Dominance and Deception

by Amy Valenti

  I've never been one to back down from a challenge.

  Faye looked down at the red mark rising on her flesh, then up at me. “That the best you can do, Sir?"

  I raised the crop, never letting my pissed-off facade slip. “I haven't even started—"

  Faye's phone rang, the unexpected sound disorientating us both. She groaned, scowling at the offending object as if it was sentient.

  "Damn it! Not now!” She tugged expectantly at her handcuffs. “Okay, let me out of these."

  I stood there, impassive, and she rolled her eyes.

  "Zach, seriously. Someone's probably dead and we'll have to go to work."

  I knew she was right, but that didn't mean I had to like it. Dropping the crop and stepping over the tangle of our clothing, I crossed to the dresser and checked the caller ID. Sure enough, it was Santoro. For a brief moment, I entertained the irrational thought of firing him, but it passed.

  Without releasing Faye from her bonds, I hit the speakerphone button to answer the call.

  Taking a deep breath to steady her breathing, she spoke. “Santoro, this better be good. I'm a little tied up right now."

  As I stifled a chuckle, Santoro replied, “I know, it's really late and I'm sorry. But we have a problem. There's been a triple homicide, and Pierce isn't answering his cell. His home phone's off the hook."

  I didn't remember taking my home phone off the hook, but I'd left my cell phone switched off in the car, which was parked outside Faye's place.

  "He probably let the battery run down again,” she told Santoro. “I'll stop by his place on the way into work, okay?"

  "Are you sure? It's not out of your way?"

  "I'm sure. You get going, and I will handle Pierce.” She winked at me.

  "You're risking an awful lot, here,” I murmured, quietly enough that the cell phone wouldn't pick it up.

  "Relax,” she mouthed back.

  "That'd really help,” Santoro said wearily. “Thanks."

  "So what do I tell Pierce when I see him?” Faye asked.

  Silently, I sat on the edge of the bed. Faye's eyes widened, and she shook her head at me, though I could tell her heart wasn't really in the denial.

  As Santoro began to outline the case, his tinny voice just barely audible in the quiet of Faye's bedroom, I trailed light kisses over her breasts and stomach. When I glanced up, I could see she wasn't taking in anything Santoro was saying. Her eyes were closed, and a tiny smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

  "...Faye?” Santoro's voice brought us both down to earth.

  "Hmmm?” she replied languorously, before shaking herself out of it. “Sorry, what?"

  Santoro laughed. “Oh, Jeez... When you say you're tied up, you really mean that literally, don't you?"

  Faye and I stared at one another for an instant before she cracked up. “I knew there was a reason you're Pierce's right-hand man, Santoro. Nothin’ gets past you."

  "Yeah, I'll be sure to tell Pierce that,” Santoro said, amused. “I'll see you when I get back. And feel free to supply me with some kinky details later."

  I swallowed laughter as Faye bade him goodbye. He hung up, and she sighed.

  "Triple homicide, Zach. Doesn't sound like something you can just blow off."

  As much as I'd have liked to deny it, it was the truth. I untied her restraints, and she sat up.

  "Can we continue this later, Sir?"

  "Count on it,” I said, pulling her into my lap.

  She kissed me, pouring all her pent-up sexual frustration into the contact, and desire flared through me. For long moments, I allowed the kiss to continue, pushing the awareness that I had no time to spare to the back of my mind.

  Faye trailed her lips from mine, down my neck. If I let her carry on, I already knew where it would lead, and though there was nothing in the world I'd rather be doing...

  "Faye,” I said reluctantly.

  She stopped, getting up and taking a few steps back. Every nerve sensor in my body felt the loss of contact as she said, “Okay, this is minimum safe distance. If you come any closer, I can't be held accountable for my actions.” She tossed my clothing across the room, then turned to her wardrobe.

  As she flicked through the rail of clothing, obviously looking for something specific, an idea tugged at the back of my brain.

  I wonder if..

  "Not that one."

  She looked up from the shirt she'd pulled out, puzzled. “Huh?"

  I pointed at a dark green, work-appropriate but low-cut shirt hanging at one end of the rail. “Wear the green one."

