by L. DuBois
“There’s no rule against it.”
“It’s an unspoken rule,” she added, even as she wondered why she was arguing this point.
Cain hummed and sat back. He didn’t really lounge—he was too heavily muscled to pull off languid. He just looked less ready to wreak havoc.
“Here’s something you may not know about me, Vic.” Cain took a sip and she watched his throat as he swallowed.
Heavily muscled as he was, he somehow wasn’t threatening. He also didn’t seem top-heavy in a way she associated with bouncers or bodyguards. No, he was perfectly proportioned. And those arms…those arms looked so strong that he might be able to pick her up.
Victoria was a size 12 on a good day, a 14 if she hadn’t gotten enough sleep, and 16 from Thanksgiving through New Year’s. Before she’d actually joined the BDSM community she’d assumed only short, skinny girls could do rope bondage. It wasn’t that she thought anything was wrong with her body—though she occasionally succumbed to a fad diet—but she also knew exactly how much she weighed. One of the reasons she loved rope bondage, and BDSM, was that it wasn’t only for skinny girls.
She hadn’t always understood that. In fact, self-acceptance had been a struggle for her, though she was good at projecting confidence. Before she’d , Palmas there had been some bad moments when she’d gotten with Doms who would “command” her to do things like only eat 1000 calories a day and send them her food journal, or do twenty sit ups every hour. All the suggestions had been couched in terms of them taking care of her by making her “take care of herself”. In reality they’d been fat shaming assholes who thought the fact that sexual submission was her kink meant that she gave a shit about their opinion of her outside of a scene. It had taken her a while to work out how fucked up those sorts of orders were, and kicking those men to the curb had relieved her of a lot of stress and shame.
Most of it, a small voice whispered.
“I like to break rules.”
Cain’s words yanked her back to the present, and out of the introspection the sight of all his muscles had driven her to.
She tapped the straw against the bottom of her glass. She liked to do that with a pen—tapping it on her legal pad—during court as a way to draw attention to, and highlight, a prolonged silence. Silence was a pivotal weapon in law, a place where words were everything.
She waited until a faint line appeared between his brows, before speaking.
“You’re admitting you won’t respect my limits?”
“Of course not,” Cain’s voice rumbled towards her.
She lifted her hand palm towards the ceiling in a “well then” gesture.
“I’ll respect your limits, not because it’s a rule, but because it’s my duty…” He paused and his expression turned thoughtful, almost to the point of being pensive. “Because it’s my privilege, as a top, to care for a submissive by respecting her, by understanding that the checklist is a form of communication as vital as the pre-scene negotiation.”
Victoria’s hand stopped moving and she stared at Cain.
“Surprised?” He grinned at her. “Me do big thinking,” he grunted and thunked his forehead with a fist.
She smiled, but his comments had surprised her with their depth. “A little. Though I don’t mean to offend.”
“I’m not offended. We don’t normally talk about our philosophy of BDSM, or why we need it, but I think, to play this game, it’s necessary.”
“I thought we had to play the game because we’d all become complacent,” Victoria said. She certainly didn’t feel like she’d become “complacent.” She had a very specific set of needs and desires that were fulfilled here at the club. Getting those particular needs filled by the same four or five tops, and in roughly the same way—some sort of suspension rope bondage—didn’t make her complacent.
“Complacent because we’re all in our safe zones.” Cain smiled wryly when she arched a brow. “Sure, the boring people outside the lifestyle might not think what we like is safe, but it’s different for everyone.”
“So you intend to make me feel unsafe?”
Cain leaned towards her, his gaze drifting from her face to the “v” of skin above the zipper of her hoodie and back up. “Yes.”
Coming from such a physically intimidating and commanding male, that should have been terrifying. But it wasn’t. Well, it was, but once again she found herself imagining being held by him, unable to escape. Unsafe…while also completely safe.
“Surprised?” he asked when she didn’t respond. “Or worried?”
“I’m not worried. I’m…trepidatious. Understandably.”
“Sure. Makes sense.”
“But I know you… we’re…” Victoria stalled, unsure how to finish that sentence. She refused to use the word “frenemies” aloud.
“We’re what, Vic?” He propped his elbows on the table, his chin on his hands in a young, feminine pose that was purposefully comical.
She snorted out a laugh and took a sip, using that to buy time to consider her next words.
“We’re…verbal sparring partners,” she said finally.
“Sparring partners.” He sat back as he looked at her. “I’ll take it, for now.”
“For now?”
“We’re about to be a different kind of partners.” He tapped the envelope laying on the table. “Time for your list.”
“Agreed.” She adjusted in her seat. “Let’s start negotiations. I reserve the right to change my mind about items on the list.”
“Nice try. If it’s on here, and starts with the letter L…” He wiggled his eyebrows at her.
“I haven’t looked at that list in years,” she protested.
“Ohh, in that case…” He pulled out her list. “Nothing changes.”
“You cannot expect—”
“Rules are rules.”
“You are the one who insisted you like to break rules.”
