“He’s not your husband. And he’s black. Did he give you drugs, too? Does he even have a job or a home? Did you think about the consequences before you—you desecrated yourself?”
Poppy stared at her mother and felt no kinship with her whatsoever in that moment. This hateful creature was not the absentminded woman who had raised her, sang lullabies to her, and taken her to play at the beach … with black children from the shelters they helped manage.
Her voice didn’t shake when she spoke, not this time. “No, he is not my husband. And for the record, he’s mulatto, which is the technical term for someone with one black parent and one white parent. Racially profiling him as drug user and a loser is beneath you, mother. And the consequences? There’s a thing called birth control. Maybe Rose should use it.”
Rose gasped and placed a hand on her second-trimester baby bump. Since she’d gotten married at eighteen, the couple had averaged a child a year. Ten children was too many, especially for a communal lifestyle to support, but the economics of The House wasn’t something she wanted to think about. It wasn’t her responsibility.
“That’s just rude,” Rose said.
“It was. I’m sorry.” Poppy glanced away, shame burning inside her. Her sister’s choices were not hers.
“Poppy, you need to come home so we can get these urges under control,” her mother said.
“I am not five years old, and you don’t have to correct me. I’m twenty-nine and an adult. If I want to take birth control and have sex with another consenting adult, that’s my business.” This whole situation was absurd and ridiculous. It was past time she gave up any notion of following her mother’s rules, now that she no longer lived under her roof.
“I’m so disappointed in you.” Her mother shook her head. “Come on, Rose. We’re leaving.”
Rose followed their mother as they turned their noses up and marched out. Poppy let them leave, though the little girl in her wanted to run after her mother and beg for forgiveness. Even if she did apologize, it would be hollow. She couldn’t be sorry for what she’d shared with Damien. They’d been uninhibited and honest in their desire. It was nothing to be ashamed of, but being called a whore still stung.
Poppy sank into the armchair and buried her face in her hands.
That could have gone better. A lot better. Her mother’s words had been horrible. She didn’t even know Damien. Something must have happened at the shelters recently to warp her view.
The bedroom door creaked open and the unmistakable sound of Yoshi meowing to be let out reached her ears. Little feet thundered across the floor and both cats dashed out, glancing around to ensure the coast was clear.
Damien followed them, his pace slower.
“Did you hear that?” she asked.
“Part of it.” He perched on the armrest and rubbed her back.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. I’m not black enough for the black folk, and I’ll never be white enough for anybody.” He didn’t sound the least bit bothered, but she still hated it. Why did skin color have to matter? When she looked at Damien she didn’t get hung up on the parts, just the whole of the man who made her feel things she’d never experienced.
They fell into silence, and she took comfort in his touch and presence. There were no answers for what to do about her mother. Either she would come to terms with Poppy’s choice of a different lifestyle or she wouldn’t. The idea of being cut off from her family made her heart ache. After school, she’d had the opportunity to go somewhere else, but leaving her home hadn’t appealed to her, even if that home wasn’t in the best neighborhood and the schools were a little dangerous. It was where her family was, and where all the memories of her childhood were.
“Give it time,” Damien said, and the voices in her head stilled at his command.
Damn submissiveness. The man could even order her brain to stop its crazy circling.
“This was not how I’d wanted today to go.” She rubbed her face and peered up at him.
“I doubt anyone schedules these kinds of things.” His smile was beautiful, lighting his eyes and inviting her to join him. “Do you want me to leave you alone, or should we get something to eat?”
Her heart fluttered. She’d greedily take all the time he’d give her, because she didn’t know when it might run out.
“Food sounds really good. I need a shower first.” Would he join her? The idea had other parts of her anatomy heating, though they were still plenty sore from last night.
“You shower first, and how about I make us breakfast?” he suggested.
“I can do that.”
“Well, too bad, I feel like cooking. Do you mind?”
“No.” In fact, she liked the idea.
“Go shower. When you’re done, I’ll have a fantastic breakfast ready and we’ll turn this day around.” He bumped her chin and she fell, just a little bit, in love with him.
Chapter Eighteen
“I was thinking …” Damien said, his gaze on the sheets. They’d crawled back in bed once breakfast was over and hadn’t budged since.
“Uh-oh.” Poppy propped herself up on her elbow.
He could feel her gaze on him, but he continued his attempt at nonchalance.
“I was thinking, we need to figure out how to balance.” He wanted to stuff the words back in his mouth as soon as he said them. That was not the way to begin.
“Balance? Balance what?”
“I mean, balance your switchiness and my dominance.” He glanced up and her gaze captured his. Nerves danced up and down his spine.
Her brows rose, but she didn’t comment.
“If I had my way, I would always be in control. It’s who I am.” But for her, he would bend. Last night hadn’t been so bad. He’d found himself enjoying her touch, the way she teased him, and it let him see how she viewed play even better. It didn’t make him less of a dominant to switch with her.
“I’ve never felt submissive before, but you do that to me.” She said the words casually, but her cheeks were stained pink.
The dominant in him uncurled, growling and wanting to take her hair in his fist and kiss her right there, smear some berries across her mouth and lick up the sweetness. Instead he adjusted his crotch and leaned forward.
