BDSM EROTICA: A Hot, Hardcore Anthology (19 page)

His answer
surprised her, going far deeper than anything she’d ever read. “So what’s a
Dom, then?”

“A Dom…” He
looked thoughtful, his lower lip pulled between his teeth, eyes on the road. “A
Dom measures how much control he has over himself, not how much control he can
exert over a submissive.”

“Oh.” She
blinked at his response. For some reason, it made her feel warm all over. In
fact, the heater was now making her rather… hot.

“Too
complicated?” Liam half-smiled as she took her feet off the dash, her socks dry
now, slipping them into her clogs. “I guess what I’m saying is that tops act.
Dominants simply… are.”

She turned
more toward him, her knee brushing against his hand on the gearshift. “So
you’re a Dom?”

“Yes.”

“Do you…”
She swallowed, wondering how to approach the subject. What if he said no? “I
mean… are you open to new clients?”

“Sorry.”
Liam shook his head, giving her jean-clad knee a gentle let-down squeeze. “I’m
very particular.”

Her heart
lurched in her chest. She couldn’t take no for an answer. She just couldn’t.

“So…? What…?
I have to submit an application? Go through an interview process?”

“No.” He
shook his head slowly, sadly.

“But—”

His hand
moved to the gearshift, leaving her feeling cold again. “I’m afraid it’s
invitation only.”

“And I’m not
invited?” She turned toward the door, folding her arms across her chest, trying
not to take what he said personally and failing, miserably. Patrick had been
more than willing to talk to her, to set her at ease, to educate her and offer
to set a scene with her.

This man—he
was stubborn. Arrogant. And what did he know anyway?

“Why do you
want to be a submissive?”

She sniffed.
“I don’t.”

“No?” He
looked at her, confused.

“I don’t
want to be a submissive.” Katie swallowed, turning her face toward the window,
feeling tears welling up.
Oh god, not again.
Hadn’t she’d cried enough
in front of this awful man? “I
am
a submissive.”

They were
quiet, the silence stretching as the Maserati covered the snow-covered road
like a cat, purring low to the ground. They were getting closer to her home now
and she wanted to give him a real answer, something that might change his mind,
make him understand how important it was, how desperate she was.

So she told
him about Thomas Dunn and
“The Erotic Bondage Handbook.”
And once she
began, she couldn’t stop. She told him about all the other books and the
websites and how she’d found Patrick. And then she told him about losing her
father when she was ten, to cancer, watching the strongest man she’d ever known
fade away until he finally disappeared. She talked about her mother’s aimless
wandering, living in an RV and being homeschooled as a teen, about boys who
thought she was too shy to bother, about a chaotic world filled with pain and
insanity and constant choices, about never knowing which one was the Lady or the
Tiger.

She talked
about becoming a librarian, about finding routine and order and, finally,
quiet. She talked to him while tears ran down her face and soaked her coat and
she didn’t care, she had to make him understand that this thing she’d only read
about in books, this crazy, kinky, twisted thing, had made her feel alive in
ways she didn’t understand, but wanted—
needed
—to experience.

“Shh,” he
said finally, reaching over and sliding a hand behind her neck, massaging
gently, as if he could cut her racing thoughts off with a gentle squeeze. “It’s
enough, Katie.”

She
swallowed her tears and pointed at her exit without a word, directing him
silently to her house. Liam pulled into the snow-covered driveway, taking her
hand as she reached for her purse sitting on the console between them. His was
more paw than hand, swallowing hers as he caught her attention with his eyes,
holding her with them. She felt awful—looked awful, she knew, red-nosed and
red-faced from crying. She wanted to hide, turn away, but he held her with just
the heat of his gaze.

“Show me.”
It was more whisper than words.

She looked
at him, confused, staring at the hand holding hers, and then she did the first
thing that came to her head. She took his hand in both of hers—his was big,
tanned, well-manicured, a silver ring on his middle finger—and turned it over,
palm up. Katie sobbed silently, pressing her lips to the middle of his hand,
head bent, tears falling onto his wrist.

