DutyBoundARe (16 page)

A tear slid down her cheek. Emotions always ran high post-play, and this was a charged situation. The man she possibly loved couldn’t love her in return, not until he wanted to.

The edge of subdrop loomed. Unlike subspace, which was wonderful and addictive, subdrop was the opposite. It was ugly and painful. The few times Lisette dropped, she’d become depressed and cried. It was a turmoil of negative emotions, not that much unlike what she was going through now.

Mathieu grabbed the blankets he’d been using on the couch and took the pile of linens into the bedroom. She hurriedly dumped the tea lights into the trash, put the bowl in the sink and laid the washrags out to dry before following him.

Together they made the bed, with Gator pacing from one side to the other, like some sentinel on duty. The poor dog probably thought she’d been murdered.

“There we go.” Mathieu turned the comforter and sheet down, patting the bed. “Climb in.”

Did she want to? It wasn’t like she had any other place to go.

She slid into the bed and he flipped the blankets over her. He left for a moment, and the rest of the lights in the apartment slowly went dark. She held her breath as his steps drew closer to the bedroom. He went to the other side and removed his jeans before turning off the lamp, plunging them into darkness while he slipped in beside her.

Gator joined them, lying across her feet as Mathieu drew her into his arms. Her heart quaked, wanting what he couldn’t give her.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

Awful.

“Okay.”

“Good.” He kissed her brow and hugged her closer.

With another partner, even one she didn’t have sex with, an orgasm was permissible. With Mathieu, it left her cut to the bone and raw. Why?

The answer stared her in the face.

Because her other partners were emotionally available to share in what she felt—the pleasure of an orgasm. Mathieu couldn’t feel for her, not how she needed him to. It was play without emotions, and she wasn’t sure she liked it.

Lisette shifted on the wooden chair
, watching the café patrons come and go with the late morning crowd. No matter how she sat, nothing was comfortable, and Mathieu hadn’t even spanked her the night before. The only marks on her body were a few scrape marks on her wrist that another person would never notice. But she did. Every movement she made reminded her that last night, Mathieu had shared the same bed with her.

She’d slept platonically with people, male and female, but she’d never had the kind of emotional baggage she had with Mathieu with them. Their chemistry and history were different.

The feelings he’d stirred up during their play hadn’t subsided. If anything, she felt more conflicted about the orgasm. Was it wrong? Had he over-stepped the boundaries he’d put in place? Was the orgasm really the problem?

For a few moments during their play, she’d fallen headlong into the belief that it was real. That Mathieu’s cock was inside of her, and it had changed her ability to deal with their relationship objectively.

She’d developed an emotional attachment he did not reciprocate.

The pieces clicked together in her brain and her fingers itched. The old driving desire to capture raw thoughts on paper she hadn’t felt since pre-Seth pushed her. She pulled her laptop toward her and placed the now empty plate on the table next to her.

Speaking from a psychological standpoint, it was understandable that the emotions would happen on her side. Orgasms released a bonding hormone into the body, which completely screwed up her ability to hold back with her old love. The problem wasn’t solved, it was just a little clearer.

Lisette brought up a blank document. This was for her—the first draft always was. She’d write and rewrite it to remove the personal context, filter out what she didn’t want captured for the public eye. But right now, she was raw.

Hello Kinksters,

I want to talk about something many of us do regularly. With many people.

Playing.

I know we’ve discussed play from many angles, and for some of you this might be a dead, tenderized and barbecued horse. Hang with me, because chances are you or a partner of yours has felt this way.

Many of us came into kink with expectations from porn or fiction that painted an unrealistic view of BDSM. Be that the latex-wearing Dominatrix or the idea there is “one true way” or even that there is a Prince Charming of Dominants out there waiting for us. For me, I came into kink with a romanticized view of what would happen between my partner and I when I consented to his touch. His play. I learned pretty quickly that was unrealistic, and I’m glad I did. But sometimes I still want that romance.

