With This Collar (22 page)

She didn’t point out that she still had on jeans. Feeling awkward more than excited, she lowered herself into position.

He blazed a dozen or so impressive smacks over her rear. She was annoyed.

It had hurt. He’d done nothing to psychologically exploit the sensations.

“How was that? My hand freaking hurts,” he said.

She pushed herself off his lap and sat next to him. “Thank you, Sir,” she said.

“Sir?” he asked. “Look, Julia, I will spank you if you want, but really, uh, the sir thing isn’t working for me. I keep wanting to look around for my dad, you know? Can we skip that part? Is that okay?”

Julia nodded, not quite knowing how to respond.

“Would you like to go to bed together now?”

“I… It’s a little soon in the relationship. I hope that doesn’t hurt your feelings.”

“I totally understand.” He smiled. “Whenever you’re ready, Julia, Mr Happy will be ready for you.”

Mr Happy?
She’d laugh, but she knew he hadn’t meant that to be funny. He’d named his penis, and, with some men, she might find it adorable. But
Mr Happy?
She wanted a cock. “You’re welcome to hang out for a while.” Even as she extended the invitation, she wished for revocation rights.

“Do you have any whisky? Maybe some chips or pretzels?”

She went into the kitchen. Somehow this made her feel more subservient than anything she’d done with Marcus.

When she returned with Barry’s snacks and whisky, she discovered he’d once again turned on the television. He selected a comedy show then asked if that was all right with her. But he turned back to face the screen without waiting for her answer.

Milquetoast
. She heard Master Marcus’ word as if he’d spoken it aloud.

She joined Barry on the couch. She laid her head back and couldn’t get thoughts of Master Marcus, in his black T-shirt, jeans and boots, out of her head.

Even though a perfectly nice man was sitting next to her, she was fantasising about a man who attached a tawse to his belt loop. What was wrong with her?

When Barry finally stood and stretched, revealing his belly, she said, “Don’t forget your pen and pencil.”

Chapter Nine

“Dish,” Lana told Julia. “I want to know what the hell went wrong between you and Master Marcus.”

“There’s not much to tell,” Julia said. “We wanted different things.”

“I don’t believe you,” Lana said. “It’s not like you to vanish off the face of the planet.”

When Julia didn’t respond, Lana gasped and covered her mouth. “Oh, crap, Jules, I’m sorry. That bastard dumped you? Marcus the Malicious.”

“No.” Despite herself she smiled. “Not exactly.”

The barista called out their drink orders, and they each carried their extra-large lattes to a small table in the corner of the quirky coffee shop. Since it was still early on a Saturday morning, they had some privacy.

“He’s…” Julia paused, made a show of sipping her latte, and debated what to say. Of everyone she knew, Lana would understand. “Complicated.”

“Oh, honey, I think you’re making it complicated. Men? They’re fairly straightforward. They know what they want and they’re considerably less shy than we are about asking for it. So, break it down for me.” She took a huge bite out of her pastry and sighed with delight. “Sweets always go with break-ups,” she said.

“He wants me to move in.”

“Oh, so he lives in a dump?”

“No.” She sighed in exasperation. “He wants to collar me.”

“And he has bad taste in jewellery? Ben could help him out.”

“Lana, can you be serious?”

“Sorry.” She picked up her cup. “This is me shutting up.”

“I enjoy going over there and playing with him, but the idea of being involved in something permanent…” She trailed off and looked at Lana’s collar. The metal winked in the subtle overhead light. Even more than her wedding ring, the collar spoke of obligations and expectations.

“You still want a nice guy?”

“I thought I did.”

“And?”

She told Lana about the experience with Brian—Barry.

“Barry the Boring.”

They both laughed.

“What are you afraid of?” Lana finally asked.

“Of losing myself,” she admitted, taking another sip. “I hate the entire idea of being a submissive.”

“Really? I think you’ve got a seriously messed-up idea about submission. Submission is not synonymous with being a doormat. Do the math, Jules. On what planet does asking for what you want make you subservient?”

Intellectually she’d conceded Lana’s point. Emotionally was another story. She’d lost herself in one relationship. She didn’t want to do it again.

