by Leia Shaw
Cheesecake? What? I peer at him sideways, then swallow again. “Um. Good.” I think some more, then eye the tiny squares of cheesecake on the tray. “Did you shove a piece of cheesecake in my mouth? Nick!”
He squeezes my thigh, picks up a napkin, and wipes both his fingers. Just knowing my arousal is there too, being wiped away, mortifies me.
“Would you rather I let you squeal?” He grins at me, leans his forearm on the table. “Well?”
“No! No. But maybe we should leave?” Embarrassment has returned with a vengeance.
Like a magician distracting the audience from what’s beneath the table, I eat some of the dipping chocolate on a piece of fruit while Nick summons a waiter. I can’t tell if we were spotted, and not knowing is killing me. On the way to the door I look everywhere except at the other patrons of the restaurant.
Three feet out the entrance, Nick pulls me to him for a hug, then chuckles. “We should do that again sometime.”
“Never! Once is bad enough.” I wriggle loose and mock punch his arm. But he’s given me an idea. So I snuggle close again. My private parts are still throbbing, and the breeze out here has sneaked under my dress, reminding me of how hot it had been with his hand there, stroking me.
“Nick?”
“Yeah?” He kisses my head, then clicks the key remote to unlock the car. Lights flick on and off from where we’ve parked a few yards down the street.
“Um, I just want to, I guess— Ow!” A crack in the pavement has caught my heel. I wobble and almost topple over on my fuck-me shoes until he steadies me. I rename them fuck-your-ankle shoes. “I wanted to thank you,” I whisper and bump my hip on his.
“What for?” He knows what I mean. “For that? Making you come in a restaurant?” Even in the dark I can identify Nick’s aura of evil.
“Not so loud!” I’m tempted to sock his arm again.
With my fingers wrapped in his, I can tell that he’s silently laughing. I smile to myself. He may be an evil bastard, but he’s mine.
In the car, although he puts his hand on my thigh, he never moves any closer. I have time to think. We had a lovely night…well, yes, an extraordinary night, but our relationship is still teetering in the balance. Although I’m so high with sexual energy that my dress is wet under my ass, I’m uneasy. Our sex life—my needs—have still not been addressed. Where do we go from here?
As we approach the front door, I remember his hint about a sexy surprise. I feel like a cat with a mouse beneath my paws. What is this surprise? Nick unlocks the door and holds it open for me. I can’t help admiring my delectable husband. He’s tallish, handsome—well, handsome to me—yummily muscular, and has just the right mouth to make me want those lips on mine. Plus, when he gets going, he knows how to spank me right. Maybe, just maybe, tonight I can be the mouse. That would suit me just fine.
He helps me out of my coat, then hangs his up too.
“So gentlemanly,” I tease, freeing my feet from the torture devices Jess lent me.
He smiles. “Don’t get used to it.”
I roll my eyes but can’t wipe the grin off my lips. We stand in the entryway, awkwardly, smiling at each other. Nick puts his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. I fumble with the hem of my dress. Why does this feel like a first date?
“So what now?” I ask.
Nick comes alive and walks to the living room. I follow him, hoping he takes charge. I sure as hell don’t know what to do. Sex is again the elephant in the room. We both want it—that was clear with what happened in the restaurant. But will we go vanilla or rocky road? Please rocky road, I silently wish.
The living room fills with a faint glow when he turns one lamp on. “Music?” he asks, standing by the stereo.
I shrug. He turns it on and hits Random on our CD changer, then turns to face me. From across the room, our gazes lock. The music starts. I recognize it immediately. “Blackbird” by the Beatles.
Sexual tension sizzles between us. Nick moves toward me like a determined beast, but I can see a hint of insecurity in the way his fists clench at his sides. The somber song matches the dimly lit room. Other than the music, it’s silent. I can hear my heavy breaths.
He touches my lips, then runs his finger lightly down my throat. His hand rests on my collarbone, and he brushes his lips against mine. My heart races.
“Can I undress you?” he whispers against my mouth.
