“Please tell me,” she said in a begging voice. “I like what we do together, I really, really do, but I’m curious how you got into it. How you discovered it was what you liked.”
I took a sip of my rapidly cooling coffee and put it down with a grimace. “It wasn’t a discovery, so much. I fantasized from a young age about hurting the pretty girls I liked, and making them cry. Not that I wasn’t taught to respect women,” I said, moving toward my coffeemaker. “I knew the difference between reality and fantasy, but my fantasies…”
I stared down at the counter, remembering torrid afternoons stroking myself, mulling depraved scenarios that were worse than any available porn. “I used to daydream about the feeling of a woman struggling under me, trying to escape. It started when I was very young, when I didn’t realize those urges were sexual. I thought something was wrong with my soul. My parents never hit me, never emotionally or sexually abused me, but these fantasies of force and dominance excited me from my earliest years. Not just force and dominance, but hurting a beautiful woman to the point of tears. God, I was so afraid to let it show.” I laughed, watching my coffeemaker as a fresh cup hissed out. “I thought I was a psychopath. Imagine my relief the first time I stumbled onto an S&M site and realized I wasn’t the only one, not by a long shot.”
“I bet you went crazy when you were finally able to fulfill those fantasies.”
“To an extent. I started learning and exploring, mostly online at first, and at clubs like Underworld. Eventually I connected with a woman who was willing to let me experiment, and experienced enough to show me the ropes.”
“Do you still keep in touch with her?” she asked.
I snorted. “No. She was only doing me a favor. She thought I was a jerk.”
“I don’t think you’re a jerk,” she said, popping an olive into her mouth. “I’m glad I met you, and I’m glad you’re showing me all this stuff. I feel like we’re just on the edge of things.” Her lips curved in a smile. “You know, potential energy.”
I thought of the pendulums in my office, thought of all the world’s energy measured in Joules. I wasn’t sure it would add up to the way she affected me last night.
Meanwhile, I stared at my hands and thought of all the energy they represented, all the questionable things they could do. I’d shoved my fingers in her tender, virgin asshole. I’d whipped her and called her a maso-slut.
I’d also made her come so fucking hard.
“If you want to keep going, we can certainly go deeper in our explorations,” I said after a heavy silence. “Do these Saturday sessions work well, or would you prefer some other day of the week?”
She shrugged. “I’m flexible. My evenings are free, except when Goodluck has an art opening.”
“Why don’t you come over tomorrow evening for dinner, so I can tell you more about The Gallery?” I heard the words even as I resisted saying them. “I think you’d enjoy going there.” And other people would enjoy you, too. For the first time in a long time, the idea didn’t make me hot.
“Dinner sounds wonderful.” She ate the last olive on my plate. “But are you sure they’ll let me into The Gallery? Considering I’ve only recently migrated over from the slap-and-tickle world?”
“If I vouch for you, they’ll let you in.”
She scooted to the edge of her chair, then winced as she was reminded of last night’s activities. “So, we could go tonight if we wanted? Or tomorrow night?”
“No.” I put on my stern Dom face. “We can’t go to The Gallery until we’ve had a long talk about what goes on there, and made some preparations. There’s a uniform you have to be fitted for—”
“A uniform? What kind of uniform?”
“A sexy uniform. And we couldn’t go tomorrow, anyway. The Gallery’s only open on Saturday nights.”
“Oh.” She drank the last of her tea, then looked at me with a confused expression. “But you spent the last two Saturday nights with me.”
“Indeed. I think I mentioned before that I find your over-the-knee socks both fascinating and irresistible. The fact that you have a decent pain tolerance makes it even better.”
“Decent? Just decent?” She pushed her plate away and pretended to storm off, but I caught her wrist and pulled her into my arms. Her scent and sweetness enveloped me as I grasped her hair and pressed a kiss to her neck. She breathed out against my skin, then nipped my earlobe between her teeth.
“Sparkles,” I murmured, going instantly hard. “You say you’re afraid of me, but I don’t think you are.”
“No, I am, but I like being afraid.”
My fingers curled around her shoulders, delving under the robe. I felt her body tense as I kissed up the line of her neck and opened my teeth against her jaw. She melted when I grasped her around the waist. I was strong enough to break her in half, but I didn’t want to. Her gorgeous surrender was enough.
