She ignored his movement, nodding mutely at him. Her eyes flicked to the man on the ground and a smile began to play around her lips. “Blaze, meet Decker. Good name, by the way. You certainly did deck him.”
“Yes, I did, and I’ll do it again, sport, if you ever try to force this young lady into doing something she doesn’t want to. Do we understand each other?”
Blaze stood up, one hand over his nose, his eyes shooting fire. He growled something unintelligible and stalked past them. They watched him lean forward as if trying to make sure none of the blood got on his leather vest as he headed for the house.
The woman turned back to Decker, smiling broadly now. She held out her hand with a little curtsey. “I’m Daphne. Thank you for saving me from a fate worse than death.”
His eyes narrowed as he tried to decide whether she was laughing at him or not. It was impossible to tell.
He took her hand. “I’m sure you could have handled him. I just couldn’t resist the chance to punch him in the nose. He seemed to require it.”
They began walking back to the house together.
“So, you’re the rock star?”
She frowned. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“You guess so? I would think that you’d be pretty sure of a thing like that.”
“I wish I was. It’s just that my career is a little—uncertain right now. I’m not even sure I still want to be a rock star, you know? It’s kind of lonely.”
“How can it be lonely? You’ve got a whole crew that travels with you. It looks to me like you’re surrounded by people.” He gestured toward the barn, where sounds of male voices drifted out. “And obviously they like you. Look at—what did you call him? Blaze? ‘Fizzle’ might suit him more.”
A smile crossed her face, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “Right. What they like is what I can do for them. Blaze got me in my first band, and I don’t think I could ever make enough money to pay back what he thinks I owe him. When I hired Finn I thought Blaze was going to go crazy.”
“Why?”
She gave him a guarded glance. “Let’s just say that I spent a lot of money on Blaze. Finn stopped that. He also makes it a lot harder to keep up a rock star image.”
“That doesn’t sound like a bad thing.” Decker was aware that he was sounding like a parent, and he mentally kicked himself.
“Oh, I suppose not.” Daphne stopped at the bottom of the back staircase and flopped down on the grass. She shaded her eyes from the late afternoon sun and peered up at him.
He took a seat three steps up and spread his legs out over the wooden slats. Daphne sprawled at his feet, picking blades of grass and nibbling on them. It wasn’t exactly a submissive pose, but it struck a chord in him. He thought about Allie, who would no doubt be very subdued and formal, kneeling in front of her Master. It was an attractive image, but this girl would be more like a wild filly. He’d have to catch and tame this one if he wanted her to be his submissive. He’d never had a brat before, he mused. She would definitely be a brat, at least at first.
What the hell was he thinking? It was like all of the parts of himself that he’d repressed since Sharon’s death were flooding out now. There was no way this up-and-coming rock star was interested in him. He had to be a good ten years older than she was.
“What do you do?” Her voice snapped him out of his self-accusatory thoughts. He fixed his gaze out at the ocean as he debated how to answer.
“I’m a pilot,” he said finally. “Or I used to be.”
“Used to be? What happened?”
“I—haven’t wanted to fly for a while.”
“Why?”
She really was like a child, he thought. But there didn’t seem to be any harm in talking to her. He hadn’t been willing to talk about this yet. Maybe it would be good for him.
“My wife died. That pretty much took away my enjoyment.”
“Of flying?”
“Of everything.”
She was silent for a minute. Then she rolled over to her side, facing him. “I can’t imagine getting tired of flying. But that’s not really what I was talking about. I meant, what do you do that’s kinky? Isn’t that why you’re here?”
He was startled enough to look down at her. There was a look of complete innocence and curiosity on her face. It might have been that she was too self-centered to care about his problems, but he didn’t think so. There was a matter-of-factness to her, a simple acceptance of the world as it was—including death and loss and grief. Maybe that was better than the stock expression of sympathy that most people would have offered. He’d had his time of grieving, and now it was time to get back to who he was and what his life was about. And if the center of his life was gone, he was going to have to find another center. It sounded harsh, but it was true. Coming here was his acknowledgement that it was time to pick his life back up.
He took a breath, forcing his mind back. It seemed like decades since he’d even thought about BDSM, or what he liked, or even what he’d done. He wasn’t sure he could answer her question. But he made himself start talking anyway.
“No, it’s not really why I’m here. I’m here to see if I’m ready to live again. But to answer your question, I like D/s—dominance and submission,” he said finally. “I like the kind of intense connection that is possible when a submissive puts herself in my hands. It’s a lot of work, and requires an enormous amount of communication, but when the connection is strong, there’s nothing like it in the world.”
“Hmm. I can see how it would be good for you, but what about the woman? What does she get out of it?” There was a slight teasing note in her voice, but Decker ignored it.
“If the Dominant does his job right, she gets a feeling of security, of being loved, cherished, valued, and protected. Many submissives enjoy service—having their own responsibilities, being held accountable for them, and knowing that their efforts are recognized and appreciated. The Master/slave dynamic is often used as a tool for personal or professional growth. It becomes almost a spiritual connection when two or more people are working together for a common goal, in a structured and negotiated arrangement, where everyone knows their role and their position.”
