Chapter 25
NIA
L eaning against the wall with a protein bar in one hand and my phone in the other, I take a screenshot of the text in front of me – an invitation to The Haven for an educational event set to take place tomorrow night – and I forward it to Brody.
Where I would typically expect annoyance to bloom, butterflies erupt in my stomach instead as I read through his text again. I can all but hear the stern tone in his voice as he shuts me down. I can feel the heat of his eyes on me as he arches a warning brow.
Throughout my shift, my mind drifts back and forth to what I might wear to the event.
It drifts further, into thoughts of what he might like for me to wear to it; and I know I shouldn’t entertain those ideas, but sometimes I catch him looking at me, and it doesn’t feel like an entirely-innocent gaze.
The things that gaze does to me don’t feel entirely innocent, either.
I feel a little bit like an impostor stepping out of a sleek Rolls Royce as I make my way toward the doors of The Haven.
The same security guard sits outside, offering a smile and a pleasant greeting as he checks my bag, and I find that I no longer feel so out of place here. I no longer look like that girl who’s tried to infiltrate the lifestyle that she isn’t a part of and doesn’t understand.
I’m Nia, the platinum member of The Haven, and I belong here.
Taking an open space at the bar, I order myself a small glass of white wine and I make myself comfortable, glancing toward the entrance every few seconds for any sign of the man that I’ve come to enjoy waiting for.
I find myself excited when that very man steps through the doors not long after me, and I find my heart picking up its pace as his eyes meet mine.
Brody offers a rare, full smile as he approaches, dressed in a crisp white dress shirt a pair of dark slacks, complete with a perfectly-secured necktie. His hair is slicked back with precision and his beard is freshly trimmed.
“You look nice,” I tell him quietly.
“Evening Mass,” he says. Right, somehow I forgot about that. “Have you been waiting long?”
I shake my head. “Five minutes, maybe. I haven’t even gotten to say hi to Isla yet,” I say with a gesture toward the front of the room.
Isla stands in front of a large crowd of guests, pacing back and forth while she speaks on etiquette and consent. Her hands move in front of her while she speaks, and her eyes never settle on just one person; she seems incredibly nervous up there.
As she points to Brody, calling his name, he offers me a nod before joining her up at the front of the crowd. Even with a pair of heels on, he’s taller than her, and his broad, built body looks like it could swallow hers up as he stands next to her.
I try to listen as he speaks about ‘impact play’ and the importance of informed consent and doing it safely; ensuring to only hurt, and never harm a partner - but every time that his eyes land on mine for more than a few seconds, I feel a flutter in my chest that makes it hard to retain any of the things he’s just finished saying.
His eyes stay on mine as he picks up a riding crop, slapping it against his palm while he explains the uses for it. When he tells the crowd that he’ll demonstrate safe places for impact, my lungs turn into steel, refusing to do anything that they’re supposed to.
I’m almost certain that he’s going to ask me to help him.
I practically beg him to in my mind.
“Isla, my dear,” he says instead, gesturing his friend toward the space next to him.
His eyes finally leave mine, focused on his task as he lightly smacks the crop against the skin between her ass and thighs, and I try to look away from them.
My heart is pounding. My stomach churns. When he moves on to another tool, this one a long wooden stick, my molars grind against one another.
I meet his gaze for just a moment, just long enough for his brow to furrow and for me to shoot a glare in his direction with a subtle shake of my head.
Don’t look at me right now.
It’s a nearly-agonizing fifteen minutes more before he’s finished and he makes his way over toward me. My back is turned to him, and I can’t bring myself to look at him when he moves to sidle up next to me.
“Nia,” he says, “would you like to talk to me about something?”
“Oh, no, you were very educational,” I snap. “I got a lot out of that. Isla sure seemed to get a lot out of it, too.”
The space between us shrinks almost immeasurably, but I feel his body get closer all the same. An agitated sigh slips out of him, as if he’s disappointed in my response, but he doesn’t tell me that.
He doesn’t say much of anything for a long time.
It’s just the two of us in a thick, uncomfortable quiet, surrounded by strangers who have no idea what’s happening between us.
I’m not sure that we know what’s happening between us.
All I know is that I was jealous watching him up there.
“If you’re going to act like a brat, you’ll have to find someone else to help you,” he tells me. “I don’t tolerate bratting.”
“ I don’t tolerate being called a brat,” I tell him, crossing my arms at my chest as I round on him, my eyes burning as they narrow. “I’m not a child.”
“Then quit acting like one,” he grits.
It’s only now that I notice the tension in his body and the rise and fall of his chest with every breath. His arms cross over his own chest, the fabric of his shirt pulled taut across his thick biceps, and his eyes narrow at me.
