Pleasure's Edge (6 page)

“Yes. But there’s more to it than a textbook definition. How do you feel about it? What do you want from it, besides information for your novel?”

“I want the experience, to try it, before I reject it out of hand. I stil think I’m more natural y a top, not a bottom, so perhaps part of this is proving that to myself, despite your ‘expert’ opinion.”

“And to me?”

“Yes. Maybe. Yes.”

“What else?”

“I don’t know what else yet. I think I have to get there before I know exactly what appeals to me and what doesn’t.”

“You’re right. Some of that we’l discover as we go. But why don’t I ask you a few questions? I want you to try to answer instinctively. Don’t think about it too much,” he told her. “And don’t be self-conscious. If you hold something back from me, this won’t be nearly as effective. Al right?”

It was as much a command as it was a question. Her first response was to argue with him. But he was right; it would only delay the process.

“Yes. Sure, go ahead.”

“Have you ever thought about experimenting with bondage before?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever done it?”

“I . . . tied up an old boyfriend with silk scarves once.”

“And did that do anything for you?”

“It was fun. Different.”

“What about it didn’t work?”

“I’m not sure. It was fine. But the reality wasn’t as exciting as the idea.”

“Could it have been that the scarves were too mild a symbol for you?”

“Yes. Maybe. It did feel fairly tame. Sil y, almost. As though I couldn’t quite take it seriously.”

“And could it also have been that you wanted to be the one to be bound? To be rendered helpless?”

She shivered, her mind going blank. “I . . . I don’t know. I don’t think I consciously thought of that at the time, and I’ve never real y analyzed it since. In my mind, if I was going to experiment with any of this stuff, I was going to be the one on top.”

“And now?”

A smal catch in her breath, a tightening in her chest. She was angry, suddenly. Defensive.

“I’ve agreed to try bottoming, haven’t I?”

Alec was quiet for a moment. She could hear him exhaling slowly on the other end of the phone. She didn’t know why that made her hold her own breath.

“Dylan. We’re not going to get anywhere until you admit that at least some part of you wants this.”

Her cheeks were going hot, her hands fisting around the pil ow in her lap. “Okay, I can admit that. I suppose it’s natural for anyone to consider it, at one time or another, as part of being a sexual y open person. Which I am. Or I wouldn’t be an erotica author.”
Stop babbling, Dylan.

“Good. That’s a start.”

“That’s enough of an answer for you?”

“For now, yes. I want you to consider these things. You don’t have to leave this conversation entirely convinced. It’s a process.”

“Okay.”

She loosened her grip on the pil ow a bit.

“Where were we? Oh yes. Have you ever wanted to be spanked?”

“I . . . yes.”

Had she real y said that out loud?

“Ah. Very good.” He lowered his voice, until she had to strain to hear him. “And are you, at this very moment, a little flushed with pleasure, knowing I’m pleased with your answer?” Her breath stuttered in her lungs. God, was she? She lifted her hand to her face, felt the smal smile on her lips with her fingertips.

“Are you stil there, Dylan?” he asked quietly, his voice that soft, smoky tone that went through her like silk against her skin.

“I’m stil here.”

“Are you going to answer me?”

She shook her head, bit her lip. “I . . . would rather not.”

“But?”

She had a feeling he would wait al day to hear her answer, if necessary.

“But . . . yes, it gives me pleasure.”

He was quiet again for several moments. “That’s lovely, Dylan.

Real y. I can hear it in your voice. I can also hear how difficult it was for you to tel me.”

“Yes.”

“I want you to spend some time thinking about these things.

We’l talk again before we see each other. Be ready to meet me at the Pleasure Dome on Saturday night. Nine o’clock. I’l e-mail you the address. You’l take a cab. I don’t want you driving that night.” Her head was spinning. She was angry. Inarguably stimulated.

Damn him. Shouldn’t she be debating some point? But al that came out of her mouth was, “Okay.”

“I want you to be home tomorrow evening at eight. We’l talk more then.”

“I . . . al right. I can be here tomorrow night.”

“That wasn’t a request, Dylan.”

“I didn’t think it was.”

“You sound mad.”

“Maybe I am.”

She ground her teeth, her jaw clenching tight. What was al of this ordering her about? They weren’t at the Pleasure Dome yet, hadn’t assumed the roles of dominant and submissive. Had they?

“It’s al right to be angry,” he said. “That’s often a part of the mental process. It’s hard to let it al go, to hand over your power to another person. Just remember there is power in doing that. In making that choice. Do you understand?”

“I . . . maybe. I need to think about it.”

“Do that. I’l cal tomorrow night. Sleep wel .” He hung up, and she pressed the OFF button on her phone with a shaking hand.

Right now she wasn’t sure she’d ever sleep again.

How had he known these things about her she barely knew herself? And how had she, considering herself to be fairly sexual y sophisticated, failed to see this side of herself?

She didn’t know. Al she knew was that anger and desire warred in her body until she couldn’t sit stil any longer. Getting up from the sofa, she paced the length of her loft, her gaze on the fog-obscured view outside.

Below her, Western Avenue was lit up: the bars and cafés and passing headlights. It wasn’t raining for once, the evening a sort of crisp black beneath the fog layer. In the amber glow of a streetlamp, a couple were making out, arms twined around each other. She watched them kiss, watched them grope each other, and burned even hotter.

Groaning, she turned away, thinking to go into the kitchen and pour herself a glass of wine. But it wasn’t wine she wanted.

