Shockwave (Impulse Book 1) Read online

  He’d never had a serious, live-in, collared sub. And he’d never wanted one. Until this fantasy had started parading through his mind. When he tried to shove it away, it became more persistent.

  In the distance, water ran, and it took self-discipline not to head back into the bedroom. If he did, breakfast would be ruined.

  He buttered the toast, slid the eggs in the oven to keep warm and crisped the bacon. After setting the table, he turned in time to see her enter the kitchen.

  On all fours.

  Jesus.

  He wouldn’t have punished her for walking, but this… This was perfect.

  After Alani had crawled to the middle of the room, she knelt up, careful to spread her knees wide.

  Her hair was still a little wild and damp, and she smelled of soap and sensuality. She’d shaved again.

  Her motions calculated and erotic, she shook her head, spilling her hair everywhere, and she tucked her hands behind her neck. He was thinking about far more than breakfast. “Did you shave the inside of your pussy lips?”

  “Of course, Sir.”

  “Mind if I check?”

  She lowered her gaze for a moment before looking up at him. She parted her labia.

  He leaned over to run the pad of his index finger over her damp folds. He nodded, satisfied. Then he held up his finger near her lips, and she sucked him dry. He fisted his hand in her hair. “You please me.”

  Her cheeks flushed red. Somehow that was more appealing than anything.

  He placed a hand under one of her elbows and helped her to rise. But instead of letting her go, he continued to pull her toward him. Nathaniel threaded a hand into her long, luxurious hair and kissed her.

  At first she held herself stiff, maybe from surprise. But he touched his tongue to her, asking for a response. Seconds later, he deepened the kiss, plundering her. Under his persistent onslaught, she began to soften then, inevitably, surrender. He tasted her heat and wanted more.

  This morning, he hadn’t planned to kiss her, but he didn’t question the rightness. Alani Dane was his. The sooner they both accepted that, the better.

  Her response was perfect as she leaned against him, trusting him.

  The coffeemaker beeped, signaling it had finished its cycle. “I promised you coffee.” He took down two mugs and filled them. “Sugar?”

  “I don’t suppose you have French vanilla creamer?”

  “I’m not sure which one of us is a heathen. I have half and half. We can add some vanilla. I may have that.”

  “I’ll survive on the half and half this time, with some sugar.”

  He grabbed a container from the fridge.

  While she sat there, nipples pebbled, goosebumps dancing across her skin, he prepared her coffee and carried it to her.

  She took a sip then met his eyes and smiled. “Strong. Hot. Manna.”

  “Now I really do know how to punish you.”

  She curled both hands around the mug. “You wouldn’t take away my coffee!”

  “Only if I feared for my life,” he said, carrying food to the table in the dining room.

  For someone so small, she ate a surprising amount. In future, he’d cook the entire pound of bacon and double the eggs.

  “It’s all the exercise,” she said by way of apology as she snagged the last piece of toast. “May I please have more coffee?”

  “I’ll take some, as well.”

  She served them both. Maybe he’d made a mistake in not having her in the kitchen helping. Watching her behind sway, seeing the couple of faint red marks on her skin, having her wait on him was appealing on a primal level.

  Once she’d finished another cup, he stacked the dishes in the sink and rested his hips against the countertop. “You’re off on Sundays.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she said. “I’m sure you’ve got a lot to do before work. I’ll just, ah, get dressed and go.”

  She couldn’t wait to get away from him? And goddamn it, that made him all the more reluctant to let her leave. “We need to talk.”

  “Again? I mean again, Sir?”

  “You know how to push, Alani.”

  “I truly mean no disrespect, Sir. I’ve always resumed my normal life after a scene.” She shifted in her chair. “I’m not used to this.”

  “Get used to it.” His tone was harsher than he’d planned.

  “If we have to talk, I’m going to get dressed.”

  He nodded.

  She grabbed her overnight bag and yesterday’s clothing from the island. “Can we have more coffee?”

