Tell Me a Desire (The Story Series Book 2) (6 page)

We nodded.

The last few rooms down the seemingly endless corridor had doors, and Doug explained those were for private play. He asked us if there were any questions, and I shook my head. So did Caleb.

“Well, take your time and absorb everything,” Doug said, opening his arms and gesturing wide. “You don’t have to do anything tonight. Some couples find they like to watch the first few times they’re here. Respect each other’s comfort level and have fun. I’ll be around if you need anything, have questions or want demonstrations.”

We thanked him and stood in the hall awkwardly, like two teenagers about to kiss for the first time in public before going to homeroom.

Caleb pressed his lips into my forehead. “You okay so far?”

I nodded. “Yeah. You?”

“Yeah. It’s interesting. Everyone seems professional.”

I wrapped my arms around his waist. “It’s a little different, even for me, for someone who writes about sex. Everyone seems nice. Respectful. It smells good. I like how there are cleaning supplies everywhere.”

Caleb cracked a grin. “Never thought I’d hear you say that.”

Giggling, I pressed my forehead into his chest.

He ran his fingers over my arms, leaving little trails of heat in his wake. “I have an idea,” he murmured into my ear. My heart jumped. Would he want to do a scene in front of other people? Was I ready for this?

“Okay.”

“Let’s go in one of these private rooms. It looks like this one’s open.”

Relieved, I followed him into a small, empty room. Three of the walls were red, the lighting low, the air almost cold. I shivered a little. One wall was covered in mirrors.

There was a heavy wooden chair and a black leather bench contraption and nothing else. It seemed like a modified exercise bench, only with straps that were obviously positioned for legs and wrists. Tilting my head back and forth, I pondered how one would sit on it. Like a chair or on one’s hands and knees? I gnawed on the inside of my cheek as I studied the bench.

He shut the door, then stood in front of me. Although my shoulders and neck felt tense, I was also damp between my legs from watching the woman. Caleb kissed me, deep, and I started to relax. My fingers flew to the first two buttons of his shirt, and I fumbled in trying to undo them. He wrapped his big, warm hands around my smaller ones.

“Shh,” he hissed.

His eyes went to the bench.

“That will do, I think,” he whispered. “Emma, will you allow me to restrain you? I want to see you strapped down. Can we try it? Please?”

“Only us, right? No one else?”

“No one else.”

“Okay. Yeah. We can.”

He kissed me again. “I’ll be right back I’m going to borrow a toy. While I’m gone, take off your dress.”

He shut the door softly behind him, and I pulled my little black dress over my head, leaving me in my tall black heels, scarlet lacy boy shorts, and a matching bra. I found a hook on the door and hung my purse and dress there, then sat in the chair.

I heard footsteps, then the jiggle of the door handle. It was Caleb, carrying a black toy that looked like a less-poufy pompom. From my research, I knew it to be a flogger. I giggled.

“Doug said this was a good beginner’s toy. It’s called a bunny flogger. It’s strands of fake fur and fake leather, so I thought it would make you happy as a vegetarian. Apparently it won’t hurt. Too much.”

I giggled louder. Caleb rested the toy in my lap, and I ran my fingers through the fur and leather and studied his darkened, blue eyes.

Caleb leaned in, putting his hands on the armrests on either side of me. I let go of the flogger and took his face into my hands so I could kiss him.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked.

“I want you to get on the bench so I can strap you down.”

I nodded and met his gaze. “Okay. But remember the safeword?”

He nodded slowly, gravely. “Trust. And don’t you be afraid to use it.” He backed away from the chair, and I stood, trying to control my breathing as I stepped to the bench. This seemed like a much more serious game than the ones we usually played in our bedrooms. I bent and rested one knee on a black pad platform, then the other. I folded forward so my torso lay across the padded bench and I rested my face downward, my cheek on the cool leather.

“Like this?” I asked.

“I don’t want you to speak unless I ask you a question, Emma. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Caleb.” I bit back a smile. He was being so
serious
. How fun!

I felt his hands run down my calves, which made me shudder into sobriety, then felt a strap wrapping around one ankle. He restrained the other leg, then came around to my face, which I’d turned on one cheek and rested on my folded arms, which acted as a pillow.

“Give me your arms,” he ordered. I extended one, and he guided it into a leather loop, then buckled it tight. He did the same with the other, and I lifted my head, allowing my arms to suspend.

