Chapter 4 #4
With far-too-competent fingers, he untied her top, pulling the black shoelace-like cords loose. “As our law enforcement officers might say, assume the position.” A glint of humor sparked in his eyes.
Her own laughter caught her by surprise and wafted away the fog of fear for a moment. “You’re supposed take this seriously,” she said sternly.
“Oh.” His lips quirked as he tied her left wrist to the arm of the cross. “Forgive me, I had forgotten.” Rather than a knot, he created a fat, easy-to-release bow.
Thank you for small mercies. If needed, she could twist her hand around to pull the string. Still… Her insides began to shake, then the rest of her. Again. “Does trembling burn calories, do you suppose?”
His surprised and approving laugh let her catch her next breath. She managed to keep her arm in place rather than yanking away as he secured her wrist.
The automatic way he ran a finger inside the bonds to check they weren’t too tight was reassuring. So was the way he stepped back and narrowed his eyes to study her.
But when he remained still, just watching her, she couldn’t keep from squirming.
“Very pretty.” His smooth murmur caressed her ears. “Do you enjoy being bound?”
Her breathing started to speed up. Her heart was already racing. She was—
“Look at me, Aralia. Stay here with me.” His hand was warm against the side of her face. His eyes trapped hers. “Do you like being bound by someone you trust? Someone you know won’t hurt you?”
Oh.
His thumb pressed lightly on her lips, and she realized he was monitoring her breathing. Her panting slowed.
“You’re safe.” He stroked his thumb back and forth, and her body woke to the feel of the slight roughness against her lips. To the realization he was standing so close she could feel his body’s heat.
Each breath brought her the clean, masculine scent of citrus and spices.
“Très bien. Now you remember why we indulge in such things.” The hand against her face kept her trapped in his gaze. The other hand glided slowly down her bare right arm.
Every nerve in her body roused.
The fine lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled. For a long minute, he simply stroked her arm, before moving upward to caress her neck.
“Oui, this is how it should be.” He cupped the back of her head, holding her as he kissed her, his lips as sensual as his hands, coaxing her to open.
As if he had all the time in the world, he nibbled and sucked on her lips.
His tongue teased hers as he toyed with her… and somehow, her anxiety disappeared.
The room disappeared.
She floated in space with only his hands and mouth anchoring her.
When he lifted his head and withdrew slightly, it took her a moment to focus.
He tilted his head, his smile wry. “You are full of surprises, are you not?” He rubbed a hand over his beard. “You are tolerating bondage quite well.”
She really was.
“Do you wish to continue? To be touched while restrained? Or is this enough for now?”
Touched—when she couldn’t get free? No, oh, no. When she pulled at the ropes, fear rose again. She couldn’t get loose. A man stood in front of her. Her bodice hung loose, her breasts partially exposed. Her stomach quivered like a bowl of Jell-O.
He…didn’t move. Simply waited with apparently inexhaustible patience.
She swallowed, half-terrified, half-aroused. And one hundred percent confused. And he recognized all of it. “I… Continue.”
“Poor little submissive. Let us get your pulse down first.” With a quiet chuckle, he stroked her hair much as she would an upset kitten. So very soothing.
Her frantic thoughts slowed.
After a minute, two, three, he nodded. “Now we will get you past this so you can return and indulge in something you obviously enjoyed in the past.”
The words crystalized what she felt. What she wanted. Determination coalesced inside. “Yes.
“Then.” His gaze met hers. “Pull on your ties.”
She yanked—and nothing gave. Her wrists were securely bound.
He ran one finger down her neck, between her breasts where her bodice hung open.
Terror stabbed her. Hands…touching, hurting. Her breathing stopped.
“Aralia, eyes on me.”
She shook her head.
“Look. At. Me.”
Heart hammering, mouth dry, she opened her eyes, shaking so hard the entire cross vibrated.
Black eyes met hers. “There now. Who am I?”
Who…? He was a stranger—no, wait. She swallowed. “The Chains police. Drake.”
His slight smile held satisfaction. “Bonne fille. Breathe in. What do you smell?”
Sandalwood, leather, a faint hint of his cologne, “You, this place.”
“Better.” He waited as she looked around. As the world settled around her.
“Again.” His stern chin rose. “Pull on your arms.”
Oh freaking hell.
As she did, as fear swirled around her, he touched her intimately, his fingers brushing the insides of her breasts.
And then he brought her back from panicking.
Again.
And again.
