If she’d decided it was all too much, turned it over to someone else, board members like Mel would have been happy to step into that gap, take over the company Roy and she had built. But she hadn’t run. Even at her lowest moments, she’d known she would take responsibility, be strong. That was who she was.
Crossing to the door, she pushed it open. She took it further, stepping outside, gesturing to him to precede her into her home. An instinctive decision. His gaze swept her and then he stepped in. But he turned to hold the door open for her and draw her into the recesses of the house, a different kind of gesture. One that almost made her smile except the working of her face muscles felt painful.
He closed the main door, flipped the deadbolt. “Athena.”
“Sir.” Thinking about the others she’d seen at the club, and considering it an attempt to calm her nerves through emulation, she sank to her knees on the marble floor. Looking up the length of his body, she thought he appeared so strong and confident, so sure of himself. Those blue-green eyes were watching everything she was doing, and probably reading her like a manual. Only men didn’t read manuals, did they? They proceeded based on mechanical aptitude, an instinctive understanding of how things worked, of what things to tighten, which to loosen.
“I told you I’d be hungry,” he said.
She nodded. “I have a plate ready for you. Where would you like to eat?”
“Kitchen.” Noticing the pages she’d left on the bench, he picked them up, glancing over her handwriting. “Take me there.”
She rose, leading him to the kitchen. As she passed the pictures hung in the foyer, she saw her and Roy’s wedding picture, Roy’s parents. Why was she doing this?
Because kneeling at his feet hadn’t had anything to do with copying the actions of other subs. It had been as natural to her as breathing. She was padding across the floor barefoot. She never went barefoot in the house. Even at night, she wore slippers.
As they entered the kitchen, she gestured to the stools arranged at the island, and then pulled the plate out of the oven. She’d kept the heat on low so the turkey sub she’d made him would stay warm. A side of sliced and fried potatoes went with it. She added a sprig of mint from the arrangement he’d given her, which had a prominent display position on the counter.
“Thank you for the carnations.” She turned toward the refrigerator, retrieved a beer. At his house, he’d had Bud Light, so that was what she’d bought, adding a couple more varieties from the wet bar in case he wanted something else. “You didn’t have to send me flowers.”
After opening the beer, she found a napkin to wrap around the base. He’d placed the bag on the floor next to the island. When he nodded to the counter next to his plate, she put the beer there. He laid his hand on her wrist, holding her. “Did you follow my instructions about writing these? And the other commands I left you?”
She flashed to the memory of being in the bathroom. “Yes. No. I . . . we need to talk about this more.” She drew her hand away. “I’m not sure this is going to work. I need things more defined.”
He grunted. “Like a car race on a closed track, where the circles are predictable, and when you hit the finish line, the race is over?”
“Don’t judge me,” she snapped.
Where had that come from? She nearly clapped her hand over her mouth like a cartoon character. She needed to steady her nerves. She needed to . . .
At the shift in his expression, she almost took a step back. “I wouldn’t suggest using that tone with me,” he said pleasantly. “I’m likely to react exactly as you’re hoping I will.”
A giant bunny leap of adrenaline from her stomach into her chest made it hard to determine if she was reacting to that with dread or anticipation. With effort—though she was pretty sure she was losing her mind—she found her dignity and laced her fingers together before her. “I apologize for the outburst, Dale. I’m just . . . This is all very new to me.”
“I know that. I’ll address your concerns, Athena. Right now, I’m eating. Sit here.” He pointed to the floor next to him. “And be quiet. I’m going to read your notes.”
She hesitated, then closed the distance between them. He hadn’t chosen a stool, but was instead standing at a clear spot in front of the island. Sinking to her knees felt like what she was supposed to do. Structure. Order. She was beside his left leg, the one where half of it was missing. She found it hard to wrap her mind around that. He’d shown her the prosthesis, yes, but the man seemed so solid, it was inconceivable that any part of him was absent.
Her gaze slid up to his knee, noticed the difference between the stretch of the denim around that area and the other one. The left was somewhat thicker, she expected because of whatever socket held the knee. She’d looked up some things about it on the Internet, and knew a removal below the knee was called a transtibial amputation. Those sites said that was better than above the knee, because below the knee had far better prosthesis options, ones that caused less strain on joints and muscles.
She was scrolling down the recalled computer page like an automaton. It was a nervous, bug-in-the-jar reaction again, so she shifted her focus back to Dale. His scent, his nearness, what he was doing.
He was looking down at her notes, but he made an appreciative noise when he took his first bite of the sandwich. The incoherent compliment cracked open a tiny ball of warmth in her stomach. He ate while standing, wiping his fingers on the napkin she provided before he turned each page, reading the back, switching to the next page. His obvious intention to dive straight into the reason he was here tonight tangled more anxious things around that ball of warmth.
Like a session, not a date. What she wanted, yes?
