“White,” he said without emotion, as if he were stating a simple fact and nothing more.
“Yes, sir.” She held her breath for his verdict.
He released her big toe and caressed the tops of both feet again. “I like it.”
She exhaled in relief, forcing herself not to smile. “Thank you, sir.”
His fingers slowly trailed up her leg as he strolled the length of the table toward her shackled wrists. “The color of innocence. Perfect for tonight, don’t you think?”
She nodded. “Yes, sir.”
When he spoke again, his whispered voice came from right beside her ear. “I want you to wear white next week for your debut.”
She licked her lips and took a shaky breath. He had already made it clear with those ever-changing and made-up rules of his that he wanted her appearance to be impeccable next week.
“Do you understand?” he said, his mouth was still next to her ear.
“Yes, sir.”
He lightly palmed her breast, making her nipple stand at attention. “Good.” He had straightened, his voice no longer coming from only inches away. “I’m going to make sure you have something special to wear. Something that will make the other Doms envious of the prize I’ve found in you.”
Hearing him say things like that always made her heart flutter. He had said more than once that she was the first submissive he had ever wanted to keep for himself, and even though he had never brought up the subject of collaring her, she knew by the reverent way he kissed and caressed her neck that the thought had crossed his mind.
And just last week, he had taken her shopping at Tiffany’s after hours. Wearing his mask, of course, which had raised a few intrigued eyebrows. He had spent over an hour making her try on necklaces before telling the sales manager he would think about it, but in a way that suggested he’d made his selection and would be in touch soon.
Jenna refused to get her hopes up, though. They’d only been together a couple of months. In light of what he’d told her regarding his beliefs about collaring, he couldn’t have possibly been thinking about collaring her. Could he?
But given how unpredictable and mysterious he’d been about their trip to Tiffany’s, his approach to devising rules for her to break was another story.
Most of his rules never changed, especially those involving the club. But he enjoyed toying with her when it came to what he called his lesser rules. For example, at first he said he didn’t want her toenails to be too pink, then, when she showed up with red toenails, he admonished her, saying she should have known better than to go with red, as it was too brazen. The next week, after another pedicure, when she’d asked the nail tech to go with a shade somewhere between mauve and lavender, he expressed his disappointment, because he had personally liked the red.
This was how he kept her on her toes, literally. It was both frustrating and exhilarating, creating the perfect friction of tension and desire. Each time she saw him, she never knew what aspect of her appearance he would pick on to twist her into delectable knots.
But it was all just part of the game they were learning how to play with each other. His overly detailed assessments of her were like really intense foreplay and gave her a thrill either way his wind blew. On one hand, his praise when she pleased him gave her a boost of confidence and filled her with a sense of victory. On the other, his scorn when she “disappointed” him filled her with adrenaline-infused anticipation, because she knew he would punish her. And she was quickly growing addicted to his punishments.
In her mind, it was a win-win. She got something out of it either way. But, as he’d told her more than once, that was the point. And she was learning that even when he claimed to be displeased, he really wasn’t. He was only pretending. Pretending that he didn’t like the way she’d styled her hair, or the color of her nail polish, or that she had arrived five minutes early instead of right on time.
And it wasn’t like he tried to hide that he was only playing. The delighted gleam in his eyes, his fleeting but playfully crooked grin that twisted his mouth, and the way he looked her up and down as if she were a four-course meal he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into gave him away. And he knew that she knew that he was only feigning disapproval to give them what they both wanted.
But that didn’t diminish the effect of his Dom voice when he invoked it. And it didn’t diminish her desire to be punished.
Other women might have felt toyed with under such circumstances. They might have become frustrated with Warren’s ever-changing rules. But not Jenna. She understood his game and why he played it. And to his credit, he seemed to understand her too. He knew what she needed. He knew when to push her, when to pull, and when to back down. He read her like he’d read her books, seeing her completely and in a way no one else ever had.
In short, they were a perfect match. Each had what the other needed, and each willingly gave it.
But when it came to her body, the only thing he had broached no argument about was that he wanted her genitals waxed bare. The last time they had played with genital clamps, a pubic hair got caught in one of the clamps, making for an unpleasant experience, if only for a few seconds.
Warren had taken the accident personally. As her Dom, he said it was his job to ensure things like that didn’t happen. If she were meant to feel pain, it was because he had specifically orchestrated it. Undue pain from something like a clamp catching on a pubic hair