By the fourth time, she was exhausted. Her knees finally trembled more from tiredness than fear, and when he ran his hand down her front, all she felt was warmth.
And then…she felt even more.
He leaned forward to kiss her lightly, as he cupped one breast. His thumb grazed her nipple.
Heat streaked through her body as if someone had opened a door to the sultry tropics.
Making a low sound of approval and enjoyment, he took the kiss deeper. His tongue ravaged her mouth, sending shivers of arousal through her. His callused fingers teased her other breast. Kneading, plumping. When he tugged on her nipple, she rose on tiptoes at the shocking pleasure.
“Très bien,” he whispered against her lips. And then he was using both hands, molding and kneading her breasts. Tugging on her sensitive nipples.
Her breasts swelled to an exquisite tightness.
“Aren’t you sweet to touch,” he murmured. After another quick kiss, he released her and stepped back. “But we must be done now. Your mind and emotions are not calm, and I will not take advantage.”
She stared at him, shocked at his decision. And shocked in a whole other way. The man—the Dom—was honorable and kind. Simply, wonderfully kind.
With quick tugs, he undid the laces binding her wrists and wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her.
Moving her arms, she felt the ache in her shoulders at having been in one position so long.
“Poor bébé.” Drawing her away from the cross, he massaged her shoulders firmly.
“Owwww.”
As he dug his fingers into her tight muscles, the pain grew until they relaxed with a burst of warmth.
“Much better.” With quick hands, he re-laced her bodice. “A pity to cover such magnificence.”
At the rush of heat into her cheeks, she wanted to smack herself for feeling so…pleased…at his easy compliment. Seriously, Ray, can you be more shallow?
Even worse, this felt too much like before when she discovered she loved being submissive, being told what to do. Her obsession with the Dominant who wakened her interests had led her into disaster.
She pulled in a breath, straightened her obviously weak spine, and took a step back. “Well. Um…thank you.”
He must have heard the change in her voice. He tilted his head, one eyebrow lifting.
She winced. Once again, she proved she was a social disaster. “Seriously, thank you. I know you must be very busy, and you’ve been wonderful to spend time with me and help me through…uh, this.” Her words stumbled over themselves.
Elder gods, I’m such a mess.
He didn’t look annoyed, although he moved another step back, leaving her missing his warmth like she’d been shoved into the snow. “You are very welcome. Before I leave you—”
“Master Drake.” A tall, lanky man wearing a black chain harness hurried up. “There’s an incident in the medieval torture room. Can you come?”
“But of course.” Drake hesitated. “Please, escort Ray upstairs to her friends, Hope and MacKensie.”
“MacKensie. Alex’s submissive?”
“Oui.” When the Chains cop’s attention returned to her, a totally unwanted thrill ran through her. He inclined his head slightly. “Be well, mon petit chou.”
“Um, you too.” No, Ray. Being attracted to him would be a totally bad idea.
His smile appeared in his eyes. “When you want to actually…play, I’ll be here.”
Before she could respond, he was gone.
No, no, she didn’t feel bereft. Not at all.
She smoothed her hands over her bodice, checked she was assembled correctly, and followed her escort. Her legs still trembled as she climbed the stairs to the second floor, but she didn’t disgrace herself by needing assistance.
Despite the crowded room, the tall man easily located MacKensie and Hope who were seated at a table near the dance floor. He handed Ray over and disappeared.
“Did you get all the measurements you need?” Hope pushed a drink over.
“Yes.” Ray dropped into a chair and chugged the Diet Coke down. “So good. Thank you. I really needed it.”
MacKensie’s eyebrows rose.
Bad Ray, too dramatic. “It’s hot down there,” she said hastily.
Hope laughed merrily. “And exciting, mmm?”
“Well, yeah. All that…stuff…going on?” Let alone participating.
The urge to share rose, and she shut it down. Instead, she asked, “Weren’t Alex and Peter supposed to be here by now?”
“Oh, they got dragged down to some altercation in the dungeon.” MacKensie waved toward the stairs. “Apparently, a Top gagged his bottom and didn’t give him a squeaky toy to use to safeword. That’s breaking the rules. The people watching thought the bottom was in distress and was being ignored.”
Ignoring the safeword. Ignoring consent. The unbearable memories radiated through her, and her surroundings blurred.
No, no, I’m here. With friends. Drinking a nice soda. Another swallow of the icy liquid helped ground her in the present. “A squeaky toy?”
“Oh, right, you’re new. You know what a safeword is?” Hope asked.
