Teach Me / Getting Dirty
- -
- 100%
- +
“Of course not.” But the pulse in her neck told him otherwise. Interesting. “Why would I? I already know that you’re Team Conrad. I prefer to avoid his minions whenever possible.” Again, that reckless smile. “You know how it is.”
He understood she was trying to provoke him. And she was—only not in the way she likely imagined.
“How fortunate, then, that you should run into a familiar face,” he said quietly. “In the midst of your heretofore unknown exploration of power exchanges in all their glory. I had no idea you were hiding a thirst for submission beneath your fluffy, spoiled exterior.”
Her eyes widened further. She started to say something, but it came out as a breath instead. He liked it. Poor little submissive girl. So afraid of what she wanted.
Dorian needed to remind himself that she wasn’t just another new submissive. She was Conrad’s baby sister. And this couldn’t happen.
But he didn’t walk away.
“Well,” she said nervously. “I mean, I can’t say that I wanted to see a familiar face here. Nobody wants to see a familiar face when they’re watching a grown man whip a naked woman until she…”
Her voice petered out. Dorian only watched her, keeping his expression just this side of a scowl until she flushed again.
“Until she came,” he supplied. “And so did you.” He smiled faintly when her throat worked, but no sound came forth. “If this is not a specific social call, that means you are here to play like anyone else. And I regret to inform you that you have already shown me entirely too much disrespect.”
“What are you talking about? You’re the one who followed me down a dark hallway to loom over me and frown dramatically. Maybe you should be concerned about respecting me.”
Dorian studied her, unsmiling. “This is primarily a BDSM club and you present as a sexual submissive. Do you know what that means?”
“Of course I know what it means.”
“Is that an incorrect label for you? The girls at the door are usually much better at teasing out our visitors’ secret wants and needs. Surely they told you that the pink wristband you’re wearing announces your preferences to all and sundry.”
She scowled down at the wristband in question and tugged at it. It sat next to the yellow wristband that announced she was here only for the night, which was why she had no bright blue wristbands, one for each alcoholic beverage patrons were allowed if they wanted to participate in any play.
“I can’t hear you,” he prompted her. “Is that the wrong wristband?”
“This club is obsessed with labels. You know that, don’t you?”
“Indeed it is. Let’s be clear that you as a person can be as complicated and contradictory as you please outside these doors. In here, however, everything is boiled down to its essence. What you want. What you need. And what you are prepared to negotiate to get it.”
Her rebellious chin lifted. “Plus neon wristbands.”
“If you are certain a label cannot contain you, perhaps you had better ask yourself if that’s the truth. Are you so terribly complex? Or are you terrified that if you took the trouble to look inside yourself you would find that at heart, where it matters, you are remarkably simple after all?”
She jerked at that as if he’d slapped her. And he wondered if she knew how dark her eyes got, telling him secrets he doubted she wanted to share.
“The only thing you know about me is who I’m related to,” she threw at him, as if he’d mounted a vicious personal attack. He filed that away. “So maybe you should take the opportunity to ask yourself why you’re such an egregious asshole to a person you hardly know.”
Dorian smiled. “Is it clear to you that I am a dominant, Erika? And was that clear from the moment you saw me here tonight?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “But I…”
“Kneel.”
Dorian was in absolutely no doubt of his own power. He enjoyed playing with the wielding of it. And he might have been thrown by the sight of Erika Vanderburg dressed like a submissive wet dream, but he didn’t think it was a coincidence that she was in Walfreiheit. He didn’t believe she was on a club tour and had accidentally happened on him here.
Couple that with her complaints about “labels” and he had no particular reason to think that she was submissive, either.
Or more accurately, he knew she was a submissive. He could see it every time she looked at him. That longing to yield, but only to a worthy dominant force. To pit herself against his will and chase her own surrender into all the places polite society feared to tread. What he didn’t know was whether or not she would allow herself to play with that need in her, or if she was the sort of person who preferred to pretend she never entertained any dark fantasies there in the privacy of her mind.
