Nobody's Perfect (57 page)

"I'm proud of you, Savita. You've been to hell and back, but all you do is think about how you can improve the lives of others."

She cast her gaze away, uncomfortable with his praise. "It doesn't take any great courage to give away money you didn't really work for in the first place."

His hand cupped her chin and raised her face to meet his gaze. "You have more courage in your pinky than most people do in their entire bodies."

Savi blinked away a sting in her eyes. "Please don't think I'm some kind of hero. If you only knew how scared I am of everyth..."

The pad of his thumb brushed over her lower lip and caused it to tingle. She pulled away, leaning back in her chair.

"Retreat, if you must. Just promise me we'll continue to date, and that you'll let me be your Top whenever you need one."

She'd never known anyone to be so patient—and persistent. "I'd like that. You've helped me so much, Damián. I'd still like to try and put more of these abuse issues behind me."

He grinned. "Good. Then I have the perfect scene planned for later to help you do just that."

Her heart fluttered as she wondered what he had planned, but she knew from experience no amount of questioning would result in his dropping any hint of what was to come. Anticipation was good for her, he often repeated. Whether true or not, she knew it was part of the discipline he talked so much about teaching her.

"You haven't finished your dinner."

"I don't think I can eat another bite—especially if you have something strenuous planned."

"Eat. It's your mind that will be getting the workout tonight; not your body."

He
would
have to keep dropping hints that made her even more curious. But she wouldn't ask; he wouldn't tell.

She finished the cheese enchilada, but left the rice. He seemed satisfied that she'd eaten enough and settled the check. Then he stood and came around the table to pull out her chair. She looked around to notice that the cantina was packed with patrons now.

Oh, great.

She'd have to walk past every one of them dressed like a slut, until Damián could retrieve her coat from the rack near the entrance. He placed his hand on the upper curve of her butt.

His butt.

She held her head high and preceded him toward the door. Oddly enough, the few people at the tables she forced herself to look at had no interest in her whatsoever. The women were all looking at Damián, some with blatant sexual interest, which made Savi feel an odd sense of pride.

Mine.

As she continued toward the coat rack, it was the men who truly surprised her. Despite her obviously suggestive clothing, they didn't gawk at her at all. Some nodded at Damián as a show of respect or greeting, but none of them so much as looked at her.

It was almost as if Damián had put out some kind of pheromone to alert them that she was
his
and that they'd better not even
think
of looking at her.

She smiled.

As always, Damián protected her. He made her feel safe.

Damián helped her into her coat. "I think you're ready to play in the dungeon tonight."

Blood rushed through her ears blocking out anything else he might have said. She turned to stare at him and make sure she'd heard him correctly. He grinned at her discomfort.

Sadist. Oh, yes. No doubt about it.

Sensual
sadist
.

She shivered in anticipation.

Somehow, the words
play
and
dungeon
didn't go together in her mind. The very word
dungeon
sent a quiver through her. Was it fear, excitement, or both?

Just what did he have planned for the rest of their date?

Chapter Twenty-Three

Damián placed a firm hand on the back of Savannah's neck and she nearly crumpled to the floor. With that simple gesture, he took control of her and led her across the great room to a closed door near the stage. When he opened the door, she found herself staring at two familiar-looking brick staircases.

She recognized the one that led upstairs. The door behind her was the one she'd tried to open on Christmas Day, expecting to find a Victorian living room or parlor beyond the doors. Good thing they'd kept the door locked. If she'd seen the way the room was decorated—like something in a film about the Marquis de Sade—she'd have run so fast Damián would never have caught her.

Keeping his firm hand at the back of her neck, he guided her toward the stairway leading down.

The dungeon lay beyond that door.

"Breathe,
querida
." His breath was warm against her ear.

Easy for you to say.

She drew in a deep breath, having become so used to obeying his commands when she was in bottom mindset. When they reached the landing, he opened a door in front of them. The room ahead of her was dark and she balked, then he reached out for a wall switch and the area became awash in bright light. She noticed the equipment along the walls on either side of the long, narrow room. It was nothing but what one would find in a weight-training room.

"It
is
a weight-training room,
bebé
."

Surprised at his words, she turned to him. Had she spoken aloud? She hadn't even realized.

"This way,
querida
, before you faint from holding your breath."

He grinned. Placing a finger under her chin, he turned her head to face forward as he led her past the benches and bar bells to another closed door at the opposite end of the room. The door creaked when he opened it. Surely a little lube would take care of that, but she'd definitely felt her stomach drop a few inches when the door creaked. They probably left it unoiled on purpose, just to freak out the bottoms and submissives brought down here to play. The eerie sound certainly had done a number on her psyche. She'd seen too many movies.

I can do this.

"After you,
bebé
."

Savannah looked through the open door into yet another darkened room. Going from the light to the darkness seemed rather symbolic, yet terrifying. She took another deep breath.

Placing one foot in front of the other, she stumbled in the damned stilettos. Damián wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her against his hard body. His hand grabbed her breast and squeezed.

"I was beginning to think you weren't going to miss a step all evening." He chuckled and then, just as suddenly, he pulled away and let her go with a pat to her butt. He took her by the elbow as she stepped over the threshold. She felt a bit like Alice must have after falling down the rabbit hole. She'd entered a world just as foreign and strange. The question was, how would she be changed when she left this place?

Her eyes couldn't make out anything at first, then the wall sconces blazed to life, giving off a warm glow from what looked like undulating flames above torches. She was mesmerized by one for a moment, then realized they weren’t real flames. Illusion.

Slowly, as the room came into focus, she began to notice more details. The walls here were brick, as well, and the floor was made of rough-hewn boards. It looked like an old cellar. The effect it had on those brought here to "play" must be daunting. She certainly felt a frisson of fear rising in her stomach.

