What You Crave (1Night Stand): Desperately Seeking Submissive Read online

  “Promise you’ll give this one a chance?”

  He held his hands up and took a step back from the dresser. “It’s all up to her. I’ll be my usual charming self, but if she’s not into me or the scene, it won’t be my fault.”

  No sense in admitting he looked forward to the encounter with each passing moment or mentioning that he planned to truly give this woman a chance.

  ***

  Damn. Nervous energy had Lauren’s arms and legs shaking in some strange dance as she stood in front of the hotel room door. She’d read the information Madame Eve sent her half a dozen times over the last week and jumped up and down in joy when the date night details were emailed to her. The turtleneck sweater dress, panty hose, and black suede ankle boots seemed too prim for a rendezvous at a swanky hotel, but the chilly weather had her choosing comfort and warmth over sexy. Besides, scenes weren’t sex.

  She knocked, a couple light taps. Maybe he’d changed his mind. A lie since she’d already checked with the front desk.

  The barrier swung open and the picture became a reality. Hell, the picture didn’t do him justice. A two-piece pinstripe suit, black hair long enough to run her fingers through, and russet brown eyes taking her in from head to toe…scrumptious.

  “Lauren?” Her name came out pure and sensual when spoken with a perfect rolling ‘r’.

  A large lump took up residence next to her vocal cords and she responded with a nod. She’d always been more of a listener than a talker.

  “Would you like to come in?” He stepped back making a path for her. Beyond the entrance the room sat bathed in shadows and orange light from a lit fireplace, beckoning to her.

  She swallowed and then cleared her throat. “Yes.”

  Walking forward she caught a hint of his smell, cedar and citrus, similar to her favorite candles she kept throughout her apartment.

  “Let me take your coat, and then I’ll get you a glass of water. The air’s dry.”

  So, he’d noticed her scratchy voice. Check the box next to attentive, and another check for downright sexy. He stopped behind her, pausing for a moment before grasping the edges of her coat. His fingers brushed her shoulders and the warmth seeped through the wool and cotton blend of her dress. “Did you find the place all right?”

  Her arms slipped out of the sleeves and she took a few steps forward, the trench coat dragging away from her body. “Yes. I’ve read about the hotel, but never had the pleasure to stay here.”

  “Well, I’m happy to give you a chance at a new experience.”

  A double entendre? “Do you stay here often?”

  His information mentioned no relationships in over a year, but sexual encounters didn’t require a lasting commitment.

  “No, it’s my first time here also.” He draped her coat over an armchair then stood in front of a small bar against the wall, pouring bottled water over ice.

  He approached with slow steps, a smile emerging on his face, and extended the glass toward her. “You don’t talk much. Are you shy, or do I frighten you?”

  “I’m not much for talking.” Her words came out soft, mirroring his tone. Maybe he expected her to be afraid. “Are women generally scared when they meet you?”

  “They’re a bit timid, but not because of me. My ropes shock them.”

  “Then show them to me.”

  “Follow me.” He turned and headed for the bedroom.

  She gripped the glass tight, took a sip, and then exhaled after swallowing. Where she’d gotten the nerve to be brazen surprised her, but no time to change her mind now. She straightened her back and followed him into the room. He flipped the light switch and two white lamps flickered on. He motioned to the dresser and she took a good look. At least eight different rope chains were laid out on top. All of them with varying lengths and diameters, and the colors ranged from red to purple, the colors of the rainbow.

  “You’re interested in submissive rope play, or as some call it, shibari?” He was so forthright with this question, like he expected it to scare her away. Instead she wanted to get closer, respecting his choice to keep everything black and white. No blurry gray lines. No false pretenses.

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s get started.” He moved forward.

  She instinctively put her arms out. “What? But... I don’t know anything about you.”

  “The info sheet Madame Eve provided didn’t tell you anything?” One eyebrow lifted in question. He shrugged out of his suit coat and hung it in the closet.

  “Uh...” Rational thought fled as his meticulous, manicured fingers rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing tanned skin and a smattering of dark arm hair. Did it cover his chest? “Those were basic facts. What about family, relationships, expectations?”

  He tugged at the bottom of his shirt now, untucking it from the waistband and she caught a flash of a silver belt buckle. “Tell me all those things.”

  She didn’t swoon when he slid his shoes off and sat in the chair to remove his socks. John being naked during the scene was listed in the info as well and played havoc with her intentions to stay focused. “I live alone. Parents are alive. No siblings. No long-term relationships and very few dates.”

  “Because...” He sat there, barefoot, one corner of his mouth upturned in a semi-mocking smile.

  “Because I like to eat and converse before I take my clothes off with anyone.”

  “Touché.” He pushed out of the chair and strutted over to her. “How do you feel about surf and turf?”

  “I’m not a lobster fan.”

  He leaned in, hot breath fanning her ear. “I believe I can change your mind.”

  “Lead and I’ll follow.”

  He chuckled. “Those are the perfect words.”