If I’m not mistaken, I’d say that he’s aroused right now. But that would be crazy, wouldn’t it?
Forcing myself to stand taller and meeting his darkened gaze with my own, I say, “What would you do about it if I didn’t?”
“Nia,” he warns, his voice low and gravelly.
“I want to know,” I demand. “If I were your sub, what would you do about it?”
His body encroaches on mine, flooding my senses with his heat and the smell of his cologne, and my resolve weakens. My knees feel like jell-o, but I maintain my posture, challenging him by looking him in the eye.
Long, thick lashes serve to shadow the shades of green and brown that swirl beneath them, threatening to drown me in their pool of color as he leans in closer, his voice nearly a growl when it reaches my ear.
“If you were my sub,” he tells me through his teeth, “I would march you back to my room and flog your ass until it welted.”
With my heart beating so hard in my chest that I could swear it’s visible on the outside of my body, I walk backward, keeping my eyes trained on his as I navigate toward his ‘red room.’
“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks.
“If I want to be a submissive, I have to learn how to take a punishment, don’t I?” I counter.
“You want a lesson.”
Clasping my hands behind my back, I nod, trying to ignore the throbbing between my legs as I turn away from him and walk more quickly toward the door. I feel him before he announces his presence; his body so close to mine that he’s nearly touching me, but ensuring that he isn’t.
I can hardly control my breathing as his arm enters my field of vision, reaching for the door in front of me.
“Out here and in the real world, I respect you greatly and you need to know that,” Brody tells me as his hand rests on the knob of the door, carefully sliding the key into the lock.
“I do,” I nod.
“Good,” he says, “because once this door closes, all of that is going to feel as if it’s changed.”
I nod again, trying to ignore the manic racing of both my heart and my thoughts.
As the door opens to the room which I can only describe as some sort of dungeon, my jaw all but hits the floor.
A large, comfortable-looking bed sits against the far wall of the room, and against the next wall over stands a large wooden X, padded at the middle and on each bar with what looks to be soft leather cushion.
At the center of the room sits what looks almost like a small picnic table, the top and each side padded in a similar fashion to the X. Both of them are equipped with leather restraints.
Next to the X-shaped piece of furniture, the wall is covered in various whips, flogs and crops, and I can’t help but to wonder which of them is Brody’s favorite to use.
I can’t help but to wonder which will be mine .
Strong hands move from behind me toward the buttons on my blouse, and I don’t protest as each of them is slowly pulled away and I’m left in nothing but my bra and my skirt. The zipper of my skirt is pulled with the same teasing slowness as the buttons were, and when it’s slid down my legs, along with my panties, fire erupts across my skin.
“I want you to get on your knees for me, Nia,” Brody orders as he tugs at the knot of his tie.
Heat floods my every sense at the cool command in his voice, and I sink obediently to my knees. My head bows and my palms rest on my thighs, eagerly awaiting his next command.
“That’s a good girl,” he tells me. “Now crawl to the bench and climb on top of it.”
My head snaps in his direction, my face twisted into confusion.
I’m met with a warning arch of his brow as he removes his watch, and I correct my posture as if on instinct. I take a careful breath before lowering my palms onto the soft flooring beneath me and using my hands and knees to crawl forward, toward the padded bench in front of me.
It’s humiliating, it’s degrading…and knowing that his eyes are on me, that he’s enjoying it, makes it absolutely exhilarating.
As I stand, I rest a hand on the highest point of the piece, scrunching my face in confusion. “Br— Sir, I’m not sure what to do.”
I don’t miss the hint of amusement that flashes across his lips as he unbuttons the cuffs on the sleeves of his shirt.
Using his eyes to guide me, rather than positioning me himself, he says, “Your shins should rest against the sides, and your torso against the part that you look like you’re about to try to sit on.”
My gaze moves from the height of the upper section, toward his lap and back again… that explains the height of it, I suppose .
With a nod, I settle myself into position, watching as he rolls up the left sleeve of his shirt. As he rolls up the right, skin covered in black and grey ink spills out from beneath the fabric.
I rack my brain, trying to think of a single moment I’d seen him without long sleeves, but I come up blank. I never knew that he had tattoos. I can’t help but to wonder if they tell a story, and what that story might be, if so.
I can’t help but wonder what else he might be hiding.
As he handles the soft leather restraints at both my ankles and my wrists, Brody uses great care to keep his skin from touching mine. It’s almost as if he’s trying to convince himself that if he isn’t touching me, if his body isn’t what brings me pleasure, if we don’t have sex , that he isn’t technically touching me.
