Surrender: Tales of Submission (2 page)

loved it. And hair like a dark curtain. He'd love to get his hands on it. In it. Pull it hard.

"Let's start with your name. Skye…?"

"Just Skye is fine."

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Her tongue darted out, a flash of pink against the

dusky rose of her plush, glossed lips, distracting him.

Utterly kissable lips. But he was losing focus.

"We need to trust each other here."

She took in a deep breath, exhaled, played with her

teacup. "It's Ballard. But it's my father's name. I don't use it."

"You can tell me why later. You said you're an artist?

What medium?"

"It changes. Right now I love pen and ink, the

starkness of it. And charcoal. I haven't been using any color lately, just exploring lines, shapes, contrast." She paused, looking uncertain. "I'm sorry. That was probably more than you wanted to know."

"On the contrary. I want to know. Everything. And I love the way your eyes light up talking about it. I love seeing the passion on your face."

She blushed, a pink sheen rising in her high, curved

cheeks. He reached for her hand again and watched the

blush deepen. He pulled it toward him, turned it over to inspect the tattoo curling around her left wrist, a small, sinuous piece done in dark, tribal style. He looked up at her, surprised, letting her hand go. "A phoenix?"

"Yes. It represents rebirth."

"I know. I have one, too."

"A tattoo?"

He nodded. "A phoenix."

A small laugh from her. "What a strange

coincidence."

"I don't believe in coincidences. I'll show it to you eventually."

She nodded her head. Her nervousness radiated off

her in waves, along with a subtle, smoky scent that made his cock harden. That was all right, she could be nervous.

Should be, if she had any idea about what he planned to do to her. An image of her tied, naked, to his bed, and 13

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his cock sprang to life.

Yes, he had to get her there. He'd better get back on

track.

"You've seen my references. I've read the list of

desires you e-mailed to me, things you'd like to try:

bondage, spanking, floggers, all of these things interest me, as well. We'll be a good match. I'm going to send you a questionnaire. There are a few things on there you

probably hadn't thought about."

She was visibly shaking now. But he understood it

was as much from excitement as from fear. Not that he

minded if she was a little afraid. That only made it more exciting. Domination and submission, sadomasochism,

were all about an energy exchange, after all. He fed off her energy. Pleasure, fright, it was all the same at that level. And this woman, as controlled as she tried to be, unconsciously wore her emotions on her sleeve. To play

her would be fantastic. He couldn't wait to begin.

"I'll e-mail you as soon as I get home with the

questionnaire. There will be some other things,

instructions. Do you know about safe words?"

"Yes. I'm to use 'yellow' if I want to slow down a scene, if I can't handle something you're…doing, and

‘red’ if I need to stop completely."

"Exactly. Remember your safe words. Don't be

embarrassed to use them. That's the only thing you're

responsible for during play. I'll be responsible for

everything else. You will be in my hands. Do you

understand?"

She swallowed; he could see her throat working for a

moment before she spoke. "Yes."

"I'll send you my address. Come Friday night."

She paused before nodding her head, looking for a

moment as though she were going to argue. But in the

end, she didn't question that he'd phrased it as a command. A momentary struggle. Enough that he could

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see she would fight yielding to him. But he had no doubt he could handle her. He'd trained girls like this before, those who had to hang on so tightly to control that letting it go was the ultimate relief. He loved nothing more than to break past that wall of reserve. The idea of breaking this particular girl, this beautiful woman whose very

scent made him want to taste her skin, would be a

pleasure. Hers. His.

Breaking Skye. He knew it was all he would think

about all week.

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Skye let herself into her third-floor apartment, her

hands still shaking. She hadn't been able to calm down

since her conversation with Adam Dunne.

Had it really even happened? It all seemed

dreamlike to her now. Too good to be true. Too

frightening. But this was exactly what she'd wanted,

wasn't it? And more. Too much more, maybe.

She'd wanted an experiment. An experience. But she

hadn't expected to find a man—a Dominant—that she'd

be so unbearably attracted to. That complicated things.

And he was graceful in that way only utterly self-

confident men could be. That was the sexiest thing about him. Except for his mouth, maybe…

She groaned and tossed her purse down on the

antique sea chest in her front hall, kicked her shoes off and padded barefoot across the hardwood floors of her

small living room to the bay window overlooking the

city.

The apartment was on a hill overlooking the Castro

district. This was a beautiful neighborhood: well-kept, safe. And one of the few areas in San Francisco to get the occasional bit of sun.

It was twilight now, and the evening fog was rolling

in, turning the lights on the streets below her into a

glowing wash of color. Wisps of fog threaded its way

between the mini-Tudors and remodeled Victorians that

lined the streets. Cold and lonely-looking out there, as San Francisco often was. But she was glad for the sense of 16

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solitude now. She had a lot to think about.

Had she gotten in over her head here? Her whole

body gave a long shiver as she pictured Adam in her

mind. He obviously knew exactly what he was doing.

She felt so…naïve. Yet he obviously didn't expect

anything more from her.

I'll be responsible for everything…

Yes, she knew he would be, had an absolute sense of

that. How frightening. How freeing.

She had three days to ponder this, to look over the

questionnaire he would send her, to make her final

decision. He'd already assumed she would come to him,

but she had to really think this over, now that she'd met him, didn't she?

