by Rynne Raines
“I couldn’t help but notice the shaky little checkmark you placed next to the words anal play. Has anyone ever fucked you here?”
She gripped the edge of the table as the word “No” blew past her lips.
“What about toys or fingers?”
She vigorously shook her head.
From her body language and how tight the ring of muscle gripped the tip of his finger, he didn’t doubt she was telling the truth. What bothered him wasn’t that she’d never done anal before. To him, that was a bonus. The pale and shaky line indicating that she wanted to explore that avenue concerned him.
In his experience, subs sometimes agreed to things they really didn’t want because they thought it would please their Dom. Given Fiona’s deep-seated need to please, he wanted to be sure that wasn’t the case here.
So, he swirled his thumb over her clit, keeping her balanced on the edge of an orgasm and asked, “Why was the checkmark so shaky, Fiona?”
“I—I don’t know,” she groaned.
“That’s a lie.” He frowned. “Tell me the truth.”
Head wavering from side to side, her delicate features strained even further as she battled to keep back her climax. “Because I…because… I was so aroused thinking about it, my hands were shaking.”
Well, I’ll be damned.
A smile tipped up the corners of his mouth. Oh, that was a good answer. One he could definitely work with. He threaded his fingers in her hair and kissed her soundly on the forehead.
When he retracted his hand from her skirt, the sigh of relief she let out had to be the most adorable sound he’d ever heard.
“Better go get dressed, love,” he suggested softly. “If I’m going to show you even half of everything you checked off on the list, we have a busy night ahead of us.”
****
Her heart was still hammering at an irregularly quick pace when Fiona shut herself away in the master bath with the new clothes and the small pouch of emergency cosmetics she kept in her organizer. She flung herself back against the door, sank her top teeth into her lower lip, and closed her eyes.
Blissful agony. That was the most accurate description she could think of to describe the way her body felt. She was half tempted to reach under her skirt, skim her fingers over her damp pussy, and finish what Harrison started but remembered what he’d said.
When I punish you for that sassy little mouth later, you’ll want to be on the edge of ecstasy.
A delightful shudder stole all the way down her legs and into her toes. How his promise of discipline could rival his promise of pleasure wasn’t something she fully understood, but as good as the thought of both made her feel, she refused to analyze it and stepped up to the sink.
“Oh my God.” She gaped, wide eyes scanning over her reflection in the mirror. “Do I really look like this?”
Cringing, she hurried to let down her frizzy hair, quickly fingered through the knots, and then unzipped her makeup bag and dumped the contents on the counter. She frowned at the single tube of mascara and lipstick.
“Better than nothing but not by much,” she muttered, and unscrewed the cap off the mascara.
After she finished with her lashes and lips, she still didn’t feel one hundred percent beautified. Although she had no idea what the patrons at a sex club looked like, she envisioned the females as dark and mysterious, scantily clad twenty-year-old beauties far more experienced than she was at pleasing a man with Harrison’s tastes.
“He wouldn’t be taking you if he didn’t want to,” she reminded herself. Her lips twitched and she wrinkled her nose. “Fuck. Maybe the clothes will help.”
She stripped off her blouse, bra, skirt, and panties then reached for Harrison’s exotic gift. Fortunately, the ringed belt of the skirt was adjustable and she was only forced to put it up four notches out of the eight offered in order to fit it on her hips.
“Small victories, Fee.” She gathered up the long stream of black fabric that was meant to be the top half of the outfit and stared at it. “Right. Well, this shouldn’t be difficult at all.”
Her first attempt led to the majority of the fabric being bunched up around her breasts and over her shoulder like some type of clumsily wrapped war-time bandage. The second effort didn’t lead to much better results. On her third try, she managed to get the wrap tied in the back but somehow secured an arm in with it.
“Damn it.”
