by Cara Dee
Comforting Touch
Copyright © 2015 by Cara Dee
Edited by Lisa A. Hollett
Disclaimer: This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with others, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and you did not purchase it or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Warning: This story contains scenes of an explicit, erotic nature and is intended for adults, 18+. Characters portrayed are 18 or older. If you're interested in the BDSM lifestyle in any form, please tread carefully, and don’t dive in headfirst. Research, research, research. And reach out to people with experience for guidance.
Previously in the Touch Series by Cara Dee
Book 1: Look but Don't Touch (Nicholas/Kayla.)
Book 2: Twice the Touch (Mark/Evangeline/Brayden.)
Book 3: Touch to Surrender (Brayden/Evangeline/Mark.)
Book 4: Touch of Trouble (Kayla/Nicholas.)
Chapter 1
Chelsea Dunn
It's been six days since I set foot inside Switch. Six days since some drunk asshole barged into the club—Mark Cooper's brother—and got handsy with Kayla. Six days of settling in to my apartment, focusing on my new job that Nicholas graciously offered me, and six days of dodging Kayla's calls.
Six days since I saw Rio Kelly again—for the first time in ten years.
That bastard has only gotten sexier with age. His features are as sharp as I remember them, with his black, short but unruly hair a stark contrast to his pale skin, emerald green eyes that can cast a pretty fucking vicious glare, and a voice that is both warm and cutting.
Nicholas and Kayla told me they've dropped my name around Rio a few times but without reaction. However, there was no mistaking the look he gave me almost a week ago. It was brief, including a double take followed by shock…and then the same glower he'd given me ten years ago when he caught me lying about my age.
He remembers me, though apparently not fondly.
Then again, he didn’t seem very fond of me a decade ago, either.
Squaring my shoulders, I pass the lobby and enter the main club, scanning the area for Master Dante and his sub, Gretchen.
I spot them near the demo stage in the back, and as instructed, I'm wearing the same leather corset dress Gretchen is.
Fridays at Switch are, as I've learned, sometimes for public demos, and Dante's gonna use Gretchen and me for a rope bondage scene. It's crowded as fuck, and Gretchen has warned me that her Master is particularly strict when he does demos.
Or as Kayla's called him, "sooo motherducking sadistic."
Cutie patootie.
Dante is a sadist, but I have masochistic tendencies, so there ya go, and playing with him is mind-blowing. He knows what he's doing. As he should, considering he's a well-known rigger of Japanese rope bondage and often holds workshops and events with Gretchen around the country.
I maneuver myself through the crowd, and then I hear my name being called. Turning around, I try to see if it was Kayla or something, but no one I recognize is there. So I continue—
And walk right into a solid body.
"Oh, sh—" Not my voice.
"I'm sorry!" I say hurriedly at the two hands gripping my arms to steady me. The first thing I notice is a leather cuff with the Switch logo, which only Nicholas's closest wear. The second thing I notice is the firm muscles of a chest beneath my palms. I lift my face, my eyes growing large.
Shit, double shit, triple shit.
Rio. It's Rio's hands on me, and I suddenly feel all the heat he's giving off. He's so close. So close. For a quick second, I swear he brings me closer, but it doesn’t last.
"Are you okay?" Rio asks impatiently.
I think I nod. I'm a little busy being mortified and flustered.
I knew it had been a pipe dream when I wished I wouldn’t run into him. Of-fucking-course, I ended up doing it literally.
"I'm sorry," I repeat.
His jaw clenches. "It's fine." It's like he just now realizes he's still holding my arms, so he lets go as if he's afraid to catch something. Stepping aside, he motions for me to go on.
I flush bright red, confused and embarrassed. What have I done to get that reaction? Sure, I was a pushy little shit when we first met, but is he really holding that against me, still?
Evidently.
I duck my head and get out of his sight, trying to find the right mind-set again.
"Chelsea!"
