by Opal Carew
Mmm. He tasted of chocolate decadence, coffee and a touch of mint. The flex of muscles in his arms ratcheted up her anxiousness. Not because she was afraid, but because she hadn’t realized—or wanted to admit—just how much stress she’d been carrying around until she’d started to let go of some of it.
He pulled harder, just enough to cause her to gasp at the bit of sting at her scalp. A moan edged up out of her throat at the delicious trail of dampness left behind as Burton nibbled his way down one side of her neck and up the other.
By the time he reached her opposite ear, Solie was damn near panting.
Teeth tugged on an earring and then he whispered. “Strip. Keep the panties on. Ten minutes.”
Once again he turned to leave, but not before he pulled a pair of shoji screens into position at the arched entranceway to give her some privacy.
She tossed her shoes off to the side. Must have had too much sugar given the way her fingers trembled as she undid the clasp at her neck that held up her dress.
A quiet tap on the screen.
“Sols, it’s me. Can I come in?”
Mac.
“Of course.” Solie turned, holding her dress up with one hand. “Whatcha up to? Doing a scene with Landon tonight?”
“Nope.” Mac dropped Solie’s personal play bag next to the blue cushy chair.
“First you appear to magically mediate negotiations and now you have my play bag? Woman, when the hell did you manage to get your hands on that?” Solie demanded. She knew exactly what was in that bag, and right now she wasn’t sure how she felt about it.
Mac grinned and attempted to look innocent. She failed miserably.
“I stopped by your house on my way over here to drop off a casserole. This was sitting in the hallway all lonesome and such.” She motioned to the royal blue and black designer bag on the floor while she dropped her ass into the chair. “Oh, I checked your back door, which you’d left unlocked by the way. And I fed your horse-sized dog, too.”
Solie snorted and rolled her eyes. “And I did not leave my door unlocked, and my German shepherd is supposed to be horse sized. The better to bite your backside with.”
“Need help with that dress?”
“Nah.” Solie paused. “You look awful comfy. You staying?”
“Yep. I’m your protector tonight, so I made sure to bring all the goodies.”
Dress forgotten, it fell of completely and hit the floor as Solie braced her hands on her hips. Temper flared as she glared at her best friend. Understanding dawned in her mind —she’d been blessed…or something, with the two most caring, nosey ass people in the universe.
“And who the hell decided you were going to look after me while doing a scene? In fact, who said I was playing tonight at all?” Solie snapped.
“You did.”
“Excuse me?”
Mac was up out of that chair and in Solie’s face, standing toe to toe…or boots to toe. Whatever.
“You heard me, woman. You chose me as your protector the moment you said yes to Burton Khrys this morning!”
Solie’s grumble became a growl. “He told you about that? What are you two, a couple of teenaged girls who talk on the phone at all hours of the night?”
“If being a teenaged girl means Burton cared enough to call me this morning to ask me to be here in case you needed me, then fuck yes, I’m a teenaged girl,” MacKenzie snapped right back.
Really?
“Mac, you’re a fucking mother hen, is what. Isn’t it enough that you feed me several times a week, damn it?”
“You’re my best friend, Solie Shaw. And I love you to pieces. And so what if I feed you several times a week? You’re always working and it’s what you need, damn it. Now move your ass. You’re down to six minutes.”
Aw hell. And she hadn’t chosen a single thing out of Burton’s stuffed-to-the-hilt bag.
Solie stepped out of the red and black fabric puddle. Mac swiped it up, walked her sexy ass back to the oversized chair and started pulling stuff out of Solie’s personal bag. “I’ve got your fluffy blanket here for after, as well as some chocolate and plenty of water for you. So take care of your task. I’ve got the rest of this. Oh, and take off the jewelry, just in case.”
Handing over her watch, earrings and necklace, Solie hustled over to Burt’s bag and grabbed five things she was familiar with. The rest, she just guessed at their purpose and quickly laid them out on the table in the order she’d been instructed to.
“Nervous?” Mac asked. “Okay, never mind. I know that ‘duh’ look when I see it, Solie. We knew you’d be a bit nervous after your recent not-so-great experience and that’s why Burt asked me to be here. Just to be reassurance for you. You know, a second set of eyes and ears.”
“I appreciate it, Mac. I do. This is all just so intense and so very…I don’t know.” She sucked in a deep breath and tried to relax. It wasn’t working so she did the next best thing—she changed the subject. “What I’d love is to watch you and Landon. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you two play.”
Marcais hadn’t ever wanted to come to the club on the same nights as her friends. She’d never noticed just how much he’d separated her from the people who cared about her. Controlled where she went and with whom. And so smoothly, Solie hadn’t noticed until Mac mentioned it some months back.
But Solie had started paying very close attention and had been shocked at the corner she’d allowed herself to be manipulated into.
Then she’d gotten out. Fast.
Just not quite fast enough, damn it.
Some of the deepest wounds a person could inflict on another were the kind that were unseen—like words that cut to the bone. Solie only hoped she was strong enough, healed enough to choose to accept this chance to have who and what she really wanted.
