Light Switch (30 page)

After another evening of beer and bad karaoke with our friends, Scott drove me back to my apartment. We barely spoke on the ride home. What little was said was mundane and forced, the kind of stilted small talk I didn’t even think we were capable of having.

We’d been down this awkward road before, with lingering silence in place of our usually effortless conversation. Last time, though, I’d been the one keeping him at arm’s length. Tonight, he avoided eye contact, avoided more than one or two word responses, and, when he could, avoided me. More than once I’d considered getting a cab home, but when it came time to leave, he asked if I was still coming with him.

That was something, I supposed. Still, the drive home was uncomfortably quiet. By the time we got to my apartment, my stomach was tangled up in knots.

He pulled into a guest spot and put the car in park. For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The configuration of the seats kept us an arm’s length apart, and we made no move to reduce that distance, even after we both unbuckled our seatbelts. In the background, the idling engine hummed, keeping me well aware of the silence within the car. Awkwardness was an alien concept where we were concerned, but here we were.

Finally, I spoke.

“You’ve been awfully quiet tonight.”

Scott exhaled. “Sorry about that.” He glanced at me. “I hope you didn’t think I was trying to cold-shoulder you.”

Thank God
. “Hardly.” I grinned in spite of my nerves. “You’re way too much of an asshole to be that passive-aggressive.”

He laughed. “Okay, you got me.”

“So, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “I’ve just been thinking about a few things lately. Especially tonight.”

My heart pounded.
Here we go
. “A few things, like…?”

“Well,” he paused. “Us, I guess. This. What we’re doing.”

Uncertainty turned my stomach. I waited for him to elaborate.

He killed the engine, and the unnerving quiet between us couldn’t be ignored, especially as long seconds turned into a minute. Two minutes. Three.

“Scott?”

“Sorry,” he whispered. He chewed his thumbnail for a moment, then shifted so he was facing me. He rested his elbow on the steering wheel, and though his body was turned toward me, he looked out the windshield. “I, uh, I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

I swallowed. “About?”

“The reasons I suggested this arrangement.” He finally looked at me. “Why I wanted to guide you into the lifestyle myself.”

I cocked my head. “Okay…”

He moistened his lips. “When I told you some people have bad experiences with Doms, and it’s enough to scare them out of the lifestyle…”

My stomach flipped. “It happened to you?”

His slow nod gave me chills. “Obviously it wasn’t enough to scare me completely out of the lifestyle,” he said, managing a soft laugh. He cleared his throat and his expression was serious again. “But yes, I had a bad experience with a Domme.”

I rested my hand on his knee. “What happened?”

He took a breath and laid his hand over mine. “When I was nineteen, I wanted to get involved in BDSM. Had no clue what it was all about, but it intrigued me, and I met this Domme.” He paused. “Jeanette.” He spat her name like it left a foul aftertaste on his tongue. Then he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he went on. “I knew nothing, and she was exactly the kind of person I wanted to make sure you never encountered.”

“Is she the reason you aren’t a sub now?”

“No, no, I’m a Dom by nature.” He sighed again, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “But being the clueless kid I was, I thought everyone had to start out as a sub. That you worked your way up to being a Dom.” He clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “I found her on the internet, and she agreed to teach me to be a sub.”

“Something tells me the curriculum wasn’t quite the same as what you’ve done with me.”

He grimaced. “Not even close. She was one of those bad apples I mentioned. She was more interested in her own power than the wellbeing of her subs.” He paused, his gaze distant. “A safe word wasn’t a safety mechanism for her, it was a challenge. She’d do whatever it took to get me to say it.”

“Oh, my God.”

“Yeah. And she scared me a few times, I’m not going to lie. I thought I was just young and inexperienced, and I’d get used to the fear and pain. I mean, this had to be fun on some level, or people wouldn’t do it, right?”

“Right.” My mind reeled as I tried to make sense of what he was telling me. If there was one thing harder to imagine than Scott as a sub, it was Scott being afraid of anyone.

“Anyway, she got carried away one night. With a cat o’ nine tails.” His shoulder twitched, dropping slightly as if ducking a phantom whip.

My blood ran cold. “The scars on your shoulder,” I breathed.

He nodded. “I never saw her again after that night, thank fuck, but the damage was done.”

