Making Over Maris

by Sabrina York

  Double excellent.

  “Would you…like to have dinner with me tonight?”

  Sara stilled. “You mean a date?”

  “Um, yes?”

  “A real date?”

  “Of course a real date.”

  She tipped her head and studied him again. Then she thrust out a lip. He wanted to suck it. “Wouldn’t you rather go out with Jenny?”

  “No, Sara. I would not.”

  “Then I would love to go on a real date with you.”

  His heart soared.

  “But not tonight.”

  And plummeted.

  “Why not?” He hadn’t intended to sound so…petulant.

  But seriously. Why not?

  “You won’t have time to go on a date tonight. Not with me.” She shot him a meaningful glare. “Not with anyone.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “You have homework.”

  His heart stilled. Not because of the words she said, as much as how they came out.

  “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” She chuckled as she made her way down the hallway to the bedroom. When she returned she held a flat package wrapped in brown paper. She thrust it in his hands.

  “What’s this?” He started to open the package but she stopped him.

  “Ah, ah, ah, Jack. Wait until you get home. When you open it, call me.”

  Something in her eyes, in her voice, in her bearing, sent shock waves through his body.

  Oh God.

  He was going to like this. He could tell. He was going to like this a lot.

  * * * * *

  Twenty minutes later, Jack sat on his sofa, staring at the present Sara had given him. Staring was about all he could manage.

  Because he was fucking blown away.

  He’d gotten home, tossed his keys into the dish by the door and headed straight to the living room, ripping the paper from the package as he went.

  It was a book.

  But not just any book.

  It was a very special book that sent illicit arousal and bone-deep exhilaration rushing through him.

  Bone deep.

  Oh, yeah. His cock had leaped to attention as soon as he’d gotten a glimpse at the cover.

  It was a large coffee table book with glossy photos, entitled Mistress Monique’s Bondage Studio, but it truly belonged on only the most decadent coffee table. It was filled with pictures of women in slinky catsuits, latex and nine-inch stilettos.

  And men. In bondage.

  His mouth watered and he wiggled a little as he flipped through it.

  It was fascinating.

  Scintillating.

  Because Sara had given it to him.

  That blew him away.

  He’d always suspected she had this particular bent—she was awfully bossy and always seemed surprised when people didn’t immediately obey her. And whenever he indulged in a racy fantasy about a dominant woman, she always had Sara’s face.

  That she might really be into this made him weak at the knees. Made him weak everywhere. With one very vigorous exception.

  His cock thrummed with every beat of his heart as excitement—and one of those racy fantasies—skirled through him.

  Imagine. Sara. Standing over him. Dressed like that. Barking orders—

  Holy. Fuck.

  And then he remembered—he was supposed to call her.

  He fumbled for his cell phone. Thank God he had her on speed dial because he wasn’t capable of punching more than one number.

  “Did you open it?” Her voice rumbled through the line. He loved that she didn’t bother with a greeting, that she already knew it was him. Also, he loved the compelling lilt of her voice.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you look through it?”

  He shifted restlessly. “Yes.”

  “Well? What did you think?”

  What did he think?

  There was no thinking.

  “Jack?” Was he imagining the wobble in her voice? “Did you like it?”

  “Oh. I liked it.”

  “You did?” Her tone firmed. “Of course you did. You’re a naughty boy, aren’t you, Jack?”

  Apparently. He’d like to be naughtier. “Come over.”

  She laughed. “I can’t. You have homework.”

  His heart, and his cock, lurched. “What’s my homework?”

  “I want you to read that book, Jack. Memorize it. And I do mean memorize it. I’m coming over for dinner tomorrow night—”

  “You are?”

  “Don’t interrupt. I’m coming over for dinner tomorrow night and after you feed me dinner, there will be a quiz on that book.” Oh. Goody. A quiz. He loved quizzes. “And you don’t want to get an answer wrong. If you do, I’ll have to punish you. Do you understand?”

  Oh. God. “Y-yes.”

  “All right, Jack. You’d better get to work. Study hard. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  After he hung up he sat there for a long, long while with Mistress Monique’s Bondage Studio on his lap. But he didn’t need to study anything.

  Because he already had a copy.

  He’d memorized every page.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next day was pretty fucking miserable because Jack spent most of it with Jenny and Sara in the conference room, putting together the PowerPoint for Tristan’s presentation.

  Oh, it would have been wonderful, closeted with Sara and a raging hard-on all day. If only Jenny hadn’t been there.

  Jenny was frisky.

  The first time she touched him, slipped her hand down under the table to squeeze his leg, Jack jumped. He glanced at Sara to see if she’d noticed. And hell, she had.

  But she wasn’t mad.

  In fact she appeared amused.

  This relieved Jack until Jenny’s hand drifted higher.

  He was erect because he’d been thinking about Sara and the book and the coming quiz, wondering what tonight held in store. He didn’t want Jenny to discover his boner. God only knew what conclusions she’d come to. It was bad enough he’d given her the impression he liked her. So as she crested his thigh, he grabbed her hand and gently set it back on the table. Where it belonged.

