A Firm Hand: 2 (Bound to You) (4 page)

“Do you like pain?” He infused his tone with a touch of menace.

“Sometimes.”

“With that attitude, you’ll be getting a lot of it.”

“Can’t wait,” she said dryly.

“How much experience do you have? No skirting the issue here, honesty is extremely important.”

“Other than going to the fet nights you’re so fond of, not much. I’ve been flogged, paddled, spanked, bound, gagged, the usual. I had a boyfriend who introduced me to the lifestyle, but it was pretty much just a game to him. It ended up not working out between us.” She casually took another bite of pie.

The idea of her with another Dominant unsettled him. “Did he treat you badly? Abuse you?” He would kill him.

She frowned, shaking her head. “Oh no, nothing like that. He liked to switch and I wasn’t into it so he found someone who was.”

“True compatibility with dominance and submission is sometimes difficult to find, which is why negotiation is so important. You need to know upfront what kind of relationship this will be if you decide to say yes.” He pushed his plate away and eased back into the worn vinyl booth. “I’m not looking for a girlfriend. I’m not looking for love. What I want is a mutually satisfying arrangement. Two people meeting one another’s needs. Nothing more than that. No messy emotional entanglements. No sappy sentiments. Strictly dominance and submission.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not a sappy girl then. Does this arrangement include sex?” she asked without batting an eyelash.

“I’m going to very much enjoy fucking you.”

“You won’t be the only one enjoying it I hope.”

She was such a breath of fresh air. He was so used to timid subs that Genevieve was something of a novelty to him. Granted, she was a handful in need of some training, but he was going to relish every minute of it. “I won’t lie to you. You won’t always enjoy the things I do to you. Are there any hard limits I need to know about?”

She chewed on her bottom lip, her expression pensive. Good, she was taking his question seriously. Subs with no limits, or who spit out standard answers, always worried him. Genevieve was a smart girl. He expected no less than a well-thought-out, if acerbic, response.

“No drugs, animals, dead bodies, broken bones, guns or knives. No bodily fluids that belong in a toilet either. I’m also not a fan of public humiliation or pet play. Oh, and I have absolutely no interest in adult baby stuff, that’s just ick. Other than that I’m pretty open.”

He laughed. “I think I can work with that. I’ll want you to be tested. Nothing against you, of course, just a precaution. I’ll get you a copy of my latest results next week. Not to sound like a complete chauvinist, but if you’re willing, I’d prefer you to take oral contraceptives instead of using condoms.”

“Don’t worry. I get it. I’m already on the Pill. And I’m not offended you expect me to be tested. You can’t be too careful these days.”

“I also have one more request,” he said as the image of Danielle’s frail, broken body in that hospital bed flashed through his mind. “I’d like you to add me as an emergency contact with your physician.”

She gave him a puzzled look. “Okay.”

He knew it was a strange thing to ask, but he’d rather have that safeguard in place just in case. He didn’t want a repeat of what happened eight years ago. The mere idea of it nearly made him sick to his stomach. He was glad she hadn’t asked him to elaborate. He wasn’t prepared to explain himself at this point.

They stared at one another for an awkward moment, the air between them heavy with the weight of their possible future.

“Look, you don’t have to decide right now. Take the week to think it over. If you do this, I’ll expect you to be fully committed to our arrangement. If you decide it’s not for you, no hard feelings.” He wanted her to say yes, probably much more than he should have.

Gen pulled into her mother’s condominium complex with an exasperated sigh
. Brian, Brian, Brian.
He was all she had been able to think about for the past week. Work had been hellish. The tension between them had been so palpable she was sure everyone around them could feel it. She couldn’t remember the last night she’d had restful sleep. Worse than that, she hadn’t drawn anything in days. She’d been too scattered, her emotions all over the place. She was pathetic—a mess over a man who wanted to fuck her and beat her and willing to manipulate her to do it.

He’d called her that afternoon and asked her to have dinner with him at his home. She’d been too nervous, too exhilarated to say no. She still wasn’t a hundred percent sure she wanted to do this arrangement thing, or whatever it was. So far, he didn’t have a stellar track record. He had apologized, and that counted for something. If he’d been an ass about harassing her, she wouldn’t have even considered going to his house, let alone entering a D/s relationship with him.

She needed to think this through. He was her boss. Getting involved with him was risky. Donovan’s was like a second home to her and what he was proposing could fuck that up. But no matter how much she wavered and agonized over it, she knew ultimately she would say yes. She wanted to learn what was waiting for her in the deep end. Who better to show her than the man she’d been fantasizing about?

