GrandSlam (8 page)

“One more thing.” He held his flute just out of clinking
range.

“What’s that?’

“Absolute discretion and confidentiality.”

“That goes without saying.”

“Good.”

“Whatever we discuss will stay just between us, I promise,”
I said. “Apart from anything else it’s in my contract to respect your privacy
one hundred percent.”

He held his glass aloft. “Here’s to us then. Travis and
Marie and all the things we can learn and enjoy together.”

As I touched the rim of my flute to his, a sudden sense of
anxiety slipped over me. Had I just made a deal with the devil? No, he was too
bloody gorgeous to be the devil. Even so, it wouldn’t hurt to find out exactly
how likely I was to get burned. I should just pose the question that was on my
lips and had been since the day before. It was gnawing away at me, butting into
my thoughts and skipping out to perch on the end of my tongue.

I set down my glass. Lowered my voice. “Can I ask you
something then, in our new relationship that’s all about honesty?”

“Of course. Is it as a professional or as a woman?”

“As a professional.” Damn, that was my first slip in our new
relationship.

“Go on then.”

“Have you ever explored how you feel beyond doing a bit of
hair-pulling? You know, in the bedroom?”

He took a big slug of his champagne, set the glass down and
stroked his fingers down the stem. “That’s a big question, Marie, and a very
intimate one. Why do you need to know?”

“So I can help you with your career.”

He huffed. “Don’t give me that crock of shit.”

“It’s not.”

“Of course it is, just like you said you were asking the
question from a professional point of view. I might have a lot of brawn, Marie,
but I also have a brain.”

The waiter set down a china bowl full of strips of warm
bread, saving me from responding. I knew Travis was sharp, there was no doubt
about it. Quickly I took a piece of seeded roll and tore it in half. “I
was
asking from a professional point of view.”

“No you weren’t.” He captured my wrist just as I was about
to pop the bread into my mouth. Held me still. “Ask me as a woman and I might
just tell you the truth.”

His grip was tight and firm, he’d squeezed his fingers into
my flesh, reminding me of how small I was compared to him.

“Marie,” he said, his black gaze boring into mine.

What choice did I have? The woman in me
did
want to
know the answer. And I wanted more than anything else to understand what had
happened to me in his arms yesterday when he’d pulled my hair. If it was
something he did regularly. If it was something he was planning on doing again,
to me. “Okay,” I said, holding his unblinking stare. “As a woman I want to know
if you’re into BDSM.”

He released me and sat back with a satisfied twist to his
mouth. “Now that was an honest question and I appreciate it.”

“So answer.” I finally popped the bread into my mouth.

He dipped his attention to my lips as I searched for stray
crumbs with my tongue.

“Yes, Marie,” he said quietly, “I’ve been a member of a
London-based BDSM club for many years.”

The bread seemed to clog up my mouth and sat thickly in my
throat, going nowhere.

“And the truth is,” he said, “I miss it.” He paused, shook
his head. “God, I miss it so much it hurts.”

I took a sip of water, trying not to look shocked at the
revelation. “What is it you miss?”

He glanced down at his lap then looked back up at my face.
Leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “When I’m off the court, away
from the crowds, the fans and the press, what I miss most is having a beautiful
submissive woman to share that dark, sensual aspect of my life with.” He
steepled his fingers, pressed his index fingers to his lips and spoke onto
them. “Having someone trust you with their body, their sexual pleasure and,
most importantly their safety, is one of the most wondrous experiences I’ve
ever had. So yes, yes I miss it a lot.”

I bit back a smile as she reacted to my words. Her eyes
widened and she opened her mouth, then closed it again without speaking. Twisted
her attractive features into an expression that showed she was thinking hard.
Finally she picked up her glass and drank a good few mouthfuls of her water
before putting it down with a sharp intake of breath.

A couple more seconds passed and she eventually spoke.

“I’m really not sure what I’m supposed to say to that,
Travis.”

“What? You had all that time to think of a response and
that’s the best you can come up with?” I laughed a little, trying to lighten
the mood. It didn’t bother me, dark discussions over lunch, but the last thing
I wanted was for the beautiful woman in front of me to start stealing glances
at the door and checking her watch.

“This isn’t a game of wits,” she said.

“True. But I’d like to know what you’re thinking now that I
answered
your
question.”

“I’m thinking I wish our cod would hurry up. I’m famished.”

I raised my eyebrows and fixed her with a dirty look. I
couldn’t help it.

“What?”

“You’re avoiding the subject. What happened to honesty? That
didn’t last long, did it?”

“Oh bugger. You’re right, Travis. I’m not being honest.” She
hesitated. “But I have a good reason.”

She glanced at the door. Damn it.

“You do?” I unfolded my arms, sat back and smiled at her.
“Tell me, Marie, I want to hear it.”

She studied me, swiping her tongue over her lips. “Yes,
okay,” she said, lowering her voice and leaning toward me a little. “I’m just
not comfortable talking about this stuff here. In public. I mean this little
booth is all very cozy and all but…” She paused as a waiter walked past. “See
what I mean?”

