by Maren Smith
“Oh.” I duck my head and swallow my wine to get my thoughts straight, to catch my breath. “I forgot that we’d talked about that at the club.”
“It came up in negotiations. I hope it’s okay if I refer back to that conversation. If you’d rather rescind your consent regarding those negotiations, all you have to do is say so.”
I shake my head. “No, that seems pointless. I’d just forgotten that you knew.”
“Don’t worry—we can always do negotiations again,” he says, one corner of his lush mouth quirking.
He looks absolutely wicked, and I like it more than I want to admit.
“You’re blushing again, Noelle. Does that mean you want to renegotiate, or forget we ever did?”
I bite my lip, then stop when I realize what I’m doing. God, what do I want? But I already know, don’t I? I want him, no matter how dangerous he feels. No matter how dangerous it feels to get involved with anyone kinky. With anyone, period. But he’s just so…everything. Gorgeous and commanding, kind and protective, and he seems to get me.
“It means…yes. I would like to renegotiate. And for the record, I sort of can’t believe I’m even saying this.”
“Sometimes the best way to overcome past trauma is to get back up on that same horse. Only this time, you’ll be in my hands, Noelle. I don’t take that responsibility lightly. I promise I’ll take good care of you.”
I have to avert my gaze, once more looking down at my napkin. “He told me the same thing.”
“But I actually mean it,” he tells me, wrapping my hand in his warm grip.
He’s staring into my eyes, making me see him. Making me believe him. I don’t know too much about this man, but I know his reputation in the kink community. Even more than that, I know he makes me feel safe. No one else has given me any sense of safety since the mess with Patrick happened. That has to mean something.
I shiver, tiny goosebumps rising all over my skin. “Okay. Let’s do it. Let’s go over negotiations.”
He smiles, and there’s not a single ounce of condescension in it, no ego at all. Just pure pleasure. “Alright. Shall we set a date?”
“Can we do it tonight? After we eat?”
“Yes, we can do that. Absolutely. But we’ll have to cut off the wine.”
The food comes, and my stomach is so full of lovely butterflies mixed with a little fear, I can hardly make myself eat anything.
As wonderful as the meal is, I can barely wait to get out of here, to go somewhere with him and talk. Finally, we’re done, and the waitress bats her lashes at him once more when she brings the check. But it doesn’t bother me. He’s so acutely focused on me, I can almost feel him all over me, like some magically physical sensation.
He insists on pulling out my chair, then excuses himself to pull out the chair of an elderly woman at the next table. After he helps her to her feet, we walk to his car, where he holds the door open for me again.
“Where to, Noelle? We could go to my place, but you might feel more comfortable at yours.”
“Yes, my apartment, please.”
He smiles and nods, then the engine roars to life. As we drive into a low fog and through the misty streets, I feel as if my life has taken a sudden turn—a steep, frightening turn that’s also as exhilarating as speeding down the street at one hundred miles an hour. And I realize I miss this thrill, the thrill of kink. But tonight there’s so much more to it. Because there’s him. And I know already my life is about to change forever.
Chapter Three
We get to my apartment and he takes the keys from my hands to unlock the door, then holds it open as I pass through. Inside he hands me back the keys, and I set them and my small purse on the antique console table in the entry.
“Would you like something to drink?” I ask.
“Some water would be good.”
“Okay, sure.”
I slip out of my leather jacket and lay it across the back of one of the wooden chairs at my tiny kitchen table, then my scarf, as well. Suddenly, it’s far too warm in here. I pour two glasses of filtered water and carry them back to the living room. He’s sitting on my pale green velvet sofa, seeming to dwarf the room. His dark figure is highlighted by the sheer curtains on the bay window behind him, the city lights a dim glow through the glass and chiffon. And I have to catch my breath, he is so beautiful, this man.
He takes the offered glass and gestures to the cushion beside him. “Sit.”
When I settle on the sofa and set down my glass on the coffee table, he turns to take my chin in his fingertips, tilting my face until he can lock his gaze on mine.
