The Beauty of Surrender (6 page)

“I’m sorry, Ava.”

Desmond’s eyes were dark; she could see sympathy there, and a simmering rage. And she felt oddly protected.

“Well,” she went on, “it was the same message as the one from my mother: I wasn’t good enough, there was something wrong with me. And finally he was telling me how bored he was by it all. That I was boring. But even then I couldn’t figure it out. How could I be any more boring than all those girls who are into vanilla sex?” She was getting angry all over again. “I left him after a year. Not soon enough. Because I still struggle with these things.”

“But you did leave. That shows some strength, don’t you think?”

“Yes. Maybe. But do you think this need I have to please has been twisted in some way? Or maybe it always was.”

“It can be whatever you make of it. You don’t have to let other people’s judgment shape you or your desires. And your desires are very much the same as my own. To seek perfection in the ropes, within the power dynamic. And it is achievable. It’s entirely subjective. And I will tell you, I felt from the first moment that you could be perfect with me.”

“Desmond …” She glanced away, flushed, flustered. Glowing with pleasure.

“Ava … I must also tell you, as I said on the phone, I am interrupting
my own protocol, having you here so soon. I need to be up front about that. But we’ve talked, and I feel certain we are looking for the same things. To use Shibari as a means to an end, an end we both crave. And I believe we are on the same page about how to get there, about what you need, about what I require. Do we have an understanding?”

“Yes, Desmond.”

He was quiet again. She wondered what was going on in his head when he went silent like this, watching her so carefully. Her heart beat wildly, a hard flutter in her chest. And her body was heating up, her breasts full and aching, simply imagining what was about to happen.

“Do you have any questions?”

“I …” There were a million things she wanted to know about him, personal details, but none of it mattered right now. And she loved that sense of mystery about a Dom the first few times she played with someone new. She trusted him. She wanted him. She didn’t need to know anything else just yet. “No, Desmond.”

“We’ll begin now, then,” he said, his voice that quiet command that went through her like a sensual pulse.

She nodded. He stood, took her hand to help her up. Oh, she loved these small gentlemanly details. That and his lyrical accent, his rugged face, his large, beautiful hands …

But he was ushering her through the dimly lit house and she had to pay attention. Through a large dining room full of wide windows overlooking the darkly glimmering bay, an enormous modern table and leather-covered chairs the only furniture but beautiful in its simplicity, with a spray of tiny green orchids in a tall pewter vase in the center of the table. Then down a hallway, the walls of which were covered in small framed black-and-white photographs, architectural pieces, but she couldn’t concentrate enough to really look at them. They passed two open doors, and she glimpsed a bathroom and what appeared to be a guest room,
but it was too dark for her to see inside. At the end of the hallway was an ominously closed door.

He paused just outside of it, turned to her. Again he stood silently. Then he raised a hand, lifted her chin, peered into her eyes.

So much intensity in his gaze. Too much, almost, and his fingertips warm on her chin. Her insides knotted up. She was more afraid than ever. And more anxious for him to touch her. To lay his ropes on her body. Desire was like a warm, undulating wave shimmering over her skin.

“Ava …” Was there a small tremor in his voice? It had to be her imagination. “This is your last chance to change your mind.”

She shook her head. “I am exactly where I want to be.”

He smiled, moved in, and brushed his lips over hers, just the lightest feather touch, but heat swarmed her system like water, rippled through her, settling between her thighs.

He opened the door and led her through.

An enormous bed with carved wooden posts soaring toward the high ceiling. More windows open to the incredible bay view, letting the night right in: the dark sky, the glittering stars, making her feel all the more vulnerable, even though she was certain no one could see inside. The room was dimly lit by amber glass sconces on the walls. Music played quietly, something soft, meditative. And against one wall was a large wooden frame, like the ones she’d seen at the fetish clubs. But this one was beautiful, carved, with benches and bars padded in brown leather and shining brass hooks placed all over it. Next to it stood a tall rack with coils of colored ropes hanging from it: white, black, red, blue. Her breath stuttered in her chest.

