Dominance & Submission
27
G age paced back and forth, wearing a path from one end of his bedroom to the other. What the fuck was he thinking, having her under his roof for four weeks? He should be keeping her at a distance, but that plan went out the window when she looked up at him from the car with a pout on those lush lips.
If he unleashed his demons, she might give up after two weeks and run home. She wanted to understand the power exchange, and he would deliver a crash course in submission. Teaching her wasn’t his goal. He planned on peeling away the layers to reveal the real woman beneath—not the fake one she presented to the world.
It was imperative that he not let his guard down during this little experiment. He would keep her talking about herself and her book, revealing no personal information about himself. Once he succeeded in mastering her, she would be out of his system for good.
Brynne tidied the dishes from their lunch and poured herself another glass of wine before grabbing her computer. She went to her room to hide.
It took her several hours to choose the scenes to share with him. She spent another hour editing and then lay down on the luxurious bed and fell asleep.
The room was dark when she woke up. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw it was only four forty-five p.m. Gage must have closed the blinds and covered her with the throw. She flipped on the bedside lamp and saw the designer clothing bag hanging on the closet door. Beneath it was a pair of sexy-oh-my-god-Jimmy Choo shoes with an envelope on top.
Brynne hurried over to unzip the bag and saw the gorgeous black Marilyn Monroe-style halter dress. The monogrammed slingbacks were stunning with a two-and-a-half-inch angular kick heel. At least she wouldn’t break an ankle walking to the dining room.
The card bore his distinctive scrawl.
Be in the dining room by seven.
No panties. Just the dress and the shoes.
M.
Whew. Okay, Mags. Or did he mean M for Master? Either way, she’d be there before seven. She ran herself a bubble bath and took the time to pamper herself for a change. Ninety minutes later, she was ready. Fingers and toes painted the color of champagne, important bits shaved smooth, hair tousled, eye makeup dark and smoky, and lips painted pale pink.
When she entered the dining room, her heart was racing as if she’d run up from the beach. She didn’t want to choose the wrong seat, so she stood waiting next to the beautifully set dining table. A moment later, he walked in, followed by a middle-aged man dressed in a fancy waiter’s uniform. Gage pulled out her chair and the server poured champagne for them both, then quietly disappeared.
“Did you follow my instructions?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Show me.”
“But he…” she stuttered.
“Show me.” His voice deepened.
Flutters danced in the pit of her stomach, and she imagined a little x marked in the ledger. She stood back up and twirled so the dress would fly up, then she flashed him her bare hip.
He shook his head, his lips compressed. “Lift the front of the dress.”
She gritted her teeth but did as she was told, keeping her legs pressed together.
“Hiding from me now will only get you tied and spread wide later.” He motioned for her to sit down. The waiter, as if on cue, returned with a platter of oysters on ice and refilled their glasses before disappearing. Gage explained the three varieties which he had flown in today from Loch Fyne in Cairndow. “Have you had oysters before?”
“Yes—back in Toronto. Although, the last time I had them, I swallowed a bad one that ruined me.”
“I assure you, these are the freshest you’ll ever taste. Try it with a little of the mignonette sauce.” Gage dressed it and raised it toward her. “Ready?”
When she nodded, he tipped the concoction into her mouth and the tangy delicious flavors burst on her tongue as she chewed.
“Wow, that’s incredible.”
Gage prepared his own oyster, and she watched him savor it, sipping her cold bubbly.
“So, tell me the premise of your novel.”
Brynne prepared another oyster to buy herself some time and took a deep breath.
“It’s a dark romance. The heroine of the story finds herself destitute after her husband embezzles millions of dollars from his employer and disappears. The Italian billionaire he stole from comes calling—certain she knows where he’s hiding. They met several times before at company events, and he found her shyness intriguing. She insists she filed for divorce before the theft and tells him she is selling everything to pay their creditors. Dante, the story’s anti-hero, expects her to reveal her husband’s whereabouts and threatens to hold her responsible for the debt. Then he suggests she come to work for him. She used to be a personal assistant before she got married and became a pampered society wife. He wants revenge, and he wants her, so he devises a plan to get her to his remote estate in Italy. If she doesn’t come willingly, he threatens prosecution.”
“Interesting. And how does she feel about him?”
“She denies her attraction to him, but he appeals to her because he’s everything her husband was not. Confident, intelligent, comfortable in his own skin. But that quickly changes when she receives some rather harsh treatment.”
“Is she submissive?”
“Yes, but she has never explored it. She thought her husband was dominant, but he was just a bully.”