“Noelle, I know we’ve done this before. But it’s been some time, and we’re going to take it from scratch. You know how to do this—you answer with yes, no, or maybe, and inform me about any triggers or trauma. Okay?”
“Yes, okay.”
“The first question I have is, will you allow any sexual contact? Or is this purely play?”
The breath leaves my body, like I’ve been punched in the gut. Boy, he really gets down to business. “Oh…I think…” Why can’t I seem to finish the sentence?
Seeing that I’m having trouble, he smiles at me. “It’s okay. Let’s try this from a different angle. Would you like me to kiss you?”
I would like him to kiss me so damn badly I’m shaking all over. “Yes, please.”
“Oh, I love how you say that—as if you’re giving me permission and begging me all at the same time.”
He sets down his glass, then leans in and presses his lips to mine, so gently I can only yearn for more. And he gives me more, kissing me more firmly, pulling back the tiniest bit before kissing me again. He kisses my mouth, my cheek, my jaw, then returns to my waiting lips, and I kiss him back eagerly. I need more, so much more, and when he opens my lips with his warm, sweet tongue, I sigh. Part of me surrenders so effortlessly I’d almost never know I’d even considered resisting.
And God, the man can kiss. His mouth is soft and demanding at the same time as he deepens the kiss, and I know somewhere in the back of my mind that I’m melting into him, but I can’t help it as his hand goes to my waist and pulls me closer. It’s a goddamn screen kiss, sweet and passionate, and I have never been kissed like this in my life.
When he stops, I want to protest, but I don’t dare. He’s smiling at me as he tenderly tucks my hair behind my ear.
“Oh, yeah, I am gonna mess up your gorgeous hair.”
I smile, shy suddenly. It’s the submissive in me. But more than that, it’s the little in me trying to come out. But I push her down. We have negotiations to get through.
“I’m going to reflect back on those previous negotiations fairly quickly,” he tells me. “Remember, yes, no or maybe.”
I nod.
“Impact play?”
“Yes.”
“Floggers, canes, paddles, crops?”
“Nothing too heavy. I don’t like a heavier cane or rod, or too heavy a paddle. And even with a flogger, I like it mostly for warm up. I’m not that big a pain player.”
“I remember that about you. I’m assuming no whips?”
“No whips.”
“Spanking?”
“That’s one of my favorite things—or, it was. So yes.”
He nods. “Clamps?”
“Only as punishment. I don’t enjoy them.”
“Very good. Humiliation?”
The idea makes my eyes well with tears, and I’m momentarily stunned at my own reaction.
“It’s okay,” he says, taking my hand and stroking the back of it with his thumb. “Shh, Noelle, it’s okay. We won’t ever go there. Alright?”
I nod, wiping at my eyes.
“Do you want some water?” He hands me my glass, and I sip before he sets it back on the table. “You good to continue? Or do you want to talk about it?”
“No, I’m good.” I am and I’m not. He’s already tapping into some deep places, and I know I’ll have to talk to him about it. Maybe now
is the time. “Kane? Can I tell you why that’s such a big issue for me?”
“Of course. And I’m honored that you want to share it with me, whatever it is.”
I nod, take a deep breath and blow it out before I begin. “That Dom I mentioned earlier? He was my Dom, not just pick-up play. We were in a relationship and I really gave him everything, you know? I opened myself to him. And it was good at first. But then, something happened to me.”
I have to stop for a moment, pulling in a few more breaths, and Kane waits patiently for me to continue.
“We had been together nearly a year when I was diagnosed with skin cancer.”
He’s quiet, waiting for me to finish, but he squeezes my hand reassuringly.
“And Patrick—that’s his name—he just wasn’t prepared to go through the process with me. I was lucky, really. I didn’t have to go through chemo or radiation, which is sometimes the case with a malignant melanoma, because my doctor caught it early. I only had to have surgery. But she was also very clear that it was a malignancy and it could have killed me. It was a shock.”
