With a glance around her, she lifted her skirt and settled herself carefully against the cool leather stool.
Ryan was watching her with hooded eyes. He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. “You please me,” he murmured, and his words sent a warm jolt of pleasure through her. “Your bare ass on the seat is a symbol of your willingness to submit to me.”
Again, Tess’s intellect tried to intervene, ordering her to reply with indignant flippancy to his words, but her heart, body and soul ignored the protests. This was what she had been born for—what she’d longed for without knowing the words or understanding the vocabulary.
When their name was called, the hostess led them to a small booth toward the back of the room. After she’d gone, Ryan pulled a small spray bottle from his jacket and sprayed the leather bench, using one of the cloth napkins to wipe it clean.
“You enter first,” he said, taking a step back so Tess could move past him. “Bare ass on the leather. I’ll sit beside you.”
Tess slid into the booth and scooted along the bench. Once Ryan was seated beside her, she lifted herself and hiked her skirt so her bare bottom made contact with the bench, glad for the shield of Ryan’s body.
She felt at once vulnerable and empowered, and thrilled deep in her bones at Ryan’s taking such charge of her. She glanced shyly at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was busy perusing the menu, and she picked hers up as well, though she had a hard time focusing on the options.
“Want to share a pizza?” Ryan asked as if there was nothing unusual about what was going on.
Nemo’s was famous for their huge wood-burning oven and the fabulous pizzas they produced. “Sure,” Tess agreed, suddenly aware she was starving. “How about a pepperoni, sausage, mushroom and onion with extra cheese?”
“Sounds perfect to me,” he agreed with a grin.
After a waiter came to refresh their drinks and take their order, Ryan said quietly, “Are you wet, Tess?”
“Um,” she hedged, embarrassed to admit the truth.
He fixed her with his intense gaze. “Touch yourself and tell me.”
Her heart skipping several beats, Tess let her thighs part. She reached beneath the table and under her skirt. As she stroked herself lightly, an electric jolt of pleasure hurtled through her body.
“Tell me,” he urged.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I’m wet…Sir.”
Sir. Just as for Olivia, and just as for Charlotte, it felt…right.
“I want you to masturbate, Tess. Right here. Right now. Do it for me.”
Forget grey. She was certain her face was fifty shades of red. At the same time, she was wildly aroused. Charlotte’s dark story still lingered in her mind, and Ryan’s powerful, sexy domination was an irresistible aphrodisiac.
Giving herself over to her need, Tess rubbed herself, her natural juices more than enough lubrication. With Ryan right beside her, his strong thigh touching hers, it wasn’t long before a climax began to build inside. She began to pant, trying to stay as quiet and unobtrusive as she could as her fingers flew over her sex. Closing her eyes, she focused on her task, desperate to finish before the waiter’s return.
“Tess, stop.”
She was vaguely aware of Ryan’s command, but too far-gone to obey. Just a few more strokes. She needed it. She had to have it.
“Tess, you need to stop.” His voice was more urgent, but at that moment, she couldn’t have stopped if she’d wanted to. The orgasm caught her by the throat and slammed her to the ground as she rocked in the booth, unable to stifle her low, husky moan.
When she opened her eyes, Ryan was looking at her with an amused smile. The waiter, tray in hand, was gaping at her open-mouthed, frozen with shocked surprise.
“Oh my god,” Tess gasped, slamming her legs together. Why didn’t you tell me he was there! she wanted to demand, but then, he had tried, hadn’t he? She’d ignored him, too intent on taking her pleasure.
Ryan turned to the waiter and said smoothly, “You can just leave the drinks, thanks. We’re good.”
“Oh. Yeah. Uh, right,” the young man said, a grin suddenly moving over his face that made Tess blush again. “Your pizza should be right up.”
Ryan lifted his eyebrows after the guy had gone. “See what happens when you don’t obey my command?” he teased with a laugh. “Though, I have to say, you probably made that dude’s day. Shit, his whole week.”
In spite of her chagrin, Tess laughed too.
