by Aya DeAniege
“There’s no point in asking about hypotheticals,” he said. “One should never get their hopes up too high, lest they fall like angel boy whose father made his wings.”
“Icarus?” I asked.
“Was that his name?”
“Wow, if I were a man, I think I’d have a confused boner right now,” I said. “Okay, and I was asking about the control because sometimes that does get me going.”
“Submitting to a man?”
“Yes.”
“If I were in control, I would tell you to wash, even though I know you washed before. I would tell you that I am making dinner unless you know how to cook and would prefer to since it is your birthday after all. And I would tell you that if you were good, I’d fuck you over the counter while dinner cooks.”
“If,” I said.
“If,” he echoed.
“Why if?” I asked.
I wanted to know if he wanted to do that to me. Technically we were still in aftercare, even if it was one night of spoiled fun.
I couldn’t just use him however I saw fit, ignoring his boundaries and wants. That was why I asked again instead of pushing it or coming right out and saying it.
The idea of submitting to the man made me wet, a slick heat curling between my legs. I didn’t do it often, but I trusted he wouldn’t hurt me.
Because I trusted that Mr. Wrightworth had been sufficiently scary enough that he wouldn’t dare to try.
Good to know my trust issues are alive and well.
“Everything aside?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“It’s clear you have trust issues. It’s also apparent to me that a man has abused you in the past. You keep looking for ways to abuse me but pull away when I agree because apparently, I remind you of what it’s like to be the victim.”
“You little bitch,” I said. “You spread your legs knowing I wouldn’t take you up on the offer.”
“Yes,” he said with a nod. “I like not having people wail on my genitals like they’re a punching bag. Would I have accepted it, had you done it? Yes, absolutely. It was a gamble, and I am thankful I won.”
“Why would you tell me that, then?”
“Because you have trust issues and the easiest way to build trust, as hard as it is to hear, is to be honest.”
“Do you want to be in control?”
“Of course, I do,” he said. “But, a woman of your calibre says jump, I’m going to shut up an ask how high.”
“Has nothing to do with Mr. Wrightworth threatening bodily harm?”
“Oh, no, he said I could take control and do whatever I pleased to you, as long as I had your permission first,” he said.
“And if I gave you permission?”
“Are you?” he asked.
“Am I what?” I asked.
“Are you giving me permission?”
“You don’t even know my limits,” I said with a chuckle.
“No, I don’t, and it would be a leap of faith, but I can tell you that you will not regret it.”
We stared at one another as the water rained down on my back, splashed him as it bounced off me, washing just a little of the soap off.
He met my eyes, and he didn’t look away. I was the one who looked away first.
“Do you give permission?” he asked again.
A one time only fast switch. To drop the Domme act and give in to the man standing before me. Normally that took years before I let someone cross that line.
But how long would it be before the next time I might have that opportunity?
Best to take advantage while he was standing in front of me, rather than debate or come up with excuses.
“I give permission,” I said, praying that he didn’t hear the quiver in my voice and misjudge it as fear.
“You should finish washing,” he said.
And then he got out of the shower.
I was disappointed in his reaction, but I decided not to make a big thing about it.
I had told him to take control, and he left the shower rather than throw me down and have his way with me. That didn’t mean all that much.
Shower sex was dangerous, after all.
How many people had I stitched up because they decided to try shower sex and ended up slipping? They ended up smashing various body parts into unforgiving tile and tub.
I washed for the second time that night, then stepped out of the shower.
The gifts that had been littered on my floor were sitting neatly on top of the laundry hamper. He must have placed them there after he had gotten out of the shower.
I took that as a hint.
I dried, re-braided my hair, and then dressed. Hell, I even put on a little lipstick. Nothing else though. I had skin and eyelashes that made women giggle comments at me when they were touching up their makeup in the mirror.
“Oh, you know how it is.”
No, sorry, I don’t. These eyelashes are all my father gave me, and my skin is a freaking miracle, I swear.
I left the bathroom dressed more like a woman of the modern era and a little less like I could kick someone’s ass. That made me feel self-conscious.
When men saw you in a dress, they assumed you were some stupid airhead. Even if you could kick their asses, and had in the past.
I found him in the kitchen, just closing the oven as I walked around the corner. He looked up and gave a little nod as he turned to the sink and began washing his hands.
“Your phone has gone off a couple of times,” he said. “Is it wired into the walls?”
“No, into the entertainment,” I said. “And it’s a wireless system with a short broadcast range. Don’t worry. It’s new tech, not old. No chance of cancer or migraine causing wavelengths that you can’t hear so you just get bitchy about it.”
“Why upgrade from the docked version?”
“Because often there are guests and I don’t want those guests getting my text messages,” I said. “Sometimes they come with pictures of confidential information.”
“Hence the notice that there’s a text but not the text.”
“Right,” I said.
“You received several of those. I thought you were off for the night.”
