“I am here,” he said softly but with a steely firmness in his voice, “as long as you need me.”
“Thank you.” She slumped against the cross as much as the rope allowed, and he leaned against her, giving her his warmth.
He wrapped his arms around her and the cross. He twisted the cords that wrapped between her wrists, until the bonds were loosened enough that he could slip the loops off and drop them to the floor. Then he slid his hands between her and the cross, holding her tight, flesh to flesh. He felt so warm. And she felt cold. She shivered.
“I need to let you go so I can get the rest of your bonds.”
“Don’t,” she said.
“I have to get you to a warmer place, Amanda.” He let go. She knew he was right. She didn’t know why she was dropping so fast, so suddenly, but she was. She could only guess it was because he’d felt so very intense.
To her surprise, he didn’t untie the knots around her. Instead she felt the cold of a pair of EMT shears on her skin, and heard the
snip snip
of them cutting the rope. Always before, no matter how much she needed to get down, doms had taken time to untie the knots and save the rope. But despite the fact that he was obviously in a hurry, when she looked down at his face, he seemed perfectly calm. In control. And that let her get a grip on her panic and steady her breathing. She’d been gasping, and she hadn’t even been aware of it. But obviously, he had known. She leaned against the cross, using it for support.
He kicked the cut rope under the cross where it would be out of the way. He put the floggers back in the metal case while pulling a blanket from it. Then he pushed the case under the cross with his foot. He pulled her from the cross and cradled her, one forearm under her knees and his other arm supporting her shoulders, tossing the blanket over her bent body. She shivered up against him. “Thank you.”
“No need,” he said. She scanned his face for evidence he was frustrated, but saw only concern—and confidence. He cared, but he didn’t look worried. Which meant there was probably nothing to worry about. She relaxed in his arms. It was nice being carried. And with the blanket on, she was even decent. There was no place comfy in the dungeon; that would have ruined the theme, Amanda supposed.
She hadn’t been aware until now that the guys had stopped playing. They had stayed in the dungeon to watch. Keith, the one who had been strapped to the cross, opened the door for Jeremy. Keith was still naked.
“Thanks,” Jeremy said.
“No problem. Hot scene,” Keith said.
Jeremy nodded and kept going.
Jeremy headed straight for one of the aftercare chairs, a soft velvety brown one, and sat down on it with her in his lap.
He kissed her neck, making the soft hairs on it rise. His breath felt warm. She buried her head into his shoulder, and he ran his long fingers through her hair.
He feels right. So strong. Such wonderful hands.
He scratched behind her ears, then moved farther down to give her neck a massage. Slowly, she warmed up and melted into his arms. She intended to soak it in but found herself nibbling on his neck instead, tasting him. A soft moan rewarded her. He pushed the blanket slightly downward, leaving her mostly covered, so he could knead the muscles under her shoulder blades. She was turning into a puddle, all liquid, her damp pussy and her wet tongue merely outward manifestations of her inner state.
Putty in your hands, Sir. Use me.
“I did,” he whispered.
She blushed. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
“But you did. And I look forward to using you again. Do you like being my toy?”
“Yes, Sir, I do.” She turned her head to face him and bumped her nose against his chin in the process. She met his gaze.
No one has ever made me feel this relaxed before.
She often felt deeply submissive after a scene, but always in the back of her mind was the realization that it wasn’t entirely safe to feel that way. Either the dom wasn’t interested in more than a scene and was holding her as an obligation, or there was something that suggested he might be a jerk. With Jeremy she felt as if she could give and know that he would give back whether she tried to take or not.
That’s ridiculous. I’ve just met him.
Suddenly, she needed to get away. The very fact that he felt this good was a warning sign, an indication she was drunk on the endorphins and in danger of making stupid decisions. She didn’t, couldn’t love him, and if she was thinking she did, it meant she needed to leave. She pushed off the chair—and was surprised to find that she went nowhere.
“Oh no you don’t, little toy.”
“I need to leave.”
“You need to not be alone.”
Damn. He remembered that.