She felt his
other hand move in her hair, that same slow caress, heard his slow, deep
breath, a sigh, and then felt his lips pressing against the top of her head, a
soft, firm kiss.

“Go inside,
Katie.” Liam let her go and she looked up at him in wonder, unable to speak.
Patrick appeared, knocking at the window, and Liam powered it down.

“Your keys.”
Patrick handed them over, and Katie noticed he was still wearing his boots and
hadn’t bothered with a shirt. His chest was bare above the zipper of his Sherpa
coat. He looked at her face and then at his brother’s, frowning, mistaking her
tears. “Katie, I’m so sorry. Really…”

“It’s okay,”
she choked, letting Patrick open the door and help her out of the car. She
wanted to look back, to say something to Liam, to ask him what had just
happened, what it meant. Patrick walked her to the door, still apologizing, and
she let him, murmuring something as he headed back down the walkway, getting
into his brother’s Maserati.

She saw
Liam’s face for just one brief moment before they left, when Patrick opened the
passenger door, saw Liam looking straight at her. His gaze had never wavered.

And she
knew.

He’s the
one.

*
* * *

Katie
sighed, pulling misfiled books off the shelves for the third time in an hour,
and it was her own damned fault. She had sandwiched a stack of fiction from A
to Z without regards to alphabet in the “K” section without thinking, just
automatically putting books on the shelf one after the other, her mind
wandering. She couldn’t help it. It had been wandering all week, back to the
moment when Liam burst into the room to rescue her, back to the ride home, her
tearful, shameful confession, and mostly to the one incredible moment in his
car, her lips pressed to his palm and his lips brushing her hair.

She had
fought the urge to call, had struggled with her desire, confessing everything
to Lori, whose cliché-machine had been running full blast, telling her that
Katie had obviously gotten herself into a “fine kettle of fish now,” and while
Lori didn’t want to be the “doubting Thomas,” she was suspect of the whole
“smoke and mirrors” act.

So Katie had
spent the week in a fog, going to work, coming home, only checking her cell
phone a hundred times a day or so, sure one minute he would call, despairing he
never would the next. At least she’d lost three pounds that week, because she
could hardly eat anything. She was too distracted.

“Hi there.”

It’s him.

She looked
through the stacks to find the source of the voice and saw Liam peering at her
between the spines of Koontz and King. Her heart hammered in her chest and
immediately her palms felt clammy.

“Hi,” she
said faintly, trying to discern if she was actually seeing him, or maybe she
was hallucinating?

“I’m looking
for a book.” He came around the stacks, his shoulders so broad they almost
brushed the shelves on each side.

She
straightened, librarian-mode kicking in. “What book?”

“
To
Protect and Serve—a Dom’s Guide
.”

Katie
frowned, already running through the catalog in her head—and she had an
extensive personal reading list to draw from as well. “Who’s the author?”

“Liam Quinn.”

She stared
at him, blinking. “You wrote a book?”

“Oh never
mind, here it is.” He flashed an impossibly sexy smile, holding up a hardcover
with a woman on the front. She was restrained, hands behind her, nude, back,
bottom, and the side of her breast showing.

“That’s not
one of ours.” She knew it before she even checked the spine for a call number.
The library had strict policies about books with nudity on the cover. She’d had
to order most of her BDSM books from Amazon.

“No.” He
held it out. “It’s for you.”

It was one
she hadn’t read, although she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. There were
hundreds, if not thousands, of books on the subject.

“It’s
actually out of print,” he confessed. “That’s one of the few author copies I
have left. It’s probably a collector’s item…somewhere.”

“Thank you.”
She opened the cover and saw two things—Liam’s picture, arms crossed, on the
flap near the bottom, and her name, written in Sharpie, on the cover page, with
a message,

For Katie,

In service.

Liam

She looked up
at him, confused. “So… is this what you came for? To give me your book?”

