Chapter 8

I’m a bundle of nerves as I pull off the highway onto Drak’s property. Excitement wars with anticipation wars with a heaping plate of self-doubt. We’ve talked every night about life—both past, present, and future—and although I know there is a ton of attraction between us, he’s put me off every time I’ve tried to turn the conversation sexual.

I can’t help it. I know how men see me. I’m the girl everyone wants to fuck, but no one wants to claim as their own. The best way to keep a guy interested is the prospect of sex—or at least that has been my experience. But every time I’ve offered cyber sex to Drak, he turns me down. Text him colorful innuendos, and he messages back that he’s going to punish me this weekend for being a cock-tease. I don’t get it, but I think it’s the Dom-sub dynamics he talked about. He has to be in control, and this has to be on his terms.

If I can’t flirt, then how am I supposed to keep him interested?

Yesterday I did some research and today I wrote a list that I plan to give to him as soon as I walk through his door. I hope it will make him happy and convince him I’m who he wants.

I already know I want him.

I pull my old ‘87 Mustang between his bike and truck parked in front of a Land and Sea container home. The front is a giant covered porch with giant lightbulbs hanging over the eaves, and the lights from the kitchen and living room shine through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Drak opens the sliding glass door and steps out, wearing jeans, boots, and a tight white T-shirt.

I’ve never seen him not wearing his leather vest, and the bright cotton fabric stretched tight across his chest makes him look deliciously massive.

“How was the drive, babydoll?” He holds open my door and offers me his hand.

“Straight shot, pretty much.” I let him pull me into his chest, savoring the feel of his thick biceps wrapping around me. There aren’t many men who make me feel small, but Drak engulfs me in his protective embrace.

“I missed you.” His voice is deep and smooth like velvety melted butter.

I inhale his scent, which is indescribable. Gun oil and metal mixed with campfire and woodsy pine—all rugged man. “We talked every day.”

“It’s not the same as holding you in my arms.”

“There you go being sweet again.”

He swats my ass with his big palm as his reply. “Where’s your bag?”

“It’s in the trunk.” He grabs my bag and ushers me inside his home, which is bigger than it looks from the outside. “This is really nice, Drak.”

“Look around, get yourself acquainted, and make yourself at home.”

Home. If only that could be true. I set my purse down on the butcher-block table and pull out a red envelope. “This is for you.”

“What is it?” Drak offers me a beer for the envelope.

“It’s a list of my limits.” I say with an air of casualness I do not feel. Right now my belly is doing somersaults in anticipation of what’s coming—tonight, this weekend, and beyond.

Drak arches his brow but doesn’t open the envelope. “Where did you get the idea to write them down?”

“The internet.” I shrug and take a draw off my beer bottle. “I figured I should do a little research before this weekend. All the submissives said to give and receive clear communication, and if there are hard or soft limits, I should write them down.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, motioning for me to take a seat. “Sit, babydoll.”

I do, watching him as he takes a chair and swings it around in front of me. He straddles it, the wood spindles of the backrest keeping me from climbing into his lap. “Let’s see what you wrote down.”

He tears open the envelope, but keeps his eyes on mine, as if he’s waiting for a reaction. Finally, I break eye contact and glance away, a light blush hitting my cheeks as I recite the words I have memorized in my head.

To my horror, he reads them aloud. “Things I think I’ll like: bare-handed spankings, restraints, hair pulling, and blindfolds. Things I might like and would try: hot wax, choking, breath play, paddle spankings, biting and leaving marks, role playing.” He lifts his eyes, a devious smile on his lips. “I wonder what kind of roleplaying you’d be into, pet.”

The way pet rolls off his tongue sends tingles straight to my pussy. He continues, “Public or outdoor sex, but not group sex. You can’t share me with your friends. That’s a hard limit.”

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, setting the thank you card turned kinky sex list down on the table.

“You haven’t read the hard limits yet.” I squeak as he reaches forward, grabs the legs of my seat, and pulls me forward, pinning my legs against the back of his chair.

“Your hard limits are no real pain, permanent marks, and no sharing you with my friends. Got it.” He says in a clipped tone that leaves me feeling uneasy. Is he disappointed in my list? I thought it was pretty adventurous.

“Is that going to be a problem?”

“The only problem I have is you thinking I’d share you with anyone. Don’t you understand, Missy? You’re mine, and I don’t share what is mine.”

“You keep saying that, but I can’t believe you mean it.”

He narrows his eyes. “You doubt my sincerity?”

I bite my lip and look down in shame. He looks almost hurt by my words and lack of faith in him. “It’s a bold proclamation considering we haven’t had sex yet.”

“Fucking you isn’t going to dampen my possessive desires. Each taste will only amplify and solidify my feelings for you. Of that, I have no doubt.” He stands up, swings his chair out of the way, and offers me his hand. “Come with me.”

With our fingers interlaced, Drak walks me through a door into his masculine and sparsely decorated bedroom. That is, it seems sparse until I notice the St Andrews Cross in the corner behind the bedroom door and the leather padded chair in the other corner. They aren’t overly flashy and almost blend with the rest of his rugged wood furniture. And that’s when I notice the eye bolts drilled into the head and footboard of his king-sized bed.