Mac was her favorite kinky bitch on heels, and occasionally submitted to her husband in the sack. Yet as much as she admired her good friend, Solie didn’t want what Mac had. She didn’t want to Top her man. She didn’t want to be in charge in the bedroom. Actually, she didn’t want to be in charge at home, period. Running her office and all her consultants was enough, thank you verra much.
And speaking of “in charge”, where the hell was Burton?
“Good grief, woman, will you stop pacing? Your boobs are very distracting bouncing around like that.”
Solie rounded on her friend, but the expression on Mac’s face brought her up short. The woman was sprawled, one leg over the arm of the big chair, with a huge teasing grin on her face. Busted. Solie was indeed pacing. Definitely not the norm for her, but it seemed her feet were trying to catch up with the fucking pterodactyls flipping around in her gut.
And why was she so nervous? This wasn’t her first rodeo, after all. And she was going to be playing with a man she’d known for years and years. So…what was she so concerned about?
Perhaps she really was messed up in the head?
“No you’re not,” Burton said from the doorway.
Shit. Had she said that out loud?
“Yes, Solie. You said that out loud. Mac, give us a minute. I’ll call you in when we’re ready to get started.”
Without a word, Mac nodded at Burton, winked at Solie and showed herself out.
Burton came fully into the room and for some reason, Solie couldn’t meet his gaze. A part of her felt…diminished. Not quite herself. Unsure. Unsettled.
Unworthy.
Burton sat in the chair while she stood off to the side. Here she was, damn near naked, in a pair of red and black polka dot panties that showcased her body to perfection. Yet in her head, she stood at a wall with her face practically wedged in a corner.
“Come here, Solie.”
Her brain said, “no wanna” but she forced her feet to move anyway. When she was just a few inches away, he motioned to his lap and simply said, “Sit.”
She sat stiffly on one of his knees, her gaze focused on the table full of toys that she wasn’t sure she could enjoy toni
ght. God, but she wanted to. She really did.
Arms wrapped around her, he pulled her back against his chest and nuzzled the top of her head as he spoke.
“This isn’t about sex, Sols. It’s about you. Understand?”
She nodded.
He smacked her lightly on her ass. “Words, Solie.”
“Fine. Bossy ass…”
He smacked her again.
She yelped, “Yes. I understand.”
“Good. Give me your wrist.”
Without lifting her head, she held up one hand. Her thoughts scattered at what felt like a stiff leather cuff being tightened and secured. She shuddered.
She tried to remind herself why she was here, why she’d agreed to be his, to be with Burton.
I want this. I want him…
But you’re not good enough. Even a sociopath didn’t want you.
“Look at your wrists. Look at how the leather seems to fit just right.” Words, quietly spoken. The breath warm against her forehead.
She glanced up and stilled.
They did fit just right…because they were hers. Mac must have slipped them to Burt when she wasn’t looking. Boy, when those two conspired, they really went all out.
“I’ve seen you wear these on plenty of occasions. Watched from a distance as the white leather caressed that beautiful cinnamon skin. I always liked how the brown piping and trim matched your skin perfectly. The buckles used to catch the light whenever your arms were suspended. Beautiful.”
But seeing the leather buckled in place again, surrounding her wrists made her feel…ill. Her brain tilted sideways at the memories that washed through her head, so fast if it had been a flood of water, she’d have drowned.
Thoughts of Marcais putting these same cuffs on her, telling her he loved her, calling her the perfect submissive…and then treating her as less than the dirt on the bottom of his combat boots. Not with the bondage, or the flogging or the spanking. But with his cheating, lying and subversion. The fucker.
“Now,” Burton said, “I want you to take the cuffs off, and throw them in the trash over there.” He pointed to a little wastebasket near the entrance to the space that she hadn’t noticed before.
“Throw them away? But…why?”
“Do it. I’ll tell you after.”
A mix of anger and sadness had her biting back some choice expletives, not to mention a few tears.
When she was done, she turned to find Burton next to the table, waiting.
She didn’t have to be told to go to him. She was far from stupid…well, on most days.
Standing in front of him, Solie pictured a corner and the wall again. Why? Because she knew the man saw more than she wanted him to.
He held out a hand. She wanted to hide rather than put hers in it, but from somewhere inside she made that arm stretch out to her new man, and stay there.
Without a word, Burton put new cuffs around her wrists and tightened them just to the point of discomfort. The leather was unmarred. No tension marks or “broken in” areas. They were flawless, and surprisingly, matched the outfit she’d been wearing—red leather with black trim and bronze buckles.
He passed some red rope through the D-rings until her hands were loosely bound, and then led her over to one of the hooks secured to the wall. Burton pointed to one of the hooks that reminded her of something she’d hang a set of keys or a picture on—easy on, easy off.
“Loop the rope over the hook and face me.”
Wait, what? He wasn’t going to tie or secure her to anything? Didn’t he think she could handle it, goddamn it?
“I had you throw away the other cuffs because they represented your old relationship, that guy’s claim on your heart. His influence on your thoughts, feelings and emotions. I asked you to toss them, Sols, but bottom line is that you had to choose to do it. Just like you have to choose to accept these new cuffs from me. It’s not a collar, but you will wear them when we’re together.”
