His Perfect Submissive Page 13

  He nodded, and smiled. “It's my favorite time of year. I like snow and cold weather ... and the old Christmas carols.” He met her gaze and stroked her thumb, which made her heart race. “And just the general gaiety of the season, I guess.” He met her gaze levelly.

  She smiled up at him, glad that he liked Christmas too. Neither her mom nor her brother cared much for the season and most years when she hung the Christmas lights and put up the tree she felt as if she was doing the celebrating for all of them.

  "Do you put up decorations? Lights? A tree?” she asked, surprised to realize that she was waiting anxiously for his answer.

  "Yes.” He smiled. “Even though the house sits back from the road and isn't visible from the street, it's still nice to see the lights when I come home, and it's nice for my nieces and nephews when they visit."

  She smiled. Her mind wandered, imagining them laughing and drinking eggnog as they hung Christmas ornaments on the tree while the familiar strains of “Silent Night” played in the background. Maybe this year Christmas would finally live up to the magic she had always envisioned it having. Maybe this year the magic of the season would finally swallow up the ugliness of the past.

  He smiled but his eyes studied her, making her feel as if he were taking her apart piece by piece, learning her little by little. “Having lights and a tree are important to you."

  She nodded, surprised that he'd been able to get that from what little she'd said.

  "It's more than just liking the lights though.” It was a statement, not a question, and yet she knew he was questioning.

  She nodded. “Yes. It's more than liking the lights.” She smiled, but her voice sounded sad even to her own ears.

  The waitress arrived at their table to take their order. They both glanced quickly at the menu and made selections as the waitress wrote down their orders.

  "You were going to tell me why Christmas trees and lights are important to you,” Slade reminded her when the waitress moved away.

  She hadn't been going to tell him, she thought as she looked down at the tabletop and at their hands joined atop it. She could feel his steady gaze from across the table but could not bring herself to look at him. She wanted to avoid the conversation, and the heavy feelings it carried. She'd rather bask in the remembered haze of their lovemaking and the thrill of Slade's gentle touch for a while longer.

  If she hadn't promised Slade she wouldn't hide from him—if she hadn't promised him honesty she would have been tempted to change the subject. But as it was she drew a deep breath and plunged in.

  "When—after—when they found me after—” She looked up, as Slade's other hand found her free hand and curled around it, wordlessly offering comfort.

  Her gaze dropped to the table and her voice became little more than a subdued whisper. “A-after they found me was a really terrible time for everyone. I was in the hospital f-for aa while. When I finally got to go home it was close to Christmas and the Christmas lights were on in our neighborhood and everything was bright and twinkling and happy. It was so cheerful and such a stark contrast to the dreariness of the hospital and ever ything I'd been through—"

  She glanced up. Slade's gaze rested on her, the familiar intense, analytical expression in his gray eyes as he studied her face.

  "Anyway—it gave me hope that I could be happy again, that my family could be happy again, in spite of—in spite of—everything.” Her voice broke apart. She drew a deep steadying breath. “I still see Christmas lights and it makes me feel—hopeful."

  Slade's chest felt tight. She'd been through so much when she'd still been too young to even understand it all. Still, she'd coped miraculously well. When he met her she'd had a stable job, responsibility at work and at home with the care of her mother. She'd sprung to her brother's defense, meeting him at his office and offering well thought out solutions to keep her brother out of jail. She was shy, and sexually repressed, but she had an internal strength he admired.

  He knew from the tenor of her voice and the way she stared at the Formica topped table that she'd only scratched the surface, that there was more he needed to know about what had happened to her and more she needed to tell. If they hadn't just ordered breakfast he would have shepherded her out of the restaurant and taken her somewhere quiet where he would have drawn the rest of the past out of her one piece at a time until he knew it all and none of it was left to fester and hurt her.

  As it was he let her withdraw from the painful place she'd allowed him to glimpse, feeling honored by the gift of honesty. He ached with the knowledge that her reprieve was temporary, that they'd have to revisit it. To be any good as her husband or her master he needed to know and understand it all, so that there wasn't anything left unsaid that would come up to hurt her later.

  "Didn't you have counseling? Help? Someone to talk to about what happened?” he asked, stroking her palm.

  "No. I didn't want counseling. I didn't want to talk about it. I still don't—"

  She tugged her hand from his caress, and lowered it to her lap. Her voice was flat. Unemotional. It was as if an invisible wall had come up between them. He was bewildered by her reaction.

  For a moment they had been close, touching in a way that had nothing to do with their hands nestled together atop the table. He'd been with her as a child, understanding what the overwhelming loneliness that had gripped her must have been like and how magical the Christmas lights must have seemed and what hope they must have given her after everything that had happened to her.

  He'd been there, fully immersed, empathizing with what it must have been like for her, then suddenly she'd darted away, behind an impenetrable wall, leaving him alone with the feelings.

  He was dubious about the lack of help she'd received in the aftermath of being raped and he thought it would be a good idea for her to see someone. Not just anyone but someone good—someone who specialized in childhood sexual trauma—someone who could help her exorcise the parts of her past that still caused her pain.