“Would you consider going full sub?” he asked. Role identities could change, people evolved.
Poppy paused for a moment before shaking her head. “I’m not a real sub. I’m a switch.”
“Okay.” But she was still submissive to him, and that was enough. “So I was thinking, what if we had set trade-offs?”
“Like a baton?” She tilted her head to the side, amusement curling her lips.
“Kind of. I was actually thinking a bracelet, something discreet. We could give it a try today, if you don’t have any plans.”
“Okay.”
The tension gripping his shoulders eased slightly. Did she know what she was getting herself into?
“I saw this over here. It’s what gave me the idea.” He grabbed the bracelet off the nightstand. The beads were bone carvings, Chinese in design, unless he was mistaken. Unisex, so no one would remark on them, no matter which of them was wearing it.
“I like the way you think, sir.”
Her use of the honorific stroked his ego. He wanted to command her, to feel her supple body yield, but the point was finding balance.
She peered at him. “You are not excited about this proposal, are you?”
Lie. Lie. Lie.
“No, not really. I like being in control.”
She nodded and took the bracelet from him, sliding it onto his wrist. “Why don’t you go first?”
She turned his arm over, running her fingers along the beads. He felt the tension in his muscles, waiting for her to do something.
“Tell me about your family?” Poppy’s voice was quiet.
He exhaled and the tension eased.
A cat meowed from the other room.
“Yoshi, b
aby, in here.” Though she beckoned one cat, in a matter of seconds both leapt onto the bed and prowled toward them, looking for scratches and a comfy spot to join the cuddling.
“My grandmother is a spitfire. She’s got real spunk to her, but she’s calmed down since my grandfather died. He was actually Maori, from New Zealand, which is where my last name comes from.”
“What’s Maori?” she asked.
“Maori are the Polynesian people who live in New Zealand.”
“Oh.”
“He came over here and married my grandmother. My father was their only child. Grandpa liked to thumb his nose at all the ideas of race, so he moved them out to a predominantly white area. It shouldn’t have shocked anyone when Dad fell in love in high school with a white girl. Mom’s family disowned her, so they moved in with Grandma and Grandpa for a little while.”
“I didn’t realize it was your mom who was white. I just assumed it was your dad.”
He chuckled. “Don’t tell her she’s white. I think she’s in denial. Anyways, Dad got a factory job, they got their own place, had me, and a few years later he died in an accident. Mom had to get a full-time job, and when that didn’t pay the bills, she moved in with Grandma and Grandpa and it worked. I never knew my father, but Grandpa filled those shoes.”
“I never knew my dad.”
“You said he left.”
“Yeah. I was a baby. I don’t even remember him. Do you remember yours?”
“Kind of. It’s hazy, and sometimes I wonder if the memories I think are of my dad are of my grandpa.”
“Do you wonder if we’d be different people if we had our fathers in our lives? I think about that sometimes.”
“I don’t think I’d be too different. Everyone says I’m just like my dad.”
“No one talks about mine.”
He had no comforting words for that. Though his family had been somewhat broken and multigenerational, they’d loved each other. He couldn’t imagine how the stars had aligned to turn out such a beautiful, bubbly woman from the harsh, restraining environment that had born her.
Damien smoothed her hair back and kissed her brow. She nuzzled closer and sighed.
There were people in life who shone like brightly burning stars. Poppy was one of them.
Poppy twirled out of the closet and stopped next to the bed.
“Well, does this meet with your approval?”
Damien swung his legs over the side of the bed and smoothed his hands over her waist. He seemed to study the dress intently, and wherever his gaze went so did his hands. She bit her lip and held still, curious about which direction this would go. He cupped her breasts, his thumbs swiping over her nipples. She sucked in a breath and forced herself to not squirm.
Her nipples were like the quick-warm button on a microwave. A little attention and the rest of her was ready to go in thirty seconds or less.
Damien reached around her neck and tugged at the knot holding the halter up. She held her breath as he peeled down the top of the dress, exposing her breasts. Her nipples were hard, puckered points. He gently tweaked one, then the other.
She let her head drop back and luxuriated in the feel of his warm skin on her.
“Yeah, we’re not going to the beach,” he said, voice pitched low.
“Okay.”
He was still in charge, after all.
“Go to my bag and pick out something fun.” He plumped her breasts though his gaze stayed on her face.
Playing again? So soon? Her body craved it, but a small, quiet voice wondered if this was smart. Did she care? Not when he looked at her the way he was now.
She walked to his rolling bag, sitting under one of the windows, and unzipped it. Inside were bundles of rope, some restraints, and all kinds of toys. She stroked a soft flogger, lamenting the close quarters made that particular toy a bad idea.
They needed something smaller. Her gaze landed on the strap he’d used briefly last night. Something like that.
Something new.
Poppy turned toward the bed. “Sir, does it have to be from your bag?”
He paused midstretch. “Do you have something else in mind?”
“I do. May I?”
He considered it for a moment. “Okay.”
She grinned and walked into the kitchen. Obeying orders had never come so naturally to her. Hell, with anyone else she’d never have asked permission before getting her own toy instead. But Damien was different. She wanted to please him.
