by Lila Dubois
“No, Sir. I just expected us to…talk more first.”
“I prefer actions to words.”
“But you asked me to explain why I reacted when you touched me.”
“I want you to talk.” He raised his hand and reached for her left breast. “I want you to tell me everything you’re thinking and feeling.”
He cupped her breast, her pale flesh shades lighter than his tanned hand. She sucked in air, then held her breath.
“No,” he murmured. “Breathe.”
She exhaled, but was unable to look away from the sight of her breast in his hand. His fingers warm and hard, her nipple tight in anticipation of his touch. A man she’d just met was fondling her, and she couldn’t, well, wouldn’t, stop him.
With her next exhale she released some of the tension coiled tight in her gut, the urge to fight or flee paling in comparison to the new feelings he evoked.
“Tell me,” he commanded.
“I feel… Excited, a little scared. I want to…to run away. To change my mind about all of this.” She closed her eyes, licked her lips. She was being far too honest.
And she was starting to feel submissive.
On one hand that was a relief, because it meant she wouldn’t haul off and punch Alexander as if he were some stranger groping her in a club.
But there was danger in this feeling, too.
She’d prepared for half a dozen different situations and scenarios. Walked into the club tonight determined to attract his attention. Ready and willing to play the part of a submissive and kneel before him.
But she hadn’t expected his touch to make her feel like this.
“If you want to run, run now.” He took his hand from her breast, giving her the out.
She should run. Find another way.
There was no other way.
And I want him to touch me again.
“If I stay?”
“Then you’re mine for the night.”
“And what will you do to me?” She raised her head, needing to see his face.
Alexander’s expression was stern, almost cold. “Many things.”
“That’s it? That’s all you going to say?”
He raised a brow. “Stay or go?”
“Stay.” She needed him.
“Good.” He placed his hand on the top of her head and pressed down, forcing her to bow her head.
Arousal slid through her veins, warming her skin and wiping away the lingering traces of fight or flight instinct.
Alexander rose and went back to circling her, the crop once more dangling casually from his hand. The silence stretched, and her breathing seemed loud in the quiet.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he commanded for the second time.
“I was just wondering, if I screamed, would anyone come?”
“Depends on the scream.”
“Am I going to scream?”
He stopped walking and she stared at the knees of his slacks.
She was painfully aware of her bare breasts, the way they rose and fell with each breath she took.
“Yes,” he said. “You’re going to scream.”
She had only a moment to register the snake-quick movement of the crop before the folded leather tip struck the outside edge of her left breast.
The snap of sound was quickly followed by a burst of heat wrapped around a small spark of pain.
She twisted to the side and gasped, shocked more by the fact that he’d done it than by the small bite of pain.
“Shoulders back.”
Alena flexed her fingers and licked her lower lip.
“Alena.” Her name was hard and short, a command, punctuated by the sound of the crop swishing through the air.
Still curled away from him, she winced and braced herself, but no strike fell.
After a noisy exhale, Alena finally faced forward.
The crop came up under her chin, lifting it until she was looking up at him.
Their gazes met, and she was struck by how virile her quiet man was.
Chemistry. It was just sexual chemistry…albeit potent sexual chemistry.
Staring up at him, for a moment she forgot why she was here. Her thoughts focused on what he’d do next, how he’d use her, command her.
Alexander stared down at her from beneath dark brows, his eyes the green of a cider bottle rimmed in gold.
“You’re lovely,” he said quietly. “But better suited to someone softer.”
Alena blinked. “What?”
He lowered the crop and bent, bringing his face down to hers. She stared at him, heart pounding and mind whirling as she processed what he’d said.
His gaze moved over her feature by feature, and she could feel his breath as he exhaled. “Too bad,” he whispered. “But what I would do to you…” He ran a finger down her cheek, then stood.
“Thank you for the honor of your company,” he said formally.
And with that, Alexander Wagner turned and walked away.
He heard soft, rapid footfalls approaching from behind, and Alexander stepped to the side of the hall and paused. He wanted to give Alena space to pass him.
The long halls of the small, elegant hotel—which was closed due to remodeling on the lower floors and kitchen—were elegantly lit by evenly spaced antique sconces. The hotel was from one of Wien’s—Vienna’s—baroque periods, and the juxtaposition of detailed wallpapers, ornamental lighting, plush rugs, and carved molding contrasted peculiarly with the medieval-style dungeon set up in the ballroom and the various Moroccan lounges.
The changing rooms were at the far end of the hall. That was most likely where Alena was heading.
It was too bad they weren’t compatible. Something about her called to him. The devil on his shoulder—who was most decidedly a sadist—was screaming that he’d made a mistake, that he should go back and take her, claim her.
It was because of that very voice that he’d left. She hadn’t been able to accept even a small amount of physical pain. Her list had said no hard impact play. It should probably have said no impact play at all.
He wouldn’t subject her to a scene with him. Even at his most mild, his scenes involved the use of impact implements, and she made him feel anything but mild.