He came to stand behind her so she couldn’t see him. She could only feel his presence, the faint heat of his body. And his scent, warm and enigmatic, filling her senses.

“Do you know what this is, Ava?”

She nodded her head. “I think so. It looks like the bondage frames I’ve seen at some of the clubs.”

“Yes, that’s right. I can do complex web work here, full harnessing, suspension. Anything.” A short beat. “And I will.” Oh, she was going to sink to her knees right now, right here! “Ava, take your clothes off. All of them.”

She paused, opened her mouth, but found she had nothing to say. Everything he was asking of her was well within the boundaries she was used to, but for some reason she felt startled.

She wasn’t going to argue. She didn’t want to. But she was trembling all over with excitement, and with a little fear still. She wasn’t afraid of him exactly. It was how he made her feel.

But she was doing it, slipping out of her dress, her bra, her high heels, and finally her damp, white lace panties, which he took from her. He held the small scrap of fabric in his fingers, stroking the lace with his thumb.

“I love this, that you would wear something so sweet-looking. That’s one of the first things I noticed about you,” he told her as he set her clothing down on the dark suede coverlet on the end of the bed. “That aura of innocence.”

She could hardly believe he was talking to her so calmly while she stood naked in front of him!

“And this,” he said, his voice quiet, almost reverent. “This incredible skin.” He drew one finger between her breasts, and her nipples went hard immediately. She shivered all over. Moving in closer, he spread his fingers wide, his entire palm covering the skin between her breasts.

“I can feel your heart beating, Ava. I don’t mind telling you mine is beating just as hard, just as fast.”

He took her hand, placed it on his firm, muscled chest, and she could feel his thudding heartbeat beneath his black cotton shirt.

God
.

She was melting all over, into his heat, into her own.

“This is why we’re here together right now,” he said.

He took a step back and she saw him pull in a deep breath. She
was unable to speak, her mind beginning that lovely slip and slide, filled with nothing but his rugged beauty, his command, her own sense of submission. And overcome, she clasped her hands behind her back, bowed her head.

“Ah, good girl.”

Hot flash of pleasure at those words, at his tone.

“Stay just as you are while I get set up,” he told her.

She waited. Breathless. Dizzy with need, anticipation.

Then that familiar whisper of rope smoothing over rope, and in a moment he was in front of her again, taking her hands from her back, leading her forward.

“We begin now, Ava.”

Her body was loose all over, pliant, as he placed her in the center of the wooden frame. Her mind was absolutely emptying out.

Desmond
.

It was only him. Desmond, the ropes, the sensations assaulting her body even before the first rope touched her.

And when it did, she shook, hard, her muscles tensing, then releasing, her sex filling, going wet. And Desmond working so silently as he pulled that first loop around her waist.

He leaned in and asked her, “Do you know anything of Taoist philosophy?”

“No, Desmond,” she whispered.

“I’ll tell you, then, although I’m going to have you read more about it later.” He wound the loop across her back, around the front of her body, crossed the rope over itself; she could feel the motion against her skin like cool silk. But firmer. Lovely. “The main concept, as it seems to me, anyway, is to learn to cease the inherent human struggle against the inevitable. To let go. When I first read of this, it immediately translated into what we do in this lifestyle. Do you see where I’m going with this, Ava?”

“I … I think so. Yes. You mean to give myself over to you. To the process. To yield.”

“Yes, exactly,” he went on, his voice quiet, soothing. “Because
the freedom you’re seeking lies within that act of submission. Of total submission. I don’t mean it in the sense of complete slave mentality; that sort of thing doesn’t interest me. When you are not in the ropes I want to be able to have an intelligent conversation with you. I want you to be a thinking, functioning individual being, not some mindless piece of furniture. But now … when you are under my hand, you must learn not to struggle against what is happening, what you yourself have asked for, what you desire. And what I desire, if that makes it easier for you. This is what you and I will work on together. And we will utilize some tools to get you there. We’re going to start with some meditative breathing. If you’ve done yoga before, you may be familiar with this kind of practice. But I want you to put all of that out of your mind. Focus only on my voice. On what the ropes make you feel.”

