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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: SEEING FIRST HAND
“It looks awful,” Max admitted, just loud enough for Rand to hear. “People hate pain. Why would someone volunteer to take on more of it?” You had to be some kind of messed-up to want this, didn’t you? Damaged by abuse or self-hatred maybe. Or some kind of extreme thrill-seeker who was so dead inside that this was the only way they could feel alive. Who else would want this?
Rand sighed, the large intake of air causing his chest to brush against her back. “It’s all about context,” he said. “For the top and the bottom. It does take a certain, special kind of person to get off on giving and taking pain. It isn’t everyone’s thing. But, even for those people, pain is really only pleasurable under the exact right circumstances. Otherwise, you’d be having orgasms every time you stubbed your foot or got a paper cut.”
He touched her face—just a light pointing of her chin toward the room. “For him, I think, it’s all about the ritual. I get that,” the man acknowledged with respect. “No matter the person, no matter the scene or the toy, you watch him enough, you start to see a pattern in his play. His favorite part is the setup, you can tell. The tease. The trap. Look at how he toys with her. Stalking around her. Talking to her. It’s all about the mind fuck for him. Making what he could do so much more important than what he will do.” The man chuckled low and lusty. “You’ll never know a rush of power greater than having someone that turned around, that on edge, that turned the fuck on, all because of you.”
“What about her?” She was genuinely curious. “What does she get out of it?”
He shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you from experience. Not really my thing.” He scratched his chin. “But, from what they tell me, it’s exciting to ride that edge. Some do it for the head trip, of facing that thing that scares you under ordinary circumstances and coming out the other end. Others still thrive on the sensations of it, the chemical rush. They get lost in the beat and the shock of it. And there are others who like the deep connection you can really only get in-scene. There’s a shared intimacy there that forces you to be tuned in to each other while you block everything else out. All the other people in the room. All the shit you deal with throughout the day. Your crying kids. Your whining boss. Your loneliness. Your fears. Your hopes. Everything disappears for that space of time except for that one perfect moment.”
Max scoffed. “You make it sound like sex.”
He shrugged, a philosophical expression she wouldn’t have thought him capable of crossing his face. “It’s as much like sex as it isn’t. It’s about intimacy. Like with sex—if you’re any good at it, anyway—it’s about being tuned into what turns your partner on. It’s about being and doing what your partner wants just as much as it’s about getting what you want. It’s about closeness, even if it only lasts for that scene.”
Max snorted. “Then why not just have sex?” Why go through all this to have a sex-like experience? Why not simply cut out the middleman?
Rand shook his head. “You vanilla people keep trying to treat sex like it’s this simple, intuitive thing. A yes or no question. You either have it or don’t.” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “That’s not really how you people have sex, is it?” He wrinkled his nose distastefully and shook his head. “Sounds sad to me. For such a pro-choice person as you’re rumored to be, I’m surprised that you’d settle for such a one-note option.”
Max rolled her eyes. “No one’s saying that sex has to be so rigidly simple or boring but, given the state of the world, the conversation of consent needs to be simple enough for everyone to understand and follow.” No means no might have had its problems, but that was why the yes means yes campaign started, to clarify the unforeseen gray areas.
Rand nodded. “Sure, I get and applaud the idea of making consent more understandable.” He shrugged. “But, as a cop who’s worked a campus town, I'm pretty sure you’re looking at this ass-backward.”
Max stiffened at that challenge. “Oh yeah?” She’d read all the studies and academic papers lauding the consent-centric efforts, but this guy thought he knew better?
Rand jutted his chin toward the room. “You think we’re over-complicating sex.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “And you’re right; on a whole, kinky people do think sex can be more than what vanilla allows. We know that it can’t be captured or understood in a single yes-or-no question. Consent—real consent—is a conversation. One that never really ends. It’s why we have a million and a half ways to have it.” He began ticking things off on his fingers. “Checklists. Negotiations. Contracts. Safewords. Check-ins. Aftercare.” He looked at her and shook his head. “With us, it’s never just one question. You wanna have sex? No? That’s cool; how about spanking? Not your thing? Okay; how about bondage? Not today? All right; what about next week? Do you like more elaborate bondage, like shibari or suspension? Or are you into more quick-and-dirty takedowns? Do you play with power dynamics or do you like to play it more straight? Do you have a safeword or do you use plain-speak? Do you have hard limits? What are your expectations?”