  She got it then, taking the shirt from the wardrobe and staring down at it as she pondered the implications. If she were to comply, she'd be letting me take my control of her up a notch, out of the realm of just bedroom play. I didn't know if she was ready for that, or even if it was something she'd considered.

  Faye was silent for so long that I began to pull on my clothing, giving her time to think. A quick trip to the bathroom later, I returned to find her wearing the shirt, nonchalantly leaning into the mirror to tie her hair back. Her gaze caught mine in the reflection, holding it for a second before she broke eye contact, laughing softly.

  I stepped up behind her and gently pulled out the hair tie, combing my fingers through her red locks. She let me have my way, watching my reflection as I reached for her comb and ran it through her hair.

  "I can't wear my hair up?” she murmured. “You know I'm gonna have to tie it back when I'm working so none of it contaminates evidence."

  "Uh-huh,” I answered, dropping the comb and sliding my arms around her waist from behind. “But until then..."

  "Keep my hair down,” Faye finished. “Yes, Sir.” She twisted in my arms, looking up at me. “I'm all ready to go. Wanna give me a kiss for the road?"

  I was only too happy to oblige.

  Faye

  I yawned, feeling the effects of yet another sleepless night. Not that it was my fault. I'd scheduled in some quality sleep time—right between fun with Pierce and getting up for work the next morning.

  It had been three hours since I'd arrived at the lab, which meant it wouldn't be long until Pierce and his team got back with a truckload of evidence for me. I'd spent the time tidying up loose ends and making sure we had the slots for high-priority evidence. A triple homicide was only ever one of two extremes—an open-and-shut, or a gigantic nightmare that swallowed up all my free time for weeks. Usually I didn't mind the overtime, but I hadn't been this into a relationship in a long time.

  With every other Dom I'd had, there was always something that was just...off. They'd given me orders, but I'd never quite believed there'd be consequences for disobeying. They had all been too worried about accidentally going too far, even while they were yelling at me. I seemed to bring out that protective instinct in people.

  Pierce, though... He was different. When he gave me an order, it was like he expected to be obeyed, the first time he asked, without question. It wasn't an unspoken, “Do this, unless you don't want to, I'm not pushing too far, am I?” It was just, “Do this.” And it was hot.

  Maybe it was ‘cause we'd known each other for so long. He could always sense when something was bothering me, and we both knew it. He accepted that if I needed to stop the scene, I'd safe word, and if I didn't—as if I'd be stupid enough not to—he'd be able to tell.

  Tonight, before we'd been interrupted, I'd been trying to test his limits, see if he was capable of giving as much as I could take. Okay, so sometimes I could be a bad sub, and I deserved any punishment Pierce decided on—and he would decide, later. But right before Santoro had phoned, I'd been able to see he knew what I was up to, and he wasn't gonna hold back.

  I touched a hand wistfully to the red welt on my lower breast. A slight pain flared through it, bringing the events of a few hours ago back to vivid life. At least I had something to look forward to...

  "Hey, Faye.” Santoro staggered into the lab, two plastic containers of bagged evidence weigh
ing him down. Snapped out of my thoughts, I ran over and caught the one on top as it fell, setting it safely on the workbench.

  "Thanks. Pierce is in the crappiest mood ever—he made me carry all this down here by myself. Did you wake him up with a bucket of ice water, or something?"

  "Do I look suicidal to you?” I started picking through the evidence boxes, and the bangles on my right wrist slid down my arm, revealing the slight marks Pierce's handcuffs had left there. Santoro let out a knowing whistle, and I flushed, shaking my wrist so the marks were covered again. I needed to be more careful—I trusted Santoro, but I didn't want the entire precinct to know I was playing kinky sex games. “Oops."

  Santoro chuckled. “Your secret's safe with me. And I wasn't kidding about those details I talked about on the phone..."

  I set the samples for DNA-testing to one side, then reached for my hair tie. Hair firmly secured out of the way, I gloved up and opened the first bag.

  "Don't count on it..."

  "Gonna at least tell me who he is? Or is it a she?"

