Unrestrained by Joey W. Hill
He ran a hand along her arm, his brow creasing. "You're shaking. Are you cold?"
She shook her head, and his mouth firmed. He slid his arm around her waist, drew her full against him. She made a soft noise at the heat and strength of his body. Sliding her leg over his thigh, she pressed her knee against the base of his taut buttock as his hand descended, fully palming hers to hold her against his erection. He gave her one of those deep kisses, soothing her trembling by banding his other arm around her, pushing her to her back, his chest a solid weight against hers.
Those emotions flooded her, increasing the pressure beneath her rib cage, the aching in her throat. She couldn't say it aloud, not trusting it.
I'm falling in love with you. I love you.
He shifted onto her, her legs parting to cradle him. So often during these past weeks, he'd built her response to an inferno with a wealth of foreplay, intense BDSM play. He'd consummate the moment only when she was like a wild animal, crazy with need and heat. Tonight, though, it was simple and perfect without any of that. He slid into her with the ease of a key, her body rising up against his, reacting to the pleasure of him stretching and filling her, locking them together. She put her arms around his broad shoulders, tilting her head back as he laid his lips on her throat, using his tongue to trace the skin above and below the collar he'd given her.
"Master . . ."
"Sweet girl. Mine."
He pushed deeper into her, and she lifted her hips, taking him further inside. He made slow, short movements, an excruciating, pleasurable build. Everything about this felt like it should. So good she was afraid of losing it, but fear had no place between them tonight. Still, he saw it, and he drove it away with the movements of his body, with the endless kisses that became more demanding, compelling her to trust him with all of it, body, mind and spirit.
She surrendered that and everything else, including her fear, and let him carry them both over that precipice. There was no fear then, because when all was quiet again, they were in the bed she could now truly think of as theirs. He was home to her, and she kept her arms tight around him, hoping she was telling him the same thing. She could be his home. That, more than anything else, told her the truth.
She truly was in love with him.
SIXTEEN
Athena paused outside of Release, shifting from foot to foot. Was this the right thing to do? Of course it was. Three months. She and Dale had been together for three months. Though it seemed like the relationship was progressing so well on all fronts, this remained a hitch. He commanded her in the bedroom and often out of it, when that gave both of them pleasure, but whenever the topic of the club was broached, she stalled, and he saw it.
He'd told her that she didn't need to worry about it. When she was ready, he would know, and then, objections or no, they'd go. She'd tensed up over that possibility, but as the weeks passed and he didn't act upon it, she relaxed. Until she started to feel like a coward. Crossing that last bridge with him was a signal she was ready to be his, unconditionally. He'd given her so much, she wanted to give him that gift. She didn't want to blight their relationship with one thorny trust issue. She needed to show she was ready to do this. So she'd decided on a test run of sorts, by herself.
It was a good time to do it. Dale was in Houston tonight, visiting and helping out a family where the husband and father was a deployed SEAL. She would have accompanied him, since she'd been invited, but she'd had a couple of unavoidable work issues.
Though being away from him was never easy, work had become more so these days. For one thing, ever since the night of the dinner, Larry had been noticeably better, less aggressive in the board meetings, demonstrating more of his pluses than his minuses. Whatever had changed, she hoped it was permanent, though she remained distantly cordial, not wanting to encourage him back to bad habits. When she'd mentioned that to Dale, she'd earned herself a frown and a rather thrilling punishment.
He'd told her that she didn't encourage the man at all--that his character was flawed, not her behavior. Then he'd stretched her arms above her head, hooking them on the weight machine in the rec room. He tied her up in one of those beautiful and erotic rope harnesses he did so well. When she was bound from throat to thighs, he had three knots placed strategically against her clit and labia, such that as he used a paddle on her with powerful, stinging strokes, she writhed and stimulated herself. He'd drawn it out, increasing the pain to balance the pleasure, until she was pleading with him to let her come.
He only gave her the command when she stated three times that she was not responsible for Larry's actions. She'd soaked the nylon of those knots with her climax. After that, he'd gagged her with that piece, tying it around her head. She tasted her release as he put her over the arm of an overstuffed chair and fucked her hard, making her come again.
She swallowed on a dry throat at the memory. Though they weren't in "active" session all the time, in some ways she thought of them as a 24/7, because the Dominant side of him and the submissive side of her was always there, right beneath the surface, in everything they did. It was as if being together so much allowed her to reveal how much of her personality went in that direction, and of course it was clear how much of his did.
They'd met Matt and Savannah for dinner one night, an invitation initiated by Dale. The lovely rose quartz and silver choker Savannah wore must hold the same significance as Athena's Trident pendant, since she saw Matt put his hand on her neck once or twice and do the same maneuver Dale did with her on frequent occasions, a light tug while sliding a finger between warm skin and the metal, a reminder of its significance.
