desire for Touch: a M/F, D/s love story (RiverHart Book 1)

by Adira August

  When Avia put her feet down, she noticed the “footrest” was, in fact, a seat supported by two sections of metal that curved out from under the chair to rest on the floor and turned up to support it.

  Ben slid onto it, his feet and knees between hers. Leaning forward, he felt for hidden handholds under the arms. He paused, then, until she met his cool gaze.

  He pulled back hard and spread his legs, forcing her feet and knees apart.

  “Holy shit!” She was semi-reclined, hips thrust forward to the edge of the seat. The outsides of his knees pressed to the insides of hers.

  He kept them there, holding her legs apart under her long skirt.

  “So,” he asked conversationally, “If you were nude, what do you think I might do to you, now?” He lifted, bent over her, hands on the chair arms, darkening eyes locked on hers.

  “And how happy will you be in this position, for how long, while I do it?”

  A sudden clenching heat between Avia’s legs caused her thighs to close automatically. Or try to. Her knees met his, unyielding. From the knowing look in his eyes, he was completely aware of her sudden arousal, the pressure of her legs against his own. For one more long moment, he held her there.

  He straightened abruptly and returned the chair to its normal position.

  “You see, Ms. Rivers,” he continued as if nothing had happened. “For thousands of years sex aids have been designed principally for the benefit of the man.” She struggled to sit up with a modicum of grace.

  He took one of her hands and pulled, indicating he’d help her rise. She noticed how large his hands were. How long and strong his tapered fingers were. The nails short and clean.

  She allowed him to draw her from the chair and ended up standing near enough to his chest to feel the heat from his body. He smelled … what was that? The scent of clean wind off the mountains, and something underneath, warm and spicy. Maybe it’s just pheromones.

  Avia felt a strong urge to stumble.

  He took a step back and continued his talk. “A standard S-lounger or tantra-chair is a narrow armless chaise lounge in an ess shape that the man lies back on, his knees bent and comfortably supported. The woman sits astride, her legs hang off the sides. There’s deep penetration. She does all the work, usually.”

  Avia noted that he spoke as if that was a flaw, though she could think of several times such an item would have come in handy with Jackson, a former lover. “Avia astride” was his favorite position. She remembered working desperately to get her knees far enough into the mattress to gain the penetration she needed to come while he smirked up at her, enjoying her frustration. In fact, that smirk had been the major reason she’d broken up with him.

  “For a woman to fully experience and sustain a deep, totally consuming orgasm,” Ben was saying, “She needs to be able to surrender fully to her body. To relax totally.”

  … a deep, totally consuming orgasm … Had she ever experienced one of those?

  He moved another lever and the chair flattened and then the center raised. He swung the arms out to the sides and locked them into place. The “footrest” stayed closed.

  “It’s angle and height-adjustable. You can lie very comfortably on your front, arms supported, and relax while your companion has full access to your pudendum. The device facilitates oral, vaginal and anal play. And can be used as a spanking table. You can also sit in it and watch a football game,” he finished in a chatty salesman’s tone.

  “Now look,” he said and manipulated the chair back to starting position once more. He sat in it himself, finding a release on the side. The arms slid forward and the chair tilted back, the seat and footrest re-angled. The chair formed the ess shape he’d described in the sex chaise lounge.

  “This is the only thing most sex chairs do. But in our chair, the armrests slide forward allowing space for your legs. You can also use the arms for support, to control the speed and depth of penetration, to satisfy yourself as well as your partner.”

  Yes, she would have liked having Jackson in that chair, she thought. Torture him for a while with deep thrusts too slow for him to come … Her thoughts wandered, her old boyfriend’s face replaced in her mind by that of her host, his hands on her hips, moving her to pleasure them both.

  She gave herself a mental shake and found Hart watching her closely. Looking into his eyes, Avia had the idea that he knew exactly what she’d been imagining. That somehow, he had put the image into her mind. She closed her eyes. Don’t be absurd.

