want him. Need him. Need his command. Even more, I need that sense of intense connection I had with him that first night.
No!
I stop, sit up, and push my tangled hair from my face.
I cannot go there again. Not with him, not with any man.
So why did I agree to see him? Because with a man like Kane Crawford, there’s no way to resist his subtle domination of every single moment. It’s simply who he is. A natural Dom. He’s the kind of man everyone—people in the kink scene, as well as anyone he comes into contact with—automatically defers to without even knowing why. Except other Doms, maybe. But I’m no Dom. I’m a sub. Or, I was.
No, I definitely still am. He wouldn’t have this effect on me if that weren’t true.
I’m in so much trouble!
Chapter Two
At ten o’clock on the dot, Kane knocks on my door, and my heartbeat kicks into high gear. I check my reflection in the hall mirror. I spent an embarrassing amount of time picking out the skinny jeans, white t-shirt and lilac scarf, but it feels just right—cute, but not too dressy. I give my hair one final pat before opening the door.
Damn it.
It happens every single time I see him. Racing pulse, heated cheeks, desire pouring through me, making my damn knees weak. Who knew that was really a thing?
“Hi, Kane.”
“Noelle. You look incredible,” he says, smiling.
So does he, in a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and dark jeans that hug his muscular thighs perfectly. But it’s the wide black belt and those boots that really do it for me.
“Thank you,” I manage to get out. “Um, would you like to come in before we go?”
“Sure. I wouldn’t mind seeing the place. I love the Second Empire-style Victorians. You’re so lucky to be on the top floor so you have the dormer windows.”
“It needs a bit of work—or maybe a lot—but I fell so in love with the building, I almost didn’t care what the inside looked like. Oh, sorry—please come in.”
I stand back, and as he passes me I get a whiff of that earthy male scent that’s partly the leather from his jacket and boots. I’m instantly a little dizzy.
“The floors are gorgeous,” he says. “They could use a bit of sanding, but they look original. And the crown molding is definitely the right period. I’d love to get my hands on this building, restore it. I like this old velvet sofa in here. Does the fireplace work?” He runs his hand over the ornately carved mantel.
“I wish it did.”
“Ah, that’s too bad. Well, it’s a beauty, anyway. Ready to go?”
“Yes, sure.”
I pull my pink leather jacket from the coat closet, and he takes it from me, holding it while I slip my arms in.
“The pink suits you,” he tells me.
My cheeks warm. “Does it?”
“Yeah. There’s an innocence to it. You have some of that, too, you know. And it matches your lip gloss.”
All I can do is blush even more. I have no idea what to say. It feels good to be the focus of his attention, but at the same time, I don’t like to acknowledge the innocence he’s seeing. Because in my everyday life I am capable and together. But the part he sees? That’s my subbie side, and that girl is way too vulnerable.
He takes the keys from my hand and I have to step aside as he pulls the front door closed behind us and locks it before handing my keys back to me.
Downstairs, he stops at a sporty charcoal-gray BMW parked at the curb.
“Wow, this is gorgeous.”
“I know it’s a bit over the top,” he says with a self-deprecating grin. “I’m not usually into anything this flashy. Adam’s hinted that I’m having an early mid-life crisis. O
r is forty too early?”
“Forty is definitely too early,” I tell him, while the term ‘Daddy material’ echoes in my head. “But it’s a beautiful piece of machinery. And it’s small enough that you can park it in this town. What is it?”
“It’s an M2 Competition.” He runs a hand over the hood. “She is a beauty, isn’t she?”
“Yes, absolutely. But don’t forget, you promised to take me for a ride on your bike.”
“Oh, I will,” he says, his tone dropping a few octaves “Also? I lied. I’m dying to mess up your hair.”
I’m silently embarrassed, the little shy girl coming to the surface again. He has a way of doing that, and I remember for the nineteenth time that Roxy said he was a Daddy Dom.
No.
I can’t go there. I’m not going to. I’m just showing this nice man, a friend of a mutual friend, around my beloved city.
