RecipeforSubmission (5 page)

And then, suddenly, the tails of the flogger curled up
between her legs and she felt them right at her most sensitive spot. And what
she thought would be the cruelest thing imaginable turned out to be pure
pleasure, making her pussy clench and her core feel as if it was on fire. She
felt something hard against her pussy—the handle, it had to be. If she wiggled
right, she could rub her clit against it, and
ohh—
her orgasm took her
over totally, her skin tingling and her body shaking as waves of pleasure
cascaded over her. “Oh yes, yes, yes.”

“Oh yes,” he echoed, whispering in her ear. He held her as
her body sank against him. Her wrists ached as her weight pulled against the
cuffs, but only for a moment. She heard the flogger clatter to the floor and in
a flash the cuffs were loose and the only thing holding her up was him.
I
could stand if I wanted to. I think.

Why did I let him do that?
But she knew the answer.
It had felt too good to make him stop. Somewhere along the line she’d stopped
analyzing and started letting herself feel.

He picked her up as if she was weightless and carried her to
a couch. He didn’t say anything and neither did she. She wrapped her arms
around his neck and buried her face in his sweaty chest, embarrassed by what
she had experienced in public and yet feeling far too good to regret it. His
fingers stroked through her hair. She wiggled and realized that unless he was
holding the whip handle in his lap he was rock hard—and she had definitely
heard the flogger fall to the floor. If he’d been as out of control as she had
been, he’d be moving right now, trying to get some level of release by rubbing
himself against her bottom. But he wasn’t.

She opened her eyes. When had they closed? She wasn’t sure.
But at some point all she had wanted to do was feel.
I ought to look up and
see his face, but I can’t. I ought to say something.
All she had agreed to
was to be bound and to experience the flogger. She thought that she had already
seen all the flogger could do when she saw it turn his back a little pink.
She’d had no idea. He’d taken advantage of her. She tried to be angry. Anger
would move her to action. But somehow she couldn’t manage it. It wasn’t welcome
if it would move her from her very comfortable position on his lap and in his
arms.

I really don’t know him at all.
She knew his arms
were strong and he knew his way around women.
Am I really so simple, that
right now that’s all that matters?
It had been a long time since she’d
gotten what she needed at such a primal level, and she wasn’t willing to give
it up yet.
In a few minutes, maybe.

Finally she drew back. “That was…interesting,” she said.

He chuckled. “I thought so.” He held her gaze for a moment
before she turned away.

“I need to get my clothes.”

“You look more lovely with them off.”

She resisted the urge to tell him she looked fat with them
off. She wriggled against his grasp and, to her disappointment, he let her go.
“Come back once you get them,” he told her.

She nodded. Even though she had most definitely
finished
,
there was something undone between the two of them. His pleasure, perhaps? She
was scarcely going to get him off there in the club, and his advice against
private meetings seemed sound. She started to walk and then noticed that her
clothes weren’t where she had left them. She looked around and spotted them at
his feet, with the flogger and two cuffs lying on top of them. He couldn’t
possibly have carried them over; he’d been with her the whole time.

He chuckled at her expression. “I have friends here,” he
explained. “And they noticed my hands were full and that I was busy doing
something important.”

“Doing what important?”

“Holding you.”

“Oh.” She reached down, intending to spill the cuffs and the
flogger off her clothes with one smooth yank. Then she thought better of it and
carefully set them aside. He was looking into her cleavage, and he didn’t turn
to look elsewhere when she caught him at it. She wasn’t sure whether to be
annoyed or gratified at his frank stare.
He knows what he likes, that’s for
sure. And oddly, it seems to include me.

Getting dressed in front of him seemed more intimate than
stripping had been. The silence lingered. She didn’t imagine he was at a loss
for words. He looked too confident, too sure of himself.

“Thank you,” she said at last, and only after she was
dressed.

“My pleasure. Do you understand a little better now?”

“If everyone ends up feeling like that I think I understand
the attraction, yes. But what was in it for you?”

“I gave you pleasure. Isn’t that enough?”

