To Sir

by Rachell Nichole

  She shifted slightly, and he froze. Had she heard him? A soft snore escaped. Apparently not. For the time being, at least, it would remain his little secret.

  He’d failed miserably at trying to keep her from worming her way into his heart. Whatever small defenses he’d still had in place had been sieged tonight. Now all he had to do was make her fall under his spell. Bind her to him in the next two weeks before she ran away, ripping out his heart and taking it with her in the process.

  * * * *

  In the morning, when he woke with her body snuggled tight against his and his arms cradling her protectively, possessively, Chase sighed. A man could get used to waking up like this. He savored the feel of her warm skin for a few minutes. She was still sound asleep. He thought about waking her, to check on her, but decided against it. It wasn’t fair to interrupt her rest to assure himself she was okay.

  Guilt still swirled in his gut for taking out his anger and frustration on her after she’d been so amazing to him. Somehow he’d make it up to her today. He slowly extricated his body from hers and slipped from the bed. With one last glance at his sleeping angel, he turned and padded into the bathroom. He took a quick shower, shaved his five-o’clock shadow, and dressed. A peek into the bedroom told him she was still asleep, so he grabbed his phone and went downstairs. He put on his earpiece and called Dusty while he whipped around his kitchen, setting out eggs, bacon, flour, bananas, sugar, and vanilla extract on the island beside his cooktop.

  “Hey, man,” Dusty’s tired voice grumbled in his ear.

  “Jeez, dude. D’you get any sleep?”

  “Mmm. Some,” he teased, his voice purring like a kitten.

  Chase shuddered. “Ugh, do not want to know.” There were a lot of things they could talk about, and their general sexual preferences and techniques in the abstract were one thing. But the details of D’s night with his Master, Adam, were not something Chase needed to know.

  Dusty chuckled. “Sorry, babe. You know I can’t stop myself sometimes.”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

  He grew quiet, whisking eggs in a bowl. Keeping his hands busy while his mind roved over the events of the past twenty-four hours helped him stay at least mostly sane.

  “How was the rest of your night?” Dusty asked.

  Chase had almost forgotten he was on the phone, letting himself get caught up in cooking and his morose thoughts. “It was…interesting, to say the least.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t really want to talk about it. We have to figure out what to do about the club.”

  “Bah. Relationship problems are a lot easier for me to fix. C’mon. Spill.”

  “You’re a real pain in the ass, do you know that?” Chase turned on the range to heat up the frying pans.

  “Of course I do. Now stop stalling.”

  “She kicked my ass.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.” He tossed the bacon in the largest pan, and it sizzled. He turned down the heat and began whipping the ingredients together to make pancakes. “I kind of lost it at the club last night. She… Jesus, D, it was unreal. I told you she kind of slips in and out of subspace like it’s a switch in her head?”

  “Yeah, the bitch.”

  Chase laughed, knowing his friend didn’t mean it. “Well, apparently she can click right into the Mistress persona we glimpsed that first day she was in the club. I thought she was a visiting Domme you were bringing in for a tour at first. And now I know why.”

  “What did she do?”

  “Ordered me to calm the fuck down and get in the car.”

  “And…?” Dusty asked, drawing out the word expectantly.

  “And I did it. I did everything she told me to for the next hour, including letting her tie me down to the bed and have her way with me.”

  “Holy shit. You switched.”

  “Yeah,” he said, awe coloring his voice. He still couldn’t quite believe it himself. He’d never in his life had the desire to let someone else have control over anything in his life. He stirred the batter slowly, mixing the flour, sugar, eggs, milk, and vanilla together. He dropped butter onto the skillet and turned the bacon, then cut up bananas into the batter.

  “You weren’t kidding before when you said you’d never bottomed to anyone, right?”

  “Nah, man. Never ever. Until last night. And all of a sudden, it was like it didn’t matter that everything around me was going completely to shit, like…” He didn’t know what else.