Right. Even I don’t believe that.
He opens the car door and hands me in, and the touch of his hand on mine sears me. It really does. I squeeze my thighs together as I clip the seatbelt.
He goes around and gets in the other side and starts the engine before turning to look at me.
“Hear that purr?”
“I do. Would you two like to be alone?” I add with a straight face. “I could get an Uber and meet you there.”
Kane’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “I think I can handle you both.”
I’m not going to touch that one, but I’m smiling too as I look away.
“So, where are we headed for brunch?” he asks.
“One of my favorites is a place called Foreign Cinema on Mission. It has a nice patio, and the food is really good.”
He hands me his cell phone. “Sounds perfect. Just punch in the address and maps will take us there.”
I do as he asks, then hand him the phone back, and we’re off. It doesn’t take long to get there from my place in the Castro, and he finds parking only half a block away, which is a miracle in San Francisco. I start to open the door, but he puts a gentle hand on my arm and shakes his head, a small smile quirking one corner of his lush mouth. I obediently let go of the door handle and wait for him to come around to help me out.
Foreign Cinema is a funky place, with steel doors that make it look like an old movie house. He opens the door for me and ushers me inside, then asks the hostess for a table on the outdoor patio. She smiles at him, batting her lashes, and I can’t blame her.
Once we’re seated we look at the menus.
“What’s good here?” he asks.
“Everything. I usually order from the Weekend Picnic menu. The cinnamon pecan sweet roll is so good.”
“Why don’t we try a bit of everything? Will you eat oysters?”
“I’ll eat almost anything. I’m a little bit of a foodie.”
“And yet, you mentioned the sweet roll as your favorite?” he teases.
“A foodie with a bad sweet tooth,” I admit.
“I’ll remember that.”
Why does that comment make me blush? Again. Jeez.
Luckily the waitress comes and asks what we’ll have.
“Let’s start with two of the sweet rolls,” he says, his blue-green gaze on the menu. “Then half a dozen of the Coromandel oysters, the lavender baked goat cheese crudité, the Charentais melon with prosciutto and figs. Unless you recommend something else?”
The waitress lowers her lashes. “We’re famous for our homemade pop tarts.”
“Two of those, then. And a bottle of sparkling wine. Hmm…the Schramsberg Blanc looks nice.”
“Right away, sir,” the waitress says, pausing a few moments longer than necessary before moving away.
“That’s an awful lot of food just for two people,” I tell him.
He nods. “I like to taste everything.”
He’s watching me in that way true Doms do—as if they can look into your soul—and I shift in my seat.
“Um, so…” I’m trying to figure out how to address the elephant in the room, but it’s…awkward.
He reaches across the table and lays a hand on mine, so gently I’d barely notice the command in the gesture if I weren’t already so attuned to such thigs. And attuned to him.
“I think I know what you were going to address, and it is something we should talk about, or at least touch on. You’re thinking of our time together at Club Inferno in LA, yes?”
“Yes,” I confess, feeling a little foolish, and yet relieved that he’s taking point on this conversation.
He pauses a moment, then says with a small smile, “You’re absolutely adorable when you blush.”
I shake my head, really and truly embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s just that it’s true. But we’ll let that go for now. Let’s discuss whatever you need to about the last time we saw each other. Did I leave you feeling bad in any way? I’m certain I offered my cell number in case you crashed the next day, but you didn’t call, so I assumed you were fine. That seems careless now, and I apologize for it. I should have made an effort to follow up with you through Jeannie.”
“No, it’s not that. I was fine. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s me.”
“I remember that night, Noelle, and you definitely didn’t do anything wrong. On the contrary, you did everything exactly right. But that’s not the issue, is it?”
“It’s not. Honestly, it was sort of a shock seeing you walk into my salon. I wasn’t expecting anyone I knew, especially someone I’d scened with. I mean, it’s always a bit strange running into someone I only know from a kink club in a vanilla setting, but I just…” wasn’t prepared for you. That’s not something I’m ready to share, so I shake my head. “I think part of it is that I’ve been out of the scene for a while.”