And in his mind, that makes this not count. He isn’t doing something that he shouldn’t, and he isn’t breaking his own rules.
Keeping his mouth less than an inch from my ear, he tells me, “I’m going to hurt you, Nia.” Using the handle of the flogger in his hand against my chin, he maneuvers my face to meet his gaze. “Would you like that?”
“Yes, Sir,” I breathe.
“Do you remember our safe words?”
Goosebumps litter my skin as moisture pools between my legs. My heart jackhammers in my chest and I’m not sure if it’s out of fear, excitement or arousal.
Maybe all of the above.
“Yes, Sir,” I answer him.
“Can you tell me what green means?” He asks as he leaves my field of vision.
Even without him touching me, I can feel his presence behind me. I can feel his eyes carving out every inch of my exposed skin, and I can feel him staring at how wet he’s already made me. This may be the most vulnerable that I’ve ever been with another person.
I am completely at his mercy, and yet I’ve somehow never felt safer.
Whatever it is that this agreement between us has just become, it’s almost…comforting. I am completely and utterly powerless, strapped onto this bench and laid bare for him. I’ve agreed to let him hurt me, and I know that he’ll enjoy doing just that. But I also know that he won’t harm me.
“Yes,” I tell him, “I like it, and I want more.”
“Good.” The thin strips of leather at the end of the flogger are ever-so-lightly dragged along the length of my pussy, and it sends a shudder of pleasure throughout my entire body. “And yellow?”
“Slow down,” I answer with a trembling voice. “I need a minute.”
“Good.” I shudder again as he pulls the tails of the whip across my skin, now in the opposite direction. “Tell me what red means.”
“It means stop.”
“And what happens when you say red?”
“Everything stops,” I pant. “Restraints come off, the scene ends, and we do a check-in.”
“Excellent,” he says. “You listened very well.”
A beat of silence lands between us. An invitation; back out now if you need to . Neither of us are deluded into thinking that a line isn’t about to be crossed here. That a line hasn’t already been crossed tonight. He’s offering me an out. And I’m not going to take it.
I don’t want it.
“What is it that you want, Nia?” He purrs, and I can feel his words trickling across my skin like the wings of butterflies. “When the lights go out and it’s just you and your bed and that little rose of yours, what is it that you think about?”
A shiver racks through my entire body and I tremble against the bench as I give him my honest answer. “Pleasing you, Sir.”
“Your actions outside would suggest otherwise,” he scolds.
The strips of leather land hard against the skin of my ass with a sting as sharp pain radiates through my body, and I yelp. Another flash of stinging impact rushes through me as he whips me again.
One more time.
“Give me a color,” he orders.
“Green,” I pant.
Another sharp blow of the flogger hits my skin and I whine, pulling on my lower lip with my teeth to keep from crying out. As the leather burns through my skin again, he says, “You’re not going to give me that fucking attitude again, are you?”
“No, Sir,” I whine.
It isn’t until the fifth impact of the tails against my skin that I realize exactly what it is that he’s doing; he’s hitting me in all of the spots he demonstrated. My thighs, my ass, even my forearms take hit after hit until I’m left breathless.
“You’re taking your punishment so well, sweet girl,” he tells me almost lovingly, just before landing another sharp blow against my ass. “I’m very proud of you.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
My body squirms against the bench as I feel him move, watching as he enters my peripheral and moves to stand in front of me. As he uses the whip’s handle once again to control the movement of my head, my eyes land on the imposing bulge in his slacks and I let out a soft whine.
I’ve never felt this way before, so desperate for someone’s touch. So eager to know what he would feel like inside of me. What he sounds like when he’s overcome with pleasure.
All of the oxygen leaves my body as he crouches in front of me, tilting his head to the side just slightly as he looks at me.
His eyes are hungry, roving over the features of my face as if I’m a meal being served to him, but his smile is gentle. He looks at me proudly and all I want is to get off of this bench and kiss him. Touch him. Feel his body against mine.
“Do you remember our rules?” He asks, and I nod in response. “My skin is not going to touch yours, Nia, and I’m not going to fuck you, but I am going to reward you for your good behavior.”
I swallow hard as he moves to the opposite side of the room, out of my field of vision. The only sounds that I can hear, other than that of my own heart slamming against my eardrums, is the rummaging of items followed by the soft padding of his footsteps against the floor as they return to me.
The silence between us is heavy and charged while I wait for him, and I can’t help the racing of my mind as I try to come up with any idea of what my reward might be. As I rack my brain, heat pools low in my belly with a flip and a spark shoots through my spine as I squirm against the bench again, desperately seeking friction.
Oh my god, I need him to touch me.