FIT: #1 in the Fit Trilogy (9 page)

“My place.”

“Don’t you need to lock the gym up? And what about my car?”

“Armando is there and your car will be fine overnight, but we can go get it if you want.”

Violet was not about to change the course the evening had suddenly veered on to, even if Grant had to drive her to the impound lot later. “No. It’s okay. Show me your place.”

✶

There was a heavy glass door that Grant opened with a code, a short flight of steps leading down into an open courtyard complete with trees, stone benches, and a small fountain, then another long flight of stairs before Grant brought Violet to the short, private hallway that led to his front door. Max nudged his way past her, as Grant opened it to let them inside.

Violet cursed under her breath. “Okay, clearly I’m in the wrong business.”

“Reality TV not paying its weight in gold?”

“Not exactly.”

The condo was huge, an open floor plan that joined the kitchen, living room, and dining area into one large space. It was well decorated, for being owned by a single guy in his thirties. Most of the guys Violet knew lived with roommates or their significant others. Their places were either trashed, constantly taking on the look of a frat house with a revolving door or their girlfriends/wives had the run of the joint and feminine influences could be found wall-to-wall. Grant’s place definitely had a masculine feel to it. Several pieces of industrial art hung on the walls, rusted metal works crafted from chains, old car parts and pieces of scrap metal. His furniture matched. The dining room set near the kitchen was the same unfinished wood as his coffee table and an oversized rocking chair near the TV. His couch and the armchair and ottoman opposite it were a dark-chocolate leather.

He had other furniture that Violet hadn’t quite expected. Like the giant armoire that had its doors secured open, revealing shelves decorated with picture frames and miscellaneous trinkets. And, of course, Violet recognized Max’s plaid doggy bed. Blankets of a similar design were draped off the back of the couch and the rocking chair.

She took the glass of water Grant offered her and watched him as he refilled Max’s food bowl.

“Armando and I made a lot of smart business decisions. Don’t be fooled by the look of the place, though. I didn’t do any of it. I had a client who was an interior designer and he insisted on helping me when I moved in last year. He even framed pictures my parents sent me.”

Suddenly a sleek, black cat appeared from behind the couch and made its way over to Violet. He wound a path between her feet, purring loudly as he rubbed against her leg. She reached down and gave his head and back a thorough rubbing.

“You have a cat?” Violet said, asking the world’s most obvious question.

“That’s Bill. I got him and Max the same day.”

“It’s a lot of responsibility to take on at once. I don’t even keep a goldfish.”

“Hey, goldfish are hard to keep alive. I went through a bit of a wild streak and my mom told me to get a dog. She knows I wouldn’t neglect an animal and it would force me to slow down before I ran off to Vegas or somewhere to do stupid shit. While I was filling out the paperwork to bring Max home, some lady at the shelter was talking about the lone survivor of Bill’s litter, so I took them both.

“That’s so sweet.” Violet abandoned Bill to look around some more. She stopped at what was clearly a gold record plaque for what looked like a five member pop group that had a name she didn’t recognize. She also didn’t understand what it was doing on Grant’s wall. He could have found it at a garage sale. Failed artists were always selling personal treasures to keep their heads above water. But the frame on this piece seemed pristine and cared for, and its position on the wall seemed to be special. Was he that into music?

She looked closer at the guys in the picture and in the middle—she had to blink twice—in the middle, hunched, with his arms around his bandmates, was a lanky, baby-faced Grant. He looked so different without the five or so inches of height, the thirty pounds of muscle, not to mention the full beard he’d grown in the sixteen or so years since the picture had been taken.

Violet covered her mouth to muffle her girl-screech of disbelief. “Is that you?!”

Grant came over and looked at the plaque. “Yes.”

“You. Were in a boy band called First Base?”

This time Violet actually stumbled back, her lips still covered, as Grant started to sing.

“
My heart, it’s true, girl, belongs to you, girl. The days, the nights apart. You don’t know what it does to my heart, when I’m not with you. Girl.
”

Violet couldn’t believe her eyes or her ears. It was frightening the difference some well-manicured facial hair could make, but his voice? Grant had one of the most beautiful singing voices she had ever heard.

