Page 30 of Submit

Chapter Nine

Adam had called the day after their night together, as promised, and each day since. In addition to making plans for the following Tuesday night, they’d talked about the projects each of them were working on, compared art galleries they’d been to and discovered they both loved the surrealists and black and white photography. They chatted about their favorite restaurants in San Francisco, even argued over films they’d seen. Somehow, he always won the arguments, but he was always gracious about it. There was something intensely attractive about the fact that he was so intelligent—intelligent enough to take her on and change her mind about a few things. She realized then that one issue she’d too often had with the men she’d dated was that they weren’t quite smart enough. She knew now she needed a man who was at least as smart as she was, if not smarter, in order to respect him in the way a man should be respected. And his mind turned her on as much as his big, beautiful body did, his lush mouth, the wicked glint in his eyes. His even more wicked hands.

Finally, Tuesday evening arrived, and she could hardly wait to see him. Once more she made a ritual out of getting ready, and she understood she was really preparing herself for him. She took time and great care in bathing, conditioning her long hair, rubbing lotion into her skin, doing her makeup.

Dressed this time in the simple knit sheath dress he’d asked her to wear and a pair of black stiletto-heeled boots, she stood in front of his door once more. She clenched her fingers, her pulse racing with excitement and a little fear at what he might do to her. A damp heat was already spreading between her thighs.

He opened the door as soon as she knocked, dressed all in evil black, which she was coming to understand was classic Dominant garb. She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face as he pulled her inside, into his embrace, and held her for several moments.

He whispered into her hair, “Beautiful, as always, Skye. Come with me.”

She laughed a little. “There’s no conversation? No preamble? Just going right into it?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Yes.”

The way he said it offered no room for argument or even a reply, and she knew the scene had just started. The heat spread into her belly, her limbs, as he took her coat. She found she didn’t want to talk anymore.

When he took her hand and led her into the dining room, she followed with her head bowed, her body absolutely on fire already.

The light in the dining room was dim, but she could still see the carved legs of the antique dining table. All of the chairs had been pulled away to ring the edge of the room. No artwork in this room, just enormous, ornately-framed mirrors on every wall. On a heavy, antique sideboard, a tall silver candelabra held ivory tapers, the flames making the shadows dance.

He turned to her. “Take your clothes off, Skye. And get on the table.”

“Wh—what?” Her legs went weak.

“Shh. Just do it.”

He reached out and slid his hand around the back of her neck and gave it a small squeeze, heating her skin instantly. Her body filled with the aching need to please him, the ache that had been left to build all week.

She began to remove her clothing, her hands shaking. Her mind was emptying out, allowing her to do this, to let go. And with the last shred of reason, she realized it was Adam’s mere presence that was doing this to her head.

Soon she was naked, and he was smiling down at her, his smoky blue eyes glittering in the candlelight. He moved in closer, until she could feel the heat emanating from him, the faint, male scent of him making her dizzy. She closed her eyes for a moment and inhaled, trying to steady herself

“Get up on the table now, Skye. Come, I’ll help you.”

He took her hand, steadying her while she climbed onto the cool, wood surface.

“Lie on your back,” he told her, pushing her down just enough for her to understand completely that he was in control.

The table was hard against her body, hard and silky at the same time. And she felt as naked as she ever had in her life. Naked and strangely beautiful. Even more so when Adam began to run his hands over her body: her stomach, her thighs, her arms. They finally closed around her wrists, and he stroked the tender skin there for a few moments before he lifted one and locked it into a thick leather cuff.

She gasped.

“It’s alright, Skye. Trust me. The binding will only free you more.”

By the time he’d cuffed both wrists and ankles and clipped the cuffs to long black ropes attached to the legs of the table, her heart was racing. But the vee between her thighs was soaked and pulsing with need. She pulled on the cuffs, testing them. She couldn’t move, her arms and legs spread wide.

She shivered.

She groaned.

She loved it.

He stood over her, stroking her skin again, his touch lighting tiny fires of desire all over her body. When he took her nipples between his fingers and rolled them, she sighed with pleasure. When he pinched them hard, she moaned in pain. But it all felt so, so good. He kept at it, tugging, pinching. Sensation shot through her body, her sex. She wished he would use those clever fingers between her legs.

Please.

He gathered her breasts in his hands, pushing them together.

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