I swallow and nod.
Paul McCartney’s voice fills the room. Nick slips a finger under my dress strap.
He kisses my neck, and a shiver races up my spine.
He pushes the straps off my shoulders. I’m covered in goose bumps.
Slowly he pulls the zipper down in the back of my dress. His breath heats my ear as he leans in.
“Blackbird flyyy,” I sing along softly.
Nick chuckles. “Sorry for the depressing music.”
I shrug. “It’s fitting.” A bird with broken wings…like me.
He takes my shoulders in a firm grip. “I know you think you’re broken, but you’re not. You’re perfect.”
I gaze up at him, amazed he would think so.
His sigh blows a wisp of hair from my face. Soft hands on my skin warm me to my bones. With a nudge, my dress falls to the floor, and I’m standing naked in my living room.
“Dance with me?” he whispers.
He doesn’t give me a chance to refuse. Dropping his hands to my waist, he pulls me against his body. I rest my head in the crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar scent. We sway gently to the simple acoustic melody.
He holds me, naked, his hands spanning my lower back.
I hum to the music.
“Blackbird flyyy,” Nick sings in my ear. We both chuckle because he can’t carry a tune. The song ends, and Nick does an elaborate dip that has me giggling.
He keeps me suspended above the ground, his gaze locked on my breasts. My breath hitches as I wait, transfixed, for his next move. His lips quirk, and he kisses my chest, then pulls me to stand. I can’t believe this is the man I married five years ago. We’ve never danced naked to the Beatles. Again it feels like we’re dating. But with much more…earnestness. No pretenses.
“Enough depressing music.” He shuts off the stereo.
I clear my throat and my foggy head. “The White Album is one of my favorites.”
“The what now?”
I laugh out loud. And just like that, we’re silly Sid and Nick again. “Sacrilege!”
“Books and music are your things, Sidney. And I love your passion for them.” I can see him fighting to keep his gaze on my face.
I decide to tug on the lion’s tail and see what happens. “And what are your things? Cucumbers and self-flagellation?”
He bursts out with a deep belly laugh. I love that sound. “Smart-ass. I was just about to give you your present too.”
I grin. “A present?”
He chuckles. “I knew your eyes would light up at that.”
I look around the room desperately. “Where is it?”
He shakes his head, and I pout. “Gotta do something nice for me first.”
A growl rises up from my chest. I spin around, pick up my dress from the floor, and hold it in the air. “I’m doing something nice for you right now. I’m not putting my dress back on.”
I wait for his response, expecting him to take off his belt or something equally as intimidating and damn sexy. But he just purses his lips. So I push. “Present and I’ll drop the dress.”
“You don’t play fair.” He sighs and walks to his tool closet in the hallway. The one place I never go. “I give in way too easily with you,” he says when he returns with two packages.
“That’s because you’re not a good Dom.” I give him a saucy smile as I place the dress on the couch.
He holds out the small package, then swats my ass when I take it. “And you’re a terrible sub.”
“Thirty-one flavors,” I tell him with a wink.
He chuckles
, then swats my ass again. “Open it.”
I look down at the box, covered in Dora wrapping paper left over from my niece’s birthday. “Nice paper,” I tease.
He shrugs. “It’s the only one I could find.”
I tear it off and open the square box. Inside is a silver necklace with the pendant in the shape of a vintage key. The top of the key, where the chain runs through, is a solid silver heart with one diamond, sparkling in the light of the lamp. It’s beautiful.
“Turn it over,” Nick tells me.
There’s an inscription on the back of the heart.
To the moon and back.
“That’s how much I love you,” he says. He leans in close, then whispers, “I figured a key was appropriate since you love those handcuffs so much. But that will be our secret.” I look at him, and he winks.
I chuckle and remove the necklace from the box. “Put it on me.”
He fumbles with the clasp but fastens it around my neck. “Do you like it?” he asks, watching me curiously.
“I love it.” I throw my arms around his neck. “Thank you.”
