To cover her discomfiture, Deborah selected a book at random—and promptly notched her arousal by several degrees. "Ah, Les Liaisons Dangereuses, I have heard of it but until now never set eyes on it," she said with a calmness she didn't feel. "Should I read it?"
"If you wish. Perhaps one day you write your own."
The thought made her squirm. How could she write about something she was ignorant of? Unless… "Of us?"
He dipped his head. "Perhaps. Or of your life so far?"
She shuddered. Never that. Those dark days needed to be forgotten. They were over. Or were they? For the first time in many a year Deborah wondered just how the terror had shaped her. She may have been but a babe, however, the stories told to her, and the vague memories, never left her. Shapes, a woman's breast, small arms holding her tightly. Then nothing. The need to search, to hunt, to want … it was not something she cared to discuss, and she cast around for a reply. "Boring."
"Deborah, let me make this clear. You do not lie to me, ever. If you do, I will punish you. We may still need to negotiate our relationship, if indeed we chose to have one, but that is non-negotiable. Come here."
His tone sent warnings down her spine and the hairs on her arms stood up. With a dry mouth and pounding heart, Deborah stood, uncertain. If she obeyed, it was the beginning, if she did not, it would be the end. But punishment?
"What place does punishment have in a partnership? Why should you have the power to chastise me?"
"Because punishment will become pleasure, perhaps?Or because I am dominant. I listen. I decide. I direct. In a dominant partnership such as I require, if I ask you to do something, you react immediately. If you do not, I have to retaliate or lose my dominance. It is my job to do so. Unless…"
"Unless?"
"We have chosen to switch."
"Switch? What do you mean?"
"You direct, I obey."
She must have looked as dumbfounded as she felt, because Oliver laughed, a deep belly laugh that made her shiver with arousal and clench her cunt muscles to experience the frisson of excitement that action brought. Pictures of Oliver naked and at her every whim flashed through her mind to be replaced with a vision of them entwined. Deborah would be the first to admit that although she was herself inexperienced in many ways, she had a wealth of stories and imagination to call on. The idea of role play interested and intrigued her.
"You would do that?" she asked. "Let me take charge. Somehow I cannot see you as a submissive, my lord."
Oliver walked to her and took her hand, placing it firmly on the fine linen that covered his chest.
His body was warm, the beat of his heart fast under her hand. She splayed her fingers and came in contact with his nipple. To her surprise it hardened under her touch, and he groaned.
"Minx, see what you do to me? To answer your question, yes on occasion I will gladly cede power to you. We will have a partnership, my dear, one we set the parameters for. We set." He emphasized the word we. "I have no interest in what others do. If we couple, everything we do will be as we decide." He held her close and she fancied his cock throbbed against her. It was hard, long, and nudged her quim. Even through their clothes she felt the power leashed within.
His hand made a lazy circle on her back as they stood together. Deborah let herself be held in the moment. The tug on her pantaloons, that dropped them to her knees, followed by a sharp tap to her naked buttocks, caught her unawares and made her jump. A second tap stung, and a third brought a pain that radiated outwards in ripples over her tingling skin.
"Now you feel the bite of my touch on your arse?"
She glared at him. "Why did you do that?"
"Go with the sting, embrace it, let it fill you, and then…"
Another spank, harder than before took her by surprise and broke into her terror-filled mind. The pain began, and stopped suddenly, to be replaced by such sweet pleasure that she gasped. Her body was an inferno of arousal. Her juices gushed and coated her quim. She felt the telltale tingle as with delicious deliberation that evidence of her excitement crept down the inside of her thigh. In a split second her negative thoughts had dissipated and a warm welcoming glow filled her.
"Now, you see why I say sweet punishment?"
Deborah gulped. Could she admit to something so decadent?
"Deborah." His voice held a warning and she realized a hint of uncertainty. So he was vulnerable? It gave her courage. "Yes, I see it."
Oliver took a step back. He stared at her for so long, she began to squirm. His gaze was predatory, like the lion she has seen in the royal menagerie about to pounce on its chosen prey. Deborah was in no doubt how he felt. If he had been that animal his tail would be twitching and his claws unsheathed. It made her itch to do anything he asked.