Sigh. This time I hear Kayla's voice clearly, and I turn to see her at the bar with Nicholas and…I think his name is Brayden. Mark Cooper's sub.
I wave and force a smile, then point toward Dante and Gretchen to indicate I don’t have time to talk right now. In response, Kayla sticks out her tongue at me, which earns her a harsh tug of her ponytail by Nicholas.
I grin to myself and continue through the crowd, knowing I gotta answer to Kayla soon enough. I haven't dodged her completely, but I've certainly ignored her questions about Rio, and the meddler that is Kayla Brandon won't stand for that shit. When we lived together back in New York, she got all up in my business the second I wasn’t smiling.
Right after she left, I was relieved. For about a week. Then I started missing her like crazy, and it's nice to be in the same place as her again. She's the only family I have.
"There you are!" Gretchen beams at me as I emerge from a group of people waiting for the demo to begin. "I worried you weren't going to make it."
Yeah, well, I've noticed that Dante's little redhead worries about everything. She's called me countless times this week, only to make sure I wasn’t forgetting about tonight.
Pot, meet kettle.
I know, I know. I was just as worried last week before coming here. I even woke up Kayla in the middle of the night once because I couldn’t wait 'til morning to tell her how nervous I was about seeing Rio.
Turns out, I had every right to be nervous.
"Don't give yourself grays, hon. I told you I'd be here." I smirk and kiss Gretchen's freckled cheek before turning to Dante, who's focused on his rope kit on the platform. "Good evening, Sir," I say politely, stepping up on the three-foot high stage. "Anything I can help you with?"
I need something to do. If only to occupy my mind.
He runs a hand over his head, his buzzed, blond hair appearing blue and silver under the club's strobe lights. Every shadow cast on his face makes him look more menacing. I can see what Kayla means—why she's scared of him—but has she actually spoken to Dante? Doubtful. He might be strict and demanding, but he's also polite, genuine, and friendly.
"Hmm…" He looks out over the dance floor, pensive. I get a brief smile, and he nudges my bicep with his elbow. "You can get us water, pet. Put it on my tab. Then I want you naked. Hurry back."
"Yes, Sir." I nod dutifully and then head toward the bar. On the way, I think about whether I need to pee or not, 'cause nothing kills a scene faster than cutting the ropes because a sub forgot to use the bathroom before. But it's all good. This ain't my first rodeo.
When I reach the bar, I gotta grin at Kayla. There's nothing she can say to me now. Not when Nicholas has put a ball gag on her. The light blue ball even matches her dress. Christ.
She scowls at me before pouting at Nicholas, who lets out a laugh and takes a sip of his drink. Brayden, seated next to him, seems just as amused.
"Has she been bad, Mr. Ford?" I ask, leaning against the bar. I don’t know their rules yet, so I figure it's safest to address him instead of her.
"She's interrupted Dante's scenes in th
e past. This is a precaution." He slides me an easy smile. "I'm also on babysitting duty—"
"I'm not a baby, Sir." Brayden gapes at Nicholas.
"Did I give you permission to speak, boy?" Nicholas cocks a brow at him, to which Brayden blushes and shrinks in his seat. "Thought not." Nicholas faces me again. "Mark's at home with a sick Evangeline, so Brayden is here to watch your scene and take notes for his Master. Worrying about Kayla's mouth is a trouble I don’t need with an extra sub to look after."
"That’s funny. Though, I'm sorry to hear about Evangeline." I tilt my head at Kayla and catch her wiping drool from her chin. "You're so cute, pipsqueak. Not so easy to meddle when you can't talk, huh?" I fail to withhold my mirth, although Dante's sharp whistle across the floor does the trick.
Shit, double shit, triple shit.
Kayla shoots me a smug look.
"I take it the demo's starting." Nicholas checks his watch.
I quickly order three bottles of water and put it on Dante's tab, and then I haul ass.
This night has really started off with a fucking bang, hasn't it?
Gretchen's glaring at me as I return, and Dante looks like he has a cane in mind for me later.
