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  A word she’d used again last night, though she shouldn’t have. At the time she’d said it, she’d meant it. Maybe that was why he was the only one who could make her feel such complete release.

  Technically it had been just two orgasms, but the aftereffects and sense of calm and peace had lasted well past dawn. They’d cuddled together for a while right after the scene, then Solomon had gotten a warm, damp cloth and ointment and cleaned her pussy—an intimacy that had felt right rather than embarrassing—and massaged her sore, well-spanked ass. Then he’d helped her put her dress back on, but not allowed her to cover her breasts. She’d used the brooch to cinch the fabric at the waist tight enough to turn the dress into a long skirt, the unused bodice hanging around her hips.

  They’d whiled away the rest of the night watching other scenes, drinking mineral water—by silent agreement, they hadn’t touched alcohol—and then partaking in the buffet that was laid out just after dawn. During those hours Solomon kept her close, his hands usually on her, holding the back of her neck or casually cupping her bare, exposed breast as she sat beside him.

  More than once his thumb had grazed her nipple, and her body would heat with arousal. However, it was a mild warmth, easily overshadowed by her contentment and sense of relaxation that his dominance brought her. It had been years since she felt so deeply submissive outside of an active scene.

  Normally she would have shied away from a man touching her the way Solomon had once the orgasms and aftercare were over. Even if she stayed at a club, or continued to spend time with the Dom, she would make it clear that her body was once more her own.

  Not with Solomon.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked from the seat beside her.

  She turned, smiling at him as the car pulled to a stop. Another thing that was different—normally she wouldn’t allow a BDSM partner to escort her home.

  After she’d changed into the street clothes she’d brought with her—black ankle pants, blush kitten heels, and a white sweater—he’d met her at the stairs. Neither had spoken as they walked down together and out to a waiting car. He’d slid in next to her and she’d given her address to the driver.

  Solomon leaned forward, speaking to the driver in French. “Wait for me. We’ll be going to the Ritz after this.”

  “Very good, Sir,” he said.

  Solomon got out and came around to her side, opening Vivienne’s door and offering her a hand. Vivienne accepted. It was the first time they’d touched since changing into street clothes. Once she was out of the car, he dropped her hand.

  Vivienne curled her fingers into her palm.

  Silently, they walked into her building. She expected him to leave her at the elevator, but he joined her in the small car. She entered the code and then hit the button for the penthouse.

  She really didn’t want to lose this lovely sense of calm, but the longer Solomon stayed with her, the more questions she had, and the more tense she was becoming. Was he going to come in? Was she going to let him come in? Why was he still with her? There was no reason he should have waited for her to exit the locker room. His aftercare had been thorough and complete.

  The elevator doors opened. There was a small foyer, and then the ornate double doors to her apartment. Vivienne stepped out of the elevator, took a deep breath, and turned to face him.

  As if he knew what she’d been about to say, Solomon held his hands up. The elevator doors started to close and he hopped out, graceful for such a large man.

  “I’m not coming any farther than this,” he said.

  “Why did you come with me at all?”

  He snorted. “Well, that’s to the point.”

  “You would prefer I not be so direct?”

  He folded his arms. “No. Direct works.”

  Vivienne realized then that she was still relaxed. The fact that they could speak to one another like this actually made her feel better.

  She put a hand on her hip and smiled at him. “Are you going to answer the question?”

  Solomon looked heavenward. “Patience, Vivi. Ever heard of it?”

  “I can be patient, when I choose to.”

  He snorted. “Fine. I came with you because there’s something I want to say, but I want you to answer when you’re not in subspace.”

  She nodded slowly. “I see.”

  “And this—” He gestured back and forth between them. “I think I can safely say something without worrying you’ll agree just because of what we did in the club.”

  Vivienne fiddled with the strap of her purse, realized what she was doing, and forced herself to stop. “I’m still feeling…some…of the effects.”

  His gaze sharpened. “Are you hurting?”

  “No, but I am…mellow.”

  “At peace?”

  Her heart beat hard against her ribs. “Yes.”

  “I’m glad.” He paused and ran both hands through his hair. He’d lost the tie somewhere along the way. When he did that she could see the hints of gold catching the light. All that time on his island had made him more blond than he had been when she first met him.

  “Chemistry,” he said at last. “We were right yesterday. We have chemistry.”

  “Explosive chemistry,” she agreed.

  “The thing is…we’re good, really fucking good, as BDSM partners.”

  What was he implying? Not…

  She nodded, hoping her expression wasn’t revealing. Her mouth was dry, because surely he wasn’t about to say what she thought he might.

  “I’ve never found another sub who I connect with the way I connect with you, and that’s the damned truth. I mean, I sure as shit wouldn’t have admitted to that before last night.”

  Vivienne laughed softly. “I feel the same. I’ve tried, but our chemistry is…”

  “It’s special. What we have as BDSM partners is special.” He looked up, met her gaze.

  His eyes were so blue.

  “And I don’t think we should walk away from that.”

  Vivienne froze, not moving until her lungs started to ache, reminding her to breathe. “What are you saying, Solomon?”

