Giving It Up: Pushing the Boundaries, Book 1 (11 page)

Chapter Eleven

“Hey, Boss Lady, there’s someone here to see you.”

Dennis spoke to her from across the desk, and Beatrice lifted her head from her computer to see Warren standing a couple feet away.

Oh my goodness.

It was Wednesday again, but only lunchtime. They weren’t supposed to see one another for several more hours. Not that she minded seeing him earlier, really. For one, he looked good.
Very
good. He was in his uniform again, the dark pants hugging his strong thighs, his shirt buttoned up over that lean, muscled stomach she knew was underneath. And the scowl he wore only made him look tougher. Sexier. She had to push her knees together to alleviate the sudden throb of arousal that shot through her body at the mere sight of him.

He might not think of her as anything more than a temporary business arrangement, but she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to take all of him inside of her, to feel the power of him for herself.

Incredible. It would be incredible. She knew even without thinking about it.

Her eyes met his, and everything she was thinking must have shown in her gaze, because his expression changed, growing hotter. More intense.

Lord save her. Her entire body felt hot and all she wanted to do was unzip his pants, pull out that thick, long cock and let him have her on the desk.

“Miss Lawrence.” His voice was gruff. Deeper than usual. She blushed like an innocent little thing at the sound of his
voice
, for goodness sake.

“War—er…Officer Davis. To what do I owe the pleasure?” She couldn’t help but purr that last word.

She hoped he wasn’t going to cancel on her tonight…

Oh no.
He was. She could sense it already.

“May I have a word with you in private?”

She nodded, rising from her desk and coming around the edge of it to stand near him. She was close enough she could smell his aftershave, and the scent alone made her breasts swell and ache to be touched. He’d smelled like that last week, when her mouth had been on his neck.

She pasted a smile on her face and led him to one of the conference rooms lining the outer hallway, her vanity glad she’d worn her figure-hugging pencil skirt today, but her spirit dreading what he was going to tell her. He wasn’t going to call off the entire arrangement, was he? What had happened last week had been outside of the bounds of their agreement, but she’d ended the session before the
real
stuff had happened—whatever that meant. He hadn’t seemed to object then, but maybe he had changed his mind.

She walked into one of the available rooms and shut the door behind them, then turned to face him.

“What is it, Warren?” She wished he would kiss her. It would make her feel less nervous.

“Something came up for tonight and I can’t make it.” He was standing so stiffly, almost like he was
bracing
himself. She wanted to ask what was wrong, but she couldn’t bring herself to pry into Warren’s personal life. She didn’t have the right, no matter how much passion he kissed her with. No matter how much of a connection she’d thought they’d had.

That reminder hurt a bit, but she forced herself to nod. “Of course. We can simply move the Wednesdays out by a week. Which means I’ll see you next week, at the usual time.” She did her best to channel all the cool confidence of Mistress Michelle when she said it.

He stared at her for a while, then slowly nodded. “Yeah. That sounds—that works.”

Was she supposed to say something else? She didn’t think so. He didn’t seem inclined to share anything, either, and another silence stretched, until finally she couldn’t take it anymore. “Well. In that case, I’ll see you out,” she told him, then put her hand to the doorknob.

But before she could open the door, he asked, “What are you doing for lunch?”

The question was stilted and rough, like he hadn’t asked that of a woman in a long time. And yet, the words caressed her spine as though he had actually reached out and touched her.

She turned back to him, one eyebrow raised, now playing the role he had hired her for. “If you’d like me to go to lunch with you, then ask.”

God, she couldn’t believe she’d actually said that. She’d sounded so…forceful. Confident. Powerful.

She fought back a laugh that threatened to bubble up.

He scowled, but he didn’t waste time. “I’ve got an hour off duty. I want to take you to lunch. Will you come?”

This time she couldn’t stop the grin stretching across her face. “Say
please
.” Her tone was teasing, and he rewarded her with the thing she had already come to cherish as something special, just for her. A small smile.

Warren Davis was smiling at her.

Oh, she wanted to touch him. Desperately. But she didn’t move. She kept her hands clasped tightly together and waited.

“Please, Beatrice. Please spend an hour with me.” He whispered the words, and she closed her eyes, letting the sensation of his voice wash over her. How could he make her feel like this? It was like he was making love to her, merely by speaking to her.

Maybe it was that he’d asked like it was the most important thing in the world to him. She was so overwhelmed all she could say in response was, “Yes.” Nothing fancy, no polite language of acceptance. Just…
Yes
.