A few long minutes of flailing, bucking, and cursing freed her, but she was no closer to success than when she’d picked up the damned thing. She braced her hands on the sink ledge and huffed a defeated breath. There was no way she was getting the top of this outfit on alone. Harrison had probably tied or at least untied garments like this one a dozen times. Fiona frowned and quickly stuffed that realization into the abyss within her mind where all the other things she didn’t want to think about got stuffed. She scrubbed the lipstick off her teeth, gave her hair one last fluff, and exited the bathroom.
She was half way through the master bedroom when the blaring of her cell phone forced her to circle back to the nightstand.
Mother calling…
“Damn.”
If she didn’t pick up, her mother would just call again. Then again. And, again. That’s how her mother worked. Estelle McBride would wear you down bit by bit and piece by piece, using her soft spoken but manipulative approach to bring you around to her way of thinking. After all, it was a mortal sin to disappoint the woman who gave you life.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” On the fourth ring, she swung a gaze over her shoulder to the door to make sure Harrison wasn’t coming, then broke down and answered. “Hello, Mother. How’s the weather in Augusta?”
“Oh, Fiona.” Estelle sighed her daughter’s name in the disapproving yet affectionate tone Fiona was used to hearing every time they spoke. “Where are you, dear? Your father and I have been worried sick.”
“I…I’m at a hotel. Safe and sound.” Even before the lie had made its way completely out of her mouth, guilt swelled in Fiona’s chest. “I’m sorry that you were worried. I didn’t notice any missed calls on my phone.”
“Well, you wouldn’t have because I didn’t call until just now. You know very well, it’s not a mother’s job to chase after her daughter for information. Mary Margaret calls her mother at least once a day to update Sylvia about her life. She also visits more than once a year.”
Oh, and more and more guilt.
“Mary Margaret’s convent is only four blocks from Sylvia’s house,” Fiona reminded, pinching the bridge of her nose. “There are two states between us.”
“Two small states,” Estelle huffed.
“Well, I’ll be there on Monday, and we can catch up then.”
“Of course you will, dear. Only a horrible daughter wouldn’t attend her parent’s fortieth wedding anniversary. What time should we send the car to collect you and Daniel from the airport?”
Brow creased, she lowered onto the edge of the bed. “Daniel won’t be coming with me, Mother.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. Of course he’ll carve out some time in his busy schedule. He’s your husband.”
“Ex-husband.”
“Fiona Elizabeth McBride, what did I teach you about saying things like that over the telephone?” Estelle harshly whispered. “You never know who’s listening. That’s exactly how atrocious rumors get started.”
“It’s not a rumor. We signed the papers on Friday. Don’t you remember me telling you about it?”
“Of course I remember you telling me about it, but I didn’t think you were serious. Oh please, Fiona. Please tell me you weren’t serious about all that.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, irritated that she felt the need to apologize. “I was serious, and the papers are signed.”
“Sweet mother of Mary,” Estelle breathed, and Fiona clearly envisioned the silver-haired woman falling back into a chair while clutching her rosary. “Daniel must be a wreck. How could you do this to him so close to election time? Your fat
her is going to have a heart attack when he finds out. You know very well he’s up for re-election next year.”
Daniel must be a wreck? How about me, Mother? Are you at all concerned about how the divorce has affected me?
Fiona pressed her fingers into her eyes and bit her tongue.
“It’s not too late. We can fix this before your father finds out. The papers obviously haven’t reached the processing offices yet or it’d have leaked to the papers. You’ll call Daniel and make things right. He’ll get the papers torn up and everything will be fine. Just fine.”
The depth of Estelle’s denial never failed to amaze Fiona.
“I’m not doing that, Mother. Daniel and I aren’t right for each other. We never were.” If I’d been smarter and stronger, I would’ve never married him in the first place.
“Nonsense. You’re perfect for each other. Daniel is an outstanding and respectable man.” More and more denial. “All marriages have ups and downs. Do you think it’s always been easy for me with your father?”
“I know it hasn’t been, but—”
“You’ve done great up until now. Maybe just try a little harder, dear.”