The server brought warm lemon-scented cloths for their hands and cleared the dishes. Gage opened a bottle of red wine and asked how she liked her filet mignon cooked.
“Medium rare, please. And I would like to thank you for the dress and shoes. They’re gorgeous.” She wanted to ask how he knew her sizes, but when his eyes locked on hers, she fell silent.
“You’re welcome. They are as much for me as they are for you. Everything I choose is because I want to see you in them. Until I don’t.”
Brynne blushed and sipped her wine. Dinner passed in a blur. He asked her more questions about the plot and what the agent told her to work on. As the evening wore on, she became more relaxed and open about her novel.
The waiter had removed all the dishes and disappeared. Gage reached over and pulled both sides of the halter dress open, baring her breasts. Her eyes flew to his, and she bit her bottom lip, panicked that the server would walk back in.
“Did you look up the meaning of brat in your erotic dictionary?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“It’s when someone seeks discipline by being naughty and not following directions—hoping to trigger their Dom to take action.”
“Mmm, indeed.”
“I come by it honestly. A therapist told me it’s because I didn’t get enough attention as a child. I had to misbehave to get my parents to notice me.”
Gage sipped his wine, his eyes darkening as they stared at her hardening nipples. “Take the dress off.”
“What?” Her eyes flew to the door. “Your butler might come back in.”
“He might. This is one of your first tests. Are you going to defy me?”
Brynne knew this was it. Stay and submit or run home like a coward. Her inner voices were warring with each other, but she shut them up and stood on wobbly knees. She undid the clasp at her neck and let the two parts of the bodice drop. He sat back in his chair and adjusted his pants, which emboldened her to continue. She reached behind and unzipped the skirt, and it fell to the floor, baring her completely.
“Did you intentionally defy me in London so I would punish you?”
She nodded and looked at the floor. “I wanted to see how you would react.”
“I suppose that’s understandable. After all, you don’t know me. You don’t know that I’ll enjoy disciplining you, even when you’re perfect. You will want to ask what you did wrong, and it might just be because I get off watching you writhe and cry and fight your body’s responses to what I’m doing.”
Oh god, his words were winding her up like a tightly coiled spring. He stood and took their wine glasses over to the sideboard.
“I’m going to help you onto the table so I can see all of you.”
A whimper escaped her throat. “Oh, please…”
“Please what? Are you worried Colin is coming back with dessert?”
“Yes.” She clasped her hands tightly to calm her fidgeting.
“Don’t worry, my sweet. You’re going to be dessert.” He lifted her onto the cool wood surface, so her knees were bent at the edge. “Lie back and make yourself into a star.”
Brynne obeyed, while trembling in anticipation. He would see her—and know her body was ready for him.
From a drawer in the sideboard, he took out two coils of black rope. She watched as he unwound the first and looped it around her right wrist several times, then ran the lines over her palm so she could hold them as he tugged her arm back over her head. He bent down and fed the rope under the table and then tied it around her left ankle, spreading her leg wide. With the other length, he bound her left wrist and right leg, so she was spread-eagle on the table.
A sultry smile lit his face when he leaned over her. Brynne stared at him and let her eyes convey acceptance and trust. God help me, I want this.
Gage stood near her head and laid the palm of his hand over the small triangle of red curls on her mons, his fingers whispering against her bare lips. Then he bent down and kissed her mouth, lightly teasing at first and then more insistent. When his tongue delved deeper, his fingers followed suit, sinking into her wetness. Brynne moaned her need, and he pulled back, rationing his attentions, grazing her mouth lightly with his tongue, and using his fingers to torment her clit by circling it with her juices.
“Please…” she whined.
Just as quickly as he began, he stopped and rose. “I will be back soon. Remember, patience will be rewarded.”
Brynne gazed up at the ceiling and daydreamed about making snow angels in the yard under a dark night sky. Her amusing thoughts took her to a place far from her very vulnerable position. Sounds from the kitchen brought her back to the present. She tested the bonds, and the lack of give caused a visceral reaction between her legs.
Shhh. You’re safe. Displayed as an object for his pleasure.
Gage returned, rolling a trolley of goodies. The heavenly scent of warm donuts and cinnamon teased her senses.
He positioned the trolley so she couldn’t see what was on it, but she saw a lit flame in her peripheral vision. Candlelight? Or a warmer for something?
“Did you know cinnamon has been used for centuries to treat illnesses?”
She shook her head, her mouth salivating at the smells so close by.