  ***

  Sig had expected to put fear in her eyes with the ropes, but instead he found interest. When he prodded, she stood firm, unflappable and more than willing to match his every move. She passed his test with flying colors. So, he dined with her. Succulent mesquite smoked lobster, tender filet mignon, steamed vegetable medley and a complement of wines, two whites and one red. She mirrored his suggestions without question. He wished her turtleneck to perdition, the better to view the fine lines of her neck when sipped from the glass as instructed. How would his rope look tied around her in a leash?

  How fast she’d ensnared him with a shy smile and her quiet demeanor. He liked her simple, understated style, her bundled dark blonde hair, and the single silver chain with a cross.

  “Is that a Celtic knot?” He asked after taking a sip of Pinot Grigio to wash way the last remnants of his lobster.

  “Why, yes.” She reached up and pressed the metal between two fingers. “I saw it in a gift shop and had to have it.”

  “Really?”

  She grinned, spinning the cross, the motion much like rope twisting beneath his fingers. “Really. Did you have some other picture in mind?”

  “Maybe a family heirloom or a gift from the last short-lived love affair?”

  Her back went straight before she lifted her arms from the table and leaned back into the chair. Until now, conversation had been innocuous and surface scratching. They’d discussed interests in food and found similarities in tastes and style preferences in furniture, with a brief mention of the suite decorations included. He’d kept the topics safe, but he wanted to nudge again. Wanted the rush he experienced before when she didn’t back down.

  “My relationships didn’t ever last long enough for gifts.”

  “Because...” He waited, and as usual his hands sought their own occupation, twisting the cloth napkin into a simple slipknot.

  “I had career goals. Relationships were a natural casualty in my pursuit of professional success. The one guy I got serious about—” She smothered a laugh with her palm.

  He understood. “It’s weird wanting to tell someone you just met anything and everything.”

  “You have no idea. I’m not used to doing the talking.”

 
Her job, a therapist. He’d been recommended to one, but preferred to work through his leftover emotions by saving the casino. Words were not action. Still, a profession like hers no doubt came with a big emotional cost. “I’m told doctors need therapy too. Keep going.”

  Instead of rebuking at his gentle command, she relaxed. Tension eased from her shoulders, arms going to the armrests on the dining room chair. “His name isn’t worth mentioning, but he didn’t cut it... in the sack.”

  “Too vanilla?”

  “Too concerned with his own orgasm, and any requests or lack of enthusiasm earned me some rude responses. Then he told me I'm too frigid to try new sexual experiences. So I got rid of him.”

  “Ouch.” Sig stood, walked around the table, and offered to help her up. She took it. “I’ll try to make sure I meet all your needs, then.”

  She laughed, a throaty, melodic sound, which had his half-mast cock springing to full attention. “I'd like a good submissive experience to see if this is something I want.”

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” Time to find out if she’d admit to her submissiveness from the moment she’d walked in the door. He directed her actions and so far she’d capitulated like a pro.

  “Yes.”

  “What do you want?” Normally he’d never ask such a question. It laid the foundation for a sub to top from the bottom, which he’d never agree to or condone.

  “I want your ropes.”

  Chapter Three

  Lauren was thankful for wearing dark clothing because her panties were more than damp. His voice and commands should have appalled her and unleashed the inner feminist. Instead, the exact opposite occurred: A primal need took over to allow him to direct her, to relinquish the reins and enjoy the journey. And if his mouth proved an equal physical talent to his ability with words, the date would be worth it.

  Not to mention she found herself blurting out the strangest things, and answering questions about herself she didn’t discuss with friends. John, whose name didn’t fit him, inspired brutal honesty. She wanted their interactions to occur without artifice. At some point during dinner she’d decided to move forward with the scene and with him standing next to her, she started to want more than just bondage.

  His questioning expression turned feral, eyes darkening in lust, lips pursing into a triumphant sneer. On anyone else she’d believe them to be arrogant. On him it looked empowering. In a fast second the grin turned into a serious, focused stare. “Then take the dress off.”

  A challenge. He liked to challenge, to set limits and see if she’d surpass them. Similar to her clients’ lines in the sand, she’d cross every barrier, break every wall. She reached for the belt around her waist and unsnapped the clasps. It thumped against the floor. The hem of her dress bunched in her hands and she wished he’d do this. She longed for him to touch her.

  Instead, he watched. The bulge in his pants grew more pronounced when she dragged the black fabric up her thighs and over her stomach to reveal the garters securing her thigh highs to boy shorts. He whistled low and she tugged the thick dress over her head. The challenge came in removing the rest of the garment artfully, which proved near impossible with arms stretched above her.

  “Do you need help?” A question he didn’t allow her to answer. His warm palms flattened along her sides, sliding up around her breasts. Several calluses brushed against her skin and inspired a shiver, which arced through her. He grabbed the fabric from her and plucked it clear, tossing it onto the dinner chair.

  The warmth of him disappeared as he stepped away from her. “Do you always dress this sexy under your therapist clothes?”

  Her choice of black lace on black lace with the sheer hose had been spur of the moment. Rarely did she dress in a similar fashion in the office, although sometimes... “Not for the workplace, but at home I’ll dress up like this and parade in front of the mirror.”

