A knock sounded at her door. Probably Ivy, dropping by to blab about her latest boy-toy. Gen checked the peephole. The very last thing she expected to see was Chris standing on her front porch toting two armfuls of shopping bags. Glancing back at her messy living room, she sighed. Why couldn’t unexpected guests show up on days she actually cleaned?
“Just a minute!” In a flurry, she dashed around her apartment, tossing clothes and junk into her bedroom. She also cleared the coffee table of empty soda cans and stacked her horror magazines in a neat pile. She glanced around to see if she’d missed anything. The place wasn’t perfect, but it would do.
Breathlessly, she opened the door. “Hi, Chris.”
He smiled brightly. “Good afternoon, Ms. Hawthorn. May I come in?”
“Of course. And it’s Gen. Ms. Hawthorn makes me feel like a middle-aged divorcee.”
Chris laughed as she held the door open and stepped inside.
“So… What brings you here?”
“I’m sorry to drop by unannounced. Is there someplace we could sit?”
She shut the door behind him, curious about the packages he carried. “Sure.” She gestured toward the couch. “Excuse the mess.”
“It doesn’t look messy. It looks lived in. You have a lovely little place.” He lined up the bags on the floor beside the sofa then glanced over the art she had covering nearly every inch of wall space.
People looking at her stuff always made her nervous. Of course he didn’t know it was her work mixed in with the old horror movie posters. She wasn’t going to volunteer that bit of info unless he asked for it. “Oh thank you. Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea? Water?”
“Tea would be wonderful, thank you,” he replied, taking a seat. “The art, is it digital?”
“All except for the large one in the middle. That one’s an oil.”
“Such an exquisite blend of creepy and elegant. Are these by local artists?”
That was such an awesome compliment. “You could say that.” She wandered into the kitchen, filled the kettle and put it on the stove. She inspected the cupboard, frowning at the one lonely box of tea on the shelf. “I hope you’re okay with Earl Grey.”
“That would be perfect. And I don’t mean to pry, but this wouldn’t happen to be your work, would it?”
Of course he didn’t mean to pry. They never did. “Most of it, yes.”
“You’re quite talented.”
“Oh, it’s just a hobby really.” She could talk endlessly about other people’s art. When it came to her work, she never knew what to say. The dark themes she was attracted to were hard to explain, especially in an area where beach scenes and sunsets were so popular.
She grabbed a mug from the shelf and inspected it to make sure it was clean. “How do you take your tea?”
“Two sugars, please. No milk.”
She prepared the tea quickly then carried it into the living area with an apologetic grin. The cup she handed him had I Heart Zombies emblazoned across it in black and red letters. At least it wasn’t chipped. “It’s not tea with the queen, but it’s the best I’ve got.”
“I don’t need special porcelain to enjoy a cup of tea with a friend.”
“Are we friends?”
He smiled. “I’d like for us to be. I have a good feeling I’ll be seeing a lot of you and I think it would be nice for us to get acquainted.”
“Is that why you stopped by today?”
“Actually, no.” He sipped his tea before he turned to her. “I’ve brought you some gifts from Brian.”
Brian sent him over with gifts? “So he’s not Master Brian anymore?”
“He is when he feels like indulging me. I like to play formal butler from time to time when we have guests. Makes me feel important. It’s such a better title than house manager, don’t you think?”
She laughed. She was right to decide to like him. “You mentioned gifts?”
“Ah, yes. I think you’re going to enjoy these.” He reached over, picked up a violet bag and handed it to her. The inscription on the outside read Journelle.
He’d bought her lingerie. Insanely expensive lingerie. Delving inside, she pulled out a delicately wrapped package tied with satin ribbon. “How? The closest store—”
“Is in Miami, yes, I know. It made for a wonderful day trip yesterday.” He grinned, giddy as a schoolboy. “Go on, open it.”
She took her time untying the ribbon. “He sent you all the way to Miami to shop?” Unbelievable.
“I went with him. He wanted to select the pieces himself. I hope we got the sizes right. I’m usually a very good judge of that. If not, we can exchange them.”
She flushed, remembering that Chris had had a pretty good view of what size her breasts were. Brian went to the other coast to shop for her? She rejected that idea immediately. He did this for himself, pretentious pervert that he was. Damn if she’d look a gift horse in the mouth. He did say he would replace her dessert-smeared lingerie, not that she couldn’t wash chocolate out of a black bra. Her stockings, on the other hand, hadn’t fared as well.
The first box revealed a bra-and-panty set in pearl-gray lace trimmed in tiny crimson bows. She rubbed the delicate material between her fingers. She’d never owned anything so luxurious. She’d drooled over lingerie like this many times when she indulged her guilty pleasure of browsing online, but could never afford the hefty prices.
“It’s stunning, Chris.” She checked the labels and smiled. They were her size.
“Small on the bottom and 32B up top, right?” Chris asked expectantly.
“Yes.”
“Oh good!” He clapped, his excitement enough to make her giggle.
She put the opened package aside. “Can I ask you something?” Chris wouldn’t likely spill his employer’s secrets, but it was worth a shot.
“Sure.”