She wanted to be wanted for who she was. She wanted to live in every moment of her life, and not simply be another body, taking up space.

It was what she’d always wanted, but hadn’t realized until this moment.

And she wasn’t about to give it up.

* * * * *

What the fuck had he been thinking, asking Beatrice to lunch?

Warren had been going nonstop since Saturday morning. Those hours in the hospital, waiting for news from the doctor, had been rough on the entire family. Kelly had finally shown up after they’d reached her at work, and her boss had been understanding, but not too happy about losing a waitress during the Saturday morning rush. Now she was worried about getting fired on top of everything else.

At least Dad was fine, thank God. He would come home from the hospital tomorrow and needed a little extra care in the coming weeks, but nothing too intense. Still, that was why Warren couldn’t see Beatrice tonight. He’d need to help Mom get things ready at home for Dad’s return tomorrow.

Even though he
wanted
to see Beatrice tonight. Damn, did he ever. He’d thought about her constantly this past week, even more after Dad’s stroke, because he’d been thinking so much more about life and how short it was, and how much he didn’t want to end up leaving this world without having as much of her as he could.

He shouldn’t have asked her to lunch today, though. With his life more chaotic now than before, he had even less time to give to her. But he hadn’t been able to resist. She’d moved away from him, back there in the conference room, and he’d hated it. Somehow, he’d blurted out the invitation.

Now here they were, crowded into a corner at the Japanese noodle place down the street from the station. They were packed so close together he could smell her faint perfume over the scent of spices in the air, and it was turning him on.

Hell. Everything about her turned him on.

She leaned even closer. His dick throbbed.

“So. Did you play baseball when you were younger too?”

He turned to look at her in question, but they were so close together that when he moved his head his lips grazed her cheek. A flush went up the side of her neck, and he had to fist his hands in his lap to keep from stroking his fingers over that rosy blush.

Fuck, he had to get ahold of himself. They were in a restaurant, for chrissake, and she’d asked him something—what was it?

Oh yeah.

“I did. All four years of high school.” He’d been pretty good too. “Why do you ask?”

“Nate,” she answered, and he nodded, remembering they’d met at the batting cages while Nathan was practicing. “How is he, anyway?”

Dealing with a lot of shit a thirteen-year-old kid shouldn’t have to deal with.

But telling her that would mean opening up a lot more than he could afford to share. Instead, Warren shrugged. “He’s all right.” He looked down at his cup, full of tea he never drank, even though they poured it for him every time he came here. It was wasteful, he knew, but a part of him liked it. It felt solid, like something he could always count on.

Goddamn. He was getting philosophical about fucking
tea
?

Under the table, a hand cupped his knee.

Oh shit.
His cock started to swell, pushing at the fabric of his pants. At a mere touch. What was she doing?

He looked around, but everyone else was eating, talking…they weren’t paying attention to the couple in the corner. Even if they were, no one could see under the table, anyway. A long black tablecloth covered them to his knees. She could jerk him off right here and no one would—

Holy hell.

Her hand had slid up, too fast for him to stop her, and was already rubbing over the ridge of his erection.

“Why did you ask me out if you don’t want to be here?” She murmured the words in his ear, while below, her hand squeezed his cock through his pants. He shuddered and stared at her, his gaze hooded, the pleasure of her touch relaxing him.

It amazed and terrified him that she could see him so clearly. His needs, his desires…

He huffed out a breath. “I
do
want to be here.”

“Never lie, Warren.” She was smirking, for some reason, almost as though she were laughing at some inside joke, except he didn’t know what it was.

“I’m not—” He gulped when she found his zipper and, with surprising dexterity, pulled it open with one hand. She used her free hand to take a sip of her tea, looking nonchalant and natural, like she wasn’t sliding her hand into his pants, beneath his underwear, taking hold of his cock—

“Shit, Beatrice.” He hissed out the words, trying not to let his head fall back and his tongue loll out of his mouth. He grasped for some way to retain a hold on sanity, reaching out to grab her free hand, twining his fingers through hers. Linking them together.

She stroked him up and down, with just the right amount of pressure. He shouldn’t be letting her do this. They were in public and he was an officer of the law and he was—well, he wasn’t paying her to have lunch with him. Right now, they were…
together
.

So much promise in that one little word.

“I know that not talking to me is your usual shtick, Warren. But we’ve already done much more than talk. So why the one-word answers? Why don’t you want to be here?” she asked again.

