Chapter 4 #3
“The tantric chair will be positioned next to the pool.” His mouth quirked. “You do realize what a tantric chair is used for? In this context?”
His eyes held hers, and she felt the blood rise to her face. “For sex in different positions.”
“Oui. Both pieces, especially the chair, need a sensual appearance and feel to fit into the ambiance of this room. The tantric chair should be something a woodland elf queen might enjoy with her king on a moonlit night.”
Drake motioned to a St. Andrew’s cross. “The pentacle will be used for bondage and go against that wall instead of the cross.”
“Right.” The moans and sighs and music were getting to her. She felt way too hot, her skin far too sensitive.
As if he could tell, Drake inclined his head. “I believe you have the idea. Do you need further measurements?”
Focus, Ray. C’mon. She frowned at the cross on the wall. From the looks of it, the pentacle restraints would have to accommodate a wider stance than she’d imagined. “It would be helpful to get a range for arm and leg span.”
“Easy to do.” At the cross, he faced her, rested his arms over the horizontal bars, then spread his legs. “If you add a couple of inches to my measurements, you’ll have the largest of our men covered.”
She moved closer to get her measurements. And, oh, he smelled really good, his cologne so faint a person had to be within inches to catch the scent. There was a hint of lemon and spices and musk—incredibly clean and masculine.
No, no, mustn’t put my face against his neck and sniff.
Pulling in a deep breath sure didn’t help. With an effort, she concentrated on the task. Only…as she measured the distance between his hands, she noticed the solid bones of his wrist and how his forearms were thick with muscle.
Concentrate, woman. She jotted down the measurements.
When she knelt at his feet to get the measurement for how far his legs spread, the simmering heat in her body turned to a boil. Because it was far too provocative a position. Especially with her bodice pushing her breasts upward.
Seeing the smoldering interest in his dark eyes, she knew he’d noticed.
Yet he didn’t say a word. Didn’t leer. Didn’t touch.
Drake hadn’t had so much fun in a long time. This fascinating woman wasn’t here for sex. Had no idea who he was. Was as wary as a mouse spotting the house cat.
Yet she, too, felt the chemistry between them.
Normally, in the heated setting of a BDSM club, attraction proceeded quickly to hooking up for a scene or sex. This much slower dance was far more unusual—and enjoyable.
Color rose in her cheeks when she touched him for the measurements. Her breathing sped up; her pupils widened. Kneeling between his legs, she refused to meet his gaze.
Truly adorable.
He waited as she wrote. After she rose, he said, “If you give me the tape measure, I will use you as the model.” He studied her a moment. “You are perhaps three inches taller than our shortest member, so remember to reduce the ratios accordingly.” He held his hand out.
“O-of course.” Biting her lip, she gave him the tape measure, and they exchanged positions. She stretched her arms out to the side.
Tempting, but no. Men who pressed their attentions on the vulnerable were despicable.
Of course, he did enjoy the faint vanilla scent of her hair. And as he extended the tape measure from one wrist to the other, he noted the velvety skin of her wrist—and kept the contact brief.
After reporting the inches, he went down on one knee and tapped the inside of her knees. “Open as widely as possible, ma douce, because it is what would be expected.”
As a Dom, he considered the faint tremor of her legs as she obeyed. Was it interest and arousal—or anxiety?
Under his hand, her muscles tightened. Looking up, he saw her entire body had tensed. Her mouth was tight, her eyes wide.
Fear then. He rose immediately. “Ray, look at me.”
Merde, she was shaking.
“Look at me. Now.”
The authoritative words shattered Ray’s nightmarish memories into ugly, painful fragments. Her chest lifted as if a boulder had rolled off, and she gasped in a breath of lifegiving air.
“Better, better.” The man’s eyes were so very dark. Warm with concern. A line between his brows disappeared. “There now, are you back with me?”
Oh. The Chains cop. Her throat was so dry, her voice creaked as she answered. “Yes. Sorry.”
“Apologies are not necessary. Did we trip over a trigger for something in your past?”
His far-too-perceptive gaze dispersed the social courtesies she would have tried to use.
“Y-yes.” Embarrassment and irritation and fear frothed inside her. “It’s in the past.”
“But it is not in the past if you get ambushed in the present, mon petit chou.” His deep voice was gentle. “Will you tell me what caused your fear?”
She shook her head, all the spit in her mouth gone.
“Ah, yes, I am still a stranger.”
As he rested his hand on the cross, she realized she’d wrapped her arms around herself. And she couldn’t relax them.
