Checklist J, K, L

If he knew how to play it cool, he would. Sadly, that was not a skill Grif had ever learned. Not that he didn’t know how to relax or be lazy, but when he was into something, or someone, he was all in.

Looking back, some of the most pivotal moments in his life had started with him saying, “You know what would be awesome?” And then running enthusiastically with whatever idea had just come to him. It’s how his college friendship with a cinema major—and late night discussions of the tech side of filmmaking—had led to him developing a GoPro compatible hardware accessory and an accompanying bit of sweet software that fixed some common user issues. The package quickly had become a must-have for documentary film makers and vloggers.

He’d sold the hardware to one company, the software to another, and made a stupid amount of money. Now he was a one-man R&D company backed by a venture capital group who threw money at him for the right to have first bid on anything he created. He was also routinely hired by startups to create prototypes of everything from space-age toothbrushes to cameras for them to show investors or put up on Kickstarter.

He started every project by getting excited about what he was about to do. There was nothing like creating something the world had never seen before. Using tech and science to fix a problem, make life easier, make the world a little more cool and interesting.

And now that he knew why Davina—his strong, self-assured minx—had safe worded out of a scene, he was practically bouncing with anticipation. He wanted to fix this. To create a new relationship, a new dynamic that would make her happy.

And what about you? Are you going to tell her you love her? Are you going to try and find your happy?

His inner voice wasn’t wrong—in fact, that inner voice sounded a lot like one of his good friends who was a therapist—but with the will of someone headed headlong into a dangerous situation, he ignored it.

The door to the Conclave opened, and he forced himself not to react. The first few times the door opened he’d whipped around, heart thudding in chest, only to find it was other couples, come to use either the loft or one of the stables to work on their letters.

He ran his fingers over the jewelry and chains he’d laid out on a black velvet cloth. The cloth was on a small table, set precisely beside an inclined St. Andrews’s cross.

Last weekend he’d had to improvise, since he hadn’t known what their letter would be, and in an effort to challenge themselves he hadn’t asked Davina to help him plan the scene. The result had been something good, but not amazing. Last week had been a prototype, that in the best engineering tradition, failed gloriously, resulting in lots of good data he could work with in future planning and design.

Time to plan and map out what he was going to do was one of the reasons he hadn’t wanted to go back to Las Palmas last Saturday after their meeting at the Getty Center.

He’d spent the work week getting little to no work done, but instead thinking about Davina. The revelations about her past as a submissive put a few things in different context.

He’d assumed she liked to plan the scenes with him because she was a switch, and hadn’t been able to completely let go of that need to control and direct. That was probably true, but he now wondered how much of that need was about self-protection—making sure that a scene actually was a scene, and not her getting ignored in a corner.

“Grif.”

Davina. She was here. The gnawing worry that she wouldn’t show up faded.

He took his time lifting the jewelry collar from its place on the velvet cloth. Only then did he turn to face her.

Damn the woman was sexy. So fucking sexy it hurt. And smart and funny and…

Davina wore a form-fitting lace teddy. It hugged every curve, and the open pattern of the lace meant that plenty of skin was visible. She wore soft black slippers, and her hair was back in its normal braid.

One thing that was missing was the glint of gold at her nipples.

“You look gorgeous, Minx.”

“Thank you, Sir.” She deliberately emphasized the last word, but not in a mocking way.

Grif held out his arm, as he had at the museum. She looped hers through his, and he led her over to the small seating area he’d set up with straight backed chairs and a table.

He pulled out her chair and motioned for her to sit. She did so, looking bemused. He took the chair across from her, then very deliberately set the jewelry collar down on the table.

She inhaled audibly when she realized what it was.

“We need to talk about our relationship.”

Davina looked from the collar to him. Emotions flittered across her face, before she smiled. No, that wasn’t a smile. He knew how she smiled. This was cold and fake. A mask. “Of course,” she said amiably.

“Damn it, that’s not what I meant.” He’d practiced what he was going to say, and “we need to talk” hadn’t been part of the script. It sounded like the start of a breakup, which was the last thing he wanted. Why wasn’t he better at this?

Because now she’s here, and every time you see her you start acting like a lovesick, horny teenager.

God, his inner voice could be a dick.

“Rewind. Let me try this again. Last week didn’t work, and after we talked, I know why. But I don’t think we should just go back to doing what we’ve been doing.”

“Why? What we were doing was working.” The fake smile was replaced by a frown. “At least it was working for me.”

“It was…mostly…working for me too. I’m more inclined to top than to sub, but you know I’ll do either.”

She nodded. “True. You and I don’t see things as black and white. Only Dom or only sub.”

“And I still believe that, I do, but I want…Davina, I’d like you to be my sub.”

One eyebrow rose.

“I know you are the submissive partner, but I want…I want us to try more. I’m not talking about high protocol or anything like that. Just being a little bit more…structured…than we have been.”

