Committed

by Sidney Bristol

  “How do you like it?” She touched his jaw with her gloved hand. Little, rough bits of metal embedded in the glove scraped him, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

  “I’d like it more if I could use it on your tits.” He dropped his gaze to her milky-pale cleavage.

  Poppy tossed her head back and laughed. She smoothed her gloved palm over his chest and brought the wand to his left nipple. The electricity arced to the dark disc. Damien sucked in a breath and arched his back as the charge raced through him.

  “It tickles, doesn’t it?” Poppy moaned and drew her gloved hand down his abdomen.

  The sensation was strange. He wanted to cross his eyes, shiver, and laugh all at once. Where the glove touched him, the sensation was more intense. It wasn’t pain, but he backed away, shaking his head.

  The metal bits in the glove must be in direct contact with her skin, and thus the charge going through him—went into her. The metal would account for the sharpness of the sensation, as if she were holding a knife to his skin whenever she touched him.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” Poppy followed him, grasping the front of his jeans and pulling him until he stood directly under the hard point. She was careful to hold the wand away from him while she positioned him.

  Poppy flashed him a grin. There was a light in her gaze, a sparkle he’d only seen during play. She pressed close to him until he could feel the rise and fall of her breasts, the tremors of her stomach as she chuckled, and the point of her hip.

  The crowd didn’t matter, not anymore. They could be alone at home for all the attention he was giving the other attendees. All that mattered was Poppy and the way his insides seemed to sizzle whenever she was near.

  He bent his head and she lifted up on her toes, meeting him with an openmouthed kiss. He let himself sink into her, as if he could drink up her essence, possess some spark of her.

  Poppy flattened the electrode against his ribs. The low-level electric charge coursed through his body and into hers. Each glide of their lips was endowed with a little zap of power. She dragged her palm up his ribs and he groaned. Each point of contact warred with the next for his attention. The glove. Her mouth. Her breasts. He could feel the place where they each met as the current flowed back and forth.

  “That does not tickle,” he got out through gritted teeth.

  “What? Did you want it in your armpit?” She zapped the tender flesh and he jumped sideways, chains jangling.

  “You’re going to pay for that.” He hissed and wiggled his shoulder, which was all he could do.

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  She followed him, but he didn’t wait for her. He sidestepped, moving away from her. Poppy laughed and chased him, her laughter infectious. His sides ached and the muscles in his shoulders were growing sore, unaccustomed to this position.

  “I’m going to shorten your chain,” she threatened. Or tried to. The gravity of the threat was greatly diminished by her dazzling smile.

  He gripped the chain above his head with both hands and lifted himself up.

  Poppy yelped and backed away, but he was already swinging toward her. He wrapped his legs around her waist, capturing her. She grinned and kissed him, her gloved hand scraping at his chest as she pressed it harder. He’d have marks, and he’d cherish them until they faded.

  “Let me go,” she said.

  “Make me.”

  Poppy arched a brow at him. She zapped his side and stomach with the wand. The charge rushed through his body and into the metal chain.

  “Fuck.” He dropped to the ground, shaking out his hands.

  “That’s what you get for trying to top me topping you.”

  This wasn’t the sort of scene he was accustomed to. It was fun. Sexy as hell, but different. She was right when she’d said she didn’t want him to bend to her will. He was still himself, and a dominant, accepting her play. It was an offering, like foreplay, even. Oh, the payback he would dole out on her ass.

  He’d use the wand on her, too. She giggled and wiggled when the charge arced to her. Some people were intimidated by the zap and spark of the charge, but it wasn’t dangerous.

  It … tickled.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Poppy unlocked her apartment and glanced over her shoulder at the hulking shadow behind her. Her heart fluttered as she pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold.

  They were going to have sex now. In her bed. Neither had said sex was on the agenda; she just knew.

  This thing between them wasn’t casual. At some point, things had tipped. The balance had shifted and here they were.

