Committed

by Sidney Bristol

  She’d never seen this man before. She’d been active in the Chicago kink scene for almost three years, and not once had she seen him. Which meant he might not even be from the area, or maybe he was one of those who preferred to play at home or at private events, instead of the public club.

  She might never see him again. This could be her only opportunity to experience all of him, to learn what it would be like to have this man in control, and have him give control to her. She might regret passing this up if she didn’t take advantage of the opportunity.

  “I think I can do that.” Her pulse skipped a beat. This was going to happen. Nerves danced along her spine and she curled her toes into the cushions. This was real.

  “Excellent. I’d ask you your name, but”—he spread his hands—“house rules.”

  House Surrender allowed for a risk-aware and consensually kinky weekend, where the attendees pledged to stay safe and, most importantly, private. Real names were not used. Instead, many people adopted a nickname, or used their scene name, since many people used the same name across the entire kinky world.

  “How about I call you Rapunzel?”

  “I like it.” Marry me now?

  Poppy was a card-carrying member of the fanatically fairy-tale-obsessed club. Especially when it came to princesses. She wasn’t a girly girl, but there was something about the magic of princess stories that captured her imagination like nothing else. He’d just won her complete adoration, and he probably didn’t even realize it.

  He studied her for a moment. Warmth chased by goose bumps ran down her arms. What did he see when he looked at her?

  “You are very beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” Poppy could have melted then and there. He wasn’t the first man to call her beautiful, but the way he said it sounded sincere.

  His expression changed, growing harder. He dropped his hands to his lap and sat up a little straighter. “There’s one area that you might find issue with.”

  “And that is?”

  “I’m attracted to you. Playing with you will be arousing. How do you feel about sex in or following our scene?”

  Poppy stopped breathing. She was totally wet now. Her last sexual partner, a brief boyfriend, had been well over a year ago. Sex wasn’t something she took lightly, but if she said no to this experience, would she regret it? Part of the appeal of House Surrender was that anyone who attended had to submit a clean bill of health, dated seven days or less prior to attending. She was on birth control, and she’d never okay a man not using a condom. The risk to her health was minimal. It was her heart that worried her.

  He was a dream. One of her storybook princes come to life, with dark skin, sensual promises in his gaze, and sinful intent on his lips. But this was reality, not a movie, not a book, and the hero and heroine wouldn’t find love in one night. That wasn’t how real life worked. Was she willing to risk the weeks to come, recovering from this man? Because he would brand her soul at the very least, and then they would go their separate ways.

  “That’s not going to be a problem,” Poppy replied.

  “Fantastic.” He stood, and Poppy realized the man had to be well over six feet, and built like a linebacker. He had her book in one hand, and offered to help her up with the other.

  Tentatively, Poppy put her hand in his and let him pull her up. Poppy wasn’t a tiny woman. At five eight, she was taller than a lot of men, but he dwarfed her, made her feel small. Christ on a cracker, why wasn’t she wearing something besides yoga pants and a tank top? She was even barefoot. She looked like a slouch compared to him, in his dress shoes, slacks, and button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

  “I’m not a gentleman when I play.” He bent his head so his breath brushed her cheek.

  “I eat gentlemen doms for breakfast.” She grinned.

  He tipped his head back and laughed. “Promise? I could be down for a morning blow job.”

  Poppy rolled her eyes as heat spread up her cheeks.

  His big hand cupped her chin, tipping her head back slightly. His other arm wrapped around her, bringing their bodies together, and she felt him for the first time. The muscular planes of his chest against her palms, his abdomen, this man was hard—everywhere.

  “I need to go get my toy bag. Do you need anything?”

  “Yeah.” A change of panties, maybe some sexy lipstick.

  The arm around her waist uncurled and he smacked her ass with the book, not too hard, but enough to get her attention.

  Poppy yelped, caught by surprise.

  “Do you need anything?” he growled again.

