Reading His Submissive

by Brandi Evans

  “Genny,” he murmured. “It’s okay, love. No one’s gonna hurt you. Look, I’ve dropped the whip.”

  When her shoulders softened a bit, he took one step toward her, waited, and reexamined. No return to her previous aggravated state. Good.

  One cautious step at a time, he closed the distance between them and wrapped her into his arms. “You’re safe, sweetheart,” he whispered before kissing her temple. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

  “That was fucking terrifying.” Her voice trembled like an autumn leaf clinging to its branch in a fierce wind. “I kept telling myself you wouldn’t hurt me but—”

  “Shh. It’s a limbic response. You have nothing to apologize for.”

  “It happened so fast. One moment, I was here looking at you and then—”

  She turned her head and closed her eyes, effectively blocking him like she was likely trying to block whatever memory he’d forced to the surface.

  The past invaded the future. Before she could stop it, Raven was seven and back in her house. Her mother was asleep—or quite possibly passed out—and he stood buck-ass naked beside Raven’s bed. Words slurred, movements bordering on uncontrolled, as he tried to force Raven to do… things.

  But she’d fought her way free and run for dear life, which was when her life and her mother’s life had gone to absolute and total shit.

  “Genny?” Carter’s gentle voice, combined with the use of her given name, brought her back to the present.

  She opened her eyes to find him studying her intently, blue eyes focused on her like she was the only person in the world, at least in his world. A strange warmth filled her. She’d never been looked at like this before, like someone would tear the world apart if it would make things better.

  She opened her mouth and said the only words she thought would break the bitter memories of the past. “Please kiss me, Sir.”

  Without hesitation, he granted her request and covered her mouth with his. He cradled her head in his hands, fingers buried in her hair, and pressed his tongue slowly into her mouth. Their tongues danced a slow ritual which calmed her as much as it excited her.

  She kissed him harder, pouring herself wholeheartedly into the action until it was only them, only this. No class, no onlookers, no memories she’d rather forget.

  When he pulled back, she was breathless. She didn’t want to let the sensation go, but she knew she had to. For now, anyway. But stopping meant holding the past at bay by herself, and she wasn’t sure if she was strong enough. Staying strong for so long had taken its toll.

  As if reading her mind, Carter offered a smile. “Hold on a little longer, Genny, okay?”

  She nodded, not trusting her voice yet.

  “I’m here. I’ve got you. Just hold on until class is over, Genny.” He kissed her nose. “Just stay strong.”

  Sir turned back to his students, but he stayed close. At any time, he could reach behind him and touch her, something she took solace in.

  I’m here. I’ve got you.

  His affirmations stayed with her as he resumed teaching. He spoke more about blocking behaviors, and apparently, she’d showed some fight behaviors when he’d grabbed the whip, which made sense. The last time she’d faced a man wielding leather—a belt as opposed to a whip—she’d literally had to fight for her life.

  I’m here. I’ve got you.

  She held onto Carter’s words as thoughts of him tried to manifest. No, she wouldn’t give that bastard another moment of her life, especially when sexy Carter Burkes was within arm’s reach.

  She wished she could touch him. Touching him was the best anxiety medication she’d ever tried, and over the years, she’d tried many.

  Carter exhibited so much passion when he spoke. She’d noticed it before, but, today, it seemed stronger. She liked to think it was because she affected him as much as he affected her. It probably wasn’t true, but she’d been able to convince herself of harder non-truths, like her mother really loved her.

  Carter ended the class with a rundown of pacifying behaviors. What they were, why humans used them, and how to identify them. Behaviors like massaging the neck, soothing the hair, stroking the face, or exhaling slowly functioned to calm a person after experiencing something stressful.

  She recalled the last class. Every time she’d gotten stressed or freaked out, Carter had stroked the sides of her neck. He’d been pacifying her. This man had so many dimensions she’d never realized before, and she wanted to know more. And when the class finished, she planned to do just that.

