A Shimmer of Silk

by Raven McAllan

  Her jaw dropped as his words penetrated the clouds of desire that filled her brain.

  "And if I never see you kneel naked in front of me, your head bowed in submission and ready to submit, I will mourn, but I will have had this." He leaned close so their bodies just touched and kissed each nipple gently. His cock stroked her tummy, and Deborah shifted her legs to try and draw it toward her quim.

  "Oh no, love, not yet, and maybe never. Come." He took her hand and helped her climb onto a high bed. It was, she saw, equipped with leather straps at each corner. The sight made her stomach churn. However, Oliver made no mention of them. He divested himself of his clothes and clambered in next to her, pulling her close and resting her head between his hard male nipples. The wiry hairs ticked her cheek and she wrinkled her nose, those intimidating shackles forgotten.

  "May I cuddle?" She rested her chin on his chest and angled her head to stare at him, memorizing the planes and contours to bring out of her mind and savor at a later date.

  "Any time."

  Chapter Six

  With a sigh that he hoped indicated contentment, Deborah threw her arm around his waist and nestled against him. He stroked her hair; her breathing deepened and the cadence changed, telling him she was asleep. Then he let himself ponder over the activities of the evening.

  She was interested in what they could have, of that he was certain. Interested, but very wary. He mused what that deep-seated wariness was caused by. Deborah burrowed her nose into him; her snuffling little breaths stirred the hairs on his body. She began to shake and pant.

  "No, please … non, non, ce n'est pas…" Her hands clenched into fists and she pounded him, sobbing as she thrashed her head from side to side. There was no doubt she was dreaming dark wicked frightening dreams. She screamed, a sound so inhuman, every hair on his head stung.

  Her face was contorted, her chest heaving as she rained her blows down on him. They didn't hurt, but for the first time he felt cold tentacles of fear for someone else crawl over him. He wanted nothing more than to protect her from herself and to kill whoever caused her to react in such a way. Carefully he took hold of her hands in one of his and held her flat on her back on the bed.

  "Bastard, no never…" In a lightening move she kicked her leg upwards toward his cock. Sharp reflexes gave him time to roll to one side and then pinion her beneath him. Still she bucked. He would sport several interesting bruises on the morrow.

  "Deborah, no, no more. No one can harm you, no one. I have you safe. Come now, shh … there…." As her body stopped heaving the sobs started. Great racking cries that ripped into his soul. Helpless, in the face of such emotion, Oliver did the only thing he could think of: he gathered her into his arms and stroked her, whispering nonsense, just keeping his voice low and unthreatening. Gradually, the sobs slowed and became interspersed with hiccups and deep juddering breaths.

  The door flew open back on its hinges with such a thud, he jumped. Deborah seemed unaware of it.

  Luc rushed in, his face worried, his breath short, uneven pants. "Merde, I did not warn you." He stopped short, and his eyes narrowed.

  Without stopping the soft massage, Oliver threw the cover across Deborah. Luc may have seen her naked before, but no longer. Now he would be the only one to see her thus, unless … He tamped down the thought, it was not to be examined. "You knew she would act thus and did not warn me?"

  The younger man colored and dropped his eyes.

  Submissive? Why did I not see that?

  "Well? You will answer me."

  "Yes, Sir, I was about to explain when I was detained. I tried to find you. No one was prepared to grant me access to you. Then..." He flung his arm out in a somewhat theatrical gesture. From anyone else it would have looked stupid. From Luc, it looked normal. Not for the first time, Oliver wondered about the other man's orientation.

  "Then?"

  Luc gulped. His skin was pale, and his pulse showed erratic in his neck. He lifted his eyes to Oliver, and Oliver recognized the entreaty there.

  "Then I heard her. I had no idea where she was. I just knew she would react so. And if it was not for me to comfort her, then you needed to be aware. My lord, 'tis ever thus after we finish a series of displays. She holds it all together and then, once we are finished, she allows herself to remember and crumble."