  “I’ll make it while you get dressed. And will you bring me a T-shirt from my dresser?

  When she returned, he slid a fresh cup in front of her and sat at the table with her.

  Without preamble, she launched into a speech. “I know you’re expecting something more from me. But it’s not who I am.”

  “Is that right?”

  “You already know I’m a masochist.” She spoke slowly, as if weighing each word before selecting it. Her hair draped forward, and she used it as a shield, testimony to how difficult it was for her to let anyone in. “Look. This is boring. Why don’t we just scene when we have the opportunity and be satisfied with that?”

  He wondered how many men had cracked her veneer and if that was why she behaved as if she were always on guard. “Bore me.”

  “I’ve always been independent,” she said, finally meeting his gaze. “As a kid, I ran away from home a couple of times.” She smiled for a moment. “I didn’t get far. I went to friends’ houses or the park. But the point is, I’ve been taking care of myself since I was eighteen. That’s when I moved out to go to college. My parents never had a lot of money, so I took out loans and worked two part-time jobs to get through school. I’ve never counted on anyone, and I don’t intend to start. I know how to behave like a submissive at work, I understand the protocol, and I mostly follow it there. But the truth is, I am in it for the pain, not for the joy of bending myself to suit someone else’s will.” Her knuckles whitened on the mug.

  “Tell me about your first experiences with masochism.”

  “Do we really need to do this? You know more than anyone else ever has. I…” She drew her mug closer to her.

  “I know you’re uncomfortable, Alani. And I appreciate that you’re trying. Keep going and maybe you’ll earn a spanking.”

  She met his gaze. Her eyes were wide, with the same spark of interest that had been there earlier when she’d begged him to fuck her.

  “There’s not a real big story,” she said. “Nothing exciting. I was terrible at taking tests in college. Anxiety. I stressed out, couldn’t sleep, stayed up all night studying and downing energy drinks without eating, and that would make things worse the next day. I had a boyfriend—”

  “Was he in the lifestyle?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “He was vanilla. Anyway, he stopped by my apartment one morning because he wanted sex. I was doing some last-minute cramming for a final. To say I was rude to him is an understatement. In your terms, I goaded him. He actually spanked me. Over the knee, with my jeans on. I’m sure it hurt his hand more than it hurt my butt. But I loved it. Of course I kicked and screamed and called him names, but something happened. Because of the pain, I was able to focus and shut off the worry. I aced the test. And I was so hot for him, I couldn’t wait for him to spank me again.”

  “Did he?”

  “No way. He was upset about it. He told me he considered it abuse, and he promised he wouldn’t do it again. He took me out for a nice dinner—well, as nice as a dinner can be when you’re working your way through school—and he made love to me that night. It was sweet. But I’d had a taste of something more, and I wanted to be fucked…” She swirled her coffee and looked into its depths. “I tried to talk to him about it, but he got disgusted with me, told me I was a freak. I never heard from him again. I dated around, but only halfheartedly. I wanted pain. I went online. I did a little exploration, read a lot of articles, bought
a couple of books. I bought nipple clamps from an online store and I…” She lowered her head.

  “Honesty,” he reminded her. “I beat you, ate your cunt, fucked you, put my fingers up your ass and you had my cock down your throat. You can tell me about your shopping trips.”

  A hint of a grin flirted with her lips as she brushed back her hair and met his gaze. Brave woman.

  She held the mug still, as if for security. “I bought a small flogger, and I used it on myself when I masturbated. It magnified the feelings.”

  “Did it help?”

  “Some. But it wasn’t long until I wanted more. And a few years later, my parents were killed in a car wreck. I needed relief.”

  “You have no other family?”

  “No. I’ve done a decent job of taking care of myself.”

  More than ever, he understood her fierce independence. Leaning on him, giving herself over, wouldn’t be easy. “No doubt. So you went looking for someone to scene with.”

  “Yeah, I did. Through a BDSM website. He was a bit extreme, but I wanted it. After he’d leave, I’d stand in the shower until the water ran cold. I don’t know. I still don’t… Maybe I was trying to punish myself more for wanting to be hurt in the first place. But I could finally sleep.”