Max’s eyes widened. “That sounds like a lot of work.” Did he really expect people to go through all that every time they wanted to get laid?
He shrugged. “Sure, it takes more time and effort to get you where you’re going, but at least everyone’s on board and on the same page while you get there.” He gave her a pointed look. “I mean, it beats the alternative, doesn’t it? After all, when has anything been made more clear with less information?”
Max smirked. “So you’re saying people would be a lot happier if everyone were kinky?”
Rand shrugged. “Hey, I’m all for whatever makes a person wet, remember? If that’s kink, great! If it’s vanilla, I wish you double scoops. I’m just saying maybe people would be a lot happier if we stopped treating it like two sides of a you’re-either-with-us-or-against-us line and listened to each other. Fact of the matter is, the kink community, being what it is, has been forced to think long and hard about equality and fairness in a world often built on the appearance of imbalanced power dynamics. And, if we’re honest, we’ve been made better for it. Feminism made the kink community a safer, saner, more consensual place to be.” He slanted her an appealing look. “Realizing we could be on the same team did wonders for us; just saying it’d be nice if more people gave that thought a chance.”
Max looked back at Rand, a little impressed. “What are the chances you’re just saying all this to get in my pants?”
“Oh, I am just saying all this to get in your pants,” Rand admitted freely. “Heard you were smart—one of those intellectual eggheads. You’re with the boss man, so seems to me you must be into those same intellectual eggheads. Figured it would be in my favor to sound like an intellectual egghead. Doesn’t mean I don’t mean every word of it.”
She laughed. “So beneath the muscles and movie-set leather,” she said, flicking the lapel of his long leather jacket, “beats the heart of a philosopher?”
“There’s a lot more than that beneath there.” He gave her an inviting smirk. “Wanna see?”
She threw her head back and laughed. Rand may be able to theorize and analyze with the best of them, but he was still a barbarian. God love him.
Max stared at the scene before her, at the man she’d once thought could be hers, while he leaned into the other woman to whisper in her ear. An odd burning settled like jealousy or excitement in the pit of her stomach. She felt Rand’s hand lightly trail the back of his knuckles along her spine.
No matter the person, the scene, or the toy, huh?
“You know what?” A slow smile spread across her face. “Okay, you convinced me.”
“What?” he asked, taken aback, obviously not expecting that.
“You’re right,” she said. “I can’t conscionably knock what I haven’t tried.” That hair-splitting attorney wasn’t the only one who was non-exclusive. She squared off with the huge, bulked-up, mammoth-sized man. Sliding her body into a defiant fighting stance, she cocked her hip. “So show me.”
———
Dear God, she was going to regret this, wasn’t she?
She followed him, her hand in his as he all but dragged her into—what did he charmingly call it?—Donovan’s dungeon.
Max thought she preferred the term playspace.
She looked around, eying the area.
God, it did look like a dungeon. Straight out of medieval times. Crosses stood intimidating with hooks and chains hanging off of them like twisted Christmas ornaments. Benches were draped with people bonelessly bent like blankets over cushioned wood. There was a woman hung like a marionette tangled in her own strings from a metal cage.
“Are you ready for this?” Rand asked.
Uhh... “Of course.” Max laughed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Most are at least a little scared their first time.” He set down his oversized duffel bag on the padded ground.
“Like virgins,” she said.
He snorted. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He shrugged. “Everybody’s gotta start somewhere; we were all virgins once.” He turned his back on her and knelt. “Now.” He unzipped his bag with a harsh, grating tear. “Up against the wall,” he barked, his voice loud, strong with an authority that had her snapping straight as a soldier. “Hands and feet spread.”
They were starting? Like, now?
Without warning, he grabbed her by the wrist and spun her, swinging her into the wall. She reflexively caught herself with her other hand. Gripping that hand, he slammed her palms against the brick. “Feet. Spread ‘em.”
Reacting on instinct, she did.
“Further.” He kicked her ankles with his booted feet. “Now stay like this until I say otherwise.”
He stroked her neck, making her shudder, half creeped-out, half turned-on. “Good girl.”
Good girl?
Good girl?
How demeaning was that?
About to turn her head to blast him, he palmed the back of her head and pressed her forehead into the wall. “Do. Not. Move.”
She stilled.
