Silent Night

A Total-E-Bound Publication

www.total-e-bound.com

Silent Night ISBN # 978-1-907010-26-2 ©Copyright Kim Dare 2009 Cover Art by Natalie Winters ©Copyright June 2009 Edited by Christine Riley Total-E-Bound Publishing This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing. Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution. The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork. Published in 2009 by Total-E-Bound Publishing 1 The Corner, Faldingworth Road, Spridlington, Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, LN8 2DE, UK.

Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-burning.

Perfect Timing

SILENT NIGHT Kim Dare

Dedication To everyone who isn’t as perfect as they wish they wish they could be, and to everyone who loves them regardless.

Trademarks Acknowledgement The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Coke: Coca-Cola Company Diet Coke: Coca-Cola Company

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Chapter One

“Don’t waste your time.” Vincent Jennings raised an eyebrow at his friend. If his instincts were right, and Vincent had every confidence they were, the woman standing by the bar was just the sort of submissive lover he’d enjoy hooking up with for the night. “Trust me. Just pick another girl and save yourself the trouble,” Frank went on, sitting next to Vincent on the low sofa. Vincent studied the woman on the other side of the room. She displayed no obvious flaws, but Vincent was well aware the bar was Frank’s home territory, not his. He hadn’t moved back into the area long enough to know anyone on the local scene and even the most acute observations couldn’t compete with prior knowledge. “You know her?” “Her name’s Hannah,” Frank informed him. “Do I need to repeat the thing about it being pointless to approach her?” Vincent’s gaze trailed over the smooth curve of her neck. She wasn’t wearing a collar, so she couldn’t be committed to the pleasure of any competent dominant. “She’s not owned?” Vincent checked, watching her take a bottle of Coke from the bartender. “No. She’s free to play, but it won’t be with some idiot who hits on her at the bar. Hannah likes to choose the lucky guy herself.” She turned around and scanned the room. For a moment, Hannah looked in Vincent’s direction. Their eyes met. Images flashed hot and vivid though his mind. A strapless leather dress hugged her curves, but her limbs were bare and begging for restraints to decorate them. In his mind’s eye he painted wide strips of black leather around her wrists and ankles. Perfect… A chestnut ringlet escaped from the tumble of curls pinned up on top of her head. She tucked the lock of hair behind her ear and turned away from him. His eyes narrowed. If she wasn’t already claimed, what the hell was the problem? “She’s a submissive,” he stated. He had no doubts about that.

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Even more than the way she dressed, the way she held herself advertised her submission. All her movements were small and spare. There were no grand gestures. She didn’t look a dominant woman on the hunt for new prey. No, if anything, Hannah looked businesslike. That raised another question. “A working girl?” Frank shook his head. “She won’t take money—and I know enough guys who’ve offered her serious cash. But, those who kiss and tell say she has a signature.” “Aren’t they reserved for serial killers?” Vincent still didn’t look away from Hannah. Everyone had to die sooner or later. She looked one hell of a fun way to go. “Do you want to know what it is, or are you going to keep interrupting?” Vincent said nothing. He wanted to hear it all. “As I was saying, the woman has a signature. She comes to this club—and it is always this club—no one’s ever seen her anywhere else. She has a drink. She picks a man. She offers him her submission for the night.” “She just says ’Would you like to be my master for the night?’“ Vincent imagined her kneeling at his feet and saying those exact words—soft and low— for his ears only. His jeans shrunk a fraction, but he forced himself to stay still in his seat and not draw attention to the fact he was slowly hardening in his pants at the very idea. Hannah’s stroll around the room brought her closer. He caught a better view of her face. Close up she was pretty rather than beautiful, her face dominated by full, pink lips and big blue eyes. If it wasn’t for the air of submission about her, Vincent would have walked past her without looking twice—but no dominant in their right mind could walk past Hannah. He was still waiting on an answer from Frank. When his friend let the silence draw out for another long minute, Vincent got the point. “Okay, I’ll shut up.” That was the problem with Frank. Vincent might have grown up into an intimidating dominant, but Frank still remembered him as a skinny little schoolboy who couldn’t remember his times tables. “No,” the other man finally resumed, “she doesn’t say that. She doesn’t say anything. I’ve never heard her say a word and apparently she only ever offers completely silent submission. One night—no talking, no repeat performances. That’s it, take it or leave it.” “Has anyone ever left it?”

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“Hell no! What sort of idiot would walk away from no strings sex with a walking wet dream?” Frank asked. Vincent frowned. “So she walks in here, takes her pick and that’s it?” “Yes.” “But she’s definitely a submissive?” “Yes.” “And silent?” “Yes.” Vincent gave a mental shrug. Who was he to judge someone on their kinks? It was strange, though, that every dominant man she took a shine to… “She always picks a dominant?” he checked. “Always.” It was strange that all the dominant men she hooked up with accepted being called to heel that way. Vincent knew one thing better than anyone. True dominants were chasers by nature. They all loved the thrill of the hunt. They all liked to make the choices. And they all liked to be in control—just like him. If Hannah could take the chase away and still have every man in the room watching her every move, she had to be pretty special. Vincent managed to tear his eyes away from her for a moment. He was right. Every man in the room was staring at her. He ran his eyes over man after man, saw gaze after gaze fixed on Hannah. Idiots! They were turning themselves into the prey, playing the submissive for her before she said hello, or smiled at them, or whatever it was a silent submissive did to show a man he was the chosen one for the night. As much fun as she looked, Vincent pushed away the idea of making a play for her. He was too much of a control freak to give anyone the satisfaction of reversing the roles of hunter and hunted. Although he never completely lost track of her progress around the room, he did become one of the very few men who managed not to blatantly stare. Even so, if she was doing the choosing, the dominant in Vincent insisted he measure himself up against the other men in the room to see where he stood in the pecking order. Being tall with a naturally athletic build was an instant advantage for a dominant. A strong profile with a hard jaw and a masculine edge didn’t do any harm either. Blond hair

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cut short at the back and sides coupled with brown eyes—well, that was just the way things were. He was dressed casually—black jeans and a black shirt—nothing designed to attract undue attention. He knew he looked like a dominant—for what that was worth. Confidence counted for far more, and Vincent was completely confident in his ability to dominate. Satisfied he stood near the top of the pack, he made a mental note of Hannah as someone interesting, someone he might want to get to know better at a later date, but he put her out of his mind as best he could. However, he still failed to look away when he saw someone approach her. He was too curious about Frank’s accuracy not to watch the exchange. Time after time, he watched Hannah brush men off with a smile and a shake of the head. One of them didn’t like that at all. Vincent tensed in his seat, ready to sort the situation out if it escalated. The man hitting on Hannah grabbed her arm. She looked from his hand to his eyes and back again, eloquent in her silence. There was no doubt he understood she wanted her arm back. He didn’t let go. The room held its breath. Every man watched, ready to play Lancelot if the chance arose. She tried to extract her arm from his hold one more time, very clearly refusing his advances. He pulled her arm. For a moment it looked like he and her high heels conspired against her sense of balance. Hannah couldn’t be more than five foot six in those crazy shoes. She probably weighed about the same as a handful of rice. Somehow she was still the one who stayed upright. The guy yelped and folded, curling into a ball at her feet. Hannah walked away. He smiled—she was definitely a submissive. The knee to the groin might not signal it, but she hadn’t looked around the room in challenge to anyone else. She hadn’t even raised her eyes to the men and women watching the show. The same comparison flittered through his mind again. Businesslike. There was an unfortunate situation. She dealt with it. That was that. The whole thing was very understated. A woman came forward and said something to her. Vincent assumed she was asking if Hannah was okay. Hannah smiled at her and nodded, but she didn’t linger and let the woman take her under her wing. She walked on again. Vincent tore his attention away from her yet again. He knew he should make the effort and get up from his comfortable seat around the low table. There was no pretence about his

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reasons for going to the bar. He wanted to get laid, just like everyone else. That wasn’t going to happen if he stayed where he was, listening to Frank and his friends argue about the latest football scores. He gave a mental shrug. It was early. He wasn’t in too much of a rush yet. Not to mention, he knew who he would end up approaching if he got up now. Even after seeing the politely bored looks she bestowed on the men who tried to hit on her, he knew himself too well to think he would resist the challenge. No, he would just let Hannah make her selection. Then he would turn his attention, free of her distracting presence, towards the other women in the club. Closing his eyes, Vincent slumped in his seat, stretching his long legs out in front of him as he sprawled comfortably against the cushions. He rested his neck on the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. In the last few weeks he’d moved back to town, changed jobs and moved house. Nothing was where it should be, everything was dusty and half-unpacked and uncomfortable. The bar was hardly church-yard quiet, but the hum of voices in the background was soothing to a man who hadn’t enjoyed a full night’s sleep in weeks. He was tempted to doze for a while. If he couldn’t get anything productive done, he might as well. “Vincent.” Of course, he’d have to get Frank to shut up first. He ignored him. “Vincent,” Frank repeated more urgently. He nudged his shoulder. Vincent rocked with the motion but didn’t bother to open his eyes. He had no idea who won what by how many. He hadn’t found time to see a game in weeks. “Vincent.” He sighed. “I have no idea what the football scores are, leave me be.” Braced for another harder nudge to his shoulder, Vincent didn’t expect a touch elsewhere. Heat from a hand made its way through his fly. “Frank, if that’s you, we need to have to have a very serious conversation.” “Not me,” Frank said. Good. Frank was a great friend, but he didn’t want Frank’s hand stroking his cock through his jeans. Nor did he want to have to explain to his friend just why the touch coaxed him hard so easily.

