by Eden Bradley
“Oh.”
He was quiet again. She didn’t know what to say. Finally he said, “I want to see you, Ava.”
“When?”
“Now.”
“Now?”
He was quiet once more. She didn’t understand.
“Ava, I always use a particular protocol, a method I adhere to. The first meeting, the questionnaire, a number of e-mails, telephone conversations, before I ever play a girl.”
“Yes?” Where was he going with this?
He paused once more, a long, silent span. Then, “But I want to see you. I don’t want to wait any longer.”
“Oh …” The breath went right out of her at the raw need in his voice. Was it possible he wanted her as much as she wanted him?
Desmond wanted her. Wanted her as he hadn’t wanted anything—or anyone—in a very long time. He pulled in a long breath, gripping the telephone in his damp palm. He leaned into the edge of his desk, ran his fingertips over the smooth, dark walnut.
What the hell was he doing with this girl? But he was going to do it. He could barely stand not to have her in front of him right now. Not to have her.
Restless, he stood, ran a hand through his hair, gazed out his office window, over the bay view, the setting sun glinting gold on the water, the last of the day’s sailboats skimming the darkening gray-blue swells. He drew in another breath, tried to draw in the sense of peace he usually found watching the water, the endless sky.
“You understand that I operate under the credo of safe, sane, and consensual. I’m sure you know Marina does. I’m sure she explained that to you, that everything must be negotiated. Must be by your consent.”
“Yes, of course.”
He could hear her breathless confusion. It only made him harder.
“Are you willing to see me? Now? Tonight? Before all of these formalities have been completed?”
“I am willing to do exactly as you wish.”
Such pure honesty; it hit him like a blow to the chest.
Christ, he had to pull himself together, do his job.
“Come to my house tonight, then. In Sausalito. I’ll e-mail you the address, directions.” He paused, ran a hand over his hair. “Are you certain about this, Ava? You must be absolutely certain. You must be clear about what you are getting yourself into.”
Yes, Mr. Responsible.
“I’m completely certain, I swear it. I understand … I understand the possibilities, at least. I understand that my experiences with you will be … different. But this is where I want to go. Need to go, I think. With you.”
“Promise me you will always be this honest with me, Ava,” he said fiercely.
What was going on with him? What was it about this girl? He had to find out. He was about to. He could hardly stand to wait even a few hours.
“I can promise you that, Desmond. Without any hesitation.”
He could hear her voice trembling as she said it, but he believed her.
“Be here at eight o’clock.”
“Eight, yes. I’ll be there.”
“Tonight, then, Ava.”
Hanging up the phone, he shoved both hands in his pockets and paced his office in the lower level of his hillside house. He ran his small software company from home; his office took up the entire basement floor and was outfitted with every necessary piece of equipment, as well as a few luxuries: the best computers, state-of-the-art video conferencing equipment. He didn’t spare any expense when it came to running his company. Luckily, he’d had enough success that he didn’t have to. He had an assistant, Lucy, who worked from her home in San Jose, and they met when they needed to. And his old friend Caleb sometimes took contract work from him when Desmond got overloaded. But he preferred to do most of the work himself, liked to be completely hands-on with the clients. His control issues, Lucy often told him, and she was right. But it served him well in business. And in other areas of his life. Lucy had no idea to what wicked uses he put those control issues.
He stopped and stared out the window once more, as he’d been doing all too often lately. Staring across the bay at the San Francisco skyline, wondering where in that bustling city she was, exactly.
Ava.
He must be losing his mind, telling her to come over tonight. This was not how he did things. And he never deviated from the procedure he’d established years ago.
Until now.
But she was an adult. One who had played these games before. She knew enough to understand what might happen between them, had given her consent.
In that breathless voice of hers, so purely female …
He was hard again. Or still, maybe. He couldn’t seem to calm down.
He pressed a hand to his aching cock. Soon enough. Soon enough he would have her in his home, in his hands. Under his command.
That was all he could think of. All he wanted from her. To command her. Bind her. Have her.
But was that really all there was to it?
Had to be. He didn’t take his relationships any further, and for good reason. And he’d just met the girl. It was some mad infatuation. Maybe tying her up, fucking her, would work it out of his system.
Ah, Christ, fucking her …
He groaned. His cock pulsed. In a few impatient strides he was in the bathroom off the office. He stood in front of the mirror, pulled his cock out, and began to pump into his fist right away. Glancing up, he found his own fevered gaze in the mirror.
A few more thrusts into his fisted hand and he was coming wildly, spurting all over the edge of the sink, for God’s sake. His heart was beating like a drum: that tight, that insistent.
Tonight.
Not soon enough.
Still trying to catch his breath, he grabbed a hand towel and cleaned up the mess he’d made. He just needed to see her, touch her, and everything would be fine.
Liar.
No, he’d be fine. Just fine. He’d grow bored with her soon enough. He always did. This girl would be no different.
So why, then, was everything different with her already?
He didn’t want to know the answer to that question. Couldn’t even consider it.
She was just a girl. Just another girl, like so many others.
Liar.