“I’m surprised you were still involved in kink after that.”

“I wasn’t for a good long time.”

“Really?”

“God, yes. I ran like hell from all things kinky after that, but I met a girl a few years later who liked to be dominated. Took a while, but she coaxed the Dom out of me. And that’s when everything fell into place. After that, I swore I’d never let one of my subs go through what I did.” Our eyes met. “I was attracted to you anyway, Krissy. Have been for a long time. But the thought of another Dom putting you through that?” He shuddered.

“I’m glad I went through you, then.”

He smiled. “Me too.”

“Is that what’s been bothering you tonight?” Relief wanted to untie the knots in my gut, but I had a feeling this discussion hadn’t yet run its course. “Did you think I’d be upset that you didn’t tell me about a bad experience?”

“No, it’s not that.” He swallowed hard. “But I had to tell you all of that before I said what I really need to say. So it would make sense.”

“Oh?” No conversation in the history of my acquaintance with Scott had ever made me so nervous.

He took a deep breath, holding my gaze for a long moment. I wondered if he was searching my expression for something. I wondered if he found it. His eyes flicked toward the windshield, then to our hands on his knee. He ran his thumb along the side of my wrist.

“I told you in the beginning that I didn’t,” he whispered, still watching our hands, “but I do switch.”

I blinked. “You do?”

He nodded. “Very, very rarely, but once in a blue moon, I sub.” Our eyes met, and the intensity in his gaze made my heart skip. “For the right woman.”

My mouth went dry. Of all the directions I’d thought this might go, I hadn’t seen this coming. “Scott, are you…”

He squeezed my hand. “If you don’t want to, I’ll understand. But you’re the first woman in a long time I’ve trusted enough to ask.” The tip of his tongue darted across his lower lip and he looked out the windshield again. When he spoke, he spoke quickly, with uneasiness that was as unusual for him as what he was saying. “This isn’t something every Dom does, just so you know. We’re not all secretly subs just looking for the right Domme to top us. But we’re all different, and this is just… me.” He took a breath as he looked at me again. “I
do
have a submissive side. I’m a ‘light’ switch, I guess you could say, and under the right circumstances…” He trailed off.

“You’re serious. You want me—” Disbelief held the words in my throat.

“I’m completely serious.” He leaned across the console and touched my face. “Just for one night, I want to be your sub.”

“But I’ve, I’ve only been a Domme once, and that was with you keeping an eye on me.”

“I know. And you’re damned good at it.”

“Still, do you really want an inexperienced Domme?”

“I want you.” He shrugged with one shoulder. “The rest doesn’t matter.”

“But, with your bad experience, and—”

He silenced me with a gentle kiss, then broke away just enough to speak. “I trust you, Krissy. That’s more important to me than decades of experience.”

“I just don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” He kissed me again. “Like I said, if you’re not comfortable with it, I won’t push you. But if you’re afraid of hurting me, or of doing anything like that bitch did to me back then, I assure you, you have nothing to worry about.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“If I used a safe word, would you stop?”

“Of course. In a heartbeat.”

He smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Then, as I said, you have nothing to worry about.”

I chewed my lip. “Have you done this with many women?”

“No. There are very few I’d ever dream of asking.” He ran his fingers through my hair. “Very, very few that I could imagine trusting like I trust you, Krissy.” Our eyes met. Then he drew me into a long, deep kiss. I put my arms around him, wondering when we’d become so comfortable in a lover’s embrace instead of the platonic touch of friendship or the rough grip of domination.

After a moment, we looked at each other.

“So you’d trust me with a flogger and your delicate skin?” I said.

He laughed. “There’s nothing delicate about me, you know that.”

I grinned into his kiss. “But what if I make it hurt?”

“I’m counting on it,” he growled, and drew me back to him. As his tongue slipped between my lips, I imagined him bound to the St. Andrew’s Cross, muscles rippling and sweaty skin turning red with every stroke of the flogger. The sounds he’d make, the way his eyes would glisten with tears of pain and pleasure, the way he’d flinch and grimace and beg for more.

I had to have him like that.

I tangled my fingers in his hair and kissed him hungrily. His hand moved up the back of my neck into my hair, grasping it just tight enough to smart. In a matter of seconds, our tender embrace had become a fight for dominance. He tried to force me against the passenger seat. I tried to shove him into the driver’s seat. Ground was neither gained nor lost, and the kiss only became more desperate as we demanded the breath from each other’s lungs.

