The Submissive's Last Word (The Power to Please #4) (21 page)

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said bullshit. You’re lying.”

He mouth thinned into a grim, straight line. “That’s the
second time tonight you’ve accused me of lying. I don’t lie.”

“Then perhaps you’ve misspoken again.”

“I have not.”

“Maybe you don’t understand, then. Because I’ve had a moment
of clarity and something is making sense that wasn’t before.”

He stared at me, not saying a word.

Fine, I decided. “I just realized that on those nights when
you have problems sleeping, there’s something they all have in common. It only
happens when we’ve pushed the boundaries a little, when you’ve called a halt to
things, or stopped them before they went anywhere real. You can’t sleep because
you’re frustrated.”

“You’re not getting what you need, are you, Gibson?” I
asked. “So you go exercise, to work it out of your system.”

His face was a careful blank.

“I know I’m right,” I said. “It all makes sense. You’re not
perfectly satisfied. You need more. What is it that you want that I’m not
giving you? Is it something in particular? Some kink you don’t want to tell me
about?”

“You’ve got it wrong.”

“If it’s not a particular kink, then maybe it’s how far we
go with what we’re doing. How hard you ride me, or whatever. What is it,
Gibson? What are you needing that you’re not getting?”

He flung his napkin down on the table. “Damn it. I’m sick of
repeating myself. There is nothing I’m missing with you. And if I don’t take
things as far as you want right now, that doesn’t mean we won’t some time in
the future. Have patience ... and respect.”

“I can give you what you need right now.”

“You already do.”

I shook my head. “I’m not some damaged, fragile thing you
have to protect. Not anymore. I’m ready for whatever comes.”

He pushed back his chair and stood up. “There’s no point
discussing this any further. It’s all been said, several times. Either you’ll
respect my position, or you’ll continue talking in circles and forcing
arguments. The choice is yours. Either way, I’m finished.”

“I want —”

“If you’ll excuse me.” And with that, he stalked out of the
room.

I stared at the open, empty doorway long after he was gone.

Wow. He was gone. Just like that.

I was right. I knew it. He wanted more than what he was
getting from me, no matter how vehemently he denied it. The more I thought
about it, the more certain I became.

And here I was, wanting to give him anything he desired. So
what was the problem?

Was it because he saw me as fragile? I couldn’t be sure. I
was positive, though, that he behaved differently with me now than he did
before all the fallout from the video.

Before the betrayal, Gibson physically handled me
differently. He was careful, yes, but he pushed me harder than he pushed me
now. These days there was a tentativeness in his actions that wasn’t there
before.

Before. After. A definite difference.

And he wasn’t getting what he needed.

Neither was I.

He might be prepared to settle for less, but I wasn’t. I had
a need for what he was holding back. And I’d do whatever it took to get it.

Chapter 17

I gave him a break of a few hours after dinner, to spend
time alone in his study, to cool down, and maybe consider some of the things
I’d said. At least, I hoped he was reconsidering.

I spent the time showering, grooming myself with the
unscented soaps and lotions Gibson preferred when we were intimate. Now I stood
outside his study, fresh and smooth, naked under my white satin robe.

When he called out to enter, I opened the door and stepped
inside. He looked up from his computer. I thought his dark hair looked less
tidy than usual, but other than that, there was no sign that he suffered any
lingering distress over our argument.

“If you would, I’d like you to meet me in your dungeon in
ten minutes,” I said, my voice sounding calmer than I felt.

His face fell. “Nonnie, I don’t think that’s —”

“Please. You don’t have to come. But I’ll be there waiting
anyway.”

He studied me for a long moment. Then he nodded once.

I turned and left him there, headed down the hall and
upstairs to the dungeon. He had given me the passcode to the room, and showed
me how to access the panel, so I had no problems getting inside.

After I set the temperature and lighting how I wanted it, I
walked around the room, opening all the doors to the many cabinets. I even
opened a number of the drawers. I hadn’t actually seen inside these cabinets
and drawers, other than a few brief glimpses I’d gotten when Gibson went to
them for something he wanted.

He had an impressive collection of BDSM paraphernalia,
everything I thought he would have and then some. Whips, paddles, canes,
floggers, gags, clamps, cuffs, masks, ropes, chains, on and on it went. Much of
it looked well used, and well cared for. Ordinarily, these items would have
intimidated and excited me, but tonight, they made me sad.

I pulled a chair out of a corner and sat down to wait. My
thoughts were whirring and I took the few minutes I had left to put everything
in order. This was no time to be screwing up.

It seemed only a short time passed when the door clicked
open and Gibson entered. He glanced around the room, at all the open cabinets.

I felt a familiar thud of longing as I looked at his
handsome face.

“What’s this about?” he asked, clearly displeased that I’d
tampered with his things.

I stood up and walked over to him. “I wanted to make a
point.”

“Then I guess I’ve missed it.”

I gestured at all the equipment. “Is this what BDSM is
about? Stuff? Leather and chains and slappers? Restraining tables?”

“Of course not.”

