Instinctively, I place my hand at the small of LaTasha’s back and wave my other hand for her to walk ahead of me. Of course it’s the gentlemanly thing to do, but more than that, I want to take in her backside as we pass through the restaurant. The sway of her dress around her plump backside and thick legs keep me transfixed so much so that I have to pull up short once we reach the private dining space I’d requested for the evening. Pull it together, Bennett.
“A private room?” LaTasha asks, an eyebrow raised.
“We have some things to discuss and I assume you wouldn’t want others to overhear this particular conversation,” I answer, looking down into her face.
She looks down, and if she were a few shades lighter, I swear she’d be blushing. “No, I guess not,” she responds.
“I didn’t think so.” I usher her toward our private table for two, pull out her chair, and wait for her to sit before addressing the hostess.
“Your server tonight will be Ally. She’ll be with you shortly. Enjoy your dinner.”
“Thank you, darlin’,” I state before she bounces off.
“Thank you for being early.”
LaTasha smiles. “No problem. I’m kinda a stickler for time myself.”
I notice her wiggle in her chair a subtly. “You’re nervous. Why?”
“Why?” she asks, repeating my question to her.
“Yes, why?”
“Well, umm… This isn’t exactly a normal conversation or relationship thing we’re about to discuss.”
I grin and lean forward, elbows on the table. “Whose definition of normal?”
At that question, she stares at me, contemplatively and shrugs. “I don’t know. Society’s, I guess.”
I frown. “The same society that allows women and children to live in poverty? Or the society that allows the people meant to protect us to shoot unarmed citizens? That’s the society with such high moral standing you want to uphold?” I reach across the table to squeeze her hand briefly as she smiles bashfully. Pulling back, I remove my hand and sit back in my seat.
She considers that for a minute. “You’re right. It’s just this is my first time venturing out into ‘the life.’ That’s what it’s called. Right? The Life? I mean, I wonder why it’s called that. It’s an interesting term, I guess. But how many people actually incorporate this into their life? I mean, you’d think…” She stops when I reach across the table once again, clasping her hand.
“You ramble when you’re nervous.”
“Not usually, but you…” She pauses.
“I what?” I prod.
“You take me out of my comfort zone.”
“That’s the duty of any good Dom,” I explain.
“I can’t believe I’m actually having this conversation,” she mumbles.
I decide to ask her a question I’ve been wondering. “Why did you come to the club that night?”
Her face takes on a contemplative expression. “Well…” She sighs, smoothing her hand over her hair. “I…um…had some trouble with work and I thought getting out would help take my mind off it.”
“But you knew it was BDSM night. Why did you choose that night?” I question, not letting her off the hook so easily.
She pulls her hand from my loose grip. “Well, I’d seen some stuff on the life online and it—”
“It excited you,” I say, finishing her statement for her.
“Yes.”
“Did you wonder if I’d be there?”
“Yes,” she answers, her eyes skirting away from me.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah, okay. My other questions can wait for a little longer. Right now, it’s time to order our meals.” As soon as I finish my sentence, our server appears with glasses of water along with a bottle of the red wine I’d ordered in advance on a tray. We put in our orders, and just a few minutes later, our salads are served. We eat for a few minutes in silence. I wonder what LaTasha is thinking. I can see the wheels turning in her mind, but I opt to wait her out.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead.”
“How come you always call me LaTasha?”
I raise my eyebrow. “That is your name, right?”
She grins. “Liam said you were a smart ass.”
I chuckle before I wipe my mouth.
“Yes, it is,” she answers. “I just mean, you refer to other women as darlin’ and everyone else calls me Tasha. But you don’t. How come?”
“I like being the only one to call you by your full name.”
“My grandmother was the only person to call me by my full name.” Abruptly she pulls her lips in as if she hadn’t meant for that comment to slip out. “I like when you call me LaTasha.” She smiles, looking me directly in the eye.
My chest fills up with some emotion I can’t identify and I find myself having to fight not to look away from her gaze. I’m not used to this scenario. I’ve never had a problem maintaining eye contact with anyone whether it’s friend or foe. Yet this woman…
“So, how does this work?” she asks, totally unaware of the effect she’s having on me.
“It’ll work however we want it to work,” I state nonchalantly.
She tilts her head, looking at me.
I smirk. “A Dom-sub relationship is an exchange. It’s not about violence or pain for the sake of violence or pain. It’s reciprocal. You may experience periods of being uncomfortable, but you push through it because you know you will receive pleasure unlike anything you’ve experienced before. Now, that isn’t to say you must endure anything. If you’re really uncomfortable or if you’re being triggered by something, then we can stop or slow down. That’s why safe words and sometimes safe signals or gestures are used.”
“Gestures?” she interrupts.
I frown. “Love, one thing you’ll learn about me is that I don’t like being interrupted. But to answer your question, gestures or signals are sometimes necessary if say, you’re gagged or your mouth is otherwise, occupied.”
I notice LaTasha squirm a bit in her seat, and it sends a sensation directly to my cock. Lucky for both of us, our server chooses that moment to bring our meals. I watch as LaTasha takes her first forkful of her crab cakes. When she closes her eyes, savoring the taste, it takes every bit of willpower in my body not to reach across the table and crush her lips to mine.
