“I don’t think—”
She interrupts me with a finger pressed against my lips. “Don’t say no! Please? You’re going to be here for a while anyway, and I’m a quick study. I’ll do everything you say. It’ll be easy. I even have a list.”
“A list?” I stare at her dumbly.
“Hold on.” She disappears into her room and comes back with several printed sheets of paper, then hands them to me. “Declan sent me to these sites to give me an idea of what he’s looking for. You can follow this.”
I glance down at the top sheet. Preparation, protocol, discipline, bondage, sexual submission. Fuck! Who is this asshole?
Her expressive green eyes are soft and pleading, and images of her naked, on her knees, and bound as she looks up at me with those big green eyes fill my thoughts again, giving me a hard-on. This is the worst idea ever. But if I don’t talk her out of this, that arrogant old fuck is going to ruin her. And I’m not about to let that happen. I’ll do anything to keep Gemma from getting hurt—even if that means giving her a taste of BDSM so she’ll know it, and Declan, are not for her. Even, I think with a sigh, if it means torturing myself with what I’ll never have.
“Okay,” I say.
Chapter Five
Gemma
It’s ten o’clock at night, my bags are packed for San Francisco, and I’m starting to wonder if I’ve lost my mind asking Walker to teach me how to be what Declan wants. I pace around my small bedroom, wishing I could call McKenzie. Am I completely insane? Is it going to be weird, or somehow change things between me and Walker? I quickly rule that out. Of course it won’t. He’s been my best friend for nine years; if something was going to happen between us, it already would have. Walker definitely doesn’t think of me like that. And I know I can’t possibly compete with the string of gorgeous women he always seems to have hanging around.
In fact, that’s what makes this so perfect. No romantic feelings. No expectations. No complications. I can focus on learning what I need to know to get the man I’ve spent my whole life searching for. And there’s no one I feel safer or more comfortable with than Walker. Who knew he was dominant? Well, now that I’m a little more educated on the subject, it’s pretty obvious. The way he always takes command of the situation and the people around him…that look he gets when he wants something…the way he won’t take no for an answer and you find yourself doing whatever he wants before you even realize it. Yeah, he’s definitely got that aura of power and command women described on some of the blogs I read.
But since there’s nothing romantic between us, I can focus on learning what I need to know before Declan comes back. Okay, maybe I felt a little sizzle of awareness when Walker caught me when I fell inside the door last night. God, the memory of his warm, strong hands on my bare skin is branded in my brain, but I’m sure that’s just because I accidentally climbed into bed with him naked the night before. It’s a simple biological reaction, like muscle memory, to the feel of the hard plane of his chest, his arms around me, his thick, hard cock against my ass. Crap! I shake my head, determined to exorcise that particular memory. Walker is my friend. Nothing more.
I’m just not sure what happens next. He’d agreed to teach me how to be submissive, and then smoke started coming out of the oven from the forgotten pizza I’d put in right before Walker came home and I discovered he was a dominant. By the time we put out the fire and scraped the remains of blackened cheese off the floor where it fell when I panicked and tried to grab the burning pizza with a pair of tongs, we were laughing so hard that the moment to discuss exactly how this was going to work was over. Walker looked at the ruined pizza and suggested we order takeout after all (but not pizza, he said, still laughing). So we slurped noodles and binge-watched Friends for two hours, and neither of us had mentioned it again the rest of the night. Now I don’t know how to bring it up.
My phone pings, distracting me, and I glance down at it. It’s Declan. Just wanted to make sure you got the links I sent earlier and were able to open them, I read.
Oh, yeah. I got them all right. I spent half of the day I should have been working reading every damn thing with the fascination of a twelve-year-old boy who just discovered his father’s stash of Playboy magazines, getting more and more aroused, and proportionately more and more despondent, because I realized I was in way over my head and I had no idea how I was going to fake knowing all this. I had come home to an empty apartment, intent on a quick little date with my fingers to alleviate the tension that had been building all afternoon, and instead stumbled across Walker’s pictures and the perfect solution to my problem.