  “You used physical pain to numb the emotional pain.”

  “Thank you, but I don’t need to be psychoanalyzed.”

  “It was more of a question than a judgment.” His words were soft, without heat. A conversation, not an accusation. “I’m trying to understand.”

  “I’m sorry.” The coffee sloshed over the rim, and she blotted the spill with a napkin. “That was rude.”

  He knew she meant her tone rather than the spill. “No. It was human. You’re human.” She was being more real than she ever had been. He appreciated it. Her. Her honesty. “Please, go on.” He remained in place, several feet away. He wanted to hold her, to comfort her, but he knew she wouldn’t welcome it.

  “The truth is, I thought there was something wrong with me. I’d read a lot of stuff that said it was a normal kink, but I was ashamed of it. I found a therapist who didn’t help. Only the spankings helped.”

  “What happened then?”

  “About six months after the funeral, I had a breakdown after a particularly harsh beating. Everything was finally too much. My parents didn’t have life insurance, so I was trying to figure out how to work a full-time job, pay their final expenses, deal with their estate and juggle a relationship. The caning—”

  “Caning?”

  “It was sublime,” she said. “For the first time ever, I achieved subspace.”

  “Is this the bruised kidney incident you told me about?”

  “Yes. He didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know he should keep it within the strike zone.” There was no animosity in her voice. “Anyway, after I returned to earth, I was… I’m still not sure how to explain it. When the euphoria wore off, all I knew was that I hurt.” She took a breath. “I curled into a ball on the floor and started to sob.”

  He reached across the table and touched her hand. She pulled back and he tried not to take offense. But he needed to reassure her, comfort her.

  “It’s mostly my fault. The man, the Dom, tried to help. He knelt next to me, and he told me I needed to pull myself together.”

  “He didn’t touch you? Hold you?”

  “I told him not to.”

  “And he listened?”

  “Not everyone is as overbearing as you. Sir.”

  He grinned, responding in kind. “I’m not sure if that’s an insult.”

  “He said he needed to be with someone who was more grown up, more stable. He told me to call when I got my shit together.”

  Nathaniel stroked her index finger. She didn’t pull back this time.

  “He walked out. Therapy was a failure. I was all alone. And I faced the fact no one was coming to rescue me. There was no such thing as a fairy tale, no Prince Charming would ride to the rescue, there would be no happily ever after. That whole thing about hitting rock bottom? That was me. I knew I could wallow, or I could do something. I’m not saying it was easy or that I didn’t backslide. But for the most part, I have managed to pull things together.”

  He waited.

  “Over time, I learned to comfort myself.” She gave a wry smile. “And I decided I didn’t want a permanent relationship, either BDSM or vanilla.”

  “There’s a difference between comforting yourself and shutting others out.” But now he understood her on a whole new dimension. She’d been vulnerable, and her Dom had turned his back. No wonder she lacked trust. He had his work cut out for him.

  “I still had urges, though,” she admitted. “A friend had heard about Limits, and I attended a theme night. I played with one of the members and I liked it. I especially enjoyed the fact that I could go home by myself at the end of the night.”

  “No strings.”

  “No attachments. I could get a beating, feel better, and I didn’t have to give anything of myself. I was working as a bookkeeper at a large firm, but I figured I could make more money working for myself. So I saved up some money before turning in my notice. I was still playing at Limits, and I wanted more social time than I was getting working by myself. It turns out I missed the water-cooler conversation and being part of a team. But I didn’t want to go back to corporate America. So when I learned about an opening at Limits, I applied. You know the rest. I worked my way up from a part-time receptionist position to being a professional submissive. Which, as you pointed out, I’m no longer very good at.” She took a breath. “You found me out. I have to admit I’ve been in it more for the beatings than for the feeling of submission.”

  “And now?” This time when she tried to pull away, he gave her hand a squeeze but allowed her some distance between them.

