A Firm Hand: 2 (Bound to You) (8 page)

She didn’t need a mirror to tell her she was a rumpled mess. He, on the other hand, looked crisp and composed. His demeanor was once again icy and distant. There. Now that was the Brian she was familiar with.

“It occurs to me that we didn’t discuss aftercare.” He eyed her with cool concern.

“I’m fine, really.” She tried to sound much more together than she felt. “Thanks for dinner…and dessert,” she added, forcing a smile.

“I’ll walk you out.”

She wished he wouldn’t, but nodded and followed him to the foyer. “Um, I just need to get my…” She gestured toward the coat closet.

He retrieved her bag and handed it to her. “Skulls, very cute.” He smirked.

He was trying to lighten the moment, but she was utterly humorless. She wanted this night to be over. She stepped around him and opened the door. The salty night air made it easier for her to breathe.

“So, I guess I’ll see you at work.” God, she sounded like an idiot. Of course she’d see him at work. She needed to get the hell out of there before she made an even bigger ass of herself.

“Yes, you will. And Genevieve?” The moment she turned her attention to him, he kissed her, just a quick brush of his lips that felt more like obligation rather than anything else. “Please drive safe.”

“Yes Sir.”

She headed down the steps, compelling herself to walk slowly and keep her composure. The shame she carried made it damn difficult. When she was finally in her car and pulling out of the driveway, she gave him a polite wave. He waved back before going inside. As soon as he was out of sight, she started shaking. Tears threatened to spill. Remarkably, she made it home before she fell apart.

The blank computer screen mocked Gen with its glaring whiteness. Maybe not, but it sure as hell seemed that way. She’d been staring at it, stylus and drawing tablet in hand, for over an hour now. She’d had dinner with Brian two days ago and she still couldn’t think straight. She was embarrassed for the way she’d acted, nervous and awkward, full of shame and hurt. He’d warned her about the lack of emotional involvement and was very blunt about how he would use her. And she’d felt used, gloriously, sinfully used. She just hadn’t expected to want his affection afterward, but she had. She would have given anything for it.

That night had been so different, so unlike her previous experiences. She’d never had a problem disconnecting herself when scenes were over. With Brian there were no crowds, no elaborate props, no roles to play. Only him, only her, and that was more powerful than she’d imagined it would be. The game she played was a risky one. If she kept her head on straight she’d be fine. She simply wouldn’t allow herself to get attached.

Go ahead, lie to yourself some more.

She set her tablet down with a sigh. She was already attached. She craved him now, even after the exacting way he’d cut off their scene. She could hide behind her sarcasm, pretending her skin was tougher than it really was, but that wouldn’t change how he made her feel. Could she carry on a relationship this intimate and be happy without emotional reciprocation? Would his dominance be enough? It would have to be. He’d made it clear it couldn’t be any other way.

A knock sounded at her door. Probably Ivy, dropping by to blab about her latest boy-toy. Gen checked the peephole. The very last thing she expected to see was Chris standing on her front porch toting two armfuls of shopping bags. Glancing back at her messy living room, she sighed. Why couldn’t unexpected guests show up on days she actually cleaned?

“Just a minute!” In a flurry, she dashed around her apartment, tossing clothes and junk into her bedroom. She also cleared the coffee table of empty soda cans and stacked her horror magazines in a neat pile. She glanced around to see if she’d missed anything. The place wasn’t perfect, but it would do.

Breathlessly, she opened the door. “Hi, Chris.”

He smiled brightly. “Good afternoon, Ms. Hawthorn. May I come in?”

“Of course. And it’s Gen. Ms. Hawthorn makes me feel like a middle-aged divorcee.”

Chris laughed as she held the door open and stepped inside.

“So… What brings you here?”

“I’m sorry to drop by unannounced. Is there someplace we could sit?”

She shut the door behind him, curious about the packages he carried. “Sure.” She gestured toward the couch. “Excuse the mess.”

“It doesn’t look messy. It looks lived in. You have a lovely little place.” He lined up the bags on the floor beside the sofa then glanced over the art she had covering nearly every inch of wall space.