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Vincent opened his eyes and raised his head. Hannah knelt at his feet. It was very reassuring to find it was her hand gently massaging him to erection rather than Frank’s. The small pale fingers worked over his crotch without any hesitation. “I think she got bored waiting for you to wake up,” Frank whispered, as if a louder noise might make her take flight. “How long have you been there?” he asked Hannah. She shrugged. Her hand didn’t stop its careful ministrations. It made it singularly difficult to think clearly. Covering her hand with his, giving the fingers a gentle squeeze to soothe any perceived rejection, he moved her hand off his cock. She didn’t appear offended. “About five minutes,” Frank offered in her place. Of course, silent submission. Vincent hadn’t really considered the practical implications. “You don’t speak at all?” She shook her head. Without knowing what pleasure her silence gave her, he couldn’t work out what she wanted from the game. “You’re offering to submit to me?” It seemed obvious but still important enough to spend a moment on clarification. Hannah nodded. Having no task to occupy them, her hands lay folded neatly in her lap, until she reached out and touched him again. Her hand pressed gently against the centre of his chest. Her eyes travelled around the men he sat with. “Just me?” he hazarded. She nodded again. Vincent nodded in return before making a conscious effort to keep one of them verbal. “I understand.” She wanted to make it clear she wasn’t offering herself to all of the men at the table, just him. Well, that suited him just fine. He’d shared lovers with other men and women in the past only to find it didn’t suit him. His temperament was too possessive to enjoy seeing another lover please a woman who belonged to him. Vincent wasn’t used to being the one who could only accept or refuse. For a moment, he was so off balance all he did was study her downcast eyes. He pulled himself together.

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Tucking his fingers under her chin, he encouraged her to lift her face so he could see her more clearly. She did so slowly, keeping her eyes lowered in submission until he said, “Look at me, Hannah,” and nudged her chin back more firmly. She lifted her eyes and considered him in return. Vincent saw peace. It was an expression he’d only ever seen in submissives—the utter calm of knowing you’d made all the decisions required of you—all you had to do from then on was obey. He watched Hannah’s world contract to the point where all she needed to do was please one person. Apparently it made life very simple if you knew how to get off on it. He could only guess at the attraction of submission, but as a confirmed dominant he was incredibly pleased that some people enjoyed it. Hannah lowered her eyes again, leaving him sitting above her and wondering how the hell a man was supposed to negotiate a scene with a woman who wouldn’t speak to him. Seeing a very confusing game of charades in his future, he wasn’t inclined to have his friends sitting around helping or hindering him as the mood took them. Your place or mine became irrelevant when his was still full of half empty boxes. “Your place?” he suggested. Hannah shook her head. “Mine?” he guessed. Hannah nodded and offered him a half smile. In spite of the mess in his house, Vincent nodded. At least she was attempting to negotiate within her limits. It was the women who said anything was okay who always scared the hell out of him. It waved a bright red flag saying they didn’t have a clue what they were doing. Standing up and helping Hannah to her feet he picked up his leather jacket off the back of the sofa. “Do you have a coat?” She shook her head. Guessing how cold it must have grown since the last of the sun set, Vincent wrapped his jacket around her shoulders. She smiled up at him for a moment. He assumed it was a thank you. “You’re welcome.” He led her out of the club with his hand on the small of her back. A glance around the room and he saw the way the other dominant men looked at him. He’d won a game of dominance by almost falling asleep. His lips twitched into a satisfied smile.

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“My car is just down here,” he told her as he led her away from the club. She walked quietly at his side. The only sound was the rustle of his jacket against her dress and the click of her heels on the pavement. Matching his long stride to a pace she could comfortably manage in high heels made sure he had plenty of time to think on the way to the car. Inside his sports car, Hannah settled quickly, doing up her belt and folding her hands neatly on her lap. There was no tension to her stillness. In the few minutes it took to drive out of the car park and turn towards home, Vincent knew the submission was only partially a well-choreographed act. He would bet anything she was always so restful a presence. “I don’t live far, on Elm Road,” he told her. Hannah nodded her understanding. That was about it for appropriate one-sided car conversation, but her silence absorbed words and demanded more to fill the space. The roar of the car engine seeped out of the small interior. Vincent was very glad it was as short a drive as he’d promised. He soon pulled up outside his new house. One of a long line of houses in a Georgian terrace, the only thing marking it out as different was the sold sign on the front of the house. Vincent glared at it. If the estate agents didn’t turn up and take the garish advertisement down in the next two days, he was going to take the damn thing down himself and burn it. But at least it explained why everything was upside down in the house. Hannah glanced at the sign when she followed him up the short path to the front door. She said nothing. When she looked at him there was no question in her eyes. What had Frank said? One night—no repeat performances? He was here tonight, and she obviously didn’t care if he was moving in or out. Vincent took a moment finding the light switch in the hallway. He mentally rolled his eyes at himself. He wasn’t even dominant over his own house right then. Still feeling slightly out of balance and his normal role, Vincent did his considerable best not to look like an idiot. He cleared the two armchairs of half-emptied cardboard boxes and sat in the one on the right. Before he could indicate he wished her to sit opposite him, Hannah knelt at his feet. Her eyes fluttered up but her gaze didn’t quite reach his eyes. They settled somewhere near his mouth, focusing her attention on him, but not risking eye contact. He stayed silent and eventually she lifted her eyes up to his.

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There was a question there. She wasn’t sure if she was in the right place. Glancing at the chair and then back to him, she didn’t move without a command. Vincent didn’t usually hold with negotiating scenes with someone on their knees, but if all he could do was read the tiny details in her body language and her expression then the closer she was the better. ”Put a cushion under your knees,” he ordered. “There’s one on the chair behind you.” There was no point in her being uncomfortable just for the sake of it. She retrieved the cushion and knelt once more at his feet. “Do you know how to negotiate a scene?” Hannah nodded. Vincent decided to take her word for it and see what happened. “What are your limits?” Reaching into a pocket on the inside hem of her dress, Hannah delicately extracted a packet of condoms and offered them to him. “Safe sex,” he translated. It was a good start. He wouldn’t have gone bare-back anyway, but Hannah’s being confident enough to insist reassured him she had experience with setting limits. “What else?” She put a hand around her throat. “No neck restriction.” Vincent nodded—nothing unusual there. Turning her wrist over, she showed him a small scar on the inside of her arm. “No marks,” he agreed—logical, especially with a very temporary partner. She indicated a photo on the top of a half-unpacked box showing Vincent with several of his friends. “No third parties,” he confirmed again. Hannah touched his watch. “You have to leave at a certain time?” Vincent received another nod. He tilted the watch to her so she could see the face. She touched the dial at the two o’clock mark. “You have to leave at two?” Hannah nodded and fell motionless. “Anything else?” he checked.

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She shook her head. “I don’t suppose you have a safe word?” Hannah shook her head again. Well, she was about to get one because there was no way in hell Vincent was playing with a stranger without one. He quickly considered his options. “Stay there.” He hadn’t got around to putting the new doorbell in place yet. He brought it back, along with the receiver unit for the electrical signal. Vincent put the receiving speaker on the side table at his elbow and offered her the bell. “Press the button.” She did so. The bell rang out three loud chimes. “This is your safe word. If you press the button everything stops. Understand?” Hannah appeared somewhat surprised, but accepted the door bell and nodded her understanding. Vincent bit back the command to have her repeat every instruction back to him. It was a basic safety precaution to make sure the submissive understood what was expected of them. He looked down at Hannah. Safety precautions… Any woman who walked out of a club with a man she just met needed someone to sit her down and have a long talk about raising her safety standards in general. He wasn’t enough of a hypocrite to have the talk with her right then, but he had to ask. “Aren’t you worried I’ll hurt you?” Hannah shook her head. Her eyes met his. It was the truth as she saw it. “Why not?” She stroked her fingertips across his eyes. “You think you can read cruelty in a man’s eyes?” he asked. Hannah nodded, perfectly serious. He shook his head at the idea. “And if you were wrong?” She shrugged. That annoyed the hell out of him. If she belonged to him, he would soon put a stop to such foolishness. Of course it would be a moot point. If she belonged to him, she wouldn’t go around picking up strange men in clubs full stop.

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Pushing away the suddenly less than comfortable knowledge she didn’t belong to him, at least not for more than one night, Vincent stood up and helped Hannah to her feet. She followed him into the hallway and up the stairs without any hesitation or concern over what he intended to do with her. He opened the door to the master bedroom. The house still didn’t feel like his home, but it was time to make it feel like his domain. Inside the bedroom, the important things were already unpacked. There was his bed, the one it took the moving men three hours to get up the stairs. Vincent had to admit it was something of a monstrosity. It was a bugger to find a bedroom it would even fit in. It practically went without saying a brass bed frame should look old fashioned and homely, but when the metal writhed and twisted at each end, sinuously curling around itself in a way which made everyone who saw it want to reach out and stroke, it became something altogether more interesting. The frame was a work of art. It had also proved itself to be an amazingly versatile piece of kit, for a man who enjoyed tying his lovers up. Along with the bed, Vincent had found time to unpack crisp dark red sheets and his toy box. He might not know where in the dozens of boxes littering his kitchen the tin opener was, but he could put his hands on a pair of handcuffs at a moment’s notice. A man had to stick to his priorities. Vincent looked across at Hannah. “I’m going to tie you up.”

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Chapter Two

Hannah turned from her study of the bed frame and smiled her acceptance. She offered him her wrists. Vincent smiled back at her and flipped open the toy box with the ease of a long practice. She didn’t even look to see what was in it. His smile broadened. Hannah really did know how to play the game. He saw no sign of panic in her. True, Hannah’s breath came quicker and he was sure her blood pulsed frantically through her veins, but it was arousal, not nerves, and Vincent certainly wasn’t about to complain about that. He left her standing there with her hands extended in offering. If she was as experienced a submissive as he suspected, she needed no additional bondage to keep them there. She was bound by her offer and couldn’t take it back without pressing the doorbell. “Check your safe word,” he commanded. She pressed the button. The receiver he placed on the night stand sounded out the same notes he’d heard downstairs. “Now,” he said. “Let’s see what you have to say for yourself.” A woman who offered no words couldn’t object to her body being read in other ways. Vincent lined his body up against Hannah’s back. Stroking his fingers over her neck, he found the pulsing line of her jugular and pressed his fingertips against her skin. The beat raced just as fast as he suspected. Vincent smiled and whispered in her ear. “There are some signs you can’t silence, Hannah. You don’t have to use words. I can still hear everything you say to me.” She stayed completely still but he felt her swallow as the muscles in her throat worked and she fought to preserve her calm demeanour. Taking the tip of her earlobe between his lips, he tugged gently with his teeth and stroked the sensitive skin with his tongue. There it was. The tiny little sign he was waiting for. It wasn’t a gasp. It was barely a hesitation in her slow even breaths, but it was there. Vincent transferred his attention to her throat. He kissed his way down to her shoulder—