She got out of the car and walked up the two flights of stairs to her mother’s place on the second floor. She hardly ever stopped over this early, but she couldn’t bring herself to forgo it. Brian had asked her over for dinner. She had no idea what else he had in mind or how long she’d be there.

She steeled herself as she stepped into her mom’s musty condo. Dressed as she was, she knew there would be questions. She could have avoided this conversation altogether and gone straight to Brian’s house, but if something had happened to her mom while she was off playing kinky games, she’d never forgive herself. Realistically, she knew these little visits couldn’t prevent anything bad from happening. Even still, she felt as though she were doing
something
by checking on her.

She set the takeout food she’d brought on the counter and frowned at the large number of prescription bottles lined up by the sink. Quietly, she checked the recently filled bottle of oxycodone. Not only was it half empty, but the prescribing doctor was one she wasn’t familiar with. Gen closed her eyes and counted to ten, trying to quell the sense of dread that bubbled in her stomach like battery acid. Takeout had definitely been a good idea. Any excuse she could give her mother to not use the stove was a damn good one.

“Mom?” Gen called as she walked into the small, dingy living room and wrinkled her nose. Cigarette smoke hung in the living room as dense as fog. “You should open a window or something.”

Emily Hawthorn was parked in her favorite recliner. Stacks of worn gothic mystery novels surrounded her as if they were condemned buildings, teetering and ready to fall over. The dark shadows under her puffy eyes made her look older than her fifty-two years. Her bleached hair was twisted into a tight knot at the base of her skull, gray beginning to show at the roots.

Gen remembered when her mom had been vibrant and happy, full of smiles and laughter. That seemed like a lifetime ago. It was sad to miss someone who was physically right in front of you. But this woman, this pitiful, medicated husk, was not the same woman who had read her
Alice in Wonderland
every night, handmade her Halloween costumes and sang her
Edelweiss
when she couldn’t sleep. If Dad hadn’t died, would she still be that person?

No, I can’t go there.

“Genny girl, what have you done to your hair?” A cigarette dangled between her fingers and a book was cleaved open on her knee.

Gen tucked a red strand behind her ear. “Dyed it. I thought that was pretty obvious.”

After Brian had invited her to dinner, she’d dyed it a garish, cherry red. He was probably going to hate it, but she didn’t care. Call it a last act of rebellion. She knew she’d have to relinquish control once she gave him her decision about their strange little arrangement. Dyeing her hair was her way of saying
I’m here, but on my own terms
. Was it immature? Sure, but agreeing to an exchange of power didn’t mean she had to lose her sense of self in the process, did it? Gen was who she was and Brian could take it or leave it.

“I’ll never understand why you don’t like what the good Lord gave you. You used to have the prettiest long brown hair. I remember how sun-streaked it would get in the summertime.”

Gen rolled her eyes. “I haven’t had hair like that since I was fifteen.”

Emily ignored her as she stubbed out her cigarette in the overflowing ashtray. “What’s with the getup? Are you going to a costume party?”

Her outfit was
not
costumish. So what if the buttons on her short-sleeved black cardigan were silver spiders? It matched perfectly with the slim violet skirt. She wished she had a sexy pair of heels to complete her ensemble. The purple cheetah-print flats had to suffice. There wasn’t a stitch of designer or conservative clothing in her miniscule wardrobe, not that she’d have worn it anyway. She preferred an edgier style, something her mother had never liked.

“I’m here a little early because I have a…date tonight.” Well, it wasn’t really a date. Gen had no idea what to call it, but she certainly wasn’t going to tell her mother the truth.

“It’s early?” she asked, bewildered.

“It’s six o’clock. How many pills have you had today?” She regretted the question as soon as it was out of her mouth. She knew asking would only make her mom angry and defensive. Worry had a way of overriding Gen’s better judgment where her mother was concerned.

“Oh for chrissakes! I take them for pain. You know working those long hours at the library are murder on my back. Not that you care. Did I hear you right? You have a date? It’s not with one of those ruffians you usually go out with, is it?”

Only her mother would use a word like ruffian. “Actually, he’s clean-cut and pretty successful.”

“Really?” Emily smiled brightly. “You should bring him by sometime. I’d love to meet him.”

No way.
Gen rubbed her fingers over her forehead. A dull ache had formed just behind her eyes. She wasn’t embarrassed by her mom. Okay, so maybe she was, but she also didn’t want to give her the wrong idea about Brian. “It’s just a date. Nothing serious, so don’t go picking out invitations or anything. I don’t think he’s the marrying kind. Not that I’m even looking for that.”