People looking at her stuff always made her nervous. Of course he didn’t know it was her work mixed in with the old horror movie posters. She wasn’t going to volunteer that bit of info unless he asked for it. “Oh thank you. Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea? Water?”

“Tea would be wonderful, thank you,” he replied, taking a seat. “The art, is it digital?”

“All except for the large one in the middle. That one’s an oil.”

“Such an exquisite blend of creepy and elegant. Are these by local artists?”

That was such an awesome compliment. “You could say that.” She wandered into the kitchen, filled the kettle and put it on the stove. She inspected the cupboard, frowning at the one lonely box of tea on the shelf. “I hope you’re okay with Earl Grey.
”

“That would be perfect. And I don’t mean to pry, but this wouldn’t happen to be your work, would it?”

Of course he didn’t mean to pry. They never did. “Most of it, yes.”

“You’re quite talented.”

“Oh, it’s just a hobby really.” She could talk endlessly about other people’s art. When it came to her work, she never knew what to say. The dark themes she was attracted to were hard to explain, especially in an area where beach scenes and sunsets were so popular.

She grabbed a mug from the shelf and inspected it to make sure it was clean. “How do you take your tea?”

“Two sugars, please. No milk.”

She prepared the tea quickly then carried it into the living area with an apologetic grin. The cup she handed him had
I Heart Zombies
emblazoned across it in black and red letters. At least it wasn’t chipped. “It’s not tea with the queen, but it’s the best I’ve got.”

“I don’t need special porcelain to enjoy a cup of tea with a friend.”

“Are we friends?”

He smiled. “I’d like for us to be. I have a good feeling I’ll be seeing a lot of you and I think it would be nice for us to get acquainted.”

“Is that why you stopped by today?”

“Actually, no.” He sipped his tea before he turned to her. “I’ve brought you some gifts from Brian.”

Brian sent him over with gifts? “So he’s not
Master
Brian anymore?”

“He is when he feels like indulging me. I like to play formal butler from time to time when we have guests. Makes me feel important. It’s such a better title than house manager, don’t you think?”

She laughed. She was right to decide to like him. “You mentioned gifts?”

“Ah, yes. I think you’re going to enjoy these.” He reached over, picked up a violet bag and handed it to her. The inscription on the outside read
Journelle
.

He’d bought her lingerie. Insanely expensive lingerie. Delving inside, she pulled out a delicately wrapped package tied with satin ribbon. “How? The closest store—”

“Is in Miami, yes, I know. It made for a wonderful day trip yesterday.” He grinned, giddy as a schoolboy. “Go on, open it.”

She took her time untying the ribbon. “He sent you all the way to Miami to shop?” Unbelievable.

“I went with him. He wanted to select the pieces himself. I hope we got the sizes right. I’m usually a very good judge of that. If not, we can exchange them.”

She flushed, remembering that Chris had had a pretty good view of what size her breasts were. Brian went to the other coast to shop for her? She rejected that idea immediately. He did this for himself, pretentious pervert that he was. Damn if she’d look a gift horse in the mouth. He did say he would replace her dessert-smeared lingerie, not that she couldn’t wash chocolate out of a black bra. Her stockings, on the other hand, hadn’t fared as well.

The first box revealed a bra-and-panty set in pearl-gray lace trimmed in tiny crimson bows. She rubbed the delicate material between her fingers. She’d never owned anything so luxurious. She’d drooled over lingerie like this many times when she indulged her guilty pleasure of browsing online, but could never afford the hefty prices.

“It’s stunning, Chris.” She checked the labels and smiled. They were her size.

“Small on the bottom and 32B up top, right?” Chris asked expectantly.

“Yes.”

“Oh good!” He clapped, his excitement enough to make her giggle.

She put the opened package aside. “Can I ask you something?” Chris wouldn’t likely spill his employer’s secrets, but it was worth a shot.

“Sure.”

“Why didn’t he deliver these in person?” The answer was plain to Gen. Brian was limiting his involvement, keeping his distance as per their agreement. Even knowing that, she was still curious as to what Chris would say.

“I’m sure you understand how busy he is.” He set his mug down.

She didn’t miss his subtle avoidance of her gaze.