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enjoying the strange novelty of a neck not interrupted by a collar. Moving his body away from the inviting curve of her back, he found the zipper running down the back of her dress. “Let’s see what else you have to say.” The zipper slid down in a murmur of metal teeth. Her strapless dress slithered to the floor in a swish of soft, expensive leather. It pooled around her feet, almost hiding her shoes from view. Vincent left it there, knowing it was just as effective as more formal bondage. Hannah would find it practically impossible to extract her stilettos from the circle of fabric quickly. She didn’t even try. Hannah remained motionless, her hands still invisibly bound by her invitation. Less of her body was revealed than Vincent expected. A strapless basque covered almost as much skin as her dress had concealed. The delicate concoction of black lace was completely out of keeping with the leather. Vincent let his fingers trail over it, enjoying the contrasting texture. The surfeit of material on the basque was nicely balanced by the almost absence of lace in the thong. Her backside was bared for him—inviting a spanking. Vincent resisted the temptation. She’d said no marks. A beautifully reddened bottom was a pleasure they’d have to keep for next time. Vincent shook his head at himself. There wasn’t going to be a next time. He pushed the idea away and pulled Hannah back towards him until her naked buttocks pressed against his fly. The position and his height advantage gave him a wonderful view over her shoulder and down her body. Trailing his hands over her skin, he watched as Hannah failed to keep complete control of her reactions and her breathing changed again. Her nipples hardened under the thin lace. He stroked one through the transparent covering before sliding the material aside. Rolling the tight nub between his fingertips, he tightened his grip until he felt every muscle in her body tense. Her shoulders flinched. Her buttocks twitched. Already hard, he pressed his erection more firmly against her backside. Hannah leaned very slightly back. The subtle shift in position wasn’t large enough for her to be criticised for moving without permission, but it was definitely an invitation. Vincent rocked his hips against her, but he wasn’t going take her on her first offer. He wanted far more from her than that.

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Mere acceptance wasn’t good enough. He wanted Hannah writhing for him, bucking helpless against his body while he held her on the edge and made her wait for her orgasm. Hell, a dominant should always be honest with himself. Vincent wanted to make her whimper, beg, and scream. Anything that involved breaking her self-imposed silence would do. Vincent wanted Hannah’s voice. But until then, there was no reason not to enjoy the other ways her body could communicate. He lifted his fingers from where they teased her nipple and offered them to her mouth. “Lick.” There was no evidence of a complex thought process. Simple command and response took over. Hannah parted her lips. Her tongue caressed his fingertip and the pad of his thumb, diligently moistening the digits. When he took his hand away, her tongue continued to lap at the empty air for a moment and Vincent realised her eyes had drifted closed. He returned his fingers to her breast and rolled her nipple between his fingers, transferring the moisture to her sensitive skin. Leaning forward, Vincent looked down her body and blew over the moisture. Her nipple peaked. She made that half a breath sound again. She arched her back, pushing her breast forward, eager for more stimulation, but he slid his hand lower instead, brushing past the scarce coverage of the thong. He slid his fingers against her pussy. Slipping the digits between her labia, he found the welcoming warmth and moisture he’d anticipated. Her murmur was barely audible. He wouldn’t have caught it if he hadn’t had his ear just inches from her lips. She wasn’t capable of complete silence then. Vincent smiled. Hannah couldn’t stop the instinct to push herself against his fingers either. He half-indulged the request for stimulation, seeking out her clitoris and catching it between thumb and forefinger to echo his attentions to her breast. She jerked against him but her hands stayed extended. She looked amazing in her offering, but it wasn’t an ideal arrangement. His view and his access to her body were both limited. Vincent stepped away without any warning. Hannah swayed back, trying to maintain contact, but she somehow kept her balance. He walked around her, taking the opportunity to enjoy her from each angle. She was beautifully mussed up. He completed the picture by taking the clip out of her hair. It fell in

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glorious chestnut waves over her shoulders, one curl strayed across her face. She didn’t move her hands to push it back. Pleased with her stillness, Vincent tucked the curl behind her ear for her. “Take off your clothes. You can move your hands.” Hannah’s fingers trembled very slightly as she reached behind her and undid the catches holding her basque in place. It dropped to the floor, lying alongside her dress in a pretty combination of lace and leather. Hannah stepped out of her thong and let the scrap of fabric drop from her fingertips to join the rest at her feet. A glance at the discarded clothes and a swift look up at him requested instruction. “Fold them neatly and put them on top of that box—your shoes, too.” She knelt next to the small pile of clothes and began to fold them, completing each action briskly and with complete economy of movement. She appeared entirely unselfconscious. Vincent was acutely conscious of every inch of exposed skin. It would have been impossible to keep his admiring gaze from sweeping over her body, but he didn’t even try. A master had every right to study his submissive however he pleased, and watching Hannah pleased him a great deal. She had beautiful breasts—lush and round, just begging to be touched and tasted and teased. Past the narrow curve of her hip she was waxed completely bare. He could see the pink duskiness of her labia as she stood and placed the pile of clothes and shoes on the box he’d indicated. His cock jerked in the increasingly uncomfortable confines of his trousers. Hannah turned, eyes still slightly lowered to the level of his lips, and waited for the next instruction. When one wasn’t instantly forthcoming, she knelt with her hands folded tidily and fell completely motionless. Vincent merely continued his observations for a few minutes. Someone had obviously put a lot of effort into training Hannah, perfecting her inclination to submission, enhancing it with all the erotic little rituals and mannerisms she employed so automatically and— No. Vincent jerked himself back into action. He wasn’t going to think about that. He didn’t want a picture of her submitting to another man in his head. Stepping forward, he tilted her head back until her gaze came up to his. Her eyes were a darker blue now, deepened by her arousal, but the calm was still there.

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They had all night. But while he intended to make their play time last for every second of it, Vincent decided there was no point killing himself with frustration just to tease her. He opened his palm, offering her one of the condoms she’d presented to him at the start of the scene. She took it and looked up at him, waiting for a specific instruction. He was sure if he left her a few seconds longer she would take the initiative, but one of them had to keep talking. “I want your mouth.” Hannah swallowed. Her tongue flickered out to moisten her lips. “I want you to suck my cock, Hannah. Would you like that?” She nodded. Vincent kept her head tilted back so he could see into her eyes. Perhaps that was what made this night feel different to other casual hook-ups. Vincent had to keep making eye contact. He had to keep trying to read her. He couldn’t just do as he pleased and expect her to speak up for herself. He had to make more of an effort and that automatically made it more personal. What he saw in her eyes right then was acceptance and arousal. He nodded to her just once. Hannah closed her fingers around the condom and raised her hands to his belt. She touched it lightly and looked up at him. His cock strained against his fly, demanding to be freed from the confines of the fabric. He didn’t have the patience to insist she use her teeth. “Use your hands,” he ordered. In moments he was free. Vincent stroked her hair away from her face when it fell across her eyes, she smiled her thanks for the mild gesture. Pulling his jeans down so she had room to work, she looked up for specific instructions. He let her have free reign to see what she would do. Tearing the condom packet open, she put the wrapper on the floor to her side and slipped the rolled latex sheath into her mouth. Steadying his shaft with one hand Hannah rolled the condom down with her lips. She took him further and further into her mouth, until Vincent felt the head of his cock touch the back of her throat, before rolling it the rest of the way to the base with her fingers. Glancing up, she seemed uncertain the move would be well received, but while she waited for his reaction she didn’t waste time. She began to bob her head, wrapping her lips tight around his shaft. It wasn’t like he hadn’t enjoyed the visual, but Vincent was past the

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point of caring how the thing got on him. The feel of her mouth around him was the important thing. Lacking any specific instructions, Hannah seemed to adopt a hit-and-miss approach, giving him a bit of everything. After several swift strokes, taking him as far into her mouth as she could, she retreated and concentrated on the head, swirling her tongue over the latex, teasing her lips over the shaft. Dropping down further, she paid due attention to his balls, lapping kisses against them before moving back up his shaft. As she took him in her mouth again, Vincent couldn’t control the instinct to thrust into the welcoming heat. Her movements faltered for a second, with her lips wrapped around the head. She stilled completely. Looking up at him, Hannah tilted her head back, offering him a better angle along with complete control of the motion. There was no uncertainty in her eyes, no fear. He gladly took what she offered. Sliding his hands into her hair, he cradled Hannah’s head in his palms and thrust into her mouth. She murmured around him and worked her tongue as best she could, trying to match and complement his movements. Her lips thinned into a narrow pink line around his shaft while she sucked on his cock and created a perfect vacuum for his enjoyment. Her eyes dropped closed. Unacceptable. “Open your eyes, Hannah,” he demanded. Lost in the moment, she didn’t do what she was told. Vincent stilled in her mouth. She blinked her eyes open, looking up at him in an irresistible mixture of confusion and arousal. “Keep your eyes open,” he ordered. She blinked once. Perhaps that meant yes. Perhaps not. Either way, she kept her eyes open as he began to thrust into her mouth again. Her eyes remained open, staring up at him. By the time he reached his climax, thrusting hard and fast into her mouth while he held her head still to receive him, her irises were so dark with pleasure they appeared black rather than blue. Vincent let their gazes linger together until she looked down. Slipping his softening cock from her mouth, Vincent tidied himself away and, after a moment trying to remember where the hell he put the bin, dispensed with the condom. He took a seat on the edge of his bed. A look at the floor by his feet brought Hannah to kneel in front of him. She was pleasingly good at reading non-verbal cues.

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“You must be starting to doubt my word,” he said, pushing her hair back. He stroked her forehead where it wrinkled in confusion. “I promised to tie you up, didn’t I?” Hannah nodded. “I always keep my promises.” Standing up, Vincent stepped past her and grabbed the soft leather cuffs he wanted from the toy box. They wouldn’t leave a mark on Hannah’s skin when they were removed, but the links between the cuffs were metal, and Vincent knew they’d rattle beautifully against the bed frame every time she made the slightest movement. He let her see the cuffs on purpose, to let her know what was coming. Her eyes fixed on the metal and leather—hungry and eager to feel them around her wrists. “Up. In the middle of the bed.” Hannah lay down on her back in the middle of the bed, placing her head down low, so she wasn’t touching the pillows. Vincent understood a submissive’s inclination not to take any liberties, but she obviously didn’t need that sort of discomfort to get into the right frame of mind. She was already there. Sitting on the bed next to her, he took one of the pillows and lifted her head to slide the thick cushioned comfort behind her neck. Lowering her head back down, he stroked her hair, fanning the waves out on the pillow. She looked down, not in submission but as if she was embarrassed by his consideration. Vincent stroked his fingers through the curls again, studying her downcast eyes. Taking the cuffs, he wrapped one around her right wrist and then the other around the left. She lifted her gaze and watched his hands bind the leather around her wrists. Each cuff was attached to twelve inches of chain. Taking one of the lengths, Vincent secured it to the bed frame above her head before repeating the process with her other cuff, clipping it to another sinuous brass rail on the far side of the pillow. The black showed off the paleness of Hannah’s skin perfectly – just the way he knew it would when he first saw her in the bar. She looked glorious spread out on his bed, just waiting for him to do what he pleased with her. He pushed her hair back again. It really did have a mind of its own, always falling into her face. She tilted her head back to offer the thank you smile. Her lips were slightly parted in expectation, but whatever she expected it wasn’t the touch of his lips to hers. Hannah drew a quick, shocked breath.