  “You like watching yourself.”

  “I guess.”

  He crooked a finger, beckoning her, and she went, suckered in by the desire to have his hands on her again. “Interesting.” He linked her fingers with his and maneuvered her toward the bedroom. “Before we get started let me tell you how things will work. I’m a masochist. I get off by prolonging my release. The longer I have to wait the better. So for this first part, I’m going to explore your body with the ropes and it will take time.”

  “What about sex?”

  “Not what our evening is about, and scenes are so much more.” They reached the room and he backed her up to the bed, ending the link between them. “Since this is your first time let’s go over the rules. No talking without my permission. The word pink will get me to stop. Say red and I cut any ropes, no hesitation. All right?”

  She nodded.

  “Lay down on the bed.”

  Following his command, she sighed, the surface of the comforter cooled her heated body and the pillows sunk beneath her weight.

  John turned, one of the ropes draped across his shoulder. “Some people are afraid to submit because they fear not knowing. Since this is your first time I’ll make you a deal.”

  When he reached the bed, he slid two fingers down the inside of her calf until both encircled her ankle right above her boot top.

  Shivering, she spoke, unable to keep the question back. “What’s the deal?”

  “For every command you follow, I’ll tell you what I plan to do next. Do you agree?”

  She swallowed, her throat tight and the air heavy with the promise in his words. Her only way to respond—a single nod.

  “I need a yes.”

  “Yes,” she croaked, before letting her elbows give way and her shoulders hit the mattress.

  “Spread your legs.”

  She opened them wide, determined to outperform his expectations.

  He chuckled. “You’re limber, I like that in a submissive. I’m going to bind each ankle in a simple two-column tie to the two posts of this bed. Here and here.” He pointed to each post and then did as promised, crafting exquisite knots around the ankles of her boots. Looped and wrapped around the toe and the heel, the ropes extended her instep.

  Once both were complete he asked her, “Are they too tight?”

  Laura shook her head. The binding appeared more like extensions of her shoes.

  Hands slid up her leg and she’d wished her stockings would disappear. The absence of skin-to-skin contact proved an agony, but no doubt part of his arousal and another way to deprive himself. “Spread your arms wide.”

  No hardship there. The natural progression would be to secure her arms and she craved it. Wanted him to pick up the pace, to explore and give her more than he promised.

  Grabbing another coil, he moved onto the wrists. Those talented fingers were coarse and rough on her skin, but the simple touches intensified her desire. Instead of being cold, the room temperature rose and he’d done nothing more than tie up her limbs.

  “I’ll finish with a shibari cuff, or as some refer to it, a boola-boola knot,” his words were whispered and a fingernail scraped the sensitive flesh near the veins on her wrist.

  She hissed.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  A quick shake, no.

  “You can talk. In fact, tell me how you feel.”

  The wide smile she displayed surprised her.

  “I didn’t know I was being humorous.” He massaged the skin he’d marked and winked.

  “It’s not every day someone wants to know my feelings. I’m the one asking those types of questions.” No, people dumped on her. In some cases, it took months of sessions to start the patient talking and through all of it no one cared how she felt. They weren’t supposed to.

  The wrapping of the rope continued, and he spoke while continuing to symmetrically cover her wrist. “I promise it won’t be painful.”

  “Anxious. I want to tug, to squirm.”

  “Why?”

  She glanced at the three-looped black rope around her wrist. John tucked and tugged on the
last tie. “Because I’m aroused.”

  “It’s natural to become aroused during this type of play. All my scenes are intimate, but deprivation is the most gratifying experience. Driving myself to the brink of release, watching the skin abrade from the ropes. Knowing my voice, the binding, and a single touch will make you writhe is more exhilarating than release. Trust me.”

  His words were pure reverence to the craft and she wanted to find the place, the headspace, which allowed her to let go. “I trust you.”

  “Then I’m going to blindfold you.”

  ***

  He expected fear to immediately take hold. Blindfolding tended to cause debate from a bottom. Instead, Lauren, spread-eagled and skin blushing, nodded her agreement.

  His cock never came down since the moment her dress came off, but like he told her the longer he had to wait, the better. Yet, he’d promised her this wasn’t about sex. To take it to a deeper level without her permission… hell, to ask for permission, he’d be pushing the boundaries too far. Better to keep going, give her a pretty rope corset and let it inspire her. From there he planned on changing her ankle and wrist ties into a harness, or maybe a cage. There were so many options and not enough hours to do everything he wanted to her body.

  He gathered a slip of black fabric from the dresser and sat next to her on the bed. She trembled.

  “Close your eyes, Lauren.” Stretching the elastic band, he slid the blindfold in place. “Now let yourself feel. Get lost in the way the lines rub against you.”

  Nylon scratched the skin, not harsh like hemp or cotton, but enough so the sub’s skin would abrade. Already the tone of her flesh near the bound wrists had turned a dark pink.

  “Does anything feel numb or cold?”

  “No,” she responded, head arched back, the thin column of her neck exposed. A leash needed to adorn it. He’d make sure it did.