by Julia Sykes
Carter certainly hadn’t had to knock me down to get me on my knees. And he hadn’t had to punch me in the face to make my head spin. There was something about the man’s touch that was far too intoxicating for my own good.
That had been my mistake: I had let him touch me. I had allowed his hands to move over my body. And even though the places he had touched were innocent enough – my head, my shoulders, my neck – my clit throbbed. My cheeks flooded with heat when I recognized the wetness between my thighs.
I scrambled to my feet, putting distance between myself and Carter. My knees shook, but I forced them to support my weight.
“Sharon?” He prompted. I hadn’t answered his question. The concerned expression had given way to something more severe. He obviously didn’t care for the sudden loss of control over our interaction.
“I’m – I’m fine.” Damn it, why had I stuttered? “I just… That wasn’t what I expected. I’m not sure I like it when you touch me like that.”
He stood abruptly, grasping my upper arms.
“No,” he almost growled. “Don’t lie to me, Sharon. Don’t lie to yourself. You liked that. You fucking loved it. Do you think I can’t smell how wet your pussy is?” His gravelly voice rode right on over my shocked gasp. “If I touched you like I want to right now, I would shove my fingers inside and then taste that sweet honey. Then I would bury my cock in your slick cunt.”
Holy. Shit.
The man didn’t just talk dirty. He talked filthy.
And my cunt liked it. The way my inner walls clenched told me that much.
My brain had no clue what to make of that. My mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. No words even formed in my mind, much less on my lips. There was nothing but shock and perverse heat, clouding my ability to think.
His finger curled beneath my chin, guiding my face up to his. His twisted lips were barely an inch from mine.
“I was wrong. It seems you like me just fine.” He was so close, his words seemed to filter into my own mouth as I breathed them in, taking them into my body. When they hit my lungs, my heart thudded and skipped.
His sudden proximity brought up a thread of fear amongst the heat, a reflex reaction to a threat. That fear penetrated my brain and hooked upon the one word that would save me from myself.
“Red.”
My voice was soft, barely audible. But Derek snapped away from me instantly. Apparently he had his own reflex reactions. He seemed to jerk all of the air away with him, and my chest rose and fell rapidly in little desperate pants. Anxiety doused the lingering heat within me.
Everything had been so easy, so blissfully simple. Now there was a new tension between us, one that was wrought of confusion rather than eroticism. My one powerful word had instantly leeched all the pleasure out of Derek. The downward slant of his lips conveyed… disappointment.
Shit.
“Derek, I’m sorry,” I blurted. The apology was an automatic response when that particular expression of displeasure was directed at me.
The lines of his face tightened, and then he blew out a long breath. His features relaxed as he reached for me. I didn’t flinch away when his fingertips touched my shoulder. Instead, I unconsciously leaned into the reassuring gesture.
“Don’t ever apologize for using a safe word, Sharon,” Derek told me gravely. “I’ll never be angry with you for that. No good Dom would be.” He sat on the bed again and patted the mattress beside him. “Sit down and let’s talk about it.”
I stared at him for several long seconds, struggling to process the rapid shifts in both of our moods that had occurred in the last few minutes. My own relief at not having upset him was so intense that it made me uncomfortable with myself. Yes, I was a people pleaser, but I shouldn’t get so worked up over Derek’s moods. Carter was my mark, and I shouldn’t care about his emotions beyond how they affected my op.
I only care about disappointing him because I can’t afford to have him kick me to the curb. I need to stay close to him.
I barely succeeded in convincing myself that was the truth.
With a little nod, I sat. I tried to ignore the comfort I found in the warmth of Derek’s hand squeezing mine.
“Tell me what set you off.” Derek’s command was gentle, but it was a command nonetheless.
My teeth sank into my lower lip as I considered my answer, and I didn’t miss how Derek’s eyes darkened, riveted on my mouth.