There was only one way to find out.
“What did you…?” she managed to get out while goose bumps marched down her arms and told him more truths.
“Do you need me to repeat myself?”
He watched, more fascinated than he wanted to admit, as she waged an internal battle. He could see it. Ordinarily he would have no trouble admitting he was fascinated and hard, but this was different. Because while watching a woman fight to do the very thing they both wanted—when she was as aroused by the notion as she was afraid of it—was one of life’s greatest pleasures, in his experience, this was Erika.
He didn’t know if she would do it.
Or what would happen if she did.
Dorian kept his expression impassive as he watched her struggle there before him. Her pretty face broadcast every last one of her emotions, making it easy to watch her cycle through defiance, longing, fear and a bright flash of straightforward need.
He didn’t help her. He only waited, wondering how exactly she would handle this if she was not, in fact, as submissive as he thought she was.
“Did you say…kneel?”
She sounded almost hopeful. As if he might change his mind.
“You do not have to do anything you don’t want to do, Erika,” he told her, his voice low and his gaze hard. “Safe, sane and consensual aren’t simply words we throw around for fun. But I should warn you, this is not a club where submissives balk at something as simple as kneeling to show respect. You can negotiate high protocol with whatever Dom you like, but they will all expect you to kneel. You might as well practice, don’t you think?” He waited a moment while she breathed a bit too hard. “If submission is what you want.”
“I just… I mean, I only…” Her eyes were slicked over with panic, but he could see the way she kept dancing from toe to toe. Dorian knew this dance. He knew that if he reached between her legs he would find her wet and hot. Better to let her dance it out. “I mean, maybe…”
“Is it our personal connection that has you so flustered?” he asked. Pitilessly. “Would you prefer I summon one of the other masters?”
She appeared to like that even less.
Which he could admit he liked a great deal more.
“I guess… I guess I thought there would be more of a buildup. This feels a lot like going from first to fourth gear in about twelve seconds, doesn’t it?”
“Erika.” Her name made her shiver, then still. “If this isn’t what you want, I will escort you to the bar. You can have as many nonalcoholic drinks as you like, perhaps dance to the music, and feel exhilarated that you were this close to so much edgy deviance. We always expect a certain number of tourists on nights like this. There’s no shame in it. But you need to tell me what you want.”
“I want…”
“If you don’t know how to say it, you can start the conversation very simply.” He tilted his head, indicating the ground beneath her feet. “Simply kneel.”
She moved her hands to her belly, as if her stomach was knotting up. Or fluttering. Or any other of the lovely, delicious reactions she could have been having.
She shot a glance behind him, almost wistfully. But Dorian didn’t move.
And in that moment, when she pulled her gaze back to his and her cheeks got even redder, Dorian had to ask himself what it was he wanted. Did he want her to kneel? Or did he want her to break, flip out and prove that she had come here only on one of her bratty excursions calculated to irritate Conrad more?
It was more than a little confronting that he didn’t quite know the answer.
Liar, something in him whispered. You know what you want.
As if she heard, Erika blew out a breath.
And then, as Dorian watched, his best friend’s little sister sank to her knees on the floor before him, tilted up her face and surrendered.
CHAPTER THREE
ERIKA HAD NEVER knelt before a man in her life. Not…just to kneel. And certainly not because she’d been told to kneel. If she’d ever been in this position before, there had been action. She’d been doing something. Usually something that put all the power back in her hands. Or her mouth, more likely.
This was not a blow job. This was…completely different. It was electrifying.
She couldn’t breathe, and she wasn’t sure that she would ever be the right temperature again. She felt much too hot, nearly feverish, though she knew she wasn’t sick. It was that fire in her that seemed to burn and burn and burn, hotter and wilder the longer he looked at her so sternly. Erika was sure that her face was the color of ripe tomatoes. She was shaking, everywhere—inside and out—as if she’d done something extraordinary.
And all he did was gaze down at her, his expression uncompromising.