"Are you ready to take this further?"
She nodded.
Oliver took her hair in his hand and tugged. It was no gentle caress; it stung her scalp and forced her head up so she looked him in the eyes. Her hair fell from its confines to spill over her shoulders and down her back. "I think I need to set the first ground rule, Deborah. We talk. Both of us. No nodding, shrugging, or thinking either of us are mind readers. I am not. Are you?"
Deborah started to shake her head and stopped, warned not only by the look in his eye, but by the hold he had on her hair. To complete the gesture would hurt.
“No, I'm not. You're right, I'm sorry. Look." She hated the desperation she could hear in her voice. "I'm not sure I'm the right person for you. I have…" She hesitated; she had no idea how to explain her life. "I have things about me that are not pleasant, things I wish had never happened. But they have and they shaped me. Now I'm someone with darkness within. Until I can climb over that, find what I must, I can't commit to anything." She swallowed as a lump filled her throat. The look of compassion and understanding on his face was her undoing. Almost without knowing what she did, she panicked, grabbed the pantaloons with one hand and dragged them upwards. His eyes narrowed but he said nothing.
"Oliver, I can't stay. You want more than I can give. Find someone to submit to you, to do as you want, when you want. It can't be me. I'm sorry." Tears ran down her face, making her cheeks damp. With a muttered curse she swiped at them.
"I never took you for a coward," Oliver said and released his hold on her tresses. His tone was level, almost disinterested. He could have been discussing the price of candles. "You stand on stage, letting Dalmain hurl his knives at you, ignoring the fear I saw in your eyes. You throw flames, let a stranger trace cobwebs of wax over you and show no fear. But this? The chance to explore your inner self, you turn away from. Why? Why when you risk your life each time a knife comes toward you will you not open up to this?"
He let go of her and began to pace around the room. She felt his gaze on her, steady and unwavering. It sent hard, stabbing darts of fear down her spine. He would not let her go easily, and she could not stay and risk everything she had fought for.
Abruptly, he stopped walking and spun round to face her, one hand flung out in a demanding gesture. "I feel the connection, as I believe you do. Damn, Deborah, we are right for each other. For so long I have waited, knowing one day I would find the one. Everything up until now has been but a rehearsal for our partnership, and you are not willing to chance even one time to discover our needs and pleasures. You would throw away all what might be without explanation. What have you to lose?"
Not my soul, that has gone.
It was unthinkable to wonder if he was right. "I don't risk my life, Oliver. In that you are very wrong. For each knife that comes toward me, do you not think I wonder if this time, I will leave it too late to catch it? Wonder if Luc blinks at the wrong moment and his aim will not be true? Think what might happen if I close my eyes and do nothing? You see, My Lord." She inverted his title with capitals deliberately, as she decided it would likely be the first and only time she allowed him the courtesy of being her Dom. "I do not risk my life … I cheat my death, and one day my tim
e will run out."
Chapter Five
Oliver watched the pulse in her neck as it throbbed unevenly. If he hadn’t noticed the haunted look in her eyes he would be furious. To give up what they might have without even trying smacked of cowardice. However he knew she was no coward, the act she had participated in with Luc proved that. Instead he remained passive, just watching her.
"No…" Whatever she saw in his face, he had no idea, but she turned, and before he had a chance to react, she darted to the door, flung it open, and ran. It banged shut behind her with a crash.
There was no point in trying to hinder her. She'd be stopped soon enough. The one thing number
Six Silk Street
had was security, lots of it. Discrete and unobtrusive though it may seem, every move was noticed and recorded, especially in this part of the house. He could hazard a guess someone would appear within a few minutes to ask why his guest had seen fit to run from him. Just whom it may be was another wager.
It was not who he expected.
The door so recently slammed shut was opened with a thud that shook its frame.
Araminta, Lady Dalrey stalked across the room and slapped his face with such force he rocked back on his heels. In one hand she held a short silk and leather flail.