“If he’s not the marrying kind then why are you going out with him? Never mind. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”

Gen forced a smile and changed the subject. “I thought since you’ve had such a rough week at work, I’d save you from having to cook tonight and brought takeout. A blackened grouper sandwich and some hush puppies from that place at John’s Pass you like. I left it in the kitchen.”

“That was nice of you, dear. I wish you had time to stay. Your visits are always so short. I know you have a life, but it wouldn’t kill you to spend a little time with your mother.”

Great, now the guilt trip.
Gen really should spend more time with her, but hiding her resentment had become more and more difficult as the years passed. She understood why her mom used pills to kill more than the physical pain, but she couldn’t seem to forgive her for not being strong enough to face her husband’s death. After all, Gen had done it without numbing herself into oblivion. Why couldn’t she?

A glimpse of sadness leaked from her mother’s opiate-induced fog. “It gets a little lonesome with just me and my books.”

Gen sat on the arm of the big, overstuffed chair and leaned over to give her a hug. “I know, Mom. How ’bout I come over on Saturday and do your hair for you? Maybe we can watch a movie or something?”

“That would be lovely. You better get going. Don’t want to keep your young man waiting.” She gave Gen’s arm a pat.

“You going to be okay tonight?”Gen stood, smoothing out her skirt.

“Don’t worry about me.” Her false grin back in place, she tapped the cover of her book. “I’ve got a mystery to solve.”

Gen’s gaze drifted to the full ashtray. “I’m just going to empty this before I go,” she said, grabbing it off the glass endtable.

“No, leave it. I can do that.”

“It’s no trouble, really.” Gen walked to the kitchen, emptied it into the trash then washed her hands. She went back and set it down next to her mother. “See?”

“I can take care of myself, you know.”

“I know.” Gen kissed her quickly on the forehead. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Have fun, but be safe.”

“I will. Bye, Mom,” she hollered on her way out the door.

She closed it behind her and locked it with a sigh. Sick dread clung to her like a life-sucking parasite. She hated what her mother was doing to herself with every cell in her body, but knew she was powerless to change it. Things were the way they were. All Gen could do was live her life and hope her mother got the picture before something bad happened.

Gen simply didn’t have the energy for this right now. Brian was waiting, a bright spot in her dreary existence. Or maybe it was a dark spot. Jesus, she had no idea what the hell it was.

She drove toward the beach, Portishead blaring from the speakers. When she crossed the bridge, she lowered the windows, knowing full well it would blow her hair all to shit, but she didn’t care. The warm, salty breeze helped clear her head and did wonders for her mood. Brian lived only a mile or two from her apartment right on Gulf Boulevard. Judging from the address, his house was a few steps up from the dump she called home. Quite a few, she thought as she passed the sprawling waterfront homes. She paid careful attention to the numbers, searching for the correct one.

Despite the soothing music, her anxiety jumped a notch when she reached her destination. She frowned, lowering the volume on the stereo as she turned into the driveway. She killed the engine then leaned forward to peer out her dirty windshield.

Jesus.

His house was enormous. Stark white with sharp angles, flowing curves and row after row of huge rectangular windows, it was a modern architectural masterpiece. Gen sat behind the wheel of her car in awe. Was this even the right house? She double-checked the address he’d given her. This was definitely the place.

Get out of the car
,
walk up and ring the bell, you coward.

So what if his home was worth more money than she would see in several lifetimes? It was just a house. She raked her fingers through her windblown hair, attempting to put it to rights, then grabbed her purse and got out of the car. On her way to the door, she searched her bag frantically for her breath spray. Fresh breath was always a plus. She squirted three quick bursts into her mouth before putting it away. Her eyes watered from the intense minty flavor. Blinking the moisture away, she took a deep breath and rang the doorbell with a shaky finger.

Her heart pounded as she heard footsteps approach. A man she’d never seen before answered the door. He was dressed in a baby-blue polo shirt and black slacks. Judging by the laugh lines that bracketed his thin lips and accented his pale-blue eyes, she guessed he was somewhere in his forties. His dark-blond hair was neatly cut in a conservative style. He seemed polished, almost formal, but his warm, genuine smile put her at ease.

“Ms. Hawthorn?”

She nodded nervously.

“Please come in. Master Brian is waiting for you in the salon.”

Master Brian? The salon? Was this guy for real?

“Would you like me to take your bag? I’ll just put it in the coat closet. If you need it, you have only to ask and I’ll retrieve it for you.”

“Okay.” She handed him her purse.

He placed it on a shelf then turned toward her. “Could I get you something to drink? A cocktail perhaps?”