Chapter Four Grant
CHAPTER FOUR
Grant
“YEAH,” SHE WHISPERS. AND again, louder. “Yes. Yes, I’d like that.”
It’s been a while since I met someone as unabashedly enthusiastic as Sunny.
I know I should stop.
But look at her, all round and soft, plump and gorgeous.
She’s pure excitement without a hint of pretense.
Sitting in the glow of all this curiosity, I almost feel like my teenage self when I got off on the idea of tying June Cristano—my football coach’s college-age daughter—to my bed and making her wait and wait and wait for that orgasm.
She’d be writhing by the end of the fantasy.
And I’d have made myself come about five times.
I knew, even then, that my soul was a little twistier than others’.
Sunny’s eyes are all pupil, her pulse visibly racing in the hollow of her throat, her freckles almost entirely camouflaged by the beautiful bright pink flooding her cheeks.
Cracking my knuckles, I drag myself back to the safety of protocol. “You know the club safe word?”
“Oh. Oh, yes. I do.” She smiles, the expression so bright and pretty it tweaks something in my chest. I shouldn’t do this. Not tonight. Not with this brand-spanking newbie who might not get that a scene is just a scene. “Red. Yellow if I need to slow down.”
“Good.”
“You gonna ask me my limits?” she asks, her eagerness drawing a laugh from deep inside me.
“This is your first time, right?”
A nod.
“How about we take it real easy, hm?”
“Yep. Yep, okay.”
“You still want me to read this?”
“Oh. Um. Sure.”
As I go over her wants, and don’t wants, and everything in between, my dick goes warm and heavy.
Everything she’s checked is right up my alley.
Restraints, spanking, light flogging, orgasm control.
The list goes on. I reach the last page, put it down, and take a moment to gather myself.
When I speak again, my voice is rougher. A little raw from excitement.
“Okay. Your list is… good.”
I have to shove back the satisfaction I feel when she smiles, her ass wiggling with pleasure. Praise kink? Check.
“Showing me the list doesn’t mean you are asking me to do those things.
Okay? I’ll get your consent every step of the way.
” That is Kinkster Rule #1, whether you’re topping or bottoming.
It should be etched in goddamn stone. Her palms are still face down on the table. “Can I touch your hands, Sunny?”
“Oh. Sure.”
Gently, I cover her hands with mine, no pressure, no weight.
Just heat and presence. I watch the way her expression changes.
Her eyes are huge as they drink everything in, and for a split second, I want to see this—to live it—from her perspective.
Not to be dominated but to get a hit of that first-timer eagerness.
The song ends. Behind me, Lucas cracks his whip and yells at the Doms to change tables. I ignore him, ignore whoever walks up with the intention of taking my place, and focus on Sunny.
“These.” I put the slightest bit of pressure on her hands. “Stay here. Got it?”
Her yes is breathy.
I stand, grab my chair, and set it down behind hers, taking in the round curve of her shoulders, the way her chest swells out of the neckline of a dress that’s likely meant to be sexy but comes off more sweet than anything.
It’s black and shimmery and printed with what looks an awful lot like spiderwebs. So damn cute.
“This is pretty.” I flick the strap where it hugs her shoulder, careful not to touch her skin.
“Thank you.”
“Spooky.”
She snorts and cranes her neck to roll her eyes at me. “I don’t have a lot of fetishwear in my closet.”
“I like how the top’s almost a corset.”
“Right? I was looking for something a little corset-like, but at the same time, I came alone tonight and didn’t really want to walk around Carytown with, like, I don’t know, my boobs out in shiny, black…”
“Rubber?” I brush her auburn hair over one shoulder and watch goose bumps trail in its wake.
“Exactly. Rubber.” The shudder she gives is theatrical. Not into rubber, I note. Fair enough.
I straddle my chair, lean forward, and let myself breathe her in, not quite touching the nape of her neck but giving my body heat a chance to meet hers somewhere in the ether between us. Finally, after inhaling my fill, I put my lips close to her earlobe. “Can I touch your shoulders, Sunny?”