  I opened my mouth, my mind scrabbling for a convincing lie. Before I could utter a syllable, a brusque voice cut me off.

  "I don't give a damn. Faye, what have you got?"

  Catching my sigh of relief before it could escape, I frowned up at Pierce. “Wow, Zach, you really did get up on the wrong side of the bed, huh?"

  "Faye..."

  "Okay, okay. I have nothing for you. Santoro brought me the evidence, like, five minutes ago, and though I know I'm good, I'm not that good. You should know by now I'm not a miracle-worker!"

  "Detective Santoro, don't you have work to be doing?” Pierce asked him pointedly.

  Santoro backed towards the door. “Talk later, Faye."

  "Count on it."

  As he left the room, I continued to sort through the evidence, conscious of Pierce invading my personal space when I was trying to work—as usual.

  When I'd first started at the precinct, it'd been something that had pissed me off. As I'd got to know him, it had become less irritating and more comforting. Lately, the sound of his breathing close to my ear made my knees weak, and it was such a relief not to have to pretend it didn't affect me anymore.

  I opened my mouth to ask how long before the case was wrapped up and we could go home to continue what we'd started, but before I could utter one syllable, one of my colleagues, Jackson, wandered through the door, a stack of evidence bags in his hands.

  "Hey, Faye...Detective Pierce. Putting in some overtime, too?"

  "Triple homicide,” I said, and he winced.

  "Ouch. As if we didn't have enough to do. If you need help with high priority samples, give me a yell."

  "Thanks.” I smiled at him and he got to work, quickly becoming engrossed.

  Pierce took my arm, steering me away from the testing area and over towards the door. “I want the ballistics report on the Winston case."

  Incredulous, I stared at him. “Isn't this a little more important? It's gonna take me an hour just to prioritise this stuff, let alone start running DNA—"

  "The director wants it now."

  At last I caught on to his subterfuge and let him nudge me into the hallway, with a melodramatic sigh for Jackson's benefit.

  There was a bathroom down the hall, and at Pierce's urging I headed for it, feeling his eyes on me every step of the way. He followed me closely and locked us inside the small room.

  I turned expectantly to face him and nearly melted into a puddle of mush on the floor at his expression—predatory and considering at the same time.

  "Up against the wall."

  I so wasn't worrying about my workload any more. I did as he asked and waited, trembling a little. What if we were caught?

  Pierce listened for footsteps in the hallway before speaking again. “Calm down. I'll only keep you here a few minutes,” he told me.

  He could have kept me there forever—as long as he kept looking at me like that, I wouldn't have cared.

  Pierce closed the distance between us, kissing me hard, dominating my mouth and making my entire body scream out with need.

  "Do you want to come, little tease?” he breathed in my ear, and I almost lost it then and there.

  "Please, Sir,” I whispered, the words falling unplanned from my tongue.

  He stepped back, leaned against the opposite wall, leaving me dazed and bewildered. “Then touch yourself,” he murmured—a quiet order, but an order nonetheless.

  A shock of conflicting emotions shuddered through me. Even as my pulse leapt and my knees grew weak, self-consciousness reared its head.

  "I...” I bit down on the rest of the sentence, knowing it was a lie.

  I can't.

  I knew I could, and it would only take a matter of seconds, but we were so close to the lab...

  "It's this way, or not at all,” Pierce told me, breaking through my muddled thoughts.

  Just thinking of being left like this was enough to strengthen my resolve. I didn't relish the idea of redoing all my tests because I was too distracted the first time around.

  "Yes, Sir,” I replied helplessly, and basked in the reward of his half-smile.

  "Good girl."

  Hesitantly, I slipped a hand up and under my skirt, pushing my panties aside to seek out my aching clit. At the first touch, I had to swallow a cry of pleasure, managing to turn it into a ragged gasp instead. I fell back against the wall as my caresses became more urgent, and I could feel myself beginning to tip over the edge...

  "Go easy, little tease. Not yet."

  With a low whimper of frustration, I slowed down, letting the sensations fade to a bearable level. When I opened my eyes and dared to chance a look at Pierce, the sight of his cock pushing against his pants sent me rocketing out of control again as I imagined how good it would feel to have him inside me.

