One Cut Deeper Read online

  He’d set the chairs close together instead of opposite each other. I could still see him by keeping my head slightly angled his direction, but I could also gain some space by looking out the large bay window into the backyard. Had he done that on purpose, giving me a little respite from his intensity? “I don’t think so. I put a lot of myself into baking, and I didn’t feel like I had anything left of myself to bake again. I didn’t have the desire to go into the kitchen and spend the time making a chocolate ganache when I had no one to share it with.”

  He offered a bread basket. “You could have taken it to your family.”

  Beneath the towel, my fingers found warm French bread. Now I was impressed. “You bake bread too?”

  “Not hardly.” He laughed. “I don’t have the patience to wait on it to rise. I only warmed it to trick you into thinking I’m a master chef. Your family isn’t often the recipient of your baking efforts?”

  I sighed, hoping he’d drop it. “Not often, no. It’s complicated.”

  “Family usually is,” he agreed. “Did you talk to your parents today?”

  “Mom and my sister. You’re officially invited. You’ll even get to meet my older brother, who lives in California. I guess he’s flying in for the big event.”

  “You don’t sound thrilled.” He poured a full glass of red wine for himself and then a small amount in my glass. “This is merlot, a little stouter than the moscato you tried yesterday. I used it in the mushrooms.”

  I barely took a sip, just wetting my lips. They started tingling. Wow. Stouter was an understatement. Take note, self. If you drink a whole glass of this, you’ll be under the table and miss being awake in his bed tonight. “I’m thrilled you’ll be there. You may not be so thrilled by the time we leave.”

  He reached over and lightly squeezed my hand. “I know exactly how complicated family can be. Well, I used to. I loved my brother dearly, but we fought and hated each other at times. Sometimes you don’t know how good you have it until it’s all gone.”

  That didn’t sound good at all. Was he deliberately giving me an opening? I wasn’t sure. He frowned, sad lines deepening around his eyes. He almost seemed surprised he’d told me that much. Because he didn’t want to depress me with stories of a dysfunctional family—or because those things were so painful he never shared them with anyone?

  I waited a few seconds to assess his mood, hoping for another hint of what he wanted to talk about. I didn’t have to wait long.

  “I’m not in the market for a full-time slave,” he said abruptly.

  The buttery steak turned to dust in my mouth. I washed it down with a big drink of wine, then nearly choked when the alcohol burned down my throat. I risked a glance at his face. He watched me, eyes heavy lidded and darkly sensual despite his words.

  “Bedroom slave, yes. 24/7 slave, no. I travel too much.” He stood, whispering, “Excuse me a moment.”

  I stared down at my plate, trying to get a grip on myself. He’d basically said he didn’t want me at all. So why go to the trouble of cooking me dinner, giving me instructions, making me deal with my family, for fuck’s sake, only to tell me I wasn’t going to work out before we’d had a single night together?

  He set a glass of water beside my plate, cold from the fridge, and then took his seat without another word. Bite after bite, he methodically ate his steak and helped himself to another piece of bread, while my resentment simmered hotter by the moment.

  He couldn’t go ruin my world and then eat like nothing was wrong.

  Yes he could.

  The master could do anything he wished.

  It was a game, but this one I didn’t want to play. I ignored the water he’d so thoughtfully gotten for me and sipped at the glass of wine, though it made my eyes burn. At least I could blame it on the alcohol instead of tears.

  “Didn’t I get your steak done enough?”

  I tapped it with my fork, breaking off some of the delicious crust of seasonings on the outside, but I couldn’t bring myself to take another bite. “Sure. It’s fine.”

  Even to my own ears, my tone was surly. He arched a brow but didn’t comment on my attitude. Was he trying to give me the brush-off? Or drive me to bad behavior so he could punish me? As much as I yearned for the latter, I feared it was the first, although he hadn’t told me to leave. Yet.

  Ask more questions. Try to figure out what his angle is. “So, what exactly do you do for Doctors Without Borders?”