He’d been so matter-of-fact about it, ordering her to kneel next to him. She hadn’t really said anything in her notes about the degree of subjugation she wanted. She expected she was okay with what she’d seen him do with Willow, so she hadn’t felt the need to spell it out, but maybe he’d tailored his intensity to that specific sub. While Willow was pretty hardcore, maybe Dale’s preferences were even more so. She hadn’t witnessed his aftercare process. Had he attached a leash to her collar, led her to a booth and had her sit by his knee, idly stroking her hair while he talked to other Doms? She liked that vision, imagined herself there, exhausted, thrilled, sated. Athena wished she could jump to that relaxed, somnolent state. But another part of her didn’t want to miss the journey to it. Bug in a jar, bug in a jar . . .
She really wanted to lean against his leg, stroke it with her fingertips. Could she do that on this side? She laid her fingers above his knee, finding the firm, heated flesh that was Dale, then slid down over what she realized was the sleeve for the socket and then the socket. All of it was part of him.
He turned over another page. “Did I give you permission to touch me, Athena?”
“No sir.” She withdrew her hand.
“Untie the robe and take it off your shoulders so I can see your breasts. Spread your knees.”
Her stomach knocked against her rib cage this time, her breasts prickling with heat, nipples tightening. Was she going to do this? She put her fingers to the tie, but she couldn’t make them move. “Dale . . . I . . . I don’t think I can. Maybe it’s too soon.”
She was going to ruin it before anything started. But before she could scramble to her feet, withdraw, he set aside the pages and slid onto a stool at last. Stretching his leg out to one side of her, he bent the right one to brace himself. “Come here.”
As she rose on her knees, he pinched the lapel of her robe between two fingers, a little tug to bring her to her feet. When she was standing between his thighs, he had his hands on her waist, holding and steadying her.
“Close your eyes, but keep your head up.” His voice was low, firm, but not unkind.
Once she complied, he drew her closer. He captured her jaw with one hand, holding her face still. “Mo
isten your lips for me.”
She did so, and began to shake. “Dale . . .”
“Shh. We’re just going on a boat ride, Athena. It’s a lazy, sunny day, and you’re lying in the bottom of the boat. The sun is so warm and bright, your eyes are closed, and you feel the heat on your skin, the breeze.” His breath touched her. Her heart was battering her ribs, her stomach tight and uncertain.
“I’m controlling the direction, the speed. The oars are dipping in the water in that easy rhythm. You have a pillow resting on my feet so you can put your head there and I can give you shade by leaning over you when the sun is too bright for your eyes. I’m taking care of you. Do you feel safe in the boat with me?”
“Yes.” She whispered it.
“Good.” He made a humming noise in his throat, as if he were singing to her. She imagined the boat rocking on the current, the unobtrusive noise of the oars. She could turn her head, brush against his leg, reach up and curve her hand around his calf . . .
The world steadied. She wanted to do this. The main reason she was so unsettled about it was exactly because of how much she wanted to do this.
His touch dropped, and he was untying the robe. He pushed it off her shoulders, but since his grip dropped to her elbows, keeping those held against her sides, it stopped there, the fabric pooling on her hips and lower back. “All right. Kneel on the floor the way I ordered. Knees spread shoulder-width apart. But Athena?”
She lifted her lashes to find his intent gaze so close she couldn’t help imagining him closing the distance for a kiss. She wasn’t sure she was ready for that, but that wasn’t his purpose.
“When your eyes are closed, it’s me touching you. Doing this to you. Not Roy. You understand? I can be a mean son of a bitch when it comes to things like that. When we’re together, you’re mine. I’m not a surrogate. Got it?”
She shook her head, but not to deny him. “Roy never would have done this to me,” she said. She couldn’t even imagine it.
It was a simple, honest answer, but one that seemed to satisfy him. Enough that his change in expression sent that thrill through her vitals again. She knew this was just a session, that she couldn’t extrapolate from that, but she remembered her latent desire to see that sense of ownership in a man’s eyes. She saw it clearly in Dale’s.
“All right. Kneel the way I told you.”
As she sank back down, his grip made sure it was a controlled descent. When she reached the floor, she adjusted her thighs as he described. Looking down, she could see the heavy weight of her breasts. Through their cleft, she saw the robe had parted so her inner thighs and shaved sex were revealed.
He touched her hair. “Lift your head, stare straight ahead. You’re interfering with my view.”
She obeyed, swallowing on a dry throat. The moisture in her body seemed to be collecting in one key part of her. She was still shaking a little. The first couple of times, Roy had shook. Maybe that was part of a sub’s journey.
He’d gone back to reading the notes. He’d commanded her not to reread them, but since he’d told her she couldn’t change anything, she hadn’t known why that would matter. However, she’d only managed to get through one front and back page and part of the next before she was cringing. She’d stopped reading, but a pounding urge to toss all of it had followed her around most of the week. The only thing that prevented that was imagining Dale asking her if she’d followed his directions exactly. She couldn’t lie to him. Lies disrespected the Dom and, more than that, undermined what was being built between Dom and sub in every session. Absolute trust.
Then there was the pride issue. Explaining why she’d destroyed previous versions would have been too difficult to articulate, too mortifying for an exercise she was already unable to review without acute embarrassment.
He’d told her to be quiet, but she needed to say it. “I disobeyed your instructions. Twice.”
“How?”