The footsteps were close, and he politely averted his gaze, pretending to study the elaborate vine pattern of the wallpaper.
“Alexander.”
He jerked in surprise. Alena whirled to a stop facing him, the cloak flaring dramatically before settling around her.
“Hello, Alexander.”
“Alena,” he replied slowly.
“Why did you leave?”
He raised a brow. She pressed her lips together, and he watched her throat work as she swallowed. But she didn’t drop her gaze.
Intriguing.
“We are not a good fit,” he said simply.
“Because I had a natural reaction to pain stimulus?” Both her brows rose.
He took a moment to compose himself, to form the complete sentence in his mind before speaking. “That was small, compared to what I typically do to my submissives.”
“I didn’t think that was too much pain. It wasn’t more than I could handle.”
“You flinched.”
“You hit me with a riding crop. Of course I flinched.”
Once more he formed the thought before speaking. “You don’t like intense sensations.”
“Oh, I very much like intense sensations. I just have normal reactions to them.”
She was arguing with him. No one argued with him, especially submissives.
He took a half step, moving into her personal space. “There are other Doms.”
“And other submissives. That’s where you’re going, isn’t it? To find someone who will lie to you and pretend they’re instantly in subspace so—”
“No, I will find a masochist—”
“—you don’t have to do any work.”
His train of thought short circuited, and he had
to clamp his teeth together to keep himself quiet until he was able to say precisely, and only, what he wanted to. “Pardon me?”
“Oh, you heard me, Alexander.” She stressed his first name, as if highlighting that she hadn’t called him “Sir.” For the third time.
“Are you submissive?” he asked in irritation. How dare she challenge him. He’d been nothing but polite.
“Yes. Are you a Dom?”
“Watch your tongue.”
“Or what?”
“Do not challenge me.” He bit off the words.
“Because if I did, it would mean you’d have to work?” She made an exaggerated shocked expression. “How dare I not instantly fall at your feet in perfect submission? How dare I feel nervous kneeling half-naked in front of a stranger?” She threw one hand in the air, which caused her robe to part.
There was enough light for him to see into the shadows of her cloak. She’d pulled the corset back up over her breasts. The urge to shove the cloak off and yank the lace down to expose those lovely breasts once more was nearly overpowering.
“How dare I expect you to help me find my submission? How dare I enjoy the idea that you’d keep cropping me even if I flinched or cried? How dare I expect you to understand that I might need—”
Alexander grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back against the wall.
Alena gasped, her eyes widening for a moment, before her gaze drifted down his face, pausing on his lips before sliding down to his neck.
He should kiss her.
No, he should not kiss her. Her paperwork had specifically prohibited any exchange of fluids.
And kissing was for romance, for lovers.
Instead, he released her and braced his hands on the wall. Then lowered his face to hers, bringing his mouth within inches of her glossy lips.
“I am not a kind man,” he whispered.
“I’m not a nice woman.”
“I would hurt you.”
“Why?”
Her word puffed against his lips. He could smell her breath, a clean scent with an overlay of champagne.
“Because I need to.” It was a simple sentence that ran parallel to the truth, but his truth, the reasons he was the way he was, were not things he talked about. “Because you need me to.”
“And pleasure?” she asked.
“I might make the pain pleasure. If you earn it.” He pulled back, far enough that he could examine her expression.
She was breathing hard, but the cloak had fallen closed, hiding her breasts, so he didn’t get a proper view.
Slowly, he reached for the fabric, giving her plenty of time to move out of the way.
She didn’t.
Alexander grabbed one side, shoving it back behind her left shoulder. Half of her scantily clad body was now on display, and he liked the dichotomy of it, so didn’t bother with the other half of the cloak.
He could feel her watching him, and when he glanced up she once more met his gaze.
“You enjoy being forced,” he said, “to accept punishment.”
“Yes, I do. Something about a man who will keep going, keep doing wicked things to me even if I’m crying and begging him not to… That turns me on.”
His cock twitched in response to her words.
She sighed, and if he hadn’t been so close to her he would have missed her next words. “I want to be topped by the quiet man.”
“The quiet man?”
She looked startled, like she hadn’t expected him to hear that, or maybe hadn’t meant to say it. “I was watching you tonight,” she said slowly. “That’s what I called you in my head.”
His lips twisted at the nickname as he reached for her breast. Cupping it in his palm, he massaged the firm flesh, then ran his thumb across her nipple, rubbing rough lace against soft skin. Her breathing deepened, but remained steady.
Alexander reached down into the corset, fingers sliding between lace and skin. Cupping her breast once more, he lifted it out of the corset. With his other hand he scrunched down the fabric before releasing her breast. Again there was dichotomy, one breast still in the corset, protected by material, and hidden from view. The other now exposed and lifted slightly by bunched fabric.