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Vincent let her get used to the idea for a moment, not demanding anything, just brushing their lips together. When she still seemed hesitant, he withdrew. He looked up at the doorbell still in her grasp. She hadn’t pressed the button to say her safe word, but that didn’t mean she was one hundred percent in favour of the kiss. “Do you kiss?” he asked. People had some boundaries in strange places -- over the years he’d spent the night with quite a few people who would do anything, really anything, except kiss on the mouth. Hannah’s tongue flickered out and moistened her lips. She nodded. So it wasn’t a question of acceptance but expectation. She didn’t expect a man she spent a casual night with to kiss her—to want to kiss her. When he brought their lips together again, she was still hesitant—like a teenager having her first grown up kiss. Hannah seemed to enjoy the feel of his mouth against hers. She tilted her head back on the pillow, offering him her lips. She just didn’t appear entirely sure what was expected of her in return. Sliding his tongue against her mouth he coaxed her to let him inside. When she understood, she didn’t hesitate to give him the access he wanted. He let his lips play against hers as his tongue tasted Hannah’s mouth. When he pulled away she made the tiniest sound in her throat. Maybe it was only novelty, but she liked being kissed. He teased her, keeping their lips apart for a few seconds while he looked down at her. Supporting his weight above her with his hands resting on either side of her body, he loomed over her. She didn’t seem to notice or care. Her eyes were still fastened on his lips. Was that why she watched his lips so often? She was wondering if he was going to kiss her? Vincent smiled down at her. He lifted one hand from the mattress and stroked her lips with his fingertips. “You have a beautiful mouth.” She bit her lip. Her teeth scraped against his fingertip. Hannah’s eyes flashed up to meet his when she realised what she’d done. Afraid? He judged her expression. No, not afraid, wary, watchful, waiting to see what would happen next. Vincent smiled. “You have beautiful teeth too,” he teased. She looked down, a slight smile teasing the corners of her lips. “You must know that,” he mused. Leaning back a bit, he looked down her body. She was stunning. “Everyone must tell you you’re gorgeous.”

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He trailed his fingers down her throat. “I bet you have a beautiful voice too.” Hannah shook her head. “You won’t let me hear it?” She shook her head again, very determined on that point. “Will you scream for me?” She shook her head again. Some of the wariness faded from her eyes. A lot of people went silent when they came and if it was just the way they were wired Vincent could accept that. However, the consistent and constant silence by choice was starting to wear on his nerves. Even if he couldn’t raise a scream out of her, he would have to see what he could do to convince Hannah to make some noise for him. With suitable effort he should have a few words presented to him, even if they were just curses. He had to have her voice. Leaning over her, he kissed her voice box, letting his lips and tongue play over it, feeling the movements in her throat as she swallowed down her emotions. He grazed it lightly with his teeth, stopping just short of leaving a love bite to mark the spot. Vincent trailed his mouth lower and began to explore her body in earnest. Trailing his lips against her skin, flicking his tongue out to taste the faint trace of nervous salt, he kissed along the line of her throat and her collarbone and made his way lower again. Even before he reached them, her nipples were peaked expectantly. He trailed kisses across her breast, apparently at random, never quite touching the nipple. For longer than he expected, Hannah stayed still and silent. When he heard a very faint clink of chains against the bed frame he smiled against her soft skin. Taking one nipple between his lips as reward for the sound, he began to tease it with his tongue. Tugging at the sensitive skin very gently with his teeth, he looked up. Her back was arched, her head pressed into the pillow. Her eyes were closed. “Keep your eyes open, Hannah.” He let the words trail across her breast, the words caressing her moist nipple. She blinked and looked down at him, seeming to register he spoke, but not really understanding the words. But her eyes were open and that was all that mattered to Vincent. He resumed his exploration of her body and moved down across the slight curve of her

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stomach. Taking his time, stopping to tease any patch of skin which caught his attention, he flicked his tongue into her belly button, making her muscles jump and shudder. As he kissed further down, Hannah eagerly spread her legs for him and Vincent knelt between them. Coaxing her to bend her knees and tilt her hips back to better give him the access he wanted, he continued his trail of kisses down between her legs. Distracted for a few minutes by the soft silky skin on the inside of her thighs, he waited until she couldn’t stop the twitches of muscles pushing her closer to his mouth, until she was desperate for something, anything more than he offered. The chains on the bed frame rattled against the sinuous brass shapes. Sliding his hands under her bottom, Vincent lifted her slightly from the sheet. He stroked against her soft folds with his tongue. She was already so wet for him, but she wasn’t desperate yet. In spite of the murmurs and rattles of chains, she hadn’t come even close to saying one blasted word. Looking up every so often to make sure she was following his orders, he stopped every time her eyes dropped closed. Time and again, she struggled to keep them open, to keep her eyes focused on what he was doing, watching him lick and kiss her and swirl his tongue around her clitoris. She watched him take her closer and closer to the edge only to stop short every time and leave her there without anything to offer her completion. Hannah bucked in his hands. Her breaths were so uneven it seemed she might hyperventilate at any moment. Minutes passed and Vincent realised she had already given up trying to control her reactions to his teasing. She writhed under his tongue and his touch, struggling against the restraints as she tried to free her hands from the leather and reach for her lover. The chains rattled against the bed frame in a wonderful cacophony of metal on metal. Yet she was still stubbornly silent. Reluctant to admit defeat, he kept working her to fever pitch, over and over again. He tempted her with her orgasm, letting her think she would be allowed to come, only to back away when one more touch, one more lick, would take her over the edge. Hannah’s legs trembled on either side of him. She kicked at the mattress, trying to achieve a purchase which would let her control her movements against his tongue. Her head thrashed on the pillow.

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A desperate little whimper escaped from the back of her throat and Vincent had no choice but to be happy with that little whisper of success. He had to acknowledge she wasn’t going to say anything no matter how long he teased her. There was nowhere else to go, nowhere else he could take Hannah without hurting her just to prove his point. Not to mention that, in spite of the wonderful blowjob not so long ago, he was once more hard and feeling very confined in his jeans. She looked down at him, her face flushed, her eyes wild, her lips parted around gasping breaths. He stopped teasing. Sliding two fingers inside her slit, he crooked them against her g-spot and beckoned her orgasm out of her as his lips and tongue returned to her clitoris. Hannah came, bucking violently against his mouth, clenching frantically around his fingers. Vincent stayed where he was for long enough to let her enjoy her orgasm. Then, taking the absolute minimum amount of time to unzip and push his jeans out of the way, he grabbed a condom and deftly sheathed himself in the latex. Hannah blinked up at him. Dazed by afterglow and not down from her own orgasm, she let her legs fall further apart in invitation. He didn’t have time for the rest of his clothes, he didn’t have time for anything. Holding her steady, he slid into her body in one long perfect thrust. Vincent knew he should have taken more time. He wanted to feel his skin against hers and know every inch of her belonged to him. His clothes were in the way. Encased in Hannah’s body, feeling her tight heat around his cock, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away and shake off his clothes, he could barely convince himself to pull away from her at all—not even for the joy of thrusting back into her slit. He kissed Hannah, just savouring the contact while he held still inside her for several long seconds. Then the instinct to thrust took over and he began to move. The wonderfully hot cocoon around his shaft achieved a higher plane of perfection. Hannah was still twitchy from her orgasm. The last tremors hadn’t completely faded from her body. If Vincent was right, there was enough tension left from the teasing and her first climax wouldn’t remain her last for long.

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Chapter Three

Hannah gasped. Her head jerked back. Her eyes fell closed. “Open your eyes.” It took more control than Vincent ever knew he possessed to freeze in one position, but he tensed every muscle and refused to move again until she obeyed his command. She slowly blinked her eyes open. Taking up his rhythm once more, Vincent watched Hannah struggle to keep her eyes open and follow his orders. Her gaze was so full of need and trust and blatant desire. She was so perfect around him. He was sure everything was going to be over embarrassingly quickly. Somehow it wasn’t, somehow he lasted until he felt her clench and tremble around him. As soon as she reached her second orgasm, Hannah’s internal muscles contracting around his shaft made it impossible for him to last a moment longer. With one last deep thrust, burying himself as far as he could in her body, Vincent came. Catching most of his weight off her took all the energy he had left. He stayed there, supporting himself above Hannah and softening inside her until he could summon up enough energy to slip from her body and roll to one side. He dispensed with the condom and tidied himself away out of habit more than anything else. Turning his head on the pillow, he looked across at Hannah, still naked and bound on his bed. As he watched her, she turned her face towards him. One glance into his eyes and she looked down. Vincent took a slow deep breath, excessively pleased with the world. He didn’t have enough momentum to get up and get undressed but he somehow pulled together the energy required to roll onto his side and unclip the metal chains binding Hannah to the bed frame. Even when she wasn’t tied down, she looked to him for permission before she moved. He nodded and encouraged her to bring her arms down from above her head and her wrists together. She didn’t show any sign of discomfort. She had to be used to real bondage.

