Bound With Pearls

by Bristol, Sidney

“Look, Clay,” she squealed.

  Clay sat up, running a hand through his hair. He nodded at Daniel once, the most greeting he would give him within the club.

  Bianca opened the box and gasped.

  The reactions never got old. He leaned on the table, propping his chin on his fist. A childish thrill of glee rushed through him when she reached toward the box and touched the chain.

  “It’s beautiful, but this is too much.”

  “I made it for you. Think of it as a belated wedding present.”

  Bianca’s hand closed over the top of the jewelry. There was a history he couldn’t read in her eyes. He didn’t have to know it to understand he’d given them something special. “Thank you.”

  He ordered water and caught up with the newlyweds. Organizing his winter line had taken precedence over everything else, and he’d had to cancel their weekly lunches. He was relieved the showing would be out of his hair soon, though it meant he needed to start a new collection all over again. For now he could relax and enjoy himself.

  The club began to fill, the music got louder and casual conversation was rendered impossible. He liked coming here, but on the popular nights there were too many people for his tastes and the music was too loud. Maybe it was a sign he was getting older, but he preferred the more intimate evenings when it wasn’t wall-to-wall people.

  Checking his watch, he suppressed his irritation. The unknown Christine had yet to show.

  “There’s Lucy and Nate,” Bianca practically yelled, and still he barely heard her.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he caught sight of the couple. Lucy was already nude and draped over her Dom’s legs. There wasn’t anything wrong with their exhibitionism, but their kink wasn’t his kink. He still didn’t like either of them.

  Bianca leaned over the table. “Isn’t she supposed to be with you tonight?”

  “No, he’s substituting her sister Christine. Heard of her before?”

  Bianca looked thoughtful for a moment but shook her head. Figured. His luck the mysterious Christine was a newbie, fresh out of orientation. Clay tugged on her arm and she leaned over. After a moment she waved Daniel closer and met him halfway.

  “Clay says Christine used to come here a lot but in the last two years she’s not been often.”

  It would make sense. A year and a half ago Daniel had relocated his business to Atlanta to become a brand and hire employees to recreate his designs. If she hadn’t frequented the club since, they wouldn’t have run into each other.

  Nodding his thanks, he slid out from the booth. He was tired of waiting. If the woman was there, great, if not, he had other things to do with his time and hearing.

  Stretching, he eyed the crowd. A mass of writhing bodies moved in time to the pulsing music on the dance floor. It was considered the feeding ground, where unattached Doms and subs met, where the fresh meat and curious visitors dipped their toes into the water but no real play happened. At the other end of the room was a stage and a small area for public scenes and demonstrations. A new person might see more flesh than they bargained for, maybe a bare-bottomed spanking, but that was it. Even Lucy would be required to move her display before much longer.

  He headed through an arched doorway into the public dungeon. The real play areas were here and the private rooms. Dungeon monitors bracketed the entrance and would not allow the inexperienced to venture farther. People clustered around scenes already in progress, the onlookers getting as worked up as those participating. A few individuals moved around the edges of the room, monitors and employees keeping an eye on everything and everyone.

  On occasion he took part in some of the scenes, but not lately. He enjoyed more intimate aspects of Dominance that were better played out in the bedroom. The prospect of breaking his unintentional fast with a willing sub was appealing. Maybe it would spark his creativity. He wasn’t sure whether Christine would be the one or not, but it was about time he got back into the pool, so to speak.

  A heavy door separated the public areas from the private rooms. Another DM nodded at him and opened the door to admit him into the private recesses of the club. The heavy door shut off almost all the sound of dancing behind him, and the light.

  After a moment his eyesight adjusted and he moved down to the room he’d requested. The private rooms could be rented out in blocks of two hours. He’d selected a fairly normal setup, since he didn’t know Christine or her tastes, and was loath to try anything more extreme without some familiarity. His preferences were fairly typical, or at least what passed as typical in the community.