I glance back at my phone. I’m going to amaze Declan with my “experience” when he gets back. He doesn’t need to know that Walker is going to help me. When the two of them met, there was some palpable tension. Men! For a minute, I’d wondered if I was about to get peed on. Nope. Definitely best not to mention Walker to Declan.
I got them, I text back. Leaving for San Francisco tomorrow on business. Looking forward to…talking…when you get back.
I smile to myself and hit send.
He replies immediately. Mark your calendar for the 14th. We’ll…talk…then. If you still want to.
Shit. That’s only twelve days from now. I don’t have time to waste.
There’s no choice but to take matters into my own hands. I dig through my lingerie drawer, pulling out the skimpiest black lace thong I own, along with a sexy black push-up bra that actually gives me some cleavage and just barely covers my nipples. From all the pictures I’ve seen, black lace lingerie seems to be the clothing of choice for submissives. If they’re not naked, that is. Before I can second-guess myself, I exchange my yoga pants and comfy T-shirt for the barely-there bra and panties.
I linger at my bedroom door, suddenly nervous for some reason. It’s Walker, I remind myself. Taking a deep breath, I saunter out into the living room. Walker doesn’t notice me at first. His laptop is open, and he’s studying something intently, his brow furrowed with concentration. Then he looks up and our eyes meet, and suddenly the air feels like it does just before a summer thunderstorm—thick and silent and charged with electricity.
My heart stops as his gaze travels slowly over my body, and for a minute, I think he’s going to crack a joke, or say something about us having an early flight to catch or not having the right equipment, and I brace myself for the disappointment. But instead, he wordlessly pushes his chair back, gets up, and walks slowly over to where I’m standing.
“You just failed lesson number one.” His voice is deep and husky, and I suddenly find my stomach inexplicably fluttering.
“Oh?” My voice sounds ragged, and I take a deep breath, determined to sound like the confident, sexy badass that I am. Even if Walker is looking at me with a heat I’ve never seen before in those whiskey-colored eyes. “What lesson was that?”
He threads his fingers in my hair and tugs lightly, forcing my head back so I’m looking up at him. “The dominant is always in charge. That means I call the shots, and I decide when we start, not you. Although you do look pretty fucking amazing, so I’ll let it slide this time.”
“You’ll ‘let it slide’?” I say in mock outrage. I try to push him away with my hands on his chest, but he grabs them in his, and with one hand holding both of my wrists, he lifts them above my head and pins them to the wall. Holy fucking shit.
“This time,” he repeats, and for the first time, I can see why people react the way they do to him. Walker’s quietly authoritative tone is more intimidating than a hundred men raising their voices. “I can see this is going to be the challenge for you, Gemma.” His lips twitch, and humor sparks in his eyes. “You like to be in charge. You can’t let go, can you?”
“Yes, I can.”
He looks at me dubiously, eyebrows raised.
“I can!” I insist.
“Close your eyes.” His voice is soft, but it’s an unmistakable command.
“What?”
“Just
do it. Don’t think. Don’t argue.”
I know a test when I hear one. I close my eyes, wondering what he’s going to do. Long seconds seem to tick by, and then his lips brush over mine ever so gently. They’re warm and soft and fuller than I would have expected. It’s quick, barely even a kiss, just his lips grazing over mine, but the butterflies are back, their wings beating furiously in my tummy, and there’s an inexplicable heat searing through my veins.
I open my eyes to find his face mere inches from mine, his eyes wide with the shock that I’m sure is reflected in mine. What the hell was that? Then he clears his throat, releases my wrists, and takes a step backward, and the moment has passed.
“Okay. We’ll continue tomorrow.” He turns to go.
“Wait. That’s it?” That can’t be it.
Walker turns around slowly and gives me a long, hard look, and I wish I could tell what’s going through that mind of his. Finally, he says, “You want more?”