She tried to break out of his grasp, and he didn’t budge an inch. Instead he forced her back against his shoulder and resumed his caress of her neck, pulling the blanket up. “Let me go.”
“No.”
She beat her hands against his shoulder, aware it probably didn’t look good to anyone watching. She knew most of the people in the club, and Jeremy knew no one but her. But she kept on, trying to get away. He took her hardest punches and continued on in that same infuriatingly calm voice. “Relax, Amanda. I have you. I’ll keep you safe. And I won’t let you be alone.”
She gave up. Clearly, no one was going to come to her rescue, and he wasn’t going to let her go. She sighed in frustration, confused.
She turned her head to rest against his shoulder. She gritted her teeth, wondering what manner of person wouldn’t release her, and why no one was doing anything about it. And in spite of the nonconsensual nature of it all, his quiet, insistent strength was satisfying, and she didn’t understand that either. Nothing made sense to her. She was aware her thoughts were hazy, at best, but she still wanted to puzzle them out and find that elusive missing piece as to why he still felt okay to her.
Slowly, she relaxed in his arms. His bare chest pressed against her breasts, the soft hairs tickling her still supersensitive nipples. If she moved, it could easily get to be too much, but it was a reminder of how good his hands and cock had felt. She licked at his shoulder, savoring the sweet saltiness of his sweat.
Why did I want to get away? Because he’s too good?
It seemed ridiculous now. She closed her eyes. The world disappeared, save for Jeremy’s warmth and the soft music playing in the club. She listened to the sound of his heartbeat and was rocked by the rhythm of his calm breathing. She matched her breath to his, to feel closer.
A while later—she didn’t know how long—she woke up to find him smiling at her.
“I fell asleep,” she said with wonderment. She had done that once before with a dom, a long time ago. He’d woken her up and criticized her for it too, and she’d never made that mistake again. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. You’re beautiful when you’re so at peace.”
“You don’t mind?” She looked at him, amazed.
“Why would I mind? It’s a compliment.”
“Um, you might be bored?”
“Never.”
She shook her head, trying to remember what led to her falling asleep. She remembered his firm, comforting grip. Then she remembered trying to get away. Her shoulders tensed. “Why didn’t you let me leave?”
“Because you’re my toy tonight, Amanda. Toys don’t play by themselves. And you didn’t use a safe word.”
“My safe word. Right.” She relaxed again. He was exactly right. As long as she hadn’t said her safe word, he didn’t have to—and shouldn’t have—let her go anywhere. She remembered hitting him and thinking someone would interfere, but of course without her safe word, no one would have. They would have taken it as all part of the scene, although not the sort of scening one ought to be doing on the aftercare chairs. She’d hit him hard. She kissed his shoulders. “Sorry for the bruises.”
He chuckled. “I don’t think they’ll show.”
“No, probably not.” She traced the muscles of his shoulders and his chest, letting her fingers glide through the soft hair. She wasn’t exactly weak, and she’d been honestly trying to get him to let go, but he’d taken it as if it was nothing. Then again, she could take a flogging the same way. Maybe they weren’t so different after all, although she didn’t think he got any enjoyment from her hitting him—unless it was from amusement.
“I want to do this again with you. Soon.”
I want that too.
Things were happening so fast.
Why not?
“Yes. But I want to know more about you.”
He tousled her hair. “What’s to know?”
“Lots. What do you do in real life?”
“I’m a pianist, believe it or not.”
“A penis?”
“Someone who plays the piano,” he explained with a forbearing expression on his face.
Amanda giggled. “I know. I was just pretending to misunderstand. Did I mention I’m a bit of a brat? I suppose I should have guessed. You have such long, powerful fingers. Tell me about your wife.”
His face went cold.
He’s still in love with her.
She’s been dead three years, and he’s still in love with her.
“What,” he said slowly, “do you want to know?”
Amanda was tempted to back off, but it was a key part of who he was. She needed to know. “How long were you together?”
“Twenty-two years.”
“And were you Master and slave all that time?”
