Truly Helpless: A Nature of Desire Series Novel

by Joey W. Hill

  Regina smiled and took the offering. “He’s right. As pretty as a real rose might be, I like this one better.”

  “Of course you do. It was made by a lost soul.”

  And offered to me by one.

  A decision formed in her mind. It would take things deeper than she’d intended tonight, but it felt right and she was going to run with it. It wasn’t a late-night booty call craving. She knew the difference between that and this.

  She put her hand on his face. “Normal date is over. We’ll pick up my car, and then you’ll follow me back to my place.”

  The look she gave him told him what she wanted. His own reflected heat and more confusion, mixed with some residual anger he hadn’t been able to let go. But she knew he received the message from how he responded.

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  Chapter Nine

  Regina lived in a waterfront bay community near the Tampa airport. She told him the address in case they were separated, but he kept pace with her car, pulling into her driveway after a fifteen-minute drive. During that time, she caught glimpses of his face at stoplights, but couldn’t read much from it. From the neck up, the boy was a hell of a poker player. Other body language gave her far more insights into what was happening in his head.

  “This is probably stupid,” she told herself for the second time. Or maybe the third. She’d been technically alone with him at the stables, but she knew that was a rationalization. A pair of security guards monitored cameras throughout the grounds from an office in the clubhouse, where they stayed discreet and invisible. They didn’t disrupt scenes in process unless it looked necessary.

  She didn’t have that safety net in her home. But there was a reason it was called Risk Aware Consensual Kink, right? Yep, they could put that on her tombstone when she pushed him too far and he was in prison for murdering her in a fit of rage.

  Stop it. If you’re really worried about it, call it off. If not, keep following your gut.

  Getting out of her car, she motioned him to follow her inside as she unlocked the door and left it open behind her.

  The two-story sand-colored stucco home butted up to the deep-water canal that led to the bay. The water views made the sun porch and back patio endlessly enjoyable for relaxation. Inside, it had all the amenities she wanted. The four bedrooms and three baths had given her an adult playroom, spacious enough to host the occasional small party with kink friends. Her upstairs home office offered her an impressive view of the bay beyond the canal. Her bedroom was a first-floor nest on the western side of the house, where morning sun wouldn’t wake her. When she’d traveled more often, her hours had often been irregular.

  She dropped her keys on the granite countertop in her kitchen. She enjoyed cooking, though living alone, she didn’t always take the time to do it. That made the conveniences of the modern kitchen a nice-to-have, but not as important as the features offered by other spaces. Like her playroom and the outdoor living areas.

  Unzipping her ankle boots, she pulled off them and the stockings beneath, sighing with her usual contentment as she stepped onto the living room carpet and let her toes curl into the softness. One lamp was on, a golden glow contrast to the silvery illumination coming through the bank of living room windows, thanks to the lights lining the canal boardwalk.

  She was aware Marius had come into the kitchen and stood behind her, saying nothing. As she pivoted, the lack of light in the kitchen put him in the shadows.

  “Take off your shoes. Socks, too.” Her gaze slid over him. “Actually, take it all off.”

  “Sure you want the normal date to be over?” His expression might not reflect his thoughts on the matter, but his words offered her the chance to keep this a simple late night fuck, rather than complicating it with the Dom/sub stuff. That would keep it easy for him. Easy for them both.

  She wasn’t in the mood for easy.

  Moving to him, she cupped his nape. He was more than ready for her, meeting her mouth with an abundance of banked hunger. She braced her feet when he would have pushed her against the counter, instead holding him with one hand on his neck and the other against his chest. His fingers curled into her waist and hips like talons, holding her belt loops. She teased and tangled with his tongue, slowed them down. Putting a palm flat on his chest, she broke the kiss.

  “Take all of it off and stay here until I come back.”

  She would have enjoyed watching him remove his clothes, but she gave up that pleasure to invest in another form of indulgence. Going to her playroom, she set out what she wanted and covered the items with a towel so he couldn’t immediately see them when she brought him there.

