Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
ASPEN
Mr. D&D: Meet me in my office for lunch.
N o request. No please. No doubt.
Just a command he expected me to follow.
I leaned back in my chair and tried to decipher the concoction of pressure and warmth in my chest. I twisted side-to-side, searching for the piercing irritation that he would dare order me to do anything. I waited for my thoughts to intrude with self-righteous anger, demanding he should grovel to enjoy my presence at lunch.
But I couldn’t find it.
When I looked at the clock for the fourth time in less than ten minutes, I realized that the pressure was anticipation. And the warmth was a spark of excitement at seeing his name appear on my screen. After not hearing from him over the weekend, I went with my usual aloof, cold demeanor in the office and ignored his presence when I walked past him.
He didn’t say anything either, leaving me to wonder if he regretted his offer and planned to act like it never happened.
I guessed not.
Despite hating myself for it, I looked at the message again and smiled. “Ugh. Get it together, Aspen,” I chided myself and tossed the phone aside. But I still watched the clock while I worked.
At noon, I forced myself to finish typing an email. I forced myself to take my time walking to his office despite the thrumming pulse inside that said, go, go, go. I forced myself to take a deep breath at his door before knocking.
“Come in.”
I entered, attempting to hide behind my icy exterior, but knowing my eagerness dampened the effect.
“You’re late.”
“I wasn’t aware a time came with your demand,” I responded with an air of boredom that didn’t exist.
“You always take your lunch at noon. It was implied.”
“I didn’t realize you knew what time I always went to lunch.”
He scanned me from head to toe, melting more of my glacial shell. “Of course, I know.”
Needing a moment of reprieve from his stare, I turned and closed the door. “I had an email to finish.”
“Hmm…” he hummed, waiting for me to turn back. “Come eat. I ordered a strawberry and burrata salad with grilled chicken. I hope that’s okay.”
My mouth watered. “That’s fine.”
He rose from his desk and gestured to the seating area where everything was set up. I waited for him to choose his seat on the couch before I attempted to move to the chair away from it. Before I could sit, he shackled my wrist in his hand and pulled me down beside him.
“I want you next to me.” It came out as another order rather than an explanation.
I swallowed my objection and sat with wide-eyed wonder, stupidly dazed by his strong thigh grazing mine. Somewhere in my mind, a feminist woman screamed at me to stand up and smack him, but I couldn’t pay her any mind while I focused on Lucian laying out a napkin on my leg and passing me my plate.
“Eat,” he ordered. “I figured we could use this time to go over the details of our arrangement and to make sure you still want to continue.”
“I do.”
He paused, letting my urgent, bordering desperate, answer linger between us. “Good.” Then he picked a strawberry from my plate and held it to my closed lips, dragging it back and forth, coaxing them open. I hesitated before giving in. He released another rumbling hum, sending a surprising thrill down my spine. “Good girl.”
Despite offering to talk, silence lingered as he ate, continuing to pluck bites and feed me. He grabbed the last strawberry from my mostly empty plate and pressed it against my lips. I knew I’d accept his offer every time, but I still made him work to open my mouth—enjoying his flare of approval each time I did. Except, this time when I complied, he didn’t drop the ripe fruit on my waiting tongue. This time, he pushed inside with the berry, dragging his finger along my tongue.
“Suck,” he ordered.
Holding his dark gaze, I considered biting him instead. The faint twitch of his lips told me he saw the thought and challenged me to try. Instead, wanting to see how dark his eyes could get, I wrapped my lips around his long finger and sucked, dragging my teeth across his skin as he pulled out with a pop.
His jaw flexed and the column of his neck worked over a swallow while his eyes turned almost black, melting the same way I was between my legs.
“I drafted a contract,” he announced, pulling a stack of papers from the side table behind him.
I blinked, trying to go from sucking on his finger to the cold discussion of legalities.
“Not that it is formal or intended for anything legal. It is more about creating a written understanding to avoid…” He paused and winced before continuing. “Miscommunications between us.”
“Okay,” I said slowly, trying to decipher the added tension in his shoulders.
“The first page is stating the basics of our agreement and the gibberish of agreeing to any changes,” he explained, pushing the papers into my lap. “The next few pages include lists of various fetishes and kinks that you can check off as either experienced, willing to experience, curious about, or a hard limit.”
