The devil had been mercilessly poking her since they'd arrived home yesterday evening to start another weekend of cohabitation, poking her with doubts about their relationship. Poking her with doubts about Jeremy's guilt and the true identity of their stalker.
Nick hadn't touched her since they'd arrived home the beginning of the week, since the day he'd made the gruesome discovery in Jeremy's desk drawer, and the police went crawling all over the offices of
DMT
questioning staff and searching for more clues.
Slany irrationally began to wonder if the luster of their relationship had already worn off for Nick, if he had grown tired of her in the span of a week. Or had the strain of Jeremy's arrest and the stalker case finally gotten to him?
If she were home, she could have worked in her garden, pulling up weeds, planting, digging, communing with nature and getting her hands dirty. She could have been doing something constructive, anything to keep her hands busy and in contact with the earth, anything to make her feel real and useful. She could have been doing something to keep the fear at bay.
Nick had been fielding several calls from concerned family members for the last few days. He had them and his work to bury himself in. Slany had nothing except television and a few trade magazines and books that didn’t really interest her.
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She didn't want to share any of her current situation with the few relatives she did have.
She was too used to helping them with their problems and handling her own to turn to them for help.
Nick suggested it was a bad attitude she needed to change, that she needed to learn to start leaning on others instead of being leaned on all the time. That that's what he was in her life for.
Nick, of course, made it easy to lean on him—indeed, insisted that she should, and for the most part, Slany had no problems with this.
What she did have problems with was being away from her home for such an indefinite, extended period of time.
She missed her garden, she missed her dog, she missed her life, and she wanted it back.
Short of this, she wanted a semblance of normalcy with the man she loved, something that had been in very short supply these last several days.
"You're pacing again."
Slany froze, stared at the back of his head, and stuck out her tongue.
"I saw that."
"No, you didn't. You're just a good guesser."
"You're so sure?" Nick swiveled around in his chair at this and smiled at her. "Maybe I can read your mind."
"I believe the eyes-in-the-back-of-your head theory a lot easier."
He looked at her as if he wanted to tell her something, but changed his mind and turned back to his work on the screen.
Slany went over and stood behind his chair, glancing at the screen as he worked, intrigued by the text and graphics she caught on the screen. "What's this you're working on?"
"Just some
pro bono
stuff I do on the side for the Ad Council. No big deal."
She knew it was a big deal for him, though, because Nick didn't do anything half-heartedly or without a good reason. "What kind of ads? Would I be familiar with your work?"
"Mostly on the cancer prevention campaigns. It's a pet project of mine."
She smiled, because she knew, compliments of Angela and Nick's other dutiful siblings, that he had a few of these "pet projects." The young man, to whom he had been a Big Brother and with whom he still kept in contact. The literacy program, where he regularly volunteered and taught adults to read. The Revlon Breast Cancer Walk/Run that he faithfully took part in with his mother every year.
Slany nodded at the monitor. "Is that why you quit smoking?"
"I quit smoking," he caught one of her wrists and pulled her into his lap, drawing his arms around her, "because you were such a pest about it."
"Not because you wanted to live longer and reap the benefits of this fine pussy for many years to come?"
193
Gracie C. McKeever
"Ooh, sleazy talk. I like." He leaned in and kissed her deeply. "That's an even better reason than, 'it was about time for me to quit. '"
She peered at him and saw so much in his eyes, illuminating yet still mysterious, that I-have-something-to-tell-you-but-I-don't-want-to-scare-you-away look. "Something on your mind?"
"Only you."
"Could have fooled me, Mr. Hands-Off."
His lush eyebrows knitted together in a frown. "What?"
"You haven't touched me in days, Nick."
"When you say touched, you mean like this?" He squeezed her close and rubbed her nose with his.
"What am I, an Eskimo?" She playfully slapped his shoulder. "You know damn well that's not what I mean. I mean
touched me
."
"As in, fuck?"
"Fuck, make love, any and all variations thereof."
