Sylvie's Gift

by Adrianna Dane

  There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the brilliant beauty of the endless ocean drew her in. He was right; there was a wildness about it. The ocean was one thing man couldn't conquer; its unruly, unexpected nature would never be tamed. It played on a primitive need building inside her, the sense of wanting to allow her inhibitions free, to feel, to release all that stifling control inside.

  Sylvie turned her head to look up at Daimaen. She saw knowledge in his dark eyes. “You know, don't you? You know what I'm feeling right now."

  "Yes. But what I know about you and what you understand about yourself are two entirely different things. Maybe after today you'll understand a little better.” His gaze held hers. “Remove your shoes and panties, Sylvie.” His voice growled low against her ear. “Then hand them to me."

  She felt the boat start to slow beneath her. She shivered in reaction to his request. Would she deny him? Would she deny herself? Stepping away from him, she balanced herself against the side of the boat, slowly removed first one sandal and then the other, and handed them to him. He placed them in a small indentation beneath the wheel.

  She took a deep breath, and her hands shook. But she realized it wasn't from fear, it was from excitement—anticipation of what was to come. She moved her hands beneath the hem of her dress and to the elastic waistband of her daffodil bikini underwear. Slowly, she slid them down her legs and stepped out of them. Cool air swirled about her now very exposed pussy. It felt erotic, arousing, decadent. Her eyes widened and she looked up at him.

  He stood poised before the wheel, his eyes hooded as he watched her. She was unable to read his expression, but she knew he waited. Instinctively, she knew he wouldn't reach for the panties—she must offer them, offer the gift, not just of the panties, but of what they represented, the gift of herself. She realized in that moment that he would not take from her, she must willingly give. Only then, would he accept what she offered. Again, she asked herself, was this what she wanted? Could she give up her control?

  She was beginning to realize what all her research the other day hadn't been able to tell her. Why? Because reading about it was somehow clinical, unemotional, like reviewing a company prospectus. It didn't involve her feelings, not like this moment. With him standing before her, her every nerve seemed exposed.

  Her grip on the panties in her hand tightened. The exchange of power mentioned on one of the websites came to mind. She thought she understood it now. It was somehow tangible. By handing Daimaen this gift, she would be offering him power over her, yet it was also a token of her understanding that she would accept his right to guide and direct her. Her power for his.

  "I—I don't know if I can do this. I'm frightened.” She took a step back from him, her breathing increased, as she felt panic begin to rise inside her.

  Daimaen's merciless gaze bore into her. She knew he would accept no compromise. “The choice is yours, Sylvie. I won't take from you. It will have to be your free choice. But you need to understand, I'll accept nothing less than total and complete submission. I'm capable of offering you great pleasure, but I'll also punish for disobedience. The form of punishment will be of my choosing, not yours. I won't lie to you, I can be very demanding, and I'll expect your complete obedience—and loyalty. I'll listen if you have fears, we'll talk about them. If you have questions, I'll answer them. But I will be obeyed."

  Sylvie licked her lips. “I read ... I read that Dominants tend to share. Would you expect to share me ... with others?” She knew she couldn't do that. The tightening of her body in response to his words, sparked the realization she might have some darker needs she hadn't really been aware of before meeting Daimaen, but sharing herself with someone other than Daimaen wasn't something she could agree to do.

  "There are some who share.” She watched his eyes darken as they caressed her. “I'm possessive. I don't share. But understand, that if I feel something is necessary to provide you with the greatest pleasure, I will do it. And you must accept my decision on that. That I know what's best for you, what will please you most—what you need."

  Sylvie had looked up the definition of submission in the dictionary, and she fought an inner battle. Her upbringing had taught her never to give over control to another; her father had never let a day go by without that thought being branded into her. He had denigrated her mother, always humiliating her, and that stuck in Sylvie's mind. She'd sworn she would never put herself in that kind of situation, she would always remain in control.

