The Submissive's Last Word (The Power to Please, Book 4)

by Ward, Deena

  “I don’t want to do this,” I said.

  “I know, but it’s important. It’s not just about betrayal and humiliation, Nonnie. Yes, it’s what you’re focused on, but you need to see what else it was if you’re ever to get beyond it.”

  I didn’t respond.

  “It’s time,” he said, “that we watch your video together.”

  With one swift pull, I yanked my hand out of his hold. Then I was on my feet and walking away from him. I didn’t know where I was going, just away. “No. I won’t do it. I won’t watch that video. Not with you, not alone, not ever. I’ve told you that before.”

  “I know,” he said, his voice calm, a masculine attempt to soothe that only served to grate on my nerves. “You don’t want to. You need to, though. I don’t see how there’s any other way. You’ve got to know what happened. What went wrong. How and why it did.”

  I stood behind a chair and gripped the backrest. I glared across the room at him. “I know all of that already.”

  “No you don’t.”

  “I do.”

  “You don’t. You can’t. You’re not experienced enough. You weren’t then and you aren’t now. Whatever conclusions you’ve come to, they’re likely wrong.”

  I shook my head. No, I wasn’t wrong. I knew what happened. Gibson wasn’t making any sense. “I won’t watch that video with you. Period. Don’t ask me again.”

  “Let’s find a compromise. Why don’t you take the night? Think about it. Think about what I’ve said. Maybe you could talk about it with Xavier or Paulina tomorrow. Get their thoughts on it. Or Elaine. Talk to her or Ron.”

  I continued to shake my head, but I was beginning to suspect that I was behaving unreasonably. After all, he was only asking me to think about it, to possibly talk about it with Xavier or Elaine.

  He took a deep breath. “Just consider the idea of it for now. We can talk more about it tomorrow.”

  I looked down at my hands, the way I was digging my fingernails against the wood of the chair back. That wasn’t right, was it? I shouldn’t be so worked up by this conversation that I was on the verge of snapping off all my fingernails. I closed my eyes. Willed myself to find calm.

  I opened my eyes and looked at Gibson. He watched me with concern, a sympathy on his handsome features that made me blink back an influx of emotion, a push of self-pity.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said.

  He smiled then, a smile of released tension.

  “It’s late,” I said. “Time for me to go.”

  I turned to leave and heard Gibson rise behind me and follow.

  “I’ll walk you home,” he said.

  “That’s not necessary. It’s perfectly safe, as you know.”

  “I do. But I’ll walk you anyway.”

  I shrugged. If that’s what he wanted, fine. It wasn’t worth arguing over, not when there were much larger issues in contention.

  It was little more than a quarter mile between the big house and my cottage. We walked in silence. The chirping insects and tree frogs, a hoot from a lone owl, and our footsteps falling on grass, stone and even gravel, were the only sounds accompanying our journey.

  We stopped in front of my door, stood under the yellow porch light.

  I reached for the doorknob. “Thank you for dinner. It was delicious.”

  “Thank you for catching it.”

  But I had no lingering playfulness to share with him. It had dried up with talk of Kamun and Michael and the damnable video.

  Any other time, I would have wanted Gibson to kiss me. It was a beautiful night, and he was so appealing standing there, his hands in his pockets, looking awkward for a change, and this would have made me want him. Would have.

  He took a long look at me. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Really. Good night.”

  “Good night,” he said, though he looked like he wanted to say something else.

  It didn’t matter. I opened the door and slipped inside, quickly closing the door behind me as if it shut off any options I had for how this evening might otherwise end. As if anything other than loneliness were in the offing.

  I locked the door and leaned against it, listened to the sounds of Gibson’s footsteps fading away.

  I went to my bathroom and took a quick shower, followed my usual nightly rituals. It wasn’t even ten o’clock when I crawled into bed.

  I was exhausted. I couldn’t think about what Gibson wanted me to think about. I was too tired. I needed sleep. I was worn out, that was all. I couldn’t be expected to go over all that crap when I was so exhausted.

