by Lila Dubois
“The outfits. Well, the collars on the women. At first I thought it was a gay club.” She waved her hand in the air. “That man’s pants made me think it might be an LGBT bar, but most of the people seem to be heterosexual couples.”
“How do you know what BDSM is?”
“I told you, I’m not naive. You know that about me.” She chuckled, hoping to ease some of his tension. “You know I’m not some ingénue.”
“But you’re…you’re not…”
Vivienne put her hands on his cheeks, gently turning him to face her. She scanned his familiar features, trying to understand this strange distance he’d put between them. “Solomon, my love, what’s wrong?”
He sighed and leaned forward, touching his head to hers. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.”
“You wanted to talk to me?” a man drawled in English, interrupting at that critical moment.
Solomon turned to the speaker who stood on the other side of the velvet rope. Like many of the men, he wore leather pants, a leather vest—his had multiple patches—and a leather cap over his gray hair. He was in his mid-sixties at a guess, and had a potbelly he unashamedly showed off. There was a looped whip clipped at one hip, opposite a rather incongruous cell phone holster.
“You’re the dungeon master?” Solomon asked.
“Yes. You practice?”
“I’m a full member, with master rights, at a couple of clubs in the US.”
The man’s brows rose, and he looked Solomon up and down. “Are you?”
“I haven’t been playing since I moved to Europe.”
“Don’t have a club here?”
Solomon shook his head. “I’ve been moving around. We were just out for the night, saw you.”
“Mmm, and her?” the man asked.
“New,” Solomon said quietly. “Figured this was a public bar, hoped we could watch.”
“We do takeovers once every month. Different bar. Chance to show off for the norms.” He crossed his arms. “We don’t mind watchers, but you have to play by the rules.”
“We will. All we want to do is respectfully watch.” Solomon took a breath. “And maybe talk. To each other, I mean.”
The man’s posture softened. “Planning to introduce her to the lifestyle?”
Vivienne held her breath. She thought she was following this conversation, but certainly wasn’t going to say anything. She didn’t need to. She trusted Solomon.
“Only if she wants,” her lover said quietly.
“If she’s new, you don’t put your hands on her in here.” The man in the hat pointed his finger admonishingly. “Talk only. You hear me? But if you want, if she needs, I’ll find a sub she can talk to.”
“Thanks.” Solomon cleared his throat. “Thank you.”
“I’ll tell him to let you in. We can’t legally say no norms, since it’s a public bar, but we’re doing a dress code to keep chavs out.”
Solomon snorted. “I understand.”
The man with the cap nodded, then walked back to the bouncer, paused to whisper something, then disappeared inside.
The line moved forward a pace. Solomon had to tug on her to get her to move because Vivienne was stunned.
She looked up at her lover, the man she intended to marry. “Solomon?”
He sighed. “Well, this is awkward. My fault. I’m being awkward.”
“A little bit,” she said softly. “You seem to know about this sort of thing.”
“Yeah, yeah I do.” He rolled his shoulders. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, didn’t talk about it when we first started having sex, but I’m…I’m into BDSM.”
“Into it?”
He switched back to French and lowered his voice. “Vivi, my angel, if you want, we’ll walk away right now.”
“I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to explain.”
“Explain how I know about BDSM clubs? Because I’ve gone to, used to go to, clubs. I was a member of a few.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her stomach knotted. “It is a very big secret to keep.”
“It’s not really a secret…it’s just that I hadn’t been to a club in a while when we first met. It wasn’t something I was actively doing.”
“You said you are ‘into’ it? What does that mean? If you were a member of a club, surely it is more than a passing activity.”
“How mad are you?” Solomon asked quietly.
She stroked his arm. “I’m not mad. I’m…nervous that you didn’t tell me about this.”
He rolled his shoulders, groaned almost as if in pain before answering. “When I was in college I was really uncomfortable dating. Everybody knew who I was—actually everybody knew who my mother was. It felt weird. So, instead of dating, I’d go to San Francisco and go to these clubs. BDSM clubs.”
She understood being uncomfortable dating because of who he was. It was an uneasy, nasty feeling—the suspicion that a romantic partner was mostly interested in the family business or money.
“And at the clubs I could wear a mask,” he continued. “And even if people recognized me, they didn’t say anything because being in the club meant you didn’t talk about stuff like who you were or what you did.”
“It was your escape.”
“Yes. When I was stressed or freaking out, overwhelmed, whatever it was, a night at a club and I’d be totally focused the next day.”
“A form of therapy. I read a think piece about that, how BDSM serves as emotional outlets for some.”
“Emotional outlet, definitely. But it’s also…also where I had control. Complete control.”
“I know you like to be in control.”
“I don’t just like, Vivi. Sometimes I…I need it.”
“Because you feel like you have no control?”
“Sometimes. It definitely started out like that. But there’s more to it. In BDSM, control is more than making decisions and being in charge. Having control—power exchange—is a way to make sure everything is taken care of. That I can really take care of the woman I’m with.”
“You always take care of me.”
“And you let me and I love that. I mean, I love you, of course, but… I’m not explaining this well.”
