by Donya Lynne
The apartment was silent, which meant Sam and Micah were still sleeping, so he tried to keep quiet as he pulled out the coffee and got a pot brewing. He knew the apartment well enough by now that he knew where everything was and made his way easily around the kitchen.
Trace was whipping up a batch of homemade pancakes when Sam appeared, wearing a pair of grey yoga pants and a long-sleeved, raspberry-colored knit top. Her hair was wet.
"Morning," she said, despite the time on the clock showing it was nearly 3:00 in the afternoon.
"Morning. Hungry?" Trace stirred the pancake batter then spooned four equal portions onto the hot griddle he'd plugged in on the counter.
"Mmm, yes. I love pancakes." Sam shuffled to the cabinet, grabbed a mug, and poured a cup of coffee before turning around and topping off his own mug.
"Thanks." Trace smiled as he looked down at his cup, spinning a spatula around in his hand.
"How you feelin' this morning?" Sam opened the fridge, pulled out her French vanilla creamer, and poured a dose into her coffee.
"Good." Trace grinned. "Rested."
Sam parked against the counter next to him and lifted her mug to her lips and blew over the hot liquid. "Is that unusual?" Her green eyes turned up to his.
He nodded, checking the pancakes. "Sort of. I usually get a decent sleep after getting worked, but I haven't slept as well as I did today in ages."
Sam's pink lips turned up into a proud smile. "That's my Micah, always taking good care of the people he cares about."
Trace flipped the pancakes then looked down at Sam, who stood a good four inches shorter than he did.
"Micah's a good friend. I bet he's an even better mate," he said.
Sam's smile broadened. "He's damn near perfect."
The two stared at each other for a moment.
"Yeah, he is, isn't he?" Trace held Sam's gaze. "And you're damn near perfect for him, too."
Would he ever have what Micah had with Sam? He wanted someone special; someone made expressly for him.
Sam must have sensed his sadness, because she gently touched his arm.
"Trace, there's someone out there for you, and she'll be perfect and give you everything you need."
"I don't know, Sam. What I need is a lot, as you saw last night."
"What are you saying?" Sam slid closer, sipping her coffee.
"Just that there aren't many females who can dish out that kind of pain."
Sam looked into her coffee, appearing uncomfortable. "So, what? Do you think you need a…man?" She glanced back up at him.
He shook his head. "No. It's odd. I know I need a female. I love the female form too much to take a male mate, but I need her to be willing to hurt me. Physically, you know? And even…mentally."
Sam set her coffee down and turned toward him, rubbing his arm. "Yeah, I know, sweetie."
Trace sighed and took up the pancakes, stacking them on a plate, and then turned toward her. "I'm pretty fucked up, huh?"
Sam frowned and shook her head. "Not any more than the rest of us." She smiled compassionately. "You're actually pretty normal, Trace. Except for your whole I'm-a-vampire thing." She bit her lip as if she was trying not to giggle. "And, of course, then there's that whole mind control stuff you've got going on. Other than that, you're pretty much a regular guy."
With a chuckle, Trace took her hand and squeezed it. "Regular guy. Yep, that's me."
Micah entered the kitchen, scratching his bare chest and yawning. "You making a move on my girl, Trace?"
Trace did the unthinkable under any other circumstance and pulled Sam into his arms, hugging her tightly. "Absolutely. I might not give her back."
Micah froze and shot Trace a lethal glare. Both Trace and Sam went starkly still, then Sam scrambled out of his arms.
"He was only kidding, Micah," she said, trying to placate him.
Micah broke out in laughter. "Oh God, Trace! If you could have seen your face." He reached over and clocked Trace with a playful smack on the cheek. "Seriously, do you think after what we've been through I'd give a shit if you gave my babe a hug?"
"Hell, I don't know!" Trace exhaled heavily in relief, throwing one hand against his chest as he steadied himself with the other by placing it on the counter. "Fucker. You scared the shit out of me."
