by Anna del Mar
I planted the chair on the ground with a solid wham. My heart was going a hundred miles an hour. My guts were twisted into a pretzel. I steadied myself with a shaky hand and, coming around the chair, forced my legs to bend and sat down. Fuck. I wiped the sweat from my brow. Why was something so simple so hard?
I tried to distract my anxiety by focusing it elsewhere. I’d been making steady progress with my cyber spying. The jury was still out on Annette Collins, but I’d learned a couple of interesting facts about her. Collins was a formidable ally and an even more formidable opponent. The battlefield was littered with the butchered bodies of bloggers and associates who’d crossed her. She guarded her privacy fiercely and her systems even better, but it was only a matter of time before I got through. Her interest in Clara’s blog bordered on obsession.
My investigation into Mark Walker hadn’t produced any helpful leads. He was an accountant by day and as ordinary as he seemed. His only distinction was his Dom status in the kink community. I thought he was a fucking fraud. As to the fire, I was still waiting for the photographic analysis from my Detroit contact. He was running the pics through a series of tests in his lab, working them through a thorough process that took time.
My distraction strategy wasn’t working. Being outside required all my energy. The anxiety was getting worse. I looked at my watch. Fifteen minutes to go. I closed my eyes and fisted my hands on my lap. I inhaled through my mouth and exhaled through my nose. Or was it the other way around?
Never mind, just breathe. I could almost hear Dr. Dodd’s voice in my head. Deep breathing was the sound of freedom. Clear the mind. Draw down the fear, squash it down to zero. Visualize all the good reasons I had to break free.
An image of Clara, sleeping upstairs in the guest bedroom, eased the tightness squeezing my chest. Clara was here. Clara was part of my life, at least for the moment. I’d just checked on her not thirty minutes ago. She’d been out cold. I’d made the right call letting her rest last night. My first responsibility was to her well-being. She’d been exhausted.
She’d asked me to go to the Luz Foundation’s gala with her. Me, Noah Blake, the poor little shithead from the projects who should’ve had no reason or inclination to dream about going to a gala with a woman like Clara. It was Clara who made the proposition attractive. The idea of taking her to an event got my heart pumping. The thought of her going with anyone other than me made me furious. She could’ve asked someone else. Instead she’d asked me.
She had to care. She just had to. Why else would she have returned and insisted on becoming my sub if she didn’t care? Sure, there was the RelevantSex.com project, but I didn’t think this was about the blog at all. There had to be more to it. She’d cared enough about me to hook me up with Dr. Dodd and look after my progress. The doubts crept in. Maybe she was just being nice. Clara was kindhearted, the ultimate philanthropist. Maybe I was on the same level as the foundation’s charity programs. Perhaps she felt sorry for me.
The tightness in my chest increased, along with the worry. Was I being self-serving or was I doing the right thing? Could I really get better? Did I have a prayer in hell of rekindling the exceptional bond we’d once shared?
I had to try. I was homebound, yes, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t resourceful. Once a SEAL, always a SEAL. I also had to be careful. The next few weeks would require self-discipline. I’d planned my steps methodically. Even if this was a research project to her, Clara was no academic exercise to me. She wasn’t a casual affair either. I was about to put my heart on the table and I knew it. I was willing to take the risk.
The plan challenged me in every way, requiring not only resilience, resourcefulness and mental toughness, but also physical mastery. I’d almost lost it several times last night, especially when I first saw her in the submissive pose, naked and kneeling by the back door.
I’d almost lost it again at the dinner table, and afterward, with her body lathered beneath my hands. I’d needed the release in the shower to keep strong. I’d done a lot of difficult things in my life, but putting her to bed in the guest room had been one of the hardest. And sticking to my bed all night, knowing she lay next door? Agony.
I looked at my watch. Three more minutes to go. Breathe in, breathe out. Right now, just thinking about Clara, my cock puffed up like a blowfish. Hell. I wasn’t going to last like this. I needed to blow some major steam. As soon as the hand hit the twenty-minute mark, I sprang up from the chair and stalked to the cottage. Slow down. No need to sprint all the way back.
I made my way to the exercise pool and, after removing the tarp, cranked up the propellers to the Ironman setting, generating the maximum current. I stripped off my shirt and jumped in. I didn’t bother turning on the heat. I needed a good cooldown.
I felt more focused after the swim. I’d just finished dressing when my cell went off and my screen lit up like a shooting range. Contact. The texts popped up in rapid succession. Hot trail. The message I would’ve wanted to see any day except today streamed before my eyes.
We got a hit on Josephus.
Chapter Eighteen
Clara
I sat up on the bed, disappointed to find myself alone in the guest room. It was late, close to noon. I’d slept away the entire morning. On the upside, there was a tray with a covered plate on the desk.
I got up and checked out the plate. It held a pair of freshly baked croissants, wedges of my favorite cheddar and a cup of fresh fruit. Next to the plate stood a tall thermos with hot, steaming water and a teapot ready to go with an infuser filled with loose-leaf Earl Grey. I smiled. Noah remembered everything I liked. He might be a pragmatic kind of guy, but his practicality felt a lot like caring.