  Stepping into the room, he was surprised to find it already occupied. When he closed the door behind him, the faint noise from the dungeon faded away entirely.

  The room was a cross between a typical bedroom and a home dungeon. At one end was a large four-poster bed draped with dark-red curtains and sheets. The floor was polished concrete, cool to the touch and easy to clean up. The furniture in the room was varied. A red velvet chaise longue that doubled as a spanking bench sat adjacent to the bed. A wardrobe was against the wall, open to display his bag. There were a few more obviously kink pieces of furniture, an X-shaped cross, hanging bars and such.

  He already knew this room, it was the woman standing in the middle, in the direct fall of a spotlight, whom he did not know, and she was unexpected. He leaned against the doorframe, the metal cold against his back, and remained in the shadows. It irked him no one had informed him she’d arrived.

  She piqued his interest. Unlike her sister, Christine was tall, probably close to five nine or ten. He would have never imagined the two women being related. Where Lucy was delicate to the point of appearing breakable, Christine was a bombshell. Dark-red hair fell to her ribs in tight corkscrews, the shade of his favorite garnet stones. Her skin was a pale rose quartz. He couldn’t tell from this distance, but he expected a generous dusting of freckles.

  Christine looked more like a woman awaiting her lover than a submissive at a club. Instead of typical fetish wear, she wore a plain brown silk romper with nothing underneath. Large breasts filled out the top of the garment, her nipples clearly defined. Her waist was highlighted by a sash, accentuating her hourglass figure before flaring out to generous hips and long legs. She was barefoot and shifted from foot to foot.

  He had been prepared for a delicate, spoiled, blonde beauty. Christine was more on par with Christmas morning. Restraining his excitement, he reminded himself that while physically she looked like his ideal woman, she could be her sister in different packaging.

  In fact, when he examined her face, he noticed the defiant tilt of her jaw, the narrowed eyes. Her posture was submissive, her expression was not.

  “Have you been waiting long?” His voice sounded too loud in the room.

  “An hour,” she replied sharply.

  Somehow they’d arrived at the same time, and yet he hadn’t seen her.

  “That was not my intention.” He pushed away from the wall and adjusted the lights so the rest of the room filled with a soft glow. “I was supposed to be notified when you arrived.”

  Her lips screwed up as if she’d tasted something sour. Still, she didn’t speak freely, which could be good or bad. She could just be well-trained.

  “Your name is Christine, correct?”

  “Yes Sir.”

  He took a meandering path through the room, coming to a stop in front of her. She didn’t move, nor lift her head to follow his movements. She stood still with her eyes downcast.

  “You’re Lucy’s sister?”

  She nodded.

  “Answer me.”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “Good. Are you involved with Nathan and your sister?”

  Her head snapped up. “No!”

  The vehemence of her answer soothed some part of him. He hadn’t liked the idea of this woman with someone as weak as Nathan.

  “No?” He cocked his head to the side.

  She pursed her lips and collected herself. “No Sir.”

>   “Better.” He smiled and tasted the realization uncoiling within him. He wanted this woman. Physically she was many things he desired, but her attitude was a problem. “Limits?”

  Christine drew in a deep breath, leveling her haughty gaze at him. “No edge play, nothing extreme like needles or scat. No tickling or humiliation. No sex. No—”

  “Stop.” He held up his hand, disappointed. His cock, which had begun to harden when he entered, was anything but now. She, like her sister, was living proof beauty wasn’t everything. “Your attitude is unacceptable. I’m sorry, but this isn’t going to work out.”

  Crossing to the wardrobe, he began repacking his bag. What a waste of an evening and a beautiful woman.

  Chapter Two

  Christine’s mouth closed with a snap. Her jaw hurt from clenching. Her hands ached from gripping her wrists. Blinking rapidly, she looked at the Dom’s broad back. He was getting ready to leave.