Instead, she moved across the living room and into the bedroom end of the apartment. The snowy white of her bed gleamed faintly in the lamplight shining from the living area, a stark contrast against the shadow of the moss-green wal behind it. But it wasn’t the relaxed comfort of her bed she wanted, either.

Quickly, she stripped her clothes off, the cool evening air a gentle bite on her bare skin. She loved this, to be naked. But tonight she felt it even more.

She climbed onto the bed and pul ed out the wicker basket that rested on the floor next to it, opening the lid. Inside was her col ection of vibrators and other toys. She touched the turbo vibrator she’d used every night since she’d met Alec, but put it aside. She wanted something gentler, wanted to come more slowly, more luxuriously. Instead, she chose a flesh-colored vibrating dildo that looked like the real thing, the head of it plump and sleek. She held it a moment, the pseudo-skin texture tempting in her hand, then, biting her lip, pul ed out a smal chrome egg, as wel . Laying back against the pil ows, she spread her thighs, the cool air caressing her naked sex.

Turning the fleshy phal us on, she lowered it between her legs, touched the tip to her clitoris and moaned softly. Pleasure shivered through her system, a smal trembling wave. She closed her eyes, saw Alec’s face, and pressed it to her again, sliding it over her hard clitoris.

“Ah ...”

She teased herself with it, letting sensation build a little at a time, until she was squirming on the bed. Her sex was soaked.

She spread wider, pushing the phal us inside.

“Oh, God ... Alec ...”

What would it be like to have him fuck her? To fuck her while he held her hands high over her head, imprisoning her. He was so big. She would be powerless against him, beneath his hulking body. His muscles would be hard and powerful. And she could imagine his cock, pushing into her . . .

Yes . . .

She angled the vibrator, hitting her G-spot.

“Oh . . . oh, yes.”

Her legs were shaking now, pleasure a quiet roar in her body, building, building. She slid the vibe in deeper, then slid it out, her hips arching into the motion, over and over.

Would he fuck her slowly? Or would it be al hard, fast, animal sex?

Alec.

She needed more.

With her hand she spread her juices over that tight hole between her cheeks, using it as lubrication, then slid the smal egg into her ass. Pul ing in a breath, she forced herself to relax, turned the egg on before pushing it past the tight ring of muscle. She was so turned on there was no burn, no difficulty. Her body opened wil ingly, her sex clenching, her hips bucking.

Oh yes, going to come . . .

Alec.

His strong hands would hold her down, his cock pushing into her, ramming into her.

She thrust the big vibrator hard, burying it in her sex, the vibration sending pleasure deep into her body. That and the egg quivering in her ass, the sensations joining together.

“God, Alec, fuck me . . . ”

One more hard thrust and her entire body clenched as she came, pleasure a rumbling thunder in her body: her pussy, her ass, her bel y and breasts. She rode the wave, surged with it, her hips pumping.

Alec!

“God ...”

She kept pumping, kept coming, her climax an endless spiral of pleasure.

Final y, spent, she lay shivering on the bed. In her mind was Alec’s face, his big hands. The thought of his naked flesh against hers. And him holding her down. Her wanting him to.

Oh yes, the mind fuck had begun already. How much worse was it going to be? And how much better?

four

Alec sat at his wide oak desk, staring at the computer screen.

He’d been trying to write since the early hours of the morning, trying to organize his current work-in-progress into some cohesive form, but his mind kept wandering. He leaned in and tried to read the page he’d just typed, but the words blurred together.

He’d hardly slept, waking at five, bleary eyed. Hel , he’d hardly slept for days. He’d tried to get back to sleep this morning, but after lying in bed, thinking of Dylan for over an hour, he’d gotten up, gotten into the shower, and brought himself to orgasm again beneath the spray of hot water.

His cock pulsed, hardened.

This was getting ridiculous. He’d masturbated every day, several times a day, since he’d met her. And it was even worse since his telephone conversation with her the night before. Too hot, talking with her about her desires. And every bit as hot hearing the anger in her voice, imagining working that smal rage out of her. He’d had an almost constant hard-on al night, like some twisted Viagra ad.

God, the woman was like some sort of demon, invading his dreams, too damn many of his waking moments. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her. To take al that fight and fury out of her.

To bind her.

Spank her.

Oh, yeah.

His cock surged with need at the thought.

He real y had to get himself under control.

He had to get
her
under his control.

He groaned.

Need to see her.

Why was he fighting it? When he wanted something, he simply made it happen. Why should this be any different?

Probably because seeing her before the appointed time went against his usual protocol. It disturbed the pattern of a dominant/

submissive relationship, no matter how casual the connection.

This didn’t feel casual.

Fuck it. He was cal ing her. It wouldn’t hurt to take her by surprise, anyway. To shake her up.

Feeling more in control of the situation, he picked up his cel phone and dialed, heard her intake of breath on the other end when she picked up.

“Alec?”

Oh, yes. Lovely, breathy voice.

“Dylan. How are you this morning?”

“It’s eight A.M.”

“So it is.”

“Do you always cal people so early?”

“Were you asleep?”

“No, but . . . never mind.”

“I want to see you, Dylan.” He didn’t care about the sul en tone in her voice. He picked up a pen, tapped it against the edge of his desk, realized what he was doing and stopped.

“You want to see me now?”

Yes.

“Tonight.”

He clicked the top of the pen, letting the smal bit of metal bite into his thumb, waiting for her to answer.

“Why tonight?”