“Do you believe human beings are capable of learning?” Lana asked. “Or are they doomed to repeat the same mistake until they die?”

“Psychology major?”

“I took a few classes is all.”

“Of course we can change.”

“And when you saw what was happening with Jason the Jackass, you ended it.”

She sat back.

“You and Master Marcus have discussed a power exchange, yes?”

“We have.”

“Do you have safety words?”

Julia nodded, and Lana asked, “Does he honour your wishes?”

“He’s been a Dom, a beast, but he’s never crossed a line.”

“Do you love him?”

“I…” Julia’s hand shook as she held the cup.

Lana finished off her pastry then wiped her hands together before reaching for Julia’s untouched cinnamon roll. “So why is he paying for Jason’s mistakes?”

Julia was silent for a full ten seconds, absorbing the impact of that barb. “That hurt.”

“Yeah. You’re not the only one hurting. I’ve never seen Marcus more melancholy. Ah, that’s his nickname. Marcus the Melancholy!”

“You saw him?”

“At the Den. Great party last weekend.”

“Was he…?”

“He was alone. He wouldn’t answer any questions about you.” Lana looked at Julia. “I’m your friend, and I’ll love and support you no matter what. But I can tell you that Brian—”

“Barry.”

“Whatever. He didn’t make you happy. Neither did the Hairball. I think Master Marcus did, but only you know that. It’s all your choice, Jules. If you have fears, have him help you set something up so that you aren’t afraid. Running away isn’t going to make anything better. But if you want to settle for dishwater when you can have a really hot Dom, that’s your choice.” She squeezed Julia’s hand. “Mind if I finish your cinnamon roll? We had a really hot scene last night, and I’m ravenous.”

* * * *

Marcus was navigating unchartered territory.

He fucking missed Julia. The days, weeks hadn’t made it better.

He’d meant it when he’d told her not to call until she was willing to wear his collar. He was tired of her running, of her not allowing their relationship to progress naturally.

But he’d had plenty of time to regret his lack of flexibility.

No doubt he should have handled it—her—better, given her more time, tried to talk, allowed her to leave. He could have continued to push, but slower, more gently.

In his adult life, he’d never had a sub desperate to get away from him before, and he’d had no idea what in the hell to do when she’d insisted on leaving. As a Dom, he’d always been confident of his next steps. As a business owner, he never questioned his decisions. But here, as a man who’d screwed up with a woman who meant something to him, he had no clue what to do next. And he’d painted her into a corner with his ultimatum.
Good move, Cavendish.

He wasn’t much for brooding, but he’d done plenty of it. At some point, he was going to have to take action. He just hoped he didn’t snap first.

When he arrived home on Saturday afternoon, he entered the foyer then froze in place, disbelief stunning him.

Julia was there, on her knees, in the proper position. She was mostly dressed appropriately, in a short skirt and tight white T-shirt that revealed she wore no bra beneath. He understood. She was making the first move, but she needed to be free to leave if he rejected her.

The sounds of her breathing, nervous little gulps, hung precariously on the electrically charged air. This wasn’t easy for either of them.

He entered the condo, trying to figure out what the hell to say so he didn’t screw up again. He closed and locked the door, then dropped his keys on top of hers. Seeing them together in the same bowl restored the natural order of things. He hung up his coat next to hers. Damn, he’d missed her stuff being in his space, and the small messes she left behind everywhere she went. “I told you not to come back until you were willing to wear my collar.”

“I know, Sir.”

“Stand up, girl. And look at me.”

She did. Her eyes were wide, her lips slightly parted. She’d never looked more beautiful.

“Join me in the great room. Wine?”

“Please.”

When he returned, she was perched on the edge of a cushion, her hands twisted in her lap. This was not the spitfire Julia he was accustomed to. “Why are you here?” he asked, offering her the glass.

“You’re not having one?”

“No.”

She accepted with a smile of gratitude, and admitted, “I miss you, Sir.”

Until now he hadn’t known his own breath was strangling him.

“If it’s okay, I’d like to tell you why I left.”

He moved to the fireplace and rested his elbow on the mantel, giving them both some physical distance.