“Soon.”
“What did you say?”
At that moment, I realize I said that I’ve spoken out loud. “Tell me something about yourself no one else knows.”
Her eyes widen in shock. She wipes her mouth with her napkin before placing it back on her lap. “Really?” she asks.
I nod, completely serious. “A Dom-sub relationship is about trust. If you don’t trust me, you’ll never be able to submit fully. If I can’t trust you, I could never bring either of us the type of pleasure that comes with your full submission.” I look her straight in the eye.
Her lids flutter, but her eyes remain open as she turns her head, avoiding eye contact. “I’ve never had an orgasm,” she nearly whispers.
“Why not?”
Her eyes shift back to me and she shrugs.
“I need a verbal response to my question,” I admonish.
She sighs, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “I…uh… It just never happened.”
I know the answer is more complicated than that. “As I said, the basis of any fulfilling Dom-sub relationship is trust. There is no trust without communication. There is no relationship without those two things. You don’t have to tell me everything that happened in your past right now, but at some point, I’d like you to open up.”
She shakes her head and opens her mouth.
“One day,” I insist although I don’t even know why. I’ve never demanded past subs to open up and share their entire histories with me.
“One day,” she says skeptically. “Now, you tell me something that no one knows about you.”
I really sho
uld’ve expected that. I stare at this gorgeous woman in front of me and wonder if she knows how appealing she is. Actually, I don’t have to wonder because I know she doesn’t know. “My mother dumped me at a group home when I was ten years old.”
Her mouth drops open. “You’re telling the truth aren’t you?”
I nod. “Yup. I told you—”
“Trust,” she interrupts.
“Love,” I growl lowly.
“I’m sorry. No interruptions. Got it. Please continue.”
I half shrug. “Not much more to tell. She was tired of being a mother. It’s not like she was a particularly good one anyway. Anyway, she dropped me off at a group home, and I wound up in foster care. A few years later, I was reunited with my biological father, who took me in and loved me like a real father should until the day he died.” I’ve never revealed so much about myself to any of my subs. I can’t figure out why it was so easy to do with LaTasha. There’s a long pause as she takes in what I’ve just revealed. She stares at me observantly.
“I’m sorry you went through that. I know what it’s like to be treated like a throwaway by your own parent.” Her voice is somber, but her words provide some sort of balm to a deep wound. Although her sentiment is comforting, I silently hope she doesn’t ask more questions about my history.
“May I ask another question?” Her voice has taken on a more upbeat tone.
I release a breath, realizing she’s attempting to change the subject. I tilt my head. “You may.”
“What do you get out of it? I’ve read articles and books on this, and different people receive various benefits from it. I mean, what do you get out of it beyond just orgasms?”
I smile inside, happy to hear that she has been doing her own research. I usually don’t work with first-time subs anymore. I no longer wanted to be someone’s introduction to the life. But again, LaTasha is different. The thought of another Dom teaching her the world and pleasures I wish to teach her, unsettles me.
I push my plate to the side and lean onto the table for emphasis. I stare directly into her eyes. “I get to know that your every pleasure is in my hands. I’ll have the joy of seeing your body tremble in anticipation of what I’m going to do next. I get off on knowing that my subs entrust me with their very well-being, both inside and outside of the bedroom. I like control.” Truth is that last part is a lie. I don’t just like control. I crave it. “Does that answer your question?”
I lean back in my chair as Tasha stares at me with a lowered gaze. I watch as she reaches for her glass of water.
“Why?” she asks, surprising me.
“Why what?”
“Why do you crave control?”
I clench the cloth napkin in my hand reflexively, remembering parts of my childhood I wish I could’ve long forgotten. “Growing up in foster homes tends to make one feel out of control a lot,” I shrug, casually. “I guess now as an adult, a part of me needs to reclaim that control I lost early on.”
Her mouth forms into a perfect “O” as she absorbs my honesty. “I can definitely understand that,” she finally sighs.
“Since we’re being so honest,” she says after clearing her throat. “How do you know it will work?”
“Work?”
“Yes. I mean, how do you know it will work for me?” Her voice is bashful almost.
I nod in understanding. I reach across the table and use my index finger to make small circles on the outside of LaTasha’s wrist. I feel her tremble from that small amount of stimuli and smile smugly. “You feel that?” My eyes move to my hand on her wrist and back to her eyes.
“Yes.” Her voice has taken on an airiness.
“The shiver you give just from my hand on your wrist is how I know we’ll be great together. If you can handle it,” I challenge.
An arched eyebrow raises. “If I can handle it? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what I said. I’m not an easy lover and I’ve done everything to stay away from you since you’ve moved here. I sensed your hesitation from the moment I asked you to dance at Coral’s wedding. I can feel it now. I hear it in your voice when you admit to never having had an orgasm. As a Dom it’s in my nature to take from you what you want to hold back. Can you handle that?”
Her gaze lowers, the challenging look of moments ago disappearing. “I think so,” she finally answers.
“We’ll see,” I retort. It’s time to switch to something less heavy. “Now, I have a question for you. Why are you having difficulty writing?”