“I… I don’t understand what that was. I don’t know why I reacted like that when I… When I was on my knees,” I finally admitted truthfully.
“And that scared you.” He finished the words I wouldn’t have spoken aloud.
My lips pursed in annoyance. I didn’t like the accusation that I was afraid. Only, on Derek’s tongue, it didn’t sound like an accusation. It sounded like a rational statement of fact, perhaps bordering on a reassurance.
“This is new to you, Sharon. And your reactions aren’t what you expected. It’s totally understandable that would scare you.”
My brows drew together. “What do you mean, my reactions aren’t what I expected? Is what I did… Is that not normal?”
There it was again: the fear that I had done something wrong, that I had failed in some way. Derek traced the line of my jaw, his forefinger stopping beneath my chin to lift my face to his.
“It is absolutely normal,” he assured me. “In fact, your reaction was more intense than most of the new subs I’ve met. I got caught up in it, too. I’m sorry if I pushed you too far at the end there.”
It took a few moments for the horror of his words to smash through my admiration of his calm honesty. I jerked my hand from beneath his.
“I am not a sub,” I declared coldly.
“You react like one.” Derek remained calm. “There’s no shame in it.” His face hardened. “And if you think there is, then I definitely won’t work with you. I won’t allow you to top subs in my club if you think they’re somehow less than you.”
God, it seemed every Dom knew just how to make me feel like an asshole. My anger deflated in the wake of chagrin.
“Of course I don’t think that. I just… This isn’t what I want. I want to be a Domme.” My insistence was blatantly strained, even in my own ears.
I couldn’t handle what it would mean if I was submissive. I didn’t want to face the mounting realization. And I didn’t want to lose my op. If Kennedy found out that I couldn’t keep my head around Carter, I would be replaced by Smith in an instant.
Derek seemed to sense I was nearing some sort of breaking point. His hand found mine again, and his fingers wrapped around it in a reassuring but firm grip.
“Okay,” he allowed in an even tone. “I won’t force you to be something you don’t want to be, Sharon. Anyone who does shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near you. If you don’t want to continue training with me because this makes you uncomfortable, I’ll understand.”
“No. I want to keep going.” I clutched at the excuse to stay close to him. With one rash word – that cowardly little “red” – I had almost blown my mission. “I won’t use a safe word next time. I can handle it.”
His earnestness was instantly swallowed by righteous anger. He gripped my chin, somewhat roughly.
“You will use your safe words, Sharon.” His voice was dark, forbidding. “I can’t take care of you if you don’t communicate your needs. I can’t work with you if I can’t trust you.”
He couldn’t trust me? I was the one putting myself at his mercy. He was the one who held all the power.
But no. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t what BDSM was about, and the concept that I would deceive Derek in any way seemed to cause him the gravest offense.
Trust. Communication.
The guys had told me again and again how essential they were in a D/s relationship. Staring up into Derek’s blazing gold eyes, I began to truly understand the importance of that.
I tried to ignore the stirring of unease in my gut at the realization that
all of my interactions with him were a deception. Everything I did, everything I said, was about my mission.
“Okay, Derek,” I agreed sweetly. “I promise I’ll use my safe words.”
I told myself that didn’t give a damn about BDSM, and I didn’t give a damn about Derek Carter.
Chapter 6
I left Carter on good terms, and I managed to deflect Miller’s prying questions about what we had gotten up to in the back room. All in all, it had been a successful evening. I had managed to convince Carter that he could trust me.
I should have been glowing with triumph, but instead I felt nothing but frustration. Erotic frustration. I had showered when I got back to my little Lower East Side studio apartment, but my thighs were still wet with something other than water.
My thin cotton camisole teased across my peaked nipples with every breath, and my modest white panties tortured my clit every time I tossed and turned. I was doing a lot of that; tossing and turning. My thrashing was frustrated, almost angry.
This was all his fault. Fucking Derek Carter and his fucking gorgeous body and his fucking hypnotic eyes.