Whatever. If he had to lie to himself, he would. Whatever he had to do to be with her. Touch her. Fuck her. And then he would get over it. Done.
Liar.
God damn it.
Chapter Four
AT TWO MINUTES of eight that evening, Ava stood at the door to Desmond’s house. It was one of those three-story modern brown-shingled homes that were so common in the Sausalito hillsides, almost hidden beneath the dense canopy of oak trees. She could smell them, the damp green of the lush growth. So different from her city neighborhood, where the occasional spindly tree grew in a tiny plot on the sidewalk, where the air was filled with the scent of the ocean, the concrete sidewalks, the musty old buildings, and exhaust from the buses.
She pulled in one more long breath, faced the tall double front doors, painted red, like the gates to some important place. Imposing. Or maybe that was just her nerves, strung tight, making her neck ache. That old voice whispering in the back of her mind that there was something wrong with her for wanting this …
Stop!
She’d sworn to ignore those old tapes that ran in her head a long time ago, and it hadn’t been a problem in the last couple of years. Not since those first few years after she’d left Michael. Why was she thinking of these things now?
Something about how vulnerable Desmond made her feel.
But that was also part of the thrill. Why she felt she could go that much deeper with him.
Calm down.
She pulled at the hem of her pink leather dress, cleared her throat. Her body was already humming with expectation, her head already sinking into that lovely weightless place where her mind opened up, readying her for what was to come: subspace.
Her pulse beating a sharp rhythm in her veins
, she lifted the brass door knocker, let it fall. The hard thud had her heart pounding.
Calm.
Impossible, standing at Desmond’s front door. Waiting for him to open it. To lead her inside, into his lair.
To bind her.
She nearly groaned.
The door swung wide, a shaft of light spilling onto the doorstep, momentarily blinding her. She blinked, but all she could make out was his tall silhouette.
“Ava.” His low voice like a caress. Like velvet. Exactly as she knew his hands would feel on her skin. “Come in.”
His hand on her then, just touching her shoulder, slipping her coat off. But thrilling, even that simple, innocent touch.
When she looked up into his fiery green eyes, there was nothing innocent there. Oh, no, he was all dark, wicked pleasure. Anticipation. Heat.
He led her inside, and she had to consciously force her gaze off him, to take in her surroundings.
The place was spectacular, in a quietly stated way. Large, heavy pieces of modern brown leather furniture, totally masculine. Artwork on the walls, most of it Asian: wood carvings, masks, a woven wall hanging in muted, earthy shades, but all of it sparsely placed. Elegant, beautiful, the slightest bit exotic. Just as Desmond was himself, with his faint Scottish accent, his sharp features, and those piercing eyes that took in everything about her in a single glance.
“Sit down, Ava.”
He gestured to one of the sofas and she took a seat on the edge, twined her fingers together on her lap. She found it hard to look at him. She looked instead out the gloriously wide windows.
“Your view is incredible, Desmond.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the window, then quickly back at her.
“Yes, the view is beautiful from here; it’s why I bought the house. I love the open feeling. I love to look at the water. The boats, the gulls flying. I even love the view on a winter’s day, cloudy and gray, with the sea dark and violent with wind.”
His answer was so unexpected, she didn’t know how to respond. He stood and watched her, that calm, assessing gaze of his. His eyes were the most brilliant shade of green.
“Are you uncomfortable here with me, Ava?” he asked softly. Tenderly, almost.
“I’m … I’ll admit I’m a little scared of you.”
He laughed, a low rumble in his chest. “Perhaps you should be.”
She had to smile. “Your words aren’t exactly encouraging, Sir.”
“Aren’t they?” He stepped closer until he stood before her, seeming to tower over her. “Isn’t that what you’re here for, Ava? To give yourself over, despite your fears? Despite those things which hold you back?”
God, she could smell his scent. And he was so tall. So thoroughly dominant. The tension in her body was quickly turning to liquid desire. Warm, intoxicating.
“Yes. I suppose it is.”
“What else are you looking for?” he said, his voice soft. She couldn’t figure out his mood, what he was trying to learn about her that he didn’t already know from their previous conversations.
“I want … to become lost in the ritual of it. In the placement of the ropes. In the act of being bound. But I don’t want to feel as though I’m at a distance from it. I’m not sure I’m making sense.”
“You are. Go on.”
“I’m looking for release. But we all are, aren’t we? Bottoms? Sexual submissives?” She shook her head. “It’s more than that, though. That part is easy enough. I want … more. I want … perfection. And to be perfect, which are two different things.” She sighed, pushed her hair away from her face. “Maybe I don’t know exactly what I want.”
He eased onto the sofa next to her, and she swore she could feel the heat of his body only inches from her own.
“Tell me about the need for perfection.”
“Is it that unusual?”
“No. But I want to know what it means for you.”
She pulled in a breath. How much to tell him? But she wanted to tell him everything. She was coming to understand that maybe why this would all work with him in a way it never had with anyone else was because he made her feel so wide open. Made her want to be.
“I’ve always wanted to be perfect. I’ve always been told I had to be.”