  "Remember?"

  Luc met his gaze; his eyes were smoky, worried, and dull. "I know not all. I was not with her when she was a small child. My parents, suffice to say, told me little. My lord, even what I do know, it is not my story to tell. I beg of you do not make me."

  Oliver stared until Luc once more bent his head.

  I wonder if he would assume the position? However it was not up to him to find out. The only sub he wanted was Deborah.

  "I will look after her, Dalmain. Tomorrow we leave for Cammerling. Once we are settled you will be welcome to visit. She…" He hesitated. It was not in his nature to open up to anyone, especially one clearly not interested in him as a man. "She is the part of me I have been missing all my life. My future. I can but hope I am hers."

  Luc shook his head and Oliver's heart plummeted. His skin became clammy, and a roaring noise filled his ears. He had to be.

  "My lord, give her space. Let her come to you in her own good time. Let her discover her past before she decides her future. Then I will visit with a glad heart."

  The roaring subsided. Whether he liked it or not, what Luc said made perfect sense.

  "You better." Deborah's voice was weak, but the thought was not. "I need you, my almost brother." She pulled away from Oliver. He felt the lack of contact, as if someone had stripped him of a layer of skin, exposed and cold. As Deborah struggled to sit, the bedspread slipped, and her pale skin was exposed.

  "Cover yourself." The harsh words were out before he could stop them. Immediately he wished he could take them back.

  Her eyes widened, and her lips trembled.

  Next to the bed, Luc's hands clenched and unclenched, their knuckles white against his tanned skin.

  "My love, my apologies, I sounded harsh." He tucked the coverlet around her, and once more tucked her close to him. The soft camaraderie of earlier was missing. She held herself stiff against his side. The only point in his favor was that she didn't pull away. How could he redeem himself? "I have to learn how to be in a relationship," he said in a rueful voice. "My social skills are perhaps lacking."

  "No perhaps, my lord." Neither Luc's words nor his tone was polite, gone was the submissive from moments before. In his place was a tiger defending his cubs. "I tell you now, if you do not treat Deborah as you should, you will answer to me somehow. And I do not mean treat her as a subservient. She is not."

  No servant, but mine to serve?

  "I will treat her as my lady should be treated. With respect, kindness, and love."

  "If he gets the chance." Deborah's voice was laced with humor. She stood up and took the sheets with her, wrapping them around her body like a toga.

  Oliver watched in amusement as hampered by the linens, she took tiny mincing steps across the room. Toward Luc.

  As she reached him, she turned to look over her shoulder at Oliver. "This you understand, is a kiss to a brother not a lover, although I love him as much as any human can love another." She kissed Luc on the cheek and for a brief second rested her head on his shoulder. Luc stroked her hair.

  Oliver's gut clenched. He felt lost and alone with no one to care for him. The realization was like a bullet to his heart.

  "It will work out. Go and find your lover, Luc. He is waiting, somewhere." With one last kiss, she turned and walked back to the bed.

  Luc tightened his lips and with a curt nod to Oliver, turned on his heels and left the room. The soft decisive click, as the door shut, showed more than anything how he controlled himself.

  "Poor Luc. He has watched over me, cared for me for so long, to the detriment of his own life. Perhaps now he will find it once more and be the man he should be, not the ma
n he pretends."

  It was an interesting choice of words. Oliver chose to query them. "So which is pretense? Your protector, dominant and macho? Or the submissive, looking for a master?"

  Deborah leant across him and began to nibble her way up his arm. Soft teasing pinpricks that rushed across his skin and filled his body with a hot gush of arousal. His cock, volatile whenever Deborah was near, reacted with a predictability that in any other circumstance would amuse him. Now, all he hoped was that the copious amount of pre cum he felt on the tip, which would slowly trace a path along his length, would not scare her.

  The nibbles stopped and she turned her head to one side to look him in the eyes. Hers were wide open; clear and candid. Why did he therefore feel he was on a cliff edge, where one false word would send him toppling into oblivion?

