Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Paula woke on Saturday morning thinking back to the evening before. Had she really agreed to try a BDSM relationship with Jackson Cagney? He was a cop. She had a rule. And BDSM? What kind of spell had been in that fancy food?
She got up and fixed herself a pot of extra-strong coffee, suspecting she would need it. When it was ready, she took a piece of leftover pizza from her fridge and had her “breakfast of champions” as she liked to call it. Pizza was one of the major food groups, after all.
After she finished eating and was on her second cup of coffee, she woke her laptop and checked her email.
There was the message from Jackson that started with, “Good morning, my lovely sub, I hope you slept well and aren’t have second thoughts about last night.
Here are some links to get you started on the journey we’re going on together.
Please start at the beginning. The first couple of articles should help ground you.
Then I’ve included links for three different limit lists and several different sample contracts.
I look forward to seeing you at two.” He signed the message, “Your soon-to-be-Master, Jackson.”
Jackson Cagney was really hot. They had undeniable chemistry, and she had always liked him on a personal level.
It was only during the past few months that she had started to feel drawn to him and been terrified of her feelings.
He was also considerably younger than she.
At forty-five, getting attention from a younger man was flattering, but she was no cougar.
Was she willing to try? She could at least go over what Jackson had sent.
She didn’t have to commit herself today.
Three hours later, she looked up from the computer, realizing her coffee was long gone and her neck hurt from being in the same position.
Was some sort of hypnotic effect built into the articles?
She had read the ones Jackson had sent first but they kept sending her to other places.
She read about Master/slave relationships so extreme the slave wasn’t allowed to go to the bathroom without permission and others where the control seemed almost non-existent.
Some couples didn’t even live together. That had been an article she found on her own.
She printed it out to take to Jackson’s.
She refilled her coffee and continued reading.
She looked over the limits lists and had a hard time making sense of them.
What on earth was “consensual non-consent”?
Who got their kicks from being denied an orgasm?
Weren’t they the point of sex? There were plenty of things to say no to.
Blood and scat were immediate negatives.
Watersports, too, once she found out what it was.
She kept seeing two acronyms everywhere—SSC and RACK.
Safe, Sane, and Consensual sounded like something she could handle.
Risk Aware Consensual Kink she wasn’t so sure about.
What kind of risks did it mean? Was this where the whips, chains and abuse came in?
Then there were the contracts. They were all over the map in terms of what they covered.
Some dictated the slave’s life twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.
These she knew she wanted nothing to do with.
Others had clear roles on who did what in a household—cooking, cleaning, laundry, and so on.
She was surprised that all the tasks weren’t necessarily assigned to the slave.
That word again. There was no way she was going to be Jackson’s or anyone’s ‘slave.’
Eureka !
Here was a contract that looked like something she could live with. It didn’t expect the sub to live in, and the responsibilities looked like things she could deal with. She printed that one off to take with her.
Paula poured the last of her coffee into her mug and put it in the microwave.
Her rumbling stomach reminded her it was past lunchtime.
She looked at the clock to see it was already 12:30.
She would need to get moving. She pulled the last piece of pizza from the refrigerator and left the empty box for later disposal.
It would be fine there until she got home.
She continued reading as she ate and found a few sample contracts they might be able to work from that she printed out before she went upstairs to shower and change.
She dressed in black jeans that emphasized her curves and a long-sleeve button-down shirt.
It was bright fuchsia, not something she would usually have bought, but somehow it had called to her when she’d seen it in her favorite catalog.
She hated shopping and got most of her clothes online.
She caught herself wondering if Jackson would like it.
Was she really that far gone on him to care what he thought of her wardrobe?
At twenty minutes to two, she double-checked that she had everything she might want for the negotiation.
Since he’d asked her to bring an overnight bag, she assumed he had evening plans for them, as well.
She surveyed her bedroom, the bed unmade and clothes strewn everywhere as she had struggled to decide what to wear.
Well, it matched the rest of the place, and she wasn’t letting anyone in anytime soon. She’d deal with the mess later.
She pulled up at Jackson’s condo with three minutes to spare. As she approached his door, she wondered again about her sanity, but she had made a commitment to come this far, at least.
Jackson opened the door at Paula’s knock and had to check his desire to greet her with a wolf whistle.
She looked gorgeous in her strong colors, such a change from the dull pantsuits she wore to work.
If it were possible, she was even more beautiful than she had been at the wedding.
The casual style and button-down shirt appealed to him.
One of the first things they would do would be to go through her closets to see what other treasures she was hiding.
“Hi, I’m glad you came. Right on time and with your overnight bag. That’s a very good start for us, I think.” He ushered her in.
As she looked around for a place to put her bag, he said, “Remember Rule Two, Paula? This is not a public place, so I expect a proper greeting.”
She turned toward him, eyes wide. “R-rule Two? Oh.” She took a step in his direction, and he met her with a wide smile.
He pulled her close and cradled her head between his hands.
This kiss wasn’t chaste at all. As their lips met, he took immediate control, demanding entry into her mouth with his tongue that tangled with hers as she drove her own forward.
The give-and-take between them was more arousing than he had expected.
He liked the way she gave as much in the kiss as he did.
She might not like to show affection in public, but she did like to kiss.
Jackson withdrew reluctantly. He could kiss her all day. “How is my beautiful slave girl today?”
Paula stepped back. “I am not now, nor will I ever be, anyone’s slave girl, Jackson Cagney. We’d better get that straight right now.” She took another step, arms crossed over her chest. “Besides, I thought we were equals until we negotiated things?”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I jumped the gun. Come in, and let me show you around, and then we can talk, okay?”
Her features softened. “I’m sorry, too. Sure. I see you’re a Tolkien fan.” She indicated a handsomely framed map of Middle Earth on the wall.
“Yeah, ever since I was a kid. That’s signed by Peter Jackson. I went to a convention when I was in college. I forget which one of the movies had just come out. I waited in line for eight hours to get my map signed.”
“I don’t think I’d have the patience for that. I liked the movies, but I’ve never read the books.”
“Maybe we should put it in the contract that you have to,” he said.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
Jackson chuckled. “Let’s do this tour, so you know your way around.
” He swung his arm around her shoulder to guide her.
“You’ve already seen the master bedroom.
There’s a second one upstairs that I use as a study.
Down here, it’s pretty much what you see.
The kitchen is through there.” He waved his arm in the general direction of an opening.
“A house says a lot about the person who lives there, don’t you think?
I’m looking forward to seeing your place, too. ”
Did she just stiffen in his hold? Jackson skimmed his gaze over her hands—white knuckles, jawline rigid, and mouth—tense.
Didn’t she want him in her house? What was that about?
Jackson pondered this as he showed her his modest but pristine home.
Maybe she was simply worried about the contract and their limits.
Jackson would move the proceedings along, so he steered her to his leather sofa.
“Have a seat, and I’ll get us some snacks. What would you like to drink? I’ve got water, coffee, tea and Coke.”
“Water, please.”
Jackson went into the kitchen and pulled some crackers from the cabinet and sliced cheddar and gouda cheese. He also pulled out a few oranges and sectioned them. He put everything on a tray and carried it out to the living room then went back to the kitchen for their drinks.
Paula’s face lit up at the bounty, but she waited until he was seated before asking, “May I have some?”
“You may. I’m glad to see you learned from your reading today. I’d like it if you would add ‘Sir’ when you ask or answer a question.”
“That will take some practice. Sir.” She rolled the word around on her lips as if accustoming herself to its taste. “The only person I’m used to sir -ing is Captain Morris. I’ll try.”
“Good girl. So what did you find in your reading?”