All the while my anger and agitation grows.
He kneels down and makes quick work of the straps on my ankles. He strikes my thigh somewhere between a tap and a slap, and I spread my legs, glaring down at him.
“Michael.”
“Enough, Layla.” His words hold that distinct bite, but it doesn’t cause the normal shiver of lust. Because that’s not dominance in his voice, it’s anger.
I hear the ripping of Velcro, a tug on my leg while he tethers me to the post and moves to my other leg.
I don’t want to ruin this, and instinct warns me to be quiet, but I can’t seem to stop talking. “All I’m trying to say is—”
He squeezes my thigh; hard enough I gasp and lose my train of thought. Then he jerks the straps and everything stretches and tightens.
I still.
He steps back.
I test my mobility and find I can’t move.
I’m splayed wide and open, taut. Unable to get away. Unable to run and hide.
I experience a momentary burst of panic. It twists inside me then dissolves.
Michael turns away and walks over to the chair resting against the wall. He picks it up and brings it over in front of me before he sits down.
Resting his arms on the chair, he leans back.
I blink at him. “What are you doing?”
He gives me a hard look. “You’re pissing me off and I’m not going to touch you while I’m angry.”
I tilt my chin. The tides have swiftly turned and I can smell the argument we’re about to have in the air. “Well, I’m sorry.”
“You don’t sound sorry.”
I pull at my bonds. “Do we have to talk like this?”
He nods. “Yes, I think we do.”
I clench my hands into fists. “You should be apologizing to me.”
He barks with laughter. “For what?”
My own anger catches flame and I experience an undercurrent of pleasure. It’s hard to explain, the luxury of fighting. Of being mad at each other. There was a time where I couldn’t even imagine experiencing such a normal couply thing again. But arguments, bickering is part of life that most of us take for granted. And the part of me that almost lost my own, relishes in the safety of arguing, of being human and in love.
“Can I at least have some clothes?” I don’t bother to hide the agitation in my voice.
“No.” One hard, simple word.
I growl, and blow out an exasperated breath. “You promised not to go easy on me.”
He raises a brow. “If I was going easy on you, I’d already be pounding into you.”
“That makes no sense. I just don’t want you to bring all… all… methodical. Is that so hard to understand?”
He shakes his head, pinches the bridge of his nose and then holds up one finger. “One, I understand you and after all the times I’ve fucked you, I am well aware that being taken roughly and possessively is your preference. But may I remind you that you did ask me for this, and I’m sorry, but tying someone up is a methodical process. I have to make sure nothing cuts off your circulation, that it doesn’t chafe too much against your skin, that you’re immobile but not uncomfortable.”
Another finger shoots up. “Two, on top of the physical component I have to pay attention to your mental state. I know you hate to hear this, but you were, in fact, traumatized and almost killed. And I don’t give a fuck how much you hate it, Layla, I will not risk your emotional wellbeing and go too fast. I will not risk you having a panic attack, forced to stand there and watch your eyes grow unfocused and fill with horror as you relive what happened to you, because of something I did to you. And if you don’t understand that, too fucking bad.”
A third finger joins the others. “I know you. I know how you are. You’ve built this up into some sort of test you have to pass or else you’ve somehow failed me. You’ve stubbornly convinced yourself that I’m somehow suffering by being with you, regardless of how many times I tell you otherwise. So forgive me if I don’t trust you not to try and push through any discomfort or panic to prove some goddamn point.”
The fourth finger rises. “Lastly, I’m not all that into bondage, I prefer my hands on you. I like the feel of my fingers on your wrists. The strain of your muscles against me. I know you’ve built me up into some sort of sexual god, but the truth is I haven’t done anything like this in probably a good five years. Long enough I had to come get lessons from goddamn Brandon. There’s about a million things I need to make sure of, keep track of, and watch out for without trying to manage your desire to be taken and consumed. So do you think it’s possible to cut me some fucking slack and let me concentrate?”
I can only blink at him, stunned.
Wow. He just had like, a meltdown. He has a list of grievances against me.
Giddy happiness fills my chest and all the sudden I’m fighting the urge to laugh.
Then it dawns on me. Or more smacks me over the head with a two-by-four.
This is what I’ve been wanting. It wasn’t some cathartic bondage sex scene—it’s this that I’ve been craving—blessed normalcy where he’s not always so ridiculously understanding.
I take a lot of patience. I understand this. I’m one-hundred-percent positive I’m a complete pain in the ass. Michael has the patience of a saint, and his calm, reasonable understanding is… well… it’s annoying. He’s always so damned perfect, so reasonable, and levelheaded. I have no room to be this messy, flawed human when he’s so above it all.
Sometimes I need him to be a messy human too.
I sniff. “Well, not quite a sexual god.”
He stares at me for several long moments before he laughs. “You are the most frustrating woman on the planet.”
