Five Weeks In December

by Blue Kincaid

  She did, just as he’d known she would. December was the perfect submissive, in every way. Harry wanted to see if he could rattle that securely locked cage a bit. So he gave one cheek of her ass a sharp bite and finished pulling her jeans down, helping her out of them. He rose, hands smoothing up along her legs and hips and sides as he did, then leaned around her to pat the curved top of the padded spanking bench.

  “Bend over it.”

  December shuddered, gracefully lowering herself to kneel on the padded knee rest, then bent forward over the curved, cushioned top, her hands pressed flat against the floor in front of her.

  “Good girl.” He pulled one leather strap across the backs of her thighs, securing them in place, then another strap around her waist, and then finally closed each of her wrists in the leather cuffs secured to the front bottom legs of the bench. When he finished she couldn’t move at all, barely a wiggle. Which was exactly how he wanted her.

  Then he straightened and turned away from her, crossing the room to examine the display of various implements on the table and hanging on the wall behind it. Harry already knew what he wanted to use on her, but she didn’t know that and he wanted her to wait. To anticipate. To yearn and fret all at the same time like any other sub would the first time their Master played with them.

  And also…he wanted to savor this feeling. It had been years since he’d brought anyone into this room, almost as long since he’d scened at all, and he wanted to enjoy every heartbeat. He wished he could tell her what this meant, but he suspected she knew already. Besides, an unspoken part of their ‘broken’ agreement included him not trying to extract promises from her she couldn’t give. Yet, anyway. He had to believe he could find a way to make her his for more than twenty-three more days.

  Finally, he shook off his thoughts and selected a beautiful tawse he’d purchased a few days earlier, specifically for December. The handle was rosewood, oiled until it gleamed. The two ‘tails’ were thick, fine leather, firm enough to leave a beautiful mark, but supple enough to curve to her ass when he struck her. He’d been having daydreams about using it ever since it’d arrived.

  She twisted her head around to look at him when he approached again, her gaze falling on the tawse. “Oh god…” Her voice was breathless and Harry suspected if he reached down between her thighs, he’d find her wet.

  He crouched beside her, bringing the leather ends of the tawse up to brush lightly down the slope of her spine. “I’ve been dreaming of this, my beautiful girl.” He pressed a kiss to her shoulder and met her dark eyes, made even darker by desire. “Do you remember what I said about safewords earlier at the restaurant?”

  She nodded.

  “Tell me.”

  “If I say no, you stop. If I say stop, you stop. If I say wait, you stop.” Her eyes sank closed as Harry brushed the edge of the tawse along her cheek. “Those are my safewords.”

  Harry leaned in to kiss her cheek before pushing to his feet again. “Exactly. Use them if you need to.”

  She got no further warning, the tawse cracking sharply against the pale flesh of her ass and for the first time in years a woman’s cry echoed off the walls of his playroom. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

  The heat exploded across her ass and December’s hands clenched into fists, which she immediately released as – directly following on the heels of the pain and heat – the pleasure came. Unlike the pain, which came in sharp, staccato explosions with every snap of the tawse, the pleasure bloomed like she imagined the color did on her skin. Spreading from the point of contact outward, encompassing all of her. Every cell, every breath, every nerve in her body.

  If she weren’t strapped so securely, she’d have rocked back into the crisp, hard blows Harry delivered about once every three seconds. So instead she sought to connect in a less physical way. She closed her eyes, head tilted back, and breathed with Harry. She could hear his breath panting in the silences between blows. She paced her breath to his, until she imagined their hearts beat in the same rhythm. They were one. It was beautiful.

  It was terrifying.

  But the fear was so insignificant at that moment. It might have swamped her another time, but this was so beyond…all she felt was safe. Vulnerable, yet protected. Harry had her and she couldn’t manage to worry about anything at all. The world faded away and all that remained was her, Harry and the blessed connection filled with pain and pleasure. She welcomed both with open arms.