  I’m here. I’ve got you.

  Besides, what harm would come from leaning on someone else for a few moments in time?

  Chapter 4

  Carter shut the dungeon door behind the last attendee, threw the lock, and flipped the ‘do not disturb’ switch. He was claiming his sub, but first, he had to get his emotions under control. There was nothing more dangerous than an out-of-control Dom, and given Raven’s extreme reaction to the whip earlier, he needed every ounce of restraint he could muster.

  His back still to her, he closed his eyes and focused on the sultry opening strain of the song weaving from the speakers. He let the music fill him. The female vocalist sang of toxic love, her voice as alluring as it was wanton.

  You’re dangerous…

  I’m fallin’…

  There’s no escape…

  He should heed the songstress’ warning and run, but Genny’s presence was a drug. It called to him, pulled on him. He’d been spot on when he’d compared her pull to a black hole, only escaping a black hole would probably be easier.

  Taste of a poison paradise.

  You’re toxic…

  Truer words he’d never heard.

  Arms crossed, he turned to Genny and stepped onto the platform where she was still restrained. Like his, her breathing was labored. Good to know anticipation hadn’t spared either of them.

  Slow things down, he told himself when he stepped near enough for her vanilla-scented whatever to wreak havoc on his senses. “Do you want to talk about what happened earlier with the whip?”

  She shook her head. “Not really, Sir. Especially now.”

  “Fair enough.” He trailed his index finger along her temple, her cheek, and her neck. When he reached the swell of her ample breasts, he slowed his touch to a crawl. “But you know you can, right? Talk to me. I’m here. Anytime you need me.”

  “I need you now, Sir.”

  Hers wasn’t the type of need he’d been talking about, but nonetheless, he loved how breathless his touch made her. Pleasing her would be so much fun.

  He eased his fingertips over the top edge of her corset. From one side to the other. He was careful to keep his touch barely there. Couldn’t give her too much too fast, could he?

  The corset was a one-piece number with hooks in the back; in no time at all, he could send it tumbling to the ground.

  He leaned in so close he could feel the shell of her ear against his lips as he whispered, “I’m going to strip you naked very, very soon. Are you going to use your safeword to stop me?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Good.” He dropped his hand and slapped her not-too-hard on the ass, scrutinizing her expression and looking for any sign of discomfort.

  Surprise?

  Check.

  Pain?

  Not so much.

  A desire for more?

  A slow grin unfurled on her lips, and an interesting expression settled over her as if she’d eaten something delectable and wanted to savor it.

  He wanted to savor this moment, too.

  Given her reaction to the riding crop, he’d suspected a budding sub hid inside her, but then, she’d freaked the fuck out when exposed to the whip, so he’d backtracked. This, however, oh, yeah, this was gorgeous and so much more than he’d hoped for when he’d taken her as his subject for the class.

  He wanted to broach the topic of the whip again, but she didn’t want to talk about it. If he forced her
to speak before she was ready, he feared he’d drive her away. So, sex first. Physical connection and then, maybe, something a bit more on the emotional spectrum.

  Heaven help him.

  He shook the thoughts free as he stepped behind his sub. Pressing close, he fitted their bodies together, her skin warm in the cool room. “I’m going to do things to you, tonight, that will exhaust you. I’m going to make you scream. I’m going to make you beg me to give you more.” He pushed his hands up her body until he was cupping her covered breasts. “I’m going to make you come so many times you’ll be begging me to stop the pleasure.”

  A shiver ran through her, so hard and delectably vicious he felt it, too.

  He nuzzled her neck. “I’m gonna take your reaction as consent.”

  “Yes, Sir. Please, Sir.”

  “Begging already. What a good little sub.” He popped the bottom hook on her corset. “Before we get too carried away, is there anything you wish to disclose? Latex allergies? Repulsion to vibrators? Anything?” He popped the next hook. “Or do you want me to wing it?”