"I thought I told you to hurry, subbie." Dante points to the platform. "Get up there."
"I'm very sorry, Sir." I lower my gaze to the floor and obey his command, stepping up on the stage again. As always when I've disrespected a Dom, a rock settles in my stomach, and my chest tightens.
This is why I prefer not to play casually, 'cause it leaves me unsettled. I can be released so easily; whereas if I'm in a committed arrangement with contracts signed, I know my Master wants me even when I screw up.
Dante follows me onto the platform and grasps my chin, forcing me to look up at him. "You can be sorry later. Right now, I need your focus on my ropes. You've followed my instructions, yes?"
"Yes, Sir." Like I've said, this ain't my first rodeo. I'm staying hydrated, no joint issues, I ate two hours ago, and I warmed up before I left my apartment.
"Good." He dips his chin at my dress. "Strip." Then he focuses on Gretchen, who asks him about the attending monitors tonight. In reply, Dante says, "Simon and Rio are wearing the DM cuffs. Now shush, love."
Blah.
"Yes, Master," Gretchen answers as the music fades.
It doesn’t stop completely, but the DJ has lowered the volume so it's only a background noise.
With spotlights directed at me, it's almost impossible to see anything other than shadows and silhouettes, but that doesn’t mean my traitorous eyes don’t attempt to find Rio in the crowd. He would stick out in his six-foot-four-or-something glory.
I squint at the figure standing near the small DJ booth.
Stop it, you masochist.
Noticing how tense I am, I blow out a breath and try to clear my head. You're in a scene. No need to fuck up again. I chant those words internally as I strip down to my birthday suit. My hair brushes against my butt, which reminds me to put it in a high ponytail using the rubber band around my left wrist. As for the rubber bracelets that are a new accessory at Switch—at least, new for me—I hand them to Dante when he comes to inspect me.
The bright colors of the bracelets ruin the scene, he's said.
He cups my smooth pussy and quirks a brow at me. "Head in the game, pet. I want this nice and wet for a knot."
I shiver, the wheels in my head finally slowing down. Head in the game. Head in the game… "Thank you, Sir," I say just above a whisper.
Dante nods curtly and kisses my forehead then turns to the expectant observers. He speaks in a cool and collected voice about what he's gonna show them. He introduces his subs, talks about safety measures and bondage aftercare. Then he begins with Gretchen and explains the body harness he's tying and what kind of rope he uses.
I tune out the words and let his voice lull me into a relaxed state. After all, this is what I crave most in life. Serving, being restricted, and taken to new heights. People I know in the lifestyle think I only want to submit in the bedroom, but that’s so far from the truth. It's just easier to cower away from love and that level of trust and stick to limited D/s relationships.
My biggest dream is to find someone I can trust enough to both hurt me and comfort me.
As it is, I can only accept pain. Not comfort. It's way too intimate and always leaves me exposed.
A gust of air ghosts along my naked torso when Dante comes to a stop in front of me. My nipples constrict, and I watch him watch me as he prepares a bundle of fifty feet of linen hemp rope for my body.
A loose tie around my neck, knots down my front, knuckles brushing over my skin, the solid rope sliding between my legs, the harness tightening with each knot, the rope nearly vibrating as Dante works it around my upper body… God, I love it.
This kind of hemp is smooth and heavy on my skin—and deliciously encompassing.
"Now this is a real bondage bunny." Dante chuckles warmly, adjusting one of the knots over my clit. He lingers and rubs the rope softly over my wet flesh, and I shudder violently, swaying in place. "You good, pet?"
He must've taken the swaying for something other than mmmm-give-me-more-please. "So good," I murmur dazedly, "Sir."
There's a low rumble of amusement disrupting the bubble I'm in.
Dante seems to notice my line of thought and brings me back into the scene with a few circles to my clit and smooth strokes over my breasts. And soon enough, the harness is in place.
