In His Cuffs (17 page)

 She was softness and surrender as she leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He tasted the white wine. With his mouth and hands on her, he tried to convey the feelings he couldn’t otherwise express. She was different from any woman he’d ever had. She challenged him, she pissed him off. And he would claim her.

She met his tongue parry for parry. Then she deepened the kiss, driving into his mouth. While he’d intended to be the one to send a message, she was the one who succeeded. She’d submit to him because she chose to, and never because he demanded it.

That made him respect her even more.

Maggie was so right for him.

With great reluctance, knowing they both needed to breathe and he had to discard the condom, he dragged himself away from her.

“Well, wow, Mr Tomlinson.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.” He grabbed up his pants and said, “Be right with you.”

When he returned, she had settled herself on the stool again. Her shoulders were back, giving him a beautiful view of her breasts and erect nipples. Her hair flowed over her shoulders and she held a wineglass, appearing at ease.

“Sex and a submissive mindset seem to agree with you.”

She lowered her gaze to the countertop.

“Don’t be ashamed of that. It pleases me more than you know.” He topped off her glass.

“I could get accustomed to being spoilt like this.”

“So you should. I suspect you’ve been solving the world’s problems for a few years.”

“My own, at least. My dad passed when I was young.”

“And you took care of yourself.” It wasn’t a question. He’d seen the way she interacted with Gloria. The other woman was brilliant in her way, but he suspected she’d been hands-off as a parent. In fact, Maggie seemed more nurturing than her mother was.

“It wasn’t all bad,” Maggie said. “I learnt how to be independent and think for myself.”

He prepared the salad then tossed the steaks on the grill to a rewarding hiss and sizzle.

“Can I help set the table?” she asked when he came back inside.

“Plates are there.” He pointed to a cupboard. “Silverware is over there. Placemats and napkins are in that drawer.”

“Fancy.”

“We’ll be dining al fresco.”

She opened her mouth.

“Save your breath for an argument you can win,” he urged. “The weather is beautiful and the deck is private. No one will see you.”

She closed her mouth again. Mutely she worked around him, gathering items and making a few trips outside.

“If you weren’t so stubborn, we could enjoy working together,” he said.

“You’re the one who makes the rules wherever we are, Mr Tomlinson.”

“You could be a bit more agreeable when you follow them.”

“Am I the only one who has to bend, Sir?” she asked as she walked past him.

The words walloped him. No doubt he liked to have things his way, always had. But, in addition to his other faults, was he that inflexible?

He grabbed a platter for the steaks then went outside. A water glass sat on the top of the table, filled with flowers from his garden. In that moment he realised how sterile his home was. Since Sandy had insisted everything in their old house have sentimental meaning, he’d let her keep all of it. When he’d bought this house, he’d hired a designer to furnish it. The only thing he’d had any input on had been the bed. He missed the touches a woman could provide. “Table looks great. Thank you for the help,” he said.

She sipped from her glass.

“How do you want your steak?”

“Medium-rare. Unless it’s already too late?”

“Should be perfect.” He served them both, and it seemed she relaxed—he liked the transformation.

“Delicious,” she told him after taking a bite. “Like you said, I need my strength.”

“You have no idea.”

The more comfortable she became, the sexier her movements were. Though he’d just fucked her, he couldn’t wait to have her again.

“You know, Maggie, your slow word is for use any time.”

“Mr Tomlinson?” she asked, putting down her utensils.

“Inside, when you asked if you were the only one who has to bend… I’m not sure if you were trying to express your displeasure at me telling you that we were going to eat outside, or whether you meant something more serious by it that you need to discuss. I understand you think I’m being somewhat high-handed, and the truth is, you’re right.”

“Well then,” she said. “That settles that.”

“I’m a Dom, Maggie. You’re a sub.”

“So you know what’s best for me?”

“Maybe not,” he admitted. “But I do know I love looking at you. I spent far too much time this morning picturing your naked body in the sunshine.”

“Damn it, Mr Tomlinson.”

“It’s not just about bending you to my will—”

“Though that’s an added bonus,” she interrupted.