  Kara felt herself close down emotionally as the closeness between them shattered. She had shared a piece of her past that she had never shared with anyone and she would have sworn he was there with her, understanding why Christmas lights meant eternal hope. Then suddenly, with the intrusion of counseling into their conversation, the magical bonding had shattered. Her desire to surrender herself to him wavered like a candle in the wind in the face of the knowledge that he believed in counseling.

  The fear that he thought going to counseling and rehashing everything that had happened to her would somehow heal the pain of being raped made her angry in spite of the knowledge that her feeling was illogical. More than making her angry, it frightened her. She didn't want to go to counseling. Ever.

  There was no cure for what had happened. There was no amount of talking or wishing things had been different that would change them. There would always be a big pocket of pain in her past. She could wallow in it and let it overcome her or she could choose to accept its presence and move on.

  From the very beginning, she'd chosen to accept it and move on. Even as a child she hadn't wanted to look back, and except for the panic attacks, she had pretty much managed not to look back, most of the time.

  Kara felt detached and distant as they ate their breakfasts. Slade talked about his family's Christmas traditions and asked her about hers. She responded appropriately but the magical aftermath of their lovemaking had dwindled in the face of her worry that he'd want her to go to counseling. The burgeoning trust that had blossomed earlier was scattered and she felt cold, alone, and unsettled.

  She stood next to him at the cash register as he fished his wallet from the hip pocket of his jeans. She wished she could nudge herself out of the dark mood and the distrustful, lonely space his words had put her in.

  She didn't want to distrust him. She wanted to go back to the wonder of trusting him and to the appreciation she had felt that morning when she'd realized that he'd purposely structured their lovemakin
g to give her control so that she could feel pleasure rather than fear.

  She wanted the soft warm glow that trusting him and accepting his care and his authority gave her. She wanted back the feelings that had come with her submission, yet she felt emotionally scattered, alone, and afraid.

  Slade paid the bill and returned his wallet to his pocket. He ushered her from the restaurant with a slight touch at the small of her back. When they reached the sidewalk he turned her slowly to face him.

  "Are you okay? You seem a little—distant,” he said tipping her chin to gaze down into her face.

  "Talking about the past makes me sad. But I'm okay.” She wasn't lying—not really, she told herself. Talking about the past did make her sad. She just didn't mention that it had been the intrusion of counseling into their conversation that had turned her feelings inside out, leaving her uncertain about her submission and what it meant if he wanted her to see a therapist.

  "I didn't mean to bring up an unhappy subject,” Slade said.

  "I know,” she sighed, finding his hand and curling hers into it.

  "I don't know you well enough yet to know what's painful and what's safe,” he sighed. “I don't ever want to hurt you."

  "I know."

  He lifted their joined hands to his lips and kissed the back of her hand. “So we're okay then?"

  "Yes Sir, we're fine,” she answered. His gentleness with her reawakened her desire to submit to him, and she found the use of the word Sir made her feel connected and safe. He tilted her chin, peered into her face, his blue gray gaze intent on her as he studied her expression.

  She watched spellbound as his head descended. His mouth found hers, just barely brushing her lips as she parted them beneath the first intimate touch. Slivers of sensation shafted through her, the memories of the pleasure he had given her and the ways he had taken care of her filling her mind as she leaned against him.

  Her hands found his shoulders, and she clung to him steadying herself as his kiss deepened. She felt molten and slightly dizzy, as if she were melting from the inside out, as if she was letting his essence inside her where it warmed the cold lonely places in her soul. A coil of heat swelled within her center and she longed to melt beneath him. She was suffused with pleasure and the desire to surrender her body, her will, everything she was to him. Longing to belong to him, to be cherished by him, to deserve the attention, affection and patience he'd already shown her swirled within her in a cacophony of sensation, she felt light and heavy, safe and nervous all at the same time. She wanted to sink into him, have him sink into her, she wanted to meld, to belong. She moaned an involuntary protest as he lifted his mouth from hers and stood looking down at her with passion raging in his gaze.

  She swayed against him, feeling flushed as she met the intensity expressed in his face, feeling the coiled power in every muscle of his body that still pressed against her, amazed that far from frightening her, his power enthralled her, making her want to curl up, safe in the circle of his power.

  She shook her head, dazed by the potency of the longing to surrender herself to Slade, to give him her body, her will, everything he wanted.

  She stood pressed against him, dazzled by the knowledge that though she had promised him her submission, the things he had asked were a small measure of what she could give him, what she now realized she wanted to give him.

  Slade drew a deep breath, struggling to corral the sexual hunger that raged through him. God, she set him on fire. Every time he touched her he wanted to consume her, own her, take her to a deeper level, where he could show her the beauty and joy of giving herself completely.

  He looked down at her, smiling inwardly at the bemused expression on her face and the flush that colored her cheeks. “You okay?” Slade asked stroking her hair back away from her face.

  "Fine. I—I just never expected it to feel like this."

  Her words made him want to pull her closer, they made him want to show her just how good it could be, how deep the pleasure would be when she held nothing back, when she submitted everything she was to his control. But even more than he wanted that, he needed to understand where she was, what she wanted, what she needed.

