by Lilia Moon
He opens my file folder and flips through—and glares at page three. “You green-lighted everything on the limits list.”
So much for trying to be open-minded. “I looked up what everything was, and I’m fine to learn about any of them. I understood that most of them will be introduced in the training classes, and I can update my preferences at that time.” I have no idea why I’m having to explain this. “How am I supposed to know what I might enjoy before I take a tour?”
He leans forward. “This isn’t like choosing a wedding venue. We don’t allow people to be tourists here. Even the training classes have hands-on components. Nobody gets to just sit and watch, especially someone who can’t see the appeal of anything we do.”
I’m screwing this up and I’m not even sure how. “Then how does someone get a chance to learn? To see if they might be interested?”
He raises an eyebrow. “You try things.” He hands the contract back to me. “I want you to identify three things on the list that you want to try. In a hands-on, real way.”
I stare at the list, trying not to shake. I remind myself this is just the negotiating part and I don’t have to sign, but that doesn’t help. I don’t like pressure, and he’s not letting me shift us away from it. “I don’t know.” I see some of my friends’ favorite kinks. “Maybe spanking, orgasm denial, and sensory play.”
He doubles down on dark and stern. “Why those?”
I shrug. “Emily and Scorpio and Gabby like them.”
“Fuck.” He crumples my contract like it’s tissue paper. “Lesson number one—it’s your job to have opinions. Based on your own feelings, not what somebody at the office likes. Otherwise this isn’t worth the paper it’s written on.” His eyes blaze hot. “Until you can do that, you’re dangerous in my world. You’ll fuck yourself up and probably take other people with you.”
He stands up, and I scramble to my feet. “Fine. Then I’ll go.”
He growls, and I freeze. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re a menace, and that needs to be fixed.”
I know better than to turn my back on a bear, but it’s a close thing. “I’m not broken, and I haven’t consented to you fixing me.”
He looks at me for a long time, and the bear finally quiets down. “You’re right. On both counts, and I’m sorry for suggesting otherwise. But I’m not wrong about you being dangerous, so I’m going to make you an offer.”
I keep my gaze up and my shoulders down. “I’m always willing to listen to reasonable offers.”
He growls again. “You’re too fucking agreeable.”
“You’re definitely not.”
I almost think I see his lips quirk, and then it’s gone. “My offer is one hour in the dungeon, just you and me. We’ll look through Ari’s collection of sexy pictures until you find something you’d like to try. I’ll give you a taste of whatever it is, then we’ll go back to the pictures and find something else. Clothes on, no sex, and you’ll have two very powerful words. Yellow for slow down and red for full stop.”
An hour with Fettered’s scariest Dom. I open my mouth to say no way in hell, and then I remember. Why I’m here. What it feels like to be on the outside looking in, to see my friends happy and not understand. He’s not asking me to bend over his knees naked. This is just like a wedding rehearsal. Or a consultation. All I really have to do is look at pictures. “What if I don’t find anything I want to try?”
He shrugs. “Then you’ll know.”
I can feel my nose wrinkling. “Know what?”
His eyes meet mine. “That you don’t belong here.”
Chapter Seven
Quint
I can see the war on her face. In her hands. In her shaky, stuttering breaths.
I let her fight it. Some parts of this walk nobody else can do for you. But I’m rooting for her. Standing here like an idiot trying to breathe life into the part of her that wants to take a walk on the wild side where Meghan Delany has choices and knows what to do with them.
“Okay.” Suddenly everything about her stills. A rabbit, frightened by her own bravery. “I’ll do it. One hour.”
I let her see the approval in my eyes. It won’t help her yet, but it will start laying the tracks. “Good. What are your safewords?” I don’t trust her to use them, but they’re the first lesson, always.
She swallows hard. “Yellow to slow things down. Red to stop.”
I step around her chair and stand in front of her, touching my fingers under her chin. “Red will stop everything for the rest of the day. It’s like a fire alarm. Don’t ring it just because you’re scared or nervous, but if you see fire or feel fire, know that you have the power to stop everything.”
She nods, but I know she has no idea what I mean. She doesn’t expect to see fire in my dungeon. She doesn’t plan to even let anything smolder.
I could make her go there, and it wouldn’t take nearly an hour, but doing it with a woman who isn’t sure she’s a sub and has no idea how and when to use her safewords is an act of peak Dom stupidity. “Yellow lets me know you’re scared or really uncomfortable. It will temporarily pause things while I figure out how we need to proceed.”
She frowns. “Don’t we figure that out together?”
I keep my fingers under her chin, apply a little pressure. “No, sweetheart. What happens in there isn’t a negotiation. The pictures are. We’re going to sit at a table to look at them. When we stand up from that table, negotiations are over and I’m in charge. The only power you have after that is two words. Yellow and red.”
She looks at me, and I realize just how good a poker face she has. “I understand.”
She does to a point. Right now, she doesn’t have any intentions of standing up from that table.