“That’s what I thought. It’s about the people, right? What
they need from one another, what they’ll give and take. A power exchange.”

He took a deep breath. “Yes.”

“And trust. It’s about that, too.”

“It is.”

“Gibson, I appreciate and respect that you want to protect
me. But I’m going to say it one more time. I don’t need your protection. I can
protect myself. I’m not all that inexperienced anymore. And what happened in
the past is in the past. I only want to move forward.”

He nodded warily, stiffly.

“I trust you so much,” I continued. “I’ve never trusted
anyone the way I do you. I know you’d never harm me.”

If my words were having any impact on him, I couldn’t tell
it. I hurried onward, compelled to have my say before he lost patience. “Even
if all of that weren’t true, one thing remains. I have to please you. It’s not
some passing fancy or an impulse of a moment. I must give you what you need.
It’s like an ache inside me.”

I touched his arm. “Now that I know why you aren’t sleeping,
I can’t forget it or pretend I don’t know. You have to understand. You simply
have to. We want the same thing and I have no idea why you’re fighting it.”

“I’ve told you why,” he said.

“That reason’s not good enough. I’m sorry. It’s not.”

I struggled to find the right words, the phrases that would
make him see it my way. “I’ve kidded around a lot about this stuff. I’ve said I
won’t be your footstool, or I won’t be put in a cage, or this or that. It’s all
just bluster, Gibson, me being funny. The truth is that I’d be your footstool
in an instant if that’s what made you happy. And I’d learn to love it, because
you do.”

I thought his face softened somewhat, so I continued.
“Whatever it is that’s missing, whether it’s something specific or not, doesn’t
matter to me. I want to try to please you, to satisfy you.”

“It might be more than you can bear,” he said, his
expression cautious.

“You’re right. It might. And if it is, then it is, and we’ll
stop and we’ll have to work something else out. But don’t you think you owe it
to both of us to at least try? To see how it goes?”

Yes, I thought. He was looking thoughtful, he wanted to
change his mind about this. I felt a surge of hope. Why shouldn’t he want it?

I untied my robe, pushed it off my shoulders and let it fall
in a pool at my feet. I held out my arms. “This is all I’ve got to offer you.
It’s yours to do with as you wish. And if you’ll take me, you’ll give me
everything.”

He held my gaze, seeming to weigh my sincerity. He raised a
hand, then let it fall back at his side. “I only want what’s best for you.”

I pressed my palms against his chest, smoothed down over the
cool fabric, the rise and fall of muscle. “Then fulfill what I want most. Let
me sacrifice for you. The harsher it is, the better. Good. I crave it. Don’t
deny me. It’s the greatest gift you can give me. Now kiss me. Please. I can’t
stand that you’re not touching me.”

He made a funny sound in the back of his throat, but he
leaned down all the same and pressed his lips against mine. I whispered a “yes”
against him, invited him to more by wrapping my arms around his waist and
pulling him closer.

As he fell further into the spell of the kiss, my spirits
began to rise. I had reached him. I must have. He stroked my back and over my
shoulders, his touch growing more powerful with each passing second. Soon, one
hand closed over my breast as the other tangled in my hair, yanked my head back
and away.

He squeezed my breast while he kissed and nibbled his way
down my neck and across my shoulder. I sighed from the deliciousness of his
hunger, his greed. He squeezed me harder and I muttered “yes” to encourage him,
dug my fingernails into his back.

He pulled my hair and bit at my ear lobe, then lower, down
to my breast where he clamped down on my nipple and made me cry out. Again, I
told him. Again. And he did.

He pinched and kneaded and even slapped a few times and I
welcomed every moment of it. I sought out his eyes, judging where he was, who
he was. When he stuck his fingers inside my pussy and groaned at the wetness he
found there, I saw what I’d been wanting to see in those dark eyes. Power.
Unleashed.

Yes, I egged him on. Closed my hand over his, pushed him
harder, urged him to be rougher.

He walked me backwards to the center of the room, then
pushed me away, had me kneel on the padded floor, hands on thighs, thoroughly
submissive, bowed. Waiting for the will of her master.

“Don’t move,” he said.

My stomach fluttered as I watched him go to one of the open
drawers and rustle around inside. I was panting from excitement and from relief
that I had touched him. Relief that it would be okay now.

Waiting for him. So hard to do. My palms were damp. Was I
truly ready for this? I had better be, after everything I’d done to make it
happen.

Then he turned back to me. He held a pair of cuffs and I
wasn’t sure what the other thing was. A long piece of black fabric. Maybe a
blindfold or a gag. I swallowed hard.

Then I looked into his eyes and a chill passed down my
spine. The predator had arrived, for certain. His eyes gleamed with dark
intent. I licked my lips.

As he approached he seemed to grow in size, swelling into a
massive hulk of determined sinew and steely muscle. And I was small, so very
small, kneeling on the floor, shoulders hunched, peering up at this potent
force.

When he stopped in front of me, he towered over me,
surveying my tiny person with greedy, fearsome eyes, and I trembled. He reached
out a hand, a mighty paw of intimidation, unstoppable in what it might do, what
it could so easily do.

