by E J Frost
I speak for the first time in what feels like hours.
“Yes, sir.”
He hands me his empty. “Good girl.”
*****
When I enter the bedroom, he’s pulled the curtains, closing out the golden fall afternoon, and lit pillar candles on the dresser and bedside table. I want to make a smart remark about him being an old softie, but I’m not sure if I’m off speech-restriction yet and this isn’t the time to get the rules wrong.
“Face down on the bed,” he says. “Arms and legs spread.”
I thought he said we were going to talk, but, again, not the time to get it wrong.
I sink down onto the worn-soft quilt and flip my hair over my shoulder so it’s out of Mac’s way.
He sits on the bed beside me, his warm, heavy hand pressing between my shoulder-blades. “Remember honor bondage? Show me you want to submit to me by holding on to the bed rails until I tell you to let go.”
I nod to show I’ve heard him before reaching up and wrapping my hands around the cool, brass rails.
“Keep your feet on the bed. You can move everything in between, but hands and feet stay where they are until I tell you to let go.”
I nod again and imagine my feet are bound into the quilt with oak roots and iron bands. Since he’s given me permission to move everything between my hands and feet, I figure he’s going to beat me, maybe with his belt. While I’d normally be totally up for that, the idea of him hitting me now, when it seems like Emily’s right and he’s quiet-angry, makes my mouth dry and my palms sweat.
I roll my shoulders, trying to force my muscles to relax. Belts hurt. He can make me bleed with a belt. But I’ve taken whippings. If I can take Master Nico and his fucking singletail, I can take a few whacks with a belt from Mac.
Hopefully I can keep still while he does it.
The mattress shifts as Mac climbs onto the bed. He pulls his blue and grey “Navy” T-shirt off and drapes it over my feet.
“Em says your feet get cold. I should have grabbed a pair of her socks for you. If you get uncomfortable, tell me.”
I guess that means I can talk. “Yes, sir.”
A nutty scent fills the warm air.
“Just double-checking, no nut allergies, right?”
“No, sir, no nut allergies.”
His warm hands settle on my calves, then slide slickly up toward my knees. His thumbs dig in, working the muscles. I feel my own face go slack and rub my nose into the quilt, so Mac doesn’t see how I’ve just melted.
“That feels really good, sir,” I mumble into the covers.
A warm, low chuckle from the man working every twitch of tension out of my thighs. “Not what you thought was coming?”
“No, sir. I figured I was getting the belt.”
“Maybe later. I’d never hurt you when I’m angry, Bren. I want to make sure you know that.”
Most Doms are careful not to bring actual anger into a scene, but not all, and I appreciate the assurance. “Thank you, sir. Are you still angry?”
“Yeah, more with myself than you. You were a hundred percent right. I was judging you, and I have no right to. We’ve done one scene. You don’t owe me anything.”
I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.
“And this is probably where being an old-fashioned guy bites me in the ass,” he continues as he settles his hands on my ass and digs in with those magic thumbs. I drool all over the quilt. “For me, dating is one man, one woman. But I know it’s not like that anymore, and that’s definitely not what you’re used to. So bear with me and I’ll try to keep my head out of my ass.”
As long as he keeps rubbing my ass, I don’t actually care where his head is. But it’s really, really nice that he’s admitting he was in the wrong. I can’t remember the last time a Dom did that.
“Thank you, sir.” I let him pummel me into mush with those strong hands for a minute before I pull myself together enough to say something rational. “If it makes any difference, I told Theo before we did the scene that sex was off limits.”
Mac pauses with his hands on my shoulders. “You did?”
“Yes, sir.” I rub my face in the quilt and open up. Ruby told me to make him grovel, but I don’t think that’s a good look on Mac. I just want to clear the air between us and get back to the way I felt after our scene, when I was full of hope. “Sir, I’m no good at this. I’m probably going to screw it up. I tried to do things right. I thought about how I’d feel if you were in my place and it would have hurt me if you’d had sex with someone after our scene. So, I gave Theo his raincheck but stipulated no sex. I thought I was doing it the right way, without hurting you, but I guess I still got it wrong, huh?”
