Committed (2 page)

“Not at all.” He grinned. “What did you come here wanting?”

His switch shrugged and glanced away. “I don’t know. Something new.”

She knew what she came for, and between what she’d told him, the book she was reading, and what she hadn’t said, he had a pretty good idea of what she wanted.

“And what did you find?” He laced his fingers together.

She frowned and gazed into the fire. “A lot of people thinking you have to fit a square peg in a round hole. That’s not what I came here for. That’s not my idea of BDSM. There is no ‘one true way.’ I hate that I’m letting other people dictate whether or not I have a good time. It’s not like me.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

She continued to stare into the fire, the glow of the flames playing across her face. “I don’t know.”

“If someone offered to play with you on your terms, would you stay?”

“Depends on who’s asking.” His switch tilted her head to the side and peered at him. “You should know I don’t play with people who won’t switch with me. It does nothing for me if I can’t return the favor.”

Him? Play the role of submissive?

Poppy held her breath. Good Lord, the man was beautiful. He had the dark, creamy complexion of someone born with a mixed ethnic background. His eyes were some shade of pale brown, maybe even gold. She wanted to crawl into his lap and stare into them, trace the strong lines of his face. Everything about him screamed dominant. And he could laugh, which was like a crazy bonus. He was the perfect prize.

He was like a dream come to life, so much so that her insides melted and her switch toggle flipped to the submissive side. She’d gladly play that for him, but she needed the chance to switch roles with her partners. It was one of the fulfilling things about kink for her.

He propped his elbow on the arm of his chair and cradled his chin in his palm, continuing to study her.

In her fantasies, he’d say yes.

In reality, she didn’t think he’d do it. A big, strong alpha type willingly giving up control? To her? No way. Not in a million—

“Deal. Limits?”

“What?” Poppy stared at him. Had he said what she thought he said?

His lips curled up in a sensual smile and he chuckled. “You’re too tempting to pass up. Whatever your terms are, I’m willing to play.”

“What does that mean?” Shit. Had she bitten off more than she could chew?

“It’s been a long time since a woman intrigued me as much as you do. I’m interested. Are you?” He arched a brow and her heart fluttered.

Poppy licked her lips. Oh boy, she didn’t know if she could do this. Adrenaline brought the room into sharp focus, heightened her senses, and increased her arousal. The scent of the books in the library wrapped around her, and the sensation of nipples tightening increased when he smiled at her
that way
.

“I am.” She managed to get the words out past the butterflies.

“Fantastic.” He leaned forward slightly and a thrill shot through her veins.

Poppy didn’t know what was more exciting, the idea of him playing with her, or that this beautiful alpha male would allow her to turn the tables. She didn’t know if she’d have the presence of mind to top him tonight in a scene, but maybe tomorrow, or later this weekend.

“What are your limits?” The deep, bass quality of his voice was soothing, comforting, even—if she wasn’t looking at the dark intent painted on his features.

She paused before replying. Even now she knew whatever happened between them would be exceptional. He’d just told her she interested him, and her panties were damp just from talking with him. Play would intensify that feeling of connection, the way he could arouse her with just a smile. Was she willing to go that route? If she played with him, it would be sexual. Could she put sex on the table as an option? It had been a long time since she’d been with anyone, but she wanted to be with him.

“No breath play, no impact play above the shoulders, I’m not a fan of fire. Um …” Poppy wished she had her toy bag with her. There was a whole laminated list of her personal limits, most of which were weird things she had seen on the Internet and wanted nothing to do with. “Oh, aftercare. I need a lot of it.”

“That’s not a problem,” he said without hesitation.

“Sometimes I have delayed subdrop. I may need more aftercare tomorrow. Would that be okay?”

“Whatever you need, sweetness, I’m going to take care of you.” The warmth in his gaze heated her core.

“Okay, I just want to be really clear. Aftercare is very important. I subdrop heavy every now and then. Sometimes partners aren’t ready for that.” Inwardly, she cringed. The addictive highs of subspace were counterbalanced by subdrop, which was a lot like going through withdrawal. The body ate up the adrenaline and euphoric state in one minute, and when it wasn’t there anymore, when the play stopped, something like the law of gravity brought her crashing down.

