Checklist J, K, L

Grif hoped she hadn’t been able to see how frustrated and disappointed he’d been when it seemed they’d have to stop the scene. He didn’t think she had, but, oddly, he was having a hard time reading her. Normally he knew what she wanted, what she could take, based on her non-verbals.

Right now he couldn’t tell. Couldn’t read her the way he should be able to.

It was probably more accurate to say he was mis-reading her, because her non-verbals were distinctly not Davina-ish.

When he’d finished tethering her collar to the chair, she’d closed her eyes, lowered her chin, and turned her hands palms out. It was the most submissive posture he’d ever seen her take without a direct order to do so. He could have dismissed the lowered eyes and down-tilted chin as her doing some of her yoga breathing to center herself, but the hands…

That had been something new, something different.

Seeing her like that, so quietly submissive, had given him a raging hard on so fast that it physically hurt.

His strong, guarded minx had gone soft and quiet and that triggered some primal Dom urges deep in his brain.

It wasn’t just the posture that had gotten his dick diamond hard, so fast. It was that she was the one doing it. He’d been with high-protocol or more classically submissive subs before her. They would have done more than simply turn their hands palms out to show him how submissive and willing they were.

Such a small thing, easily overlooked, to turn the hands, exposing the soft skin of her palms and thin, pale skin of her wrists.

When Davina did it…

The impact of that small gesture was profound.

Then she’d snapped back, said she would take care of herself—watch out for her own comfort as far as the jewelry cuffs went. It had been like a splash of cold water. It cooled this conflagration within, and he’d realized the things he was thinking and planning were too much. He’d had to rein himself in, fight the urge to push.

Then everything had changed again.

I don’t want you to stop.

Something about the way she’d said it—each syllable laced with raw need—told him as much as her words did that she wanted to keep going. He hadn’t been reading her wrong.

She was reacting, submitting, in a way she hadn’t ever before.

Two years together, and it seemed he still had a lot to learn about his sub.

His sub.

He normally didn’t think of her like that. The verbiage they normally used was “partner.” She was the “submissive partner” not the sub. His sub.

She’s mine.

Grif was still painfully aroused, and holding on to his control with a metaphorical chain as delicate as the ones he was using on her.

The jewelry was forcing them to adapt to a totally different kind of play than they’d ever engaged in before. Back in the Den, perusing the selection of delicate jewelry, he thought he’d understood why the overseers had referred to it as a “challenge.”

Jewelry was a symbol, not a functioning BDSM toy.

Delicate chain wasn’t a viable option to physically restrain someone. What he was using had the tensile strength to support the weight of her slender arms when she was at rest and relatively still, but one good yank and it would snap.

That meant that they were both going to have to exercise the kind of restraint they normally didn’t employ.

The collar, cuffs, and basic restraints were only the first, and simplest, pieces of jewelry. He wouldn’t be happy until she was dripping with delicate chains, her body desperate with need, her mind fully and firmly in subspace.

Subspace. Davina, his minx, soft and open. Not worrying or thinking, but letting go in that most vulnerable way.

He’d never been able to get her into subspace without inversion bondage, impact play, or some combination of both. They’d talked about it, and neither one of them had been particularly worried. She wasn’t really looking for peace the way some people in the lifestyle did.

For Davina, BDSM was an outlet for her emotions. When they were together, she let loose her rage, worry, and pain. He could handle it, handle her when she needed to let go. Tie her down, bind her so she was still and had something to fight against.

Only rarely did her emotional well run dry enough—or the physical sensations become strong enough—for her to sink into subspace.

But here she was, seeming to move and react on instinct, her motions and body soft.

A challenge. This game was all about the challenge.

He would set a second, secret challenge for himself. Use nothing but the jewelry, his hands, and his words, to get her into subspace.

Given the historical record of how they worked, that idea was absurd. Doomed to failure. But some part of him had suspected—no, more than that, was sure—he could do it.

Instinct born of familiarity?

There would be time later to explore that idea—that he knew her so well that he’d be able to predict her reaction to unknown stimuli both physical and mental. Now was the time to act. To touch.

He needed to get her out of those clothes.

He’d considered taking them off before doing anything else, but he had to admit he liked cutting or ripping her clothing off her. She’d gotten in the habit of pointing out when he was about to bind or position her in such a way that the clothes would have to be cut. Sometimes she just stripped on her own.

He knew how to take a hint—she didn’t want him wrecking any more of her clothes. He wished he could just buy her a bunch of cheap lingerie and then destroy it to his heart’s content, but choosing clothing was a power exchange activity, and not really something they did.

But tonight…tonight he was going to cut those clothes off her one inch at a time.

“I’m going to remove your clothing now.” He stroked the delicate line of her neck, fingering the collar. He liked how tight it was, how close to her skin it fit.

Taking the safety scissors he’d grabbed from the tack room, he slid the blunt tip under the neckline of the mesh tank top. The metal must have been cold because she shivered.

He cut through the band of fabric that edged the neckline. The quiet snick of fabric was only barely audible over the sound of her slightly ragged breathing.