“Where was it?” he asks.
“On my left arm, my outer biceps. I…usually keep it covered. There’s a scar and I hate it. It’s so ugly.”
“I don’t believe that,” he says.
“But it is,” I insist. “It looks like someone hit me in the arm with an ax.”
“Did Patrick tell you so?” he asks, his tone so gentle I can barely hear him.
The tears are back, stinging my eyes. “Yes.”
“Then—and forgive my vulgarity—Patrick is an asshole.”
A short laugh escapes me. “Yeah, he is.”
He takes both my hands in his, commanding my attention. “Noelle, the scars we bear are beautiful. They’re our history. They’re our pain, and pain is always meaningful. You have to know your scars make you a warrior, and if I do nothing else, I’ll work to make you understand that. That and the fact that Patrick was no Dom if he only wanted you for the good times. As your Dom in particular it was his duty to care for you in every way, especially when you really needed help. The way he behaved is completely unacceptable, and that’s all on him.”
A sense of wonder comes over me, and it’s like a warm blanket. I know he’s right, that my scar is not some horrible, repulsive thing. That I’m not any of the terrible things Patrick told me I was. And I get it on a cerebral level, but it’s going to take time to believe it bone deep.
“Thank you for saying that.”
“I mean every word.”
He strokes my hair, and I want to close my eyes, breathe him in, get lost in his touch. But like a frightened fawn, I can’t allow myself to relax that much.
“Should we stop for tonight?” he asks.
“No. No, I think this had to be said, had to be put out there, before we can really negotiate with any real depth.”
“Good girl,” he says, making me shiver. “Okay, hard limits.”
“Hard limits are playing and being left alone right after with no aftercare. Visible marks I can’t hide under my work clothes, and really, I don’t like my play too rough, although I do like to be manhandled. I mean, I love the feeling of being taken over.”
“I get it. I do.”
“And I’m not ready to play in the clubs again. Not yet. Also, no needle play, knife play, fear play, anything too hardcore. Especially now. I think I need to ease my way back into kink. Maybe some surface stimulation, but again, nothing too rough.”
He’s watching me closely, nodding as I talk.
“Of course. I want you to feel as comfortable as possible—you just need to let me know how to do that, or if I ever trigger you. Okay? Now, what about safewords? Anything unusual?”
“Just the standard green, yellow or red. But I’d really rather not be put into a situation where I have to safeword.”
“I’d rather you didn’t, either. Not now. But let’s discuss the age play. Is that alright?”
“Yes, although, to be honest, I’m not sure I can go there again. It’s such a vulnerable place to be. I have to feel absolutely safe.”
“Then I’ll make it my goal to provide you with a safe space. Because I would really love to see that side of you, pretty girl. But also because I hope to offer you the freedom to be in that place again.”
I’m quiet for a while. No one has ever spoken to me the way he does. He knows exactly what I need from him, and yet nothing about his manner says he’s only telling me what he thinks I want to hear. He is utterly sincere, I’m certain. I would be even if I didn’t know his stellar reputation.
“Do you want to tell me who your small self is?” he asks gently—so gently, as if he knows he’s approaching my child self. I guess he does.
“Yes, I can tell you. I don’t know that I’m ready to go there, but I’m willing to talk about it.”
“Good. I’m ready to hear it.”
I wish I’d kept my scarf on so I’d have something to do with my hands. Instead, I grab my glass of water from the coffee table to trace the tiny droplets of moisture that have gathered on the outside of the glass with my thumb, and keeping my eyes on the glass, I tell him my most vulnerable secret.
“So, my little persona is really a middle, maybe twelve. I don’t know why that age in particular.”
“I bet you’re adorable,” he says.
“You enjoy making me blush, don’t you?”
“Hell yes,” he answers with a grin, his ocean eyes sparkling. “Tell me more, Noelle.”
“Well, the one thing I’ve never explored, and have wanted to, is…my kitten side.”