“Wrists,” was all he said.

And I quickly raised them, offering him what he wanted. His
hand closed around my arm and he snapped a metal cuff over my wrist. He repeated
his actions on my other wrist, then he clipped then together, and dropped my
arms, letting them fall back on my lap.

He inspected my shoulders, my breasts. He pinched my nipple
and half-smiled at the tiny noise I made in response.

He ran his thumb over my lips, cupped my jaw. These weren’t
gentle touches. They were statements of ownership.

And then he was running the long piece of fabric he held
between his hands. Blindfold? Gag? Which was it?

He brushed my hair back from my forehead and I knew then. Blindfold.
My breath hitched.

His eyes met mine as he held out the blindfold and began to
bring it up, to tie it around my head. I flinched slightly as he approached, an
involuntary gesture spurred by nerves, intimidation and excitement.

Life can turn on the slightest moments in time, a chance
happening or an unwitting word, an unintended response. This was one of those
times.

I saw a tremor in Gibson’s hand. He blinked. The predator
wavered. I inhaled sharply. He blinked again.

And just like that, the unleashed beast disappeared.

“No,” I said.

He looked down at me, his eyes no longer gleaming with
wicked designs, but passively patient, resigned, on lockdown. “I can’t do it.”

Then he turned away, went back to the cabinet and carefully
folded the blindfold and laid it inside.

I was thrown. Didn’t know what to make of his sudden change.

Because I flinched? Was that why he stopped? At first I
wanted to cry from the letdown, but then I felt a surge of anger. Pure, heady
anger grew inside me.

“What the hell?” I asked.

He kept his back to me, futzed in the cabinet. “You’re not
ready.”

“This isn’t right. You can’t build me up like that then walk
away. It’s not right.”

“You’ll be fine.”

My cheeks felt on fire. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“I’m sorry you’re unhappy, but you’re simply not ready.”

“And when will I be ready?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you have all the answers, don’t you? Mister
I-know-what’s-best-for-you. So go on.” I spat my words at him now. I was livid.
“When the hell will I enter the mystical realm of being ready for you? Huh?
Come on. You know everything.”

He spun around to face me and there was more than a little
fire in him. “You’ll be ready when you learn how to use a safe word!”

I was taken aback. “I know how to use a safe word.”

“Not from what I’ve seen.”

“Are you nuts?”

“I’ve tested you,” he said, “multiple times. Pushed you to
the point where you should have used your safe word. You never did.”

“Just now? Why would I have used my safe word? You hadn’t
done anything.”

“Not just now. In the past few weeks.”

“When?”

“Many times.”

“Be specific.”

“It’s not important,” he said. “You failed the tests. That’s
all that matters.”

“I disagree. I don’t recall you even once pushing me too
far, or making me feel like I should use a safe word.”

“And that’s why there’s no point in my telling you each
individual instance. You don’t understand. Maybe you never will.”

“I guess you get it all your own way, don’t you? You make
the test, you administer and grade it. And you don’t have to answer to anyone
about your methods or results. What are you? A dom SAT?”

His jaw twitched. I savored his irritation, hoped it matched
my own.

“I don’t want it to be like this,” he said.

“You must. You’ve made it this way.” My voice was becoming
increasingly shrill.

“I haven’t created this problem.”

“Well I damned well haven’t, so it must be you.”

“You won’t use your safe words!”

“To hell with my safe words! I won’t be bullied by you! You
can’t turn me into some wilting milksop.”

His eyes blazed now and he was taut all over. When he spoke
again, he tossed his words at me like daggers. “And I won’t be turned into
Michael Weston.”

My mouth fell open.

If I hadn’t already been kneeling on that mat, I think might
have lost balance and fallen. As it was, I slipped to one side, my butt on the
mat instead of on my calves. The air seemed to leave my body and it took me a
moment to remember to breathe.

I struggled to make sense of what he’d said. Turn him into
Michael? What did he mean by that? How could I possibly turn ... him ... into
...

And then it began to make sense. It fell into place, and I
understood exactly what he meant. And there was more than one level to the
knowledge. My stomach churned and my eyes began to burn.

For one thing, it meant he didn’t trust me. No trust. After
everything I’d said to him that night, how much I trusted him and how he would
never harm me, all the while he didn’t trust me in return. It hurt terribly,
his lack of faith in me.

For another thing, it meant that he was still hung up on
that video, on what Michael did to me the night of my punishment, on what
Gibson believed I allowed to happen by not using my safe word. I had moved on
from that kind of thinking, but Gibson hadn’t.

And why would he believe that I wanted to turn him into
Michael? How could he even imagine such a thing? As if my wanting him to be
selfish for once meant I wanted him to be a self-absorbed narcissist like
Michael?

Finally, it occurred to me that he might blame me for what
happened between me and Michael. Surely not. But maybe so. The possibility was
bile in my throat. What else was I to believe, when he said that I was trying
to turn him into Michael?