  “As long as she kept issuing orders and you only had to think about pleasing her, you could face whatever life threw at you?” Dusty supplied.

  “Exactly.”

  “That’s how I feel all the time. I know that together, Master and I can face anything. That he’ll be at my back or, hell, standing in front of me, protecting me from the blast.”

  Chase poured the batter onto the pan in small circles, then reduced the heat and flipped the sizzling bacon again, taking a few minutes of silence to process.

  “So, how’d you feel after?” Dusty asked.

  “Incredible. And in need of payback.”

  Dusty laughed. “So you didn’t let her keep the power very long?”

  “No, guess not,” he whispered. Guilt gnawed at him. He flipped pancakes and poured the eggs into the last pan.

  “What happened?”

  “I pushed. I pushed way too far.” The words ripped through him, tearing up his insides.

  “She safe-word out?”

  Chase slammed his fist down on the counter. “I don’t think she could. She was so far gone. She tried to tell me she couldn’t take much more. I insisted she could.”

  “What made you stop?”

  “She could barely talk. When she whispered my name and I saw her eyes roll back, I knew she hadn’t been exaggerating. I should have known. She’s never docilely whispered she was reaching her breaking point. When she tells me she’s getting there, she tells me, usually in a very nonsubmissive way, and we ease down.”

  “Damn. She was in deep. Did she pass out?”

  “Pretty much.” He’d panicked, seeing her like that, knowing he’d selfishly pushed her too far, hurting her. Her needs had to come first. Always.

  “Be prepared today for the subdrop. She’s liable to be overly emotional or have a mini breakdown. After a night like that, it’s not unexpected, actually,” Dusty warned.

  “I know. I got her awake enough to respond, but then she was out again. Sound asleep.”

  “You talk to her yet?”

  “No, she’s still in bed. I’m cooking breakfast.” He removed the pancakes and put more on the griddle, stirred the eggs and bacon. They were almost done. He popped the finished pancakes in an insulated bowl to keep hot. His hands were shaking. “Damn it. What if I hadn’t stopped?” he said, his voice breaking, fear and tears clawing mercilessly at the back of his throat.

  “You did stop. And you were right. I’m a big girl. I could take it.”

  He whipped around, dropping the spatula to the floor. Liz, wearing one of his gray T-shirts and nothing else, stood at the base of the stairs. He froze as she prowled across the kitchen. She plucked the earpiece from his ear. “Good-bye, Dusty,” she said and clicked it off.

  His heart stopped.

  She wound her arms around his neck, her long fingers playing with the back of his hair, and she yanked his head down to hers for a scorching kiss. He cupped her ass and lifted. She jumped into his arms, locking her ankles around his hips and kissing him until he was breathless, desperate for air. Finally, she lifted her head, panting.

  Her eyes were clear, and a naughty smile curved her lips. “I’m going to say this once and only once. So listen up.”

  He nodded.

  “Last night was…intense. Overwhelming, crazy, and a little out of control.”

  “I know I—”

  “Shut. The fuck. Up.”

  He closed his mouth.

  She cupped the side of his
face with one hand, running her thumb back and forth over his tingling lips. “You told me you were going to push and keep pushing until we reached a wall, and then you were going to push me right into it. And you have. Every day is something exciting and new and terrifying, and every time when I’ve called enough, you’ve let it stand, let me stop us when we’re butting up against that wall. Last night, you didn’t give in. You shoved me through that wall and were waiting to catch me on the other side. It was… Well, maybe it was a bit of a rough landing. But that’s okay. I’m okay. I’m sore as hell, actually, but it feels wonderful, okay?