  “No whips.” She paused as if her next words took a while to get out. “Or belts, Sir. No belts. Ever. Please.”

  So, it wasn’t the whip, precisely, which scared her. It was its proximity to a belt. He saw this aversion a lot in people who were victims of abuse. Get a belt anywhere near them, and the blocking and flight behaviors manifested in significant amounts.

  Had Raven’s mother abused her?

  Or had it been one of her foster parents?

  Someone else entirely?

  He filed the questions away. He’d unravel the Riddle of Raven—just not this second.

  “I can work within those parameters, pet.” His fingers stilled after popping the third hook. “Or can I not call you that?”

  “If you make me orgasm like you’ve promised, I’ll allow you to call me whatever you want, Sir.”

  “Good answer, pet.” He unlatched the final hook, and the leather fell to the ground with a thump.

  Whoa.

  He always knew she loved ink, and she wore enough corsets he’d deduced more ink hid beneath the leather, but seeing it was a shot to the dick. Lacework—was it called henna? —merged with the same type of floralesque work as on her arms. The lines of ink circled and looped like a kaleidoscope, eclipsing almost her entire back. She looked as if she’d had a corset inked on.

  “You are a work of art, Genny. Truly.” He traced an intricate section of black as it veered toward her waist. A strange sense of disconnect overcame him, almost like his mind thought he should be able to feel the lines of the tattoo, but he felt only soft skin. And goosebumps.

  The ink work thinned at her waist, becoming delicate wisps, like looping beadwork of barely-there lingerie. Still more ink disappeared underneath her jeans. Not a single trace of ink, however, marred the breasts themselves, as if all the decoration had been done for the sole act of drawing the eyes and the hands to the ample flesh. And who was he to go against his instincts?

  Entranced by his inked seductress, he softly walked his index and middle fingers along the looping ink of her underboob. “Exploring every inch of you, Genny, will be my greatest pleasure to date.”

  Raven couldn’t breathe, but she couldn’t decide if it was Carter’s intimate touch, the way he looked at her as if he’d honestly never seen anyone more stunning, or his use of her given name which was mostly responsible.

  The fact she pleased him pleased her, which didn’t make any sense to her, but she couldn’t deny the effect. She was coming alive in ways she never had before. Hell, in ways she didn’t know were possible.

  He made her crazy, but crazy was just the tip of the iceberg. Carter made her want in ways which terrified her. Would she survive the night intact?

  With cobweb-soft touches, he circled the outside of her breasts, and she bit her lip against the desire building inside her. She held her breath. When would he finally touch her? All those things he’d said about making her come, she wanted him to make good on them.

  Now.

  “You’re shaking, pet. Why?” His grin told her he already knew why.

  The asshole.

  “I want you to touch me, Sir.”

  “I am touching you.” His lips played over hers as he spoke. “See.”

  He eased his fingertips down her torso, careful to keep from touching her breasts, and he took hold of the button on her jean shorts. With one good yank, the fastener gave, and the zipper quickly followed.

  “Maybe it’s the way I’m touching you, hmm?” With the same spider-web soft touches, he worked his fingers into the waistband of her shorts and gave the material a tug. All the while, his lips stayed against hers, not kissing her. This was more akin to sharing breath.

  She swallowed the emotion lodging in her throat. “I’m ready for my first orgasm, Sir.”

  “Is that so? Such a greedy little sub. Tell me…” He finally pushed her shorts free, leaving her completely exposed. Well, except for the fishnets which, considering she’d forgone underwear, weren’t giving her any sense of coverage whatsoever. “Are you going to return the favor? When I’ve worked orgasm after orgasm from your tired, beautiful body, will you open yourself to me when I’m ready for my climax, in whatever manner I want?”

  A shiver played over her. She was so in over her head. His tempting words left so much open. How did she give consent to a Dom for something she may or may not allow when the time came?

  Did consent now override a safeword later?