There’s something downright magical that happens when you play with someone you love. Especially a person who knows your body intimately. The reactions. How you respond. The emotional attachment between partners can heighten the power exchange and even add a new element to the play.

I’m probably waxing philosophic about this. It’s been a long time since I’ve played and before my relationship bungling, I was a serial monogamist. I like relationships. I like being with one person. I think that’s what I’m craving and desiring to the point that play without the romance, without the emotions or relationship, is giving me a rash. Okay, not a real rash, but it chafes.

Now, for the newer crowd, especially those who have joined us since the popularity of BDSM romance novels, I want to talk first to you guys about a practice that most novels don’t show. That’s the relationship dynamic of the platonic play partners. I’ve chatted with many of you who feel that the intensity of kink should only happen between lovers, and I will continue to respectfully disagree. As much as that is my preferred dynamic, I have almost always continued to play with people, non-sexually, apart from my Dominant. Some people need things their primary partner cannot give them and others simply haven’t met their forever partner(s).

To this end, many of us have play partners where we share the scene only. We may have fond feelings toward our partner, but emotions don’t, or shouldn’t, play a role in the dynamic. It’s that idea of play without the romance that’s bugging me.

I think it’s more than that which is bugging me. It’s a question I don’t really want to ask myself.

Do we ever have play without the entanglement of feelings?

I’ve been very open and honest about where I am recently and I think this has opened the floodgates. There is someone in my life helping me retake my kinky swagger, but it’s not a perfect process. There are bumps along the way, and I’m finding that the difficulty lies in my emotional attachment to my partner. I might be developing feelings which he does not reciprocate. We have amazing chemistry, he’s talented with a flogger, inventive and has introduced me to rope, which I very well might be developing a thing for. I have these rope burns on my wrist that are just sexy, and another time I’ll have to blog on how rope tweaks sensory perception.

((Note to self, take picture of wrist.))

Playing without the romance happens every day in the kink world. Someone needs a good caning, or they want to experience fire play, so they find someone who is good at those things and things progress. [[For new readers, please see the FAQ for The Progress of Play.]] I can’t think of a time when I didn’t like my play partner. Honestly, I wouldn’t play with someone I didn’t at least like because it’s a factor in the basic make-up of my ability to trust another person.

One of the alluring things for a person on the bottom side of the slash is the emotional high we get from subspace. The way it makes us feel is a powerful thing to control. Those emotions can often become something we don’t direct, and as a result, we can become emotionally attached to someone who doesn’t feel the same as we do.

((Getting off track, go back to the play without romance topic))

There is a vulnerability that comes with being the only person in a relationship dynamic who has feelings for the other.

((No, go somewhere else with the topic.))

Play without romance. Where does that take us? It should be a lot like a doctor’s visit. You schedule your play time. Everyone shows up. There’s a little chatting, a little setting up. You play. Hopefully it’s everything you negotiated and completely rocks your world. When you’re done there’s some aftercare. And then everyone goes on their merry way, closing the book on the whole thing.

It’s play for a purpose. There’s nothing wrong with it.

But what if you want the romance? What if that’s your problem all along? You want to feel loved and cherished and special?

Lisette shook her head. This wasn’t going anywhere good. She held down the Ctrl key, clicked A and pressed the Backspace button. The document blinked back to the pristine expanse of white she’d begun with. She picked her hands off the keyboard and stared at the screen, still seeing those last three questions.

She wanted the romance, and she wanted it with Mathieu, but there was a problem with this. A huge, glaring one that she already knew about. She’d walked into this play relationship knowing the issue.

Until he let go of the hurt his ex-wife had done to him and chose to be open to new possibilities, he could never love her—not the way she wanted to love him. It wasn’t about the orgasm; it was about realizing she’d lied to herself and him when she said they could play together and nothing would come of it.

chapter Eleven

Uncertainty

Mathieu watched a teenage suspect leave interrogation, his mother on one side, a lawyer on the other. He hated cases with kids. It didn’t matter if they were victims or perpetrators. Kids should be out having fun, not assaulting elderly women and stealing from them.

