Sylvie's Gift

by Adrianna Dane

  He turned to go back inside. He needed to touch her, be with her, and confirm that she was breathing. He glanced up as Allison placed a hand on his arm.

  "She doesn't know, Daimaen. I haven't told her why she's here. I don't think she can handle it yet."

  "I understand."

  "And Daimaen?"

  "Yes?"

  "You were the first person she asked about when she woke up. I thought you should know that.” Her expression was solemn as she looked at him. “I don't know how serious you are about her, but Sylvie—she's been through a lot, not just this, but with her father. Breaking away from him was very hard for her. They haven't spoken in quite some time."

  Daimaen watched her, and waited.

  "Don't push too hard, too fast, will you? I know I introduced you, and I feel responsible. I don't want to see her hurt."

  He patted her hand. “I understand you're her friend. You don't need to worry about her. I'll take good care of her. I've waited for Sylvie a very long time, and I won't take her gift for granted."

  "All right, I'm going to have to trust you. But, dammit, you hurt her and I'll rip your balls off myself. Got it?"

  Now here was the woman he'd heard stories about—fiery aggression. Her demand for obedience and her imaginative ways of obtaining it, were infamous. But he didn't take offense; Sylvie was lucky to have such a loyal friend.

  "That could be painful, but thanks for making your position clear."

  "Yeah, well, just so you know. Something tells me it's a good thing we never got involved, if you know what I mean."

  He nodded. “I think we read each other quite well. And thank you for introducing me to Sylvie."

  * * * *

  "Daimaen.” He was here. Sylvie could smell the static in the air from his energy, his scent. Her mind was clearer, her throat wasn't as sore, and the oxygen mask was gone.

  She felt a warm, solid hand at her cheek. “I'm here, Sylvie.” His voice vibrated through her. Her lips curved upward in a faint smile. It was like finding the correct piece of a jigsaw puzzle after a long, frustrating search.

  She studied his intense gaze. “Are you angry with me?” Her voice was low and husky.

  Daimaen's eyes questioned. “Angry? Why would I be angry?"

  "I wasn't home when you got there. I guess I disobeyed you."

  His fingers tangled in her hair. “I'm not angry with you. I'm angry with myself for not leaving you a way to reach me. If you're ever ill again, you're to call me immediately. Okay?"

  She nodded her head, liking the feel of his hand, his energy wrapped around her. She felt like she was floating. There was something she needed to remember, but Daimaen's presence filled every fragment of her reality. He'd been gone for so long, and she just wanted to look at him, absorb him, caress him.

  It was when she went to touch his face that she was brought back to reality. Her eyes widened at the sting in her arm as she tried to move it, dropping her back into the present with a crash.

  She tried to sit up, but Daimaen's hand halted her. “No, stay put. You've been quite ill. The nurse only removed the oxygen mask this morning."

  "But, what happened? How did I end up in the hospital, feeling like yesterday's hangover?"

  Allison came into view on the other side of the bed. “Well, damn, woman, about time you came back to us."

  "How long have I been here? And I repeat—what the hell happened to me?” Allison and Daimaen exchanged a look—one she didn't like. “Don't pull that crap. If somebody doesn't tell me what's going on, I'm dragging myself out of this bed and finding someone who will."

  "You're not moving,” Daimaen said firmly, a glint in his eye.

  "I agree,” Allison responded. “You try to get up and you'll probably fall flat on your face."

  "Oh, this is too much. Two smart-ass Doms who think they can control me. Forget it. I'm getting some answers."

  Daimaen pushed her back against the bed, which probably wasn't all that difficult to do as her head started spinning. “Stay still. No one is trying to control you.” He pinned her beneath his hard, piercing gaze. “But you've given me the right to expect your obedience. You do remember that, right? On the boat?"

  Sylvie nodded. She'd done that.

  "Good, I'm glad we understand each other. In that case, there is one Dom—and only one, one sub—who will be obedient or be subject to punishment. And one very good friend, who, I might add, has not left your side the whole time. Do you think either your Dom or your best friend deserve this childish outburst?"