“Only when it suits me. Dom privilege.” He flipped pages. “L is for…my favorite. Leather.”
“That’s all it says? Leather.”
“Heading: Leather. Under that, restraints, clothing, bondage, and implements.”
Victoria’s mouth went dry as those words elicited some very strong mental images. But nothing he’d mentioned was part of her normal submission routine.
“Is that all?” The list didn’t sound promising as far as meeting her needs.
“All that’s on the L list? Or all the things we’ll be doing?” Cain countered.
“All the things we’ll be doing.”
“Worried I’m not going to follow your orders?” Cain’s gaze bore into her. “Worried I won’t tie you up exactly the way you like?”
“Excuse me?” Victoria’s back and shoulder muscles tightened.
“Come on, Vic. You’re here to get your rocks off swinging from a rope.”
Victoria’s teeth ground together. As much as she and Cain had exchanged the odd verbal barb, that one was out of line, and cut too close to the bone.
“If you cannot respect my normal form of—”
“You could hire a sex worker to tie you up, and it would be as intimate as those scenes you normally do.”
For a moment she saw red. Retorts, among them personal comments about Cain, and his type of topping, sprang to her lips, but a lifetime of practice made her hold her tongue. A good trial attorney never spoke without thinking through their words, or asked a question without knowing the answer.
“Don’t close down, Vic. Say it,” Cain rumbled.
“Say what?” She took a calm sip and sat back.
“I’m not going to let you do that. Not when you’re with me.”
“Do what, precisely?”
“Hide inside your own head.”
Victoria froze, his comment blindsiding her. She didn’t…
But she did. And Cain, of all people, saw it?
She liked suspension because it was just her, floating in a place of heightened awareness. She practiced med
itation, so she knew what peace and stillness felt like, and that wasn’t what she found when she was bound and dangling from ropes. It was something more—more real, more powerful. A bone-deep connection between body and mind, an awareness of every inch of her skin, including her breasts and sex.
She needed that time, that space. That meant a knowledgeable, trusted Dom to tie the ropes, to hoist her up. But, once she was suspended, it was a solo activity, a physical access point to a very personal and needed headspace.
With Cain she wouldn’t have that. Given that they would apparently be dealing with every conceivable thing made of or covered in leather, she was going to have a much more traditional D/s scene with Cain. Dark, slimy feelings, at least one of which was panic, tightened her stomach muscles.
“Excuse me.” She slid off the barstool.
“Vic, don’t run from me.”
“I’m not running, I need to use the restroom.”
That was a total lie. She was absolutely running from him, but not because of him.
She didn’t actually run, she walked calmly to the door of the library and out into the warm night. If her steps gained speed the closer she got to the Subs’ Garden, she certainly wasn’t moving fast enough for it to be called running.
Chapter 2
Cain watched the flogging scene taking place in the main courtyard outside the library. It had been about twenty minutes since Vic had disappeared, but he wasn’t worried. She wasn’t a runner, or a coward. She would be back.
He shouldn’t have said what he did, not only because it caused her to have that reaction, but because he was worried when she stopped to think about it she might ask herself why he had that comment ready to go. That, in turn, might lead her to suspect the truth.
Cain was smitten.
He attracted a certain kind of sub—usually petite, more on the bratty side, who wanted him to be stern with them, harsh—to a degree—and would whimper prettily while he spanked them, then cuddle against his chest during aftercare.
It had always been that way, and for a long time he’d had no problem with it.
But at forty-one, his tastes, and his needs, had changed. He didn’t want to top a woman whose submission gave them a persona of youth—the simpering, naive, bratty, “baby girl” sub. While that had been perfect for him for a long time, and maybe he’d swing back to it, this past year he’d been craving someone who would stand toe to toe with him. Who’d call him on his shit and put him on his ass—emotionally—when needed.
And of all the women in the club, the only one who’d ever come close to treating him like that was Vic.
And the Vic he knew wouldn’t cower in the Subs’ Garden for long.
Cain took a sip and hoped he wasn’t wrong.
Another ten minutes passed, during which his conviction began to erode. Several times he caught himself with his fingers wrapped around the wooden armrests of the mission-style outdoor chaise, about to rise. He would pause and force himself to sit back, to take a sip of his water, and wait.
People never expected him to be patient. He looked like the kind of man who broke down doors rather than ring the bell and chill.
But it was precisely because of how he looked that he was patient. He knew he was intimidating. If he’d been any taller—he was a respectable 5’11”—people would probably cross the street to avoid him at night.
He could have changed his appearance, somewhat—stopped going to the gym, let his hair get shaggy—but he wasn’t going to change just because other people might be put off. He didn’t give enough of a fuck, and his look fit who and what he was outside of here.
After catching himself as he once again braced to stand, ready to go after Vic, he reminded himself that if she was the kind of woman who would run and hide from a frank, honest discussion about BDSM, then he’d been seriously wrong about her.
And he’d wasted time obsessing over her.
