Darkest Fire (16 page)
“Take off those clothes.” He stopped directly in front of her, watched as her eyes snapped to his face, lingered there for a moment then dropped back to the floor.
“O-okay. Did I do something wrong?” She sounded so unsure. That wasn’t what he wanted, but he understood her nervousness. This was all very new to her, uncomfortable. Someday, he would see her become the confident submissive he knew she could be. He would help her get to that point.
“No. I just would rather see you wearing something else.”
“Tell me then.”
“I’ll show you. Later. For now, I’d rather see you unclothed. You’re beautiful, and I want to look at you.”
Her lips curled into a semismile as she wiggled out of the snug garments. She folded them and set them on the floor beside her. “Better?”
His gaze wandered over her form, slender legs, rounded hips, soft but flat stomach, round breasts. She truly was lovely, every inch of her. “Much.”
Still standing, she clasped her hands in front of herself, straight arms hiding much of her torso, including her mound. “I-I don’t know anything about this.”
“I’ll teach you.”
“Will we pretend?”
“No. There’s no pretending between us. Only reality.” He went to her but didn’t let himself touch her. Somehow, he had to maintain a little distance between them, while still gaining her trust. That was going to be one helluva trick.
Breaking a new submissive wasn’t easy. Breaking a new submissive while holding back a piece of himself was even harder. For that reason alone, he couldn’t take it that far with Rin. He’d have to keep it light, playful. Ironically, he’d just promised her the exact opposite. He looked at her hands. They were shaking. “Are you cold?” He checked her skin for goose bumps.
“Scared.”
“You’ve learned to trust me. We’ve come this far.”
“Yes, but this is different. I don’t know what to expect.”
He lifted her chin, waited until her eyes had found his. “I won’t ask more from you than you’re ready to give me.”
From the look in her eye, the way her chest rose and fell with a long sigh, he guessed his reassurance had eased her fear slightly. It bothered him, though, that he’d had to actually tell her that. He thought he’d already proven, by deed, his trustworthiness. Hadn’t he been a giving lover? A patient, gentle husband?
“Look around you.” He gave her some time, watched as she glanced at one piece of furniture after another. When he was satisfied she’d seen them all, he said, “You told me you wanted to see what it felt like to be bound. I’m going to show you now. But you are going to choose. How will you be bound? Where?”
She gave him a puzzled look, then stood, circled in place, considering each piece.
Which one should she pick? There wasn’t one piece of furniture that didn’t intimidate her. They all looked like something a girl might see when touring a medieval castle’s torture chamber. It didn’t help the way they were constructed—sturdy. Wood and leather, big bolts holding the pieces together at the joints. Not to mention, there wasn’t a single one that would allow her some small amount of control or freedom, at least not that she could see. Whether she was standing, sitting, kneeling, or lying down, she would be strapped in and utterly powerless.
Her pussy tingled.
It came down to a matter of deciding which position she could handle the best. Standing? No, sitting. She weighed her options. There was a swing, but that tangled mess of straps and buckles was more than she was ready for. But over by the wall, there was a benchlike thing with a little seat, a slanted back support. That one was more her speed.
“Over there.” She headed toward the bench, thankful he’d let her make the choice instead of choosing for her. Knees quaking, she stopped next to it, turned to face Drako. Trust, it was all about trust. More than ever, she could appreciate that now. “Drako, can I ask you some questions first? Before you . . . before we do this?”
“Okay.”
“What drives you to do this? Have you thought about it? Can you tell me?” She pressed her sweaty palms together, wove her fingers between each other.
“I have thought about it, sure. But I can’t say exactly why I am a dom. It would be easy to say it’s just a part of me, that I was born this way, but I doubt there’s any proof of a genetic link to D/s. My brothers are both in the scene, and my father was too.”
“I think that was the wrong question anyway. What I need to understand is what you feel as you play out a scene. What need does it fill?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just like he had whenever they’d talked about important issues, he took his time; he thought through his answer. Did he ever just blurt something out?
He cleared his throat. “I feel respect for any partner who bestows their trust in me. Outwardly, you might not see any sign of respect if you were to watch me in a dungeon, particularly if the submissive has asked to be broken and the tool that they’ve asked me to use is humiliation. But it’s always there, respect.”
“It would seem like a contradiction.” Rin struggled to understand. What he said seemed to contradict common sense; it was hard to fully grasp what he was saying.
“Much of D/s is, if taken at face value. You have to look deeper, beneath the surface.” Drako went to a rack bolted to the wall, pulled a little whip with slender ribbon tails from it. “For instance, if you were to watch a dom during a whipping scene, you might conclude he’s punishing the submissive, right?”
“Sure.”
“But the whipping might be a reward to some submissives.”
“Really?” Rin thought back to the scene she’d watched, the one with Talen. His submissive had seemed to be enjoying what he was doing. Could it be the whip didn’t hurt as much as she thought?
“Yes, really.” Drako walked around her. When she started to turn, to face him, he stopped her with a hand on her arm. He stopped somewhere behind her. Her back prickled, the little hairs on her arms and nape stood on end. “A dom isn’t focused on his needs as he scenes, he’s completely tuned into his submissive’s.” Rin felt him move closer, felt the heat of his body warm her chilled skin. The ribbons tapped her shoulder, and she shivered. “He uses all of his senses to gauge his submissive’s response. He reads her body language, listens carefully to her breathing, watches for signs of trauma to the body.” He struck her again with the little ribbon tail, and she shivered. Her nipples hardened, the tips tingling ever so slightly. “I may give a submissive a safe word to use before we begin,” he said, moving around her side as he spoke, “but I don’t rely upon her to use it when she needs to. Sometimes a submissive can get too wrapped up in the experience, go too deep into her headspace, to communicate.”