  When her eyes opened, her gaze sought Harry’s and found him watching her with such intensity her breath seemed to whoosh right out of her lungs. Who needed breath when her Master was so pleased with her? Who needed air when there was Harry and his focus, his dominance, his control?

  “Master…” she breathed.

  His oh-so-blue eyes flared and abruptly, the beautiful pain and pleasure stopped. At first she didn’t quite understand what had happened, whimpering in loss as she struggled to make her fuzzy brain process the change. But then Harry was there, kneeling behind her and all wrapped around her and she was safe again. The pressure of his pants against her incredibly tender flesh made her cry out and try to wiggle, but her bonds were too secure and Harry murmured softly against her ear. Soft, nonsensical words that, when combined with the gentle stroking of his big hands on her body, served to ground her and as the minutes ticked by, she came floating down from her sub-high, safe in Harry’s arms the whole time.

  It’d been a long time since she’d gone to that vulnerable place in the hands of a client. And it was then she realized Harry wasn’t a client anymore. The arrangement they’d had was well and truly struck now and it both terrified and exhilarated her. She didn’t even know if she remembered how to be a true submissive, one with a real Master not a temporary one.

  Did she even want to remember?

  Then Harry gently undid the straps confining her, gathering her carefully into his arms to move them both to the soft couch against the wall. Yes. She did want to remember.

  Maybe they could remember how to be who they really were…together.

  * * * * *

  “What do you really know about her, though?”

  Harry glanced into the bedroom where December lay on her stomach sound asleep, her welted, reddened ass left uncovered to allow the ointment he’d applied soak in. By the morning there would be bruises forming and he wished he could take a picture or two. He wanted to remember her gorgeous curves bearing his marks.

  He eased the bedroom door mostly shut and leaned against the hallway wall. “It doesn’t matter, Bas. I’m keeping her.”

  Sebastian Falk, his only friend closer to him than Raphe and Jeremy, laughed on the other end of the line. “She’s not a stray puppy, buddy. Have you asked her what she thinks about that plan?”

  “No. She’ll say no. So I’m waiting until she’ll say yes to tell her.”

  “Good plan. Then why are you calling me at two am?”

  Harry’s jaw clenched. He’d hoped to never have to bring up this subject – one of the key reasons he’d avoided re-entering the lifestyle. “I want to bring her to the club this week. I want you to meet her, to start…making her a part of my life, not just my bedroom.”

  Bas let out a soft breath. “And you want to make sure Chad isn’t going to be at the club when you are.”

  Harry’s insides all but boiled when he so much as heard the name. Chad Gordon was cocky, reckless, dangerous…and the man Katie had been on her way to meet the day she died. The man she’d been sleeping with and, if her text history was anything to go by, planning to leave Harry for.

  Chad might have lost Katie, but he hadn’t lost his taste for the Lifestyle or the club they’d all frequented, Twisted & Tied. The last thing anyone wanted was for their paths to cross. That bottom-feeder so much as sharing the same air as December made Harry see red.

  “Exactly. I won’t bring her if he’s likely to show.” He’d have to figure out a more permanent solution if – no, when – he and December move
d past this limbo stage they were in.

  “I’ll talk to Freya. She’ll know.”

  Freya owned Twisted & Tied, one of only two DC BDSM clubs, and the most exclusive. She was tough, domineering, ballsy as hell and a powerhouse on the business end of things. She’d considered dropping Chad’s membership when rumors of his behavior with Katie prior to her death surfaced, but in the end what happened outside her club was their business, not hers. He couldn’t really blame her, her business depended on discretion and banning people for who they chose to sleep with would hardly go over well for many of the clientele.

  “Thanks. I have to go.”

  He could almost hear Bas’s grin through the phone. “Let that poor girl sleep. If I know you she needs it.” Then his voice got serious. “Hey, Harry.”

  “Yeah?” Silence reigned for a moment and Harry heard what his friend didn’t say. “I know, man. It’s good to be back.”

  Bas cleared his throat roughly, then chuckled. “All right. I’ll text you and let you know what I find out. In the meantime, take care of your girl.”

