Good Girls Say Yes

by Penny Wylder

  Pulling me off the dance floor, we move back to the bar where he hands me the glass of water that he promised to give me earlier. “Drink that.”

  “And here I thought that you were going to sweep me into a corner and have your way with me.”

  A sly smile and another raised eyebrow. “We’ll get to that, I promise you. But first we’re going to deal with the fact that you left when I told you not to move.”

  I laugh, and it feels good. “I wasn’t aware that I needed your permission to dance at my friend’s wedding.”

  His eyes narrow and there’s a small frown on his face. “The rules of the wedding were clearly laid out in the invitation. Any unattached subs are to obey any Dom who gives them a command when it’s a question of health or safety. I’m concerned about the amount of alcohol you have in your system. So drink the water.”

  There’s an edge to his voice on those last words that has me reaching for the cup, but I stop halfway there. “Wait, what?”

  “I don’t like having to repeat myself, Emma.” His frown is deeper now.

  “You think I’m one of those girls that sits at people’s feet and does what anyone tells them to do?” I burst out laughing. “Wow, did you misread that one. Look, you’re probably one of the sexiest men I’ve ever had the chance to meet, and damn can you dance. And that kiss—” I stop myself before I can throw myself on him for another one. “But I’m not a sub. I’m not in the ‘scene.’ I’m not yours to boss around, so you can take your little rules and disappointed frown and shove them up your ass.”

  I realize there’s silence in the immediate vicinity, and I see people looking at us. I hadn’t realized how loud I was speaking or that I yelled that last part. Even Lily is looking at me and blushing. A wave of embarrassment rolls over me. I’m not usually like this. I don’t get this drunk and embarrass my friends at their weddings. Mr. Sexy doesn’t look phased, he simply looks at me with a small, infuriating smile.

  Unable to look at him or bear the weight of strangers’ stares, I grab the glass of water and stalk across the room to an empty table in the corner, as far away from the dance floor as possible. I collapse into the chair and start to drink the damn water, only to find that he’s followed me. “What do you want?”

  “I’m making sure you drink the water,” he says, practically grinning.

  “Are you happy about the fact that you just made me embarrass my friend at her wedding?”

  “Of course not, but you’re cute when you’re flustered. And since I already find you beautiful, this is fun to watch.”

  I glare at him, throwing back the rest of the water like a shot. “Happy?”

  “Very.”

  “Good. You can go away now that you know I’m not a sub. I’m not looking for someone like you.”

  He tilts his head. “I don’t think that’s true.”

  “Wow.” I can’t help but laugh. “You’re very condescending.”

  “Is it condescending if you’re right?”

  “You’re not.”

  He pauses for a second, like he’s considering something. “Care to let me prove it to you?”

  “I’m not having sex with you,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  “I didn’t say anything about sex, but I do intend to make you come.” He takes a step closer, and holds out my hand. “You come with me, and for fifteen minutes, you do exactly as I say. I can show you that you’re kidding yourself when you say that you don’t need this.”

  “And this is the part where I go with you and you kill me?” I say sarcastically. But the way he’s looking at me, with that fire from the dance floor, has me leaning forward to give him a better view. The idea of an orgasm with this man is infinitely appealing. It’s been way too long since I’ve been given one that was better than my vibrator. A long damn time.

  “If you’re uncomfortable, say ‘Red,’ and everything stops. It’s almost a universally recognized safe word.”

  “What’s your name, anyway?”

  He doesn’t break the stare. “Matthew Forester.”

  I stand up, wanting to be closer eye- level even though he still towers over me. Being close to him triggers a sense memory of that kiss, and I feel like I’m being pulled toward him despite standing still. “Tell me why I should do this, Matthew.”

  “What do you have to lose? Be a submissive for fifteen minutes. Even if I’m wrong—which I’m not—you’ll still have an amazing orgasm.”

  “You’re awfully confident,” I say, furious at myself for being so breathless.