  She’d failed, completely blown it, and he was right. Her attitude sucked. This wasn’t like her. She’d hit a low point and didn’t know how to dig herself out of this one.

  Pinpricks of pain stabbing the backs of her eyes heralded tears. Screwing things up seemed to be her specialty today, from the reports at work to forgetting her entry fee for the charity race, and now it was going to cost her. Lucy wouldn’t give her the pearls when she found out the Dom had left, rightfully disgusted with her.

  The muscles in her chest constricted until she was panting for breath. Her vision blurred with tears she had to dash away.

  “Wait,” she said, her voice sounding strained and too high to her own ears.

  The Dom glanced over his shoulder, unmoved. It shouldn’t get her off, but the idea of a man with such control was a turn-on. She’d been ready for someone big and scary or maybe on the scrawny side with a penchant for pain. Finding him a fairly normal guy unsettled her.

  Fairly normal was an understatement. Sure, most women might not notice him. He had nondescript brown hair and his features were handsome enough. It was something else about him that drew her.

  “Why should I?”

  She took a deep breath to calm herself. “You’re right. My attitude sucks.” Another deep breath. She couldn’t think of a good reason to give him, except the truth. Her shoulders slumped. She hated airing the dirty laundry between Lucy and her. Sisters should be close, they should have a bond. All she and Lucy shared was a last name and some DNA.

  “I’m not involved with Nate. Lucy’s my sister and she—she’s afraid of you, so she probably whined to Nathan until he suggested trading me for her.” She could feel her cheeks burning. “I wasn’t going to do it. I-I don’t know you, I’m not entirely comfortable with this, and Lucy knew that. When I said no, and I meant it, she—”

  Her throat constricted around her words, cutting them off. Squeezing her eyes shut, she balled her hands into fists and let the wave of emotion wash over her. She was angry and upset, hurt that her sister cared so little, but it was no different than any other time Lucy had conned her. The only person she could blame for this situation was herself. She drew in another slow, deep breath. “She told me if I’d come here, she’d give me our mother’s pearls. She’s dead, and they’re one of the only things we have left of hers.”

  Her gaze locked on the floor. She knew she should stop talking. This man was as disgusted with her as she was, but her mouth kept working. “I loved them. I wore them to prom and graduation. I’d borrowed them for luck every now and then. Lucy never wanted them. They didn’t sparkle enough, they weren’t flashy. But when I wore them to her funeral, Lucy started yelling and crying about how I got everything. I gave them to her to shut her up and I’ve never seen them since.”

  She hiccupped around her words. No doubt her face was red and splotchy. She didn’t cry delicately. No, when Christine cried her nose turned red, her eyes got big and puffy and she turned into a fountain. She hated crying and dumping ugly family business on a stranger. She couldn’t wait for him to leave. She could curl up on the bed, cry herself out and slink home where she could camp out on the couch with a pint of ice cream.

  “Shhh.”

  Hands gripped her shoulders from behind. Her stomach dropped right before the ground disappeared from under her. The Dom picked her up effortlessly.

  “What are you doing?” She gripped his shoulders, expecting to land on her ass any second.

  He crossed to the chaise and sat down with her cradled in his lap. She tried to slip onto the bench, but his hand clamped on her thigh. It was natural to obey the unspoken command. This close she could see the deep blue of his eyes, the strength of his jaw and feel the power of him. There was no doubt under the black t-shirt and jeans he was every bit as strong as he looked.

  “What are—?”

  “I’m the one who gets to ask the questions here.” His voice was stern, but unlike his reprimand from before there was a warm quality.

  She relaxed against the curved arm of the chaise, comforted by his commanding nature. Let someone else call the shots for now, she was too tired of it all.

  “Here.” He handed her tissues from an unknown source and she snatched them up.

  Bowing her head to let her curls fall over her face was as much privacy as she could get to clean herself up. The Dom didn’t touch her except where their bodies nestled together, which was one small relief.

  She hated crying, but she was better for getting it out. It felt good to be honest, even if the recipient of her words didn’t care what she said.

