by Evelyn Adams
“Smart ass,” he said, pinching my still tender nipple.
I yelped and felt my face flush with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal. I couldn’t explain why the slight bite of pain did it for me, but I was done trying to deny it. After the way I shattered for him under the bite of the leather tails, he wouldn’t believe it anyway. I could psychoanalyze the shit out of my responses later but for now I intended to enjoy the way Erik made my body feel. I’d worry about the rest another time.
“Since you handled the flogger so beautifully, I was going to let you off the hook.” He punched the word in a way that made it clear my smart-ass mouth put me firmly back on the hook.
Erik leaned toward me and I sucked in my breath in anticipation. Instead of touching me again, he reached past me to snag a well-worn paperback from a sweetgrass basket beside the sofa. He placed the book in my hands and relaxed back against the leather, looking like the king of the world. The complete self-assurance in his stance—like he knew whatever he commanded would happen—made my body tighten, but I managed to curtail the urge to roll my eyes.
Honesty, both about my feelings and about the way my body responded to him, was a hell of a lot harder than I expected. It was so much easier to go for the snark. I’d always been a basically truthful person. I prided myself on my integrity. I hadn’t realized how much I lied, even about simple meaningless things, until Erik demanded my honesty. Not that orgasms were meaningless, not at all, but somewhere along the way it had gotten easier to simply smile and hide my genuine responses to things. Not my opinions, those I was perfectly comfortable sharing—hell, broadcasting if necessary—but my feelings were a different thing.
I didn’t want them to be. I wanted to be as honest with my body and my heart as I was with my mind. Erik could help me with that. Although I had no intention of telling him. The irony wasn’t lost on me. Baby steps. Needing a buffer between the thoughts in my head and the half-dressed would-be king radiating heat next to me, I glanced at the book in my hands.
“Outlander? You want me to read Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander to you? It’s like six hundred pages long.” And one of my favorite books of all time but that didn’t seem the salient point at the moment.
“You don’t have to start at the beginning if you don’t want to. My page is marked. Or we can start over, if you’d rather.” For the first time in all time we’d spent together, Erik seemed—not unsure exactly; that would be too strong of a word—less than completely in control was probably more accurate. And he’d given me a choice.
My attention shifted with laser focus to what could possibly make him feel like that. It was, after all, a hell of a lot easier to analyze someone else’s weaknesses than it was to look at my own. Although even thinking about weak and Erik in the same sentence felt disingenuous.
“You’re a hundred and ten pages into the book,” I said, flipping to the spot he’d marked. “Why would you want to start over? Why have me read to you at all?” Never mind for the moment, the fact that when the big bad attorney wanted to read, he picked a time-traveling historical romance.
“I like your voice,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m not expecting you to do the characters. Unless you want to.” He gave me a cocky grin that made me want to strangle him and kiss him at the same time.
It was a toss-up which desire was stronger, and then his expression shifted to something less guarded and kissing edged out bodily harm.
“I’m dyslexic, Alex. I love the stories—the language—but I have to work so hard at reading; it takes the joy out of it for me.”
I had about a million questions about how he got through law school with dyslexia. Hell, how he handled his daily life. It wasn’t like he’d chosen a profession that didn’t rely on the written word. Brevity with words was a legal oxymoron. Thinking about how hard he must have worked to get where he was tugged at my heart, making me care even more. The man never stopped surprising me.
“Alexandra,” he said, using the same voice he’d used in the playroom earlier to get me to answer him. “I have an abundance of coping mechanisms I’ve developed over the years. I’d be happy to talk about them another time. I’m sure you have reams of questions, but we’re done with this issue for now. Either use your safe word or read.”
I hadn’t considered the idea that we were still in a scene, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it—that he could just play the Dom card whenever he wanted. At some point, we were going to have to talk about where the line was, but it didn’t have to be today.
Settling back into my spot against his chest, I opened the book to the first page and started to read.