“Really? It’s not my business, of course, so don’t feel you have to explain anything if you’d rather not. But I have to say, I’m surprised. You were definitely no newbie when we played. I can only imagine something’s happened to you in the interim. It’s been, what? Four years?”
“Three and a half. And yes, a lot has happened.” I drop my gaze, fiddling with the place setting and rolling the edge of the cloth napkin between my fingers.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he repeats.
But I want to. I feel I should tell him—some of it, at least.
“It’s okay. I had a relationship with a Dom, and…he took me to some very raw places. And it ended really badly.”
“I’m so sorry, Noelle.” The sincerity in his voice makes me look up to find his ocean-colored eyes blazing.
“There’s no need to apologize. You didn’t do anything. And in retrospect, it was probably my own fault, anyway.”
“How was it your fault?” he asks gently.
I shrug. “I should know better than to let myself be that wide open with anyone.”
He’s quiet for a few moments.
“You know,” he finally says, “being vulnerable is kind of the point in power play, especially on the submissive side. That’s the gift. If someone disrespected your gift, then it’s on them, not you.”
“But I should have known better.”
“Why should you have known?” Suddenly his eyes are shadowed and his brows draw together. “Was he abusive? Did he hurt you?”
“He…not physically, no. He…” But I can’t seem to get the words out—they stick in my throat as if barbed with thorns.
“It’s okay.” His tone is so gentle it almost makes me want to cry. But mostly it makes me want to trust him.
“It’s not, though.” I finally find my voice, even if it’s a little choked coming out. “He abandoned me when I needed him most, and left me feeling like a piece of trash to be thrown away.” I bite my lips, a bit horrified that I’ve revealed so much. “I’m sorry. I didn’t need to say all that.”
“Maybe you did. And it’s fine. It really is, Noelle. It’s certainly not anything I’d judge you for.
The guy, on the other hand…” He growls. “No matter how a power dynamic ends, it’s a Dom’s duty to make sure a sub doesn’t leave his care feeling anything less than whole and worthy. I’d really like to find him and explain that in a way he’ll never forget.”
God, I feel so damn heard. I feel protected. And I’m struggling like mad to figure out if it’s actually safe to feel these things with him.
He brushes the back of my hand with gentle fingertips. “You don’t need to say anything more. Thank you for sharing that with me. Would you like to change the subject before food gets here?”
“Yes, please,” I say with relief.
But I don’t think I’m ever going to forget how this man has made me feel. As if I can be me again
Luckily, the sparkling wine arrives, and Kane opens it himself and pours a glass for each of us.
“Salud.” He touches his glass to mine. After we sip, he asks, “Do you like it?”
“I do. It’s lovely.”
“Agreed. So, in the interest of changing the subject, why don’t you tell me about your family.”
“Well, I have a brother, Nicholas, who I’m very close with. He’s two years younger than me, and he lives in Australia. He married an Aussie woman, Fiona, and my nephew, Isaac, is three years old, and he’s this amazing kid. I get to see him once a year, and in between we talk on Skype every week.”
“It sounds like family is important to you.”
“It is. Or, they are. Our parents are sort of…checked out. They always have been. They’re both university professors, although they’re retired now and mostly they travel, but when we were kids, they were sort of absorbed in their own stuff. My mom was getting her PhD in psychology when we were growing up, and my dad—he was a history professor and his specialty was ancient cultures in Central America—he has that classic absent-minded professor thing going on. We were pretty much left to fend for ourselves, so I was Nick’s little mom for a long time.”
“That’s a hell of a lot for a kid to take on.”
“Yeah, it was. But we’re so close, I can’t regret it.”
“It doesn’t surprise me, though,” he says, pausing to sip his sparkling wine. “So many submissives, especially those who have the desire to get lost in age play, need it because they’ve had too much responsibility in their lives.”