Micah waved a hand at him. "Ah, whatever man." He turned toward Sam and pulled her in for a kiss. "Morning, sexy."
"Morning." Sam swatted Micah on the arm. "And be nice."
"I'm always nice."
Trace snorted. "What-the-fuck-ever." He poured more batter onto the griddle.
Sam smacked Micah again. "Yeah. What Trace said."
"Hey!" Micah laughed and pulled back as Sam went for him again. "Watch it, Iron Mike."
"I'll Iron Mike you," Sam chased Micah out of the kitchen, both of them laughing.
Trace smiled to himself, listening to them and thinking back to what Sam had said earlier. One day he would have what they had. Surely, someone who had been made just for him was out in the world. He only had to find her.
Easier said than done, but Trace had been through worse.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
With the scene party two days behind him, and things settling down where Trace was concerned, Micah wanted his last night off from work to be special. The honeymoon was over now that his calling was coming to an end, but that didn't mean he couldn't give Sam one last night to remember before he got back to the task of enforcing and policing the drecks or any other criminal element that needed a firm hand.
He flipped on the light switches in the foyer of his suburban home and shut the door then stepped up behind Sam.
"Are you nervous?" He brushed his fingertips over her neck as he helped her out of her coat.
"Not really." She turned and gazed up at him. "I trust you."
She looked beautiful, her face only showing the barest hint of makeup, her short hair standing out in soft, piecy tufts. She wore a simple blouse with comfortable yoga pants and tennis shoes. Not your average S&M attire, but whips and bondage wasn't what tonight was about. Tonight was merely for an introduction.
He hung their coats in the hall closet then took her hand and led her through the kitchen to the door that led to the basement.
"Do I have to call you sir or master?" Sam stood back as he unlocked the door and opened it.
With a smile, he pulled her roughly against him, making her gasp and suck in her breath.
"That's not what tonight is about, Sam. That's not what this about between us." His gaze swept over every inch of her face. Sam was exquisite. So perfect. Too perfect for him. How had he been so lucky that Fate had matched her to someone like him?
He bent and kissed her softly, sweetly. "You're not my slave, and you're not my servant. You're not even my submissive."
She stared up at him through her lashes, and Micah couldn't resist. He lifted his mouth, and she closed her eyes just as he planted a tender kiss on one eyelid then the other.
"You're my mate, Sam. You never have to call me sir." Kiss. "Or master." Kiss. "You call me Micah. Always call me Micah, because I love how my name sounds coming out of your mouth. Especially when you're about to come."
Lifting up on her tiptoes, Sam found his mouth with hers, and her kiss was as feverish as a fire on an autumn night, stirring Micah's arousal to a higher altitude, driving his yearning for her right up to the limits of his tolerance. Micah was so unbelievably, madly, deeply in love with this woman. Fuck the mating and the calling. He simply wanted to be with her forever, to share his entire life and heart with her. Yes, he longed for her to bear him a child, but if she never did, his feelings for her would still remain as powerful as they were right now.
They broke apart and shadows of desire passed through her eyes before she rested her forehead against his chest, her body rising and falling heavily in want for him.
Mmm, the way she held him, and the way she made him feel. Micah was a stronger man with her love. The idea of marring
her flesh even in play was abhorrent, which was one reason why he refused to call her a submissive. Sam was most definitely not a submissive. Micah considered the thought for a moment and grinned to himself. Perhaps she was the very epitome of a submissive, because didn't a true submissive have all the control? And didn't Sam have complete and total control over him? She did, didn't she?
In the most bizarre way, Sam was his master and he was her servant, because he would do anything for her if she only asked. Which she rarely did, and that made him want to please her even more.
He took a deep breath and looked down the stairs before looking back at Sam as she pulled away.
"What we do down there is for your pleasure, and for mine. It's not about who is in charge." He lifted her hand to his heart and pressed it against him. "Because, Sam, you are in absolute control in every way."