  Excuses. That’s all it was. I knew it. Knew there was no reason for me to be so tired, knew I hadn’t done anything that day to warrant the bone deep swell of fatigue that was spreading a foggy veil over my thoughts.

  Tomorrow. I wouldn’t be tired tomorrow. That was the excuse.

  I couldn’t fight it. I let it have its way with me, let it float me off into safety, even if that safety were an illusion. The escape of sleep.

  At least my dreams were kind. Too kind, perhaps.

  I was back in the condo with Gibson, the last night I spent with him. I lay naked on the big bed, on my stomach, hips raised by pillows, arms and legs stretched to the four corners of the bed, secured in place with lengths of white, nylon rope.

  He was going to give me a choice, he said, but then he couldn’t go through with it. He had to have it all. And so I was tied to the bed, the rope pulling my limbs taut, leaving me little room to do more than wriggle in place.

  And he held a long, thin dildo, an anal probe, he called it. He wanted to adjust me to deeper penetration.

  And he said he must spank me, thoroughly. Said he’d been needing it for a long time.

  So no choice. All three. The ropes, the probe, his hand. His desire was mine, and when he spoke of what he would do, it was as if he were already doing it.

  He straddled my bound body and slipped his hands between my chest and the mattress. He palmed my breasts, squeezed my nipples between his fingers, nipples that were over-sensitized from a weekend of sweet abuse.

  My breath quickened when he leaned down over my shoulder and I felt the fall of his warm breath on my ear.

  “I want you,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, a threat I feared and craved. “All of you. You don’t know what I would take, if I could, if you were ready.”

  I shuddered, tremors flitting down my body. I might have spoken, but knew he wanted no words from me.

  Words belonged to him, and again they came, warm and resonant against my ear. “You don’t know how completely you can surrender. You can’t yet imagine what you will offer up some day. But I know, and I can imagine.”

  His arms tightened around me, and one hand slid up between my breasts, up to my neck, where he grasped my jaw and held my head tightly. His teeth closed over my ear lobe and he nipped the flesh until I gasped.

  He kissed where he had bitten. “I’m your guide into yourself, Nonnie. I can’t wait to show you where you can go, what you can feel.”

  And then he rose up off of me, his motions smooth and controlled, like everything he did. He stroked down my back with a gentle touch and then trailed on down over the curve of my buttocks to the tops of my thighs.

  He rubbed his palm over my ass, around and around. I tensed in anticipation, knowing he was readying me for spanking. His other hand left feathered shivers in its wake as it traveled up the inside of my thighs, fingers playing at the bare flesh of my labia, the tips dipping into my slit and teasing past my clitoris.

  I relaxed, sighed. He squeezed my ass, his fingers tenderly spread me and slowly sunk inside my pussy and I groaned I was so ready for him to take me.

  “Mmm, you know this feeling well,” he said. “Know exactly what it is. If I touched your clit right now, you’d come within moments.”

  I had no doubt that he was right. I tightened and released myself around his fingers, silently invited his invasion.

  “Bu
t what about this?” he asked.

  He raised his other hand and swiftly landed a sharp smack on my ass. I cried out mostly in surprise, which is not to say that it didn’t sting. It most assuredly stung.

  “That feeling,” he said, “you don’t know very well.”

  Then something cold and firm pressed against my asshole. The probe.

  I heard his arousal in his voice. “You don’t know this feeling very well either, yet.”

  I whimpered.

  He chuckled lightly. “Just think, after tonight, you’ll be much better acquainted with these sensations.”

  I shivered.

  “Get ready, beautiful girl,” he said with a hint of menace and promise. “This is only the beginning.”

  And then, he began.

  I woke up, sweaty and breathing fast. Damn. How many times had I dreamt of that night with him? Too many. And how often did I wake up at the exact wrong moment? Every single time. It was maddening.

  I looked at the clock. After midnight.