I skimmed the first page because my father taught me better than to sign a document without reading it myself, but quickly flipped to the next, and the next, and the next…
When he said pages, I assumed it was one or two because there could only be so many kinks, right?
Wrong.
Six pages with two columns each of options.
Holy shit.
“After the other night, I am assuming that you are okay with adding sexual activities between us.”
I bit back the desperate yes that sat at the edge of my lips and weighed my options. If I kept it to spanking, then I would be able to retain some form of control over the situation. I would know what to expect.
But that went against the reason I agreed in the first place: to let go of control. Add in the exciting thrill of anticipation I experienced at the club, and I knew I wanted more than spanking. I needed it. I needed more of what happened in the car.
Not wanting him to see how desperate I felt, I gave him a cold glance. “And if I decide to keep it to just spanking?”
His eyes narrowed. “If you turn to page three, you’ll find spanking in the right column with a diverse selection,” he informed calmly. “However, I think it would inhibit the process. You might not be able to achieve the goals we talked about.”
I counted to three. “Okay then. Let’s discuss our options.”
He gestured back to the list with a twitch of his lips. A silent invitation to view the selections and decide where we started first.
I tucked my chin to my chest to hide my wide-eyed reaction to some of the items. They started out simple, but then broke down into sub-categories. Anal had boxes that asked me if I was open to food or fisting.
Food?
I skipped that one.
He silently placed a pen atop the paper, and I took it, marking off the easy ones first. Having him sit there and watch made the process unnerving. “Do I have to go through them all now?” I asked without looking up.
“No, but you can answer as many as you want now.”
I hummed and scanned the list, releasing the tension that my own time restrictions created. As I went, I realized that I was open to most of the options but lacking a hell of a lot of experience.
“Sharing?” I asked, looking up. He lounged in the corner of the couch, watching me like he had all the time in the world. “Does that mean like a threesome?”
“Possibly. Or allow other people to partake in our times together based on my control. And the guidelines we negotiate for an encounter.”
I nodded, surprised by finding fewer sub-categories than I expected for that option.
“I could have added another three pages to the list if I tried to include every option of sharing. I added blank lines underneath each section for you to add anything. However, most scenes will be discussed beforehand. So we’re able to identify expectations, limits, and other options before we begin.”
Again, I nodded, dropping my gaze to hide the warmth seeping into my cheeks when I thought of the possibilities. My pen hovered over the boxes, trying to decide between marking willing to experience and curious about. I’d never considered being with more than one person before, especially after my ex. But imagining it with Lucian in control excited me.
“During our time together, we will use the color system for our safe words: red, yellow, and green. Green means you’re good. Yellow means we slow down and talk, and red means no. It’s important that you don’t abuse yellow to gain a sense of control. However, if you ever feel uncomfortable, just say so and we will stop to talk. Especially, as it seems, you have very few hard limits.” He gestured to the list. “I assume it’s because you’ve never tested how far you’re willing to go for pleasure. But, trust me, Aspen, I plan to find out.”
He purred the words like a seductive promise that slid down my spine to my core. Before, I might have taken the deep tone as a threat, but thrilling excitement burned away any doubts.
By the end of the list, adrenaline pushed me to finish right then and there. I made impulse checks of either no or willing to discuss before flipping to the final page to skim the rest and signing my name.
With a sigh, I rested the papers on my lap and slowly looked up to find his expressionless face and burning eyes. The contrast between the icy heat had me jerking my gaze around the office, looking for a distraction.
The office.
Of my business.
Except it wasn’t my business. Not yet.
The thought jarred me out of my anticipatory haze—reminding me to not forget reality. “I still plan on getting majority shares and taking this company out from under you completely,” I blurted.
“Oh, princess.” He smirked slowly. “You can try.”
I matched his arrogance with a cold glare of my own.
“Also, to be clear…” He sat up. “This is simply a transaction of pleasure. Please be sure to not confuse it for anything romantic.”
“Please,” I scoffed.
“There will be times when our interaction is intense, which can lead to a false sense of connection for some.” His pointed gaze and raised brows left me no doubt who he considered to be some in his explanation. “No matter what happens between us, it will always be superficial—nothing beyond physical. Sometimes, when someone is new to the experience, they can confuse the trust between a Dom and a sub as love. It’s not. It never will be. I don’t do emotions. I don’t do dates and roses. I don’t do relationships, so don’t confuse it with one. This does not earn you any favor from me. I owe you nothing beyond what we agree to.”