He didn't need to explain his meaning any further than that. She nodded with understanding then followed him as he wrapped his hand around hers and descended the stairs.
In his dungeon, he turned off the overhead lights and lit three candles set in front of mirrors. Light flickered and reflected around the room with a magical, almost otherworldly effect, casting alluring shadows.
With deliberate, reverent steps, Micah approached Sam as if she was a goddess he had to approach with care, who could strike him down with one look if he displeased her. But she didn't strike him down. As he reached her, she lifted her hands and combed her fingers through his hair while he slowly knelt down in front of her, pushing her yoga pants down until she stepped out of them and toed off her shoes.
The light shone off her naked legs, long and lean. He loved her legs. He loved running his hands over them, loved feeling them wrapped around his body as he took her with his.
As he slowly stood back up, he dragged his hands up the outside of her thighs, over the gentle curves of her hips, and under her blouse. Dutifully, she lifted her arms over her head and let him easily remove it.
Sam wore no undergarments, just as he had requested, and her pale pink nipples – almost invisible against her porcelain skin, puckered instantly, the candlelight flickering over her breasts and casting captivating shadows on her skin.
Without hesitation, Micah grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled it forward over his head before tossing it on the nearby couch. He was eager to feel her skin against his. In one sure, solid movement, he had her in one arm while the other grabbed one of her legs and lifted. She hopped up and locked her legs around his waist, her breasts pressed firmly against his chest, her lips open against his in a breathless caress.
"I'm giving you a safe word," he said.
"I didn't think you were going to hurt me." Her eyes sizzled with a mix of arousal and fear.
"I don't plan to." He carried her to the large bed with the wrought iron frame. "But I don't want to take any chances. I want to make sure I don't hurt you, because I want this to be about pleasure, not pain."
"Okay."
He climbed onto the bed with her still wrapped around him and set her on top of the satin comforter before sitting back on his heels between her legs to feast his gaze on her glorious flesh.
"Mmm, you're beautiful." He pushed his palms up her torso and over her breasts before pulling them back down her body.
To her credit, she reached up and took hold of one of the iron rails of the headboard.
"Jesus." Shit, she was sexy splayed out for him, falling into the character of being bound and helpless.
She undulated over the comforter, shifting her body and tightening her grip on the headboard. "Do you like, Mr. Black?"
"Very much, Mrs. Black."
She tilted her head and arched one eyebrow at him.
"Very well, Miss Garrett. Yes, I like."
He got up off the bed, still wearing his black, nylon sweats. "Turn over for me, Miss Garrett."
"What?"
"You heard me. Turn over like a good girl." He smiled over his shoulder at her, grabbing a pair of leather cuffs connected by a short chain from a shelf. He unhooked them from one another.
By the time he returned to the bed, she was on her stomach, her perfect ass beckoning for him to smack it.
"Get up on you knees for me. And grab the headboard again."
He eased up behind her, pressing his chest into the back of her shoulders while his erection pushed against his sweats and bumped against the soft curves of her ass.
"What are you going to do to me, Mr. Black?" She looked over her shoulder, her green eyes sparkling with innocence.
"I'm going to tie you to this headboard, Miss Garret, that's what I'm going to do."
"Why would you do something like that?" She arched her back and swayed her hips side-to-side against his groin.
Little minx. Damn, she knew how to rile him up. Oh, but he would get her back. She didn't know who she was messing with. He was Micah, master of the mindfuck. He would have to play with her a little. Just to enhance her reaction, of course. Nothing harmful or too traumatic.
He secured the leather cuffs around her wrists, slid the hook and chain through a loop in the headboard, then attached the hook to the other cuff. She pulled and the metal clanked and rattled, but she couldn't pull free.
The grin on his face had to be pure satisfaction as she glanced back at him again.
"Is this all?" she said, challenging him. "You're just going to tie me to the bed?"