  But was this the same as that? Would Daimaen take advantage of her in the same way her father had with her mother? She admitted she hardly knew him. But what she did know was that he was courteous, considerate, and understanding. He'd been patient with her. He was now waiting for her to make the choice; it was her decision.

  What did her instincts tell her about him? She'd always been able to rely on her instincts with people. He didn't seem to have the cruel, vicious instincts of her father. Everyone they'd come in contact with he'd treated respectfully and with care, unlike her father, who always felt it was his right to take, and keep on taking, no matter the cost.

  If she walked away from Daimaen now, would she ever again know the passion that seemed to wait for her? She didn't think so.

  "My father humiliated my mother,” she blurted out. “I swore I'd never let anyone treat me the way my father treated my mother, always making her feel less than human."

  "I'm sorry. I didn't realize.” He cut the engine, then he turned, picked up her shoes, and held them out to her. “I don't want to force you into a relationship you don't want or would be unhappy in. Apparently, I was wrong about you. I'll take you back.” He was offering her a chance to walk away. Yet he was making no judgments of her.

  He didn't reach out to place the shoes in her hand. Again, he waited for her to make the choice. She stared at the shoes, dangling from his fingertips, felt the cool breeze flutter against her naked pussy. The sensations aroused her, the fear aroused her. Her heart beat faster in her chest.

  She wasn't a coward, and she knew in her heart she wanted what Daimaen Sinclair offered. She wanted to be tested to her limits, she wanted the fire and passion that he offered. He wasn't her father. She realized the men she'd dated in the past had just been replicas of that personality ... if she'd given over her control and her passion to any one of them, they would have used it against her. Tried to humiliate her to gain control of all that she was, and some instinct for self-preservation inside her had recognized it.

  She looked up at him and realized he wasn't like them. He didn't want her humiliation and defeat; he wanted to show her the heights of pleasure, to offer her all that she could be without restraint. In order for him to do that, she'd have to trust that he wouldn't abuse that power. Trust was a very scary word. One shouldn't give trust lightly ... or control. Her mother was a perfect example of that.

  "No, Daimaen—I—I don't want to go back. I want to trust you. Really, I do."

  He replaced the shoes on the shelf. Then he turned back to her and waited for her decision. Slowly, she held her hand that clutched the panties out to him, opening her fingers, offering her gift.

  He smiled, took the silky garment from her hand, and placed them with her shoes. Daimaen drew her to him and lowered his mouth to hers to seal their agreement, his tongue teasing her lips, licking, and entering her mouth as he molded her to his body, claiming her. He raised his head, and his eyes smoldered with a golden fire within their deep chocolate depths. “Thank you for your trust, and for your gift. It's priceless to me. You won't regret it."

  He turned back to the wheel and restarted the engine. He pulled her before him again and pointed. “See that small island ahead of us? That's where we're headed."

  She saw a tiny pinpoint. She picked up the binoculars and focused. It was small, and appeared to be uninhabited, with lush vegetation all around.

  "I discovered it a while back. It's very secluded. I come here for privacy, to get away from stresses of business, where my
mind can wander free and alone. I rejuvenate."

  "Is this where you bring your ... women? To be alone?” Why did she ask that? It wasn't any of her business who he brought or didn't bring to this island. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked that.” She turned her head away, embarrassed.

  He tipped her head back, his gaze locking firmly with hers. “Never be afraid to ask me something. Do you understand? Our relationship won't be built on that kind of fear. You must learn to trust me in all things. Don't hide your feelings from me."

  His eyes pierced her, and she couldn't look away. “I'm sorry. I'm just not comfortable with this. I don't even know you very well. I'm still surprised I'm as comfortable with you as I am. It's unusual for me to do that."

  "Do you want an answer to your question?"

  Sylvie bit her lip. Did she want an answer? Did she want to know about other women? She nodded. He made her feel so off-balance.

  Daimaen brought his attention back to steering the boat into a small cove, and then dropped the anchor.

  "I've been coming to this island for about a year now. I'm actually looking into the possibility of buying it.” He turned her to him and looked down at her. “And, no, I've brought no one else here. You are the only one I've wanted to share it with, the only one I thought would understand."

