Just A Woman (Marina: Part Two: Naughty Nookie Series) (6 page)

When I look back
on tonight, I’ll realize it was the night my life changed.  I had the
choice.  He
gave
me the choice.  It might have been couched in
the terms of an order, but I could stay in my room or go to his.  The
decision to change was mine.

I crawled out of
bed the instant the outer door of my suite snapped to a close and was in Nate’s
room as soon as I could figure out which one belonged to him.  Three doors
down, I slinked inside.  Shocked at the darkness, I realized he might take
my tardiness as defiance rather than just being lost and I stumbled my way to
the bed.  I found it, felt for the covers with my hands and managed to
climb in without too much damage to my shins.  I must have looked like
Marley’s ghost, hands outspread wandering through the pitch black, but unless
Nate has night-vision goggles, he didn’t see my impression of a ghoul.

And now, I lie
here knowing he’s awake but not saying anything.  It’s good to be back in
a bed with him.  Had things been okay with us at the hospital, when he’d
been better, I’d have spent a lot of time sharing a mattress with him. 
It’s always like that with us.  We might have spent months apart, but
we’re glued together the instant we’re in each other’s company.  So the
two feet of space between us is odd.  But welcome. 

I’d like nothing
more than to cuddle up against him, even though with any other guy, I’m no
cuddler.  I want to sleep skin to skin, press my back to his chest, have
his back to mine.  The distance puts me on edge but is a necessary
evil.  I’m here.  Something that’s a miracle in itself.  I can’t
be greedy.

Despite my
resolve, my foot crawls over the breadth of the space separating us and I nudge
his big toe with mine.

“Did I tell you
you could touch me?” 

His low voice
makes me jump and my foot scurries back to its earlier position.  It’s
hard to believe, but at his chastisement, my pulse has increased and I’m
breathing heavily.  I could note it down as surprise, but if anything, I’d
expected him to make some form of rejection.

Sucking in air to
calm myself down, I stare up at the ceiling and wonder if he’s going to say
anything else.  He doesn’t and somehow that’s worse than anything. 

This whole
discipline crack is going to be hard.  Mostly because he’s right.  I
do whatever the hell I want, whenever I want.  And I’m rich.  I can
afford to do
anything
.  Hell, it’s no wonder he thinks I’m as
dangerous as firecrackers in a barn full of hay!  Curbing those leanings
is going to be nigh on impossible.  But I guess that’s where Nate comes
in. 

I picture him in
the gear I’ve seen some of my former clients wear.  Leather chaps and
shorts, PVC shirts, talc stains at the hems and whip in hand.  But I can’t
imagine it.  I know from Rosalie, the professional sub at Papillon, as
well as books I’ve read and things I’ve seen on the net, that no Dom/sub
relationship is cut and dry. 

Every partnership
is different just as every so-called
normal
couple is. 

There are the folk
whose limits are being cuffed to the bed, and then there are those who can be
whipped until they’re bloody or be pissed on in the shower...  I guess I’m
going to have to figure out what my limits are.  I know enough about this
lifestyle to realize I’m going to have to tell Nate what they are.

Toilet play is
most definitely out, but again, I doubt Nate is into that stuff.  Being
whipped?  Practically beaten and roughly used?  No.  Any arousal
in my body would wither away and die at the prospect of Nate drawing blood from
my poor butt with a whip.  I’m into rough sex, and like I said earlier,
kink, but that’s way too far out of my comfort zone.

Nate knows I like
to fuck.  I think back to our last trip together, when he dragged me into
the phone booth in the hotel and fucked me in the tiny space.  Pinning me
to the wall, gagging me with his hand to keep me quiet, urging me to an orgasm
that nearly blinded me with its power.  He’s always been rough, aggressive
even.  Not violent, just…

The word pops into
my head and the instant it does, it’s like a light bulb bursting in my brain.

Dominant
.

