Pleasure Point-nook (3 page)

First things first.

“Very good, Miranda,” he said, letting his mouth quirk up into a small smile.

“I haven’t done anything yet.”

“On the contrary. You showed up as instructed.”

“I…” she started, faltering. The rise of her breasts rose beneath the black lace as
she pulled in a deep breath, as she bit her plush pink lower lip. Lips to be kissed.
To be mauled. “Negotiations?” she asked.

“Absolutely.” He held out a hand to her, and she paused before she took it, letting
him lead her back to the low red sofa. “Sit.”

“I’m not a dog,” she protested.

“No, of course not. But this is a kink dynamic we’re about to negotiate—a D/s dynamic,
among other things—and you will get used to me issuing commands.
That
is non-negotiable.”

Color rose in her cheeks as she sat down and unnecessarily smoothed a hand over her
hair, which was a light brown streaked with gold, pulled into a tight bun at the nape
of her graceful neck. He caught the nervous flutter in her fingertips, the way she
pulled in a shallow breath.

“Okay,” she said. “But before we get into these negotiations, the first thing you
should know is that I will never go for any sort of humiliation stuff.”

“Did you find that humiliating?” he asked as he sat next to her, laying an arm across
the back of the couch. He noticed she didn’t try to move away from the near contact
with her shoulders. Excellent.

“Not necessarily. It all depends on how it’s used.”

“Fair enough. Let us begin, then.”

He caught her gaze and held it. Lovely blue eyes—almost turquoise. And the long lashes
lent her an air of innocence—that and her smooth, golden skin. Skin like that could
only be natural. But he had to focus on the task at hand. Responsibility first, lust
later. He nearly groaned imagining the lust part. Oh yes, he wanted this woman. But
control in all things was his ever-present mantra.

“Tell me about your experience in kink. I gather you’re not new to this.”

“I’m not new, although it’s been a while. It’s been five years since I’ve played.”

“Why?”

She shifted, looked away for several long moments while he waited, noting the catch
in her breath, the way her shoulders tensed, how she was making an effort to calm
herself.

“My husband died,” she said very quietly, her gaze locking on his, almost as if she
were daring him to…what? Pity her?

“I’m sorry,” he said. He leaned closer, trying to distract himself by breathing in
her scent, like a light dusting of citrus and jasmine on her skin. “I will tell you
something, and perhaps it will make you feel more comfortable with me. I’m a widower,
as well.” There was a small twist in his gut at the admission. This wasn’t something
he ever discussed with anyone. Why now? Why her? Maybe because she was one of the
few people he’d ever spoken with who had shared a similar experience? Or was it because
he was so strangely—insanely—drawn to her?

“Oh...” Sadness on her face but not the pity he’d gotten too often after his wife
died—one reason why he kept that bit of information to himself these days.

He smiled despite that still-empty place in his chest left there after all these years.
“I imagine we’re both sorry, aren’t we? I don’t mean to make light of it.”

She laughed, a small, raw sound. “It’s sort of a relief, actually. I hate those sad
stares. People going into these rambling speeches, trying to find the right thing
to say.”

“There is no right thing to say.”

“No.” She stared at him for several long moments, and something inside him felt as
if there was a loosening. A tumbling. An opening up he wasn’t sure he liked much.
But he couldn’t deny it—that they understood each other on this level. That it made
him want to open himself to her.

Don’t do it. Pull yourself together man.

He reached for her hand and she didn’t resist as he folded it in his. “Shall we move
on?”

“Yes, please.” Her shoulders dropped, and the lines of her lush lips went soft again.

He grinned. “Oh, I do like the way you say that. As if you’re asking my permission.”

“I do have my submissive side. Or we wouldn’t be here, would we?”

“I’m glad to see you’ve accepted that. So. Moving on. Tell me how many years you’ve
been playing. Was it public or private? Were you a part of the kink community?”

She nodded. “I got into it when I was young—I was nineteen. I got involved with a
man from San Francisco, where I went to culinary school.”

“And did you seek it out? Or did you fall into it?”