“Take your time, my love. I just want to understand.” Vivian rubbed his arm, kissed the top of his shoulder.
“It’s just…” He raised his head, looking up through the narrow valley created by the buildings. There were no stars here, not with London’s light pollution.
“How do I tell the woman I love, how do I tell you, that there are times when I want to…” His voice deepened, tone tormented in a way she’d never heard before. “How do I tell you that there’re times when I want to grab your hair, force you to your knees, and slide my cock into your mouth? Then pull you over my knee and spank you till your ass is red just because I want to hear you plead with me to stop? And then beg me to keep going.”
Vivienne’s breath caught, his words shocking and tantalizing. She knew what BDSM was. As she told him, she wasn’t naïve. She’d watched her fair share of porn with spankings and always found it sexy. But seeing that happen to some other woman, and hearing the man she was intimate with admit to fantasizing about doing those sort of taboo things to her, was entirely different. It was arousing and terrifying all at once.
Caught up in her thoughts, it took her a moment to respond. In that moment, he started to pull away, not physically, but emotionally. She felt it in the way tension returned to his body.
She tsked at him, rising up on her toes to rub her lips along his jaw, then placing her mouth by his ear. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would love you to spank me. Just thinking about it is making my nipples hard. My pussy wet.”
She expected him to react to her words, but he didn’t. She dropped back onto her heels, a bit disappointed talking dirty hadn’t goaded him into tossing her over his shoulder and racing home with her so they could explore his newly exposed kinky side.
His fac
e was serious. “Because it wouldn’t just be a spanking, Vivi. Just a spanking is kink, not BDSM. Regular people sometimes get freaky and spank each other.”
Patient as she was, she was getting frustrated. “Solomon, you’re talking in riddles and I want you to just be honest with me. I told you I want the same thing. Why are you doing this?” With the hand not holding his, she gestured to the space in front of them.
Vivienne hated this distance that he put between them, despite the fact that they were physically so close together she could feel the continued tension that ran through his body like a low electrical current. He wouldn’t look at her. He wasn’t smiling or laughing, or even doing that knowing smirk thing she found so sexy.
“I don’t know why I need this,” he whispered roughly. “One friend I told said it’s probably a reaction to the fact that my mom is legitimately one of the most powerful women in the country. Maybe that’s why when I’m with women intimately, I need to know that I’m completely in control. If that’s it, it’s fucked up. I’m fucked up. And I didn’t want to fuck you up too.”
Rather than continue to urge him to talk, Vivienne decided to simply stay quiet and wait. The line moved forward, and now there was only one other couple in front of them waiting to enter the club. She stayed beside him, patient and quiet, occasionally squeezing his hand just to let him know that she loved him. At least she hoped he knew that’s what the little squeezes meant.
“There are a lot of ways to practice BDSM,” he finally said. “There’s the sexy, kinky part of it—toys and roleplay. There’s the sadistic and masochistic side of it—giving and receiving pain. And there’s the power exchange—the dominance and submission part. Any or all of those may or may not include actual intercourse.”
“And how do you play?” she asked softly.
“Simple as that?” he shot back. “Everything I’ve just told you about how fucked up I am, and that’s all you ask?”
“What do you mean? What do you want me to ask?”
“Aren’t you going to say something about how weird this is or how I should have told you?”
“I already said you should have told me, but now you’re telling me. You have some shame about it. It’s understandable, you’re American. Very repressed. Not as repressed as the British, but still.” She shrugged, then kissed the tight muscle of his jaw. “And I don’t think it’s fucked up.”
“Because you don’t understand.”
“You’re not giving me any credit.”
Another frustrated groan. “You’re right. It’s just that…I’ve never tried BDSM with someone I’ve dated. All my relationships were either one or the other. And actually I never had a BDSM relationship, just some people I knew and played with regularly.”
“I’m the first girlfriend you’ve ever told?”
“Yes. And you’re also the longest relationship I’ve ever been in.”
It clicked then. “You’ve been denying yourself this thing that you need because you didn’t know how to tell me about it. It’s been building up inside of you, hasn’t it?”
Finally he looked at her. “You could tell?”
“There were times when you looked at me like you wanted to say something. Times when you started to be aggressive—”
“I’m so sorry—”
“No, it was wonderful.” She squeezed his hand and he didn’t turn away. “I love it when you hold my arms down when you fuck me, but I hate that it means you can’t use your hands on me in other ways. But I couldn’t ask for you to tie me up.”
“Why not?”
For a perceptive person, he could be surprisingly dense. Or perhaps it was just because he was a man. “It is not easy for a woman to say that she wants the man to be more aggressive. To say that she wants him to take control and treat her like a sex object.”
His expression was hot, his gaze moving over her possessively.
“If I do that, am I not spitting in the face of all those women who suffer from domestic violence? Am I not encouraging men to treat a woman as property?”
He blinked, gaze returning quickly to her face.
