Authors: Raven McAllan
"I thought this was now my room?
To share
with you?
Are you reneging, my lord?" His face was a picture of
astonishment. Deborah couldn’t help herself; she burst into laugher. "Oh,
my lord, you should see your expression. It is a sight to behold. Truly, if I
ever feel threatened, uncomfortable, or unable to sustain aught we do, I will
say so. My safe word is
sauf
."
"Your safe word?" he said slowly. "What do
you know of safe words?"
"Nothing except if we are to
discover my limits, we need to decide on one.
A word which if I utter, you will desist
immediately in whatever activity we are partaking. That is not to say you will
not return to the, er subject at a later date, once we have discussed any
reluctance or questions I may have. Ah, Oliver, do you think I did not know the
reasons why this house exists? Even if our, that is mine and Luc's enquiries,
had not told us enough, Lord Dalrey was insistent we knew where and the likes
of whom we were entertaining."
"And you are happy with this?"
She giggled. "Until I taste what you have in mind for
us, how do I know?" Deborah thought it was a reasonable question in the
circumstances. "In theory, I know some activities will be good, some will
push me, and strain my thoughts and mind. Indeed, some things may be beyond my
endurance and I cry stop. But which fits where has yet to be determined.
Nevertheless, I wish to see what you deem suitable for us. I need, I
must,
discover myself." She dare
not say more. Indeed, she would have been hard pressed to do so. Deborah had no
idea how to describe the turmoil her emotions were in.
He gave her a sharp glance but didn't comment.
"
Sauf
it is." Oliver
pushed open a door.
"After you."
An imp of mischief made her curtsey and she saw the glint in
his eyes.
"One day, your sauce will be your undoing, my love, I
will remember."
She was sure he would. In a strange way she looked forward
to it.
Chapter Four
Her lack of worry continued as she walked into a very
elegant salon. Here, she thought it was very much a reflection of Oliver the
man. Rich mahogany furniture gleamed from care and attention. There were tall
elegant elbow cupboards, and low comfortable sofas with tables to facilitate
resting cups or books on. On one wall a large imposing bookcase lost some of
its grandeur by the way the books were arranged with scant regard to size and
shape. Deborah wandered toward it, conscious of his steady gaze never leaving
her.
Without needing to stoop or stretch, she ran her fingers
over the spines of a few of them, enjoying the different texture between
leather and linen.
"I relish the time you run your fingers over me like
that."
Deborah looked at him.
"As if you
were a book?"
He smiled faintly.
"Down my spine,
lingering on
my
texture."
The pictures his words conjured up were both tantalizing and
juice inducing. Her pantaloons were becoming ever more uncomfortable. They were
not designed for a wet core and damp quim. At least she didn’t have the added
discomfort of wet curls, having long discovered the Egyptian art of sugaring
was much suited to her lifestyle.
To cover her discomfiture, Deborah selected a book at random—and
promptly notched her arousal by several degrees. "Ah, Les Liaisons
Dangereuses
, I have heard of it but until now never set
eyes on it," she said with a calmness she didn't feel. "Should I read
it?"
"If you wish.
Perhaps one day you write
your own."
The thought made her squirm. How could she write about
something she was ignorant of? Unless…
"Of us?"
He dipped his head.
"Perhaps.
Or of your life so far?"
She shuddered.
Never that.
Those
dark days needed to be forgotten. They were over. Or were they? For the first
time in many a year Deborah wondered just how the terror had shaped her. She
may have been but a babe, however, the stories told to her, and the vague
memories, never left her.
Shapes, a woman's breast, small
arms holding her tightly.
Then nothing.
The need
to search, to hunt, to want … it was not something she cared to discuss, and she
cast around for a reply.
"Boring."
"Deborah, let me make this clear. You do not lie to me,
ever. If you do, I will punish you. We may still need to negotiate our
relationship, if indeed we chose to have one, but that is non-negotiable. Come
here."
His tone sent warnings down her spine and the hairs on her
arms stood up. With a dry mouth and pounding heart, Deborah stood, uncertain.
If she obeyed, it was the beginning, if she did not, it would be the end.
But punishment?
"What place does punishment have in a partnership? Why
should you have the power to chastise me?"
"Because punishment will become
pleasure, perhaps?
Or because I am dominant.
I listen. I decide. I
direct. In a dominant partnership such as I require, if I ask you to do
something, you react immediately. If you do not, I have to retaliate or lose my
dominance. It is my job to do so. Unless…"
"Unless?"
"We have chosen to switch."
"Switch?
What do you mean?"
"You direct, I obey."
She must have looked as dumbfounded as she felt, because
Oliver laughed, a deep belly laugh that made her shiver with arousal and clench
her cunt muscles to experience the frisson of excitement that action brought.
Pictures of Oliver naked and at her every whim flashed through her mind to be
replaced with a vision of them entwined. Deborah would be the first to admit
that although she was herself inexperienced in many ways, she had a wealth of stories
and imagination to call on. The idea of role play interested and intrigued her.
"You would do that?" she asked. "Let me take
charge. Somehow I cannot see you as a submissive, my lord."
Oliver walked to her and took her hand, placing it firmly on
the fine linen that covered his chest.
His body was warm, the beat of his heart fast under her
hand. She splayed her fingers and came in contact with his nipple. To her
surprise it hardened under her touch, and he groaned.
"Minx, see what you do to me? To answer your question,
yes on occasion I will gladly cede power to you. We will have a partnership, my
dear, one we set the parameters for.