  Oh, the man wanted her to call him sir. He wanted the honorific from her, and that in itself made her want to withhold it, to see what he’d do. But it was too early for that, she’d test him later.

  “Yes. Sir.” She smiled, willing to play his game. She’d call him whatever he wanted, so long as he recognized that she wasn’t a submissive. She was a switch, a different animal altogether, and he was going to have to respect that.

  He flashed another devastating grin and slowly lowered his head.

  Her stomach knotted and her pulse kicked up all at once.

  The last bit of space between them closed and his lips touched hers. An electric jolt shot through her body and she melted from the inside out, relaxing into his hold and gripping his shirt in her hands. He pressed closer and she tasted him. He teased her lower lip, and she opened for him, falling headlong into her role as his submissive for the night.

  He tore his mouth away before she could even settle into the embrace, and they stared at each other, panting.

  “I think we’re going to like each other,” he said between breaths.

  Poppy flattened her hands against his chest and smiled, looking up at him through her lashes. “I must agree, sir.”

  Chapter Two

  Damien closed his eyes while the elevator made the short trip from the first floor to the fourth floor and his room. The owner, Dom Yamamoto, one of Damien’s closest friends, had designed the mansion to feel like a modern take on a medieval castle, and he’d gone as far as to use stone as the primary building material. Located in “Mansionville,” north of Chicago off the lake, there wasn’t a dime spared in pursuit of luxury. The main atrium, where the antique, open elevator serviced the guests, was open, allowing the party to continue on any level. He could even hear the sounds from the main dungeon below. Screams, people yelling and laughing, moaning in ecstasy and whimpering in fear, all twined together, creating a kind of music.

  The thrill of anticipation and a touch of nerves had him jingling the handle on his toy bag. After years spent in the scene, it took a large, rolling suitcase to accommodate the full arsenal.

  Would Rapunzel like pain over pleasure? Did she laugh or scream?

  Switches were odd creatures, in his experience. No two were the same. A weekend wouldn’t be enough time to learn her tastes.

  Did he dare give her his real name? With that would come the full weight of who he was. There were many differences between the dominant and DEA Special Agent Damien Moana. No, he was getting ahead of himself. They would play, he would convince her to give him the weekend, and either this would have to be enough or they’d work something out.

  The elevator dinged when he reached the first floor. He pushed the manual cage door aside and stepped into the hallway. The marble floors gleamed and the walls were hung with paintings, tapestries, and other grand pieces of art that meant nothing to Damien. Dom Yamamoto had an eye for this stuff, not Damien.

  The main atrium was set up as a cocktail space, except there was no alcohol here. People milled around, chatting in various stages of dress or undress, enjoying the vanilla-free weekend. A few of his friends hailed him, but he shook his head, declining their offers, and struck off for the library.

  One of the unique features of House Surrender was that every room, each and every nook, was outfitted with some sort of kinky feature, a perverted piece of furniture set aside for a carnal use
. He knew from having watched a few scenes in the library that there was a plethora of kinked-out furniture tucked away behind the shelves. The bed alone sported many restraint anchors, promising hours of fun. There was a padded, wooden A-frame bench with places on either side of the frame for subs to rest their knees while being bent over and spanked. Or, if they were really lucky, fucked. The library was home to a beautifully carved X-shaped St. Andrew’s cross. And if he remembered correctly, there was a chain that hung from the second level, with a two-foot-long bar that sported rings at either end. The spreader bar could be used on hands or legs, depending on what you wanted access to. But where was the fun in using that? They were going to play in a library, and Rapunzel was clearly a bookworm, and therefore he needed to use something unusual. Something that connected to her innate desire to be here, of all places.

  Damien opened the door of the library and glanced around the dim interior, but didn’t spy his little switch. Good. He had a little brainstorming to do.

  He closed the door, hanging a bit of rope around the lever handle to signal that the room was occupied, stowed his bag under one of the large tables piled high with books, and slowly prowled around the room.