Gretchen and I are positioned close together, back to back. Her warmth meets mine, and Dante instructs us to thread our fingers together. Then he takes more rope and incorporates new ties with our harnesses.
Every now and then, he checks our bindings. He makes sure we stay vocal, yada-yada-yada, it's important to speak up about any numbness, any pain, any pinching. But I only feel like I'm floating. Heat blooms up as little burns every time he cinches the rope, causing it to tighten.
Dante's focus and voice and rope and experience send me further away from reality. He knows this about me. Bondage is the one thing that pushes me into subspace.
I get hyperaware of his every touch, his commands, and the rope. When he tells me to touch each finger to my thumb to check mobility and numbness, I obey without thinking about it. I give straight answers, no hesitation, yet I feel removed from it all. Like I'm not really there.
And it's not his face I see.
"You should take care of yourself, little rebel." He looms over me, standing so close I can taste his minty breath, inhale his rich scent, and feel his body heat. "There's only one of you."
I melt, I melt, I melt.
Fuck, that’s wrong.
Rio.
"Chelsea."
My eyes flash open, and Dante smooths a thumb over the spot between my eyebrows. Was I frowning?
Being sent back to the night I met Rio shakes me to my core. I don’t want my stupid crush, I don’t want any flashbacks, and I wish it wasn’t what he told me in that club that changed everything for me.
"I'm okay, Sir," I say confidently, though the scene is ruined for me.
I haven't been pining for Rio all these years, but he's crossed my mind every now and then as the one who could've been man. He triggered too much for me back in the day, making him impossible to forget. He may have been—or still is—a stranger, but he was also the first one who genuinely gave a shit about me.
He introduced me to this world, this lifestyle, even if it hadn't been his intention. He'd meant it as a threat, as a reason for me to run far, far away from him.
In that club, I'd been all over him. Flirting, giggling, swearing I wasn’t underage… How stupid was I? A sixteen-year-old can't fucking pass as a twenty-one-year-old. At least I couldn’t.
"You don't want to know what I usually do with brats who lie and disrespect me."
"Tell me."
I squeeze my eyes shut for a single second and refuse to let that memory continue. Rope, rope, think about Dante's rope.<
br />
When I open my eyes again, I meet Dante's calculating gaze. He studies me; my mouth firms in determination. I'm here, I'll serve you, I can do it; I just won't get much out of it. This time.
"We'll talk about this later, bunny," he murmurs for only me to hear. Then he takes my mouth in a hard kiss as he ties my thigh together with Gretchen's.
He leaves me breathless and my body wanting.
If only my head were in it, too.
From a spectator's view, the scene continues flawlessly, and Gretchen and I behave like the good subs we are. No one can see my headspace, anyway. They don’t know the mere thought of Rio Kelly rattles me. Especially now when we're in the same state, city, and fetish club.
Remind me why I left New York, again?
Sigh.
Chapter 2
An hour after the scene has ended, I'm back in my corset dress, and Dante is satisfied with the aftercare. I've told him bits and pieces about why I couldn’t get into the scene like I had done last time we played, which I think is why he ultimately lets me go. The sadist even guilt-tripped me into telling him.
"How can I be a good Dom to you if I don’t know what upsets you in a scene?"
Bastard.
But bastard or not, I'm quick to accept the invitation to a play party next weekend. Maybe a little fun away from Switch will help.
A friend of Dante's is hosting it, and the theme is Ancient Rome.
Now I can expect Gretchen to call me every day about my costume.
Finding a slave dress shouldn’t be too hard, toots.
The music is loud and the dance floor is packed with people dancing, grinding, engaging in foreplay—oh, screw that. Literally. One Domme has her sub giving her oral, and another pair is full-on fucking.
My mouth quirks up a bit in amusement, and I walk over to the bar where I know Kayla's waiting for me. I've decided to simply take all her questions and answer as best as I can. Then we can move on with our lives.
I find her alone, though I catch the bartender keeping an eye on her. And she's too fucking cute, trying to slip the end of a straw into her gagged mouth.