  Returning to her kitchen, she found he hadn’t obeyed her. He stood fully dressed on the tile, fingers half curled at his sides, his eyes broody and mouth set. The expression coupled with the darkness in the kitchen caused a ripple in her vitals and took her back to her internal debate in the car.

  Yes, he wasn’t entirely safe to bring home. Tyler would have snarled at her for it, but sometimes a Mistress or Master had to follow instincts and rely on emergency services to do their job if the worst happened.

  The spurt of grim humor came with the memory of the night Tyler had agreed to let Marguerite top him in a semi-public session. He’d tapped a bad internal trigger, one that made her lose control and beat the hell out of him. But whatever breakthrough they’d had that night had made him say, more than once, that it was the best error of judgment he’d ever made. So if he wanted to lecture her, she’d just remind him of that. Though Tyler being Tyler, an old school Southern male, he’d say without an ounce of shame that it was different, because he was male and Regina was female. Yeah, right.

  “Problem?” she asked, her tone neutral.

  Marius shook his head. “I think I’m going to go. Shifting gears like this. I wasn’t expecting it.” He stopped, obviously struggling with what he was really trying to say. Or how to escape without actually saying it.

  “Okay. Fair enough. You want to split some of the spinach puffs I had them box up, and take them home with you?”

  His gaze lifted to hers, slowly. “I’m not invited into a woman’s house often.” He moved another step toward her, fingers flexing at his sides. The shadows cloaked his eyes now, making them impossible to read. “Not alone, like this.”

  The alarm tingle got a lot stronger. She moved forward, so she could see his eyes. He had a cool, detached stare, but a lot was happening behind it. He was fighting on a battleground far from here, and this golem left in his stead might still spill blood in her kitchen. If she left him here, and walked calmly into her living room, she could make it to the rear patio door and be outside in a blink, within calling distance of plenty of help. And—

  Stop. Fuck that.

  She went a step closer to him, within reach of his powerful hands that had broken three strong men in one night. A raw energy gathered, prepared to leap. He was going to reach out, grab her, make her startle or flinch, which was what that demon inside him wanted. It wanted to make her afraid. That’s how it would take control. So…

  She slapped him, then caught his shirt collar and yanked him back to her mouth for a violent kiss. When his arms went around her, she ripped open his shirt in one pull, summoning a snarl from him. His hands clamped on her hips and she countered, raking her nails down his chest, drawing blood. She’d had the occasional hardcore sub who craved bloodplay, and she knew how to deliver that when needed.

  Gray eyes went back to lightning storm, but she’d startled him enough to get a split-second of advantage. She ducked under his arm, gripped the back of the shirt collar and yanked the whole garment off his broad shoulders to his forearms, restricting their movement. She hit the small of his back with the heel of her hand, pulled him back to his heels and put him on the ground while his balance was off. Shoving him face-forward to the tile, she changed her grip to his neck and planted her knee in his back, digging her nails into his flesh.

  He wasn’t the first grow
n man she’d had to take down.

  “You’re under the mistaken impression that there’s a rabbit in this room, boy,” she said sharply. “And you think you’re the big, bad wolf. That may be true, but I’m the she-wolf here, the bitch in charge. If you want to turn this into an all-out fight, you might win the physical side. You’re a strong beast. But if you want me to show fear, cower or startle when you whip out all that badness, you’ve picked the wrong fucking female.”

  She backed off him in one lithe move and spoke in the same ruthless tone. “Your hands should still be able to reach your buckle. Strip off your belt and hand it to me. Then open your jeans and push them down to your knees. If you can’t handle that, if you’re afraid of me, if you just want to be done with this, you can leave. I won’t stop you. But if you stay, you do as you’re fucking told.”

  Slowly, he maneuvered himself to his knees, head bowed. She could see his profile in silhouette, the rise and fall of his shoulders, the way his fists were clenched at his hips, beneath the folds of the tangled shirt.