“I know.” All my agitation drains away. I probably should have communicated this in a more mature fashion, but I honestly didn’t know this churned away inside me. I’d become single minded in my determination to put that night behind me. I’d latched on to bondage as a way to prove to him he didn’t have to be careful with me anymore. How could I know all I wanted was my boyfriend to get mad at me sometimes? To express his very normal irritation when I’m being unreasonable. It’s why I need domination in the first place, it helps clear my mind and focus on what I need. Only it doesn’t always work out the way I expected. Obviously. I flutter my lashes at him. “Did you really come to Brandon for lessons?”
I love that he did that. That he felt insecure.
“Yes. The asshole gave me shit the whole time.”
I meet his eyes and smile. “I’m sorry.”
“You should be.” Apparently he’s still in the mood to be disgruntled.
“Michael?”
“What, Layla?”
“You did it, you tied me up and I didn’t panic.” I didn’t. It’s an accomplishment, just not executed in the way I built it up in my mind.
His gaze narrows. “I suppose that’s a point. But it made you aggravated, not wet like I want you.”
I bite my lip. “I… um… don’t like bondage either.”
He shakes his head and blows out a breath. “Then why the hell are we doing this?”
“I stubbornly needed to prove a point.” I tilt my head. “But I think what I really needed, what we really needed, is this.”
He opens his arms. “And what is this?”
“You getting mad at me.”
His expression twists in utter confusion and it’s adorable. “You want me to be mad at you?”
“Not all the time, but sometimes would be nice.” He’s still looking at me like I’m insane. I let out a slow breath. “You’re a lot of pressure to live with.”
His brow furrows. “What?”
I flex my hands, my arms are starting to hurt, my muscles strain. “Would you consider letting me down?”
“Since you asked so nicely.” He stands and releases the strap at first one wrist then the other before vigorously rubbing my arms.
“What are you doing?”
He shrugs. “Brandon told me to do it, helps with blood flow.”
I giggle. “I don’t think I was up there long enough.”
“Brat.” He pinches me and releases the leather straps before bending and taking care of my ankles.
“Can we agree that this will be our first and last bondage session?”
“Deal.” He kisses me, a quick brush of his mouth over mine. “Although I might occasionally want to cuff you.”
I have an image of him pounding into me from behind, my hands cuffed at the base of my spine and I shiver. “Deal.”
He sits me on the bed and stands over me, arms crossed. “Now what is this about me being hard to live with?”
Jillian
I bury my face in my hands and sob, shaking my head, I whisper, “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Sssshhh.” Leo kisses my temple. “None of that. You’re a good girl, Jillian.”
I don’t feel good. I feel like I’ve failed. I was so sure. How could I have been so wrong? “I’m sorry.”
He walks around me, and forcibly removes my hands from my face, before kissing my lips with the sweetest of kisses. “That is what a safe word is for, Jilly. You’re supposed to use it if it gets too much for you.”
Tears track down my cheeks and my chest squeezes so tight my heart might burst. I glance behind me. “I didn’t want to disappoint you in front of them.”
He brushes his mouth over mine, wraps one arm around my waist, and wipes away my tears with his free hand. “You never disappoint me. I know you’re upset, and you’re not going to understand this, but I’m proud of you. The word is there for a reason. And using it just continues to build the trust between us. Do you understand?”
I shake my head and wave my hand toward the room. “But.”
He runs a finger down my cheek. “No buts.”
I start to speak, but he stops me. “Hang on.”
He leans down and feels under the table.
I have no idea what he’s doing, but I stare out into the darkness, wondering how many people are judging me.
The room is deathly quiet. Uncomfortably so.
Suddenly the lights click on, I blink against the harsh brightness, trying to adjust from the shift of focused to dispersed light.
Leo stands back up.
Finally, my eyes adjust and I stare into the room.
I blink. And blink again.
I gasp. The room. It’s empty.
My gaze flies to Leo. “How? Did they all leave?”
Leo strokes over my cheek. “They were never here. The room has always been empty.”
I’m so confused. My forehead creases. “But, I saw. Heard the opening and closing of the door.”
“Brandon.” Leo gives me a soft smile. He unhooks me from the chain at my throat and takes my hand. “Come on, there’s a couch in the corner. Let’s go talk this out.”
He helps me off the table. My legs are shaky, with shock and relief.
He walks me over to the couch, where he flicks on a small lamp, and then goes to the wall where a panel resides and the spotlight clicks off. The overhead lights go out and all that’s left is the soft glow from the lamp next to me. Intimate and personal, just us. Relief floods through me. Leo returns to the couch, sits down and cuddles me into his lap.
I immediately feel better. This is really all I need. The connection between Leo and me.
He pulls a throw over me and I shiver as his body warms away the coldness clinging to my skin. I lick my lips. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about. It’s important for me to know you trust yourself. You were right to safe word. This is a learning experience for both of us.”
“How? Did you know I wouldn’t be able to go through with it?” How could he know me that well?
“I didn’t.” One arm cradles my back and the other big hand cups the swell of my hip. “I wasn’t sure how it would go. I knew it was something you were convinced you wanted. I knew you fantasized about it. But it was something so out of the norm of anything we’d done, I didn’t feel comfortable trusting you to a room full of strangers. So this was my solution. I figured if it ended up not meeting your expectations, you’d feel relieved you were alone. And if you loved it, next time I’d fill the room and make sure the lights were on without any worry that you’d suffer negative impact.”