“Why didn’t he deliver these in person?” The answer was plain to Gen. Brian was limiting his involvement, keeping his distance as per their agreement. Even knowing that, she was still curious as to what Chris would say.
“I’m sure you understand how busy he is.” He set his mug down.
She didn’t miss his subtle avoidance of her gaze.
“And besides, I volunteered. It isn’t very often I get to do things like this. Organizing, running errands, cooking, I’m good at all that, but it’s not exactly exciting.”
“Oh, I bet you could tell me some stories.” She grinned. “How long have you worked for him?”
“Close to ten years.”
“Has he always been so…”
“Reserved? Demanding? All around pain in the ass?”
She snorted. “Literally.” She flushed, realizing she’d spoken aloud.
Chris gave her a knowing smile. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I know what you are to him.”
“And what would that be?” She wasn’t quite sure she knew.
“You’re his submissive. Don’t look so surprised. I think it’s wonderful he’s found someone like you. He needs some fun in his life and you seem like just the girl to give him that.”
“That’s me, fun girl,” she said with a sarcastic flourish of her hand. Jesus, Brian wasn’t the only one who needed to lighten up. “Speaking of fun, let’s you and me see what’s in the rest of these bags. What do you say?”
“You got it.” Chris passed her another package.
They went through all the boxes, chatting away about food and art, among other things. Gen couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such fun. Oh, and the lingerie. Thousands of dollars in garments from three different stores were strewn about her living room. There were thirteen sets of bras and panties in everything from lace and silk to tulle and chiffon, ranging from pale pink to black and a kaleidoscope of color in between. There were stockings, garter belts and three gorgeous corsets. It was bordering on ridiculous.
Brian had thought of everything. He’d included a copy of his test results accompanied by a handwritten note i
nstructing her to give hers to Chris, which she gladly did. Her health wasn’t something she wanted to gamble with and it was comforting to know Brian felt the same. The note also explained which set of lingerie she was to wear for their next evening together. Tomorrow night couldn’t come fast enough.
* * * * *
Thursday evening she arrived at Brian’s house with new resolve. She wore the requested lingerie—a vintage-inspired, blush silk bra-and-panty set with black-ribbon detail and a ruffled edge. It made her feel girlish and naughty. The man had exquisite taste. Nervous butterflies danced in her stomach as she followed Chris up the stairs and to Brian’s room.
“Brian is finishing up his run. He’ll be with you momentarily. Please make yourself comfortable and if you need anything, I’ll be in the kitchen.”
“Thanks,” she murmured, taking in her surroundings.
He gave her a polite nod before he turned and left.
The devil’s lair wasn’t quite what she’d expected. The large room had vaulted ceilings and was decorated in the modern minimalist style he seemed so fond of. But unlike the other parts of the house she’d seen, the colors here were rich and vivid rather than stark and cold. Opposite the doorway was an enormous raised platform bed covered in a fluffy wine-red duvet, soft-chocolate and cream-colored pillows neatly lined up at the head. The worn pair of canvas flip-flops discarded next to the nightstand made her smile.
There were personal traces of him everywhere. Notes he’d written on a legal pad sat on a mahogany desk next to a finished game of Sudoku. The contents of the boxy, puzzle-like bookcase lining the right wall spoke of a deeply complex and intelligent individual. As if she needed to see his reading material to figure that out. The novels by Henry Miller and The Marquis de Sade were not a surprise, but Douglas Adams, Christopher Moore? He had a sense of humor. Who knew?
She sat down on a long, padded bench at the foot of the bed and gazed out the glass French doors. The sun was just setting over the water, painting hints of pink and orange over the horizon. As she kicked back to get more comfortable, her foot hit the base of the bench with a hollow thump. Huh. She got up and turned to face it. Running her fingers along the edges of the pad, she discovered that it lifted. It wasn’t a bench at all, but some kind of large trunk. She laughed as she caught sight of the contents.
Well, well, well.
So this was where he kept his torture devices. She felt the weight of the wooden and leather paddles, traced the rough edge of a braided quirt, cringed and skipped over the thin cane. Everything looked expensive and handcrafted. No novelty toys for her Dom. She shouldn’t be touching his things, but was powerless to resist in the face of such tempting debauchery. She pulled out an English crop and sliced it through the air. It made a nasty swishing sound. Exactly how bad would this one hurt? She lifted her pant leg, exposing her calf. With a deep breath, she brought it down on her leg with a loud slap.
Ow! Stingy little thing.
“Making yourself at home, I see.”
Her stomach dropped. She turned around and on instinct attempted to conceal the crop behind her. This was bad. How long had he been standing there?
Brian leaned against the doorframe looking smug and sexy. Her mouth went dry as she drank in his hard lines and sculpted planes, her indiscretion forgotten for the moment. His skin was slick with sweat that trailed in small droplets down his muscular chest and abs. His running shorts were slung low enough to show a thin trail of hair leading from his navel to what she knew to be a rather large cock. Nude, he’d be a stunning specimen. She wondered if he’d pose for her. Now was probably not the time to ask him.
