Retribution (Book 3 of The Dominion Series) (36 page)

I clear my throat. "I can't do
this
," I say and sort through the pages. I point to the clause mentioning anal sex. "You should already know I can't do this."

"You
can
do it," he says, his voice soft. "I know how you feel. I know what happened, but it's not what you think. Just as intercourse isn't the way you first experienced it, this doesn't have to be the way you experienced it."

"You said I could change things if I wanted," I say, my voice firm, a touch of anger in me at the thought he included it. "That's it – the only thing I can't accept. Anything to do with
that
."

"I want it, Eve, but I'll put
that
in the hard limits section for now," he says, pointing to the mention of anal-phallic penetration, "but I want to include this." He points to the reference to anal contact with the tongue, fingers and other sex toys designed for it. "If you let me try, I believe I can change your mind. If you don't like it, you can remove it but I want to retain the right to try."

I close my eyes, pressing my nails into my palms. "Can't you understand that there is
nothing
about it that appeals to me? It's disgusting. How could you want it? Any of it?"

"I understand your revulsion," he says softly. "But you must understand that to me, to a man, every part of your body is beautiful. Desirable. Erotic. I feel differently about your body than you do. Part of the purpose of a D/s relationship is for me to push your limits. For you to see how much more you can do than you think, how much more you can enjoy than you believe possible. You won’t do it on your own, Eve. You need this to free yourself."

"Slavery frees me?"

"Yes. You already enslaved yourself to your fear and bad memories, keeping yourself from feeling. If you turn over that slavery to me, I will free you from your own self-imposed slavery that keeps you from experiencing what you desire. To make you feel alive."

"I don’t want it. I don’t want anything to do with it."

He moves closer and runs his finger over my bottom lip.

"Can you trust me enough to keep that in, for the time being?" I look in his eyes and he's so determined. "Remember," he says, "that the largest part of this relationship is you trusting me to know how far to push. Taking responsibility for your pleasure. That's part of what is so appealing to you, and to me. Me knowing how far to go, how much you can take. What you need so there's no need for you to say yes or no."

"I have no interest in
that
," I say, shaking my head, poking my finger at it. "You'll never change my mind."

"Give me the right to try," he says, his voice soft. "If you dislike it, I won't try again."

I sigh. "Put that in writing. I want the right to take it out of the soft limits section and put it in the hard limits section if I don’t like it."

"Only if you don't experience pleasure in it, Eve. Not because you don't like the idea."

"Of course," I say, but I know I'll never enjoy it no matter what.

He nods and reaches into a pocket in his shirt and removes an old metal fountain pen. He writes on the back of the contract and then holds it up for me to read.

"Does that cover it?"

I read it over.

Master retains the right to explore anal contact, including oral, digital and appropriately designed sex toys, with slave but the slave may at any time, after an initial attempt, refuse any further contact, and the act shall be moved into the "Hard Limits" section of the Contract.

I nod.

"Sign here." He hands me the pen and the sheet with a place for our signature.

I shake my head. "Not tonight. I need time."

He exhales, and I can hear the frustration in his voice. "Fine. I'll give you a few days. But only a few, Eve."

He stands once more and turns, leaving me alone on the bed with the contract.

A few days pass and he leaves me completely alone as if punishing me for delaying. Servants come in to bring me vials of his blood, food and pour a bath for me when I need it, carting in pitchers and buckets of hot water.

I go over and over the contract, imagining what it will be like, wondering if I can do this. Part of me says to just give in and sign it, but part of me resists. I gaze out the window at the city and there are fires burning because there's no way to put them out. Water stopped working a while ago, and without a pump and well, there's no fire service. When a fire starts, it burns until it's completely razed to the ground.

The servant brings me the hand-printed news that's limited to a single sheet and every morning I read it with my morning coffee and toast. People are dying of diseases that once were treated with our medicines, but they've run low and plants that once made them no longer operate. If we can't find a way to stop the plague, it will circle the globe and civilization will crumble completely.

On the third night, I sit at the piano and play my repertory, but it offers little comfort. Finally, Michel comes to me while I sit at the piano staring out the window at the dark city that used to sparkle like glittering diamonds. He sits beside me at the piano and leans close to me.

"Eve, I need you to sign."

"I know," I say, my throat closing. "I'm afraid."

"I understand."

We sit there for a few moments.

"Play something for me first," I say, close to tears.

"What would you like me to play?"

"Chopin."

I move over on the bench and let him sit in proper position. He hesitates, his hands resting on the keys. I notice his hands are shaking a bit. Is he afraid I won't sign? Or is he excited that I will?

"Nocturne No. 11 in G," he says and starts to play. It's a melancholy piece, the sadness making my throat choke. He would play such a piece, as if to drive home how serious everything is. When it's done, I sigh.

"Play something happier," I say, delaying this as long as I can.

"I shouldn’t be playing," he says. "You should play."

"I
love
to hear you play. It's a side of you that made me love you in the first place."

He relents and plays another Chopin piece. "Tristesse," he says. "Etude in E Major."

It's less somber, but still very emotional, the movement starting off slow and dreamy, but it builds to a crescendo and it's just as intense as the other piece he played. And I think that
this
is Michel – these pieces he chose to learn to play. Despite his attempt to be controlled and calm, inside there's this fury and passion.