He dominated me
without my even realizing it.  He led me to the phone booth, pulled aside
my panties and fucked me.  He overloaded me with one-hundred percent
him
,
closeted me in a tiny space that made the universe boil down to just the pair
of us, until the very air I breathed was loaded with his essence.  And I
didn’t argue, didn’t even think to stop him.  I
submitted
.  To
Nate.  Without knowing it.  Christ.

I just thought of
him as being kinky.  His aggression always turned me on, made me feel so
powerful, because it was a sign of how much he wanted me.  And I guess
it’s no different, even knowing what I do now.  But still…
dominant
. 
Wow.  I form the word with my mouth as I stare up at nothing. 

My eyes are
sightless but my mind is buzzing, creating image after image of the pair of us
together.  That same night, back in April, he fucked me in the ass
afterward.  He was rough and I loved every second of it.  I begged
for more.  Every part of me had craved him, desperate for everything he
could give me.  I’d wanted him to overpower me, to dominate me.  How
could I have been so stupid to have failed to see the truth of who and what I
am?

Moron.

I’m ashamed at my
lack of insight, but my thoughts are like quicksilver.  They pass through
my head at the speed of light so shame doesn’t sit with me long, before other
things enter my mind.  Shifting my mood within seconds. 

I picture Rosalie
as I last saw her ̶ professionally, at any rate.  Bent over and
locked into position, legs spread wide and pussy stuffed full with a
dildo.  And God help me, the same thing happens as it did that day. 
Arousal begins to simmer through my veins.  I can feel my own sex start to
heat up at the idea of being restrained.  A part of me thinks,
‘Whoa!  Back the hell up!’  But it’s too late for that, I’m already
turned on.

I picture myself
bent over his knee as he spanks my butt and the image has my spine tingling,
sending a gentle rush of sensation through my body.  I guess I like that
idea too.  My major confusion stems from the fact I’ve never wanted this
before, so why is it getting me hot now?  I’ve never wanted to be spanked
but tying the idea of it with discipline is a way of turbocharging my
arousal. 

Biting my lip, I
try to hide from the image of him disciplining me, of him making me pay for
whatever I’ve done wrong, of my submitting to his dominance over me.  But
I can’t.  My body won’t let me and I curl on to my side away from him,
lifting my legs higher to roll into a fetal ball.  Not even that
helps.  My pussy lips are squashed between my thighs and if I twitch my hips,
my pussy is getting even more attention than before.

As I roll back to
my earlier position, another image pops into my head.  This time of Nate
spreading my legs, knotting rope around my ankles, and tying them to the
bedposts.  His head drops down to press an open-mouthed kiss to my pussy,
shooting the nerves in my clit from dormant to buzzing in ten seconds
flat.  The moment
daydream
Nate slips a finger inside and begins to
fuck me, my hand shoots down between my legs and I start to touch myself. 

Gently so as not
to disturb the covers or the bed, I begin to rub my clit as in my mind’s eye,
Nate’s fingers jerk away from my cunt the instant my hips start to roll and my
cries of pleasure indicate that orgasm is close.  He slaps my pussy lips
with the tips of his fingers, once.  Twice.  It stings, the imagined
burn on so soft an area has my fingers speeding up.  A breath hiccups in
my chest and then, a squeak as another hand whips out of nowhere and imprisons
my wrist.

“What the fuck do
you think you’re doing?”

Busted.

I suck in a
breath.  My pussy and brain are obviously working in tangent to frame me,
because there are no words in my mind, nothing on the tip of my tongue. 
In the darkness, I stare up at him and his proximity is so overwhelming, it
adds another notch of heat to my already simmering self.  His breath
brushes my lips and mine his.  I try to wriggle my wrist free from his
grasp but he tightens it until I wince at so fierce a hold.

“I repeat. 
What the hell are you doing?”

His low voice, angry
and forceful, does something to my nipples.  They swell and bead, tauten,
begging for his touch.  He shakes me via our connected hands and I
stutter, “Nothing.  I was sleeping!”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not!” I cry
out, trying to pull my hand away but I can’t.  His grip is tight, but he
isn’t pulling the skin so it chafes or burns, there’s no pain, I just can’t
move away from him.

