“I’m glad you came,” he said, stepping aside to allow her to enter.
“I wasn’t sure I was going to.”
“Why did you?”
As she passed him, he caught a whiff of her just-showered scent, something tropical that reminded him of summer. Her hair was piled atop her head, with some sort of stick in it. He was sure the carved, green glossy piece had a fancy name, but damned if he knew what it was. No matter how much time he spent around women, some things they did remained a wonderful, alluring mystery.
He closed the door behind her.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Curiosity, maybe.”
“You’ve bruised my ego.”
She looked at him and seemed to be trying not to smile. “You were imagining I was so overcome by last night’s orgasm that I spent the last eighteen hours fantasizing about you?”
“A man can hope.”
“Dreamer.”
He grinned. “May I take your coat?”
After interminable seconds, she placed her purse on a nearby table.
He moved behind her and helped her from the full-length garment then hung it in the closet.
When he’d imagined her coming to his home, he hadn’t known what to expect. Would she dress as a fierce and fiery Domme? Or would she wear a skirt that invited him to touch her?
But, as he was starting to learn, this woman was not predictable.
Damien loved seeing her at the Den with her dramatic make-up, false eyelashes and bright lipstick. But this…? Other than a light brush of mascara, her face was bare.
Black jeans rode low on her hips, and a form-fitting sweater showed off her slender waist and the curve of her breasts. Instead of stilettos, she’d selected boots with chunky heels and metal buckles. Tonight she looked more like a biker chick than a Domme fatale.
She sure as hell didn’t look ready to submit.
Just how many facets were there to this woman? One thing was certain. He fucking itched to find out. “Wine?” he offered.
“I’m driving.”
“You’re welcome to stay the night rather than go back out in the cold.”
“Do you have a guest room?”
“Battered,” he replied.
“Battered?”
“My ego. Turns out it’s not just bruised, it’s battered.”
She smiled. This time, it was genuine, not polite like the ones she used at the Den. It was then that he realized how much of herself she kept hidden. The more he saw, the more he wanted to learn.
“I’ll have a glass of wine. No more than one,” she clarified as she followed him into the kitchen.
He poured a small amount in her glass.
She swirled it around then tasted it and said, “Nice.”
“I’m glad you approve. It’s one of my favorites,” he agreed. He filled his glass while she wandered toward the sliding patio door.
She moved aside the blinds to look outside. “Is that Standley Lake out there?”
“It is.”
“I had no idea it was so big.”
“Plenty of water skiing in summer.”
“So you have a view of the mountains and the water?”
“Depending on the angle. And a covered patio,” he said. “It will be chilly, but we can have coffee out there in the morning. A pair of bald eagles breeds here.”
She released the blinds and they swished into place as she turned to face him. A scowl was buried between her eyebrows. “You keep assuming I’m staying.”
“Not at all. Just sweetening the offer.”
“Do you always get your own way?”
“By any means, fair or foul.”
Catrina shook her head. “You’re honest.”
“To a fault.” He crossed to her and skimmed a finger down her cheekbone. “I like to touch you,” he said. “Last night showed me how much.”
She captured his wrist.
“You like it, too. I can see your heart beating, right there…” He continued lower, tracing the column of her throat.
Her breath caught.
“And the rise and fall of your chest tells me you’re affected, too.” He spread his hand on her sweater, above her breasts.
Catrina was a tall woman, but she barely reached his chin. He wanted to wrap her up and keep her safe from the things that scared her.
She moved his hand aside then put some distance between them. “Your place isn’t what I expected. I figured you more for an executive loft downtown.” She rested her hips against a countertop. “Oh, no. Wait. I was wrong. This suits you fine.”
“You’re talking fast, Catrina.” But he gave her the space she seemed to need. He pulled out a barstool and sat on it. She was here. That was enough.
“You’ve got tons of privacy. Your subs can scream all they want without disturbing the neighbors. Why don’t you lead the way?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“To your dungeon? Didn’t you invite me here to get me naked and prove how susceptible I am to your charms?”
“Are you trying to piss me off?”
She blinked.