  That didn’t stop her.

  She edged closer, pretending to study a slide, and pressed her breast against his arm.

  Holy crap.

  Had Sara noticed that?

  She had. She crossed her arms over her chest, sending him a look that said, “See what you started?” Or something like that.

  Two months ago it would have thrilled him beyond words to have Jenny so much as speak to him. But now… Now—incredibly—she was an annoyance.

  And it was his fault. For pretending to like her.

  Jack felt the weight of a new responsibility on his soul. Women had never paid any attention to him before. They’d certainly never cared what he thought about them. It had never occurred to him that flirting with someone could create expectations.

  Clearly he was going to have to take Jenny aside and explain things.

  Shit. He’d probably have to apologize again.

  But this time it would be easier.

  He hoped.

  In the end he chickened out and escaped. He made some dumb excuse about needing something from his office and sneaked away and didn’t go back.

  Yeah. He was a coward and he knew it. But sometimes a man just had to be a man—and run and hide.

  By the end of the day, he was exhausted.

  But he perked right up when, as he was shutting down his computer and closing up for the night, Sara came into his office. She kicked the door shut and leaned against the window and grinned at him.

  “Coward.”

  A flush prickled over the back of his neck. “Yeah. I know.”

  “She likes you.”

  “I…know.”

  “You better let her down easy.”

  “I will. I’m going to explain. And apologize—”

  “For using her? Good i
dea.” Sara sat. “So. Are you ready for tonight?” God, the way she said it set his blood on fire.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you study the book?”

  Did he? “A little bit.”

  “Only a little bit?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. That will make this more interesting.” Her lips curled in a wicked smile and a shaft of excitement skewered him like a lance. “In the meantime, there’s something important we need to talk about.”

  He frowned. “What?”

  She sighed. “You know. Expectations and shit like that.”

  His breath caught in his throat. Oh God. He’d read about that. “A negotiation?”

  “Yes.” A flicker of uncertainty flashed over her features. “I think it’s important that we are both on the same page with this.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I don’t want to… I don’t want you to…”

  “To what?” What? What was she trying to say? He wished he could jump into her brain and see what was going on there because he didn’t like the shift in energy he felt from her. This anxiety. This fear.

  In the end she mumbled, “I had a…bad experience once. Because there was no clear understanding. I assumed… Well, I was wrong. I need to make sure we’re both after the same thing.”

  Well hell. He wanted that too. And according to his research, direct communication was the key. So he swallowed his own fear and said it. “You’re going to dominate me, right?”

  She blinked. Her focus went a bit hazy. Then she laced her fingers together and nodded. “That was the plan.”

  “Will there be bondage?” God. Simply saying the words made his cock pike-stiff.

  “If you like.”

  He swallowed the drool pooling in his mouth. “And…spankings?” This, in a wrenched whisper.

  “Probably.”

  “Punishments?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Only if you disappoint me.”

  He shuddered. Nearly came right then. He loved the way her uncertainly faded as the conversation progressed. She transformed, word by word, syllable by syllable, from tentative to downright imposing.

  “There are other things, specifics we should talk about. I want to make sure you’re comfortable with where we go.”

  “Oh, I’m comfortable.” He thought about it for a minute. Thought about what this all might entail. He quivered with anticipation. “Maybe not comfortable, per se, but certainly cool with it.”

  “Have you thought about a safe word?”

  Oh. Fucking. God. A safe word. He’d fantasized about this for centuries. “Dalek.”

  She barked a laugh. “Dalek? Seriously?”

  Jack grinned. “Yep.”

  “Yeah. I suppose that would kill the mood.”

  “Unless we were doing some kind of Doctor Who role-playing…” It was only a suggestion. She didn’t need to snort like that.

  “Yeah. Right. Not going to happen.”

  “Gosh, Sara. And here I thought you were open-minded.”

  She chuckled. “Not about Doctor Who sex.”

  “Okay. Fine. No Doctor Who sex.” He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling, though he really wanted to. He loved bantering with her and that they were bantering about sex games was even more intriguing. “But we should totally think about a Morlock theme. You know. Sometime in the future.”

  He loved—loved—that she nodded, even though it was a yeah, right kind of nod. Because it meant she was thinking about the future. Their future.

  He closed up his laptop and stood. “Are you coming home with me?”

  She stood as well. “No.” He frowned but then she continued, “I’ll be over later. Have dinner ready at seven. On. The. Dot. I like scallops and asparagus. Maybe some Béarnaise.”

  He gaped at her. “I don’t know how to make Béarnaise.”

  Her grin widened. “Excellent. This is going to be fun. You better get going. You have a lot of work to do before I get there.” She went up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek and whispered, “Dinner had better be perfect.”

  His cock surged at the prospect of a perfect dinner, or an imperfect dinner and what might follow.

  God help him.

  He hoped he could survive this night.

  * * * * *

  Sara was nervous driving over to Jack’s place, partly because of the game she had planned—a scene very much like this had gone quite wrong with Todd. But also because she was worried about getting pulled over. Not that she was a crazy driver—she was wearing nothing but a latex catsuit and lethal heels under her trench coat.