Ryan put his arm around her, leaning close. “You’re so fucking hot, Tess. I can’t wait to get you home.”
Chapter 6
November 13, 1961
Mr. Stevenson is the second man I’ve ever been intimate with.
Listen to me with my euphemisms, even here in my private diary.
Speak plainly, Livvie. Say what you mean.
Okay.
He’s the second man I’ve had sex with.
Yes. It’s true. I made love with a man who is not my husband.
Was it making love? Is that what you’d call it? I have no earthly idea.
My head is in a muddle. Maybe if I write this all down, it will become clearer as I go.
When Mr. Stevenson suggested I accompany him on his business trip, I honestly didn’t think Frank would go for it, even though Betty promised to get the kids after school and make sure they were up and ready for the bus in the morning. I wasn’t even sure myself how I felt about it. I’ve never been away from them overnight, except when they go to summer camp.
Though it was only for one night, I warned Mr. Stevenson it was unlikely, and he nodded his understanding. Though he did add that I would be amply compensated, given the inconvenience. I think that’s what motivated Frank, to be brutally honest. I’ll admit here, I know how to play Frank, and by acting very low-key and hesitant—I wasn’t sure it was a good idea, what about the children—I manipulated him into feeling he was the one advocating for the trip and I was the reluctant one.
“We’ll be fine,” he’d assured me. “We can make it on our own for one night without Mom, can’t we, kids?”
“Will you bring us a toy?” Frank Jr. had piped up. My assurances that I would clinched the deal. Toys for all, and a nice bonus check to boot.
I seem to be avoiding the task at hand, which is to put down what happened. What “transpired,” as Mr. Stevenson is fond of saying.
It’s funny how I always think of him as Mr. Stevenson. Does his wife call him James, or something more endearing, like Jim or Jimmy? I can’t see him as a Jimmy. I doubt he would tolerate nicknames. Not proper Mr. Stevenson.
Okay, okay, enough dilly-dallying. Deep breath. Here’s what happened.
During the day we were all business. We had meetings all day with very important clients, and I took notes and supplied all the needed documents and papers we’ve spent the past month pulling together. I was very professional in my new suit, and the sexy lingerie underneath just added to my confidence.
The meetings were interminable, but at the end of the day, we went our separate ways. Mr. Stevenson and I checked into the Hallmark, which was quite a step up from the Howard Johnson, let me tell you. We had adjoining rooms with a connecting door.
He had the key.
When Mr. Stevenson suggested a drink before dinner to celebrate the conclusion of a very successful deal, I accepted, feeling as if I were going on a date, as excited and nervous as a cat. I left off my suit jacket, appearing in only my silk blouse and skirt. Mr. Stevenson had the same basic idea, as he’d removed his jacket and tie. I ordered a Tom Collins. Mr. Stevenson had a martini.
We made small talk and he complimented me on my work during the meetings, which made me feel all warm and happy. He ordered us a second round, though I was already feeling no pain. Then he put his hand on mine and said quietly, “Are you ready, Olivia? Ready for the next step between us?”
Ready?
Could a person
be ready for this?
I wasn’t entirely sure what I was to be ready for, though I was pretty sure it involved the further breaking of my marriage vows. But, no doubt aided by the gin, a part of my brain said, “What the hell? You’ve come this far. In for a penny, in for a pound.”
“I think so, Mr. Stevenson,” I ventured, my heart fluttering wildly.
Another man at that point would surely have said, “Please, call me James.” But he didn’t.
Instead, he said, “Tonight I want to take you beyond limits you may think you have. I want to know that you are willing. And if you’re not, believe me, that’s fine. We will continue as we have been at work, and no hard feelings.”
He paused and looked at me. I didn’t say anything, but I was all ears.
“I want to find out if our connection goes beyond the rather tame games we’ve been playing at work. I want to test the sincerity of your submission.” Again he paused. “Well? What do you say, Olivia? Do you accept?”
My tongue was loosened by alcohol and by the fact we were no longer in an office, but more like on a date. “I’m not really sure what you’re talking about,” I replied, though I had some idea it involved getting naked. “You talk in circles.” I finished off my second drink and set the glass down rather too hard. “Just what is it you want? What do you expect from me?”
