The Negotiation: A BDSM Romance

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The Negotiation: A BDSM Romance Page 7

by Christina Thacher


  “Up you go.”

  She climbed on the padded bench. Sebastian folded down the corset’s bra cups so her breasts could hang free. He couldn’t resist pinching her nipples. She sucked in her breath, almost a whimper. His cock throbbed, clearly ready for another climax.

  Sebastian smoothed her hair away from her forehead. “What’s your safe word, little cat?”

  “Duckling.”

  “And if you need me to go slower?”

  “Orange.”

  They shared a smile. “I’m going to paddle you until you’re pink, then five stripes with a crop, after which I’ll fuck you. Okay?”

  “Yes, Sir.” Her saucy grin was pure Isabelle, but her eyes were still soft and sweet.

  Mine.

  Sebastian got the paddle and crop from a nearby cupboard. He noticed Mac sitting off to one side, chatting with another member. Good. Sebastian wanted an audience. The whole damned club could watch him with his sub. His sub.

  Isabelle’s ass was a warm cream against the white corset and black ribbon garters. Sebastian had a light wooden paddle that would sting but not bruise. This was an erotic spanking—he wasn’t much of a sadist, and he hadn’t seen evidence that Isabelle was much of a masochist. Plus, he didn’t want to risk causing any permanent marks. Her skin was too perfect.

  He got a good rhythm going—left cheek, right cheek, both cheeks, tops of thighs—and watched as her skin started to warm up. He could smell her arousal dampening her inner thighs. He was desperate to fuck her, but he’d promised her five stripes with the crop. He clutched the handle of the paddle tighter, resisting the impulse to throw the damned thing away and skip the crop entirely.

  What a change from last week, when he’d hardly been aware of what’s-her-name, the brunette sub with the soft ass. He’d barely broken a sweat and his dick hadn’t stirred—it had felt more like a job than sex. This? With Isabelle? This felt primal, as though it was vital to mark her and fuck her and growl at anyone who came too close.

  Her ass was a gorgeous sunset pink, vibrant against her black-and-white call girl costume. Time for the crop.

  He ran his hand over the heated flesh below the corset, then up to her shoulders. “How are you doing, little cat?”

  “I’m horny, Sir.”

  “I can fix that,” he assured her solemnly.

  She laughed.

  “First, though, I promised you five stripes with the crop.”

  Her laughter stopped, but her eyes were still glowing. He pressed a kiss to her temple, then went back to admire her ass.

  The first stripe landed on the top of her ass, between the ribbon garters and two inches down from the corset. The next one was two inches below the first, then a third, a fourth across the crease of her ass and legs—she screamed a little—and the final stripe neatly across the tops of her thighs. The marks weren’t very obvious, but Sebastian saw them. She looked like she’d been sitting on a lawn chair with vinyl strips for the seat.

  Time for the final act. Sebastian freed his cock, rolled a condom on, then nudged her legs apart. “Okay, little cat?”

  “Yes, Sir,” was the breathy answer.

  She was hot and super-slick. He slid in with almost no friction. When he reached around her hip to find her clit, it was already bathed in her juice. He brought his other hand to her sex, got his thumb and forefinger slick, then reached up for her breasts. It pleased him to smear her arousal on her erect nipples. Then he went back to clutching her hips and driving his dick home, again and again.

  All the noise of The Club—the moans and screams and cries—faded away when he heard Isabelle’s soft squeaks of pleasure. They were back in his bedroom, or his dining room, or pressed against the wall of his kitchen. Alone, racing up the hill together, pressing hard for the ultimate pleasure.

  He curved his torso around her back so he could work on her clit and still get the angle he needed. She was getting close, he could feel the pressure in her cunt building, and he wanted her to go first. She’d milk him the rest of the way with the force of her orgasm.

  A few tight pulls on her nipples with his other hand and she was there. She threw her head back, panting and crying with each convulsion. She pushed him over the edge and he unraveled from the force.

  For a while, all he could do was rest his cheek on her shoulder, his nose tucked in the jumble of red hair. His rapid breaths ruffled her hair a little.