  Getting pulled over could be…awkward.

  She gusted a sigh of relief as she pulled into Jack’s driveway and sent up a prayer.

  If this worked out it could be phenomenal.

  If it didn’t—it was the end.

  The end for her and Jack and the end of any sexual experimentation whatsoever for her. She would be vanilla forevermore.

  The thought depressed the hell out of her.

  So she took a minute before heading up the long walk to his door. To breathe.

  But apparently he’d heard her pull up. His door opened and he came out onto the porch. Waved.

  Hookay. It was time.

  Now or never.

  She collected her purse and the bag of stuff she’d brought and got out of the car.

  “Hey there. I was wondering when you’d get here.” It was cute the way he smiled like an impatient little boy. Also cute, the way he kissed her at the door before ushering her in and…

  “Oh my.” His house smelled fantastic.

  “I made Chocolate Death Cake.”

  “You…baked a cake?”

  He nodded. A curl flopped onto his forehead. “Can I take your things?” He gestured to the duffel slung over her shoulder. “Did you bring an overnight bag?”

  Sara dropped the bag to the floor. It landed with a metallic clunk. “It’s my equipment.”

  He paled. “Your equipment?”

  “Mmm hmm.” She slowly untied her belt and opened the trench coat, let it fall to the floor. He boggled. “For later.” This, she whispered.

  He gaped at her, wheezed, “Jesus, Sara, you look…”

  “What, Jack?”

  “Phenomenal. You look phenomenal.” His gazed danced over the slinky catsuit she’d had custom-made. It had taken her an hour and a gallon of oil to wriggle into it.

  “Thank you.”

  He was pretty damn hot as well. He’d changed into that sweater she liked and had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to expose his forearms. She could tell from the scent of aftershave and the smooth line of his jaw he’d done some pre-tryst maintenance as well.

  Not to mention the satisfying bulge in his pants.

  Yes. He was coming along quite nicely.

  “I, um…come in.” He waved toward the living room. “Can I, um, get you a drink?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Dinner is almost ready. I need to sear the scallops but everything else is in a holding pattern.”

  “And the Béarnaise?”

  He put out his chest. “I found it in a cookbook.”

  “You have a cookbook?”

  “I bought one.”

  His cat pattered into the room and rubbed himself against her ankles. She bent down and scratched his furry chin. He craned his neck to give her better access and purred.

  “You’re making me jealous,” Jack murmured as he opened a bottle of Moscato and poured her a glass.

  “Sorry.” She wasn’t. “Aren’t you going to have a drink?”

  He frowned at her bag by the door. “I think…I’d better not.”

  She bit her lip to keep from chuckling.

  Oh, he had no idea.

  She sipped her wine and watched him putter in the kitchen—repeatedly removing the cat from the counter—as he seared the scallops. He had clearly practiced because they were perfectly done.

  When dinner was rea
dy he made up a plate of food for Ding and locked him in the basement. “So we can eat in peace,” he said.

  He seated her at the table and whipped out a linen napkin, which he settled in her lap. Their gazes tangled as he bent to do this. Excitement bubbled through her.

  God, she hoped he liked this.

  He served her dinner as though she were a princess, hopping up to get her a second serving when she’d finished, keeping her wineglass topped off.

  She found she enjoyed this…domesticity. Hell, she enjoyed all of this. Not just Jack serving her but that he enjoyed pleasing her.

  She didn’t drink much, taking a cue from him. Neither of them knew what was coming, how this evening would unfold. She needed to be alert. But she did have a couple sips. To calm her nerves. She felt poised on the razor’s edge.

  So much was riding on this.

  Somehow it had come to mean so much to her.

  The world.

  * * * * *

  Sara sighed and set down her fork. Her plate was empty. “That was lovely.” She toyed with the stem of her wineglass and peeked at him beneath her lashes.

  Jack shifted restlessly. Okay. Dinner was over. It had gone well. The cake sat on a platter in the kitchen, ready to be served.

  But he didn’t want any. He wanted to get on with whatever it was she had planned. Unfortunately he didn’t know how to broach the subject. He had the sense she was nervous too. He would let her take the lead.

  Hell, he had to let her take the lead. Didn’t he?

  He wasn’t sure. He’d never done this before.

  After a moment of silence, he asked, “The scallops were good?”

  “Delicious.”

  “And the asparagus?”

  “Also delicious.”

  He fiddled with his fork. Okay. Maybe he wasn’t a little nervous. Maybe he was a lot nervous. “Would you…like some more?”

  She patted her belly. “I’m fine. That was perfect.” She became, once again, fascinated with the stem of her wineglass. “Jack?”

  “Yes?”

  “Tell me. What did you…what did you think of the book?” Her voice was a low purr.

  He flushed. Ah. There it was. “I liked the book. I told you that on the phone.”

  She nibbled her lip. Stroked the slender stem. He fixated on the sight. “Have you ever done anything like that?”

  He swallowed heavily and shook his head, unable to form words.