Black Jack

by Mari Carr

  Liz sighed in relief. “Yes.”

  “I feel the same.” Marc leaned back. Her fingers were cold without the heat of his skin. “I had things most men only dream of. I could have had some of the most beautiful women in the world and it wasn’t enough.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, the honey-sweet anticipation that had covered them replaced by grim self-loathing.

  “I was in love.” Liz spoke before she had the chance to talk herself out of it. “He sold me my house and we hit it off. The night it closed, we went out to dinner. He was as busy as I was, and so when we had time to be together it was explosive, like we were packing days of togetherness into only hours. I fell in love with him and him with me. The sex was good.”

  “But not enough.”

  Liz hoped she wasn’t blushing. It was embarrassing to talk about her past sex life, though that seemed ludicrous considering why they’d come here tonight. “That’s the thing, I like vanilla sex. I like the intimacy of a man’s body pressed against me, of how it can be lightning-fast or slow.” Liz’s breath was growing shallow as memories filled her, of groping like teenagers in the foyer, quick, sweaty sex up against the door, slow Sunday-morning sex that faded into lazy drowsing.

  “What happened?” Marc asked. Liz refused to look at him. She could feel him watching her with a gaze that promised things she was scared to want.

  “We were fine for a while, but when we started talking about committing—moving in together, maybe getting married—I knew I had to say something. I loved him, but I knew that if I didn’t say something I’d be unhappy later.”

  Liz huffed out a little laugh. “I used to lie awake at night and fantasize about him doing things to me. I wanted him to bend me over his knee, to toy with me, torment me, use toys on me. There I was, fantasizing about a man who was lying right next to me.”

  She shook her head at the memory. “I was sure it’d be fine. He was an aggressive, dominant guy. I thought he’d be excited by what I wanted. At first he was. He knew a bit about serious D/s, though not much. I very carefully outlined the kinds of things I liked but I didn’t want to plan each move for him. That…that control is exactly what I didn’t want.”

  “What went wrong?”

  Now she did look at him. “Everything.”

  Marc kept his gaze steady. “Did he hurt you?”

  She could only nod as a flood of embarrassing, frustrating, and frightening memories filled her.

  “Tell me,” he said. It wasn’t a command, not in the way those ridiculous fake Doms had issued commands, but it was a demand.

  “Let’s just say he didn’t get it, and the more I tried to explain, the worse it got. He didn’t understand that I wanted that behavior confined to the bedroom. He used to smack my ass, all the time. If I said anything he didn’t like—if I teased him about the way he’d parked his car—he’d swat my ass and whisper, ‘Naughty girl deserves a spanking, doesn’t she?’” Liz curled her fingers into her palms. “It was all I could do not to knee him in the balls.”

  “He really didn’t get it, did he?”

  “A lot of what happened was my fault. When I wanted him to be…masterful.” She winced at the word and Marc let out a bark of laughter. Liz smiled ruefully before continuing. “If I wanted that domination, I’d try to goad him into it—taunting him, saying he wasn’t man enough—but then he’d just get pissed.”

  “Did he hit you, in anger?” Marc growled.

  Liz wished she could say yes and play the victim, but the truth was she was the abuser. She’d taken something that should have worked, that should have been enough for her, and she’d destroyed it.

  “No.” Tears prickled her eyes. “He was a good man. He would never do that. He would walk away—leave and call me later.”

  Marc stood and came around to her side of the table, sliding into the booth next to her. She stiffened slightly, keeping her back straight.

  He laid one arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side. “You can cry if you want,” he said with impressive stoicism.

  Liz tilted her head up so she could look into his face. He was a handsome man, made more attractive by the concern that marked his features. He understood her, he cared that she’d suffered, and he wanted to comfort her.

  A little crack started in the shell she’d carefully erected around her heart.

  “I’m not going to cry.” She smiled. It was true. She’d wept plenty of tears over lost love.