  “There’s something about what you bring out in me…”

  He waited, but she said nothing further. She looked at him, then away, then back, a line burrowed between her dark eyebrows. Her lips were pursed, and he knew she was waging an internal battle, deciding how much to trust him.

  Long minutes later, she still hadn’t responded. With other women, he would remain silent, but he wanted to offer her something, confession for confession. A slice of himself he’d shown no one else. “I’ve never considered having a submissive.” Once the admission was out there, his heart lurched. Revealing himself was more uncomfortable than he’d reckoned. That made him appreciate her even more.

  She met his gaze. “Especially one who isn’t very good at it.”

  He tipped his head to one side. “That may be part of the appeal.”

  “Is it?”

  “Maybe it’s the woman in question.”

  “Who maybe wants to explore that side of the coin a bit more.”

  Her words lay between them, part gauntlet, part invitation. He accepted both. “And maybe the Dom wants to help.”

  Alani sucked in a breath then released it on a loud whoosh. “I’m not sure how to respond. This makes me nervous.”

  “You, we, have taken the first step.”

  “How soon until you leave?”

  Nathaniel scowled. Did she not want to get too attached? Or did she already want time alone?

  “You told me you travel a lot. Master Braxton said you wouldn’t be in the US for very long. I don’t know much about what you do. But it’s some sort of civilian contractor job, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s dangerous.”

  “It can be, yeah.”

  “Now who’s being evasive?”

  “I don’t like to talk about what I do.”

  “And I don’t like to discuss my fucked-up emotions and my parents’ deaths. If a Dom and sub want to play together, honesty is part of it. It goes both ways.”

  He’d already given her more than he’d offered anyone else. “You’re right. You’re not always good at the whole submissive thing.”

  She grin
ned. “Yet here we are.”

  Fuck if she wasn’t worth the effort. “The military has outsourced some jobs that used to be handled by soldiers. Plenty of private firms are providing all sorts of protection, personal as well as infrastructure.”

  “If you think that’s enough to satisfy me, Master Nathaniel, you’re wrong. Spill it.”

  “You need a spanking.”

  “And I want to understand you.”

  This sub got to him enough for him to keep going. “I did a stint in the military after college but I wasn’t well-suited to the life.”

  “But you joined because of the danger. You thrive on it. Can’t imagine life without it?”

  His gaze sharpened and he looked at her. “Now who’s psychoanalyzing whom?”

  “You’re right.” She gave a little shrug, as if undaunted by his tone. “I shouldn’t pry. But I’m not going to stop.”

  “You could become a therapist. You’re right. It’s my addiction.” Alani was becoming another. “I’m leaving in a few weeks.” He wasn’t looking forward to it as much as he had been. “For three months.”

  To his shock, she smiled. Obviously she’d meant it when she’d said his travel schedule appealed to her. Jeanine, his ex, had been the opposite. She’d been needy and pouty. Instead of helping him pack, she’d hidden things he’d intended to take. She was supposed to have driven him to the airport one time but had disappeared with the car. He had no doubt Alani would stuff his belongings in his duffel bag, drive him to the airport then blow him a kiss before speeding away.

  “Then this…this time together is limited. So we should make the most of it.”

  Alani unsettled him. He wasn’t sure he liked the way she was reacting.

  “Spank me, Sir?”

  “Who’s the Dom, Alani?”

  “You, Sir. But you did ask me to be honest about what I wanted and needed.”

  “I’ll meet you in the bedroom.” He pushed back from the table. “I want to clear off the table.”

  “I could help.”

  “I’d rather watch you crawl and imagine you waiting for me.”

  With captivating grace, she lowered herself to the floor.

  He gripped the chair back and watched her leave the room. The relationship—such as it was—with this sub had taken on some frightening complications. He supposed he should appreciate her. After all, he’d found clingy women unappealing. But an unaccustomed feeling of possessiveness clawed at him. It wouldn’t let go, no matter how hard he tried to dislodge the tentacles.