“The flogger. The four-footer. And the cat. Maybe more. I don’t know what it’s going to take. I just want to put myself in your hands and trust that you’ll work your magic.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “That’s my little submissive wife. Help me put out the candles, then go downstairs and wait for me, naked and kneeling.”
Sabrina knelt on the soft rug in the center of the playroom Jonas had built in their basement and marveled at the fact she didn’t mind kneeling naked. A week ago she’d balked at the order. Now she welcomed it. That was definitely a paradox for her journal. She wondered how Jonas would address that issue.
I hate kneeling at your feet unless it’s for a scene. It’s almost like if you don’t subsume me with your power, I get angry. I feel cheated.
She used to think she had discovered the pinnacle of sexual expression and the secret to keeping their relationship strong, but now she saw the trail of her past spread behind her, a string of stepping stones that stalled and faltered more than they showed a strong, clear path.
Just when she thought they’d fallen away completely, Jonas had appeared, holding out his hand to guide her through the darkness, showing her that the path kept going, and they’d travel it together. That, more than anything, gave her a renewed sense of courage and hope.
The door opened, and Jonas came in. She didn’t look up. He required that she keep her gaze firmly on the floor in front of her. He came closer, bringing the perfume of those hundreds of candles they’d extinguished together. She was sure the scent clung to her hair and skin the way same way it adhered to his clothes.
He stopped next to her, close enough for his jeans to rub her cheek, and he pressed her head to his thigh, a reassuring embrace and a show of power. “Remind us of your safe word.”
“Onion.” The word felt dirty and used, a piece of her humiliation. “We should choose a different one.”
“Not during a scene. We can discuss it later.” He hadn’t rejected her idea, but he’d acknowledged the inherent plea. That made her feel a little better about her misuse of the word. Maybe they needed to discuss a “Wait-a-minute” word.
He stroked his hand along her temple, behind her ear, and down her neck, caressing her hair and brushing it away from her face at the same time. They stayed like this for a while. Sabrina closed her eyes and gave herself over to the inherent joy of being cherished by him.
Abruptly he twisted his hand in her hair at the nape of her neck and forced her head back. She lifted her gaze and stared at him in wide-eyed submission.
“I’m going to hurt you, Sabrina. I’m going to make you cry.”
Her pussy tingled and heated, and a weight lifted from her chest. “Yes. Please.”
“Then I’m going to carry you upstairs and make love to you.”
Her lips trembled, but this time in anticipation, not fear. “Yes.”
“Go bend over the spanking bench.” He released his hold on her hair, letting go slowly, reluctantly.
She rose to her feet. The spanking bench was a padded affair, which made it bulky, and the plastic, non-porous padding reminded her of a doctor’s office. Two legs jutted down, separated to provide full exposure. They were bent for kneeling, but high enough for him to fuck her if he so desired. If he wanted her to stand, they were situated on a pivot to move out of the way. She knelt on it, feeling split wide open to his view, which only made her pussy weep more. She missed having this reaction to his domination. It felt right, almost sacred.
She bent over the padded bench and placed her arms above her head so that he could bind her. She waited.
He slid his hand under her head. “Lift up.”
She expected a blindfold, but he slid a towel under her head. While she appreciated the softness of the impromptu pillow, especially since that now meant she wouldn’t be peeling her cheek from the plastic afterward, she didn’t understand the purpose of the towel.
But he showed no sign that an explanation was forthcoming. Instead, he pressed a rope to her hand. “Hold this.”
Normally he used cuffs. To those, he attached snaps that connected to the spanking bench and held her immobile. Sometimes he bound her with rope, but that wasn’t his usual thing.
He pressed a rope to her other hand. “If you wrap them around your wrists or hands a few times, they’ll be easier to hold. I’m not going to bind you, Sabrina. You’re going to take this because you want it and need it. You’re going to submit to me for the same reasons.”
Forcing her submission hadn’t worked, so he was asking her to give it. Somehow this seemed more difficult. It demanded more from her—active participation and willing surrender. It didn’t diminish his power, but it did render him that much more difficult to please. She was being asked to prove herself worthy of his attention.
He moved around the room, mostly behind her. He hadn’t instructed her not to look, so she remained still by choice. Soon she felt a feather-light caress on the bend at the back of her knee. It moved up her leg and over the curve of her ass to her hip. Then it continued up her side, across her back, and down the other side. It soothed and left her wanting, craving a firmer touch.
Up and down her body, again and again. Now she shivered from need instead of fear, the internal strife calmed, if not forgotten. In the periphery of her vision, she caught sight of a feather. It was long, and the edges were frilled, rendering it impossible to tell if it came from a real bird. She hadn’t even known he owned a feather.
When he came around the top of the bench, he leaned down and bit her earlobe. The small sting roused her from the trancelike state she hadn’t realized she’d fallen into. “You still doubt your submissiveness?”
She was naked and spread open, bent over a padded bench while he tortured her with a feather. All the while, she waited to be flogged. However she wasn’t tied down. “I can get up and leave at any time.”
“Any submissive can. Ropes don’t prohibit you from leaving, Sabrina. Only your consent keeps you here. That’s the way it’s always been. That’s the way it always will be.” He brushed her hair away from her neck and gathered it together. While he preferred for her to wear it down, he always moved it out of the way before he flogged her.
Sabrina digested his argument. He frequently tied her up or held her down. She liked that display of dominance, but she took a step back and tried to consider it from his perspective. If she hadn’t wanted those things, he wouldn’t have done them. “Is that why you always make me beg?”