He hugs me hard and kisses my cheek. “I have one more surprise.” This time when I look into his eyes, I see a devilish spark that reminds me of when he has me tied up at his mercy.
Oh boy.
The next Dora-wrapped present is a long rectangular box. If this is a broom and he tells me he wants me to do more housework, I’m going to beat him with it.
“Stop guessing and just open it,” he snaps.
I unwrap it and open the box. A long stick with a leather tip at the end stares back at me, ominously. A riding crop. He remembered.
I look up at him. He’s grinning now.
“But…I never read you that scene.”
He scowls and yanks the crop from my hands. “So little faith. I don’t need a book to tell me what to do with my woman.” His grin reappears as he swishes the crop through the air. The menacing whistle chills me to my bones at the same time as warming me between the legs.
What have I gotten myself into? “Does this mean you’re in it for the long haul?” I ask, my gaze riveted to the crop. “You…want to keep going with BDSM?”
He gives me a steady look. “This means I will tie you up and beat you as long as you need it. And I won’t complain.”
Despite what the outside world might think about that promise, my heart feels like it might burst with joy.
I don’t say anything; I just grin at him like an idiot.
His face turns serious. “I’m sorry, Sid. I should never have said you were too much work. I will always try my best to give you what you need, whether I understand it or not. And you know, if it turns you on, it turns me on. I love you so much.”
I stare at the crop for a moment, then launch myself at him.
“Whoa.” He stumbles back but catches me and remains upright.
I bury my face in his shoulder, and my arms flex around his neck. Tears well in my eyes. “I love you too.”
His arms wrap around me, his hands resting on my naked ass. After a few long moments of hugging, he pats my rear. “Sid. I love you, but you have to let go now. You’re choking me.”
I release him, chuckling and sniffling. Then my gaze rests on the crop that fell to the ground. Nick looks at me, then the crop. With a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, he picks it up and studies it. “So. Should we try this baby out?”
My eyes widen, and I nod. “Want me upstairs?”
“No, I think I like it down here.” He places the crop on the arm of the couch. “Stay there while I go get some equipment.”
Equipment? What’s he up to? I eye the crop and speculate when he grips one of my nipples and tweaks it. “Ahh!”
He grins. “Back in a second.”
This time I eye his trouser-clad backside as he goes up the stairs, three steps at a time. My nipple’s burning, and I touch it and then the crop handle. All leather—what will it feel like on me? The two-foot length promises something awesome.
When he returns, he’s carrying the coiled rope, the Throbbinator, and padded handcuffs.
“Remember you said something about Shibari?”
“Uh-huh,” I answer warily. I don’t want to discourage him, but maybe I know more about it than he does? “Have you looked it up on the net?”
Nick tosses the handcuffs up the other end of the couch. “I can do knots. You know that. Just stand there. I have an idea.”
Hmm. This should be interesting. As the first loop goes around behind my waist, he kisses my shoulder, pulls me close using the rope, and works his way up to my lips for a proper, thorough kiss—tongue shoved between my lips, my head pressed slowly backward by the force. Mmm, nice.
But as soon as he breaks the kiss, my inquisitive, doubting nature makes me blurt, “You have to make sure the rope doesn’t get too tight.”
“Sid. Shh! Or do I need more cheesecake to stuff in your mouth? Let me work.” He looks me over. “Maybe I should blindfold you.”
“No! Next time. Maybe. I can be quiet.”
“Really? Then shush.”
When his attention goes back to his work, I stick out my tongue.
But then I remain quiet. I’m over the moon that he’s trying. And he actually said he’d keep doing this—this BDSM stuff that he doesn’t need. He’s going to do it for me. I grin as he winds more rope around me. I watch him work. The top of his head is below me as he ties yet another knot, then does a loop that goes beneath my breasts. I shut my eyes to appreciate the rough scrape on my skin.
A few minutes go past. I’ve sneaked a few peeks but managed to not interrupt, despite my curiosity.