“By whom?”
“My family. Mostly my mother. That message was always loud and clear. As clear as her disappointment in me. And I know that’s not healthy, to internalize that negative message. But in this scenario, in the lifestyle, I feel I’ve been able to channel that need in a more positive direction.”
Desmond nodded, and she felt some relief that he seemed to understand.
“There’s more, though, isn’t there?”
God, she really did not want to tell him about Michael, didn’t even want to have any reminder of him in the same room with Desmond. But she couldn’t keep it from him.
“I was … in a relationship when I was twenty. Michael was a few years older than I was. He was in the Coast Guard, very macho. Very commanding, which I responded to.”
“Yes, of course you did. What happened with him?”
“I told him what I wanted. To be tied up. To be under his control. But I didn’t know nearly enough. And neither did he, I realized later. I didn’t understand that the verbal humiliation wasn’t part of it. I know some people are into that, but in this case it was simply … abusive. He told me how depraved I was for wanting these things even as he tied me up, slapped my face. And I never wanted the pain play. But he had no boundaries, and I didn’t know then that I could.”
“I’m sorry, Ava.”
Desmond’s eyes were dark; she could see sympathy there, and a simmering rage. And she felt oddly protected.
“Well,” she went on, “it was the same message as the one from my mother: I wasn’t good enough, there was something wrong with me. And finally he was telling me how bored he was by it all. That I was boring. But even then I couldn’t figure it out. How could I be any more boring than all those girls who are into vanilla sex?” She was getting angry all over again. “I left him after a year. Not soon enough. Because I still struggle with these things.”
“But you did leave. That shows some strength, don’t you think?”
“Yes. Maybe. But do you think this need I have to please has been twisted in some way? Or maybe it always was.”
“It can be whatever you make of it. You don’t have to let other people’s judgment shape you or your desires. And your desires are very much the same as my own. To seek perfection in the ropes, within the power dynamic. And it is achievable. It’s entirely subjective. And I will tell you, I felt from the first moment that you could be perfect with me.”
“Desmond …” She glanced away, flushed, flustered. Glowing with pleasure.
“Ava … I must also tell you, as I said on the phone, I am interrupting my own protocol, having you here so soon. I need to be up front about that. But we’ve talked, and I feel certain we are looking for the same things. To use Shibari as a means to an end, an end we both crave. And I believe we are on the same page about how to get there, about what you need, about what I require. Do we have an understanding?”
“Yes, Desmond.”
He was quiet again. She wondered what was going on in his head when he went silent like this, watching her so carefully. Her heart beat wildly, a hard flutter in her chest. And her body was heating up, her breasts full and aching, simply imagining what was about to happen.
“Do you have any questions?”
“I …” There were a million things she wanted to know about him, personal details, but none of it mattered right now. And she loved that sense of mystery about a Dom the first few times she played with someone new. She trusted him. She wanted him. She didn’t need to know anything else just yet. “No, Desmond.”
“We’ll begin now, then,” he said, his voice that quiet command that went through her like a sensual pulse.
She nodded. He stood, took her hand to help her up. Oh, she
loved these small gentlemanly details. That and his lyrical accent, his rugged face, his large, beautiful hands …
But he was ushering her through the dimly lit house and she had to pay attention. Through a large dining room full of wide windows overlooking the darkly glimmering bay, an enormous modern table and leather-covered chairs the only furniture but beautiful in its simplicity, with a spray of tiny green orchids in a tall pewter vase in the center of the table. Then down a hallway, the walls of which were covered in small framed black-and-white photographs, architectural pieces, but she couldn’t concentrate enough to really look at them. They passed two open doors, and she glimpsed a bathroom and what appeared to be a guest room, but it was too dark for her to see inside. At the end of the hallway was an ominously closed door.
He paused just outside of it, turned to her. Again he stood silently. Then he raised a hand, lifted her chin, peered into her eyes.
So much intensity in his gaze. Too much, almost, and his fingertips warm on her chin. Her insides knotted up. She was more afraid than ever. And more anxious for him to touch her. To lay his ropes on her body. Desire was like a warm, undulating wave shimmering over her skin.
“Ava …” Was there a small tremor in his voice? It had to be her imagination. “This is your last chance to change your mind.”
She shook her head. “I am exactly where I want to be.”
He smiled, moved in, and brushed his lips over hers, just the lightest feather touch, but heat swarmed her system like water, rippled through her, settling between her thighs.
He opened the door and led her through.
An enormous bed with carved wooden posts soaring toward the high ceiling. More windows open to the incredible bay view, letting the night right in: the dark sky, the glittering stars, making her feel all the more vulnerable, even though she was certain no one could see inside. The room was dimly lit by amber glass sconces on the walls. Music played quietly, something soft, meditative. And against one wall was a large wooden frame, like the ones she’d seen at the fetish clubs. But this one was beautiful, carved, with benches and bars padded in brown leather and shining brass hooks placed all over it. Next to it stood a tall rack with coils of colored ropes hanging from it: white, black, red, blue. Her breath stuttered in her chest.