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They were quiet for a moment. Still. It wasn’t awkward, but anticipatory.
“If I go easy on you, you won’t find it as meaningful if, at the end of the weekend, I ask you out on a nice, normal vanilla date.”
“That’s your plan to show me you still respect me? A pity date.”
“Pity date? Absolutely not what I intend.”
“I don’t need—”
He didn’t let her finish that thought. “You do. We all need something. That’s why we spend an obscene amount of money to be members.”
“It is a little horrific if you think about it,” she murmured.
“Tell me I’m wrong, Autumn. Tell me that you don’t need someone to tie you down. Take control. All so that you can let go…and submit.”
Her breath caught, her stomach muscles tensed, even as her pussy pulsed with arousal and need.
When she didn’t reply he dropped one hand to her leg and squeezed her thigh, hard enough for it to be a reprimand.
“Answer me.”
“Yes, Sir.” As the last syllable left her lips so did the final remnants of her resistance. Being here with him, like this—in the club, naked on his lap except for the thong—would have pushed her deep into her own subspace long ago, if her attraction to him and the way he made her feel hadn’t set off internal alarms.
She’d told him her secret shame, and he hadn’t called her a hypocrite. Hadn’t walked away from her the way she had from him.
“Ah, there you are,” Daniel murmured, the hand on her thigh rising to her cheek. She rested her head in his palm, and he stroked his thumb along her cheekbone.
“On your knees at my feet, please.”
Chapter 9
Autumn obeyed without letting herself stop and think.
Despite the ‘please’, that had been an order, and the pleasantry somehow underscored his dominance. This was a man who was so in control that he tacked good manners on to his orders and they didn’t diminish the unequivocal command in his words.
She knelt on the blanket that she’d had on her lap, close enough to him that her knees were between his toes. Daniel sat forward, brushing her hair back from her face before carefully gathering it into a tail.
She was ready when he abruptly tightened his hold, her scalp lighting up with little prickles of pain. She kept her gaze down as he jerked her head back, only looking up when he ordered her to.
“Something specific happened before. Something changed for you. What was it? Be specific.”
His blue-gray eyes bore into hers.
“It was calling me a…a slut.” She pressed her nails into her palms. “Not just the word, but your tone of voice, Sir.”
“And what was my tone?”
“You sounded…disdainful. Almost degrading. You called me a slut like it was an insult, and it was like…like the man who I had dinner with, who I’d had a good conversation with, disappeared the instant I was on my knees to be spanked.” The words came out in a hot rush.
He tucked her hair behind her ear again, his fingers gentle and caring.
“I felt so…embarrassed and stupid. Small and like…like you were going to hit me, hurt me, not just because it was BDSM, but because you saw me as the kind of woman it was okay to hit.”
His fingers stilled in her hair. “Never, Autumn. I would never hit you, anyone, in anger or to punish. That is…that is abhorrent to me.”
There was something in his voice that told her there was a story there.
After a moment he relaxed with a nearly visible effort. “Someone really did a number on you.” He cupped her cheek and she closed her eyes, leaning into his hand once more.