He patted her head, making her instinctively roll her eyes. But, beyond that, she didn’t move.
“Good girl.”
———
Max was here.
She’d come back.
He knew she would.
This—as much as her resistance to it—was too much a part of her for her to stay away.
A call to security told him that she’d gone with Rand. To the dungeon.
He smiled.
Interesting.
He slipped into the room, keeping to the sides. Behind people. He was tall. And not exactly inconspicuous, he thought, tossing his long, flaxen hair behind him.
But he knew the art of being invisible—once a curse when he was young, but a gift above all gifts as an adult. One he had worked very hard to perfect.
He settled onto a bench right in front of them. Both their backs were to him, but he had the best view.
Max was spread out while Rand unzipped the back of her dress.
Startled, she took her hands off the wall. He wondered if she would hit Rand. Again.
But the large man never gave her the chance. Grabbing her hands, he slapped them back in place. “What did I say, little girl?”
“Taking off my clothes is off the table.” She shoved back against Rand’s solid form. “Do it and I’m done.”
Folding his hands over his slightly wrinkled slacks, the knowing lawyer grinned. That was his Max. He crossed his arms, eager to watch the fallout.
Rand just tilted his head. “Taking your clothes off is a no?” He sniffed. “Okay.” He kicked her feet apart again. “Back in position. Move again and, I promise, neither of us will be very happy.”
But the second Max settled back into place, Rand pushed between her shoulder blades, flattening her against the hard wall, before he grabbed her zipper and pulled. The back of her dress fell open, baring smooth, flawless skin and the barest hint of cobalt-colored lace.
The barrister’s body tightened. He leaned forward on the bench, his hands gripping his knees, and took her in. God, she was beautiful, her shapely body twisting and writhing, peeks of her skin showing through her now parted dress. Wisps of her hair fell from the twist she’d forced those fiery strands into.
“You bastard.” She squirmed beneath Rand’s grasp.
“Aw, c’mon, Maxie, you can do better than that,” the hard man taunted.
“You ill-mannered, ill-tempered Neanderthal!” she screamed, still thrashing.
“Better.” He laughed. “What else you got?”
“You knuckle-dragging, uncultured, classless son of a bitch,” she yelled. “You impotent dick. You filthy, disgusting pig. Get your hands off of me.”
“Okay,” Rand said, trying to soothe her, “that’s enough; settle down now.”
She didn’t.
Very possibly couldn’t, given Max’s temperament.
In a second, the flick of a switchblade sounded, silencing Max.
Stilling her instantly.
Trailing the flat of the blade along the ridge of her spine, Rand had her just where he wanted her. The counselor could hear her gasp as the blade slid up along her neck.
But it wasn’t her Rand threatened to cut. “Back in position or I’ll cut this dress right off you. Your dress is undone, but still on. The only thing bared is your back. Not that sweet, round ass. Or those nice, heavy breasts. Not yet. But all it would take is one slice and your little designer Dior or whatever the fuck it is will just be another dish rag, and I—and everyone else in the room—will get to see everything. Got it?”
Max stiffened and slid back into place.
“Atta girl.” Rand sheathed his knife again, trading it for the slapper tucked into the back of his leather pants. “Now stand...very...still.” His hand swung back before surging forward.
Max flinched even before the slapper struck, just the briefest, lightest brush over her still-covered ass.
Rand’s laugh roared through the room while her cheeks flushed. With embarrassment. With fury.
“Such a baby,” he taunted. “You can’t tell me that hurt. Tell me that it’s not that easy to scare you. Big, brave businesswoman, flinching at a little tap?” He tutted. “I thought you were ready for this?”
“Fuck you,” she spat out.
“Fuck me?” Rand asked. “Did I hear you right? You want to fuck me?” He dug his hands into her hair, sending her pins scattering to the ground. “All you had to do was ask, baby?”
“I’d swear off sex forever before I let you touch me,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Oh, baby,” Rand said, “I don’t have to touch you to fuck you.”
Again, the knife sprang out. With two swift flicks, the small scrap of electric blue disappeared as he pulled the lace out from the unzipped vee of her dress.
Rand held the now ruined lace against her face. “Wanna test me, girl?”
“Why do I always end up leaving this place without my underwear?” she wondered, exasperated. “What is it with you guys? Do you keep them as trophies? Maybe hang them on a wall somewhere in here?”