  He leans closer. “I have good reason to be.”

  We’re still for a moment, breathing each other’s air, and I’m wracking my brain for any reason why I should say no to this. I’m not coming up with anything, and the way he’s smiling tells me that he knows it. “Fine,” I say. “Fifteen minutes.”

  Matthew holds out his hand, inviting me to give him mine. I do, and he wraps my hand in a firm grip. “Understand that when I say that you’re a submissive for the next fifteen minutes, you are, Emma. I’m not a Dom who likes hesitation or partial commitment.”

  I smirk at him. “I’ll hold up my end of the bargain if you hold up yours.”

  “Deal,” he says, leading me out of the ballroom.

  Three

  The hallways of the hotel are deserted this late at night, but Matthew still leads me down several hallways until we’re somewhere dark and even more deserted. I have no idea what makes him pick this spot, but I’m suddenly up against the wall, the solid mass of him pressed up against me in a way that tells me he’s just as turned on as when we were dancing.

  “Dark hallway,” I say, trying to keep my head. “I’m beginning to think you lied about killing me.”

  He doesn’t smile, doesn’t rise to my flirting bait, his face is serious and filled with hunger. “I didn’t give you permission to speak.”

  “Excuse me?”

  That familiar rage rises up in me and I’m about to kick him when I see just a hint of a smile on his face. “Fifteen minutes, remember?”

  Unfortunately, I do. I press my lips together to keep from snapping at him. I made him a promise. If he doesn’t want me to talk, fine. We’re not here to talk anyway.

  “Hands above your head.” His tone doesn’t leave any room for argument, and I raise my hands. Matthew catches them, crossing them at the wrists and holding them captive in one hand. He’s strong—I might as well be wearing handcuffs for all that I’d be able to pull away from him, and my heart beats a little bit faster at the thought. He said to say ‘Red’ if I’m uncomfortable, but I’m not yet, even if my body instinctually recognizes danger.

  “If we had more than fifteen minutes,” he says softly, “there are lots of things that I could do to show you what this life is about. But right now, it’s simple. Submission isn’t about me holding you down for sex, or about you becoming a doormat. It’s about trust, and offering something to one another. At the most basic level, you offer me power over you in exchange for pleasure, and I offer you freedom from having to make every decision.”

  The most basic level, he said. What are the other levels? But now he’s kissing me and I can’t think because I’m once again on fire. Hot arousal rolls through me like a wave, and I moan, unable to help myself. Matthew simply chuckles against my lips and deepens the kiss, as if he knew that I would react this way.

  I want more of him. More, more, more is the chant in my brain, and I try to move, to pull him closer, but I can’t. Shock and frustration hit me as I remember that I can’t move my arms. He has them pinned against the wall and all I can do is let him kiss me. My breath goes short in my chest, and I realize that he’s made me wet again. Damn him for being such a good kisser, because that’s all it is. I’m turned on from the kiss, and not from the fact that he’s restricting my movement.

  He pulls away for a moment. “Spread your legs.”

  I do.

  “Farther.”

  I do, and I’m wobbly on my feet, unstabl
e. If he let go of my arms, I’d probably fall. Which, it dawns on me, is probably the point. His lips brush my ear. “I’m going to touch you now, Emma. I’m going to give you pleasure.” Looking me in the eye, his face goes serious again. “And you do not have permission to come.”

  “What?” The word flies from my mouth before I even realize it.

  “You may not come until I allow it. End of discussion. And if you speak again, you won’t be permitted to come at all.”

  I don’t doubt it. I bite down on my lip to keep the words inside my head. Regardless of what he’s making me do, I need to come. I’ve been too turned on and I think if I had to stop, I might start crying. You never want me to start crying when I’m drunk—I’ll never stop.

  Matthew’s free hand trails up my leg, bringing my skirt with it until he reaches my panties and brushes them aside. He tries to hide it, but there’s a short burst of air from him when touches me. “You’re wet for me, and all I’ve done is kiss you. And restrain you,” he grins.

