Submissive Desires (17 page)

She apologized so often – in tears each time – that he had to take to threatening her with a spanking whenever she brought it up, and actually apologized for making her wait so long, saying that part of being 70

a good dom was knowing your submissive well enough to gage what was good for her about submitting.

Obviously, that much denial had not been good for her.

She was surprised and impressed by his apology in equal measures. He was totally serious about his own responsibility towards her – not many men – and probably fewer doms – would ever admit they were wrong, especially about something as delicate as misjudging the strength of their mate’s responses.

Simon had proceeded to tuck her back in, promising that she would make it up to him tomorrow and reassuring her that he wasn’t in the least bit mad, but that he would be if she didn’t go back to sleep.

After their second, no holds barred, barely-able-to-crawl-out-of-bed encounter, Maura knew she had to face facts: she was falling in love with this taciturn, solemn, serious man – someone she would have sworn a few months ago was incredibly far from her type. But dear God, he could make her putty in his hands with just a look. And, for all of his agreement with her women’s’ lib attitudes, he was extremely polite and gentlemanly around her – he opened doors, he pulled out chairs . . . and his protectiveness –

even when the person he was protecting her from was, in essence, himself – knew no bounds at all.

She didn’t want to fall in love with him. First of all, she didn’t want the complications. She liked her life just the way it was, thank you very much. Single suited her . . . eighty percent of the time. The other twenty percent was when her libido ruined her life and made her rub up against lampposts on the way down the street.

Secondly, she knew that he didn’t believe in love - that his courteous gestures had their roots in old school politeness rather than any sort of knight-in-shining-armor impetus. He did not want to be her boyfriend, meet her family, or any of her friends. He wanted to fuck her. He wanted to dominate and control her, for each of their interminable pleasure - and he certainly could conjure enough of that for a lifetime in just one weekend.

End of story.

He didn’t want babies. He didn’t want to buy a house with her. He didn’t want to plan a future or give her his name. He wanted her. And that was all he had to offer.

He’d told her as much at dinner that second Sunday morning – the next weekend they were together – while suggesting that she come live with him.

Maura could not have been more stunned.

He’d been fishing around in his jacket pocket – naked – as they both were while sitting at the small table in the very same suite they’d had before, dining decadently late in the morning, almost noon, because they’d been unable to pry themselves away from each other for something as unimportant as sustenance. For a moment, she was agog at the idea – frozen with fear, frankly – that he might God forbid produce a ring.

But no. She should have known him better.

He’d handed her a blue-backed piece of paper that looked like the warrants they handed people on “Law and Order”. It wasn’t a warrant, though, obviously, unless one got served for the occasional unpaid parking ticket. It was, instead, a cohabitation agreement. Maura had never seen one before . . . and she was frankly wishing she wasn’t seeing one now.

“What is this?” she asked, opening the folded document with a sense of foreboding and sheer dread. The first line started with “whereas the party of the first part” and went distinctly downhill from there.

“It’s an agreement between two people who live together, just to make sure everyone is on the same page.” Completely oblivious to the turmoil she was in, Simon dug into his Belgian waffle with gusto.

Maura didn’t read past that atrocious first line. She was allergic to legalese, and, considering the delicate flowering of feelings she was having, this God-awful piece of paper was an affront to her. She folded it back up and put it on the table between them – where it belonged, symbolically.

Somehow, breakfast didn’t look as appealing as it had just moments before, and Maura merely picked at it. Simon noticed this, of course, asking her if there was something wrong with the way her French toast was prepared. She shook her head, trying not to become maudlin. He was not behaving any 71

differently from how he had told her he would. He had never blown any sunshine up her skirt about wanting a loving relationship. Never. She was the one who had gotten all starry eyed and romantic. She almost snorted out loud. He hadn’t a romantic bone in his body . . . and she couldn’t even claim ignorance of that fact, because he’d confessed to it from the start.

When they had both finished eating – Maura much more quickly than he, Simon sat back in his chair and looked at her. She looked like someone had burst her bubble with a sledge hammer, and she was busy trying to patch it back together with band aids, desperately hoping he didn’t notice.

He sighed. It never seemed to matter how open he was about not wanting to fall in love or be in love or not subscribing to “love” in general. Every woman he was with – even those who professed to be as anti-love as he was – eventually ended up in love in their relationship. He preferred to think that they were in love with the idea of love, rather than with him in particular, but he could never be sure, however egotistical it sounded in his head – that every woman he’d been with for any length of time had fallen in love with him.

Some of his relationships had ended in atrocious scenes, and one of the reasons it had been a while since he’d been involved in anything other than the very occasional one night stand was because he detested

hurting women so. Especially when it was entirely unintended.

He liked women, and although he was basically a happy loner, he enjoyed their company enormously even when it was completely platonic. But he didn’t and couldn’t love them. It would be too much of a compromise of himself. He wanted to own them and dominate them and make them come uncontrollably until they fainted in his arms, but he never wanted to love one, nor did he ever expect them to love him.

It seemed that Maura was the same as the others, although she had assured him when they’d spoken of it that she was not looking for that type of relationship.

He decided to do a little probing. “Is it the living together, or the agreement?” he asked bluntly, nailing her to the wall with his eyes, hooking his elbow over the back of the chair in a completely relaxed pose, when nothing could have been further from the truth.

Simon had never much pursued a woman, especially not as avidly as he was doing with Maura.

He wanted her, and he would have her, one way or the other.