“Hell yes, I want more. I want the whole thing. The sooner the better. Before Declan comes back. I want to know as much as I can before I see him again, so I know what to expect.”
He takes a step closer. “The whole thing? Are you sure about this?” There’s a slight edge to his voice.
“Absolutely positive.” His intense gaze never leaves my face, and I’m suddenly just the tiniest bit nervous. “Um, what exactly is the whole thing?”
“Doing what I say without question or argument. Being at my mercy. Giving yourself to me to do whatever I wish, without reservation. Restraints, blindfolds, being completely open with me, sexually. If you’re going to do this, if we’re going to do this, I’m not going to go easy on you. Are you okay with that?”
I nod. “Yes. I trust you. Just not, you know, actual sex. No intercourse. Because that might get weird. I’m okay with everything else, but actually doing it kind of crosses the line.”
“Agreed. But that means you can’t have sex with anyone else, either, while we’re doing this. In fact, you can’t come without asking me for permission.”
“What!” I’m still feeling edgy from all my research earlier today, and somehow this conversation isn’t helping.
“If you really want me to teach you, that’s the deal. The only way you’ll know for sure if this is what you want with Declan is if you’re all in, not just playing at it. I have a feeling he’s an all-or-nothing kind of guy. Take it or leave it. It makes no difference to me. You’re the one who wants this. But I understand if it’s too much and you want to change your mind.”
That sounds like a challenge, and I’ve never been able to walk away from one. It’s a character flaw. “I don’t want to change my mind.”
He hesitates, and I’m afraid he’s going to say he’s changed his mind, that he’s not going to help me. But then he nods curtly and says, “Fine. We need to go over a few rules, then. You’ll need a safe word. A word that makes everything stop, no questions asked.”
“Pineapple.”
“You’re allergic to pineapples.”
“Exactly.” I grin.
He laughs. “I guess that makes sense. Okay. ‘Pineapple’ stops everything, ‘yellow’ if you have a cramp or you need a breather or we need to talk.”
I nod my agreement.
“Anything that’s definitely off-limits? That you don’t want to explore? Besides actually having sex, of course.”
“I don’t know enough to know if there’s anything I don’t want. That’s what I want you to help me with.”
He frowns. “We’re supposed to discuss your hard limits.”
“I trust you, Walker.”
He sighs. “Okay. We’ll take that as it comes. When we’re doing a scene—that’s what it’s called when we’re assuming the roles of dominant and submissive—you call me sir.”
“Are you kidding?”
He grins. “Nope.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Fine. But you are enjoying this way too much.”
He grips my chin firmly in his hand and forces my gaze up to his. “Fine what?”
“Fine, sir?”
“Good girl.”
“What am I, your dog?”
He laughs. “It’s a common phrase dominants use to convey their approval. You don’t like it?”
I shake my head. “It’s offensive!”
He shakes his head. “Gemma, you don’t have to do this. Just tell Declan you aren’t cut out for this kind of life.”
“But I am! I want this.” I cross my arms over my chest again. “You don’t think I can do it,” I accuse.
“I have my doubts.”
“Try me. Right now. Let’s do a scene or whatever it’s called, and I’ll prove to you I can. I am not going to lose this opportunity with Declan. I really like him.”
His eyes narrow. “Okay, fine,” he snaps. He sounds the teensiest bit angry, and I’m impressed with how quickly he morphs into the role of scary dominant. “You’re on. Kneel.”
Oh, damn. Walker Kinkaid is calling my bluff. But I’m determined to show him—and maybe myself—that I can do this. For Declan.
I slowly lower myself to my knees, my gaze never leaving Walker’s face.
“Stay like that, up on your knees without your butt resting on your heels. Spread your knees apart a little more…more!”
I feel sorry for the men who serve under Walker’s command. He can be a demanding son of a bitch.
“Good. Now place your hands behind your neck, elbows wide, shoulders back.”
Oh, God. The stance pushes my breasts forward, and I feel a little tug of desire at how vulnerable the pose makes me feel.