Poppy retrieved a long, thin box from the bar. The discreet packaging gave no indication of what was inside. She’d been so full of nerves on Friday when it arrived, she had only glanced in the box to see that her order was correct.
Damien was waiting for her at the foot of the bed, rope and restraints laid out on her dresser.
“What is it?” He took the box from her and opened the lid. His brows rose as he lifted a very thin, black rod. One end was wrapped with purple cord. Sparkling beads dangled from the ends. The other end of the tiny, carbon-fiber cane had a heart on it, about the size of a quarter. “An evil stick? You know this hurts like a motherfucker, right?”
“It does. A little.” She squirmed, clasping her hands in front of her.
He pressed his lips together and leaned back against her dresser, arms crossed over his chest. “I have this rule. I don’t own toys I wouldn’t use on myself. I’ve never purchased one of these because it hurts so damn bad.”
“You don’t want to use it?” Her heart fell a little.
“No, no, that’s not what I’m saying. I just want you to know this will hurt. It stings like a bitch. It will leave bruises and welts, and I’ve seen these split the skin before when used really hard.”
She cringed. That hadn’t been her experience at all. “Do you have to use it that hard?”
“No, I’d prefer not to use it that hard. I want to be very clear, so when you end up with a bunch of heart-shaped bruises on your ass, you aren’t surprised.”
“Oh, okay. I understand. I’ve played with one before, which was why I wanted my own.”
“Okay.” Damien offered the handle to her.
She took it, frowning. Wasn’t he supposed to be in charge?
“I’m not using it until I know what it feels like, so get it over with.” He didn’t seem as excited about the evil stick as she was.
Poppy took it from him, holding the handle in her left hand. With her right, she pulled the heart tip back a tad and released it. It thumped his forearm with a little slap. He exhaled and shook his hand.
“Are you sure? That’s going to sting a lot,” he said.
“Kyle had one and I liked it. I just thought …” Had she thought wrong? Was the evil stick a bad idea?
“Hey.” He bumped her chin. “I just want to make sure you’re okay with it. It’s called an evil stick for a reason. If you like it, that’s cool, but I know people who run from a room screaming because of this thing.”
“I’m fine with that, just not on my neck, face, or forearms, or below the knee.” Marks were her favorite things about play. Long after her partner left, the marks would stay with her.
“Okay.” He laid the heart against the underside of her breast. The rod bent under the weight. “Take the dress off.”
She did not mention that he was the one who’d told her to put the dress on in the first place. Instead, she unzipped it and let it fall to the floor. Her gaze remained on his face, committing his expressions to memory. The muscles in his jaw flexed, his cheeks sank in, and his gaze narrowed. She was the fly caught in his web, eager to feel his sting.
Damien pulled the business end of the evil stick back and thwacked her stomach without warning.
Poppy jumped back, slapping her hand over the spot and howling in surprise.
“Ow, ow, ow. I wasn’t ready for that.” She laughed despite the slight pain of it.
“You said you wanted it.”
Okay, so she had, but she’d been focused on him, not the toy
. She rubbed the spot and glanced down to see a perfect, rosy-pink heart taking shape.
“You want to pick something else?” Damien was going to give her every out possible, and while she appreciated it, she wanted the damn marks.
“No.”
“Okay, just remember you wanted this.” He didn’t have to sound so gleeful about it.
He turned to the dresser and grabbed the three restraints she’d seen earlier. Two cuffs and a collar. He fastened them around her wrists and neck, and stepped back to take her in.
She’d worn dark-red lace panties, hoping that they would play. But now she could only imagine the picture she made.
Damien took a length of rope and ran the ends through the D-ring at the center of the collar and then tied the end to the cuffs. He tugged the rope while keeping one hand on her shoulder, forcing her hands to rise to her throat.
“Perfect,” he muttered. He led her to the foot of the bed. “Keep your hands right there for a second.”
The fantasy workout her bed was getting this weekend would be fodder for more in the nights to come. Would she get the chance to enact whatever her mind came up with next? She pushed the uncertainty away. Right now might be all she had, and she wanted to enjoy it.
Damien smoothed his hands over her back and down her bottom, warming her skin with his touch. She dropped her hands and was jerked forward. She yelped, rocked forward on the balls of her feet, and caught herself on the foot rail. The rope stretched taut from her wrists to the bed frame, but it forced her to bend at almost ninety degrees.
Damien merely chuckled. “What? Right here?”
He patted her ass gently.
“Not funny,” she said over her shoulder. “You did this on purpose.”
“Yes, yes, I did. It’s called a predicament.”
Poppy had never done predicament bondage before, where the person in her position was bound in such a way that any movement brought about a potentially worse result. Though this was a very minor predicament, she had no idea what was in store for her.
Damien’s hand cracked against her ass hard enough that she rocked into the foot rail. She gripped the bar harder and pushed her hips back. He smacked the other side of her ass, then surrounded the two harder blows with a quick rain of slaps, varying from light to stinging. Heat radiated around her hips, down her thighs, and up her back. She danced in place, but there was nowhere for her to go.
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