“Oh, I sought it out. It’s easy enough in a city like that. Well, it’s easy enough
in any city. I’ve been to clubs all over the world. All over the world,” she repeated
quietly, her gaze losing focus, as though lost in memory. After taking in a breath,
then blowing it out, she continued. “I’ve played in public and in private. Never a
24/7 relationship, but I was involved pretty regularly. I was part of the community
in San Francisco for a while before I met my husband.”

“Were you? I’ve been part of the scene there for the last ten years. If our paths
had crossed I would have remembered you.”

“It would’ve been before your time. Roan? Do you mind if we move on from the history
part? I can’t…I need to think beyond that or I can’t do this.”

He understood. He’d spent years getting through his days by not thinking about what
he’d lost.

He nodded. “Of course. Let’s talk about your limits.”

The tension in her shoulders eased just a bit, and though she didn’t smile, her expression
loosened, grew more open. “I’m not a hard player. I could never take anything like
a single-tail whip. Actually, it’s been so long I’m not exactly certain what I am
now, or what I can take.”

“We’ll try to find out this week. Go on.”

While they went over what were the standard limits for the people he came into contact
with most often—no scat play, no blood, no impact to the face—he watched her relax.
And he understood she really was familiar with the negotiations process.

“What else?” he asked.

“As I said, I’m not into humiliation. No age play. And God, please no baby talk, and
so help me, I am not calling you daddy!”

He laughed. “I like that you keep your sense of humor when talking about kink.”

“I don’t think it needs to be so serious all the time. I like to laugh when I play.
In fact, when I’m really flying—full of endorphins and down in subspace—I tend to…I
giggle a lot. It won’t mean you’re not hurting me. And it doesn’t mean I find it funny.”
She smiled. Beautiful. “Well, sometimes it
does
mean that, but only because I’m flying. So don’t take it personally.”

“I like that you expect me to take you to that place. Into subspace.”

She licked her lips. It wasn’t a coy move—it was simply her nerves surfacing again.
“I do expect you to. You wear your dominance like a piece of clothing, Roan. Anyone
with even the slightest subbie tendencies would recognize it.”

He reached out, stroking her cheek before he reached behind her and found one of the
pins holding her hair. He had to take it down. To feel its softness. He pulled another
pin loose, then another and her hair fell into his hand like a pile of gold and brown
silk.

“Your hair is lovely,” he murmured, caressing the strands, twisting them around his
fingers.

“Thank you,” she said. She didn’t move.

Interesting how she switched from nerves to calm. Except that when he looked more
closely he saw her pupils dilating, the slight quickening of her breath that told
him she was going down already.

Perfect
.

“And now on to the more technical details,” he said. “Do you have any health issues
I should know about?”

“No—well, I sprained my right ankle last year, but it’s fine most of the time.”

“I’ll be careful with it. Nothing else health related?”

“No.”

“Emotional triggers?”

“No.” She stopped, shook her head, let out another short laugh. “Yes. Probably. I’m
sure there are, but I don’t even know where to begin. I haven’t played since…I lost
him. I just don’t know.”

“Alright. Something to watch for then. Is there anything else you’d like to tell me
now?”

“No. Nothing else.”

She was holding something back—he could tell from the tight set of her shoulders,
the way her gaze darted away. But he’d let it sit for now. Everyone had a right to
a few secrets. “Very good. Then I’ll talk about my limits. The same basics as yours.
I’ll do some verbal humiliation, use someone as a footstool, if that’s what they need,
but it’s not my preference. I suppose some might call me a service Top. What I’m into
is, for the most part, what pulls a response from you. I’m very detail-oriented. I
will watch you closely.”

“You already do.”

“Yes. It begins the moment there is an agreement to play—even the possibility of it.
What I’m looking for is that response. Overt. Subtle. The subtle is maybe even more
important. The other thing you need to know is that I won’t play with anyone who refuses
to use a safe word—I don’t care how hard a player they consider themselves to be.
Communication is key. I like a great many things—floggers, paddles, electrical play—but
bare-handed spanking and pressure point play are my favorites.”

“Oh!”

“Which? The spanking or the pressure points?” he asked.

“Both. But the pressure point play…”

He smiled, felt the smile spread into a grin. “I think we will enjoy our time together,
Miranda. What about breath play?”