“Potential and kinetic energy,” she said, pressing her breasts against my chest. “Can we have sex again?”
I gathered the robe up above her waist so I could squeeze her ass. She yelped, squirming. I grew harder still, but I said, “No. Maybe tomorrow night.” I wanted sex, but I didn’t trust myself to fuck her at this moment. I released her with a sharp crack to her bottom. “Go put your clothes on, and then you need to be on your way.”
*
I had to get her to The Gallery, so I could have my fill of her without these one-on-one moments that were so fraught with her careless emotions. She insisted she was afraid of me, but I was afraid of her too, afraid she’d misunderstand my capacity for relationships and make me break her heart. Breaking a heart like hers would be like felling a California Redwood. You’d have to be a real asshole to damage something so beautiful and rare.
I didn’t want to be that asshole.
At the same time, I couldn’t really picture her at The Gallery. It was a place for people who loved themselves more than they loved each other, for people who expressed their emotions through whip marks and screams. Not that the Dominants and submissives at The Gallery didn’t care for each other—they just cared more about getting off. Maybe she’d hate it.
Well, if she hated it, she wouldn’t have to go back.
I finally got my emotional little maso out of my apartment so I could regroup, and shake off the tension she brought to my life. I sat on my sofa and leaned back, opening my fly. My dick was a marvel of rigidity. I had it bad for her, which was okay. Passion was fun. I’d eventually get over my lusty obsession and everything would be okay.
I worked my hand up and down my length, taking my time to celebrate how delectable she was, how fine and full of complex colors. Plum. Cherry. Burgundy. Ivory. Aqua blue.
I pumped harder, remembering her sobs, the copiousness of her tears. During last night’s scene, her curvaceous body had tensed and trembled with unique grace. Oh, and the way her legs strained when I cuffed her over the spanking bench and pushed into her virgin ass…
I came with a grunt, spewing cum over my hand and stomach. My phone rang just after, flashing Devin’s number. I hauled myself off the couch and cleaned myself up before calling him back.
“Fort!” he said. “Am I interrupting?”
“No.”
“I’m heading to Munich tomorrow. Want to tag along for an overnight? We’ll have just enough time for an adventure at the Persian Kitty.”
“Can’t. I’m meeting with someone tomorrow night.”
“Meeting with who?”
I heard voices and a loudspeaker in the background. Dev was doubtless striding through some foreign airport or train station, wheeling his luggage
behind him. “You haven’t been to The Gallery in weeks now,” he said. “Don’t tell me you’re still fucking around with that quirky art manager person?”
“Quirky art manager person?”
“Saying she’s quirky is nicer than saying she’s weird. You said she was weird.”
“I said she was unconventional.” I leaned on the counter, guarding my words. “And yes, that’s who I’m meeting.”
“She’s bad news, man. She’s a glitter sub. How far could things go?”
“She’s not a glitter sub. She’s a masochist, Dev, the real deal. We’ve done a few sessions, and she gets off on it.”
“But…?” I could hear his impatience over the phone. “I hear a but in there.”
“It’s just…she’s not like the masochists I’m used to. When I hurt her…when she looks at me…” When she looks at me, her gaze pierces a little too deep.
Devin laughed. “If you don’t like how she looks at you, blindfold the girl. You’re in charge, man. Cover her eyes.”
“I can’t. I need to be able to read her. Blindfolds are prohibited at The Gallery for that reason.”
“Oh, God. You’re not thinking of bringing her to The Gallery?”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
He snorted. “There’s a big difference between sado-fucking a chick at your apartment and taking her to The Gallery. A world of difference. Not to mention the preparation, the paperwork and testing…”
“We’re kind of…fluid bonded already.”
This time his snort was more like a growl. “Shit. I’m hanging up. I’m done. No, wait. One last thought. Every time we talk about this girl, you say she’s this, she’s that, I just don’t know. Don’t bring her to The Gallery unless you know she can take it. None of us want the drama, Fort.”
“I’m as invested in The Gallery as you,” I replied, keeping my temper in check by thinking of Juliet and her tear-filled gaze. “I don’t want drama, either. I’ll prepare her beforehand, so don’t worry your pretty head about it.” I ignored his muffled curse and decided against a third cup of coffee. “Enjoy the Persian Kitty, Dev, and fly safe.”