“I understand.” She was beginning to see now, and it wasn’t quite as scary anymore, knowing she would soon be completely at the mercy of a man who knew exactly what to look for.
He stopped directly in front of her, crossed his arms over his chest. “Today is going to be all about pleasure. Your pleasure. I’m going to make you come harder than you ever have. And then I’m going to make you come even harder than that.”
That was one promise she was ready for.
“Ready?” he asked her.
She nodded. “Two questions before we begin. First, do I call you Master? And do you want me to use a safe word?”
Once again, he hesitated before answering. “Call me Drako. And use the word Red if you need me to stop. Yellow if you want me to slow down or ease up. You won’t need it.”
“Got it. Green if I want more?”
“Sure, you can use Green if you want more, but I may or may not give you what you want.” The evil glint in his eye sent a little quiver of anticipation shimmying under her skin. What had she been so scared about? “Hmmm. I think a little bit of danger excites you.”
She wondered if he wasn’t onto something there.
He pointed at the bench. “Sit there.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she asked, “Should there be some paper or something on the seat? I’m naked.”
“It’s okay. The seats are sanitized after every use.”
“Ah, okay.” She sat, knees rammed together as tightly as she could hold them, arms crossed over her chest. Even she could read the get-the-hell-away-from-me message in her body language.
Unfazed by her nonverbal cue, he headed toward the armoire in one corner of the room, scooped up some things she couldn’t name, and hauled them over to where she sat. She noticed, as he set them on the bench next to her, that several of the items were wrapped in plastic.
He stood in front of her, studying her for a few awkward moments, during which time she started getting jittery and nervous again. She had a feeling that was exactly what he was hoping for. Finally, he picked something up, something that wasn’t tiny but was still easily hidden from her. He walked around the bench, stopped directly behind her, and when she started twisting to see what he was doing back there, he told her, “Stay still.” She snapped back around and stared straight ahead.
The blindfold went on without any warning. One minute, she was looking at a table with straps connected to the thick legs and the next, everything was black.
Her husband explained, “I want you to focus on your other senses today. What you see will only distract you.”
She heard him walk around her left side. Heard the crinkle of plastic, the clank of metal.
“Slide your hips forward, so your bottom is resting on the edge of the seat,” he said.
She scooted a little. He helped her find the right spot, where she had enough support to keep her from falling off but was also completely accessible. Next, he eased her upper body back until she was resting against the slanted back support. He took one hand and lifted it up over her head. Some kind of cuff closed around it. The inside was padded and soft. Her heartbeat inched up a notch toward racing when he buckled the cuff and followed up with the other wrist, doing the same thing to it.
“How’s that?” He checked the tightness of the cuffs.
“Okay.”
“Now for the fun part.”
She wondered what that meant.
He eased her knees apart. Wide, wider, wider still. She couldn’t see, but she could swear they were almost straight out to the sides. The muscles stretched along her inner thighs burned a tiny bit, but it wasn’t enough to diminish the pleasant warmth rippling through the rest of her body. He fastened a padded cuff around each ankle.
Now, she was sitting, semireclined, legs spread, completely nude, arms tied up over her head. And she was blindfolded.
She was already squirming and he had barely touched her yet.
Some music started playing very softly. Sultry jazz. And the scent of jasmine drifted to her nose on an almost imperceptible breeze when Drako moved toward her again. A candle? Incense? Whatever it was, he’d set the mood perfectly. Between the music, the fragrance, and the position in which he’d bound her, she was both relaxed and on edge. She hadn’t realized she could feel those two things simultaneously.
Something very soft—a stream of air?—traveled down the center of her body and she shivered, goose bumps making her skin prickly. Before she’d stopped shaking, something bristly traveled down the exact same route, and her skin burned. Heat and chill buzzed through her, two extremes coexisting in a strange and unexpected way.
The sensations were kind of interesting, but not erotic. They weren’t going to make her come harder than she ever had, like he’d promised. She didn’t understand what he was trying to do.
What would do that was something hot and hard between her legs. Already, a steady throbbing heat had gathered there, and she knew it wasn’t going to ease up until she came.
Gosh, what if this torment lasted for hours? She seriously doubted she’d have the patience to endure it.
“One moment at a time, Rin,” he whispered, as if he could read her mind. She turned her head toward his voice, looking for a kiss. What she got was the faintest touch to her mouth. A teasing taste of ambrosia. She licked her lips, drawing the flavor into her mouth.
“I don’t understand this,” she murmured.
“You will. In time.”
He poured some warm liquid onto her chest, once again between her breasts. It streamed down her body in little rivulets. The scent of jasmine grew stronger. She inhaled deeply, drawing it in as some of the scented liquid pooled in her belly button and more dribbled around her shaven mound and into the crease where her thigh met her pelvis.
A heartbeat later, shockingly cold liquid took the same journey, making her shiver and flush, hot and cold, all over again. Her pussy throbbed hotter. Her breasts ached. Her nipples were so hard she gritted her teeth.
How much longer would he make her wait? Was it too bold to ask for one touch? Only one? She arched her back, pushing her breasts out, hoping he’d take the hint.
He did. He laved one turgid tip with his tongue before doing the same thing with the other. She just about wept with gratitude.
Yes, more. That’s it. Please, more
.
.
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