A note stood next to the tray. Something’s come up, Noah’s precise, symmetrical letters announced. Enjoy your grace period. Absolutely no self-gratification allowed. Check the cell. Will text further instructions.
Talk about crestfallen. Had I owned a crest, it would have fallen. I’d looked forward to waking up next to Noah, but the world shifted at a manic pace and danger from the terrorists that Noah hunted could pop up anywhere, anytime.
I put on my robe, fixed myself a cup of tea and lugged the cell, my laptop and my plate out to the balcony, where I shared my breakfast’s crumbs with a bunch of friendly seagulls. Stretched out on a lounger under a wool blanket, I enjoyed the expansive views of the ocean and the sun, even if the October breeze was firmly on the chilly side.
I caught up with the blog, trying to post as many new discussion questions as I could. The sheer volume was daunting, but I was pleased to see the reaction to my comments during the past week. People were thanking me for sharing my personal experiences. Many said they appreciated my candor. One post in particular caught my attention.
To: Sextattle.com
From: Scared Stiff
I haven’t had sex in a while, but now I’m in a new relationship and we are moving in that direction. I worry that I’ll be rusty, or worse, I won’t be able to please my partner. I hate to say it, but I’m kind of dreading the big moment. Any suggestions?
I could relate to this guy, because right now, as I waited for Noah, I was excited but also terrified of taking the next step. I started to type.
To: Scared Stiff
From: Raven/Moderator.
Let me share a secret with you: We’re all scared as we approach a new relationship. It’s a good sign. It means we care. Caring is the element that transforms sex from banal to sublime. How about some prep and practice to wear off some of that rust? No need to go from zero to a hundred. Slow foreplay ups the ante, my friend. When the time comes, you’ll be ready to go. Try not to worry so much and have fun, because fantastic sex should be all about the fun.
I reread my post and laughed. Talk about understanding myself through others. I felt for the guy, but I was also as excited for him as I was for mys
elf. No need to post any additional heavy-duty links. This was all about getting one’s courage up and running.
I clicked on Post and moved on. By the time I finished updating the blog and jotted down some preliminary notes for the RelevantSex.com article, it was almost two. That’s when my cell went off and my newest set of instructions streamed on the screen. My grace period was over.
I rushed through my preparations, then knelt by the spiral staircase on the second floor, wearing nothing but the unhooked cuffs and the collar. The leash dangled between my knees. As per Noah’s instructions, I held my breasts in my hands. The submissive pose was as hard today as it had been last night. My heart hammered in my chest.
I didn’t hear him coming up the stairs. Instead, he just sort of materialized at the top landing. He stood by the staircase, taking me in. He wore blue jeans and a black T-shirt that showcased his body’s athletic build. He looked tired, but his eyes gleamed, dark and fluid like molten lava.
The heat of his stare cranked up my body’s temperature. My pussy went into a slow, steaming boil. It got worse when he came over, leaned over me and kissed me in a way that said hi and brace yourself. I wanted to surrender to him on the spot, but submission came hard to me. Plus, I worried about the deep lines etching his face and the dark smudges underscoring his eyes.
“Did you get any sleep?” I asked at the end of the kiss. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.” He caressed my face before he straightened on his feet. “Just keeping track of one of them troublesome fuckers who hit social media today to try to get some fresh recruits. But we’re close. We’ve decrypted his code. We got it under control. Now is time to focus on you. Are you ready?”
The tone of his voice alerted me to the changes in him. Whatever he’d planned for us, the swelling in his groin announced he was looking forward to it. Anticipation fringed my spine, prickled my skin and got my juices flowing. Sure, I’d gone out on a limb today to give someone else some advice on the blog. But was I really ready?
“Up the stairs, on all fours.” He seized the end of the leash. “Ass in the air. Come on, show me that spectacular ass of yours.”
Heat ignited my face and spread to my chest.
Note to blog: the association of the word “spectacular” with one’s body part leads to an explosion of exhilaration.
I curled my spine and lifted my butt higher in the air. A burst of pride justified my lack of modesty. In fact, I was done with modesty. For good. Under Noah’s appreciative gaze, I followed him up the spiral stairs. It was strange to move on all fours, but my body negotiated with the steps as if crawling had been my natural form of locomotion forever.
“I have a surprise for you,” Noah said when we arrived at the third floor. “You may not be able to appreciate it yet, but in time, you will.”
He opened the door to the attic and led me in. The attic had been empty when I’d last seen it, but it was obvious that Noah had done some significant Internet shopping this week. He might be homebound, but even on his remote island, he was capable of outfitting his life with whatever he needed.
The space held a new large stuffed chair and an ottoman parked by the balcony. A new dresser sat against the far wall. An odd piece of furniture stood on a translucent mat in the middle of the room. I sat back on my heels and considered the object before me. What was it? It looked like some sort of a bench, a black frame contraption with movable parts and leather details.
“What do you think?” Noah studied my face. “Do you like it?”
I suddenly recognized it from the pictures I’d seen during my research. It looked so solid...and real? “Is it a...”
“It’s a sex bench,” he said, “currently configured to serve as a spanking bench.”