  “I love that you pushed me so far past my breaking point that I shattered into a zillion pieces. And then you held me tight and helped me put myself back together again. I have never in my life had a high like that. And the fact that I want, even just a little bit, to do it again tonight is crazy. I know that. I fully acknowledge it. But it doesn’t mean the desire isn’t there. I said I didn’t think I could take it. I never said no or stop or anything like that. I got sort of unconscious for a minute last night, that’s all. It happens.” Her voice was gentle, and she caressed his face almost lovingly. Then her voice hardened, and she finished her speech with, “So get the fuck over yourself. And put me down. You’re burning breakfast.”

  He laughed and kissed her. She moaned into his mouth, arching her back, and then hissed, stiffening. He lifted his head and set her on her feet.

  “How sore?” he asked, reaching behind him to shut off the burners.

  She shrugged. “I’ll live. Finish breakfast. I’ll be back in a minute.” She turned and walked across the kitchen and back up the stairs, only the slightest hesitation in her step. He couldn’t help but grin. She didn’t hate him. In fact, he distinctly remembered in her rant that the L word had come up. His heart soared.

  He turned his attention back to the food, trying to salvage the meal. He flipped the half-cooked pancakes and turned that burner back on low. The bacon was crispy but not burned, and the eggs were still okay. He set the food out on plates and carried them to the table, then shut off the pancakes and tossed them in the insulated bowl. As he was pouring orange juice into two glasses, Liz walked back into the room, carrying his e-reader. She set it on the table and slid onto the bench seat. He sat across from her in one of the wooden chairs.

  “Oh, yum. I’m starved.” She grabbed her fork and dug in. He watched her eat for a minute before picking up his own silverware. “So do you tell Dusty everything?” she asked between bites.

  Shit. “Not everything, per se. But the big stuff, the important stuff. Or when I really screw something up and need his advice. He’s good at that.”

  “He’s your best friend. I get it. Really. I’m not upset; I just want to know how much I should blush when I see him next,” she said, shaking her head and turning pink.

  She kept eating, and he loved watching her mouth and throat move. Every damned thing she did seemed to make him hot under the collar. “So how much of that conversation did you hear?” At least he hadn’t been on speakerphone so she heard Dusty’s side of the convo as well.

  “Probably most of it. I came in right around the time you told Dusty I kicked your ass.”

  His stomach flipped. “Yup, that was pretty much all the important shit, at least.”

  “Would you have told me any of that if I hadn’t heard it?” She stared into his eyes from across the table, pinning him still with her gaze.

  “Yeah, probably.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “Okay, maybe not.”

  “You’re always needling me to fess up to you. That’s a two-way street, pal. No more freaking out about stuff without talking to me about it first, okay? You can’t keep leaving me in the dark.”

  He knew she was talking about more than his fucked-up head space from last night. She was referring to the club’s troubles, which he’d been keeping from her. “Yeah. Okay.”

  “Good.”

  They ate in comfortable silence for a few more minutes. She took a big gulp of juice and then pushed her empty plate away. “So, have you ever done that before? What we did last night?”

  “Let someone else top me?”

  She nodded.

  “Never.”

  “I figured as much. You were just so pissed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that kind of rage in anyone before. Except maybe staring back at me in the mirror.”

  “You’ve felt like that?”

  “All the time,” she whispered.

  How had he not noticed? She always seemed so with it.

  “This…being-submissive thing has helped. It gives me an outlet, a safe place to let go and feel whatever I want or need to. I’ve spent a good portion of my life hiding that kind of boiling inferno of fury. I figured if clicking into subspace helped me get a handle on that, maybe it would do the same for you.” She grinned. “Plus, it was sorta fun.”

  He finished his last bite and laughed. “Yeah, well, don’t get too used to it. I’m not sure I could switch like that on a regular basis. But I needed it last night. Clearly. And it was exhilarating to give up that control for once.”

  “Is that what it’s called? Switching?”

  “Yeah, when you can switch from being a Top to a bottom or the other way around. Some people are always Tops or bottoms until they meet a specific person, and then usually they only switch for that one person. For you and I to be able to switch like that is cool. In a really scary sort of way.”