  Finished with his steak, he poured himself another glass of wine and leaned back in his chair. He stretched his legs out in front of him, his knees wide enough that his thigh brushed mine. Despite my fury and hurt, I sucked in a breath at the accidental contact.

  “I’m a troubleshooter.”

  “What does that mean?” God, I hated my snide, snotty tone.

  “I do a little of everything. Security, helping with setup at a new location, building roads or bridges as needed to get a party in or out. I’ve got nearly ten years in the military and law enforcement, as well as a degree in engineering. They use all my experience to get the job done.”

  “You carry a gun.” I tried to make it a question, but it came out more an accusation.

  “Sure do. There’s no way in hell that I’d go into the Sudan without some protection. The doctors need someone like me. Someone who’s willing to kill if needed to keep them safe. They can’t save other people if they’re gunned down on a dusty road between villages.”

  Questions burned in my mind. It sounded like he’d killed someone before. How many times? Where had he been stationed? Afghanistan? Iraq? Is that where he’d picked up all that toughness?

  But if he couldn’t be mine, I didn’t want to know any more. It was already going to kill me to lose him.

  “My box of toys is on the coffee table. Look inside and see if anything in there strikes your fancy. Then bring whatever toys you want back to me, along with one of the pillows from the couch.”

  Although I was still steaming with indignation, I stood and went to do as he ordered. I’d take his orders as long as he gave them, because that’s all I’d have to remember later when he sent me away. Though I didn’t understand why he was willing to do any kind of scene with me if he didn’t want a slave.

  As far as a dominant’s box of toys went, Charlie’s was ridiculously small. Josh had a footlocker in his bedroom loaded with equipment, plus more that he hung inside the closet. Everything Charlie had fit in what looked to be an old boot box. I opened the lid and started sorting through his toys. Several brand-new hanks of rope. I was cool with that. A modest-sized butt plug, still in the unopened package. A set of silver nipple clamps connected by a delicate chain. It was pretty.

  But didn’t match the heavy, thick leather collar and cuffs he’d given me earlier.

  A Hitachi wand, also still in its package. Hard, forced orgasms were also up my alley, especially if he had me tied to his bed.

  That was it. It seemed incomplete, as if he’d just borrowed someone else’s equipment. It was generic, nothing that spoke to the kind of master he was. Not a single paddle or crop, though those wouldn’t have fit in the box. He didn’t have one hung in the closet—I would have noticed when I’d been searching last night.

  How was he going to punish me, then? I enjoyed the kneeling and service, the polite respect, but I needed sensual pain too. I could orgasm without punishment, sure, but it wouldn’t be enough for long. My hardest, most intense orgasms only came when my partner punished me at the same time.

  I’d thought he could give me both domination and punishment. That’s part of what attracted me to him so strongly. I’d thought he’d be able to give me everything I needed while still treasuring my submission.

  If he couldn’t hurt me...

  Stomach churning, I returned to the table with only a pillow. He pointed at the floor without looking at me. This kind of ritual play I was imminently comfortable with. I placed the pillow beside his chair and dropped to my knees.

 
He pulled my plate over to him and cut the rest of my filet mignon into delicate bites. “I thought you’d be hungry after taking Sheba for a walk. She’d drag you all the way to Springfield if you let her.”

  I’d never had a master who wanted to hold a normal, everyday sort of conversation with me while I waited on his pleasure at his feet. “I was.”

  Like I was a dog begging scraps from the table, he used his own fork to place a bite into my mouth.

  And damn it all to hell, I opened my mouth and ate from his hand.

  “You like this.” He watched me intently. “You like to be on your knees. Serving. Obeying.”

  “Yes.” Maybe it was petty of me, but I didn’t say Master, even though every bone in my body insisted I obey his every wish. A small rebellion.

  “I didn’t say I don’t want you, Ranay.” He spoke softly, lifting another bite to my lips. “I said I don’t want a full-time slave. If you enjoy the trappings of this kind of play, then we can do that too, though I have to admit I’ve never been into the slave-on-her-knees scene.”

