by Jenna Jacob
“Of course.”
“Take that same logic, but in an adult scenario. When a sub is restrained and at the mercy of their Dominant, they’re exposed—physically, emotionally, and mentally. You’d have to put a huge amount of trust in the Dom that put you in such a vulnerable position, agreed?” I nodded. “Trust that he’d be right there with you, taking care of all your needs. Keeping you safe, reassured, and protected. Having such a level of confidence in him, it would be easy to let go of your stress, inhibitions, worries, or whatever else occupied your mind. You’d know, without a shadow of a doubt, no harm would ever come to you with your Dom by your side.”
The way James described the depth of the Dom/sub connection, I was ready to pack my bags and book the next flight to Submissiveville. There had to be a catch.
“What you’re saying makes sense for play, or rather a session. But if you remember, Julianna, Savannah, and Leagh were all called on the carpet for speaking their minds. If they’re so safe, why do their Doms censor what they really want to say?”
James shook his head and grinned. “They, along with most subs I know, are very spirited women. You probably wouldn’t suspect it by looking at her now, but before Tony took Leagh under his care, she wore trouble like a crown.”
“So Tony decided to Dom Leagh, to what? Break her down?”
“Oh god, no.” James shook his head adamantly. “A submissive’s behavior is a reflection of their Dom. If they’re bratty and hateful it says to others in the lifestyle that their Dominant can’t, or won’t, control them. I hold Doms that have no compunction reminding their subs where the lines are drawn, in high esteem.”
“What about that guy, Kerr? You don’t hold anything but contempt for that man. Why?”
“No. None at all,” James confirmed. “Personally, and there are several others who agree with me, I think he’s a borderline predator, and I want you to steer clear of him. Understood?”
“You don’t have to worry about that. The guy dweebs me out, so why is he allowed to be a member?”
James quirked his mouth and grunted. “Kerr hasn’t actually broken any of the rules that would directly oust him. Legally, Mika can’t ban a member without them breaking one of the clauses in their contract.”
“I’m surprised a few of you Doms haven’t taken him out back and set him straight.”
“Even if we’d enjoy the hell out of that, who are we to judge how others meet their needs? Certainly not me. Besides, Kerr being rude and egotistical isn’t breaking any rules. It just makes him an asshole in my eyes.”
“But you said you weren’t one to judge.”
“That’s my opinion of the man, like any other jackass in the vanilla word. Some people you like, some you don’t.”
“But you said others don’t like him either. Is that on a personal level or a lifestyle level?”
James shrugged. “Maybe a little of both. I’m not sure. See, some people join the community even though they don’t grasp the concept of a power exchange. They’re in it for the kinky sex. Some are there to play a part, acting out as if on a stage, only wanting to impress. You’ll see their overdramatic actions without having to look too hard. Especially when you see them next to couples who take the lifestyle more seriously. Kerr’s method of collaring and uncollaring subs every other day tarnishes his own reputation. Collaring a sub is sacred to a lot of us. I suspect one day, there won’t be any naïve subs left for him to collar then toss away when he gets bored with them. So to answer your original question, no, I don’t have an ounce of respect for the man, for the simple fact that he uses subs simply to meet his own selfish needs.”
“I hear what you’re saying. Kerr might be going about it all wrong, but isn’t he simply following human nature by trying to get his needs met?”
“Yes, but in this lifestyle there’s a right way and a wrong way.” James paused for a moment and then smiled. “When Trevor arrived in the ER last night, you did everything you could to comfort him, correct?”
“Of course I did.”
“In reality, any nurse could have taken his vitals. The results would have been the same if she’d given him a couple ice chips, left the room, and gone back and checked on him every five to ten minutes. Bottom line is that he still would have been laying in the bed in pain and in need of surgery, right?”
“Yes, but…”
“Ah,” James held up a finger. “You’re a dedicated nurse who takes pride in your title of RN. But not all nurses are like you. And no matter how much you disapprove of their methods, you’re stuck working beside them until they quit or break a rule and get fired.”
