9. Kane #2
She moves along the shelf, curious and taking her time. The scotch collection on the bar cart gets a raised eyebrow. “Are all of these open, or are some of them decorative?”
“None of them are decorative.”
“Respect.”
Then she moves to the hallway. I follow and watch as her gaze lands on the door at the end.
The keypad lock.
She looks at it for a moment. Then looks at me.
“Why do you have a door with a keypad lock?”
I could deflect. Ease her in later.
But then I hear Dominic’s voice: Honesty is the only foundation worth building on.
I meet her eyes. “It’s my private room. For scenes.”
“You have a BDSM room. In your home.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Five years.”
I watch her process that.
“From your marriage?” she asks.
“Started during. Finished after.” The admission tastes like copper. “It’s part of why the marriage ended.”
She goes still, not flinching, absorbing.
“What did you tell Sloane about it?”
“That it contains confidential client work. She’s never questioned it.”
The lie sits heavy between us. Another weight we’re carrying from Sloane.
“Do you want to see it?” I ask.
She swallows.
“Yes.”
No hesitation. Nervous but certain.
I move to the keypad. My hand hovers over the keys for half a second, and then I punch in the code.
“No one has been in here but me,” I say. “And now you.”
I push open the door and the warm amber light floods the space.
Vera steps inside.
And stops.
Her eyes move through the room. Then she crosses toward the Cross like it’s magnetic, fingertips just above the smooth wood, the padded restraint points. Not quite touching.
“You built this,” she whispers.
“Yes.”
Her gaze travels to the implements behind glass: floggers, paddles, crops, canes, organized by size and intensity, meticulously maintained. She studies them without speaking. Then the spanking bench. The aftercare couch. The mini fridge. The medical supplies in labeled bins.
Finally, she lets her fingertips run over the weighted blanket on the aftercare couch. When she turns back, I brace myself.
Waiting for disgust. Pity. Fear.
“This is part of who you are,” she says. “The actual you.”
“Yes.” The word comes out rough.
“Why show me?”
“You asked me to teach you. You asked for all of it.” I hold her gaze. “This is part of the answer.”
She looks at me for a long moment. Then she reaches out and places her palm flat against my chest, over my heart.
“What if it’s too much?” she asks.
The part of me that still carries Vanessa’s voice holds its breath, waiting for her expression to change, for something colder to move in. It doesn’t.
“Is it…too much?”
“No.” Her hand stays, palm warm against my chest, looking at me the way you look at something you’ve decided to keep. “It’s just... you.”
A tightness I’ve carried for years starts to loosen.
Her gaze drops to my mouth before lifting. One corner of her lips curves up, that slant that means she’s made a decision.
She steps closer while her hand slides slowly up my chest, trailing heat through the fabric of my shirt.
“I think I’m ready for a lesson,” she murmurs, voice dropping into that honeyed register that goes straight to my cock. “My Dom’s lesson.”
Her fingers thread into my hair, nails grazing lightly against my scalp in a way that makes my jaw tighten.
“I want to know what it feels like.” Her other hand traces down my chest. “Here. In your space. With you.”
She rises on her toes, pulling me down, and kisses me.
And, fuck, I’m only human.
For a heartbeat I let myself sink into it. Into her. The way she tastes, the way she feels pressed against me, the small sound she makes when I pull her closer. Her mouth is demanding, hungry. She kisses like she’s already won.
And it’s working.
My hands find her waist, then slide up to find warm skin under her sweater. She arches into me with a sharp inhale, gasping against my mouth. Her tongue sweeps against mine, bold and claiming —
The fog clears.
I catch her wrists and pull back.
“Stop.”
She makes a frustrated sound, tries to twist free, but I hold firm. That fire in her, the one that shows up in everything she does, flares hot as she pulls against my grip.
Good. I like her with teeth.
But she needs to learn when to use them.
“Vera.” My voice comes out rough. “What are you doing?”
“Seducing you.” She’s breathing hard, eyes blazing. “Is it working?”
“Yes.” I won’t lie to her. “But that’s not how this works.”
“Why not?” She’s still fighting my hold, enough to test it. “You want me, I want you, you have this whole room—”
“I do. But not like this.” I shift my grip, firmer, watching her pupils blow wide at the restraint. “You’re trying to control the scene. Using our desire to get what you want right now instead of trusting my timing.”
But she’s not quite done.
She shifts against me, a deliberate press of her hips, and the breath she releases is that soft unguarded sound she can’t quite control.
“Seems like you want it too,” she says.
I catch both her wrists and pin them behind her back with one hand. She gasps, and I see the moment the position registers — the moment she realizes how easily I can take the control she’s trying to steal.
“Vera.” I hold her gaze. “You’re trying to take control in a dynamic where you agreed to surrender it. Using your body to manipulate the situation instead of trusting me.”
She opens her mouth. Closes it.
“Are you going to punish me for it?” she asks, that bratty edge sharpening her voice even with her wrists pinned, her chin tilting up the way she has — half challenge, half invitation.
I meet her eyes and pull her harder against me, letting her feel exactly what she’s been doing to me, letting that be its own answer before I speak. “Do you want me to punish you?”
I watch her try to move against me, another slow shift of her hips seeking friction.
“I think I do,” she whispers.
Something in me settles. Sharpens. The Dom in me rises to meet exactly what she’s offering.
I walk her backwards until her shoulders meet the wall, using my body to hold her there, giving her nowhere to retreat.
I watch her face as I do it. The way her eyes darken, the way her breath quickens, the way she rises into it even as I pin her in place.
She likes this. The push and pull of it, the moment I stop letting her get away with her own mischief. She’s lit up from the inside.
God help me, so am I.
“I’m going to put you on orgasm denial.”
She goes still. “Define denial.”
“You don’t come without my permission. Not alone, not otherwise.”
“For how long.”
“That depends entirely on you.”
She frowns. “What does that mean?”
“It means I want you to trust my judgment,” I say. “About when your body is ready. When the release will be worth the wait.”
“I know when I’m ready myself,” she says, a hint of defiance in her tone.
“Do you?” I tilt my head, studying her. “Because everything I’ve seen tonight tells me you chase pleasure the moment it appears.
You grab for what you want without letting it build.
” I let that settle. “What if I could bring you to a place where a single orgasm feels like three? Where your whole body lights up in ways you didn’t know were possible? ”
The defensive edge has softened. Parted lips. The stillness of someone who has stopped managing.
I hold her gaze, letting the silence stretch long enough for the weight of it to settle. “Do you trust me enough to try this?”
She nods immediately, an eager little dip of her chin.
“I need to hear you say it,” I tell her. “Vocal consent. Always.”
Her throat works as she swallows. “Yes.” The word comes out slightly breathless. “I trust you.”