RecipeforSubmission (7 page)

She walked down the stairs. “One minute!” he called out. She
found the dining table in a nook next to the living room. Where the bed was
oversized, the table was small and round, made for no more than three to eat
at. A blue and white tablecloth hung over it, and two plastic placemats were
set out. One had the presidents on it, in sequence, the other a periodic table
of the elements. She sat down in front of the presidents.

The meal sure hadn’t taken him long to prepare. Maybe he was
heating up a microwave dinner. Sometimes those smelled better than they tasted,
as if the makers could have only one or the other and decided that smell was a
better advertisement.

He arrived a moment later with two blue delftware plates and
placed them both in front of her. “
Bon appétit, mad
em
oiselle.
”

She thanked his retreating back as he bustled back to the
kitchen. On the smaller of the two plates was a pile of couscous, fairly plain,
with a few pine nuts and sprigs of something green in it. On the larger one
something like steak, cut into flat strips and very rare, sat in a pool of
off-white sauce. Little green rectangular flakes had been sprinkled on top of
the meat. She wasn’t sure quite what she was supposed to do with it.

He dropped off two plates like the ones in front of her on
the periodic table, disappeared again, and reappeared with a bottle of white
wine and two glasses.

“Um, what is this?” It smelled like fish, looked like meat,
and either way it was undercooked. It looked good and smelled good, and she
wasn’t going to be so rude as not to eat it.

“Tuna. In my own sauce, with nori as a garnish.” He sounded
pleased with himself.

“That’s the seaweed stuff they serve with sushi?”

“Right.”

Fair enough. She could eat sushi, and that had raw fish in
it. She was used to tuna steaks being sort of a uniform grayish tan, but these
were just seared around the edges, and quite red in the middle. Still, she
never trusted fish from the market enough to eat it raw. She picked up her fork
uncertainly.

“Relax, Kyra. The food is safe. Try it. If, once you do, you
honestly think it would taste better if it was cooked more, we can,” he paused,
looking as if he was having difficulty keeping his face neutral, “um, fix it.”

She nodded, skewered a bite-size piece of tuna with her fork
and swirled it around in the sauce before putting it in her mouth. Then she
thought she’d died and gone to heaven. It was salty, sweet and a bit spicy, and
despite all the complexity of the sauce she could still taste the contrast
between the seared outside and the cool inside of the fish. She hardly had to
chew it, it was so soft.

“Oh my god that’s good!”

He smiled. “Thank you. I don’t usually serve dinner without
vegetables, but since you had a salad for dinner, I thought you were pretty
well covered for the green stuff.”

“Mmm. I still think you were a meanie for getting me all
revved up with that kiss, but given this meal, you’re forgiven. Do you always
cook like this?”

He shook his head while savoring some of his own food.
“Normally I eat at my restaurant, Ryan’s.”

“I thought your name was Drew.”

“Ryan is my last name.”

“Oh. You own a restaurant.”
Okay, not the most brilliant
of responses.

“Can’t spend my whole day tying up girls and making them
scream in pleasure,” he said. “No money in it, for one thing.”

She laughed. “If there were, would you do that instead?”

He shook his head. “No. I think I like variety too much.”

He cooks, he’s at least as tidy as I am and he knows how
to make me melt inside. Figures he likes “variety”.
Even if he wasn’t
talking about his choice of sexual partners, she thought she had a good
picture. No matter how she felt, Drew wasn’t a guy to get attached to. To do
some research with, sure. And a fun time, definitely. She was curious about one
thing.

“What’s with the place mats?”

He smiled. “Oh. Sometimes my nephew comes over. I bought
them back when he was four and I did a lot of babysitting for my sister. I
found out that I liked looking at them at breakfast better than ordinary ones,
so I bought a few more and threw out the rest. I’ve got planets, Spanish words,
all sorts.”

“How old is he now?”

“Fifteen. He still comes over, but it’s not exactly
babysitting. We usually end up playing board games or just chatting.”

She took another bite of tuna and closed her eyes, letting
herself concentrate on the taste. “This is fantastic. You’re spoiling me.”

