He’s about to speak when a man a little shorter than Leo approaches. His hair is cut close at the sides but long on top and pulled into a tight man-bun. He’s handsome, and I’m struck immediately by the similarities to Leo’s features.
Leo’s expression immediately softens when he sees the man. He pulls him into a tight hug, laughing. “Jayce, what are you doing here?”
Jayce looks from Leo to me with an interested twinkle in his eyes. “You’re back in the saddle?” he asks, ignoring Leo’s question.
Leo bulges his eyes at Jayce in a very clear “stop talking before I kill you” way.
"Back in the saddle?” I ask carefully.
Leo turns his angry look on me, but I’m too curious to let him intimidate me right now.
Jayce flashes his neat, white teeth. “Yeah, big tough Leo over here was too torn up over this girl he let get away a few months ago. I haven’t even seen him talking to a woman until tonight, so I had to come congratulate him for moving on.”
“Wow,” I say. “Sounds like she was quite the catch.” I try not to let it show through to my voice, but my stomach twists when I run through the implications. He could be talking about me, but Jayce said a few months ago, which makes me think it was before Leo met me. That, and the fact that a big part of keeping Leo at arm’s length is how he seems too good to be true. Yes, he’s intense and maybe even scary, but I’ve seen softness in him, too. I’ve seen hints of something other than a lust-filled barbarian, and hell, it’s kind of hard to complain about the whole lust-filled barbarian part.
I can admit that I’ve been holding myself back. I’ve been so afraid, not just of giving up control, but of giving him everything. None of this would be so complicated if he just behaved like a normal human and took me on a few dates and kept the conversation to the weather and whatever other boring stuff we could think of.
“Lysa,” says Leo. He’s frowning at me with concern written in his features. “You realize he’s talking about you, right?”
Jayce’s eyebrows shoot up. “I am? Oh shit,” he says, covering his mouth with his fist and wincing. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to put you on blast like that, man.”
Leo ignores his brother. He leans in closer, locking those piercing eyes on mine. “It wasn’t as pathetic as he’s making it sound.”
A laugh bursts from me. It’s filled with surprise and relief, and a little embarrassment for jumping so quickly to such a dramatic conclusion. Now that I’ve had a few seconds to let Jayce’s words digest, I can think back to how it makes sense with what Leo told me at the hospital about how he felt like he had to let me go to protect me. But hearing his brother confirm it wasn’t just some line to win me over makes me fully believe what he said for the first time.
Jayce widens his eyes behind Leo and shakes his head, then mimics eating something out of a container with a spoon while crying dramatically.
Leo turns around just in time to see him and lunges for his brother, who is a half-step too slow and gets caught in a headlock.
“Think you’re funny, you little shit?” says Leo as he grapples with Jayce.
A few people from the party are watching the brawl and laughing now.
“You won’t be so funny if I twist off your girly little man-bun,” growls Leo.
Jayce seems to take his threat seriously, and the intensity of his struggles double. The two of them end up toppling to the floor, where Leo uses his legs to pin one of Jayce’s arms behind his head and push his face to the ground with a hand. He tauntingly places a hand over Jayce’s bun and looks up at me with a surprisingly composed expression given how much force he must be exerting to keep his brother down.
“Mercy?” asks Leo.
I give a thumbs up. “Spare him.”
There’s a sarcastic boo that rises from the small crowd when I grant Jayce mercy. Leo lets him up as the crowd disperses, and Jayce brushes off his pants.
“I was about to reverse that arm bar, you know,” says Jayce.
“And I was about to snap you in half like a twig.”
Jayce sighs. “I’m sorry about him.” He runs a hand through his hair, which is now in total disarray. “He’s a brute. But he makes a great chocolate chip cookie.”
“Really?” asks Leo. “That’s my most redeeming quality?”
Jayce winks at me. “I could’ve talked about your passion for crochet, but I thought you might want me to keep that one on the down-low.”
Leo gives me a look that says Jayce is just messing with him at this point, and his brother seems to sense that it’s his time to make an exit before Leo decides to go for a second round.
“Was nice to meet you,” Jayce says before he leaves.
Leo clears his throat with uncharacteristic awkwardness. “He’s a character.”
“I feel like I just saw another side of you. I liked it.”
It’s a little too dark to say for sure, but I’m almost convinced a hint of red enters Leo’s cheeks.
“Come on,” he says gruffly. “We should see if there’s any good food to plunder.”
I follow after him with a smile playing at my lips. I couldn’t picture Leo as a father until now, seeing the way he is with his brother has given me a vague idea of what it might look like. I’m also struck by a powerful stab of guilt when I think how much he has a right to know this baby is his. I’m going to have to tell him before the baby is born, one way or another. I hope. There’s just so much to lose from telling him right now. He might feel obligated to be with me if he knew it’s his for sure, and I don’t want him in my life out of obligation. Then again, he did tell me there was no way he’d let me go now that there is even a chance the baby is his, so that may not be my strongest argument.
