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  She groaned while I removed the bandages, wiped dried blood off the edges of her cuts before guiding her to sitting. Then I pulled her into my arms, her hands clasping my shoulders and carried her to her bathroom.

  “Did I read you correctly?” I asked, dipping her loofah into the warm water. I squeezed her body wash on to it, inhaling the scent of spring flowers, and rubbed her shoulders, relaxing her before I washed her back and more intimate areas.

  Her head fell forward and she moaned, shoulders relaxed as I continued gently running the sponge over her body, down her arms, up the inside where her skin was more sensitive.

  “I realized the exact same thing earlier. And you’re right. I pushed them into it, however nicely, sometimes not, and I ended up pushing them all away.”

  We had something in common then. But I needed to stop comparing Chloe to Cassie.

  Once she was bathed, I helped her stand and wrapped one of the towels around her and led her back to her bed.

  I took care of her back, rubbed cream over her wounds before replacing the gauze and bandages where needed. A day after and she didn’t look nearly as bad as she had last night. Most of the red marks had turned pink and only a half dozen areas needed to be covered. She was still bruised, though, and I still had the urge to find Jared and beat him to a pulp.

  “For the next week, I’ll be here every night to redress your back.”

  She stiffened and her eyes squeezed close. Better than flaring in disobedience.

  “But you said—”

  “We can’t play until you’re healed. At least, not the way I want to.”

  She stiffened further before relaxing as I placed gauze over one of the large gashes across her back. Six inches long and diagonal. I wanted to go get the biggest cane I could find, possibly a shovel handle, and hurl it at Jared’s face.

  I softened my tone and tapped her backside playfully. “But we’ll get to those specifics during the negotiations after dinner.”

  I finished her up quickly and stood from the bed. “I’ll go warm dinner. Come meet me at the table when you’ve gotten yourself redressed.”

  “Okay.” Her voice was soft and meek. I liked it. It was the first time she’d spoken to me with a submissive tone. We couldn’t have her getting too comfortable. Not yet, anyway. “Dress in only the robe, Chloe. And yes, I’ll be checking to see if you listened.”

  A huffing sound puffed from her lips and I walked away. Opening the frosted glass door, I was almost blinded by all the white in her place. Damn. I had to get over this apartment that seemed nothing like her, but it was hard. Knowing Chloe and her love of fashion and color and being busy and alive, I’d figured her apartment would have vivid colors all over the place along with clothes strewn about, shoes kicked off and left toppled over as she hurried from work to home to nights out with friends. She’d always been so busy, running late and always forgetting something when I’d known her before.

  All of this, from the white brick walls to the dishes and glasses, stacked and lined perfectly, made me want to mess it all up just to see what she’d do.

  We’d get to why she’d changed so much and who she really was later, after dinner and negotiations.

  Chapter Seven

  Chloe

  He kept me reeling like I was on a seesaw. Up, down, briefly hovering in a suspended safety zone, where your feet didn’t touch the ground, but everything was just as it should be. It was the crash to the bottom when he turned gentle and teasing and the sudden, thrilling rush to the peak when he was demanding and dominant. Every time I left a conversation with Simon, I spun in a few circles, chasing the conversation.

  Perhaps this was part of his game. Keep me off-balance enough to not know what to expect, with moments of calm to keep me trusting him. Crazy man.

  If it was his game, I’d play it with perfection.

  Rolling to my side, I pushed myself to sitting and grabbed my robe he’d removed earlier. I pulled it up to my shoulders, the cotton robe scratching over the fresh gauze.

  Wisps of my loosened hair brushed along my cheeks, tickling me as I caught up to him in the kitchen. He already had two places set at the kitchen island and had poured us each a glass of wine.

  “This was open so I assumed you liked it,” he said, holding out a bottle of Malbec to me like he was a sommelier at a five-star restaurant.

  “I do. Thank you.”

  With my hands in my lap, I waited while he served both of us. He’d helped himself to my kitchen like he belonged there, which I didn’t mind in the least. I forced myself to stay focused on the present, not on runaway daydreams where an evening like this could become a typical occurrence. He scooped up two platefuls of spaghetti carbonara and placed breadsticks on both of our plates. Then he filled two salad bowls with Cardonna’s Italian salad, walked around the island and sat next to me.

  A manila folder perched haphazardly on the counter. But there was nothing haphazard about the file or its contents.

  My contract.

  My throat went dry and I took a sip, unable to peel my eyes from the folder holding all my future possibilities.

  “You’re not eating,” Simon said.

  I jerked my head up, away from the folder and to his eyes. His gray-blues were crinkled at the edges. He was clearly amused I was so focused on something other than the delicious meal he’d brought for me.

  “Sorry.” I twisted my fork around the pasta and took a bite. “This is my favorite meal, you know.”

  “I seem to remember a fit you once threw when your dad brought home Cardonna’s and he didn’t grab carbonara.”

  My pulse pounded inside my chest. He’d remembered that? I’d acted like a spoiled brat. An adult, but still in college, it’d been the only thing I craved while I was away at school. I hadn’t expected Simon to be at our house, tucked away with Cassie in my parents’ study when I’d come home only to find my dad had brought home dinner and didn’t think to get my favorite meal.