  His fingers skimmed her arms, shoulder to fingertips. “I need to see you."

  "I don't understand.” But, of course, she did.

  "Remove your dress for me."

  The hot sun beat down on her. Again, she bit at her lip. “But someone might see.” She looked around, uncertain, even as the excitement built inside her at the thought of being naked for him.

  His eyes bore into her. “We're private here, I told you that. Obey me. You're a beautiful woman, all silk and warm velvet. Your body shouldn't remain hidden from me, except when society's inhibitions demand. If I ask that you strip, you should be proud to display yourself for me, knowing it pleases me to have you available and ready to receive pleasure."

  His words inflamed her and her nipples tightened, her breathing quickened. She moved her hands to unbutton the halter top, which fell forward, revealing her taut nipples.

  Daimaen's gaze surveyed her in appreciation. “How beautiful your breasts are, Sylvie. Did no one ever tell you that?"

  She shook her head, his steady gaze embarrassing her. Sex had always been a do, and no talking was ever involved, no personal comments of any kind.

  "They are. Lovely, proud, and perfect. Your nipples are begging for my kiss, my touch. Do you feel that, Sylvie? Do you ache for me to touch them? To suckle at them?"

  But he didn't move toward her, he stood watching, and her breasts swelled, the nipples painfully stiff, needing to be touched. Is this what he meant about pain on the edge of passion? She thought she was beginning to understand. She'd never been so aware of her own body before.

  "Finish it.” His voice was a low, guttural growl.

  She reached around and unzipped the back of the dress at the waist and it fell to her feet. Sylvie looked down and was discomfited to see the short curling hairs on her mound were glistening with moisture beneath the sunlight. She was embarrassed by her very obvious arousal.

  "Look at me."

  She raised her gaze to his. His eyes held her mesmerized, she wanted his touch, needed his hands on her body. “Daimaen—” She heard the low plea in her own voice.

  "Spread you legs,” his voice was a low command.

  Shyly, she slid the dress aside with her foot and then shifted her legs to obey his command.

  "Put your hands at your side. God, you're beautiful. Your skin glistens in the sunlight—a golden Venus. I want you to make yourself come for me."

  Her eyes widened at his request. “But—I can't, Daimaen. That's so—"

  "So what? It will bring you pleasure, and it will please me to watch you. Use your hand, and stroke your pussy. I can see it glistening. I know you're already wet."

  Sylvie brought one hand around and slowly started stroking at the lips of her labia. She shuddered, never expecting to feel such pleasure, but the lips were engorged and sensitive. She looked at him, knowing surprise was evident on her face. Having him watch her as she did it excited her even more.

  "Now with your other hand, I want you to tease your nipple, roll it back and forth between your fingers."

  She did as he asked and the feelings intensified, her stomach clenched, even more so as she saw his eyes dilate as he watched her pleasure herself. She found it difficult to concentrate on her breathing.

  "Do you remember how I touched you the other evening?"

  "Yes,” she breathed, feeling sensations she had never felt before. A wildness started to build inside her.

  "Do you remember my fingers inside you, stroking you? How they felt? I want you to do the same now. Stroke inside, feel the velvet, the sweet honey of your nectar."

  She was hypnotized by his deep, vibrating voice and slowly her two fingers entered her hot channel. She was unable to stop the moan that passed her parted lips.

  "Stroke, Sylvie. Slowly. In and out. Now with your thumb, I want you to tease your clit, just the way I did. Do you remember how you felt then? Do you see it? Feel it? Smell it? I remember your taste, your sweet, honeyed cream."

  His words and her fingers took her to the edge, and then she felt the ocean part and grab her, throwing her screaming and falling, her legs gave way, and she felt Daimaen catch her and ease them both to their knees on the deck.

