by Grace Morgan
Finally we came to a door at the very end of the hallway. Burke opened it unceremoniously and led me inside. The room was nearly empty. A large oak beam ran across the length of the ceiling, studded with sturdy iron hooks. A small wooden box sat in the corner. Burke opened it and removed a pair of large, ornate cuffs. They were thick and black and each one closed with three brass buckles. I could see that these weren’t designed for easy release. These were for the long haul. And I didn’t know if the idea excited or terrified me.
“Give me your wrists.”
I hesitated, and Burke’s stormy eyes flashed on mine.
“Do you remember our safeword?” he asked.
“Gray.”
“Good. Now give me your wrists.”
I held them out to him, my heart beating faster with every notch he tightened. The leather clasped my wrists firmly, and despite my anxiety, I could feel myself growing wet. Burke said nothing to me as he worked, just gripped the chain that connected the two and, with one swift movement, lifted it up and over my head, hooking it onto the beam.
“What are you going to do?” I asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of my voice.
“Not a sound,” he whispered in my ear. I felt his erection pressed against my hip, like a steel rod. Then everything went black as he slipped the blindfold over my eyes. “Unless it’s your safeword, I want you to stay silent. Do you understand?”
I nodded. The darkness of the blindfold amplified every sound and heightened every sensation as I waited for his next move.
The tight, stretchy material of my dress slid up over my hips and around my waist, exposing me. Burke ran his finger along the back of my thigh, drawing a firm line on my skin, and I shivered. He dragged it beneath the waistband of my underwear and my muscles twitched under his touch. My whole body was alert, my nipples hard and aching and my clit already begging for relief. Then his hand was gone, and I stood, frozen, straining to hear what was happening.
There was a rustling in the corner, and then the smack of something lightly hitting skin, as though Burke was testing a toy against his palm. My breathing quickened, the smallest hint of panic rising within me. I trusted that Burke would never put me in danger, but having no way to know what was coming next was frightening … and a bit intoxicating. Another part of my brain, a more primal one, was relishing this state of heightened awareness. It loved the purity of my desire and fed off of the opportunity to shut down the overactive, practical side of me that governed my everyday life.
Then Burke’s hands were back on me, cupping and squeezing my breasts—then my nipples—to the delicate point between pleasure and pain. The intensity of the feeling ripped through me, and I cried out. Burke’s touch fell away immediately.
“I told you not to make a sound.”
“I’m sorry, I—” But before I could finish the thought, a strike landed on the back of my thigh, leaving a sharp, hot sting in its wake. I yelped, and the implement landed twice more, this time on my other thigh. Despite the pain, I bit my lip, squeezing my eyes closed behind the blindfold.
“Good girl,” he said, his tone praising. “Very good, Lola. That was your desire to please me overcoming your instinct. You know what we call that? Submission. And yours is fucking beautiful.”
I squirmed against my handcuffs, becoming more and more intrigued and seduced by the idea of submitting to Burke. Because he was right—I wanted to let go. I wanted to give up control to him and just feel. But I still wasn’t sure I knew how to, even with his help.
“I think you deserve a reward.” Burke’s words, coming from behind me, pulled me back to the here and now, but reality fell away again almost instantly as his palm covered my pussy and one of his fingers pressed against my clit.
From the moment he touched me, I lost myself. The pressure became teasing circles, and I grew wetter and more desperate for him. The heat of Burke’s solid chest pressed against my back and his other hand covered my breast and two fingers tugged my nipple, sending waves of pleasure-tinged pain through my body. I was doing my best to remain silent, but focusing on anything except his hands was difficult. The moment his teeth closed around my earlobe, nipping at the soft skin, it became impossible. A low moan escaped my throat, and once again, Burke’s hands fell away and his heat disappeared.
This time, he didn’t speak at all before the fiery bursts of pain streaked across my ass and thighs as he laid the implement down over and over. Each sharp crack seemed to double in on itself, until my ass and thighs burned.
“Stop!” I gasped. “Please, stop.”
The lashes stopped, but I could feel the air grow heavy with Burke’s anticipation.
“That’s not our safeword, and it’s not the club safeword. This is the only time I’m going to stop when you say the word ‘stop,’ Lola. Do you want to safeword out? If you do, I need to hear it from you.”
I swallowed, trying to clear my mind, and forced myself to focus on the sensations rioting through my body. Did I want to use our safeword? Was Burke taking me farther than I was willing, or able, to go? There might be pain, but even now it was dissipating and morphing into a pleasurable heat. I could take more.
“No,” I said softly, and steeled myself for the next blow.
But it didn’t come.
Instead, I heard the sound of a jar opening, and then a wonderfully soothing sensation spread across my stinging thighs and ass as Burke massaged something that smelled fresh and herbal into my skin. His hands worked gently. Then my arms lifted as he unhooked my cuffs from the beam. Burke unbuckled each cuff slowly, caressing my wrists, and then pulled my skirt back down, as though none of it had ever happened. The tender kiss he pressed to my mouth was unexpectedly sweet.
“You did very well,” he murmured, his lips grazing my neck.