He laughed, a short sound that betrayed mischievous amusement. “No. I just like to hear you beg.” He traced a leather rectangle down her back. She recognized the tip of the crop. “You beg so well, always with the right amount of desperation and deference. You still doubt your submissiveness?”
No, she didn’t, but that didn’t mean her doubts were gone. “Yes. I’m not as submissive as you would like me to be.”
He brought the crop down across her ass, the thin rod stinging her unprepared skin. A low buzzing started in her ears, drowning out some of that doubt and spreading waves of painful pleasure. He drew the flap along the fresh line he’d made, and the tingling spread in small waves through her muscles.
“You liked that.”
“Because I have a masochistic streak.”
He whipped her twice more, laying parallel stripes above and below the first blow. Now he caressed her ass with his hand, playing his fingers across the stripes as if they were guitar strings. “Sophia doesn’t require your submission.” His forays grew, and he fingered her clit. “How is this different?”
“She doesn’t touch my pussy.” But she did like to rub and pinch the stripes and welts she put on Sabrina’s body. Her hands were always cool, whereas Jonas was always hot. “But you’re my husband. We’re a little more involved.”
His hand came down hard on her ass, a small punishment for the sarcasm lacing her tone. The correction shuddered through her body. She braced herself for the wave of shame and humiliation, but it never came.
“She ties me up. Always.”
His fingers returned to her clit. “Why?”
Though Sabrina saw Sophia by choice, often scheduling the time and duration of sessions, Sabrina always instigated it. Sophia might offer, but she never insisted. Jonas never offered, but he often insisted. Sabrina could ask for a session, but it happened on his timetable. The quantity and duration where subject to his whim.
“Because she has no power over me. You do.”
The crop—or had he exchanged it for a cane?—came down on the back of one thigh and then the other. Stars exploded behind her eyes. She sucked in a breath and wound the ropes around her hands one more time.
“Why do I have power over you and she doesn’t?”
Smaller taps rained over the tender flesh surrounding her pussy and her anus. He definitely still had the crop in hand. She struggled to focus on his question only to find the answer right there. “Because I gave it to you and not to her.”
He set the crop across her body and bent down until his cheek was on the padded bench and the tip of his nose touched hers. “That, my sweet wife, is submission. It can’t be taken. It can only be given. It is your gift to me, and it belongs to me alone, for no other reason than because it’s what you want.”
“But this is a scene.” Tears pricked the back of her eyelids. She blinked quickly to hold them at bay. “I only seem to have a problem submitting to you when we’re not role-playing.”
His hand moved over her back and up her neck. “This isn’t a scene, honey. We’re not role-playing. I am your husband, your Dom, and you are my wife, my submissive.”
One fat teardrop fell. “But we’re not doing this because you want it. We’re doing this because I need it.”
He caught her tear with the tip of his thumb. “That’s my job, Sabrina. Your needs are always more important than my wants. I only pushed the issue of your submission because our scenes aren’t enough for you anymore.”
They weren’t. She loved role-playing with him. She lived for their scenes. But he was right; they were no longer enough. What had been a nice break from reality had become a refuge that couldn’t hold her problems at bay. The tears came in earnest now. Sobs shook her body.
“I’m sorry, Jonas. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, honey. Life changes. Your needs change, and that means my response to your needs has to change. I had the right idea, but the wrong execution.” He lifted her from the table and carried her to a fold-down sofa where he held her in his arms as she wept.
Minutes passed, though they seemed like hours, and her crying subsided. He passed her a wad of tissue as he rocked her in his arms. She wanted to say something, to thank him for understanding, for loving her despite her insecurities, but she blurted something unexpected.
“I want to quit my job.”
He stopped rocking her, but he didn’t say anything for the longest time. She thought about taking it back, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that working in advertising no longer made her happy. What had been a joy had become a burden. She wanted more time with her children, especially because they were young, and she wanted more time with Jonas. Though she tried to control it, she worked long hours and traveled for business several times each month.
It simply wasn’t something she wanted to do anymore.
Finally he nodded. “Okay. If that’s what you want. But please don’t do it because you think I want you to buy Elysium. Owning a business isn’t going to be easier than running a billion-dollar marketing division. I support any decision you make as long as you’re doing it for the right reasons.”
She threw her arms around him and slathered kisses all over his face. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so carefree.
“Jonas?”
“Hmm?” His eyes were closed and his hand rested on her hip.
“You didn’t flog me.”
“I never said I was going to flog you. I said I was going to hurt you and make you cry.” He pinched one of the welts on her ass. She yelped, but he only laughed. “Now it’s time to go upstairs so I can make love to you.”
THE END
WWW.MICHELEZURLO.COM
Letting Go
was my first published novel. It was a labor of love, full of characters I’d spent countless hours creating. Over the years, it’s become the one I get the most e-mails about. Sabrina’s journey is one with which so many women closely identify, and Jonas is the perfect man to balance her strengths and weaknesses. When fans first wrote asking for a sequel, I politely informed them that I was finished with the story. I had other stories to tell. But those readers planted a seed that grew, and I began to wonder how Sabrina and Jonas were getting along now that they had a few years and a couple of kids. I missed hanging out with them. Two years passed in real life, and I received many more e-mails. Scattered pieces came together, and
Stepping Stones
was born.
I am blessed to have a wonderful, supportive family and readers who appreciate and love my characters as much as I do. Don’t stop letting me know your thoughts. If you haven’t guessed from the way this one ended, I am planning more. Unless you think it’s okay to leave things hanging like this…