He placed his wine glass on the quartz. “Maybe you’re annoyed with yourself because I tempt you, or that you’re curious. Perhaps you crave a taste of leather on your butt cheeks and don’t know how to ask for it.”
“You’re ridiculous.” She gripped the stem of her glass with two hands.
“If you want to be over my lap, I’d be delighted to accommodate you. But you can’t make it easy, can you? If you’d worn something more appropriate, I’d know you wanted to feel us, bare skin to bare skin. Instead you’re lying to me. And worse, to yourself.” He moved his glass aside. “So answer my earlier question, Catrina. Why did you come?”
“Nothing better to do.”
He nodded. “I believe that.”
She relaxed her hold a bit.
“But there’s more.”
She shook her head.
“Do you ever demand honesty from your subs?”
“I’m not sure what you’re asking.”
“I understand why I terrify you.”
“You don’t,” she contradicted.
“Oh, I do.” He stood and pushed back the wooden stool. “You’re not afraid of the sexual aspect at all. In fact, you’d be happy to play with me as long as I just spanked your ass and got you off.”
Her lips parted and she stood there, as if riveted.
“But you know I’m going to demand more from you than you want to give.”
“Not true,” she protested.
“Really?” He took a few steps toward her. To her credit, she straightened her shoulders. “I won’t be satisfied with a few minutes together. I don’t want to show you to my dungeon and force you to your knees, though at the moment, the idea does have some merit.”
She flinched.
“That might send you scurrying, but it wouldn’t frighten you. What terrifies you, though, is the idea that I want to get to know you. I want to know what keeps you awake at night, why you’re scared of having something that isn’t shallow.”
“Don’t give up your day job,” she replied. “You suck as a psychiatrist.”
“Why do you need men to lick your boots?”
She rolled her eyes. “I like it. Why do you need to women to be subservient?”
“I don’t, and they’re not. Women are my equal.”
“Please. I watched the demo you did with Susan.”
“Then you noticed the way I looked at her, watching all of her reactions. You would have also been aware that everything I did was solely to meet her needs. Just as I met yours last night.”
Catrina took a sip from her wine. He imagined she did it to appear nonchalant, but the way the wine splashed indicated her hand was shaking.
“Just as I will meet them again tonight.” He moved in closer and plucked her glass from her hand. “Admit it”—he slid her glass onto the countertop—“a BDSM relationship is about way more than getting your sexual kink on. It’s about an exchange of energy, about being so focused on another person that their happiness becomes paramount to you. Your sub’s fulfilment matters more than your own.”
“I get my subs off.”
“Before or after they pleasure you?”
She looked away.
“I’m not criticizing you,” he said. “Merely suggesting there’s more to it than you realize.”
She met his gaze.
“Have you masturbated?”
“What kind of question is that?” she asked, her voice sounding delightfully breathless.
Damien knew how seductive the right sexual partner could be. That’s why having her here meant something to him. “Since you didn’t respond to my earlier text, I’m curious to know whether or not you followed my instruction.”
“No.” Then she clarified, “I didn’t touch myself.”
“I promised you a reward if you were good.”
She swallowed deeply. Then she looked up at him. He felt as if everything he knew about subs vanished. Each was unique in her needs and experiences, but Catrina, with her sudden shiver and wide, unblinking eyes was going to be a challenge…one he was looking forward to.
“Milady, if you’d wanted to hang out, you would have invited me to meet you for dinner or a coffee, but you didn’t. So I’ll make this easier for you. Shall I order you to strip? Or would you like to do it of your own free will?”
Chapter Three
Why the hell did this man need to make things so difficult? It annoyed her to think he knew her as well as she knew herself. Maybe even better. She’d spent the past five years protecting herself. Damien, though, kept pushing. He recognized that she kept dodging his questions, and he circled back to them until she answered.
“Here,” he said. “Now.”
Her pulse stalled, and she could hardly think straight. She’d never done this for a man. She set the scene, named the time and place and she was dressed for play when her boys arrived.