“I am,” I said. “But if it’s between answering a panicked text and someone losing their life, I’d rather answer the text. I’ve got them well trained now. They only text me after everyone else and after asking themselves if they like being able to eat solid food.”
“Then you had best check your text messages,” he said.
He had a bit of an edge to his voice.
That manly man being all… manly. His voice was a little deeper than it had been in the playroom.
I suspected he knew how to get normal people to react, but if he thought that was what being in control meant, I would get bored. And fast.
Maybe he doesn’t know how to be a Dom.
I retrieved my phone and found the text messages. It was the doctor asking me to call him. I struggled to recall his name for a moment. Troy or Ted, maybe Tony.
Grumbling, I dialled the number and sat at the island in the kitchen as a glass of wine was set before me. I looked at the wine, then up at him, he jabbed a finger at my nose as if telling me not to ask questions, so I pulled the wine toward me.
“John speaking.”
Man, was I way off.
“Hey, it’s me,” I said when my co-worker picked the phone.
“How far into the wine are you?” he asked.
“Believe it or not, dry as a bone,” I said. “What did you need?”
“Okay, so, I was trying to wait until tomorrow, because I know it’s your birthday and all,” he said, which was how about ninety percent of my phone calls started when they came from co-workers. “Uh, but, part of this may need some thought and… you like having time to think.”
The entire thing was long and drawn out like he was pretty sure I would hurt him.
I wondered if he were about to hit on me. I woul
d smack him for that. He was straight, but he had never been anything but professionally courteous to me. Maybe a little friendly.
“Have you been drinking?” I asked.
“Legally, I’m not allowed to drink before this phone call,” he muttered.
I frowned, my hand on the stem of the wineglass.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” I asked.
Because, in the Community, you weren’t supposed to be drinking before play.
If he had found out that I was a Domme, there’d be hell to pay. There had to be. No one at work knew about that part of my life. I kept them completely separated for good reason.
“I want to open a private practice,” he said.
“Yeah, okay?” I asked.
“I want you to be my partner.”
“One. If I have to keep prodding you, this will take all night. Two. You know I’m living in a rent-controlled apartment, and the only reason I can eat is because my church keeps giving me stuff. I can’t afford to live. I can’t afford the payment for a freaking practice. Three. Who would want to work with me?”
“That’s a fair response. Yes, I know about your situation. I would pay your share which you can either pay back in a lump sum in, say, five years if we’re successful, or would not be added to your debt if we failed. I would take on that burden.”
“Which isn’t a burden because your daddy is loaded.”
“Very true. The third part, well, I guess the answer is me. Nicole, a new piece of tech comes in, and you’re the one reading the manual. You’re the one figuring it out. You’re the one connected to the nurses, with the bedside manner for most patients, but what’s necessary to shut up the morons. You have something like fourteen years experience in the field, even if it’s in different areas of the field. You know the office work, the paperwork, the ordering, the running of both private and public clinics. Oh, and you’re a woman, and I’m a man.”
“What’s that part got to do with anything?” I asked.
“Some women prefer to see a female doctor,” he said. “They prefer their daughters to see female doctors.”
“True,” I muttered, my fingers working up and down the stem of the glass. “Doesn’t this require an extra certification?”
“It does, that certification starts on Monday, takes two weeks, and you’d have to quit from the hospital immediately.”
“Hence the notice,” I said.
“Yes, hence the notice. I gave my notice today after work. I will be in the certification class, and I’m looking at buildings now.”
“Trauma is my bread and butter,” I said.
“But your stitches are magnificent. Plastic’s been trying to get you for years. And, let’s face it, it’d mainly be my daddy’s friends to start.”
Meaning rich elite. I knew where he was going with the conversation, but I wanted him to say it to prevent confusion later.
“Coughs and colds don’t exactly pay well,” I said.
“No, but rich elite pay for confidentiality. Nathaniel Edwards doesn’t want anyone to know every time he has bruising from his wife. You already check that out. Why not be certified, so he has to hand over a thousand dollar check every time he lifts his shirt and asks you what that weird shape is?”
“That’s not going to cost a thousand dollars. It’s two seconds of work.”
“You’re right, the pricing is more like three thousand per visit, and the rich elite are a bunch of hypochondriacs. It’ll be a little slow to start, as we build a reputation for ourselves, but it’ll come around. And a thousand-dollar check at the end of the day because you saw to one guy is a hell of a lot better than the current system where you teach everyone in the hospital what to do, and your thanks is a giant middle finger.”
I considered it.
I had been unhappy with my place in the hospital. I had definitely been unhappy with how they treated me that day, and that wasn’t the first time.
If I stuck around, it wouldn’t be the last either.
“I’m not asking for an answer right this second,” he said. “I saved the spot for you in the certification. You have until Monday morning at eight.”
“How far down your list are you?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“How many other calls like this have you made?”
