Bonds of Courage (10 page)

Chapter Ten

Vanessa checked the room one last time. Everything was in place. The scene was set. She always planned her client sessions, but she’d taken extra care with this one. She’d memorized his checklist, and his knee was a constant concern. The lack of marking while wanting pain was another thing to account for. They weren’t big issues. It just meant she had to be creative.

Between making phone calls, extinguishing a potential media frenzy started by one of her ballplayers and getting press schedules in place for the upcoming hockey camps, she found her mind repeatedly wandering back to Holden. He’d worn the chastity device all day. God, that got to her.

She shut the playroom door behind her, checked her outfit in the mirror and went upstairs to wait. Not that she was waiting
for
him. She wanted to watch him as he came up the walk. Would his swagger still be in place? Would his chin be up or would his gaze be on the ground? Every little action was a clue to what was going on inside his head. Clues she wanted to uncover.

She could justify her curiosity as being a detailed Domme, but it ran deeper with Holden. She attributed it to her need to keep her worlds separated. The better she understood the man, the more control she had over the entire situation.

The black SUV arrived into her drive at seven fifty-seven. She stood in the shadows of the living room, studying everything through the window. He ran his hand through his hair and blew out a long breath. So he was nervous, maybe. Good. He glanced down for a few seconds before he opened the door and stepped out, sliding his phone into the back pocket of his cargo pants as he did.

She smiled. The loose fit of the pants didn’t detract from his overall appeal. His green T-shirt hugged his chest just enough to draw the eye. His stride was sure when he approached without a hint of difference from his usual gait.

She eyed his crotch, picking out the slight bulge that would go unnoticed by most people. Damn. All of that was hers for the taking.

The doorbell chimed through the house, echoing through the rooms, but she didn’t move. He glanced around the porch, shifted his feet then shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the door.

Another smile found its way to her lips. He had her doing that way too much. It wasn’t good.

A starch reminder of her role as his Mistress had the smile flattening. She spun around and sauntered to the door, her heels clicking the whole way down the hall. They were five-inch steel-heeled stilettos. They seemed fitting, given the metal her sub was wearing for her.

The door opened with a soft click. The scent of grass and flowers rushed in. She looked him over but showed no response. “You’re here.”

He smiled, that boyish charming smile that wooed the cameras and fans. “Of course.” Whether it was conscious or not, he now stood on her porch in almost perfect presentation position. The only difference was his eyes were on her, not the ground.

She admired the picture he made and then stepped away. “Follow me.” Once again she didn’t wait to see if he did.

The door closed behind her and she heard a low “Hello, Vanessa. How are you tonight?”

Around the corner from the door, she stalled at the top of the stairs, eyes squeezing shut as she bit her lip. God, how she wanted to answer, but she didn’t. His steps sounded on the wood floors soon enough, and she flattened her features before starting down the stairs.

She led him straight to the playroom and shut the door after he entered. “Strip.” She kept her tone crisp and her back turned. “Fold your clothes and place them on the dresser.” She indicated a small set of drawers near the entry.

The tight corset restricted her breathing, a sensation she used to focus herself. The rustle of material came first, then the shuffle of shoes. A snap popped; the rasp of a zipper followed. She visualized each step, her anticipation building. The soft pad of his bare feet sounded on the tile over to the dresser then returned to the center of the room.

Only then did she face him.

Her sigh was low, her appreciation escaping in a rush of expelled air. He stood in the presentation pose exactly as she’d instructed. “Beautiful,” she mumbled under her breath.

At long last she took in an unobstructed view of him. His skin was creamy white, his forearms and calves tinted by the sun. She lingered on his thighs, the raw power finally displayed before passing upward.

The cock cage gleamed silver and hard at his groin. His balls were round and full behind the tube, pushed forward by the ring at the base. Hair curled around the ring, playing hide-n-seek with the metal in a way that had her wanting to tease it.