  She still had so much to learn. Working as a bartender in a BDSM club had been a poor prep course for a night with Carter Burkes. Then again, she wasn’t sure if being with every Dom in the club would have prepared her for him, but as she stared into those caring eyes which saw everything, she knew one thing with absolute certainty.

  She couldn’t deny him.

  “In whatever manner you deem fit, Sir, I’m yours.”

  The words had barely escaped when he covered her mouth with his, banded his arms around her, crushing her nearly naked form against his clothed one. She longed to hold him back, but with her hands bound, she could give him no more than everything he demanded.

  He pulled back smiling. “Your kisses are dangerous, pet. They make me forget my senses, which is never good for a Dom.”

  “They do?”

  He winked as he grabbed the riding crop from the table. He smacked the flat end once against the top of the table with a bone-startling crack, and her heart rate rocketed dangerously high. Her breathing shallowed, and a strange sense of… something she couldn’t quite name washed over her. It wasn’t fear, but it was certainly fear adjacent.

  Carter won’t hurt you, she kept repeating to herself. The words came faster and faster, especially as he raised the crop toward her in the manner a fencer would an opponent.

  “You got excited before when I rubbed this over your body,” he said. “You seem more apprehensive now, which creates the perfect combination. Unease can be like gasoline on lust. Apply just the right mixture and poof!” He rubbed the flat part of the crop over her right nipple. “Pleasure unlike anything you’ve ever known.”

  Shit.

  She couldn’t do this.

  She squirmed against her restraints, her gaze flicking back and forth from Sir to the crop in his hand. She was too much a virgin when it came to this. Countless questions pinballed through her mind.

  What did the crop feel like?

  Would it hurt?

  Would she get any warning before the first strike?

  Oh god, would—

  “Breathe, pet,” Sir instructed, his voice reassuring as he moved his attention to her left nipple. “Close your eyes and don’t think. Feel.”

  “But I—”

  “Don’t argue, sub.”

  Swat.

  Before she realized he’d planned to move, the leather connected with the outside of her breast. The strike didn’t hurt, per se, but it did smart like hell.

&
nbsp; “Don’t back talk. Do I make myself clear, sub?”

  “Y-yes, Sir.” She slammed her eyelids shut, preparing for, for—what, she wasn’t quite sure.

  Smack.

  Smack, smack, smack.

  Sir struck the other side of the same breast. Then the top, the bottom, and the side again. The swats happened in such quick succession her lungs froze. She wasn’t sure if she stopped breathing or just forgot how.

  The breast burned; it felt hot, heavy, and desperately in need of attention. She clenched her fists and yanked her bindings.

  “Such a lovely shade of pink.” Sir smoothed the leather over her erect nipple. One, two, three, four times.

  She shivered. “Sir…” The word crawled off her tongue.

  In a series of soft, there-and-gone strikes, he worked the tip of the crop over her nipple. She bit her bottom lip as need built in the breast. Each tap of leather made her boob feel more engorged, and she squirmed in ways she’d never equated with sex. It was pain; it was pleasure; it was neither.

  She was about to crawl out of her skin when he switched to her other breast. She shivered and moaned, bit her bottom lip, shifted from foot to foot until she couldn’t stand it a second longer. She was brimming with, with… shit. What was she brimming with? Whatever it was, she wanted more and less at the same time.

  Was this what it felt like to fracture?

  “Keep biting on your bottom lip,” Sir said, “and it’s gonna turn as red as your beautiful tits. Not to mention it’s making it hard for me to decide which one I want to suck on first.”

  Oh, gawd.

  “Your plump lip or your hard, pink nipple.” He repositioned the crop and playfully swatted the outer swell of her ass. “Or maybe, I’ll get my jollies by making another part of your body the same sweet, edible pink.” Smack. “Would you like that, pet?” He swatted her a bit harder. “Would you like me to push you to the edge of pleasure and show you the amazing pleasure of total abandonment?”

  “Yes.” The word leapt from her throat before she’d thoroughly contemplated his words.