I put a hand on the small of her back, point her at the door, and hide a grin that’s probably a little more predatory than it should be. I have a secret weapon, and it’s got nothing to do with my own skills. Ari’s porn collection is lethal. There’s no way a newbie sub withstands that kind of temptation—especially when she doesn’t really want to. Because even though she doesn’t want me to see it, I know what brought Meghan through my door. She wants to feel. She wants to know who she is. She’s let other people define that for her for way too long.
I enjoy her warmth under my hand as we walk down the hall. She’s got too many clothes on, and my dumb ethics are going to let her keep them on, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the feel of her. She’s got some solid muscles, lithe ones, like a swimmer. And some curves that I sadly don’t get to feel up just yet. I’ll work some of that in while we’re in the dungeon. I need her shaken out of her comfort zone, and learning just how little her clothes really protect her will be one of the more fun tools in my arsenal.
I reach into a cupboard as we pass it and snag one of the velvet bags with Ari’s photos. There are some in the dungeon as well, but I need all eyes on my sub the second we go through that door.
Meghan catches a glimpse of some of the other things that live in the cupboard and her eyes widen.
I remind myself just how green she is.
She pauses outside the swinging door that leads into Fettered’s main playground, and I nudge her forward. Subtle Dom maneuvers, but effective ones. This happens on my timing, not hers. I stop just inside the door and gesture at a small table with a chair on either side. “Go take a seat in the chair on the right. Slide yourself to the front of the chair, feet flat on the floor, legs together, hands clasped behind your back, eyes down.”
She doesn’t move. At all.
I put Dom whip crack in my voice. “Now.”
Her jump is good for my ego, as are the two scurried steps she takes before she realizes she’s taken them. Then she freezes again, and I can see a flush traveling up the back of her neck.
I raise an eyebrow she can’t see.
She takes a step forward. And another. Sedate steps. Controlled ones. Pulling on the armor of professional woman as she does it. Walking because she wa
nts to, not because some bossy man told her what to do.
I grin as she takes a seat and does the best she can to follow my orders. She’s pissy and trying not to show it, but she still does everything I told her to do. Excellent. I like a sub with a good memory.
Chapter Eight
Meghan
I feel like I’ve just landed in the principal’s office. The very kinky principal. One who thinks he can tell me how to sit and where to look and order me around like a drill sergeant.
My romance novels want me to believe that’s swoon-worthy behavior, but I’m rapidly reevaluating my position on alpha males. Especially really bossy ones. I’ve done what he’s asked me to do, but I don’t need to like it.
His hand lands on my shoulder. Not hard. Just a squeeze. “Thank you. You’re beautiful when you’re trying something new.”
If he’d stopped at saying I was beautiful I would have kicked him in the knees, but instead he’s just offered me a really nice compliment. I can feel my temper trying to melt away. I like pleasing people, and I can hear that I’ve pleased him, but I’m very sure I don’t want to be sitting here without that temper protecting me.
He lets go of my shoulder and moves to the chair on the other side of the table. I can see his feet in my downcast view, but not much else.
He makes a small noise that sounds like approval. “You can look up now.”
His face is full-on Dom, but his eyes have a bit of the softness I saw earlier. The rest of my temper slides away and all I’m left with is nerves. “What happens next?”
He holds up a velvet bag and reaches inside for the contents, keeping them oriented so I can’t see anything. “I’m going to hand you one picture at a time. You’re going to tell me how you feel about it. Just feelings—all of them you can name.”
My nerves start a tap-dance as he peruses the top few photos, sliding them to the back of the pile. This isn’t random—he’s picking things he wants me to see.
He lifts one off the pile and holds it out to me.
I take it, keeping my eyes on his.
He nods. “You can look at it.”
It isn’t a large photo. Black and white, classy, a little old fashioned. There’s a woman sitting on a bed by herself in a white lace teddy, sliding one of the straps off her shoulders.
“How does it make you feel?” Quint’s voice is low and quiet.
“Lonely.” I wince as I blurt the first word in my head. I find ones that sound better. “Seductive. Curious. Expectant.”
“Go back to lonely. Tell me about that.”
I hate playing word association games. I say too much and he’s clearly going to hang on to every word like a bulldog. I keep my eyes resolutely on the photograph. “It was just my first impression. She’s sitting there alone.”
“Keep talking, sweetheart.”
I can hear the stern in his voice. “It’s her eyes.” Which is weird, because it’s a view from the back and I can’t even see her face. “She’s not looking around. She’s not waiting for someone. She’s just sitting there by herself, dreaming. Wishing for someone else’s fingers on the strap.”
That quiet approval sound again. His fingers reach for the photo, brushing against mine—and giving me a new photograph to hold.
This one isn’t classy or old fashioned. It’s two women, face to face, one in latex pants and stilettos, the other in miniscule bits of lace, her hands cuffed behind her back. I squirm and squeeze my legs together.
Quint chuckles. “No way, gorgeous. Talk.”
I flutter the photo around like some flustered debutante. “I don’t get it. I’m totally straight. Nothing about this should be appealing.”