  She shook her head, tears in her eyes, ashamed of her rant. She was afraid and didn't understand what happened to her. “I'm sorry,” she whispered and looked away. She'd been thinking of her father, feeling his suffocating control and panicked. Would she ever get past that? Daimaen had only ever treated her with kindness and respect, and Allison didn't deserve her viperous tongue-lashing.

  Daimaen wiped at the tears, his voice softening. “We know what's happened has scared you, and you want to get some answers. You're just beginning to recover; we just want you to take it slowly."

  "It's the not knowing. I've never lost consciousness like that before. I get the feeling it was pretty serious. Just by the looks on your faces.” She held up her arms with the IVs attached, “And these, and the oxygen. I think not knowing is worse. Please, Daimaen, tell me the truth."

  Daimaen levered himself up next to her and carefully took her into his arms, mindful of the IVs. “I think we need to tell Sylvie what's happening."

  Allison sighed. “Okay. I'm sorry. I just don't know how to tell you."

  Sylvie's fingers gripped Daimaen's hand. This was going to be bad, she knew it. He laced his fingers through hers, and it gave her an anchor, something to hold onto. Her mouth was dry and she licked her lips. “Just spit it out."

  "Someone tried to kill you. The police found traces of cyanide in your coffee cup, and you almost died."

  Sylvie's breath left her body in a whoosh and the world started to fade away. Someone had tried to kill her! This wasn't real, it was a nightmare. Daimaen's arms tightened around her. She felt Allison's hand on her shoulder.

  Why? Why would someone want her dead? Frantically, she searched the faces of the two people trying to give her their strength. “Why?” she gasped. “I don't understand—"

  CHAPTER 9

  Sylvie paced her living room. She'd been home for five days and was going crazy just waiting around. Her doctor had made her promise not to overdo things and stay away from work at least a week. Well, the week was coming to an end, and she couldn't wait. She felt fine, but no one believed her.

  Daimaen treated her like a piece of delicate porcelain. He'd made her promise not to leave the apartment unless someone was with her. Grudgingly, she'd finally given him the promise. She was wound way too tight, and she knew it. She was ready to explode.

  The week at home hadn't been a total loss as she'd become better acquainted with Daimaen and what he would want from her. He'd given her a list, a kind of questionnaire, for her to answer. She'd been embarrassed by some of the questions, but had answered them as honestly as she could. They'd openly talked about her answers, some of her hesitations, and his expectations. She still had doubts about the relationship, but the more time she spent with him, the more she was drawn to him.

  He seemed worried about her this week and refused to rise to her baiting him, and her tongue had been sharp, she knew. She had a feeling she would be paying for that soon. But she couldn't seem to stop. She was frustrated and scared, and angry.

  It wasn't in her nature to wait for things to happen. The police had questioned her, but they hadn't turned up anything new. In her opinion, it could have been some fluke. Why would someone want to poison her? Maybe she'd laid her coffee cup down when she was in the photo lab and something had spilled without her noticing it? She couldn't believe someone had done it intentionally.

  The doorbell rang, and she whirled about to answer it. Flinging the door
open, she settled both hands on her hips as she greeted Daimaen.

  "Finally! I've been wearing a path in the carpet.” She did an about-face and stomped back into the living room. She wore a dress that swirled about her thighs, her one gesture of obedience to Daimaen. But in defiance she wore her bra and panties, both items he had forbidden her to wear at home.

  She heard the door shut behind her, and then suddenly she was grabbed from behind. She turned and looked up into his black, hard look, and shivered.

  "That's enough,” he bit out, dragging her toward a side chair.

  "What are you doing?” She struggled against his hold.

  "I've taken all the defiance I intend to put up with this week. It's time you learned who is the Dominant and who is the submissive.” He stood her before him and sat down.

  She was about to take a step away from him. “Stop right there. Don't move.” She was halted by the iron in his voice. His eyes studied her, his mouth was set. “Now, remove the dress."

  Wanting to defy him, she hesitated for a fraction of a second.

  "Now! Remove it, before I rip it off you.” His voice cracked like a whip.