“It’s a fair question,” he said, flashing a rare smile. “And a direct one. So, I’ll be direct with you.” He leaned forward across the small table and goosebumps rose on my skin. “You excite me. You’re beautiful and sexy. More than that, I’ve come to value our relationship, aside from our professional one, of course, which is also highly satisfactory. What I’m trying to say is that I want you, Olivia.”
“Oh,” I whispered, stunned by his declaration.
“Not just for a romp in the sheets,” he continued. “I believe you and I are destined for more than that. I have been seeking a kindred connection for some time now, and I believe I have found it with you. I hope you’ll find the courage to explore it further with me. If you accept, you will have the chance to submit in the way I think you long for, and I will have the chance to dominate, in a sensual sense, a woman who was born to it.”
“Oh,” I repeated like an idiot, any coherent response blasted from my brain by his astonishing words. Kindred connection. It sounded so romantic. Not just a romp in the sheets. So romping was to be a part of it? Well, of course. What had I expected?
He was watching me, his face vulnerable for the first time in memory, stark with a need that both startled and moved me.
“Yes,” I finally found the wherewithal to whisper. “I accept.”
He called over the waitress and told her his room number and to put the drinks on his tab. “We can go first for dinner or…” He let the sentence hang.
“I don’t think I could eat a bite,” I replied truthfully. My stomach was in knots of nervous anticipation.
“Room service later,” he agreed.
We rode up in the large, quiet elevator to our floor. He unlocked my door and said, “I want you to get ready for me, Olivia. Please know I have no plan to destroy your family or make any demands on you outside of the time we have together.”
I appreciated what he was saying, and I understood this wasn’t just about me. He has as much to lose as I do. I nodded.
He opened my door and said quietly, “You will undress to bra, panties and stockings. You may remove your shoes. You will kneel on the carpet, head touching the ground, arms extended in front of you, ass in the air. You will wait quietly in that position. You will not speak or move when you hear me enter. I expect absolute obedience. Do you understand?”
I was dizzy from the drinks, but it was more than that. His words sent me reeling. Was the man insane? My usual voices piped up in my head, trying to pretend outrage, but I knew at the same time I was going to do it. His words resonated with that dark, secret part of me I’m only just coming to terms with.
“Yes, Sir,” I managed to whisper.
He shut my door, leaving me alone in the lovely room. The bed had been turned down and there was a small chocolate wrapped in gold foil set in the center of a plump pillow.
I used the toilet and removed my clothing as directed. I glanced in the mirror, brushed my hair, applied fresh lipstick and returned to the bedroom. I took a big breath, asked myself out loud what the heck I was doing.
It’s hard to describe the feelings that coursed through me as I waited on my knees, head down, bottom up, for Mr. Stevenson to enter the room. I waited for an hour or more in that position. No, it only felt like that. In fact it was more like five minutes, but that was plenty long enough.
I tensed when I heard the sound of the deadbolt turning in the door between our rooms. He entered quietly, his steps muffled by the soft, thick carpet. His bare feet appeared in my line of vision. His warm hand skimmed my back and my heart did a somersault in my chest. I started to rise but he said, “Don’t move.”
My heart was thumping so loudly I’m sure he could hear it too. He crouched, his mouth close to my ear. “Olivia, for the rest of the night you belong to me. I will use you in whatever way I see fit, in any way I choose. If you accept these terms, stay kneeling as you are. If you have changed your mind, get up now and I’ll go back to my room. Dress and we’ll have dinner downstairs and that will be that. We can still go on as before in the office. Please understand, this is not an ultimatum. I don’t want you unless you’re ready to give yourself to me.”
I stayed down, though now my heart seemed to have lodged itself in my throat. After about five interminable seconds, he placed his hands on my shoulders. I allowed him to pull me upright. I thought I might faint, but at the same time I was electrified with excitement.
