by Nancy Warren
“I’m naked. Yeah. Get in here.”
She backed up slightly and brought her right hand into view. It held a lit candle and when his eyes grew accustomed to the brightness, they nearly fell out of his head.
“Serena?” he gasped. She looked amazing. Her hair was held back in a bun, her makeup heavy on the eyes and her lips a deep red. She wore a black PVC corset that barely contained the rise and swell of her breasts. Black fishnet stockings and high-heeled black boots that could stomp him into oblivion.
In the noncandle hand she held a whip. An actual whip. And a black bag that rattled when she moved forward toward the bed.
“You can call me Madame S.”
He swallowed. Of course, he had no intention of letting her touch him with that whip but he liked the sexual power he could feel coming off her. He suspected she was enjoying herself.
She put the candle on the bedside table and her black bag of tricks beside it. Those red-tipped hands dipped into the bag and he couldn’t help but stare, wondering what would emerge.
A black blindfold.
Black leather restraints.
He glanced up at her. Her dark eyes gleamed. “What are you planning to do with those?”
She shook her head. Made a little tsking sound. “So many questions.”
And he had to admit they were stupid ones. What did he think she was planning to do with handcuffs and a blindfold? The whip he was almost positive was merely a prop.
Almost.
The only question for him was, was he going to let her tie him up and blindfold him?
She came closer. Above her stockings were smooth white bands of skin and no panties between him and paradise. “Well?” she asked.
“Well, what?”
“Are you going to submit? Are you going to give up control?”
Of course, they’d been battling over control one way or another pretty much since the day they’d met. But it was one thing to take her advice in coaching sessions. Quite another to let her take the use of his eyes and hands away during sex. While she had hold of a whip. And who knew what was in that bag?
He thought about bargaining. Going for, say, the blindfold but keeping his hands free. But when he looked at her, he saw that this was hard for her and if he refused, she’d probably feel foolish.
Besides, she trusted him every day. Could he not trust her with a little sexual submission?
For answer he raised his hands and wrapped them around the posts of his headboard.
He thought she sighed in relief but he couldn’t be certain. Her face gave nothing away.
In the flickering candlelight she leaned over him so her luscious breasts almost rubbed against his chest. She took one of the restraints—it fastened with Velcro, he noted—and wrapped it around his wrist and the bedpost.
He had to force himself not to resist when she tied the second wrist. It might be only Velcro holding him down but he knew it would be a bitch to break the restraints.
“Do you feel helpless?” she asked, clearly reading his mind.
“Yes.”
Her red lips curved. “Good.”
She lifted the blindfold and he thought to himself that it would be a tragedy if she took his sight away before he got his fill of looking at the sexiest dominatrix he’d ever imagined.
She obviously felt the same, for she merely laid the blindfold over his mouth. He could talk if he wanted to or shake the thing off, but he didn’t.
He watched her.
She rose. Picked up the whip. He didn’t like where this seemed to be going. He was naked, vulnerable and faceup!
“I could do anything to you. You know that, don’t you?”
He nodded.
She touched the whip to his chest where his heart beat, then traced it slowly down his body. When she got to his crotch, his penis twitched.
She smiled. Took the end of the lash and wound it around his cock slowly. The combination of her fingers stroking and the leather winding was incredible, delicious torture. He nearly burst right then. As though sensing how close to the boiling point he was, she unwound the leather and placed the whip on the bed.
Now she stood and lifted the blindfold off his mouth, then carefully placed it over his eyes. Lifting his head with one hand, she looped the strap behind.
Now he was blind and tied up.
What had he allowed?
He felt her move beside him, heard more rattling and assumed she was once more delving into the black bag.
For what?
He felt her hands on his chest. First she ran her open palms down his torso. Then he felt the scratch of her nails follow the path. Not hard—it was a scrape that he could only hear in his sightless state. And he could see those red-tipped sharp nails skim down his body in his imagination as clearly as though he were watching.
The sensations were electric.
“Spread your legs,” she ordered.
To his amazement he complied. He realized that about now she could tell him to do anything and he’d do it. Beg, bark like a dog, kiss her feet, anything if only she’d quit torturing him and do something with the raging erection that was becoming almost painful.
“Good,” she said.
Once more he heard the rattling sound. This time he felt a shock of cold on his chest. Took him a second to recognize that she was tracking a piece of ice down the center of his chest. He was so hot that the thing was nothing but a puddle by the time she got to his navel.
More rattling. A new piece of ice. She picked up where the other one had melted. Down below his navel. Lower.
And then she stopped.
More rattling.
He felt her lips on his cock. Cool lips, slick with gloss. And then she opened on him and he gasped. His hips bucked.
17
HER MOUTH WAS filled with ice water. And chunks of ice, he realized as she moved her mouth up and down on him.
Cold rivulets were running down his cock, and yet there were hints of heat in her mouth. He could barely stand it.
Then, when he was sure he’d die on the spot, she pulled away.