Oh, she could do that easily enough. Nothing else existed for her already.

“Breathe in, Ava,” he said. “In through your mouth, into your diaphragm, then push the air down into your stomach. Good. Now let it out slowly. And as you do, focus. My voice. Your breath. The ropes.”

She felt the silken pull of the rope against her skin as he wound another length of it over her shoulders, beginning what she knew would be a body harness of some sort. And she let herself sink into the ropes, into the brushing of his fingertips, his knuckles, against her skin as he worked.

If only he would really touch me …

But she was getting ahead of herself.

Focus. Breathe
.

Yes, just let herself sink in, give it all over …

“Another deep breath, Ava. Take your time, slowly … yes, that’s it. And again. My voice. Your breath. The ropes.”

Desmond could not believe how easily this girl went down, into that space. He watched as her eyes glazed, then closed. She was still following his instructions: breathing in, out. He would almost
think she was asleep, except that her nipples were two hard, dusky points. Swollen. Unbelievably luscious.

He drew the rope over her pale flesh, fighting to maintain his focus.

Control
.

It was all he could do not to shake all over with need for her.

Soon enough
.

Yes, once he had her bound, once he had done all he could to take her down into subspace, once he did his job with her …

His cock went hard as rock, pushing against the fabric of his trousers.

Control!

Christ, but she was too gorgeous. And the black rope looked every bit as good against her fair skin as he’d imagined. Hell, it was better than he’d imagined, in every way. The way she looked naked … almost more than he could stand, she was so damn beautiful, those large breasts on that tiny frame. Yes, doll porn.

His cock gave a sharp jerk, and he reached out and brushed the underside of one perfect breast with the back of his fingers.

She sighed, a small breath of sweet air escaping her lips, and she squirmed.

“Still, Ava.”

He had to still himself. Steel himself.

Get it together
.

She pulled in a deep breath, and he did the same. He moved the rope over her body, and soon he found his rhythm, with the music, with her breath, with his own. Around her torso, between her beautiful breasts. Her flesh was like satin. Babyskin.

No, don’t think too much about it
.

He was there now, into the languorous pacing of the ropes, really taking his time, drawing it out. And the body harness was beginning to take shape, the ropes crossing over themselves in a herringbone pattern, leaving only her breasts bare. He stayed
there for a long while, their breathing in tune, his hand on the deliciously silken skin at the back of her neck, his cock rock-hard. But he maintained his focus on the process, on her, as she slipped further and further into subspace, her body going slack all over as she leaned her weight into him.

It must have been nearly an hour later when he slipped the rope between her thighs, the back of his hand brushing against her sex. Christ, she was wet. Soaked. She moaned, her hips arching. Suppressing a groan, he slid the rope behind her, moving around her body as he worked.

“Ava, still with me?”

“Yes, Desmond,” she murmured, her eyes still closed. He could see the delicate blue veins beneath the skin of her lids, which touched him in some odd way he didn’t want to analyze.

“Very good. Continue. My voice. Your breath. The ropes.”

She nodded almost imperceptibly. Oh, yes, she was there, in that floating space. Now to find a way to take her deeper, to take her all the way.

He pulled another length of rope from his wall rack and moved behind her once more, pulled her arms back, and began to bind them, working carefully, checking the tension of the rope for evenness as he went. Even a small error could cause a lack of circulation, or a visual disturbance in the perfect symmetry, which was as important to Shibari as the ropes themselves, the act of being bound.

He could feel her shivering, just a small tremor running through her, over and over. The heat coming off her was incredible. He wove the rope over and between her biceps, her forearms, until they were bound together, from upper arms to wrists, pulling her shoulders back tightly, making her breasts thrust forward. She held perfectly still.