  “Just what I said. We have tonight for sure, but then I think we should consider scening together again.” He held up his hand as she opened her mouth. “Just think about it.”

  He turned and jabbed the button for the elevator. It must have still been on her floor because the doors opened immediately, and he stepped in without glancing her way again.

  The doors closed and the elevator bore Solomon away from her flat, leaving Vivienne standing there shocked and a little…hopeful.

  Chapter 10

  Tonight wouldn’t be so simple, or so easy, and she was glad.

  Solomon tugged on her wrist, pulling her closer to the bondage table. It looked much like a massage table—waist-high and padded, covered in smooth, nonporous tan material. There were restraint points on the legs, a circular face rest so the sub could be restrained facedown, and optional gynecologist stirrups.

  Laid out on the top of the massage table was a variety of equipment.

  Vivienne looked at Solomon. “Are all these for me, Sir?”

  “Yes. I want you to know what’s coming.” His hand slid under her hair, cupping her neck in that possessive, commanding way she loved. “Any questions?”

  “No, Master Carter.”

  He leaned in close. “Then take off your clothes and show me what’s mine.”

  Vivienne reached for the tie of the wraparound-style dress, slowly undoing the knot. She hadn’t bothered with the interior hidden button, so once the knot was free and she unwound the belt-like tie, the long pale green dress fell open.

  Solomon made a noise of approval. The dress hung from her shoulders like a robe, leaving the front of her naked and exposed.

  “All the way off,” he commanded.

  She shrugged, letting the dress fall to the floor around her feet. Solomon circled her. He’d done this last night too, but tonight she didn’t feel like
she had to prove anything. There was only warm anticipation.

  He touched the thin gold chain around her waist. “I forgot to tell you last night how much I liked this.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “I’ll leave it on for now, but as you can see, I have plans for you.”

  Vivienne looked over the things he’d laid out. There was a harness made of straps of black leather. It was hard to tell exactly what kind of harness it was with it laying flat, but it wasn’t a simple one. Buckles all along the straps would allow it to be adjusted until it fit just right. Until it hugged her body tight.

  Beside that was a large silver hook—much like a fish hook—with a sphere about the size of a golf ball in place of the barb. An anal hook. She shivered as she looked at it. There was also a tube of lube, some nipple clamps, neatly coiled rope, and her least favorite item—a ball gag.

  Solomon picked up the black harness. “This first.”

  She watched him undo buckles, working to ready the harness. She was highly aware of her own nakedness. Her nipples were hard and each breath she took felt like a light caress. She wanted to spread her legs, both to maybe feel the tantalizingly faint caress of the air on her sex, and also to let him know how ready and willing she was to be touched wherever, and however, he wanted.

  Solomon turned to her, his gaze hot as it moved over her once again. “Remind me of your safe word.”

  “Denver.”

  A muscle in his jaw clenched.

  “I—I could pick a different safe word, Sir.”

  “No, that’s your regular safe word, so that is what we’ll use. Tell me what the colors mean.”

  “Green means I’m fine. I want more. Yellow means I’m nervous, near my limit. Red means stop.”

  He nodded once. “Hold your hair up.”

  She twirled her hair into a rope and then held it on the top of her head with one hand, leaving her neck exposed. Her neck was where he started.

  Solomon slid the shortest of the harness straps around her neck, buckling it at her nape. Then he slid one finger under the collar to make sure it wasn’t too tight. Once he was satisfied, he moved on.

  A long strap hung vertically from the front of the collar. He smoothed it down her chest, between her breasts. There it was crossed by a horizontal strap. He positioned this strap around her ribs, just under her breasts, and first fastening, and then adjusting both buckles—one on each side. If there wasn’t a buckle at her back, it meant she’d be able to lie down. Did that mean he planned to lay her down and fuck her face to face tonight?

  The idea made her heart thud inside her chest. Maybe she wasn’t ready for that. Maybe looking at him as he brought her ecstasy was far too dangerous.

  The long vertical strap ended at her natural waist, where there was a second horizontal strap. This was twice as wide as the other. Almost wide enough to be called a waist trainer, and the leather was thicker than on either of the other straps. Evenly spaced D rings bolted to it meant it could be used as a restraint point. This one buckled in front much like the belt it resembled.

  However, there was still more to the harness. From the sides of the belt two more vertical straps hung. These were connected to garters, which buckled around her upper thighs.

  Solomon took a step back to examine her, his gaze hot and possessive. Vivienne rocked her hips side to side, and his gaze heated with appreciation.

  He checked and rechecked each strap. The belt and garter straps were tight, proving a constant pressure and stimulation. The one around her ribs was loose enough that it only felt tight if she inhaled deeply. The collar was snug but not tight.

  “Let go of your hair.”

  She dropped her arms, letting her hair tumble down around her shoulders.

  Solomon swept the rest of the implements off the table, setting them on the floor. “Up. On your hands and knees.”

  Vivienne took her first steps while wearing the harness. It felt both odd and good to be so confined, yet also so exposed. The tightness at her waist and thighs was a sharp contrast to the nakedness of her breasts and sex.

