Going Under Page 14

  “That’s why you’ll have a safeword.”

  “Seriously?” She might have giggled a little. Or that was the tremor working into her voice from his touch on her breasts. Her nipples were more sensitive than most. Of course, she’d probably never had them clamped or toughened in any way. She’d likely respond like a rocket to the least bit of nipple constriction. The possibilities there excited him tremendously, and he pinched them, to experiment. She squeaked and pressed her tight ass against his groin. Oh yes. Major possibilities there.

  “Seriously. Pick a safeword,” he coaxed.

  “Are you saying we’ll get into the BDSM thing?”

  “Anything, really. If you don’t enjoy something, you say the safeword.”

  “And then what happens?” She wriggled against his teasing fingers, so he pinched her nipples a little harder. It didn’t take much. She put her hands over his, gripping them through her sweater, holding them still. “Stop that.”

  “No.” He kissed her neck and she moaned. “See how it works? I only stop if you say the safeword. If you do, then we stop and discuss.”

  “Why can’t we discuss first?” Her voice had already gone ragged. Unable to resist, he abandoned one breast to run a hand down her body to unbutton her jeans and slip his hand inside to cup her pussy. Hot and wet, just for him. He pushed one finger between her lips and held it there.

  “It’s more fun this way,” he murmured in her ear. “Don’t you think?”

  She tried to pump her hips on his hand, but he held her tight between his pelvis and hand, only the one finger steady on her clit, her nipple hard against his palm. “That’s the problem. I can’t think.”

  “Pick a safeword then and I’ll stop.” He moved his finger against her clit, stroking once and stopping again.

  “Fuck,” she gasped.

  “Better to pick something else,” he advised, then had to stop himself from laughing at her groan of frustration.

  “Firewall. That’s my safeword.”

  Ah, the truth that came out in extremity. A very real safeword for her there. The wall that could not be breached. They would see about that. “Firewall it is.”

  He let her go, stepping aside and letting her regain her composure. She fussed with adjusting her clothes—of course adjusting the damn ponytail. Did she have any idea how much of a tell that was? It would be interesting to see what she did with her hands with her hair down. If he let her use her hands. Even more enticing. “That will work for both of us.”

  She gave him a cool look, but her gray eyes raked him, the thoughts behind them hot. “I’m surprised you don’t have one already.”

  “I like to change it up.”

  “Tailored to the lover of the hour, so you don’t confuse them?”

  A more accurate hit than he liked. Alas.

  “Are we discussing previous love affairs? I’d love to hear about yours too.”

  She pressed her full lips together, glaring at him.

  He laughed, if only to needle her. “I’ll see you tonight. Be sure to follow my instructions.”

  “Is there a penalty in this game if I don’t?”

  He smiled at her, letting her catch a glimpse of all the wicked ways it had occurred to him to punish her. Oh, he hoped she’d give him a reason to take her there. “Absolutely. It wouldn’t be a good game otherwise.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  She kicked herself for that one.

  “Firewall,” indeed. She’d been concentrating so much on keeping that image in place that the word slipped out through the sexual tumult. Fox drove her up the fucking wall—in every way imaginable. The time she’d taken to get her head together, the nice hot shower and a good mental talking-to, all of it had come apart as soon as he put his hands on her again.

  No, sooner than that. As soon as he had issued those instructions and given her that challenging look, framing his bronzed-god of a body in the fluffy white towel, all her resolutions to play indifferent crumbled. Why he got to her the way he did was a mystery, but it seemed to be a law of this game she couldn’t circumvent. Which meant she had to play by those rules. Build this lover-avatar with that in mind.

  This Emily would go to his house dressed as he’d instructed. Thinking about that, she pulled the elastic from her hair and finger-combed it down. Then went to blow it dry, so it would look decent. She took off all her clothes, studying herself in the big bathroom mirror as she used the blow-dryer, seeing what he would see. In this way, she confronted not her true self in the mirror, but someone sexier. Freer. Miss Emily, who could indulge in the wild sex Fox had brought into her life.