“Is this cutting into you too much?”

“No.” My voice, normally strong, was softer than usual tonight. I wanted to be a good submissive for him, at least for a night. Still, I was nervous. Would I please him? Would this bring me pleasure? How could Caleb not excite me?

“How about your ankles? Too tight?”

“No.”

Lastly, he took a strap around the middle of the bench and wrapped it around my waist, buckling it snugly. I turned my head and partially saw my reflection—our reflection—in the mirror, but my curly hair was getting in the way. Caleb smoothed the strands away.

“Look at how beautiful you are. Restrained, for me. But you want to fuck, don’t you?” His voice was a caress, his fingers, a whisper, down my back, over my ass, and across my legs.

“Yes.”

He tugged at the restraints at my ankles. “I love that you always want to fuck me. That you’re always ready.”

He ran a finger down my spine, making me shudder and squirm. “You’re sure this isn’t too much, Emma?”

“I’m sure.”

But then he stopped touching me, and I ached in his absence. My eyes followed Caleb as he sat, then went to the mirror. I had an unobstructed view of myself and of him. He held the flogger in his hands and stared at me. My mouth suddenly became dry.

I’d never been this helpless before. I started to perspire around my hairline.

Of course, I opened my mouth to ask a question, but he smiled. “Ah, Emma. Remember what I said. No talking unless I ask you something first.”

I pressed my lips together. Clearly this would be the most difficult part of being a submissive, the not-talking part.

Still, I expected him to do something. Flog me. Spank me. Something. Instead, he sat and stared at me with a satisfied smile, as if I were a piece of rare art he’d acquired. My skin was aflame, I was throbbing and wet between my legs, and I wanted sex. Hard and fast.

And yet, I was scared. What was he going to do with me?

I squirmed against the restraints.

Caleb stood up, leaving the flogger on the chair, and I inhaled sharply. Finally, he was going to act.

“I’d normally ask you what you want, but tonight I’m not going to. Tonight, I’ve got control over what we do. More control than usual.”

His warm hand went to my ass and caressed it, his fingers pausing at the damp fabric between my legs, stopping short of slipping under the lace.

“You get wet so easily. All I have to do is talk to you and you’re drenched. Do you know what that does to me? You must be going crazy right now.” He stroked the fabric lightly, and my clit pulsed beneath the touch of his finger. A few more moments and I would come. That’s how close I already was.

He took his fingers away, and I instinctively whimpered. “No! Please?”

“Emma, what did I tell you?”

“Sorry. No speaking unless spoken to.”

He caressed my ass, hoisting the fabric of my lacy shorts up my skin. Then he caressed more, and with a wide-palmed motion, he smacked me.

I gasped. It wasn’t as though he’d never spanked me before. He had, during sex. But never while I was restrained and never while he had so much power over me.

I gasped louder when he struck me again on the other cheek, and then a third time. He’d never hit me so hard, and it had never felt so incredible. My legs trembled involuntarily.

Tenderly, he lowered the fabric to cover my backside, then sat down. My skin stung where he’d made contact.

“Remember when we first met, how I made you wait for a kiss?”

I nodded.
Did I ever
. The build-up to our first time still inspired little pangs of lust when I remembered how much I wanted him before his mouth found mine. He loved to torment me, tempting my mind while making my body pause for pleasure.

“I might do that now. Make you wait for punishment. Tease you. You know what teasing does to
me
.” He smiled, and the ache between my legs pulsed and teased.

I inhaled, loud.

My arms were starting to hurt, and I writhed against the leather. I wanted to kiss Caleb, wanted to crawl in his lap and fill myself with him. I needed closeness. These restraints, I wasn’t so sure about. My ass felt like it was on fire. And yet, I was creamy and wet between my legs, and all I wanted was to beg for release of all kinds.

“You’re struggling against the straps. Remember what Doug said? Submissives go through stages. Struggle, acceptance, surrender.”

At those words, I blinked and began to wonder: was that what I was doing in our relationship? Struggling? Should I be more accepting? Should I surrender to his needs and wishes? No, it wasn’t in my nature to accept. In my thirty-five years, I’d never accepted the status quo or allowed someone else to take the reins.

