Chapter 6
Tara had this wonderful yet sinking feeling that she’d just found something she hadn’t known she was missing.
Nathan the Dom was something she’d let herself fantasize about once upon a time. Nathan the carnal, dirty-talking sex god was unexpected and wonderful.
The fact that she’d just mentally referred to him as a sex god was probably a very good indicator that it had been too long since she’d been well and truly fucked.
Not that she didn’t usually have sex as part of her scenes at Las Palmas. She did.
But often sex was a tool used to reinforce the power exchange, or a final activity that indicated the scene was coming to a close rather than sexual desire being a constant within the scene.
Nathan looked at her, and she thought the expression in his eyes was hope.
Yet the silence dragged on, and she started to feel self-conscious.
“I’ve agreed twice now,” she said, “but if you’re not interested…”
“Oh, I’m very interested.”
That shouldn’t make her feel giddy with delight, but it did.
“We need to talk about how you usually submit,” he said. “We talked about how I top.”
“Could we…not?” Tara shifted, hugging her knees.
Nathan nodded. “That’s right, you want me to guess what kind of sub you are.”
Tara shook her head. “I changed my mind.”
“Why?”
“Because if you’re wrong, I’m not sure how that would make me feel.” She was fairly certain that she’d curl up into a humiliated ball if Nathan’s guess was wrong. She wasn’t entirely certain, so her statement wasn’t a lie, but it was a prevarication to protect herself.
“Then tell me about your last scene.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want what I’ve done in the past to influence what you will do.”
Nathan turned to face her, one leg on the couch cushion. He studied her for a long minute. “Did someone hurt you?”
Was he…angry? Protective?
To use his preferred curse: shit. The idea of Nathan being protective of her made her heart beat harder, and her pussy wetter.
Outside the club, men could fuck right off with that sort of thinking and behavior. Inside the club, where she let herself revel in the masculine-dominant female-submissive archetypes, that behavior was like catnip.
“No one hurt me.” The words came out soft. “Not the way you’re thinking.”
His gaze tracked over her. “Then they didn’t give you what you need.”
“I’ve been satisfied with my partners.”
“Not satisfied enough, if you don’t want a repeat.”
“I would have been happy to scene with you the way I normally do when I’m here.”
“Would have?” His frown melted into a slow smile. “You mean before me.”
“Don’t get cocky.”
“Is it the dirty talk? No one has whispered filthy things in your ear, and now that you’ve gotten a taste, you want more?”
His smile became a grin, and in that moment, he was the boy she’d first met. A boy who was a mix of serious intelligence and young-man cocky.
Tara rolled her eyes to look at the ceiling, fighting her own smile.
“Being serious for a moment,” he said. “I do need to know what you want.”
I want you.
Whoa. Her brain needed reins so she could pull back on some of these thoughts.
“I want to not make decisions,” she said instead. “I want to give up control, and with you, I want that to include not pre-negotiating everything we do.”
“Skipping negotiations…” Now he wasn’t just looking at her, he was studying her.
“I both know you and trust you. Everyone else in the club is a stranger, so during pre-scene negotiations, that’s a factor.”
“You hold back?”
“Yes. Not a lot, but I do. And I get very detailed during the negotiations. Timing is a surprise to me, but for the most part I know exactly what to expect.”
“And you don’t want that anymore.”
“I don’t want that with you.”
“Even though I’m not the kind of Dom you thought I’d be.”
“Yes. Maybe because of that. I haven’t had a scene that was primarily sexual in a long time.”
“Normally it’s focused on the power exchange?” A line appeared between her brows. “Or focused on pain? Are you a masochist?”
“Everyone here is a masochist to some degree,” she countered. “And yes, I’ve had impact-play focused scenes.” Tara cleared her throat. “You have my checklist, right?”
That’s what she’d overheard some of the other subs saying—that their assigned Doms would have been given a copy of the checklist they complete when they joined.
“I do.”
“So, you know my hard limits.”
He nodded.
“Can we just use that?”
Nathan leaned back, arms crossed over his leather-covered chest. It made his biceps stand out. His muscles weren’t bulky, but there was meat on those arms, and she had this insane urge to sink her teeth into him. To bite him hard enough to leave an impression, and to earn herself a spanking.
“We can, on one condition,” he said.
She waved a hand, inviting him to continue.
“You talk to me,” he rumbled.
Tara blinked in surprise.
“During the scene, you talk to me. Tell me what you like, tell me what you’re thinking. Tell me what you’re hoping or fearing I’ll do next. No rules about when you can or can’t talk. If for some reason I think it will be better if you’re limited in your ability to speak, I’ll gag you.”
Regular, open, honest communication.
On the surface, it was an easy thing to agree with. Except that level of communication was actually more intimate than any physical touch.
“If I have to ask you how you’re doing every two minutes because you aren’t communicating with me, I’ll stop. If you respond to my questions with only ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir,’ I’ll stop.”