His look became distant right before he shrugged and turned his gaze towards the living room windows.
She put a hand under his chin and turned him back to face her. "Tell me what's wrong."
"Nothing's wrong. I just thought we should take a break."
"A break!"
"Don't get excited. When I say break, I don't mean in a Ross-and-Rachel 'Friends' way, so put your eyes back in their sockets."
"What exactly do you mean?"
He shrugged again, averting his eyes like a guilty schoolboy.
Slany leaned in, put her forehead against his until he looked at her. "What do you mean by a break, Nick?"
"I thought you might need some distance, some space. You know, from me, from—"
"Our lifestyle?" She stared at him, and when he didn't answer, she guessed what was going through his mind. "What happened at the office with Jeremy has nothing to do with what we do here, has nothing to do with—"
"Slany, it's more than just Jeremy and Kate. It's the way your ex was found, the way he was killed. It was a message to me."
"I think I know where this is going. You think I should be frightened off of Domination and bondage because of what happened with Ron? What happened
to
him?"
"Not frightened off. Just a little leery."
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Terms of Surrender
"Of you?" She cupped his chin and drew his face closer, brushing his lips with hers.
"Don't do me any favors, Vega," she murmured.
"You used your safe word."
"Don't change the subject. I'm serious, damn it."
"I know you are. So am I."
"Then don't treat me like a child." Slany glared at him for emphasis. "I trust you, Nick. I wouldn't be here if I didn't."
"What if I don't trust myself?"
"What could you possibly mean by that?"
He roughly caught her by the shoulders and pulled her close for a searing and invasive kiss. His mouth scorched a path past her tongue and back before he licked and nipped her full lips, as if to emit a warning. "The things I want to do with you, Slany, the things I want to do to your body—"
"Are things I would like and want you to do to me."
"Are you so sure?"
"You're not him."
He pulled her close, buried his face in her breasts, and breathed deeply, as if her words had released phantom demons that had been plaguing him since the news and manner of Ron's death had become public. As if he needed her okay to be whom and what he was.
Slany suddenly understood why he'd been holding back. "That's it, isn't it? You're afraid you're like the killer."
"We like the same kinds of toys and playmates."
"Bullshit," she said, seeing beyond his bravado and flippant tone. She knew he doubted himself, and she knew he doubted her feelings for him, her commitment. She saw it all, especially the pain and self-blame. "Nick, whoever did those things to Ron was a sick killer who likes to hurt people just for the hell of it. You're not like that."
"Why, because you like what I do to you?"
"Very much. And if you haven't figured that out yet, you're not the Dominant I thought you were. You're not the Dominant I love."
"Are you challenging me?"
"Give me a reason not to." Slany raised her chin, then gasped when he stood with her in his arms. He slowly lowered her to stand on her own two feet in front of him.
He stared at her, long and hard, seeming to measure her dedication and strength of mind.
As if he needed some sort of proof that her heart belonged to him.
Slany stared right back, wanted to scream at him, pound him on the chest. She couldn't think of another way to attest her love, except what she'd been doing: being with him, giving him free rein of her body and soul, each of which had belonged to him long before she'd made any declarations. Long before she'd agreed to his wicked terms of surrender.
195
Gracie C. McKeever
"You've gotten awfully fresh since your last punishment. I think you might need a refresher," he teased.
"I might. But I don't know if you're the man to give it to me." Slany backed away from him, sidling towards his bedroom.
He watched her like a predator watched his prey, curling his bare toes against the plush living room carpet, preparing to give chase.
Slany turned and dashed down the polished parquet hallway. She slipped and slid in her slipper socks when she made a sharp right to his bedroom, Nick breathing down her neck.
He caught her around the waist at the door, picked her up, and threw her over a shoulder, fireman-carry style, before unceremoniously dumping her into the center of his king-sized bed.
Slany navigated across the firm silent mattress on her elbows and heels, watching Nick watch her with his long-lashed, wild honey eyes.
