Committed (5 page)

“Feet are a hard limit,” she blurted out. How had she forgotten to mention that one?

The blows stopped and for a beat there was no sound whatsoever.

“I don’t renegotiate once a scene has begun. I told you this.” His voice had a low, deadly quality.

“I know. I forgot.”

Not the feet.

Anything but her feet.

Okay, maybe not cutting her hair, but definitely not the feet!

The idea of him touching them, especially using the stinging toy, made her clench her toes and try to kick out from the ropes.

“There is no negotiating once the scene has started.” His hands coasted down her calves to her ankles and back up.

Was she willing to call red, stop the scene, on the grounds of him touching her feet?

Poppy feared the answer was yes.

They were so ticklish, she couldn’t control her reaction when someone messed with them. She hated when someone touched them. She couldn’t get pedicures or a full body massage without almost kicking someone.

“Oh come on, it’s just feet. Leave them alone and we’ll be okay,” she pleaded. “Pretty please, sir?”

The dom dragged a single finger down her Achilles tendon, following it to the very point of her heel.

Poppy pulled and tried to kick free from the ropes. He was touching her feet. Her skin crawled with the sensation in a disturbing way.

She’d never been so helpless. There was nothing that she could physically do to stop him. She was completely at his mercy. Tendrils of terror wrapped around her and mixed with the addictive euphoria of subspace. She couldn’t decide if she hated or loved the man for what he did to her, the way he made her feel.

Hands slid up the outside of her legs, coasted over her thighs and hips, pulling the nightie up as he stood. He wrapped his arms around her, using his weight once again to trap her. He was so strong that when she tried to squirm she couldn’t move even an inch.

“You need to calm down. Take a deep breath,” he whispered.

Poppy gulped down air, but the muscles around her ribs seized and she hiccupped.

“Sh. Slow and easy,” he murmured, while his hands stroked her arms and massaged her hands.

He continued to coach her through a short breathing exercise. Her whole body tingled and she hung against the ropes, a limp-doll version of herself.

“You’re mine for tonight, sweetness, don’t forget that.” His hand dropped to her breast and stroked her through the fabric.

“Mm-hm.” Poppy’s head fell back against his shoulder. Curse the damn clothing that kept her from feeling his fingers on her skin.

She let her eyes close and allowed herself to get lost in his touch. The way he handled her was masterful, and spoke of skill honed through practice and study. In no more than half an hour he’d turned her into putty, willing to do anything for him. Even let him touch her feet.

The dom grasped the front of her nightie, just between her breasts, and pulled it away from her body. She arched her back, seeking his touch.

A cool object slid down her sternum.

Poppy gasped and her eyes snapped open.

“Oh no, you are not—”

“Don’t move. You don’t want me to cut you, do you?” he asked.

“You’re cutting my clothes off?” Outrage and excitement chased each other around in her head.

“I am.”

She couldn’t help herself.

Poppy peeked down at her chest. He held a large kitchen knife, blunt side against her
skin. The other hand held the fabric in place.

As the blade was forced between her and her clothing, the edge split the fibers. The thick underwire squeaked as it was sliced clean through. Invisible fingers crept down her spine and she wanted to shudder, but she feared moving with a knife between her breasts. Even breathing seemed dangerous.

The tiny satin ribbon that nestled between her breasts began to fray as the delicate material gave way. As he moved the knife, the dull edge dug into her ribs and she held her breath in an effort to escape the dangerous point working its way toward her stomach.

The bra portion of the nightie came apart in a pop of fabric. She gasped at the sudden vulnerability of being so exposed.

“Good girl.” He kissed her temple and slid the flat of the blade over her right breast. The cool air mixed with the kiss of metal had her nipples tightening. She ached for him to touch the peaks, but he moved away from her chest, bringing the knife over her shoulder.

She arched her back as the point scratched her skin.

He wouldn’t actually cut her, would he?

The initial surge of fear was overcome by her innate knowledge that this man wouldn’t hurt her. She had to trust him.