“Oh.” I gasp, shock and arousal flowing through my veins. The harder I look, the more I pick up on. There’s a drawer under the chair pulled out with colored ropes. There are paddles hanging on hooks behind the cross. He has a whole playground in here, tucked out of the way from curious eyes, but not hidden behind lock and key.

He owns his kink— like a confident man would do—but doesn’t shove it in people’s faces.

“Go ahead.” He lets go of my hand, leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, and gives me the freedom to touch and explore his toys.

I slide my fingers over the varnished wood of the cross, and push my fingertips against the leather pads before I pick up a paddle and smack it against my palm. “This is heavy.”

He nods with a glint in his eye, but says nothing.

Kneeling down in front of the drawer, I run my fingers over the ropes. They are softer than I would expect, and I can’t help but wonder how many other women have worn them. Jealousy—my green-eyed friend—surges forward, but I stomp her down before I turn to face him from across the room. “Now what?”

He pushes off the doorframe and lets his hands drop to his side. “Take your boots and jeans off and get on your knees at the edge of the bed, babydoll. Your ass should rest on your heels and your hands will be flat on your thighs when I get back.”

His tone brokers no argument and my pussy clenches at the authority in his voice. “What do I call you?”

“What do you want to call me?”

I take a deep breath and let it out in a rush. Here goes nothing. “I’d prefer to call you Daddy.”

He stifles his grin and nods slowly. “Good girl. Get ready.”

It takes me a second to snap out of my stupor as he turns and walks out of the room without saying another word. This is unlike any experience I’ve ever had before, but maybe that’s a good thing. All my other encounters have been lackluster in comparison. No man has ever made me feel half of what Drak makes me feel, and that’s with nothing more than a kiss. The anticipation of what’s coming is killing me, driving me to kick off my boots and slide my jeans down my thick thighs in a rush. I’m wearing the sexiest pair of underwear I own—teal lace, high-cheek boy shorts—with a matching bra. He didn’t tell me to take off my shirt and I feel like I should follow his instructions to the letter, as interpretation will be punished versus rewarded.

Although, at this point, I’m not sure what would be considered punishment and what would be a reward. I feel like I’m going to like everything he has to give me.

I climb onto the bed and assume the dictated position, my knees at the edge of the mattress facing the door, ass on heels, hands flat on my thighs. The lights in the living room turn off. Drak reappears at the door barefoot and pulls his shirt over his head, his chest covered in dark chest hair leading to a thick trail behind the zipper of his jeans.

“Fuck, you look pretty waiting for me like this.” He tosses his shirt toward the corner and strides toward me. “Keep those hands on your thighs until I tell you otherwise, or I’ll restrain you. Understood?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Mmmm. I like those words coming off your lips.” He gathers my hair up in his hands and pulls it back into a tight ponytail, yanking my head back so I’m forced to look up at him towering over him. “What’s your safe word, babydoll?”

I’ve been thinking about this for days. Licking my lips, I moan, “Cinnamon.”

“Good word.” He leans down and claims my lips with ferocity, his tongue pushing past my teeth to plunder my mouth with absolute possession. I dig my nails into my thighs to keep myself from reaching for him—a stark reminder to not lift my ass off my heels until he says I can—but I can’t stop the moans and whimpers ripping from my throat.

Drak doesn’t stop his assault on my lips as he slips a hand inside the front of my panties. He deftly finds my clit, rubbing circles with pinpoint precision until I’m trembling and on the edge of release. Only when I’m seconds from coming does he pull his hand away and break the kiss, tightening his grip on my hair. “Fucking hell, babydoll. You’re going to make me lose control.”

“Please. I was so close.”

“Please what?” He brings the fingers that were rubbing my clit and sliding through my arousal up to my lips. I willingly open my mouth, sucking them like I did at the park however many nights ago.

His eyes are near black as he pulls them out of my mouth with a popping sound. Arching his brow, he silently waits for the answer I know in my soul he wants to hear. “Please, Daddy. Make me come.”

“Up.” He offers me his hand, helps me off the mattress and walks me over to the St. Andrew’s Cross. “I’m not going to secure your wrists tonight—we’ll ease into the restraints—but I want you to hold on to the bar and don’t let go until I tell you.” He places my hands where he wants them and has me lean my shoulders back against the leather padding glued to the solid beams. Only when I’m holding as still as I can on shaky legs does he focus his attention on pleasuring my body. Pulling my T-shirt up over my breasts, he leans forward and bites my nipples through the lacy cups until they are stiff peaks. It’s exquisite torture being played with like this, my reciprocation not only unexpected, but disallowed.

He lavishes attention on one breast and then the other while slipping his hand back into my panties. I buck my hips against his palm to seek sweet relief, which is met with a firm tsk from his lips as he pulls away. “This is not yours to take, babydoll. It’s mine to give. Your body is mine. Your orgasm, mine. Understood?”

“Please,” I whimper, out of my mind with need.

He shakes his head and takes a step back, his hands on his belt. “Greedy girl. Do you think begging will get you what you want before I’m ready to give it to you? No, pet. It doesn’t work that way. Now, you’ll have to be punished.”

“Punished?” My voice squeaks in surprise.

“You’re going to swallow my cock using only your lips—no hands. If you do a good job, I’ll make you come.”

“That’s a punishment?” The words are out before I can think better of them.

Drak chuckles, sliding his belt out of the loops of his jeans with a slapping sound. “On your knees, babydoll.”