“You are. 
First rule, Marina, don’t lie to me.  Never lie to me again, do you hear
me?”

His hiss wends its
way through my soul and I turn my head to the side, even though I know he can’t
see me through the gloomy darkness.  “I understand.”

“Two, don’t defy
me.  We’ve had this conversation once already; I don’t like to repeat
myself.”

“I didn’t defy
you.”

“Did I say you
were allowed to touch yourself?  Because I know that’s what you were
doing.”

On the brink of
telling him I was doing no such thing, I bite my lip and mutter, “No, you
didn’t tell me I could.  But you never said anything about that.  I
didn’t realize I couldn’t touch myself.  Hell, do I need permission to
shower?”

“Yes.  You
do,” he tells me calmly and my eyes widen in the darkness.  He can’t be
serious?  Can he?  Almost as though he can read my thoughts, he
whispers, “Deadly.  Three, you can’t touch yourself in anyway shape or
form without my permission.  And you sure as hell can’t let anyone else
touch you either.”

“So, no handshakes
then,” I bite out snottily.

“No.  No
touching.  Four, you can’t leave the ranch without my permission.  I
can’t trust you outside of this place.  Christ knows what trouble you’ll
get in to if I’m not with you.”

“You’re joking.”

My flat tone has
his grip tightening about my wrist.  “Does it sound like I’m joking? 
If you leave this place without my say so, you’ll be disciplined.  Have
you got that?”

“I’m not a
prisoner, Nate!”

“No.  You’re
not.  Not in the legal sense of the word, but let’s consider me as your
custodian.”

“What if you’re
not here and I need to run into Sheridan?”

“When am I not
here?” he dismisses.  “But if I’m not, you call me and if you can’t get in
touch, you wait until you speak to me.  I’ll hold you to it, Marina. 
The only way I’ll let you get out of disobeying is in an emergency, otherwise
your ass will glow if I hear of you sneaking off anywhere.”

“This can’t be happening.” 
My statement has anger hissing from between his teeth.  “You can’t control
every aspect of my life.”

“You need to be
controlled, Marina.  You know it and I know it.  I should have taken
you in hand years ago, but I didn’t want to freak you out.  The time for
that has passed.  I can’t lead you into this gently, Marina.  No baby
steps for you.  How can I?  You’re a danger to everyone around
you.  When you misbehave, somebody else gets hurt.  You need to learn
that for every action, there’s a reaction and in this case, it’s a
punishment.  If you go against one of my rules, you will have to deal with
the consequences and if you don’t like it, you can always go back to your
room.”

So saying, he
releases his grip on my wrist and moves away from me.  I can hear the
faint grunt as he settles away on the other side of the bed and know he’s hurt
himself by grabbing me the way he did.  I nibble my bottom lip, wanting to
ask if he’s okay but withholding the question so as to deal with the one he
just issued me.

Going back to my
room means this is it.  We’re over.  But with all these rules, would
it be a hardship separating from him?

Goddammit,
yes.  It fucking would.

Closing my eyes,
clenching them tight, I remain planted on the bed.  And I don’t move an
inch.

“Well?” he asks
after a good five minutes of silence.

He expects me to
say it?  To literally hand him control? 

Apparently so.

Gritting my teeth,
I wrench my jaw open to protect the expensive dental job on my veneers, and
bite out, “Yes.  I’ll stay.”

“I expected
nothing less.”  His arrogance should make me want to hit him; instead, it
has my already needy clit longing for more attention.  “Five, if I make a
direct order, you comply.  Even if you think it’s unfair or out of order,
you do as I want, without question, unless I’m asking you to do something that
goes entirely against the grain.  I don’t want a zombie.  I just
don’t want you to misbehave.  If you disagree with a direct order, I want
three reasons as to why you cannot comply.  Understand?”  I nod, but
he says, “Speak to me, Marina.  If I ask you a question, you
always
answer
it.  So, do you understand?”