“Thank you for telling me. I will be there for you whenever you need it. Anything else?”

Poppy breathed a sigh and relaxed a bit. “No, thank you.”

“Okay. I usually stick to using common toys with a new partner. Floggers, canes, chains, paddles, restraints, myself.” His brows lifted to accent the last implement and she shivered. “How do you feel about knives or a violet wand?”

Yes, please
.

“Is any of that going to be a problem?” he asked.

Poppy shook her head. “Not at all.”

“What about the wand or knives?”

“I like both. Together, even. Sorry. I’m getting a little giddy just talking about it.” She grinned and a smile spread across his face. This was going to be fun.

He leaned forward and his gaze narrowed. “How do you feel about calling me sir?”

Part of her balked at his request. He wasn’t her sir, but even after just soaking up his presence, she could tell he deserved the honorific on character alone. Still, she rolled it around in her head. Did she want to put herself in that submissive of a position?

She’d never seen this man before. She’d been active in the Chicago kink scene for almost three years, and not once had she seen him. Which meant he might not even be from the area, or maybe he was one of those who preferred to play at home or at private events, instead of the public club.

She might never see him again. This could be her only opportunity to experience all of him, to learn what it would be like to have this man in control, and have him give control to her. She might regret passing this up if she didn’t take advantage of the opportunity.

“I think I can do that.” Her pulse skipped a beat. This was going to happen. Nerves danced along her spine and she curled her toes into the cushions. This was real.

“Excellent. I’d ask you your name, but”—he spread his hands—“house rules.”

House Surrender allowed for a risk-aware and consensually kinky weekend, where the attendees pledged to stay safe and, most importantly, private. Real names were not used. Instead, many people adopted a nickname, or used their scene name, since many people used the same name across the entire kinky world.

“How about I call you Rapunzel?”

“I like it.”
Marry me now?

Poppy was a card-carrying member of the fanatically fairy-tale-obsessed club. Especially when it came to princesses. She wasn’t a girly girl, but there was something about the magic of princess stories that captured her imagination like nothing else. He’d just won her complete adoration, and he probably didn’t even realize it.

He studied her for a moment. Warmth chased by goose bumps ran down her arms. What did he see when he looked at her?

“You are very beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Poppy could have melted then and there. He wasn’t the first man to call her beautiful, but the way he said it sounded sincere.

His expression changed, growing harder. He dropped his hands to his lap and sat up a little straighter. “There’s one area that you might find issue with.”

“And that is?”

“I’m attracted to you. Playing with you will be arousing. How do you feel about sex in or following our scene?”

Poppy stopped breathing. She was totally wet now. Her last sexual partner, a brief boyfriend, had been well over a year ago. Sex wasn’t something she took lightly, but if she said no to this experience, would she regret it? Part of the appeal of House Surrender was that anyone who attended had to submit a clean bill of health, dated seven days or less prior to attending. She was on birth control, and she’d never okay a man not using a condom. The risk to her health was minimal. It was her heart that worried her.

He was a dream. One of her storybook princes come to life, with dark skin, sensual promises in his gaze, and sinful intent on his lips. But this was reality, not a movie, not a book, and the hero and heroine wouldn’t find love in one night. That wasn’t how real life worked. Was she willing to risk the weeks to come, recovering from this man? Because he would brand her soul at the very least, and then they would go their separate ways.

“That’s not going to be a problem,” Poppy replied.

“Fantastic.” He stood, and Poppy realized the man had to be well over six feet, and built
like a linebacker. He had her book in one hand, and offered to help her up with the other.

Tentatively, Poppy put her hand in his and let him pull her up. Poppy wasn’t a tiny woman. At five eight, she was taller than a lot of men, but he dwarfed her, made her feel small. Christ on a cracker, why wasn’t she wearing something besides yoga pants and a tank top? She was even barefoot. She looked like a slouch compared to him, in his dress shoes, slacks, and button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

“I’m not a gentleman when I play.” He bent his head so his breath brushed her cheek.

“I eat gentlemen doms for breakfast.” She grinned.

He tipped his head back and laughed. “Promise? I could be down for a morning blow job.”