We
set."
He emphasized the word we. "I have no interest in what others do. If we couple,
everything we do will be as we decide." He held her close and she fancied
his cock throbbed against her. It was hard, long, and nudged her quim. Even
through their clothes she felt the power leashed within.
His hand made a lazy circle on her back as they stood
together. Deborah let herself be held in the moment. The tug on her pantaloons,
that dropped them to her knees, followed by a sharp tap to her naked buttocks,
caught her unawares and made her jump. A second tap stung, and a third brought
a pain that radiated outwards in ripples over her tingling skin.
"Now you feel the bite of my touch on your arse?"
She glared at him. "Why did you do that?"
"Go with the sting, embrace it, let it fill you, and
then…"
Another spank, harder than before took
her by surprise and broke into her terror-filled mind.
The pain began, and stopped
suddenly, to be replaced by such sweet pleasure that she gasped. Her body was
an inferno of arousal. Her juices gushed and coated her quim. She felt the
telltale tingle as with delicious deliberation that evidence of her excitement
crept down the inside of her thigh. In a split second her negative thoughts had
dissipated and a warm welcoming glow filled her.
"Now, you see why I say sweet punishment?"
Deborah gulped. Could she admit to something so decadent?
"Deborah." His voice held a warning and she
realized a hint of uncertainty. So he was vulnerable? It gave her courage. "Yes,
I see it."
Oliver took a step back. He stared at her for so long, she
began to squirm. His gaze was predatory, like the lion she has seen in the
royal menagerie about to pounce on its chosen prey. Deborah was in no doubt how
he felt. If he had been that animal his tail would be twitching and his claws
unsheathed. It made her itch to do anything he asked.
"Are you ready to take this further?"
She nodded.
Oliver took her hair in his hand and tugged. It was no
gentle caress; it stung her scalp and forced her head up so she looked him in
the eyes. Her hair fell from its confines to spill over her shoulders and down
her back. "I think I need to set the first ground rule, Deborah. We talk.
Both of us.
No nodding, shrugging, or thinking either of us
are mind readers. I am not. Are you?"
Deborah started to shake her head and stopped, warned not
only by the look in his eye, but by the hold he had on her hair. To complete
the gesture would hurt.
“No, I'm not. You're right, I'm sorry. Look." She hated
the desperation she could hear in her voice. "I'm not sure I'm the right
person for you. I have…" She hesitated; she had no idea how to explain her
life. "I have things about me that are not pleasant, things I wish had
never happened. But they have and they shaped me. Now I'm someone with darkness
within. Until I can climb over that, find what I must, I can't commit to anything."
She swallowed as a lump filled her throat. The look of compassion and
understanding on his face was her undoing. Almost without knowing what she did,
she panicked, grabbed the pantaloons with one hand and dragged them upwards.
His eyes narrowed but he said nothing.
"Oliver, I can't stay. You want more than I can give.
Find someone to submit to you, to do as you want, when you want. It can't be
me. I'm sorry." Tears ran down her face, making her cheeks damp. With a
muttered curse she swiped at them.
"I never took you for a coward," Oliver said and
released his hold on her tresses. His tone was level, almost disinterested. He
could have been discussing the price of candles. "You stand on stage,
letting Dalmain hurl his knives at you, ignoring the fear I saw in your eyes.
You throw flames, let
a stranger trace cobwebs
of wax
over you and show no fear.
But this?
The chance to
explore your inner self, you turn away from. Why? Why when you risk your life
each time a knife comes toward you will you not open up to this?"
He let go of her and began to pace around the room. She felt
his gaze on her, steady and unwavering. It sent hard, stabbing darts of fear down
her spine. He would not let her go easily, and she could not stay and risk
everything she had fought for.
Abruptly, he stopped walking and spun round to face her, one
hand flung out in a demanding gesture. "I feel the connection, as I
believe you do. Damn, Deborah, we are right for each other. For so long I have
waited, knowing one day I would find the one. Everything up until now has been
but a rehearsal for our partnership, and you are not willing to chance even one
time to discover our needs and pleasures. You would throw away all what might
be without explanation. What have you to lose?"
Not my
soul,
that
has gone.
It was unthinkable to wonder if he was right. "I don't
risk my life, Oliver. In that you are very wrong. For each knife that comes toward
me, do you not think I wonder if this time, I will leave it too late to catch
it? Wonder if Luc blinks at the wrong moment and his aim will not be true? Think
what might happen if I close my eyes and do nothing? You see, My Lord." She
inverted his title with capitals deliberately, as she decided it would likely
be the first and only time she allowed him the courtesy of being her Dom. "I
do not risk my life … I cheat my death, and one day my time will run out."
Chapter Five
Oliver watched the pulse in her neck as it throbbed
unevenly. If he hadn’t noticed the haunted look in her eyes he would be
furious. To give up what they might have without even trying smacked of
cowardice. However he knew she was no coward, the act she had participated in
with Luc proved that. Instead he remained passive, just watching her.
"No…" Whatever she saw in his face, he had no
idea, but she turned, and before he had a chance to react, she darted to the
door, flung it open, and ran. It banged shut behind her with a crash.
There was no point in trying to hinder her. She'd be stopped
soon enough. The one thing number
Silk Street
and unobtrusive though it may seem, every move was noticed and recorded, especially
in this part of the house. He could hazard a guess someone would appear within
a few minutes to ask why his guest had seen fit to run from him. Just
whom
it may be was another wager.