Coming Together: With Pride (19 page)

She waited. Eyes closed or cast to the mahogany bar. This was why she'd come to this hotel this weekend. There were hundreds of people who lived and played in "the lifestyle" here. All sorts of toys and demonstrations filled the convention's rooms. People in fetish gear walked the halls, unafraid and unashamed. She'd heard the rules of engagement for this and most other Lifestyle events. Safe, sane, and consensual was the mantra, but Cynthia also understood everyone's limits were different. His kink could be far too extreme for her virgin submissive status. She was out of her mind for jumping into BDSM with this stranger. But she couldn't have stopped herself if she'd wanted to. He was gorgeous and mysterious and wore his dominance like a fine fitted coat. She wanted him, wanted to submit to him.

Moments passed, maybe hours. She didn't know, didn't care. The muscles in her thighs trembled, her fingers shook and still nothing. She wiggled a little as the worn leather of the stool gripped her sweat-moistened skin, tugging at the tender skin of her thigh just above her stocking. Her gaze flitted to the back of the deep wooden surface, to the open area where the bartender moved back and forth, making his living, and then back to her glass.

She wanted to look, to see his face, to reassure herself she'd correctly interpreted his signals. What if she hadn't? Was she sitting alone at a bar, staring blankly down at nothing for no real reason? She debated. She doubted. She ached.

Uncertainty clawed at her nerves. She looked at the back of the bar again, a gentle lift of the eyes, not looking up, not looking in his direction. A drop of sweat rolled down her back, stopped by the top of her garter belt. The coolness of the wet fabric contrasted with the heat of her skin. She shivered, unable to resist any longer.

She let her gaze lift to the stranger and those silver-blue eyes.

He was gone. The barstool sat empty.

Disappointment wrapped itself around her heart. She wasn't sure if she could go and seek another. This man had fit her fantasy in so many ways.

Her body physically reacted to the loss of his presence and knowledge that tonight she would not have the experience she had waited months for. This hotel was the meeting place of one of the nation's larger BDSM groups, and it was a good bet that one could find a willing Dom here if one went looking.

Cynthia looked back to her wine glass, felt the need between her legs. Hell, she felt it all over. Her skin crawled with the need to be touched, her heart beat with the need to be taken, and it was all wrapped up and entwined with a deeper craving. One that was much harder to name or slake.

The last year had been hell and was spent drowning in responsibilities, stress and pain. Oh, she needed far more than just sex. She needed to stop being the caretaker, the responsible party, the one that everyone else turned to for support and reassurance. She needed to give herself over to that sadly still faceless one that would resolve all that for her. Make all the decisions for her. He would take her, use her, body and soul, and decide. Decide everything. When she would come,
if
she would come, would all be his prerogative, at his desire. She wanted to absolve herself and only be accountable for feeling and reacting. No decisions, no accountability for action—to be only the effect, not the cause.

She looked back to the empty stool where the man with the gorgeous steel blue eyes had sat. But that was not meant to be this night, either. She had wasted the trip.

A strong hand clenched her hip, digging into skin and gripping bone, and a rush of adrenaline tore through her heart and body, leaving her flushed.

"You looked up." His voice was thick, with deep rumbling tones, and his words a statement, not a question. He leaned in, the heat of his body teasing her back through her silk shirt. When he spoke, his face was so close she could feel the heat of his breath on her cheek, smell the expensive whiskey.

She couldn't speak. Her throat was tight, dry. She shook her head slightly; knowing he could feel her body tremble under his hand.

"Room 217. We'll discuss your needs. But, Red…" He pulled away, releasing her hip. "Be very certain." The absence of the heat of his hand was the only clue he had left, or had been there at all. His departure was as quiet as his approach. She could see his back moving away in the mirror across the bar. If it wasn't for his reflection, she might believe the encounter to be just another fantasy her mind had conjured.

She reached with shaky fingers for her wine. The last of the dark liquid was not enough to calm her fluttering heart. She drank it anyway, letting it slide over her lips and tongue. Trying to appreciate the flavor, to slow down her thoughts, to savor the entire experience, and steel herself for the promise of his warning. She pushed away from the mahogany bar, straightened her spine and her short skirt, and then turned to follow. The evidence of her certainty was slick between her legs, her own rich fragrance threatening to overwhelm her expensive perfume.

****

The door was ajar when she reached the room. She pushed it open a little more, convincing herself she wasn't crazy for going to a strange man's room at a hotel out of town, where no one knew where she was. But it was crazy. The door creaked as it opened. Her nervous legs wouldn't move forward. Instead, she stepped back, and fidgeted with her skirt.

"Come in, Red." Demanding, not inviting. She shivered and stepped forward, compelled to comply. The suite was nicer than her smaller room. The door opened to a sitting area with a couch, a high-backed chair, and a desk, all in muted earthy colors. Closed double doors presumably led to the bedroom. She swallowed her nerves. "All the way in, Sweet." His tone was lighter, holding a lilt of laughter. "I won't hurt you any more than you desire."

She looked into those blue eyes. "I don't know…"

His head tilted to the left, the light from the table lamp accentuating the hint of grey in his hair. His gazed drifted over her, a slow journey from her black heels to her deep auburn hair. A slight smile curled on his lips. "Then we'll find out." Lazily, he stood and moved to close the door behind her. "On your knees, Red, and we'll find out."