“I’ll buy you another one,” he murmured. It was what he always said if he destroyed something—a private joke.

Her normal response was, “This old thing?” said with that sexy smile he sometimes dreamed about.

Once again, today was different.

“Just get it off,” she begged. “I need…”

He waited, leaning forward, mindful of the scissors he held pressed against her sternum.

The maddening woman didn’t finish that thought.

“What do you need?”

Davina looked at him under her lashes and shook her head.

“Minx.”

He withdrew the scissors.

widened with

he tugged gently on the chain tethering her collar

don’t know…

underside of her raised arm from elbow

slid a finger under the strap of the tank top, lifted it from her skin, and then snipped through

Davina’s eyes slid closed.

glinted in the light. Once he had the shirt off,

Or…

pinky in one of the diamond-shaped openings just below her left nipple. For one delicious moment he was touching the smooth, sweet

shirt, there was a nice-size opening

made an approving

same to the other side of the shirt before tucking the scissors into

take out

then her chin came up. She smiled and raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to

smile. He would do terrible, wonderful things to make

the question itself. “Oh, don’t worry, there will be jewelry on these sweet things.” He reached out with

on, she’d grimace or grit her teeth, a somewhat counterintuitive

a whimper of need, and shivered, seeming to melt back into her

going to take these out.” His voice was rough, lower than he’d meant it to be. “Because when I finish cutting off this shirt and strip you, I want

want that,” she breathed. “You. I want you.

“Are you wet?”

“Yes.”

fucked you right

“Please do. Please.”

and she shivered once more. “Not yet,” he

her right nipple, then grasped the ball on one end of the bar and started twisting the other. There was no way to do this without tugging and tweaking her nipple. He was as gentle as he could be, but by the time he’d unscrewed the second bar her breathing had changed—shallow pants that

her nipple jewelry into his pocket and

was something crude and almost savage about the way she looked right now—shirt torn up, breasts poking

the safety scissors once again,

Snip. Snip. Snip.

the stretchy mesh parted a bit more. The holes he’d cut meant that even when he’d snipped it open down to her abdomen, the fabric

the final bit of fabric. For a moment the shirt stayed on, held up by

slide off—her breathing wasn’t shallow, but deep, and he could see the fabric sliding with each inhale—but

fabric, he peeled

tits bounce. His cock twitched in reaction to

her breasts without the nipple bars. Not that he hadn’t ever taken them out before—they’d played with clamps, and for safety always took

shifting her weight from knee to knee, her hips rocking side

it was. A sign that she

palms up her sides, following the unhindered line of flesh from waist to ribcage, ribcage to armpit, then along her arms. He checked the cuffs at her wrists, sliding the tip of

do your wrists

“Fine.”

paying attention? Are you

several times, then looked up at him, eyes round with shock. “I’m

his hands around her wrists, over the cuffs, so their arm positions were mirrored, then leaned

her gently, then nipped

do things to

“Yes, yes.”

“Don’t interrupt.”

“I’m sorry.”

want to do

“Why? I trust you.”

want

“I…know.”

to ask. Do you realize you’re behaving differently? Are you

of each hand with

about the cuffs,

can do it,

mild as he interrupted her protest. “That’s not what this scene

relaxed. “You’re

find anything that would work. A quick trip to the tack room

her upper arms, at the elbow. Using the thinnest rope they had—more like twine than rope—he added to her

weight of her arms, but not so tight that her shoulders were stretched. Her wrists might still end up bearing the imprint of the delicate cuffs,

when he was done and examined her. Her elbows were only an inch higher than they had been,

and closing it a few times, watching her

wrist, he lay the flat of the scissors against her right nipple. She gasped and

all that cold—he’d been keeping it tucked in his back pocket when not

goosebumps appear on her skin. When he reached the waistband of

thought it was fabric, but upon closer examination—and running his hand over her hip—it was

put the

massaged his way down her back from her shoulders to her ass. The material was stretched tight over her butt. He slid the fingers of both hands under the waistband

his hands into fists

hips were yanked back. His biceps bunched, and for a

Another yank and the back of the skirt ripped down the center. With a satisfied grunt, he tossed the ruined garment

“Whoa,” Davina breathed.

was slightly powdery from the talc she’d used to get the

then separated them, letting air wash over

other chair with one hand, he grabbed a glove and a small

nice jeweled plug in your ass.” He pulled on the glove, letting it

“You aren’t?”

I have

* * *

waited, dick painfully hard in his pants, to see how she’d react to his cryptic statement that he had something better than a plug

His patience was rewarded.

her knees back a few inches, towards the front edge of the chair, and

herself, offering her

he loved

loved spending time with her. Topping her. He loved that he had

her last name, so he didn’t

her, because that would just be too damned

squeezed some onto the index and middle fingers of his

bare hand on the small of her back, he pressed down, forcing her into a deeper arch. The muscles in her shoulders and thighs tensed as she tried to

slid his lubed fingers between the cheeks of her ass. Fingers together, he rubbed up and down, bumping

sound—though her body was still tense and straining to hold the

against me,”

times before, though for them an anal hook was