There was silence for a minute, then Daphne turned to him, her face serious. “Okay, but how does that fit in with the kinky sex stuff, the beatings, all of that?”
Decker laughed. It shocked him to realize that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that. Daphne didn’t share his laughter, but she didn’t look offended by it, either. She simply watched him, as if it were a perfectly normal reaction.
“We usually call it a flogging instead of a beating, but that aside, it’s a very complicated question,” he said finally, wiping his eyes a little. He wasn’t sure why it had struck him as so funny, but something had loosened inside him, just a little. “On the surface they appear to be strongly connected. But when you dig down to the core of it, they’re completely separate things. There are many, many people who enjoy D/s for its own sake and don’t mess around with pain or other stimuli, although some of them like bondage for the psychological aspects. There are also lots of people who enjoy sensation play, just like there are people who enjoy skydiving, or bull riding, or driving really fast. Not all of the ones that do sensation play also practice D/s, although there is a significant amount of crossover between the two groups. I suspect it’s because play fits very well into the D/s dynamic, for several reasons. One of those reasons is that it’s just so damn cool to take your submissive to the public dungeon, get her undressed, and have some fun. Even people who do it casually tend to experiment with the dominant and submissive roles while they’re playing. The two aspects fit together well, even if you’re primarily interested in only one of them.”
Daphne nodded, her eyebrows drawing together as she considered his explanation. “So the D/s thing—that’s what you said you were primarily into? Doesn’t it just turn into a job after a while?”
“It certainly can, just like
a great marriage can turn into drudgery,” Decker said. “It’s a matter of intentionally keeping the intensity and the connection alive. It takes work and practice, just like anything worthwhile. But if you are working toward a common goal, it can be extremely rewarding.”
“A common goal,” Daphne murmured, lying back into the grass and staring straight up.
They lapsed into silence, enjoying the afternoon summer sun. Gradually Decker became aware that his shoulders were relaxing, his breathing was becoming deeper, and he wasn’t glancing nervously around, even though there was a good chance that somewhere a scruffy would-be biker musician was plotting revenge for a bloody nose.
Daphne raised her arms and stretched herself like a cat, sighing. She almost seemed to be flirting, but Decker suspected she had a naturally sensual way of moving. That was no doubt part of her appeal as a singer and dancer. He imagined her stretching out like that, naked on a bed, watching him as he tied her to it. She would be spread-eagled, ready for his pleasure, ready for whatever he decided to do to her. Her face was flushed slightly, and he wondered if she were thinking about the same thing. It was impossible, he knew, but then she sighed again, her eyes closed, and he felt his cock twitch and harden inside his sweats.
Chapter 7
Finn was sitting on the front porch swing when Blaze came storming out of the house, a hand over his nose. He almost called out to ask what the problem was, but then he relaxed back again, deciding the other man wasn’t worth the energy and he really didn’t care anyway. Finn might be Daphne’s manager, but that didn’t mean he was the babysitter for her band members and henchmen. Besides, Blaze obviously hated him for reining in Daphne’s wild-girl tendencies. He wouldn’t appreciate any offer of help, especially if someone had punched him in the nose, which the blood seeping from between his fingers indicated might be the case. Finn smiled to himself and went back to his book, paying no attention when Blaze’s motorcycle exploded into life and screamed off down the driveway.
But it was impossible to concentrate on reading. Images of Daphne floated before him. Did Daphne give Blaze his injury? If so, why? And more importantly, had she been hurt in the process?
It was no use trying to relax anymore. He had to go find her. Reluctantly he went inside, listening for the clamor that usually gave away Daphne’s location.
He heard nothing, so he wandered through the house, marveling at how peaceful it seemed. He almost didn’t go into the kitchen, knowing that Daphne tried to avoid eating in order to keep her perfect figure. Not that she would need to worry about that if she would just apply herself to her work more often. He pushed the thought from his mind and went through the kitchen and out the back door.
Daphne was lying on the grass, Decker sprawled on the stairs nearby. Neither of them were speaking, and Finn had a moment of panic, wondering if Daphne were hurt. Even in her sleep she was never this calm and quiet. He resisted the urge to race down to her and check for a pulse. Instead he allowed the screen door to slam behind him, feeling relieved when they both jumped and turned in his direction. At least she was alive. He hadn’t been completely sure.
He nodded to Decker. “We missed you at lunch.”
“Yes, and why weren’t you in church this morning, young man?” Daphne sat up, pointing a finger playfully.
Decker cocked an eyebrow at her, receiving a giggle in return, and got up, rubbing his stomach. “That reminds me, I’m starving. What time is dinner around here?”
“Usually around seven or eight. I’ll go get you a snack.” Daphne jumped to her feet, running up the steps and stopping next to Finn. “Ask Decker about his encounter with Blaze.” Then she trotted inside, humming.
Finn watched her go in amazement. “I’ve never seen her so—wow, I don’t even know how to describe it. Calm? Human? What did you do to tame her?”
“Tame her?” Decker chuckled.
“And what did she mean about your encounter with Blaze?” Finn looked him over, as if expecting to see a knife sticking out of him somewhere.