Vivienne leaned in, lowering her voice as she confessed, “I was raised to be strong and confident, yet feminine. How can I do that yet also fantasize about my very sexy American boyfriend tying me down to the bed and using me, fucking me, however he wants? Or telling me I’m not allowed to wear panties? Punishing me when I’m a bad girl?” She shook her head. “I cannot say those things without being a traitor to my identity as a strong, confident woman.”
Solomon’s eyes widened. “Holy shit. You’re a closet submissive.” Finally, he relaxed, the tension sliding out of his body.
She, in turn, calmed. “I don’t know about that. I’ve never been to a club.”
“Attending a club isn’t required. Have you ever done any sort of BDSM play with past partners?”
“No, for all the reasons I said. And if I had, I would have told you when we talked about our past partners.” She cleared her throat primly. “And now that you mention it, it appears you lied.”
He shook his head. “I promise you I didn’t lie about that. My BDSM scenes had no sex involved.”
“Scenes,” she repeated slowly, trying out the word.
“A scene is what you do when you play. You call it that because there’s a beginning, a middle, and an end. And usually you plan it out, discuss what’s going to happen, before you do it.”
The couple in front of them had their IDs checked, were given wristbands, and then entered the club leaving Vivienne and Solomon standing with the bouncer.
“Is that what we’re going to do tonight?” she asked. “Have a scene?”
Solomon smiled and bounced in place, like a runner in the moments before taking their position at the starting line. “No, I told the dungeon master—the guy in charge—we wouldn’t. Tonight we are going to watch. Talk about what we watch. Figure out what we both like, what things neither one of us likes. What things I might like that you don’t or you like that I don’t. Then we’ll go home, we’ll get a checklist, and we’ll…” His enthusiasm faded. “I don’t really know how to have a BDSM relationship and regular relationship. I’ve never done it before; I don’t even know if we should?”
Vivienne tossed her hair. “We are both excellent students. I’m sure there’s a book we can find and study about complex relationships.”
He cracked up, bending at the waist as he laughed. His mirth drew attention from the people around them, and she too giggled, hiding her face against his back.
When they finally calmed and stood up, he laced their fingers together.
She leaned into him, a pleasant mixture of serenity and tension filling her. “I love you, Solomon, and as long as we love each other, all the rest of it will work out, won’t it?”
He detangled their fingers, the flat of his palm sliding from wrist to elbow, elbow to shoulder, then to her neck. He stroked the front of her throat with his thumb, then moved his hand around to the back of her neck, holding her nape in his palm. He tightened his hold just enough to keep her still, his thumb pressed to the spot just below her ear. A shiver worked its way over her whole body. Solomon arched one eyebrow. “Vivienne?”
“I like this. I like you holding me like this.”
His hot gaze moved over her face. “Then thank me.”
“Thank you,” she breathed, then very deliberately added, “Sir.”
Solomon’s mouth swooped down to cover hers, his tongue possessive. He grabbed her wrists, forcing them to the small of her back and holding them there. He was completely in control, hard and demanding. He had always been an aggressive lover, and his kisses were usually wonderfully invasive, but this was different. He was holding her still so he could devour her, and in the process, filling a need she hadn’t even known she had.
“Hey, you two, you ready?”
The bouncer’s voice fractured the moment, but when she would have pulled back and turned to look at the man, Solomon h
eld her still, his hand tightening so she couldn’t turn her head. He gripped her neck as he continued to kiss her. He devoured her mouth with wet, possessive passes of lips, teeth, and tongue. Kept kissing her until he was ready to let her go, until he was done kissing her. And Vivienne relaxed into the moment, into his control, with a sigh of utter delight.
When he finally lifted his head, he looked at her with mingled wonder and heat. Before this moment they thought they knew each other, but the past hour had shown them there was yet another layer to their compatibility. More they could give, and take, from one another.
“Yes,” Solomon said. “We’re ready.”
Chapter 5
Luca Cay—Present Day
* * *
“You’re here to submit,” Solomon purred.
Vivienne stared up at him, still balanced on one foot. He was close enough that she felt the actual physical heat of his body, and the less physical—but no less real—aura of his presence. That essence of power which was as much a part of him as his eye color or the scar on his face.
She threw her head back and laughed.
Solomon blinked, his expression melting from sexy to puzzled, then to annoyed.
That only made her laugh harder.
“Are you done?” he asked in irritation.
Vivienne staggered barefoot to the wall, leaving her shoes in front of Solomon. She leaned against the wall, her stomach muscles tight with mirth. “Your face…”
“You’re laughing at my face? Well, that’s just fucking rude.”
“Your expression,” she corrected. “You look so aggrieved that I am not here to beg you to fuck me.”
For a moment he looked sheepish, before wiping the expression away. “So why are you here?”
The spasms of laughter subsided, and Vivienne composed herself. She smoothed down the front of her shirt and didn’t miss the way his gaze followed her hands, sliding over her stomach and lingering on her hips. “Submissives don’t wear shoes in your house?”
“No, they don’t.”
She took a moment to look around, because despite the way she laughed at his assumption that she’d flown all this way just to submit to him, part of her was reacting to both his mannerisms and the formality and structure implied by the shoe rule.