  “You looked like you were going to cry.”

  “I was, but I’ve probably cried enough about this.” She took a deep breath, and if it shuddered slightly neither of them mentioned it. “I’m sorry, Marc. I seem to have destroyed the mood.”

  “I would rather know more about you than maintain a mood,” he said. “If what you really need is a friend you can talk to about this stuff, I’ll be that friend.”

  “Oh, Marc, I—”

  He cut her off. “However, I need you to know that I will not be happy about it and I will be picturing you naked every time I see you.”

  Liz laughed, a deep belly laugh that had more to do with releasing emotional tension than with amusement. She relaxed into his side, tipping her head back against his shoulder to look up at him.

  “Naked, huh? How do I look?”

  “Fucking amazing. But you’re not just naked.” His voice was deeper and rougher than it had been a minute ago. His gaze, which had remained on her face as she spoke, now traveled south to her breasts.

  “What am I wearing?” She was desperate to know. She wanted him to say she was draped in chains, fastened facedown to a bed, wearing a mask, a gag.

  His gaze returned to her face. “You’re aroused. I can see it in your eyes, your lips—” He touched his thumb to her lower lip. “—your cheeks.” He moved his hand to cup her face, thumb pressed into her cheekbone. “I want to do things to you that should frighten you.”

  “I don’t think they will,” she murmured. Her skin felt like molten lava encased in ice. She was shivering with cold and burning with heat at the same time.

  She hated herself for derailing their evening. She should have just filled out the checklist, handed it to him, and begged him to fuck her.

  “Let’s go,” she begged. “Marc, I want you.”

  With a growl he pressed his lips to hers in a hot, rough kiss.

  *

  The evening was not going exactly to plan, but plans were made to be broken. At least that’s what Marc told himself as he left the restaurant with Liz on his arm. They stepped into the glass elevators. The city was spread before them, the lights dazzling.

  “I’m going to regret this,” Liz said quietly, “but I want you.”

  Marc hadn’t figured out what she was talking about before she turned, wrapped one arm around his neck, hitched up her skirt with her free hand and, with a little hop, wrapped her legs around his waist.

  He figured it out then.

  Never one to pass up a good opportunity, Marc tucked a hand under her butt, the other around her back.

  He grinned at her, loving the weight of her in his arms.

  “Does this turn you off?” she asked him, face serious.

  Marc suppressed a groan. He really wasn’t in the mood to have another long discussion.

  He pressed her back against the elevator wall. “What do you think?” he growled as he brought his lips to hers.

  Their lips were millimeters apart when the elevator doors opened.

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Marc glared at the open doors.

  Liz smiled—she really was gorgeous—then pressed her lips together, suppressing the smile. Marc could still see it sparkling in her eyes.

  She unwrapped her legs from around his waist. Marc didn’t release her. She raised a brow in question.

  He was seriously considering pressing the button for the highest floor and starting a second elevator ride, but he didn’t want to be interrupted. He ran the hand cupping her ass around h
er hip and then up her side, cupping her rib cage so that his thumb rested just below her breast. She took a deep breath, shuddering a little.

  Marc’s cock jumped and he suppressed a growl. He wanted this woman with a ferocity that was frightening. She was so strong, so self-assured and confident, that the glimpses of vulnerability and submission he saw in her were all the more potent. He knew that when she finally submitted to him, it would be something rare and special, like winning against a strong opponent. Quick, easy victories were nice, but they didn’t mean as much as the ones you had to work for. He wanted to take her, master her, hurt her, and pleasure her.

  He backed away as the elevator dinged, stretching out one long arm to keep the doors from closing.

  “Tonight ends here,” he said.

  “Probably best.” Liz twitched her skirt down.

  “After you.” He held the doors so she could precede him.

  She didn’t wait, but started toward the valet stand. Marc took one extra-long step to catch up with her and put his hand on her back. She looked at him from beneath her lashes.