  “Are you okay, Sir?” Her voice was both tentative and filled with happiness.

  He stood up and withdrew from her body. “That should be my question.”

  “Oh, I’m just fine, Sir.” Now she was laughing at him again.

  “Watch it, little cat.” He disposed of the condom, straightened his clothes and helped her stand. He kissed her lips lightly. He smiled when she kissed him back.

  He settled her breasts back in her corset, found her panties and tied the bows on her hips, released her hair clip, then scooped her hair up and reclipped it. She leaned against the wall while he cleaned the equipment and returned the paddle and crop to the cupboard.

  When he returned, she was shivering, so he tucked her into his arms, stroking her back to warm her up.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Yes, Sir.” She looked up at him, her green eyes unfocused and sleepy.

  “Do you want to change and I’ll walk you home?”

  She nodded.

  Sebastian kept an arm around her shoulders as he led her to the ladies’ changing room. He was vaguely aware of Mac watching them, but he ignored everything but the gorgeous woman at his side.

  * * *

  The mild evening air helped Isabelle wake up a little. She’d been so lost in the scene, lost to everything but Sebastian’s hands and cock, that she’d been shocked when they finished and people were staring at them. He dressed her, but people still stared. She’d been so relaxed from her climax, all she could do was blink. It wasn’t until Sebastian came back to her that the shivering started. He’d read her mind—she just wanted to go home.

  “Are you feeling better, little cat?”

  She thought of Bob, who’d called her his “ginger kitten.” She turned to Sebastian. “Why do you call me that?”

  He flashed her a quick grin. “Because you hiss and spit and arch your back, but when I stroke you the way you like, you curl up and purr. Oh, and you have the silkiest pussy I’ve ever played with.”

  “Hmmph.” Isabelle made a big show of bristling even as she clasped his hand in hers. He did make her purr, and she honestly had no idea how he managed it. She didn’t even recognize herself after they finished a scene. It was like her brains turned gooey.

  They got to Florida Avenue. “Which way?” he asked.

  She pointed to the right. She loved the firm way he held her hand. He made her feel useful, as though he needed comforting too.

  She didn’t make some cheesy offer about brewing him coffee. They got to the ornate Art Deco lobby of her building and walked up the stairs to her apartment as if they both lived there. When she got out her key, he took it and unlocked the door, holding it open so she could go in first.

  She turned to ask if he wanted a drink, but he kissed her before she could speak. When he pulled back, he was in Dom mode. “Go change. Shower, brush your teeth, whatever you normally do. I’m staying the night.”

  “Yes, Sir.” Brushing her teeth was about as much as her brain could handle.

  She hung up her raincoat, peeled off the corset, sighing over the red lines made by the boning. It felt fabulous to kick off the stilettos and get rid of the thigh-high stockings.

  “Okay if I use your computer to check on things?” Sebastian’s voice called out from her living room.

  Isabelle turned on the shower and walked out to join him by her desk. “Sure.” She tapped in her password, booted up the Internet, and stood aside so he could get started.

  He was staring at her breasts. Or maybe it was the red channels in her midriff left by the corset. His expressio
n was more concerned than lascivious.

  “C’mon, it’s from the boning.” She laughed. “No, not sex. The insets. You know, the corset?”

  His face didn’t relax. “I don’t like to see marks on your skin.”

  “Oh, really? What about these?” She turned and bent at the waist so she was displaying the five red lines from the crop.

  “That’s different. I put them there. I know what I’m doing. They’ll fade in a couple of days.”

  She started back to the bathroom. “Well, these will fade in a few hours, maybe even by the time my shower’s over.”

  She thought she heard him mutter, “Yeah, well, I didn’t make them,” as she closed the bathroom door.

  When she finished the shower, Sebastian was deep in some analysis. He appeared to be doing his own coding, his fingers flying over the keyboard. Some of it looked familiar, but her analyses were statistical, and she guessed he was working with some econometrics. She pulled her damp hair back with one hand, then leaned forward to kiss his cheek. He barely looked up. She got her book from the bedside table so she could curl up on the sofa while Sebastian worked.