When I broke the kiss, we were both panting.

“You want me to make it hurt, then?” I said in between gasps for air.

“Absolutely,” he said. “I’m just as much of a pain slut as you are.”

“I beg your pardon,” I scoffed. “I am
not
a pain slut.”

His hand tightened in my hair and he jerked my head back. When I yelped, he whispered, “Sure about that?”

I bit my lip as goose bumps prickled every inch of my skin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mm-hmm, I’m sure.” He pulled my hair even harder and dipped his head. Stubble brushed the side of my neck as he said, “You’re a dirty little pain slut and we both know it.” Before I could reply, he bit the base of my neck, probably hard enough to leave a mark, and there was no denying that the moan I released was one of pure ecstasy.

“See?” He met my eyes. “So, do you want to?”

“Hmm,” I said, grinning, “I might need a bit more persuasion than that.”

He chuckled. “Oh, will you?”

“Yes. I might need you to beg, plead, and give me puppy dog eyes.”

“I think I can offer you something better than that.” He kissed me lightly.

“Such as?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” His lips moved to my jaw. “How about total, unquestioning, submission?” I bit my lip as he kissed his way down my neck. “Bind me, hit me, put me on my knees, whatever you want.” He gently kissed the place he’d bitten a moment before. “I’m offering to put myself completely at your mercy and under your control.” I shivered, and he raised his head. “So, do we have a deal?”

“You’re damn right we do.” I kissed him lightly. “I do have one question left, though.”

“And that is?”

I smiled. “What do we do with the rest of tonight?”

He trailed his fingertips down the side of my face, still grinning as he said, “Well, I don’t know about you, but I could go for a glass of red wine.”

When I arrived at Scott’s house, he’d dressed exactly as I’d ordered: Black jeans and a white button down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He was also barefoot, which brought him down a half inch or so. Not a tremendous decrease in height, but my three-inch stilettos raised me enough to put us close to eye level.

He let me in and closed the door. We were both quiet for a moment, neither moving nor looking at each other. With our roles reversed, I was thrown off balance. I knew his lines, but I wasn’t so sure I knew mine. I wondered if this had the same effect on him.

Scott cleared his throat. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Ice water, please.”

I followed him into the kitchen. After he’d made my drink, he leaned against the counter and I stood beside the island. I held the glass, but didn’t take a drink, and that didn’t escape his notice. Every time I moved it, every time the ice hit the sides of the glass, he fidgeted. Shifted his weight.

“No wine tonight?” I asked.

A nervous grin tugged at his lips. “Only when I’m on top.”

“Noted.” I shook the glass a little, just enough to make the ice clink, and he shivered. “I guess we should go over some ground rules?”

Scott nodded, tapping the edge of the counter with his fingers and looking at the floor in between glancing at my untouched drink. “My limits are pretty basic. No choking, no anal.”

I clicked my tongue and shook my head. “Scott Moore, I figured you of all people would be adventurous enough to try anal.”

He grinned, looking at me through his lashes. “I never said I haven’t
tried
it.”

“So you—”

“Don’t change the subject.” Our eyes met, and we both laughed.

“Okay, no choking, no anal. Anything else?”

He shrugged. “Not off hand. I mean, nothing that’ll warrant stitches later, if you don’t mind.”

“Damn, there goes my plan for the evening.”

“Uh huh.” He rolled his eyes, chuckling. “And what should I call you tonight?”

“Isn’t ‘Mistress’ the usual title?”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be.”

“Any other ideas?”

He thumbed his chin. “Madam?”

“That sounded sarcastic.”

“Okay, how about ‘Your Highness’?”

“Still sarcastic.”

“Empress? Saint Hot Tits? High Priestess of Slut—”

“’Mistress’ will suffice, thank you.”

He let out a huff of breath. “Fine,
Mistress
.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “Scott, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to misbehave before we even got started.”

“No, no, not at all.” He showed his palms and batted his eyes. “I would never do such a thing.”

“You
won’t
do any such thing if you know what’s good for you.” I swirled my drink as if it were wine, letting the ice clink inside the glass again. Scott swallowed hard. I set the glass down. “Same safe words as always?”

