Jenna's Consent (8 page)

Her savior or her destructor waited for her, and she could
do nothing but walk to meet her fate.

Nerves crawled inside her the closer she made it to the door
of Nick’s playroom. He’d never really asked her to set anything up. She’d never
prepared anyone upstairs especially for him. A fact she’d taken offense to more
than once.

Admitting that she would have been pissed off the entire
time she did said volumes. That bitter pill she had to swallow made her stomach
churn even more.

She never got nervous walking to a playroom. Not to have sex
at least.

True, she hadn’t had sex at The Library since Nick and
Jackson had started working there. Realizations like that could honestly go
take a flying leap.

Her focus eluded her completely when she heard music coming
from the room.

It was late.

Not like, arm stretch, “it’s a bit past ten and I need to
get to bed to get my full eight hours.” More like, when they were done the sun
would be peeking over the horizon.

She’d had sex after Ian and Skye was right. They were all
random one-night stands to take the edge off. Most of them had asked her to
play again but she rarely indulged in that. A permanent attachment to someone
was the last thing she wanted or needed in her life, so she kept her nose down.
She did her work. She made clothes and accessories for the club and made custom
things on the side.

Her brand, Kinky Pinky, had been born the year before. She
was proud of it and finally financially ready to really take it somewhere,
which was part of what she wanted to talk to the girls about.

Any time she thought of it she nearly squealed with glee.

But not as she walked to Nick.

Not then.

He consumed her thoughts as the open door came fully into
view.

This was different, he was different to her and she knew it.

No matter how much she wanted it to be otherwise, this was
personal. Her heart was already involved. She stumbled when that realization
had half a second to sink in. She grabbed for the wall, pausing in the middle
of the hallway.

The lips of her sex slid against each other, reminding her
of what she’d done with Nick and that she was still naked beneath her tutu. He
exposed more than her girly parts when he made her strip for him at the bar.

What threw her was that she’d been completely naked for
other men, save for her tutu. Strapped to a cross or spanking bench and on her
hands and knees taking it from behind, but she hadn’t felt as naked as she had
in his arms as he’d carried her from the bar.

They worked together, for God’s sake. What in the hell had
she been thinking?

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach again.

Scratch the butterflies part. They felt more like rabid
squirrels.

The corset she practically lived in felt too tight.

But she’s wasn’t a coward.

She put her shoulders back, let go of the wall and closed
the distance to his door.

All of the rooms were set up pretty much the same unless a
special scene was set. She knew what to expect but still hesitated as she
cleared the threshold.

Closing the door behind her would make everything feel very
final.

Intimate.

Terrifying.

To prove to herself she wasn’t scared, that she was still
king of the fucking world and all that, she pushed the metal slab shut.

The tumbler snapping into place, made her jump.

King of the fucking world—scared rabbit…

They were close—ish.

She rolled her eyes, and gave herself a mini pep talk that
went something like,
Turn the fuck around and stop being such a pussy.

Two steps closer was as far as she made it. She froze.

There he stood.

Tall, proud and dominating the large space. He’d ditched the
suit jacket, his tie was nowhere to be seen. His shirt was unbuttoned and his
sleeves were rolled up. He was beautiful but that wasn’t what made her stop.

He had a length of rope hanging from a tight fist.

Oh. Fuck.

Her instincts were normally spot-on when it came to rope but
this time she almost prayed to be wrong. She glanced at his feet and a black
canvas suitcase sat open. There must have been twenty-five hanks of rope inside.

Sexiest toy bag—ever.

For a rope whore like herself that was the equivalent to a
coffee table filled with lines of coke for an addict.

Her torso relaxed, imagining what the first scene with him
would be like. How amazing their energy would be. And he could hurt her in
rope, with rope and she wanted the pain. Not because she was a masochist but
because she wanted to give him what he needed.

Sexual tension invaded her, whispering to her, reminding her
how long it had been since she’d been lucky enough to get fucked while tied.
She could already feel him sliding deep, taking her. He would latch on to the
lines of jute around her body, rubbing it back and forth as he took her. A line
of rope burn would appear that she’d have for days, maybe even weeks after.

The boning in her corset reminded her that she had no
business relaxing. Especially at such a critically bad moment, when he had so
much power over her.

She straightened her spine, fighting her reaction to the man
and the weapon he clutched in his hand. It was a weapon and a tool.

It would be her undoing and she fully well knew it.

Full-on panic welled inside her.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, tripping inside the cage
of her corset as she started shaking. She wrung her hands together trying to find
a way out of what she’d already agreed to.

She went so far as to take a step away from him when he
advanced on her.

“Stop. Close your eyes.” Nick’s commanding voice carried
across the space separating them.

She stood, frozen by his first directive but she didn’t want
to lose sight of him. Not even for an instant. That’s all it would take for him
to sneak in beneath her shields. She had to be strong, now more than ever.

“Close. Your. Eyes.” He kept coming, his long legs eating up
the distance.

Less than ten feet away she lowered her lashes, unable to
refuse the one man she wanted to obey. His footfalls stopped just shy of where
she stood. She waited for him to berate her for being weak.

But it never came.

She expected him to force her to her knees and fill her
mouth full of cock. She would have welcomed the distraction. But him physically
forcing her to do anything at that point would have ruined whatever energy they
had going for them.

He would have been a bully in her mind so she hoped he would
do just that. She didn’t want him to be perfect anymore. She wanted him to be
mean so she could justifiably walk away and blow him off for good.

But he didn’t do any of those things.

With one hand he took each of hers, turning them over palm
up. “I will not hurt you. Not ever. Not in a way that you don’t want to be
hurt.”

He placed the coiled rope in her hands.