Poppy rolled her eyes as heat spread up her cheeks.

His big hand cupped her chin, tipping her head back slightly. His other arm wrapped around her, bringing their bodies together, and she felt him for the first time. The muscular planes of his chest against her palms, his abdomen, this man was hard—everywhere.

“I need to go get my toy bag. Do you need anything?”

“Yeah.” A change of panties, maybe some sexy lipstick.

The arm around her waist uncurled and he smacked her ass with the book, not too hard, but enough to get her attention.

Poppy yelped, caught by surprise.

“Do you need anything?” he growled again.

Oh, the man wanted her to call him sir. He wanted the honorific from her, and that in itself made her want to withhold it, to see what he’d do. But it was too early for that, she’d test him later.

“Yes. Sir.” She smiled, willing to play his game. She’d call him whatever he wanted, so long as he recognized that she wasn’t a submissive. She was a switch, a different animal altogether, and he was going to have to respect that.

He flashed another devastating grin and slowly lowered his head.

Her stomach knotted and her pulse kicked up all at once.

The last bit of space between them closed and his lips touched hers. An electric jolt shot through her body and she melted from the inside out, relaxing into his hold and gripping his shirt in her hands. He pressed closer and she tasted him. He teased her lower lip, and she opened for him, falling headlong into her role as his submissive for the night.

He tore his mouth away before she could even settle into the embrace, and they stared at
each other, panting.

“I think we’re going to like each other,” he said between breaths.

Poppy flattened her hands against his chest and smiled, looking up at him through her lashes. “I must agree, sir.”

Damien closed his eyes while the elevator made the short trip from the first floor to the fourth floor and his room. The owner, Dom Yamamoto, one of Damien’s closest friends, had designed the mansion to feel like a modern take on a medieval castle, and he’d gone as far as to use stone as the primary building material. Located in “Mansionville,” north of Chicago off the lake, there wasn’t a dime spared in pursuit of luxury. The main atrium, where the antique, open elevator serviced the guests, was open, allowing the party to continue on any level. He could even hear the sounds from the main dungeon below. Screams, people yelling and laughing, moaning in ecstasy and whimpering in fear, all twined together, creating a kind of music.

The thrill of anticipation and a touch of nerves had him jingling the handle on his toy bag. After years spent in the scene, it took a large, rolling suitcase to accommodate the full arsenal.

Would Rapunzel like pain over pleasure? Did she laugh or scream?

Switches were odd creatures, in his experience. No two were the same. A weekend wouldn’t be enough time to learn her tastes.

Did he dare give her his real name? With that would come the full weight of who he was. There were many differences between the dominant and DEA Special Agent Damien Moana. No, he was getting ahead of himself. They would play, he would convince her to give him the weekend, and either this would have to be enough or they’d work something out.

The elevator dinged when he reached the first floor. He pushed the manual cage door aside and stepped into the hallway. The marble floors gleamed and the walls were hung with paintings, tapestries, and other grand pieces of art that meant nothing to Damien. Dom Yamamoto had an eye for this stuff, not Damien.

The main atrium was set up as a cocktail space, except there was no alcohol here. People milled around, chatting in various stages of dress or undress, enjoying the vanilla-free weekend. A few of his friends hailed him, but he shook his head, declining their offers, and struck off for the library.

One of the unique features of House Surrender was that every room, each and every nook, was outfitted with some sort of kinky feature, a perverted piece of furniture set aside for a carnal use. He knew from having watched a few scenes in the library that there was a plethora of kinked-out furniture tucked away behind the shelves. The bed alone sported many restraint
anchors, promising hours of fun. There was a padded, wooden A-frame bench with places on either side of the frame for subs to rest their knees while being bent over and spanked. Or, if they were really lucky, fucked. The library was home to a beautifully carved X-shaped St. Andrew’s cross. And if he remembered correctly, there was a chain that hung from the second level, with a two-foot-long bar that sported rings at either end. The spreader bar could be used on hands or legs, depending on what you wanted access to. But where was the fun in using that? They were going to play in a library, and Rapunzel was clearly a bookworm, and therefore he needed to use something unusual. Something that connected to her innate desire to be here, of all places.