“Agreed. But it’s about appreciating you and your willingness to do things to please me.” He gave her a chance to respond. “Speechless?” he asked into the silence.

“I’m not very good at putting your needs first, I suppose.”

“Hence the constant battle. At work, Maggie, my track record shows I do know what’s best for the bottom line. Even there, I don’t act without consulting you. I wonder if you’re fighting me for the sake of fighting me, for what you feel is your independence. We’ve proved time and again that we work well together.” He paused. “When you let us.”

She sat back.

“Tell me, Maggie, when have I demanded something irrational? You have to admit the company is better for your involvement.”

“The company, yes.”

“And how have I stifled your earning potential or creativity or authority?”

“You haven’t.” She reached for her empty wineglass and rolled the stem between her palms. “Having you in charge has been an adjustment.”

“You were under no duress when you came here,” he reminded her.

“I think…” She stared into her glass for at least thirty seconds before looking up at him with her guileless brown eyes. “To you, it’s not just about the spanking and getting me off, is it?”

“Not even close,” he said, voice flat. “I will do everything in my power to please you and give you multiple orgasms, but I expect reciprocity. I don’t mean in terms of sex, I mean respect.” Though he’d made an attempt to be flexible, he realised he’d again sounded dictatorial. “Look, Maggie, I’m screwing this up.”

“No. You’re not. I get it. You’re right. I have been accusing you of being an ogre, and I’ve been worse. You’re right that we collaborate well. And it’s unfair of me to be compliant when we’re being sexual but then refuse to cooperate in other ways.” She leant forwards. “I apologise, Mr Tomlinson.”

“I’ll bend, Maggie. Or at least I’ll try. Use a slow word if I don’t. Communicate with me. I need you to meet me halfway. Don’t make me guess what’s wrong when you have an issue with something I’ve requested.”

“That’s a tall order, Sir.”

“You told me earlier you’ve been on your own for years. You can do this.”

She sighed. “You’re right, Mr Tomlinson.”

They cleared the table together. She loaded the dishwasher while he put away the leftover salad.

“How are you feeling?” he asked her afterwards.

“A bit uncertain.” She wrapped her arms around her middle. “We scened, fucked, ate.”

“Are you afraid I’ll make you snuggle up and watch racing or something like that on television?”

She laughed.

“I’ve got plenty more in store for you. You haven’t seen the basement yet.”

Her eyes widened.

“Open that door,” he told her. “And go on down. I’ll join you in a minute.” He grabbed a couple of bottles of water, wanting her to have time to explore the area on her own.

The area was finished, and it was large. He’d had the pool table removed and had taken out several walls for his exercise space. While he’d been at it, he’d asked Master Marcus to design some unobtrusive pieces that no one would consider kinky. Now that she was here, David was glad he’d had the foresight to do that. He looked forward to their mutual introduction to Master Marcus’ creation.

Earlier in the day, David had moved aside his workout machines and weight bench, leaving the area vacant for their use.

“I don’t get it,” she said when he came downstairs. “It’s a nice space, but…”

“It doesn’t look like a dungeon?”

“Not at all.”

“Pull that tapestry off the wall.”

She did. “Ah. Hmm.” She took a step back and studied the pieces of wood attached to the wall. “Interesting.” She placed the tapestry on the floor and rolled it up. “Sorry. I still don’t get it.”

“It serves the same purpose as a St Andrew’s cross.”

Maggie looked again, closer. “Oh! Clever.”

He thought so, too. The structure was about six feet in width and height. Holes were drilled at strategic intervals for placement of hooks, meaning a sub could be attached wherever the Dom desired. Even the individual slats could be removed or not, as David saw fit. Since it didn’t have an official name, he called it the Cavendish, in honour of its designer.

“Devious,” she added. “No one would ever know it’s down here.”

He opened the top of a bench—another of Marcus’ designs. The furniture had been installed beneath a window. Guests who opened it would find a blanket and a remote control for the television and sound system. The upper tray was removable, and his stash of toys was stored beneath.

“Your personality is like this room, isn’t it?” she observed. “You’d never expect what’s beneath the exterior.”