“Very pretty,” he said after a moment.
Erika wanted to say something sarcastic. Poke at him, maybe. Or perhaps make a joke. Anything to lighten the mood, or make the fire in her dim a little, or counter the bizarre sense of relief she felt that he’d complimented her, but that didn’t seem to be possible. She couldn’t make her mouth do what she wanted it to do.
Because the more he gazed down at her, apparently perfectly happy to stand there all night, the more she was aware of all the other parts of her body. The way her thighs felt, splayed wide beneath the short, short skirt she’d chosen to wear. The cool kiss of the floor beneath her knees and shins. Her bare toes were cool, and it felt like a notable, erotic contrast to how confined her chest and her breasts felt in the strappy top. When she’d put it on earlier, it had felt almost loose, but not now. Now she thought another deep breath would pop the straps, and expose all of her to him.
That notion should have scared her, but it didn’t.
Or it didn’t completely scare her.
She could feel her heart, beating so fast it thudded in her ears like her own personal drum. And like a thick pulse in her pussy, a staccato beat in her nipples and a riot in her chest. Everywhere else, her exposed skin felt much too warm.
Erika didn’t really understand any of this. She didn’t understand the reaction she’d had to Dorian with a whip in his hand. A whip. She didn’t understand the roaring, greedy thing that had walloped her in that crowd, that had made her come and then made her run, like opposite sides of the same too-hot coin.
She’d thought that she was so edgy when she’d played around with handcuffs and a blindfold and a soft little flogger thing, but she’d been kidding herself. This was like a completely different language, and she didn’t know how to speak a single word of it.
She couldn’t find the words, but he’d told her to kneel and she had.
And really, Erika didn’t understand why kneeling before a man didn’t make her angry. Why, instead, what coursed through her felt a whole lot more like that same dark, greedy hunger that had taken her over earlier.
When Erika had always preferred her orgasms sweet and quick, spring showers to dance in rather than the crash and immensity of a sea that could eat her alive.
“I normally prefer submissives to keep their eyes lowered at first,” Dorian said in that low voice of his that somehow made it sound as if what was happening between them was normal.
Because it was, she reminded herself sharply. And maybe with a touch of panic. For him, this was any old night at the club. The only difference was that she was his best friend’s little sister.
Something about that fact—which she’d known full well while she’d spent all these months trying to get herself into this very position, not to mention most of her life—twisted in her differently now. It made her feel even hotter suddenly.
Erika tried to focus on what he’d said.
“Why do you want their eyes lowered?” she demanded, and she did not avert her gaze. Instead, she glared at him. “Because you hate women?”
“Because I love what it does to a woman when she surrenders herself into my hands,” Dorian said. “By her choice. And your impertinence is noted. If I were you, I would rethink that glare.”
That shouldn’t make her thighs clench, but it did. And for a moment, she thought her pussy might take over again, catapulting her toward another climax she didn’t want and couldn’t make any sense of. She tried to fight it back.
And that gleam in his dark eyes made her think he knew exactly what was happening inside her. When he couldn’t. Could he?
“But I can tell you’re brand-new, Erika,” he said then, and he had to know how riled up she was, or why else would he sound so satisfied? “So I will give you more leeway than I would otherwise.” He tilted his head slightly to one side, that assessing look as cool as it was stirring. “And I find I quite like the way you look at me.”
Whatever snarky remark she’d meant to throw at him died there in her mouth. Because she couldn’t help thinking he looked more like a wolf. Poised to take the leap that would take his quarry down.
He looked as if he could pounce at any moment.
And it was hard, once again, to catch her breath.
“Let me tell you the rules,” Dorian said.
“They told us at the door,” she all but threw at him, filled to the brim with a kind of desperation she didn’t recognize. Did she want to poke at him—or please him? “Green light is yes, yellow light is I’m not sure and red light is stop.”
“Are you satisfied with that system as your safe word?” He studied her and he was so thorough. It made her ache. “Let me backtrack. Do you know what a safe word is?”