“Very good.” Walker’s approval, which I only moments before railed against, now sends pleasure singing through me. What the hell? “This is the ‘attention’ pose. Some doms like the protocol and ritual of the positions and some don’t, but your guy seems pretty old…school.”
I don’t miss the not-so-subtle pause after the word “old.” I have no idea why, but Walker seems to have hated Declan on first sight.
“Regardless, you should know them,” he continues. “They serve a multitude of purposes—forcing the submissive to concentrate on her position and body, which reinforces her sense of helplessness; showing off her body to her dom for his inspection or so he can simply enjoy looking at what’s his; and giving him easy access to all of her.”
Inspection? “I see.” The words sound strangled to my ears.
“Now lower yourself onto your heels, but keep your legs spread, and place your hands on your thighs with your palms up.”
I follow his directions.
“Straight back. Chest forward.” He barks the orders like a drill sergeant. Then I remember, he sort of is a drill sergeant. “That’s called the waiting position, indicating the submissive’s willingness to serve when needed.” He watches me intently, and I know he’s expecting me to go off on one of my trademark feminist rants. I want to. God, how I want to! But I’ll bite my tongue off before I give him the satisfaction of getting to me, or worse, proving to him that I can’t do this. After a minute, he says, “There are some variations on this that you will need to know. They’re pretty self-explanatory, but let’s try them.” He looks to me for confirmation, and I nod.
“I’m here to serve.” I smirk.
He doesn’t smile back. Instead, he leads me over to his laptop and pulls up a website with something called “slave positions” and tells me to look it over. After a few minutes, he lifts one eyebrow. “Ready to try them?”
I feel hot and flushed after what I’ve read, but I nod. He starts calling out the positions, waiting for me to assume each one before moving on to the next. Wrists crossed behind, wrists crossed in front, hands clasped behind, hands on head, wrists offered, arms overhead with palms together, and box—wrists to opposite elbows—the only one he has to help me with.
“Okay, stand up.”
I awkwardly climb to my feet.
“There’s also the standing attention pose, w
hich is just like the kneeling one, but obviously, you’re standing. Try it.”
I widen my stance and lace my fingers behind my neck, hyperaware of the way it makes my breasts jut forward. Walker notices, too, and I can feel my nipples pucker into tight little points under his scrutiny. I hope he can’t tell.
“Okay. Drop down onto all fours.”
Oh, God. How can something so humiliating be so erotic? And I’m just with Walker. I do as he says, looking up at him expectantly.
“Head bowed,” he snaps.
I immediately lower my head.
“Now push your arms forward, face down, ass in the air.”
I follow his directions to a tee.
“Not bad,” he concedes.
I shoot him a triumphant I-told-you-so look.
He responds with a lifted eyebrow and an oh-yeah-we’ll-see-about-that look of his own.
“Spanking is a big part of the lifestyle, so we might as well try it while you’re trying out various positions. Since you’re so sure you can do this,” he adds smugly. “Might as well find out now, right?”
“Um, right,” I say, trying to sound like my heart isn’t thundering in my chest at the thought. Maybe this was a mistake.
“I’ll just use my hand. We’ll save the other implements for another day.”
I swallow hard. “Other implements?”
“Sure. There are floggers, paddles, riding crops, canes, whips…” He smiles for the first time since he started barking out instructions, and I have to admit, I love Walker’s smile. It completely transforms his face, even though that wicked gleam in his eye is making me a little nervous. “But as I said, tonight I’ll just teach you about the positions and go easy on you. Position is important, and is meant to work to the advantage of the dom and the disadvantage of the submissive. The position should display her bottom to full advantage and exposure, with the cheeks fully presented and split and the undersides turned up. If it’s done right, it should give the dom a little peek at her sex, as well. A proper position offers him full access and allows him to easily restrain her while administering the spanking. For the submissive, the pleasure comes from presenting herself for the spanking, losing control until it’s over, and not being able to clench—which adds to the anticipation.”
Renegade (Phoenix Rising) Page 5