Wanting Wilder (7 page)

The tip of her tongue played at a point on her upper lip. “This is negotiation?”

He nodded. Though he had presented his preferences as commands, she could nix anything right now.

“What kinds of things am I allowed to ask for?”

Wilder shrugged. “Anything you want.”

She seemed to consider this. He pictured her kneeling at his feet with a flogger in her hands, asking for a session to help her relax before dinner.

“And what are the punishments for not following your rules?”

He ran the checklist of items she’d approved through his head. “One to five lashes with the cane, depending on the severity of your offense.”

She shuddered. “Just not on my back, okay? I can handle a flogger there, even a cat. I can’t do canes or whips or paddles on my back.”

“Ass and thighs?”

She lifted her chin and nodded.

He couldn’t tell if she was reluctant to give him this permission or if she wasn’t sure of her answer. “Lydia, I need you to be certain.”

That tongue darted out again. He wanted to capture it in his mouth and suck on it. “Yes, Sir. I’m certain. I will ask that you bind me for punishments.”

“I’ll bind you anyway. I’m going to bind you after dinner.”

Whether in fear or anticipation, she shuddered again. Wilder smiled. He’d find out the truth soon. His closed-up little rose could only hide for so long. Perhaps he would rediscover the heart of the woman he’d loved and lost.

Chapter Five

“Undress, Pet. You may wear panties but not a bra. Come out into the living room in ten minutes.”

Wilder spoke from the doorway to her bedroom. He’d knocked, but he hadn’t ventured inside. Lydia got the feeling he wouldn’t violate her sanctuary by entering without an invitation.

Though she had unpacked the day before, he had given her time alone after dinner to put the rest of her things in order. He seemed to have an intrinsic understanding of her need for order, a predilection that hadn’t been so apparent eight years ago. Tidiness and organization brought peace and stability to her mind.

Dinner had been not at all what she expected. They had shared in the meal preparation, dividing the duties as politely as any two strangers thrown into an intimate setting might. Sir had determinedly broached topics until he hit upon one that interested Lydia and was neutral enough that she didn’t feel she was revealing anything important. They had both grown up playing lacrosse, and they both followed the international sport.

Thinking back, she couldn’t remember what they’d talked about all those years ago. She remembered flirting and many hours spent in bed, but she didn’t remember actual conversation.

Shoving aside her laptop—she had been reorganizing her schedule for the week, mostly because Master V wasn’t online—she closed the screen and shed her clothes.

The thick, soft carpet silenced her footsteps. She emerged from the hallway to find him measuring out lengths of rope. Several coils of varying thickness already lay scattered around the room. With a start, she realized his love of bondage had definitely evolved. He’d always been good with rigging, but this was different. This was Shibari.

The ancient art had less to do with bondage and everything to do with aesthetics. While she might be immobilized, she wouldn’t be tied open for her Master’s pleasure. She appreciated this shift in purpose from her previous experiences, but she also feared it a little. Some of the positions could be uncomfortable for the submissive to maintain.

“Sit on the edge of the platform, Pet. I’ll move you around as needed.”

Lydia didn’t remember there being a platform in the center of the living room before, and there wasn’t one now. He’d referred to the massive white coffee table that didn’t match the rest of the natural decor throughout the apartment. The heavy plastic-coated piece was smooth, the sheen worn down over the years with the agony and ecstasy of any number of submissives.

She sat on the edge of the chilly structure, happy she’d worn boy shorts to keep her lower half covered.

Not that it mattered. Sir didn’t seem to notice anything about her. He studied her with the critical eye of an artist, assessing her under an unreadable, cool blue gaze. For a second, she mourned the friendly, open face he’d allowed at dinner.

But this was the real Sir, and she had asked for this.

“Hold out your right hand.”

She did, expecting to find a rope slung around her wrist. He sat on the table next to her. The fresh pine scent of his soap filled her senses. Preoccupied with her thoughts, she hadn’t realized he’d showered after dinner. Using a small-gauge rope, he tied a series of intricate knots around her fingers and hand. By the time he’d worked his way to her wrist, delicate tendrils of peace had begun to wind down her arm. She marveled at the beauty of his rope work.