  Tossing her head back, Christine met his gaze. Her breathing was shaky and her eyes and nose raw.

  “Feel better?” His voice was the deep, rumbling kind that spoke directly to her pussy. The whole situation would have been easier to write off as one huge mistake if he hadn’t been attractive. Now it was salt to a wound.

  She nodded.

  He quirked a brow and her blush became more intense.

  “Yes Sir,” she mumbled. How could she already be blushing on command for the man?

  “You agreed to take your sister’s place because she has something of sentimental value you want, correct?” He looped his arms around her waist, settling his hands at her hip and thigh.

  “Yes Sir.”

  “I’m going to be frank with you. Would you prefer I wasn’t?”

  “No Sir. I’d prefer the truth.” She braced herself for a pat on the head and a goodbye.

  “I don’t care for your sister. She’s spoiled. I was, and still am, a little apprehensive you’re too much like her—”

  “I’m nothing like my sister.” Memories of cold Thanksgiving meals and waiting for Lucy to show up at Christmas with their father stabbed her. All the times when Lucy should have been there but never was. Their father made excuse after excuse for her—she was busy, being young and carefree. Christine knew better.

  The Dom quirked a brow at her again. Her blush felt as bad as a sunburn, stretching across her cheeks, down her neck and gripping her chest.

  “Sorry, Sir.” The urge to lean into him and kiss his jaw in supplication was strong.

  “I don’t think you’re sorry about that admission.”

  She shook her head. “No Sir, I’m sorry for interrupting you.”

  “That, I believe.” The hand at her hip swept down to her knee, treating her to the first sensual skin-to-skin contact.

  “Sir?” Christine bit her lip and focused on the collar of his shirt.

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t know your name. I just—”

  He squeezed her thigh and she shut her mouth. Another unspoken command she read perfectly.

  “Daniel,” he growled. “Christ, she didn’t even tell you?”

  She shook her head, curls sweeping over her shoulders. His anger didn’t scare her, though she would be lying to herself if she said some part of her wasn’t pleased someone recognized her sister for who she truly was.

  Daniel. Dom, Master, Sir Daniel. It fit him—understated and powerfu
l.

  He swept her hair over her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her neck, not quite in the sweet spot, but close enough to make her shiver.

  He wound a stubborn curl around his finger and leaned back against the cushions, pulling her against him. She wasn’t accustomed to being handled, but in comparison to him she was small, which didn’t happen often.

  “So how did your sister and you get involved in the scene?” The hand at her knee stroked up her thigh and back down, distracting her from his question.

  She had to marvel at how well he managed her. She probably wasn’t what he’d expected, and still he pulled pertinent information from her. Something about him put her at ease, which, considering his size and what she wanted him to do to her, was a questionable assessment.

  “Um, I had a boyfriend in college who, who liked to tie me up. It was fun.” She lifted a shoulder. “After we broke up I did some research and decided I would try to meet someone new who could—could teach me.”

  “How does your sister fit in?”

  She wrinkled her nose, wishing he would drop that particular line of conversation. She looked down at his tanned arm. The muscles and veins she could trace with her fingers made such a stark contrast to her pale skin.

  “Lucy has always done what I do. Same schools, degrees, even where I used to work. She has to do what I did and try to do it better. When she found out I was into BDSM, she got into it.”

  “Did you mentor her?”

  Her gaze leveled with his. “Have you met my sister? She showed up one night in a slutty cocktail dress, whined her way through the orientation meeting and attached herself to my Dom.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Brandon and I were not in an emotional relationship, so he was free to do whatever he wanted. He tried to help her for about a week before he washed his hands of her.” It had been one small victory following many losses. “Lucy attached herself to someone new, and here she is today.”

  Nodding, he continued to stroke her leg, his fingers edging higher, disappearing below the hemline of the romper.

  “So what happened to you? I’ve never seen you here before.”