“I…”
He raised a brow, waiting.
“I can try. That’s going to be hard.”
“I know it is. And I know you go quiet when you’re thinking. But I don’t want you living inside your own head for this.”
“If I fail, and you stop the scene, is that it?”
He snorted. “Shit no.”
She relaxed. “Okay, I’ll do my best.”
Nathan smiled, but it was more tentative than it had been a minute ago. “Last chance to back out,” he warned.
“I’m not backing out. I’m ready.”
Nathan stood, gathering their glasses. He looked down at her, and now his gaze was definitely possessive. “Lose the robe, and when I get back the scene starts.”
Tara watched him walk away, her heart in her throat.
For a horrible moment, doubt crashed down on her. This was Nathan. What was she doing? It was like he took her surety with him when he walked away.
Tara made herself stand up, hands gripping the sash of the robe so tight she thought the fabric might disintegrate in her hands.
It would help if she’d picked something a little more conservative to wear tonight. She’d been swayed by seeing all the other subs—and thanks to the mandatory meeting, it really was all the other subs—in their fetwear and corsets.
Secretly she wanted to weary frilly, feminine items. One of the other subs owned a famous lingerie brand, and while Tara could afford the pieces, actually purchasing and then wearing them was beyond her.
In the outside world, Tara was a woman in a male-dominated field. She also had a job that required her to be mostly covered up for safety. Easy-to-wear slacks and comfortable long-sleeved shirts that fit nicely under a lab coat were her go-to.
When she needed to look more professional, she wore three-piece tailored suits made by a company here in LA. They blended traditionally feminine and masculine elements perfectly, and always made Tara feel badass. Plus, she usually had at least one pretty woman hit on her when she was wearing her suits, which was a nice ego boost.
It wasn’t that she owned no dresses—about five years ago, there’d been a period where she attended a wedding every weekend, and had the wardrobe to match.
Nor was her lack of feminine attire both inside and outside the club an indication that she rejected feminine things. Her apartment was an oasis of pastels and gold, everything soft and clean.
Nathan was on his way back, and his brow was furrowed as he looked at her standing beside the couch still wearing her robe.
Whatever her reason for hesitating to purchase and wear soft, frilly lingerie, right now she regretted it. In her fantasy, she slipped out of the robe, revealing soft satin and frilly lace.
Movements jerky, Tara ripped off the robe, chucking it away just as Nathan rounded the corner of the couch.
He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes widening.
Needing something to do with her hands, Tara reached up and back, pulling the black ponytail holder out of her long hair.
Tara’s hair fell against her shoulders and back like a cape, adding to the fetish superhero vibe she was giving off, thanks to her lingerie. The black leather straps crossed her body, holding and compressing sweet, soft flesh.
A wide band crossed over her breasts. It covered her nipples but left both the top and bottom of her breasts—which were compressed and plumped by the restricting band—exposed. Vertical shoulder straps shot up from the breast band.
A scrap of glossy latex covered her pussy, straps radiating up from it like the spokes of a wheel or rays from the setting sun. The side straps angled over her hips, while the center ones rose to meet the thin belt around her waist.
First, he’d take off the breast band, which would in turn remove the shoulder straps. Then he’d rip the latex out of the crotch, but leave the rest of the straps in place.
The way the garters hugged her plump hips, pressing in slightly, made his cock hard. Normally he was a tits and ass man, in that order, but something about Tara’s hips was doing it for him.
She shifted her weight foot to foot and bent her head. Her long, dark hair slid forward over one shoulder.
That hair.
He’d rarely seen her with her hair loose. On those few occasions he’d seen it down, it was usually only partially down, and fancy looking because they’d run into each other at a mutual friend’s wedding.
This was different. Intimate. This was the way her hair looked in the privacy of her home. In the quiet moments when she let go of all her defenses.
Nathan took a step toward her, hand outstretched.
“Last chance to leave,” he murmured. “After this, you’re mine until dawn.”
The look in her eyes was fearless when their gazes met. Fearless…and hot. Needy.
Fearless and aroused was exactly how he liked his partners.
“Yours until dawn.” Tara put her hand in his, and when he tugged, she came to him willingly. Eagerly.
Nathan’s cock twitched, that reaction far stronger than any time another woman had said that or similar.
He carefully gathered the hair that had fallen forward, bringing it back over her shoulder and then gathering the rest into a tail in one hand. Her hair was cool and heavy in his grip.
Still holding her hair loosely in his left hand, he reached back with his right, sliding his fingers into the heavy locks and along the curve of her skull.
He made a fist, gripping her by the roots of her long hair. Her gasp satisfied some dark part of his soul.
With a tug, he forced her head up and back, exposing the line of her delicate neck.
Nathan bent, licking the side of her throat he hadn’t yet tasted, and this time when he reached the corner of her jaw, he sucked her earlobe into his mouth.