“Of course I know what a safe word is,” she said. Or really snapped. Making no effort to modulate her cranky tone. “I read Fifty Shades like everybody else.”
Dorian did not wince. Not exactly. And yet she was in no doubt that he’d come as close to rolling his eyes as she’d ever seen. “This is not the place to mention that book, if you please.”
And Erika realized that she hadn’t…forgotten she was kneeling, necessarily. It was impossible to forget. But it had changed into something else.
She felt quivery, the way she had before. It seemed to go straight through her, as if kneeling on the ground at Dorian’s feet had plugged her into an electrical current and it kept pouring into her. Making her sizzle and burn.
But the panic was gone. She felt calmer, somehow, when surely it should have been the opposite. Surely she should have been too outraged and weirded out to stay in that position—but the longer she stayed there, exposed and vulnerable, the more she started to feel something utterly contradictory.
Safe.
“What are your hard limits?” Dorian asked in that cool way of his. But not quite clinically, she could see. There was that intensity in his gaze. The way he held hers.
It was as if she was nothing but a bright pebble closed tight in his fist.
She had no idea where that image came from. Or why she reacted to it the way she did, everywhere—from a breath that shivered out too hot to that melting, aching fever in her pussy.
“My hard limits?”
“Repeating a question is not answering it, Erika. Try again.”
She thought she might be sweating. “Um. I mean…”
“I’m not familiar with those sexual practices. Enlighten me.”
“There are just so many things,” she said, because she had to say something. Even if it was desperate.
“Then perhaps we should narrow it down.”
One of his dark brows rose, and she had the vague notion that it made him look demonic. What it did not do was detract in any way from his appeal. Maybe, she thought wildly, there really was something the matter with her. But she didn’t rise from her knees. She didn’t bolt again, the way some part of her wanted to do.
But only so he can catch you, a voice inside her whispered, like another bolt of electricity.
“Do you want me to tie you up?” Dorian asked, his voice somehow managing to be matter-of-fact and silky at the same time. It felt like an assault. It made her think of that whip, arcing through the air and yet landing like a kiss. She couldn’t seem to stay still on her own knees. “Cuffs? Chains? And what would I do once I did tie you up? You seem to like the looks of the whip, but that’s hardly for beginners. A paddle perhaps? Or maybe you’d enjoy it if I gave you that spanking you so richly deserve?”
For no reason she could think of, Erika suddenly wanted to cry. She felt emotion well inside her as if she was bruised from the inside out. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, and found them lying open on her thighs, as if in supplication.
She thought she should do something about that, but she didn’t.
And she didn’t understand how the swelling emotion inside her could be so intimately connected with the greediness between her legs.
“I don’t think…” she started faintly.
But he wasn’t done. Dorian shifted position to lean against the wall before her, as if he’d never been so relaxed in all his life. She thought she might hate him.
Maybe she did hate him, but that was its own bright heat, like a lick. Right where she needed it most.
“There are so many things to choose from,” he was saying in that mild tone at total odds with the stern intensity in his gaze. “Cattle prods. Ball gags. Nipple torture. Watersports. Total sensory deprivation. Pony play.”
She was panting as if she was running. She still wanted to cry. And also slide her useless hands between her legs and make herself come hard enough that all these feelings went away. “I have a yellow bracelet on.”
As if she was brandishing a rosary at him.
“That means you cannot exchange bodily fluids, Erika. It doesn’t mean I can’t, for example, secure a ponytail in your ass, clamp your nipples and make you ride a spanking bench until you come. After making sure your ass is a nice bright red. Does that sound like the sort of thing you had in mind when you came here? On this magical mystery tour of your newly kinky sexual appetite?”
Her head shorted out a little, as those images tumbled around inside her. She felt as if she was drowning, the parts of her body he’d mentioned tingling as if he’d already done the things he’d said he would, though he still hadn’t touched her. She felt her own fingers digging into her thighs, but she was caught by the expression on his face.