“I understand what you’re saying now.”
“Good. So tell me, why are you such a dedicated nurse?”
“Because I like helping others, I take pride in being able to calm my patients. It makes me feel good to reassure them and take the level of their fear and anxiety down a notch of two.”
“Yes.” A tiny smile curled the corners of his mouth. “Submissives derive great pleasure in helping others as well. Wanting to please is at the top of most submissives’ lists.” Pausing for a moment, he quickly glanced at me before focusing back on the road. “You’ve had lovers in your life, correct?”
Surprised by his question, I nodded.
“Verbal responses, Liz,” James reminded.
“Yes.” One.
“Then I suspect you’ve even given a blowjob a time or two, correct?”
CHAPTER SIX
I tensed. His intimate question suddenly made me nervous. Surely he wasn’t suggesting I go down on him right there, in broad daylight, was he? “Yes.”
“When you’re down on your knees, giving that spine-tingling pleasure with your hot, slick mouth—” His voice grew husky and his nostrils flared. It sent a wild rush blazing through me. “—and when he explodes down your throat in a blast of salty come, showering your throat with his pleasure…”
The lurid pictures James’ words painted in my head had me squirming on the soft leather seat. I wanted to slide to my knees and suck the pleasure from him, broad daylight, or not.
“Are you ever filled with empowerment that you alone brought him such mind-bending release?”
My throat had gone completely dry. Dipping my gaze, I spied the sizable bulge straining beneath the zipper of James’ faded, blue jeans. I sucked in a shallow breath while need and lust prickled my spine.
“Yes,” I choked.
“That’s power. When a sub worships her Master’s cock, she willingly gives him her independence, control, command… Whatever you want to call it. The Dom then meshes hers with his. Wields it by establishing the tempo, length of thrusts, friction, position, and the like, as he drives into her waiting mouth. It’s the perfect choreographed, hedonistic dance, an oscillation of total, pure power. The Dom takes what the sub gives him, aligns it to his desires then hands that empowerment back to her through the orgasm she entices from him.”
Passion infused his words and they came to life in my mind like a glorious and graceful ballet. The beauty he described was inspiring. I wanted to submerge myself and drown in the depths of the wondrous exchange he described.
“But none of it works if the sub isn’t willing to trust her Dom, hand over her power, and follow his rules. Which brings us back to Julianna, Savannah, and Leagh. Their bratty behavior and cussing—”
“What’s wrong with cussing?”
“Most Doms don’t like it, including me. I want a lady by my side and—”
“And a slut in your bed. Yes, I know. Most men do,” I replied dryly.
Now in a residential neighborhood, James pulled to a stop sign, then turned to look at me. The heat of his gaze scraped over my flesh and burned like a current hissing through me.
“Do you like being a slut in bed, Liz?”
No clue, but I’d love to give it a shot with you.
I pensively bit my bottom lip. “I don’t know.”
James narrowed his eyes as if tryin
g to gauge my sincerity. I’d answered him honestly and prayed he wouldn’t want to start dissecting my sex life. How could I explain that I’d never had wild, uninhibited sex in my life without sounding like an ice queen?
A car behind us honked, and with a scowl James pulled through the intersection. I could palpably sense the wheels in his brain spinning faster than the tires on his truck.
“All this Dom/sub stuff is more than overwhelming. I feel like the rest of you are running foot races while I’m still trying to learn to crawl.”
“Not a damn thing wrong with crawling.”
Rolling my eyes at both the goofy grin on his face and double entendre, I continued. “Is there a handbook or something I could read that explains submission, step by step?”
“Not that I know of. Understand, BDMS isn’t a one-size-fits-all kind of thing. Every Dom and sub is different. Finding that perfect fit isn’t easy.”
“Have you found your perfect fit?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“How long have you been searching for a sub?”
“Pretty much all my life. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t fantasize about tying up women, or letting them tie up me.”
