The Beauty of Surrender (10 page)

He buckled his seat belt, started the engine. “What else has Marina told you about me?”

Was this some sort of test? He was just letting the engine run, looking at the dark street rather than at her.

“Oh, well, not very much. Just that you were
nawashi
, a Shibari
master, to surpass even her. That she’d learned a lot from you over the years. That she trusted you completely. That I could, as well.”

He nodded, seemingly satisfied with her answer. He pulled out, gunned the engine to make it up the hill.

They were both quiet on the drive to the other side of the city. The club was at the foot of the Potrero Hill district, tucked away between warehouses. Not the safest part of that neighborhood; she’d never walk around alone there at night. But it was best for a fetish club to have some distance from residential areas. And she wasn’t alone. She glanced over at Desmond, at his strong, angular profile silhouetted by the silvery wash of light from the street-lamps. A small stab of excitement went through her: anticipation, lust.

Desmond parked in the lot behind the structure that housed Pinnacle. It was an old brick building, three stories, with shuttered windows on the top floor. The enormous front doors were gated in black iron. There was no sign, nothing to indicate what went on inside, but Ava shivered as they approached the entrance. She’d been in Pinnacle before, knew exactly what happened within the old brick walls. But she’d never been there with Desmond. Never felt this lovely sense of titillation mixed with fear.

She recognized the doorman but remained silent while Desmond greeted him, keeping her head bowed, clasping her hands in front of her. Oh, yes, she was sinking down already, into her role as a submissive. Into that dark and calming place that was also somehow energizing, making her light up inside. And when Desmond took her hand to lead her into the club, that light turned into pure heat, suffusing her system.

They stepped inside, and Desmond took her coat, handed it to a female attendant dressed in black and red leather, a steel collar around her slender neck. When he slid a hand around Ava’s waist, that heat moved lower, between her thighs, all slick, liquid fire.

“Are you ready, Ava?”

“Oh, yes.” Her voice was a low moan.

They moved through a curtained doorway and into the main room of the club. She had to blink, trying to adjust to the dim lights in red and amber. Taking a breath, she pulled in the scents of old brick and plaster, and something dark and earthy: excitement, sex, along with the lingering fragrance of someone’s perfume.

But she didn’t have time to think about it. Desmond was taking her across the room, past the Saint Andrew’s crosses, enormous wooden X’s with mostly naked bodies cuffed and chained to them, the row of leather-covered spanking benches. Past the low leather sofas scattered around the perimeter of the room, where people gathered to talk, to relax, to watch. But it was all going by in a blur. All she could think of was Desmond’s hand burning into her skin even through the leather of her dress, his solid presence beside her. What he was about to do to her.

He led her to the back of the room and to a spiral wrought-iron staircase, held her tightly to his side as they walked up, making her feel
owned
already. Then they were in the bondage room on the second floor, a more open and quieter space than the open playroom on the first floor. A more meditative space.

Some sort of trance music played softly in the background as the rope masters worked silently on the racks and large bondage frames she’d seen before, like huge wood-framed boxes with no walls, just the hooks and eyebolts set into them every few inches so that the ropes could be run through them in different ways.

She was really shaking now, the sense of expectancy building moment by moment. Desmond’s presence was both reassuring and oddly frightening. What was she so afraid of with him? She couldn’t figure it out. Still, she didn’t want to be anywhere but here with him.

He chose a piece of equipment, set his black bag of rope on the floor.

“Ava, down on your knees now while I set up.” A simple command, but it went through her like a jolt of electricity. She sank to her knees. She couldn’t have done otherwise,
her legs were so weak. And as soon as her knees hit the floor, she folded her hands in her lap, bowed her head, and let herself fall into that quiet place in her mind, her head buzzing.

Lovely
.

Even better when she heard Desmond murmur “Perfect” as he stroked a hand over her hair.

Heat flashed between her thighs, and she had to bite back a groan. This was what she strived for. This was exactly what she wanted.
Needed
.