  Fox liked her breasts, which was good. Her track coach had suggested a reduction and she’d never wanted to. Her mother had advised against it, saying all men were breast men, whether they admitted it or not. But then Henry had made fun of them, referring to her “bodacious ta-tas” even at work. Which meant the trolls picked it up and used it in some of the cartoons. Ugly old feelings there.

  But Emily had no such issues. She would be a woman with gorgeous tits and many lovers. How many? She needed a number, in case Fox asked. Because that kind of woman would know, wouldn’t she? She’d already established that she started late and had that self-admitted recent hiatus. Fox wouldn’t know she’d been married—no one on Lyra did—and better to stay well away from that. Still, if she figured on no more than once a week, that many for about four and a half years would be over 200. An awful lot. Just call it 136 men. Fox would be number 137.

  Just one of many to Miss Emily.

  Instead of dressing again, she pulled on her robe and sat down at the computer. She didn’t log on to any of her servers—let them wonder where Phoenix had gone—but opened a Word document and began writing Miss Emily’s story.

  Building that firewall.

  * * *

  She put on flats to walk over to Fox’s, carrying her heels. The summery, strappy things weren’t great for walking far, but they were her highest. It had been a bit like rummaging through her young woman’s heart, digging out her bin of shoes from before. All of them chosen because she liked them, never considering what her coworkers might whisper about her. Before she’d realized being female could be a serious liability and being girly the greatest sin of all. Ignoring the emotions they elicited, she ruthlessly chose only the ones Miss Emily would wear. Particularly the black leather thigh-high boots she’d saved up for, bought right before things got bad, and had never worn. She didn’t even remember packing them up, but here they were, still in the box.

  Tomorrow night she would wear them and Fox would have to do as she said.

  It felt odd to be naked under her trench coat. Exciting. She could enjoy that, she reminded herself. Whatever Fox had in mind, Emily would go with it. She almost wanted to resolve not to use the safeword, just to see what all he’d do, but even contemplating it panicked her, deep inside.

  She hated that part of herself. The terrified bit. The one who’d caved to the trolls. Who’d cried when Henry left. After the first couple of years, she’d managed to bury her pretty deep, only wrestling with her when a stranger knocked on the door. She was the one, however, who clung to the idea of the safeword and had to have it, if Emily was going to get laid. So she kept the intention of using it, like a security blanket to pacify that weak and pitiful part of her.

  To shut her up and keep Fox from ever knowing about her.

  Outside his door, she kicked off the flats and pulled on the heels. She smoothed her hair and any remaining nerves. Then rang the bell, feeling herself go wet with anticipation.

  Pavlov’s dog.

  Fox opened the door wearing skin-tight black leather pants and a midnight blue silk shirt—tucked in, but unbuttoned to the low-slung waist—and carrying something by his side she couldn’t quite see. He smiled, half charm and half
pure sex. Her heart leaped to see him. Or, more accurately, her pussy did. Better that way too.

  “I’m never quite sure you’ll show until you do,” he said, keeping her standing on the porch.

  “I thought you preferred anticipation. Isn’t uncertainty part of that?” She liked being that woman, who kept a man wondering.

  “True enough.” His eyes moved past her to the driveway. “You didn’t drive?”

  “I didn’t want anyone to see my car parked here.”

  “People saw us together at the diner. Glory knows we’re seeing each other.” He seemed a bit hurt by that. Though she felt sorry for it, it helped that he cared about these things. She trusted in that honest response from him.

  She shifted her weight, her feet unused to the heels. “I’m staying the night, aren’t I? I didn’t want to advertise that.” Though Miss Emily wouldn’t care about that, would she? Of course, that woman wouldn’t have had to stow her kitchen trashcan in the closet to keep her dog out of it while she conducted her lurid affairs. “Are you going to let me in or should I go home?”

