Leather Bound (17 page)

‘You can absolutely say no at any point. Now. Later. It doesn’t change anything if you say no. Not. One. Thing.’

He paused, his lips trailing the edge of my ear, allowing me to think about that for a moment.

‘But if you want to, we can do it together, you and me. I’ll help you. I promise I will keep you safe. So you get to decide: do you want to do this?’

I tried to breathe, to hear something beyond the thumping of my pulse in my ears. Did I want to do this? Yes. And no.

Actually. Yes. Unequivocally. But I was scared. Of what, I couldn’t say exactly.

I grew less afraid the longer we stood there, his breath on my skin, his quiet words bouncing around in my brain. I could say no. And all this fear would go away.

And on the heels of that thought: but so would the arousal. It wasn’t just fear that made my pulse thrum under my skin, that tightened my breath at the thought of being in front of people. I did want to do this, and I wanted to do it with Davian. Oddly, I trusted him.

Surprising myself, I turned my head, pulling against his grip in my hair to find his mouth. His lips pressed chilled to mine, but the inside of his mouth was deliciously warm. His teeth caught my tongue, raked them gently. My shiver wasn’t due to the cold.

He pulled back, licking my lips in the letting go.

‘I guess that’s a yes,’ he said.

I hadn’t been to L&L since I’d thought I’d seen Davian here, cutting buttons off a woman’s dress while I masturbated furtively in the dark. I wanted to ask if that really was him, or if I’d been imagining him, but I was afraid of the answer. If I was obsessed enough to accidentally fantasise his face onto another man’s body, I didn’t want him to know about it. The memory of it gave me the shivers, me in the dark, the way he’d bent towards her, dragging his hands along her neck, the weight of the scissors as they’d cut through the threads.

They hadn’t fucked, but they hadn’t needed to; watching them play had been enough, more than enough, to get me off. What did that mean for me now? Was he going to make me watch him again? Or did he have something else planned?

I couldn’t read anything from his face as he led me towards the back, then up a small flight of stairs that I’d never noticed before. Through a red silk curtain, a woman in a black dress was reading behind a small desk. She gave us a courtesy smile, which deepened into something real when she saw Davian. She had the kind of smile that you can see from across the room, straight white teeth and dimples so deep you could sink your fingers into them.

‘Well, hello, you,’ she said.

They hugged, and I took the chance to check her out. It was a habit I’d got into, mostly keeping an eye open for Lily. I wasn’t much of a matchmaker, but she’d been so damn unhappy lately. I kept hoping I’d accidentally run into her perfect woman. It could be at least one good side effect of this entire gig.

The woman hugging Davian – which was odd in itself, as I’d never seen him hug anyone, and was surprised at the relaxed ease with which he moved into her embrace – was almost exactly his height. Long straight black hair fell down her back, almost to her butt. But it was good long hair, the kind that’s obviously had care taken of it, and because it matched her dress perfectly it gave her a sleek, otherworldly look.

Pulling back, she shifted her attention to me. Her gaze was a moss green that washed over me slowly before she nodded her approval.

‘Want to go in?’ she asked Davian. ‘Ericka and Troy are just finishing. Should just be a couple of minutes for clean-up.’

Davian caught my eye, a brow lifted in question. Despite myself, I nodded.

‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘That will give us a few minutes to get ready.’

‘Room B is all yours.’

He nodded thanks, touching her shoulder softly as we walked by her, down the long hall. I wondered what their history was. Had he cut the buttons off her dress? More? I didn’t feel jealous, thinking about him with her, but hot. All of these women, seemingly smart, together, sexual women, trusted him to take them places they couldn’t go on their own. Why shouldn’t I trust him too?

Room B was tiny, a loveseat, a couple of mirrors and a hanging closet full of outfits. One wall was covered with hanging floggers, leather cuffs and other toys. Beneath that, a table held a variety of disinfectants, lubes and condoms. I’d never thought about what happened behind the scenes here. I just assumed couples walked in and entered the centre space in much the same way as I walked in and entered a booth. Clearly, that wasn’t the case at all. It was all very organised, and smelled faintly of disinfectant.

