The Beauty of Surrender (2 page)

Maybe this time, with this man. This master of the ropes.

Nawashi
.

Desmond
.

“He’s here,” Marina said quietly.

Ava immediately rose to her feet, keeping her eyes on the table. She didn’t dare look at him. Her pulse was a hot, hammering blur in her veins.

“Good girl,” she heard Marina murmur, and felt the answering shiver of pleasure run up her spine.

“Marina.” His voice was deep, held the edge of an accent. Scottish, maybe?

“Desmond, it’s good to see you. This is the girl I talked with you about, Ava Gregory.”

He was quiet a moment, but she could feel the intensity of his gaze, looking her over. She held her breath, hoped he found her pleasing.

What would she do if he refused her? Her heart tumbled in her chest.

He stepped closer, until she could smell him: dark and musky, like the clean, pure earth.

Then a fingertip lifted her chin and she was forced to raise her eyes to his. Green eyes, like dark, glossy moss. They seemed to see right through her. Shifting her focus, she took in his face, his dark hair swept back from high cheekbones that were a little sharp, a well-defined jaw, a wicked-looking goatee framing his lush mouth. Almost too lush in comparison to the hard male features, making him seem all the more ruggedly beautiful. Intimidating.

She had never expected him to be beautiful.

She had never expected her body to begin this hot, melting sensation from the first glance, the first hint of his scent. But she was going weak all over, her stomach, her heartbeat, fluttering. And she was dimly aware that all of this was happening to her in the middle of a café, in the middle of the day, with other people, everyday life, going on around them.

“Ava.” Marina’s voice. “This is Desmond Hale, my fellow rope master, my trusted friend.”

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

He was looking into her eyes, making her tremble. Making her feel as though nothing about her could be kept secret from him. And more than that, she felt power. It radiated from him like some palpable thing.

Marina, a formidable dominant herself, wore an air of authority. Ava had recognized it, responded to it, immediately. But even with Marina she hadn’t felt this sense of being completely overpowered. And when he brushed one finger along her cheekbone, she had to press her thighs together to ease the ache there.

Oh, yes
. This man could be exactly what she needed. Craved. And more.

“She’s even lovelier than you led me to expect, Marina.” Yes, definitely a Scottish accent, making him seem all the more exotic. “And so tiny. Like a doll. Yes, exactly like a porcelain doll. Beautiful pale skin.”

“Desmond, why don’t you sit down? I’ve ordered coffee for you. Ava?”

Ava nodded, sinking back into her chair as Desmond took his seat across from her. She could feel his unwavering gaze on her. Searching. Intense.

“Ava, we’re not in role now, do you understand?” Desmond said to her quietly. “We need to talk, to come to an agreement about what we need and can expect from each other.”

“Yes, Sir, I understand.” She’d been through this sort of negotiation with other dominants she’d played with before. It was standard practice among people in the lifestyle. But she felt so completely awkward now. What was wrong with her?

He watched her closely for a moment, leaning toward her in his chair, and she caught his scent on the air again.

“You’re very submissive, aren’t you?”

She nodded her head. “It’s always been natural for me. There’s never been any confusion for me about that.”

“Marina’s told me a little about you, but I want to hear from
you. Talk to me, Ava. Tell me about yourself. About how you came into the lifestyle. What you’ve experienced, what you understand about what we do.”

“I’ve been exploring these things my whole adult life. Power exchange. Bondage.”

Was she really saying these things out loud, surrounded by people who would probably be shocked to know what they were discussing? But it didn’t matter as much as it should have, somehow.

“And how old are you?”

“Twenty-nine, Sir.”

“Go on.”

“I was … one of those kids who had strange thoughts, even as young as eight or nine. I had fantasies about being kidnapped and tied up. But it was never frightening to me. Does that make sense?”

“Absolutely. I dreamed of kidnapping pretty girls and tying them up at that age.” He laughed, making her smile. Making her bones go warm and loose.