“I love to see someone enjoy their food. Too often people
either plow through their dinner as if it was a thankless but necessary chore,
or they are too busy starving themselves to get thin to enjoy anything at all.”

“Well, um, I could stand to lose a few pounds.”

“You’re perfect the way you are.”

“You’re a sweetie. It’s nice of you to say so.”

He shook his head. “I’m sure some men care about nothing
more than a thin waist. But I think you’ll find most of us like the curvy parts
of a woman. Breast men and ass men outnumber waist men by a good margin.”

“And which are you?”

He leaned forward, dropping his voice until it was almost a
whisper. “I want it all, Kyra. Your breasts, your pussy, your ass, your legs,
your lips, your eyes, your submission. I like my sex the way I like my food—I
want to savor every last morsel.”

She blushed and then melted as she looked into his eyes.
“I-I came over here to repay the gift you gave me, really.” She had been about
to add
and ask a few questions
but stopped when she realized she didn’t
know what the questions were.

“What about the gifts you gave me, Kyra? Trust, for
instance, when you let me clip your wrists to the cross in the club? You don’t
owe me anything. But if you want to give, then you’ll have to surrender once
again.”

“And you’ll come this time?”

“And I’ll decide this time who comes when and where and how
many times.”

How many times. God he’s full of himself. But I bet he
can deliver. If he’s half as good in bed as he is cooking…

She took a scoop of her couscous, turning her eyes from him
to the food. She might as well give up on evening the score, anyway. She didn’t
much like to cook—that was indeed a sometimes necessary task to be rushed
through, as far as she was concerned—but she could if she needed to. She
doubted he’d be impressed. Nothing she made was as good as the meal he’d
whipped up in a few minutes.

He didn’t rush her. They ate in silence for several long
minutes until both their plates were empty. She didn’t feel stuffed—the
portions hadn’t been huge—but her taste buds were more than satisfied.

She looked up at him, not sure what to say. She squirmed in
her chair in response to the dull ache between her legs at the idea of saying
I
surrender
to him. But the words stuck in her throat. For a moment, their
gazes locked, and then he stood, pushed his chair back and walked around her.
Her gaze followed him, thinking at first he was giving up on her, and then
sighing in relief as she felt his hands touch her shoulders.

His fingers deftly unbuttoned the top button on her blouse.
“Do you remember your safe word, Kyra?”

Her heart beat faster. What was he going to do that she
needed a safe word? Although she supposed if she didn’t want him unbuttoning
her blouse she could use it for that. He really should have asked. But there
was something sexy about this man taking too. Her nipples tightened at the
thought. He’d take her clothes, take her body.
He expects me to remember a
word?
“I don’t remember.”

“It’s banana.”

“Oh.”

“Did you want to use it now?”

“No.”

He undid another button, and another. He pushed the blouse
from her shoulders. “You have beautiful breasts, Kyra.”

She blushed. From the angle he was at he probably had a nice
view down the cleavage her bra created. “Do we have to talk about them?”

He chuckled. “No.” He unbuttoned the last button and then
pulled the blouse off.

She took a breath. No big deal. Nothing they hadn’t done
last week. His hands massaged her shoulders and upper arms, kneading out tense
muscles. She relaxed. When he unclasped her bra in the back it was like another
muscle unclenching, until she thought about him watching. He slid her bra
straps off her shoulders and they fell down her arms. That was further than
they’d gone last week.

“Hey!”

“Shhhh,” he whispered with a trace of amusement. “No talking
about them.” And lest there be any doubt about what “they” were, he slid his
hands forward to cup her bare breasts, her nipples poking at his palms.

“It’s cold in here,” she lied.

He kissed her neck behind her right ear and whispered, “I
turned off the air conditioner while you were upstairs.”

“Why?”

“Because I planned to take your clothes off. And you’re not
cold. You’re turned-on.”

That didn’t help her nipples relax at all. Neither did his
thumbs, which were brushing against her now-aching peaks quite deliberately.
“All of them?”

“I thought I might leave your skirt on, if you ask nicely.”