Then he lifted her hand over her head and brought it down behind her back. Her elbow stuck up behind her head, her forearm providing a bit of support for her neck. The satiny slide extended across her back and under her arm. Sir knelt on the floor near her feet and wove a pattern that framed her breasts.

Lydia longed for him to wind the ropes around her breasts, but he avoided touching them completely. Part of her felt a little cheated. She’d never once spent time with a Dom who didn’t try to have sex with her. Even Wilder.

By the time he finished, she struggled to remain still. In addition to tying her right hand behind her back, he wove her left hand into his design so that it lay immobilized and splayed across her abdomen. The bulk of the design covered her upper body, but he’d incorporated decorated lines that ensured her legs were denied freedom of movement.

He stepped back, his critical eye roaming his handiwork. “Beautiful. Pet, you look absolutely enchanting in ropes. How does it feel?”

It may have been an enchanting pose, but it wasn’t sexy. It didn’t expose her intimate tissues or make her feel at all vulnerable. If she were forced to stay tied up like this for any significant period of time, perhaps long enough for a good flogging, it would become torture. “It’s not very comfortable, Sir.”

His absentminded nod could mean he expected her response or that he didn’t care about her comfort. “I’m going to take a few pictures. I think you’ll be able to appreciate it when you can see all the details.” He rummaged in a nearby cabinet and pulled out a thirty-five millimeter camera. She hadn’t seen one of those in years.

She had an objection to anyone taking photographs of her naked body. “Sir, please don’t take pictures of me with no clothes on.”

The lens cap clicked as he removed it. “I won’t take pictures of your face or breasts. The knots are the real stars.”

This experience topped her list of oddest D/s encounters ever. She didn’t say a word as he focused on the hand splayed against her tummy and snapped a few pictures. He did the same thing with several other knotty parts, including the hand behind her back. Lydia had no doubt he’d kept his word. Only someone who knew her intimately would be able to identify her from those pictures.

He admired the ropes for another half hour. She felt like a piece of meat, less than a pet. As Pet, she should matter. Right now, she didn’t.

The irony rankled. She’d asked for this. The logical interpretation of the permissions and limits she’d listed really only left activities like this. And flogging. Right about now, she really yearned for a good flogging.

With as much care as he’d put them on, Wilder removed the ropes. Lydia gave herself a mental shake. The stern Dom seemed to have fled. She caught glimpses of the man who had held her hand and walked in the surf with her, who had laughed as he joked and kissed her often.

Holding the front of her shoulder with one massive hand, he used the other to massage between her shoulder blades. “Are you tired, Pet?”

She hadn’t moved in over an hour. Yes, she was tired. “I’m not sure I can sit still for much longer, Sir. I would like to get some sleep so I can get an early start at work tomorrow.”

“You’re not going to the office tomorrow. Most of the day has been set aside for you to unpack and get settled. There’s a small cocktail party tomorrow night to introduce you to everyone.” He worked his way along the muscles surrounding her collarbone and down her arm.

“Sir, I’m unpacked. I really just want to get to work.”

“Tough shit.”

She started at his phrasing, though she thrilled to his hard tone. “Please, Sir.”

“Begging won’t get you permission to go to the office. You may ask to go to bed.”

He wasn’t going to budge on the issue. Exhaustion settled over her, and she suddenly felt every moment of having to hold that pose. She dropped to her knees and waited for him to acknowledge her presence.

The hand on his thigh, which she could see in the periphery of her downcast vision, drummed impatiently. After a minute that seemed to stretch out forever, he lifted that hand and ran it over her hair. She didn’t use extensions or straighten it anymore, and she didn’t crop it close as her sister did. She had been blessed with the soft black hair of her Puerto Rican grandmother. It sprang from her head in a riot of wild curls that she had learned to accept.

“Your hair is so soft. I like it loose.”