Mac digs his hands into my shoulder muscles before sliding them down. “No, Bren, you didn’t do anything wrong. And I’ll figure out a way to be okay with it if you want to scene with the Blunts Doms while we’re dating.”
Do I want to? That stupid Emily Voice is telling me I don’t, and if I do, then I shouldn’t be seeing Mac.
“Sir, maybe I could take a hiatus from the club.”
“You could?”
I could. It’s not ideal because I count on what I earn as a house submissive when money runs thin from tattooing. But I have a little bit of a float at the moment. A couple of months’ worth as long as things don’t get too bad at the shop. If they do, I can always get a second job waitressing or something. Paying my bills on time is important, but exploring the possibility of something real with Mac? Much, much more important.
“Yes, sir.”
Mac works the muscles around my spine for several minutes before he says, “Bren, I feel terrible about leaving when you were dropping. And for making you feel that you were less important than my daughter.”
“You’re doing a really good job of making it up to me,” I mumble blissfully. “I don’t usually drop like that, sir.”
“Can you be honest with me next time? I’m sure I should have read between the lines of our six text messages and figured it out somehow, but I had no idea, bold girl.”
I wiggle my ass, both in discomfort at his request and in the hopes he’ll rub it again, which he does. “Sir, I’m really bad about asking for help. I just . . . I’ve been dealing with my own shit for a long time.”
“I know you’re strong and independent. I’m not trying to take that away from you. I’m just asking you to let me in.”
I nod into the quilt. “I’ll try, sir. Could we set up a word? Something I can say when I’m struggling so I don’t have to—”
“Admit you’re vulnerable?”
“Yes,” I say in a small voice, into the quilt.
“We’ll do that for two weeks, sweetheart. You can say ‘tuxedo’ to me, and I’ll know that you’re struggling. After those two weeks, we’ll drop the trigger word and you’ll just talk to me. Can you do that?”
“I’ll try, sir. Tuxedo?”
“The times I’ve felt the most vulnerable in my life were when I was wearing a tuxedo.”
That makes me smile into the covers. “Okay. Tuxedo it is.”
“Good girl. Now that you’re nice and relaxed, I’m going to give you five with my belt. This is not a punishment, Bren. It’s just to bring us back to where we should be. It’s a reset, so we can go forward. Do you consent to five licks from my belt?”
It’s never felt so easy, so right, to agree to pain.
“Yes, sir.”
“I know your natural impulse will be to kick. I want those feet flat on the bed. Remember the honor bondage.”
I haven’t forgotten, and I won’t.
“Yes, sir.”
He runs his hand up and down my back before bringing it down on my ass in an oily slap. I wince against the sting, which is sharper with my skin slicked up and my nerves stimulated from the massage. He peppers my ass with slaps, and I know what he’s doing: warming me up before he gives me the belt. I’m grateful, even while I wince.
When he finishe
s and rubs in the sting, I murmur, “Thank you, sir.”
“Good girl. Lift your ass. Show me you want these.”
My back arches almost of its own accord.
“Here we go.” I hear the hiss of leather as he runs it between his hands, then I jolt as the first line of fire licks across my ass. I wrap the bed rungs in a death grip and count to five before I relax back onto the bed. I think my feet might have shifted on the quilt, but they didn’t lift off it.
“One, sir,” I murmur.
He rubs my back again. “Thatta girl. I didn’t tell you to count, but I like that. Four more.”
He spaces them out, giving me time to recover and count, rubbing my back between each lick. They still break me the hell down and by the time he gives me the fifth stroke, I’m teary, not so much from pain, although he hasn’t taken it easy on me and my ass is on fire, but from the release of emotional tension.
The bed creaks as he stretches out beside me. “Very good, Bren. Relax your hands and feet. Honor bondage is over, and you’ve earned a reward before bed. When you’re ready, move on top of me until you’re comfortable. I want to hug you for a while.”
He does? I quickly flex my hands and feet and then freeze when I get an all-mighty head-rush. What the hell?