The knife flicked to the side, pulling the elastic strap off her shoulder. She peeked at the knife once again and her stomach tied up in knots at the size of it. The dom stretched the elastic taut and began to saw.

“I’d look away if I were you,” the dom warned.

Poppy turned her face, leaning forward so that she rested against the upper rung. The elastic recoiled, brushing her upper arm.

Holy crap. He really had cut her clothes off!

The rope still held the garment against her stomach, and the cups were in place, held up by the rung of the ladder.

“Let’s see what we can do here,” he muttered, dragging the point of the knife across her shoulder blade.

The fabric around her abdomen stretched taut. She held her breath and waited for what was to come. Little tugs and the sound of ripping fibers were all she had to go on until two strips of material fell against either thigh.

“That’s more like it.” He patted her ass while the blade whispered across her lower back.

If she didn’t think about it being a real knife, it almost tickled. Her focus narrowed to
tracking the progress of the point as it meandered back and forth across her spine, zigzagging up her other side.

Suddenly, she was yanked to her left. Fabric ripped and she yelped.

The dom chuckled in her ear. Laughter bubbled up in her throat and she nuzzled his cheek.

“How far down the rabbit hole are you?” he asked, his face in profile over her left shoulder.

“We are all mad here,” she whispered, and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“I believe we’re getting there.” He met her gaze as his hand came to rest just above her panty line. The lust, heat, and desire were plain to see, but he held it all in check with an easy smile that made her want to rip his clothes off and drive that control away.

A fresh wave of desire coursed through her body.

The flat of the blade pressed against her throat. She sucked in a deep breath as it pushed her head back slightly, enough for him to lean in and kiss her.

But would he?

Their faces were inches apart. She could hear his breath, feel his heart beat against her back—and the erection in his pants.

“You like to giggle,” he stated, not a question.

“It’s called play, isn’t it?” Poppy strained toward him as she spoke so that their lips brushed. Did he realize she was putty in his hands?

“It is.”

“Play with me, sir.”

The knife slid up her neck to her jaw. Her mind supplied a mental picture of having her throat slit, thanks to too many cop dramas on TV. She gulped reflexively and her gaze strayed from his face to the books in front of her, her vision becoming unfocused.

His lips whispered over her cheek, kissing a line to her mouth.

She sighed as he made contact with her lips, touching them gently while the blunt knife blade pressed harder into her cheek. His hand slid lower, cupping her mound as he deepened the kiss. Poppy sucked in a breath and silently cursed her inability to move. In that moment, he had her body and mind captive.

The dom released her, his gaze growing fierce enough that Poppy shivered. He reached around her and grasped the other strap, slicing through it with one pass of the blade.

Something had changed. It was as if he’d just been toying with her before, but now he
meant business. As he moved between her and the bookshelf, Poppy’s gaze dropped to the shredded material covering her chest.

He tapped the knife against his chin.

“Hmm, it’s a shame to hide such lovely breasts.” He dropped to a knee and slid the knife up under the sheer material.

Poppy tensed, pulling her body as far from the knife as possible.

“What? You don’t like the knife?” He slapped her stomach with the flat of the blade.

“Let me wave a knife around your crotch and see how much you like it. Sir.” She added the last bit hastily, with a chuckle.

“I’m not going to cut you.” He brought the tip up to just under her breasts and pierced the fabric with the point. “At least not intentionally, so you have to hold real still.”

He held her gaze as the knife slid through the fabric as if it were butter, all the way to the hem. God, watching him slice her clothing away was hot. She wished there were more layers so he’d have to peel them all away, flirting with her skin, teasing her senses the whole time.

“You’re going to owe me new lingerie.” Just because it was hot didn’t mean she’d forgotten this outfit had cost her forty bucks. “Sir.”

“Says who?” The knife split the last of the fabric and he stood.

“Says me. Sir. Destroying my clothes was not negotiated.”

He cupped her cheek and pressed their foreheads together. The tender gesture sent a tremor through her. Under all that masculine appeal was a man who could read her body like a book. “Sweetness, now is not the time to tell me what I can and cannot do.”