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He really could have done without the reminder she must have played such games with a great many other men before him. A brief glance at his watch told Vincent that she didn’t have to rush off just yet. Hannah was his for a little while longer. He left the cuffs around her wrists and used the chains to lead her into a comfortable position curled against his side. She hesitated, obviously not sure what he wanted from her. She looked at her clothes on the box across the room for permission to get dressed and leave. Vincent shook his head. “Not yet.” Hannah looked pointedly back at her clothes again. Suddenly wary of him, she didn’t relax against Vincent’s side the way he wanted. Transferring the two cuff chains to the hand he rested on his chest, he grappled with the blanket and pulled it up over Hannah’s naked body. It would keep her warmer than her scrap of a dress could anyway. “You’ve got time to rest,” he told her, stroking her hair and tucking the rebellious curl behind her ear. That encouraged her to settle somewhat. “Don’t worry,” he ordered. “If you fall asleep, I’ll wake you in plenty of time.” He pressed a chaste kiss to the top of her head—the only part of her available while she rested her head on his chest the way he wanted her to. Eventually her tension seemed to drain away and she curled her naked body more comfortably against his clothed one. He stroked her bare skin, caressing her back and the curve of her hip, but he didn’t let his hands stray anywhere less innocent. There wasn’t the time or the energy for a third round for either of them that night. When her breathing evened out and Hannah began to doze in his arms, Vincent forced his thoughts into some sort of order. The promise to wake her meant he couldn’t afford to fall asleep himself. Shifting in her light sleep, she cuddled closer. Apparently the bindings on her hands didn’t bother her at all. The idea she would soon leave him bothered Vincent. He wasn’t going to let her wander away now that he had her. They’d have to do this again. What Frank said about no repeat performances could be damned. There would be repeats, a great many repeats at all available opportunities.

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Right then didn’t seem to be the most appropriate time to point that fact out to Hannah. Just because he wasn’t feeling the least bit casual about their casual hook-up, he couldn’t assume she would be on the same page as him. Frank said she only ever went to the same club. She had selected him from all the men there last time. The next time she went in there he would see to it she did so again. Next time he would find a way to get her to talk. Next time they would come to an understanding about how un-casual the future might be. Vincent wasn’t about to doubt himself. A dominant should always be certain about what he wanted. Once he’d set his course of action, it was his responsibility to take his submissive along with the idea and make it work for both of them. Decisions made, he pressed another kiss to the top of her head. She stirred, pressed closer to his body as she stretched against him and then subsided in comfort, held safe in his embrace. Half an hour before she needed to leave, Vincent forced himself to wake Hannah up, trailing his lips over hers in a slow, sweet kiss. She blinked at him and offered an uncertain smile. He undid the cuffs and, pressing a kiss to each freed wrist in turn, gave her back her self-control. Only then did he take the door bell from her hand. The game was over. Hannah didn’t wait for permission before slipping from the bed and collecting her clothes from the top of the box. “There’s hot water if you want a shower,” he offered. Hannah shook her head. She pulled on her underwear and then her dress in barely more than a minute. Running her hands through her hair and trying to straighten it out from its tumbling, she looked surprised when Vincent tossed a comb across to her. She smiled her thanks, but even though the game was over she stayed silent. Twisting her hair back up on top of her head, this time into a neat coil rather than a complicated concoction of curls, she looked around as if trying to work out if she’d forgotten anything. He sat on the edge of the bed and watched her every move. She was still deliciously unselfconscious. Her only hint of uncertainty appeared when he followed her to the front door and picked up his car keys. She touched his hand and looked to him for an explanation. “I’m taking you home,” he said, as if that wasn’t obvious. Hannah shook her head.

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She didn’t want him to know where she lived. It was a sensible safety precaution – practically the only one she’d given any sign of since he met her. He was glad she didn’t let random men follow her home, but Vincent wasn’t a random guy and he wasn’t inclined to let her wander off into the middle of the night on her own. “And how do you intend to get home?” he asked, crossing his arms and making use of his height advantage to loom. She just looked at him. She didn’t even need a gesture to tell him it was none of his damn business what she did once the game was over. “I’m responsible for you,” he pointed out in what he considered to be a very reasonable way. “I wouldn’t be taking very good care of you if I let you wander off without even a coat.” She touched his watch. It was two o’clock. “Unless you intend to turn into a pumpkin, I don’t care. The scene is over. I know that—I’m not making any demands on you. But you’re still not leaving until you can tell me how you intend to get home safely and without catching pneumonia. It’s freezing out there.” Hannah stared at him as if she could think of a few choice things to call him if she were to exercise her voice. Vincent hoped she would. There weren’t many things he hadn’t been called before, often with complete justification. He wanted to hear her voice too much to worry about what she actually said to him anymore. With a long suffering sigh she went back to the pocket she extracted the condoms from earlier and held up a card. A pre-paid bus card. Vincent had seen them before. It would let her on to any bus in the city. “You’re kidding. You honestly think I’m going to let you go home on a bus at this time of night dressed like that.” He shook his head. “Forget kidding, you’re crazy.” Hannah raised an eyebrow at him. “No,” he told her firmly. “Don’t look at me like I’m holding you hostage. I’m not. You can leave when you decide on a safe way to get home.” She turned towards the door. He didn’t try to stop her. It wasn’t actually locked from the inside but it stuck like a bugger and there was a knack to getting the latch to work. It had taken him half an hour to get out the first morning and all his strength to bully the latch into

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co-operating before he’d worked out the exact sequence of nudges and tweaks it took to open it with ease. By the time she worked it out it would probably be light outside and the sun would be warming the day. Not that he’d let her wander home alone even then. When she became convinced she couldn’t open the door without a key, Hannah turned back to him. He didn’t mind seeing the anger in her eyes. Vincent knew he wasn’t behaving the way a casual hook-up should. His manners for the situation were appalling and he’d probably deserve it if she gave him a slap for his trouble. He didn’t like the trace of fear he saw in her eyes at all. Stepping forward, he stroked her cheek. She tensed and turned her face away. He tucked his fingers under her chin and coaxed her to look up at him. He wasn’t willing to back down, but he backed off as much as he could without putting her safety at risk out on the streets when the clubs would be chucking the last of the drunks out any minute. “What if I call a cab for you?” he asked. Hannah looked at the door, took a deep breath and nodded. Fifteen minutes later, Vincent walked her to the cab and opened the door. “Where to?” the driver asked. She hadn’t shared the information with him. Vincent looked into the back at Hannah. She handed the driver a slip of paper, no doubt extracted from the same little pocket in her dress, past the plastic divide. Vincent handed several notes through to her. She shook her head vehemently. “For the cab,” he said. “It’s only fair, since I insisted.” With a glance at the cab driver, she took it and handed it all immediately through to him. The cab driver looked from Hannah to Vincent and back again. With a mental shrug that announced they didn’t even make the top one hundred strange people he’d driven somewhere, he put the car in gear and pulled away from the kerb. Vincent watched the cab to the end of the street. When she was out of sight, he walked back up the short path to his front door. Five minutes later, he finally convinced that same front door to let him back into his house.

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**** “There are other women here,” Frank said. He’d made the same observation the last three nights. Vincent wasn’t blind or stupid. He knew there were other women there—he could see them sitting all around him. “You’re getting pathetic,” Frank told him. Vincent knew that too. “When you said Hannah comes in here and only here, you failed to mention she only turns up once in every blue bloody moon.” “It’s only been a week,” Frank said. “You think this is funny, don’t you?” Vincent demanded. “Yep. Very.” Frank took another drink of beer. “You’re moping over some girl you screwed around with once.” “I am not moping.” “Pouting?” Frank rephrased with a laugh. “What’s so special about her anyway? You’ve had lots of women, lots of sex, probably more than your fair share of very good sex judging by your exes. What does she do that’s so special?” “She’s different,” Vincent said, knowing he sounded more like an idiot than ever. He didn’t know her last name. He didn’t know what she did for a living or how she lived her life. All he knew was when he looked into her eyes he saw something he hadn’t seen in any other woman. Her silence reached a part of him no one else’s words touched. Frank’s interest perked up. “You mean she does something different when you screw?” “No.” “When she gives you head?” Frank guessed. “No.” He was not going to discuss his sex life, or at least the part of his sex life that included Hannah, with Frank. “You were a lot more interesting last week,” Frank complained. “And I’m including the half hour you spent asleep in your chair.” It had become very much Vincent’s chair over the last week. He’d been at the club every night. He knew all the bar staff by name. The chair was becoming moulded to the shape of his backside. If he wasn’t there, Vincent knew that would be the one time she would turn up. If he wasn’t there she would pick someone else to play the dominant. He couldn’t allow that to

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happen. For the hundredth time in the last seven days, he remembered why the dominant should be the one who chased the submissive. If he’d chosen Hannah then he would have played from his own rules from the beginning. He wouldn’t be sitting in the bar waiting for her to turn up. He wasn’t suited to waiting. His temperament demanded action and control, and deprived of either he was just getting more and more tense as the week went on. “About bloody time.” Vincent glanced across at Frank and then followed the direction of his gaze. Hannah. For once he agreed with Frank. About bloody time. She scanned the room briefly. Vincent was sure she saw him, but she looked quickly away. He could hardly believe it as he watched her slip into her normal routine—a routine that had absolutely nothing to do with him. Someone walked up to her as she approached the bar and asked her something, probably if he could buy her a drink. On the one hand he knew she could handle some idiot hitting on her. He also knew the guy was probably a perfectly decent man who helped little old ladies across the street at every opportunity. But the guy put his hand on Hannah’s arm. Before he made a conscious decision, Vincent was standing next to them both and staring the man down. The other guy blinked first. Then he looked away first. Not long after, he walked away first too. Vincent felt a little bit better about the world. Hannah didn’t appear to share his sudden good spirits. She looked incredibly pissed off with him. Shaking her head, she tried to turn away from him. “No, you don’t. It was ladies’ choice last week, this time I’m calling the shots right from the word go.” He ordered her a Coke from the bar and took it and his beer across to a table. Hannah planted her feet firmly where she was, not the least bit impressed with his display of dominance. “That table over there,” he told her, pointing to where he’d placed their drinks— an out of the way spot in the corner of the room. “If you’d prefer, I can pick you up and carry you over there.” The look in her eyes had real fire in it. Vincent had more sense and better survival instincts than to tell a woman that mad at him she looked beautiful when she was angry— even when it was true. “I’m only trying to talk to you.”

