Mastered: Ten Tales of Sensual Surrender (82 page)

“I’ve seen you wear these on plenty of occasions. Watched from a distance as the white leather caressed that beautiful cinnamon skin. I always liked how the brown piping and trim matched your skin perfectly. The buckles used to catch the light whenever your arms were suspended. Beautiful.”

But seeing the leather buckled in place again, surrounding her wrists made her feel…ill. Her brain tilted sideways at the memories that washed through her head, so fast if it had been a flood of water, she’d have drowned.

Thoughts of Marcais putting these same cuffs on her, telling her he loved her, calling her the perfect submissive…and then treating her as less than the dirt on the bottom of his combat boots. Not with the bondage, or the flogging or the spanking. But with his cheating, lying and subversion. The fucker.

“Now,” Burton said, “I want you to take the cuffs off, and throw them in the trash over there.” He pointed to a little wastebasket near the entrance to the space that she hadn’t noticed before.

“Throw them away? But…why?”

“Do it. I’ll tell you after.”

A mix of anger and sadness had her biting back some choice expletives, not to mention a few tears.

When she was done, she turned to find Burton next to the table, waiting.

She didn’t have to be told to go to him. She was far from stupid…well, on most days.

Standing in front of him, Solie pictured a corner and the wall again. Why? Because she knew the man saw more than she wanted him to.

He held out a hand. She wanted to hide rather than put hers in it, but from somewhere inside she made that arm stretch out to her new man, and stay there.

Without a word, Burton put new cuffs around her wrists and tightened them just to the point of discomfort. The leather was unmarred. No tension marks or “broken in” areas. They were flawless, and surprisingly, matched the outfit she’d been wearing—red leather with black trim and bronze buckles.

He passed some red rope through the D-rings until her hands were loosely bound, and then led her over to one of the hooks secured to the wall. Burton pointed to one of the hooks that reminded her of something she’d hang a set of keys or a picture on—easy on, easy off.

“Loop the rope over the hook and face me.”

Wait, what? He wasn’t going to tie or secure her to anything? Didn’t he think she could handle it, goddamn it?

“I had you throw away the other cuffs because they represented your old relationship, that guy’s claim on your heart. His influence on your thoughts, feelings and emotions. I asked you to toss them, Sols, but bottom line is that you had to
choose
to do it. Just like you have to choose to accept these new cuffs from me. It’s not a collar, but you will wear them when we’re together.”

Hmmm. Not quite what she had in mind, but Solie didn’t say anything. Just glared at him, hating the memories the cuffs had dredged up, and waited to see where this would go.

“Tell me how you felt when I put the old cuffs on you.”

No. Couldn’t form the words. Couldn’t get them past the lump in her throat. Tears she’d effortlessly kept in check came spilling down her cheeks.

Burton didn’t comfort her. Simply stood and waited for her to get herself under control. It was the greatest gift he could have given her. It meant that he believed she was strong enough to get her shit together enough to have a conversation about this very painful subject.

After a few moments, she cleared her throat.

“May I have some tissue, please?”

Burton fished around in her play bag and brought her tissue. Solie unhooked herself from the wall and reached for it.

“Did I give you permission to release the rope from the hook?”

Shit. Just that quickly she’d forgotten that in this space and anytime they were together in private, he was boss. Hell, she even had it in writing as part of their earlier negotiations.

Solie put her hands back over her head, hooked the rope on the little hook on the wall.

Burton gently cleaned up her face and even held the tissue to her nose.

“Blow.”

No way. That was just nasty. This morning when she’d let the waterworks loose, she’d taken care of her own snot rockets, thank you very much.

Burton cocked his head sideways. “Blow,” he repeated.

She shook her head.

“Yes, Solie.”

Frowned and turned her head away with a simple, “Nu-uh.”

“Alright.” The man was completely calm, neither face nor words held any trace of anger. But when he calmly said, “Put your clothes on. We’re done here,” panic, sheer unmistakable panic filled her chest. The word, “No!” came out in a rush as her heart pounded up into her throat.