  He looked her over. “Are you naked under the coat?”

  Her face grew hot and she immediately reconsidered this particular character. Who was she kidding—she couldn’t pull off that kind of sexual experience. “Yes.”

  “Show me.”

  “Here?”

  “Just open the coat enough for me to see. It’s not like I’m making you strip on my doorstep, though the thought has its appeal.”

  “I don’t see why—”

  “It’s a test. To see if you followed my instructions, to test your willingness to continue to do so and to determine if you’re into it. Now do as I say.”

  Stubbornly, she felt like digging in and refusing. Or showing him and going home. His lips curved as he watched her face, obviously loving this game. You have an expressive everything. Fine. Not as if he hadn’t seen everything already. Her fingers fumbled the knotted sash and she opened the coat down the middle, holding the sides out to serve as blinds in case anyone came by.

  He took his time looking, like a buyer inspecting merchandise, and her skin prickled under his gaze. At last his eyes met hers again. “You look gorgeous. No, no—I didn’t say you could close the coat. Here are the rules for tonight. Once you step over the threshold, you have to do everything I tell you, without question or argument. If you fail in this, I get to punish you for it. Do you agree to my terms?”

  She had a bit of trouble swallowing, the weak part of her whispering anxious warnings, the rest of her ramping up with excitement. “But I can always safeword out.”

  “Always.” Dropping a bit of the stern attitude, he gave her a slight nod of reassurance.

  Just a game. Follow the rules and you won’t be punished. That ought to be a snap. She was nothing if not an excellent player. And, to her surprise, she trusted him to abide by the rules also. It was part of his openness. Lay the cards on the table. No hidden agenda or jealousy. “I agree.”

  He grinned. “Music to my ears. Do come in.” He stepped aside, gesturing her in with a courtly bow. Because he hadn’t told her otherwise, she continued to hold the coat open, leaving her flats and toiletry bag on the porch. She wanted to ask Fox to get them, but that might count as questioning him so she restrained herself. She didn’t want to be such a n00b that she blew it immediately on a technicality.

  “Hang up your coat in the closet, please. What’s this—a toothbrush?”

  Deciding she didn’t need to reply with the obvious answer, she concentrated on hanging up her coat and not thinking about how he’d threatened to keep her naked in there, stewing and waiting for him. She’d absolutely safeword out of that scenario. Finished, she waited for the next order. It was similar to Mother May I, after all. Or Simon Says.

  “Turn around and face me.” Fox sounded amused. Maybe she was taking it to an extreme, but with an unspecified punishment on the line... “Stay still.”

  That took more effort, to hold herself without twitching while he arranged the long fall of her hair around her shoulders, his face admiring in a way she drank in. “You look almost like a different woman with your hair down,” he said. “Softer, more animal. More vulnerable. Do you feel more vulnerable this way?”

  She did, but she didn’t answer. Hopefully that wasn’t a punishable offense. The beat went on a bit long and he spoke again.

  “If I could, I’d make you wear it down all the time. Of course, I’d also want you to be naked and that’s hardly practical.” He cupped her breast, weighing it, then traced his index finger down her midline. “So far you’ve passed the first two tests. Let’s see about that third one.”

  Watching her face, he slipped the finger between her thighs. Easily done with her slick moisture. He stroked her, lightly, but she had to concentrate not to move. “Very wet,” he murmured. “I’d say you’re liking this just fine.”

  He’d set her shoes and bag on the hall bench, along with what he’d been carrying when he opened the door. Picking it up, he showed her the length of rope. “I’m going to bind your wrists now. Hold out your hands, wrists crossed.”

  She obeyed, though the panicky part of her whispered louder. The rope, soft, looped over her wrists. Focusing on Fox’s intent face, the way his coppery lashes feathered against his cheekbones as he tightened the rope, she tried to quell the anxiety. People did this kind of thing all the time. It barely counted as kinky. What reason could she give for not wanting it? He knotted the rope.