--
As she entered the club and drew in the familiar scents, she saw that they'd added a couple new pieces of equipment and changed out some of the wall art, keeping the erotic prints fresh and interesting. But Jimmy was behind the bar as usual. He was talking to a couple of the Dommes, that easy flirting he did so well with men and women alike. The man was a bit of a chameleon, all told, though she'd heard less magnanimous members hint that he was merely uncommitted, as if being a switch, keeping his options open, was a bad thing. As if a set-in-stone, black-or-white classification was necessary to gauge a person's value.
It was part of the reason she was here tonight, right? Actually, both reasons explained her presence here tonight. She'd decided to leave behind one classification and embrace another. The key had been in Dale's words. Ultimately you have to make a choice. Or I'll walk. No, he hadn't been talking about this, but she wouldn't let this one issue erode their growing relationship.
As she moved to the bar, Jimmy saw her. His eyes lit up, reassuring her. "Hey, Lady Mistress. What's up?"
It jarred her. She'd forgotten the name they called her. Wasn't it odd, that something she'd been called for nearly five years in this environment had slipped her mind, obliterated by what she'd become under Dale's command, something that felt so much more like what she was?
"Hi, Jimmy," she said with a casualness she didn't feel. Was this a good idea? Yes. She needed to do this, get the first obstacle out of the way, see how it went. No need to make Dale suffer through this awkward and potentially disastrous foray.
"Diet Coke as usual?" He reached for the bottle.
"That would be great." She nodded to the other two women. "Mistress Sheila, Mistress Amy."
"Lady Mistress. Good to see you tonight. Are you playing?"
She imagined Dale's reaction to that, the feelings he'd made clear about any other man touching her. She was his, utterly and exclusively. It gave her the courage to meet Sheila's gaze, shake her head. "Not tonight. Actually, there've been some changes in my life." She touched her necklace. She hadn't intended to use it to initiate the discussion, but in this environment, it was pretty clear what it was, so it might make some of the elaborate explanations she'd rehearsed on the way over here unnecessary.
It did that, and then some. The shift in their expressions from warm welcome to silent shock made it clear they'd unders
Jimmy was the first to break it, giving the other two women an unfathomable look before he spoke. "You playing with the switch side of things?"
"Yes. No." She corrected herself, not allowing herself the out. She closed cold hands in her lap, covering their sudden trembling. This was a mistake, this was a mistake.
No, you can do this. You're being silly and melodramatic.
This was your and Roy's place. You have no place here anymore. You need to go.
She set her jaw. "Actually, I was a Mistress to my husband because that was what he wanted, and I wanted to be what he needed. I'm a submissive, Jimmy. I always have been."
He blinked, processing that. Sheila and Amy exchanged a glance. "Told you," Amy said to the other Mistress.
Athena's brow furrowed. "I'm sorry?"
Amy shrugged. "I told Sheila it felt like you were faking it sometimes. Don't get me wrong. It was a good fake, but it didn't come off right. When you were in session, you did everything right, but it was almost too perfect. Plus you didn't act the same way toward him after, when you were hanging out together here. Like you just turned it on and off. And you never had the same vibe toward any of the other submissives."
She couldn't argue with any of it, but the word fake felt wrong to her. It hadn't felt fake to Roy, and that was what was important, wasn't it? Even more vital, it hadn't felt fake to her. It hadn't been what she was, but she'd viewed it no differently than watching a football game with him or him attending a book reading with her, things neither of them would choose to do themselves, but they enjoyed because of how the other enjoyed it. They'd liked pleasing one another, and that was a different type of enjoyment, no less real, because it all was part of loving one another. How could she explain that? She couldn't of course. It was too personal, too intimate.
Sheila shook her head. "No offense, but do you know how often I have to deal with the 'you must have been abused by your daddy, that's why you're a Domme' or 'you just haven't had a real man'? Or worse, the guys who think I'm one step away from a whore, 'playing' Mistress to meet their needs? What you did just underscores that attitude."
"This is a private membership club," Athena said evenly. "I came here to serve my husband, not to make a public statement about being a Domme."
"Whatever." Sheila slid off the stool. "Go kiss your Master's ass. C'mon, Amy."
Amy gave her another look, an additional shrug as if to say, "it is what it is," then followed her. They were headed to the suspension room, probably to hook up with one of the watching submissives in there.
"Here's your drink." Jimmy placed the cup at her wrist. Another couple had sat down on the other end of the bar, and he gave her a nod before he turned to them. But his welcome had definitely cooled. Not him, too?
She could have moved away, but she wasn't going to leave it there. After he took care of them, she drew his attention by lifting the cup. As he returned to her, she met his gaze. "Jimmy, what's wrong? I expected some negative reaction from the other Dommes, but you?"
He made a face, spread his hands out in a conciliatory gesture. "Don't get me wrong. You have every right to be what you need to be here. Domme, sub, switch. But people have the right to also be disappointed by it. I didn't think you were faking, Lady Mistress. A lot of people didn't."
"I wasn't, Jimmy." Because Jimmy had been a good friend, she tried to take the edge from her voice, give him more. "It's hard to explain. I wanted to be anything Roy needed, because of the way he loved me. The way I love him. When I was acting as Mistress to him, it was all part of that."