She wore small gold hoop earrings, and he flicked the warm metal with his tongue before tugging gently and letting her earlobe slide out of his mouth.
When he lifted his head, she was breathing hard, her hands gripping his sides as if he were her anchor. She pulled against his hold, probably trying to drop her chin so she could look at him.
Nathan tugged on her hair, eliciting a sweet little gasp.
“I like the noises you make.” He ran his open mouth along the line of her jaw, and then down her throat, letting her feel the edge of his teeth.
“What do I call you?” Her voice was slightly strained due to the position of her head.
Nathan leaned back, eyeing her breasts and then tracing the lower curves with one finger. “Whatever feels right.”
“I’d rather know what you prefer,” she countered. “Unless the point is for me to get it wrong so you can punish me?”
Still holding her hair, Nathan pulled her forward until their bodies were flush. He turned her head to the side, her cheek against his shoulder, her breath washing the base of his neck with each exhale.
“I told you I don’t do that. I’m not going to set you up to fail so that I can spank you. I don’t need an excuse, or a reason, to put you over my knee.”
He felt her full body shiver of arousal and reached around to palm her ass. There were more straps here, and he traced the lines that crossed her cheeks—two curving around from the front, and a third that was tucked between, G-string style.
He tugged one of the cross straps higher on her butt, then smacked that ass cheek, coming up from the bottom to get the lower curve. Tara groaned in what sounded like relief, as if she’d been desperately waiting to have her plump bottom reddened.
He was happy to be the man to do it.
The smack was loud, and for a moment, the conversations around them lulled as everyone looked over. When there were no further spanks, conversations started up again.
“I wonder which you’ll like more,” he murmured. “Being over my knee as I spank you and call you a bad girl while you wiggle and try to get away, or being strapped down to a spanking bench while I slap this lush ass and praise what a good girl you’re being to take your punishment.”
Tara moaned, bumping her hips back to make space between their bodies, her hands finding the stiff buttons of his vest and trying to work them loose. When that didn’t work, she dropped her hands to his crotch, rubbing his hard cock.
Nathan buried his lips in her hair, hiding his smile, though with her cheek against his shoulder, she wouldn’t have seen his expression anyway. “I can’t decide if you’re being bratty, bossy, or needy.”
She stiffened. “You know how I feel about being called bossy.”
He pulled her away so he could look at her, though he didn’t release his tight hold on her hair. And when Tara tried to turn away, he gave her a warning tug that made her go still.
“I know, and I shouldn’t have used that word. For that, I’m sorry. But my question stands. Are you being a brat, topping from the bottom, or just desperate for cock?”
“I’m not a brat.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“And I don’t want to top from the bottom. Giving up control is why I’m here.”
“Then you’re hungry for cock.”
“If anyone else had said that, I’d roll my eyes,” she huffed.
“Oh, by all means.” He wrapped his other arm around her, forearm braced against her lower back, then forced her into a backbend over his arm, her hands once more gripping him for balance. “Please roll your eyes at me.”
“I thought you said you weren’t strict, and didn’t need an excuse to punish.” Her voice was strained.
“I’m not, and I don’t. Doesn’t mean it isn’t fun. If you want to roll your eyes like a pissy teenager, I’ll play headmaster, bend you over a desk, and take a ruler to your ass.”
“Nathan,” she moaned.
He brought her up until she was standing straight, searching her expression.
“I have never, in my life, found the whole catholic schoolgirl thing even remotely arousing…”
He swallowed the urge to apologize or backtrack, because he knew her, and knew she was going to say more.
“Until right now, with you.”
Nathan switched from fisting her hair to cupping her head, fingertips lightly massaging her scalp. “I’m just that good.”
Tara let out a startled laugh.
“No eye roll?” He tsked in mock disappointment. “I can do better.”
“You could tell one of those bad computer modeling jokes you use at the start of most of your presentations.”
“Excuse me, those are excellent jokes.” Nathan reached around and smacked her ass again.
They both froze.
For a moment, they’d slipped back into their normal friendly dialog, but then he’d warped it by adding the spank in response to her comment.
He pushed the circle of Nathan-and-Tara-as-scene-partners over the top of the Nathan-and-Tara-as-best-friends circle, creating a Ven diagram.
He had no idea what label to put on the overlap.
The silence became awkward, and he knew he was fucking this up. He’d been the one to make it weird, and he was doing nothing to un-weird it.
Five minutes ago, he’d been sure they were past this, that they’d established they were fine scening together. Nathan slowly detangled his hand from Tara’s hair.
Tara’s chin dipped, and she let out a small sigh. It wasn’t a sigh of relief, or sadness. He knew her well enough to identify that sound.
That was disappointment.
A surge of protective energy was followed by a less altruistic surge of sexual aggression.
He needed to make this woman submit. To use her and pleasure her until the only sounds she made were moans of pleasure and whimpers of need.