  The library had two levels, with two spiraling staircases going up to the open second floor. He didn’t know why Dom Yamamoto had such an extensive collection of books when there wasn’t enough time in this life to read them all, but Damien could be accused of minimalism, so who was he to judge?

  In the far right corner behind the rows of bookshelves, a four-poster bed sat ready for someone’s use.

  Hopefully, theirs.

  While the furniture was all well and good, the library itself provided a lot of potential. Rapunzel had come to the library instead of her private room. She seemed the most comfortable here, surrounded by books, so he would use that.

  A ladder mounted against the built-in bookshelves drew his attention. It rolled along the length of the entire wall. Damien walked around it, considering the possibilities.

  The sound of a long, slow squeak stopped him in his tracks.

  Someone had entered the library.

  Damien crept between the bookshelves, keeping to the shadows until he could see the main seating area where he’d first met Rapunzel.

  There she stood, her back to him as she gazed into the fireplace. She’d changed from the yoga pants and tank top into a silky robe that fell only to midthigh. A belt cinched in her waist, displaying the lovely hourglass shape of her body. A duffel bag sat on the chaise longue, and he had to wonder what toys she’d brought with her.

  He’d considered the idea of ladies first, letting her top him before he got his turn, but his anticipation was too high, his desire to heat her body, show her wicked pleasure, too much.

  She turned toward the door as if waiting for someone, letting him see her profile. There was something refined about the way she held herself, the slight tilt of her nose, that was almost regal.

  “Looking for me?” he said at last.

  She gasped and turned toward his voice, one hand gripping the front of her robe.

  Damien chuckled and stepped from the shadows. Rapunzel glared, but held her tongue.

  Let the mind-fucks begin.

  The brain was the biggest sexual organ. Capturing a person’s thoughts and sending them ricocheting into all the possibilities was the best drug ever, and the contact high was just as good on his end. He knew what he did to her body as he strolled toward her, and he kept the silence between them, building the anticipation.

  He cupped her cheek to ground himself in the moment. Her eyes were a light shade of green, with little flecks of gold. The subtlety would be lost on anyone who wasn’t in close proximity to her, and that he was given that honor was remarkable.

  “Is there anything else you need to tell me? Speak now, because I don’t do negotiations during a scene.” Damien relished the smooth feel of her skin on his palm, the way she stared back at him without fear.

  Negotiating during a scene was dangerous. With emotions heightened, a bottom could be convinced to do anything, and that was both unethical and dangerous.

  Damien wanted no regrets, not with her.

  His switch shook her head.

  “I need to hear you say it, sweetness.”

  “I don’t think so. Sir.”

  Damien chuckled and swatted her ass. She had spunk, and he liked it. “We’ll use red and yellow for safe words. Tell me what they mean.”

  “Red for all stop, yellow for slow down.” She was in complete control of herself, poised, confident.

  He’d have to fix that.

  “I’ll make you a deal. Tonight I call the shots. Tomorrow is all yours.” Damien didn’t specify tomorrow night or tomorrow all day; he’d leave that up to her, and how tonight went.

  Her brows rose, and he could see the plethora of possibilities scrolling across her face. Good. He liked a woman he could read, someone with good energy.

  “Yes or no?” he prompted her.

  “Okay, I’ll bite,” she said, with a slight tilt of her head.

  “Promise?”

  “If you ask nicely.”

  They grinned at each other, another positive sign. He liked power exchange, being in control and mastering a partner’s body, but he also liked to laugh. It was called play for a reason, and he intended to do just that, all night long.

  Damien kissed her gently, a brief press of lips. If he didn’t go lightly, he was going to bend her over the chaise and fuck her hard. He was just that into her.

  “Wait right here,” he ordered.

