Damaged Goods (3 page)

Just as she was about to fold into a ball of misery, he turned her face to him with a hand on her chin. He was smiling. She liked his smile. He smiled with his whole face, not just his mouth. There were fine lines in the corner of his eyes that deepened as his whole expression lifted. He had great teeth and lips that were full without looking like they belonged on a girl. Just a simple smile from him, and she felt her spirits lighten.

“Well, your dreams differ from mine, then. As for me, having a beautiful, blushing, redheaded sub cuddled in my lap is right up there on my list of dreams come true.” His smile deepened, and that warm place in her chest got warmer and her embarrassment melted under the heat of it. “Now, you were saying that you like men?”

Terryn rallied and tried again. “I like men. It’s just that when I was with them it was mostly boring. I mean, sometimes it was good. But for the most part, I just thought there was something wrong with me because I could never…” She was blushing again. Terryn gave herself a mental push and blurted it out. “Come. I could never come and I almost always faked it. ’Cause, I mean, it’s not the guy’s fault, right? I’d feel sorry for them. They would try, but I just couldn’t do it.” She let out a big breath and tried very hard to look like she was comfortable having this kind of conversation with a perfect stranger.

“Terryn.” His voice was a little deeper now. It had an unmistakably disciplinarian tone to it. “The first rule in this is trust. The D/s balance is delicate, and there has to be complete honesty.” His hands tightened on her and his voice got deeper yet. “You will never fake an orgasm again. Are we clear?” Terryn nodded and tried not to squirm.

“Good,” he said. “I’m glad we understand each other on that. So, you found vanilla sex boring. What happened to make you look into BDSM instead of, say, swinging or exploring with women?”

“I read a lot. I like romance novels.” She waited for him to say something disparaging about chick-lit, and when he remained silent she took encouragement from that and went on, “I noticed a pattern. If the hero of the story was strong and even overbearing, I loved it. The ones where the men were soft and sweet, I couldn’t stand.” He smiled at that, and she continued, “Seriously, I read one where the man was all flowers and poetry and soft tender love scenes and I thought I was going to puke. Give me a hero who’s only two steps up from carrying a club and I can’t get enough.” He chuckled again and brought one of her hands to his mouth.

As he nibbled on her fingers one at a time, he asked, “So, you thought you’d see if you enjoy a Neanderthal in reality as much as you do in fiction?” He waited until she nodded before he asked, “Who brought you on your first three visits, and why aren’t they here for your fourth?”

“A friend of mine is a member. She’s also a sub and kind of new to this. She loves it and told me that I wouldn’t be sorry. She gave me some hands-on instruction and has been answering all my questions. I lucked out with her because she’s been great. My first three visits, it was just the two of us, and we just watched other peoples’ scenes so I could see what it was like and make sure I was ready for this. Tonight she brought a date along.”

As he leisurely nibbled his way along her palm, it became harder and harder to remember what she was talking about. “We were all dancing in the club area first to get warmed up before we headed back here. They were going to help me find a Dom and then they were going to keep an eye on me. We had agreed that she was going to watch me through my first scene.”

Her breath caught as those lips and teeth found a particularly sensitive spot. “Then they decided they wanted privacy instead of the club and left.” He raised a brow at that, and Terryn rushed to reassure him before he judged her friend. “I wasn’t mad. We all talked about it, and they would have been cool if I wanted them to stay. She really likes this guy, though, and I didn’t blame her for wanting to be with him instead of babysitting me.” Terryn’s voice was softer and softer as she spoke, getting lost in the feel of his mouth on her hand. His tongue was tracing tiny patterns on her palm now.

“I was supposed to leave too.” She shrugged when his eyes snapped to her. There was a frown on his face and he nipped hard on the pad of her thumb. “I tried to leave. I was out front waiting for a cab, and I just thought, no. I’m not going to wait any longer. I’ve been reading and studying and waiting for this for what feels like my whole life. I wasn’t going to put it off for even one more night when I didn’t have to. So I sent the taxi on its way and marched right back in here.”