The reaction was instantaneous. Her heart rate leveled out
and the shakes slowed, then stopped. Her panic quieted, right along with her
doubts.

He knew just what to do to calm her. She’d never discussed
what she really was. How deep her love of rope went. Yet it seemed he knew her
on some kind of core level.

He circled her, trailing his fingers as he went. His warmth
burned through the corset, marking her skin. He stopped behind her and circled
her waist, steading her. He lifted one of her feet, slipping the heel from her
foot. He repeated the same thing on the other side, removing her second shoe
and she followed his movements by sound alone.

After he set her shoes down somewhere toward the bathroom he
came back. His fingers grazed the knot of lacing holding her corset tied. He
paused, fingering it some more. “Interesting.”

She’d knotted it at least four times. It would take a safe
cracker to get him past that and she knew his patience was thin. She clutched
the rope to her chest, petting it, calming herself, knowing he watched
everything but not caring.

He settled for removing her tutu. He shoved the material
down, dislodging the condoms and small packet of lube. Her eyes opened,
focusing on the things lying on the floor.

After helping her step out of the stiff ring of tulle and
grabbing the items he’d asked for, he stood and turned them over in his hand.

There was no “thank you” or pat on the back.

What he gifted her with surpassed that.

A smile.

Not a smirk or a sneer or a good-natured chuckle.

He gave her a genuine smile. It lit up his face, chasing
away some of the shadows below his eyes. She couldn’t remember ever seeing that
look on his face before.

When his lips fell back into their normal stoic line she
wanted to yell, “Come back!”

But he leaned over, kissing her shoulder, running his palm
over her naked behind.

When she’d thought earlier that the tiny skirt didn’t offer
her much protection, she’d been totally wrong.

With it gone she knew she was naked before him. Yes, she
still had on her corset but he’d never get her out of that. Not ever.

The warmth from his touch sizzled beneath her skin as he
palmed one side of her rear and then the other. She worked hard for that ass,
doing umpteen squats, planks and leg presses to earn it. His rumble of approval
heated every inch of her, down to her core.

“Kneel.” He held her elbow and eased her into the position
he wanted, sitting back on her haunches, knees spread. “If you only knew how
long I’ve wanted you just like this.”

If he only knew how she’d longed for him to put her there.
At his feet.

“Eyes.”

His rumble of authority washed over her and she blinked
twice, remembering at the last minute he required her focus on him at all
times.

She craned her neck to see him, since he stood practically
between her thighs.

He nodded his approval when she met his stare. “Very good.”

The sight of him towering over her in more ways than just
stature, stole her breath. He was attractive—yes. Dominant—yes. But it was more
than the sum of all his physical attributes. He had that X-factor that many
desired but few delivered on.

She licked her lips, nibbling on the top one, waiting for
some snarky comment to come flying out of her mouth to ruin the moment.

But it didn’t.

She knelt at his feet, with his rope in her hands and it was
exactly what she’d hoped and feared it would be. What he would be.

“Rope.” He held out his hand and she reluctantly handed it
back.

“Wrists together behind your back.”

Tucking the rope in the back pocket of his slacks confused
her, but she did what he told her to.

He moved around, buckled a cuff around each wrist and then
buckled them together. She had no clue where they’d appeared from and didn’t
really care.

His open bag across the room called to her, as if it were a
siren from sailing days past. It enticed her to come close and dash her ship
across the rocks, marooning her on an island she couldn’t escape from.

She wanted it more than she’d wanted anything in a really
long time so she sat up a little straighter, making a decision that would
probably push Nick past his breaking point. But it was the only thing she knew
she could live with.

“Hard limits?”

Good to know he wouldn’t waste their time since he jumped
right in with the meet and greet of her issues.

“There is no sign on my forehead that says lavatory so don’t
treat me like one.”

He chuckled, fingering her hair. She leaned back against his
legs, savoring the contact and his scent. She didn’t want to give in to him at
all but she knew she needed it. Her sanity wouldn’t stay intact much longer if
she didn’t at least meet him halfway.

“I don’t want to piss on you, so no worries there. Next.”

“I still want to have sex with women. They’re soft and
pretty and I like playing with them.”

“Fine. But if I want to watch or any of their men want to
watch—in person or through the cameras—we can do that with no questions asked
and no prior notice given. When we want to show up we will, end of story.”

Not if—when. Fucking sexy. The women she played with
normally had their men watching, usually from the tiny handheld monitors she
gave them when they left her prep area. Password-protected devices so they
could watch just how thorough she followed through on their instructions.

But she’d never had someone to watch her. No one she’d ever
been with was remotely interested in sharing that part of herself. It was
different with Nick. The thought of him watching her with Cyn or Haleigh—damn.

“You can’t interfere. Not even to
Ooh-rah
if
something happens that you think deserves it. You’ll be the proverbial Dom on
the wall instead of the fly.” She couldn’t go easy on him, she couldn’t just
give in. She wasn’t one of those blind newbie submissives that would say “I’m
up for anything”. Having limits was safe, sane and—as soon as they agree on
them—consensual.

She glanced over her shoulder when he didn’t answer and he
fumed behind her. The erection pressing against the fly of his slacks reminded
her she’d had some relief early. He hadn’t. She was playing with fire and
needed to remember that.

His comment about sharing her earlier smacked her upside the
head like he’d reared back with her trusty slugger. “Well? Yes or No,
Casanova?”

He growled and moved her forward so he could step around her
and stare her down again. “Agreed.”

Fuck, she wanted him so damn bad she couldn’t think
straight. Especially with the rope in his hand. He must have pulled it out of
his pocket at some point. He manipulated it back and forth, fingering the
individual strands and the knots on both ends.

She had to nip the attraction somehow before it got out of
control.