  “Why did you think I would be turned-off?” he asked in a low voice, keeping the conversation light.

  Her reply had to wait as they each handed their tickets to the valet. Marc paid for her car and, after a pause, she put the money she’d pulled out back in her purse. He liked that she hadn’t assumed he’d pay. The minute people knew he had money, they expected him to pick up the tab—especially women.

  “Because I was being aggressive. Is this about you being in charge or about you being a gentleman?” She gestured to the valet stand and to his hand, which still rested on her back.

  Marc knew this was a gray area. Liz was perfectly capable of walking by herself and paying for her own parking—he didn’t think she needed him for those things.

  “If it bothers you, I won’t do stuff like that.”

  “It doesn’t bother me—I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t a control thing.”

  “I always open doors and pick up the tab while on a date. My dad would say it’s good manners.”

  “I’m a secure enough feminist to say that I have no problem with that.” She smiled.

  They brought her car first. Liz looked at him as the valet climbed out and held the door open. “This didn’t go the way I expected.”

  “This isn’t what I’d expected either.” A part of him—his dick—was aggravated that they hadn’t gotten through the checklist and made plans to take this to the next level. “But I don’t regret it.”

  “You sure?” There was a hint of something in her face—vulnerability, maybe—that made him simultaneously want to hug her and paddle her ass.

  “I’m sure,” he cupped her neck, kissed the corner of her mouth. “This isn’t over. It’s just starting.”

  Marc watched her drive away, ignoring the stares of the valets. They brought his car around, but with a curt, “I’ll be back,” he went inside. Once in the elevator he leaned against the cool glass, the city at his back, and tried to will away his hard-on.

  Liz was…perfect. She was perfect.

  The hostess smiled when he walked into the restaurant. She crouched and pulled the portfolios from under her podium. “I thought you might be back for these.”

  “Thanks.” He examined her face for a reaction to what she’d found inside the book. Was her smile a little too bright?

  Leave it, he told himself. He no longer needed to search constantly for a woman who might share his tastes.

  He’d found Liz and finally had an opportunity to have the sexual relationship he’d been longing for. All he had to do was get her to submit.

  * * * *

  Liz poured herself a glass of wine then stood there, bottle in hand.

  Wow.

  Just…wow.

  The night hadn’t ended the way she’d anticipated, but she didn’t regret it. There was something delicious about drawing this out.

  If she was being completely honest with herself—which Liz always tried to be—she’d admit she was scared.

  The grin she’d been wearing ever since she got in her car disappeared at that thought. Liz stoppered and put away the wine, taking her glass to her favorite chair, which faced a large portrait window. She lived in the hills just east of Hollywood, and on clear nights like this she could see LA spread before her—an ocean of lights and movement crowned by the terraced downtown skyline.

  The fear she felt wasn’t the easy-to-understand fear she’d experienced when she started out on this BDSM journey. That fear was the fear of a woman about to do something dangerous—easily countered by taking appropriate safety measures like the BDSM 101 class.

  This fear was murkier. She wanted, desperately, to have the sex she’d been dreaming about with Marc. But she liked him, really liked him, and part of her wanted to ignore the sex and instead see if a friendship was possible. Taking a sip, she grimaced at herself. One date—a date to plan kinky sex no less—and she was thinking about a relationship.

  It was probably a sign that it had been too long since her last relationship ended. She wasn’t getting any younger, though she certainly wasn’t old, but she valued her few friends, and valued romantic relationships even more. Breaking up had been horrible, and the return to being single, and the accompanying social stigma of lacking a plus-one when at this point all her friends and associates were in relationships, had taken its toll on her self-confidence. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the end of the relationship hadn’t been her fault. Her friends didn’t know how to comfort her. Their first instinct was to call the guy a “jerk” and blame him for everything, but that didn’t work this time.