He eyed it curiously.
"How dare you? Are you crack-brained? An imbecile? A child? What have you done to her? Why is she now in my chamber in tears? And I have had to desert my husband at a very interesting moment, to help her, and glare at you." She stamped her sandal-clad foot. There was no stocking covering it, and her toes twitched. "Well?"
If he hadn't been so worried, her demeanor would have amused him. She looked like a demented, determined ferret. Not that he would dare mention that to her or Felton. Neither of them would appreciate his simile. Instead he moved toward her. "She is safe?"
Ara snorted. "Of course she is safe, she is with Felton, and he, I assure you, has no interest in anyone other than me. Why have I had to interrupt my … my playtime?"
"Ah, Ara…" The foot tapped faster and Oliver looked from it to her fingers. She was rubbing them together, and Oliver couldn't decide if that was a positive or negative sign. He had never felt less dominant in his life.
"Oliver, if you value your cock, I suggest you speak and answer my question. Tonight I was in charge, something that happens infrequently, and I am still in that frame of mind. So, unless you wish to be on the receiving end of my flail in a none too pleasurable way, I suggest you give me answers, and with haste."
"Lady Dalrey." He used her title and smothered a smirk at the way her eyebrows rose. "In truth? I don't know what triggered her panic."
"And you a noted Dominant? Then clearly you need retraining. Perhaps I should ask Felton to arrange that?"
"You need not." The voice was shaky but determined.
Unnoticed by either he or Ara, Deborah had entered the room, along with a stern-faced Felton, Lord Dalrey. She had changed and was all woman in a deep blue-green dress the color of a peacock’s feather. It shimmered as she moved. "It was my fault, not My Lord's. I failed to explain my fears. Indeed I do not know if I realize them myself. I could not say what triggered my angst, except I care."
To Oliver's amazement and delight, she walked toward him and knelt at his feet. As he looked down on her glossy curls his cock showed its appreciation of her stance and thickened instantly. "I know little of what is truly expected of me, My Lord. I feel something is between us, something I need, but can I allow myself to feel? That is my dilemma."
"Then if you wish to belong to Lord Callender, or explore the possibility of such a scenario, you need to work through your uncertainty with him. Your sessions as our artiste has ended. I suggest you both leave here and discuss your future whether it be entwined or no."
Deborah looked up at Oliver, and the hope in her eyes sent his blood pushing through him. He was exultant. She wanted to try.
"Please, My Lord?" Her voice wavered. Surely she did not think he would refuse her?
"Deborah, stand up and let me hold you." Try as he might he couldn't keep a note of command from his voice. As Deborah rose, all grace and leaned into him, he noticed Felton smile and Ara glare at her husband.
"This," she said, "is not a time for smirking, Felton." She brushed one of her arms with the flail she still held. If anything Felton's smile grew wider.
"True, my dear, you are right as ever. Oliver, can you make your arrangements to suit both of you?"
"Of course, although I fear it will be the morrow before we can set out to the place I feel will be best for us. May I ask you to accommodate my lady until then?"
"There will be no need. I trust you, my Lord. If I can restrain myself not to molest you, I am sure you can contain yourself in a likewise manner." Her tongue traced the outline of her mouth, and one eyelid closed briefly.
His cock twitched, as did his lips. Even scared as he thought she was, she could quip with him. His respect went up even higher. "Of course, you have my word."
"Then we will leave you to your rest and continue with our rest…" Araminta paused and this time stroked her neck with the flail before she turned and let it caress Felton from chin to cock.
He swallowed. "Time to go," he said hoarsely. "I trust you both have a restful night, what there is left. Oliver do not forget to leave your direction with Hammond before you leave."
"Of course, although I can tell you now, we will go to Cammerling and once there we can explore each other in privacy."
"Cammerling?" Deborah asked him once Felton and Araminta had left.
"A small property I have in the shires. It will suit our needs perfectly."