  I’m dying to say something, to find a witty comeback, but I keep my lips closed because his fingers are right there, so close to where I want them. His thumb smooths circles around my clit and I gasp because god, that feels good, and it’s been a long time since anyone has touched me. That sweet pleasure is sizzling under my skin and we’ve barely started. I’m guessing we still have ten minutes left, and I’ll probably spontaneously combust before that.

  One finger—just one—slides inside me and my body arches away from the wall into him, a reflex I can’t control. God, why is this so amazing? He’s moving slowly, pushing in and out of me, taking his time. His finger curls, stroking that elusive spot just inside that makes my whole body shake. I can feel the beginnings of an orgasm coming together already, and now I know why he has good reason to be confident.

  Another finger now, and Matthew is moving faster. I squirm between him and the wall, trying to move closer, do anything that will get me off faster, but between his hands and the way he has me pinned, I’m entirely at his mercy. I close my eyes, sinking into an unfamiliar sensation of blankness. The only thing that is left is the feeling of his fingers teasing me, sending spikes of pleasure through me.

  He takes me up and up and up until I’m gasping with need. I’m trying to force my hips down onto his hand faster because I’m so close. Never have I been this desperate to come. I want it—need it—now.

  Matthew is watching my face, and I blush because I don’t know that I’ve ever been watched so closely during sex. Or maybe ever. “You’re close,” he says. It’s not a question.

  I nod because I don’t think I’d be able to speak; even if he gave me permission.

  “Good.” And then he stops. Just freezes with his fingers still inside me, and my building orgasm trips and falls over into nothing. I groan because being that close and losing it makes me ache. I want to ask him why he would do that, but I also want him to fuck me with his hand again, and if I ask him why, I don’t think he will.

  “You would have come,” he says simply, as if he can read the questions racing across my brain. “And I’m not ready for that.” Glancing down at his watch he says, “We still have five minutes together.”

  This guy isn’t a Dom, he’s a sadist, and I’m calling him all kinds of names in my head that would probably piss him off. He smiles, easing his fingers back into motion and adding another one. That extra finger fills me up and my breath goes short because it feels impossibly, improbably better than before. Matthew captures my mouth with his, mimicking the motion of his fingers with his tongue, and I’m ready to come apart again. I moan against his mouth, but he doesn’t relent.

  I’m not sure how I’m supposed to hold back an orgasm like this—it’s rising and overwhelming and oh my god I’m so close. Matthew pulls his face back abruptly, never missing a beat with those clever fingers. “I want you to count backwards from thirty,” he says. “Out loud. And when you reach one, you have permission to come. Not before.”

  My mouth falls open. He can’t be serious, can he? I won’t make it that long. I can’t. It’s not possible.

  “The faster you count, the faster you get to come.”

  Numbers start to fall out of my mouth faster than I thought I could speak. “Thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight…”

  And of course he doesn’t go easy on me, he speeds up, fucking me with his fingers so fast that I think I’m going to go blind with the pleasure. Every thrust pushes against my G-spot and my voice is desperate, pleading.

  “Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve…”

  Oh god oh god oh god I’m not sure how he can even understand the rest of the numbers, they’re more moans than words and I’m starting to crack, the pleasure leaking out, pulling me in as he holds me right at the edge, and then “fivefourthreetwoONE!” and everything explodes. I come, the orgasm ripping through me like a storm and leaving me spent and heaving against the wall, still pinned and spread open while the pleasure has its way with me. Matthew’s thumb brushes my clit, and I come again. The orgasm wracking my body so hard that if he let me go, I wouldn’t be standing.

  Sharp, high notes of pleasure spiral through my stomach and up and out until it’s enveloping all of me, and I know that I’ve never had an orgasm like that before.