“I have never heard that song,” she confessed. “But wow.”

Grant shrugged it off, as if his vocal skills were no big deal. “It was a lifetime ago.”

“What happened?”

“I did the whole wanna sing, wanna dance, wanna act thing when I was a kid and then I got sucked into the boy band machine. Artist development takes a long time. They test you in different markets, swap out band members. We had one hit in Europe, but we just missed the craze here. The record label dropped us and that was that.”

“But how’d you go from this to owning a gym? I’m missing something in the gap.”

“That just sort of happened.” He shrugged again, making Violet want to shake him for downplaying his accomplishments. She worked to pay the rent and stay in the industry, but Grant had stories to tell and she wanted to hear them all.

“Starting a successful business doesn’t just sort of happen. Tell me,” she said.

“After my career as part two of a five-part adolescent harmony didn’t work out, I moved back to Florida with my parents and tried to go back to school.”

“Florida didn’t hold the cultural appeal of Paris and London?”

“Not really. I wanted to sing, so I moved out here and quickly realized that my dreams of being a white R&B singer were not going to pan out. The group thing was still hot and executives saw me more as a face than a voice.”

“So you started turning tricks?”

“Close. I started modeling. Sort of.”

“Does that mean you actually did porn?”

“No. I worked for this company that hired semi-nude models to work as living statues and servers at parties. That’s how I ran into Armando. And how I ended up being a Dominer.”

Violet smiled. “You know you like that word better. Admit it.”

“I do, but don’t tell Mando that.”

“So?” Violet wanted more details.

“We both got hired to be eye candy at this bondage-themed party an actor was throwing. He contacted a real dungeon master to give it an authentic feel. That man, Philip, everything he set up for the guy was just for show. Nothing kinky even happened. Well, with us anyway. Some people fucked in various rooms, but that’s typical Hollywood shit. We just had to stand around in leather jock straps and chest harnesses and hold trays, but after the party Philip heard Armando and I talking about wanting to get into the bondage scene for real. He invited us to meet some people, participate in some scenes and, after a while, he was training us both to be Dominants.”

“You really have to train for that? It’s just extra crazy sex, isn’t it?”

Grant stepped closer and wrapped his arms over Violet’s shoulders. The contact left her conflicted. She wanted to rip his clothes off and she wanted to hear the rest of his story. If only they could do both. His hand was in her hair in the next second, tilting her head back in a gesture Violet was starting to crave. His gentle control was so freaking sexy. She looked from his eyes to his golden brown mustache as he continued to talk.

“Sometimes it doesn’t even involve sex. Mainly I needed to learn how listen to my partner, how to anticipate their needs, when to push, when to stop, when to walk away altogether. Anyone can have extra crazy sex, but if I’m tying you up and whipping you, I want to make sure we both enjoy the experience, and also want to make sure you don’t need therapy afterwards.”

“Is whipping people your favorite thing to do?” Was that something she was willing to do?

“No. I like control, Miss Ryan. I like controlling where you sit, where you stand, where you lie down, when you speak and when you’re silent, when you come and just how hard.”

“Oh, I see. You like bossing me around and making me miserable.”

“Something along those lines. Are you too tired to play?”

Her body surged with heat and that seemed to be the answer she was looking for. Still, Violet wasn’t dumb enough to ignore the words Grant had just said. This BDSM stuff was really serious to him. She was pleased he approached it with such practical caution and consideration, but she wasn’t sure how deep those waters truly ran and if she was willing to test them. She exhaled lightly, and took her own cautious step. “What do you have in mind?”

Grant crossed the room and unhooked what Violet thought was a piece of art on the wall. A length of chain uncoiled and two long metal bars slowly dropped from the ceiling a few feet away from the couch. Grant beckoned her closer as he separated the two bars. One he held in his hand and the other still hung from the ceiling.

Violet examined the bar that was still suspended. It looked sturdy enough. Each end had a small metal hook. “Hands up here and…?”