  By eleven, she was getting sleepy. They hadn’t slept all that much over the weekend, and Isabelle had stayed up late Sunday night.

  “Come to bed whenever you want,” she told him. “I’ve left the light on in the bathroom.”

  “Thanks.” He scrolled back through his coding.

  She woke when the mattress dipped a little and she could smell Sebastian’s skin. She rolled over to touch him, sliding her hand down his back and over his hip. He was erect, so she squeezed him gently and pulled the skin taut before letting go.

  “Enough, little cat.” He swatted her hand away. “Go back to sleep.”

  “Mmm, we’ll both sleep better if you fuck me first,” she mumbled. She sat up and tossed her hair out of her eyes. There was a small bit of light coming from the hallway, enough for her to reach into her bedside drawer and locate a condom.

  Once he had that on, she reached for him again. “Hard and fast. No foreplay needed.”

  “Don’t order me around, Isabelle. I’ll decide how hard and how fast.” He bent down to lick her cunt, which really didn’t need much stimulation after the dream she’d been having. She’d been strapped to a St. Andrew’s Cross at The Club and Sebastian had been dribbling hot wax on her clit.

  “If you keep that up, you’ll see why I said no foreplay was needed,” she warned. His response was to shove two fingers into her, pressing up hard until it felt like her clit was going to explode.

  “Please, Sir,” she begged, trying hard not to come. “I’m sorry, truly.”

  “Very nice, little cat.” His praise soothed her. His touch—especially when he moved back up her body until he was poised over her—made her feel special. He hooked her heels over his shoulders, then stretched up to impale her on his cock.

  She tried to stifle her scream so she didn’t wake the neighbors. It came out like the dying squeal of a steam kettle after the heat is turned off. Then he started to pound into her—hard and fast, just like she’d asked for—and she had to grab a pillow to stifle the rest of the screaming.

  Then he went taut. She could feel the tightness of his muscles straining as he came. Her last thought as she fell asleep in his arms was to wonder why he never screamed.

  * * *

  Work kept Sebastian away from The Club for several days. Isabelle called him on Friday, just to check in.

  “I’m sorry things have piled up for you.” She wanted to sound sympathetic. He might be cynical enough to expect petulant demands for attention.

  He sighed. “It’s hardly your fault that the World Bank is dithering on its monetary policy, Isabelle.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t apologizing. I’m genuinely sorry. If the World Bank could get its shit together, you might make it to The Club tonight.”

  She could hear him thinking. Finally, he said. “Are you going?”

  “If I may. Katie’s doing a scene with her latest sub and I want to see it.”

  “I see.” His tone communicated that he “saw” more than he was comfortable with.

  “Sebastian, I’m wearing charcoal gray trousers, a pale gray silk blouse that will stay properly buttoned, and dark red pumps that are positively dowdy.”

  Another pause. “No high-priced call girl attire?”

  “Frankly, I couldn’t even make it as someone’s librarian fantasy. I look exactly like what I am—a statistician.”

  “Isabelle, credit me with some intelligence. You are a beautiful woman. I assure you, some Dom will ask you to play.”

  “In which case, I’ll refuse his offer politely but firmly. And if anyone is unwise enough to ask me twice, I’m sure Mac Lyon will come to my rescue. Or Katie will thrash the idiot.”

  Sebastian laughed. “All right, little cat, you’ve reassured me. But may I ask for one thing?”

  “Of course, anything.”

  “Come here when you’re done.”

  “It’s raining.” She put a little extra pout into the words. Of course she’d go over there. She’d crawl there through the puddles if he asked her.

  “I don’t drive, Isabelle.” It was his Dom voice. Or… No, it wasn’t his Dom voice. It lacked the seductive warmth that coated even his sternest orders.

  Confused, she tried to make a joke. “Oh, that’s okay. I don’t own a car either. I figure that reduces the risk I’ll quit my job and run away.”

  “It’s not about owning a car. I never drive.” He didn’t speak for a moment, then his voice lightened. “Take a taxi—Mac will get his car service to pick you up.”