“It developed. We started going to clubs, for a while, exploring the local scene, playing only on weekends. At some point Cheri wanted more. She wanted it to be all the time, as deep as it could possibly go. And I…wanted to make her happy.” He had a haunted look on his face.
“What made her
un
happy?” asked Amanda.
“She discovered she couldn’t have children. We tried, and…well, she had two miscarriages, and after that, the doctor’s told her it was best not to try again, that her health would be endangered and the result would probably be the same. She went into a deep depression, and she wanted me to tell her what to do. When I did, she would brighten some. Over time, she healed, and she became stronger. But she always wanted that bond in her life.”
“And you? Did you always want that bond?”
“Sometimes. And sometimes I wanted her to stand on her own more. Cheri brought me a great deal of pleasure, and I enjoyed being her Master.”
But I could never be that person. I’m not broken. I don’t need healing, and I don’t want to be controlled. I just want a little fun now and then
. “And is that the kind of relationship you want again?” From what he’d said, she could see it either way.
He shook his head. “No. I’m looking for something else. A friend. A play partner. Someone who will submit in the bedroom or at a club, but who wants to be their own person outside that.” He fixed her with his gaze. “And how about you?”
“That sounds perfect.” That had always been what she wanted, although the word
friend
grated. Just a friend? She was usually happy to hear the word, but her heart wanted more from Jeremy.
I just met him. How can he be any more than a friend right now?
“Do you have other play partners?” she asked, hoping the answer was no.
“No.”
That’s right. He was just coming back to the scene. “Girlfriends?”
“No.”
Better yet.
She smiled. “But you have, right, since Cheri…” She didn’t want to say the word
died
, and
passed away
wasn’t any better.
“No.”
She felt that should have made her happy too, but it didn’t. Latching on to the first person you date after a long marriage—was that healthy? Part of her didn’t care.
Jeremy shrugged. “You said you were poly, and I respect that, but I don’t think that’s me. I could…play with people. Flog them, tie them up, do demonstrations, whatever. But emotionally connect? I don’t know. Kiss? That seems even more intimate than fucking somehow.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I think I’d get very jealous of any man you were playing with, unless it was very much just play, Amanda. I know I don’t have any right to be, but that’s how I am.”
I’d be jealous of any woman you were playing with too. And that makes no sense.
But she’d always had that pull in her heart. She’d managed to be gracious about it, usually. She just wanted for a guy to say she’d been so good that no one else would do.
“I don’t mean to restrict you, so…”
“But?” she asked. There was always a but with a sentence like that.
“I want to be with you again. And if you’re going to be here with someone else, let me know, and I won’t show up. I’ll deal with it on my own.”
Amanda nodded. She didn’t feel any desire right now to hook up with a new partner, but she understood what he was saying. He was clearly trying to remain calm about it. “What if I’m here with another woman? Would you want to watch
that
?”
He surprised her by shaking his head no. “It’s not about gender. It’s about emotions and attachment.”
Attachment. He was getting attached. Which was exactly what she craved, but he didn’t know what was out there. Yes, she wanted a man to say she made him not want to bother with other women. If he didn’t even know what he was missing, it wasn’t nearly as flattering.
And it’s not healthy for him, either.
“I don’t need to see anyone else,” she said slowly, gathering her thoughts.
I’ve done that enough.
“When do you want to see me next?”
“For lunch, perhaps? I work in the evenings. Wednesday? And then play here on Friday night, late? My concert ends around ten thirty, so I could get here at midnight.”
“Friday night, sure. And Wednesday, if I don’t have a job yet.”
“Which reminds me.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. From there he produced a card, which he handed to her.
Jeremy Sanborn, Charm City Symphony Orchestra, Pianist. “Your card?” She wasn’t sure why he was giving it to her.
“The other side,” he said. “A guy I know. When you said what you did, I was reminded about him complaining about engineers who didn’t know how to write reports and give presentations. It’s probably a temporary thing, but it sounds like he could use someone with your qualifications.”
She flipped it over. There was a man’s name and a phone number. “Okay, thanks. I’ll give him a call.” She couldn’t afford to turn down any offers, and doing stuff in her field was a hell of a lot better than playing secretary.