  Ben returned the device to its starting position and stood up.

  Avia caught a gleam of silver as the chair righted itself. She slipped into her shoes, then examined the chair more closely. Under the arms and along the edges of the back and sides, she found embedded metal half-rings. She looked the question to Ben, regarding her impassively.

  “The chair accommodates most kinds of restraining devices. It also comes with it’s own custom set.” He explained.

  Avia nodded. I see. She wandered over to the covered prototypes. “And these? Can you tell me just generally what they are?”

  He indicated the large block-shaped one. “That’s an upgraded version of this chair, in fact. And that,” he gestured to the other, which was at least seven feet tall, “Is a replacement for a St. Andrew’s Cross.”

  “I’m sorry?” she asked.

  “In the books you read, no one ever bound a woman to a large wooden ‘X’?”

  “Oh. Yes. It just wasn’t called that,” she replied. “Is that why all these things came to be here? For beta testing?”

  “No, Avia,” he said, using the familiar form of address for the first time. He moved over to the desk and this time she followed, but at a distance. He sat down and swiveled to face her, not at all discommoded by the fact she remained standing.

  “This is where I spend time with my Companion, when I have one,” he said. “This is where we have sex.”

  Avia looked about her. But didn’t that mean …

  “So, you personally test your prototypes. Here. With your companions.” He nodded. “You’re the one doing the fucking. The restraining. The spanking.”

  He nodded. She considered. He waited.

  “So …” she hesitated, feeling her way along her thought path to its inevitable conclusion, “... you’re a Dominant.”

  “Correct,” he said. “You see? I fit the fictional profile better than you thought.”

  Avia stilled, but kept her face open and impassive. Impressive, he thought. He couldn’t have done it better, himself.

  She lowered herself into the visitor’s chair and took out her notebook, flipping through some pages. He knew she was buying time to absorb what she’d seen and experienced. Heard.

  Possibly she was checking to see if there was anything else she needed to ask before she could flee his presence. But he’d seen the heat in her eyes when he’d had her underneath him in the chair. He suspected curiosity would compel her to stay long enough for him to explain.

  She started making a few notes, glancing up at him. “These are just reminders of non-NDA follow-up questions I want to cover with you,” she said, to his relief. “Would you show me your imprint list, again?” she asked.

  “Certainly.” He clicked one of the pages he’d kept open and turned the monitor toward her.

  Red Deer Publishing: Romance - Erotica

  Sweethart: Classic Romance

  Hartlands: LGBT Romance

  Hartless: D/s Romance

  Blackhart: B&D Romance

  She studied the list and made a note. “Tell me why Dominant/submissive is one category and Bondage and Discipline is another. Doesn’t the one imply the other?”

  “Not at all,” he said. “Many women want a strong, confident, dominant male to take charge in a sexual situation. Safe submission is their fantasy.

  “For them, it’s one thing to have a man push them up against a wall and grab them by the hair. It’s quite another to be handcuffed by him. They don’t equate bondag
e or spanking with sexual arousal and intimacy, but only with punishing pain and emotional distance.”

  Avia shook her head, while making notes. “I think most women would agree with the pain and distance assessment.”

  “The numbers don’t support you,” he said. “Blackhart is our most popular imprint.”

  He admitted to himself he took some satisfaction in her surprised look. She recovered quickly and went back to her notes.

  “Help me out here,” she said. “How do I explain that to my readers, those like myself who cannot imagine how spanking could lead to arousal and certainly not intimacy? Why would a psychologically healthy, self-confident woman want to be spanked as part of a sexual encounter? And why, if that’s her choice, would she have to be restrained, at all?”

  He took a moment to compose his answer, to decide how best to penetrate her defenses. Information seemed the best approach with this bright, curious woman who sought information for a living.