Surrender wasn’t in my lexicon. I needed answers about us. About him. I deserved answers. I writhed a little, feeling caged and feverish. A tiny voice of panic popped into my mind. Was this what I really wanted? More sex? Or was intimacy what I truly desired?

Caleb stood up and gently flicked the flogger in the air with his wrist. He trailed the fur fronds softly over my thigh and ass, and I shivered. It felt sensual, but it didn’t feel right. Not tonight.

When he moved his hand and appeared as though he was going to strike me, I opened my mouth.

“Caleb, no. Wait.”

He paused.

“Trust,” I whispered.

I
’d never seen
Caleb’s blue eyes turn so stormy or watched his fingers move so fast. With shaking hands, he undid my wrists, then the strap around my waist, and then the ankles. I turned to sit on the bench, and he hugged me, hard.

“Oh, God, Emma, I’m sorry.” He knelt on the floor, rubbing my ankles. “Did the strap hurt? Did it cut into your skin because it was too tight?”

He pressed his lips to my right shin where the restraint had left a faint, pink indentation. His apologetic eyes turned upward and met mine, and my heart quaked. I hadn’t meant to scare him.

“No, it wasn’t too tight. I’m okay. Really. I got panicky and… Caleb, please stand up.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “Jesus. I shouldn’t have pushed you into this tonight.”

“You didn’t push me. I wanted it. Or I thought I did. My hesitation has nothing to do with sex or submission. It’s, well…Caleb, I don’t want to have this conversation here. Can we go to my house? I feel like I need to be in my own space all of a sudden.”

He swallowed and nodded, then reached for my dress on the hook and gently helped me pull it over my head and tug the hem firmly toward my knees.

“I love you. I don’t want to do anything to hurt you.”

“I know. It’s okay. Let’s leave.”

I put on a bright smile as we walked out, thanking Doug along the way. I didn’t want him or anyone else there to think I didn’t appreciate their hospitality. “I’m sure we’ll be back,” I said to Doug, who shook my hand, then Caleb’s. “You’ve been incredibly kind to show us around.”

Once in the car, though, my smile faded and my heartbeat was even faster than it had been in the club. I didn’t speak all the way to my house and neither did Caleb. It had started to rain, hard, and he chewed on his lip as he navigated through the wet brick streets of my historic neighborhood.

Once we pulled into my driveway, he paused. “Give me the keys and stay here.”

I obeyed, rooting around in my purse until I found them. He ran through the rain to unlock the door, then came to my side of the car, opened it, and scooped me up.

“I don’t want you to fall in those shoes.”

As he carried me inside, my chest hurt from the love I felt for him. Which made me all the more scared to reveal my feelings. I didn’t want to lose him.

Inside, I slowly eased the stilettos off my feet, and between the relief of bare feet and the familiar, homey surroundings of my messy, packed-with-junk place, my muscles relaxed. I flopped onto my old, green sofa, heaving out a sigh and tossing a few embroidered throw pillows onto the floor.

“Come here.” I was a little self-conscious because my house smelled musty. I hadn’t been there in a week, and I detected humidity and mold in the air.

Caleb sat and pulled me into a hug, but I squirmed out of his arms so I could look at him. I didn’t want to get distracted by his kisses or his touch, and I took a deep breath. My finger found a little hole in the thin fabric of my sofa, and I dug in, probing at the foam underneath.

“I stopped tonight because it didn’t feel right. Things haven’t felt okay for a while, Caleb.”

He stared at me with shocked eyes. Hurt ones, even. I was not handling this well, and the expression on his face made my heart crack. I hadn’t intended to inflict pain; I merely wanted to be honest.

“I love you,” I blurted. “And I want to be your wife.”

Well, that had escalated quickly.

“Emma. I…
what
?”

“Sorry. This has been bubbling inside of me for a while, and it all kind of surfaced tonight in the club. I’ve been holding back from you. Keeping my feelings hidden, like you always tell me not to. Caleb, I want to get married. It’s the real reason I haven’t moved in. I want us to be committed to each other. Because we love each other. Having more sex and crazy sex won’t make me feel closer to you.”

“I am committed to you because I love you,” he said. When he scrubbed his face, I started to panic. He really didn’t want to marry me.

Oh, shit.

Well, there was no turning back now, so I had to press him on why.

“So if you love me and say you’re committed to me, why don’t you want to get married?”

He scrubbed his face again and leaned back, closing his eyes. He didn’t say anything, which scared me.