He walked away again. This time through the double doors that led to the bedroom area. He left them cracked open enough that she could hear him shuffling around, a zipper either unzipped or closed. It was louder and longer than a pants zipper. His suitcase, maybe. She kept her head down and her hands clasped behind her back, even as her thoughts were spinning out of control. Fear was taking over the excitement. Her knees began to feel the bite of the carpet. Her breathing grew faster and her heart was about to jump out of her chest.

This was it, the fight or flight instinct. Her body wanted to run from the fear, her brain was reveling in it. She wanted to taste it, to put it away in a memory she would cherish for years to come.

Every part of her wanted to get up and run. Every part, that is, but her brain. It was her brain that made her look up. Her brain that could see him slip out of his expensive slacks. It was her brain that could watch his impressive back muscles move as he slid into some lounge pants. Her brain could override that instinct, but it was a battle.

As if he could feel her muscles tensing to get up and go, he spoke to her from the other room. "Tell me, Red. What is it you want from this adventure? What do you need from me?" His voice was smooth, calm as he turned to meet her stare. "What is it that drew you to this hotel this weekend, little one?"

Cynthia locked onto his face. Showing up was one thing, letting herself be dominated was another, but his question was harder than the both of those physical actions. She licked her lips, hoping the moisture would help the words form. Nothing.

Those silver eyes never left hers as he moved into the room with her. His presence was larger than life as she knelt on the floor. He stopped just in front of her, still holding her gaze. "Let's try something a little easier." He knelt and brushed her newly moistened bottom lip with his thumb. "Tell me what turns you on when you think of being dominated. Do you want me to spank you, Red? Tie you up? Maybe take my belt to your backside? Do you like the pain? I assume that's what the lady requires." He tilted her head slightly to the side and his lips turned up to a slight smile. "You know honesty is important between us. If you don't tell me what you need, what you want, I can't help you." He released her chin and the smile broadened a little more.

"I assure you, I
will
tell you exactly what it is that makes me hot. I
will
tell you exactly what to do to please me." He stood and turned toward the bar, giving her a moment to gather her wits. "Now, tell me, Red."

That one was not a question. It was a command. He'd asked for specific information. Shifting her weight to relieve the gathering pressure on her knees gave her no relief. She swallowed. He was right, and she knew if she found the right man this question would come, and she knew the answer was important.

She took a deep cleansing breath and looked back to the carpet. "It's not being hit that is so appealing." He words were not as sure as she would have liked, but it was coming out. "Not for me. For me, it's the act of being spanked or whipped. The pain, in and of itself, is not the actual turn-on." She knew the pain, delivered by an expert touch with the right intensity, a caress at the right moment, became an enhancement to pleasure. If he were really good, the two merged, and the pain would become the pleasure. That was what she hoped for from the man slowly swirling a glass of whiskey as she spoke.

"I crave being under the power of another." In her fantasies, that was her kink. The more she felt she would be doing something wrong, being naughty, being the bad girl, the hotter the fantasies made her. After all, who lets someone do that kind of thing to them? A bad girl, that's who. That was the woman that she could never be in real life. That was the woman she was there trying to find.

She took a deep breath, lowered her gaze and repeated that thought to the man with the steel blue eyes who had now turned to face her. She didn't look up when she finished. Instead, she looked at his bare feet, nervous, waiting for a response to her revealing honesty.

"Good girl," he said, and walked around behind her. Cynthia held her breath as he bent down. Her skin tingled when he ran his hand up her spine, letting his fingers split to grasp her hair.

"From this moment on you are to follow my instructions, little one. If I don't tell you, you don't do it. 'No' is not a word with meaning here. Saying 'stop' will get you nowhere. When I ask if you are enjoying yourself, if the moment is good to you, say 'green'. If things get too intense, you will say 'yellow'. You utter the word 'red' and everything stops. We get cleaned up, and you head on your way. You'll get no arguments, no attempts to convince you to change your mind."

He tightened his grip on her hair, pulled her head back. The slight pain from the action, a small telltale sign of things to come, sent vibrations straight to her clit and convinced her she was ready to play. And this was just the man she'd been holding out to play with.

Cynthia nodded her head as his fingers tightened, not wanting to break the spell he was spinning around her with his words. She felt the need to control everything in her life slipping away as he gripped her hair.

He leaned in and kissed her. Hard. His tongue not only probing but also telling her he was going to be demanding. She could only yield to it, let her body fall against his as he pulled her to his chest.

Yield.

That was good a good word for it, for how she felt. This was not a full surrender, for she had her safe word, but she was succumbing to his will. She was willingly giving herself over to his pleasure for the pleasure of being his possession, if only for a short time. It felt magnificent, freeing, and as his kiss deepened even farther, she felt herself tremble in anticipation of the unknown.

She felt liberation.

His free hand moved up her thigh. The touch was harsh. His strong fingers pressed into the flesh of thigh. Not so hard to bruise, but hard enough that the brutal touch was not like anything she ever felt and better than she ever imagined. It felt good. Oh, so good. Her body gave way again and pressed further into his. His grip loosened on her hair, and he pulled away from the kiss. "Good girl." His words came out low; were followed by a slight brush of his lips.

He steadied her weight back on her knees and stood. "Hold out your hands." He stepped away again, leaving her to experience the sensation of being on her knees, waiting—just as she had waited for him in the bar. Things would now move at his pace, for his pleasure, and she had no responsibility for that or even her own enjoyment. If she had a good experience, it was his doing. She trembled.