I basked in his compliment, and affections, surprising myself with how easily I seemed to be slipping into his world. We walked to the elevator in silence, his hand on my lower back, guiding me. As we ascended the stairs to the apartment, I could no longer resist asking him.
“Why did you stop?”
He looked at me carefully, and then said, “Because you said I could keep going.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Breaking through that wall, telling me that we could keep going even though it scared you, was where I wanted you to be tonight. Part of the art to this is not taking on too much, too fast. It’s like the rope tying I showed you. The pleasure comes from the process. The technique. But next time, I won’t be stopping. And you should be ready for that.”
As we approached the apartment door, he cupped my ass and squeezed lightly. The touch set every nerve on fire all over again. Would I be ready for that?
I swallowed, uncertainty once again slipping over me.
Chapter 9
Burke
I had already been up for an hour when I heard Lola coming down the hallway from the bedroom. The living room was washed with sun. Steam rose lazily from the French press on the table, and the quiet sound of jazz drifted from the stereo. She appeared in the doorway, her hair mussed and wearing my favorite black chemise. Goddamn she was beautiful.
“I hope the music didn’t wake you up,” I said, lifting the French press and pouring her a cup of coffee.
“No, not at all,” she replied as she took a sip. “Miles Davis?”
“It is. One of my favorites.”
“My dad loves him.” Lola leaned over to take a croissant. Her breasts pulled at the edges of her nightgown, and I smiled to myself. She was sexy even when she didn’t realize it.
“So does mine. He’s the one who taught me about jazz when I was a kid.”
“Do your parents live in Austin too?” she asked, tucking her legs underneath her.
I took another sip of my coffee. My personal life wasn’t something I often shared with people, but Lola’s question didn’t feel like prying. It seemed natural.
“I grew up here, but my parents live in California now.�
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She nodded. “Yeah, mine opted to move to North Carolina from New York after I left for college. But my brother is still there.”
“I’m an only child,” I said, setting down my empty coffee cup. Without asking, Lola reached over and poured more, then added just a drop of milk. I hadn’t noticed, but at some point she’d learned how I took my coffee. “Thanks.”
“But you have Carter,” Lola replied, smiling. “He might as well be your brother.”
“That’s true. We’re closer than some people I know are with their siblings.”
We both settled back on the couch, looking out over the river and listening to the mellow, soulful music. Sunday mornings were usually just for me, a tradition I’d had for myself ever since college. A morning of solitude, away from everyone, had always felt necessary. Lola’s presence, though, wasn’t invasive. Even Carter could get on my nerves. I needed my space from him every once in a while. This was different.
I looked over at Lola, her dark hair shining in the sunlight. She was absent-mindedly tracing her finger around the rim of her coffee cup as she watched the river sparkle below us.
It’s because it doesn’t feel like just my space anymore, I thought. And then quickly pushed the thought from my head. Anything more than our thirty days wasn’t an option. There were too many complications. Better to enjoy this for what it was. I sipped the coffee Lola had poured for me and listened to Miles playing “It Could Happen To You.”
* * *
The next day, I woke again before she did, which was exactly what I’d been hoping for. I climbed out of bed slowly, careful not to wake her, and went into the bathroom to shower. Standing under the scalding water, I thought about our experience in the private room the other night. I hadn’t pushed her boundaries again since then. I wanted her to have a little time to settle in. Get comfortable with the idea. But I’d seen something in her that night. She was waiting for me to push her. And that’s exactly what I planned to do today. We hadn’t spent much time in the club yet, but I was working my way up to it. This would be the next step.
I stepped out of the shower, dressing quickly. With the water set to boil for my coffee, I retrieved the box from deep inside the coat closet and set it on the dining table. Moments later, I sat down with my coffee and wrote a note to Lola.
Lola-
I’ll be out today. Put this on. I want
you to wear it all day, and I expect
you to be wearing it when I get home.
See you tonight.
-B
I smirked to myself as I drank my coffee, thinking about her going to work and running errands in what I’d left for her. All day as she went about her business, she’d be thinking about what would happen when she got home. Just the thought was enough to make my cock stir. I loved the idea of Lola following my commands, even when I wasn’t there to see it. And I had a feeling she would love it too.
I was on my way out the front door of the club when I heard my name. I turned around to see Seth walking across the room toward me. His lined forehead and tight features immediately put me on edge. Seth was our most laid-back employee, and if he was tracking me down this early with that troubled expression, something must be wrong.
“Do you have a minute?” he asked. He shifted uncomfortably, and a million possibilities flashed through my mind: had one of his clients had a bad experience? Was he quitting?
“Sure,” I said, and gestured to one of the couches. We sat, and Seth looked at me silently for a moment, as though unsure of how to proceed.
“Is everything ok?”
“Lola came to talk to me a few days ago.”
Shit, I thought. Of course this is about Lola. But I kept my expression impassive.
“She talked to everyone. Did something happen?”
“Not really. It’s just that...she was asking me a lot of questions about Hope.”
“Well that’s why she’s here.”