We were standing now face-to-face. Looking down at me with those crystalline eyes, he wrapped me in his strong arms and bent down, kissing me with the ardency of a lover. His hands were roaming over my back and bottom, and I responded, pressing into him, this time bringing my own arms around him as I’d fantasized so many times before.
After a few moments, he pulled away and murmured, “For tonight, you are to call me Master.” He looked past my eyes into my soul. “And to me you will be only slave. No names tonight, not even surnames. Do you understand?”
Writing this now, it sounds kind of silly, like something out of some trashy novel, but at the time, it was anything but. I don’t know how to convey it, but everything about the experience seems heightened somehow in my memory. Colors were brighter, sensations more vivid. I felt so alive, as if the rest of my life was cast in shadowy grays.
He took off my underthings, though I don’t specifically recall him doing it. He was kissing me the whole time. He was still in his trousers and undershirt, which didn’t seem quite fair. “Have you ever been whipped, slave?” he said in a calm voice, as if this were a perfectly reasonable question.
My mouth fell open in shock.
“No, of course not,” he answered for me. “And now in your mind, you’re imagining some kind of Marquis de Sade torture. But it isn’t. It isn’t when it’s done right, as a loving act. I’m going to show you, slave. I’m going to introduce you to something you’ve never dreamed about. Now lie down on your stomach and relax.” He pointed to the bed. “I’ll be right back.”
In a kind of paralyzed shock, I lay on the bed as directed, my mind curiously blank.
When he returned, he had removed his shirt. He had nice curling chest hair over a firmly muscled chest. I was distracted by what he was holding—a black whip with dozens of leather throws hanging from a long handle.
I gasped and sat up, clutching myself protectively.
He was next to me in a flash. Sitting on the bed, he gently pushed me back down to mattress. “This will only happen at your pace. You will call the shots. You will ask me for more when you’re ready. Until then, let me show you how sensual a flogger can be.” His touch was gentle, his words soothing, so at odds with the stern Mr
. Stevenson from the office. And yet, not really. It was just another facet, I suppose, of a complicated man.
I closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of the soft, expensive sheets beneath my naked body, and his hands moving in slow, sensual circles over my shoulders, back and bottom. Eventually, I realized it was no longer his hands on my flesh, but the soft tresses of the flogger gliding up and down my back, bottom and thighs. And he was right—it was soft, sensual—lovely, really.
He continued to run the leather up and down my body until my flesh was tingling, a warm, throbbing ache between my legs. As he’d predicted, I began to wonder what it would feel like if he were to raise the whip and let the tresses fall harder against my skin.
“Please, Master,” I ventured, feeling both ridiculous and deeply excited. “Perhaps a little harder?”
“Yes, slave,” he replied. “As you wish.” The leather snapped in a flurry against my ass. It stung, though not too much. At the same time, it ignited something deep in my core. He continued like this for several minutes, slowly increasing the intensity of the strokes.
I drifted in the sensations, at once utterly relaxed and wildly alive.
“Spread your legs, slave,” he eventually commanded.
Too aroused to be shocked, I did as he said.
He placed his hand there and, to my deep embarrassment, murmured, “You’re soaking wet, slave. You need this. You need more than I’m giving you now, don’t you?”
Though I still don’t understand it, he was right. I needed more. I nodded.
“Then ask for it, slave. Ask me to whip you harder. To make you wetter.” His fingers swirled over my sex and one pressed its way into me. I actually groaned aloud with lust.
“Please, Master,” I managed, the honorific sliding out of my mouth like it had always been under my tongue. “Whip me harder.” I tensed, suddenly afraid of what I’d asked for.
The flogger came down with a slapping sound, and this time it really stung. With a gasp, I jerked under the lash. He did it again. And again.
Here’s the weird thing, the thing I’ve been wrestling with. The whipping stung like a dozen bees buzzing over my body, but, while it hurt, I didn’t want it to stop. He alternated stroking my sex with his fingers and whipping my back, ass and thighs with his flogger until it all got mixed up somehow—the pleasure and pain intertwining into something I have no words for.
The Master & the Secretary (Finding Master Right Book 2) Page 7