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, I’ll let you clean my nose. I don’t want to go home. Not yet. Please.”

“Solie, you know me, right?”

“Yes.”

“And what would my typical response be?”

His gaze lasered to hers. His expression was unwavering, with body language to match. He was not happy with her just now. But he was being incredibly patient as well.

“Your typical response would be, too bad. We’d be leaving. Right now.”

“I will say this and I will only say it once. I am not a D.I.N.O.”

“I know, Burt, I just…”

“Do not interrupt.”

Fingers wrapped around the rope between the cuffs and she held on for dear life, thankful for the knots on the ends. Her gut screamed that this moment would make or break what she wanted with this man.

“I am your friend, Solie. Will always be. But when I tell you to do something and your response is ‘No’, there is no negotiation at that point. If we’re in the middle of a scene, the scene is done. To me, refusing an order is the same as screaming a safe word. Understand?”

“Yes. I understand.”

Without taking his eyes off of her, he called out and Mac ducked back into the room. From her periphery, she saw Mac tilt her head as she looked back and forth between herself and Burton, but Solie didn’t dare take her eyes off of his.

Thankfully, the other woman sat without a word and Burton continued as if there’d been no interruption at all.

And this time when he put the tissue to her nose, no matter how much it made her feel like she was five years old, she blew.

“Why didn’t you want to blow your nose, Solie?”

“You’re going to get mad at me.”

No response. Just…quiet. God, she’d give her left kidney for a little bit of white noise just now. Finally, she sucked in a deep breath and forced the words out.

“Because Marcais would yell at me when I cried. Made me feel like shit. Even if he was the reason for the tears, he would scream ‘Stop fucking crying’ like I’d physically harmed him or like I was crying for the hell of it or something.”

The silent tears of a few moments ago became a gut-wrenching bawl. And Burton wiped her nose again. And she kept her hands exactly where they were supposed to be though it took all her effort not to snatch that box of tissue from his hands and run for it.

“Solie, you don’t have to be strong all the fucking time,” he growled. “I’m your port of harbor, your safe place to let it all out, like I have been for all the years you’ve known me. Turn around and face the wall.”

The moment she did, his hands were on the bare skin of her back. The touch quieted, but not quite comforted. Eased up and down along either side of her spine, careful not to touch her tickle spots. Fingers pressed deeply into tense muscle at her neck and shoulders, warming them.

When her skin felt warm and her muscle loose and languid, the first light strike fell. Solie gasped. She could tell by the weight and impact of it, that it was a warm up flogger. The wash of pleasure was twofold—one, it just fucking felt good and two, it was only going to get better as he took her on tonight’s journey.

Her mind took a quick trip down memory lane of what she’d put on that table. The three floggers ranged from very light leather to heavy strips of rubber. Of the two crops, one was your typical stiff one with a thin shaft covered with leather. The other had an ornate end of thick, pink, heart shaped plastic with little studs on it. It reminded her of the back of the mats people put on the floor of their cars.

The impact was thuddy rather than stingy, followed by a gentle caress of his free hand on her skin, along the same path of the blows.

The dam she’d erected to protect her heart after the Marcais disaster began to strain under the pressure of the waves of desire for Burton that rolled up against it.

A desire stoked and fostered by Burton’s knowing hand and the energy he brought to the table. Tonight, she was going to take it slow. Tonight, she was going to ease her way back into this part of her life. Right?

“Control your breathing, Solie.”

What? Why? This was cake, nothing hard or…

“It’s too soon. You’re already starting to float away and we haven’t really gotten started yet,” Burt said.

Taking stock of herself, she ignored him. There wasn’t any pain, no reason for alarm. She heard someone talking off in the distance. Sounded like they said something about someone floating away. Well, good for them. As for herself, she liked the way this felt. She hadn’t had anyone touch her like this, or put a flogger to her skin in so very, very long, and it was just so good, and…

Smack!

“Ouch!” she yelped.

Burton had changed up his strokes, broken the rhythm and the force of the blows to yank her back from the sub-space edge.