Damn. They
had
done much more than talk. And now that was all he could think about. How she’d kissed him last week and stroked him. How she looked with her legs in those sexy stockings and now…now…how was he supposed to think with her hand on him? Rubbing and squeezing him. He was so close, so—

She abruptly stopped her movements, making him whimper when her fingers left his cock as she pulled her hand away and gently zipped his pants back up.

But her other hand still held his.

“Tell me.” Her eyes bore into his, and he couldn’t look away. His erection was pulsing, desperate for release, but her command exerted an even stronger pressure.

He couldn’t deny her. He didn’t want to deny her. “It’s not that I don’t want to be here. To be with you. I shouldn’t have asked you out today, though. I can’t give you what you deserve, Beatrice. Wednesday nights are all I have.” Shit. He was practically gasping for air.

She patted his dick through his pants, and he jumped.

“And yet here we are, and it isn’t Wednesday night.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“So either you’re lying to me, even though I gave you a direct order not to lie to me…” she pressed her palm over the ridge of his almost painful erection, and he hissed in pleasurable agony, “…or you’re lying to yourself.”

What would he be lying to himself about? Especially at a time like this, when his family needed him more than ever.

And yet she was right—he didn’t
only
have Wednesday nights. He’d thought exactly that a couple of weeks ago. If he said no to more things and asked Kelly to pick up the slack or gave Nate more responsibility now that his nephew was older…

It was possible. He could
make
time for Beatrice.

But it was easier to set that boundary than to let her in to the insanity that was his life. If he opened himself up that way and spilled out all over her, there was no way he’d be able to stuff himself back inside. If she ever left him like Jen had…

He’d probably fall apart completely.

It was better this way, keeping his distance. Safer.

She pulled her hand away and unlaced her other hand from his. The feeling of loss was enough to make him grunt in protest.

“Either way, you’re lying, and that means you need to be punished.” She picked up her purse and rose. “I’ll see you next week.”

And before he could stop her, she was walking away, out the door and onto the sidewalk.
Mother fuck.
He wanted to follow her, even considered it, but he was sporting a massive hard-on. Something she must have been counting on.

Goddamn it.

He liked her so much.

Chapter Twelve

Beatrice sank down in her chair. She’d managed to keep her cool as she’d left the restaurant, but as soon as she’d turned the corner, she’d practically run all the way back to the office with the rather insane fear that Warren would follow her and tell her never mind, he didn’t want to see her next week, after all.

She’d just punished him, for goodness sake!

But for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. She deserved more than non-answers and half-hearted lunch invitations.

He
deserved more. He deserved to open up to someone who would listen to him and care for him. She would do that for him, and more, if he would trust her with his heart in addition to his body.

But she wouldn’t even have that in a few more weeks.

Not that she was complaining about his body…

Goodness, she was in deep.

A flash of light caught her eye, and she leaned forward on her desk to see someone had left a voicemail on her office phone. She picked up the receiver and accessed her inbox, relaxing as soon as she heard the smooth, confident voice in the message.

“Good afternoon, Beatrice. This is Michelle from Queen Dommes. It seems our Domme-in-training is unable to work tonight. Would you like to fill in for her? Call me back before five o’clock if so.”

Click.
The message ended. It had been straight and to the point, and Beatrice admired Michelle’s style. But she wasn’t as certain about her answer.

Filling in for a Domme-in-training was a lot more involved than the receptionist position they’d originally discussed. Could she really make that leap?

Maybe it was a sign, Warren not being able to make it tonight.

That’s what she told herself, at least. She wasn’t ready to take full responsibility for this particular decision.

Coward. Bland, boring coward.

She ignored the taunting voice in her head and phoned back Michelle, who sounded happy to hear from her. “I know we had discussed receptionist duties, but this won’t require any active participation on your part, so you do not need prior training or experience. Usually, it wouldn’t even be an issue if Luisa couldn’t make it, but we have a special scene tonight and I’m in need of an extra pair of eyes.”

An extra pair of eyes?

“So I won’t need to, uh,
do
anything?”
Like paddle a man who isn’t Warren or touch a man who isn’t Warren or—

“No, nothing like that. You’ll merely be required to sit back and watch. Of course…” Michelle paused for a moment, as if debating whether to say anything else, and she must have decided to do so, because she continued, “…it’s better if you’re
actively
watching during the scene. While passive observation is enough for tonight, clients can tell when you’re engaged, even while sitting still and watching.”

Being active and engaged, instead of just observing. That was what she’d been thinking about ever since her first meeting with Michelle. And yet, she’d been struggling to actually make that happen for herself. Maybe tonight was an opportunity to practice.

“I’d like you to wear appropriate clothing, as well. If you don’t own any, I have some extra outfits here at the office. I believe we’re not too far apart in size.”