“The best part about this arrangement,” he said as he approached her, “is that I don’t have to think up reasons to punish you. You seem to find trouble well enough on your own. And you’ve even taken the courtesy of choosing your own implement.” He held out his hand. “Crop.”
She sighed and handed it over.
“Strip, but leave the lingerie. I’d like to admire my purchase.”
She shed her clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor, then sank to her knees and bowed her head.
“Knees apart, place your hands on your thighs palm up and keep your chin up but your eyes down.”
She followed his instruction to the letter.
“There. Perfect submissive posture. There’s hope for you yet.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go thanking me just yet.”
“I meant for the lingerie. It’s beautiful.”
“I didn’t buy it for you.” He circled her, whippy implement in hand.
“I still wanted to say thank you.”
“Believe me, it was my pleasure.”
Oh please don’t flirt with me right before you punish me.
“I’m debating what I should do with you.” He sucked air through his teeth as he narrowed his eyes, all the while tapping the crop against his leg. “Get on the bed, on your hands and knees.”
She rose to her feet and climbed onto the firm mattress, waiting for further instruction. She’d earned this punishment and would accept it as best she could. She knew better than to snoop through his things. You’d think she’d have learned the first time.
He trailed the crop along her spine. “Back straight.”
She brought her knees together and bent her elbows to level her body, flattening her back as attractively as she could.
He tapped the leather tip under her chin. “Head up.”
She obeyed, straining her neck. He disappeared from her line of sight. She waited for the first blow, bracing for the pain to come. This was going to hurt. When he balanced the length of the thin instrument across her hips, resting it just above her ass, she flinched. What was he doing?
“Now, I want you to keep still and think about what you’ve done while I shower. If you let the crop fall, I’ll be disappointed enough to make it fifteen strokes instead of ten.”
Great. “Yes Sir.”
She wanted to turn her head so she could see his expression. Was he unhappy with her? Her curiosity would have to go unsatisfied because she didn’t dare move. One wrong shift and the crop would fall. She wasn’t going to fail her task before he’d even left the room. Finally, she heard the squeak of his running shoes fade from the room.
If she’d known she’d have to hold this pose she’d have chosen a more comfortable position. Her vain attempt to present Brian a pretty submissive posture was coming back to haunt her. The muscles in her arms were already aching from the strain of holding her body mid-push-up. If that didn’t kill her, the anticipation just might, which she supposed was the point of this little exercise.
How hard would he punish her? Brian knew what he was doing when it came to dishing out discipline. He was careful, methodical even—knowledge that comforted her as much as it scared her. The dull sting on her calf told her the crop would be vicious. She bet it would leave pretty marks though. The belt had been painful to endure, but even with twenty-five lashes, she’d only been left with the faintest purple discoloration. The bruise thing was starting to become an obsession. She wanted a reminder, a piece of Brian she could wear on her skin. Talk about a silly and twisted romantic notion. At least she wasn’t dreaming of roses or marriage proposals.
Jesus. How long did it take to shower? Her arms trembled in their awkward position. She knew it had probably only been fifteen minutes, twenty at the most, but it felt as if she’d been kneeling on the bed for an excruciating hour. Calming herself, she took steady breaths and ignored the burning in her muscles.
The sound of soft footfalls approaching the bed made her want to cry in appreciation. The spicy, crisp scent of his soap enveloped her. She loved the way men smelled when they were fresh from a shower and this one was no exception.
“Good girl.” Reaching over, he gently tucked her hair behind her ear, his fingertips lingering on the curve of her jaw.
She had an overwhelming urge to rub her face against his hand
but suppressed it, not wanting him to think she was being overly affectionate.
He lifted the crop from her back. “I knew you had it in you to be obedient.”
Just when she was starting to like him, he had to go and provoke her. Irritating man.
“Knees apart, ass out, and don’t clench. It will hurt worse if you do.”
She widened her legs, thrust her bottom out and took a moment to stretch her sore arms. Getting into position was the easy part, preparing for the pain was more difficult. Breathe. Accept. Submit. She could do this.
“Now tell me, why are you being punished?”
Was he going to lecture her now? Wonderful. She cocked her head, remembering to look him in the eyes. “Because I discovered your kinky toy box… Sir.”
He brought the crop down on her ass. She jumped at the immediate, sharp sting.
Ow. Okay, so maybe now was not the time for smart remarks. This punishment was going to hurt a lot. She didn’t need to make it worse by mouthing off.
“Would you like to try that again?”
“I’m being punished for snooping through your things again. I’m sorry, Sir. I was wrong to do that.”
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“No Sir.”
“Fifteen. Count for me and I want to hear you.”
“Fifteen?”
“I can make it twenty.”
“No. Fifteen is perfect.”
“So glad you approve,” he said dryly.
The crop made that wicked swishing sound before it landed with another painful sting.
“Two,” she called out.
He burst out laughing. “Nice try. I swear, if you didn’t make me laugh, I would beat you to a bloody pulp. Start over, smart-ass.”
She laid her cheek down on the fluffy duvet with a groan. “Yes Sir.” She wasn’t trying to be funny. He’d already hit her once, so technically, that last one was two.
A Firm Hand: 2 (Bound to You) Page 7