“I will be rough with you.” Using only his index finger he started to softly stroke the tip of her nipple. It was a feather-light touch to the very tip, but she arched up as if it were a far more forceful caress, even rising onto her toes at one point.
She was incredibly sensitive. That thought only made him want to top her more.
Her half-closed eyes opened. “You’re the Dom I need. I want.”
Being wanted was an aphrodisiac even in normal circumstance—though that was usually tempered by suspicion of ulterior motives in his case. Coming from her, here, the words made him hot.
She didn’t know who he was, how much money he had, and she wanted him. That was a first for him.
He’d also never had a submissive chase him down. Even ignoring traditional gender roles outside of BDSM, in the Orchid Club most of the dominant players were men, the submissives women.
It seemed backwards for her to do the chasing. Yet, instead of offended, he felt wanted.
Or maybe that was a justification he was using because he didn’t want to stop touching her.
Alexander bent, bringing his mouth to her nipple. He kissed it tenderly, reverently, with closed lips.
He heard her soft sigh of pleasure, sensed her body relax.
Alexander opened his mouth and licked, one long slow sweep of his tongue over her nipple. She moaned in pleasure, the sound loud in the quiet hall.
And then he bit her.
Alexander closed his teeth on the sensitive peak of her breast. She shrieked—in surprise, in pain—and her hands cupped his head, fingers winding through his hair.
Alexander lifted his head, biting down harder on her nipple as he did. Her breast rose, her tender nipple bearing the weight of her own flesh as it was trapped between his teeth.
Alena’s hands fisted in his hair and she yanked, trying to pull him away.
Alexander grabbed Alena’s wrists and slammed them against the wall beside her shoulders. The movement caused his head to shift, tugging and pulling on her nipple even more. She whimpered piteously.
“It hurts,” she panted.
Alexander released her nipple, worried she might have forgotten that she did have power to stop him. Submissives didn’t always have the presence of mind to use a safeword.
He had to be sure that she knew she was safe. Well, relatively safe.
Alena’s eyes were closed, her fingers curled loosely towards her palms. She wasn’t fighting his hold on her wrists.
Her breathing had slowed and her lips were parted, jaw and neck muscles soft. She seemed…relaxed. No, not quite that.
She seemed…quietly expectant.
There was no panic, no confusion. There was no sign of distress so great that it would cause her to forget her safeword.
She’d told him she liked to be pushed. To be forced to accept more.
“It hurts” hadn’t been a plea for him to stop.
Alexander felt a surge of need, the kind of arousal that drove people mad, that urged them to do insane things to slake their desire.
He dipped his head and opened his mouth. She whimpered, but arched her back, offering up her breast for more abuse. He rewarded her with a quick lick. This was not the place to use and abuse her the way he wanted.
Straightening once more, he released her wrists.
Alena didn’t drop her arms. She kept them up, making no move to shield herself or soothe her abused nipple. Her eyes were still closed, lips softly parted.
“Alena.”
“Yes, Sir?” She opened her eyes.
Alexander’s whole body flushed with heat, and his cock, which had been semi erect since he first got a glimpse at the woman hidden under the hood, hardened with alacrity.
The darkness inside him was awake and hungering for her. D
emanding not just that he find a submissive, but that it be this submissive.
He’d walked away, and now it was clear that was a mistake. He’d thank her for coming after him once he was done making her scream in sweet agony.
He held out his hand, and she placed her fingers in his.
“You’re mine now.”
Chapter 3
Alena wondered if this was the point a normal person would have started panicking and freaking.
Alexander finished buckling the padded suspension cuff around her wrist, then picked up a twenty-centimeter length of chain with spring hooks on either end.
She held out her arms, offering her cuffed wrists to him. With calm efficiency he hooked the chain to the D rings.
“Do you have any shoulder, elbow, or wrist injuries?” he asked.
“No, Sir.”
Alexander nodded, then raised her linked hands above her head. Alena focused on her breathing as he hooked the short chain over a large hook dangling over her head.
When he stepped back, an intense feeling of vulnerability washed over her, as if she was standing naked in a room full of strangers.
The feeling of being exposed and helpless had nothing to do with what she was and wasn’t wearing, and everything to do with the fact that she was now trapped in bondage.
Whatever the feeling, physically she still wore the lace corset-bra, stockings, and panties. Though her left breast was on display, and that nipple was hard, her areola ruched tight.
Alexander went to a small winch and turned the handle, taking up slack in the rope the hook was attached to.
A normal person probably would have freaked out long before this.
“Do you ever wonder what it would be like to be normal?” she asked.
He looked…befuddled by the question. It was a cute expression on him.
Cute wasn’t a descriptor she would normally have associated with him, but in this case, it fit.
When he shook his head, she smiled. “No, I suppose neither of us, or anyone in this room, is normal.”
The event was in full swing, and nearly every play space in the dungeon was occupied. Most scenes had small audiences.
She’d tried gently suggesting that they find a private room, but Alexander had merely looked at her, raised one brow, and started weaving through the crowd.