“No, I read—” Beatrice and dropped her voice, finally remembering that her desk was not a place to be having a conversation like this. “I read
Dominacracy
. I have clothes that will work.”

The smile in Michelle’s voice was audible. “Very good. Six thirty, then?”

“Yes. I’ll be there.”

* * * * *

She arrived shortly after six o’clock because she’d been too nervous she was going to be late. The receptionist who had let her in last time brought Beatrice down the hall to a room she hadn’t seen before. It was like entering a luxury spa, the room decorated in warm tones with private showers on one side and a long vanity and wood-paneled lockers on the other.

Michelle was sitting on a bench in front of the vanity, applying makeup, when Beatrice walked in. Her gaze met Beatrice’s in the mirror, but she waited until she’d finished lining her eyes before she set down the pencil and rose.

“Good evening, Beatrice.” She put out her hands, clasping Beatrice’s for a moment. “You look well.”

Beatrice nodded. “Thank you. So do you.” Back to the polite, drawing room conversation. But this time, it felt genuine, like Michelle really meant she looked well.

“I’m glad you’ve come early. I’m getting ready for our client and can explain everything to you while I dress. Please show me what you’ve brought to wear tonight.”

From her bag Beatrice pulled the short shorts, bustier and boots that she’d worn the first night with Warren. Michelle nodded in approval. “Perfect. I knew you had the makings of an excellent Domme.”

This time, instead of demurring, Beatrice grinned and thanked Michelle. Maybe she wasn’t doing it all wrong, after all, even though this thing with Warren was leaving her so confused.

Michelle sat again and gestured for Beatrice to sit next to her while she continued putting on her makeup, watching Beatrice through the mirror the entire time. “Our client tonight enjoys being humiliated as part of play. You said you read my book. Do you understand what this will involve?”

Beatrice nodded. “I have an idea, anyway. But some of the things you discussed in the book, I’m not…I’m not very—no. I’m not
at all
familiar with them. I did research on other stuff, but only things that I thought were…relevant to my interests.” To Warren’s interests, she meant. Things like spanking, she’d known about, and she’d looked that up and used the information she’d found. But there were other examples in the book that went well beyond what she’d ever imagined, and she hadn’t bothered researching further, since she’d felt Warren wouldn’t be into them, either.

What would tonight’s scene entail?

Michelle turned to face her, a frank, assessing look in her eyes. “I did not want to share this information over the phone, since we take extra precaution with client confidentiality. But I do need to prepare you beforehand and obtain
your
consent before moving forward.”

That sounded serious. Beatrice swallowed hard and nodded. “Of course. I understand.”

“This particular client enjoys being treated like a dog. Quite literally. He will be led around on a leash and verbally abused, as well as punished for bad behavior. The more people who witness his humiliation, the better for him. The session will last like this for fifty minutes, during which time he might achieve orgasm more than once. Is this something you think you can handle? And please answer honestly. None of this is about coercion. Everyone is here because they
want
to be. We can always have you sit at the desk while Bella—our receptionist—fills in.” Michelle smiled. “But I think you might be surprised at how well you rise to this particular challenge.”

OhGodohGodohGod.
She was being asked to watch a man being treated like a dog? To watch a man
come
from being humiliated? No matter how much she’d learned in the past few weeks through her experience with Warren, she knew she was still naïve.

She didn’t answer for a moment, and Michelle seemed to understand Beatrice’s uncertainty. “You are allowed to leave at any time if it becomes too much. It’s better if you don’t, of course, which is why I am preparing you beforehand. At Queen Dommes, we do not judge the way others express their desires. We do not bring our personal biases into a scene. Our job is to help others seize hold of their own pleasure. That is another reason why I need you to be honest.”

To actively engage. To own your own life…

Beatrice could respect that. She nodded. “I think I’ll be fine. I’ll only be watching during the session?” That’s what Michelle had meant earlier, by needing an extra pair of eyes.

Michelle nodded.

She took a deep breath. “All right. I’m in.”

Michelle let out a loud laugh at that and the two finished getting dressed, then Michelle led her out into the hall and down another one with four heavy doors, arranged two on each side of the corridor.

“These are our session rooms. Each one contains slightly different equipment, and that one—” she pointed to the last door, “—is the dungeon. I’ll show you another day, when we have more time.”

Another day? Beatrice was pleasantly surprised to find herself feeling excited, rather than nervous, at those words.

“However, since our client tonight is usually very prompt, that gives us only a few minutes to go through the scene.” Michelle opened the door to the room immediately to their left and gestured for Beatrice to walk in.