  "It?” He cocked an eyebrow. “You mean kissing? Sex? Submission?"

  Her gaze lifted, her eyes meeting his, their velvety brown depths threatening to pull him in. “Submission.” Her brow furrowed as if she were considering. “I think.” She nibbled her lip. “It's just ... I thought I had experienced submission this morning, but just now, it felt like there was more ... like I wanted to give you more."

  Joy, pleasure, and an indescribable headiness bubbled up inside Slade. She'd been so shy, so fearful, so skittish he'd expected it would take weeks for her to get comfortable with the idea of submission, even the limited amount he'd asked for.

  He kissed her softly, gently, his thumb stroking her neck as he basked in the heady combination of her trust and his power which filtered through him. “Yes honey, there is more. The feeling is deeper, harder, more encompassing the more control you give.” He drew a deep breath, wondering if it was too soon, if he was pushing her too much. “I would love to show you when you are ready. Do you think you are ready to deepen your submission to the next level?"

  She stared up at him her mouth feeling dry and her brain scrambling for words that wouldn't come. She didn't know how to answer. All she knew was that when he held her and kissed her she felt safe and warm and when he made love to her she wanted to melt into him and give him anything he asked for. But was she ready to deepen her submission? Wouldn't submitting more mean doing whatever he asked, even going to see a counselor if he asked her to?

  Her blood ran cold at the thought of having to see a psychiatrist. She'd had enough of them when she was seven to last an entire lifetime.

  Chapter 12

  Slade stared down into Kara's upturned face. He watched, his cock aching and his hands itching to draw her closer, as her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. Her eyes were that soft deep brown that made him feel as if he could drown in their magnetic pull as they studied him from beneath long strands of dark hair that blew forward in the breeze. He could feel her internal struggle and knew he was rushing her, probably pushing her too damned fast and too damned hard.

  As much as he wanted to kiss her again, to strip away her hesitancy, to reassure her, he didn't move his head the few inches it would have taken to bring his lips into contact with the soft yielding warmth of her mouth.

  She needed to take this step on her own. The decision to trust him enough to put herself in his power with nothing held back was hers and hers alone and he would not push her to make it.

  He didn't want her to submit to save her brother or to deliver on her wedding vows, or because he was kissing her and making her want more than hot kisses. He wanted her to give him the gift of her submission because surrendering to him, yielding to his dominance made her whole, the same way dominating her, caring for her, cherishing her completed him.

  The silence was long, time seeming to lose meaning as cars passed on the town square. Some of them parked and people got out and went into the shops.

  "Do you need to think about it?” he asked after several minutes of silence.

  She nodded but drooped under the admission. “I'm sorry,” she said softly. She looked sad. Ashamed.

  "It's all right Kara, there's no shame in needing to think about things before making an important decision,” he said softly.

  She bowed her head, her gaze intent on the bricks at her feet.

  "This is a very important decision, honey. I'm pleased you are even considering it at this point.” He squeezed her shoulder. “If you do decide to submit to me more than you already have it will change things between us. So far I've treated you as an equal. If you decide to submit to me that will change. I will still treat you with care and respect but you will be my submissive. I will push you and challenge you when I think you need that. Sometimes, when your behavior warrants it, I'll pun
ish you to help you become an even better submissive.” He stroked back the hair that the wind had blown into her face, his fingers caressing her cheek.

  "I will also take care of you. I'll cherish you and protect you. You will belong to me."

  His finger traced her cheek and her lips. He willed her to lift her eyes, to allow him to see at least a hint of the feelings she kept trapped beneath the lowered gaze. He knew he could simply order her to look at him, but he wanted her to raise her gaze on her own.

  His heart picked up speed as her gaze lifted slowly, her eyes resting somewhere near the top button of his shirt before they climbed the last few inches to meet his own.

  He glimpsed turbulence and uncertainty in her expression. “I'm patient Kara. I want your complete submission but I won't rush you into it before you're ready."

  She nodded, her gaze skittering to the ground. He watched the soft skin of her throat tauten as she swallowed. Under other circumstances he would have found her down turned gaze, and the nervous swallowing utterly submissive and beautiful but now it only expressed confusion and uncertainty.

  He was marginally disappointed that she wasn't ready to go to the next level. After their morning lovemaking and the shower they'd shared he'd thought that she'd taken to dominance and submission like a duck to water. He'd thought after she'd admitted to wanting to give him more that she was ready and yet he hadn't expected her to realize that there even was another level at this point.

  He stifled a deep sigh. Maybe he should have been more specific, spelled out specifically what the next level would entail. Maybe he should have told her that his control would tighten gradually over time, that it wouldn't happen all at once. She had asked him for specifics that morning before she'd agreed to give him her limited submission. Maybe she needed the same kind of assurances in order to go to the next level.

  He schooled his features and softened his voice to hide his disappointment. “Come on,” he said wrapping a loose arm around her waist and drawing her toward him, tugging her along as he ambled up the quaint brick sidewalk past old storefronts with picture windows that were decked out in Christmas decorations.