Terms of Surrender (5 page)

20

Terms of Surrender

He closed his eyes now, a sudden shudder of excitement riding his spine as he envisioned the glow, orange flames leaping from room to room inside the large colonial he had called home for the first fourteen years of his life, as his parents perished among the blaze of their own ignorance and shame.

They had been his first kills, and they had deserved it, every fiery tortuous moment.

He'd been on a trip of self-awareness and discovery ever since, his understanding of his place in the world, his purpose revealed to him with each succeeding sacrifice. Every woman he'd ever taken and dominated since killing his parents a teacher, as well as a pupil. Every woman was stronger than his mother had ever been, yet, unlike his father, wholly controllable and powerless by virtue of gender and inferior status.

Like her last name, Slany would be a breath of fresh air, his star pupil, sweet and innocent, yet strong and indomitable, a totally new challenge.

His penis throbbed with the possibilities of her forthcoming surrender, the pleasure he would get from hearing her beg for his favor, watching her squirm in her shackles, knowing that he held the power of her existence in his hands.

Soon, very soon.

Usually, he waited six months to a year on a new job before he initiated contact and took his trainee. The pickings at every previous job were so slim, the wait and his patience demanded the wait. Now, the waiting had become a part of his ritual, a habit he had not been able to break—nor did he want to—not since his fifth kill while at his third ad agency in New Jersey.

Except the anticipation, the desire to master Slany Breeze, experience the energy of her obedience, the warmth and heat of her vagina enclosing and complementing his perfect penis, had caused his current break of protocol.

He glanced over a shoulder at the bound woman, gagged and supine on the soft leather backseat of his custom sedan. Her hazel eyes were large in her face, glistening and defiant above the duct tape covering her full lips as she stared at him.

He reached behind him, comfortable in the knowledge that no idle passers-by could see her through the dark tint of the car's windows, and smoothed a flushed cheek with the back of his hand. His stomach pitched with excitement and anger when she rudely flinched from his touch.

He backhanded her, saw the shock in her eyes, then listened to the rewarding sound of her whimpering behind the tape. "You should be satisfied I allowed you in the car. I could have put you in the trunk." He glared at her, waited a beat, then took a deep breath.

He hadn't meant to lose his temper, rarely showed emotion or became violent with a trainee, at least not so early in their relationship, and not outside the bounds of his training and their ultimate merging.

He was instantly sorry for his outburst, but he'd had to make her see, teach her now who was boss so she would know how she needed to behave with him from now on, so she would know the best way to please him for as long as their time together lasted.

Gaining his wrath would only shorten that time, and he had to make her see that displeasing him, forcing him to dispose of her too early, was not desirable for either of them, but especially not for her.

21

Gracie C. McKeever

"Now, let's start again, shall we, Kate?"

She stared at him, finally nodded at his cold silent look.

Her anger was as palpable as her fear, each suffusing his limbs with electricity. He was anxious to chain this one down, had been waiting months since he had first seen her visiting the offices of
DMT
in her capacity as one of the agency's oft-used freelance photographers, his desire to take her, own her almost as strong as his desire for Slany Breeze. That they were similar in looks and temperament, despite Kate Delaney's chestnut hair and smaller stature, did not escape him.

That she resembled all the women he had ever taken and trained, and to a superficial extent, his mother, did not escape him, either.

"You are comfortable, aren't you? More comfortable than you would be in the trunk?

Because as large as it is, I don't think you'd want to ride around in it, now would you?" He arched an eyebrow, pointedly stared at her so she wouldn't mistake his meaning.

She shook her head, her antagonism gradually softening until only the familiar glint of apprehension remained.

"Excellent. We're off to a good start, you and me."

She screamed behind the tape in a sudden burst of recalcitrance, struggling against her bonds, almost falling off the back seat before he reached back, caught her around the biceps of her closest arm, and easily lifted her back onto the seat. He gave her a censuring look, like the irritated parent of an ill-mannered child, before he slapped her again—this time, a tad harder than the first time. "I will not tolerate rebellion, Kate. Please don't do that again."

She glared, tears welling, probably more from shock than pain, in silent censure, an expression with which he was well-acquainted, one that excited him more than her bondage.

He should have worried about taking someone affiliated with
DMT
, if only in a part-time consulting role. He should have worried about risking discovery, however remote the possibility.

He should have felt guilty about his impulsiveness, a paradoxically well-planned act of spontaneity, a snack he intended to enjoy, slaking his hunger for a few weeks before the main course.

He wasn't worried, however, nor remorseful. They would never catch him and technically, he wasn't cheating or veering too far from his mission.

He would think of his mother the entire time instructing Kate in the meaning of total Domination and submission.

* * * *

He tried not to think about it now, but shut in an office with Slany for the last couple of hours made it extremely difficult to focus on anything except his sexual urges and satisfying them.

22

Terms of Surrender

Barring these seeming impossibilities, Nick immersed himself in his past indulgences with Mari, how she'd shown him the ropes and taken him to the edge.

Mari had enjoyed being told what to do and how to do it, preferred to be sexually mastered, even got off on some bondage and light S&M. But outside the bedroom, she was a lot like Slany—independent, strong-willed, and wanting to call her own shots.

Even entering into casual relationships, the ones that didn't involve D/s, Nick took his duties to please seriously. And since he'd graduated and Mari had dropped out of touch, casual—

or, as Mari had dubbed it, “vanilla sex”—was the only sex in which he'd engaged.

He and Mari had parted company amicably enough during his junior year. Ostensibly, she had gotten a great job offer and was going off to pursue her art career in New York. Nick suspected it was more that she'd found a more experienced Dom capable of fulfilling her kinky needs and tastes.