“Okay.”
“Okay, yes, or okay, I don’t really want that, but I’m agreeing because I think I should?”
“Yes. Do it. Whatever it is, I’m into it.”
“Do not give blanket consent like that. Ever.”
“Ugh. Oh my god, fine. I’m saying yes, Professor Kinkmeister,” she grumps, a smile in her voice. “Please, please, for the love of all that is kinky, touch my shoulders.”
Oh great. She’s a brat. Sweet, eager, and submissive, with an attitude. Somebody’s going to have their hands full with this one.
Smirking now, I stroke her satiny skin. “Arms? Back? Neck?”
“Yes, yes, yes.”
She shivers as my knuckles skate over the places I’ve just mentioned, then down her arms until my hands are circling her wrists like shackles.
Or rope. Measuring the circumference of her frame against mine.
She’s thick in places—her ass and her belly, the tops of her arms, those lush tits that threaten to spill over the neckline of her dress.
Her wrists, though, are as delicate as her neck.
I like that contrast. Big versus little.
I go back to her shoulders and rub them again, putting a little more pressure into the contact this time, offering her the strength of my fingers and taking a little of the tension she’s clearly got stored right… there.
As I dig my thumbs into that tender spot beneath her shoulder blades, she moans and drops her head forward, and without fully intending to, I lean in and start whispering in her ear. “Look at what a good girl you are, all warm and relaxed like this. You always moan when you get touched? Hm?”
She shakes her head and then, appearing to remember herself, says, “No. No, I never moan.”
“It’s a beautiful sound. Goddamn siren’s song.” I shift my hold and press in again, working out a knot she’s probably been sporting forever. “Shit, you’re tight. Right…” I press gently but firmly. “Here.”
Her whimpers are absolute music to my ears.
“Lean back,” I tell her. “I need to see your face.”
“Okay,” she manages as I nudge her head to rest against my shoulder. Her expression’s relaxed and easy until I push that magic knot again, sending her expression into that indescribable limbo between ecstasy and agony.
The kinkster’s sweet spot.
“You gorgeous little thing. Look at you, all blissed out.” I run my thumbs up, soaking in the way she shudders and grunts every time I hit something good or tight or too tense to handle. “I’m gonna work out every single one of these kinks, you got that?”
With a smile, she shifts, leans forward again, and spasms.
“Sunny, are you hurt? Was it too much pressure, or—”
“No! No, I’m good.” Shaking again, she nods and leans back, tears leaking from her eyes. “It’s just… When I decided to try out my first kink club tonight to work a few things out, I had no idea just how literal it would be.”
“Literal?”
“You said… you said you were gonna work out…” She’s giggling now, definitely. Not crying, which is a relief. “You said you’d work out my kinks, and I feel…” Another yip of a laugh has me staring down into her face. “I feel like you’re doing a bang-up job.”
Yep. One hundred percent brat. “Yeah?” Suppressing a smile, I press that hot spot of hers again and watch her groan and sink back with a gasp. “Come on. Let’s get you relaxed, sweet girl. Tell me what you think about, Sunny, when you come home from work and slip into a hot bath.”
“I don’t have a bathtub.”
I make an irritated noise.
“Yeah. I miss baths.” She turns and stretches when I hit a tough area on the side of her neck. “Just a crappy little shower.”
“All right, then. What do you think about in the shower?”
“Um… You mean, like this morning?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, well, um…” The way her eyes go glassy tells me she’s going deep in search of her deepest, most secret fantasy.
I watch my hands work the muscles and tendons of her back, massaging up and down, listening for reactions, concentrating on those needy little sore spots and the exquisite way her breath catches every time I hit one.
In my mind, I see her deep in a steaming hot bath, her hands playing with those big breasts, sliding over her soft belly and down, down, hidden by the bubbles.