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She raised an eyebrow. Okay, so he had a lot more than talking planned. “A conversation is the only thing I’m demanding right now,” he corrected. He wasn’t demanding she do more than listen to him. Hannah sighed and nodded just once. Holding her seat out when they reached the table apparently didn’t win him any points. He sat down opposite her and studied her carefully. “Since we aren’t in a scene, is there any reason why you can’t talk to me?” She said nothing. “You do talk?” he checked. She shook her head. “Never?” Hannah shook her head again. Vincent leaned back in his chair and considered both her and the possibilities. “It’s a lifestyle thing, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, no exceptions?” Hannah nodded. Silent sex was one thing. It was a kink that fell a little off the beaten track, but Vincent had enjoyed their last scene enough to accept it as part of Hannah’s sexual makeup. Lifestyle silence was a whole different ball game. It was already a habit to look into her eyes and try and read what she wouldn’t say to him from their blue depths. She was wary now, more so than when he threatened to carry her to the table, even more so than when she thought he’d locked her in his house. She was waiting for his verdict. As much as he wanted to reassure her and put the trust back into her eyes, Vincent wasn’t going to rush in with platitudes. “It’s elective?” he checked. “You’re medically capable of some sort of speech?” Hannah hesitated for a moment and then offered one slow nod. She obviously didn’t like admitting it, that she did so rather than lie to him was promising. “You just prefer not to speak?” She offered him another nod. “Is there a reason? Is it…” He cast about for any possibility. Nothing came to mind. ”Religious or something?” he finally asked. He had the hazy idea people did all sorts of

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weird things for religious reasons. Although, he wasn’t sure what religion would let its followers have casual sex but not voice an opinion. Hannah shook her head. Vincent watched her across the table. If he couldn’t solve the silent issue, he could at least make a few other things clear. “I want more than one night.” She shook her head very firmly. She wasn’t interested. Except those speaking eyes said she was very interested indeed. “You don’t want to spend another night with me?” he asked softly. She shook her head again, but she didn’t lift her eyes to meet his. Touching her cheek, he coaxed her to look at him. “I can tell when you’re lying to me, Hannah.” Her eyes opened very wide. Her tongue flickered out to lick her lips, as if nerves left them suddenly dry. She shook her head again, keeping her eyes on his. He saw the determination there, but more than that he saw the start of panic. “I think the idea that you want to spend another night with me scares you.” She didn’t bother to shake her head again, as if she didn’t think lying about it would do her any good right then. “Why?” he asked as gently as he could. Hannah shrugged. “No,” he corrected, making her look back up at him. “There has to be a reason.” How could she follow a stranger into his home without betraying the slightest unease and then falter at the thought of a second date? She shrugged again. Vincent held back a sigh. Communicating with Hannah required a hell of a lot of work sometimes. “I’d like you to agree to a date—not a scene,” he specified. “Just a date. A meal in a nice respectable restaurant. Somewhere quiet where we can work things out.” She shook her head, seemingly on instinct. Her instinct told her to say no to anything more than one night. Something in her past taught her the first night was the only safe one. He looked into her eyes.

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“One evening in a public place. You can meet me there and get a taxi home. I’ll keep my hands to myself. I won’t even try and kiss you goodnight. No leather. No submission. Just dinner.” He could see her resolve wavering the more he bent his plans to accommodate her discomfort. For a moment it seemed like she might be trying to control the situation, trying to manipulate him. The idea instantly made him tense up, but he forced himself to push past that. There was no guile in her eyes and Vincent was sure he could read her well enough to see it if it were there. Maybe she just saw it as a sign he respected her limits. Maybe it gave her a bit of faith he wasn’t trying to push her to do something she really didn’t want. “You can pick the restaurant,” he offered. She hesitated one last time and shook her head. Hannah put her hand on his chest. “Me,” Vincent translated. “I pick the restaurant?” Hannah waited while he did so and nodded again. When she stood up to leave, he put his hand over hers on the table top. She looked back to him. “Are you going straight home from here?” She tried to pull her hand out from under his. Then she seemed to rethink the move. Hannah nodded. It wasn’t the most subtle way to ask her not to screw around until their second date, but it was the best he could come up with on the spot. Hannah met his eyes and nodded once more before she left. For what seemed like a long time, Vincent sat at the table watching the door. Something itched at the back of his mind but he couldn’t place what it was. Hoping if he stopped thinking about it, his subconscious would sort it out, he walked back to where Frank and the others sat on the other side of the bar. As he approached he heard a familiar mix of laughing and groaning. Frank had obviously raided his store of old jokes again. “What’s funny?” he said, taking his seat on the sofa. “Two deaf people get married. Everything’s fine, except when they have sex with the light out they can’t communicate… hey it’s not that bad…!”

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Frank’s voice trailed after him as Vincent skidded to a stop at the door out of the bar. On the pavement outside, he looked both ways in case she might be waiting for a taxi out there. A line of taxis stood on the rank opposite. She was probably halfway home by now. “Damn!” He slammed the door. Everything clicked into place. The way she preferred not to speak, the way she watched his lips when he spoke to her, the way she hadn’t responded to a command when she had her eyes shut. She hadn’t responded because she hadn’t been able to read his lips. She didn’t like to speak because she couldn’t hear herself do so. “Idiot!” he cursed himself again. He replayed the conversation with her at the table over inside his mind. She said she was physiologically capable of speech but she preferred not to. He’d had the idea she was hiding something. Well, in hindsight she was blatantly bloody obvious. She was trying to hide the fact she was deaf, and if it hadn’t taken some stupid joke to make him twig he could have told her he didn’t give a damn if she could hear him or not right then. Now he had to wait until their date to tell her. He wandered back to Frank’s table, but he didn’t hear much of what was being said around him. Something must have happened in the past to make her so acutely self-conscious. When she was little? Kids could be complete bastards to anyone who was a bit different. No, when she was older. She didn’t seem to lack confidence in anything apart from dating. A man, then. Vincent’s knuckles itched at the idea someone could have hurt Hannah so badly she’d taken such deep refuge in silence. As his friends talked around him, Vincent nodded to himself. Now that he knew what was going on he was back where he should have been from the start—completely in control of the situation. All he had to do was wait until their date, then he could make Hannah aware of that fact.

**** On the appointed day, Vincent arrived at the restaurant well ahead of time. The internet had proved full of useful information. He was armed and ready for their conversation. Right on time, he saw Hannah get out of a taxi and walk the few paces to the door. She was dressed conservatively in black trousers and a pretty pale blue top. Vanilla clothes suited

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her surprisingly well. Her hair was up again, showing off the smooth curve of her neck. The expanse of skin just begged for a collar. She paused before she opened the door and stepped inside, taking a deep breath as if to calm herself. Vincent smiled and stepped forward. She hid her nerves remarkably well now that she knew she was being watched. Only her white knuckle grip on her shoulder bag betrayed her discomfort. Making sure he was facing her, Vincent asked if she would like a drink at the bar before they were seated. He didn’t raise his voice but he tried to make sure his lip movements were clear and he didn’t mumble either. Hannah shook her head. They ordered drinks from the table, Hannah pointing to the menu for a Diet Coke. The waiter didn’t hide his surprise very well. She hid how she felt about his reaction perfectly. When they were finally left alone in their quiet corner, Vincent ran through his next move in his mind. His trawls through the internet left him with the very certain knowledge he would get a lot wrong, but also with the hopeful impression she would be able to tell he was trying and would tolerate his initial ineptitude. Points for effort were a good thing, Hannah actually understanding him would be even better. Lip reading and sign language could apparently work together. Vincent wasn’t yet entirely confident with the latter, so he was still determined to make sure the first caught up the slack. The last thing he wanted to do was make it seem like a huge issue. He went with something basic and hoped for the best. “Do you find it easier to read sign than to lip read?” If the little pictures on the internet were half as helpful as they looked, he said the same thing with his hands as he spoke. Hannah looked up and met his eyes. Shock, confusion and, as he watched, her expression softened into one he hadn’t seen before. Before he could tell what it was, she looked down. Touching her cheek to get her attention, so she could read what he said next, Vincent waited until she looked up. She blinked at him. He tried out his signing skills again. “It’s okay, Hannah. We’ll work it out.”

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Her hands covered his and she shook her head. She closed her eyes in such a slow blink he wondered if she would open them again. “Hannah,” he began. She silenced him with a shake of her head. Looking at his hands, she brought his finger tips to her lips and kissed them. A smudge of lipstick lingered on his finger. She wiped it away with more attention than the task deserved, keeping her eyes lowered while she thought. Vincent let her have a moment to collect herself, then squeezed her fingers to get her attention back up to a place where they could communicate. She shook her head again when he went to speak and she wouldn’t give him back his hands. Vincent was running out of signs he was confident with anyway. “Do you sign?” he asked. Hannah shook her head. After a brief pause, she shook her head again and touched her ear. “You can’t hear?” he translated, relieved they were finally getting somewhere. She quickly shook her head at that interpretation. There was no reason for her to deny it now. He frowned. “You can hear.” She nodded. Thrown off his stride, he watched her look at his hands again. Her lips parted. She closed them again and thought for a while. Hannah cleared her throat. She tried again.

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Chapter Four

“I’m n-not d-d-deaf.” Hannah Gibson closed her eyes as she stuttered out the words. A breath stuck in her throat. Heat flooded to her cheeks. She wasn’t the least surprised when Vincent pulled away, retrieving his hands from her side of the table. Hannah dropped her own hands back into her lap. An unexpected touch to her cheek made her jump. His fingers stroked over the heated flesh very gently. Hannah’s eyes snapped up to meet his for a moment. He looked more uncertain than she’d even seen him. A frown creased the skin between his eyebrows. “You don’t speak because you have a stutter?” he asked. Hannah shrugged and kept her eyes lowered. Of course—he had to understand that now he’d heard her try to speak to him. “You think that matters?” he asked, as if he really didn’t see why it mattered so very much. “Don’t shrug.” Cutting off the movement halfway through, Hannah started to fidget, pushing a stray lock of hair back from her face and looking everywhere but at Vincent. She took a deep breath. Now that she’d started this mess, she had no choice but to push through and finish it. She lined the words up in her head, trying to build up enough momentum to keep the hesitations to a minimum. “N-n-.” Hannah closed her eyes and sighed. She couldn’t even get the first damn word right. She shook her head at herself but tried again. “N-n-no-one w-w-wants a s-s-submissive who can’t even s-say ‘yes, m-m-m-master’.” His hand cupped her cheek. As much as she appreciated the gentleness in his reaction, she couldn’t look up at him. The blush on her cheeks only intensified. “Who told you that?” Vincent put his other hand on her shoulder when she would have shrugged. “Someone told you that, didn’t they, Hannah? Tell me who.” She stayed silent for a long time, hoping he would get bored with asking questions and give up.