Was it?
“Is that all a Dom wants?”

“No.”

She thought he’d go on to explain, but he didn’t. The whole
thing was too embarrassing to pursue, anyway.
All these people saw me half
naked. Worse, they saw me come almost entirely from being flogged. What must
they think of me?
She wanted to get away. “Maybe I’ll, uh, run into you
someplace.”

He chuckled. “I’m usually here Friday nights. You know where
to look if you want me.”

If I want him. Oh, I want him all right. Far too much for
my own good.

“Well, um, yeah. Thanks again.”

“I mean for more research, of course.” Did his eyes have a
twinkle? Was he putting her on?

“Yes. Research.” She turned and walked out, trying not to
make eye contact with anyone. Her cheeks were burning. She imagined most of the
people in the club had something to look at other than her, but she was sure at
least one person was staring at her the whole way. Right now she needed fresh
air and a chance to think.

She didn’t get it right away. A big blond man was standing
outside, neatly coiffed and dressed smartly in a white shirt and blue-striped
tie. He wouldn’t have looked too out of place as a K Street lobbyist or a
congressional staffer, or maybe a lawyer. His eyes lit up when he saw her and
he sidled up next to her.

“I just want to think,” Kyra told him, hoping she wasn’t
being too rude. He was probably one of the people who went to the club. There
were a few people in there in business attire. He smelled like tobacco, so he
was probably out for a smoke. If Drew hadn’t unsettled her so much she would
have tried to interview him.

“Please, you look new.”

She stopped, and blinked. “So?”

“They won’t let me in. My wife’s in there. Did you see her?
Looks like you, dark hair, a little overweight…”

Well, thank you very much.
She certainly hadn’t seen
her twin in there, but there were plenty of brunettes in the club, and she
might have seen his wife, she might not have. She supposed she was naïve to
think that everyone in there was an unattached single, or playing with their
significant other. She felt sorry for him, but she really didn’t want to get
involved in the middle of a relationship she knew nothing about. “Didn’t
notice, sorry.” She walked quicker, hoping that would shake him. Somewhat to
her surprise, it did.

Chapter Three

Drew Ryan sat back and sipped his water. He’d have rather
had a beer, but there was a strict no alcohol policy at Carpe Noctem. Excessive
drinking and playing didn’t mix well, but the real reason was that the city
would put up with a lot more as long as an alcohol license wasn’t involved.
Normally he didn’t much care. Tonight, watching, he definitely wanted a drink.

In front of him was a hot scene, the sort of thing Drew
normally would have enjoyed watching, or better yet being involved in. Bart
Barnes had a new submissive and was breaking her in. Bobbi was a cute little
thing, with red hair, small breasts, and rings in her nipples. He was turning
her ass a pretty shade of red with a leather-covered paddle while she sucked on
the black rubber strap-on of a tall muscular blonde he’d played with a long
time ago named Alice. Alice was a switch and happy enough to help with the
scene, but she didn’t look as if she were really getting off on it.

Bart had offered him Alice’s place, and he had to admit he’d
have enjoyed it more than Alice was. The redheaded sub was trying her
enthusiastic best, but he suspected she would have been happier if she’d been
able to provide more pleasure for her efforts, rather than sucking on a piece
of rubber. Yet he’d said no for some reason he himself didn’t understand. He’d
passed on paddling the girl while she sucked Bart off too. He took another sip
of water and his face wrinkled up.
Yeah. I definitely need a beer. And
probably a shrink.
Why am I so hung up on Kyra that I can’t enjoy the
lovely ladies around me?

She isn’t going to come. No way. She ran out of Carpe
Noctem last week like a fox being chased by a half dozen hounds. And what is
she to me, anyway?
She’d said she was a mystery writer, but he hadn’t found
any mystery writer named Kyra in bookstores or online. Which only meant that
she wrote under a different name, he supposed. In any case, he couldn’t find
her and she couldn’t find him, unless she walked into the door past Alice and
Bart and the redhead. He very much doubted that she would. What was it about
her? She’d been negative, almost hostile, about the scene to start with. She’d
warmed up nicely when she got to experience it, way more than Drew had
expected. He hadn’t expected to make her come, but when he’d noticed that she
was so close he couldn’t resist pushing her over. And then she split.