“I know,” he said, his voice nervous. “And I know you said not to tell her everything because it wasn’t important for the investigation, but I really think she should know—”
“Stop,” I cut him off. “There’s nothing about Hope’s life at this club that will help Lola figure out what happened to her.”
“But—”
“Seth, I’m not fucking kidding. I don’t want to see Hope’s business here in the news. What she did here, what we did was private. Do you understand me?”
He nodded, but the lines furrowing his brow didn’t disappear.
“Good. I’ll see you later tonight.” Before Seth could say anything else, I stood and walked out the door and into the hot, dry morning. Whatever Lola found out about Hope, it would have to come from other sources. There were some stones that were better left unturned, and Hope’s activities at Second Circle certainly qualified as one of them.
* * *
Taking the elevator back up to the apartment, I tried to anticipate Lola’s mood. All day I’d been imagining her sitting at her desk, wondering what I had planned for tonight. I thought about her in a meeting with her editor, her pussy wet because she was thinking about what might happen when I came home. Or maybe she was frustrated and uncomfortable, ready to tear into me for making her feel so exposed all day. That would be almost as good. I loved the flush of her cheeks and her fiery attitude when she was riled up. It made her submission that much sweeter.
I thought I was ready when I opened the door, but the sight that greeted me sent all the blood in my body rushing straight to my cock.
Fuck, Lola.
She stood before me, her hair loose and flowing over her shoulders. She was wearing exactly what I’d left for her. Her breasts were pushed full and high by the cream colored satin of the corset. Black lace swept across the cups and down the center, which cinched her tiny waist, making her luscious hips look even fuller. Four garters reached down over tiny black lace panties to clasp her sheer black stockings. My eyes traveled down her long, shapely legs to the shiny, red stilettos she had added. It was all I could do to not throw her down right there and fuck her until neither of us could walk. I pulled myself together; I had other, more disciplined plans for tonight.
“I’m glad to see you got my note,” I said casually, as though the sight of her hadn’t already made my cock as hard as fucking granite.
“I did,” she replied, her voice low and husky.
“And did you follow all the instructions?”
“I did.”
“Did you go into the office today?”
She shook her head slowly. “I worked here, in your apartment.”
I pictured her in that corset, sitting at the dining table and trying to focus on her article. Somehow I doubted she’d gotten much work done. Lola stepped toward me slowly and deliberately, her eyes locked onto mine. As she got closer, I could smell her sultry, dark perfume.
I stood still, waiting until she was right in front of me, her breasts pressing against my chest. She looked up at me through thick, dark lashes. I knew she was waiting for me to ravish her. Instead, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the black silk tie I’d used as a blindfold before. But instead of putting it over her eyes, I took both of her wrists in my hand, binding them in front of her.
“Now,” I said, tying the last knot, “Go make me a Manhattan.”
The shock that registered on her face was almost as satisfying as having her bent over the side of my bed.
“Make you a drink? I can’t,” she said, looking down at her tied wrists.
“You’re a smart girl. You’ll figure something out. I’d hurry if I were you. I have more plans for tonight,” I replied, walking past her and taking a seat on the couch. I picked up a magazine and began leafing through it. “And Lola, try not to spill. If you do, I’ll expect you to start again.”
Lola glared at me, and I gave her a warm smile. I wanted her annoyed and determined, not angry. I thought I’d achieved the right mindset, but only time would tell. She stalked away, a
nd behind me, glass clinked for several moments. The slosh of liquid against glass followed. A few minutes later, she raised both of her wrists in front of me, holding out a martini glass. I took a sip.
“This is just bourbon.”
“That’s what you said you wanted,” she snapped.
“No,” I replied slowly, “I asked for a Manhattan, and my sweet little submissive is going to make me one. Let’s try this again.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she exhaled slowly through her nose and turned. I seized the opportunity and caught the underside of her gorgeous, heart-shaped ass with a smack of my palm. Lola froze. Her shoulders rose and fell in a few quiet breathes and she continued toward the bar.
Good girl.
I stayed turned on the couch this time as I watched her struggle to collect the ingredients for the drink: the bourbon, bitters, vermouth, and cherry, all hidden in different, difficult-to-reach parts of the shelf.
“And please make sure the bourbon is measured correctly,” I called over to her. “Two and a half ounces exactly.” I smiled at the stiff set of her shoulders, partly amazed that she hadn’t told me to go fuck myself. It seemed she was willing to play my warm up game for her tonight. Foreplay in its own twisted way.
Slowly, she maneuvered the lid off the ice bucket and added several cubes to the glass. Then she set the jigger out, her body moving awkwardly as she tried to meter out the liquor perfectly. On her first attempt, it overflowed, spilling down over the sides. Taking pity on her, I walked over to the sideboard and wiped up the excess. Then I took the glass she had filled with ice and started to carry it with me back to the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” Lola demanded.
“Helping you before you start over,” I replied, shrugging.
She took several deep breaths, her frustration showing in every stiff muscle of her body. “Thank you,” she said through gritted teeth. Even though this task frustrated her, I knew she secretly liked being challenged. And I liked being the man to challenge her. Lola was the type who wanted to succeed at everything she did – which made her submission that much sweeter.