His hand lands on the image, pushing it down onto the table. My eyes fly up to his.
He raises an eyebrow. “Let go of your assumptions for a minute. If you were going to be one of the women in the photo, which one would you be?” He lifts his hand up so I can see them again.
I know the answer, but I take my time. Study the woman in latex and the fierceness in her eyes. How sure she is with everything she’s doing, how focused she is on the other woman’s face. How the other woman, clad in nothing but bits of lace, is pliant. Pleasured. Lost in whatever’s happening between her legs.
I can feel my face heating up, and I yank my eyes away. “The one in lace.”
“Why?”
He’s asked it entirely neutrally—but it still feels like a loaded question. “She’s getting so much pleasure, but giving it too. Just by being herself. The other woman is having to do things.” I wince, but keep going. “To earn her pleasure. To work for it.”
“You do a lot of that in your life already.”
Every day. I look up at him, surprised he understands so easily. “Yes, I do.”
He smiles at me, and for a moment we’re not two people doing something crazy. We’re just two people.
He glances down at the image. “Would you be interested in trying that with a woman? We have several female Dommes and switches who would be happy to play with you. I can ask Ari if you’d like.”
I’m shaking my head before he finishes speaking. “No. Sorry—no insult to Ari or anyone lesbian or bi. But it’s not me.” It feels really important that he understand I’m not just ignorant. “I messed around some in college. I know I’m really new to your world, but I’m not entirely new to that one. I experimented enough to know I’m straight.”
He shrugs, face easy. “Okay.”
I’m not quite ready to let it go. “It’s cool that you check. Not everyone knows. They think they know, but sometimes they’re wrong.”
He smiles, and I can tell I’ve surprised him. “You have some interesting layers.”
That makes me glow inside, and I don’t want to think about why. “I don’t handle change very well, so I’ve been avoiding the club and getting to know all of you very well. I’ve probably made it easy for you to think I’m judgmental and small-minded.”
He shakes his head slowly. “Not anymore, so thanks for that.”
I feel really good, and I’m not sure why.
He touches the photo again. “So. We’ve found an image that holds some attraction for you. Would you like to go to the mat over there on the floor, kneel face to face with me, and have me finger you until you come?”
There are no words for the color my face goes. Or the weird, strangled squawk that comes out of my mouth.
He just watches me.
I scramble for words, or even enough brain cells to form them. “You said clothes on. No sex.”
He grins. “Oh, I can make you come with all your clothes on, although we’ll both have more fun if you strip down to your underwear. I don’t consider an orgasm for you to be sex, but you can set that as a limit for today if you’d like.”
I look at the woman again, her blissed-out face resting on her partner’s shoulder. “I don’t think I can start with this.”
“Interesting answer.”
I wait for him to push me. To shove on my resistance and flatten it, just like everyone else does.
Instead, he gently slides the photo out of my fingers. “We’ll come back to that. Take a look at this one.”
I do. And I can’t take my eyes away.
Chapter Nine
Quint
Well, shit. That’s not the hard refusal I was expecting. The one I was angling for so she could start to get some vague sense of what a real limit feels like.
I glance down at the image on the table, making sure I handed her the one I intended. It’s a woman bent over a bench, just done being caned. Her pussy is dripping wet, she has a beautiful set of stripes on her ass, and her Dom’s leaning in to kiss her.
Meghan sucks in a shallow breath. “That must hurt like hell.”
That’s closer to the reaction I was expecting, but it’s not the one the rest of her is having. “I’ve heard it does.”
Her eyes fly up. “You hit people with sticks?”
I have a t-shirt that says
exactly that. Ari gave it to me for Christmas. But now is not the time to tell her about my stick collection. I don’t cane newbies. “We call them canes. They’re one of the forms of impact play, and many subs consider them too painful.”
Her eyes are back on the picture. “She doesn’t.”
“Those stripes are something some Doms consider a form of art. A way of marking or claiming. They can last several days if they’re done right.”
She just keeps staring—but I know she heard me.
I reach out and lay my hand over hers, because she might not like me very much yet, but she needs to know I’m right fucking here. “What are you feeling right now, Meghan?”
“Disturbed. Aroused. Uncomfortable. I don’t think I should like this, but I kind of do.” She looks up, and I can see her total confusion.
“In this room, you don’t have to be disturbed about what you like, or what you’re curious about, or what you find interesting.” I stroke her fingers, giving the stirred-up energy in her body something to focus on. “Caning isn’t a beginner kink, but we can try some impact play today.”
She’s gone back to looking at the photo. “She consented to this—it’s obvious on her face. She wanted it.”
That can be faked easily enough, but I happen to know the two people in the photograph. “Yes.”
Meghan’s actively squirming now, and it’s testing me. I get up and walk over to the equipment cupboard as a way of keeping my hands off her. My toys aren’t here, but Damon always keeps a few crops on hand. I choose one that isn’t too bendy and has a big end flap and walk back over to the table, letting her see what’s in my hands.