Pleasure and Danger (5 page)

“What do you mean?”

He bit his bottom lip. “In this fantasy, I assume you go straight home to the shower. Alone.”

“Yes.”

“But will you be going to your home? Or mine?”

I widened my eyes, seeing what he’d been getting at. “Oh, I hadn’t imagined, when I had the fantasy, that the man I’d been with would want me around—in his house, I mean. Like I’ve already said, it just goes on and on with meeting up for the next one and the next, see?”

“But the man does want you around in his house—and this is no longer a fantasy. It’s real, and fuck, I want you again. In the shower, my bed, my kitchen, everywhere. You don’t need another fantasy, we can make them up as we go along. Talk about them, create them together.”

“If I’m going to yours I have no clothes…” My excuse was weak—I was going to go with him, no doubt about it. Him saying about creating fantasies together—oh my God, they could only be better, more intense than mine were. I’d get to see what he liked, what he dreamed about—to
know
him.

“Then I’ll buy you some. Now.”

He kissed me hard and long until my legs went weaker and I lost the ability to think of any more reasons why I shouldn’t go with him. I wanted him to take the reins, to steer us in whatever direction he chose. I was willing to follow, knowing I had a safe word and could opt out any time I needed to.

He broke the kiss, leaving me breathless and looking up at him, counting my lucky stars and feeling so bloody glad I had to take the train to work, that he did, too, and we’d met, got together, finding we were more suited than we’d realized. We’d been the stars of one another’s daydreams, and now, here we were, living the damn dream.

“Or you can go home,” he said, “collect some things, then go to mine. Or I could go to yours. Either way, I don’t want to let you go. We have the rest of the day off. Shouldn’t we be ill? Shouldn’t we be in bed?” He smiled, and a devilish glint lit up his eyes. “After all, we called in sick. Taking to our beds is the done thing, don’t you think?”

“Yes.” The possibility of spending the rest of the day in bed with him had my mind going into overdrive. Fucking, dozing, waking, fucking, dozing, waking…

“Then shall we walk away from one another now, like you wanted, and meet up again in say”—he glanced down at his watch—“ten minutes?”

I nodded, unable to tear my gaze from his face. “Where?” I managed.

“Anywhere you want.” He traced my lips with a fingertip.

“That new women’s clothing shop just up the way a bit. Can’t remember what it’s called now.”

“I know the one.” He kissed the tip of my nose. “Ten minutes.” He turned and walked away, then glanced back over his shoulder. “And not a minute longer, slut.”

I smiled—smiled so bloody hard—and watched him go, feeling stupidly bereft and alone even though I knew I’d be with him again very soon. God, what had happened?
How
had it happened? I never would have believed things could move as quickly as they had. The rush of knowing I was falling in love took over, and I couldn’t wait for the giddy heights it would take me to. Smiling when he sent a text message. Waiting for the phone to ring then when it did, racing to answer it. Not being able to sleep when we weren’t together. Thinking about him all the time, wondering if he thought of me at the exact same moment.

Bubbles of excitement popped in my belly. Instead of entering town feeling like a used whore, I felt the opposite. I had love coming my way—lots of it going by how Gabriel was with me—and also lessons in the lifestyle that would open my eyes wide, enthrall me, keep me coming back for more. I wanted to know everything, to experience everything. A contract, a collar, all the wonderful things I’d yet to discover. Discipline. Knowing my limits and realizing that when he said we had to stop, I’d reached them. To not be so greedy and understand when enough was enough. And toys—there were so many of them to use. The balls rolled deliciously inside me and I wondered why the hell I’d never discovered them before.

I hoped to fuck they didn’t slip out and land on the pavement, shock a passer-by to hell and back.

Suddenly I didn’t want to wait the ten minutes. I needed to be with him now, to feel his hand slide into mine or his arm go about my back as he guided me between the racks of clothes and waited for me to choose new things. To smell him, feel his breath on me when he spoke, to look into his eyes and hopefully find answers there if I asked him a question I needed him to explain.

