AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"I know it represents BDSM somehow."
"It can represent a lot of things. The three sections"--he placed a finger on one of them-- "can symbolize safe, sane and consensual, the core mantra of BDSM. Or the three types of practitioners; Doms, subs and switches. A lot of important things in life connect to a trinity." He shifted his hand, touching her knuckle as he did so. She didn't move it away. Acknowledging it, he lingered there, teasing the soft, thin skin between two of her knuckles. She realized she was holding her breath again. She felt his eyes on her, but kept her own on their hands.
"The small hole in each section represents how the need for Dominance or submission can't be satisfied alone."
He touched her chin, lifting it so that her eyes met his. He'd said he liked that. "No one figures everything out the first day, Madison," he said mildly. "Alice said you were a type A personality, a perfectionist. You have to give yourself time to learn."
Alice was never afraid of making mistakes. Of course, why would she have been? Alice's mistakes had a way of turning into successes, whereas even Madison's successes often turned out to be failures in disguise. She was afraid of doing the same to the store Alice had loved.
"Thanks for the box." Hugging it to her, she stepped back. "I might do it. It beats surfing cable."
Or dreading another day of the polite, get-away-from-me looks from her customers. If this could help her feel better about that, it might be worth it. But she wasn't going to make him any promises about doing it. "Thanks for all the lessons. Professor."
He didn't say anything and she frowned, looking down at the counter again. "You make me uncomfortable when you stare like that."
"I don't think making you comfortable is what you need from me, Madison. But I do like to see you smile." Pulling a magnet off the antique cash register, he handed it to her. "On the house."
"Think of all the women on the Titanic who passed up dessert." She couldn't help it; she smiled, and it stayed there when his expression eased into the same.
"That's better. I'll walk you out." He took her elbow. "When you stay late, you should move your car to the front, or let me know when you're leaving, so Troy or I can escort you. It's a safe area, but a deserted alley is still a deserted alley. Best not to take risks."
Yet he and her dead sister had no problem pushing her to risk her sanity, with his not-so-subtle offers to unleash his Dominant side on her senses. Hell, he was already doing it, as if it was such an intrinsic part of him, he couldn't help himself when h
e was around a submissive.
She flinched inwardly. Stop thinking of yourself that way. "It's nice of you to do this, but I'm sure it's fine."
"I'm sure it is. I'm still walking you to your car."
He was moving her down the center aisle, back past the fasteners, hooks, ropes. She tried not to think of all the ways they could be used. Dom Depot, indeed. But the danger was never the sword, but who was wielding it. Nice phallic entendre there, Madison. Alice would be smirking.
She set her jaw and stopped, pivoting toward him. "Even if I say no?"
She'd put the box under an arm and held out her other hand to bring him to a halt, which brought her palm in contact with his chest. He was solid muscle, and distracting curls of gleaming chest hair, revealed by the open collar of his shirt, tempted touch. They were only a few inches above where her fingers rested. She pressed them against his flesh, an attempt to quell the urge, and realized she'd conveyed something else.
He closed his hand over her wrist, then he closed the space between them. It was a gradual but inexorable movement, like tides rising. The words she intended to say went away as he held her gaze, a restraint as effective as the ropes behind her. Which kind of proved her point about the sword, but she wasn't opening her mouth to make it.
Keeping his attention on her face, tracking her every reaction in a way that couldn't help but make a woman feel like the center of the universe, he lowered her arm to her side. His grip shifted, and now that same arm was being slowly twisted behind her, her knuckles brushing her ass, then the small of her back. His knuckles pressed against the top of her buttocks as he held her hand. The position arched her body so the tips of her breasts almost touched his chest.
"No means nothing to me when it conflicts with your well-being, Madison."
Her swallow was audible. "Let go of me," she whispered.
"That's not what you want me to do."
"No, but . . . please."
He did it with kindness, caressing her wrist before stepping back. "I'm walking you to your car," he said firmly. When he gestured her to precede him, she turned back in that direction, trying to scrape up her shattered composure. As they moved toward the exit, he thankfully stayed quiet, though his hand settled on her back again. The gesture was so easy for him he couldn't possibly know how raw and exposed it left her.
They were approaching her back door. He'd open it for her, and she'd get in her car like some dutiful puppet whose strings he'd managed to pull all the right ways, making him think he could do that tomorrow, and the next day.
She spun around and faced him, holding the box between them to ensure she didn't make any unwise contact this time. "I get it. You think you're some Master-Dom-guru who can bring people to the light through whips and chains. Well, that's awesome for you. Go and start a cult somewhere. But I'm not signing up. As for what Alice told you, about giving me to you that's more of her bullshit. The type of things that made people think she was this amazing, quirky person who everyone wanted to be around, who everyone loved, who never had her heart broken . . ."
Her voice was shaking. She thrust the box at him. "You were her friend. You don't have to be mine."
He closed his hands over hers on the box and took it, but only to set it aside on one of her shelves. "I have no intention of being your friend, Madison. Not that way." Then he curled his strong fingers over her nape, exerted pressure. "Come here."
"I don't want this. I don't want to do it. I don't want to do any of this." She didn't jerk away, just resisted him with counterweight, futile against a man who was twice her weight and at least half a foot taller. He put his other arm around her waist, using it like a lasso to bring her to him, one reluctant step at a time.