Trembling, she watched him from beneath her lowered eyelids, not really able to see too much higher than his waist. But she could see he was laying out the rope, some of it black, some of it red. And in her head the switches were flipping at an alarming rate, her mind emptying of rational thought.

Don’t fight it
.

No, this was what she wanted. And she knew in some certain and inescapable way that Desmond could take her further than she’d ever been.

She had no idea how long she was there before she felt his hand taking hers, helping her rise to her feet. He pulled her in close; she could feel the heat of his tall, lean body against hers. Too good.

“I’m going to undress you now, Ava.”

And he did just that, unzipping her dress and pulling it from her with unexpectedly gentle hands while she stood, shivering with need.

“Hold perfectly still,” he said, his voice an authoritative whisper against her cheek.

He ran his hands lightly over her lace-covered breasts, and it was all she could do not to surge into his touch. Then he slipped her bra off, bringing his hands back to her breasts. His touch was so gentle she thought she’d lose her mind as he brushed his fingertips over her aching flesh.

Please, touch me
.

But she couldn’t say the words out loud, couldn’t have spoken
at all. She was soaking wet already, needing his hands on her, needing some sort of brutality from him for reasons she couldn’t explain to herself. But he kept up that soft stroking. She really was going to lose her mind.

When he gathered her breasts in his hands, sweeping his thumbs over her hard nipples, she moaned, her breath leaving her in a sharp, panting gasp.

“Ah, that’s good, Ava. Beautiful. Off with these, now.”

He moved his hands away, and she was empty, wanting, as he slid her damp lace panties over her legs, leaving her in nothing but her heels.

“Such pretty legs in your sexy high-heeled shoes,” he said, running his hands over her thigh. “But they’ll only get in the way.”

He bent and helped her step from her shoes, steadying her with a firm hand. And she was aching all over, her mind a blur of need and sensation.

Really going to lose it the moment he puts the ropes on me
.

Oh, yes
. But she wanted it so badly she could hardly wait.

He led her to the bondage frame, stood behind her, and held her with one arm tight around her waist. His fingertips absolutely burned into her bare flesh.

His face was against hers, his cheek resting on her own. “I’m going to bind you, Ava. And you’re going to do the breathing we’ve talked about. I want you to be in the moment. To slide into subspace, but you must keep part of yourself here with me, tuned in to what’s happening. Do you understand?”

“Yes … I understand.”

“I’ll be right here with you. Guiding you.” He paused, ran a hand over her hair. “Give it all over to me, Ava. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

“Can you, tonight?”

“Yes, Desmond. Yes!”

God, she wanted nothing more than to let it all go, to turn herself over to him. Into his hands.

His
hands.

“You can do it, Ava. You
will
do it, for me.” He stroked her cheek, making her tremble. “And I want to do this for you,” he told her, his voice a rough whisper.

So sweet. So tender. Why did it make her want to cry?

“Come on, now, take a breath.”

Desmond laid a hand on her chest, just above the rise of her breasts. His palm was warm. And as much as his every touch, even his voice, caused surges of desire to shimmer through her in long, lovely waves, his hand on her body was reassuring, calming.

She followed his voice as he instructed her to breathe, and soon her body was emptying of all weight, filling up with light, and she floated with him, her limbs going loose.

“Time to tie you up, Ava.”

Oh, yes …

He left her for a moment, came back quickly, his hands on her, the rope slipping across her skin. And it was all a blur of sensation as the ropes lashed softly over her flesh, his low voice whispering encouragement as he bound her torso in a full harness. She wanted to see it, what she looked like with the crisscross patterns the ropes made against her flesh: across her shoulders and back, over and under her breasts, across her belly, and finally threaded between her thighs, where two lengths of the soft rope ran over her aching sex. But it was so good just to feel it, that sense of being bound. Safe. She sank deeper, her mind really going blank of everything but the feel of the ropes, his voice, the increasing sensation of being restrained as he tightened the coils around her body.

Time was lost as the ropes were pulled tighter, holding her up. When he drew her arms behind her and bound them in a tight coil that ran from her wrists to her elbows, she felt a stirring sense of completion, of truly giving herself over to him. And the familiar switch flipped in her head, opening her up inside until she was raw and aching. Entirely vulnerable. And so full of wanting she could hardly stand it.