He flipped the file closed and picked up his things. The case was straightforward, but the lawyer would make them fight for every inch. It made him feel old and weary. He’d begun this job as a way of making the world a better place. And some people were determined to keep some corners as rotten as possible.

On his way back to his desk, his phone vibrated. He paused to dig it out of his pocket, brows lifting when he glimpsed Amber’s name.

“Tell me you have some good news,” he said.

“If you’re looking for potential pegs for your conspiracy theory case, yes.” And yet Amber’s tone was sad.

“What is it?”

She blew out a breath. “Another dead woman.”

“I’ll be over in a minute.”

He hung up the call as he stepped through the doorway into his office. A uniformed woman with her hair in a tight bun leaned against his desk.

Odalia glanced up from her phone. “There you are.”

“Hey, what are you doing on this side?” He slid the file into his active cases bin and scooted around her to drop into his chair. As much as he wanted to rush over and see what Amber had to show him that would make Odalia suspicious. He wasn’t ready to admit to his extracurricular activities yet.

“Seeing what you’re up to. Had to bring a guy in. You going for lunch soon?” She slid her phone into her pocket, one corner of her mouth curling up in a smile he didn’t think had anything to do with sandwiches.

“I need to run a file over for analysis. Meet me out front in thirty?”

“Sure.” She straightened and her gaze narrowed. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He swallowed the instinctive, Why?

“Okay. You just seem more relaxed or something. I like it.” Her smile spread. “See you in a few.”

Mathieu waited until Odalia rounded the corner before grabbing an empty folder and tucking it under his arm. Hiding his investigation from Odalia ate at him, but this was becoming too real. If this was Seth, he was escalating. Or maybe Lisette was just the victim who got away.

He headed to the other side of the building and tapped on the door with Amber’s name scrawled on it.

“Come in,” she called, glancing up as he entered. “Oh hey.” She reached for a pile of papers on the corner of her desk. “Here.”

Mathieu accepted the papers and leaned against the corner of her desk while she propped her chin up on her fists. He flipped through the images, steeling himself for the brutality done to a middle-aged woman.

“Looks like they used some sort of object to make these puncture wounds.” He tapped the image.

“They’re still looking for the murder weapon, but it looks like an ice pick or something to me.” Amber scraped her hair up into a tail and grabbed an elastic band on the desk.

“My guy hasn’t used an object yet, unless it was something on hand, spur of the moment.”

“So hands-on, you think?” She scrawled the words down on a sticky note, no doubt adding it to her analysis.

“I think so, but let’s not eliminate this one yet.” He scanned the paperwork, but couldn’t shake the feeling that this suspect wasn’t his guy.

“How’s the investigation coming?”

“Nothing new, unfortunately.” Just the sweet sounds of Lisette orgasming in his bed, wearing his ropes. Was that the change Odalia had seen in him?

“I hope you catch him.”

“Me, too.” He sighed and straightened the papers. “It’s not my guy. I don’t know if I should be relieved or disappointed.”

“I understand.” She accepted the documents and laid them in front of her. “We don’t like to see anyone hurt, much less killed, but it would be easier on us if he was your suspect because then we take out one person, and we take out a lot of crime.”

Mathieu blinked at her. “Yes.”

“I get it—”

His phone rang, breaking the conversation.

“Sorry. One second.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Damn. I need to take this. Later?”

“Sure.” She waved him out of the office.

“Hey, Ma,” he said into the phone.

“Is that the voice of my son? I can’t remember what he sounds like. Is my son around there?” His mother’s voice rang with laughter and warmth. It was near impossible to not smile when speaking to her.

“I know I haven’t called you lately.” He headed toward the front of the building to meet Odalia. Though he should have called his parents, he couldn’t feel too bad, not when he’d had Lisette underfoot.