“Bren, you okay?”
“Head-rush, sir.”
“Give yourself a minute.”
I do, stretching out as long as I can, the way I’ve been taught after a big kickboxing session, then wiggling my fingers and toes to get my circulation flowing again. After a big stretch, I feel more with it and climb on top of him without worrying that I’m about to black out.
He shuffles me around, until my face is resting in the crook of his neck and my legs are cradled between his. When he has me where he wants me, he wraps his arms around me and holds me close. He’s got a semi-stiffy that presses against my groin, but it’s not raging, and I don’t wiggle against him to provoke it. He said he wanted to hug me and fuck if a hug doesn’t sound like the best thing in the world right now, even with my flaming ass stuck in the air.
“Tell me what you’re thinking, bold girl,” he says softly.
“Isn’t that a girl line, sir?”
He chuckles. “Probably. Tell me anyway.”
“I’m glad you belted me. I mean, I’m not glad-glad, because my ass is on fire, but you said it was a reset and that’s how I feel. Like we’ve started over from a good place. I’m not mad anymore. I’m not hurt. I feel . . . peaceful. Except my ass hurts.”
Mac chuckles. He works his hands up and down my back a few times, finally edging down onto the weals his belt has left, and when I don’t flinch or whimper, he rubs. There’s a knack to rubbing in the sting, and Mac has it.
“We’ll make this a ritual, girl. I want open communication between us, but if things have gotten fucked up and we need to reset, it’ll be a massage followed by five with my belt. Agreed?“
“Agreed, sir.” I’ve had rituals before, mostly with Edz, but nothing like this. Despite the strangeness of it, it feels right.
“I want a relaxed evening where we just enjoy each other’s company,” Mac says. “Are you up for that? Any commitments tonight?”
“No commitments.” If I had any, I’d cancel them. “Totally up for that.”
“Good.”
He rubs for a while longer and I melt all over him. I was holding myself up with my elbows because I’m not a lightweight and I didn’t want to crush him, but he keeps pressing me tighter and tighter into his body. So I relax and enjoy being held. I can’t remember the last time anyone held me like this and it calms everything inside me.
I doze off while Mac’s hugging me. When I wake, he’s pulled the edge of the quilt over us, the candles have burned down, and the rich scent of frying onions is filling the air. I lift my head from the pillow of his throat. Mac takes a deep breath, his chest lifting under me, and blinks himself awake.
He gives me a lazy, sleepy smile.
“Good nap?”
“Yes, sir.” The headache I woke up with this morning, the perpetual pinched feeling around my eyes—they’re gone. I feel refreshed, even though I just slept on the world’s hardest, lumpiest mattress.
“Can you spend the night?” Mac asks. “I feel like I owe you a good night’s sleep.”
The last night we spent together was anything but, and I am running a serious sleep debt. Maybe I’ll be able to crash out tonight, given how tired I am. Even if I can’t, I don’t want to give up the opportunity to sleep with Mac again.
“Yes, sir. I’m opening in the morning, though, so I need to head home by eight.”
“No problem.” He lets out a long sigh. “Among the many things I let slide while I was dealing with Naomi was making an appointment with you—”
“I have time this week, sir. I’ll text you when I get in and look at the schedule.”
He cups the back of my head and draws me into his kiss, which is warm and deep with only a hint of dominance. When he lets me come up for air, he smiles against my lips. “Thank you for making time for me, bold girl. I know I haven’t made it easy this week.”
“Are you telling me it will be easier next week?” I ask.
He chuckles. I like the feeling of his laughter against my lips.
“I’ll do my best. Smells like Em’s making dinner. You want a shower while I go down and lend a hand?”
“Yes, thank you, sir.”
“Good girl.” He gives me another kiss. “I know you’ll be feeling my stripes when we sit down to dinner, but I still want to plug you. Anything I should know about?”
“No, sir, I’m good.” There’s no lingering soreness from the plug he had me wear, and I’m doubly-glad I didn’t let Theo fuck me, because that man just loves rough anal. It feels like a gift to be able to offer Mac a blank slate.