  But Sylvie didn't feel the hard wood beneath her. She was still caught up in the swirling emotions of her release. “Oh, God, Daimaen.” She shuddered against him, her whole body sensitized, feeling everything—his touch, the cool ocean breeze, his breath on her skin. Her awareness was so intense that it was painful.

  "Is this what you meant?” she rasped out. “The pain and the pleasure—my God. I feel so much, it hurts to breathe."

  He soothed her, holding her to him, petting her back, drawing her close. “You are exquisite, my Sylvie, simply exquisite. I count myself very fortunate to have found you. You're mine, only mine."

  She closed her eyes and leaned into him, inhaling his energy, his power; willingly yielding her control to his dominion.

  CHAPTER 7

  Monday saw Sylvie at work again. Daimaen informed her he'd be out of town for a week negotiating final terms on a difficult contract. She found herself both disappointed and relieved at the same time. The powerful emotions she experienced when he was near continually threatened her carefully controlled life.

  She wondered if anyone noticed when she walked toward her office, that the woman who left on Friday wasn't the same one who arrived on Monday. Monday's Sylvie had experienced her first orgasm, as well as several subsequent, very powerful ones, beyond that. A smile curved her lips, remembering the last climax she experienced beneath Daimaen's skillful hands.

  Why was it she'd never even come close to having one with anyone else, but just hearing Daimaen's voice could induce an explosive one? It was a question she'd been unable to find the answer for. Right now, she felt like a kitten that had been given a plate full of cream, contented and purring.

  "Morning, Jane,” she greeted her assistant, breezily. “It's a great day, isn't it?"

  Jane looked up at her over the computer. “Good morning, Sylvie. Did you have a good weekend?"

  "Oh, yes, quite stunning. And you?"

  "Yes, ma'am, it was very nice."

  "Excellent. Would you bring me those preliminary budget spreadsheets for next quarter? Then call Charlie and ask him to stop by to see me, I want to talk with him about the proposed schedule with the local newspaper ads. Oh, and while you're at it, grab that list of new contracts. I want to go over it—see if we can use anything with the ads. Any urgent calls I should know about?"

  Jane stood up. “Not this morning. I'll request those budget figures from accounting and stop by Charlie's office on my way back. Anything else?"

  "Not ri
ght now. Thanks."

  It was a beautiful day, but she was really going to have to stop all this smiling. Sylvie brought up her calendar on the computer noting she had two appointments that afternoon, then she checked her phone messages which were usually included with her email messages.

  An hour later, after returning the calls and answering the emails, she rose from her desk and stretched. Now was a good time for a cup of coffee.

  As she stepped into the kitchen, she noticed Allison was standing there flirting, or rather talking, with Fielding Thomas, the Senior Vice President for Accounting. Allison saw her enter the kitchen and ended her conversation, hurrying over to Sylvie.

  "Well?” Allison whispered, “So, how did things go?"

  Sylvie poured herself a cup of coffee, then turned back to Allison, holding the cup between her hands. “I'm not sure how to answer that."

  Allison chuffed. “Are you going to see him again?"

  Sylvie sipped her coffee, trying to act casual. “I don't know. He's out of town this week. He said he'd call."

  "If Daimaen said he'd call, he will. He didn't scare you off, did he? You seemed a little unsure on Saturday."

  "We went sailing on Sunday. It was—nice.” That was an understatement. She smiled at the erotic memory, before taking another sip of her coffee.

  "Nice? Is that all you have to say, nice? Daimaen usually rates more than a ‘nice.’”

  "Okay ... it was great. It was—” How did she explain all the feelings churning inside her? She ended up shrugging. “I can't explain it. It was scary, exhilarating, frightening, searing. And I'm terrified."

  Allison nodded. “I can understand that. Did he explain anything to you?"

  Sylvie looked around, but there was no one else in the kitchen. “Yes, we talked. I wanted to walk away, but there's something about him. I couldn't.” Allison was her best friend, and she had to talk to someone about what she was feeling inside. “This lifestyle you both profess to live happily scares the hell out of me. What he seems to need from me, the type of commitment he wants, I'm so confused."