A little too hard. A little too amused.
She got it, then.
He was trying to frighten her away.
And nothing that she’d felt tonight made any sense. Nothing since she’d found him on that dais, wielding that whip like a song. She’d come. Then she’d run. Now she was kneeling on the floor, staring up at him as if he could save her, when she was very much afraid that no one could. Because clearly she didn’t want to be saved, or she would have left the minute she’d seen that bullwhip in his hands.
But she already knew what would happen if she backed down. Dorian would be patronizing. He would call Conrad, who would be livid. And she would have wasted these months and accomplished nothing.
Erika couldn’t quite accept that she could have gone through what she’d already gone through and get nothing out of it.
“That all sounds great,” she said bravely. Mutinously. “I saw a pair of ponies on the way in. It looks…intriguing. Bridle and all.”
And then, for the first time in as long as she’d known him, she watched Dorian laugh. Not smirk. Not raise those brows of his. But actually laugh.
It was a rich, profoundly male sound. It slid over her like chocolate, thick and dark. And the strangest sensation washed over her, centering between her legs again, and she almost thought she might come again. Just from hearing him laugh.
“I believe you’d do it,” he said. And he shook his head. “That’s not a compliment. If you can’t articulate what you want and what you don’t want, you shouldn’t jump into it blindly. There are many places on this planet we can be coy about sex, but this isn’t one of them.”
“I’m not being coy.”
“No, you’re being thoughtless. Reckless. As immature as ever, and with far higher stakes than a backless gown at a charity ball we both know you wore to irritate your brother.”
That was exactly why she’d worn that dress, but that wasn’t the only reason she shuddered. “I’m glad you remember a dress I wore two years ago.”
“I remember the controversy.” The way his eyes gleamed made her stomach flip, in that peculiar mix of fear and hunger she was learning to associate with this man. “You enjoy controversy, do you not?”
“It’s Conrad who enjoys controversy, since he’s the one who causes it. I don’t know why you can’t see that, as his best friend. But that doesn’t make it any less true.”
“If you were here for reasons that did not involve your brother, I would handle all this insolence, Erika,” he said, quietly. “But you are not, are you?”
And there was something about the very quietness that made her think of that whip again. Precise. Intense.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“I’m allowing you to keep your eyes raised. I’m allowing you to talk back to me, glare and conduct yourself as if this isn’t a power exchange. These are gifts I could rescind at any moment.”
Could he see her heart slam against her ribs? “I thought I had safe words.”
“Do you feel that you need one? All we’re doing is discussing terms.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything.”
“You don’t need to agree to anything to employ simple courtesy, Erika.” And this time, his voice was a lash. A stark command. “When you’re on your knees or otherwise involved in a scene with me, you call me sir. Or Master Dorian. And I’ll expect you to address me that way every time you open your mouth.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
But she remembered where she was. They weren’t, in fact, standing on a ballroom floor in Greece in sight of her mother and disapproving brother. She had chosen to come here. She’d known what kind of club it was. That brow of his inched upward and she shook deep inside.
Even as her pussy flooded all over again.
“That’s ridiculous,” she said again. “Sir.”
Because over her dead body would she call him Master anything.
“Thank you,” he said, and she was certain that was an unholy amusement in his dark eyes. But his mouth remained stern, the way it always did. “It is not ridiculous. And no, I’m not on a power trip, which I’m sure is the next thing you plan to say. As insolently as possible.”
“Oh, come on. Surely your whole thing is a power trip.” His eyes flashed and she remembered herself. “Sir.”
“I’m interested in power, yes,” Dorian replied. “But it’s not a trip. There is no power without surrender of one sort or another. A fist is only as strong as the delicate fingers that make it up.”
“I don’t know what that means,” she said crossly. But she was thinking of a hard little stone cupped in a palm. Fingers wrapped around it, making that fist. “And I don’t think any man ties up a woman if he doesn’t want power over her.” She saw his expression. “Sir. I thought that’s what is hot about it.”