  “Restraint is part of experiencing dominance,” He began. “All our positioning devices come with restraining mounts. If they didn’t, people would buy an inferior product that did. For most users, restraint makes sexual stimulation of any kind, including spanking, more effective. More arousing.”

  “The ‘user’ being the man doing the spanking,” she said.

  “No, Avia,” he smiled a little, knowingly, holding her turquoise gaze. “I was speaking specifically, because of your research, of the woman. In part, the depth of her pleasure in being fondled or stroked, or spanked, increases in direct proportion to the effectiveness of her restraints.”

  “‘In part’,” she repeated. “What’s the other part?”

  He kept his voice even, but lasered her with his gaze. “The ability of the man restraining her, touching her, spanking her, to give her what she wants, the way she wants, for as long as she wants.”

  A sudden, aching heat bloomed between her legs as he spoke. Avia ruthlessly suppressed the urge to lick her lips or shift in her seat. What the fuck? She’d never had a bondage or spanking fantasy in her life, hadn’t responded to the descriptions in the books she’d read since undertaking this assignment.

  Maybe it’s him. The thought was a relief. After all, she was locked in with a powerful, attractive Alpha male speaking openly about giving a woman exactly what she wanted in bed. His very dark blue - indigo? - eyes fixed unflinchingly on her own. A Dominant gaze ...

  She dragged her eyes down to her notebook. Closed it and slipped it back into her pocket.

  “This is a standard part of your sexual repertoire?” She asked. “I know spanking isn’t considered deviant, by many. But it sounds brutal and demeaning, to me.”

  “There are evolutionary, physiological and healthy psychological bases for finding the activity arousing.” He said. “Some aficionados who consider themselves part of BDSM/Ds culture have divided spanking into discrete types and purposes.

  “In my opinion, however, it’s all a continuum. Like our books, everything overlaps. To me, there are only two types of spanking: erotic and disciplinary. Erotic spanking enhances sexual experience. Promotes intimacy.”

  He noted the confusion and frustration on her face she didn’t bother to hide. “You used that word before, ‘intimacy.’ It’s like you’re telling me sugar is a health food. Help me understand,” she said.

  “I’ll be very happy to help you understand,” he said. “Understanding, in this case, only comes through experience. Otherwise, it’s just … reporting. To uncover the real story, you’d have to be my Companion.”

  “Because you want to spank me?” she asked, eyes narrowed, challenge in her voice. Just try it.

  “Oh, Avia,” he leaned forward, smiling gently, his voice warm, one hand on the arm of her chair. “Your pupils blew wide open when I was talking about it. Of course I’m going to spank you.”

  Son of a bitch! Her whole core spasmed, leaving her achy, her clit swollen and hot. But she did not move or look away.

  He sat back. “I’m going to have a bottle of water, would you like one?”

  What? She stood. “I would, thanks. But I’d like to find the restroom, first.” When in doubt, flee!

  He walked her to a plain door near the entrance. Opened it, reached inside and flipped on a light. “There you are. I’ll be back in few minutes and explain how Companionship works.”

  And he left her there. He walked through what she now thought of as the “showroom” area, past the prototypes, and disappeared through a similar door.

  Avia peed and, as she used the lusciously thick, soft toilet paper - seriously, do rich people have a special online source for household items? - she wasn’t at all surprised to find herself slick from her sudden arousal.

  She sighed. And, of course, it left the yoke of her panties cold and wet. She dried them the best she could with the nicely absorbent paper before pulling them up and washing her hands with lavender-scented soap.

  The hand towel she plucked from a stack in a recess above the sink was warm.

  She put her hand into the recess. The tiled interior was heated. At which point she decided to simply give up being startled by the trappings of wealth. Besides, it was very nice to use a warm towel instead of an atomic powered air blaster or rough brown sheets of paper to dry her hands.

  Still not ready to face him, or examine her thoughts, Avia examined the bathroom, instead. It was no guest half-bath. But a large wet-room with a huge tub under a skylight next to an open shower. Wall-to-ceiling louvered doors hid shelves of supplies and … a closet. Empty, but the bar, shoe rack and hangers left no doubt.