She didn’t know what to say. She wanted her modesty, but she
found herself craving more than a make-out session.
I want him inside me,
that’s what I want. I want him fucking me.

“Your panties, though, have to go.”

Oh.

“Now,” he insisted.

“You want
me
to take them off?” She wasn’t sure what
she expected, whether he’d reach in and grab them.

“Yes, Kyra. I want
you
to take them off.” His
forefinger and his thumb were playing with her right nipple. He wasn’t
pinching, just rubbing very firmly. Much more of that and it would start to
feel like pain, but it didn’t yet. It did make her frantic, made her want to
grab his wrist and control it and make him ease off.

“Too much!” she cried.

“That’s not your safe word,” he murmured, and started doing
the same thing to her left side, making both peaks ache. She arched her back
into him and shuddered. She couldn’t come just from having her nipples
stimulated, could she?

She still didn’t want him thinking she was submitting to
him. She lifted her butt and pulled up her skirt to get to her panties, but she
tried to turn it into a bargain. “Okay, okay. I’ll do what you say.” She put
her underpants on the table where he could see them. She’d done her part, now
he’d give her back control.
Right?

He did let go, but only to scoop her up off the chair. He
carried her away from the table and took advantage of the way her breasts were
close to his face to suck one engorged peak into his mouth.

“Oh god.” The wetness of his mouth was soothing relief, but
the pull on her breast was adding coals to the fire. Her pussy was aching for
his touch. All she could do was hold on to him while he carried her through the
living room and up the stairs. Toward the bedroom. “Fuck me, please.”

She hadn’t intended to say the words out loud, and was
surprised to hear them come out of her mouth. His eyes danced, as if he knew it
had slipped out. The fact that she put her hand to her mouth right after
probably hadn’t helped. He pushed the door to his bedroom open with his foot
and then carried her to the bed. He set her down carefully, almost as if she
might break.

“Spread your legs.” His tone made it clear it was an order,
not a request. She did as she was told. He flipped her skirt up. She felt the
heat of his gaze as if it were a physical thing, burning her pussy. Her knees
shook as she fought the urge to pull back and cover herself up. If only he
would fuck her hard and fast, she wouldn’t feel so naked. She’d feel less
embarrassed to be completely naked in front of him than with her skirt slid up
so he could stare.

He crawled up onto the bed, but made no move to take his own
clothes off. “You have a beautiful pussy, Kyra,” he said, and then he leaned
forward and gave it a long lick, starting at the bottom and sliding unhurriedly
until his tongue swirled around her clit.

She couldn’t help it. She closed her thighs around his head,
wanting to hold it there. But he was stronger and moved back. “Spread your legs
for me or I’ll tie them in place,” he growled at her. He’d do it too, she knew.
She had half a mind to make him, but she took a deep breath and parted her
thighs once more.

“Good girl.”

The words filled her with warmth.
They shouldn’t make me
feel so good. And I’m a woman, not a girl.
She was angrier with herself for
liking being told she was a good girl far more than she was with him for saying
it, but she opened her mouth to scold him anyway. His tongue danced around her
clit once more, and all that came out of her was a moan.

She reached for him to grab his head, to force his face
against her, and stopped. He’d probably tie her arms for that. Maybe. She had
to get some kind of control over what was going on. She pulled at the back of
his head, craving it more, harder. If she could have gotten his tongue all the
way inside her she gladly would have. She rotated her hips, trying to increase
the friction against his mouth, his nose, his chin, anything.

In less than a second he was on her. His hands grabbed her
wrists and forced them back to the bed. She tried to close her legs and found
his knees in the way. As if to make a point he pushed back, spreading his knees
and forcing her thighs even farther apart. His face leaned over hers and she
felt his hot breath against her lips. “You don’t learn, do you? I’m in control.
Not you. Not unless you say your safe word, and then and only then will you
walk out of here unmolested.”

She wasn’t going to say it. She wouldn’t give him the
satisfaction of knowing he could push her that far, and besides, she didn’t
want to leave his bed, much less his home. But something in her would not give
in. She stuck her tongue out at him.