  Reaching out, she feathered her fingers over his bare shoulder, the point of his neck, an easy stroke. She kept doing it, a casual gesture at odds with her hard demand and the violence of the past moment. At length, she took the shirt off of him, helping him slide the sleeves over his hands, and stepped back. She masked her held breath and tense center, which didn’t release until he unbuckled the belt. Stripping it from his lean waist, he held it out to his side for her. His jeans slid down to his hips.

  “Good.” She took it from him and watched the ripple of movement across his shoulders as he unzipped the pants and pushed them to his knees. He wasn’t wearing underwear, as he’d said, and his ass was fine and tight, muscles flexing, the neat seam between his buttocks making her want to tease and probe.

  “Rise.” She put her hand under his elbow to steady him. “Take off the shoes and socks, then get rid of the jeans.”

  When he complied, Marius was naked in her kitchen. As she circled him, she noticed with satisfaction and a nice spear of lust his cock was high and stiff. She looped the belt around the base, cinched it, then brought the tongue up to her shoulder so she could see his reaction as she pulled, so insistently he lurched a step forward. It wouldn’t stop the strap from biting into tender flesh.

  He showed his teeth at the pain, but she ignored that. Instead, she dropped her free hand and gripped his cock, stroking the smooth but hard erection with light fingertips. When at last she allowed the belt to loosen and slip away, she replaced it fully with her hand. As his gaze went opaque and lips parted, she gave the belt to him, pressing it into his half-curled palm. “Put it behind your back, and wind it around both your wrists,” she said. “Restrain yourself. We’re going to take a walk together.”

  His brow furrowed but his shoulders twitched as he began to comply. She didn’t let herself indulge the victory. She kept stroking his shaft, investigating the glans and slit with a probing thumb, noting the quiver through his muscles as his arousal started to build and pre-come dampened her skin. He was getting thicker and bigger in her grasp, a temptation to which she wasn’t immune. Her own body tightened, loosened and liquefied in all the right ways.

  She was also getting warm. She let go of him long enough to strip off her halter top. As she stood before him in jeans and a demi-cup bra that barely held her breasts in a frame of lace and sheer mesh, his gaze tracked the sparkling spider pendant resting in her cleavage. He moistened his firm lips and she could feel them there, along with the tip of his clever, teasing tongue.

  She increased her grip on his cock, emitting a purr as it convulsed under her touch. “Walk with me,” she said. “One step back for me, one step forward for you.” She put pressure on his cock to help him understand, and he did. He moved with her as she brought her other hand to rest on his chest, controlling their pace. He had his hands wrapped in his belt so his chest was open terrain for her to explore. Stroke, play with a taut nipple with her thumb, tug on his chest hair, scratch him with her nails. He missed a stride and stepped on her foot, but they were both barefoot. Her quick smile seemed to knock something loose, his intensity lessening, lips quirking. He took a breath, chest expanding under her touch.

  “So this is being led around by the cock?”

  “The literal interpretation, yes. Much better than the pejorative meaning. You’re your own man, Marius. I don’t make any choices for you. Not even the choice to stay here.”

  They were moving down the hallway, nearly at her playroom. She stopped, letting go of his cock with a caressing touch, and gestured into it. “Go stand in the center of the room.”

  He moved into the space, filling it up with his size and the energy vibrating from him. She let him look his fill, see the spanking bench, the several pieces of BDSM furniture she’d splurged upon over the years. The walls were extra insulated oak paneling to muffle noise, the floor covered with a bold, dark red throw rug.

  Rising on her toes, she unhooked a pair of steel cuffs from the doubled over chains embedded in the ceiling beams. The doubling over was a practical measure to keep her from banging into them when she was doing other things in the room.

  “Drop the belt to the floor.”

  She’d picked up his shirt, and now shimmied out of her jeans, leaving her in her bra and panties, a matching mesh and lace. Shrugging into his shirt, she left it open over the set, and freed her hair from the collar. She wrapped herself in his scent, enjoying the touch of the cloth still holding the heat of him. His face might be hard to read right now, but the way he had his gaze locked on her sent its own message.