I rushed toward the new clothes shop, scanning the shoppers for sight of him, to see a flash of his red tie flapping in the wind. I couldn’t see him at all, and it reminded me of when he hadn’t been there at the train station, or outside the supermarket. But he’d appeared both times and there was no reason for him not to appear now. He was going to be on time, that was all, wait ten minutes before coming to stand beside me.

I stood outside the clothes shop, unable to stop myself from tapping my foot with impatience. Again I endured looks from other shoppers, but I was so happy I didn’t care about their opinions. After eleven minutes had passed, nerves began to set in, so I looked farther afield, staring down toward Millets.

And there he was, coming out of the jewelry shop opposite, staring up the way at me and spotting me waiting.

“Don’t get ideas,” he said as he drew level with me. “There’s a long way to go before I’ll collar you and quite a marked amount of insubordination to be beaten from that sexy, no doubt smarting arse of yours.”

He’d sounded stern but there was a glint in his eye, a glint that held the promise of the future.

Our future.

“Of course, Sir. I understand.”

After he’d bought me some new clothes, he curled his arm around my waist and led me toward a taxi rank and a bus stop. I was sure we looked a mismatched couple, him smart and me disheveled. Plus now, my lack of knickers felt all the more obvious. My juices were making the tops of my thighs stick together with each step. I really was starting to worry about the balls falling out. I’d gone into that relaxed, heady state I often did after good, pain-laced sex.

“You’re pale,” he said, glancing at me. “We should get a taxi, back to mine. I don’t want you to have to walk another step when you are so obviously tired.”

“Yes, that sounds nice.”

A warmth at being cared for wrapped around me, and I sighed, too tired now to care where we went. His or mine, what did it matter? As long as we were together, that was my priority now.

Not releasing me, he stepped forwards and pulled open the door of a black cab. “In,” he said.

I scooted inside, being careful to sit on the back of my skirt, then crossed my legs.

Gabriel gave his address to the driver and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “You are mine,” he whispered. “And that means I’ll care for you, beat you, satisfy you and make sure you have all the good, dangerous pain mixing with your orgasms that you desire.”

“I am yours, and I’ll do as you ask of me, knowing you always have my pleasure and best interests at heart,” I murmured, turning my face into his neck and loving the feel of his stubble on the tip of my nose. “And are you mine?”

“Yes.” He dropped a kiss onto my head. “I’m yours now. It‘s what was meant to be, from that very first time we saw each other on the train.”

I reached for his tie, neatly knotted again and laying somewhat crumpled on his white shirt. “And we’ve only just begun, haven’t we?”

“Oh, yes.” He pulled me closer. “We’ve only just begun, my sweet sub. We have many more adventures to come. Beautifully painful and deliciously dangerous adventures that will take us both to the extremes of ecstasy.” He reached for my wrist, turned it and kissed the reddened, delicate underside. “But right now my role is to care for you, bathe you and hold you while you rest, and then…”

“And then?”

“You can dream up some new fantasies and I’ll tell you all of mine.”

Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:

A Bit of Strange: Pain and Pleasure

Harlem Dae

Excerpt

Chapter One

I paced the living room floor. No, paced wasn’t the right word, stomped was better. I stomped impatiently in high-heeled boots, black and so shiny they looked like liquid. They were tight, too, as snug as a latex glove, and creaked in the silence when I moved. I would have liked them to rise to my thighs, but just above the knee would have to do.

And, besides, I was only going to the supermarket.

The little brass clock on the mantel struck one a.m. and the single sound echoed around in my head, increasing my irritation.

Damn it. Two hours to go.

I really should have taken my own advice and tried to get some sleep. It would have passed the time. But how the hell could I go to bed? All day at work I’d been looking forward to my next meeting with Gabriel. Thinking about the dark promises in his eyes and the sinful suggestions his words held had kept me highly aroused.

Promises, yes, promises that I would bet a year’s salary he could deliver. And not just deliver, but give to me with a hefty dose of expertise and experience.