The room was bigger than what she’d expected, but still felt intimate enough not to be clinical. The walls were painted a rosy purple, the floor tiled in a deep brown stone. There was a thick velvet curtain along the far wall, and hanging on the adjacent wall was an array of whips, floggers, chains and other items that Beatrice didn’t recognize.

Wow.

“During the session, I will ask you to stay seated here.” She patted a bench that was oddly tall—so tall that Beatrice would have to use the footrest beneath the bench to climb up on it. “I do not anticipate needing to speak to you, but if I do, then your only response should be ‘Yes, Mistress’. Understood?”

Beatrice nodded, but then caught herself. “Yes, Mistress.”

Michelle smiled. “Well done. And like I said on the phone today, it is enough if you decide to simply sit and passively observe. But it will be even better if you take hold of the scene in your own way and be an active watcher.”

She still wasn’t sure what that meant, but Beatrice nodded anyway.

“One more thing. Starting five minutes before the scene begins, you must only call me Mistress, and continue doing so until after the session is over. But I think you already have some experience with this.”

It wasn’t a question. Beatrice blushed, thinking of Warren, of how she had used Michelle’s advice in her sessions with him.

“There is no need to be embarrassed, Beatrice. Like I’ve said before, there is nothing wrong with a woman acknowledging who she is and what she wants.”

The words made Beatrice straighten, pulling her shoulders back and lifting her chin.

Michelle smiled. “Good. That is the posture you will need to hold for the entire time with the client. Remember. You are in control.” She checked the clock that hung discreetly on one side wall. “We have only five minutes now, so it is time to stage the scene.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Beatrice responded as she was supposed to, and kept her back straight as she walked to the bench and climbed up. Though it felt awkward, she didn’t bother to be embarrassed.

After a few minutes, the door opened and another Domme walked in, trailing a man on a leash. Beatrice forced her face into a haughty expression, but inside she was trying to keep herself from yelping and covering her eyes.

No judgment. No personal biases.
And she had to admit, a part of her was jealous of this man for knowing what he wanted and embracing it.

She looked at him with new eyes while retaining the haughty expression on her face as he passed by her. This client was a thickly muscled, attractive man in his late thirties or so. He was good-looking enough that, if she’d passed him on the street, Beatrice might have stared at him a little longer than was polite. But at the moment, he was moving forward on all fours, and as he moved farther into the room, she could see that he had tucked his penis between his legs.

Interesting.

A humiliation scene, Michelle—or,
Mistress
, at the moment—had told her.

She watched as the new Domme presented a box to Mistress Michelle, who opened it and pulled out something fuzzy with a—
oh, goodness
. Was that an anal plug with a tail coming out the end?

Now that she was here, what Michelle said was making more sense to Beatrice. She could sit like an accessory—a bland shell—on the bench, or she could engage with the scene. She could frown or be haughty or curl her lip in disgust. She had a choice now: she could be a passive observer and do the bare minimum to get through this scene, or she could engage in her own life and maybe learn something that would make Warren happy too.

She wanted to make Warren happy.

She wanted to be
somebody
.

At that, Beatrice leaned forward, engaged.

* * * * *

It was nearly ten o’clock when Beatrice got home. After the scene in which the good-looking client had been called a “bad doggie” and spanked, and had his “tail” pulled for being such a useless mutt, the Dommes had given him a large plastic tube to hump. He’d done that eagerly, the whole time being called a naughty mongrel and a dirty animal, and after he’d finally come, barking and growling the whole time, Mistress Michelle had ordered him to clean up the mess with his tongue.

It had been educational, that was for certain. The power exchange had turned her on a little, despite that she’d found the dog act more annoying than arousing. She couldn’t see Warren enjoying that kind of play, but she’d done her best to keep her own preferences out of it and managed to engage in the scene the entire time.

Plus, she’d learned one important thing: how to properly insert an anal plug. Which was useful knowledge, because after the scene, Michelle had rewarded Beatrice with a “bonus” of a pair of nipple clamps and an anal plug for doing such a good job.

She’d definitely never received a bonus like that in her years working at the paper. But she intended to put it to good use.

She was proud of what she’d done tonight. Michelle had praised how involved and interactive Beatrice had been, and she’d complimented Beatrice’s willingness to improvise—something she didn’t think she could have done if she hadn’t made the conscious decision to engage with her own experience in that moment. It might have been unconventional, but it was an accomplishment that made her more powerful. It made her feel less afraid of taking a chance and actually
living
her life.