“Well … I did a lot of reading. Fiction, of course, but also some of the instruction books, over the years. I went to my first club five years ago.” Yes, just leave out that one other detail; no reason to tell this man about her experiences with Michael, how he had made her question herself in such a harsh light. “It took me a while to … be brave enough.”

“Where was that?”

“In Seattle. That’s where I’m from.”

“You have family there?”

“Yes. My parents are still there, my sister, Andrea. I don’t talk to them much. Is that … important?”

She wasn’t sure what he wanted from her, where this was going.

“Every aspect of your life is relevant. Any of life’s experiences can affect how we feel about ourselves, about our sexuality, and in particular how a submissive responds during a scene. So, yes. It’s important that I know as much as possible about you. But we’ll talk more about your family another time.”

Ava nodded. It made sense.

“Tell me what your experience in the Seattle club was like. How did you respond?”

“It was confusing at first, a little overwhelming, as I suppose it would be for anyone, but good. It was what I wanted; I knew that right away. People say some things are better left as fantasy, but not for me.”

“Exactly.”

He smiled again then, a slow, spreading grin taking over that lush mouth, and pleasure washed over her simply knowing he was happy with her answers.

The waitress came, set their cups on the table. Desmond took his with one packet of sugar, she noted.

Marina was watching them quietly, but Ava was focused on Desmond. She could barely look away long enough to add cream to her coffee with shaking hands.

“But … I’ve never gone far enough. I’ve never gone deep enough. I feel as though I hit the edge of subspace, my mind begins to let go, and then I’m pulled back into reality, a thousand thoughts racing through my brain, almost as if … my mind is defending me from seeing what’s really in there. In those deep places. I struggle with it. I try to give in but … I don’t know why it won’t quite work for me. I mean, maybe I understand some of it, but … should I go into detail right now?”

“We can talk more about it as we go. Just tell me a bit about your experiences with bondage.”

“Well …” She sipped her coffee, even though it was really still too hot, scalding her tongue a little. “I’ve played with some people who were very good, with cuffs and chains, harnesses. Even some rope. But until Marina it was never the formal Shibari, which is what appeals most to me. To be decorated that way. For the binding itself to
mean
something. And I need someone who can stay with me. I mean, I think I need to be bound and made to stay there for hours. I don’t understand these people who go to the clubs, tie
someone up, then immediately let them go and it’s over. I don’t get the point of that. I’m sorry. Am I … am I saying too much?”

She glanced at Marina, who nodded in encouragement.

“These are exactly the things I prefer,” Desmond said. “For the ropes to be more than the simple act of binding someone. For the ropes to be beautiful, to be organized into a symbiotic visual and physical form. And I’m a stamina player; I prefer to go for several hours, an entire evening.” He paused, lifted his cup, drank. He lowered his voice, his gaze steady on hers. “But we’ll have to see what you can really take, Ava.”

She shivered as he said those words. What could she really take? She could barely wait to find out.

“I want to try, Sir. I want to try it all. I need to,” she told him. It was the truth. And she suddenly felt that she couldn’t hide anything from this man. She didn’t want to.

“Let’s discuss our arrangement, then. You should know how I operate. I don’t play well with too many limitations. If you are the kind of submissive who insists on no sexual contact, then I am not the right choice for you. Will this be an issue?”

Her heart was thundering in her chest at a thousand miles an hour. Her sex went damp, aching.

“No. That’s not a problem, Sir.”

No, definitely not a problem. She had to bite back a moan.

He leaned in then, took her hand in his, skimming his fingertips over her wrist beneath the edge of her cotton sweater. Her pulse was racing wildly under his touch, her skin on fire.

“I believe we have an understanding, then.”

She nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“You can call me Desmond. I prefer it, actually.”

“Yes, Sir. Desmond.”

Beautiful name. Beautiful man. And that accent was like warm whiskey in her veins.

“Tell me what else you’re looking for, Ava.”

She had to stop to organize the million images and ideas
whirling through her head. How to explain? But it was such a relief to have someone ask her about these things she’d thought about, mentally dissected, her entire life, it seemed. “I’m looking for that headspace. I want to …go empty all over. And the pain play has never done that for me, although I’ve tried. It’s all about being bound for me. Being … peaceful. And there’s one more thing …”

“Yes?”