‘This isn’t very sexy, is it?’ I asked. I picked up a bottle of toy cleaner and sniffed it.

‘I guess not,’ he said. ‘I suppose we should just call it quits and forget about it.’

It wasn’t until I glanced at the mirror that I saw his expression, how the low smoulder of his gaze belied his words. He came forwards, towards me in the mirror, until I could feel the full press of his body against the back of me. The touch was so light that I had to stay incredibly still in order to feel it, but it was there. Warmth and heat, and a firmness that made me tremble. His scent spilled over, erasing everything else. In the mirror, his reversed face was lifted, his caramel gaze so full of want and heat that I was afraid to turn around and look at him full on, afraid that I wouldn’t see the same desire in his eyes.

‘Point,’ I said. The word stuck in my throat, the edges of it, and I tried to swallow away the want that rose and blocked my breath. He backed away, leaving the back of me cold.

‘Do you want to change?’ he asked.

Change? I hadn’t thought about it. I was trying not to think about it at all.

I eyed my outfit in the mirror. ‘Should I?’

He didn’t even hesitate. ‘No,’ he said.

I heard the sound of a drawer sliding open and turned to look. He was pulling a pair of scissors, what looked like the same pair of scissors, from its depths.

‘I have plans for that outfit of yours,’ he said.

* * *

Stepping into a room without walls is harder than it seems. Walking into the centre room at L&L reminded me of the one time I’d walked across a transparent glass floor. While other people had been able to just step onto it, peering down at the people walking storeys below, I found myself stuck at the end, unable to take that first step. It was crowded, and I was holding people up, but none of that mattered. I knew in my rational brain that it wasn’t any less safe than walking across something that I couldn’t see through, but I still couldn’t force myself to go forward. In the end, someone had jostled me, and I’d taken that first step by accident, swearing I was going to die even as I landed firmly on solid footing. I stood for a long time, breathing, my heart pounding, incredibly aware that I was still alive. After that, I thought it would get easier, that each step would be a movement towards less fear. That turned out not to be true. Every step was just as scary as the first; if I could have gone back, run to the edge, I would have. But the crowd was shuffling forward, carrying me along with it.

That’s how I felt the second I stepped into L&L’s centre room. I couldn’t see the people on the other sides of the walls, but I knew they were there. Not seeing anything in this case was somehow the exact same as seeing too much had been with the glass floor. My pulse went boom inside my wrists. My head went light and fuzzy, and there were dark shadows at the edges of my vision.

‘You’re fine,’ Davian said, his voice low. ‘No one’s in there right now. They close the viewings between shows.’

‘They do not,’ I said. My voice echoed in the mostly empty room, coming back to me with my denial.

He nodded. ‘Yes. So they can clean. Take your time. Sit.’

In the middle of the room, a single chair. The same, or same enough, chair as the one I’d watched last time I was here. I ran my finger along the back of it, having a flash of remembrance. Davian in the pool of light. Surely it had been him. Now I was almost certain.

I sat in the chair, feeling its hard coolness against the heat of my body. I was facing the room where I’d sat last time, sat and watched and got off. The thought clenched my thighs, made me utter a single gasp of fear and want. But that was all I had time to do before he deftly slipped a gag into my mouth and tied it firmly at the back of my head.

‘Good?’ he asked.

Oh, my fuck. I was not good. None of this was good. My pulse was thumping my throat so hard it felt like someone’s fingers playing a drumbeat on my neck.

Yet when he knelt in front of me, his hands on my knees, looking up at me, everything stopped. First it slowed and then it stopped completely. Everything went still. Except Davian’s eyes. That heated caramel. The promise of his gaze. Safety and danger both. He lowered his face until it was just between my thighs. I could feel the heat of his palms through my stockings, heard him inhale softly as he closed his eyes and breathed me in.

I nodded and shook my head, both. All in one gesture. A totally incoherent response.

‘Focus on me,’ he said. ‘On the sound of my voice. On the touch of my –’ he turned his head and kissed the inside of my thigh ‘– mouth. Focus only on me. Can you do that?’

I nodded, this time a real nod. No denial in it this time. I wanted to do just that. Forget all the people who would be watching. Forget what this was truly about. Focus on his mouth, that beautiful mouth that was planting soft kisses along my skin.

‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘Such a good …’ Each time he said good, he followed it with a kiss that climbed higher up my thigh. ‘Good.’ The hem of my skirt. ‘Good.’ He pushed it up slightly with his cheek, letting his face rest against me. My body responded each time, a tiny shudder of want sliding through me. ‘Good.’ Catching a piece of stocking in his teeth, he gave a growled tug. ‘Girl.’

My hips arched up involuntarily as he pulled away. If I could have talked, it would have sounded something like
pleasetouchme pleasetouchme pleasepleaseplease
but the refrain was only in my head. And I didn’t think it would have mattered; he’d made it clear he was only going to touch me how and when he wanted.

‘They’re here,’ he said.

As if his voice had brought them, I could suddenly imagine all of the people watching. Men, mostly. Couples. Maybe some women like me, women who liked to be in the dark. Hidden. I imagined them settling in, beginning to touch themselves, the lazy slow strokes of a body warming up for pleasure. A pleasure that was based on me, based on watching me sitting in a chair, gagged, about to be exposed. I closed my eyes.

‘Open,’ Davian said. ‘Keep them open. On me.’

With a deep breath, I opened my eyes again. I found Davian in the room, tracked him. Moving slowly, he picked the scissors off the floor, then walked around me, twirling the blades lazily in his hand. In and out of my view, the soft sound of his footsteps marking the unseen orbit of his path. Every once in a while, he’d touch me in passing, an unexpected connection in the brush of fingertips to the back of my neck, the tug of his hand on my hair, his breath along my ear. The people outside faded away with each touch, became less real as my desire rose and blotted them out.

Davian talked as he circled me. ‘I’ve been wanting to cut these stockings off you since I first saw them on you. I’m going to try to go slow. I’m going to try to be very, very patient, but I make no promises.’

I wanted to tell him that I didn’t want him to go slow, that I wanted every piece of clothing off me so I could feel him against me, so my skin would stop aching with want, but the words wouldn’t come out. I could only make a sound, somewhere between a whine and a groan, muffled and aching with need.

He stopped in front of me. I remembered him from before – clearly it had been him and not some figment of my imagination – the way he’d stayed hidden, out of the light. I thought it had been for show, for mood setting, but I realised that he probably hadn’t even noticed how he’d appeared. He was so focused on what was happening between us that it was clear he didn’t care about the audience. They were negligible to him. So why do it then? Why fuck in front of people if it didn’t get you off? Maybe it was just the way he was able to interact with his partner, to bring her fears to light. I wanted to ask him what the appeal was.

‘Stop that.’ His hissed voice right at my ear, followed by a nip of his teeth.

My eyes widened involuntarily.

‘Stop thinking. You’re escaping into that pretty little head of yours. You’re smart, Janine. Too smart. Stop using it as an escape. Be here. Now. Or I won’t do this. I’ll just leave you like this, alone in this room, and everybody out there on the other side of that wall can jack off to you sitting here by yourself.’

He waved the scissors at the walls around us to make his point. It was entirely possible that there was no one out there. But I wasn’t willing to take that chance.

I shook my head at him. He wouldn’t leave me here, would he? That was more than I could take. Way more.

‘Going to stay here with me then?’ he asked.

I nodded.

He stopped in front of me and pushed my thighs open so he could kneel between them. With the scissor blades still closed, he dragged them up the inside my thigh, catching my stockings, starting small runs like fires along their surface. Where the fabric broke, I could feel the cool metal of the blades against my skin. He pressed the closed blades against my pussy, pulsing them hard against me in time to my own flickering desire. I ached to push back, to feel their firmness against my clit, but somehow I knew I wasn’t supposed to react. At least not externally. That was part of the game we were playing, wasn’t it? All the heated want that threatened to spill over inside me, and trying to keep myself in check, trying so very hard to do as he asked.

‘Sit very, very still,’ he said.

The blades of the scissors slipped open, found their way into one of the holes he’d made in my stocking. The fabric cut so easily, as if it had been made for nothing more than this moment. I watched my leg begin to appear, the skin so pale beneath the black. When he’d cut all the way around the first one, he did the same to the second.