“Say something,” I whispered as a sour feeling filled my stomach. “Please?”

Opening his eyes and pushing out a breath, he glanced at me. The longer he didn’t speak, the more my panic grew. I realized I was close to throwing up.

“Is it because you don’t love me as much as you loved Tara?”

He balled his hands into fists. “No. It’s because I love you more than I ever loved Tara. It’s because I don’t ever want to have a marriage like I did with her.”

“What? Huh? You’re not making sense.”

Caleb wiped the corners of his mouth, which I’d only seen him do when he was nervous and talking on the phone about his business. “I thought I loved Tara. We were young, and I assumed she was the love of my life. But as our marriage progressed, I became complacent. I didn’t love her like I thought I did, and I wasn’t prepared for marriage. I was too young. And there’s nothing worse than being complacent in a relationship, Emma. There’s nothing lonelier than a loveless marriage.”

I shook my head. “So what does this have to do with me? With us?”

“Don’t you see? I think you and I have the perfect relationship. We’re soul mates. My love for you is stronger than any piece of paper and deeper than any vow. You’re precious. You’re special. And I don’t want what we have to change.”

“You love me. And I love you. So you don’t want to get married? I’m still not clear.”

“I married Tara for the wrong reasons.”

I opened my mouth, about to say that I knew that, but closed it. Instead, I allowed him to fill the emptiness in the room. What would he say? How would he explain?

He continued, not picking up on my suddenly sharper glance. “I wasn’t sure about Tara when we first met in class. I liked her, she was cute, but I was also casually dating a couple of other girls at the time. I was twenty-one. College, you know?”

“I know. You were a star soccer player who wrote poetry. Catnip for girls.” And a gorgeous specimen of catnip at that, I thought, recalling the photos I’d seen.

He gave me an embarrassed half-smile. “That’s an interesting way of putting it. I wasn’t all that, though. I had no idea what the hell I was doing. Anyway, one weekend, Colin came to visit. We ended up at some party, drunk, and the next thing I knew, my little brother had hooked up with Tara.”

I attempted to appear appropriately shocked. “And so…”

“And so I had to pursue her. To make a point. It was ridiculous. And I fell in love with her. Or thought I did. You want to know the real reason I was scowling at you and Colin the night of your birthday?”

“It wasn’t jealousy?”

“No, it was. Massive jealousy. But it also reminded me of a party where I saw Tara and Colin laughing together. Tara and I had been married for about six years, maybe seven. Right before she was diagnosed with cancer. We were at a Fourth of July party, and I watched them talk and you know what? I didn’t care. I had no feelings of jealousy
or
anger.”

“Okay, but I still don’t get what this has to do with us.”

“I don’t ever want to take you for granted. Ever.”

I sighed. “You don’t have to. What did you feel when you saw Colin and I talking?”

“I wanted to walk over and physically remove you from the conversation. And then punch him. My own brother. I was shocked at the force of my feelings. That’s why I was so troubled. I don’t often feel so out of control.”

I didn’t know what to say to this. It didn’t please me how Caleb had a possessive streak. But the fierceness in his voice filled me with something primal, something I couldn’t quite process.

“Here’s the thing, Emma. I don’t think I actually knew what love was until I met you.”

I scowled away tears. I felt the same way about Caleb, but to hear him say it was overwhelming. “Really?” I whispered, moving closer to his body. I clasped his hand in mine, and for the first time ever, his palm was sweaty.

“Really. We’re equals. You don’t want me because I’m rich or who my family is or because I was a star on the university soccer team. You get me, Emma. You understand me. You let me sit in silence. Then you make me think. You make me question what’s right. You make me a better person. Why would I want anything more?”

Snuggling into the crook of his arm, I inhaled his masculine scent. “I still don’t get why you’re against getting married.”

“I’m afraid it will change us.”

The weight of his words hung in the air. Admittedly, it was something I hadn’t considered. Could marriage change people? Even at my age, I didn’t know many married people. Most lived together or were single. Or had already divorced.

I shrugged nonchalantly. “What if it changes us for the better?”

“What if it doesn’t? I’m in my comfort zone with you, Emma. I’ve gone to the same dry cleaner for fifteen years because they starch my shirts the exact way I want. Remember how long it took you to convince me to give money to my private chef so he could open a restaurant in Tampa?”