  Several insistent meows greeted her. She could be gone for a second and Mario and Yoshi would act as if she’d been missing a year.

  “Hi, boys.” She flipped on the lights, glancing around to see if she’d at least cleaned up the kitchen a little. Yoshi twined around her legs, doing his feline best to trip her up.

  “What the hell are those?” Damien closed the door and stared at Mario, who’d taken an interest in their guest.

  “Have you never seen a cat before?” She bent and picked up Yoshi. His purring accelerated immediately, eyes closing slightly.

  “I’ve seen cats, and these are not cats. Cats are small. These are … miniature lions. Or tigers. These are not domestic cats.” Damien crouched and offered his hand to Mario, who deigned to sniff the offered fingers. As if the cat was actually picky about who petted him.

  “That’s Mario and this is Yoshi.”

  “Where’s Luigi?”

  Mario head-butted Damien’s hand and arched his back, his tail swaying back and forth in feline pleasure.

  “I adopted them with these names.” She kissed Yoshi’s soft fur and placed him back on the floor. “According to the previous owner, Luigi died several years before these two needed to be rehomed.”

  “That’s sad.” Damien scratched Mario, who purred his pleasure.

  Poppy breathed a slight sigh of relief. Her cats weren’t all that choosy about the people they liked, but she didn’t know what she’d have done if they had been this once. Now she didn’t have to worry.

  Yoshi twisted in her arms, done with being held. She let him go and watched him prowl toward Damien, flirting with the man. Her cats were cuddle-sluts, which was one of the many reasons she loved them as much as she did.

  Poppy slipped her jacket off and folded it over her arm, while her two little monsters rubbed against Damien and purred.

  Her bedroom.

  Shit. She’d left a pile of stuff on the bed.

  “I’ll be right back, okay?” She snatched her bag and hustled into her haven.

  There wasn’t time to put everything away nicely. She grabbed armfuls of clothes she’d deposited on the bed when dressing for tonight, carried them to the walk-in closet on the far side of the room, and unceremoniously dumped them on the floor.

  She did a quick pass through the room, straightening the comforter, making sure the floor was clear and the curtains drawn.

  “Ready or not,” Damien called out.

  Her heart pounded. It wasn’t the first time they’d had sex, but it might as well be. He was a different person to her now. Then, he’d been a fantasy, a dream. Now she’d peeled back the layers a little, and she liked him. Genuinely liked him. Probably more than liked, but she wasn’t ready for that.

  Damien stepped into the doorway, flanked by both cats. He’d taken his jacket and boots off, giving him a comfortable, at-home air. He placed his forearms on the doorframe and looked around.

  What did her bedroom look like to a stranger?

  She’d decorated in light purples, with white furniture. It was feminine, maybe too girly, but she rarely brought a man home. She smoothed her hands down her hips.

  Yoshi leapt onto the bed and stared at her, as if to say, Don’t be silly.

  “I was wondering where all your books were.” One side of his mouth hitched up.

  Poppy glanced at the row of white bookshelves against the wall by the door
. They were stacked two and three deep, each shelf full.

  “Yeah, I have a bit of a problem.”

  “It’s not a problem.” He prowled toward her. “Meth is a problem. Books, well, I’m okay with that kind of problem.” He cupped her cheeks and stared into her eyes.

  “Okay, not a drug kind of problem, then.”

  “Not a problem at all, really.”

  Poppy forced herself to stop fidgeting. She’d always been teased by others about her excessive love of books, but Damien didn’t even bat an eyelash. He’d expected it. Just like that, he quieted her nerves. Her little heart quivered in her chest as he stared down at her.

  Did he see her? Really get her? For all that she tried, there were social norms she still didn’t get right. She’d been sheltered from two whole decades of culture, and still her dreams were contained in the pages of books. She didn’t have to be normal or perfect to read, she just had to open the cover and start.

  Did he get that?