A bigger concern is what will happen if things don’t work out between us. Leo can talk all he wants about how badly he wants me and how surely he knows it, but at the end of the day he’s just a man I’ve seen on three separate occasions, including tonight. Maybe the way I chew my gum or fiddle with my hair will end up driving him crazy, or he won’t like my taste in movies. He doesn’t seem to think any of that will change anything, but I’m not so sure. And if he decides to break things off, knowing full well the baby is his?
What happens then? Will he use however many millions or billions of dollars he has to start some legal battle with me to claim full custody of our baby?
I just don’t know the answers. All I do know is the safest thing right now is to wait. He deserves to know the truth, but not yet. Not until I know where this thing between us is going.
8
Leo
I lead Lysa outside by the arm, fully conscious of the stares she draws from both the men and women at the party. The men wish they could have her for themselves and the women watch with jealousy. Even in her mangled costume, Lysa puts them all to shame, and I’m proud as fucking hell to have her on my arm.
“Do you know all these people?”
“Some,” I say, still guiding her through the house until we’ve reached the back patio. “I should probably tell you--this party has a very specific purpose. It’s a mixer for members of the city’s three biggest BDSM clubs: Club Crave, The Red Ticket, and The Glass Box, although everyone just calls The Glass Box ‘The Zoo’.”
She stops in her tracks, looking at me in confusion. “BDSM? Seriously? Everyone here looks so normal though. Well, mega-rich, but they look normal.”
“How is it you think someone should look if they’re into BDSM? Should they have horns, maybe?”
Her face reddens. “N-no,” she stammers. She opens her mouth to speak again and sighs in frustration as the words seem to fail her. “I guess I just thought people would be wearing masks and collars and handcuffs or something.”
“In one of the clubs you would see that, but we actually have events for people like you. If you look closely, you’ll probably spot many women who look just as nervous as you. They’re first-timers, and parties like this are one of the better ways to bring newcom
ers into our world.”
“Do I really look that nervous?” she asks.
I look to her hands, which are tightly clutching what little is left of her skirt until her knuckles are white. “A little bit,” I admit.
She catches herself and relaxes her hands with a frustrated sigh.
“Come on,” I say. “I know just the thing to help you relax.”
I grudgingly pass a platter of what looks like some amazing fried lobster cakes and bite-sized chocolate desserts as we make our way to the dance floor. The music from the band inside easily carries on the cool night air, and the song they’re playing now is a slow, violin focused song with a piano accompaniment. I bring Lysa in close while we work ourselves toward the center of the mass of dancers.
She keeps her big doe eyes on mine the entire way. I can tell she’s nervous, but I’ll only need a few moments to remedy that.
Once we’ve found our place, I put my hand around the small of her back and pull her in tightly until I can feel the soft pressure of her breasts against my chest. I take her hand in my own and start to guide her in a slow dance, the kind of dance that serves no purpose but to isolate, almost as if the gradual spinning motion is creating a wall of blurred perspective that closes the rest of the world out. I use my grip and my hands to soothe the anxiousness from her, drawing her attention to my fingertips and the way they splay across her back and hold her hand.
“I have to tell you something,” she says quietly.
“Okay,” I say.
It’s a long time before she speaks again. I see the struggle in her features as she obviously grapples with whatever it is she wants to tell me. “I, uh,” she says finally, and something in her body language tells me she changed her mind about revealing whatever she was about to reveal. “I thought about you, too. I guess I haven’t really admitted that yet, but for the last two months I thought about you and what--” she clears her throat, cheeks reddening. When she speaks again her voice is so low I almost can’t hear her. “What we did in the elevator and laundry room. The way we did it. I think it scared me. It scares me that I liked it as much as I did.”
“That was just a taste, my pet,” I say.
“When you call me that…” she says slowly, still swaying with me to the music. “Is that part of all this? The BDSM thing, I mean?”
“Yes, in a sense,” I say. “Most people don’t really understand BDSM. It’s not a cult. It’s not some set of commandments that you must follow or you will be expelled from the club. It’s a spectrum of interests from things as innocent as orgasm denial and ice play to areas much darker. But the fundamental aspect is trust. Once you experience the kind of trust required, everything else will seem shallow and meaningless in comparison.”
“And where are you, on this spectrum you’re talking about?” she asks.
The song shifts to something a little faster pace, and our bodies naturally adjust, feet stepping more quickly as we twirl a little faster, turning the other dancers around us into a meaningless jumble of movement.
“Some would say my needs are more extreme than most. Maybe you’ve heard of dominants and submissives, but that’s not what I am. Not exactly. I’m a Master, and I have spent my life waiting for the right slave.”
She falters in her step, tripping over my foot. I catch her and help her regain her footing. “I don’t--I’m sorry,” she says, trying to pull away from me slightly.
I grip her a little more tightly. “Let me finish,” I say. “I know how this probably sounds.”
“Do you?” she asks a little shakily. “Because I have a baby growing inside me, and you’re talking about masters and slaves? Why should I listen to more?”
I swallow down my frustration because I understand. I really do know how this must sound to her, and if she’ll only hear me out, she’ll understand. “I was going to say part of why I know you are right for me is because I will do anything to have you. Even if it means taking you just as you are. Don’t get me wrong, I think you’re naturally submissive and you’ll be the perfect slave to my Master. All I know, is that I want you. Whatever I have to do to have you, I’ll do.”