  His girl. Harry hung up the phone and slowly nudged the bedroom door open, leaning against the doorframe to look at her. His girl. He hoped so. He really, really hoped so.

  Chapter Eleven

  How could she be so impossibly beautiful, yet at the same time so effortlessly down-to-earth? Harry did his best not to let on that he was staring, tapping away at his keyboard in a document that resembled the keyboard-smashing typing of an untrained monkey. He could hardly be blamed when across from him, stretched out on the couch against one wall of his office, December lay on her stomach, a book open in front of her, long legs clad in knitted thigh-highs that looked incredibly cozy, and an oversized sweater that fell to mid-thigh. In actuality she was covered basically from head to toe in woolens but she might as well have been naked for how his body responded.

  She’d appeared an hour or so ago, infringing on his office space in a way he usually hated. She’d plucked a book off his shelf – a collection of poetry, from the looks of it – and given him a sweet smile before settling herself down. When he’d asked if she’d needed something, she’d just smiled again and said his company. What kind of heartless asshole wouldn’t be charmed by that?

  Just then, she glanced up and Harry jolted, caught staring. Her lips curved knowingly. Harry decided he might as well give up the ruse and shut his laptop, leaning back in his chair.

  “What’s your mother like?” he asked.

  “Oh, terrible. You’d hate her.” December laughed, then, shaking her head. “No, she’s wonderful. I go home every couple of months to visit her and my step-father, my younger brother and, as of last year, my baby sister.”

  Harry’s interest piqued. “You have a new sister?”

  “Just the one, yeah. She’s adorable. Her name’s Olive.” December shut the book and turned onto her side, propping her head in her hand. “Do you want to see a picture?”

  “I do, yes.” He hadn’t expected she’d like to talk about such personal things, actually. It made him want to wrap her up in his arms and hug her for a while. He got up and came over to the couch as December reached for her phone on the end table. He crouched and she swiped her finger across the screen several times before beaming and turning the phone to show him a dimple-cheeked little redhead with dark blue eyes and freckles just like December’s across her nose. He grinned. “Good god, she’s going to kill somebody with all that cute, isn’t she?”

  December turned the phone to smile at the picture. “She tries, yeah. I’m going next month after…” She trailed off and Harry realized what she’d been about to say. After she left him.

  “Where are you from?” He didn’t want to dwell on the idea of her leaving. If he had his way, she wouldn’t be. Or, if she did, he’d be going with her.

  “Kentucky. A town called Ashland.” She tucked her feet up and nodded to the end of the couch. He took the hint and sat down, smiling when she slid her stockinged feet into his lap. “What about you?”

  “Canada, actually. I moved here after college.”

  December turned and sat up some, leaned back against the arm of the couch, feet casually tucked against his thigh. “Really? You don’t sound Canadian.”

  “Well, you don’t sound very southern.”

  She lifted one brow. “Oh, y’all don’t even know. Ah used ta have an accent thick like molasses,” she drawled. “But once I moved out of the south it kind of disappeared. Like it needed reinforcement or something and without it I ended up sounding like everyone else in LA.” She nudged him with her toe. “What’s your excuse, eh?”

  Harry caught her poking foot and held onto it, thumbs rubbing firmly along the arch. “That’s a total stereotype, you know. We don’t all sound that way.” He shrugged. “I grew up outside Toronto. It’s sort of like America, there’s not just one American accent, is there?”

  “I guess that’s true. Sometimes you sound a little British, too.”

  She’d been paying attention. He liked that very much. “Well, I did go to university in London. What about you? Did you go to college?”

  “Oh yes, the special School of Submission. I have my PhD.” She shrugged and shook her head. “No college. I mean, I’m not an idiot, I graduated, top ten percent of my class. I just never liked school.”

  “Why not?” He slid one hand along her calf, gently massaging as he went.