“None,” he said. “There is no list, Nicole. No one else at the hospital has your experience or capabilities. If it’s not you, I might as well open on my own or take on a student and train them to do things my way.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, you’ll do it, or okay, you’ll think about it?”
“Okay, I’ll think about it,” I said. “I, uhm,” I looked up at my guest and struggled for a second. “A friend ended up stopping by for my birthday. I’m a little distracted at the moment, but I think I can have an answer for you by tomorrow morning.”
“Sure, absolutely, that’s several days ahead of when I thought I’d get it,” he said. “Drink some wine, enjoy yourself tonight. Happy birthday, Nicole.”
“Thanks.”
I ended the call and set my phone on the counter. After a moment of considering it, sitting beside a glass of wine, I looked up and met those startling eyes.
“Good news, bad news?” he asked.
“Good, maybe,” I said with a wince. “I just have to make a decision.”
“Those are hard. I can be a silent sounding board for it if you like. I don’t know what the decision is, but I can try.”
“Maybe later,” I said.
He gave a little shrug and reached for a second glass of wine that was sitting beside the stove. He sipped the wine and made a little face. He was probably used to better, from all the rich elite purchasing his services.
“It’s sweet,” he said. “I prefer a red. But, chicken for dinner, which just went in, so it’ll be some time.”
He set the glass back on the counter and turned, leaning against it as he crossed his arms and watched me. Wearing nothing more than my towel, which somehow stayed in place.
There’s an almost naked man in my kitchen.
“Why don’t you come over here and lift that skirt up,” he purred out, lips turning up just slightly. “I want to see if you’re wearing underwear.”
“No underwear,” I said.
I picked up my wine glass and took a sip. I walked around the island and held the glass as he watched me, eyes flowing up and down my form hungrily. I leaned on the island, wine glass still in my hand as I crossed my legs at the ankle.
“Turn around. And pull up your skirt.”
I smiled slowly at him.
“Or what, Honey?”
He moved across the kitchen in a flash, his hands on me, manhandling me. He spun me around, and the wine threatened to spill out of the glass as I all but dropped it onto the counter. His hot fingers dug into my hips as he thrust against me, grinding my hips into the island’s countertop.
I put up a minimal fight.
The tips of his fingers were rough against the side of my leg as he yanked my skirt upward. He placed his other hand in the middle of my back and leaned away. He ran his calloused hand over my bare backside.
“Naked,” he said. “I don’t recall permitting you to be bare. Polite people wear underwear. Are you not a polite person?”
“Not in the least,” I said, barely restraining my laugh.
I had poked a sadist more than once. Though, only ever the once by accident.
I knew better than to be disrespectful, but I loved how his hand slipped down my backside, how that hand moved between my legs and settled just there, grazing over my still sensitive flesh. I shuddered at the touch, pushing my hips down, against his hand.
“Next time, you ask if you can go bare,” he whispered as he bent down.
He pressed against my back, his heat overwhelming me.
Between my legs, his hand moved, taunting me. I moaned, a tremble running through me as I turned my head, baring my neck and praying he
would notice.
His teeth nipped at my neck, answering my silent plea. He nibbled and kissed as his hand continued moving relentlessly against me. I ground my hips back, against him, needing something more.
I struggled to get something. My hands found a grip on the edge of the counter, and I tried to push backward. His body was suddenly an unmovable wall, solid as stone. I tried again, letting out a little grunt. His remained still, then pushed his weight down, coming down on me with the weight of his muscled form alone.
I was stuck.
“My pace, not yours,” he said.
As if to rub it in, he continued at a leisurely pace. His fingers working their way across my skin but delving no further than that. Only granting me so much motion as to taunt me. There was no relief for me in the action. I did, however, relax against the counter and took the ‘punishment’ he decided to dole out. It certainly didn’t cause me any pain.
Just slow and taunting.
I relaxed entirely, caught between the cold counter and the hot muscle. The tension trickled out of my body, and all that was left was the motion of his fingers, teasing me. My hips shifted, following his movements.
He slipped back slightly. The distance he put between us caused me to shudder from the sudden change of temperature. He took all his heat with him, and what remained of my own. I lay helplessly on the counter, uncertain of what I felt or did. Just as it seemed to trickle back in, he dragged me back, moving my hips off the counter.
He thrust into me, penetrating me to my core. It was almost more than I could take. I tried to move forward, but his fingers dug into my hips, holding me still. His grip tightened, becoming almost painful. He kept me there as he began pounding away. Every thrust fulfilled my every need. Every time he withdrew, I moaned with desire.
I tensed around him, rising because his hand was no longer on my back. I bent as best I could and reached. He leaned forward, following my hand while slowing. We kissed, and it was just about everything I could have wanted in a kiss. Firm but just a little soft, just a little giving.
One of his hands slipped off my hip, locking onto my waist instead. The other moved up my side, caressing the side of my neck before it ran down my braid. The motion distracted me.