In the Den (22 page)

Before he’d even rinsed her off, he had her aroused. She rubbed her pussy against his thigh.

“I’ll take care of you when we go to bed,” he promised, turning off the faucet.

“You know, I’ve decided I hate this orgasm denial thing you do.”

He exited the shower, grabbed two towels and wrapped the first around her shoulders. “Yeah?”

“Really hate it.”

“I’m amenable to listening to your objections. I’m not likely to be swayed.”

She towel dried her hair while he dressed in a pair of lightweight workout pants and worn-to-soft T-shirt.

“Wine?” he offered.

“Sparkling water. With lime, if we have it.”

“We do. I’ll have it ready for you in the living room.”

After brushing her hair, she put on yoga pants and a sweater. Barefoot, she joined him on the couch. She rested her back against the arm, facing him, sitting cross-legged.

She accepted the water.

“You’ve been on edge all day. Yes, I’ve requested you delay your orgasm twice, but your reaction seems a little out of proportion. Is that what’s really going on? Or is this a camouflage?”

Would she ever notice that in one of her subs? And if she did, would she probe deep enough to uncover the answer? Most likely not, she acknowledged. Her boys showed up and scened with her. She knew what they wanted and she did her best to provide it. In the future, she’d be considerably more aware.

She stared at the bubbles in her drink while he waited. “You’re right,” she acknowledged, shaking back her hair to look at him. “Yes, you’ve frustrated me sexually, and I know why you do it. You’re keeping me keenly aware that I’m here as a sub. Is there a more decadent way to do that than control my pleasure?”

The emotions that had been swimming through her now threatened to swamp her.

Until now, she hadn’t truly realized what she’d said to Gregorio. She was starting to care about Damien. But she wanted an equal relationship, not with someone who had that much power over her. She loved the scenes, the sex, the orgasms and especially the time they shared together, working in the same office, brainstorming, talking, an occasional smoldering kiss or quickie. Then the evenings, in front of the fire, followed by the way he took her to bed.

Now that she’d experienced it, she knew she’d miss it.

The longer she stayed, the harder it would be to leave.

“So submitting to me is still problematic to you?”

She nodded. “More and more.”

He propped an ankle on his opposite knee and drummed his fingers on his thighs. By staying where he was, he gave her room to breathe. Again, he seemed to know what she needed without her saying a word.

“Why is that?”

“I’m a Domme. I understand your lessons, Damien, and I appreciate them. I understand the dynamic in a way I never did. And I have more responsibility to my subs and to the scene I create than I realized two weeks ago.” And she’d learnt the importance of talking to her boys beforehand to build their anticipation for the scene, let it fill their minds to the point of obsession, making the culmination all the more powerful. “I will be a hell of a lot more judicious in my use of a crop and a cane, even when the sub asks me to use it.”

Damien nodded.

“And probably more forceful with a belt. As Gregorio said that one day, I’d better not hit like a girl.” She smiled, but he didn’t.

He allowed the silence to build until tension layered the atmosphere. Finally, she was unable to tolerate it and she went on, “I appreciate everything you’ve done.” She inhaled. Then, before she could change her mind and give him an even bigger part of her heart, she added, “I need to leave.” Tears welled in her eyes.

“What are you scared of?” he asked quietly.

“Nothing.”
Everything.
That she was in so deep that she’d never find her way back. And how stupid was that? He’d been up front in saying he didn’t believe in love. Not that it mattered. He wouldn’t choose a woman who couldn’t—wouldn’t—submit to him. “The two weeks will be up on Saturday, and this way I can get back, get settled in, be ready for work on Monday morning, and we can avoid hiding out up here while the Den has a houseful of guests.”

“We could always attend.”

“With me as your sub,” she said, voice flat.

“Naturally. That was the nature of our agreement, Milady.”

She shook her head. “Not happening.”

“Your decision is made?”

“It is.”

“Is this open for discussion?” he asked.

Catrina leaned forward to slide her glass of water onto the table. “No.” Because if it was, she’d relent. Her clothes would be off, and his hands would be all over her. And she’d be begging for his lash. And that was perhaps the worst of all possible scenarios, creating more confusion. If she were a Domme, why did she crave him? “I need you to respect my decision. Please?”