She wanted to cry again. She wanted him to touch her. She wanted to belong to him.

Oh, yes, to be his …

“Beautiful,” Desmond said quietly. “So damn beautiful, Ava.” She could feel his body close to hers, the cotton of his shirt against the tips of her breasts as he moved in closer.

“Where are you, Ava?”

“I’m here.”

“Are you? Are you right here with me?”

He took her chin in his hand, forcing her gaze to his. His eyes were dark, burning. She shivered at the intensity there, at the way it broke through even the haze of subspace.

God, to have him touch her! To be in the ropes for him. And she wasn’t even certain what the tears beginning to brim in her eyes were about, except that she wanted this so much. That it was really happening, finally. And she was grateful and afraid and still willing to go there with him.

“Do you see the people, my beautiful Ava? Do you see how they watch you? Admire you? Want you.”

She blinked, saw the group standing around them. A dozen pairs of eyes on her. Her body surged with lust. With pride. She felt utterly beautiful. Desired.

“Yes, Desmond,” she whispered. “I see them.” She brought her gaze back to his, held it. “But mostly I see you.”

“Ah, Ava. You are so damn perfect.”

A wash of pleasure, of keen desire, simply knowing she pleased him. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, and her body tried to bow toward his, but the ropes held her fast, making her burn even more.

Yes, kiss me. Touch me
.

He opened her lips with his, slipped his tongue inside, hot and sweet, and she moaned into his kiss.

He pressed deeper, his hands going around her waist, immobilizing her even further. Her head was spinning. And she was exactly
as he’d wanted her, lost in the meditative trance of subspace yet right there with him: his hands, his mouth, his earthy scent. And the sweet knowledge that she was, at that moment,
his
.

Desmond’s hand slid lower, between the lengths of rope wrapped around her body, between her thighs. His fingers parted the ropes pressing against her sex. And she was aching, needy, his fingers sliding into that wet, waiting heat, making her gasp.

“Ah!”

“Yes, you need it, don’t you, Ava? I need it, too. I need you. To touch you. To make you come. To have you. And I will. But first, come for me. Come for your admirers. Look at them. They’re adoring you, as I am.”

Another brief glance through her fluttering lashes at those watching her.

Yes, for him. For them
.

Then his hand was working between her thighs, his fingers plunging inside her, his thumb pressing onto her swollen clitoris. Sensation filled her, flooded her, desire building, making her go tight all over. Tight within the ropes, her clit, her nipples, throbbing and hard.

“I’m going deeper, Ava.”

And he did, his fingers pushing into her sex, thrusting. Desire was a tide, hot and powerful. Her hips arched into his hand, wanting more. And he gave her more, plunging into her soaking-wet sex, faster and harder.

“Oh, please …”

“Please what?”

“Please let me come, Desmond.”

“Come then, Ava. Come on.”

Her body clenched as pleasure washed over her, surged, shafting deep inside her. She felt her sex grabbing around his thrusting fingers, desire pulsing, harder and harder, until she didn’t think she could take it any longer.

“Desmond!”

It went on and on, her body shaking as the force of her climax pounded through her, drowning her.

“I have you, baby. I have you.”

His arms tightened around her as she sagged into the ropes, all strength gone. Her body was still pulsing, small, orgasmic waves flowing, receding.

“That was perfect, my beautiful Ava,” Desmond whispered into her hair.

Perfect. Yes, that was all she wanted: to be perfect, for him. His words still buzzing in her ears, she felt her body go limp as she let herself fall into his embrace.

Chapter Eight

H
OURS PASSED
, or so it seemed, with Desmond whispering to her, taking her through the breathing, checking the ropes. Holding her, bound so tightly she couldn’t move, in his arms as the room, the people, faded into nonexistence. Her mind had been everywhere, floating through past and present. And she had sunk deeper and deeper, her body, her mind, releasing a little at a time, until finally she had felt that lovely sensation of letting it all go and simply
being
. She had no idea it would feel so good.