“Writing?”
“Yes, I’m looking forward to Danica’s next adventure and how she’ll get out of the mess she’s in.”
“You read my books? Wait. How did you know I was the author? Did Coral tell you?”
I force myself not to laugh at her bemused expression. “Yes, I’ve read them. And no, Coral isn’t the one who told me you’re the author. I have my own resources.” I refuse to tell her that once I met her at Coral and Liam’s wedding I did a little background research on her. That’s when I found out she was the author of one of the most popular series on the New York Times’ list. I became intrigued and actually began reading the series in my spare time.
“Oh...okay. Well, I don’t know why I’m having trouble writing. It sucks too because I’ve never experienced writer’s block. Usually, I have to force my brain to shut down so I can do normal things like sleep. But now, it’s just... I go to my laptop to write and everything that comes out is a garbled mess. Words and creating alternative or fictional realities have always been my thing, you know? Ever since I saw the image of Storm on the first Marvel cover I was ever given, I’ve had no problem imagining and writing about new worlds. And now…”
“Did you say Storm and Marvel?”
She nods. “Yes, I know comics are usually thought of as being for boys, but I devoured them as a kid. Storm being my favorite, of course. She’s just so strong and such a mystery. You know, because she was born in Kenya and was an orphan. Well, maybe you don’t know. It’s pretty nerdy stuff. I’m sure you didn’t really—”
“Didn’t really what?”
“Nothing.”
“I for one always adored Storm. Or should I say Ororo? For years I hoped she and Wolverine would get together. I think they would’ve played off well on each other’s strengths and weaknesses.”
“You’re a comic nerd too!” LaTasha’s expression is wide-eyed.
“You thought you were the only one who read comic books to escape a shitty childhood? Who else could enjoy Danica’s quests as much as I do? I see a lot of Storm’s traits in Danica. I suspected you were a Marvel fan.”
What feels like only minutes later, I look at my watch and realize we’d spent an hour and a half talking about our mutual admiration for comic books. After spending so much of my time having discussions and meetings about work, this is one of the best conversations I can remember having in a very long time. I’m reluctant to say the next words, but I have an early morning meeting the following day. “We should get going.” I motion for our server to retrieve the bill.
“Thank you for tonight,” LaTasha says as I stand behind her, pulling out her chair.
“The pleasure was all mine.”
“Where’re you parked or did you valet?” I ask once the check has been handled.
“I’m parked in the side parking lot.”
“I’m right out front. We can go to my car and I’ll drive you to yours so I can follow you home to make sure you get in safely.”
“That won’t be necessary. I know how to get home from here.”
I abruptly stop walking toward the door to turn and look down at LaTasha, frowning. “It’s not about whether or not you know how to get home from here. Anyone you go out with should care enough to make sure you get home safely. And if I’m going to be your Dom, it’s my job to make your safety a priority in every aspect and not just while we’re playing. All right?”
LaTasha’s face scrunches up. “But you haven�
�t agreed to be my Dom yet,” she retorts.
“We’re working on it and that means I need you to understand that your safety is my priority. Okay?”
She pauses, staring at me. Slowly she answers, “Yes.”
“Good.” I replace my hand around her lower waist, escorting her to the exit. We remain silent as we reach my car and I open the door for her. I help her into the passenger’s seat.
“Thank you.”
Once at her car, I make sure she’s in and wait for her to pull out of her space to follow her for the nearly thirty minute trip back to Liam and Coral’s sprawling home. At the gate, she lowers the window to have her face scanned and then drives through to the driveway closest to the guesthouse. I park behind her and get out and walk her to her door.
“Thank you again for tonight,” she says, opening her door.
I remain in the doorway, leaning against it. I tuck my hands inside my pockets. I stare down into LaTasha’s eyes. There’s so much emotion in their depths, but I’m sure she’s not even aware of it. I saw it the first time I laid eyes on her and it's still there.
“Go ahead,” I urge.
“How did you know? Never mind. Coral does that all the time too. Anyway, how do you know there’s any chemistry between us?”
I raise my eyebrows. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, what if we begin this relationship or whatever we’ll call it, and then there’s no spark?”
You’ve gotta be kidding me. I stare at her and realize she’s serious. Without thinking, I take a step forward, kicking the door closed behind me and wrap one hand around her throat. My grip is loose and I allow my thumb to trail over the vein that pulses in her neck. At first the look she gives me is alarmed. I continue to press her back against the wall, pressing my body into hers.
“What’re you—“
“Don’t speak,” I order before crushing my lips to hers. At first, I can feel her shock. Then her body trembles as she tries to figure out what to do until finally, she relaxes and allows me to take the lead. After that, my body relaxes as my tongue swipes over her entire mouth. I move my hand from her neck to the back of her head, pulling her hair. Her nipples pebble beneath the fabric of her dress. I know I should stop, but when she moans at the back of her throat, I step even closer into her. My other hand reaches up her thighs, under her dress and winds its way into her panties. Her moistness evident. Reluctantly, I pull back and bite her lower lip just hard enough to cause a slight amount of pain before releasing her completely.
My Storm Page 6