My mouth fell open and I gaped at his words. “You’re a submissive?”
“No. I used to be a switch. Do you know what that is?”
“I’ve seen the term, but I didn’t stop to read about it. I was focused on Doms and subs.”
“A switch is someone who both Doms and subs to gain fulfillment from both sides of the coin. There was a time when I really enjoyed sensation play. Being a cop fucks with your head, and by submitting I could ride the endorphins, and escape some of the unpleasant things that plagued my mind.”
On a clinical level I knew all about endorphins, serotonins, dopamine, and other neurotransmitters released in the brain. It wasn’t difficult to understand how they could help James escape the brutality he’d been exposed to as a cop. It was probably a whole lot cheaper than a shrink, too. Still, imagining James kneeling at some woman’s feet, begging her to do whatever she pleased to him disturbed me.
“Even before I left Chicago PD, I realized that I found more gratification Domming than subbing.”
“A sub, huh? No disrespect, James but I just can’t picture you…”
“I wasn’t a sub. I bottomed to another switch.”
“What’s the difference?” I asked, my brows wrinkling in confusion. “Bottom, sub, switch. I don’t know what all those terms mean. And how on earth do you figure out which one you are… or if you’re even one of them at all?”
As he maneuvered his way down several more side streets, James explained the different terminologies using analogies I could easily understand. I didn’t need a computer to answer my questions… I needed James. By the time he untangled my knotted perceptions of BDSM, the idea of going to Genesis didn’t seem quite so intimidating. Of course the night was young… I still had plenty of time to chicken out.
James pulled into the driveway of a one-story, red brick house, then turned off the engine. The lush, green grass looked as if it had been freshly mowed, and the well-maintained shrubs that hemmed the front of the house gleamed a deep, forest-green. Bright, orange Daylilies and multicolored Hollyhocks nestled in beds of lime and avocado striped Hostas. The place looked homey.
“Who lives here?”
“I do,” James said with a hint of modesty. “I need to grab something before we head out to dinner, plus I want to find a jacket so you don’t freeze to death tonight. Come on in, I’ll try not to chain you to my bed.”
Good. I’d rather you used rope, anyway. Though his wicked grin told me he’d meant the comment as a joke, I didn’t miss the hint of proposition that lay below the surface. A part of me desperately wanted him to act on the suggestion, and if I were a braver woman I would have asked him to.
“I trust that you’ll behave like a gentleman,” I teased.
The smile instantly fell from his face. “You can trust me, Liz.”
Conviction penetrated through the smooth, sensual timber of his voice, flowing over me like warm, thick syrup. I realized then that trusting him would be easy…too easy, and that made him dangerous. But the excitement he brought to my tame existence was well worth the risk.
Once inside, James excused himself before turning down a narrow hallway. Curious, I stepped from the foyer into a large family room. The interior was far from the typical bachelor pad—tidier and white-glove-spotless—and the décor held a subtle, masculine influence. The long, black leather couch and ginormous flat screen TV screamed Man Cave, as did the high-dollar stereo system, and built-ins lined with thousands of CDs. Peeking around the corner, I wandered into the kitchen. There wasn’t a crumb or a speck of dust to be found.
“And he accused me of being a neat freak,” I mumbled under my breath. By all indications, James had more OCD coiled up in his DNA than I did.
“Hey, Liz,” he called from down the hall.
“Yes,” I hollered back, hurrying out of the kitchen.
“Can you come back here for a second?”
“Sure.”
Heading toward the sound of his voice, I peered in the open doorways as I trekked down the hall. Passing a bathroom with gleaming fixtures, I strolled by a modest, neat-as-a-button guest room and finally passed his office. Piles of paper, stacked haphazardly, leaned in all directions atop a big, oak desk.
Ah, there it is. The hiccup in his otherwise orderly and controlled psyche. So this is where James lets his guard down.
Mine was my reading room. The place looked like a tornado had ripped through it, but for some unknown reason, I found comfort in the chaos. It was a relief knowing that James and I did have something in common besides a wicked carnal pull.