“Excellent. You can wear my shirt to dinner, but otherwise you’re naked until you leave tomorrow.” He grins against my lips. “I love Logan’s house rules.”
I smile back even while I roll my eyes. “Such a Dom.”
“That I am. Anything you need, beautiful?”
I need him to keep calling me beautiful. “Ten minutes on the phone to make sure everything’s okay at my shop?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t ever interfere with your business. Thanks again for making time for me, Bren. Means a lot.”
“You’re welcome, sir.” I press my smile into his lips and feel him echo my gesture.
*****
When I emerge from the bathroom, feeling even more refreshed than I did after my nap, I find that Mac’s left me not just one of his shirts, but the T-shirt he was wearing. There are a couple of spots of massage oil on it. It smells like him. And when I pull it on, it’s still deliciously warm. I hug it to my body as I head downstairs.
There are more voices than I expect coming from the kitchen. I hear Logan and Mac, but also Austin’s bass rumble and the cool alto of his Domme, Dana. Everyone’s clustered around the kitchen island. Emily and Mac are working on one side of it, while Logan and Dana are in the bar chairs on the other side, with Austin kneeling at Dana’s feet.
There are two spare bar chairs. I could sidle up into one of them and take advantage of the nibbles Emily’s set out. If I was wearing anyone’s shirt but Mac’s, I probably would.
But I am wearing his shirt, and he wants something close to twenty-four-seven, and I said I’d try, so instead of sitting down and enjoying the appetizers, I walk over to Mac, kneel at his feet, and arrange myself the way showed me at dinner before our scene.
He lets me kneel for a long moment before he wipes his hands and rests his palm on the top of my head. “I like seeing you in my shirt, Bren.”
“Thank you for leaving it for me, sir. It was still warm when I put it on.” Then something slips out that’s way too sappy to come out of my mouth. “It feels like a hug.”
His answering smile is brilliant and if I was wearing panties, that smile would have incinerated them
. Unhurriedly, he strokes my head and I find myself relaxing, physically and mentally. I was relaxed after our “reset,” a nap, and a shower, but now I’m a seriously limp noodle.
“When you’re ready,” Mac says. “Stand and serve everyone a drink. I’ll take a beer. You can have whatever you want, but you’ll be drinking some of it out of my mouth, so nothing diet.”
I smile up at him. “Yes, sir.”
“When you’re finished serving, meet me in the bathroom. I’m going to plug you before dinner.”
That should make me nervous, but some, clearly deranged, part of me relaxes even more. “Yes, sir. Do you want me to get a plug?”
“No, sweetheart. I already have one for you.”
His grin should be disturbing. Instead, it lights a fire in my belly.
He lifts his hand from my head, and I tense my thighs and wiggle my toes to get the circulation going before I stand and walk a circuit around the room, getting everyone drinks. I like the beer Logan buys; I get one for myself as well as Mac. He drank his out of the bottle the other night, so I just pop the top and set it next to where he’s working, chopping celery for a salad.
“Give me a minute here, bold girl. Stand behind me and put your arms around my waist.”
Snuggle up to that broad, strong back and feel the press of his firm ass against my belly and hips? Sign me up.
Once I’m in position, I tuck my face into the plane between his shoulder blades and close my eyes. The muscles of his back flex against my cheek as he chops and moves the cut pieces into a big, wooden, salad bowl. He’s put on a white T-shirt to replace the shirt he left for me. It’s soft and warm against me and it smells of Emily’s laundry detergent and Mac’s tea, tobacco, and leather aftershave. I’m drowning in the scent and feel of him. Mac is a serious cuddler, and six months ago that might have turned me off, but now, it’s exactly what I need.
When he finishes, he reaches back and caresses my hips, tucking me even tighter against his ass. “This reminding you of anything, sweetheart?” he whispers over his shoulder.
It reminds me of the position I was finally able to sleep in the other night, but I didn’t realize he was aware of it. “Did you pretend to be asleep, sir?”