Part 12 (1/2)
”What is that?” she pointed to an odd-looking contraption in the corner. It had two different pads, set at different heights. It was covered in red vinyl, and the metal stand was painted a glossy black.
”Spanking bench.”
”It looks like a chair.” She considered it. ”Of sorts.”
”It's a versatile piece. The k.n.o.bs on the side allow the back platform to be adjusted by about a foot and the lower portion can be unlocked so it folds down. Eyehooks allow the Dom to bind a sub in any number of ways. You can kneel on the bottom part and be secured to the top. I can have you stand and grab the top. From the opposite side, you can be fastened to the lower end so that you're bent over more. I can even make it all the same height. The possibilities are almost endless.”
She realized he'd started out by talking about the spanking bench in general terms. But then he'd become more specific. Instead of discussing how a Dom restrained a sub, now he was being explicit about what he expected from her. ”This place seems pretty kinky for a man who says he's only looking for a submissive to show him respect.”
”I did say I enjoyed kinky s.e.x,” he reminded her, his eyes dancing with a devilment that made her s.h.i.+ver.
”You did.” A number of floggers hung on the walls, along with other scary-looking implements of pain.
”You indicated you'd had some experience with a flogger.”
”It didn't look quite like those. It was shorter, not as...” She searched for the right word. ”St.u.r.dy. Less expensive, maybe?” She doubted it had even been made of leather. Even from a few feet away, there was no mistaking the scent of these. ”I'm not really sure what everything else is. Some, I can guess.” The cane, for example.
He took down a coiled piece of leather. It was black, braided and fearsome.
”This is a single tail,” he said. ”It's a type of whip.”
”Looks like something out of an action-adventure movie.” She stared, fascinated. ”Do you carry it when you go looking for the Holy Grail?”
”This whip does know how to get to the bottom of things. It's particularly attracted to smart-a.s.ses.”
She hadn't seen this side of him, a ferocious scowl softened by an easy tone. It made him more complex, more real, approachable. ”You know, I kind of like that image,” she teased. Maybe a little too much. ”I can see you as a das.h.i.+ng moving hero. Sir Indiana Jones, perhaps?” d.a.m.n if all of this didn't add to his appeal, not that she needed any more reasons to be attracted to him.
”Let's see if I can be as accurate with it as Indy was, shall we?” He shook out the single tail.
She took a step back, her laughter dying. He still looked das.h.i.+ng, but more than a smidgeon of intimidation had been mixed in. The whip portion had to be several feet long. ”I promise to behave.”
”Like most things, it can be gentle or it can sting, depending. This one in particular is meant for beginners. For you.”
”It never occurred to me that there would be different kinds.”
”Some I would probably never use on you. I'd enjoy it if you asked for a session with it.”
”Until you, Mr. Donovan, I had thought I was at least a little adventurous.”
”Your choice.”
She was curious. Very much. And scared.
He waited.
”One?” she suggested.
”How would you like it?”
”I feel like I'm at a bar ordering a drink.”
”A brush of the tip? A crack?”
That suggestion made her clench her b.u.t.tocks. ”The first. Just a brush.”
”Let's go over there, where there's more room.”
Nerves and a swarm of excitement collided in her belly.
”I'm going to have a couple of practice strokes. Go ahead and sit on the spanking bench and watch.”
Lara recognized how smart he was. Letting her be a voyeur, getting her accustomed to his s.p.a.ce in a nonthreatening way.
Since she wasn't sure exactly sure how to sit on the thing, she chose the lower platform. The padding was surprisingly thick and firm. As she got comfortable, she couldn't banish images of herself over it, face up, face down. In all her wild scenarios he'd immobilized her. Even though she'd had an o.r.g.a.s.m a few minutes ago, she started to get aroused again.
He brought out a towel from one of the drawers and hung it from a hook secured to the wall, presumably as a target. Then he turned his body at a slight angle, put one foot forward, held the whip over his shoulder. A moment later, he brought it forward in a single gentle motion. The stroke landed right in the middle of the towel.
She stared, fascinated.
He turned and repeated the process, using his backhand.
”That sounded...quiet.” Not what she expected.
”You wanted the Hollywood version?”
Imagining him as the rakish hero, she said, ”Yes.”
He turned to use his forehand again. This time, he cracked the whip.
She gasped, even though it had been nowhere near her. ”Okay. That was scary.”
”It's all in the touch, the force. Precision. Control.”
”That's a word that suits you. Is that the way you run your life?”
”You could say that. Now bring that sweet rear of yours over here.”
”I might have changed my mind.”
He lowered his head a little and regarded her. With the look and using no words, he called her out as a coward, someone who wouldn't do more than put a little toe into the water.
”Okay,” she said. ”But just the brush part.” She stood. ”You promise?”
”Lara.”
That uncompromising note galvanized her and she moved into the middle of the room.
”Your choice. You can get on all fours or lean up against the wall with your hands above you. Or you can bend over. I recommend one of the first two options because you're more likely to stay in place. And I want your dress out of the way.”
”All fours,” she said.