  “I’m surprised you remember,” I muttered, forcing myself to continue eating. Of all the memories he could have of me, me acting like a brat wasn’t endearing.

  “It was pretty epic. You always did know how to get everyone’s attention.”

  He’d never acted like I ever had his attention, except for during political conversations with my dad and him. Since I was the only liberal in the family, my dad often rolled his eyes at me. Yet Simon and I, despite our political leanings, were always able to have intelligent and respectful conversations. Although they did get heated. Cassie would leave the room long before we were done, and once she went to bed, Simon and I would talk for hours.

  I alternated my dinner between bites of pasta and wine, munching on my breadstick and soaking it into the leftover sauce on my plate to capture every last morsel.

  We didn’t speak, but there was nothing to say. Our past wasn’t a sidewalk filled with memories I wanted to stroll down over the next few weeks. And I really needed to stop thinking of my sister when he was around.

  “You can eat,” he said, startling me.

  “I said this is my favorite.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t expect you to inhale it like you haven’t eaten in days.” He winked playfully and scooted back on his barstool.

  I jumped as the metal scratched along my floor.

  Without saying a word, he took my plate and wine glass, dumped the plate in the sink and refilled my glass. I hadn’t yet reached for it when the manila folder fell onto my bamboo placemat.

  “Since your favorite dinner and wine didn’t seem to relax you,” he said, those eyes crinkling again. So glad my nerves amused him. “Perhaps we should get to why I’m here.”

  “That’d be—” I cleared my throat. Shaking fingers wrapped around the stem of my wine glass. “That’d be good.”

 
“Good. Now turn and face me, Chloe.”

  Oh crap. What was he doing? Inhaling a deep breath, hoping like hell my oxygen was infused with confidence, I shifted on my stool until I was facing him. The stool he’d been sitting on was still pushed back, and he was standing at the corner of the island, arms crossed over his chest. His hip pressed again my granite counter, but he wasn’t resting on it. He was in full, commanding form.

  My already speeding pulse thundered inside me.

  “Open your legs wide, wrap your ankles around the outer rungs on the stool.”

  What? “Simon?”

  Other than the slow arch of his brows, he didn’t move. “I told you I would check to see if you listened.”

  “You also said we wouldn’t play.”

  His head tilted. “Who said anything about playing? Are you going to obey or not?”

  I wasn’t his sub yet. I hadn’t signed a contract. But I’d already agreed, and would continue to agree to anything he wanted.

  Hesitantly, I spread my knees and resisted the urge to cover myself when my robe fell open, draping along the outside of my hips. I was completely bare, open and exposed to him.

  My cheeks burned and my fingers curled into the edge of my seat, fighting the overwhelming desire to hide from him. I dropped my head and tugged on the knotted belt. “Do you want this open?”

  “I do. Thank you for asking before assuming.”

  A shiver rolled through me and chilled my spine, but heat pooled deep inside my stomach. I had pleased him, and the affect it had on me was instantaneous.

  My robe fell open and I continued looking at my now exposed, bare stomach. I was small like he’d said—mostly just short—but I had a belly. A small muffin pooch stuck out just beneath my belly button. The curve was obvious and from my view of myself, not attractive. In order to hide it, I rolled my shoulders back, sucked in my stomach and kept my head dipped low. The perfect submissive pose, spread, open, mostly naked, and not looking at my Dom.

  While he examined me, the heat of his penetrating gaze skimmed every inch of my exposed skin, and I kept my breathing slow and steady.

  “Good job, Little Bird. Now, I’m going to clean the kitchen up and the mess I left in your bedroom and bathroom. While I’m gone, I want you to stay sitting like this so I can see you whenever I’d like. When I’m finished, we’ll go over what you’ve read in the contract. You will, of course, be able to amend it how you wish, and whatever you mark, we’ll discuss. Understand?”

  I nodded once before remembering I could actually speak. “Of course, thank you Simon.”

  He laughed once and moved. Then his denim-covered legs were between my naked ones. “Trust me, Chloe. I believe the pleasure will be all mine, and I want you to remember this. As much pleasure as I’m able to give you over the next few weeks we meet, mine will be greater. Guaranteed.”

  A flood of warmth poured over me. My scalp tingled, my cheeks heated, and my nipples pebbled. Warmth rushed to my sex and made it throb.

  Good grief. Simple words. Pleased words. Promises. They fell off his thick lips and deep, baritone voice in an enticing way. I was certain he’d be able to bring me to orgasm solely by speaking to me someday.

  He set the file in my lap, the contract and pen on top.

  Without hesitating, I held the file and pen in my trembling, excited fingertips and forced the apprehension to evaporate.

  This was what I wanted. Had been what I wanted for years. And now, not only was I getting it, but I was getting it with the man I’d always wanted.

  I quickly scanned the opening paragraphs, semi-legal jargon stating this was a contracted between two consensual parties, our names typed on two blank lines. There were rules in the first two paragraphs, expectations for both of us, and mostly went over the general rules of a BDSM-relationship. Safe, sane, consensual. A submissive’s pose. When I was expected to be in it, etcetera.