He nodded. “Red and yellow.”

I chewed my lip and tried to think if there was anything else we needed to go over.

“How long has it been since you’ve been a sub?” I asked.

“A long time.”

“Define a long time.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Are you asking how long it’s been since I’ve played the submissive, or how long it’s been since I’ve trusted someone like this?”

“Either or.”

He leaned against the counter, his eyes losing focus for a moment as he drummed his fingers beside his hips. Then he said, “The last time I subbed was before you and I even met.”

“Really? What about Amy?”

“Amy’s one hundred percent sub,” he said with a shrug. “She doesn’t switch at all. Ever.”

“And if she did?”

Scott pursed his lips. “If she did, yeah, I’d sub for her.” He pushed himself away from the counter. “So, bedroom or dungeon?”

“Dungeon, of course.”

“I should have known.” He grinned, but he couldn’t hide the nervousness in his eyes. Shifting his gaze away from me, he nodded toward the doorway.

I followed him down the hall. Outside the dungeon, he drew in a long breath, then released it through his nose as he reached for the door.

“Scott.”

He looked at me, eyebrows raised and hand hovering above the doorknob.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

The smile that lifted the corners of his mouth was subtle, but unmistakable. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been this sure of something.” With that, he opened the door and gestured for me to go in.

I walked past him and looked around the room that would be my domain tonight.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he growled behind me.

I turned around just in time to see him scoop Malia up.

“We’ve been through this,” he muttered, scratching the cat’s ears as he carried her to the door. “You do not belong in here, you little shit.” He set her down and nudged her out with his foot, then quickly shut the door. “Fucking cat.”

With Malia evicted, Scott and I faced each other in silence. My stomach fluttered with habitual nervousness, even as I reminded myself that I was in charge tonight. He held my gaze, and I had to force myself to hold his. I was the Domme, and I’d be damned if I looked away first.

I took a drink. As I set my glass on the table by the rack of whips and floggers, I said, “Unroll your sleeves.”

We held eye contact for a second longer. Then he dropped his gaze to his right sleeve, watching his fingers loosen the neat roll. He smoothed the fabric down to his wrist. He held the cuff together for a moment, as if he was about to button it, but then let it fall and went for his other sleeve.

With both sleeves unrolled, he looked at me again, silently awaiting my next commend.

I picked up my glass, keeping my eyes fixed on him as I took another drink. He still held my gaze, but with much more effort now.

I nodded toward the rack of floggers. “Pick one.”

Taking a deep, ragged breath, he went to the rack. He was still for a moment, only his eyes moving as he scanned the various implements. I had no doubt he was familiar with every last one of his “toys”, even if he was usually the wielder, not the receiver.

To my surprise, he chose one with longer, knotted tails. Both the length and the knots meant less thud and more sting. A
lot
more sting. If I hit him too hard, I could even break the skin.

In spite of my reservations, I held out my hand. He laid the handle across my palm. For a moment, I just looked at it, turning the cat o’ nine tails in my hand.

I thought of the way his shoulder had dipped and a shudder had run through him when he’d told me about Jeanette. “
She got carried away one night
,” he’d said, “
with a cat o’ nine tails
.”

“Scott, are you sure about this?” I didn’t care if my Domme persona slipped momentarily. I had to know.

He looked me in the eye and nodded.

“But it’s—”

“That’s the kind I like.” He smiled. “I trust you.”

I chewed my lip for a moment before finally whispering, “Okay.” I gave the implement in my hand one last look, then met his eyes. “I assume you’ll want me warming up with something a bit gentler?”

“Yes, please.” Our eyes met for a split second. Then he dropped his gaze and added, “Mistress.”

“Stand facing the cross.” I gestured at the Saint Andrew’s Cross with the handle of the cat o’ nine tails.

He did as I ordered, swallowing hard as he stared down the device he’d built with his own hands. He took and released another deep breath. I neither spoke nor moved for a moment, letting the silence unnerve him. Judging by the occasional catch of his breath and the way he subtly shifted his weight, it worked.

“Get on your knees.”

He glanced at me for confirmation, but quickly looked down again. As I’d commanded, he went to his knees.

“Keep your heels together,” I said as I picked a softer flogger from the rack. “Knees apart so you don’t lose your balance. And don’t sit back on your heels. Stay all the way up.”