Hell. She was probably better off without him, anyway. He’d
wanted to show her just how good BDSM could feel, but he’d overdone it.

If he wasn’t going to get her out of his mind, he’d be
better off heading back home and seeing what happened to seared tuna steak if
he added a dash of Chinese mustard to the sauce it was served in. Serving it on
top of the sauce, rather than pouring the sauce on top, had been a step forward
for both the eyes and the palate, but he wanted more complexity to the taste
before adding it to the menu. Pierre, the head chef at Ryan’s, had suggested
tarragon, but that would take things in an entirely different direction from
what he intended. Pierre was a good man, with the talent to run his own place,
and he didn’t want to step on the man’s toes. But if he got it right Pierre
would acknowledge it, and the debate would be over.

He glanced at his watch, it was five after nine. He’d need
more than a taste to know if he’d gotten the recipe perfect, and he wouldn’t be
positively disposed that soon after eating Pierre’s pasta carbonara. He
remembered the argument over that one, when Pierre had insisted it could be
made better with pecorino Romano than with Parmesan. It had established a pattern—Pierre
would cook the dish his way and Drew would cook the dish his, and they would
see if their palates could agree. Pierre had been right that time. He’d sit
tight for another ten minutes. He forced himself to look in front of him.

If he’d been there he’d have been ready to come by now.
Alice, on the other hand, was unmoved. She curled up a lock of Bobbi’s hair in
her hand and pulled. Alice loved having her hair pulled, so naturally she
assumed Bobbi did. With the woman’s face in her crotch, her mouth full, and
making all sorts of squealing sounds because of the paddling, he doubted Alice
could read the sub’s reaction, but Bobbi didn’t look happy. He caught Alice’s
eye and shook his head. Alice got it and let go.

So I’ve done my good deed for the day.
He watched as
Bart reached his arm around Bobbi’s waist and got his hand between Bobbi’s
legs. The tone of Bobbi’s squeals changed. He’d have her coming soon. He
normally would have stayed to watch, but knowing the three were heading to a
successful conclusion despite their mismatch was good enough for him. He got up
and headed to the door. He thought about letting Ken know that Kyra could call
him but it was pointless. She wasn’t going to show, and Ken would gossip about
it.

He nodded to the man at the door and headed out into the
fresh evening air. As close as it got to fresh in the middle of the city,
anyway. There were a few people outside smoking cigarettes, a couple of
leather-clad people he knew right next to the door and a big blond guy he
didn’t recognize in a suit and tie a ways off. He’d heard one of the Dommes,
Mary Beth, say that her ex was lurking around outside and that Ken knew not to
let him in, so maybe that was the guy. He made a mental note of what he looked
like and kept going.

He’d parked his pickup a few blocks away, on Belsan Street,
which was really more of an alley than a street. The real streets had letters
and numbers rather than names in this part of town. He didn’t like to park too
close to the club. There were plenty of people who needed the spaces more than
he did, and the walk through the neighborhood helped him make the mental
transition from restaurateur to Dom. There was little danger of being
recognized, but few people from the economically depressed area would be likely
patrons of his upscale restaurant. Now it would help him make the transition
back.

He passed a couple of neighborhood kids playing checkers on
the stoop. It was too late for the kids to be up, much less out, but if their
air conditioner was busted he could understand why they’d rather be playing
under the porch light than inside. It’d cool down as the night wore on, at
least.

He looked up the street and there she was. Kyra was standing
in the middle of the sidewalk, glancing behind her and then looking forward.
When she saw him she looked like a deer caught in the headlights, not sure
which way to run. She had a skirt on this time, a flouncy one that ended an
inch or two below her knees, and a white buttoned blouse. He walked right up to
her and she didn’t bolt.

“Hi, Kyra.”

He watched her face go through several different emotions,
her features changing too fast for him to guess at all of them. “It’s you,” she
said.