Even more disturbing were the implements she found hanging along one wall—a pair of rusty-looking metal restraints and chains reminded her of the castle dungeons she'd seen in old movies. Were they merely here for effect, or did anyone actually get chained to the wall? Hanging near the center of the wall was an iron mask. Maybe they were used as part of castle-dungeon fantasy play, if there was such a fetish.

Who was she kidding? After spending a number of nights at the club, she was learning there was a fetish for everything.

Then, she saw modern-looking leather wrist cuffs and chains on the walls as well. Ahh. That's probably what he'd use if he were going to restrain her here. But Damián seemed to have other plans for her. He led her past the shackles and up to a wooden St. Andrew's cross. Why had he brought her down here, rather than use one of the crosses upstairs?

Clearly, he was messing with her mind. This room was on the creepy side, for sure. Was he planning to use the whip and clothespins again? She certainly had enough bare skin to clamp the pins onto.

"Are you ready to submit to me, body and mind, Savannah? Totally and completely?"

I already have.

"Yes, Sir."

Without another word, he took her left wrist and buckled a leather cuff on her. He did the same with the other, then slid two fingers inside each to test the tightness. "How does that feel?"

"Perfect, Sir."

"Like you,
querida
."

She turned away, not knowing how to respond to a comment that ridiculous.

"Look at me."

She did and shrunk back at seeing his probing expression. Sometimes she wondered if he read her thoughts. She needed to stop disagreeing with him, even with her mind.

"As always, if your fingers start to tingle or you feel cramping anywhere, I want you to tell me immediately. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir, but…" Oh, she didn't have permission to speak.

"Is there a problem or a question?"

She nodded. "Yes, Sir. Wouldn't it be easier for me to undress before you put the restraints on?"

"If I'd wanted you to strip, I'd have ordered you to do so already."

"Oh. Yes, of course, Sir." This would be her first BDSM scene with her clothes on. Oddly enough, in this setting, she was grateful to be able to cover as much of herself as this skimpy outfit did.

"What is your safeword?"

"Tamale, Sir."

"If you need to stop, just say that word and all play will end. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Your slow-down word?"

"Guacamole, Sir."

"Good girl."

He'd lifted the first cuffed hand and attached it to the cross before she realized she hadn't reacted negatively to being called a good girl.

I'm Damián's good girl.

Within seconds, she was clamped onto the frame in a Y shape.

He held a tall, leather collar in front of her, D-rings and studs on either side and in the front. Before she had a chance to ask, he explained. "This is a posture collar, an alternative to using a blindfold in this scene. I do not want you to look down or away from me."

After placing the collar around her neck, a kinky neck brace of sorts, he hooked the rings on either side of her neck to chains already attached to the cross. Her head and chin were locked firmly in place. When she tried to bend her head forward, she couldn't move anything but her eyes. Even so, she couldn't see below her nose and the tops of her cheeks.

He pulled her hair into a scrunchee and bound the ponytail to the cross. Seemed like overkill, but something about the act also made her body respond in ways she didn't expect, as if he'd grabbed her hair in his fist. Heat pooled in her lower abdomen and she almost felt the stirrings of desire.

Almost. She soon regained her composure.

Lastly, he drew a leather strap from behind her and cinched her tightly at the waist.

"Take a deep breath." He placed fingers between the strap and her belly. "Perfect."

After cuffing and chaining her ankles together, he then anchored them to chains at the legs of the cross. Damián walked around behind her and brushed his hands over her breasts and abdomen as he pulled her body against the cross. Savannah's knees buckled, but the wrist, neck, and waist restraints kept her from falling. She submitted to his touch, the restraints, the total loss of control.

Submission.

She was his to do with whatever he wished. She had absolutely no intention of stopping him anytime soon.

"That's my good girl."

His
good girl.

"You're doing great, Savita."

She'd always liked hearing him call her that, knowing now it was more an endearment than her name. She wouldn't be Savita Diaz any longer. She smiled at him.

"Tonight I'm going to mark you as mine, my beauty."

Her breath caught in her throat and the smile vanished. Mark her how? God, she hoped he wasn't going to bring out the violet wand again. She wasn't nearly over her fear of that instrument of torture, even though he had assured her there were ways in which the sensation could be enjoyable.

The strong scents of magic marker and…cherries?...assailed her just before he pressed the tip against her right breast and began to write, saying each letter aloud as he wrote.

"F-I-L-T-H-Y."

Filthy?

He continued to write on her left breast, again spelling out loud.

"W-H-O-R-E."

Filthy whore.

"No, Damián!" By the time her mind registered what he was writing, she tried to jerk her body away from the cherry-scented marker. No use. He'd bound her so tightly to the cross, she couldn't move an inch.

The look in his eyes told her she'd disobeyed. He wasn't happy with her, but each letter of the horrific words she detested felt like a brand to her heart. Her throat closed as she pictured the words he'd written on her.

Filthy whore.

"Close your eyes and keep them closed."

She swallowed hard and did as he'd told her. When he pressed the marker against her forehead, she started to open her eyes, but he placed his other hand over her eyelids. She fought the restraints again. If her legs hadn't been chained, she'd have knocked him on his ass again, just to stop him.

"Not there!" The tank top could be thrown away, but permanent marker on her face? "Damián, please don't write anything else on me!"

He glared at her. "How do you address me?"

"Sir, I'm sorry, but…guacamole!" She'd never wanted to be a disappointment to him, but she had to stop a moment. More tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them back. "Please don't do this. I have an interview in two days to discuss my licensing exam. It would take me forever to get those marks off. Please don't disgrace me this way."