Her heart surged in her chest, her limbs going warm

and weak as she imagined his face. Oh, hell, who was she kidding? She'd made her decision the moment she'd seen

him walk into the café. She wanted this. More

specifically, she wanted to do these things with him. In fact, if she were going to be perfectly honest, she could hardly wait to see him again. Three days suddenly

seemed like far too long to wait.

* * * *

enough; she taught a few art classes at the local junior college, which kept her busy and distracted. But she'd

spent her evenings going over and over the long

questionnaire Adam had sent her.

He was right, there were things on there that had

never occurred to her. Some of them too scary to

contemplate, some of them enticing. Would she like to

play with hot wax? Maybe. Would she like to try caning?

She just might. Would she allow any sexual contact?

Her mind had emptied as she read that question, her

body flooding with hot desire.

Oh, yes…

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Since then, her head had been filled with images of

him touching her. She'd spent most of Thursday night in bed with her collection of vibrators. But orgasm after

orgasm didn't satisfy her. She had to feel his touch, she knew, before the aching desire that ran hot through her veins would be sated.

Friday morning, she awoke with that same need

humming through her system, but she resisted, wanting

to save it all for him, to go to him with this almost

unbearable wanting. A sort of torture, she thought,

loving the idea.

She spent the day preparing, allowing herself to

think of him, indulging herself, really. Her body was

nearly throbbing by evening, when she laid out her

clothes on her old iron bed, the outfit he had requested: a short, black skirt; a white button-down blouse; sheer,

black, thigh-high stockings; high black pumps. She wore nothing underneath, making her feel sexy, a little

vulnerable, a lot wicked.

She bathed herself, careful not to give in to the need

to slide her fingers over her aching pussy, her swollen nipples, as she leaned against the cool, white tiles in the shower. The contrast of the hot water and the tiles at her back was a surprisingly erotic sensation. When she got

out and dried herself off, she rubbed scented lotion into her skin, every touch of her own hands an unexpectedly

sensual experience.

How much better would it be when she stood before

him?

Finally it was time to go, and she called for a cab.

The ride over to his house in Noe Valley seemed to take forever. It was one of those classic 1920s stucco homes that were so popular in the city: three stories, with the garage on the ground floor, a small iron railing balcony at each window. She got out of the cab and walked up

the stairs on one side of the garage to the front door. It 18

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stood silent sentry, daring her to knock. Why did she feel as though her life was about to change forever?

Because it is.

She took a deep breath and ordered her racing pulse

to calm. It didn't help.

She knocked anyway.

And felt the breath escaping her lungs when Adam

opened the door.

So damn handsome. No, that word was not enough.

He was stunning, in his black slacks, his white shirt

rolled up at the sleeves. Flash of strong, white teeth as he smiled at her. Flash of burning lust when he took her

hand and guided her inside.

"Welcome, Skye."

"Thank you." She didn't know what else to say, feeling shy suddenly. Overwhelmed. And something

else, something to do with being in his presence. She

didn't understand it. It felt good, right, yet she almost wanted to cry at the same time.

"Come and have a seat on the sofa."

He led her into the living room. Beautiful house,

great architectural details. Her artist's eye took it all in quickly: the scrolling crown molding, the polished wood floors, the gorgeous mantle. All white walls, an eclectic collection of contemporary and antique furnishings. The enormous beige sofa was all clean, modern lines, while

the square coffee table was a gorgeously carved piece of old Indonesian teak topped in glass. Soothing, neutral

colors everywhere, except for the really astonishing art on the walls and the dark red Persian rugs on the floors.

She sat on the sofa, her stomach fluttering, unsure as

to what to do with her hands. She fisted them at her

sides, finally. Her stomach gave a sharp jump when he

sat down beside her.

"You don't need to be nervous," he said quietly. "But I don't mind if you are."

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Another smile, this one definitely wicked. She

averted her gaze. But he immediately cupped her chin in his hand, forcing her to look into those dusky blue eyes.

His voice was more commanding this time. "Don't

hide your eyes from me again." He was quiet a moment, allowing her to absorb his words. "The eyes really are the windows to the soul. And I need to know you on the

inside if this is going to work. Understood?"

"Yes. I just…something is happening to me

already…" She shook her head helplessly.

"I can see that. And trust me, it's good. You're

responding to the mere idea of what we're about to do. I can only imagine how you'll respond once we begin. Do

you have any questions?"

"I…don't know. When do we begin? Is it now?"

That devastating smile again. "Yes."

He stood, offered her his hand. She took it, let him

guide her to her feet.

A small wave of panic hit her. "Where are we

going?"

He turned to her, and she realized she'd never been

this close to him before. He seemed even taller, standing right next to her. He smelled like pure male. Just clean skin and a hint of earthy musk. Sexy as hell.

"Shh, no more questions now. No speaking unless

you're spoken to, or unless it's to use your safe words."

He cupped her face in his palm, making her legs go weak with desire and something else, that sensation she

couldn't seem to put a name to. "You are in my hands now, Skye. No more worries, no concerns, no control

here. I will do it all. For you. Just let it go. That's why you're here."

"I…I'm not sure if I can."

"You can. And you will. For me."

She nodded, unable to speak. Yes. For him. She

wanted nothing else at this moment. What was

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happening to her? She couldn't think clearly enough to

figure it out.

When he quietly ordered her to undress, the breath

went right out of her.

"Wh—what?"

"I said to take your clothes off." His voice was low but certain.

Tears threatened, but she bit her lip and held them

back.

He stood before her. She was shaking her head

again, unable to speak. He pulled her right up against