Authors: Eve Berlin
“What doesn’t make sense?”
“This thing with Connor. My reaction to it.”
“Tell me what’s different with him than other guys you’ve been with.”
“Everything. And nothing. I mean, on the surface it’s just a very kinky fling.” She looked at Dylan, who just nodded. “I assume you’d know it was kinky, since it’s him.”
“Yes. But it’s not like you’ve never gone there before. And it’s not like I’d be shocked by it, of all people.”
Mischa leaned her elbows on the table. “Dylan, is it normal to respond very strongly to this stuff?”
“Of course. Extreme sex would equal a strong response. And it often does.”
“I’ve played around with this before. You and I have talked about it. But with Connor, we’ve taken it to some new levels. The whole power exchange thing…I’m experiencing it for the first time with him. The guys I’ve been with before just didn’t have his skill, or maybe I simply didn’t connect with them in the same way. I don’t know…” She paused, bit her lip. “Before, it’s been a sensation thing. That little edge of danger. The forbidden. But it was just for fun. With Connor it’s a lot more real. I’m finally getting it.”
Dylan nodded once more. “I understand. It’s like a whole new level opens up when the power dynamic becomes apparent. It’s pretty damn thrilling. But it can also be a little scary.”
“It is. As much as I’m enjoying it there’s always this small voice in my head telling me not to give up control. I know you understand what I mean because you’ve always had some control issues yourself. Well, not anymore, maybe.”
“Oh no, they’re still there. I’ve just learned to channel them differently. And…Look, I don’t want to beat you over the head with the stuff you’ve confided in me about your mom and what happened when you were growing up, but maybe you have more reason to have control issues than I do.”
“It’s all right. I wouldn’t have told you about it if I wasn’t okay discussing it with you. And it was…pretty rough. I spent my entire childhood feeling like I had no control over anything—my life, Evie. Hell, the fact was, I didn’t. One of the best things about hitting adulthood was that my life was in my hands for the first time. I don’t like the idea of giving that up, even for a moment. But Connor makes me
like
it, which freaks me out.”
Dylan nodded. “I understand. I really do.”
“Honestly, it scares the crap out of me. But not while it’s happening. Only in retrospect. Which makes it worse, somehow. That I’m letting this happen is pretty damn frightening.”
“It can be even scarier if you get attached.”
“Oh, I’m not getting attached.” She waved the idea away with her hand.
“No?” Dylan was watching her, in much the same way Connor did. Searching her face. “Misch, you don’t have to tell me. But you’d better think about it or you could really get hurt. I don’t want to see that happen to you.”
“Why do you think I’ll get hurt? I already know Connor isn’t into more than a fling while I’m in town, if even for that
long. And I don’t want any more than that myself. I’m here to focus on your wedding and looking into opening another shop with Greyson. My friends and my work are my whole life, you know that. My priorities.”
“Yes. But I also know priorities can change.”
Mischa blew out a breath. “You and Alec are an exception to the rule.”
“Are we?” Dylan leaned in closer. “I didn’t used to think so. You remember the talks we had on the phone when Alec and I were first seeing each other?”
“Of course.”
“They sounded an awful lot like this one.”
“They did not,” Mischa protested.
Dylan shrugged. “Have it your way. Since I know you will.” She grinned a little, easing her words.
“Yeah, well, not Tuesday night, I won’t,” she muttered, sipping her tea.
“What do you mean? What happens Tuesday night?”
Mischa put her cup down. “He’s taking me to the Pleasure Dome.” She couldn’t help the small smile that quirked the corners of her mouth.
“Ah.”
“What do you mean, ‘ah’?”
“The club with Connor can be some serious stuff.”
“I’ve been to BDSM clubs before.”
“Not with Connor. He’s the real thing, as you said.”
“I know that. I’m ready for it.”
But was she? The hard play—floggers and chains and whatever else he might have in mind for her, sure. But after what had happened last night the idea that she could bottom out again was a little daunting. Still, her desire to go there, to experience these things with him, was powerful enough to let her move past her
fears. Even thinking about it made her pulse race hot in her veins—being at the club with him. The pain play. The power dynamics. The exhibitionism she loved.