“OH, AYE, SASSENACH, I AM your master...and you’re mine. Seems I canna possess your soul without losing my own.” I kept replaying the quote from Outlander in my head as I walked the last few blocks to the restaurant. I could almost feel Erik’s strong arms holding me and his lips pressed to the top of my head as I read to him.
Actually, my entire time with Erik seemed to have etched itself on my psyche. Deeper, if I was being honest with myself, which I was making a concerted effort to do. If nothing else, being with Erik taught me how often I hid or suppressed my real feelings. I wasn’t going to become one of those people who used the truth to bludgeon others, but I was going to do a better job being honest with myself. Starting with the fact that I loved the way Erik played my body, and that there might be something genuine to this dominance and submission thing.
Surrendering to him while he used the fine line between pleasure and pain to show me new, deeper sensations had been one of the most powerful experiences of my life. And I had a feeling we were just getting started. There was so much more he could teach me and so much more I wanted to know.
It shocked the hell out of me, but it wasn’t just BDSM stuff. His dyslexia confession brought up a dozen more questions and made me want to understand him that much more. How crazy strong and committed did a person have to be to get through law school when they struggled to read? He’d shown me his text-to-voice app on his way to take me home and explained some of his coping methods. Everything he told me made me like him that much more. Like was the only L word I was even thinking, but I had to admit, the man was so much more than I’d first imagined. And I was getting in deeper every minute we spent together.
Pushing the uncomfortable thought aside, I opened the door to the raw food restaurant Elena had chosen for lunch. The interior was practically covered with Carrara marble. Everything was smooth and white, and the restaurant smelled like fresh cut grass and chamomile. It was the scent of every summer I’d had growing up except I had a feeling there wouldn’t be any Nutty Buddy cones at the end of this meal.
I gave my name to the host and followed him to a table beside what looked like a back-lit Himalayan salt wall. I sat in the rosy glow and studied a menu full of food I didn’t really want to eat. In a city known for its food, I still couldn’t quite believe we were eating in a place that didn’t even cook the food. I had to keep reminding myself that wasn’t the point. It was Elena’s choice. It felt a little like my friends were taking turns babysitting me. I tried to focus on feeling loved and not on the slightly helpless desperation that came from suddenly having no job and friends determined to keep me busy. I ordered a beet juice mocktail and relaxed back into the surprisingly comfortable seat to wait.
Elena blew in a few minutes past the hour, looking pretty if slightly frazzled, and I wondered what she had to move around to make time for me. I hated feeling like the weakest link. At least this time I might have something helpful to offer her.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, taking my hand in hers and leaning in to kiss my cheeks. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
“Not long at all.” The drink I’d barely touched supported my statement. “I honestly understand if you don’t have time for lunch.” And it would mean I wouldn’t be stuck pretending uncooked vegetables counted as food.
“Don’t be sill
y. A client turned me on to this place. I love it here.” The smile lit her face, which was a clear illustration of different strokes and all that.
The server took Elena’s order for a green supreme juice, and we paused for a moment to glance at the menu. Oyster po’ boy and fries hadn’t sprouted up among the nuts and berries, so I settled on a zucchini wrap. At least it included avocado, which wasn’t as good as bacon but better than wheatgrass. Elena had the same with the avocado and cashew sour cream on the side.
“Seriously?”
“I like it that way.”
I wasn’t sure I believed her, but it was her lunch. When it was my turn to pick, we were going to Tujague’s for gumbo.
“I think I might have found a house you could decorate for the home tour,” I said after the server set a basket of old school crudité on the table. Not as good as breadsticks but not bad. “Nothing definite but I’ve got a lead.”
Even that might be overstating things. I still had no idea how I was going to get Jensen to agree to open his home but seeing the expression on my friend’s face made me determined to figure it out.
“How? Who? They always show the same houses. They’re locked up years in advance.”