He inhaled sharply. “Of course.” He nodded. “You can have it as you wish, Milady.”

She stood, and her knees threatened to buckle.

Resolved, she walked to her closet and started throwing her clothing into a bag.

He offered no help.

She didn’t see him in the living room and disappointment shrouded her.

What had she expected? That he’d stride into the bedroom and tie her to the headboard as he had threatened more than once? But he was the consummate Dom. If she asked him to honor her desires, he would. She told herself that that was what she wanted.

He wasn’t in his office, and she checked the security monitors. She didn’t see him on any of them.

On automatic pilot, she disconnected her computer from the printer and started to clear out her desk.

She heard the firm sound of his footfall on the stairs and the file she’d been holding slipped from her nerveless fingers.

“I started your car,” he told her. “For safety reasons, it would be smarter for you to stay here overnight. Or I could have Jeff drive you into Winter Park so you can stay at a hotel.”

Always looking out for her. “Thanks. I’m good.”

“You’re determined, then?”

Not trusting that her voice wouldn’t tremble, betraying her feelings, she nodded.

“In that case, I’ll get your box.” He slung her computer backpack over one shoulder then headed down the stairs, leaving her to grab her bag.

The car was in the driveway, the nose pointed toward the street, which meant he’d backed it out then turned it around so she could drive straight out. It was running and the wipers made lazy swipes across the windshield.

He opened her car door and she slid into the warmed cab. While he stowed her belongings in the trunk, she rolled down the window.

“Call if you need anything,” he said, hands propped on the top of the car. “Anything. Remember that I’m always available to talk about things, discuss your fears.”

“Thank you. There are some things you’d never be willing to compromise on.”

“Send me a text when you get home.”

“No.”

“That wasn’t a request. It’s just common fucking courtesy, Milady,” he said, his voice tight. “It’s late. It’s dark. It’s against my better judgment to let you go. At least have the decency to let me know you’re safe. It’s either that or I follow you. Your choice.”

“You’re serious.”

“What do you think?”

“I’ll send you a message,” she promised. She wondered if she’d ever won a battle with him.

As the lights of the Den faded in her rearview mirror, she shivered. She felt alone and lonely in ways she’d never experienced before this moment.

Chapter Ten

“You look like you could use a drink.”

Damien glanced at Gregorio as he entered his office uninvited. “Any excuse?”

“I’m simply doing you a favor. It’s what friends are for,” Gregorio said, zeroing in on the sideboard with its secret panel.

“Friends are for drinking your most expensive alcohol?”

“Who else is going to suffer like that for you, Boss?”

Damien reached forwards and clicked a couple of keys on his computer. Obviously Catrina wasn’t turning her car around and coming back, so staring at the feed from the outdoor cameras any longer was pointless. He replaced the dozens of pictures with a tranquil beach scene. Palm trees and hammocks were on the left hand side, with crystal blue waters and white sand on the other. It looked sun-drenched, and as far away from here as he was from Catrina.

“Maybe I should have made us something with rum instead,” Gregorio suggested when he looked at the screens.

“This will work.” Damien accepted the snifter then leaned back and propped his feet on his desk. Lost in thought, he warmed the glass in his palms.

“I take it Milady left us.”

“The two weeks were almost up.”

“I’m not surprised.”

Obviously Gregorio, too, had seen the way her car fishtailed as she accelerated away from the property.

“Something to say, Gregorio?”

“Not at all, Boss.” He lazed back, legs stretched in front of him, crossed at the ankles.

“Why are you not surprised?”

“I think you scared the hell out of her. It’s one thing to scene with a Dom, even to be a trainee. It’s another to given him your total submission.”

“Spoken like the voice of experience.”

“Yeah. It’s demanding,” Gregorio said. “Think about what you wanted from her. Were you satisfied with teaching her how to be a better Domme?”

Damien glanced up and stared at the beach screenshot without actually seeing it. That was a question he didn’t want to answer.