When she didn’t immediately respond, he lifted his head from his reading. Though she was staring straight ahead, which gave her a view of his hip and length of thigh where he sat on the stool, she could feel that inexorable gaze pinned on her.
“I started to reread the notes. I only read . . . I read three pages and then stopped. And . . . I used my hand for seven minutes, not five.”
“When?”
“Today. A few hours ago. I didn’t wash it . . . like you said.”
He lowered his hand, snapped his fingers and then opened his palm, a clear directive. She laid the offending hand in it, which quivered as his thumb swept over her palm, her wrist pulse, his other fingers closing around her arm. He tugged her back up to her knees and she bit her lip as he brought the hand up to his face. He pressed his nose briefly into her palm, then rubbed his jaw over it, turning his head so her fingers passed over his lips. He kissed her fingertips, squeezed her hand, then used the same hold on her wrist to compel her back into a kneeling position.
“Hmm.” He returned to reading the notes. Since he said nothing further, she remained silent as ordered. He pushed them away, finishing up the sandwich. He didn’t speak again until he was done with his plate and had wiped his mouth. “Did you make this or Lynn?”
“I did.”
“Good girl.” Rising, he moved to the sink, washed his hands, dried them. Then he reached over and plucked the pancake spatula out of the pottery vase where it resided with all of Lynn’s other kitchen implements. He twirled it, smacked it against his hand. Now as before, it made Athena jump, though her backside tingled in uneasy anticipation this time.
“I punish for a couple of reasons, Athena. One is for mutual pleasure. One is for discipline. You’ve earned the discipline side, which means this waits for another day.” Putting the spatula back in its spot, he came back to the island, sliding a hip onto the stool.
“From reading your notes, I can tell you’re not quite sure what you want, but you have the fever to the point you don’t want to rule anything out. That’s pretty normal. So we’re going to let this evolve organically. Your safe word is griffin. Use it only if you want me to stop. I’m not going to give you an interim safe word yet, something to slow things down, because when you’re all over the map like that, you need a tighter circle to decide if something is a hard or soft limit. Knowing what I already do about your personality, your determination and courage, I know that having a stop-go safe word will accomplish that.”
She was looking at her hands, clasped and twisting around each other. He touched her shoulder, a firm tap reminding her to bring her chin up again. “Back straight, hands at your sides. Keep your thighs open. What do you think The Choice means? The bronze in your garden.”
Athena was glad he added the clarification, though she had to struggle to catch up with the change in direction. Fortunately, she’d mulled on the piece’s meaning enough in the past to have a formed opinion. “I think it represents every person’s struggle to choose between fantasy and reality, what they wish for life to be and what it is. The man in the suit, holding the sword, is deciding whether he’ll slay the fantasy, his dreams and wishes . . . or choose otherwise.”
“What other choice does he have? Getting lost in the dreams?” Dale had shifted so his legs were stretched out on either side of her. He seemed to like doing that, hemming her in. She liked it, too. She wanted to put her hands on his knees, look up into his face. He’d been close enough to kiss her earlier, but he hadn’t. Maybe he’d felt her uncertainty about that or, like the spatula, he was just really good at putting an image in her head, then taking it away, keeping her guessing—and anticipating.
“I like to think we live in a world where both can exist. When you hold on to your fantasies and dreams, your perception of the real world is transformed by them. Whether you achieve them or not, holding on to that magic gives you a different way of viewing everything. A better way, I think.”
Dale twined a l
ock of her hair around his hand, knuckles brushing her face. He was good at that, mixing tender gestures with sensual threats. One moment talking about punishment and ordering her to silence, the next helping her visualize a lazy boat ride to calm her down. What had he thought of her admission about breaking his rules? What kind of discipline was he considering? The fantasy versus reality of that was elevating her heart rate. Or maybe that was simply his touch. He cradled her jaw, stroking his thumb over her bottom lip.
“We tend to limit our vision of ourselves, don’t we?” he mused. “We decide what we are, all the things we can be. We think we have to be one thing or another, never realizing how many things we simply are. Like you. I’ve seen all the articles about your business, your fund-raisers. Even the personal stuff in the society columns. I saw the one about you and Roy taking his father out to the theater. He lived here, and the two of you cared for him until he died.”
“Yes.” Athena tried to wrap her mind around another subject change, though she had an inkling they were all related in some way. She was just too scattered to figure out how. “He was a good man. Roy’s mother was a good person as well, though she was a little more difficult at times.”
She and Elaine had had a cordial relationship, though Elaine saw Athena as competition for her only son’s affections. On the other hand, Robert was so much like Roy, the obvious evidence of it when they’d both lived under this roof had amused her.
“During the tour of this place, two places spoke to me,” Dale said. “One was your reading room. That’s your breathing space, the place where you go just to be. Right?”
“Yes.”
“Whenever I’m doing something that unsettles you, Athena, I want you to go to that place in your head and think it through, before you put up a shield. Understand?”
The words tweaked her subconscious, telling her that at some subliminal level she did. So she nodded. He stroked her hair behind her ear, teasing the tender area beneath. Sliding along the side of her throat, he caressed her nape.
Unrestrained Page 11