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Vincent waited very patiently. Hannah gave in. She’d have to say something, and if he heard her talk enough, she wouldn’t have to get rid of him—he would go all on his own. “I l-like s-s-sex,” she said, biting back a flinch at the hesitations and repetitions. “I’m ggood at it. M-men, m-m-masters, l-like m-me. Until I t-talk. One n-night in s-s-silence wworks. They p-put up w-with s-s-silence for one n-night. They d-don’t w-w-want more.” She fixed her eyes on the table setting. Straightening her knife and fork, she waited for his verdict, for Vincent to tell her she was right. Submissives were supposed to be inconspicuous, well drilled and practically perfect. No master could put up with listening to his submissive spout all that mess. “I want more than one night,” Vincent said. “I want a lot more than one night. Look at me.” She did so for a brief moment then dropped her gaze again. “It doesn’t make any difference, Hannah.” She risked another brief glance up at him. “And it will get better over time.” She sighed. She’d heard it all so many times before. It was better for them both to nip the idea in the bud before he got too attached to it, because she wasn’t going through all that again—not even for someone like Vincent. “You can’t f-f-fix me,” she said carefully. “P-ppunishing me d-doesn’t help. It just m-makes the s-stutter w-w-worse.” “Of course punishing you would make it worse,” he said. Hannah hesitated. It usually took masters a long and, from her point of view at least, very painful time to come to that conclusion, and they didn’t stick around long once they reached it. ”Any dominant with half a brain should know that,” he told her. Anger laced his words, but as he went on, Hannah began to wonder if it was directed at her previous masters rather than at her. “You can’t punish a submissive for something she has no control over. I just meant, as you get used to talking to me you’ll realise it doesn’t bother me and you won’t be so nervous.” Hannah blinked at him. “Nerves make it harder for you to get your words out, right?” She nodded. “But it n-never g-goes away c-completely.”

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Vincent nodded and fell silent for a long time, thinking it all over and no doubt weighing up if her speech would be worth putting up with for a little while to get laid again. She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with his scrutiny and waiting for his verdict. Her mind reeled so fast she didn’t even know what she should hope for anymore. “Is it just when you do scenes?” he asked. “Do you speak to people the rest of the time?” She tried to shake her head. Vincent’s hands cupped her cheeks, forcing her to hold her head still and give a verbal answer. “N-not if I c-c-can avoid it.” He nodded. “I want a lot more than one night. I want to see if we can have a lot more than that together. I’d like us to get to know each other, to talk to each other, and to find out if that’s possible.” She was right with him up to the point where he said ‘talk’. Vincent smiled. “Why do I get the feeling I could come out with my kinkiest, dirtiest fantasy and you wouldn’t have been half as worried about that as you are about a conversation?” She took that as a rhetorical question. Those were the best kind in her book—they didn’t require her to voice an answer. She stayed gladly silent while she waited for him to speak again. “There are a lot of things I’d like to know about you which can’t be asked with yes or no questions.” She could solve that problem easily. She took a pen and paper out of her bag. “Trust me?” he asked. She tried to take the top off the pen. He covered her hands with his. Hannah looked at his hands. She had a few questions of her own. “How d-do you know how to s-s-s-sign?” “I looked it up,” Vincent said. “Because you thought I w-was d-deaf?” “That’s right.” She bit her lip. “That d-didn’t b-b-bother you?” “No,” Vincent said with apparent honesty. Hannah studied him, searching for any sign the conversation was working towards a punch line at her expense.

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“Do you lip read?” he asked. Hannah shook her head. “You seemed to watch my mouth when I was speaking,” he observed. She blushed. She put her finger tips to his lips. “I just like l-l-looking at your m-mmouth.” And kissing his lips—she’d liked that a lot too. “Thank you,” he said softly, smiling against her fingers and kissing the tips. Hannah took her hand back. She bit her lip again. A glance into his eyes, and for the first time she wavered in her determination not to have more than one night with him. “Are you going to give us a chance?” he asked. “You d-don’t k-know m-m-me.” “I’m working on getting to know you,” he corrected. “And we could get to know each other a lot more easily if you’ll give us a chance.” It was more than likely he’d turn out to be just like all the others. But she couldn’t imagine any of the other men she’d known learning to sign, or making sure she got home safe, or acting at all like Vincent. There was a chance, just a tiny little chance he would prove to be different. Hannah nodded, just once and hoped like hell she wasn’t making a stupid decision. “Speak to me?” he asked. “Y-y-yes,” she said softly. “Say my name?” he requested. She blushed. If he’d had a name which was easier to say, she might not have been so worried. Wary, knowing she was about to make a fool of herself, Hannah bit her lip and tried to do what she knew was impossible. She took a deep breath. “V-V-Vincent.” Hannah closed her eyes. He touched her cheek. “Open your eyes, Hannah.” She did. He smiled at her and tilted her head back so their eyes met properly. “Perfect,” he whispered and brushed their lips together in a chaste kiss. Her lips parted in encouragement and he tasted her mouth properly, slipping his tongue into her mouth. Hannah leaned into the kiss. That was what mouths were meant to be used for. Forget talking—this was where it all really came together and made sense. Someone cleared their throat.

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Hannah blinked her eyes open. A waiter stood next to their table looking very disapproving. “I’m s-s-sorry,” she said, jerking away from Vincent and putting her hand over her mouth. The waiter sniffed. “Is there a problem?” Vincent asked. The waiter looked him up and down. “Are sir and madam ready to order?” She hadn’t even looked at the menu. Hannah took one from the middle of the table and hurriedly began to read through the list of dishes. “I-I’ll h-have-“ She spotted something suitable halfway down the list, but she just couldn’t get her words out to tell the waiter what she’d chosen. “Perhaps I should come back when madam has her order ready,” he said coolly. Vincent covered her hand with his. “We’ll both be ready to order in a few minutes.” The waiter looked from one to the other of them. “You can leave now,” Vincent added, the coolness in his voice turning icy. “I’m s-so s-sorry,” Hannah whispered as soon as he was out of ear shot. Vincent put his fingertip to her lips. She dropped her gaze. Her eyes fell closed. She knew better than to try and babble. She should have just kept her mouth shut and let him order for her. Embarrassing him in front of the waiter was stupid. She hadn’t made a mistake like that—tried to speak without thinking—in years. Lips brushed against hers. Hannah opened her eyes. “There’s no need to apologise,” he told her seriously. She opened her lips to speak and thought better of it. She reached for the pad of paper again. Vincent took it off her and put it on the far side of the table. “I said I don’t want to hear an unnecessary apology—not that I don’t want to hear whatever else you have to say.” “I d-didn’t m-m-mean to embarrass you,” she whispered. Vincent made her look up and meet his eyes square on. “I’m not embarrassed.” He brushed their lips together again. “I’m also apparently unable to keep my hands or my mouth to myself. Would you prefer to leave?”

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She nodded. “Only because I want you alone, not because any of this nonsense about me being embarrassed,” he said seriously. Hannah nodded again. He led her out of the restaurant, but stopped near the door. “Will you wait here for a moment?” Hannah nodded. Vincent walked across to the manager and handed him a card. After a few brief words, he walked back to her side and led her out to his car, leaving the manager to shoot very nervous glances after them. As she fastened her seat belt, Hannah looked across at him. He didn’t seem eager to offer her any information she didn’t ask for. “W-what did you s-say to him?” “I just introduced myself and gave him my card.” That left her none the wiser. “My business card,” Vincent specified with a small satisfied smile. “I’m a restaurant critic by trade. I merely mentioned I’d heard very good things about the food, but the staff were so disagreeable I didn’t stick around to taste it. The waiter really was an appalling little man, wasn’t he?” Hannah offered him a small smile. Vincent started the car. “I don’t know the area very well. You’ll probably have to give me directions.” Hannah frowned. Surely he knew the way to his own place. He’d driven from there to the restaurant, after all. “We’re going to your place.” She shook her head. She didn’t take men back to her place. “I’m not one of those men you spent your silent nights with, Hannah.” She met his eyes. He did have a point. It probably wasn’t possible to treat him the way she was used to treating her casual hook-ups. Vincent waited. Directions—talking quickly and clearly when time was of the essence. It just wasn’t going to happen.

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A little satellite navigation system rested on the dashboard. The maps on its computer chips offered her sudden hope that they could reach her house without her having to say a word. Hannah put her fingertips on it and looked to him for permission. “If I could make the damn thing work, you’d be welcome to it.” He frowned at it, obviously not happy with his new gadget. Hannah picked it out of its rest and switched it on. Four minutes later she put it back in its place, with the directions to her house inputted and all the settings re-jigged so they actually made sense. Vincent looked from her to the sat nav and back again. “I’ve been trying to work that contraption out for weeks.” Hannah bit her lip. Denting male pride hadn’t been part of the plan at all. “I don’t suppose you can do the same with DVD players? I just bought a new one and the time keeps disappearing off the display.” She nodded and offered him a half-hopeful smile. “Right,” he said with certainty. “Next time we’re definitely going back to my place.” As he followed the directions the sat nav spoke to him, Hannah silently tried to remember if she’d left her apartment neat and tidy. Not expecting to bring back company, she had a terrible feeling she’d left every one of the dozen outfits she’d tried on before her date scattered around her bedroom. He pulled up outside and let her lead the way up the path and into the apartment block. The elevator ride was silent. So was the long walk along the corridor that finally led them to her apartment. Hannah let them in with only the rattle of her keys to break the tension. Vincent followed behind her, shutting the door and checking the catch after himself as if he lived there all his life. “I think I’m starting to understand why you found my sat nav so simple.” Hannah tried to see her living room through fresh eyes. There probably was a lot of electronic equipment in there compared to most places. “My j-job,” she explained. Vincent nodded. “You work with computers.” She nodded. “I d-don’t stutter on e-m-m-mail.” He put his arms around her waist and pulled her close. “You know it doesn’t bother me, right?”