She didn’t know how to respond. He hadn’t complimented her, so gratitude wasn’t appropriate. His forays grew. He spread his fingers and delved into her thick waves. Lydia was shocked to find the caress echoing through her core. Though he maintained a gentle pressure, she yearned to feel him twist his fingers and grab a fistful. He would pull her hair, forcing her face to tilt up. And then he’d ravish her mouth, invading it with his tongue and unleashing all that bottled-up passion she had.

“Ask your question, Pet.”

Lifting her gaze, she willed those unruly feelings away. “May I go to bed, Sir?”

“Yes. You may go to bed, Pet. I’ll see you in the morning. For breakfast, I like to always have some kind of meat as part of the meal. I don’t like eggs more than once a week. I usually have two cups of coffee. Have it ready at nine.”

With that, he rose and exited the room. He’d coiled his ropes and stacked them on the table as he untied her. She had the feeling he left them there to remind her that this kind of bondage would be a regular part of their association.

As she slipped into her nightgown, she realized he’d ordered her to make breakfast. She envisioned wowing him with her grandmother’s hash or homemade cinnamon rolls. The part of her soul that craved this kind of domination broke loose from where she kept it buried. It soared for far too long, making it difficult to fall asleep.

So she did what she always did when she couldn’t sleep.

CHAINSFREE: Master V? Are you busy?

His icon hadn’t been active, but she was a little desperate. Wilder had bound her, spent time appreciating his rigging, and then sent her to bed.

MASTRV: I’m here, C. I wondered what happened to you. It’s been almost a week. I was out on the road, so my schedule was crazy. I wondered if I’d missed you.

CHAINSFREE: I’m here. New city, new apartment, new job.

MASTRV: Lots of changes. How are you holding up?

CHAINSFREE: Okay. I found a Dom. Pretty unexpected.

MASTRV: That explains why I haven’t heard from you in so long. New guy, or someone you’ve known?

CHAINSFREE: New guy. We’re not romantically involved.

Technically Wilder wasn’t new in her life, but on that mountain, it had felt like they’d buried the past. That only left the future. Plus, she wouldn’t have to explain so much to Master V.

MASTRV: That’s what you wanted, right?

CHAINSFREE: Yes. It’s exactly what I wanted.

MASTRV: So what’s wrong?

CHAINSFREE: We did some bondage tonight. I’ve never been tied up and not touched.

When she’d first encountered Master V, they had talked at length about her sexual history and his. He’d helped her find the strength to leave relationships that weren’t working for her. But they’d never flirted. She appreciated how he’d been able to read between the lines of all her rants to point out to her that perhaps she needed to find a Dom who didn’t want to have sex with her.

MASTRV: How do you feel about that?

CHAINSFREE: I feel curiously free. I know I pleased him, and that makes me feel so good inside. But now I’m horny.

MASTRV: And you don’t want to cross that line with him. Don’t feel bad about that.

CHAINSFREE: You know me so well. I feel like we’ve taken such a great first step. I don’t want to mess it up.

MASTRV: It’s good to build a foundation of trust and respect before you go heaping on sex and the complications it brings. If he hasn’t prohibited you from seeking satisfaction, spend some quality time with your vibrator.

CHAINSFREE: I know I should. I just don’t want to do it alone. I miss having a Dom take charge. It makes a huge difference.

It was a risk. Lydia had never asked anything like this from Master V, even in a roundabout way. But her vague hint was something he could brush off without having to feel like he’d let her down. Moments ticked by, measured by the silence of the room, which was broken only by the beating of her heart. The apartment was quiet, indicating that Wilder must have gone to bed. They hadn’t discussed whether or not she could masturbate. If he caught her, would he spank her? If she asked and said,
Pretty please?

MASTRV: C, are you asking me to help you?

CHAINSFREE: Only if you want to. It’s not your problem or your responsibility.

MASTRV: I don’t want it to ruin our friendship. You mean a great deal to me.

CHAINSFREE: I don’t want to ruin it either. I’m sorry. It’s unfair for me to ask you to supplement my Dom.

MASTRV: Yes, it is. Talk to him, C. Tell him what you want. If he’s a real man, he’ll make sure your needs are met. If not, then dump him. You deserve better.