  Damien lowered his face and she held her breath. He brushed his lips across hers, once, twice. Little pecks, glides of flesh on flesh. She gripped his wrists and tried to rise up on tiptoe, but he kept her where she was, right where he seemed to want her. The light glinted off his eyes as he studied her for a moment before ever so slowly bending to meld his mouth with hers. She pressed against him, desperate for more, desperate to touch him, hold him, be one with him.

  Poppy moaned as his tongue darted past her lips, teasing her with little flicks and caresses. He gently bit her lower lip and she dug her nails into his forearm.

  More.

  The arousal that had built all evening redoubled. Her clit throbbed and her internal muscles clenched, her channel empty of him.

  “Damien.” Her voice rose, breaking as she stretched his name out into a one-word plea.

  His hands slid around her neck, one digging into her hair, scattering the pins that had held it up all evening. Roughly he pulled her to the perfect angle and slanted his mouth over hers again. His teeth scored her lips before he sucked the abused flesh between his, first the lower lip, then the upper, flicking his tongue over the hurts, soothing them with tender care.

  He walked her backward until her calves hit the side of her bed. She clutched him to keep from falling. Still holding her hair, he rocked away from her and cool air caressed her nipples. The halter top of her dress fluttered down, leaving her bare to him. Well, almost.

  Poppy’s cheeks heated and she lowered her gaze, squirming under his inspection.

  “Well, well, what do we have here?” Damien bent to examine her breasts. “Did you do this to yourself before or after we played?”

  His finger traced the metal circling her nipple. She’d invested in the magnetic nipple clamps out of sheer curiosity, and found them to be just the right amount of pressure. There was a small metal circle with two holes where magnetized rods fit through and pinched the nipple. Hers were a rainbow-colored aluminum, instead of the stock black most people preferred.

  She clasped her hands behind her to stop fidgeting and bit her lip.

  Damien blew across one breast and she sucked in a breath, bowing her chest away from him.

  “None of that.” He twisted his hand in her hair, forcing her to straighten and push her chest out. “When did you put these on?”

  “Before we played.” Her cheeks heated further, spreading down her throat and to her chest.

  “You’ve been wearing these for an awfully long time, then.” He frowned.

  “They don’t really pinch. The magnets aren’t strong enough. It’s more … about me knowing they’re there.”

  “I see. Sit.” He released his hold on her hair and gently pushed her back onto the bed.

  Poppy sat, the mattress bouncing for a moment under her. She placed her hands behind her, thrusting her chest toward him. Her heart raced as he examined each breast, but didn’t touch her.

  Yoshi rose and prowled over, sliding between them to her empty lap.

  “Cat—which one is this?” Damien stroked Yoshi’s head before picking him up.

  “Yoshi. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. He just wants your attention, but too bad for him. You’re all mine tonight.” To the cat he said, “Yoshi, this isn’t the place for you.” Damien deposited the large Maine coon outside of the bedroom, gave him one last scratch, and closed the door.

  Damien turned to face her, his gaze roving over her half-naked body. The one time he’d been in her seemed like an age ago. Three, almost four weeks? Enough that her nerves were tied up in knots as he paced toward her.

  “Have you ever used this bed frame for bondage?” He glanced at the white posts and canopy top. She could practically hear the wheels in his head turning.

  “Not yet.”

  He gripped the post next to her thigh and gave it a little shake.

  “I bought this one because several people had it listed under pervertable furnishings. I talked to one of them, who uses the canopy for suspension. He’s had it over two years without it breaking or wearing much.” She spoke in a rush, all her deeply private fantasies rising to the top.

  “Hmm.” Damien circled to the other side of the bed and reached up to the bare canopy frame draped with white gauze panels.

  He grasped two of the metal arches rising to the center and pulled himself up, doing three chin-ups in a row. She held her breath. The bed creaked slightly, but held.

  Damien lowered himself to the floor and dusted his hands off. He seemed impressed.