She smiled at him a little sheepishly and confessed, “I was fine until I saw the yellow collar. Scared me to death. All of the sudden I thought, ‘Holy cow! I’m in for it now.’ And I was gonna go home after all. Then you walked in.”

Terryn smiled at him and let everything she was feeling show on her face. She hoped he could see that she was still scared, but that she was open and ready and glad that he had been there. She also hoped desperately that he would remember this was her first time with a Dom and not go too hard on her.

Chapter Four

Brice watched the emotions drift like currents across her expressive face. He wanted to spank her fool ass for not leaving when her friend did. But he understood—hell, it was like she’d been surviving on bread and water up ’til now, and just when someone had showed her there was a whole banquet out there, they told her she had to wait before she could eat.

He remembered the first time he’d had D/s sex. He had still been in college, and Trevor and Cade told him about a girl who had let them tie her up and both take her at the same time. He’d been so intrigued and turned on by the story that he’d looked up a BDSM club close to campus and went that same night. The club had been seedy and dank, but he’d learned a lot about who he was in that place. If someone had told him to wait and come back later, before he’d had a taste for himself, he would have ignored them too.

But still, he told her, “You should have taken that cab. This club has some safety measures in place, but as a newcomer you are extremely vulnerable.” When he saw that she wasn’t going to agree, he decided to let it pass. “But I’m personally very glad you didn’t, so I’ll let it go.

“Now,” he continued “I need to know what you’ve done before and what you want to do. You said you haven’t been with anyone in the club, but have you ever tried BDSM with a boyfriend?”

“No.”

The answer filled him with what he called his Captain Kirk glee. May not be modern, but it was what it was. He loved going where no man had gone before.

“Ever been tied up or restrained?” When she shook her head, he said, “We’ll start there.” He scooped one arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees, then stood and headed to the equipment area. Her eyes were opened wide in her anxious face. He could tell she was torn between her fear of biting off more than she could chew and excitement over what was about to happen.

He spoke to her as he set her on her feet in front of a St. Andrew’s cross, “We are just going to try restraints for now. I want to see how you react to that before we take it any further. Tell me, have you already decided on a safe word?”

She nodded and said the last thing he could have imagined. “Pickles.”

The ridiculous choice made him laugh and he made a mental note to himself to find out later why she chose it. He saw that her breathing had increased, and she was back to clenching her fists. “Terryn,” he said softly, and ran a finger along her collar. “Tell me why you have a yellow collar.”

She swallowed and gave him a look before answering, “Because I’m not new anymore.”

“That’s a start. Go on.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tell me why the collars are colored and what the colors mean. I need to know how much you know.”

“Oh.” She looked like she’d just been given a pop quiz. “The red is only for your first couple visits. The yellow is for after that, and then you get a green one.”

“And what do those colors represent?” he asked while slowly running his hands up and down her bare arms.

“Um, the red one means that no one can touch you, you’re still learning, and the yellow means you’re ready to try. The green means you’re up for grabs.”

He slowly shook his head and lifted first one of her arms and then the next into its restraint. “Not exactly. The yellow tells the Dom to be cautious, go slow and don’t assume this sub knows everything she should. The green tells him this sub is confident and knows what the rules are. That allows him to go forward without having to break character, so to speak.”

Both her arms were secure now, and he knelt down to place her feet. As he positioned each one in turn, he removed her shoes. Heels may do wonders for a woman’s legs, but for him nothing was sexier than bare feet during a scene.

The restraints were leather. Lined with thick cotton, they safeguarded against injury. Even so, he checked the fit on all four before standing back. “Any collar, even a green one, doesn’t mean a sub is up for grabs. The sub always has the true power. Did you know that?” His eyes wandered over her slowly, from her bare spread feet to the tips of her widespread fingers.

When he met her fascinated gaze, she shook her head and said in a whisper, “How could this be power? I’m trapped. You could do anything right now.” From the look on her face, he could tell that thought was equally arousing and frightening to her.