“I love to play in public, at the clubs. I’m an exhibitionist, I suppose. But I love to be vaguely aware of people watching. It makes me feel … beautiful.”

“Ah, Ava,” he said quietly, “you just may be the perfect girl for me.”

Too good, to hear those words from him. But she had something more to tell him. “But … I also feel that I have a tendency to use the exhibitionism as a distraction from my ultimate goal. So maybe sometimes it’s good for me, and sometimes not.”

Desmond nodded. “You’re very thoughtful. I like that.”

Sliding his fingers down, he took her hand, lifted it, and pressed his lips to her palm. She let out a small gasp, pleasure flooding her senses like an electric current: that hot, that shocking.

Oh, yes, perfect
.

Ava shivered, a long, slow heat seeping up her spine, spreading, spreading. She was on fire. Burning. For him.

When Marina had suggested that a male dominant might be able to take her deeper into that lovely space she craved, a man who could bring the sexual element into bondage play, Ava knew she was right. And she trusted Marina to choose a good partner for her. But she had no idea she would meet a man who made her feel like this.

Desmond Hale was intense, a dominant through and through. There was something about his presence, the way he carried himself with confidence, as though he understood perfectly well that no one would dare to defy him.

She wanted nothing more than to serve this man from the first moment she’d heard his voice, even before she’d raised her head and seen him.

And now, knowing that what he wanted from her was exactly what she wanted—needed—to give, she could hardly stand to wait.

“Sir … Desmond. May I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“When can we get started?”

He laughed, and she wasn’t sure at first if she’d made a mistake. But he squeezed her hand, ran his fingers over her wrist again so lightly she could barely feel it. It was enough to reassure her. To make every nerve in her body come alive.

He let her hand go, turned to Marina. “Tell me what went on exactly when you played her.”

He picked up his cup once more, took a long sip, and Ava watched, fascinated, as he swallowed, the long line of his throat working.

“She was good,” Marina said. “Very submissive, as you’ve noticed. She follows instructions perfectly. And she loves the ropes; I could see that right away. She slipped into the edge of subspace easily, but she never went deep, no matter how long I kept her bound, the intricacy of the knots, just as she’s told you. I never tried suspension; we played only three times. She never went deep enough for me to try that with her. There is definitely some sort of block.”

He turned to face Ava again, his gaze assessing her once more. “We’ll break through that,” he said, his voice certain, commanding. His accent was stronger than ever. “Whatever it is. Whatever it takes.”

She nodded, her throat going tight. A small, lovely shiver of anticipation ran through her, imagining what he might do with her. Not that it mattered; she would do anything he asked of her, she knew that already. And she knew he would ask her to push her boundaries just enough, and no further than she could truly handle.

“I think you will break through with her,” Marina said. “If anyone can, it’s you, Desmond. And she seems to like you well enough.” She grinned at Ava, who blushed, her cheeks heating.

“Ava?” He was watching her, that green gaze intent on hers, gleaming in the dusky filtered sunlight coming through the windows of the café. “Tell me, is this what you want? For us to work together? For me to play you? Train you in the ways of Shibari?”

She had to swallow past the hard lump in her throat, a lump made of exquisite anticipation, nerves, pure desire, to get the words out. “Yes. Please, Desmond.”

“Very well. I will send you a questionnaire through e-mail. You’ve done these things before, I assume?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Fill it out, return it to me. And with it, you may ask any questions of me. I want us to be open with each other. This is the only way it will work.”

She nodded, her head too filled with the possibilities for her brain to function properly.

“I’ll look it over, and we’ll talk again about whether or not you’d still like to do this.”

“Oh, I’m sure she will, Desmond.” Marina turned to Ava, her gray eyes sparkling. “She’s practically vibrating with need already.”

Ava’s cheeks heated once more. It was true. She’d never been so full of yearning in her life.

He laughed, a low, rumbling sound that Ava swore she could feel reverberating through her body.