“I also
wanted to take you to dinner.” It wasn’t phrased as a question, but he waited
for an answer, his gaze moving over her face, like he was drinking her in. She
touched her hair, piled onto the top of her head, pushing her reading glasses
up her nose, knowing she looked like the quintessential librarian in her pencil
skirt and v-neck blouse, and wished she’d at least left her hair down today.

“Okay.” She
tried to imagine sitting across a table with him, doing something so mundane as
eating, and couldn’t fathom it. But she said yes anyway, without a moment’s
hesitation. “When?”

“How’s now?”

She didn’t
even check her watch. “Let me get my coat.”

*
* * *

“So what do
they call you?” Katie was feeling far more relaxed after two margaritas and she
giggled when she cracked her crab and red pieces of shell exploded onto the
tablecloth.

“Don’t you
love it when it comes out like this, instead of all shredded?” she asked. Liam
watched her pull the crab meat out of its shell in one, long piece. She eyed it
delightedly before dipping it into the butter sauce, not even bothering with a
fork.

“They call
me Liam,” he answered her question, watching her lick butter from the tips of
her fingers.

“Not Master?
Or Sir? Or something… you know… cool?”

Liam
snorted. “What did Patrick want you to call him?”

“Dom.”

“How
original.” He rolled his eyes and she saw his jaw working as he put his fork
down on his plate next to what little was left of his salmon. “This isn’t a
game, Katie.”

“I know.”
She paused, licking butter off her lips, and took a sip of her margarita.

“Patrick’s
sin is pride.” He took a drink of his water—he hadn’t ordered wine or alcohol
with dinner—catching the waitress’s attention. “Hubris. A Dom is humble. A
servant, really.”

She crinkled
her nose at him, regrettably finishing the last piece of delicious crab. “But
the submissive is the one—”

“Sure.” Liam
smiled at the waitress as she stopped at another table on her way to theirs,
acknowledging her need to serve them first. “Everyone knows what the submissive
is giving up. Your power. Your control.” His gaze moved back to Katie and she
felt it immediately, rushing hotly through her, like the blood through her
veins. “Your body. Your love.”

“Love?” She
swallowed, putting her fork down next to her place. Her hands were trembling
and she didn’t trust herself to actually hang onto her utensils.

“But the Dom
is always in service to the sub,” he explained, watching as she started to
nervously play with the corner of her napkin. “He’s offering you his time, his
focus, his attention. He has to be completely present with you in every
moment.”

She had
never wanted anything more in her life than what he was talking about. And the
way he said it! His words were fluid, sure. He knew exactly what he was talking
about, had experienced it, lived it.

“And the Dom
has to be willing to accept the gifts a sub is offering,” Liam went on, his
voice soft, and she focused on him, entranced. “It’s a precious thing, when
someone is willing to give themselves to you that way. It takes trust beyond
measure. It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”

She nodded,
feeling tears prick her eyes, and she quickly blinked them away, turning to her
margarita and hiding behind it as she sipped. She wanted to give herself,
wholly, completely, had wanted it for so long—and now… now she knew she’d found
the man she wanted to give herself to. It seemed so simple, but her heart ached
as she looked at him, fearing his rejection still, feeling as if she was at
some sort of “submissive tryout,” trying to say and do the right thing, walking
on eggshells.

“But a Dom
has to
be
worthy of such a gift,” he reminded her. “And he has to
feel
worthy of it.”

Katie’s eyes
widened. “That’s really Patrick’s problem.”

“Yes,” Liam
agreed. “That, and his damned pride.”

He looked up
as the waitress approached. She was the bright, shiny sort of pretty Katie
always wished she could be—bubbly and blonde, she smiled easily and flirted
with her customers, moving with a natural grace.

“Tiramisu,”
Liam ordered.

“Two?” she
asked, putting pen to pad.

“Just one.”

Katie opened
her mouth to protest—dessert sounded delightful!—but she argued with herself
that she’d had more than enough as the waitress continued to flirt with Liam,
exchanging some pleasantries about where she was going to school, what she was
studying. Katie hadn’t been paying close attention—she’d been too focused on
how the girl flipped her hair and flashed her smile, the way her hips swayed
under her black skirt when she walked away.