Poppy didn’t know if she wanted to kiss him or bite him.

“But tomorrow is my turn,” she reminded him.

“And right now is mine.”

The knife was suddenly gone and his other hand cupped her breast through the fabric. He yanked the cups up, ripping the material until it was torn to pieces. Cool air kissed her skin and her nipples puckered.

Holy shit.

She was in way over her head here, and she loved it.

No one had ever made her feel this loss of control, the sense of being completely and utterly helpless. It was thrilling. She laughed, giddy from the spell woven between them.

The dom cupped her breasts, capturing the peaks between his thumb and finger, gently squeezing them.

Poppy gasped and let her head fall back. It felt good.

He released her and stepped back, pulling out the rubber flogger.

“No. No, not that fucking thing.” Poppy pulled against the ropes and wiggled around. The ladder scooted sideways in tiny increments.

“No?” He got up in her face. “You’re telling me no?”

“Yes. Yes I am.” She was not above whining. Oh Lord, she was poking the badger. What would he do? A thrill of adrenaline shot through her.

He grabbed the ladder and pushed.

“Oh shit!” Poppy screamed as she rolled swiftly to the right. She giggled, fabric still attached to the straps fluttering around her like broken wings. She’d always wanted to race around a library on a ladder.

The dom stomped toward her, clearly biting his cheek to keep from laughing. It made him a little more human, a little more appealing, which was dangerous. He grabbed the ladder and jerked her toward him, pivoting so he faced her and digging his other hand into her hair, all in one motion.

She opened her mouth to cry out, tiny pinpricks of pain blossoming along her scalp.

He sealed his lips over hers, pressing against her, forcing her mouth open and kissing her with a ferocity that stole her breath, spoke to her heart. Lust curled like smoke through her body and she pulled against the restraints, wanting to get closer to him.

He pulled away from her suddenly and flicked the rubber flogger at her stomach.

“No,” she wailed, trying to arch her back to get away from the sting it left.

“Just try to move away from me,” he dared her, and began swinging the short flogger like a helicopter blade, around and around, lighting up her skin.

“I’m going to use that thing on you and you’ll see how it feels,” she growled at him.

She shifted her weight back and forth, so the ladder inched away from him.

“Oh, no you don’t.” He pulled the ladder back in front of him and brought the flogger to her shins, working lower and lower.

“Don’t you touch my feet. I will call red.” Her panic rose as the tails brushed the tops of her feet.

He didn’t reply, acted as if he hadn’t even heard her. Instead, he rose and paced around her in a fluid, predatory motion. The flogger fell on her shoulders, then her calves. Poppy cried out as he slapped her ticklish sides lightly, and the ladder rolled a few inches.

“You’re supposed to be over there,” he muttered, and pushed her back toward where they’d started.

The ladder coasted all the way to the end of the track and hit the bumper at the end, stopping her abruptly.

She glanced over her shoulder, wondering what was next. The dom stood at a table, his back to her, rifling through his gear. What else was in that bag of tricks? Though she couldn’t see what he was doing, she heard the sounds of ripping cardboard and crumpling plastic.

What was he opening?

He turned toward her, keeping his hands behind his back.

The ominous sound of a vibrating object filled the library.

Poppy didn’t know if she should dread or look forward to his surprise. She rubbed her thighs together as much as she could and watched his slow progress over her shoulder, as he closed the distance between them.

The dom pressed his front to her back and wrapped his arms around her. He held an egg-shaped vibrator Poppy knew well. She’d had one of her own until the motor died.

She hoped he kept it on low.

He toyed with one nipple while holding the vibrator against her stomach. She sucked in a breath through her teeth and let her head fall back against his shoulder.

The dom slipped his hand past the band of her thong and ran it back and forth on her mound, the vibrations teasing her skin. She wiggled her hips, but between the rope and his weight, she couldn’t move far.

The vibrator slid along her slit, back and forth. It promised pleasure, maybe too much.

He plucked her breast and she moaned.