“How was the cage?” Her heels clicked with each step that brought her closer to him, but he didn’t look up or break his pose. He was being the perfect submissive, which raised her desire and her suspicion.

“It was...different, Mistress.” His voice was even, controlled.

She moved around him, close enough to catch his scent but not touch. “It looks good on you.”

He inhaled. “Thank you, Mistress.”

She paused at his back. She longed to smooth her palms over the rounded mounds of his ass, but they were blocked by his hands. The memory of their firmness was etched in her memory. Instead she ran one nail down the line of his spine. The shiver that followed raced from his shoulders to his feet.

“Do you want to keep it on while we play?” She blew a trail of air from shoulder to shoulder.

He gasped, twitching forward before he forced his spine straight again. “If it pleases you, Mistress.” His reply was lower, raspy.

“Should I tell you what I have planned?” She was teasing him. The tension built with each almost-touch. She turned her head so the ends of her hair brushed over his arm.

“If it pleases you, Mistress.”

The answer was perfect, exactly how a trained submissive should respond. But he wasn’t trained and his routine reply came across like another game. Irritated, she stalked to his front. A finger under his chin was all it took to force him to look at her.

She narrowed her eyes. “That does not please me. I want real answers from you. Not stock replies.”

His nostrils flared. His jaw tensed then twitched. “Then no, Mistress. I don’t want the cock cage on when we play. I want to pleasure you, get hard for you and serve you. I don’t need to know what you’ve planned because I trust you to meet both of our needs. I trust that you will stay within my limits and listen if I use my safeword.” He bit his cheek, his brows drawn in a fantastic show of panting frustration. “I trust
you
,” he finally ended, his bluster disappearing in a final long exhale.

Her pulse raced, the blood rushing in her ears to close out everything but him. He never pulled his gaze, and the truth of what he said was there to flatten her. He trusted her. Fully. When she’d done nothing but test him since that first night at The Den.

Why?
She stopped the question before it could escape her thoughts. Her skin flushed with heat and chills. She had no idea if she was questioning herself or him.

She spun away to stride across the room to the stripper’s pole in the corner. He was no different than any other sub. He was just another client. That was it.

She laughed at herself, the sound cackling in her mind. She was a fucking bad liar right then. Her years of practice at the art of deception were unraveling faster than she could fix it.

“Mistress?”

The concerned inquiry wrapped around her, stripping and comforting her at the same time. She busied herself checking the chains even though she’d gone over everything earlier. “I’m going to bind you to this pole to start.”

“I trust you, Mistress.”

The chain clanked against the metal pole. “Then I’m going to warm you up with a light flogging.”

“I trust you, Mistress.”

She sniffed. “After which I’m going to paddle your ass until it’s a delicious shade of red.”

“I—”

“I didn’t ask you a question.” She spun around to glare at him and after a second, he lowered his gaze. The silence was too loud for the room. She waited for the apology that usually tumbled off the tongues of submissives when they’d been chastised, but none came.

This wasn’t right. She was off, and it was her fault. She couldn’t do this, not like this.

“Yellow,” she said.

His head snapped up, mouth gaping. “What—”

She shook her head and held up a finger, her throat too constricted to speak. Damn it. She gripped the pole and looked away, frozen to that spot. She didn’t question herself and she certainly didn’t take her issues out on a sub. Never.

But the submissives she worked with had always been
just
submissives.

“Hey.” He was right there. Too close. Not close enough. Which was it?

His fingers skimmed along her clenched jaw, so gentle. Caring. She swallowed, her knuckles turning white on the pole.

“What’d I do?” His hand fell away, its absence tangible.

She blew out a breath and forced herself to meet his eyes. His brows were lifted with the same concern she’d heard in his voice. She’d been a bitch of a Mistress to him, and he was still trying to please her. Some subs loved that side of her, and it was fine when it was part of a planned Scene. But her actions now weren’t planned or right. Her emotions were overruling her control, and that was never right in a Scene.

She wet her lips and finally answered. “Nothing.”