I curl into him, wrapping my fists into his shirt to keep him close. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He rubs his hand over my hip. “My first priority is to keep you safe.”
I kiss his neck. “I swear I’m the luckiest woman in the world.”
He squeezes my thigh. “We still need to talk about this. Since you do like exhibitionism, this will help us figure out where your line is.”
I run a finger over his jaw. “And what about your line?”
He smiles. “I won’t pretend my line wouldn’t have been tested if you loved it. I’m still not sure what I’m comfortable with. My plan was to see how this went and figure out what I could take after.”
I meet his gaze. “I didn’t love it.”
He nods. “Tell me why?”
I try and process out my emotions. Riffle through the million thoughts in my head and start with the easiest. “I didn’t like the thought of strangers as much as I thought I would. It was easy to stretch the fantasy of what we’ve already done, thinking that if I was okay with you occasionally doing something in front of Brandon, that hundreds would only increase the excitement more.”
“What do you like when it’s Brandon?” His fingers play along the skin of my thigh.
“He’s our friend. He’s safe. I know he won’t touch me. That he won’t even probably see me naked.” I smile. “Well, at least not all at once.”
After that disastrous night at Brandon’s, Leo has always been very strategic in what he let’s Brandon witness.
He chuckles and tucks my hair behind my ear. “So I think what you’re saying is that in order to get into the game, you need to trust the person watching you.”
I tilt my head. Thinking. “Yes, that sounds right.”
“What about out front. You liked that. I could feel how wet you were, and they were strangers. What was the difference?”
I rest my head against his chest and listen to the steady thump of his heart until I figure out the why. “That was just fun, like a flirty little game where I was making you the star. I think because you’d already told me, and it seemed like everyone else in the place, that you were going to take me to a room, I knew nothing of significance was going to happen there, so I could relax. Flirt, have fun and make people jealous of us.”
He laughs. “I see. You want people jealous?”
I grin up at him. “Duh, of course.”
“It sounds like, unless you’re in front of people you trust, that you like the idea of possibly getting caught over actually getting caught. That you like people knowing what we did, versus them watching us?” He shifts me on his lap, and when my legs slightly part, he circles his fingers over my inner thighs. “Is that fair?”
My breath catches. “Can you give me an example?”
His hand dips lower. “Like that night we all went to dinner and I fucked you in that dark stairwell and made sure everyone knew what I’d done to you when we got back to the table.”
All the cold from before evaporates as the heat of his body overtakes me. “Yes, like that.”
His fingertips brush over my swollen skin. “Not that I had to tell them, with your just fucked hair, pink cheeks and obscene mouth.”
“Yes.” I rock into him. “That’s exactly what I like.”
Then he takes my mouth and sucks me under his spell and everything, but him finally fades away.
Ruby
Brandon gave us the grand tour, showing us every nook and cranny of the main space. Apparently, he’d bought the whole building and was planning on converting the top levels to offices of some sort to expand his empire. The place is spectacular, an
d Brandon is clearly excited about his new venture and it’s been a pleasure to listen to him talk. Now Chad and I are sitting comfortably in Brandon’s office and I’m relaxed for the first time that evening.
Brandon hands first me, then Chad, a snifter full of brandy. I grin. “Fancy.”
From what I understand Brandon comes from very old money and by the looks of this place, he has a taste for the finer things in life.
Brandon laughs, and sits across from where Chad and I rest on a plush leather couch that probably cost more than all my furniture in my tiny studio apartment combined. I run my hands over the material. “This is gorgeous.”
“It’s imported from Paris.” Brandon shrugs. “My designer loves to spend my money.”
Chad nods, glancing around the place. “She or he has spent it well.”
“She,” Brandon says and then winks. “I’m positive she goes over budget so I’ll take her over my knee and smack her ass red.”
Chad laughs. “I’m sure it’s worth the hardship.”
“Oh, it is. She’s a lovely little redhead with a fiery temper to match.”
I flush, the reminder of who these men are, rushing back to me. A slow heat kicks up in my belly and I gulp down the brandy and the stirring of…something at his words.
Brandon tilts his chin at me. “That’s a pretty flush on your cheeks.”
His words only make my skin heat more. A blush on top of a blush. Kill me now.
Chad turns his attention on me, his blue-eyed gaze speculative.
When I don’t say anything, Brandon swirls the amber liquid in his glass and asks, “What are you going to do about that curiosity of yours, Ruby girl?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. I’m not curious. I’m just not used to everyone being so open.”
It’s true. I come from a family of devout, God-fearing Christians, and growing up sex was a four-letter, forbidden word. They are loving and they mean well, it’s just that such things are not discussed. I’ve mainly gotten over the ultra-conservative upbringing. I share sex details with Layla. Of course, my details are about a million times tamer than hers, but that’s not the point. She’s my best friend. Brandon and Chad are strangers to me.
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