He adjusted his position.

“Unbutton your shirt.”

As he obeyed, his hands trembled, and he cursed under his breath as the buttons refused to cooperate.

I smacked the handle of the flogger across my palm. “Faster, Scott. You don’t have all night.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he murmured, and his shaking hands hastened their efforts. A second later, the last button was apart.

“Take it off and let it fall behind you.”

He shrugged it off. Thank God he couldn’t see me just then, because the sight of his bare shoulders and tattooed back made me bite my lip to keep from whimpering. I’d seen him naked so many times now, and I still couldn’t get over how fucking gorgeous he was. That, and there was something indescribably sexy about a barefoot man wearing nothing but jeans. On his knees, head bowed and waiting for my next command? Even more so.

I recovered quickly, though, and picked up his shirt.

“Put your hands behind your back.”

He did, lacing his fingers over the small of his back. I wrapped his shirt around his wrists and knotted it above his hands. Now he was bound, but having his hands where they were served another purpose. I still wasn’t completely confident with my aim, especially with something like the cat o’ nine tails he’d chosen, and putting his arms this way protected his kidneys while leaving the rest of his back exposed.

I ran my nails lightly across his shoulders, not even pressing hard enough to color his skin. “Tell me your safe words again.”

He took a breath, his teeth chattering as he tilted his head in response to my nails on the side of his neck. “Red to stop. Yellow to back off.” He paused, then quickly added, “Mistress.”

“Good.”

I spent about ten minutes with the softer flogger, warming up his skin and my arm. When his back had turned a satisfying shade of pink, I set the flogger down and picked up the cat o’ nine tails.

The tails rattled against each other. Scott pulled in a sharp breath as I stepped behind him. While I stood silently, neither speaking nor moving, he waited. His breathing stayed even for the most part, but the occasional sharp inhalation or ragged exhalation betrayed his otherwise hidden nerves. When I slid the flogger’s tails over my palm, he shuddered.

Again I was still. After long a silence, one that probably seemed a hundred times longer for him than for me, I raised the flogger and brought it down on my hand. The slap of leather on skin made him flinch. Every muscle in his back and shoulders quivered. When I hit my hand again, his startle was even more pronounced, as if he’d been absolutely certain I meant it that time.

Stillness. Silence. Before me, he tensed and relaxed, tensed and relaxed, those beautiful shoulders twitching and trembling as he anticipated my next move.

I raised the cat o’ nine tails and, as lightly as I could brought it down just below his shoulder. Then the other. Not hard enough to mark his skin, but enough to warrant a sharp hiss of breath. It was caution more than the need to tease him; the silvery scars on his shoulder held me back, keeping me from letting him have it.

I hit him harder, and he moaned. After a few strokes, harder. He grunted and flinched, but the next hit resulted in little more than a sharp exhalation. The pink in his skin deepened as I struck him again and again. With a little more force behind it, the cat o’ nine tails began raising thin, faint welts.

I stopped. Waited. His shoulders bunched tighter, tighter, then dropped with the release of his breath. When he’d let his guard down, I hit him again, this time lighter than before.

A frustrated growl emerged from the back of his throat.

When I hit him again, I did it hard. He moaned and his balance wavered slightly. He adjusted his stance, putting his knees an inch or so further apart. With the next strike, he didn’t budge except for the trembling of his shoulders.

After a few minutes, I stopped again. His quivering back and shoulders were flushed except down the center of his spine, the deepening pink scored by thin welts. Sweat curled the ends of his hair, and an occasional drop slid like a tear down his skin and over his tattoos.

I moved closer to him, my heels clicking on the hard floor. Though he kept his head bowed, he turned it slightly, probably listening to determine where I was.

I leaned down and blew a cool breath on the base of his neck. He gasped, his spine straightening. He shivered as I ran my fingertips down his back, and he groaned when I raked my nails up his sides.

I stepped back and resumed flogging him. My strokes were gentler now, barely slapping against his well-beaten skin. I thought he moaned, but then realized it was an aggravated growl. Grinning to myself, I laid a few more light strokes across his back.

“Do it harder, Goddammit,” he snarled. His posture instantly stiffened. What little I could see of his face tightened into a grimace. He probably knew he’d misstepped before the words were completely off his tongue, but I wasn’t going to let him off easily.