San Francisco: The Complete Trilogy Read online

  If she’d been serious, he would have backed down, but he could hear the amusement in her voice. “Now, now, where is your sense of adventure? Don’t you want to know what it is before you say ‘no’?”

  “Nope. I’m looking at this list and there are plenty of intense things on here.”

  “I thought you were braver than that,” he said in mock disappointment.

  “Braver?”

  “You’re saying ‘no’ without even knowing what you might be missing, because you’re scared. That’s cowardly.”

  “I know you’re playing me, but okay, fine. What’s abrasion?”

  “I’d start with a fur mitten, and I’d just stroke you. From your neck, down your arms, your back, your sides, your breasts.” He watched her as he spoke. “Your legs, your ass. Then I’d get a hairbrush, the one I used to spank you. Do you remember what it felt like when I used the bristles on you?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she whispered, voice both soft and heavy with arousal. “That’s right, you talked about abrasion play when you had the brush.”

  “I’d use those bristles to stroke your skin, not too hard, but it would scratch, enough to make your skin sensitive. The blood would come to the surface, you see. I’d stroke you everywhere with those bristles, and then I’d go back to the glove. Every place I’d used the brush, now I’d use the soft glove, but you’d be so sensitive it would feel incredibly different. Then I’d concentrate on your nipples. Your pussy.”

  She was breathing hard, her gaze focused on the paper, as if by not looking at him she could hide her reactions from him, but she couldn’t. He knew. He could tell how his words were affecting her.

  “Abrasion play,” he said quietly. “Interested, Willing to Try, or Hard No?”

  “Interested,” she whispered.

  He smiled. “Next is Anal Plugs.”

  “You know the answer to that.”

  “But I want to hear you say it.”

  “Interested,” she said, rather grumpily.

  He made a note on the paper. “And next, Anal Plugs, Large.”

  “How large?” she asked nervously.

  “Would you like to feel stretched full?”

  “I felt that way with a regular plug, Sir.”

  “What if I had you kneeling for hours, one by one working larger and larger plugs into your tight hole? Stretching you, filling you, as I teased your clit with my fingers.” He painted a picture with words, his cock—which had been semi-hard—now fully erect as he pictured doing what he was saying.

  “Interested,” she panted.

  James grinned. They worked their way through the list. She had a few ‘hard no’ items, the first of which was, unsurprisingly, “Beating, Hard.” She also had no interest in cages, caning, chores, enemas, face slapping, foot worship, harnesses, humiliation, piercing, sensory deprivation, tens units, and wrestling.

  The only one he was rather disappointed by was piercing, because he thought her nipples would look lovely with small gold bars in them. Everything else on his edited list was something she was, at the very least, willing to try, if not something she’d indicated she was interested in.

  James had finished his small glass of champagne by the time they were done. He slid out of his chair and sat on the floor facing her. He lifted her still half-full glass and held it to her lips. She took a sip, holding his gaze.

  “How do you feel now?” he asked as she swallowed.

  “Hot and bothered.”

  He grinned. “I was rather surprised by some of the things you were interested in.”

  She frowned. “Did I say something weird?”

  “No, not at all. I will admit I’m having a difficult time not thinking about triple penetration.”

  “You said that wouldn’t be with other people.” She looked a bit alarmed.

  He stroked her cheek. “I won’t let anyone else penetrate you. That is my right, and mine alone.”

  But now that they were doing this, and given the two-week timeframe, he had an idea. It would take some planning, so it would have to wait, but if it worked out…

  Oh, the things he would do to her.

  She was watching him, hopeful and hungry, so he made sure she knew what he would do to her. “I would plug your ass, put a dildo in your pussy, hold them both in place with some nice rope work, and then fuck your mouth. Or perhaps a nice penis gag in your mouth while I fuck your ass.”

  Her eyes widened, and he realized what he’d said. “This is theoretical, of course. Our existing rule of no penetrative vaginal or anal sex still stands.”

  She reached for her champagne, but he scooped up the flute, holding it to her lips. She took a long sip before pulling back, indicating she was done. He watched her swallow. Finally, she spoke. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why aren’t we having penetrative vaginal or anal sex?”

  “You bring up a good point, something we haven’t discussed, but which is important in the community. You must always make sure that before you have any sort of sexual contact with someone, you have proof that they have no STDs or STIs, and if you are going to have penetrative sex, that you have a contraception plan.”

  As he’d been speaking, her gaze slid away from him. “We didn’t do that.”

  “Because the club has rules.”

  “Oh. Another consequence of my lies.”

  James cupped her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “What are you thinking?”

  “I have birth control. An IUD. And I’m clean. I mean, I haven’t been with anyone in a long time.”

  “I assumed as much,” he said. “But you should never assume. Always have it built into your contract that you receive a copy of an STD test, provided not by them, but directly from a medical professional. In the case of the society, on alternating months someone onsite runs the tests, and the results go directly to Lillian.”

  Christiana was silent, head bent so he couldn’t read her expression. He let her have the silence, not sure if she just needed time to think. “James, I want to ask you something.”