“I know someone with a house in the Garden District that’s never been featured.” Knew—intimately, like screaming orgasm, fist gripping my hair, just shy of Biblical depending on how you counted it—someone who had a home that had never been shown. “I’m...” How did I describe it? Close to? Seeing? Cuffed by? It wasn’t dating. “I have a client who has a home on First Street. I might be able to convince him to open it up.”
Holding a forkful of spiralized zucchini halfway to her mouth, she looked at me like I’d offered her the Holy Grail. “On First? Whose house is it? I thought you weren’t seeing clients.”
Elena was my friend. It ought to be easier to tell her the truth about Erik and me.
“Remember the speaker from the domestic violence fundraiser?”
“Erik Jensen is your client?” Her voice rose on his name, reaching near screech levels, and I wondered if somewhere across town, the good counselor’s ears were ringing.
“Shh,” I said, holding my hands up between us.
“Sorry.” She dropped her voice in a mock whisper. “But seriously? Since when do you know Erik Jensen? Why didn’t you say something about it at the benefit? Have you seen him naked? God, I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me.”
It wasn’t lost on me that she’d started speaking almost entirely in questions. Questions I wasn’t comfortable answering—not yet anyway.
“I didn’t know him at the benefit,” I said, opting for the easiest answer.
“But you know him now? Even though you aren’t seeing any new clients because of the legal thing?”
This time her questions came with a side of accusation and I felt like an ass. So much for the new, more honest Alex.
“It’s complicated.”
“I bet it is.” She pinned me with her stare and I watched as her eyes went wide. “You’re dating Erik Jensen. That’s it, isn’t it? He’s one of the most eligible bachelors in the city. He’s almost never seen with the same woman more than once. There’d been speculation that he was gay. You’d be Amal to his Clooney.”
Something inside my chest tightened, both at the idea of having to disabuse her of her Amal Clooney dreams and more shocking, at the fact that some of those kind of dreams seemed to have crept into my head as well. That wouldn’t do. Erik and I were playing tie me up/tie me down, not playing house. I chose to ignore for the moment that his house was exactly what I’d be asking him for.
“Slow down. It’s not like that. We’re not dating. We’re friends.” I pulled the word out of the air at the last minute, but when I rolled it around in my head, I realized I liked the way it felt.
I could do a hell of a lot worse than have a friend like Erik. He was an arrogant, infuriating know-it-all, but he was also attentive, perceptive, challenging, and maybe most surprisingly, kind.
“Friends with benefits or just friends?”
“We’re friends.” I left everything else unsaid. If I talked out my feelings with Elena, I wouldn’t be able to hide them from myself, and it felt like my peace of mind depended on it.
“Do you really think he’d be willing to do it?” she asked, looking like a woman who didn’t want to be disappointed.
Welcome to the club, sister.
I WAITED UNTIL I got back to my apartment before I called Erik. Not bothering with something as mundane as a plate, I took a bite of the waxed paper-wrapped muffaletta sandwich, thumbed open the contact for Sir and hit Call. I groaned in satisfaction as the salty olive salad and salami soothed my squash-abused taste buds.
“Mid-orgasm, kitten, or just getting started?” he answered and I realized he must have heard my cured Italian meat-induced pleasure.
“Eating. It’s a long story.”
“I’m happy to make time for you.”
My stomach warmed both from the food and his words. I could picture him standing in his office, sleeves rolled up to reveal his tanned wrists while he surveyed everything around him like the lord of his domain. I didn’t want to talk about my foray into raw food. Everything we’d done together had this undercurrent of delicious sensuality. It might break my heart if denial was something he actually enjoyed.
“I have a question.”
“I have many answers,” he said, the smile clear in his voice.
“Are we friends?”
He paused for a moment and I wondered if he was worried it was some kind of trick question. Or worse if, because I’d accidentally dropped the L bomb, he was trying to find a nice way to tell me no. The possibility made me freeze in place, and I opened my mouth to tell him never mind. I didn’t want to know.