I rolled my eyes to keep from studying the steel that sharpened behind his eyes with each warning. Something pushed him to give his warning so ferociously. It piqued my curiosity, but I shoved it aside. “I’ll try not to fall in love.” My words dripped with heavy sarcasm.
This was purely transactional.
No romantic emotions.
Perfect.
“Shall we begin?”
“Now?” I balked.
“Why not?” He shrugged. “We can start with a simple scene that explores following simple commands.”
“You mean me following your commands,” I confirmed with a raised brow, struggling to adjust away from our usual animosity.
“Yes. Which may go against what you’re used to, but it is important for you to understand that as your Dominant, my sole purpose is to take care of you and make sure you are safe. Ensuring your needs are met is where I find my own pleasure and release. As well as receiving your trust in me to do so. Each touch and order are done because I strive to push you beyond what you think you can achieve and give you more. As my submissive, your power comes in giving up that control because you offer your own trust in return by knowing the decisions made are for you to find your release. While you may follow my commands, you hold the power to choose—to withdraw your submission if you believe I’ve disrespected it. Your submission is an honor to receive and in return, you accept my dominance.”
I blinked, shocked at the depth of meaning. I’d heard about BDSM but never knew the exchange of power went both ways so thoroughly. I saw it at the club but didn’t fully understand.
The promise of pleasure and being cared for without having to ask pushed aside my hesitation to start now, and I nodded.
He stood and headed toward his desk. “Come.”
Despite his warning, the sharp order still shocked me. That was the only reason I had for obeying like a dog. I stood on unsteady legs and followed his path until I reached his chair.
He sat like a king on his throne and looked me up and down with a hint of a smile. “Kneel.”
I jerked as if his order slapped me. “Excuse me?”
The muscle along his jaw clenched, and he sighed. “If you’re going to hesitate and doubt every order I give you, then we might as well stop now. Your snapped questions and attitude inhibit your ability to immerse yourself in a scene. This is to establish a sort of groundwork that we can build from, but if you’re unable to relinquish an ounce of trust and follow the simplest commands, then this is a waste of both our times.”
Doubt his every order?
My lungs squeezed under the building pressure—biting back my retort to his arrogant tone. Because I didn’t want to stop, and he was right. I wanted the give and take he explained. I needed this to work. With a deep inhale through my nose, I forcibly relaxed my shoulders and unclenched my jaw. “Okay. Let’s try again.”
“Thank you for trying for me,” he said, his tone soft and praising. Then, it turned hard again. “Now, kneel.”
I didn’t know what surprised me more, the way I obeyed with ease after my initial reaction or the way I didn’t hate the feeling of sinking to my knees at his feet. I didn’t hate the rush of power pulling my back straight. I didn’t hate the way his warm gaze brushed my skin, as if he were proud of me. I didn’t hate the way I wanted to preen under his pride, like the good girl he called me.
Sitting back on my heels, I lifted my chin and waited for whatever came next. The anticipation bubbled through every inch of me, raising me higher and higher until I forgot about the pressure of my knees on the floor.
I held my breath…
I waited…
Then…
He turned to his desk, opened his email, and worked.
I blinked and played back the last minute, wondering if I missed something. Maybe missed his voice behind the high daze of excitement.
No. I’d watched his mouth. It hadn’t moved beyond praising me.
And now it was gone.
The loss of his attention sucked the oxygen from my lungs like a vacuum, leaving behind a heavy chill that brought me crashing to the ground.
“What are you doing?” I blurted, hating the edge of panic in my voice.
His fingers halted over the keyboard, creating a deafening silence. My heart thundered against my ribs. He slowly turned his gaze to me with a raised brow. This time, his stare lacked warmth or pride. The cold disappointment sent my stomach sinking.
“I’m sorry.” The rushed apology sent another wave of surprise rippling down my spine. He hadn’t even said anything, and I scrambled to admit I was wrong.
The seconds ticked by endlessly until he finally turned his chair back to face me with a sigh. “I know this is difficult for you and goes against your need for reasons and understanding, but that’s the point. I believe there is a part of you that needs this, which is why I am pushing you,” he explained sharply, before softening his tone. “However, because it is new, and we are just starting, I will offer you some leeway and explain more than what is usually discussed when preparing a scene. I prefer to keep the details of a scene private beyond when we discuss limits and what we plan to achieve for the scene. It allows for more anticipation, and I find it important in building trust, which is why my offered leeway will have a limit.”