“You’re not happy with what we had?” Davina folded her arms, her body language screaming defensive. “Why didn’t you say anything in the two years we’ve been bonded?”

“Of course I was happy.”

Unless you count the fact that I’m madly in love with you and don’t even know your last name.

“Hearing you call me Master, just come out and say it like that, it…It was something I didn’t know I needed until I heard it. And seeing you submit that way…Well, I’m not even sure how to describe it except it was like when you make a tweak to something and suddenly the output is four times as good as it was before, and you didn’t even know the output could be that good.”

Davina smiled and this time it was real. “That is a terrible analogy.”

fully aware of that,” he replied

liked being in that head space again, liked letting go so much. But you also know why I’m very, very reluctant

You know me. Do you think I’d ever put you in a corner or something stupid like that? And you’re at a club, where there’s lots of

nets,”

mean, I wouldn’t be

“Standards,” she agreed solemnly.

I don’t want to lose this.” He gestured back and forth between them, using the motion to indicate their banter, their friendship that had come before

to lose this

on, Friday

drinks, people watching, planning,”

regular Friday night

“Date,” she repeated softly.

Damn it.

put this collar on you, it means for the

when

was enough to make his chest feel light with relief. “Top’s

but then her expression turned

if—emotionally or physically—I

to trust me to read you, and to know what you

good tight rope bondage, something I can

“Trust me.”

she, could she, trust him enough to let him really lead. She was leaning towards him, a good sign,

sadistically creative, and I don’t want

snorted out a laugh.

plan out a scene, doesn’t mean we do it that weekend. We still get to collaborate, but I

her top lip and she nodded

“So you agree?”

along the jewelry collar. “I’m terrified,

find a way to practice BDSM that’s unique to us, something that combines everything we

people are complicated. It might not be possible to

enough

closed her eyes and

he rose. He heard her breath hitch, her breasts rising and falling in an uneven rhythm as

the collar, then reached over her head, letting it lay against her chest before drawing it up, snug against her neck. Once it was fastened, he checked to make sure it

his palms on the tops of her shoulders, thumbs stroking the base of

“Good, Master.”

saw her, stood to

her lingerie off her shoulders so they dangled on her upper arms. “From now on, you only wear things you’re okay having me rip or cut off you. I know you don’t want me to ruin your stuff, so you need to make

Master. Wait, you like ripping things off me? I thought you just forgot about my

woman naked. Now

* * *

finished strapping her to the

her sides, then grabbed hold of the back of her lace teddy. For a moment the fabric pulled painfully tight around her chest, then there was a rip, and she felt the garment

better, Master?” she

of feeling to strike her after using the word—fear, worry, something. There was nothing,

She was wearing the collar, which meant he was her Master, until the collar came off. She hadn’t yet found her serenity, but she knew she would, and far more quickly and easily than she

it to fall off her body. “I don’t want you worried that I won’t still flog you, or abuse this sweet ass,”

me, Master.” Davina

he shook out the tails of a deerskin flogger. “I’m a giver, what can

good—they could still tease one another, pull a piece of that dynamic they’d developed in their two years as partners forward into this new iteration of

the flogger

sound made her palms damp, her breath catch. Her arms were up and out, strapped to the St. Andrew’s cross with leather buckles. Her feet were flat on the floor, cuffs around her ankles tethered to the legs of the cross with short chains. She could shuffle her feet, shift her weight, but not close her legs. He could have added more bonds, could have strapped her so tightly to the St. Andrew’s that she couldn’t move, but he hadn’t. This felt almost like a middle ground, somewhere between the tight rope bondage of a month

for him to flog her, punish her, play with her. More than that, it was a

left shoulder over the shoulder blade, mid-back, lower back, and her ass.

where I’m going to flog you, his touch

hit her right ass cheek. Floggers looked like they would sting, but actually, despite the multiple strands, it was a single, thumping feeling, with maybe a few outlying snaps and pinches where the tips of a few

rolled her neck and sighed happily. Oh yes,

Needed him.

those words, that

strikes to her ass as he found his rhythm. She didn’t have to look to know what he was doing. For single strikes, he’d hold the handle of the flogger in his dominant right

forearm and wrist to create a figure eight pattern, catching her ass twice in

bottom was starting to heat. Her nipples were tight

of people who could look at them and call this barbaric, or abuse, but turn around and go get a sports

she needed this,

her hips forward and back, in rhythm

on these all too rare, precious weekends. They had to keep their relationship confined inside Las Palmas. It was too dangerous to do anything else. It might end

is nothing

thwack, thwack. He’d found his rhythm, his breathing slow and steady. She needed this. He needed to do this

Thwack, thwack, thwack.

play could be more than an

good thing. Some revelations were too

you’re scared. That’s why, when he asked you out on a date, you deliberately misinterpreted. Pretended it wasn’t what it was,