  I briefly considered getting dressed and going to the big house, waking up Gibson and telling him I had needs that he should attend to. For the craziest of seconds, I believed I might actually do it. But then reason returned and reminded me that I wasn’t an overwrought nymphomaniac. At least, I didn’t think I was.

  I imagined what Gibson’s response might be if I actually did go accost him. Well, technically speaking, I had already accosted him once, and his response had been to oblige me, more or less. Would he oblige me again?

  It didn’t matter, all the speculation. I wasn’t going to do it, so I told myself to quit thinking about it. I stomped into the bathroom and got a drink of water. By the time I settled back into bed, I had myself under control, was in no danger of throwing myself at Gibson’s feet.

  Gibson’s big, sexy feet, that were attached to his long, muscular legs, that led to his narrow hips and firm ass and toned, defined stomach and ...

  I yanked the pillow down over my head. No more. This was ridiculous. Stupid dreams. Stupider memories. Stupidest ... me.

  It took a long time to fall asleep.

  Chapter 3

  I had to remove my sunglasses when I entered the building. It was dark inside, even now at noon. Elaine Hoyte loved her dive bars, I thought, as I waited for my eyes to adjust.

  I heard her before I saw her.

  “Nonnie! Over here!” she called out, her voice carrying easily through the joint.

  I felt a brief surge of panic at her calling public attention to me. I nearly crammed my sunglasses back on my face and raced out the door. But I took a deep breath. I told myself no one in the place had seen my videos, and if they had, they wouldn’t recognize me with my new short hair.

  It helped, too, once I was able to see clearly, that the bar wasn’t crowded. Elaine sat in a booth about halfway down the long, narrow room. She leaned out into the aisle and merrily waved an arm at me. I gave her a quick nod, acknowledging that she was seen in the hopes that she wouldn’t shout again.

  I kept my eyes on the booth as I walked what felt like a gauntlet. I had tried to convince Elaine to come to the estate for lunch, but she’d said she didn’t have the time for the trip. Hence, her selection of meeting place, another vaguely skeezy bar that still smelled faintly of the cigarettes that were once smoked here, a plus for the ex-smoking Elaine, or so she said.

  I slipped into the booth with no small relief that nothing happened, that no one recognized me or said, “Hey, look, there’s that slut who was in that filthy porno.” Always a good day when that didn’t happen.

  Of course, that had never happened, and it wasn’t likely that it ever would. Yet I couldn’t stop fearing it, dreading its eventuality.

  Elaine smiled and greeted me. She looked expensive that day, her shining brown hair twisted up into an immaculate do, her petite full figure tucked snugly into a tailored suit and silk blouse. She had come from work.

  She patted my hand. “Isn’t this fun? Girl’s lunch out.”

  I smiled and agreed. The waitress was on the ball that day, and handed me a menu before I had a chance to find a place for my purse.

  “Just order the cheeseburger and chili fries,” Elaine said. “It’s what they do best here.”

  What the hell. I’d been eating so healthy of late I could afford the splurge. I nodded to the waitress and added a beer to the tab.

  “So, how are things on the fancy-pants estate?” Elaine asked after the waitress left.

  “Fancy.”

  She laughed. “And how’s Xavier?”

  “He’s fine. We went fishing together yesterday.”

  “That’s good.” She studied one of her manicured nails. “And Mistress Paulina?”

  “She’s fine. I saw her right before I left to meet you.”

  “Did you now?” Elaine futzed pointlessly with her nail. “And what was she doin’?”

  “It’s actually a good story. I was walking to my car when I heard something strange behind me. I turned around and you’ll never guess what was coming down the gravel path in front of my house.”

  “You’re right. I won’t. Just tell.”

  I grinned. “Okay. It was Paulina and she was driving the cutest little cart I’ve ever seen. She was perched on top of this bench seat and cracking the reins like nobody’s business.”

  “Was she? What was she wearing?”

  I stared at her. “Seriously? That’s what you want to know?”

  “Just tell me what she was wearing.”

  Well now. Elaine’s strange interest was setting off warning bells. And what was with the “Mistress Paulina” thing?

