The Secret (The Evolution of Sin 2)

My body tingled with the imprints of his l

ips, teeth, hands and cock. Even against the softness of the bed our second time round, the sex had been rough, two animals locked in heat and only conquered by the eventual need to sustain themselves on something other than flesh.

He took the plates in hand and placed them at the small table beside the little balcony. I followed with a nearly empty bottle of crisp Pinot Grigio.

“I don’t think there is anything really dirty about what we do together,” I admitted as I popped a grape between my lips. “It’s honest and sometimes a little bit brutal but I think that is what makes it special.”

“You are very poetic.”

I frowned and leaned forward over the table to accept a grape from Sinclair’s fingers. “It doesn’t make what I’m saying any less true.”

“No, I suppose you’re right. It’s been a long time since I heard anyone speak about BDSM like that.” He looked out into the brightly lit nightscape; the glimmer of red and white lights highlighted his puckered forehead and soured mouth.

“When did you start experimenting with it?” I asked, unsure if I was phrasing the question in an insulting way.

His lips twisted and for a moment, I wasn’t sure if he was going to say anything.

“I’ve always had the desire to control. A number of therapists have surmised that it has everything to do with being powerless as an orphan and then under the thumb of very authoritarian foster parents.” He rolled his eyes, illustrating how little he thought of their theory. “The truth is much simpler and it might offend you. I have always had the desire to control, to manipulate and weld the will of others into forms of my own making. BDSM is the physical manifestation of those desires.”

“That sounds very super villainy,” I admitted.

His small smile surprised me. “On the contrary, I believe it to be soothing. As the Dom, it’s my responsibility to provide exactly what my sub needs, even if they are unconscious of those desires. It is about finding the balance, that golden edge between pain and pleasure, reluctance and desire. Love and hate. It is on that fine line between those extremes that I might find the true you, the one that no one but me will ever see.”

“You already have that.”

“No, I don’t.” He smiled that small, warped smile that I hated so much. “Only when you really belong to me can I know you like that.”

Silence descended but it wasn’t uncomfortable. These moments were inevitable between us, I thought, because there were so many dead ends in a conversation where the future was not to be discussed or changed. If I was a different person, better maybe or worse, I would have used the moment to tell him that I wanted to belong to him more than I wanted my next breath.

Instead, I slid my hand over his lightly, pulling his attention back to me. “Tell me what it would be like, if we were in an actual relationship type thing.”

Despite myself, I blushed at the thought of discussing such things and despite the dark, Sinclair could see that.

“You can beg me to make you come but you can’t actually say the words Dominant and submissive?” he asked.

I shrugged and spooned a helping of gazpacho into my mouth so that I wouldn’t really have to answer.

His eyes crinkled with suppressed mirth but he sat back in his chair and studied me thoughtfully. I loved that about him, how he took everything I gave him and mulled over it as if I was special, important and worth consideration.

“Alright, Elle, why don’t we start with the basics? There are different kinds of D/s relationships with varying degrees of control. On one end of the spectrum, there are the slaves and Masters. A slave is expected to obey commands at all times, to be controlled in all aspects of his or her life by the Master.”

“That sounds horrible,” I said, the honesty burst from my lips like the grape between my teeth.

Sinclair chuckled easily and I loved that I could coax that from him. “I think we can safely rule out that kind of relationship. I have no desire to control your life.” He reached across the table to run two calloused fingers along my jaw. “Not when you live so beautifully.”

“Now who’s poetic,” I said softly.

His eyes darkened to wet blue velvet and I gasped when his fingers tightened on my chin. “Submission is poetic too. Get on your knees, siren.”

I was sliding out of my chair before I had even fully absorbed his words.

“Come closer.”

I hesitated. My inclination was to stand up and walk over but I knew what a real submissive would do and the idea of crawling to him lit a fire in my belly. I kept my eyes on the ground as I moved forward on my hands and knees, ass swaying.

When I settled at his side, he spoke again. “This is something we might do in a real relationship. I might have you eat at my feet, only by my hand.”

His fingers appeared in my lowered line of sight, a purple grape in his grasp. I immediately parted my lips and tilted my head back to receive the morsel, taking care to swipe my tongue against his skin as he fed me.