“Hmm.” I stared at her, checking her face for any signs that
she might be lying and this was just a ruse to get away from me. Though I
figured it was pointless—she probably knew all about the “tells” that people
had when they weren’t speaking the truth and deliberately prevented herself
from doing any of them. Perhaps her mumbo jumbo had a use after all. “Fair
enough. I understand that privacy is important. But I would really like to know
the answer at some point. And in the near future, preferably.” I smiled again,
willing her to keep her attention on me and not check the time.

“Okay,” she said with a nod, the corners of her luscious
mouth curving upward. “I will.”

Well, that was easy. I’d been expecting a lot more
resistance than that, despite her promise to be honest with me. “Great,” I
said.

“I’m glad that’s agreed.” She took another sip of water.

The action left her lips glistening with the liquid and I
had to resist the temptation to lean over the table and kiss it right off.
Damn, what was it about her? She was just so edible.

“We’ll just finish our meal,” she said, “then go back to my
office and continue our conversation in private. I think that would be for the
best, don’t you?” Her dark eyes twinkled with mirth.

“W-what?”

Fuck it, she’d outwitted me and she knew it. If I wanted to
hear her answer, I’d have to do as she said, which seemed a little backward to
me—it was usually me doing the bossing around. But if conceding to her on one
occasion took me a step closer to having her submit to me on many occasions in
the future, then I’d do it. Willingly. That thought slammed into my mind, “many
occasions”. Fuck. Suddenly I wanted Marie, desperately. And I certainly didn’t
want to share her with Peter—it wasn’t going to work that way again, and besides,
the situation was completely different. He wasn’t my best
buddy
, he was
my coach. He also had no idea how to treat a woman properly.

Remembering I hadn’t answered her, I swallowed my
exasperation at her having gotten me over a barrel and smiled. “That would be
fine, Marie. Ah—and here is our meal now.”

I nodded my thanks to the waiter, who backed away with a
little bow.

This meal couldn’t be over soon enough. And when it was,
we’d see who was really in control.

* * * * *

Marie gestured me through the open door of her office,
followed quickly, then closed it behind the both of us. I saw her hesitate over
the lock for a second, then she twisted it with a soft click.

I turned away, pretending not to have seen what she’d done.
Inside though I was doing somersaults. Leaving it unlocked could have meant
several things—she wanted a swift escape, she didn’t want to be inside a locked
room with me, we weren’t going to do anything remotely private.

But locked—locked meant several things too, and they were
much more favorable as far as I was concerned. She didn’t want to escape, she
was okay with being in a locked room with me and, best of all, there was a
chance we were going to do something private, and hopefully that meant more
than having a discreet conversation.

“So,” she said, walking briskly across the room and placing
her sunglasses and bag down on the desk. “Would you like to sit?”

“Hey,” I replied, staying exactly where I was, “this isn’t a
session, you know. I didn’t agree to that. I just said we’d come back here so
we could continue our conversation.”

She held her hands up in supplication. “I know, I’m just
offering you a seat. There’s no need to be so touchy. Do what you like, but I’m
going to sit in the comfy spot for once, just to show that this isn’t a session.
Does that help?”

With that, she settled onto the S-shaped sofa.

“Fine by me,” I replied, moving across the room and sitting
in her soft desk chair. Now the tables were turned—I would be the one grilling
her. Two muffled thumps indicated that she’d kicked off her shoes. Then she
twisted on the seat so she was facing me, her legs crossed. I was gutted that
the curve of the sofa was preventing me from seeing straight up her skirt,
which was no doubt rucking up her thighs.

She scowled at me from her new position and I grinned back.
“Heh. How do you like it, Marie? I haven’t even asked you a question yet and
already you’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m perfectly comfortable so just get on with it,” she
snapped. “Before I change my mind.”

“All right, all right. No need to be bitchy.” God, she was a
little firecracker. If she really was a sexual submissive, it was buried deep
underneath all that attitude.

“Sorry,” she said. But it didn’t sound as if she meant it,
not one bit. I gave up trying to get her to relax and just came out with it.

“So,” I said softly, trying not to incite any more of her
ire, “what did you want to say about my comment that you couldn’t say in
public? About me missing having a submissive woman to share the BDSM aspect of
my life with.” I added that last part quickly, not wanting her to make the
excuse that she couldn’t remember what we’d been talking about. She was a smart
woman and I figured the best way to handle this conversation was to try to stay
one step ahead of her.

“Um…” She looked down at her hands, which she was wringing.
I stopped myself from prompting her—at this stage she was like a flighty bird
and if I pushed her too hard she’d get frightened and fly away. Or, you know,
run.

She looked back up at me and I pasted what I hoped was a
kind, encouraging expression on my face. A tiny smile flitted across her lips
and she pulled in a deep breath before letting it out. I heard the quaver as
she released the air from her lungs. God, what was making her so nervous? Was
it me, the BDSM thing or both?

“Okay,” she said firmly, clearly trying to insert some
confidence into her tone but not entirely succeeding. “I admit I was buying
some time to respond to you about this. But even now I’m not sure what to say.
I don’t really understand BDSM. I know what it means, what it is, of course,
but I’m sure there’s a lot more to it. More to it than spanking, being spanked,
handcuffs, ropes and the like.”