  She hopped up onto the table, swung her legs around and then got onto her hands and knees. Unlike last night when she’d been kneeling on the floor, tonight the elevation of the table meant anyone who walked by or stopped to watch would have an excellent view of her exposed pussy and hanging breasts.

  Solomon circled the table, examining her with a critical eye. He checked the tightness of all the straps for a third time. “Comfortable?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He reached under and cupped her left breast, palming it. “Have I mentioned yet tonight how absolutely fucking gorgeous you are?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “You are. I can’t decide if I want to worship you.” He gently released her breast and leaned close. “Or abuse you.” He grabbed her nipple and twisted.

  Pain lanced through her. Vivienne gasped, throwing her head back.

  He took advantage of her movement, leaning in to lick and then kiss her neck above the collar. “Good thing you like both. I don’t have to decide.”

  “Sometimes it scares me.”

  He paused. “What scares you?”

  “How much I’d let you do to me. I’d let you do…anything.” And right now she would. Last night she’d had at least some sense of self-preservation. Tonight she knew that there was nothing, physically, she wouldn’t allow him.

  The difference was that he’d told her tonight didn’t have to be the end. That oblique promise of a future was a kind of security that let the last of her reservations fall away.

  Solomon came around to the end of the table and cupped her cheeks, lifting her face so their gazes met. “Just because you’d let me do anything doesn’t mean I will.”

  “I know, Sir.”

  His stare was intense and focused. “We didn’t negotiate our scenes ahead of time. Didn’t sign a contract or go over a checklist.”

  “We didn’t need to,” she said. “We know one another.”

  Solomon closed his eyes and leaned in, his forehead against hers.

  The tender moment was unexpected. It made her throat tight, and she had to blink away tears. She felt rather than saw him smile, and when he slid his cheek against hers she could feel the line of his scar.

  “I’m going to do wicked, wicked things to you,” he murmured in her ear.

  She was both relieved and sad that the tender moment was over. “Promises, promises, Master Carter.”

  He stepped back and crouched, disappearing for a moment. When he stood once more, he set a tube of lube on the table where she could see it.

  And then he put on a pair of black rubber gloves, letting them snap against his wrists.

  Vivienne’s nipples were rock hard and her sex pulsed.

  “When was the last time you had anal?” Solomon picked up the tube of lube.

  “Anal what, Sir?”

  “Hmm, good point.” He walked down to her ass, trailing one hand along her side, tugging at the harness straps each time he touched one. “Full anal sex?”

  “Six months.”

  “A plug?”

  “Longer. Maybe a year, Sir.”

  “Spread your knees a bit. Good.”

  Vivienne was very exposed, and faintly embarrassed. Both those emotions were insignificant when compared to her arousal. Many things commonplace in BDSM were taboo in the real world. Anal was one of these normally taboo items—at least among straight, boring couples. Flogging, or even a spanking, were as common as a kiss in BDSM, but scandalous to the outside world.

  However, the taboo nature wasn’t the only reason she loved any kind of anal play. Anal was both taboo—and invasive. There was something deliciously humiliating about having a Dom work her ass in preparation for fucking her, or sliding toys into her bottom and leaving them there so with every breath she took she was aware of the feeling of penetration.

  “You’ve been fucked here more recently than you’ve taken a plug?” So
lomon put his hands on her ass cheeks, still a bit tender from last night, and spread her open.

  “The sex was with a non-BDSM partner, Sir.” She was highly aware of the air caressing her anus, and hot embarrassment-tinged arousal swept up her chest to her cheeks.

  “Your boyfriend fucked your ass without using a plug to get you ready?” The outrage was clear in his voice.

  Vivienne bit her lip to hold back her amusement, then sedately said, “It’s not common practice, outside of BDSM communities, to do that.”

  “It’s common fucking courtesy.” He traced the crack of her ass from the small of her back down to her anus.

  Vivienne’s eyes closed as he laid his thumb on her rear entrance, not trying to enter her yet, but pressing and rubbing softly, stimulating all the nerve endings there.

  “Did the moron at least use lube?” he asked.

  “A lubricated condom.”

  “Moron.”

  “It was my idea,” Vivienne admitted. “I asked him to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the sex was terrible, and I thought perhaps that would help.”

  “Vanilla guy?” Solomon asked.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  There was a click, and then cold lube trickled over her. His thumb rubbed the lube over and around her anus. Vivienne couldn’t help herself, she thrust back against him, wanting him to penetrate her. To fuck her ass.

  “You need someone who sees past your pretty face, and that ‘I’m royalty’ attitude,” Solomon said. “Someone who knows you need to submit. To be used and abused.”

  The words were sexy, but part of her balked. “Only a Master or Dom could do that.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So you think I should be celibate and alone when I’m not in a club?”

  Solomon’s thumb, still massaging her closed asshole, stopped moving.

  Vivienne grimaced and waited for him to walk away. This conversation had veered them onto dangerous ground, and, sadly, she’d sprung one of the booby-traps in this dangerous conversational territory.