“Yes, Alexandra, I believe we are friends.” He let out a hmpf on the other end of the line, and I got the impression the answer surprised him as much as it initially surprised me. “Why did you ask?”
“I need a favor.”
“You want me to strap a vibrator to your clit, bend you over the spanking bench and warm your ass with my hand until you come three or four times?”
My skin flushed at his words. It wasn’t fair that he could make my body respond like that, to nothing more than the sound of his voice and the picture he painted with his words. I shifted on my ladies who lunch heels, pressing my thighs together to keep from trying to crawl through the phone to curl up on his lap, begging to be stroked like the kitten he called me.
“I want you to let me enter your house in the Garden District Home Tour. I can’t tell you why—at least not now—but it’s important. And you won’t have to do a thing.” I cringed, waiting for the no I knew was coming.
“Get your sweet ass ready, and I’ll have the car pick you up in an hour. Wear that naughty librarian skirt, the highest heels you have and no panties. We’ll try my favor first while I consider yours.”
I sagged against the counter, using it to steady my shaky legs. “Yes, Sir,” I said, before I could stop myself, the title a response to the command in his voice.
“See you in an hour, friend.” He disconnected the call, his warm chuckle still ringing in my ear.
“COUNT THEM OUT for me, beautiful.”
Alex was stretched over the spanking bench in my playroom, her skirt rucked up around her waist, her naked ass in the air just waiting for my hand. Every time she shifted on her stilettos, I got a fucking spectacular glimpse of the lips of her pretty pink pussy.
“Yes, Sir.” She glanced over her shoulder and her expression made it clear she was feeling more smart ass than submissive.
Not that the two were mutually exclusive, but we were both going to have a lot more fun if I could get her out of her head. I ran my hand over the smooth, round globe of her ass. The woman had a fine ass. Instead of tensing, she pushed back into my palm, moving toward the caress. I pulled my hand back and smacked her hard. Hard enough to make my palm
sting and for her to jump like a scalded cat.
“Fucking hell, Jensen. That hurt.” She glared over her shoulder at me, her eyes burning.
“And we’re going to have to do it again because you didn’t count it out.” I pitched my voice low and kept my tone reasonable, as if I were reciting a legal brief. I knew the lack of emotion would wind her even higher and the faster she surrendered, the better for both of us. Although I’d be happy to play with her for as long as she let me.
“The hell we are.” She pushed her chest off the bench. I hadn’t bound her this time because I wanted to see if she could stay still. Apparently, she couldn’t.
“Are you using your safe word, Alexandra?”
She looked like she’d happily shoot daggers out of her eyes at me if she could, but she shook her head.
“I need to hear you say it.”
“No, I’m not using my safe word.”
I could have sworn she muttered something under her breath that sounded a lot like you ass, but we were still taking baby steps so I pretended not to hear.
“Good. Count.”
I watched her body tense. The muscles of her butt tightened as she braced herself. I raised my hand but instead of spanking her, I fiddled with the remote in my pocket, turning on the tiny vibe pressed against her clit. Her breath went out in a rush and she rocked back on her heels, moving toward the sensation. That’s when I struck, a stinging smack across her ass, not as hard as the first time but hard enough to leave a red handprint on her pale skin.
“One.” She gritted the words out between clenched teeth.
“That’s it, kitten. I almost thought you’d forgotten again.” I didn’t bother to try to hide my grin.
She didn’t comment on the pet name, which meant she was too busy trying to hold herself together to pay any attention to me beyond what my hand would do next. I liked messing with her—ruffling her carefully controlled world—but I fucking loved being the one who got to tip her over the edge. I bumped up the intensity with the remote in my pocket and brought my hand down on her tender skin again, softer but in the same place as before. She squeaked out the word two as she squirmed on the pencil-thin points of her heels. There was no way for her to get any relief from the vibrator on her clit or my hand on her ass. Not unless she was willing to use her safe word and we both knew she’d never do that. It would take a lot more than a simple spanking to get her to give up.