When he’d goaded her into accepting his challenge, he’d wanted to crack her toughness to see the woman beneath. He’d wanted to master her. But at what cost to her?

He’d caught glimpses of her vulnerability, and he’d relentlessly pushed, forcing her to expose them while offering little to nothing back in return. He hadn’t mentioned what he was feeling or experiencing, even when she’d talked with Gregorio. He’d had a second chance when she’d come back after her walk.

And then…

Christ.

She’d called him Sir when she’d submitted to his crop earlier. Catrina had transcended a barrier she’d been keeping between them, given him a gift, and instead of immediately acknowledging it, sweeping her into his arms after rewarding her with a powerful orgasm, he’d… Stayed in the scene. Kept his professional distance. Then, when he’d brought her upstairs, he’d assumed she was angry about the lack of an orgasm.

Even when she’d announced her intention of leaving, he’d invited her to attend Friday night’s festivities at the Den.

In retrospect, he saw that she’d given him one last chance to redeem himself when she’d asked if it would be as his sub. Even if he couldn’t have agreed to anything else, he could have discussed it with her rather than shutting down the conversation.

For someone reputed to be an excellent Dom, he’d screwed up. Bad. Who the hell had he been to think he could teach her anything?

“You’re not the biggest fuckwad on the planet, Boss. Just seems that way.”

“Was that supposed to help?”

Gregorio shrugged.

Damien cared about her more than he would have believed possible. And he’d figured they had plenty of time to discuss things, see if they could reach mutual accord.

Gregorio took a sip of the brandy. “Damn, this is good stuff. Not sorry to be drinking it, even at your expense.”

“What are friends for?” Damien said dryly, repeating Gregorio’s earlier words. With that, he motioned for Gregorio to refill his glass.

* * * *

“Oh, my Cat, it’s one thing to lie to us,” Evelyn said softly, “but you need to ask if you’re lying to yourself.”

Caught.

Catrina looked at her mother over a beer. They were having lunch at the same brew pub where she’d met them three weeks ago. Three weeks that could have been a lifetime. “How do you do that?”

Evelyn nodded. “Mothers know these things.”

“Your eyes give you away,” Milton added.

Just like Damien had said.

“Miltey!” Evelyn smacked his arm. “Don’t tell her my secrets.”

Catrina reached for a roll and tore a chunk off it. “Next you’ll be admitting you really don’t have eyes in the back of your head.”

“Actually, those she does have,” Milton said.

Catrina smiled for the first time since leaving the Den and its enigmatic owner. She hadn’t been out of the house in over a week, and seeing her mother today, even if her appendage was with her, was something she’d needed.

“So not hearing from your gentleman friend does bother you?” Evelyn asked.

That was an understatement. It was as if a metal band had been wrapped around her chest, constricting her breathing. “Yes.” She sighed. It relieved her not to pretend otherwise.

“You two were closer than you let on.”

“I was.” She dipped the piece of bread in some butter, but she didn’t eat it. “Obviously he wasn’t.”

“He seemed smitten to me,” Evelyn said. “He hasn’t called at all?”

“He left me alone for a few days, but he’s called twice.”

“And what else?”

“A few text messages.” Several, every day.

“And?” her mother prompted.

“That’s it. End of story.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“Move on with my life.” But she was beginning to wonder if that were possible. She was miserable. He haunted her days and stalked her nights. She thought about him when she had to pour her own coffee in the morning. And when she masturbated, she fantasized about the way he’d wielded the crop on her body. He even intruded on her bath time when she remembered the way he’d slicked his hands with soap and run them over her body.

“You’re not going to respond?”

“No.” She’d considered it, but had ultimately decided not to. She needed to heal, and contacting him would be counterproductive. There was nothing left to be said. She wouldn’t give up who she was ever again, and he could only be with a woman who subbed for him…if he were willing to fall in love again.

It was easier to tell herself that they had shared a fun couple of weeks.

She just wished she could convince herself not to miss his touch, and most of all, the magical intimacy.

Noticing that both her mother and Milton were looking at her expectantly, she blinked. “Did I miss something? Sorry.”