  "Do we not all wear masks at one time or another, my lord?" No investing of his dominant title this time, he noted. "To suit our situation. Until..." She stopped and his body jerked in an arc from the bed. A soft cocoon of velvet warmth surrounded the head of his cock as she took him into her mouth. And sucked.

  It took all of his determination not to surge into her, to take her hair and twist it between his fingers and demand she take him deeper and harder until he spilled. "Ahh, Deborah, do you know what you are doing to me?"

  To his annoyance his words lifted her from him and she sat back on her knees with a curse. "I am doing it wrongly? Oh, My Lord, I am sorry. I wanted… I wanted…" Her voice shook and tears misted her eyes.

  He didn't let her finish her sentence. Oliver followed his instinct and tangled his hand in her hair, drawing her toward him once more. He pressed slightly on her crown, forcing her to bend toward his cock again. "You wanted. I want. My cock. Back in that sweet mouth again. Now."

  ****

  He does? He wants me to taste him, to drink him dry? I want him; I want to be whole. This is my chance. The pressure on her head was gentle but persistent. Oliver was still, not speaking, just waiting for her to make her decision. Why was she hesitating? One look at him and Deborah had seen the man beneath the persona. He held the key to unlocking her fears and nightmares. Had she not slept in his arms? Not felt the need to be free? Her nightmare had scarce begun before he banished it.

  As her pulse jumped, her body sang with the need to feel him inside her. To have his cock surging hard and fast as he filled her and came inside her. At that thought, her cunt clenched and her juices gathered at the entrance to slowly slide and coat her thighs. The nerves in the entrance to her channel quivered and beat erratically as she formulated her reply.

  She shivered as her skin tingled with the thoughts of him eating her quim, tonguing her, and tracing her body with his mouth. If only…

  It is now, or it will be never. I have waited so long, what are a few more months? Can I not have my moment first?

  "As I was saying, My Lord." Now she deferred to him as her dominant. "We all wear masks at some time or another. This is no longer my time. I am ready to open myself to you. Please, Sir, I am yours."

  The silence was heavy. Somewhere she heard the tick of a clock; each beat was in time with the thud of her heart.

  Just as she wanted to scream, her hair was tugged. She lifted her head to look at him.

  "Then we need to talk, make ground rules. It is early but perhaps we should leave for Cammerling?"

  Deborah took a deep breath. "If it pleases you, Sir, then that is what we should do."

  "Why then do I have the feeling you don't agree?" His voice was laced with humor. "Tell me, love. Remember open and truthful."

  "Then may we stop here? In this house? I … I want to allay some of my fears here." Would he understand?

  "In

  Silk Street

  ?In my apartments? Be very sure, love. It will not be in this bland, vanilla room. It will be next door, where it is more to my liking. Are you ready to trust me so far?"

  Damn. She had steeled herself to the thought of that bed and the leather and silk ties at each corner. Deborah was not naïve enough to think it was all he used and enjoyed. Stories they had heard, even before they had received a coveted invitation to perform at the house on

  Silk Street

  , had confirmed that. However it seemed somewhat more than a leap of faith was needed. Perhaps a drop from a hot air balloon, such as she had seen over London the previous year? Whatever she did, Deborah was certain Oliver would catch her. Whether, once he knew all her secrets he would drop her, remained to be seen. From what she had seen she thought it unlikely.

  Her body throbbed with the thought that soon she might perhaps banish the fear, the uncertainty, and the hatred from within.

  "It has to be. I have so much to admit, some I scarce understand myself. But first, I know my safe word. I trust you will heed my innocence and I, I, want to start my new life in the place the old one ends. Please, My Lord?"

  Chapter Seven

  "Go through the door on the right. Wait by the bed. No, you need no covers. When we are together like this, there is no need for clothes. Your body is mine, my body is yours. We will be open. You will not speak until I join you, then … then my love we will see."