  She stepped closer to run a hand down the valley of his spine, slow, molding her palm to his lower back and hip. “Put on the cuffs. Do you trust me enough to do that?”

  In answer, he locked them onto his wrists.

  So she was going with soft play. Surprising, since his reputation was for more hardcore stuff, but so far, even in pony play, she’d gone a different way. Well, yes and no. He’d expected the pony play to be undemanding, but she’d used the trappings to mindfuck him pretty damn well, taking him somewhere he hadn’t been before. So maybe he shouldn’t assume he knew where she was going with this. Thinking he did kept him in a comfort zone that might not last very long.

  This, his hands in cuffs, he’d done this before. It was like a Domme staple. When she pulled them up, taking the slack out of the chain so his arms were over his head, she didn’t put any strain on his shoulders. She even double-checked that with the welcome grip of her smooth hand on those muscle groups. Was he disappointed? No…not necessarily. But her going the well-worn track with him was unexpected. She’d probably do a little flogging or spanking, maybe take him with a strap-on, have him come.

  What he wanted to compel her to do was fuck him herself, her tight, wet pussy sliding down the full length of his cock, her ass pressed against his upper thighs as she seated herself there. She’d denied him direct participation in her last climax, denied him the right to fuck her. It was starting to piss him off. Or maybe that was the cuffs, this whole soft approach. He wanted a fight. He wanted her to push, to hurt.

  Hell, what was she fucking planning to do? She’d asked if he trusted her enough to let her cuff him. He did. But alarm bells still went off. Especially when she put a blindfold on him, an eye mask she seated securely so he was kept in darkness.

  But why did it bug him? He’d been blindfolded before. Hell, full head mask, gagged, hog-tied and immobilized. That didn’t put him out of control. He still knew how to work a Mistress, even when it seemed all senses were hampered. Body language was almost impossible to completely silence and Mistresses looked for the responses they wanted to see. He could give her a good time. Why wouldn’t she give him the freedom to do that?

  Why was he having a fucking two-way argument with himself that was threatening to burn out the hamsters turning the wheels of his brain?

  “I don’t want a blindfold. I want to see you in my shirt.” Longer. Mo
re. He never wanted her to wear anything else.

  He’d said it like a demand and knew it. Wouldn’t apologize for it.

  “There’ll be time for that. You’re a little too bossy right now. Let’s take care of that.” Her fingers were at his mouth, easing in a ball gag. He locked his jaw, but she merely slid her finger into the hinge and wrenched it open the way she had with the bit, strapping it in before he could force it loose. It had a handkerchief wrapped around it. When the scent hit his nostrils, it stilled him.

  “I rubbed that between my legs,” she said. “I want you to know how much I liked thinking about doing this to you. And how much I liked that kiss at the Riverwalk.” Her knuckles slid along his sides, to his hips, down over his upper thighs.

  Her voice thickened, giving him an unexpected glimpse of emotion. She stayed in such control, was she playing him now? But her words hit him in a way that didn’t leave room for him to analyze.

  “I don’t know if any sub can truly understand what it does to a Master or Mistress, seeing you helpless, surrendering your will to us. It takes the mind some interesting places.”

  She pressed against his back, her hands sliding along his bound arms. “You think you can scare me, big bad wolf? You don’t know all the uncivilized things I want to do with you, here, trapped in my house, bound and helpless. It’s you who should be worried.”

  He could get out by tearing the hook out of the ceiling. He knew it, she knew it. But the teasing caress of her breath on his neck had him quivering, his cock getting stiffer.

  She’d moved away from him and was doing something, perhaps at the table he’d seen when he first came into the room, the one that had items concealed by a cloth on one end.

  When she returned, the clatter of metal suggested she’d set a bucket next to him. Next, she ran her hand down his left leg. “Lift,” she ordered. When he did, she slid a cushioned mat under one foot, then the other as he shifted.