Before she’d become a Domme, she’d typically changed into a robe in the bathroom, then met her date in the bedroom. Standing in a man’s kitchen and peeling off her clothes wasn’t something she’d ever done before.
Damien confused her. This wasn’t a seduction, and he hadn’t taken her to his dungeon, nor had he laid out any toys.
Except for what had already happened between them and the fact he’d told her to get naked in his kitchen, she could believe they were on a first date getting ready to go to dinner.
“You’re not shy, are you?” he asked. When she didn’t respond, he gentled his voice and said, “I would have never suspected. Take your time. But I will have you nude. Would you like some help?”
“Uhm…”
He made the decision for her. He took hold of her sweater, tugged it from her waistband and pulled it up and over her head with a single, smooth move. Part of her hair dislodged and fell over her forehead and down her face.
She forced herself to breathe.
He stepped back, giving her some space, but not much. This man knew what he was doing.
He draped her sweater over the oven door’s handle and stood there, regarding her.
She crouched to remove her boots and socks, and he offered a steadying hand.
Though she was tall, she felt tiny standing before him in bare feet. She’d had no idea how unnerving this could be.
Before she could lose her courage, she removed her jeans.
He picked them up from the hardwood floor. As she shimmied out of her underwear, he folded her pants.
He extended his hand for her thong.
Wordlessly, she shoved the skimpy piece of cotton against his palm.
“You’re beautiful, Catrina.”
She noticed that he’d stopped calling her Milady. Subtly, inexorably, he asserted his power.
Then he nodded. Understanding, she unhooked her bra and shucked the straps from her shoulders.
“Thank you,” he said, accepting the lingerie.
Catrina resisted the impulse to cover up. Instead, she drew her shoulders closer together.
“I turned up the heat before you arrived. Let me know if you’re cold. Have you ever knelt for a man?”
“No.”
He switched topics faster than anyone she’d ever known. It kept her off balance and from dwelling on anything for too long.
“I’m not about to start now.”
“I can’t and won’t compel you to do anything. I respect everything you say and all your wishes.”
His rich voice, thick and warm like whiskey warmed near a fire, hypnotized her.
“We can and should talk about anything that makes you uncomfortable. You may use the Den’s safe word or one of your own.”
“Halt is fine.” Since the words emerged squeaky, she cleared her throat and tried again.
He nodded. “It would give me great pleasure to see you kneel for me. You may use the rug.”
As each moment passed, she fell deeper under his spell. At the Den and other places she’d played, she had watched submissives lower themselves with great care and elegance. She’d also seen some newer subs struggle with it. Part of her couldn’t believe she was even considering it. “I thought this was about my pleasure?”
“It is.”
She scowled. She appreciated that he didn’t tell her to trust him or turn it into a debate—he said his piece then shut up.
Damien once again offered his assistance. Using his forearm for balance, she went to her knees, grateful for the thickness of the rug. Subs knelt for her all the time, and she’d never given much consideration to the surface. She knew she should be grateful for his foresight.
“How is it?”
She cricked her neck to look at him. “I really, really hate it.”
“Then get up.”
“What?” she snapped.
“I meant it when I said I won’t force you to do anything.”
“But…”
“If you want to stop, do so.” He folded his arms in his usual manner.
She remained where she was.
“What do you hate about it?”
“It hurts my neck.”
“Fair enough. Anything else?”
“It’s subservient.”
“If you want to look at it that way.”
She exhaled, not sure why she was still on her knees. But him talking to her, rather than walking away, made it possible. “What other possible way is there?”
“You tell me.”
“Has anyone ever told you how frustrating you are?”
“Once or twice, perhaps.” A tiny smile ghosted his lips.
This side of him, light, jovial, was endearing. Her self-consciousness was ebbing. Because he treated it as if it were natural, it seemed that way.
This was different from the way she interacted with her boys. They showed up ready to play and she accommodated their desires. Before each one’s arrival, she set the scene, getting out her toys, arranging them, and when they walked through the door, she took charge right away. Damien had as well, but with his unique flair. He was gentler than she’d mentally planned for. A harder-edged Damien would have brought out a similar response in her. Instead, she found her defenses crumbling.