“Did you get help after whatever it was? Therapy, maybe?”
“I did. And it was years ago. I’ve worked past, um, most of the…
stuff.” Although she hadn’t told George exactly what happened, he’d figured out enough to push her into therapy.
The counselor had helped a lot. Truly she had.
But she’d been older and motherly, and Ray couldn’t bring herself to share or work through the kinky part of that night.
“Well then, you have choices. You have the measurements you need. I can take you back upstairs to Hope and MacKensie. Or if you’d prefer to eliminate this one trigger, we can repeat these actions over and over until you are no longer confronted.”
She stared at him in dismay. “Do this again?”
A corner of his mouth tilted up, but he didn’t speak. Simply waited for her to think it through.
She really wanted to thump him for coming up with such an unspeakable suggestion. Only… The ghastly night had occurred four years ago, and she was still avoiding mentions of bondage or anything to do with BDSM in books, movies, and conversations.
Drake didn’t laugh at her, didn’t back away. “Everything is up to you, ma puce. If you want to try, we can do a small amount or take it as far as you wish.”
She tightened her back muscles, trying to find a smidgeon of spine. Damned if she’d let those jackholes ruin her life and continue making her afraid. She’d worked through the other triggers; she knew what to do.
She pulled in air through her nose. “Yes. I want you to do it again.”
“Well”—his hard face softened with a smile—“then we shall proceed. However, this is not a scene, Ray. Simply say no, and I will stop.”
She managed a jerky nod. Her fingers were cramping around the notepad. She stuffed it and the pencil into her pocket.
Once again, he measured between her wrists, the tape pressing against her breasts. Then he crouched and tapped her inner knees to get her to move.
Again, the memory dug deep into her brain.
Hard hands biting into her legs, forcing them apart. Her voice—crying out. Why was she so confused? The feeling of hands on her…wonderful…horrible. Who was touching her? How many of—
She shook her head hard. Forced her eyes open.
This is now.
She looked down and met Drake’s dark eyes.
He wasn’t moving, wasn’t even touching her. Wasn’t speaking.
She’d broken free of the memory on her own. Yes. She tried to smile and failed. Deep breath, Ray. “Again…please?”
“You have only to ask,” he said softly and rose. He touched her cheek with light fingertips. “Another breath first, please.”
The tightness around her chest eased further with the next inhalation. She gave him a firm nod.
Four more times he measured, knelt, touched her legs—and sent her into darkness.
But each panic attack was shorter. Easier to throw off.
With the last repetition, she managed to laugh as he regained his feet. “Are your legs getting tired? I hated doing squats in PE classes.”
His chuckle was as low and dark as distant thunder in the night. “I can manage more if you wish. But I think you are past this trigger, are you not?” He tucked the tape measure into her boxer’s pocket.
“Yes, thanks to you.” She wrapped her arms around her waist again. “What a stupid thing to scare me. I mean…you didn’t tie me down. Barely touched me.”
His expression darkened.
Oh, damn, what had she revealed now? More than she’d intended, for sure.
Brows together, he was silent for a long moment. Obviously thinking. “Zut. Shall we continue to the next trigger point in this…scenario…from your past? Perhaps tying your wrists and adding more touch?”
“No!” Her heart rate doubled, tripled.
His gaze stayed on her, steady and patient.
She swallowed.
He moved his shoulders in a casual shrug. “If bondage will not be in your future, then you have, perhaps, achieved enough.”
Bondage. She averted her face from his uncomfortably discerning eyes. Because stepping into the dungeon here had been terrifying. Also thrilling. Before the incident, it’d been incredibly exciting the one time she’d been tied up, helpless and dominated and—
Strong fingers curved along her jaw and forced her to meet his intent eyes. “You liked bondage in the past, oui?” His thumb stroked her cheek.
Her nod was tiny, but enough.
“Then shall we continue here and now, or have you had enough at this time?” It was obvious he felt she’d work through her fears sooner or later. His belief in her strength was heartening since she sure didn’t feel very strong.
Only… Maybe the time was right. His concern for her was obvious, and he’d watched her carefully. Slowed when her breathing went funny. Did only what they’d agreed on. He’d taken no liberties.
“Now.” She pulled in a breath. “With you. If…if you have time?”
“Mon petit chou, for you I will make the time.” He tilted his head. “Is rope the right choice?”
It had been rope that night. She managed to nod.
But there was no rope here in the room.
His expressive lips curved upward as he eyed her bodice. “Your laces will do quite well.”