“Sooooo, I’ve been having this internal debate.”
“Go on.” Her skin is so smooth under mine, her body responsive. She’d be all slick in that water, all plush and warm, her plump curves so inviting that I’d have to shuck off my pants and slide in behind her.
“Lion or octopus?”
Convinced I misheard, I stop, hands suspended mid-rub. “What?”
“I can’t decide. What do you think?”
My brain feeds me a million bizarre images, each of which I immediately shut down. “About…?”
“It’s been driving me nuts. So, like, Pepe, my cat. I’m obsessed with finding this year’s Halloween costume. He’s been an angry Frenchman twice now, and I really think we need a change. What’s your vote? Irate lion or pissed-off octopus?”
“That’s… that’s…”
My mouth opens and closes a couple of times. Nothing comes out.
“So he’ll probably never speak to me again if I put him in the octopus, ’cause it’s like absurd.”
“Speak to you?”
“But the lion’s been done. A lot. Then again, he doesn’t go out, so who cares, right? It’s just for him and me and the trick-or-treaters, which I won’t get because I live in a backyard.”
“Quite the choice. Could you—”
“You’re right. I’m getting both. Intermission costume change.” She twists back to look at me and sets her hand over where mine is sitting lightly on her shoulder. “Thank you.”
My jaw muscle involuntarily flexes. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You did, and I appreciate it.”
I reach down to her back again, push that tender spot, and watch her go limp.
Much better. Clearing my throat, I shove back my annoyance at having been misunderstood and carry on.
“Okay. Obviously, I wasn’t clear enough.
Allow me to set the scene. After work. You come home, tired out. You need candles. No lights on. Music.”
“Oh, sure. Right. I get it. You wanted my sexy thoughts. Duh. Not cat costume thoughts. Sorry.”
“No. It’s my responsibility, as a Dom, to express myself clearly.”
“All right, well. Fantasy. I can do this. Candles and music: check. I’d have to take a shower. Oh, maybe a glass of wine, right?”
“Good. That’s good.”
“What else?” she asks, the eagerness in her voice hitting me low in the belly. Much better. “What else should I do?”
What else?
There it is. That question, more than anything, flips the mysterious little switch that’s been lodged hidden inside me for too long. What else?
“You touch yourself.” My voice is gritty now, almost raw. “You slide your fingers over your belly to that hot, slick spot between your legs.”
“Oh. Okay. Yep. That works.”
“In the bath or shower. In bed. On the sofa. Let your hands roam, let them make you feel good, like I’m doing now.”
“Yes, Mast…” Breathing hard, Sunny pauses and cranes her neck to look over her shoulder at me. “What do I call you?”
“What would you like to call me, sweet girl?”
“I don’t know.” Her laugh is a sugary delight, her light Richmond accent like music. “Are you a Daddy type? You kind of seem like it, all bossy and nurturing or whatever.”
I half shrug. She’s not wrong. I’ve never been into Daddy Dom/little girl play, but I get parts of the role, no problem. “I’ve got some caregiver instincts, for sure.”
“Big Daddy Boss Ma-an,” she says, giving the last word two syllables.
“Cute. But no.” My hand hovers over her head. “I want to touch your hair. Not too hard.”
“You can.”
My fingers wind into those thick red curls and tighten infinitesimally. “This okay?”
“Yeah.” Tilting her head, she tests my hold. “Oh, definitely.”
My fist tightens, drawing a gasp from her pink lips as I pull her back against my shoulder again and look down into those astonishingly bright eyes. “You can call me Sir.”
“Sir.” She stiffens, a soldier going unconsciously to attention. “Oh, that’s really good.”
Dammit. It’s there. Here. In me, her, between us. That Dom/sub chemistry that makes a scene flow, makes playing a pleasure instead of hard work.
Makes it even, sometimes, beautiful.
I can definitely work with this.
That is to say, I could. If I were actually in the market for a sub.