Rand chuckled low, echoed by many of the spectators—men and women—who’d gathered to watch. “I’ve got a bunch hidden beneath my bed. Maybe I’ll let you see. After.”
“Only in your dreams.”
“Sassy wench.” Rand laughed before he smacked her ass again.
She jumped, her eyes widening.
It hadn’t hurt, the observant lawyer knew. He leaned back again, crossing his arms over his crisp button-up shirt. Slappers were really more bark than bite, the loud sound adding so much to the sensation.
Max wasn’t in pain; she looked shocked. Indignant. Even though she’d known what she’d be getting into.
But, for Max, that first step, the acknowledgment of the idea—the desire—was the hardest.
“See what a smart mouth gets you?” Rand pulled at the hair fisted in his hand. “Now hush, pretty girl; I’m sure you’ve had this coming for a long time.”
From his seat, the studious suit watched Max’s lush ass bounce with each slap Rand struck. Small squeaks tripped from her lips. Rand never hit her hard—she was still too new to this to go rough—but her ass still flexed and jerked beneath the soft material of her dress.
Narrowing his remote, icy gaze, the lawyer studied her, longing to see all that pretty, rouged skin bared. He longed to run his hand along the reddened flesh, to feel the heat coming off her. He wanted to cup and caress.
“Messy girl.” Rand lifted the back of her dress with the slapper, making her squeal and squirm. He just pushed her back against the wall and lifted her dress higher. “Look at that. Getting all wet without her panties.” He leaned in to whisper into her ear, “Looks like you’re a certain, special person too, huh?”
The attentive attorney had a hard time remaining on the bench as his gaze devoured her, as he took in the sight of her beautiful ass, blushing the same pink as her face.
“I hate you.” She shoved the crude Dom with her hip.
“Very special.” Rand chuckled before he struck her bare ass. Once. Twice. Three times. Before he let the stiff leather slide between her legs, stroking her quivering thighs. “So fucking special.”
Rand’s hand tickled over the sensitive skin on her lower back, gliding over her ass and lower.
“Stop.” Max stilled suddenly, straightening a bit. “Too far.”
The room hushed and Rand’s hand tensed, twitched over the obviously wet, wanting skin.
Donovan’s defender readied to stand, to stop the scene, with a hard hand gripping the edge of the bench. If he had to.
But, though the other man’s lips curled disapprovingly, Rand moved his hand back. Instead, he fisted her dress so it bunched at her back, before he gripped his toy harder, a menacingly playful look spreading across his face.
Confined beneath his so very civilized clothes, the counselor stifled a groan. His entire body tensed. Watching Rand’s toy creep upward to touch her wet, hot flesh, he inhaled sharply, smelling her heady and rich scent while the leather rubbed hard against her, making her pant.
But just as she was about to come, Rand pulled away, chuckling when she hissed in frustration. “Did you think this was some kind of reward, baby? With your sassy attitude?”
He smacked her inner thigh. The sound harsh enough to make not only Max jump but some of the spectators too. “No, baby girl, you don’t deserve a reward. This,” he said with another slap to the other thigh, “is a lesson.”
Taking the slapper from between her thighs, Rand brought it to her lips. “Lick it.”
“What?” She recoiled.
“You heard me,” Rand said. “Now open up. Show me that pretty tongue.”
She balked. “You’re fucking derange—”
Rand shoved it in her mouth, making her take it like a child’s medicine. “That’s it, baby, suck it.” When she tried to wrench her head back, he placed a restraining hand to the back of her head. “Aw, does my girl not like it? It’s your come, honey. Do you not like your own taste? I bet it’s fucking sweet. Maybe I should take a taste, just to judge?”
Max thrashed, tearing her head out of his grasp. “You should be so lucky,” she spat at him. “You’ve never had anything so good.”
Rand laughed. “Then lick it, baby,” he purred. “Show me how much you want it. Make me want it too.”
Challenge sparked in her eyes, making the brown depths burn hotter when she met the massive man’s hard gaze. Grabbing his hand, she pulled it and the tool closer before laving the leather with her tongue. She didn’t just lick the slapper, she loved it. Her tongue swiping and sweeping. Her lips languishing and lingering. She sucked and she savored.
“I believe you,” Rand murmured, his voice rough and husky with lust as he stroked her hair. Her cheek. Her throat. “I believe you.”
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