  Everything was easy to understand and typical of what I’d seen from other BDSM contracts.

  I took in pages of styles of plays, every possible scenario I could ever imagine—and dozens more I couldn’t. Next to each were three columns for Interested, Might be interested, and Not interested. It was clear I was supposed to go through the list, checking off each one, but I was hesitant to do so.

  How would I know what I liked and truly wanted if I eliminated items before trying?

  He’d already drawn through things like bestiality, scat play, fisting, electro therapy.

  Knowing he’d already set his hard limits calmed me and I took the pen in my right hand, intent on drawing one large, straight line through the entire Interested column.

  A smile tugged at my lips and my cheeks warmed again as I reread the list in its entirety first.

  By the time I was on the bondage section, my sex was dripping wet. Every time I shifted, I felt the moisture at the apex of my thighs. I was soaking my robe.

  Shit. I cursed my wounds and scrapes on my back, the stupidity I went through last night. We could potentially be playing right now if I hadn’t been so naive.

  As I held the pen over the Interested column, I scanned and found the one thing I didn’t want to happen ever again.

  I crossed out caning and went back to the top. Then, before I could grow fearful of the list, things I didn’t even fully understand, I drew a line through the rest, and marked it all as interested before I read the rest of the contract. One paragraph jumped out at me.

  All playtime will occur at a pre-determined location. Location will be sent from Dom to sub via text messaging. No contact, other than aftercare—verbally or otherwise—after each session will occur during the agreed upon, temporary time frame. Sub will be given twenty-four hours’ notice before each play time activity, and will be instructed to follow each rule the Dom provides.

  A lump formed in my throat as I read the paragraph, and then reread it.

  The words were plain and clear. I was a plaything. He was a plaything. Other than bodies and orgasms, we weren’t anything to each other.

  For a moment, my hand hovered over the signature page where I’d already signed, debating whether I should cross it out and end this. His intent was glaringly obvious.

  “Everything okay?” Simon asked, his hand brushing along my shoulder on his way into the kitchen.

  I jumped. He always seemed to break me out of my daydreams and fears when my mind was running away from reality.

  “I’m good.” I closed the contract and flicked it onto the counter, tossing the pen on top of it. “And finished.”

  “Very well.” He dropped a towel from the counter he’d picked up, and grabbed the contract. “Any questions for me?”

  “No.”

  He flicked through the pages quickly, eyes narrowing when he got to the section of the specifics. His head jerked up and he glared at me. “You marked them all except one.”

  “I trust you to know what’s best for me.” My voice was shaky. I hoped like hell he believed me. When he dropped his eyes back to the contract and didn’t move a page, I explained further. “I don’t know what I’ll like or want or need until I try it. I would have crossed out the things you did, but other than those and the caning, I’m not sure where to begin.”

  He glanced at me briefly before flipping to the end of the contract. Then he set it on the counter and turned the pages back to the list of specifics. Back to the caning. He reached for the pen and crossed out my Not Interested, switching it to Might Be Interested.

  “What?” My eyes bugged out at his move.

  “I want it on the table. Doesn’t mean we’ll ever get to it. A proper caning will not be anything like you received at Luminous. That wasn’t caning, it was sadism, and I don’t even know what in the hell it was, to be honest. But it was wrong, administered in all the worst ways. If you ever trusted me en
ough to ever want to explore it, I want to show you how good it could be. But we’ll never do it, unless you bring it up. Understand?”

  I reached for my wine, but changed my mind. He clouded my head enough without needing more alcohol. “Okay. I trust you.”

  His gaze pierced mine, the gray-blue turned darker. A flicker of a wicked smile twisted his lips before disappearing. “You’ll need a new safe word, obviously.”

  Heat hit my cheeks and travelled down my neck. Just the mention of the safe word I’d used for months embarrassed me since he’d heard me. “Right. Let’s go to the standard red.”

  “Yellow for pause?”

  I couldn’t think of a thing he could do to me I’d want to slow down, but it made sense. “Okay.”

  He signed his name then, and placed the contract back into the folder. “Good. Now tell me, did reading and thinking of me doing those things to you make you wet?”

  Chapter Eight

  Simon

  Her pussy was wet and glistening. I didn’t need to ask the question, but I liked throwing her off-balance. Her quickened breaths made her breasts heave and drop, hardening her nipples under my gaze.

  She shifted in her seat. The only sound in her apartment was her panting, which made my dick harden.

  I could break my rules. Play with her, touch her the way I wanted to. I could bind her hands behind the bar stool and eat her out, make her scream until the windows shattered. Unfortunately, I’d told her four more days. Me and my stupid mouth.

  “Yes,” she said, the word more like a gasp. “Reading all of this, thinking about all of it, turned me on.”

  I leaned forward. I wouldn’t play with her. Not tonight. I’d save the anticipation and torture both of us throughout the week. But I still wouldn’t leave without a taste of her.

  I reached forward, ran one finger through her exposed, wet slit, gathering the taste of her on my finger. Goose bumps rose on her legs and thighs and as I touched her, her toes curled around one of the rungs on the stool.