When he's done, he turns to me, leaning against me, his arm pressed against mine as if he craves just being able to touch me.

I get up and go to the table where the contract and fountain pen lie, waiting. I hold the pen in one hand and the paper in the other.

"Why do you want this?" I say. "Why does this appeal to you?"

"You know, Eve. You've done the reading. You tell me."

"No," I say and turn to him. "Tell me why."

He comes to me and stands just inches away as if hoping to fluster me by his nearness.

"I
love,
" he says, closing his eyes, taking in a deep breath. "I
love
the idea that you have willingly turned yourself over to me, that you have chosen to give me complete power over you. That requires so much trust, it makes me feel," he says and shakes his head. "Ecstatic." He reaches out to touch my face with the backs of his fingers. "I love you trusting me to take control over your body, over your pleasure. I love that you need me to free you from yourself so you can feel pleasure without judgment. My only desire is for your pleasure and fulfillment, Eve. Nothing else."

"But you've given me pleasure without this contract," I say. "Lots of pleasure. We've fucked many times and I've always come."

"You have but there is always a part of you that holds back, that judges, that prevents you from experiencing pleasure even greater than you already have."

"I don't see how I could possibly feel more than I have."

He shakes his head. "You can. You always feel guilt, Eve. Always judge yourself. Always lie to yourself because of both. To free yourself so you can feel even more, you need submission. Then, only I am responsible for your response. You have no say. If you feel pleasure, it's entirely my fault and responsibility. You don’t have to blame yourself for it. You can’t help it for I am the one making you feel. This contract just specifies how that will take place. Most of it is designed to ensure you’re in the proper frame of mind so that you feel properly submissive. If you don't, it won't work. I have to feel properly dominant for you to believe it and let go completely. These rules of behavior make sure I feel dominant and you feel submissive."

I take in a deep breath, and while his words make sense somewhere in my brain, I fight it out of fear.

"What happens once I sign it?" I say and my throat is tight, my heart pounding.

"It starts.
We
start."

"Right away?" I say, my stomach all butterflies.

"Right away, Eve. I'm sorry I can't give you more time, but it's the one thing we don’t have."

"If I find it hard to do? What happens?"

"At first, I expect I'll have to remind you quite a bit and correct you, discipline you in case you forget or are not attentive, and it will be frustrating but you will enjoy it. More than you can possibly know now."

"You’ve seen it?"

"I've seen it."

"Can't we wait? I'm a bit nervous…"

"We don't have the luxury of time," he says and strokes my hair. "Besides, I've waited long enough."

I feel tears biting at the corners of my eyes, my emotions building.

"But at night, when we're sleeping," I say, my voice wavering. "It's not in force?"

"No," he says and runs a hand down my back, over one hip. "At night, for eight hours, it's just you and me. No rules. No Contract."

I take the pen in my hand. He just waits.

"What's the first thing you'll do after I sign it?"

"I'll sign it," he says, tilting my head up with a finger under my chin. He's smiling.

"And after that," I say and can't help but smile back despite the tears in my eyes.

"Oh,
Eve
," he says, and strokes my cheek. "The first thing I'll do is kiss you."

I swallow. "And after that?"

"Shh," he says and strokes my cheek with the backs of his fingers, looking at my mouth. "Stop trying to control everything. Stop trying to
know
everything. Let this happen. Trust me to know how fast and far to go. But, if it makes you feel better, we'll have supper.  Go for a walk. Share a bath later. Then, I want to shave you, mark you and give you your collar. You'll need to feed and we'll go to bed."

"Will you be," I say and hesitate. "Doing things tonight?"

"
Eve
," he says and cups my face. "Trust me to know you. To know your needs."

"It's so hard," I say, my throat tight. "To trust."

"I know. You have every right not to trust anyone, especially me. Just know that I've wanted this from that first time I saw your face in the Linguistics Building. I'm not going to ruin things by moving too fast. Or," he says and pauses. "Perhaps I should say, trust me to move as slowly as I can, given the circumstances we're in."

I nod, and take in a deep breath, then sign my name, my hands shaking. He takes the pen carefully from my hand, our fingers touching and I feel a rush of warmth from him that fills me up, taking away a bit of my anxiety. He signs and dates the contract and then puts the lid on the pen and puts the document back on the table.

He turns back and brushes hair off from my cheek, his eyes searching my face.

"Now you're mine, entirely, completely," he whispers, cupping my cheek. Then he leans in, his lips brushing my other cheek softly before bending down to kiss my neck where he bit me, his tongue wet against my skin and it sends a shock of lust through me that surprises me because I'm so afraid.

He moves back to my face, his lips poised just over my mouth. "You want this, Eve. Deep down beneath your fear. Let yourself just have it and enjoy it. Let yourself enjoy
me
."

Then he kisses me, his mouth soft on mine, his lips together. A tender kiss that surprises me, for I expected him to overwhelm me. Instead, it's such a sweet, sweet kiss that goes on for a long moment. He pulls away and just smiles at me, his gaze moving over my face, his hands stroking my hair.

"You’re mine."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

"The way to love anything is to realize that it may be lost."

Gilbert. K. Chesterton