“Only with someone I trust completely.”

“Then I shall have to work very hard to gain your trust.”

She smiled then—maybe the first full smile he’d seen from her—and it lit up the room.
This woman was beautiful. Even the air of sadness about her made her more enticing.
And smiling through the sadness…well, that just made his cock go hard. Lord, if he
could make her cry… He did have a thing for a woman’s pretty tears if they were brought
on by pain he inflicted.

Oh yes.

He cleared his throat. “Safe words. Do you have anything in particular? I want it
to be something you will remember to use. And you must promise that you will use them
if you feel any need—if you are thirsty, if your bonds are too tight, if the pain
is more than you can take, if you are panicking. Yes?”

She nodded. “Yes. Of course. I use the standard ‘yellow’ to slow down or check in
and ‘red’ to stop the scene.” She licked her lovely lips. “But Roan…I sort of can’t
believe I’m saying this to someone I just met, but…if I’m going to do this, if I’m
going to play again, I may need to be taken beyond my pain limit. I may need to challenge
some of those emotional triggers. Can you do that with me?”

His whole body went soft—everything but the hard-on raging between his thighs. Too
perfect, and in a way he thought he’d never encountered before.

Perfect for me.

Don’t go there.

“Yes,” he said so quietly it was almost a whisper. “I can do that with you.
For
you.”

She was watching his face, searching it, her blue eyes so wide and sweet, yet with
that stubborn streak in there somewhere. She was a complicated creature. But then,
so was he. And she was damn beautiful.

When she licked her lips once more, it was too much for him. He slipped his hand behind
her neck, the skin there warm and soft, and pulled her in hard, crushing her mouth
with his.

She tasted as good as she looked. Like sugar and woman and
desire
.

He opened her lips with his, his tongue meeting hers. A small sigh from her was all
the encouragement he needed—he wrapped her slim body in the cradle of his arm and
yanked her in close, needing to feel every inch of her against him. She was kissing
him back, hard and hungrily. Lust raced through his veins, tension building, coiling
inside him, threatening to break loose. And if he didn’t stop he was going to strip
her bare and fuck her right on this couch.

Too soon.

Control!

He pulled back, loosening his grip on her hip, on her neck. She was breathing hard,
blinking, eyes heavy-lidded and full of longing.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he demanded.

“Is that an order?”

“Yes.”

“I’m thinking that it’s been too Goddamn long since I was kissed properly. Too long
since I’ve been played. And maybe…” She paused to take her bottom lip between her
teeth, making him want to groan. “…maybe the island—or Vardalos—does know what I need.
Because this situation made me realize pretty quickly that I need some good, cathartic
play. But Roan, I don’t know if… God, I hate to have to say this, but I might cry.
And I
hate
to cry. Especially in front of anyone.”

Worry creased her forehead. He wanted to smooth it away and take her to that place
she so obviously needed to go. See her through it and be there for her on the other
side.

He caressed her cheek, marveling at his attraction to this woman. At the fiercely
protective instincts she brought out in him—had from the moment he’d seen her. “I
can handle a few tears. I’ll even enjoy it, if that helps. And Miranda, I somehow
forgot to mention that aftercare is one of my limits. I won’t play with you if you
refuse that.”

“I’ll need it. I always have. And not just a blanket and something to drink or eat.
I need contact.”

Oh, yes. Perfect.

“Then we are on the same page.”

Miranda pulled in a long, slow breath. She couldn’t figure out how much of her hammering
heart was nerves and how much was relief—it was all a jumbled mess inside her head.
No, that wasn’t entirely true. Because she knew in mind and body the need she felt.
For release. For catharsis. For him. She simply had no idea how she was going to feel
about it once it was over.  But it was time to stop running. She’d been doing just
that for too damn long. And now she was being presented with the perfect situation
to help her overcome her past and move forward: a stunning stranger who had been vetted
by Vardalos. Whoever her mysterious employer was, whatever he was, everything that
happened on Eden went the way it was supposed to. It was well known that the resort
had never had a single complaint. She could trust this—Vardalos, the island, Roan—as
much as she could trust anything.