"Strip and lay spread-eagle in the center of the bed. Now."
Slany quickly obeyed his husky command, cunt already flowing with her juices. She had been wet since he pulled her onto his lap, and she’d felt his hard cock pushing against her ass behind his jeans, confirming how much he did want her. How much he still wanted her, despite his actions of late.
He retrieved two pairs of cuffs from his bedside lowboy and cuffed first her wrists to the head posts of his bed, then her ankles to the foot posts. He swiped his fingers up her pussy when he was done and licked each one. "How much do you want this, Slany? Or should I say, slave?"
She shivered at the new designation, his deep, smoky voice making her vaginal muscles clench with desperate need. She wanted to be filled by him. Badly. "Very much, Master."
"Your earlier impertinence leads me to believe otherwise." Nick sat down on the mattress beside her, heated glance ransacking her from head to toes, before he reached out a hand to pinch a hard, erect nipple and roll it between his thumb and forefinger. He worked up a vicious friction that sent flames rolling through her core.
Slany squirmed, the onslaught of gratification and anguish instantly zapping straight to her pussy as her clit sprouted from the nest of her auburn curls and throbbed with longing.
Nick got up from the bed, and as he went to the bureau across the room, she steeled herself for what she knew was coming next, dreading and craving it.
He returned with a black silk scarf in one hand and something that looked like a mini-whip in the other. She couldn't be sure, only got a glimpse of the implement before he leaned in to slide the silk over her eyes and tie it behind her head. Her heartbeat immediately sped, pounding so hard, it muffled her hearing as much as the scarf tied around her ears.
Slany swallowed as he caressed her face with his palm, had to strain to hear what he was doing, her hunger intensified ten-fold with the darkness.
She was at his mercy, her abject vulnerability registering and sinking in once she tried her bonds and knew she couldn't get loose. He could do anything to her he wanted, like use that mini-whip she had seen, or any other equipment on her he chose.
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Terms of Surrender
Slany trembled with desire at the last thought, nerve endings raw with anticipation at the idea of that little lash, what its strands would feel like against her already tingling flesh.
She should have been nervous, frightened at his power over her, both physical and emotional, but lay open to him, instead, ready and willing to give herself to him, her helplessness only making her want him more. Her excitement was a living thing as she waited for Nick to put his hands on her, waited for him to breathe life into her pussy with his mouth.
She licked her suddenly dry lips and held her breath as Nick trailed something soft across her breasts, down her stomach, and along the insides of her thighs, leaving an instant shimmering path of electricity in its wake.
A tickler? The mini-whip?
She didn't have more time to consider the sensations before he leaned in and covered her lips with his. He sucked her tongue into his mouth, hungrily mating his tongue with hers until she was breathless and writhing beneath him.
He licked his way down her chin and neck, nipping and sucking in his path until he'd reached her breasts, where he laved and bit each nipple to painful rigid attention. The nerve-endings were so sensitized, she was sure she'd come if he blew against her breasts the right way.
"How much do you want this?" he asked again.
"Very much, Master," she repeated, bucking her hips at the air, helplessly imploring him with her body. "Please," she whimpered, then panted when he smacked her pussy first with a palm, then with the rubbery cords of that little lash, snapping them against her in a quick whipping motion that sent a geyser of cream sliding down the insides of her thighs and sparks flaring before her covered eyes.
"Beg me, Slany. Ask for exactly what you want."
If she had thought getting her ass spanked was the cat's meow, she had another thing coming. The pain of his hand and the mini-whip on her center was concentrated, but instantly replaced with a tremor of heat and lust that had her wriggling for more.
He snapped the whip against her cunt again, then slowly traced the cords around her breasts, across her stomach, and over her thighs. The pleasure-pain reverberated low in her belly before he dipped a finger just inside her entrance, no further, teasing the bundle of nerves there with possibilities as he thumbed her clit. Teasing her to insanity.