  Looking about at the pastel colors, the chair and dressing table at one side, she realized this was a woman’s bathroom. And she sank into the chair more confused than ever. The billionaire had this built and decorated for his Companions, obviously. It was situated in what he called his Keep.

  The Keep in a castle was the most protected place, a refuge of last resort. A last stronghold of safety. Here, he’d placed his Companion room, when surely a house this size had several other options. How could they be meaningless relationships of sexual convenience?

  Avia tried to find some sense of feminist outrage at his words and attitude. But the essential honesty at the center of her psyche wouldn’t allow it. She was sure her pupils had blown, as he’d said. Her body did respond intensely to him, to the words, the idea of … not over a desk - but across strong thighs - a warm hand sliding her skirt up ...

  She halted the thoughts. The question is not what her body wanted, or how that body might respond to this guy and his pheromones and calm surety. The question is, what did she want? The person living inside this body?

  Time to find out what Companionship actually entailed.

  Ben Hart shut the connecting door to his private rooms behind himself and rushed across the anteroom. He ripped off his suit coat, flinging it at a chair as he slammed through the door to the bathroom.

  One hand opened his trousers and pushed down his underwear, freeing his aching erection. The other pumped lube from the dispenser in a niche on the wall. He grabbed a warm hand towel.

  Leaning against the sink as he stroked himself, he thought about the way her pupils dilated as he told her what he would do. Her nipples hardening as he spoke. The slight tightening of her fingers on the chair arm, and the hitch in her breath that signalled a response between her legs - in her clit - the thought that pushed him into orgasm.

  His head jerked back, mouth open, breath harsh gasps. But he did not cry out. He had learned to discipline himself.

  He relaxed against the sink, relishing the feeling of emptiness in his balls. What just happened? He’d never had to leave the room before when interviewing a potential Companion. He’d never had a raging, ball-tightening erection because a woman became aroused during the conversation. If they didn’t, they weren’t candidates for Companionship.

  He took a few deep breaths. Focus. Tossing the towel into the hamper, he stepped out of his pa
nts and his sticky-with-pre-cum knit boxer briefs joined the towel. He washed and dried himself and selected a clean pair of underwear from the linen closet.

  After redressing, Ben washed his hands thoroughly, paying special attention to his nails. He intended to be touching Ms. Rivers in the most intimate ways very shortly. He used a fragrance-free lotion, afterward. Keeping his skin from drying out in this climate assured he wouldn’t be scratching delicate tissues and enhanced his ability to feel every minute quiver of response during the datamine.

  Don’t get ahead of yourself, Benedict. She hasn’t agreed to anything, yet.

  She will. Just watch your timing. Don’t blow the deal.

  “I’m going to make a bit of a speech,” he said when they were back at the desk, Deep Rock bottles in hand. “It’s important to me that you understand the difference between me and the fictional hero. Or me and other real-life Dominants. And between a Companion and a fictional submissive. Do you have any questions before I start?”

  “I do,” she said. “What exactly are you doing now? Are you making a proposal to me?”

  “No. It’s more like I’m saying there’s a place I’ve been and it occurred to me, you might like to go with me,” he replied. “I’m telling you about it so we can decide if we want to make the trip.”

  “You’ve decided you want to go, though, and now it’s up to me?” she asked.

  “Not at all. We’re both sharing and gathering information about one another,” he said.

  She thought about this for a minute. “Okay,” she finally decided. “Let’s hear the speech. But I can say right now, I’m not much of a submissive type.”

  He smiled, “That’s okay. I’m not much of a Dominant, either. At least, not outside of sex.

  “In a typical D/s structure, the Dom sets rules about every aspect of behavior. Typically, those rules are so vague and general, or complex and involved, they are impossible to follow. That is, they are designed to be broken.