  I come back to the world out of breath, noticing that it’s the only sound in the hallway. Matthew’s fingers are still inside me, unmoving, his hand like iron around my wrists. “I think time’s up,” he says, a wicked grin on his face. Gently, he removes his hand, casually bringing it to his mouth. I can see how his fingers are slick with my wetness, and the sound he makes while he tastes me has me wet all over again. “I wish we had more time,” he says, “I have so much more that I’d like to do. But,” he releases my hands and helps me back to a normal standing position, “a deal is a deal.”

  There’s a small part of me that wants to ask for more, to say that we can have more time. But I know that if I say that he’ll ask for more from me. He’ll want me to obey him and pretend I’m a submissive little thing like those women at the reception, and I’m not. I am not.

  Instead, we walk side-by-side back to the ballroom.

  “So you got me to pretend to be a part of your world for fifteen minutes. What was the point?”

  He looks over at me as we walk, and I can practically hear him thinking, deciding what to say. “Do you need there to be a point?”

  “No, I don’t. But that doesn’t mean that you weren’t trying to make one.”

  Matthew laughs, a brilliant sound that rings down the empty hall like sunshine. “You’re not wrong.”

  “Are you going to tell me what it is?”

  “If you think you can handle it.”

  I roll my eyes. “What, you think that taking me and giving me an orgasm in a less-than-conventional way is going to change my mind and make me rethink who I am?”

  He stops at the door to the ballroom, and the music spills out, partially covering his words and making it feel even more intimate as I lean in to hear him. “I’ve been a Dom a long time,” he says, “and I’m very good at it. When you’re a Dom, you practice reading people. You have to because noticing people’s cues, the smallest reactions, can make the difference between a scene being amazing or a disaster.”

  “And if that doesn’t work, I’m sure you can just tell the woman how to feel and she’ll say, ‘yes, sir.’”

  Matthew frowns, but he doesn’t reprimand me. “Because I’ve gotten so good at reading people, I can tell very quickly if someone is submissive. That includes whether or not they know they’re submissive.”

  “I’m not,” I say, ignoring the pointed look he’s giving me and walking into the ballroom. I see Lily not far from the door, and her eyes are on both me and Matthew.

  He calls out after me, “How would you know?”

  “I thought that little experiment was trying to prove that. I didn’t walk out of that hallway begging you to take me, begging you to dominate me. That’s n
ot what I want or need.”

  He’s silent for a long moment, and then he walks towards me slowly, his gaze never leaving mine. “I’ll make a bet with you.”

  I snort. “The last time I gambled on my sex life I lost pretty badly, so no thanks.”

  “You stay with me for three days. You be a submissive—my submissive—for three days, and I’ll prove to you that I’m right.” He continues on like I never spoke and I’m struggling not to roll my eyes.

  “Do you always have to be right?”

  “No,” he says, closing the remaining gap between us, “I don’t. But you are submissive.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Prove it.”

  We stare at each other in silence for a moment before he breaks it. “Come stay with me, and if you’re right, if you’re not submissive and you have no desire to continue in this lifestyle, you’ll never have to see me again.”

  I scoff, “So you get to have me as your plaything for three days and then you just disappear? That doesn’t sound like it’s much of a bet. What’s in it for me?”

  Matthew tilts his head, thinking. “If you win–if you aren’t in fact a submissive, then I’ll give you $100,000 for your trouble.” I open my mouth but nothing comes out, and he continues, “But if I win, which I will, and you beg me to keep dominating you, you’ll stay with me for another thirty days. And I’ll get to show you exactly how submissive you are.” His voice drops to a whisper on those last words, so low that it’s like a caress down my spine, and I shiver.

  The orgasm and this conversation have sobered me up, and I honestly don’t think I’m so drunk that I’m not thinking clearly, but I don’t see a downside. I’m not submissive, there’s no way that I can lose this bet. It’s like agreeing to have some great sex and then getting a cash bonus. “All right,” I say. “You’re on.”

  I hold out my hand and he shakes it, the look on his face nothing but smug. “I look forward to it.” And just like that he turns and walks away, disappearing out the same door we just came through.