Hmmm. Not quite what she had in mind, but Solie didn’t say anything. Just glared at him, hating the memories the cuffs had dredged up, and waited to see where this would go.
“Tell me how you felt when I put the old cuffs on you.”
No. Couldn’t form the words. Couldn’t get them past the lump in her throat. Tears she’d effortlessly kept in check came spilling down her cheeks.
Burton didn’t comfort her. Simply stood and waited for her to get herself under control. It was the greatest gift he could have given her. It meant that he believed she was strong enough to get her shit together enough to have a conversation about this very painful subject.
After a few moments, she cleared her throat.
“May I have some tissue, please?”
Burton fished around in her play bag and brought her tissue. Solie unhooked herself from the wall and reached for it.
“Did I give you permission to release the rope from the hook?”
Shit. Just that quickly she’d forgotten that in this space and anytime they were together in private, he was boss. Hell, she even had it in writing as part of their earlier negotiations.
Solie put her hands back over her head, hooked the rope on the little hook on the wall.
Burton gently cleaned up her face and even held the tissue to her nose.
“Blow.”
No way. That was just nasty. This morning when she’d let the waterworks loose, she’d taken care of her own snot rockets, thank you very much.
Burton cocked his head sideways. “Blow,” he repeated.
She shook her head.
“Yes, Solie.”
Frowned and turned her head away with a simple, “Nu-uh.”
“Alright.” The man was completely calm, neither face nor words held any trace of anger. But when he calmly said, “Put your clothes on. We’re done here,” panic, sheer unmistakable panic filled her chest. The word, “No!” came out in a rush as her heart pounded up into her throat.
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, I’ll let you clean my nose. I don’t want to go home. Not yet. Please.”
“Solie, you know me, right?”
“Yes.”
“And what would my typical response be?”
His gaze lasered to hers. His expression was unwavering, with body language to match. He was not happy with her just now. But he was being incredibly patient as well.
“Your typical response would be, too bad. We’d be leaving. Right now.”
“I will say this and I will only say it once. I am not a D.I.N.O.”
“I know, Burt, I just…”
“Do not interrupt.”
Fingers wrapped around the rope between the cuffs and she held on for dear life, thankful for the knots on the ends. Her gut screamed that this moment would make or break what she wanted with this man.
“I am your friend, Solie. Will always be. But when I tell you to do something and your response is ‘No’, there is no negotiation at that point. If we’re in the middle of a scene, the scene is done. To me, refusing an order is the same as screaming a safe word. Understand?”
“Yes. I understand.”
Without taking his eyes off of her, he called out and Mac ducked back into the room. From her periphery, she saw Mac tilt her head as she looked back and forth between herself and Burton, but Solie didn’t dare take her eyes off of his.
Thankfully, the other woman sat without a word and Burton continued as if there’d been no interruption at all.
And this time when he put the tissue to her nose, no matter how much it made her feel like she was five years old, she blew.
“Why didn’t you want to blow your nose, Solie?”
“You’re going to get mad at me.”
No response. Just…quiet. God, she’d give her left kidney for a little bit of white noise just now. Finally, she sucked in a deep breath and forced the words out.
“Because Marcais would yell at me when I cried. Made me feel like shit. Even if he was the reason for the tears, he would sc
ream ‘Stop fucking crying’ like I’d physically harmed him or like I was crying for the hell of it or something.”
The silent tears of a few moments ago became a gut-wrenching bawl. And Burton wiped her nose again. And she kept her hands exactly where they were supposed to be though it took all her effort not to snatch that box of tissue from his hands and run for it.
“Solie, you don’t have to be strong all the fucking time,” he growled. “I’m your port of harbor, your safe place to let it all out, like I have been for all the years you’ve known me. Turn around and face the wall.”
The moment she did, his hands were on the bare skin of her back. The touch quieted, but not quite comforted. Eased up and down along either side of her spine, careful not to touch her tickle spots. Fingers pressed deeply into tense muscle at her neck and shoulders, warming them.
When her skin felt warm and her muscle loose and languid, the first light strike fell. Solie gasped. She could tell by the weight and impact of it, that it was a warm up flogger. The wash of pleasure was twofold—one, it just fucking felt good and two, it was only going to get better as he took her on tonight’s journey.
Her mind took a quick trip down memory lane of what she’d put on that table. The three floggers ranged from very light leather to heavy strips of rubber. Of the two crops, one was your typical stiff one with a thin shaft covered with leather. The other had an ornate end of thick, pink, heart shaped plastic with little studs on it. It reminded her of the back of the mats people put on the floor of their cars.
The impact was thuddy rather than stingy, followed by a gentle caress of his free hand on her skin, along the same path of the blows.
The dam she’d erected to protect her heart after the Marcais disaster began to strain under the pressure of the waves of desire for Burton that rolled up against it.
A desire stoked and fostered by Burton’s knowing hand and the energy he brought to the table. Tonight, she was going to take it slow. Tonight, she was going to ease her way back into this part of her life. Right?
“Control your breathing, Solie.”