“Ah, I could, huh?” He stepped close, until his chest was against her breasts and his lips brushed her cheek as he spoke. “I could flog you?” She caught her breath and held it. “Or perhaps I could strip you and share you with some of the men watching from the bar?” Her head whipped around to stare in horror at the bar and the people who were watching them instead of the show going on behind the bartender. “Wait, I’ve got a better idea—how about I just lift this charming dress out of my way and fuck you where you stand?” He slid a palm up one perfect, trembling thigh, and just as he was expecting, as soon as he reached the hem of her gold skirt, she panicked.

“No! Pickles! Pickles!” Every muscle in her body strained against the bindings. Before the words had even left her lips, he was two feet away from her with his hands up in front of him. For a moment, she still looked frightened, and then the fear gave way to understanding.

When he was sure she was no longer scared, he stepped back into position. “The sub always has the ultimate power, because with one word, no matter how ridiculous that word may be, she can stop everything.”

He brought his hands up where she could see them and slowly lowered them until they were on her waist. “It’s a dance, Terryn,” he said and took a nip at her earlobe.

“A dance on a high wire suspended over shark-infested waters. I have to know how far to push.” His hands slid up and cupped both breasts. “Where you like to be touched.” His thumbs feathered across nipples that turned hard as granite.

“And just how much pain is pleasure to you.” He pinched down on the hardened tips and felt like a rock star when she arched and let out a cry. “Mmmm, that was a nice sound,” he praised. “Can I make it happen again?”

With his thumbs and forefingers, he grasped her nipples and tugged until her breasts were lifted and elongated. Then he pulled in small, forceful pulses. Watching her face for signs of true pain was necessary, but she only arched and panted for him.

He pulled a little harder and—“Ahhh, there it is.” He let up and leaned down to lay a kiss on her cheek. “I do love that sound.” Then he stepped back and reached for the zipper he’d felt hidden in the side seam of her dress. “This gold color looks amazing on you, but for a sub, you are extremely overdressed.”

The silky gold material loosened as the zipper lowered. It was a strapless number, and in a matter of seconds he dropped it at her feet. The throbbing pressure in his cock turned critical as every cell in his body reacted to sight in front of him.

Her red hair blazed in the glow of the lights, surrounding her face in waves of flame. Her arms and legs were stretched, and he could make out the supple musculature in each mouthwatering limb. She was slender and toned, with a gentle flare to her hips. The strapless black bra she had on barely covered her nipples, and he could see them clearly outlined in their delicate covering. The matching panties were those micro style kind that never failed to make his mouth water, just a couple of strings and a triangle of satin. Just above a tiny satin bow where the string met the crotch panel, something caught his eye, and he knelt down for a better look.

“Is that what I think it is?” Her face turned the brightest shade yet, and with one finger he moved the panty aside so he could see. A tattoo of a cartoon bear no bigger than his thumbprint sat just on the edge of delicate red curls.

He leaned forward for a closer look, and she whispered, “It’s Winnie the Pooh.” When he brought the panties lower and saw what she had on the opposite corner of those curls, she added, “And his honey pot.”

Sure enough, across from Pooh was a honey pot lying on its side with honey pouring out of it in a tiny splash that disappeared into the curls below. Both were small and well done. He wasn’t a man who normally liked tattoos. If a woman was going to be marked, he preferred to do the marking and to have those marks fade so he could do them again. But these… “Clever, whimsical and just a little bit naughty. Was this your design?” he asked without looking up.

“Um.” She cleared her throat and had to take a deep breath before she could talk. He wondered if it was embarrassment or if having him staring so intently at her honey pot was to blame. “It was mine. I was eighteen and thought it’d be flirty. Now I just get embarrassed whenever a man sees them.”

He looked up at her, but stayed where he was. “Why?”

“Because, I thought they’d make me more mature and daring. But, hello, it’s Winnie the Pooh. Now whenever someone sees them, I feel like a little kid.”

“Well,” Brice said, looking back at the tattoos, “I like them and think they have just the right amount of daring.” He flicked a look up at her with a raised brow and a pirate’s grin. “It’s daring me to have a taste for myself and see how far down that honey has spilled.”