Page 14 of Bound By Sin
“Valentino…”
“Nothing has changed.” I hardened my voice, yanking on the chain clamped to her nipples and clit again, a little firmer this time. Then I pulled harder on the strands of hair. “The rules are the same, or do you need reminding?”
“No, Sir,” she moaned, and a shudder snaked its way down my spine.
Fuck! That’s what I need to hear.
“Say it again,” I commanded.
“Valen…”
I yanked her hair harder, causing her to hiss. “Say it again. I’m not going to tell you again. The rules are the same, or do you need reminding?”
“No, Sir.”
My dick ached to be inside her, but someone needed to be reminded who was in control in this room before that could happen. And it was Chicago’s top Domme.
I wasn’t surprised she’d earned the title. She made a wonderful switch when we first met. She could dominate a man or woman, or she could submit. I’d seen her work her magic on several people before we became exclusive. However, I didn’t think she had submitted to someone in a long time because of her disobedience to me. She could never dominate me. With me, the urge to please and submit to me always rode her harder than the urge to dominate.
“There’s my good girl.” I let her hair go, and she whimpered, stumbling back from me. “Now, Sir wants you to strip out of that sexy body suit and heels but leave the clamps on. I want to see what I’ve missed. I want to see what’s mine.”
While I listened to her undress, I walked to the wall at the far end of the room, keeping my eyes off her. When we were together, there were no sweet caresses, no tender touches. Pain meant bliss for both of us. That was it. All done in love, of course, but that was how we functioned. That was how we became one—dysfunctional for most, perfection for us. Tara was a masochist, the perfect balance to me, the sadist. I loved inflicting pain as much as she loved when I did.
We are bound by sin, and when we are together, we are one.
As I scanned the wall of toys, deciding what to use, I thought about how much I’d missed this. How much I’d missed making things perfect for her. With Tara, only the crop or studded paddle gave her what she needed as far as impact toys, but she tended to be more receptive to the paddles. Knife play and wax play also gave her the release she needed, but I wasn’t sure she was ready for knife play, given how disobedient she was.
So, for our first time after so many years apart, I’d forgo the crop and knife.
I pulled one of the studded paddles from the wall and ran my fingers across the metal spikes, the blunt tips scraping my fingertips. They would do a wonderful job giving her just the right amount of pain, and her tears and whimpers would give me what I needed. What I craved. It had been a long time, but I needed to hear it. I needed to hear it from her.
I faced her and gazed upon the woman I’d eventually make my wife after we got all this shit straight between us. She was beyond beautiful. She was young when we first met, early twenties, and I’d been in my late twenties. Although not new to the BDSM world, she was new to my kind of BDSM. Now in her late thirties, her hips were wider, her breasts and thighs fuller. She was more than beautiful. She was stunning, and I couldn’t wait to experience what this new woman had to offer.
“On the bed,Stellina.”
I motioned to the black king-size, four-poster bed located across from a wall of gags and restraints. The bed, along with silver metal rings attached to the black tufted headboard, was massive, taking up most of the room. A St. Andrews cross, which I hoped to use later, was on the wall to the right of the bed, and a massive mirror lined the ceiling above us.
“All fours. I want that beautiful ass and pussy in the air, presented to me properly.”
I didn’t take my eyes off her as she watched me unbutton my dress shirt. Fire danced in her eyes with each undone button, and in that moment, I believed she missed this, missedus, as much as I had. We had a connection. A strong, otherworldly connection that could never be severed by time or distance, nor by man or circumstance—a connection we would have with one another in this lifetime and the next.
Inevitable was the word I used to describe our kind of love.
We were inevitable.
When I unbuttoned the last button, I slowly slid the shirt off my shoulders, giving her a view of my broad chest. Although I was in my early forties, I stayed in the gym and ate as healthy as a full-blooded Italian could, with pasta and wine as meals basically every night. So, I knew she’d love what she saw, but I also recognized the minute her eyes landed on the tattoo across my heart. Her eyes widened, then filled with more tears, but I wouldn’t acknowledge them.
I couldn’t.
I folded the shirt and placed it on the table not too far from where I stood, like nothing had happened. She was always my heart. I’d told her more times than I could remember that, without her in my life, there was no me. So, when I left, I tattooedStellinaover the one place she’d always remain no matter how many miles apart we were from one another to keep her with me until the day I died. Keep her near the place she’d always belong.
“Why?” she asked in a low, tormented voice.
“On the bed,” I ordered, ignoring her question and pointing to the bed.
I didn’t exactly know if she wanted to know why I had gotten the tattoo, why I left, or if she was asking why I was here tonight. Either way, it wasn’t the time to have any of those conversations. My main concern at this moment was to give us both what we had been without for so long. All the hard questions would come after. It probably would be the most difficult conversation I’d have to have in my life, but she deserved to have her questions answered.
We both did.
