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

gently on the chain tethering her collar to the chair.

know… I don’t know the

exposed underside of her raised arm from elbow

strap of the tank top, lifted it from her skin, and then snipped

Davina’s eyes slid closed.

the other strap. The stubborn fabric clung to her. Her nipple bars glinted in the light. Once he had the shirt

Or…

left nipple. For one delicious moment he was touching the smooth, sweet skin of her breast.

shirt, there was a nice-size opening

made an

did the same to the other side of the shirt before tucking the

take out the nipple

an eyebrow. “You’re going to take off the only jewelry I was wearing

smile. He would do terrible, wonderful things to make

there will be jewelry

she was really turned on, she’d grimace or grit her teeth, a somewhat counterintuitive reaction he’d had to

a small sweet sound, almost like 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,

she breathed. “You. I

“Are you wet?”

“Yes.”

fucked

“Please do. Please.”

she shivered once more. “Not yet,”

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

into his pocket

savage about the way she looked right

again, he slid it under

Snip. Snip. Snip.

that even when he’d snipped it open down to her abdomen, the fabric clung to her, caught on the tips

free hand, he cut through the final bit of fabric. For a moment the shirt stayed on, held up by her

wasn’t shallow, but deep, and he could

the fabric, he peeled it

made her tits bounce. His

soft, and vulnerable. He wasn’t used to seeing 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 out her

elbows slightly forward, but she was shifting her weight from knee to

knew that motion, recognized it for what it was. A sign that she was

flesh from waist to ribcage, ribcage to armpit, then along her arms. He checked the cuffs at her wrists, sliding the tip of his

do your

“Fine.”

you paying attention? Are you adjusting to keep

then looked up at him, eyes round with shock. “I’m not. I’m not

care of you.” Grif wrapped his hands around her wrists, over the cuffs, so their arm positions were mirrored,

her mouth soft and open. He kissed her gently, then nipped her bottom lip. He

do things

“Yes, yes.”

“Don’t interrupt.”

“I’m sorry.”

was going to say that I want to do things to you that

“Why? I trust you.”

want to

“I…know.”

differently? Are you doing it on purpose?

he rubbed the base of each hand with

don’t want you thinking about the

can do it, I

said I don’t want that.” He kept his voice mild as he interrupted her protest. “That’s not what this scene is

relaxed.

couldn’t find anything that would work. A quick trip to the tack room and he

the

bindings, he went straight up from each cuff to the lattice with a double length of rope. He adjusted the twine so it was tight enough that the cuffs were taking most of the 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, but now there wasn’t risk of real

elbows were only an inch higher than they had been, but they were pulled back, level with her ears rather than

and closing it a few

he lay the flat of the scissors against her right nipple. She gasped and then smiled. It was almost an expression

back pocket when not in use—but it must have been

watching goosebumps appear on her skin. When he reached

closer examination—and running his hand over her hip—it was

the scissors

Grif stroked and 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

tightened his hands into fists and

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

and the back of the skirt ripped down

“Whoa,” Davina breathed.

powdery from the talc she’d used

those sweet butt cheeks together, then separated them,

chair with one hand, he grabbed a glove

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

“You aren’t?”

I have something better

* * *

pants, to see how she’d react to his cryptic statement that he had something better

His patience was rewarded.

low in her throat. She walked her knees back a few inches, towards the front edge of the chair, and lowered her chest as much as she could with her

ass as she positioned herself, offering her sweet bottom and tight anus to

he loved

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

even know her last name, so he

love her, because that would just

onto the index and middle fingers of his

forcing her into a deeper arch. The muscles in her shoulders and thighs tensed as she tried

back, he slid his lubed fingers between the cheeks of her ass. Fingers together, he

her body was still tense and straining to hold the

against

of times before, though for them an anal hook