She was ready for all of that. Ready enough to convince herself she would simply deal with the rest—any bottoming out, any emotional reaction—if and when it happened.
Connor was due to pick her up in less than an hour and she still hadn’t decided what to wear to the club. Should she go with classic black lace, go more bold with red silk, or wear the sexy, yet innocent white mesh set?
Not that she imagined she’d be allowed to wear her lingerie for long once they were there, but presentation was everything.
She didn’t want to admit how badly she wanted to please him.
Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, she saw how dark and hard her nipples were, the flush on her breasts, her cheeks. She stroked her fingers over her nipples, felt them stiffen even more, and sighed. He was going to touch her tonight. Do all sorts of wicked things to her. With other people watching…
Her sex gave a sharp squeeze, and she groaned. She shook her head as she gathered the pile of lingerie from the bathroom counter and went back into the bedroom. She pulled another pile of filmy lace and satin from the drawer Dylan had given her and tossed it all on the bed. It was a good thing she always traveled with such a good selection.
She held up a pair of turquoise silk bikini panties that had two wide strips of black lace on either side, found the matching bra. The color suited her blue eyes perfectly. The bra had a clasp in the front for easy access and just that small touch of padding that would give her already generous breasts a nice lift and killer cleavage.
She stepped into the two pieces and turned to the closet. The dress was an easier choice, a short sheath of black stretch lace. She decided to forgo stockings despite the cold weather—she could wear her long trench coat—and slipped into her highest pair of black stiletto-heeled peep-toe pumps. Per the instructions Connor had sent via text that morning, she wore her pale blonde hair up in a tight chignon at the back of her neck with one of her signature silk flowers in black pinned into it. She added a pair of tiny black enamel rosebud drop earrings, fixed her red lipstick and moved into the living room to wait for him.
She sat on the couch, picked up a magazine, flipped through it and put it down again a moment later. A glance at the clock told her she still had a good fifteen minutes before he was due to arrive. She got up and moved to the tall bank of windows overlooking the street below.
It was raining again, but that was Seattle for you. She felt at home there. San Francisco didn’t rain as much, but like Seattle, it was often gray and foggy. Some people hated the weather, but being so heavily tattooed it was better not to spend too much time in the sun. And the gray weather soothed her, for some reason. It made the world look softer.
She watched the cars splashing through the puddle at the corner, the people walking down the sidewalks—or rather, the tops of their umbrellas. Dylan’s apartment was in Belltown, a funky neighborhood close to the water, full of exactly the kinds of places where Mischa felt most at home: small cafes, a few galleries, tattoo shops, boutiques. She watched the colorful array of umbrellas moving down the street, a few people
sans
umbrellas running to get out of the rain. She was about to force herself to go sit down again when she saw a sleek black Hummer park in front of the building, and a large man get out.
Connor.
Her heart began to pound.
The enormous vehicle suited him. She hadn’t thought about what he might drive, but she doubted he could fit comfortably into most cars.
Moments later the downstairs buzzer rang and she went to the intercom mounted on the wall by the front door and pressed the button. His voice came through, a little tinny, the sound of the rain in the background.
“Mischa, it’s me.”
“I’ll come right down.”
“Don’t be daft, I’m coming up. Buzz me in.”
She did, then rushed back into the bathroom to take one last look at her reflection, making sure her hair was in place, her hem straight.
A knock on the front door had her scurrying as fast as she could in her heels across the wood floor. She took a deep breath, patted her hair once more.
Don’t be silly.
But she couldn’t help herself. Not when it came to Connor. She may as well accept that before their big evening together. She just
would
be a girl around him.
She opened the door.
He was dressed all in black, which she knew most of the doms did for a play party or dungeon night. Dark jeans, tight black T-shirt beneath his black leather jacket. Heavy black boots, which she really loved. She had a thing for big black boots on a man. Something so masculine, so bad boy about them.