****
If only I knew what I needed. Or indeed what I can accept. The heat from his body seared her skin even though there was no contact between them. He lifted his hand and slowly, oh so slowly, feathered the lightest of touches over her cheek. So aware was she of his presence, Deborah was certain if she looked in a mirror his branding would be marked on her like a tattoo of love. She made her mind up.
"I may not be ready for all you can offer, My Lord, but I would wish to lie with you. I can't promise any more than I share your bed, rest beside you, and sleep … or not." She giggled, her lightheartedness surprised her; it was unexpected but welcome. "Or will it make you too uncomfortable?"
"I daresay I will be rigid and uncomfortable, but if you can suffer the knowledge that I ache for you, I as a gentleman—and the one who holds he hopes the key to your happiness—can suffer the ache."
She was certain her jaw dropped. What a thing to admit as she prepared to be as intimate with him as one could be without touching and answering each other's needs. "Ah, er if you are sure?" It was all she could manage without stuttering.
"As long as you disrobe. If it is all I have then at least I will have seen you as you should always be when we are alone."
Damn him, does he realize what he is doing to me? Making me wet with wanting, and trembling with arousal? And oh so scared to act on those reactions to him? The twinkle in his eye assured her he did. Two, she decided could play at that game.
"But of course, My Lord, and I trust you will be likewise?" She turned her back on him. "Would you unlace me? My lord Dalrey acted as ladies maid as I dressed."
"What?" His voice shuddered with fury.
Deborah thought it politic to explain before Lord Dalrey's evening of excitement was once more interrupted. "Lady Dalrey, Ara as she asked me to call her, dressed me, but her husband tied the top ribbon as she decided you needed to be … I believe her words were attended to in a way you would not prefer. And as she left the room, she picked up the flail and said… 'This was not meant for pure pain, but by god I can use it as such'."
His laugh drifted across her neck as he lifted her hair and the top laces fell apart. "She is a lady of spirit. She led Felton a merry dance and has helped him tremendously. As well as aiding her brother." The next set of ties loosened and tickled her back a
s he let them fall. "He, well, he was not dealt a good hand by their father."
Deborah's throat constricted. "Ah, her brother?"
"Jeremy, Lord Willingham. I believe he was in your audience last night."
And she had not known. Fate was indeed playing cruel tricks. Deborah shivered. It was lucky Oliver translated it as a positive reaction to his touch.
With exquisite slowness he finished his ministrations on her lacings and lowered her gown to her waist. His breath was warm on her skin as he began a series of tiny, quim clenching nips down her spine.
Before she thought what she was doing, Deborah arched to allow him easier access. Her bottom rubbed his cock, and it hardened and rose as though to gain entry to her body. She gasped as her body responded to the silent demand with a tingle that rippled through her, sending her heart racing, and her pulse as erratic as any novice on the pianoforte.
"That, my love, is what happens when you tease me. And rest assured that is as far as I will let my body touch you. I will not renege."
In one respect she wished he would. Overcome her resistance, sweep her fears away with actions and deeds, and give her no say in the matter. However, Deborah knew Oliver was an honorable man, both Araminta and Felton has reiterated that. He would do nothing without her agreement.
Her gown dropped to the floor and pooled in a sea of silk around her ankles. As she had been dressed in a hurry, she had no chemise on under it. Oliver stepped round her. His hand swirled patterns on her back, over her shoulder, and across the tip of the swell of her breasts. His smoldering gaze dropped to her sugared cunt and sent hot licks of fire over her skin.
She dropped her hands to cover herself.
"No." The stern dominant tones halted her. "That I can not countenance. You have my word I will do no more than look, but grant me this, Deborah. Your body may never be mine to love and cherish. Your mind may never open to sanction me close enough to release you from whatever it is that holds you bound. You may never permit yourself to be free, but in this, you will allow me to see you." He smiled and his demeanor changed from stern and chiseled to open and almost boyish. She melted as he took her wrists, moved her arms behind her back, and whispered. "If we go no further I will have my memories. Of your body flushed with arousal, your juices gathered and coating your bare cunt, showing me the evidence of your desire. Of your need for me to fuck you, fill you, and make you mine."
A Shimmer of Silk Page 3