I gulped so loudly that he must have heard it. “Um...why would we need a spanking bench?”
He flashed me a sexy smirk. “You bought a crop. So I bought a spanking bench. Don’t you think they go together?”
Holy Mother help me. Yes, they went perfectly well together. My brain plunged into a state of chaos. I’d never been spanked before. I was suddenly afraid of the unknown. Noah must have sensed my hesitation, because he knelt in front of me on the carpet and, cupping my chin, brought his mouth down on mine. He kissed me, a sweet, glorious kiss that took the edge off my hesitation, at least for the sixty seconds that it lasted.
But then he stopped. My eyes opened and my gaze drifted inevitably to that thing in the middle of the room. My fear of the unknown came back with a vengeance. I looked back at Noah, who sat back on his heels, studying my face.
“It’s what you want to know,” he said. “It’s what you want to write about.”
It was, wasn’t it? I’d signed up for this. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I wasn’t so sure.
The black leather crop I’d bought at the sex shop appeared in Noah’s hands. It was a short riding crop, with a flexible rod for a handle and a leather tongue. I’d seen a lot of these while doing my research. They seemed to be a prop in every other picture that came up on my screen. They were a basic part of kink theory. But honestly? I’d never considered the practical application of a crop on my own flesh.
“Um... Noah?” I forced the words out. “You said pleasure was your thing, not pain.”
“You’re right,” he said, “but sensory exploration is a good way to get to the truth.”
“What?”
His eyes never left mine. “You know what I’m talking about.”
I cringed under his scrutiny.
“What’s the matter, Clara?” His stare dug into my brain. “Are you rethinking your goals?”
“No,” I said, but my voice didn’t sound confident to my ears.
“You don’t have to write that article if you don’t want to.”
“I do,” I said. “I have to.”
His eyes gleamed with skepticism. “I don’t think so.”
“That’s because you don’t understand.”
His eyes narrowed. “That tone will add to the list.”
“What list?”
“The naughty list.”
Damn his high IQ. “I’m not keeping anything from you.”
“Sure.” His lips thinned. “Let’s add lies—small and large—to the list.”
I glared at him. “You need to stop judging me.”
“And you need to wear these.” He pulled a small packet out of his front pocket.
“What’s that?”
“Don’t you recognize it?” He waved it in the air. “You bought the collar, the crop and these.”
Now I remembered. “Oh, yeah, the sexprise.” I’d snatched the little packet off the rack at the register. I noticed the top of it was ripped open. “What’s in it?”
“You don’t know?”
“I was in a bit of hurry.” An understatement, considering I’d been concentrating on not having an orgasm in the middle of a sex store.
“So you weren’t paying attention?” He let out a low, rumbling laugh that went straight to my groin and echoed in my pussy. “Well, I have a feeling you will now.”
He knelt before me and shook out the contents of the packet, a pair of small golden bells that jingled quietly as they landed on the palm of his hand. Each bell was about the size of a nickel and dangled from a braided chain. Noah picked up one of the bells and held it up. It chimed with a delicate peal.
For an instant, my brain refused to accept the object for what it was, that is, until Noah squeezed the grip at the top of the chain and two short lengths of metal separated into a pair of tiny rubberized jaws.
I’d bought myself a pair of pretty nice-looking—and slightly terrifying—nipple clamps.
Oh. My. God. For a supersensitive gal like me, who couldn’t even stand to wear clip-on ea
rrings for ten seconds, nipple clamps seemed like a highly improbable purchase.
I ummed and ahed like an idiot. “I need to return those for a refund.”
“You bought the clamps,” Noah said. “You get to wear them.”
“But...”
“I tell you what.” His voice rose over mine. “I’ll let you off the hook, but only if you promise not to write the RelevantSex.com article.”
Why was he so intent on dissuading me from my course of action? “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Actually, it makes perfect sense,” he said. “If you don’t have to write the article, then you don’t have to wear the clamps. There’s a huge difference between talking about a topic and experiencing it in your own flesh.”
It irked me that he thought I didn’t have the backbone to stick to my resolutions. Did he think that I didn’t have the right stuff to see this through?
Nothing like a challenge to make a Luz dig in. “I’m going to write that article.”
“Then you’ll also wear the clamps,” he said. “Do you remember your safe words?”
“Yes.”
“Say them,” he said. “I want the words.”
“Yellow for slow down,” I said. “Red for stop.”
“Good,” he said. “Sit back on your shins, spine straight, hands clasped behind your back, breasts high in the air. Yeah, that’s nice. Make some space between your legs.”
Shuddering at the prospect of his intimate touch, I braced my knees farther apart.
He reached out and settled his hand on my breast, kneading my already erect nipple between his fingers. “Are you ready?”
I gulped and nodded. No way was I backing down.
He held up my breast, lowered his face to my breast and, eyes fast on my face, ran his tongue over my areola. A shiver of hot pleasure ran down my spine and connected with my pussy as he pursed his lips and suckled. His mouth was gentle at first, but then his suckling turned harder, more demanding, drawing more need from me, soft-biting my nub until I arched into his mouth and whimpered.