His grin widened. "Oh no, that's not all." He reached down and picked up a pair of clothespins. "Remember that safe word I mentioned?"
She frowned at the clothespins. "Yes?"
"It's stop. Your safe word is stop. Repeat it."
"Stop." Her gaze turned wary.
He had every intention of going easy on her being it was their first play session, but he had a feeling a little bit of pain would excite her.
"Trust me?"
She paused and looked back the clothespins. "What are you going to do with those?"
"Nothing you don't want me to do. Now, do you trust me?"
She took a deep breath. "Yes."
"Will you use the safe word if you have to?"
She paused then nodded. "Yes."
"Okay. If you use your safe word, I will stop immediately and the scene will end."
She bit her lip. "Completely end?"
"Yes."
"What if I don't want it to completely end and simply just want you stop what you're doing?"
"Then say 'too much.' If you say that, I'll know that what I'm doing is uncomfortable, but won't stop the whole scene, just what I'm doing at that moment. Deal?"
She nodded. "Okay."
He kissed the back of her shoulder. "Okay."
Crowding her, he reached around and tweaked her left nipple between his thumb and fingers until it formed a tight peak. She breathed heavily, getting an idea of what he was about to do with the clothespin.
"Ssshhh. Just relax," he said, swirling his palm over her raised nipple.
"This is going to hurt, isn't it?"
"It'll pinch, yes. But it'll be okay. Just breathe." He pressed the clothespin open and held it over her nipple while she held her breath and tensed.
Slowly, he closed the clamp over her nipple.
"Ouch! Oh my God!" She flinched and strained against the headboard. "That hurts!"
"Do you want me to stop?"
She hissed and rocked back against him as if she could get away from the stinging pain.
After a moment, she shook her head. "No. Don't stop."
He repeated the process on her right nipple with the same results as she cried out from the pinch of the clamp.
The way she cavorted and yanked against her bindings excited Micah. He loved watching her lithe, limber body twist and squirm. She was exceptionally flexible, anyway, and to see all that flexibility bend her was like watching moving art. Sam was built for fluidity and motion, to be watched, which was one reason why she had been the star performer at the Black Garter in her dancing days.
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But now she only danced for him. His own private, exotic dancer.
His hands shot around her and down her stomach to her inner thighs and she stilled. For all their discomfort, the bite of pain created by the clothespins turned her on. He could see it in her mind. And with his hands massaging up and down so near the juncture of her legs as he ground against her backside, Sam was soon moaning and rotating her hips involuntarily.
"Micah…" She laid her head back on his shoulder, exposing the graceful arch of her neck to his eager fangs.
Yes, he wanted to taste her tonight. He hadn't taken her blood since last week. But first…he let go of her and quickly backed away so that she nearly fell backward from his abrupt departure.
"Where are you going? Why did you stop?"
"Quiet." Micah wouldn't dom her, but he could play act a little. And right now, he wanted to show her how good it could be.
With a blindfold in his hand, he returned to the bed and gently placed it over her eyes and secured it in place.
"Is that comfortable, baby?"
She leaned into his hand. "Yes."
"Good."
Time to play. He returned to his bureau of toys and pulled out a violet wand and one of his Hitachi Magic Wands. Oh, she would love this. The idea of what he was about to do made him smile.
"You like pain, love?"
"I didn't say that." She sounded nervous with her sense of sight effectively shut off.
"But I can see it in your mind." He zapped a piece of leather wrapped around a block of wood with the violet wand.
The electric crackle of sound made Sam jump.
"No, wait. You're not really going to…?"
"Just try it." He lowered his voice seductively. "For me." He circled her on the bed, watching her strain and turn her head in the direction of his voice. "You know what this is, don't you?" He licked the tip of the violet wand on the leather again.
"Yes."
He had used such a device on Trace the other night, and she had seen what it had done to him.
"What if I don't want you to use that on me?"
"Use your safe word." Micah spoke matter-of-factly.
"I don't want to use my safe word."