He settled back in his chair, his mood continuing to slowly shift to brooding and disappointed.
It would have been more dramatic to say that he was about to throw in the towel and leave for the night when she finally made her appearance, but the truth was that he would have stayed for the rest of the night, even after he’d given up waiting for her, just to watch the scenes that were getting progressively more intense.
Luckily, it didn’t come to that.
Vic dropped two heavy floor pillows, one atop the other, beside his chair. They were dense and thick enough that stacked up they were the height of a low stool. She took a seat, knees bent, folded arms resting atop them.
Cain considered and dismissed several comments, opting for silence as his own mood shifted back to anticipatory and delighted.
“I don’t hide inside my head,” she said softly. She wasn’t looking at him, but watching the scene. “Suspension play is, can be, solitary, but it lets me access something that I, personally, can’t find or get to with yoga or meditation or anything like that.”
“And that’s all you want from BDSM?”
“There’s something wrong with that?” she countered in that cool, calm, lawyer voice that he found seriously sexy because it was just a little intimidating.
“When you submit, what is it that—” he started to ask.
Vic sighed and turned to him, though she focused on his nose rather than meeting his gaze. “I’m down to play the game, but I’m not interested in dismantling my psyche.”
“Just some slap and tickle?” Cain raised a brow.
“No, though yes, I realize it sounds like that.” She held up one hand and shook her head. “But what I mean is…” Her gaze met his, and she smiled as she shook her head, but the smile seemed perfunctory.
Cain hid his own frown, hearing what she hadn’t said. But what I mean is I don’t want to go deep, get emotional or introspective, with you.
After a period of silence she said, “I’m sorry I—”
“Ran away like a little bitch?” Cain hoped the statement had come out light, teasing.
The narrow-eyed glance she shot him confirmed that there had been a bit more bite in those words than he’d intended.
“I’m sorry I had to use the bathroom…and then stayed to work through my feelings about what you’d said. I needed time to process.”
“Next time I’d prefer you process with me. Can we agree to that?”
“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies,” Vic murmured.
“I can’t fault your honesty.”
“Honesty. That I can promise. Honesty is, for me, the most important part of BDSM.”
Internally, Cain winced. Externally, he nodded as he said, “Ready to negotiate?”
“I am.”
Cain rose from his chair, then held out a hand. When Vic put her fingers in his, he felt a little shock of connection, of chemistry.
Once she was on her feet he didn’t immediately release her hand. Instead he pressed his thumb into the center of her palm, then slid it over to briefly knead the base of her thumb.
Vic froze, then made a happy little sound at the brief hand massage.
Cain smiled.
“Don’t be smug,” she murmured.
“Oh but I’m very good at smug.”
“And very good with your hands…” She quirked one brow at him.
Cain’s smile widened into a grin. “Glad you think so.”
Cain stepped to the side, placing his hand on the small of her back to guide her towards the dining room. He wanted them on equal footing—well, chair heights—for negotiations, but rather than a cocktail table in the library, they’d review and negotiate at a proper table while having a late dinner.
A date. A dinner date during which they’d talk about all the ways he was planning to use and abuse her with leather.
Chapter 3
She didn’t have much in the way of leather clothing, but Victoria had done her best. She walked in to Las Palmas wearing a matte black leather skirt, leather booties, and a gold “metal” mesh
shirt over a leather bralette.
The bralette had been purchased today, while the skirt had come from the very back of the business side of her closest. The top, which hung in heavy, draped folds from thin spaghetti straps, was from a long-abandoned wardrobe of clubbing clothes.
Over the past week she’d spent far more time focusing on what she was going to wear this weekend than was necessary. Still, it had given her something to do—and when she turned off her billable hours software she’d go down the rabbit hole of online shopping. Outfit planning had also stopped her from obsessing over his comment that she “hid” in her own head, and distracted her from the uneasy feelings that cropped up every time she imagined herself engaging in a very traditional D/s scene.
She reminded herself, repeatedly, that nowhere in their negotiations had manners or verbal protocols been included. Their negotiations over dinner last weekend had left her cotton panties damp, and given her plenty of fodder for fantasies.
Leather clothing was an easy enough checklist item, and she’d fulfilled the first part of tonight’s negotiated scene by wearing her current ensemble.
The rest of tonight would be leather restraints and leather implements. Tomorrow night would again focus on leather, and, depending on how tonight went, tomorrow they would either finish out his supply of leather implements, or if she was sore, they could jump to one of the few non-leather items on the list.
That included odd items like “lectures for misbehavior.” Being lectured while in leather-based bondage sounded boring to her, but that was part of the challenge of this game. To explore items that they might not have otherwise tried.
Maybe she’d discover a heretofore hidden schoolgirl kink and enjoy being lectured.
Victoria snorted. Fat chance.
She stored her purse and bag in her locker, then walked straight out, leaving on her shoes since they had a nice thin heel. They weren’t exactly the stiletto pumps that subs sometimes wore, but they had a definite BDSM vibe with the laser cut leather upper and ankle strap.