Page 29 of Sherwood
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Are you nervous?”
“Also yes.” I wasn’t entirely sure why—when I was in college and desperately trying to forget Lox, I’d had enough sex with all sorts of people that it was hard to imagine what I could possibly be nervous about now. In the spirit of honesty, I added, “And a little embarrassed.”
“There’s no need to be. It’s a common fantasy, wanting to be shared.” He stood easily and then took my hands to help me to my feet.
“Is it a fantasy of yours too? I mean, from the dominant side?”
A slow breath. “Yes,” he said after a minute. “Intensely so.”
“Oh,” I said.
“To be able to share someone would mean that they’re mine to share. I’ve never had someone beminebefore, even for the space of a few weeks.”
I stared up into that hooded gaze. “Am I yours then, sir?”
He answered quietly, “I want you to be.”
My heart thumped hard against my chest and my cheeks burned—with lust or shyness or a flushing happiness, I wasn’t sure.
“I want to be,” I said. “Even if it’s only until your work in Sherwood is done.”
A kind of restlessness moved through him then, and I thought I saw a shadow move over his face as he stepped back.
“We should go,” he said instead of responding. He was already turning toward the door. “Otherwise we’ll be late.”
* * *
An hour later,and I was blindfolded on a stage in the central room of The Knot. Before I’d come up, Rafe had quietly gone over my limits with me, correctly guessing that there were a few things I was comfortable doing with him that I wasn’t ready to do with an anonymous stranger while trussed up in front of a crowd, at least not to start. But most of my limits and desires were the same—in fact, I wanted Rafe to know how far my desires extended.
“I’m okay with being more than played with,” I’d told him. “I want to be…you know. Like a real toy. Used.”
“And I want to see you used, sweet one,” he’d said, eyes dark, “but it’s no small thing, and I’m a possessive dominant. I’d only give you over to be used if I trusted the person implicitly.”
I’d pouted a little, which had earned me a hard swat on the ass and then an even harder kiss on the lips.
And now here I was, cuffed to a padded leather platform, blindfolded and totally reliant on my sense of hearing. I could hear the steady drumbeats and silky voice of FADE’s latest single in the background; the steady tap of Rafe’s dress shoes on the floor. The murmur and chatter of the people gathering around the stage to look at Marian Fitzwalter in her red dress, her cuffed ankles spread far enough apart that the skirt of her dress had fallen open along the slit.
“Thank you all for coming tonight,” Rafe said. His voice wasn’t loud, but the room hushed nonetheless. The quiet authority in it was palpable, arresting. I imagined even other dominants would pause to hear it.
Had Lox paused to hear it, once upon a time? Had she heard another king fox in the forest and decided he was worthy of her claws and teeth?
“I’ve been told that it’s not uncommon here to have a scene on stage or even to have a submissive up here, available for play, but I wanted to try something new tonight,” Rafe told the crowd. “A little game.”
There was a renewed murmur at this, and even though I’d already known this was the plan, I still shivered to hear the cold hedonism in his voice. Yes, I wanted this, but I also wanted tonotwant this, I also wanted to be scared of it, scared of him, scared of myself and the hollow bruises inside that begged to be burned away.
I wanted one part of my life—justone, please God—to be as immutable as the ocean, as jaggedly bright as lightning. I wanted something that was outside of my control, outside of my responsibility to change or make better, beyond what I could affect or change. I wanted the absence of choice, or at least the pretense of it, and I wanted to feel, however briefly, the totality of someone’s will pressed against my own.
And perhaps it was because I’d lost my parents too young or perhaps it was because Fitzwalter Green would never tell megood girlin exchange for its whips and welts, but I couldn’t help but think I’d been formed like this from the beginning. From the time I was a little girl and another girl told me that the rules were to kneel, and those rules made more sense to me than any of the other rules I’d learned.
“The game is this: whoever makes my submissive come the hardest tonight wins. You can use your fingers, mouths, or any of the toys I’ve brought up here to do so, and I shall be the one to determine a winner.”
“What do we get if we win?” someone asked.
Rafe’s hand dropped to my thigh, and I tried to arch toward the touch. The cuffs around my wrists and ankles made it nearly impossible to move at all, but I still twisted. Rafe gave my thigh a sharp slap, the message clear.Settle down, sweet one.
“You might only get bragging rights,” he said. “Or you might get more, depending on my mood.”