  She smiled. “I know what you mean. Fun as it was, it’s not something I’d want to do too often. I’m always the one in control of everything else going on in my life. It’s nice to surrender that.”

  He reached across the table and took her hand in his. “I’m so glad you don’t hate me for last night.”

  She squeezed his hand. “You have to stop worrying about that. Really. A mopey Dom is not sexy. Besides, I have something I want to give you.” She pulled her hand away and grabbed the e-reader. She walked around the table, and he moved his chair back. Sitting on his lap, she turned on the screen. “Here,” she said, handing the e-reader to him. He glanced down.

  The Loving Sub

  By: Elizabeth Leigh

  “Forgive the working title. I’m still not quite happy with it, but we’ll figure out a better one at some point.”

  “This is it. Your book?” He looked up. She was biting her lip, uncertainty blanketing her face.

  She nodded. “Well, it’s the draft anyway. Turn the page,” she whispered.

  He looked back down and flicked his finger over the screen to go to the next page. His heart stopped, then started beating double time, blood rushing through his ears.

  Dedication:

  To Sir. For opening my eyes and showing me the freedom of submitting to your will.

  LIZ’S STOMACH CLENCHED, and she regretted eating. She was going to puke. He was staring at the screen, unmoving. It was a short dedication, so she knew he’d read it already, but still there was no reaction. His head was down, shielding his features from her gaze.

  “Say something, for crying out loud,” she yelled when she couldn’t take it any longer. She’d wanted to show him this morning that everything was okay between them. At last, he’d let her in last night, lowering his invisible barriers and letting her see the angry, vulnerable side of himself he’d been keeping from her. No doubt the worries over the club had been what he was hiding from her.

  Finally, he lifted his head. Those dark, penetrating eyes stared straight through her, leaving her naked, exposed. Tears and wonder shone in his gaze as it held her captive. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Her lungs burned for air. Then he was kissing her, and she couldn’t care less about breathing. His ravenous mouth devoured hers, caressing, licking, biting. He kept kissing her, fusing their mouths together again and again, as if he couldn’t get enough. As if he would never get enough of her. He leaned over, setting the e-reader on the counter behind him. Then he swiped his hand across the table, s
ending the dishes scattering in every direction. He lifted her off his lap and laid her down on the table.

  He pulled the shirt over her head and groaned. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. He looked down at her with wild eyes, seeming suspended in time for a moment. And then he snapped back into action, pulling at his clothes, shoving his jeans down his legs, leaving them pooled at his ankles. He bent over her, kissing his way up and down her chest, her neck, her navel, sliding his tongue over the sore flesh between her legs. She whimpered at the soothing caress.

  He brought her to a fever pitch of need in an instant with his crazed hands and mouth all over her body. She thrashed, and he grabbed the backs of her thighs, positioning her at the edge of the table. Her eyes were half-closed, her mind swimming in the waves of need.

  “Elizabeth. Look at me,” he commanded.

  Her eyes popped open.

  “I always, always play safe.”

  Her brain took a minute to process what he was saying. Was he really asking her if she always used protection? She swallowed. She’d never had a long enough relationship that she’d felt comfortable having sex without it. And she’d been taking the pill for years. It was the only thing she ever remembered to do, even when she was immersed in her books.

  She bit her lip. “I’ve never gone without protection.”

  “Contraception?”

  “On the pill.”

  His wolfish grin made her shiver. “Are you ready for this?”

  “God, yes,” she groaned.

  He didn’t wait for any more of an invitation. He slammed his way home, and it was only his iron grip on her thighs that kept her from sliding across the table with the force of his thrust. She cried out.

  “Oh, hell yeah,” he shouted.

  She’d never thought about condoms being restrictive, about them getting in the way. Now she knew what she’d been missing. His cock moved slowly in and out of her, the friction incredible, the feel of skin on skin like nothing she’d imagined.