  “Firewall,” she blurted, before she’d really decided to. His gaze flicked up to hers, with a bit of surprise, but he immediately undid the knot. Which also unknotted the pang in her gut. “I can’t—”

  He shook his head, cutting her off. “Safeword is just that. You don’t have to explain. Do you want to stop altogether?”

  “No.” She really didn’t, now that the panicky part had receded. That he’d proved he’d stick to his word. “Just...no rope.”

  “Is that a hard limit? No binding at all, or not rope?” He brushed her hair over her shoulder and she realized she still had her wrists crossed.

  Self-consciously, she rubbed them, the sizzling sensation of the rope lingering there. “I don’t know. Do I have to know this minute?”

  He smiled, warmly reassuring, and leaned in to kiss her, a sweet brush of lips, his hands settling on her waist. “No. We can play it by ear. Would you rather bail on the game and keep it vanilla tonight?”

  “Not necessarily.” She leaned into him, enjoying the texture of his clothes against her naked skin. “I did like it up until the rope.”

  “Excellent. But it’s harder, you know. To stay still without being tied up. You haven’t practiced that at all, so it will be difficult for you. The odds of punishment for infractions goes up.”

  A challenge. “Try me.”

  His eyes gleamed. He loved it when she took up the challenge. With all his gambling references, he clearly liked to raise the stakes. “All right then. Game on.”

  “Wait.”

  All patience now, he did, listening. Such an interesting mix of dominating and ruthless determination to bend her sexually along with a similarly infinite understanding. As much as he talked as if he wanted to use her for his own pleasure, he paid more attention to what she wanted, how she felt, than any man ever had. A conundrum. Especially in light of what she was about to ask.

  “I don’t want answering questions to be part of it,” she told him, watching the way his mouth hardened ever so slightly. He didn’t like it much. “I want that off the table. I don’t have to answer any questions.”

  “I can ask, but you don’t have to answer.”

  She didn’t love that. His questions created a certain pressure on her, whether she declined to reply or not. They continued to echo in her head. Do you feel more vulnerable this wa
y?

  “Fine. But asking won’t do you any good.”

  His lips twitched in a secretive smile, the only indication he recognized the lie for what it was. “We’ll see. In fact, let’s do this. You may not speak. Except to say your safeword. That way I can ask all the questions I want to and you’re relieved of the burden of answering—or arguing. Ready to play?”

  Play, yes. Just a game. She nodded.

  He brushed her cheek. “Let’s get out of this damn hallway. Hands and knees. I want you to crawl into the bedroom and kneel in the center of the floor. Hands behind your neck, under your hair, thighs spread as wide as you can manage.”

  His words quickened her again, the heat rising back up to previous levels. She dropped to her knees, without running her hands over his body as she wanted to, just in case it wasn’t allowed. Then she crawled on the Kapsucks’ awful shag carpet, down the hall to the master bedroom, feeling extra wicked at the thought of the horror on their faces if they saw what she was getting up to with their newest renter.

  Fox’s soft footfalls followed after her, meaning that he saw everything. Her hair got in the way, snagging under her knees. It felt odd, having it sliding over her skin this way, falling into her face. Likely there was an art to this but she didn’t know it. More animal, he’d said. More vulnerable.

  “Hold.” Fox moved beside her when she obediently paused. He gathered up her hair and held it, a leash. “Proceed.”

  It helped, not having the thick tendrils in the way, but the tugging at her scalp as he walked beside her became even more distracting. She felt like his pet, which shouldn’t have been as arousing as it was. She recalled his excitement earlier that day when he’d kissed her foot and she understood something of it now.

  It was restful, in a way, to give up thinking about who she pretended to be and just exist for a space of time. She liked that she couldn’t speak. Less chance of giving something away.