  “I don’t remember exactly,” I said. “She had on one of those long, flowing skirts she likes to wear. It was dark blue, or purple maybe. And she was wearing a thin blouse that was loose over a fitted corset kind of top thing. I don’t know, Elaine. She looked like her usual self. Except for one thing. She was wearing a hat. A ladies hat, like back in the day when women rode around in carriages and wore white gloves and hid under parasols.”

  Elaine looked a little dreamy. “Mmm. I can picture it.”

  My eyebrows shot up a full inch. “Can you?”

  “Just go on. Tell me what she did next.”

  “All right. So there was Paulina driving this little two-seater pony cart, and it wasn’t just that it was odd to see Paulina driving the thing. It was the oddity of what was pulling it. Or I should say,” I paused for dramatic effect, “who was pulling it.”

  Elaine didn’t seem to grasp what I was going for. She looked at me blankly.

  I held my hands out. “Toy! Toy was harnessed up and pulling the cart. I thought I was going to lose it.”

  She didn’t react how I expected. She frowned. “Toy, huh?”

  “Yeah. It was a hoot. And he was smiling like crazy, proud as anything. Paulina told me she special-ordered the cart and had the tack custom-made to fit Toy. I don’t know how I managed to keep a straight face.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Okay, that’s it. You don’t hear a story about a man harnessed up like a pony and your only reaction is ‘hmm.’ What’s going on? She wasn’t hurting Toy, if that’s what you’re thinking. He loved it.”

  “No, I’m not worried about him. I’m sure he loved it.”

  It was the way she said “him” that made things click into place of a sudden, especially when contrasted with the way she said “Mistress” earlier.

  I think my mouth fell open a little with the realization. “Elaine — have you got a thing for Paulina?”

  Naturally, the waitress chose that moment to deliver our beers. I wasn’t about to let Elaine off the hook, though, and as soon as we were alone again, I repeated my question about Paulina.

  Elaine shrugged, tried unsuccessfully to look casual. “I find her attractive, I guess.”

  “I had no idea you, you know, went that way.”

  “I don’t, actually. Or, at least, I haven’t. Not until now.”

 
“Wow. That’s crazy.”

  “Not really.”

  “You’d think at your age you’d already know if you ... went that way.”

  “It might shock you, Miss Young Thing, to learn that we older folk do have a few surprises left in us.”

  I laughed. “I can’t believe it. You’ve got a thing for Paulina.”

  Elaine actually blushed a little. This was too precious.

  “Oh my God,” I said, “Have you told Ron? What did he say?”

  She took a long drink of her beer. “No, I haven’t told him. No reason to. Paulina’s not interested in me. She’s got Xavier and Toy. I don’t even think she’s interested in women.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I drank my beer and gave the situation some thought. Elaine and Ron had been out to the estate three or four times since I moved out of their house and into Gibson’s cottage. They had met with Xavier and Paulina each time.

  Ron had gone fishing with Xavier a few times, and Elaine had talked gardening with Paulina more than once. I hadn’t noticed any sizzle between my submissive friend and the platinum-haired switch, but then, I hadn’t been looking for it, probably hadn’t been paying any attention.

  “Well, anyway,” I said, “Paulina kept me standing out there next to her carriage talking for a long time. I wanted to get away because the sun was hot and I didn’t want to be late to meet you, but she didn’t care. You know how bossy she gets when she’s on a mission. She wouldn’t stop going on about the picnic she’s having on Sunday.”

  “She’s having a picnic on Sunday. What fun,” Elaine said, a lame tone in her voice.

  “I don’t know about that. She wouldn’t quit listing the preparations that need to be done, and you can bet she’s got me roped into helping. It’ll be a lot of work, but I guess that’s okay. She invited a lot of friends.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “She’s calling it an Indian Summer Fete. She loves old fashioned words.”

  “She does,” Elaine said, kind of goofy.

  It was hard not to laugh. “Oh, and I almost forgot. She told me to invite you and Ron. She said to tell you she wouldn’t take no for an answer.”