  "Sir, please, I can't take this!” I gasped.

  For long, interminable seconds, he didn't reply. By the time he spoke, I was half-sobbing with frustration, hot and dishevelled and burning for release.

  "Go on, little tease. Let it all go."

  One touch was all it took. Trying hard not to scream Pierce's name loud enough for everyone in the building to hear, I leaned into the corner and let the orgasm overtake me, barely aware of my surroundings as all the tension flooded from my muscles. Suddenly boneless, I slid down the wall to the floor, trying to get my breath back.

  Pierce crouched beside me, stroking my hair, and I rested my head gratefully against his knee.

  "Thank you, Sir,” I whispered shakily.

  For a couple of minutes, we stayed that way, calming down, regaining composure. Finally, Pierce pulled me to my feet and kissed my forehead, pulling errant strands of hair back into place.

  "Okay. You're good to go."

  I took a step towards the door, and was pulled up short by Pierce's hand on my shoulder. Puzzled, I looked up at him.

  "From now on, your orgasms belong to me. You have them when and where I say you have them, and nowhere else. Clear?"

  Resisting the urge to kneel at his feet in total submission, I swallowed hard. “Clear, Sir."

  "Good girl.” He gave me a swift kiss. “And maybe one day soon, you'll wear my collar around that pretty neck of yours for real, out of the bedroom."

  He moved past me out into the hallway, leaving me dumbstruck and speechless. Officially collared to Pierce? I couldn't think of anything I'd ever wanted more. A huge smile spreading over my face, I smoothed down my skirt and returned to the lab, turning to the piles of evidence with renewed enthusiasm.

  * * * *

  Around six months passed. We were far from casual—in private, we rarely called each other by our real names, and though I challenged him when I wasn't happy with a situation, I was mainly happy to defer to his orders.

  My submission to him gradually deepened, growing outside the boundaries of bedroom play. I wore what he instructed, sought his consent before making plans, and climaxed when—and onl
y when—he allowed it. Whenever I transgressed, he punished me, purging me of the sin and the guilt it carried. Whenever I completed a task he'd set me, he rewarded me with cheek-kisses and coffee in public, and with pain and pleasure in private.

  Every now and then, we debated the terms of a formal Master/slave agreement between us. Pierce even wrote things down, including what my limits in a twenty-four seven power-exchange relationship would be. I got the sense a collaring was imminent, but as weeks passed with no direct mention of it, I decided I was probably reading too much into it, and he was just being thorough as a Dom.

  On the night before my birthday, on one of the rare nights Pierce was working and I was free, I found a box on my kitchen worktop, wrapped in silver paper. Nothing as frilly as a bow, of course—that wasn't Pierce's style. But the label attached to the gift told me I could open it then and there, so I did, my fingers made clumsy by anticipation.

  The gift inside took my breath away—a delicate silver ring, engraved with a pair of handcuffs. The idea of being able to wear something at all times that Pierce had given me made me smile, and I slipped the ring on to my finger, wondering why he hadn't chosen to give it to me in person.

  There was a note nestled inside the box, and I unfolded it carefully.

  This is only the first part of your gift, little tease. Tomorrow night, your place, nine pm. Wear the ring and your wrist cuffs—and nothing else.

  My birthday seemed to crawl by, and, in between seeing family and friends, I tried to imagine what my birthday scene would entail. I was pretty sure whatever Pierce had in mind, it would be amazing.

  A couple of hours before our assignation, I took a long, luxurious bath, carefully applied my makeup and styled my hair just right, clipping crimson hairpieces into my hair.

  I fastened my black leather wrist cuffs, leaving the connecting chain on the coffee table, just as the doorbell rang. Smiling at the weight of them, I sank to my knees within sight of the front door and called for him to come in.

  The look in Pierce's eyes captivated me from the moment I met them, and the words of greeting I'd planned fled my lips. For long seconds, he was silent, looking me over, his eyes going to the cuffs on my wrists and the ring on my finger first. Then he nodded, ordered me to my feet and stepped in close.