Maura nearly choked on a sip of coffee. And she’d thought she’d been doing so well to keep her feelings buried, away from him, so that he wouldn’t guess that she was upset. So much for that. She should have known better. If she’d learned nothing from her time with him, it was that he missed nothing

– no details of what went on around him – around them when they were together. She’d noticed that when they went out – however infrequently that was since they’d started sleeping together – that he always took a seat that faced the door, so he could see who was coming into the restaurant. He always seemed to consciously place himself in a defensible position, and she knew he’d always put himself between her and any perceived danger.

Suddenly, he abandoned the casual posture and leaned forward, growling, “And don’t even try to tell me that you’re not bothered. You barely touched your breakfast, and you have a heartier appetite than that, especially after the night we just had. You need your fuel.”

He would have to remind her of what had transpired between the sheets last night . . . and on the floor, and on the very table they were dining off of. He’d spread her over it and taken the paddle to her, all because she’d sassed him about something. She couldn’t even remember what. When he had her hoarse from screaming as she gripped the edge of the table top fit to pry the finish off it, he turned her over and forced her legs back and kept them there with one thick arm, pushing them so far up that she had to balance largely on her shoulder blades as he stuffed three huge fingers up inside her with no preparation whatsoever – not that she needed any by that point, or ever really around him – and proceeded to enclose her already swollen and begging clit in his lips, licking her thoroughly in torturously slow motion.

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And it had gotten better from there. He was like an android – he could go all night. As before, she was denied the relative safety of her clothing, always nude and available to him whenever and wherever, especially next to him in bed. Simon reached for her compulsively throughout the night, to the point where she had flinched a little when he slid – again incredibly hard and wide – into her, to the deepest hilt of himself. He had felt her spasm around him – not from pleasure, and had searched her face, waiting for her to use her safe word if she needed to. But, as it was not forthcoming, he did what he’d wanted to do and fucked her.

Hard.

Very hard, holding her wrists to the bed and raping her mouth as he raped her pussy.

Full tilt, no apologies.

He owned her, and used her for his own pleasure. How could anything be more natural?

A shiver ran through her as she remembered each unbelievably powerful stroke as it rubbed her already sensitized flesh.

But it only felt right to submit to him – never abused or even used in any sort of bad sense.

She was his, and there was comfort in that thought, deep down where she didn’t care to look.

“So eat something and tell me what’s going on in that imaginative mind of yours.”

If she hadn’t been sitting on a mottled black and blue and still angry red bottom, she might well have given him more of a fight about eating. But shifting in the chair – even on the generous cushion –

took care of any rebellious impulse she might have had. She didn’t know how much more she could take if he decided to punish her.

Although, pervert that she was, she also found that concept intriguing in the extreme.

So, she picked up her fork and edged off a small piece of butter and real maple syrup-soaked bread and eating it, if just reluctantly enough to let him know that she didn’t really want to obey him.

Mara was trying to couch what she was going to say in a manner that would sound less objectionable to him. “I’m just surprised, is all.”

“Again,” he said, the edge in his tone letting her know that he wasn’t happy at having to repeat himself, “is it the living together or the agreement?”

“Both,” she shot back, putting her fork down.

Simon raised an eyebrow at her until she picked it back up and took another bite. He couldn’t have said he was surprised. Some women might have suggested that they move in even before now. But not Maura. She was a deeply private person, and very non-pushy. The idea of them living together had probably not even occurred to her, and, truthfully, he wasn’t really sure what he thought about that.

Maura was a very secure, independent person. She didn’t need him.

But she did have what seemed to be a very great need to submit to him, just as he needed her to submit to him. She had confessed to him, during several of their long talks, that she’d always felt a desire –

in more ways than one – to be controlled – very tightly controlled. Simon had never met a woman who was such a bundle of contradictions. In his experience, the women who wanted to be as tightly guided as Maura had told him she wanted to be were largely unable to function on their own, anyway, and were looking for someone to do all of the decision making involved even in the most mundane of daily activities.

But Maura was quite capable of making intelligent, sound choices on her own, yet she had admitted that she would prefer to have her Dom do most of it.

And to Simon, the only way they would achieve that level of dominance and submission was for her to live with him, so that he could keep an eye – and firm hand - on her twenty-four-seven. It was the next logical step in their relationship, as far as he was concerned, and the only intelligent way to approach living together was to sign a legally binding agreement that spelled out exactly what was expected of both parties, both practically and sexually.

He had found a sample agreement online, and kept most of it, but then added addendums to address their unique situation – spelling out the level of her complete submission – and his own 73

responsibilities to her therein - in black and white. His lawyer had raised his eyebrow at some of the codicils, but had drawn it up to the letter without so much as a comment.

Simon leaned forward. “I want you with me all the time. I want to keep you close at hand. I want to keep you naked in the house, and fuck you or spank or paddle or cane you whenever the urge hits me. I want to keep you bound in bed at night most nights – all night sometimes – maybe longer.”

Maura couldn’t breathe at his words. After their exploits this weekend, one would have thought that she would be wrung out sexually, but it turned out that, with him, she was just more and more sexually aroused, by all the things he said and did to her.

But living together? Under a legal agreement? She might not have been quite so shocked if it was a prenuptial – despite the fact that she knew that his feelings about marriage ran along much the same lines as his feelings about love.

“And,” he continued in a self-satisfied tone, “I can see that you find that idea extremely intriguing also.”

“What I don’t find intriguing is the idea of signing my life away,” she said sarcastically.

A muscle in his jaw began to twitch, a sure sign – she had learned the hard way - that he was trying to keep a hold on his temper. “You’re not. We’re just agreeing that – unless we get married – if and when the relationship dissolves, we will both walk away with exactly what we came into it with.”

“Aren’t you jumping the gun a bit? You just barely brought up the idea of us moving in together.