“And besides, I volunteered. It isn’t very often I get to do things like this. Organizing, running errands, cooking, I’m good at all that, but it’s not exactly exciting.”

“Oh, I bet you could tell me some stories.” She grinned. “How long have you worked for him?”

“Close to ten years.”

“Has he always been so…”

“Reserved? Demanding? All around pain in the ass?”

She snorted. “Literally.” She flushed, realizing she’d spoken aloud.

Chris gave her a knowing smile. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I know what you are to him.”

“And what would that be?” She wasn’t quite sure
she
knew.

“You’re his submissive. Don’t look so surprised. I think it’s wonderful he’s found someone like you. He needs some fun in his life and you seem like just the girl to give him that.”

“That’s me, fun girl,” she said with a sarcastic flourish of her hand. Jesus, Brian wasn’t the only one who needed to lighten up. “Speaking of fun, let’s you and me see what’s in the rest of these bags. What do you say?”

“You got it.” Chris passed her another package.

They went through all the boxes, chatting away about food and art, among other things. Gen couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such fun. Oh, and the lingerie. Thousands of dollars in garments from three different stores were strewn about her living room. There were thirteen sets of bras and panties in everything from lace and silk to tulle and chiffon, ranging from pale pink to black and a kaleidoscope of color in between. There were stockings, garter belts and three gorgeous corsets. It was bordering on ridiculous.

Brian had thought of everything. He’d included a copy of his test results accompanied by a handwritten note instructing her to give hers to Chris, which she gladly did. Her health wasn’t something she wanted to gamble with and it was comforting to know Brian felt the same. The note also explained which set of lingerie she was to wear for their next evening together. Tomorrow night couldn’t come fast enough.

* * * * *

Thursday evening she arrived at Brian’s house with new resolve. She wore the requested lingerie—a vintage-inspired, blush silk bra-and-panty set with black-ribbon detail and a ruffled edge. It made her feel girlish and naughty. The man had exquisite taste. Nervous butterflies danced in her stomach as she followed Chris up the stairs and to Brian’s room.

“Brian is finishing up his run. He’ll be with you momentarily. Please make yourself comfortable and if you need anything, I’ll be in the kitchen.”

“Thanks,” she murmured, taking in her surroundings.

He gave her a polite nod before he turned and left.

The devil’s lair wasn’t quite what she’d expected. The large room had vaulted ceilings and was decorated in the modern minimalist style he seemed so fond of. But unlike the other parts of the house she’d seen, the colors here were rich and vivid rather than stark and cold. Opposite the doorway was an enormous raised platform bed covered in a fluffy wine-red duvet, soft-chocolate and cream-colored pillows neatly lined up at the head. The worn pair of canvas flip-flops discarded next to the nightstand made her smile.

There were personal traces of him everywhere. Notes he’d written on a legal pad sat on a mahogany desk next to a finished game of Sudoku. The contents of the boxy, puzzle-like bookcase lining the right wall spoke of a deeply complex and intelligent individual. As if she needed to see his reading material to figure that out. The novels by Henry Miller and The Marquis de Sade were not a surprise, but Douglas Adams, Christopher Moore?
He had a sense of humor. Who knew?

She sat down on a long, padded bench at the foot of the bed and gazed out the glass French doors. The sun was just setting over the water, painting hints of pink and orange over the horizon. As she kicked back to get more comfortable, her foot hit the base of the bench with a hollow thump.
Huh.
She got up and turned to face it. Running her fingers along the edges of the pad, she discovered that it lifted. It wasn’t a bench at all, but some kind of large trunk. She laughed as she caught sight of the contents.

Well, well, well.

So this was where he kept his torture devices. She felt the weight of the wooden and leather paddles, traced the rough edge of a braided quirt, cringed and skipped over the thin cane. Everything looked expensive and handcrafted. No novelty toys for her Dom. She shouldn’t be touching his things, but was powerless to resist in the face of such tempting debauchery. She pulled out an English crop and sliced it through the air. It made a nasty
swishing
sound. Exactly how bad would this one hurt? She lifted her pant leg, exposing her calf. With a deep breath, she brought it down on her leg with a loud slap.