“You forget your place, Leila.”
I hadn’t truly submitted since we were back in the office, after we got into it about my promotion nearly a month ago. What I planned to say next had the power to show him I needed this, that we needed this, or to push him further away.
“I need my dominant.” I looked at him unabashedly and spoke from the heart. “And you need your submissive.”
His hold slackened and those eyes, the fierce blue that had the power to turn those unfortunate enough to spark them to ice, softened. “You think you know what I need?”
“What we need,” I corrected softly.
He let go of my wrists and turned on his heels without another word and I felt the tears in my chest boiling to my throat. He wasn’t ready. “Jacob--”
HIs back was still to me and he was clear across the room, but his words were clear, slicing back toward me and echoing in my ears. “You will address me as ‘sir’ until told otherwise.”
I closed my eyes, holding tight to the sound of him letting me back in. I wanted to cry out in elation, to pump my fists with joy, but I lowered my trembling hands to my side. “Yes sir.”
When he faced me, power and passion flickered in his gaze as he beckoned me with a finger. “I think you know what’s next. I don’t take lightly to my submissive disobeying me.”
I had to physically make myself take slow, measured steps and not run to him. It was probably a good thing since my legs were gelatinous and trembling in anticipation for what he had planned.
I followed him into the bedroom and stood near the bed, but whatever he had planned wouldn’t be taking place there since he walked to the blank wall directly in front of it. There was a small black table sitting off to the side and he opened a drawer, pulling out a tiny remote. I took a step back in surprise when the seam along the center of the blank wall separated and retracted, revealing a dark St. Andrews cross in a hidden compartment. Recessed lighting cast an ominous glow on it that made my mouth go dry.
“Come forward,” he commanded.
I moved forward slowly, remembering how I’d barely blinked the last time I’d seen a St. Andrews cross, enthralled instead by the four poster bed back in his villa. But now I couldn’t take my eyes off the thing before me. The wood was a dark mahogany color with O-shaped metal rings affixed on each corner. Once I was strapped to it, I’d be completely at his mercy.
There was a time that the thought of having no control was terrifying and even though I was no longer that cautious person, human nature turned fear into a tangle lodged in my throat. But I trusted Jacob. I knew he loved me and would never subject me to more than I could stand.
I swallowed and stood tall, marveling at the craftsmanship of the cross, the fear dwindling and in its place, fascination at being splayed out for him. I was so entranced by the cross that I didn’t even notice that he’d retrieved something else until I heard a metallic clink, like a wind catcher dancing in the breeze. But there was nothing whimsical about what he held.
My eyes widened as I took in the harsh gray cuffs and silver links. “Shackles?”
He didn’t confirm the obvious, kneeling and locking the first cuff around my ankle. I shivered at the coolness of it. The wariness must have been written all over my face because after he secured the final one over my last free wrist, he tilted my chin up so he could ask me the million dollar question.
“What’s your color, Leila?”
I gave him a small nod of reassurance. “Green, sir.”
He leaned in and pressed an electric kiss against my lips. “Good girl.” Still, he gave me a moment to adjust to the weight before he continued. “The chains will be attached to the cross now—the process is done electronically.” He caressed my cheek. “Use your word if you need to.”
I bit my lip as I heard a quiet, metal whir and was pulled backward toward the cross. Once I stopped, the clinking sound of being locked in place sent a flash of apprehension rocketing through me, but his eyes never abandoned me. I relaxed--even though I was chained to a cross.
“I need to retrieve something for your discipline,” Jacob said once I met his gaze. “Use these moments to get accustomed to the cross.”
My body was in an X. The pull of having my limbs spread was unnerving but not painful. From my position, the crotch of my sopping wet panties were flush against my heat. It was a reminder that I wasn't the same girl that walked through the doors of Whitmore and Creighton months ago. That girl would be trembling with terror. I trembled with excitement.
Jacob reentered the room, glass of ice in one hand and a thick white candle in the other. One side of his mouth curved upward as my mouth opened and closed. I'd tried wax play once before and it wasn't a pleasant memory. When an ex splattered hot wax all over my br**sts, my ni**les…I shuddered, remembering the discomforting burn.
Rolling off the bed and covering myself with the sheet had put an immediate stop to that experiment. But my arms and legs were strapped to wooden planks. What would I do if I wanted to stop this?
You could use your color, I told myself reassuringly. But even with that safety precaution I still watched the candle flicker forebodingly.
"What are you thinking? Speak freely."
I hesitated. I was about a hundred percent sure Jacob wouldn't like hearing about my last encounter with a candle and an ex.
Turned out he liked my hesitation even less.
He put the candle and glass down and came forward, gripping my nipple. Pinching it tight.
I grit my teeth, the slight discomfort becoming undeniable pain as he glared at me. "When I give you an order, I expect it to be obeyed."
"It's..." I winced, gritting my teeth against the torment. "I've done it before. And I didn't like it."
Just as yellow became red, the color stinging on my tongue, he released my aching peak. "Was that so hard?"
I narrowed my eyes to slits, wanting to smart off but knew that would just make him take the other one. Or worse--reclaim the first. "No sir."
He went back to the table, picking up the candle. "Wax play can be uncomfortable and when performed by a novice, it can be downright unpleasant." He swirled his wrist, the flame bobbing and weaving. "At the moment, your comfort level is of little concern to me because you need to remember that I am in control." He stepped closer and I could smell the wax mixing with the heady aroma of my arousal. "And as delicious as I find that body of yours, I want to see it on my terms. Not yours."