“Hi. Ah, don’t you look gorgeous,” he said, pulling her into him as he stepped through the door, nearly dragging her off her feet, making her stumble a little.
“Hi, yourself.” She laughed, her heart thumping out a hard, even rhythm.
“Come here and kiss me, girl,” he ordered.
As if she could do anything else. He held her so damn tight, his big hands wrapped possessively around her waist. He bent his head, crushed his lips to hers, the kiss soft and hard all at once. When he opened her lips with his, she melted, her body going loose and hot all over.
God, the man could kiss! Like the devil himself. Slow, hard, thoroughly wicked kisses.
When he let her go she was breathless.
“Ready for our night at the club?” he asked, his hands still at her waist.
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“You look ready.” He grinned. “Dressed for an evening of fun. Dressed for sex. You always do, though, don’t you? But I love that about you. Sexiest woman I’ve ever met.”
Did he have any idea what that did to her, hearing him say that to her? But he didn’t look as if it was calculated. He looked as if he was simply saying what was on his mind. Not that she’d never had a man compliment her before; quite the contrary. But coming from him it meant more…
“Come on. Get your coat and we’ll go.”
She nodded, pulled her long black trench from the front closet by the door. He insisted on helping her into it, which she loved. All these small, gentlemanly gestures. Most of the guys she’d dated were devoid of any chivalry. It was something she’d noted in many of the dominant men at the BDSM clubs she’d been to. Most of them were as careful with the submissive girls they played with as they were rough, in some odd combination she’d always admired. He even took the key from her hand and locked the door behind them.
He kept one hand at the small of her back as they took the
elevator down and led her outside, popping open a black umbrella, helping her into his car.
“I’ll turn the seat warmers on for you, just give them a minute,” he said as the big engine purred to life. He pulled into the street.
The car felt strangely luxurious. It wasn’t what she’d expected of a Hummer. She’d always thought of them as military vehicles. But the seat was plush and growing warmer by the second, just as he’d said, which was lovely in the cold evening air. The dashboard held an array of small dials and lights, giving off a soft amber glow.
“Do you have any questions about how things will happen at the club?” he asked her, glancing at her before returning his gaze to the road.
“I imagine it’s very much the same as going to the clubs in San Francisco.”
“Tonight is a VIP night. Which means the rules are a bit looser. The Safe, Sane and Consensual credo still stands, of course, but only the most serious players are allowed in—those with a special membership. There are no gawkers on a VIP night. There may be some very heavy scenes going on. Fire play. Piercing. The bullwhip. How do you feel about seeing these things? Do I need to hurry you through to a private play area? Or are you all right with that sort of stuff?”
“I can handle seeing just about anything.”
“There may be sex on the open floor, as well.”
She shrugged. “Sex is just sex. It doesn’t bother me.”
“And would you like to have sex there, in front of everyone?”
“I…” Her sex went damp so suddenly it took her by surprise. “I’ve never done that. I’ve been tied up, flogged in front of other people. I loved that. Being seen. Watched.”
“But sex with an audience of admirers?”
They stopped at a signal and he turned to look at her.
“I…don’t know.”
He reached over, took her hand and brought it to his lips, laid a gentle kiss there. He said very softly, “I can hear you, you know. The catch in your breath. It’s very much the sound of desire hitting you hard in the stomach, not of shock. Unless it’s shock at how much the idea excites you. But we’ll leave that decision for later. Except that I must hear you tell me now if that breath means a maybe, rather than a no. Because we will not do anything you tell me you’re absolutely opposed to before I take you down into subspace.”
“What about the things I tell you once I’m there?”
“Ah, at that point you may be willing to do something you might later regret. I won’t let that happen. We don’t negotiate once you’re spaced. So?”
She nodded, her throat dry. “It’s a maybe.”
Her body was screaming “yes.” Why couldn’t she admit that to him? Why did it seem as if that would be handing too much of herself over to him? Especially when she knew, on some level, anyway, that handing herself over to him was what the club experience was going to be about—that it was his intention in taking her there. That it was what she had agreed to in going.