  He frowned in concern at her tone, and the fact that she’d used his first name. “Anything.”

  “Please don’t… please don’t talk about what I should do when I’m with other people.”

  Other people? No, she was his.

  He squashed that thought. “Part of training is to make sure you know how to keep yourself safe. As you have discovered, it’s important.”

  He was close enough that he saw her clench her teeth, the tendons in her neck flexing. “I understand.”

  “Let’s go over the contract.”

  “I need to go to the bathroom.”

  He hesitated. “Do you really, or are you uncomfortable and trying to leave the conversation?”

  “Both.”

  “Why are you uncomfortable?”

  “I’m not going to tell you that.”

  “Christiana, I need honesty from you if—”

  “And I need to keep some of my feelings to myself,” she snapped. She struggled to her feet, leaving James sitting on the floor.

  He let her walk away.

  She washed her hands, having to stand on her toes and lean forward to reach. Once she was done, she looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair hung loose and a bit tangled around her head, the tousled style courtesy of his hands. Thinking about how it had felt to kneel before him, listening and feeling him come apart in her arms, muted the gut-twisting dread that had crept in when he started talking about the contract.

  The reality was that she was falling in love with James. Maybe it was further along than that. Maybe she already loved him.

  Not as a Dom, not just as a sexual partner, but him. As delicious and toe-curling as it was when he touched her, she found just talking to him to be even more pleasurable. She could, all too easily, imagine sitting beside him on a couch on a Friday night, each reading a book, just being together silently. She could imagine growing old with him, as ridiculous and overly roma
ntic as that was.

  She was falling in love with him, and he was training her to be a submissive, instructing her how to behave when he left her and she had to find someone else.

  If she were smart, she’d leave. She’d walk out right now before she fell all the way in love. She knew that was what she should do, but that wasn’t what she was going to do. She was going to stay with him, soak up every minute of their time together, and when he left, she’d fall to pieces. She would rather have these two weeks with him—and then suffer what was sure to be a miserable heartbreak—than walk away now.

  “You’re an idiot,” she told her reflection.

  Wiping her hands dry, she walked out of the small, elegant bathroom under the stairs. James was waiting for her, one shoulder propped against the wall. He looked like a movie star—handsome, poised, a bit dangerous.

  They stared at one another in silence. She wondered if he knew she was falling in love with him. He probably did. He’d probably spent his whole life having women fall in love with him. He’d made his expectations clear, so she couldn’t blame him for leading her on.

  He pushed off the wall. “Shall we get some dinner?”

  Christiana looked down the hall, toward the foyer where the windows above and beside the front door let in a faded gold light. It was late. So much had happened since he showed up at the site, she was surprised it wasn’t later.

  “I am hungry,” she admitted.

  “When was the last time you ate?”

  “Breakfast, I guess.”

  “Then we need sustenance. To fortify ourselves… for later.”

  Her nipples hardened, and she knew he noticed because his gaze slid down to her breasts and he smiled.

  “You did that on purpose,” she accused.

  “I’ll make us some reservations.”

  “Reservations?” she asked in alarm.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Are you going to pick some fancy place?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “I’m hungry.” And she didn’t want to go to some fancy place. She didn’t want to feel uncomfortable and out of place while they ate.

  “They serve food at fancy places.”

  She straightened, which was slightly ridiculous since she was still naked and bound. “I’m going to pick where we eat.”

  He raised a brow.

  “Is that problem?” she asked him, parroting his words.

  He looked nonplused, but said, “Not at all.”

  “Good.” She held up her hands—at least as far up as she could. “Can you untie me?”

  Now his smile was totally wicked. “A good place to start negotiations.”

  “Start negotiations?”

  He stepped forward, but it was more of a prowl. “I do love to negotiate.”

  “What are we negotiating for?”

  “You want to be untied. That’s your goal.”

  “And what is your goal?” she asked.

  He stepped into her personal space, crowding her back against the closed bathroom door. “I want to make sure that while we eat, you’re imagining all the things I’m going to do to you.” His lips brushed her temple. “I want you to feel my hands on you, even if I’m not touching you.”

  “H-how are you going to do that?”

  “I’ll untie you—if you agree to wear a plug to dinner,” he murmured.

  “A butt plug?” she yelped.

  “Just a little one,” he practically cooed. “You’ll hardly even notice it.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Would you rather wear a butterfly?”

  “What’s a butterfly?”

  He smiled. “It wouldn’t be fun if I told you.”

  “And if I say neither?”

  “I won’t untie you.”

  “I can probably untie myself.”

  “You can,” he assured her.

  “Then why bother negotiating?”

  “Because I’m betting that you won’t untie yourself. I’m betting that you want me to do it. You could, if you wanted, tie yourself up, too. There are plenty of people who practice self-bondage with rope.”

  Christiana looked down at herself. Damn it, he was right. She wanted him to do it. The idea of taking the ropes off herself felt odd, as if it would leave her itchy.

  James started to laugh.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Your face.”