Grant pointed to the floor. “Feet spread apart here.” Violet pictured herself tied up just so, naked, she guessed, with her arms suspended over her head and her thighs unable to close. Had it been anyone other than Grant looking at her with those big, sweet eyes, waiting patiently for an answer but silently praying that she would be open to this experience, that she would be open to trusting him, she would have said no. But it was Grant and she did trust him. Though she wished she had called Faye or someone to let them know where she was. If he really planned to, say, tie her up and keep her prisoner or kill her, Faye would at least know where to start looking.

“It’s safe, right?” she asked.

“Yes. And I told Armando where we were going. If for some reason I drop dead and you’re still chained up here, he’d come by looking for us by tomorrow night, at the latest.” She could tell he was teasing about the last part.

“Sure. Let’s do it. Can I freshen up a bit first?”

“Bathroom’s right through there.” He pointed down the hallway. “Just leave your clothes in there.”

The pep talk Violet gave herself lasted the length of her super-short shower. Grant liked her. He enjoyed her body just the way it was. He’d already made her come like crazy and hopefully tonight they would finally have sex. It was okay for her to be a little nervous, but there was no need for her to be afraid. This was something new, a new part of this new life she was trying to create for herself. More than just new dresses and a tighter stomach. This new life had long walks and great sex. She was facing something that shined brightly with excitement and she wanted to embrace it.

When she walked back out to the living room, completely naked and dry except for her damp hair, she found Grant had changed into jeans and a t-shirt. Digging through the bottom drawer of the armoire he pulled out a cordless vibrator, two pairs of cuffs and a strip of black fabric.

“You just keep that down there?” Violet said.

“It’s not like I have kids. Do your friends come over and dig through your shit?”

“No, I guess not. I just keep that stuff in my bedroom.”

“You’ll have to show me some time.” He placed everything on the ottoman then faced Violet with a clear, but serious expression on his face. “We are going to skip safewords because this is your first time. If at any point you are in pain, extremely uncomfortable, anything like that, tell me. Just say, ‘Grant, stop’, or tell me whatever you need in that moment. Yes, you are giving up your body for me to enjoy for the time being, but you are in control, do you understand?”

“Got it.”

“Okay. Come here.” It didn’t take much time, maybe five minutes, and Grant had Violet cuffed up in his living room. Her arms were fine, suspended above her head. It almost felt natural. The feet took some getting used to. She wanted to close them, not because she was uncomfortable being bared to Grant that way, but because her body instinctively wanted to put her hands on her hips when her feet were spread apart. She felt like she was stuck mid jumping jack and Grant was just getting started.

When he slipped the black fabric over her eyes, Violet took a deep breath. Everything went dark and she strained to keep her bearings. There was nothing to hear though, nothing to feel but Grant. His lips brushed against her ear. “Are you ready?”

There was something witty she wanted to say, something defiant and smart, but she couldn’t find the words. She just wanted Grant to touch her, so she nodded and said yes.

He started with his mouth on hers. In his nearly signature way, her head was pulled back and his tongue slid against hers, soft and slow. The kiss was enough to ease her anxious nerves. Her body went from tight and tense to so hot and wet. The burn started between her legs, was heavy and throbbing. She wanted more.

Grant’s mouth moved lower, farther from her mouth, but always pressed against her skin, leaving a hot, tingling trail of sensation in its wake. He bit her neck then sucked on the tender spot to ease the pinch of pain away.

She moaned, as he continued on to her left breast and then to the other, sucking each nipple gently before pinching it between his thick fingers and drawing his tongue over the sensitive tip all over again. With every new touch, Violet tried to squirm and move, but it was useless. The balls of her feet seemed stuck to the floor. She was stretched to the point that there was nowhere for her to go. She felt awkwardly off balance. Still, Grant was always right there, some part of his body pressed to hers. His mouth on her breast, a hand on her waist or between her legs, helping her regain her balance. She wanted the blindfold off so she could see his face, but more than anything she wanted to touch him.

So many times she almost asked. He could give her sight back, but the dark was part of the game. It heightened her senses, and drove her mind wild as she tried to anticipate his next move. His hand was on her thigh when she heard the sound of wood on wood then the smoosh of leather. The ottoman, she thought, just as Grant’s whole face, wet tongue and all, pressed between her legs. That was the end of her intentional thought for what would turn out to be another hour.