  “I had authority issues, the school counselor said.” She laughed, that beautiful, light laugh that made her face light up and made his stomach flip. “If she could see me now, huh? I just needed the right dominant figure, seems like.” The look she gave him was teasing and sultry and wrapped in another soft laugh. He couldn’t help but laugh with her.

  “So my girl didn’t like being told what to do, hmm?” Harry could picture her, eighteen years old and full of fire, refusing to listen to anyone’s advice and determined to go her own way, wherever it led.

  She shook her head as Harry slid his hand higher on her stocking clad leg, now kneading behind her knee. “Nope. I still don’t, actually. Unless I do, of course.”

  “Of course.” Harry slid his hand back down along her ankle to go back to rubbing her feet. “And we men are left to muddle out the difference?”

  She shrugged again, teeth catching her lip with a coy look. “You seem to be doing a fine job, Harry.”

  “Lucky me.” He meant it, too. Lucky him, indeed. He glanced down at her small foot in his hand, bringing it up to press a kiss to the knit-covered toes, then met her gaze. “I’d like you to stay. You know that, don’t you?”

  Silence fell between them, and Harry waited. Finally, she sighed. “I do know that, yes. I still can’t.”

  “I know that, too. So compromise with me.”

  December let out a soft sound – half laugh, all incredulous. “Compromise? How do I compromise on staying?”

  “Stay the night. Don’t go back to the hotel.”

  Her brows lifted. “The hotel was your idea, if you recall.”

  “I know. So I should be able to change my mind. Stay the night.”

  She glanced to the window beyond his desk, where the gray overcast weather blanketed the city in gloom and cold and the threat of snow and ice that hadn’t yet materialized. Harry was tempted to hum a few bars of ‘Baby It’s Cold Outside’, but refrained. Finally her coffee-brown eyes met his and she nodded, a faint motion of assent.

  Harry grinned. “Good.” He leaned forward over her and brushed a kiss to her lips, then patted her hip and stood up. “Stay. Read. I like the company.”

  He could feel her eyes on him as he returned to his desk, but when he looked up a few minutes later, she had her book open again…and a smile on her face.

  It was a good day.

  * * * * *

  She’d spent the night in Harry’s bed. Not just one night, but the last three. She had a feeling tonight was going to be more of the same. She had no desire to spend Christmas Eve anywhere
but with Harry.

  The biggest problem? December was having a great deal of trouble feeling guilty or weird about not having visited her hotel room for anything but clothes in the past few days. So she’d kind of decided not to. Sheridan might scold her, but she’d purposely chosen not to call her best friend. She did sort of feel bad about that.

  For the moment, though, she focused her attention completely on Harry, who stood less than a foot away, filling out a short form so she could be allowed into Twisted & Tied as his guest. When the pretty girl behind the counter asked for December’s license, she handed it to her. When the girl dipped into a small office behind her, Harry slid his arm around December’s waist and drew her closer.

  “I wondered if December was your real name.” He leaned in to nuzzle her neck.

  She tipped her head to allow better access, breath hitching. “It…it is.”

  Harry lifted his head and brushed a fingertip down her cheek. “Beautiful, like you.”

  Then his gaze drifted past her to the double doors leading into the club and his jaw tightened slightly. Just enough to tell her he was anxious. Understandable, considering he’d said he hadn’t been to the club since before Katie’s death. This was another step, one more place to be reclaimed. Like his playroom. December was so proud of him, she had to restrain herself from hugging him tight.

  “Master,” she whispered.

  That snagged his attention fully, and December glowed inside as Harry focused himself on her. He seemed to realize immediately what she was doing and smiled, thumb stroking her cheek. “I’m fine. It’s just…been a while.”

  “I know. I’m here.” She reached up and laid her hand over his where it rested on the side of her neck.

  Before he could respond, the hostess came back and handed December her ID and took her coat, then took her hand, turning it palm side up and placed a small blue star stamp on the inside of her wrist. December glanced at Harry.

  “The star indicates you’re a guest, the blue indicates you’re here with someone. Helps people know who is and isn’t available for approaching and playing, for those who don’t care for collars and leashes.”