  She needed to get her expectations about the relationship with Marc in check, right now. This was about finally having the sex she’d been dreaming about. Just sex.

  The next day Liz went into the office to catch up on paperwork. She arrived home to find a package propped against her front door. There was no return address and no postage. She took a step back, thinking it was a mail bomb or something equally hideous. She had her phone in hand to call 9-1-1 when she noticed a red rose, tied with a red ribbon, hiding behind the package.

  Slipping her phone into her pocket, Liz instead took out her keys and opened the door. Setting down her purse and taking off her shoes, Liz did all the things she normally did when she first got home before retrieving the package and rose. She put the rose in a bud vase, smiling at the malformed bow.

  Considering the lack of postage, she wondered if Marc had delivered it himself. Looking at that bow, she was sure—no florist would have let that bow walk out the front door.

  When everything was in place and there were no distractions, she took the package over to her favorite chair.

  She ripped off the brown paper.

  Liz,

  We have unfinished business. I don’t want to wait to have you. Fill this out so we’ll know if we want the same things. When you’re done, text me and leave the folder outside.

  -M

  Liz let out the breath she’d been holding and carefully removed the note, which she saw with some amusement was written on stationery bearing their alma mater’s logo.

  She rested her hand on the cover, taking her time before opening it. She let her mind wander, wondering how he’d found her address. She hadn’t lived in this house long, having sold her first place after the breakup. She thought about what had happened at work last week, made a list of project goals to address next month.

  She thought she’d done a good job of distracting herself until she realized she was shifting side to side, rubbing her legs together to alleviate the ache in her sex.

  With an impatient sigh, she flipped open the portfolio.

  It was a simple checklist, with the activity in the first column and five possible responses—”Yes,” “Willing to Try,” “Neutral/What’s this?,” “Not sexy,” and “No”. There was also a space for comments.

  Marc had written “Answer all” in a bold scrawl
across the top of the first page.

  “Okay, Liz, do the first two pages, then stop.” she said aloud.

  Activity

  Abrasion

  Anal plugs

  Anal sex…

  Abrasion got “Neutral” while both anal options got “Yes.”

  Liz felt dirty—and she liked it. She scanned through the next two pages, answering “Yes” to more things than she expected, only because she trusted Marc to do them. More than that—she wanted Marc to do rough, dark things to her. If she were filling this out for a different man, her answers would be different too.

  Animal roles, arm and leg sleeves and boot worship were “No,” while ball gag, blindfolds, biting, breast bondage and bondage—light were “Yes.” She answered “Neutral/What’s this?” to breast fucking, “Willing to Try” to beating—soft, beating—hard, and bondage—hard.

  She had to stop there and catch her breath. She was so aroused her pussy was swollen and slippery-wet. She was surprised that she hadn’t answered “Not Sexy” to anything on the list. She’d seen one of these lists in the class and there had definitely been some gross things on there. She looked over her answers again and had to admit that, under the right circumstances, even the things she’d said “No” to might be “Yes” with Marc.

  That thought frightened her more than anything else.

  Forgetting her earlier plan, she finished the entire checklist.

  *

  Marc pressed his head into the headrest. His hands were clenched on the steering wheel to keep himself from jerking off while sitting in his car. He could just imagine the headlines—Former NFL star caught masturbating in the Hollywood Hills—Secret sex fetish exposed.

  It was bad enough that he was sitting in the car like a creep. After he’d dropped off the portfolio he’d gone home, only to wind up pacing back and forth, unable to focus on anything. The article he’d tried to write about high-school football recruits hadn’t gone anywhere.

  Full of restless energy, he’d left his condo. He’d driven aimlessly through the city, all the while knowing he was going to end up back at her door.

  He knew she had the portfolio and the flower he’d left her—they weren’t on her doorstep anymore. He hoped the flower hadn’t been too much. Flowers weren’t exactly necessary for what they were doing, but he’d wanted to get her a flower. He’d even added a bow.