I held up my hands. “I know. You didn’t want him to go. But he did, and he’s successful, and we love cooking together when we don’t go out.”

He nodded. “Yes. But I like things just so, and when I get them to a certain level, I don’t want to change. Why fix something that isn’t broken?”

Because I want a family
, I wanted to say.
Because I’m not an object
. But I didn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to face his answer to my true desire. Not now. Not after what he’d already said. Because the answer seemed obvious: he wanted our life to be as-is. No true commitment, no child.

Never mind that lately, I’d thought up a list of baby names. Charlotte was topping my list for girls, and Dorian for boys. I squirmed away from him and folded my legs under me. “A comfort zone is cozy and warm, but it’s also stagnant. Nothing grows there, nothing improves or gets better. We need to go beyond great sex. We need to go deeper, Caleb. Together.”

I sat up so we were no longer touching. He laced his hands together and stared at them. Nodded. I reached to stroke his silver-and-black hair, to trail my thumb down the edge of his ear.

“You can’t freeze me in time,” I said softly. “If we love each other and really work to understand one another, how would our marriage, our relationship grow stagnant?”

“It’s difficult to explain. It’s the day-to-day hassles and drudgery. It’s the little nags and the erosion of boundaries. Marriage is hard, Emma. You don’t know how hard.”

“How difficult can it be? We get along so well.”

The muscles in his jaw bunched up, and I could tell he was grinding his molars. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his hair. “Marriage is utterly impossible and also rather easy, depending on your expectations and where you place the bar. I don’t know if I want to subject us to that paradox.”

The flash of his blue eyes and his sharp words made me rear back. Whoa. How bleak was his worldview about relationships? Far bleaker than mine, apparently, and I’d been raised in a house filled with dysfunction.

My mind immediately went to the darkest possible scenario.

“Did you have an affair when you were with Tara?” I whispered, not wanting to know the answer but needing to know. Was he like all the others I’d known in the past?

He shook his head vigorously. “No. I didn’t. I could have, easily. There was one woman who I thought I had a connection with, but I avoided her because I knew it was wrong to get involved. I thought it better to divorce before I got to that point. You know the rest, how Tara fell ill right when we separated.”

I nodded and swallowed. I had to believe him. Had to. Although I didn’t exactly have the best track record of trusting men or reasons to do so. I’d dated plenty of guys who’d cheated on me, and my boyfriend immediately before Caleb had been married, although the guy had hidden that crucial fact.

“If you feel this way, why do you want me to move in? It doesn’t make a lot of sense.” I scowled at him, and he responded with a sharp inhale.

“You’re at my house so much. I love having you around. It makes sense to share our space. It’s really pretty simple. Plus, living together is different than being married. I’d like to think it is, anyway. I’ve never lived with a woman other than Tara, and we didn’t live together before our wedding.”

For all of his intelligence, all of his logic, all of his success, Caleb was a man. Which meant he could be stupidly frustrating and illogical at times. This was obviously one of those moments. I cleared my throat, annoyed. “So how can we make this work long-term? How can we be together, be married, without losing our spark? I want a commitment eventually.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s my biggest fear—losing the magic I have with you. You’re one-in-a-billion, Emma. I don’t want things to change.”

I screwed my face up, not knowing if I wanted to cry or strangle him. “That’s a copout, though. It’s a bit half-assed.” I shifted so I was on my knees, sinking into the sofa, my butt on my heels. The cushion was threadbare. I’d resisted his attempts to buy me a new sofa.

“Caleb, unless it’s crazy, all-in love, it’s a waste. It’s a waste of our time and a waste of our life. There’s too much mediocrity in the world. Let’s not be mediocre. Let’s not settle because we’re afraid.”

He pulled me in for a fierce hug. “Let me think about it, okay?”

I nodded into his chest and decided not to be the passive-aggressive girlfriend any longer. “While you think about it, I’m making a decision. You asked me to move in with you, and I’m going to say yes, if you still want me to. Maybe it’s the next logical step. But I’m not willing to wait forever for a proposal. You need to be aware of that. I’ll give it six months. Then, our future’s in your hands.”

His hands cupped my face, and he stared into my eyes almost mournfully. He nodded slowly. Eventually, we stretched out on the sofa and kissed until we fell asleep in each other’s arms, fully clothed and exhausted.