I nodded slowly, pleased that she was being honest and that
she already had an idea that there were nuances, variety and depth to the
scene.

She flashed me a nervous grin, then squeezed her eyes
closed. Fuck, whatever she was going to say next was something she was really
struggling with. Did she think I was some kind of depraved pervert, unable to
get my rocks off unless I was hurting someone? No, it couldn’t be. So far she
hadn’t been reticent when it came to telling me what she thought of
me—especially if it was an insult.

“I would like to know more about it—more than a bit of
googling will tell me—and most of all, I would like to understand why… Why I,
um, liked it when you pulled my hair. I liked it a lot, how you made me feel,
how you were with me.”

A bolt of triumph zinged through my body and I was glad she
had her eyes closed so she couldn’t see the huge grin on my face. Not to
mention the growing erection I was sporting. I straightened my face quickly and
pushed my palm onto my cock, willing it to go down—for the time being, anyway.
I suspected she’d now voiced the most difficult part of it for her, but I still
didn’t want to scare her off. Not now we’d got this far.

I knew she’d fucking liked it. I’d known all along—her body
couldn’t lie—but the fact she’d admitted it first to herself and now to me was
progress. It didn’t mean, of course, that she’d throw herself to her knees in
front of me and call me Master, but I hoped it meant she was up for some
exploration. With me. At least I hoped with me and not bloody Peter, not that
he gave off any signs of being anything other than vanilla, but hey, most guys
could be persuaded.

No, it had to be me, and she obviously trusted me to have
confessed that much. And I desperately wanted that trust to extend further—for
her to allow me to help her to delve into the side of her that had secretly
enjoyed the pain and to see how far that side went. Could she trust me with
that pleasure? Offer me her body completely? It didn’t mean she was submissive,
of course. It just meant she liked pain with her pleasure and was confident
enough in herself as a sexual woman to admit it.

Damn, that was attractive.

But something, some instinct based in the darkest, kinkiest
side of me, told me that there was more to it than that. And I was determined
to coax it out of her, to help her to explore her full potential. Whatever that
may be.

I suddenly became aware of the silence in the room and
realized that I hadn’t said anything in response to her confession. I looked at
her brown eyes, wide and expectant.

Standing, I moved slowly—still careful not to freak her
out—over to the sofa and sat in the empty seat she usually occupied. Her
client-grilling seat.

“Thank you for being honest with me, Marie. Thank you for
trusting me. That can’t have been easy. Our mutual arrangement stands though.
What you’ve told me will never go any further. Now,” I said, reaching out to
stroke her hand, the one that rested nearest me. She didn’t pull away, which I
took as a positive sign. “I’m happy to help you learn about BDSM, but as is
often the case, the best way to learn is by practical demonstration.”

A tiny crease appeared between her eyebrows as she assessed
me, probably trying to work out if I was joking or not. I took the hand I’d
been stroking and squeezed it gently.

“Do you want to try something now? Just something mild, I
mean.”

She gazed at me for a second longer, then nodded slowly.

“Okay,” I said, trying not to appear too eager—or desperate.
“Get up.”

I released her hand and we both stood. I beckoned her
closer. “Now,” I said, pausing to touch her face lightly, “an important thing
to remember is something we’ve already mentioned several times. Trust. You have
to trust in your Dominant—or Dom—and if you can’t, then he’s not right or good
for you. You have to be comfortable in taking instruction from your Dom,
knowing that he’ll never make you do anything that would truly harm you. Also,
submission and masochism aren’t the same thing. They often go hand in hand, but
not always. It’s possible to be one thing or the other. I hate to say ‘thing’,
but you know what I mean, don’t you?”

Marie nodded, her expression expectant. I wasn’t sure if she
was waiting for more information or for me to actually do something, but either
way I was pleased with how things were going. Mainly because she hadn’t run
away, glanced at the door or checked her watch. Yet. There was still time to
inadvertently scare the shit out of her.

“Have you thought about whether you’re one or the other? Or
both?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure, really. I liked the pain, you
know that, but when you were telling me what to do, it just annoyed me. But
then I wasn’t really expecting anything like that to happen.”

“Fair enough. So now things are different between us, shall
we try something?” The softly-softly approach was really hard for me, clearly
at odds with my natural personality, but I wanted Marie so badly that I’d deal
with it. For now. Besides, if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be much of a Master would I?
And I prided myself on being experienced and skilled when it came to
Domination.

“O-okay,” she replied, fiddling with the hem of her blouse.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle with you. It’s just a little
experiment, nothing else. Just to see how you feel. If it floats your boat, so
to speak.”

She gave me what could only be described as a relieved
smile. I reached forward and put my fingers beneath her chin, lifting her head.
Then I closed the space between us and did something I’d been dying to do for
days—I kissed her. I had an ulterior motive too. I wanted to use her reaction
to me kissing her to gauge what to do next, what I thought she’d be able to take.

Her lips were soft, supple, and she opened them to admit my
tongue almost instantly, causing my semi-erection to grow quickly into a full
one, which pressed insistently against the crotch of my jeans. Aching for her.