“Okay.” I nodded like an eager puppy thrown a bone. I should have been ashamed, but I wasn’t. I should have wanted to stop, but I leaned into it.
Until his lips pinched, increasing the tight pull in my stomach.
“Do you remember the conversation at the club the other night? When I explained how you were to address me in this situation?”
Memories flashed and sparks ignited through my body, making it hard to latch on to any of them. Then I remembered his hand gripping my jaw before the performance. I remembered his face inches from mine while he told me what to call him. “Yes, Sir.”
The gleam of pride returned, releasing some of the tension.
He leaned forward to stroke his finger down my cheek and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Good girl.” Before I could lean into his hand like a cat desperate for attention, he sat back. “We have approximately thirty minutes left together. For the first ten minutes, you will continue to kneel here while I finish some paperwork. If you can manage to perform that task quietly, then I will utilize the remaining twenty minutes to see if I can give you another orgasm.”
My thighs clenched without thought, attempting to soothe the pulsing ache his words created. I parted my lips, wanting to ask how when I snapped them shut and swallowed the question. “Yes, Sir.”
He sucked in a long breath, soaking up my submission. His shoulders pulled back, appearing more powerful—more dominant.
He turned back to his desk, and I couldn’t help but wonder…had I ever looked like that when I took control? I’d spent most of my life striving to gain control of every situation—of myself and the people around me, but when I looked back, I couldn’t conjure an image of me soaking it into myself like he did. I couldn’t see the control settle into me like a missing puzzle piece. I couldn’t recall anything other than it weighing me down.
I learned to wield my control like a weapon—a defense mechanism against those who doubted me. I learned to embrace the highs I reached when I was in charge at work. But it wasn’t the same. Each time I tightened the reins around my natural reactions and wore that arctic mask as armor, an increasing ache grew under the weight of hiding in shame. Each successful project came with anxiety and sleepless nights. Noise buzzing without end until the project did. The pressure of being the pinnacle everyone looked to for answers when all I wanted to do was breathe.
Even with sex, I’d taken control under the guise of believing I’d accomplished finding a form of release. But that release was a ruse—a lie I clung to because I’d been too scared to let go. I’d believed the boundaries and rules were the key to the experience—the hints of pleasure I achieved.
However, none of that pleasure came close to looking as satisfied as Lucian did in control. None of those moments of discipline came close to the abyss of silence and humming satisfaction that I achieved with him.
The comparison and realization of my relief when I handed myself over to him added yet another layer of confusion. It brought forth question after question without any obvious answers.
How was I able to kneel before the man who threatened to take everything I’d worked my entire life for?
How was I able to hand over my trust to him when I knew how little he thought of me?
How could I want him to take control when I had every intention of forcing him out so I could control this company on my own?
How was he able to make me come when no one else could—not even myself?
How did he sneer the nickname princess but also croon words of trust, caring, and desire?
How was he one man with these two sides?
How was I able to set aside the arrogant asshole I constantly tried to domineer and preen under the soft Dominant?
With all these questions flowing one after the other, my heart beat with a steady thrum. My breaths came and went at an easy pace, leaving one question lingering longer than the others.
How was I calmer at my nemesis’s feet than I’d been in years?
Despite the initial slew of questions, somewhere along the way, they faded until a quiet hum sounded instead, sinking from my mind to my chest and into my limbs. I assumed the ten minutes would drag on endlessly, but before I knew it, he sat back in his chair and twisted to face me.
I wasn’t sure where to look and wanted to ask, but didn’t want to feel the weight of his disappointment again. But he’d be disappointed if I didn’t look, and I was supposed to. After waffling under his stare for too long, I decided to say fuck it. “Do you want me to keep my eyes cast downward or look at you…Sir?” I added at the last moment, to soften the question.
The leather creaked as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. I held my breath and watched his hand come into view—his long fingers reaching until they gripped my jaw, burning my skin and tipping my head back.
“Unless I say otherwise, always look at me. It allows me to read your emotions and gauge how you’re feeling about a situation.” He paused and his eyes scanned my face before continuing. “I’m also becoming quite obsessed with watching the brown depths of your eyes melt into a golden caramel as you get turned on.”
“Yes, Sir,” I breathed.
“Now,” he said, sitting back in the chair again. “Unbutton your blouse.”