And there it was, the backhanded compliment her mother always managed to slip into their precious little chats. Given the topic of their conversation, it actually surprised Fiona it hadn’t come sooner.
“I have tried hard, Mother. For the last ten years, I did my best to be the person you and Dad wanted me to be, but I can’t do it anymore. Now, I’m sorry if that upsets you, but I need to start doing what’s best for me.”
There was a long stretch of silence before her mother’s long-suffering sigh poured over the line.
“You know, you were never a selfish child. You were always my good girl, Fiona. Up until that unspeakable day.”
The day her mother walked in on her and Johnny Ashwood in the barn, she mentally filled in. The disgust in her mother’s voice hit her like a tidal wave, bringing back the humiliation of being caught tied half-naked to the stable gate while getting fucked. The heartbreak of being sent away to finish her senior year at private school while being analyzed by shrink after shrink. The knowledge of being a bitter disappointment and a disgrace in the eyes of her parents.
“I really hope this nonsense doesn’t have something to do with that, Fiona.”
Fiona squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed back the emotion threatening to choke her.
“I’ve got to go now, Mother. I’ll see you soon.” If I don’t change my mind.
Before any more words could be spoken, she hung up. She gently tapped the phone against her forehead, even though what she really wanted was to hurl it across the room and watch it shatter into a million tiny pieces.
“No. I will not let this get to me,” she whispered in a firm voice. “Not tonight.”
This was her life. Selfish or not, she was going to live it her way from now on. She turned her phone off and zipped it away in her organizer on her way to the bedroom. The closer she got to the kitchen, the stronger the citrus tang of lemon-scented dish soap grew. Far better than the stench of charred chicken and burnt minute rice, Fiona decided, slowing up her footsteps as she reached the landing.
The soft trill of a saxophone resonated from the stereo in the living room and blended strangely well with the clang of the next dish Harrison set in the drying rack. Her lips quirked. He listens to jazz when he does the dishes?
Smothering a smile, she touched a hand to the wall and stole a sideways glance of him standing at the sink, shirt-sleeves rolled up to the elbows, hands and forearms submerged in sudsy water. He looked relaxed, comfortable. It wasn’t hard to envision him going through this simplistic ritual on a nightly basis—arrive home, prepare a meal, then wash the dishes with the rich notes from a sax and the raspy baritone of Louis Armstrong in the background.
Before Fiona could stop herself, she wondered what it would be like to share such ordinary routines with him. To dine with him. To clean with him. To collect groceries and pay bills with him. Maybe her draw to him wasn’t completely based on their common sexual tastes. The shared interest made for intense and exciting sex, but her attraction to him, whether she wanted to admit or not, was so much more than that. Dangerously more.
“I can feel you watching me.” Harrison placed what looked liked the last dish in the drying pan before pulling the plug in the sink.
“A man doing dishes is a rare sight for me,” she teased, and stepped around the corner. “I was taking a moment to drink it all in.”
After he shook the excess water from his hands, he reached for a towel and flicked a droll look over his shoulder that immediately transformed into something else. Something that made her heart skip and her lungs pause. When his heated gaze settled on her mid-section, she realized for the fourth time in two days, she was standing half-naked in his kitchen. Like all other times, her blood warmed under her skin.
“Come here,” he told her, and the distinctive command in his low tone made her legs weak.
Her bare feet fell silent on the cool ceramic tile as she crossed the kitchen. He studied her a moment and then he grasped the long length of fabric clutched at her breasts. He slowly drew the material through her loosened fingers. She shivered as the last shred of cloth whispered over her skin.
When he cupped her shoulders, gently eased her around, and began positioning the wrap as expertly as if he’d done it a thousand times, she softly laughed.
“I see you have some experience with this.”
“More so with taking them off, but I’ve tied a few in my day.”
Fiona was certain he had done plenty of both. Harrison was successful, handsome, and possessed incredible skills in the bedroom. Frankly, it would strike her as odd if he didn’t have at least a few women vying for his attention at any given time.