I punched my pillow, wishing it were his stomach. Although I suspected I would bruise my knuckles on his washboard abs in real life. Everything about Derek’s physique, his bearing, radiated a sense of power. Despite my training, I wouldn’t be able to take him down easily.
The thought made my inner walls clench.
He’s a mark. He’s probably a criminal. I hate him for how he makes me feel. I hate him…
I hated him in my mind, but my hand glided over my stomach as though of its own accord. It snaked under the elastic band at the top of my panties, and I shuddered when my fingers brushed against my bare skin. I usually kept things neat and trimmed, but for some reason I had decided to shave everything before going to Decadence.
Now, I didn’t know why I hadn’t done so before. Every light touch on my smooth flesh was magnified, and when my forefinger found my clit, I sucked in a sharp breath. A merciful shot of bliss penetrated my core. I rubbed more firmly, finding a steady, circular rhythm.
I closed my eyes and sighed heavily. Derek’s cocky grin instantly filled the darkness behind my shuttered lids. He towered over me, standing while I knelt at his feet.
I increased my pace.
“I hate him.” My hiss into the darkness ended on a moan.
My fantasy took on a will of its own.
My scalp lit up when Derek’s hand fisted in my hair, tugging my head back. He seemed to grow impossibly taller.
“Touch yourself. Slide your fingers into your tight, wet pussy.” His command was imagined, but memories of his dirty talk fueled my fantasy.
I groaned and obeyed. Two fingers easily penetrated my soft folds. I was wetter than I could ever recall, and my core convulsed at my touch. My free hand found my breast. I kneaded the soft flesh, reveling in the spike of pleasure as my palm rubbed against my nipple.
Derek’s smile was twisted, arrogant, pleased.
I came with a sharp cry. My orgasm rolled through me with almost vicious force, starting deep within me and radiating out to send pleasure crashing through my entire being. As the last little tremors racked my system, I settled back into reality.
I knew I should be angry that I had just experienced one of the most intense orgasms of my life while thinking about Derek. But I just couldn’t muster up my ire.
This op was getting more dangerous by the minute. Only, Carter wasn’t the source of the danger. I was. My body was betraying me, and my mind was beginning to turn against me as well.
I didn’t hate Derek Carter at all.
“So. You asked me why I want to be a Dominatrix. What made you want to be a Dominant?”
I had prepared the question hours ago, deciding it was the best way to wheedle more information out of Carter. I needed to know more about what he did with his time, who he spent that time with, and what secrets his past held.
Derek’s small frown in response to my question wasn’t promising. Neither was his casual shrug.
“I’ve just always been this way. I’ve always had Dominant instincts when it comes to sex.” The answer was cagey, at best.
“Why?” I prompted.
“Because I want control.”
Well, aren’t you Mr. Fucking Chatty. I fought the urge to grind my teeth in frustration. I thought I had earned Carter’s trust. Apparently not.
I gestured to the space around us, taking in the private room with a wide sweep of my arm.
“So you opened a BDSM club because you like control? There has to be more to this story.” I gave him a flirty little smile.
His answering smile was amused, but no more forthcoming. “That’s pretty much the gist of it. I like the lifestyle. Running a kinky club sounded like more fun than carpentry.”
“Carpentry? Was that career choice number two?”
Carter’s smile remained fixed in place, but the playful light left his eyes.
“That was the family business. I never much cared for it.” He gave a small shake of his head, as though to rid himself of an annoying thought. Then his gaze roved over my body, and the heat returned to his eyes. “Making a living ogling gorgeous women is far more fun,” he said with a wink.
Carpentry. Something played at the edges of my mind upon learning that piece of information. I couldn’t break my focus now to dwell on it, but I tucked it away for later examination. Besides, it was a bit difficult to form coherent thoughts when Derek was looking at me like that, melting me with his scorching gaze. I managed to maintain the presence of mind to playfully slap his arm.
