In His Cuffs(4)

His gesture was tender, a contradiction to what she knew lay ahead.

"Your wristband indicates you're open to having sex, but given the  nature of our relationship, I think we should discuss it." He lowered  his hand to trace a finger around the top of her collar.

Goosebumps ran up her arms. His touch was a distraction, and his question loomed large. She considered her answer.

She'd have to face him on Monday morning and every day for over a year.  Maggie hated awkward emotional entanglements, so she'd never slept with  anyone she worked with. She also knew she could compartmentalise with  the best of them. "We're both adults," she said. "If the scene leads to  sex, and it feels like a natural progression, I'm sure there won't be  any repercussions."

"I want to be very clear about this." He slid his finger beneath the collar. "You're open to it?"

"Yes." She nodded.

"I can fuck you as hard and as long as I want?"

The words, so raw, natural, caught her off guard. "I thought you were a House Monitor. Don't you have things you need to do?"                       
       
           



       

"I'm off duty for the next two hours."

"Master Damien agreed to that?"

"I asked for three. We compromised at two." With his fingertip, he drew her a little closer.

"Pretty sure of yourself," she said. "No one can sustain a scene for that long."

"We're wasting time. Anything else you want to discuss before I take you downstairs?"

"Ah … " The moment was here. It was real. And she really had no doubts. "I'm good."

He waited a few seconds before nodding. "In that case, let's get to my rules."

Maggie laughed a little. "I knew there was a catch."

"You're comfortable calling me Mr Tomlinson, you can use that in addition to Sir."

She scowled. She used Mr Tomlinson to drive distance between them, not  as a term of respect. Calling him that would alter their dynamic. "Well  played," she said.

"Any objections to that?"

"No."

"I expect straightforward communication and honest answers to any questions I ask."

"Sounds fair."

"If you're ready, I think it's about time to get on with it."

She nodded.

"Please respond verbally."

"Yes."

"Yes, what?" he prompted.

"Yes, Mr Tomlinson."

He looked over his shoulder and signalled to Brandy. The sub moved  towards them, and he released his hold on Maggie's collar. Instead of  letting her go, he rested his fingertips on her shoulder. She felt the  warmth and firmness of his touch even through the fabric of her shirt.

She appreciated that he hadn't let go of her completely. She'd said she  didn't like to be left alone for extended periods, and he seemed to have  extrapolated from there, figuring she liked constant assurance from her  Dom.

Until now, she hadn't realised how nice that was.

"Please fetch me a leash," he said when Brandy joined them. "And my  personal bag was checked when I arrived. Brown leather. I'd like that as  well."

"Of course, Master David."

Maggie had never been leashed. She'd bought the sparkly, hot-pink  leather strip for show. She hadn't anticipated it would actually be used  as a collar.

Within a minute, the blonde sub returned. With her head bowed, she extended the items he'd requested.

David thanked the woman. He placed the toy bag on the floor then accepted the black nylon lead.

With a quick curtsey, Brandy left them.

Maggie's gaze was fixated on the lead. His motions were quick and efficient as he attached it in place.

"I'll expect you to keep the tension taut so that you keep the  appropriate distance between us," he told her. "Please keep your hands  behind your back, except for when we are on the stairs. Your safety  matters, so I want you to hold onto the banister. Do you have any  problems with my instructions?"

"No … Mr Tomlinson." Damn, the formality of the address, especially minus  her implied sarcasm, sounded odd. But she was sure it had his desired  effect. They were Dom and sub, not co-workers, not friends.

"Say that again, please," he instructed.

He'd spoken softly, but with a steel undertone. With her, it was far,  far more effective than if he'd been harsh. She looked at him. Her heart  rate decreased as she began to slip into a submissive mindset. "I  understand your instructions, Mr Tomlinson, and I have no problem with  them."

"Very good."

His approval made her relax her shoulders.

"You look very pretty on my leash, Maggie."

"I …  Thank you, Mr Tomlinson." Resisting the urge to tug on the hem of  her skirt and cover herself, she laced her hands at the small of her  back.

He wrapped the length of nylon around his hand twice, obviously planning to keep her close. "Ready?"

"Yes, Mr Tomlinson."

With a brief nod, he turned and began to walk.

It took her a couple of steps to match his pace and get accustomed to  being led. No one paid attention to them as they moved through the main  level of the luxurious mountain retreat.

At the top of the stairs, he gave the leash some slack. He descended slowly, and she appreciated his thoughtfulness.

The main room of the house's dungeon also had a number of people  gathered around. A kneeling sub was attached to a ring on the wall. A  couple waited for beverages in front of the bar, and servers moved  through the space, carrying bottles of water and more trays filled with  delicacies.

Master Damien walked over to talk to them. "I see Maggie has agreed to play with you."

The house owner looked at her, rather than David. She knew Master Damien  was checking on her, giving her an out. "I did, Sir," she told him.                       
       
           



       

"He'll make you cry," Master Damien warned.

She hazarded a quick glance at her Dom for the evening.

David shrugged. "It has happened once or twice."

"As you know, Sir," she said to Master Damien, "I don't cry."

"I'm afraid you might have just issued a challenge," Master Damien said with a quick grin.

This man was an enigma to her. Although she saw him every time she came  to the Den, she knew very little about him. Sometimes he wore a suit,  other times he was much more casual in jeans and a T-shirt. Tonight he  wore slacks and a black lightweight sweater.

On occasion, she'd seen him with his hair pulled back and secured with a  thin strip of leather. Tonight it was loose, with the ends curled  against his collar.

Rumours about him were rampant. The only thing people were pretty sure  about was the fact he lived in seclusion. She'd heard he had another job  and spent some time at the Den, but didn't call it home. Everything  beyond that was wild speculation. He'd either had a sub who'd shattered  his soul or he was heartless to begin with and had never allowed anyone  close.

All she knew was that she appreciated the way he ran the house. Nothing  happened here without Gregorio or Master Damien knowing about it. Some  of the playrooms had an exposed wall in case the players wanted to be  seen. Other places had doors for privacy, but even then, there were  windows so that someone could periodically check on the sub's safety.

To her knowledge, no one had ever witnessed Master Damien participating  in a scene. Maggie knew she wasn't the only one who'd wanted to play  with him.

"Is there a private room available?" David asked.

"First door on the right."

David wound up the leash again, bringing her in close. "I'd like you to keep your hands behind your back," he reminded her.

She immediately did as requested, but he continued to regard her. "Yes,  Mr Tomlinson," she said. While she was accustomed to having Master  Damien look in on her scenes, being corrected in front of him  embarrassed her. She looked at the floor, wishing it would open up so  she could disappear.

"Let me know if you need anything," Master Damien said.

"Thank you," David replied, answering for both of them.

She felt a tug on her leash. It had the effect of yanking her out of her  musings and refocusing her on her submission. She forgot about herself  and her feelings as she followed him down the hallway.

Once he had led her to the room and the reality of what they were about  to do set in, the first tendrils of nerves rippled through her.

From her numerous visits, the room was familiar. Each of the play spaces  had similarities-they were all stocked with cuffs and various spanking  implements. But each room also catered to a different form of play. This  one had a table that resembled something out of a doctor's office, but  not exactly. There appeared to be a cradle for her head, so that she  could safely be situated facedown. In that way, it looked more like  something a massage therapist would use.