  “I’m going to go get my bag out of the car.” His gaze dropped to her. “When I come back I want you naked—leave the clamps on—kneeling in the middle of the bed.”

  “Yes, sir.” Her breath caught in her throat. The honorific slid from her tongue as if she’d always said it.

  Damien grinned, pausing to take her chin in hand and brush a kiss across her brow.

  Poppy continued to hold her breath as he exited her bedroom. She listened to his footsteps through the kitchen and out her front door. Her lungs burned, but she didn’t move.

  She’d called him sir, as easily as if she’d always done it. Panic rose up, gripping her brain. What if he left her now? What if the job called? Would he get in his car and leave this instant?

  She wasn’t his first priority, and she needed to remember that. But there was nothing that said she couldn’t enjoy him while he was there.

  Poppy rose from the bed, tiptoed to the windows, and peered out. Damien had snagged a prime parking spot across the street from her building, and had wedged his SUV into the space. She could make out his dark figure pulling the rolling bag out of the backseat and closing the door.

  He was coming back.

  She blew out another breath, collecting her nerves and shoving them into a mental closet. She’d deal with her issues later. For now, she wanted him. She pushed the dress and panties down her hips, stepping out of the clothing and heels.

  Naked, she stretched toward the ceiling. She’d wanted a new experience when she’d gone to House Surrender, and she was getting it.

  Poppy crossed to her nightstand and turned on a playlist of sensual songs before getting on the bed, kneeling in the middle, and listening for the creak of her door. Instead, she heard the faint, tiny voice of Yoshi, crying outside the bedroom. For such large cats, they had the smallest voices.

  The front door creaked. She marked Damien’s progress through the apartment, the pause near the hallway, his muted voice as he spoke to Yoshi.

  It melted her heart a little that he seemed to realize how important her fur babies were to her, and paid them special attention.

  She scooted her knees a little closer together, splayed her hands over her thighs, and took another calming breath. Before him, she’d never felt the urge to be submissive, to bend her will to another. Surrendering her desires to his seemed the only way to go, and yet it was foreign to her. She didn’t know if this was how a submissive was supposed to sit, if she shouldn’t do or be something els
e. But he’d never asked her to be anything. Even now, they hadn’t renegotiated anything.

  The bedroom door swung open and Damien pushed his bag in before him.

  “No, Yoshi. You stay out here. I’m sorry, kitty.”

  “You are not.”

  Damien flashed her a smile as he closed the door. “Not really, no.”

  His gaze dropped to her chest, nipples still captured in their metal prisons. The heat there stoked her fire higher.

  Damien took several bundles of rope, some other nylon equipment, and a metal ring almost big enough for her to put her head through out of the bag, and placed them on the bed. He stepped onto the mattress and grasped the peak of the canopy. Once more, he hoisted his weight onto the structure, lifting himself several times. The frame remained stable and unmoved.

  She watched him loop a nylon strap around the metal hoop and hang it from the top of the canopy. She knew from watching many a rope suspension that the ring featured prominently as a point from which people were hung.

  He selected two bundles of rope, tucked one in his pocket, and began shaking the other out until it trailed over the edge of the mattress and onto the floor. It was almost comical how his head stuck up between the bars, like some giant in her delicate palace.

  “Come here.” He crooked his finger at her and her pulse jumped.

  Poppy scooted down the bed toward him and he took a knee.

  “Up on your knees.”

  She did as he requested and he circled her hips with rope. His fingers flew, tying knots, looping the rope around her thighs and between her legs until she wore what looked like a bulky garter belt. He never touched her pussy, not even once. She almost groaned at the injustice of it.

  “Sit down. Hands on my shoulders.” He bumped her forearms, urging her to comply.

  He did an even faster harness on her chest, tightening the rope around her breasts and over her shoulders until it felt as if she were captured in an embrace. The whisper of rope over her skin was seductive and just a tad bit rough, sensitizing every place he touched, and even those he didn’t.