She met his gaze. “I was in a vanilla relationship with a very dominant man. I vowed never to allow myself to get in that situation again. Being called a sub made me remember all those feelings. It’s taken me a long time to realise that he was borderline abusive. He wasn’t a Dom.” She took a drink of the wine. “There was no power exchange.”

“I have no power other than the power you give me.”

She looked at him over the goblet’s rim.

“And everything is negotiable. Even if you agree to do something once or a dozen times, it’s still open to discussion.”

“I am sorry. I should have talked to you. I showed you a tremendous discourtesy.”

“For my part, I pushed you too hard, too fast. Ultimatums do not belong in a D/s relationship. I screwed up, Julia. I’m not perfect. I wish I were.” He scrubbed a palm over his head. “I apologise. If you need more time, you’ve got it. I appreciate your coming here today. I want you to be my sub, to make a commitment, and I can guarantee you I’ll keep asking. You can refuse, but I will bring it up again and again. I can’t let you go, Julia. Somewhere along the line, I fell in love with you. I love you, Julia.”

She blinked. “You love me?”

“I didn’t know it was possible, but yeah. I love you.”

“I’m done running, Sir. I’m not saying I won’t get scared and be tempted to flee. But I’m saying I want to wear your collar.”

He stayed where he was for a moment. “Do you know what you’re saying?”

“Yes. I’m saying I love you. That’s a solid base. I’m sure we’ll have miscues, but every relationship does. I want to be your sub. I want to make a commitment to you. I will do my best to honour our power exchange. I will be honest with myself and with you.”

“We’ll go shopping for an official collar later.”

“I was hoping you’d make me a leather one, Sir. With your company logo on it.”

His cock hardened. “Julia Lyle, you’re perfect. For now, we’ll use your old collar.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Remove your clothes.” He loved the sight of her beaded nipples, then her shaved cunt. “Leave the rest.” The garter belt and stockings and shoes just simply aroused him. Scraps of black lace and silk…?
Fuck.
He was done for. “Kneel and lift your hair out of the way.

He took her temporary collar from the closet and returned to her. “It stays until I fashion your new one.”

“Even at work on Monday?”

He realised she’d been asking for clarification and not to protest. “I’ll try to be done, but if I’m not, you’ll wear this one.”

“Yes, Sir,” she said.

“Ask me.”

“Please, Sir. Will you collar me?”

He fastened it in place and checked the fit.

“Perfect,” she assured him. “Thank you, Sir.”

“I want to hear you call me Master.” Until now, he’d thought that was pretentious. But it fitted their new relationship, and it meant something to him. She’d used the term of respect in the heat of passion, but she’d never said it and meant it.

“My pleasure, Master,” she said, sincerity laced in her tone.

He’d never felt this way, so proud and simultaneously humbled. She left him in awe.

“You need to be spanked for running away,” he said, his voice gruff.

“And after that,
then
will you fuck me?” She blinked. “Please, Master?”

“How many do you deserve?”

“As many over-the-knee spanks as Sir decides is appropriate.”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that, sub.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“Twelve of my best, Sub. Get upstairs, get the tawse, and get on your knees.”

She leapt up. Before she ran up the stairs, she paused, turned back, and walked over to him. She kissed his cheek and reached for his cock, giving it a hard squeeze. He grabbed her hand, stopping her determined up and down motion. “You have a thing or two to learn about being a good submissive.” And he’d have let her do it another minute or so if he hadn’t been afraid of ejaculating in his jeans.

“Sir is going to have all the time he wants to teach me.”

A minute later, he joined her in the playroom and sat in his chair. “Over my lap, girl.”

She extended her palms and offered him the tawse. She had already learnt a thing or two, he observed.

He warmed up her ass with a few vigorous rubs. “You haven’t been beaten in a long time,” he said. “Your skin is unblemished.”

“I presume Sir intends to change that.”

He did, indeed. He blazed the first kiss of the tawse above her knees. She cried out, but she reached for the chair leg to keep herself in place.

“One, Sir,” she said.

“Don’t count. Just accept your spanking.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

He systematically landed the blows with precise execution, one on top of the other until he reached her buttocks. Then, as she gasped and cried and screamed, he blistered her ass. He wasn’t angry. He’d never touch her in anger, but he sure as sunshine had a message to deliver.