  Poppy had to pick her jaw up off the floor. Her dom for the night had changed from slacks and a button-down to jeans and a T-shirt. The way the denim hugged his ass, she wanted to sink her teeth into the firm globes. When he bent down, the view just got better.

  He rummaged inside a large, rolling bag, while she fantasized about putting her hands on that ass.

  He stood and she swallowed a groan. Tonight was going to stay with her for a very long time, she was sure of it. He walked toward her holding a length of black cloth.

  “Close your eyes,” he instructed her.

  Blindfolds weren’t one of her favorite things. If she couldn’t see something, she couldn’t prepare for what was coming. It was a layer of control she usually didn’t give up. It was her fault she hadn’t mentioned it during their brief negotiations, but it wasn’t a deal breaker.

  Poppy inhaled a calming breath and closed her eyes. She would have to trust him. The fabric was silky, cool to the touch, and smelled faintly of leather. He wrapped the blindfold over her eyes, careful to not catch even a single lock of hair in the knot.

  He spoke next to her ear, the heat of his body warming her backside. “Take my hand and follow me. I won’t let you fall.”

  Poppy gripped his hand with both of hers. He led her slowly off the rug onto the wooden floor. The floor was cool against her bare feet as she tiptoed across the floor.

  “We’re turning right. There’s a table on your right and shelves on your left,” he said, two steps before they changed directions. “Right again. Keep hold of me.”

  “I am.”

  “I am …?”

  Poppy sighed. “I am, sir.”

  He chuckled. “I’ll make sure you remember it. Keep digging yourself that hole, Rapunzel.”

  The muscles in her core tightened. The tone of his voice, the confidence: she didn’t doubt for a second that he would do it.

  “I’m going to have you sit here for a moment.” His hold on her hands changed. He must have turned to face her, because he gripped her shoulders and pushed her backward until her thighs hit something soft. “Sit.”

  Poppy lowered herself onto a soft, cushiony surface. A couch? She leaned back a little, but he pulled her forward.

  “Don’t fall over.” He chuckled.

  “What am I sitting on?”

  “A bed.”

  What was a bed doing in a library? Then again, this was
House Surrender. She’d seen metal rings for restraints in her bathroom. Anything that could be perverted in this place seemed to have been thought of.

  “I’m going to set some things up. Just wait right here for me.” He tapped her nose and kissed her brow, the gesture playful, sweet, even. It was not what she’d have expected.

  The sound of his steps on the hardwood floor grew fainter, until she couldn’t hear him at all. She shifted on the mattress and the springs squeaked. What carnal acts had transpired here? There was an entire staff on hand who scrubbed and disinfected everything between scenes, so she wasn’t concerned about the cleanliness of the play space; she was excited by the memories this room and the furniture held. It was enough to kick her pulse up another notch.

  Suddenly, she heard him rolling his bag closer, and then it stopped.

  For five, maybe ten minutes, Poppy listened to the clank of metal, the slap of leather, and the sounds of other materials she couldn’t name. With each passing second, her senses heightened. She could practically smell the scent of rawhide in the air, though maybe it was the blindfold, except there were more layers to the scent. Something heavy, like oil, and a woodsy scent, and the unmistakable trace of her own perfume. Was he in her bag, too?

  “Up,” the dom said, almost right in front of her.

  Poppy gasped and jerked her head around. She heard him chuckle just as his hands alighted on her shoulders and then slid down her arms. The moment skin met skin she couldn’t help but shiver. There were slight calluses on his hands, not what she’d expected from a well-dressed, obviously educated man. Goose bumps broke out over the tops of her thighs.

  His hold tightened on her wrists as he hauled her to her feet. Poppy yelped and tipped forward, face landing against smooth skin with the faint scent of soap. Somebody’s shirt had been removed, and it wasn’t hers.

  Her short breaths and his mischievous chuckle were the only sounds in the library.

  “I said up.”

  “Oh, sorry.” She honestly hadn’t intended to disobey. The loss of her sight had thrown her for a loop.