He felt movement on the bed as though she was climbing onto it. Oh, yes, her knee brushed his belly as she straddled him.
“You know what I learned today about dommes?” she asked softly. He couldn’t form words, never mind think. He grunted.
“I learned that a professional dominatrix doesn’t have sex with her clients.” She hovered over him, so close he could feel her warm, slick heat.
She waited for him to get her meaning and groan helplessly.
“Good thing I’m not a professional,” she said, and drove her hot, wet luscious body down onto him.
Hot, sweet, tight. Oh, he couldn’t hold on. He couldn’t.
She rode him and he bucked beneath her, wishing he had his hands free to hold her, wishing he had his eyes free to watch her eyes cloud over and her head fall back the way it did when she came.
But he couldn’t do either of those things; he could only thrust up and up, wild with need. She was as wild as he, her hips gyrating madly as she took him deep within her body. He heard her moan and then he felt her body clench around him as her climax hit.
It was all he needed to burst his dam.
With a surge, he thrust up and up, crying hoarsely his release.
* * *
“UM, DO YOU THINK you could untie me now?”
She sat back on her heels and regarded him. At least she’d removed the blindfold. But she seemed uncertain about taking off the restraints. “I don’t know. I kind of like you like this. Powerless. In my complete control.”
“I promise that you can do that to me anytime,” he said. “You don’t need to tie me down. I’ll go willingly.”
&nb
sp; “It’s more fun when you’re tied up.”
“Well, how ’bout we change spots and I’ll tie you up?”
“Nice try. A dom/sub relationship only goes one way.”
He had a bad feeling he’d been way too quick to let her take control. Seemed she wasn’t in a “first you, now me” kind of mood. Which he might be okay with if she’d hurry up and untie his hands.
He thought about it for a minute. “You know, if I had my hands free, there are so many ways I could please you, Madame S.”
“You do have a point,” she agreed, and finally leaned over and unfastened the restraints. He waited until she had the second one off, waited until she’d stopped looking at him with suspicion.
Then he pounced.
She shrieked, laughing as he grabbed her wrists and pinned them with his hands. “Not fair,” she cried, trying to wiggle out from under him, which only served to get him all excited again.
From the way she was beginning to breathe heavily he suspected she was getting worked up again too.
“Control,” he informed her, sucking one plump nipple into his mouth and nipping it gently, “is more fun when it’s shared.” She sighed and arched her back as he went for the second one.
“Agreed.”
* * *
SERENA FELT A tenderness between her legs as she worked out on the elliptical the next morning. As she got the machine really moving, she also felt the tenderness in her nipples where Adam had tormented them yesterday. She couldn’t believe the intensity of the sex they’d experienced. She was letting herself go in ways she’d never have believed she was capable of. It wasn’t that she was a prude. She’d been in sex stores before, purchased the odd discreet toy, but to get herself rigged out as a dominatrix and take complete control of her lover’s body was something completely new.
He’d loved it.
Amazingly, so had she.
Games. She seemed to be surrounded by them. Hockey games as the Hunter Hurricanes did their best to dominate league play; video games, which were serious business to Marcus Lemming and her new junior partner, Lisa. And now sex games between her and Adam. Which, now she came to think about it, were also serious stuff in some ways. It seemed as though in order for her to let go like that in sex play she had to trust in a way she never had before.
What did that mean?
When you opened up to a man like that? Trusted him body and soul. Allowed yourself to be completely vulnerable.
She nearly tripped herself on the workout apparatus as the obvious answer hit her.
She was in love.
In love with Adam.
“Are you all right?” a man’s voice asked from the machine beside hers. “You sounded like my dog does after he eats one of my socks.”
“Yes,” she said, finding her rhythm once again. “I just had a...choking thing.”
“Sure. Glad I don’t need to dust off my CPR skills.”
It occurred to her that this man was using Stan’s machine and had been for a few days now. “Where’s Stan?” she asked, then felt stupid because why would this man have a clue who Stan was?
“Stan Wozniak?” Okay, he had a clue.
“Yes.”
“He went to Poland to visit his mother and sisters.”
“Stan’s in Poland?” She’d been so caught up in her own affairs she hadn’t been coming to the gym regularly. Hadn’t even realized that Stan wasn’t there, either.
“Yeah. I think he gets back tomorrow. This is usually his machine. I use that one in the corner. But the view’s better here. You can see out the window.”
“I know. That’s why I like this machine.”
“Maybe I’ll start getting here five minutes before Stan from now on.” He grabbed his towel and wiped sweat from his neck. “You snooze, you lose.”
Even through a busier-than-usual day, she felt a vague niggle of discomfort. Stan was away. The messages had stopped.
Stan was coming back tomorrow.
When Mark dropped her off at Adam’s place, she found him shoving a freshly washed jersey into his hockey bag. “Hey,” he said, “I ate without you. There’s pizza in the box.”