“I just persuaded him to be a little nicer to ladies.”
A noise came out of Finn that might have expressed surprise, incredulity, or maybe an obstruction of an air passage.
“And by ‘ladies,’ you’re referring to Daphne?”
Decker turned an austere look on him. “She may be difficult to manage, I gather, but that doesn’t mean that she’s not—”
Daphne came back on the porch then, with two beers, a large bag of chips, and a plastic tub of something white and thick. “I think that’s ranch dip,” she announced, whirling around and heading back inside. They heard her call, “Brad! Can I talk to you?” as the door slammed.
Decker tore into the bag and dipped a chip into the white goo. He popped it into his mouth, smiling when he saw Finn watching him with what looked like cautious optimism.
“Well?” Finn sounded breathless, as if Decker had just thrown himself on a grenade.
Decker tilted his head to the side and smiled. “Mmm. Not bad. I’m not sure it was actually meant to be a dip, but it’s certainly interesting. Try some.” He held the bag out, and Finn took a chip, gingerly touching it to the substance in the tub. He waited a second before putting it in his mouth to see if Decker was going to break down and admit he’d been joking.
“So anyway,” Finn said after he’d swallowed, relieved that it hadn’t proved fatal. “How do you get her to act like that? She was lying at your feet when I came out, for God’s sake!”
“It’s just a matter of being firm and confident. She seemed to react pretty well to it.”
“Man, you have got to teach me how you do that!”
“She was asking questions about D/s,” Decker said. “I think it’s just a matter of establishing a hierarchy with her.”
“You mean the kink stuff? I’m sure she is interested in that, but I don’t see what S&M has to do with getting her to focus on her career.”
“It has a lot to do with it,” Decker said, taking another handful of chips. He seemed to be enjoying Finn’s reaction to watching him eat something unidentifiable. “For one thing, D/s isn’t the same thing as S&M, or not completely. The domination and submission dynamic, and especially when it’s taken to the level of Master/slave, is all about personal responsibility. Submitting to someone takes a level of maturity and the willingness to be accountable for your actions and your choices.”
“I don’t see the connection. She isn’t that mature or willing to be accountable. When we were at the club—” Finn broke off, shaking his head, searching for a way to describe his impressions.
“You saw people allowing themselves to be treated in ways that most people would not, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, those people had accepted the responsibility of communicating their needs and desires. It takes a lot of negotiation and a lot of trust—on both sides—to work out exactly how much and what kind of pain a person wants and is capable of handling. That can be transferred to a more day-to-day arrangement as well, where two—or more—people work together to accomplish common goals.”
“Common goals,” Finn repeated.
“Yes,” Decker said. “It’s funny that both you and Daphne pinged on the ‘common goals’ thing. But in order to do that, you need to be the one in charge. Daphne likes to play the brat. I suspect that’s mostly to fuck with you. There’s nothing wrong with that, in the right time and place. But I’m guessing that it’s pretty hit-and-miss as to whether you can get her to settle down and work when you need her to.”
“You got that right.” Finn took a swig of his beer. “But how do you establish that kind of structure without turning into an asshole?”
“All parties have to agree to the arrangement, and everybody has to get what they want out of it. Otherwise you’re just forcing your will on other people. That might work for a while, but believe me, it’ll eventually fall apart. Now, with your girl, you might need to be kind of subtle at first, until she realizes th
at the structure you’re providing actually helps her. Then you can formalize the arrangement.”
“‘My girl.’ Right.” Finn gave a short laugh, but then he settled back and turned a serious face toward Decker. “How would you suggest I get started with that?”
* * * *
Brad had come downstairs from having a nap to find the living room covered in beer bottles, plates, glasses, and empty potato chip bags. He resisted the urge to call Allie to come down and help him clean up. She’d been working hard all week, feeding these people and picking up after them, and she was still sleeping, stretched out naked on the bed. He couldn’t bring himself to disturb her. For the first time, Brad felt grateful for the fact that he had a nine-to-five job to go to during the week. At least he didn’t have to be here like Allie, cooking and making beds all day, as if she had a houseful of teenagers to look after. He found himself muttering “Kids!” and smiled. Anyone would think he was a decrepit curmudgeon instead of someone who was roughly the same age as most of their guests. Plus, teenagers didn’t pay for their food the way this group was. He really should be grateful for them being here. At least they were guests. He took an armload of dishes into the kitchen and nearly dropped them when a voice said his name from the back doorway.
“Brad! Can I talk to you?”
Brad blinked at Daphne in surprise. He wouldn’t have put money on her even knowing his name. Not that he had escaped her flirting—nobody seemed to manage that. He carefully put the dishes he was carrying into the sink. “Sure.”
Daphne looked down at the floor, twisting her hands together, for all the world like she was feeling shy about something. Brad almost snorted. He couldn’t believe that Daphne had ever felt shy in her life. She’d probably been born with tattoos and lip piercings. But here she was, glancing up at him from under her lashes as if she were the class nerd asking the quarterback to the prom.
“I—I don’t think that Allie likes me very much.”
The Masters of Falcon's Fantasies [BDSM Menage Fantasies 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 7