Damn, he hadn't thought about Marilyn in years. He had buried those parts of his life beneath a shitload of ambition and hard work on his way to successive Ad Man of the Year titles and becoming one of the youngest executives in advertising history at thirty-three three years ago to be nominated to the Advertising Hall of Fame.

And all these achievements went out the window in the face of his current towering lust.

Beyond his career aspirations and several short-lived romantic liaisons, he hadn't had time to remember the lessons Mari had taught him, much less entertain the physical intensity and psychological intricacies of D/s.

Had he come across a woman who seemed remotely open, however, he might have tried to introduce the topic, but so far, he hadn't sensed any allied spirits. And short of pulling out a pair of cuffs on some I-am-woman-hear-me-roar spitfire and risk being labeled a chauvinist pig—or worse, a degenerate—Nick had never risked revealing himself, settling for pre-Mari colorless couplings, instead. Though the physical release of these was pleasing, vanilla sex ultimately left him wanting, his primary needs and thirsts unquenched, his ego and soul invariably hungry for something more.

Nick had given up any hope of ever satisfying his particular hungers before Slany Breeze had come to
DMT
, hadn't thought he'd find the perfect partner, one into D/s and whose maternal clock wasn't ticking like a time bomb in the background.

The idea that she might be open, that she, as Angela had vaguely alluded, wanted to be tamed and would trust him enough to do his bidding and let him fulfill her desires, shot a hot dose of hunger straight to his groin, instantly hardening his dick to painful proportions.

Nick shifted in his seat as Slany leaned over his shoulder and pointed at an area on his layout about where the body copy would go, her breasts just barely brushing his shoulder.

This was one of the first ads that would introduce Everwell to the public, if the bank approved their planned mock-ups. Nick, however, couldn't get his mind past the remembered appearance of Slany's nipples through the soft silk of her salmon blouse when she'd first come into his office a couple of hours ago, much less focus on tag lines, pull quotes and callouts.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Slany's spicy-sweet woman's musk sent his salivary glands into overdrive, and his cock stood at attention under his desk.

23

Gracie C. McKeever

"Are you listening to me, Nick?"

"Of course I am."

"Then what did I just say?"

"Something about your ad beating the jocks off of mine in the split run."

"Lucky guess." She smirked.

Nick chuckled. "If it's any consolation, they're both great copy, each playing on basic semiotics." He waited for her retort, remembered how she'd reacted to his "Everwell…our name says it all," compared to her "Quality and longevity is in our name." They'd argued the merits of each catch phrase through most of that first day working together. Slany thought his slogan oversimplified, that it sacrificed clarity in the name of cleverness. Nick insisted it was clear and clever enough, despite its simplicity. They'd finally settled on a split run, competitive to the bitter end, and may the best director win.

"It isn't," Slany murmured.

Nick arched a brow. "Isn't what?"

"Isn't any consolation."

"Don't like bones, huh?"

"Bones are for dogs."

"Care to make it interesting?"

She stared at him long and hard, then finally asked, "What do you have in mind?"

"A little wager. Loser takes the winner out to dinner." He figured even if he lost, he still won. The luxury of Slany's company was enough assuagement for any man's wounded ego. He could see Slany figured the same as he did, that she resented his manipulation.

She stood up straight, hands on her hips in what was becoming an achingly familiar pose of defiance that made his cock throb in his pants with longing.

Loose-fit designer chinos had never been as uncomfortable on him.

He glanced up at her from his seat and goaded, "Don't have any faith in your text?"

She marched from behind his desk at this and planted herself in front of it, putting a nice slab of hard wood between them as she seethed.

Smart girl, because he'd been about to do something that probably would have warranted a slap, or arrest for lewd and lascivious behavior by the laws of at least several states.

Nick was sure there actually were some archaic regulations on the books that outlawed several of his favorite activities to do in bed, two of which he could see doing with Slany in his office this minute if he could get away with it.

Slany stared at him for a long moment, finally sighed, and dropped her arms to her sides, as if in resignation. "I don't even know why I let you stress me out."

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

24

Terms of Surrender

"Stressed out.”

"I'm slowly getting there."

Nick laughed as he stood and came from behind his desk, aware of the bulge in his pants and not caring if she noticed, especially since she was the one who'd put it there.

Slany eyed him warily, but didn't retreat as he approached, stopping a foot in front of her.

"You know what they say is the best stress reliever?"

Her eyes widened ever so slightly, but she remained silent as she stared up at him, plainly anticipating his next move.

He had news for her, because the ball was in her court.

Your move, Breeze.

She didn't disappoint him, slowly ran the tip of her tongue over her luscious lips, igniting his imagination and making him wonder what that organ of taste would feel like wrapped around and stroking his hard cock.

"No. Why don't you tell me?"

If he picked up the gauntlet she'd just thrown down, he knew there would be no turning back for either of them, and no longer cared about the consequences. Hell, he barely remembered they were at their job, in his office, the door unlocked.

Nick took a step closer, paused as he stared at her, giving her a chance to fall back.

She didn't, simply looked up at him with a curious heated expression.

Good girl. Stay with me.

He tilted his head to one side as he leaned in to take her mouth, closed his eyes and saw skyrockets blasting off when their lips converged.

He pulled back for the second it took him to murmur, "Open for me, Slany," surprised when she did. He thrust his tongue against hers before sweeping past it altogether and into the hot depths of her eager mouth to thoroughly devour.

In that instant, he knew. Slany was a submissive!

Nick felt it in the way she became pliant in his arms when he slid them up to embrace her, all but melting against him as he alternately nibbled and sucked her full bottom lip. He felt it in the way she moaned deep in her throat, a lingual white flag of surrender as she pressed closer to him, returning his embrace.