“Okay,” she said. She gave him a quick kiss, changed into black jeans and a black T-shirt. Washed up and grabbed a slice of pizza. She spread open the newspaper he’d obviously been reading earlier. “What time’s your game?”
“Nine-fifteen. It’s only forty-five minutes long. Come and cheer the team,” he said. “Be a supportive girlfriend.”
“I’m not your girlfriend,” she snapped. Since she’d realized she was in love with him, everything had felt strange.
He seemed unfazed by having his head snapped off. “Okay. Be a supportive fake girlfriend. It’ll be fun. And you can meet my parents.”
“Meet your parents?”
“Yeah. Ever since Mom and I had our talk, she’s been trying to get to a few games. You know, be supportive. Cheer in an embarrassingly loud voice.”
He made it sound foolish but she knew how important this was for him. And she liked his mother instinctively for so quickly trying to change her behavior. She felt cranky and emotionally vulnerable now that she knew she was in love with Adam, but she also wanted to spend as much time as she could with the guy since she was sure he’d be gone as soon as her case was closed. Which she suspected was imminent. “Okay, I’ll come.”
She didn’t want to mess up his concentration but she knew she had to tell him about Stanley. So she did on the way to the rink.
Adam didn’t react as strongly as she’d imagined he would. “So he gets back tomorrow?”
“That’s what Gary thinks. Gary’s the man who was working out beside me today.”
“Maybe don’t go to the gym for a couple of days. Let’s hope Stanley got laid in Poland and has a new crush.”
“So you don’t think it’s him?”
“It could be Stanley. Could also be a list of other people. The important thing is to be ready for anything and to keep you safe.”
She reached for his hand. “And to have fun tonight.”
In the sportsplex where the Hurricanes played, there were eight rinks. Upstairs was a bar and snack shop surrounded by huge walls of glass so spectators could view the action on all the rinks in comfort. When Adam headed to the dressing room, she ran upstairs to the snack bar and bought herself a hot chocolate.
Banners hung over the rinks celebrating various victories over the years. In one rink she watched young women play hockey. A few had bright pink helmets on and many a ponytail hung down over the back of a jersey.
On the next rink over figure skaters practiced. All loops and jumps and a pair of ice dancers waltzing.
Next to that was, strangely, an indoor soccer game. Instead of ice, the playing surface was turf.
She ran back downstairs because she preferred to be closer to the action. Closer to Adam. She sat in the bleachers and was soon joined by an older couple. The man looked so much like an older version of Adam that she smiled at them and the woman took the man’s hand and brought him over. They sat beside her. “I’m Adam’s mother, June. And this is Dennis.”
She shook both their hands. “I’m so glad to meet you. I’m Serena.”
“I thought you must be. You’re wearing Adam’s jacket.”
She laughed. “I am.” The down jacket was far too big but much warmer than anything she owned.
She liked his parents immediately. They were comfortable people. Easy to talk to. Nice. When the teams filed in, there weren’t many people watching. The three of them, a couple of young guys and two women in hockey gear who seemed to be sitting down for a rest after their own game.
When play started, Serena quickly got caught up in the game. So close to the action, she could hear the bang of skates on
boards, bodies on boards, the crunching slide of skates on ice and the constant back-and-forth between players.
“Open, open, open,” one would yell.
“Here, here, here,” another would cry. She wondered how the guys managed to keep track of where everyone was. She could barely keep track of one man. Adam was number 10. When he was on the ice, she had eyes for no one else. He scored the first goal, which meant a great deal of loud and embarrassing cheering from his three supporters.
When the game was over, a sweaty Adam came over to his cheering section. “Hi, Mom, Dad,” he said.
“You were terrific, honey,” his mother gushed.
“Nice play, son.”
“Thanks. You met Serena?”
“Of course.”
“Listen, can you stay with her while I grab a quick shower? I’ll be back in ten.”
“Of course, dear.”
He didn’t stop to hear her argue that she was perfectly safe in a public sports complex for ten minutes.
When they got back to his place, she tried to tell him as much but then he started kissing her and she lost her train of thought.
18
ADAM SEEMED TO have a smile perma-glued to his face. Great sex with an amazing woman could do that to a man. His partner only seemed more miserable than usual. “Stop sounding so happy,” Joey snapped as he drove them toward the docks where a container ship was being held up for containing suspicious cargo.
“What?” He was sitting minding his own business, reliving some choice moments with Serena in the privacy of his own head. What was Virge’s problem?
“You’re whistling.”
He was? “I was?”
“Yeah. You’re not a whistler. You start that up and I’ll have to get a new partner.”
They’d been partners for more than a year. Adam had no wish to break in somebody new. “Sorry. I’ll stick to morose silence so you feel at home.”
“Thank you.”
They drove on in silence. Maybe Adam was banned from whistling but not even Joey the Virgin could stop the direction of his thoughts. Joey’d whistle, too, if he had a storehouse of recent memories like Adam’s. He’d sing arias if he had the images Adam did crowding his head. Serena in nothing but stilettos and fishnets.