“Oh,” she says softly. She doesn’t speak at first. She just holds on to me, swaying with me as we step and glide to the music. “I’m sorry. This is just all so much to take in. Is there maybe a place where we could talk more privately? I feel like my head is swimming a little.”
“Of course,” I say. “Come.”
I lead her inside, through the groups of people and upstairs, where a large rectangular hallway leads to seemingly endless rooms. I’ve never been up to explore them, so I try a few doors at random until we find one that opens.
I flick on the lights and we’re greeted by a full sex dungeon stocked with everything from bondage belts to a St. Andrew’s Cross. “We can look for another room,” I suggest, figuring this won’t exactly be the most comforting place to talk for her.
“No,” she says, “this is fine.”
I want to take her right now, even if I shouldn’t. I know with the right words and the right touch, I could have her on her knees for me in minutes, begging for an orgasm. But I want to do this right. She’s too important to risk everything on my impatient hunger for her, so I’ll try to take it slow. I’ll try. I’ve always had exceptional self-control, but Lysa tests my limits.
“We can talk here, then,” I say, closing the door and motioning for her to sit on the edge of the bed.
She looks at it a little hesitantly. “Do you think this is clean?” she asks before sitting.
I laugh. “I’m positive. Our clubs wouldn’t meet at a house that didn’t have clean rooms prepared and ready for anyone who might want to enjoy themselves a little more privately.”
She runs her fingers along one of the bedposts, not looking at me while she gathers her thoughts. “I want to try it,” she says suddenly, turning to look me in the eye. “I mean, I don’t know about the slave thing, but the other stuff. I’ve thought about the way you made me feel that day… a lot, and I have to admit I liked it. With everything you said at the hospital and tonight... if you’re willing to give all that up for me, then I should at least be willing to meet you in the middle.”
Her words hit me with the force of a sledge hammer. Every syllable reverberates in my mind, sinking in and filling me with an ecstatic energy.
“But,” she says. “No promises. I might not like it, and--”
I can’t hold myself back any longer. She gave me the permission I needed, and I was only holding myself back by the smallest thread of control even before that. I half-tackle her down to the bed, careful of her still flat stomach. I press her wrists into the mattress as I claim her mouth with what has to be the hungriest fucking kiss of my life. My first taste of her lips inflames me, driving me into a nearly uncontrolled frenzy of desire and need. But somehow I pull myself away, because as amazing as it would be to shred her clothes from her body and plunge myself deep into her, this night isn’t about me, not in the slightest. This is about showing my pet how sweet submission can taste--how much freedom there is in giving away her control.
I force a calm I don’t feel over myself, because I know I need to make sure she understands everything before we begin. Watching the way she’s half-propped up on the bed, chest heaving and legs parted just enough so I can see the black of her panties though… It nearly ends my self-discipline and has me pouncing on her and rutting into her like a goddamn animal. Nearly.
I take a deep breath and make myself look at a point just above her head. An old trick, and maybe a trick for weaker men, but it’ll have to do right now. I can’t look at her without my need to fuck her in the most basic, instinctual way nearly driving me to madness.
“Tonight, you will be my submissive and I will be your Dom. There will be rules and expectations you’ll have to learn and abide by, but for now, we’ll start with the most basic and the most important rule of all. You will obey me.” I lean down, making the mistake of looking he
r in the eye, which sets my already hard cock to throbbing. “If I tell you to suck my finger like you’d suck my cock, you do it. Without question.”
I wait, knowing she won’t pick up on my cue.
My silence makes her suck in a surprised breath when she realizes I actually wanted her to do as I said and I wasn’t just using it as an example. She hesitantly reaches for my hand and pulls it up to her mouth. She takes my thumb past her lips, moving her head up and down while she swirls her hot little tongue around me.
I bite my lip so hard it hurts, but I have to do something to stop myself from letting this go farther. Not yet. Not quite yet.
“I said my finger,” I growl. “Thumbs aren’t fingers.” It’s an asinine argument, and whether I’m right or not isn’t important. The importance is that she learns to obey me and not to argue with me.
“But you didn’t--”
“That’s two depravations,” I say in a low, dangerous voice. “One for not following my commands exactly, and one more for talking back to me.”
“What is a deprivation?” she asks.
“Make it three,” I say. “A third for questioning me.”
“But that’s--” she begins, then closes her mouth and watches me with the most sexily sulky face I’ve ever seen.
I grin, nodding in approval. “See? You’re learning quickly. If you had waited like a good little pet, I would’ve told you that a deprivation is something I’m going to take away from you when I fuck you. If you displease me, I will deprive you of freedoms, controls, senses, and so on. I may also choose to simply punish you. This is why trust is critical, my pet. If you trust me completely--trust that everything and anything I do is meant to bring you pleasure, even if you may not immediately see how, I can bring you to heights of ecstasy like you’ve never known.”
Knocked Up by the Master: A BDSM Secret Baby Romance Page 6