He leans forward, his chin on his fist. “Now I’m really intrigued.”
“Kane!”
Oh, God, I just told him about my fondest fantasy, one I’ve always felt was far too vulnerable a place to be, and he’s intrigued? I am in so much trouble.
“No, I mean it. It’s something I’ve always wanted, my own kitten. I’ve put a lot of thought into it, actually. It’s a lot of responsibility, and I haven’t had that deep a connection with anyone since…”
He trails off, and I wonder what’s going on. He’s always so utterly confident, and I’ve never heard him stutter.
It’s my turn to be gentle when I ask, “Do you want to finish that sentence?”
He’s quiet for a few moments. “Maybe I do. Yeah, I do want to tell you. This isn’t something I talk about, but it seems only fair, given what you’ve revealed to me. And it may affect our play, so it’s necessary.”
He stops again, and I wait while he sips his water then carefully sets the glass back down. He clasps his hands, then unclasps them, and my heart goes out to him. Obviously this is hard for him.
“I had a girl, a little, of my own. We’d been together for two years when… One night I called a cab for her. She wouldn’t let me drive her home because I had to be up at 4am the next day for a business trip, even though I’d always driven her myself. But that cab was in an accident on the 405. And…and she died that night. It’s been five years, but I’ve never allowed myself to have that deep, intense dynamic with anyone since, because I failed that responsibility.”
“How can you say that? How could you have known?”
“If I’d driven her myself, she’d still be alive—there’s no way around that.”
“Or you would have been the one driving when the accident happened. It’s impossible to guess how the outcome might have been different.”
He looks up at me, his eyes shadowed with pain. “I will never not feel responsible for what happened.”
I swallow hard. “Okay. So, are you telling me not to expect anything too deep with you, no matter where we go with play?”
He shakes his head. “I think what I’m saying is, I’d like to try it with you. To be honest, I haven’t been able to forget about you since that one night of play in LA. I’ve never forgotten your face, the texture of your hair, your voice. I’ve always wondered what else I might have experienced with y
ou if I’d had the chance. And I sort of can’t believe it’s you Adam sent me to.”
“You didn’t know?”
“You used your scene name, Nono, at the club. It suits you, you know.”
“Does it?”
And damn it, I’m blushing again. I suppose I’d better get used to it.
“Yeah, it does. It’s almost as adorable as you are.”
My cheeks are still flaming, but I also realize he’s redirecting the conversation, which is okay. If he wants to tell me more later, he can, of course. Meanwhile, I’ll respect his limits around discussing what is obviously the biggest tragedy of his life.
“Thank you for confiding in me, Kane.”
He smiles as he brushes my hair from my face. “Thank you for being such a good listener. For allowing me to feel I could tell you.”
I smile back, but remain quiet. We don’t need words at this moment, he and I. We’ve bared our souls to each other, and it has to mean something that neither of us do this with anyone else. I don’t want to think about the implications—I just want to enjoy the warmth suffusing my system. I want to revel in the way he’s looking at me, his incredible eyes gleaming, the heat of his hand as it cups my cheek.
When he leans in to kiss me, I feel that sense of surrender again. I feel it even more when he puts his hands on my waist and moves me back on the couch, laying me down and holding me there, firmly enough that I know he means it. I am absolutely melting with desire, so much it makes me ache. His command is so completely natural, so instinctive, it’s as if he can see into my mind.
He pulls back and stares into my eyes for so long I can barely manage to hold still. He watches me and watches me, then finally he says, his tone low, “Noelle, be my kitten.”
“Oh!”
“I want to do this with you. I have to. I need to have you under my hands. I need to be in charge of you, responsible for you. And I think you need this, too. Do you understand what I’m asking?”
I nod. I can’t make myself speak—my mind is whirling, scared but absolutely needing him in this way. He’s right about that. I don’t even know why I trust him so utterly. It goes far beyond Adam referring him, beyond having played with him before. It goes far beyond the desire burning in my veins, making my nipples hard, making me need to be touched.