  He didn't say just what they would see. A hundred butterflies took up residence in her tummy, and a tribe of spiders crawled over her skin, sending every hair on end. Sure her heartbeat could be heard in the street below, Deborah hesitated before she straightened and put first one leg, and then the other onto the carpeted floor. The thick pile caressed her bare feet like a soft flail. She nodded.

  It felt strange walking away from him, knowing her every move was watched and monitored. As she reached for the door latch his voice reached her.

  "You are sure? Answer me."

  Oh for goodness sake. Is he trying to dissuade me?

  "I'm sure." Deborah didn't wait to hear his response; she lifted the latch, the snick as it moved over the bar sounded loud in the quiet.

  Her feet made no noise on the floor as she moved forward. The sight in front of her brought a ringing in her ears, and she swallowed rapidly to dispel the nausea rising inside her. Could she go through with this? If she faltered now, that would be it. It would be over.

  She grit her teeth and stepped toward the bed. No ornate coverlets there, a plain linen sheet, pillows high at one end, and again leather and silk ties at each corner. It was the elaborate display of knives down one wall, and the ornate criss-cross of ties over the bed that had her once more tamping down her terror. Pictures flashed through her mind, hazy half formed … frightening.

  So immersed in the scene around of her, Deborah didn't realize Oliver had come up behind her. "Onto the bed and on your back, love, and put a hand on each bedhead." His deep voice both commanded and soothed, and Deborah obeyed without thought. The action stretched her without hurting. The slight pull in each arm heightened her senses and concentrated her mind. Almost as if she was someone else, a voyeur perhaps, she watched as with swift competence he fastened first one wrist and then the other.

  "If you could see the beauty I see, Deborah, see how perfect you look stretched out, for me to feast my eyes on. Truly, love, I am blessed. Do you remember your safe word?"

  Deborah dipped her head, mindful of his earlier diktat of silence.

  "Now you speak, love, ask questions."

  "I remember it, My Lord. Sauf. I feel certain it will not be needed." Her breath hitched as he walked his fingers up her arm and touched her nose in a strangely loving gesture.

  "I hope not. Are you comfortable? Wriggle your wrists and fingers."

  Deborah did so, enjoying the slight friction her movements created.

  "Spread your legs." The command was absolute and she responded in an instant. He was as swift to secure her. Deborah waited for fear to flood into her, for her heart to race, and oblivion to overtake her. It didn't; instead a frisson of the most exquisite anticipation started at her toes and worked upwards. She yearned for his touch, to feel his hands caress her, rouse her, let
her experience those sensations so far lost to her. Le petite mort may be a French name, but it was not one she had had the chance to use. Her nipples tightened, and she wished she dare ask for his ministrations on them. Her cunt was thrumming, her heart beating like a drum, and every nerve end a pinprick of awareness.

  Spread-eagled as she was her gaze returned again and again to those ropes above her head. They were enough to pull her out of her arousal. Her distress must have shown in her eyes, because his face hardened. "What? Deborah, tell me."

  "Ropes, they held people aloft. I remember. They strung them up … Papa, papa hid my face." She paused and licked her lips. Her mouth was dry and her tongue too big for the space it had.

  Without a word, Oliver lifted a carafe from the side table and filled a glass with a deep, ruby liquid. He lifted her head with one hand and held the glass to her mouth with the other. "Drink this." His tone left no room for disobedience, even though she had no intention of not acquiescing. "Sip it. Good French wine should be savored."

  Did he think she didn't know that? Deborah opened her mouth to give a pithy response and stopped. Why would he know? “I have things to tell you, things I have revealed to no one before now. Things I have guarded with my life. Now is the time to let them go, to share, to ask you to share my burden."

  Oliver replaced the goblet on the table and sat down next to her on the bed.

  "At any other time, Deborah, a statement saying you have to ask for such a commitment, would give you a rosy arse that made you wince to rest upon. I take and share everything. It is my job to relieve you of your worries. Together we will solve everything. Do you understand? Wish you to be untied?"