Page 19 of Endless Obsession

To the left of it is one of those padded benches, and I can’t even begin to let myself think of what that’s used for—all the reasons why this man might want to bend me over it or lay me back and use those leather cuffs to hold my wrists and ankles. I think of the feeling of his leather-gloved finger against my lips, and shiver.

To my other side, there’s a cupboard on one wall, a set of drawers, and two more chairs. Directly ahead of me, in the center of the far wall, is a huge bed with a four-poster canopy. There are no drapes hanging from it, and I realize with another flush of heat that the canopy frame is meant for other uses. A myriad of different ways to potentially bind me to the bed, so that my partner in this room can have his way with me.

The masked man is eerily silent. He’s waiting for me to decide, I realize—to either decide that this is all too much for me and leave, or to obey him, and go to the bed. I never thought I was aroused by the idea of obedience—by the thought of submission to a man—but this man wants me to submit to my own pleasure. It feels different, somehow. He wants me to obey, so that he can teach me all of the things I’ve been missing.

Taking a deep breath, I walk unsteadily towards the bed.

It’s made up with a red silk velvet duvet edged in gold, similarly-colored pillows stacked three deep at the head of it. My heart is beating hard in my chest as I stop at the edge, afraid to look back at the man as I nervously kick off my shoes—wondering a second later if I was supposed to do that at all. He didn’t tell me to. But I would never wear shoes in bed.

My teeth sink into my lip again. I’m overthinking this. I want to stop thinking so much. I want?—

“I can help you with that.”

I jump, covering my mouth with one hand to stifle my small yelp of shock. I didn’t hear him move. I didn’t realize that I’d said that last sentence out loud. But I can feel the heat of him now, standing behind me, feel his presence without even seeing him.

He gave me instructions, if I want this. I take a deep, shaky breath, and climb onto the bed.

No sooner do I lie back on the pillows, turning my head to look at him, than I see his mouth curve upwards in a wicked, almost satisfied smile. As if he’s thrilled to see that I’ve obeyed him. As if he’s getting what he wants out of this, instead of what he’s promised, which is that this will be all about me.

A nervous shudder runs through me, a fear that I’ve been talked into something that isn’t going to be what I thought, and I hold up a hand before he can move.

“Wait,” I say nervously. “Do I—Ja—my friend said something about safe words. Something to say if I want you to stop. What do I?—”

He chuckles, but there’s no malice in it. “Normally, those words are for play where you’re going to pretend not to want what I’m doing to you. There won’t be any of that tonight. But if it will make you feel better, choose a word. Any word will do.”

I search for something, looking around the room. “Paris,” I blurt out, taking in the French-inspired decor, and he laughs again, softly.

“Paris, it is. Not something I can imagine screaming out at the height of pleasure whether I wanted to stop or not.” He smirks. “And there’s something else in these rooms, too. May I?” He reaches out towards my hand, and shakily, I nod.

It seems silly to be nervous about him touching my hand, when soon he plans on touching so much more. But I feel my breath catch as soon as that cool leather glides over my fingers.

He lifts my hand up, towards the headboard, and I almost pull it back. I think, for a second, that he plans to tie me up, and that both terrifies me and sends a bolt of heat through me at the same time—one that I don’t have time to examine. Because a second later, I feel my fingers brush against the smooth wall—and something raised there, a round shape.

“A panic button.” The man lets go of my hand. “There are others, but since I don’t have plans to tie you up tonight, I don’t think we need to spend time exploring all the safety measures in this room. The point is—you’re safe, little dove,” he says, his voice softening. “Nothing will happen here that you don’t want. The owner of this club has gone to great lengths to make sure of that.”

I feel a flicker of disappointment when he says he’s not going to tie me up, followed by a sort of warm confusion. “You’re worried about me feeling safe,” I murmur softly, and his smile falters for a moment.

“You should always feel safe in a situation like this. Even in—especially in—the ones where you want to feel unsafe for a little while. Kink has rules, little dove. And the more dangerous and deviant the play, the more rules there are.”

I bite my lip, unsure how I feel about that. My life is full of rules that I always play by. Full of me always trying to do the right thing, to be the perfect employee and friend and girlfriend. I want to forget about the rules for a little while. I want to be free of all of it.

But part of me is grateful to know that underneath it all, I’m safe here. And I can feel myself subconsciously relaxing, with every thing this man does to let me know that he’s not here to take advantage of me.

At least—not in any way that I don’t want him to.

“Now.” His lips curl in that smirk again. “There are things I’d rather be doing with my mouth right now than talking.”

A completely foreign sensation sweeps over me, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, shivering over my skin at that. It’s not like I’ve never had a man’s mouth on me before—but just the way he says it implies that this will be unlike anything I’ve felt before. And I can’t help thinking that maybe he’s overselling it. That he has too high an opinion of himself, and that tonight is going to be just another disappointment.

Slowly, he moves onto the bed. When he’s kneeling at the very foot of it, those dark blue eyes intent on mine for a moment, he lets his gaze drag down my body, so slowly that I can almost feel the weight of it. All the way down to my bare feet—and then he reaches out, his gloved thumbs sweeping up the inner curves of my feet as his hands wrap around my ankles.

Another shiver washes through me, my body twitching at the sudden contact. That smirk never leaves his lips, even for a moment. “Ticklish?” he asks, amused, and I shake my head.

“Not really.” My voice sounds breathier than I think it ever has in my life, and he’s only touched my feet. “I just?—”

I feel my face flush, because I don’t know how to explain what I’m feeling, and everything that comes to mind just makes me feel horribly naive and inexperienced. And before tonight, I didn’t think I was. I’ve dated. I’ve had sex. I’ve had a handful of semi-serious relationships and one big, very serious relationship with Nate. But everything about this man makes me feel like a blushing virgin. Like I’m sixteen again, fumbling around in the back of a car with no real idea of what all these new sensations are or what I’m meant to do about them.

He’s experienced, I tell myself, as his hands tighten around my ankles, spreading my legs apart enough for him to inch forward on the bed, kneeling in between my feet now. He knows what he’s doing. So he’ll teach you what all this means.

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