"Yeah. When it was never stated up front, that's hard for a lot of people here to understand. Even me," he admitted. "But you know some Mistresses have strong feelings about a Domme suddenly claiming to be a submissive. Especially one who was good at it, who attracted attention. Who has a rep for it, as you do, no matter what Amy says. Yeah, Sheila's right about the attitudes they face, and you're right that this is supposed to be a private forum to be what you want, but . . ." He gave her a helpless look. "It throws us for a loop. You'll just have to let us deal, learn to see it differently, and you be what you need to be. I have another customer."
"Hey, girl."
Startled to hear Dale's endearment for her spoken in such a scornful female tone, Athena looked toward the doorway to the suspension room. Sheila was leaning against the wood, coiling a single tail in her long-nailed fingers. "Yeah, see? Guess Amy was right. You already respond to being summoned like a sub. Want to exercise those real feelings and let me top you? Maybe we'll find out what's real. Like maybe you shouldn't be coming here anymore, because you're just a vanilla chick who was your husband's doormat."
Conversation at the bar and in the sitting room came to a halt, the few members present staring between the two of them. Hearing the conflict, several more had come out of the various playrooms. She recognized at least half of the curious faces.
"Mistress Sheila." Jimmy spoke sharply. "We have strict rules about harassing any member. That's uncalled-for."
"What are they going to call you now, Lady Mistress?" Sheila asked, brown eyes trained on Athena's face.
Jimmy came out from behind the bar, interjecting his body in between the two of them, breaking Sheila's line of sight. "Keep it up," he said between his teeth. "She can have your privileges suspended by the membership committee. Is that what you want?"
"Jimmy, that's not necessary." Athena slid off the stool. She appreciated his stepping up to defend her, but from the wooden expression he turned toward her, she thought he was just doing his job. She put down money for the drink and a tip, and shifted to meet Sheila's gaze. Sheila had hugged her the first time Athena returned to the club after Roy's death, but their relationship was defined by the location, the setting. It wasn't like she and Sheila were the type of friends who visited one another's homes or had shared interests outside the club.
During Roy's illness, she'd discovered which of his friends were true and which were fond acquaintances or worse, hangers-on. When things changed so dramatically, all but one's true friends disappeared, didn't they? "Thank you, Jimmy. It's clear I'm not welcome here, so I won't be returning. Good night."
She thought she saw a look of regret on Jimmy's face, a protest rising on his lips, but she was already turning, walking up the corridor, nodding politely to the hostess as she took her leave.
She reminded herself Sheila had resented her decision in a way that was disproportionately personal. Everyone knew she had some issues with authority, which was one of many reasons she'd embraced being a Domme. Whereas for Amy, it was the simple pleasure of topping a sub. That was the point. The motive was different for all of them. Some natural, some benignly dysfunctional, but all healthy as long as it was consensual and no one was hurt in the wrong kind of way.
So reasonable and logical. During those weeks Athena had been managing her worries, she'd considered that she might be "making too much of it," just as Dale had suggested. That rationalization had brought her here tonight, with her insulated bubble of unchallenged ideas.
There'd been no physical violence. Sheila hadn't even raised her voice, not really, yet the bubble had burst, and those ideas had disintegrated in the air of reality. Athena felt shredded inside. Now that she'd revealed her true nature, she was hit by shame and misery. They thought she was a liar and a fake, so how could she feel validated as a submissive? Even knowing she was being irrational, the feelings only expanded as she left the building, like a thick black smoke obscuring everything else.
Yes, Dale had seen what she was, and when he looked at her, she felt
No. There was no way he would have ever accepted that. He'd said so at the beginning. So she'd stepped into his world, telling herself it would be a nice fantasy. Then he'd swept her away and it became so much more than that. He'd become so much more than that. But she couldn't back away from this and keep him. It was too much a part of what he was. She could never ask him to give it up.
She tried to ignore the fact that giving up being his submissive, for her own self, felt like a raw wound in her chest. That didn't matter. Maybe it was time to end all of it, go back to the identity she knew best. Athena Summers, businesswoman, philanthropist, a person who liked to read and garden on her days off. She'd handled losing a husband she'd loved for over two decades. She could handle . . . whatever else she had to give up.
As she headed for her car, she felt like a tired and downtrodden middle-aged woman, wanting a cup of tea and to go to bed early.
She was pulling in her driveway when the cell phone rang. She saw it was him, but she didn't answer. She listened to his message, though, her heart aching at the sound of his warm voice and children in the background. "Hey, girl. Hope you had a good day. I'll be coming back tomorrow. Want to do dinner and a movie? I'd suggest my place, but my crappy DVD player is a poor substitute for your home theater. I told Gayle's boys about it and they said if they had their own movie theater, they'd camp out in there every night, make it their bedroom. Sounds pretty good, right? Anyhow, gotta go. I'll see you soon. I'm thinking about you."