“I’ve never had a man dress me before.” As his hands smoothed along the fabric over her breasts, she trembled. “It’s fairly surreal. All of this is, actually.”
“How so?” he murmured.
“I just mean with all the things that have happened to bring us to this moment. The lawyer’s office. The downpour. My blouse. The coffee shop. You discovering the photograph. You being a Dominant.”
“You believe some cosmic alignment occurred?” The mildly amused skepticism in his voice made her laugh.
“I don’t, but it does strike me as uncanny,” she admitted. “On top of it all, agreeing to spend a weekend with a man I’m barely acquainted with wouldn’t exactly be in the realm of normal for me. I’m not an impulsive woman, you know. Maybe I was when I was younger, but not now.”
“I take it you don’t value spontaneity.”
“The last time I tried spontaneous, the consequence was my marriage to Daniel.”
“Point taken.” He secured the final knot just under her shoulder blades and then guided her back to face him. He lifted her hair and arranged it behind her shoulders. “Very pretty, love.
“Hmm.” Envisioning the mysterious twenty-something beauties her imagination concocted while she was in the bathroom, Fiona frowned. “You really think so?”
“I do.”
When she continued to self-consciously smooth out the skirt and fuss a little with the top, he grasped her wrists and squeezed. “Because, as you’ve pointed out, we haven’t shared each other’s company on an intimate basis for more than a few days, allow me to fill you in on a little something about me.” He met her gaze. “I don’t say things I don’t mean. When I say you look pretty, trust you do.”
At the profound sincerity in his voice, she knitted her brow and offered an awkward, apologetic smile. “That was rude of me. I should’ve responded with a thank-you. I think my nerves are getting the better of me.” That, and the conversation with her mother hadn’t helped for a liberal state of mind.
“These nerves… They wouldn’t have anything to do with the phone call you received, would they?”
She creased her brow and narrowed her eyes at
him.
“What?” He cocked his head. “Did you think you were the only one here with a knack for eavesdropping?”
“No,” she sighed. “I suppose not.”
He took her by the hand and led her around the island counter to the dining room where he lowered his weight into a chair and pulled her down onto his lap. “I’ve met your mother several times over the years, various occasions. A very complicated, critical, and discreetly pretentious woman, if I recall.”
“Your recollection is painfully accurate,” Fiona confirmed with a rueful smile.
“She’s a smart woman, calculated. The only time I can remember her running into trouble with the media was in your father’s first year elected to Senate when she let slip to Mayor Cranbrook’s wife that in her opinion, wearing a skirt above the knee was for Satan’s whores and Vegas transvestites.”
Appalled at the memory, Fiona winced and shook her head. “The backlash of that quote lasted until I was finished middle school. Mother wept about it almost as long, apologizing to my father night after night for the damage she caused. I remember coming home from school to find her in the bedroom, crying into her pillow. At the time, I didn’t understand what it all meant, just that my mother was upset and I hated that.”
“You love her dearly.”
“She wasn’t always like this,” Fiona softly replied. “She certainly had her opinions, but they weren’t always so driven by judgment. I think she blames society for how her daughter turned out. It devastated her when she realized I wasn’t going down the road she wanted for me. The path of the good book. I dreadfully disappointed her.”
“Did you know I grew up in Brooklyn?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“My father was an iron worker. He did all sorts of machining and welding. All his life he worked with his hands. He had gift for that kind of thing. He actually managed to save up enough money to open his own shop right around the time I turned thirteen. My brother and I spent a lot of time in that shop banging iron and learning the trades.”
“And did you have your father’s gift?”
“No.” He let out quiet laugh. “No, I really didn’t, but then neither did Marc. We both hated it. Regardless of our lacking skill set, it turned out to be quite a successful little business. Successful enough to get us out of the two bedroom apartment and into a little house my mother had her heart set on from the moment she stepped off the boat from Liverpool.”