  He'd never been like this. With shaking hands, she unzipped the back of the dress and let it slide to the floor.

  As soon as he realized she wore the bra and panties, Sylvie knew it was going to be worse. She started to speak.

  Daimaen held up his hand. “Not a word. You'll speak when I tell you to. Take the damn bra and underwear off.” His eyes were merciless, his face set, like a bronze statue.

  Quickly, she removed the bra and panties and tossed them with the dress. Emotions warred inside her. She didn't understand them. She should be afraid of what he was going to do, but she knew deep down that there was some tingle of excitement building as well. It confused her.

  Inwardly, she cringed with the painful memory of her father's anger with her mother, his lightning quick loss of temper and control. Sylvie remembered with clarity the times he'd struck her mother across the face, and she trembled in fear of what Daimaen would do. Was it anger she sensed in Daimaen now? Like a predatory animal, lurking beneath his calm, patient veneer, did he wait to pounce at her most vulnerable moment?

  "Clasp your hands behind your back and spread your legs."

  Doing as he instructed, she watched him with trepidation. He sat studying her for long minutes. A sweat broke out on her skin, and her breathing became labored. She felt the urge to say something, anything to appease his temper, but she didn't dare, not wanting to fan the flame of his anger higher. She stared at the floor, biting her lip.

  "What are you thinking, Sylvie?"

  Her gaze flew to his. What did he want her to say?

  "Don't lie to me. Just tell me what's in your mind right now."

  "M-My father.” She took a shuddering breath. His look demanded her truth. “I was r-remembering when my father lost his temper and hit my mother—” If she finished the thought, it might make Daimaen angrier, and she didn't want him any angrier.

  "Finish the thought. Tell me the rest."

  "I remember the blood and the marks on her face."

  "Is that what you think I'm going to do to you? Beat you? Do you think I've lost control because I've determined you need to be disciplined?"

  "Yes,” she confirmed, looking down at the floor.

  "Look at me,” he commanded in a low, even tone. “Do I look like I've lost control? Do I act like it?"

  Her gaze rose, and she studied him, sitting before her. His hands lay flat on the arms of the chair, they weren't clenched into tight fists ready to strike. His manner seemed almost relaxed. His body language seemed to indicate—"I-I don't understand.” And she didn't. He confused her.

  "I'm not your father,” he said softly. “Nor like any other man you've been with before. You should understand that by now. Do you?"

  Sylvie nodded her head. “Yes, I think so ... I don't know."

  "Daimaen. Always use my name when I ask you a question."

  "Yes—Daimaen."

  He nodded. I'm going to discipline you. But it won't be done in anger and lost control. You understand you've been disobedient this week, don't you?"

  "Yes ... Daimaen.” Her voice was barely a whisper and it was true, she did realize she'd been a real shrew.

  "And you know I won't let it continue without consequences."

  She nodded, feeling tears form in her eyes.

  "Answer me, Sylvie."

  She looked up at him and slowly the tears started to slide down her face. “Yes, Daimaen.” Again, she was confused by her feelings. She realized with shock, she wasn't crying because he was going to discipline her, she was crying because she'd disappointed him. She could see it in his eyes. And she was angry at herself for feeling that way.

  "Come here, Sylvie and lie across my legs, face to the floor. Keep your hands clasped behind your back."

  With slow steps, she moved to do as he directed. He steadied her as she leaned across his lap. “Spread your legs and put your feet on the floor.” She shook with fear as she did what he asked.

  "Daimaen—” She wanted to plead with him not to do whatever he planned.

  "Don't say anything. You will not make a sound. Any protests and I will add to your punishment. Do you understand?"

  She sniffled, and started to nod, but knew he would want her words. “Y-Yes, Daimaen."

  "You'll receive ten spankings. That's a mild punishment for your bad temper this week. I'm going to be considerate because of what you've been through. Don't tense up, it will only make it more painful for you."