“Hmm.” The doubt in his tone makes me snap open my eyes.
“What?” There’s a strange mess of rope around my middle that resembles a macramé session done by a shortsighted grandma who’s lost her glasses. Then the rope wraps around each thigh and back around to my waist—almost like a harness. Are we going rappelling? “Nick!” I giggle. “What did you do?”
“Oh relax. I can get it off.”
“I thought you looked up how to do this.”
Still staring at the rope, he answers, “I looked at a few pictures.”
“A few pictures?” I’m struggling now to get free. “You expect to be able to do a thousand-year-old Japanese technique after glancing at a few pictures?”
“I admit it didn’t come out exactly like I planned.” I laugh, and he arches a brow. “Ideas, Miss Smarty-Pants?”
“Anything’s better than this mess.” I think while Nick undoes everything far faster than he did them up. “Something simple. How about…” Having to imagine this, then say it out loud is surprisingly arousing.
“How about you start with the halfway spot on the rope at the back of my neck, take it down between my breasts…then between my legs.”
His brows shoot up. “Okay.”
As I speak, he puts into practice what I suggest. Heat swirls and comes to life in my groin when the rope taps on my clit. I can’t believe we’re really doing this. Not fantasy, not just in my mind. My voice is whispery. “Then bring it up my back and tie my hands together there.”
Odd, but the slide of his hands down my body as he guides the rope, and the way my words come true before my eyes, somehow weaves all this into something…almost magical. Topping from the bottom? Who cares! I know each movement, each twist of the rope under his fingers, is done because he loves me. This is Nick’s way. His type of poetry. Not words, not studying the art of BDSM until he knows it back-to-front…just making love to me in the way that excites me the very most.
I don’t blink for a while. I can’t stop looking at what he’s doing to my body.
“Legs apart.” His voice is a whisper too. Then big hands press firmly at my inner thighs, pushing me to do what he says.
My eyes must be shining with excitement. As he goes behind me to loop the rope about my wrists and tie the knots, everything pulls taut.
“Whoa.” I fi
nd I’m staring at the wall and concentrating on that rope. Right down the middle of my pussy it goes, splitting my lips, sitting in my wetness, then up between my ass cheeks and to my hands.
“Whoa good or whoa bad?” Nick asks.
I strain a little, and the rope slides. My clit pops up higher. The bondage…mmm…it makes me want to float away.
“Whoa very good,” I answer.
Nick gives my backside a slap. “Good.” Having run his finger around the ropes at my wrists, Nick comes to the front. He grabs my ass, pulls me to him, and licks my ear.
I’m like a little doll he controls, and I wriggle against him—against his erection that strains at his pants. Again the rope…does things to me, down there. Mind-melting things. I purr and smell his neck, then bite his collar playfully.
“I like it too. At least now I can do this.” Nick cups my breasts and weighs them in his palms. He grins when I don’t flinch away. “And you can’t do a thing.”
My inner brat perks her head up. “I could kick you.” I edge my knee forward but find he’s put his thigh in the way. “Or bite.” With my teeth still locked in his collar, I tug like a puppy with a chew toy.
“Yeah, you could. Then I’d get my revenge.” Though I have an idea what he intends, I can only stand there, because he has both my nipples firmly clenched in his fingers and thumbs.
I gasp and tighten my body, waiting for pain. But he just holds them in a light pinch, watching my face. The squeezing sensation gives way to pleasure streaking down to my clit. I relax into the pinch, and he lets go.
What would the crop feel like there, swatting my nipples? I can’t help but wonder, though part of me shudders at the idea.
The crack of the riding crop on the leather of the couch makes me jerk from my little daydream.
“Yeah.” Nick circles me. “I definitely like this.” He has the vibrator in one hand and the crop swishing back and forth in the other.
Oh, boy. Am I sure I want this? No. And hell, yes. Both at once. I take a deep breath. Only one way to be sure.
“Bend over there.” He wiggles the crop toward the couch.
If he means the arm, how do I manage it without falling on my nose? “How?”