“Not only was it used to treat sinus conditions and indigestion, but it also increases blood flow and raises body temperature on contact. We’re going to have it on our bolinhos de chuva.”
She lifted her head to see what he was doing. “What are those? They smell divine”
“I discovered them in Portugal, but they originated in Brazil. It’s deep-fried sweet dough—made in the shape of a raindrop.”
“May I please have one?”
“That’s not a good idea—you might choke in that position. I’ll be right back.” He returned with a small bolster pillow to put under her head. “That’s better.”
He moved the cart a little closer so she could see everything. “We have bolinhos, hot butter, and cinnamon sugar.”
“I’ll be careful. Can I at least have one?” she begged.
“You’ve been a good girl. But you must chew it completely.”
“Oh, I will, I promise.”
She watched him dip one of the crispy teardrops into the butter, then he coated it in cinnamon sugar and held it over her breasts until a drop of the mixture landed on her nipple. He fed it to her, and she savored the concoction with a long moan. “God, that is amazing!”
“My turn.” He coated his dough, but instead of popping it into his mouth, he dragged the sugary confection across her areolas one by one. The coarseness of the sugar was stunning. He ate his bolinho and then his head dropped to lick and suck on her rock-hard nipples. More sugar from his mouth abraded the tender skin and had her squirming in reaction.
Next, he took a brown bottle and shook it up. “This is pure cinnamon, which I’ve carefully mixed in a base of almond oil. The ratio is important, so it doesn’t irritate the skin.”
Brynne trembled in reaction. “I’m going to put this on your lips and tongue first.” He put two drops on his fingers and coated her lips then put both fingers in her mouth. She licked them tentatively at first, unsure of what would happen.
The heat began to increase immediately. Her lips felt swollen, tingling, then hot. The same for her tongue. His mouth was on hers a moment later, and he groaned as their tongues intertwined. He must have felt the same heat. Using the dropper, he filled her belly button with five drops of the oil. “Don’t spill this.” He tried to sound stern, but she could tell he was enjoying himself.
His fingers dipped into the makeshift cup, and he glazed her nipples with the liquid.
It took about ten seconds. Her eyes widened and her head raised off the pillow. “Oh, god, that stings. Wait, no it itches. Please, they’re on fire. Do something!”
He dipped a donut into the cinnamon sugar and tortured the over sensitized tips. “Is that better?”
“Oh god, no!” Brynne tried to stay still, but it was impossible. His fingers dipped again, and he painted her outer lips with the oil.
“Somebody is soaking wet. I am going to need more oil.”
“Oh, no, you can’t.”
“I can. Your body will douse the flames.”
The heat was spreading between her legs, causing her labia to heat and tingle. Again, he dipped into her belly button and this time touched the hood of her clit with it. Brynne started squirming and moaning, begging him to stop but not meaning it. She turned imploring eyes on him. “Please Gage. My clit is on fire. I’m dying.”
Next, he anointed one of the dough balls in warm butter, followed by a generous coating of cinnamon sugar, and held it over her mouth. “Savor this one—when you finish it, I want you to come for me.”
“Yes, please. I want to come!” She pulled against the bindings on her wrists and forgot they only tugged her legs apart. “Fuck!”
“Shhh, I will make it all better.”
Brynne held the donut in her mouth and sucked on it as Gage positioned himself between her legs. He leaned down and began licking her everywhere except where she throbbed the most. His tongue circled all around her swollen clit. If it had a voice, it would be screaming for his attention. His other hand dipped into the pool of wetness, then entered her—leisurely pushing in and out while his tongue danced and lapped and nibbled. Finally, his warm mouth kissed her there—then he licked and sucked until she could not hold on any longer. She swallowed the donut and let out a loud keening wail of ecstasy as her bound limbs struggled and twisted. Just as she caught her breath, Gage’s mouth started strumming her sensitive flesh again. He ignored her pleas, and a second violent orgasm took her by surprise, making her cry out in shock.
He grabbed scissors out of the sideboard and cut all the ropes to free her. She sat up and inched toward the edge of the table while watching him strip off his pants and don a condom with shaking hands. “Next week you see the doctor.” His words were ground out with effort. He picked her up and impaled her in one stroke. Brynne gripped his shoulders, wrapping her legs around his waist. When his mouth found hers, his kiss carried an undercurrent of raw unrestrained passion that took her breath away. She tasted the divine combination of cinnamon, sugar, and herself on his tongue.
Gage carried her like she weighed nothing, bouncing her up and down on his prick as he strode into the master bathroom. In the walk-in shower, he set her down to put the water on. “I feel sugar everywhere.” He groaned.