  She felt him smooth his hands across her bottom. Sylvie wanted to rebel against what was happening; at least one part of her wanted that. But another part made her stay, knowing she'd pushed him intentionally this week. She tried to do as he instructed and relax, but couldn't. “You have a beautiful ass, Sylvie."

  Unexpectedly, she felt the first smack and jumped, swiftly inhaling at the sensation. She tried to relax, but it was impossible, and she stiffened each time he connected with her burning buttocks. Tears fell, but she didn't make a sound, not wanting more than the original ten he promised. She wiggled slightly, her bottom warm and painful, and he landed the final smack.

  She breathed a sigh of relief that it was over. Her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands, but she was pleased that she hadn't released them through the whole ordeal. Her rear felt sore, yet warm. Shock spread through her as she realized the warmth had spread to her pussy. Before she could consider further, Daimaen clasped her arms and lifted her from his lap. She stood on unsteady legs, sniffling.

  "Kneel, Sylvie.” Unsteadily, she dropped to her knees, unsure what he expected next. “Spread your legs.” Awkwardly, she moved her legs, until she saw him nod. Her face felt hot and flushed. “Unclasp your hands, and put them on your thighs. Straighten your back.” She did as he directed. “Stay that way, until I tell you to move."

  She heard him walk away. What was going to happen now? She heard the water running in the bathroom and then his steps as he returned to the living room.

  He again stood before her and with one hand raised her chin so she was looking at him. “I'm very proud of you, Sylvie. You handled your first punishment quite well.” He ran a cool washcloth across her face, removing any evidence of the tears. Then he moved behind her. “Your ass looks quite pretty with its lovely pink blush.” She felt him caress the warm, tingling flesh and a heat began to swirl inside her. “I'm looking forward to fucking you there very soon."

  She tensed at the thought. She couldn't have heard him right. “Daimaen—” It was something they'd discussed, but she had thought it wouldn't happen so soon.

  "Don't worry, Sylvie, I'll make sure you're well prepared. You'll enjoy it. Do you still think I would do anything to hurt you?"

  Sylvie shook her head. “It's just that—"

  He finished the sentence for her. “No one's ever touched you there, have they? It will be my pleasure to teach you, my
love. There's no experience we won't share together. I'm going to teach you things about yourself, and take great pleasure in doing it.” Sylvie's breath quickened at the forbidden visions running through her head.

  Daimaen clasped her forearms and brought her to her feet. He took her hand and led her to the kitchen and directed her to sit. He apparently saw her grimace as her bottom connected with the hard surface of the chair. “The pain will disappear soon. It'll be just a faint reminder.” He poured a glass of water and handed it to her. “Here, drink this."

  She took the glass from him and drank thirstily. She hadn't realized how dry her throat felt, and ended up finishing the whole glass, then set it on the table.

  For some reason she felt calm, relaxed. After the week of swirling angry, frightened emotions, it felt ... peaceful. She glanced quickly at Daimaen.

  He nodded. “You needed this, Sylvie. You needed the reminder. You were fighting inside, I knew that. But I didn't feel you were strong enough before this for the discipline you required.” He came back to her and stroked her cheek. She leaned into him.

  "I don't understand any of this, Daimaen. It confuses me; my feelings confuse me."

  "I know they do. It will become clearer. You're meant for me, Sylvie. I knew it the first moment I saw you. Do you know how beautiful I find you? Your submission is a powerful aphrodisiac for me. And you respond so passionately. I'll have it all from you, Sylvie. I know you're holding back, but I will have total submission from you."

  He helped her to her feet and cupped her face with both hands, captured her lips, his tongue entering her mouth. How could there be more, she thought, bending to him like a willow to the wind. As far as she knew, she held nothing back.

  He lifted his head. “I have a surprise for you."

  "A surprise?” What now, she wondered?

  "We're having dinner with Allison and a friend of hers. Are you up to it?"

  She smiled. “Oh, yes. Finally. At last, I'm getting out of this apartment.” She threw her arms around him and kissed him enthusiastically.

  He laughed, pulling her closer. “We're meeting them at seven o'clock, plenty of time for a shower first. And this time, you'll wear what I tell you. Correct?"