  “You never drive?” She wasn’t sure why it mattered to know the precise details, but it did.

  “Isabelle.” Now that was his Dom voice. “I have asked you to come this evening when you finish at The Club.”

  “Yes, Sir.” She wasn’t only agreeing to the visit. She knew that. She was agreeing to drop the subject of his refusal to drive…and his refusal to discuss the matter. Not sure why his vehemence made her feel uncomfortable, but it did.

  He tried to fill the silence. “Look, I’ve lived in Manhattan and D.C., and both are wonderful cities for public transportation. I walk as much as possible, and there’s the Metro and cabs for everything else.”

  “Okay.” She knew she sounded doubtful, which wasn’t how she felt. She just wasn’t sure what else to say.

  The silence stretched too far, then finally Sebastian said, “So, you’ll come here tonight, after The Club?”

  “Yes, of course. I should be going.” They hung up on such an awkward moment that it lingered with Isabelle. Which was crazy. So he didn’t drive. That didn’t make him a criminal.

  She never quite shook off the odd tenor of her conversation with Sebastian. After Katie’s scene with the sub Isabelle thought of as “the blond, skinny one,” they retired to the ladies’ changing room. Katie’s euphoria after a successful scene had gradually worn off until finally she touched Isabelle on the arm.

  “Hey, enough about me. Why are you in such a pissy mood?”

  Isabelle frowned. “Am I? Sorry.”

  Katie pulled on her leggings and oversized hoodie, then sat next to Isabelle. “Yes, you are. Is it because Sebastian’s not here? Are you horny? Is that it?”

  “No, that’s not it. I mean, that’s not really it. I do wish he were here, and I can’t wait to have sex with him, but that’s not what’s going through my mind.”

  Katie bumped her shoulder against Isabelle’s. “C’mon, spit it out.”

  Isabelle explained about the phone call with Sebastian. “Is that weird, that he doesn’t drive? Because that’s how he said it. Not that he doesn’t own a car, but that he doesn’t drive.”

  “What horrors are you imagining, Iz? That he’s some sort of felon, loose on the streets solely because he doesn’t let D.C. take his driver’s license photo?”

  “Good God, no.” Isabelle frowned. That wasn’t it at all. Or
…not precisely it. “He made it sound like a dare. I had to accept this about him or else. Which is fine. I take him as he is, of course. Only…why did I feel like I was supposed to object. What’s the big deal? So he doesn’t drive. Wait. Do you suppose he doesn’t know how? That would be weird. Choosing not to drive, or opting not to own a car—I can understand those decisions. But never to learn? Or he learned and let his license lapse?”

  “You’re giving me a headache.” Katie got up. “Ask him. Clearly you think there’s some weird reason for this. Until you ask him, it’s going to worry you. Chances are he just said it wrong. So ask what the big deal is. If you trust him to lay into you with a paddle, you really should trust him to tell you the truth.”

  Isabelle hugged her. “I’ll think about it.” When Katie gave her the Domme stare, Isabelle grinned. “I said I’d think about it. Now go.”

  * * *

  Sebastian seemed distracted as he let her into his house. He was barefoot despite the autumn chill. “I’m just about done. Are you hungry? I can make you a sandwich.” He hung up her jacket and led the way into his kitchen.

  “I’m fine, thanks. Why don’t you go get your work done, and I’ll make us some coffee?”

  He caught her shoulders and stared at her. “You are a mind reader. Cream, no sugar for me.” He kissed her, fast, paused for a moment and then kissed her again, much more slowly. Isabelle was still dazed when she heard him dashing up the stairs to his massive office.

  Thirty minutes later, she carried a tray with coffee mugs, a creamer, some sweetener for her, and a plate of cookies she’d found in his pantry. Sebastian was on the phone to someone even as he tapped furiously at his keyboard.

  “Jasper, I don’t understand. How can the IMF expect Bolivia to change its monetary policy overnight?” Sebastian’s mm-hmms punctuated his typing. “Yes. I see. Well, call me as soon as you hear more, okay? Right. Thanks.” He tapped his Bluetooth headset before pulling it off.

 

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