Bow to Your Partner (5 page)

He carried on, as he tried his best to show her what
he meant. "If you agree, we can move on from there. As slowly as we think
we need to. Yes, I want you, and yes, I want you in my own world and ideas. Do
I know if your ideas are the same? No I don't. Do I hope they are? Of course,
but you know we're all a mix of show and tell signs and your show and tells
convince me you're submissive, and would be so to me. But I won't coerce you."

She looked him in the face. Her eyes were full of
sorrow and tears, and it was like a punch in the gut.

"Was, not am.
I was submissive. My
Master died, so I'm not anymore."

Her voice was so soft, he wondered if he heard her
properly. The words were like a dagger to his heart. Did she really think it could
be turned on and off like a tap? And how did one he
compete
with a memory like that?

Chapter
Five

Mason shivered. She couldn’t bear the look of
compassion on Callan's face. The knowledge he saw and understood her
instinctive necessity to submit, and her decision not to, unnerved her. It was
obvious he wouldn't help her make her mind up, and she didn't know whether to
be annoyed or grateful. Deep inside her mind, she heard her husband's voice.
Go for it
cara
, it's time.

"Food then, and show me."

He nodded, not giving anything away. Damn him, he could
at least be pleased about it.

Callan opened the door and ushered her through.
"Nice ass," he said in a conversational tone as she began to make her
way down the stairs.

Mason glanced back at him. "You should know
,
you fiddled with it for long enough back then."

His shout of laughter almost made her stumble. If
she'd dissed Michael like that he wouldn't have laughed, and her spanking wouldn't
have been for pleasure either.
But it's
not Michael
. Somehow she thought the similarities between the two men would
be zero except for the one word.
Master.
Did it
matter?

To her relief, it didn't worry her like she thought
it might. Instead a quick zap of heat filled her, and her thong crept higher
into her butt cheeks. The swell of her clit reminded her, without a thong she'd
have damp thighs.

"Wait there."

So he started as he meant to go on? In this, Mason
complied without any worry. She stood to one side and let him open the door. Once
they were in the restaurant, Marco came up to them.

"Small room?"

Callan looked at Mason.
"Your
decision here."

She took a deep breath.
"Small
room."
Callan's pleasure washed over her, and a weight lifted from
her. One she hadn’t even known was there. It still didn't stop her knees
knocking or her heart thudding as she followed Marco to the door, and let
herself be ushered inside.

Into a room that held no resemblance to the one she
remembered. Mason let her breath out with a whoosh. This was all cream and
gold, not the greens and purple, which had been there on her last visit.

"Redecorated, but you wouldn't let me tell
you." Marco grinned as Mason flung her arms around him, and kissed him.

She ignored the warning throat-clearing from Callan.
Marco was her cousin, and Callan would have to get over their loving ways if he
wanted to continue to have anything to do with her.

Where did that come from?
Okay, he wants me on my knees, but who knows what else?
Deep down,
she did know though, and was fairly sure she felt the same. If only she could
get over the hurdle that her Sir was no longer Michael. That worried her most.
Michael and she had been more than Master and sub, even though they hadn't live
a 24/7 lifestyle. Intuitively, she knew Callan would be different. Of course,
he had to be. But could she understand and accept that? It was something she had
to decide if she wanted to find out.

****

Callan couldn't believe the surge of red-hot
jealousy sweeping through him as Mason hugged and kissed the other man. Cousin
or not, it was too close and lovey-dovey for his liking. Before his green-eyed
monster showed, Mason drew back and stared at him. He knew exactly what that
look meant.
Get over it.

"Dinner," he said, in what he meant to be
a mild and unthreatening tone. It obviously wasn't, because Marco laughed.

"Oh, Callan, you've got it bad." He left
the room before Callan had a chance to say anything else.

With a smothered curse, Callan turned to Mason, who
stood grinning next to the table. "Don't say a word," he said in warning.
"Not one word. I'm possessive, okay. Accept it. What's mine is mine."

That seemed to shake her. She blinked several times,
and cleared her throat. "Um, and that involves me how?"

He knew fine well the look he gave her was one hundred
percent full on Dom. Her eyes widened and she swallowed several times. Good,
she needed shaking up. "You know," he said simply. "There's
something stoking between us. I know what I think it is. Are you going to be
open and honest and agree? And then let us explore it?" Callan pulled her
chair out so she could sit down, before walking round the table and seating
himself. He steepled his fingers together and made eye contact with her.

"Maybe."

Well, that's a start. "Then let's eat." A
knock came on the door and a waitron appeared with menus and a basket of breads.
Callan sighed. It was going to be midnight at this rate before they got to the
Dance Studio. It seemed Mason agreed because she rolled her eyes.

"If I may?"
She waved toward the
menu. Callan nodded, he didn't mind what he ate, as long as it arrived in the
next few minutes.

"Tell Marco two of whatever he can get in here
in the next two minutes," she said to the astonished waitron. "Oh,
and bring another bowl of bread when you bring us our surprise food,
please."

The man nodded. Apparently he was used to weird
customers because he backed out. Almost immediately, he returned. Mason looked
at her watch. "One minute and fifty-eight seconds," she said with a
smirk. "Spot on."

"I wonder who had to wait for their
meal?
" Callan asked as he cut open ravioli.

Mason giggled. "No one, Marco always has
something handy just in case someone balks at whatever they chose. The
staff eat
it up, or have a takeaway with what's left each
night." She forked the pasta into her mouth. "Mmm, this is
good."

Silence reigned for a while.