Hell, this was a guy who carried an implement of BDSM sexual torture around in the lining of his suit jacket. What else should I think? Admittedly, the misery stick was small, easy to conceal, but my God it could pack a punch, and my arse still had the evidence to prove it.

I swiped my hands over the back of the short black skirt I wore—yes I had a black theme going on—and was relieved when spikes of pain darted through my buttocks.

The welts he’d delivered so skillfully to my bum on the train that morning during our first stolen meeting were as raw as ever, not least because I’d squirmed on my seat most of the day, enjoying the erotic memories they’d induced. I’d probably made them worse by doing that, increasing the swelling and irritating them.

In fact, I’d wriggled so much my boss had asked me if I was okay. I’d blushed furiously, knowing that the state of my makeup had only added to his concern. But he was an old man, like a father figure, kind and with a greying mustache. If he knew his secretary had snuck into a store cupboard on the train with a stranger on her way to work, been brought to a pain-laced orgasm then fucked hard by a man who’d insisted she’d called him Sir, he’d no doubt block off one of his coronary arteries in shock, or stroke out at the very least.

No, I couldn’t tell anyone about my liaison with Gabriel. Ours was a very unique relationship.

I flicked on the TV, whizzed through the channels, jammed a hand on my hip and tapped my foot, then tossed the remote aside. Nothing on—nothing that could hold my interest anyway.

The kitchen beckoned, or, rather, a glass of wine did. I clacked to the fridge, yanked at the door then studied the contents. I didn’t need to go to the supermarket in Bridgewater. I had plenty of fresh veg and salad, some cooked chicken, organic yoghurts and a punnet of cherries. There was a thick slice of quiche leftover from my dinner, and I cut myself a wedge, figuring I would need the energy for later.

Quiche eaten and glass of merlot in my hand, I moved to the window. I parted the blind and looked out. The rest of my small cul-de-sac was sleeping. The glow from a couple of upstairs hall windows mixed in with the amber light of the street lamps. It was odd, this all-night opening at the supermarkets. Was it really worth the shop’s while? Especially in a quiet, commuter belt residential area like this where sleep was high on everyone’s list of priorities before they joined the rat race the next morning.

What did I care?

The fact that the supermarket was open—open with skeleton staff—gave my fantasies fodder. I’d been thinking about those big cages for weeks. Ones I’d seen being pushed around the store full of stock. They looked so sinister if one imagined being imprisoned within, like an animal or a showgirl, but not a showgirl with feathers in her hair and a sequin bikini—no, a showgirl from my world. My black, sordid fantasy world where pain ruled, exhibitionism scored points and Gabriel—my fantasy man had a name and a face now—doled out delicious torture.

I could picture it—me in the cage, scantily clad in my black lacy best, my crotchless knickers rudely showing off my plump cunt lips. I’d grip the sides, curling my fingers around the metal, pressing my face up against the hard wire mesh. I’d be a prisoner, and he’d be able to do what he wanted with me, tie me up, whip me, beat me, fuck me—oh yeah, fuck me hard as he delivered delicious sensations that had me high on endorphins, flying with the painful stimuli that always went straight to my clit.

It was my preferred way to come, in pain. Oh, not stubbed toe pain or the misery of a headache—I liked sensual pain. And Gabriel, it seemed, loved to dish it out.

We were a match made in heaven and I couldn’t wait for him to take me there, even though to many it would look like he’d sent me to hell.

A shiver of longing went through me. My clit tingled and I squeezed my legs together. For a brief moment I considered masturbating, shoving my fingers up through the gap in my underwear and filling myself, perhaps rubbing against the kitchen counter at the same time, applying pressure to my mound. But I soon scrubbed away the idea. The trouble with enjoying painful rides to orgasm was that it was very hard to administer them to yourself. I’d tried, of course I had, but I’d always ended up feeling like a failure and completely unsatisfied. No, I would wait, wait until Gabriel could see to my needs and hope to fuck we could find a quiet corner at the supermarket with one of those cages to play in.

Three a.m. couldn’t come soon enough.