  “You’re laughing at my face? That’s just rude.”

  He caught her chin in his hand, tipped her head up, and kissed her. “I’m not laughing at your face. You have a gorgeous face. I should have said I’m laughing at your expression… because I can tell I was right.”

  “How often are you right?” she demanded.

  He quirked a brow. “When I was younger, almost never. But now that I’m older and wiser, most of the time.”

  “That’s annoying.”

  “Not for me.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, and his grin widened.

  “What’s it going to be, Christiana? Plug or butterfly.”

  “Plug.” She blew out a breath.

  “An excellent choice.” He kissed her again, then stepped back and reached for her left wrist, stroking her forearm gently before skillfully releasing the knot.

  Christiana slid into the ride share car she’d ordered. James held open the door, closing it once she was in. He looked grumpy, probably because she’d insisted on ordering their ride herself, rather than letting him call some town car service. They were picked up in a Prius—a nice, new Prius—and she had a funny feeling he wasn’t used to riding in non-luxury cars. She hadn’t wanted to tell him where they were going, which was why she’d insisted on being the one to make the arrangements.

  They said hi to the driver, and she exchanged the customary small talk, enough to keep her rider rating high. Once that was done, she sat back and looked at James. He was watching the city go by out the window.

  She touched his hand. “You okay?”

  “Of course.”

  “Not still pouting, are you?”

  Now he turned to face her. “I do not pout.”

  She wrinkled her face up in an exaggerated sad expression. “You were pouting a little bit.”

  His lips twitched and he pulled his phone from his pocket. She watched, wondering what he was up to as he tapped the screen.

  The plug settled firmly in her bottom started to vibrate. Christiana jumped and then grabbed the seat, holding on for dear life.

  James chuckled.

  “It vibrates,” she hiss-whispered.

  “Did I forget to mention that?”

  “We didn’t negotiate that.”

  “Ah, well, you didn’t specify what type of plug. I said it would be a small one, which it is.”

  The vibrations increased. With her legs clamped together, she could feel the hum in her pussy. She tried relaxing, to see if that lessened the sensation, but it didn’t.

  The car pulled to the curb. “Here you go,” the driver said.

  “Great, thanks,” Christiana squeaked.

  James opened his door and got out, but Christiana didn’t move.

  She wasn’t sure if the buzzing would mean the plug might fall out. She had on a thong, which would help a little to keep it in, but might not be enough. The driver was watching her in the mirror with a quizzical expression. Christiana smiled weakly. James opened her door, and the buzzing stopped. She breathed a sigh of relief and put her hand in his, stepping out of the car. They were standing on the sidewalk in a still slightly industrial area south of Market Street.

  James pulled her against his side, wrapping his arm around her as he scanned the street warily.

  Christiana rolled her eyes. “Don’t be such a baby, come on.”

  “A baby?”

  She took his hand, leading him half a block north before turning into a small, dark alley between two tall, narrow buildings that at one point had probably been used for s
ome sort of small-scale manufacturing.

  “A dark alley?” he asked in resignation. “Now I’m worried you’re going to make me into a skin suit.”

  “Where is your sense of adventure?”

  “Apparently it is not down a dark alley in a bad part of the city.”

  “This is not a bad part of the city. Just come on.” She tugged on his hand, and he reluctantly stepped into the alley, quickly closing the space between them so he was beside and slightly in front of her.

  The alley was short, only twenty feet. It dead-ended into a brick wall with a small iron gate in it. There were white Christmas lights strung haphazardly around the brick arch.

  “Festive,” he muttered. He looked at her, practically radiating with reluctance.

  “Fighting the urge to take over and make us go someplace else?”

  “With every fiber of my being.”

  Christiana laughed and pulled open the gate. The space beyond had once been the rear courtyard and a loading dock for the warehouse on their right, and the alley they’d come down had been the access driveway. The space had gone unused, and in a place like San Francisco, where every square foot counted, the hidden gem had been repurposed.

  It was now the best grilled cheese restaurant in the city.

  The courtyard was surrounded by several-story buildings, yet if you looked straight up you could see the night sky, though with all the lights of the city, the stars were only dim pinpricks. Fat white light bulbs hung from zig zags of black wires, illuminating the eclectic mix of tables and chairs. In the back corner was a wheel-less food truck, which was where the magic happened.

  Christiana watched James’s expression shift from shocked to amused to startled. She was betting that last expression was because he’d gotten a whiff of the delicious aromas of melting cheese, bacon, and warm bread.

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  “Cheese.”

  “Pardon?”

  “That’s the name of the restaurant. Cheese.”

  He looked at her. “I am pleasantly surprised we’re not about to be murdered.”

  “Well, we’re about to eat a whole bunch of cheese. And bread. But heart attacks come later.”

  They joined the long line, James studying the menu, first seeming reserved, but by the time they got to the front of the line, he was as excited as she was. He ordered gruyere and parmesan with thick-cut turkey bacon and arugula on garlic sourdough. She went more traditional with a cheddar and Monterey jack on wheat with ham.