“Pervert,” I accused, keeping up my flirtatious act.
Derek grabbed my wrist, squeezing it in reprimand for my slap. His grin was sharp, predatory. “You don’t know the half of it.”
Unconsciously, I squeezed my legs together, as though that would dull the sudden throbbing between my thighs. The pressure against my clit only made my arousal intensify. Derek’s smile widened. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing to me. And damn it if that knowledge didn’t get me even hotter for him.
Dangerous, some little corner of my mind reminded me.
I tugged weakly against his hold on my wrist. “Let go of me, please.” I struggled to make my voice firm and even.
Confusion flashed over his features, but his fingers unfurled slowly, reluctantly.
“Tell me what’s bothering you.” He didn’t ask like a normal man would. He demanded my honest response.
“I don’t like it when you touch me like that.”
His expression darkened. “What have I told you about lying to me, Sharon?”
“I mean…” I searched for the right words. “I don’t want you to touch me like that. I want to learn to be a Domme, not…” I trailed off.
I don’t want to be a natural submissive. I don’t want to crave your touch. I don’t want to lose my head when I’m around you.
He reached out as though to comfort me, but he stopped himself short with a frown.
“Okay, Sharon. I understand. If you don’t want me to touch you, we can work on impact play.”
Oh, shit.
He was going to hit me. This wasn’t something I had really allowed myself to contemplate too closely until that moment.
“I won’t hurt you. I promise. We’ll start slow.” His reassuring gaze turned harder. “And you have your safe words. You’ll use them if it’s too much for you.”
Swallowing hard, I nodded my agreement. I had taken enough pain while training at Quantico. I had learned how to deal with it. That didn’t mean I liked it, but I could take it if that’s what my mission called for. I wasn’t about to fail because I wussed out at the prospect of a little pain.
Trade the pain for his trust.
I could do that. I had to do that.
Derek pushed himself to his feet from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed. We were in the same private room as the night before, but I hadn’t really al
lowed myself to contemplate its kinkier contents. Now, I became acutely aware of the St. Andrew’s Cross against the red-painted wall and the innocent-looking ochre chest of drawers that likely held all sorts of instruments for torture.
“Come.” Derek held a hand out to me, giving me the choice of taking it.
My fingers closed around his palm automatically, and I pulled against his strength to find my own feet. Even though I had traded my ridiculous boots for sensible black flats, I still needed a bit of his support to steady myself. To my embarrassment, my knees had gone weak at the prospect of facing his torment. I had watched subs being beaten in Decadence. Not all of their screams were ones of pleasure.
Derek never took his eyes off me as he gently led me across the room. His thumb traced a soothing pattern over the backs of my fingers, and I realized they were trembling.
Taking bursts of pain when I didn’t dodge a punch or kick in time was one thing, but standing still while someone swung a whip at me was a different story entirely.
My heart skipped a beat when we stopped in front of the St. Andrew’s Cross. Derek’s hand twitched as though he wanted to reach out and comfort me again, but he held himself back. I had asked him not to touch me, and he respected my wishes.
“I’m going to restrain you, Sharon,” he told me calmly. “Not to trap you so that I can hurt you, but for your own safety. If you instinctively try to move away from me, my hit might land somewhere I don’t want it to. If you want me to release you, you have your safe words.”
The reminder helped calm me. I wouldn’t have to worry about instinct driving me to defend myself. I had a feeling Derek wouldn’t want to work with me anymore if I managed to give him a black eye. That was a big if, but I would rather not find out if I could best Carter in a fight right now. I was supposed to be building trust, not popping him across the jaw.
“This will work better if you take off your top,” he informed me.
I gaped at him. Did he really expect me to get naked for him? No fucking way.
He sighed, gesturing at my breasts. “You’re wearing a bra,” he pointed out. “I’m going to flog your back, and I can’t do that properly if you don’t take off your shirt.”