“Well that certainly worked,” she grumbled, her head clearing of any residual fog as he turned her to face him.

She glanced over at the table. He’d only made it to the fourth toy and she was toast. Damn.

“I want you to hear what I’m saying, Solie. Tell me you hear me.”

It took a couple of tries, but she finally said, “I hear you. Loud and clear.”

“Solie Shaw, you are the most desirable, together female I’ve ever met. You’re loving, caring, giving.”

Then his fingers were around her throat. Tightened just enough to make her aware of their presence, then a little bit more until she was keenly aware of exactly how much breath she was being allowed.

“You take care of your friends better than you take care of yourself.” He lowered his head for a passion-filled kiss that set her body on fire. The weight of his hand against her skin, the total control he had over her as he collared her neck with his fingers, made her feel safe, secure and sexy in a way that nothing else did.

“You have your shit together and don’t you dare allow the memory of some asshat to make you feel less than the spectacular woman you are.”

He nipped her tongue and then her bottom lip as he deepened the contact. Held her tight so that his chest pressed against hers, his silk against her bare skin. Rubbed back and forth until her nipples pebbled and ached. Breath soughed in and out of her lungs.

The palm of his free hand skated over a bare breast. Up, down. Back and forth. Then a tug and a gentle pull with thumb and forefinger.

“Does that feel good?” he asked.

He knew it did, but one of the rules was that she must always answer a question, even if she thought it was stupid. So she gasped out, “Yes.”

Then he tugged hard, harder, until the nipple throbbed and stung. The he stepped back just a bit to reach for something.

A second later, a riding crop tapped the tender skin of her breast. One, then the other, and back again. Over and over.

She squeezed her thighs together. Shifted up on her toes and back down, trying not to tug on the barely-there hook that her rope was laid over.

“Still good?”

“Oh god, yes. So good,” she babbled, unable to quite catch her breath as the hand around her neck forced her head to the right. He bit her.

“Ah god!”

Her determination to take it slow tonight slid down the river of her sensual desire. The moment the thick clear-pink heart with the little spiky things landed on the side of her ass cheek, her determination went clear out of sight.

She cried out.

“Sssh. Breathe through it, baby. You can do it.” Burton’s voice with just the right mix of encouragement and bossiness. The heart landed again, and again. She was sure to have bruises. The thought made her smile.

She would call that particular toy, “Brunhilda” from now on because it was one tough bitch.

Another blow. Burton wedged his knee between her thighs, knee rubbed against her clit.

It was over.

The wall around her vulnerability failed all together; and her emotions, infused with her true and natural sexuality, overflowed the banks of her need.

And she let it. Let it go. Let it take the path that it wanted to.

Until all she knew was the sensation of her man’s hands around her neck, teasing and tormenting her breasts, skating over her stomach and her panty-clad ass. Brunhilda’s sting on her ass, her thighs. Burton’s lips on her skin—sucking, nipping and biting.

Until knees began to buckle and…

“Please. Oh please, Burt,” she begged for more.

Burt lifted the rope from the little keychain hook thingy, picked her up and eased down into the oversized chair with her in his lap again.

Suddenly a blanket was over them as Burt rocked her back and forth.

A thought poofed into her head—Burt with others. Flickers of his landing a flogger or a whip across someone else’s skin. She’d even watched him create a butterfly pattern out of color-tipped needles on a woman’s back before.

But Solie had never seen him give anyone aftercare when a scene was over. No one.

Yet that’s exactly what he was doing with her. Using his hands to soothe, wrapping the blanket over her skin so she wouldn’t get chilled. Holding a piece of chocolate to her mouth, encouraging her to eat it. Telling her how well she’d done after such a long time out of the scene. Even massaging her scalp a bit as she fall backward into the floaty, endorphin-laced waters of her mind.

Chapter Five

It had been a hell of a week, but all her deadlines were met for her current clients, she’d picked up a new contract, and had even sent off a congratulatory email to the consultants in Japan who’d landed the new business.