He frowned, his hand coming back to cup her jaw. The press of hard-earned callouses were rough against her skin, yet his words were soft. “Then what’s wrong?”

Me?
The sarcastic laugh returned to clang around her mind. How much did she share? That came right back to: how much did she trust him?

Somehow the heat from his palm seemed to spread, warming her everywhere. It was just a touch. A single, soft touch. Not pressing, just waiting.

“You confuse me,” she said. The truth fell out on a quick tumble of words. She sucked in a breath and jerked away. Again, she was giving away too much to him. “I’m sorry. That’s not your issue.”

He didn’t follow her when she strode across the room. God, she was grateful for that. If he pushed, she was done. But he wasn’t pushing at all.

She was running.

The doorknob was cold in her hand when she stopped.
I’m not running.

She spun around and froze. Holden was facing the pole, hands raised to grip the cuffs that dangled from the top. His feet were spread, weight braced, the muscles down his back and legs pulled taut.

Waiting. Some might see it as pushing, but the humble tilt of his head said only one thing to her.
If it please you
,
Mistress
.

And it did. Very much. Too much? Probably.

But letting this go—him go—wasn’t really an option anymore. It never had been or they wouldn’t be here right now.

“You please me,” she said, her voice rough with emotion.

“Thank you, Mistress.” The soft yet firm words held an echo of relief that rang within her too.

She swallowed. Exhaled, and for the first time in what seemed like weeks, took a breath. The corset rubbed against her ribs, the pressure bringing her on track.

She went to him and ever so slowly pressed her hand against his spine. His shudder blended with the release of tension as he sank into the pole. So sweet. The energy simmered up her arm to flood the rest of her.

“Green,” she said, her dry throat preventing anything stronger than a soft whisper. She was almost afraid to ask the next question. She had to though. No assumptions. Her heart beat a heavy pace that pounded in her ears and brought everything down to this next moment. “And you?”

He tossed his head back, his hands clasping the cuffs tight as he pressed into her hand. “Green, Mistress.”

* * *

Oh
,
fuck.
The relief rushed through Holden in a shuddering wave. That’d been too close. The back and forth with her was tiring, but he wouldn’t give up on her. Not when everything in him said this could be so good.

Although it’d shocked him at first, her sudden halt to the Scene solidified his trust in her as a Domme. She’d taken a break when it hadn’t been right for her. He didn’t understand the why of it, but he took it as a sign that she was more involved in them than she was willing to admit.

A second hand joined the first on his back, the heat scorching two palm prints into his skin. She ran a trail up then down along either side of his spine, spreading the warmth. When she cupped each ass cheek in her hands, he bucked forward, a moan falling out.

His cock was past a semi and working on a full hard-on, but the cage contained it. The burning pressure was now well-known after only twenty-four hours, but it was also welcomed.

“Turn around.”

He dropped the cuffs he clung to, flexing aching fingers, and faced her.

“Let’s take that off.” She reached into the top of her black corset and withdrew a key. His key. He’d seen it only once, but he’d recognize it anywhere.

Her movements were efficient. The lock was removed and the tube slipped off. Before his erection could fill out, she eased his semi-hard dick through the ring and maneuvered his balls out of the small circle. Twenty-four hours of denial rushed to his groin, and he was fully hard seconds later.

His resulting curse tore from his chest. “Fuck.” His voice was hoarse with the relief and ache that lingered from getting everything through an inch-and-half ring when it was all bigger and firmer than when she’d put it on.

Hands fisted, he squeezed his eyes closed, searching for restraint. The urge to come was right there at the base of his dick and raised balls.

“Here.” Her tone was all Mistress, and Holden responded immediately. Her simple touch on his wrist had the tension draining from his muscles. He didn’t question or hesitate as she stepped onto a stool and lifted one arm then the other to fit his wrists into the cuffs he’d just released.

The stretch arched his back, making his hips thrust forward and his erection more prominent. The support of the pole at his shoulder blades was welcomed though. And the restraints were fucking perfect.