When Ray nodded, she continued, “If you’re gagged, the Top and bottom work out other ways to signal for a stop. Gestures or hoots.”
“Or squeaky toys.” MacKensie grinned. “In Chains, it’s required to provide the bottom with a squeaky toy if gags are used. The dungeon monitor needs to know if there’s a problem.”
Hope nodded. “It’s like the club safeword here is red. No matter what anyone uses privately, if someone yells red, DMs show up.”
“But this bottom didn’t get a squeaky toy,” Ray said slowly. “So other people called for a dungeon monitor?”
“Exactly. When in doubt, call for a DM.” Hope wrinkled her nose. “But when Kenyon tried to intervene, the Top threw a fit and got aggressive. So a bunch of the longtime members went to deal with it. Drake usually handles really bad stuff though.”
“I don’t think anyone knew he was showing me the Elfame room.” Or maybe they saw he was…involved…with her and didn’t want to interrupt. How embarrassing.
Her breasts tingled with the lingering sensation of being squeezed by callused hands. Feeling her face heat, Ray said hastily, “What will happen to the Top?”
“If it’s the first transgression, and they fix the problem,” MacKensie said, “they’ll probably just get a lecture.”
“In this case, he got belligerent with the DM. I bet his membership gets canceled.” Hope nodded. “Consent is big here.”
Consent is big here. Ray’s tension seeped away. A submissive had needed help and wasn’t ignored. Help had come. The others listened and acted.
If she wanted to explore BDSM—more than the taste she’d gotten years before—Chains might be a safe place.
Maybe.
But not tonight. “Sooo, although the evening was great, it’s time to head out. I have a kitty to get home to.” Wasn’t that wonderful? “And I don’t want to miss the last ferry to Bainbridge.” The stupid ferry didn’t run all night.
“Then we should wrap this up. Did you have any questions?” MacKensie asked with a smile.
“No…oh, actually, yes. About something else.” Ray pursed her lips. “Exactly what does mon petit chou mean anyway?
“Oh, she’s definitely been around Drake.” Hope snickered. “Literally? It means my little cabbage.”
You have got to be kidding. Ray wrinkled her nose. “I was kind of hoping for something…else. Like my exotic beauty or heartstoppingly intriguing.”
As the two busted up, Ray sighed. He thinks I’m a cabbage.
Later, in his downtown condo, Drake showered and changed into loose pants. Beer in hand, he strolled into the living room and paused. From this high, the floor-to-ceiling windows gave a magnificent view of the glowing lights of the waterfront.
Seattle was a special city, a bastion of high-tech industry as well as a hub of outdoor activities. The mountains were close, the water closer. People loved hiking, camping, kayaking, and skiing. And prided themselves on never carrying umbrellas in the constant winter drizzle.
Finest city in the world, and he’d seen quite a few of them.
Taking a seat on the couch, he rested his bare feet on the coffee table and leaned his head back to watch the night. Past the wharf, the waters of Elliott Bay were black. During the day, he could see the ferries from Bainbridge and Bremerton making their way to the city terminal.
Ray Lanigan would have returned to Bainbridge on the ferry. George’s protégé. Drake sighed. His friend would not be pleased his foster daughter showed up at Chains. And certainly wouldn’t have approved of Drake restraining her.
Touching her.
He smiled and shook his head. He had tried to stay in a mentor frame of mind. She wanted his help—and the scene had been difficult. There was no guaranteed method of dealing with sexual trauma. What might help was different for each person.
Apparently, counseling had helped her work past much of the trauma. And she’d done very well this evening.
Merde, she’d been brave.
He took a sip of his beer, remembering how she’d looked. Brave and vibrant and so damn appealing. “I’d like to see you again, Ray Lanigan.”
George would have fits. “Sorry, mon ami, but she’s all grown up now.” He half-smiled. “And not the innocent you thought she was.”
She hadn’t known her gay foster-father had been a switch at the club. Not that George had been open about it. In turn, George hadn’t known his cherished girl had done some experimenting.
Drake’s smile faded. Her experimenting had gone wrong somewhere along the line.
Now she had two projects to make for the club. She’d seemed to appreciate the tranquility of the Elfame room, and he was looking forward to seeing what she created.
Would she have the courage to return to the club? Or would George’s last two projects get delivered without a spirited young woman accompanying them?
Thoughtfully, Drake stroked his fingers over his goatee. Did the club he’d founded feel welcoming enough—safe enough—that she’d want to visit again?