"So, what is it you want exactly?" she
asked, as she put her fork down and picked up her wine glass.
"From me."

She lifted the glass to her lips and Callan watched,
dry mouthed, his cock hard and his skin tight. He followed the play of her
muscles as her throat rippled as she swallowed.
One day that'll be
my cum
she's swallowing. I
want her under me, me in her, her crying my name.
Rosy-skinned
and hot, wet for me, showing her submission.
Mason as mine for ever.
His thoughts shocked him.
I’ve got it
bad.
It wasn't shock but satisfaction.

"You," he said without embellishment.
"Just you."

To his delight, she didn't look worried, just
thoughtful.
"Yeah?
Yeah.
How?"

Callan considered. What the hell.
"As
my sub."

She blinked. Her dark eyes were unreadable. A soft
flush spread up from her chest, showing how his words affected her.
"Hmm.
So, my
maybe Sir, what sort of
Dom are
you?"

"A good one."
He put his cutlery
down and looked at her almost empty plate. "Are you ready?"

Now she looked wary again. Then as if her mind was
made up she nodded and stood up. "Let's go."

Callan smothered his grin. "Subs are subs, not
Dom's."

Mason giggled.
"Unless
they're switches.
It's
okay I'm not. A switch,
I mean. Well, I don't think I am, cos I wasn't, but now
is
now not then, and— Oh shit, I'm babbling. See now you've opened the door, I'm
excited to go through it. Show me what needs coloring, and how."

"You mean the walls, not your ass?" He opened
the door for her, and strode up to a startled Marco. "We're
off,
will you send me the bill?"

Marco nodded, and looked at his cousin. "Okay,
cara
?"

"Who knows? I think so. Do you know where I'm
going? Do you trust Callan?"

Marco grinned. "Yes and yes, and enjoy
rejoining the human race."

"Hmm."
She didn't sound that
sure. "I'll see, and I'll decide whether I pay you back for interfering
later.
Ciao
."

Callan thumped his friend on his shoulder and opened
the door to the street. As they exited the restaurant, his car appeared, and he
ushered her into the back seat.

Mason whistled.
"Posh, eh?
Chauffeur-driven swank.
What next?"

"The Dance Studio."
He waited to see if
she questioned him. She ran her tongue over her mouth, and bit her top lip.

"Don't." He put his finger over her teeth.
"Don't. You'll get the wrong sort of mark if you do. The only marks I want
to see on you are mine." What would Mason say to that declaration? Her
eyes widened and she swallowed. He was beginning to recognize her shows and
tells. Callan decided to push a bit harder. "I can make such a pretty
pattern on your ass, Mason. You'll see."

Her laugh shook. "Well if, and that is a big
if, you ever got anywhere near my ass that's just what I wouldn't do isn't it?
See.
Because it's behind me."

"Sassy sub."

She sniggered.
"Sassy
something anyway.
Sub is not necessarily it." She paused and the
wicked glint in her eyes was a warning of what might be to come. "Or is
it—Sir." She dipped her head and then looked him in the eyes. "Okay,
I'm sorry,
But
you know? I feel alive for the first
time in over a year, and I so can't believe it. And it's not just because I'm
painting a few walls either. It's scary, amazing and all things in between. I
never ever thought I'd feel I wanted to do anything remotely kinky again.
Michael? Well, Michael and I had a very tight relationship, and I don't think I
can cope with that again." She looked worried once more.

Callan stroked her arm. "Mason, remember those
letter S, S and C? The third one is consensual. Anything we do will be just that.
Consensual."

She nodded.
"Yeah, but oh my,
what a turn around.
Seriously, I'm the sort of person it takes three
weeks to decide if they should buy grape juice or apple juice for a change. I'm
slow, methodological, and hate change. Now here I am after a few hours and—"
She stopped and flushed red, the color he hoped to make her ass.

“And?"
He prompted her when
she didn't continue.

"And wet, wanting, and scared stiff I'm going
to make a fool of myself. Shit." She shook her head and laughed. "Oh,
are you really sure you want to take a chance on me?"

The car drew to a halt before he had the opportunity
to answer. Callan decided maybe the best thing was just to show her. He opened
the car door, helped her out and watched Mason look around with an interested
expression. There wasn't much to look at. A blank wall, with a couple of door
in it, and above one of the doors a tiny sign unlit and discrete, that simply
said The Dance Studio please telephone or
email for information.
Below it was a web address.

"Not into advertising then?" she asked as the
car drove away and they walked toward the doors. He steered her to the one with
the sign above it.

If she noticed the other two were unidentified, Mason
didn't say, and Callan wasn't going to mention it—not yet. First, he needed to
see what she thought of the foyer he wanted painting. Then perhaps he'd have
the opportunity to show her other things as well. If she'd been in the
lifestyle, he was amazed she didn't know about the club. It probably only
opened around the time her husband died, so it was no wonder she didn't.

Body tense, Callan made an effort to relax. If it
all went well, that would be perfect, if not, then he'd take little steps
towards his goal. He fought to remind himself they had no deadline, no limit,
and the end result would, he hoped, be worth it.

"Hello?
Earth to Callan, anyone
in?"
Mason touched his arm. With a jolt, Callan realized he hadn't
answered her question. He held his hands out to take her jacket, and helped her
slip it off her arms before he replied.

"Sorry," he said. "I was thinking
about a problem I might have. That was rude. Ah, advertising? They don't need
to. Anyone interested in the lessons here, knows about it. The Studio is very
much private, and word of mouth recommended. They're very selective who's
taught or teaches here."