“I’m the same on the inside and the outside.”

“Uh-huh. Sorry, Mr Tomlinson. Not buying it. You are much deeper, more concerned about things and people—me—than you let on.”

“You have it wrong, Maggie. I assure you.”

“Whatever you say, Sir.”

He glanced at her.

“I’m agreeing with you, Mr Tomlinson.” She shrugged. “As always.”

“You’re incorrigible, Maggie.”

She flashed him a cheeky grin.

“Would you prefer I flog your back or front?” He nodded, selecting a flogger with broad straps so he could give her a long, sound beating.

Her smile faded, and she took in a sharp breath, not from fear, he sensed, but from unfurling anticipation.

She kept an eye on him as he shook it out. “Whatever Sir prefers,” she said.

This time, sincerity was etched in her words.

He laid the implement aside and took out hooks, clamps, ties, restraints, lube and even a medium-sized butt plug.

“I guess you weren’t kidding that we wouldn’t be watching television,” she said.

“Not a chance.”

“All that for tonight?”

“Do you have something better to do?”

“Ah. No, Mr Tomlinson.”

“Come here, please.” He put cuffs on her wrists. They weren’t his preferred metal ones, but the fabric ones would work better for his purposes. Not that it really mattered. He just liked having her in them. He knelt to secure a second pair to her ankles. “You’ll be helpless in less than five minutes.”

“I’m already tied up inside,” she said, her voice so soft he hardly heard it.

So was he. He hadn’t expected that. He didn’t know how to respond. Before he completely lost the ability to think, he picked up four hooks. “Stand with your back against the structure.”

In front of him, she looked so small, but he knew how tough she was. She’d taken everything he’d given, and she’d done it with impressive stoicism. “Please raise your arms.” He stepped back to look at her relative to the Cavendish then repositioned her. “Now spread your legs. Keep your feet flat on the floor, as I don’t want to strain any of your muscles.” He repeated the procedure and double-checked each distance before inserting the hooks into pre-drilled holes. “You may step away.”

She frowned.

“There are a few things I want to do to you before I start the flogging,” he explained. “That was mechanical, and I want you in a different mental state before my leather meets your skin. Let’s start with some clamps.” He handed her a pair. “Put them on.”

“Me? You want me to do it to myself? That seems like you’re asking me to tie my own noose.”

“You play with this type all the time. Quit stalling.”

Without further complaint, she tugged on her left nipple, pinching it, squeezing it.

“I could watch you do that all day.”

She continued long after the nipple had hardened.

“You’re doing that to aggravate me,” he said.

“Not at all. I’m trying to please you, Mr Tomlinson.”

“Don’t forget who will be holding the flogger.”

She looked up at him through her long lashes, but she didn’t stop toying with her nipple.

“Put the clamp on it,” he snapped, the words almost sounding like a growl.

Rather than being intimidated, she laughed. She squeezed her aureole between her thumb and forefinger of her left hand, making the nipple protrude. He knew she was very much aware of his interest, and she took her sweet time opening the pincer and guiding it towards her nipple.

She placed the clamp and sucked in a shocked breath.

“More than you expected?” he asked.

“Hell and back. Yes, Sir.”

“Is it more than you can bear?”

“If it pleases you, Sir, I can take it.”

In his pants, his cock felt hot and heavy. Once she stepped away from her inhibitions, her sexual power quadrupled. She could ask for anything and he’d crawl through shards of metal to get it for her.

“Shall I do the other one now, Mr Tomlinson?”

An internal debated raged inside him. Touching her might be lethal. Watching her play with herself would lead him to fuck her before they’d even started. “I’ll do it.”

The little vixen pouted. Everything she did made his desire rise to flash point.

He followed her lead, plumping her breast, abrading her nipple with his callused fingertip. She moaned and allowed her head to fall backwards. Her hair streamed down her back in waves of untamed abandon.

David pinched her nipple and pulled it away from her body before releasing the clamp to bite it.

She fisted her hands and he saw her fingernails dig into her palms. He considered removing the clovers, but he remained silent and waited for her to use her safe word.