“Where are you?” I asked. James poked his head out the door of the last room on the right, and flashed me a wolfish grin. “What are you doing in there?”
“Getting the chains ready, of course,” he teased.
A flutter of excitement bubbled in my belly as I stepped through the doorway and spied a huge four-poster bed. There were no chains or cuffs dangling from the posts, but the thick, gray comforter had me dreaming of melting onto the mattress with James’ sinful, hot body pressed atop mine.
“I think this might fit you.” Turning he held up a dark blue cotton hoodie with the words ‘Chicago PD’ emblazoned across the front. “It’ll probably swallow you up, but everything else I have would hang on you like a dress.”
The gesture was sweet, and I thanked him as he tucked the jacket over his arm. He then reached into the closet and pulled out a large black duffle.
“What’s that?”
“Well, since we’re going to the club after dinner…” He shrugged. “The Boy Scout in me wanted to be prepared.”
“What’s inside?” A curious and apprehensive thrill flowed through me.
“Nothing too frightening,” he assured. A devilish twinkle sparkled in his eyes as he stepped past me and hoisted the bag on the bed. “Would you like to see?”
Uncertainty swirled as I nibbled on my bottom lip and issued a silent nod.
James arched an expectant brow, and I remembered his preference for verbal answers.
“Yes.”
Filled with sudden bravery, I peeked over his shoulder as he whipped the zipper open. Swallowing tightly, I watched as he placed floggers and other intriguing items onto the comforter, in a neat row. When he plucked out a bundle of rope, I couldn’t stop myself from inching toward the bed, eager to feel the smooth twine beneath my hands. Sliding my fingertips over the soft, cotton cord, aware of James’ stare, a riot of powerful cravings fluttered within me.
“I think we found something that piques your interest.”
“Yes,” I whispered shyly. “When I was online, I saw pictures of women tied up in beautiful knots… and…”
“Go on,” he coaxed, easing in closer.
“Nothing, really, I just found it fascinating,�
� I forced in a casual tone.
“Fascinating, huh? I think you find it arousing. Your face is flushed, little one. Your breathing has turned shallow and your nipples are beaded nice and hard beneath your blouse. I must say, you look like an erotic fantasy.”
James cupped a hand to my nape then brushed his thumb over my throbbing peaks. I sucked in a trembling gasp. Skimming his lips over mine, James’ kiss started out soft and light, as if he were testing the waters to see if I’d object. I didn’t. Beneath his touch, with his lips pressed so achingly tender against mine, I felt wanted and desired. Two sensations I hadn’t experienced for a very long time. James stroked my mouth, his passion growing increasingly intense, and when he slid his tongue over the seam of my lips, I parted and welcomed him in.
Inching his fingers up my scalp, James buried them deep and fisted my hair. Controlling the kiss, he delved deeper still, holding me tight. I was helpless beneath his potent command and James had seemingly turned my world upside down in a blindingly good way.
Suddenly frightened by the dangerous yearning, I tensed and tried to pull away. Though he didn’t release my hair, James painted an erotic trail of kisses, licks and bites down my neck before working his mouth up close to my ear.
“Don’t be afraid of your desires,” he murmured, softly. “I’m already imagining how gorgeous you’re going to look bound tight in my soft rope. Do you want a taste of being helpless and at my mercy, sweetheart?”
Yes. No. Oh, god. How was I supposed to answer him?
“How much do you trust me, Liz? Do you trust me with your life?”
Yes, and that was incredibly foolish of me. He was a stranger in so many ways.
“I—I don’t know,” I moaned as he laved his tongue along the pulse point at my neck.
“Good girl.”
‘Good girl.’ His phrase sent a smoldering surge of awareness through me.
“It’s too soon for you to trust me to that degree.”
While I was grateful James had taken the choice away from me, tamping down the ache for him to tie me up and do as he pleased filled me with regret.