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Hannah shrugged. Not yet—give him a few days of listening to it and they would see how he felt about it then. Vincent kissed her. He had a wonderful mouth. It moulded perfectly against her lips, making it so hard for her to stay completely silent. Whimpers didn’t make her stutter. Gasps flowed easily from her lips no matter how nervous she was. Self control and a lot of hard work had gone into eliminating those sounds from her sex life, but once she realised men found complete silence a lot more acceptable than just the absence of whole words there hadn’t really been a choice. A completely silent submissive was a novelty a dominant man could appreciate, and Hannah needed a dominant’s appreciation too much not to become a very good novelty indeed. The kiss trailed on until it was almost impossible not to whimper into Vincent’s mouth. His hands stroked down her back, pulling her closer, letting her feel his erection press against her. “Tell me this is what you want,” he whispered in her ear. Hannah nodded enthusiastically. “Tell me,” he whispered again. She licked her lips. “Yes.” For once, the whisper flowed. Vincent brushed their lips together and looked at the various doors leading out of the room. “Bedroom?” Hannah hesitated. “W-wait here for a m-m-moment?” Vincent looked surprised, but he nodded his agreement. He let her slip from his embrace and hurry down a short hallway and into her bedroom. Snatching up her discarded clothes, Hannah dumped them all in the laundry hamper. All her bits of makeup littered the dressing table. Hannah swept them into her cosmetics case and clicked the lid closed. She scanned the room. Her bed was neatly made. Everything else looked presentable. She nodded to herself and turned to the door. Vincent stood leaning against the door frame, looking very amused with the situation. “You were supposed to w-w-wait!” she protested. “I got curious. I was starting to wonder if you had another man hidden back here.”

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He stepped in close to her, settling his hands on the small of her back and pulling her towards him as if he had every right to come right into her personal space and touch her however he wanted to. Hannah looked down. She supposed he did have that right, really. She’d given him the right when she set her limits. Vincent stroked his fingers over her hair. “I want your hair down.” She nodded. He took out the clip. Her curls immediately tumbled into her eyes. He pushed her hair back out of the way. “Stunning,” he said. It was hard to believe anything he said when such compliments fell so easily from his lips. “You’re easily imp-p-p-pressed,” she noted, forcing herself to keep talking out loud. Vincent raised an eyebrow, not at all impressed with her effort to brush what he said aside. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.” Hannah shrugged. “Tell me what you w-w-want?” she asked. “You.” She nodded. “I want your voice.” Hannah looked down. “If you don’t want to talk a lot at certain times, I’ll accept it as a kink. But I don’t think other forms of silence come quite so naturally to you, do they?” Hannah cast a nervous glance up at him, wondering if it was worth trying to lie about it—if lies would get her anywhere with Vincent. “If you’re enjoying what we do together, I want to hear it, Hannah. If you stay silent I won’t believe you are satisfied, and I’ll just have to work harder to hold you on the edge until I’m sure you’re enjoying yourself enough to come.” Hannah nodded. She got the idea. She could come or stay silent, not both. “I want to tie you up.” She hesitated. “Do you trust me, Hannah?” he asked gently.

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Trust wasn’t the problem. “I d-d-don’t have anything f-for you to t-tie m-me up wwith,” she managed to say. There had never seemed to be any point buying toys of her own when she didn’t bring anyone back to her place. “We can improvise. Although I can’t guarantee improvised bondage won’t leave marks that will linger for a little while.” His fingers traced over her wrists as he held them up in front of her. Hannah nodded her acceptance, surprised he’d paid so much attention to the limits she’d explained to him at the start of their first scene, let alone that he both remembered them and was willing to keep to them in this new scene without any complaint. Vincent looked around the room. A frown of concentration grew between his eyebrows. “Wait here.” He walked back towards the living room. Hannah did as she was told and waited. A few moments later he came back with the length of old computer cable she’d been meaning to throw away for ages. Vincent wound it around his fist, testing how it would hold up as bondage. He nodded to himself and looked around the room again until he spotted the hook on the back of her bedroom door. Tossing aside her dressing gown, he looped the cable over the hook and tested how it would hold. When he seemed convinced it was stable, he turned back to her. “Come here, Hannah.” She went eagerly to his side. This sort of game made it all very simple. She knew how to do this—and how to do it well. Vincent said nothing more. He removed each item of her clothing, his hands running over her body and exploring her piece by piece as she was slowly exposed to him. All she could do was fight her body for control and try to stay still while he teased her. Eventually her knickers joined the rest of her clothes on the floor and she stood naked. His hands didn’t stop exploring her, finding each little point which made her squirm. If he’d tied her up already she could have relied on the bondage to support her submission. If his touch was rough it would have reminded her to say where she was or face a harsh punishment. Gentleness and freedom tempted her to move and reach for Vincent. Finally she couldn’t take his frustrating touches any longer. “P-p-please?”

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Victory shone in Vincent’s eyes. “You can have whatever you want, Hannah, you just have to tell me.” Hannah touched the wire he’d tied to the hook. “T-t-tie m-me up?” In moments her hands were secured to the door and she was helpless. A calm settled inside Hannah. She smiled an invitation to Vincent, sure everything would be okay now. He smiled back and kissed her—just a teasing brush of lips before he pulled back. “Not this time,” he said. “This time I want to feel every inch of your skin against me.” He started to shrug off his clothes. Hannah hadn’t actually seen him naked before. She watched as his body was revealed to her. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. He was wonderfully built. She tugged at the cable around her wrists, wanting to reach out and touch him, to run her hands over each line of muscle he revealed to her. Vincent caught the move from the corner of his eye. He grinned and kicked the rest of his clothes off. In moments he was back at her side. The hook held her hands in place high above her head, her fists clenched as she fought to stay still. He put his hands around her waist and turned her around. The slack in the cable just about allowed him to turn her to face the door. Hannah looked over her shoulder at him. “W-what…?” she managed. Surely that had to be enough to make him understand what she wanted to know. “Like this,” he said. “This time, like this. You can play the choreographer in the morning.” She frowned at the door. “I will be here in the morning,” he said firmly, lining his body up behind her. She felt his body against her from top to toe—all hot skin stretched taut over hard muscles. She nodded her acceptance, eager to feel him against her all the way into the night and straight through until the morning. Vincent kissed her neck. She leaned back against his body as his hands roamed over her stomach, up to caress her breasts, then lower to slide over the tops of her thighs. Hannah pressed back against him, spreading her legs in encouragement. His erection felt great pressed against her buttocks, but it would feel a hell of a lot better buried deep inside her. She wriggled against him, but he seemed determined not to rush. “Have you always been silent, or did you teach yourself not to scream?” he whispered in her ear.

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His fingers found her clit and Hannah quickly fell past the point of lying. “L-l-learnt,” she confessed, gasping halfway through the word when he sped up the little circles his fingers made around her clitoris. “If you’ll scream for me I’ll let you come,” he offered. Hannah let out a whimper. “That’s a good start, sweetheart,” he told her. It wasn’t just the start, it was all she could manage right then. Hannah moaned in frustration rather than pleasure. She’d worked so hard in training herself to be quiet, she didn’t have the first clue how to undo her silence. “It’s okay,” he told her softly. For a moment his body disappeared from behind her. Before she could look over her shoulder, he was back and the texture brushing against her buttocks was latex rather than bare flesh. Silence made submission easy—being told to speak made it too easy to say the wrong thing. “W-w-want,” she demanded, pushing back against him. Vincent guided himself into her slit, penetrating her inch by glorious inch. Hannah rose up on her tiptoes and lowered herself back down, trying to ride him as best she could. His fingers dipped between her legs again and took up those frustrating little circles. She managed a gasp. It sounded incredibly loud in the silence of the room. “Good girl,” Vincent whispered. “Do you want to come, Hannah?” She nodded desperately, as he pushed into her again. “Let me hear you.” She whimpered. “Louder for me, sweetheart. Tell me I’m not just some guy you’ll let into your life for a night. Trust me, Hannah. Belong to your new master.” His fingers pinched her clit. A perfect shot of pain and pleasure flooded through her body. It was hardly a scream, but the strangled, gasping cry was apparently good enough for Vincent, and that was all that mattered. His fingers worked ferociously on her clit. His shaft filled her, stretching her slit and pressing against the sensitive little spot inside her until she bucked helplessly into her orgasm.

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Vincent wrapped his arms around her, holding her up as he followed her into his own shuddering climax. As their breaths slowed and returned to something approaching normal, he reached up and undid the cable around her wrists. Hannah braced herself against the door. Even free, she wasn’t confident in her ability to support her own weight if she tried to move, but Vincent took away the option to stay where she was. He walked her backwards towards the bed and collapsed into a sprawling heap onto the mattress next to her. Shuffling across the cool cotton until her head rested on the furthest pillow, Hannah watched Vincent lethargically drag himself up to the other pillow. They lay for a long time on top of the blankets, letting the air cool their heated skin. She let her eyes roam over his body as they rested. Only lethargy prevented her from trailing her hands over his body too. When she looked back up to his eyes, he was watching her study of his body with obvious amusement. Hannah blushed and looked at the empty bit of sheet that lay between them. “M-my new m-m,” she trailed off. It was the most important word a submissive could say and it was always the hardest for her force past her lips. Vincent didn’t say anything. He had to know what she was trying to say, but he didn’t finish off the word for her. A glance up to his eyes and she realised he had no intention of helping her out. He wanted to hear her say it and the look in his eyes told her he didn’t care how long it took her, or how many stutters it contained. He would wait. He would have that word from her. “M-my new m-m-master?” That was what he said he was. She hadn’t imagined those words falling from his lips. Vincent stroked her cheek. “Yes, Hannah. That’s what I want.” She looked down at the sheet again, willing to talk but not sure what she should say. Finally she nodded. He coaxed her to look up. Hannah saw what he wanted from her. She took a deep breath and nodded again. “I’d l-like you to b-be my new m-m-master, V-V-Vincent.” He smiled at her and ran his thumb across her lips as if he loved every stuttered word that fell from them. “I think that sounds like a very good idea, Hannah,” he told her. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say anything quite so beautiful quite so perfectly.”

About the Author Kim is 25 years old, from a small town in South Wales. After writing for years, Kim is finally editing some of the stories to share with the rest of the world. Kim writes both male/male and male/female stories that range from the dark and paranormal right through to the lighter, funnier side of life. The only thing every story contains is a happy ever after for the two (or more!) characters that deserve it most. Oh, and kinky sex — there’s always plenty of that too — but Kim takes no responsibility for any of that. It’s all the characters’ fault. Honest…

Email: [email protected]

Kim loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.

Also by Kim Dare Christmas Spirits: The Gift My Secret Valentine: Secret Service Night of the Senses: Whispers Turquoise and Leather Gaydar You First Caught in the Middle: Between Tooth and Paw

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