When the temperature was right, he took the handheld shower head and washed the residue off her and then himself. Then he turned her to face away from him and handed the sprayer to her.
“Brace yourself and spread your legs.”
She wordlessly complied. He grabbed her hips and pulled her back against him, straight onto his cock.
“Ooh uh!” she squeaked as he slammed fully into her.
“If you can aim that stream of water and give yourself another orgasm, you are welcome to try. But I warn you, I won’t last long.”
He began fucking her hard and fast, and Brynne braced herself with one hand on the wall and aimed the shower head with the other. She was close, but his thrusts were becoming more ragged. Then he suddenly pulled her torso up so her back was flush to his chest, his hands kneading her breasts, his mouth biting her shoulder. She aimed the water and found the spot by accident and held it there, losing her focus on everything but the pounding in her ears and between her legs.
His mouth was on her neck. “Come. With. Me.” Her body obeyed before her mind could catch up. She felt her legs would not hold her up and had no concept of time—until she felt him slowly pull out of her.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded. “More than okay.”
He wrapped her in a plush bath towel, then grabbed one for himself. As he disposed of the condom, he said, “Make an appointment for bloodwork so I don’t have to use those bloody things anymore.”
“I will.” She dried herself while he loaded his toothbrush. “I need water. Is that guy gone?”
He grinned. “He was gone after clearing the dinner plates.”
“You let me think he could walk in at any moment.” She pouted.
“Aye. And yet you managed to do what I asked.”
“Be glad I have nothing within reach to lob at your head.”
He laughed and went on brushing his teeth.
Brynne put on the T-shirt he wore earlier that day, inhaling his distinctive scent. On the way to the kitchen, she saw the wild state of the dining room. Her beautiful dress was on the floor, shoes discarded under the table, and the scattered black cords reminded her of coiled snakes lying in wait. She blew out the warming candle and began tidying up. It would not do for the housekeeper to see this mess. She tucked the ropes back into the drawer and grinned. He was certainly imaginative.
The cinnamon oil was a wicked surprise and one worth repeating, so she tucked it way back in the spice cabinet. She packed up the rest of the delectable Brazilian donuts, loaded the dishwasher, and cleaned up all the cinnamon sugar. Anything to delay the daunting task of reading him her story.
He had dimmed the lights, and he was lying in bed asleep, the sheet drawn to the sexy dimples in his hips. She stood there, admiring his muscular chest and his flat stomach. A sexy swirl of hair charted a path downward to her own carnal Sword of Damocles.
“There can be no happiness for one who is under constant apprehensions.”
The one thing she’d managed to avoid her whole life was staring her in the face: a man she could fall for. She’d eagerly accepted the proposal, ignorant of the dangers that came with it. When it was over and he walked away, she would never be the same.
Brynne tiptoed out of the room. She needed some space to think, and she wouldn’t get that sleeping next to him. It might piss him off, but she would deal with the consequences tomorrow.
Gage rolled over and felt the empty space next to him. What the fuck? The bedside lamp was still on, and she was not there. The last thing he remembered was her going to the kitchen for water.
A quick check of the living and dining rooms confirmed she cleaned up the evidence of their cinnamon sugar orgy. The kitchen was neat as a pin. He grabbed a bottle of water and headed to her room. She earned herself a serious punishment for not following through and reading to him. It was clear from her agitation and excuses that she found the idea of reading to him unnerving. That just made him more determined to hear it.
Moonlight streamed in from the window. He could see she was wearing his T-shirt. Her legs were tangled in the sheets, and she had wedged a king-size pillow between her thighs. Part of him wanted to drag her over his knee right then and there, at odds with the part that wanted to tuck the covers in and leave her to sleep.
He mentally shook himself. This was not the time to go soft. She wanted the full experience, and he planned to give it to her.
Decision made, he dragged the covers off and picked her up. She stirred and started struggling in his arms.
“Stop wiggling.”
“You,” she whispered.
“Who did you think it was, Red?”
She didn’t answer, instead turning her cheek into his chest and nuzzling him.
God help him. His dick was getting hard again. He laid her down on his bed and she turned to her side and grabbed a pillow to curl into. Before pulling the sheet up, he decided a little extra lesson was in order.
He retrieved two cuffs—one for her ankle and another for her wrist. Chains would be noisy, so he used rope to tie the ankle cuff to the post at the foot of the bed with about three feet of give. He did the same with her right wrist since she was sleeping on that side. In the morning, he would deliver another surprise. It was time to turn up the heat.