  My palms turned clammy. He didn’t like this kind of play? Josh had a lot of faults, but he’d taken great pride in training me to be a slave on display. He’d often taken me to the clubs to show me off. I was never more graceful and self-assured than when I was stripped naked, collared and kneeling at my Master’s feet, all my senses locked on him to anticipate his tiniest need. My faults didn’t matter then, as long as I pleased him.

  Without a single paddle.

  I could live without the kneeling and posturing, but I’d come too far and fought too hard to end up with a master who couldn’t even spank me. I wanted to be his slave, yes, but I needed a master who would relish punishing me as much as he wanted to fuck me. I wanted to be owned, but completed and fully satisfied at the same time. Especially in the bedroom, and for me, that meant a master with a heavy hand.

  I took my time chewing to make sure I didn’t choke when I swallowed, though my stomach rebelled. My voice didn’t break when I finally spoke. “Then you really don’t want me.” And as much as it kills me to admit it, maybe you’re not right for me either.

  God. It sucked. I had to will my stomach to hold on to the food he’d given me. This might be the only time we played and I wanted everything he’d give me.

  “I want you,” he whispered, giving me another bite. I wanted to refuse, I did, but the way his dark eyes glimmered in the candlelight, urging me to comply, I couldn’t. “But it breaks my heart to think about you sitting here in my house all alone, dying inside while waiting on me to come home. For the rest, I’m willing to learn your preferences.”

  “But...” I couldn’t even begin to fathom a master who was willing to change his normal play to adjust to the slave. That went against everything I knew.

  “There are only two things I require from you while we’re together. You have to be willing and able to give me your safeword, and you can’t be my 24/7 slave. I won’t be able to do my job if I’m afraid you’re pining your life away waiting for me.”

  “I can’t—”

  “You can.” His voice was rough. Not violence, not this time, but the sexual threat of the master. “You can because I say you will.”

  My head ached and I slumped on my knees, unable to keep up the appearance of perfect posture and graceful composure. I knew the truth of what I could and couldn’t do. “And if I don’t?”

  He sat back in his chair and said in a light, playful voice, “Then I’ll punish you.”

  I snorted. I couldn’t help it. “Yeah, right. You didn’t even have a paddle in that box.”

  “I see that you didn’t select anything for us to use tonight. You think I would need a paddle to punish you?”

  I looked up at him full-on. He smiled, dimples in both cheeks, dark curls tumbling about his face. Turning his chair to face me, he sat relaxed and comfortable, like he was having a talk with an old friend. Even if that friend was on her knees beside him.

  Certainly not threatening to punish me.

  His big hands rested easy, one on the arm of his chair, the other in his lap. He was completely relaxed, not vibrating with intensity or violence. He certainly wasn’t aroused. I tried to reconcile this image, this Charlie, with the man who’d gripped my head and fucked my throat earlier today, but I couldn’t quite get there. That Charlie would maybe be fierce enough to punish me enough that I’d think seriously about doing exactly what he said, no matter how impossible.

  Even if that meant I had to turn off all my natural inclinations to wait naked and chained to his bed until he returned.

  “Maybe you and I have a different definition of punishment,” I finally said, trying to hedge my bets. “I can take a lot of punishment.” I let out a long breath, closing my eyes a moment with the memory. Skin tight, swollen, red and blazing with heat. Every inch of me screaming with sensation. More, always more.

  “Talon wouldn’t hurt you like you wanted.” He still talked to me as if I was a homeless waif who he was trying to convince to come in from the cold. The kind of dominant who thought punishment was a few whacks with a velvet-tailed flail that barely heated my skin. “Did Josh?”

  “Sometimes.” Though it’d never come close to easing that endless need crawling inside me, sucking away at my consciousness until I couldn’t think about anything else.

  “Who gave you the pain you needed, then?”

  I shivered, trying not to remember.

  “Did you give it to yourself?”

  Oh, I’d been tempted. I’d thought about playing with cutting, just to see if that pain would feed the ravenous beast inside me, but I’d never dared. Once I’d unlocked that door, I was afraid I’d never ever be able to go back, and it scared me too much to risk it. If I’d dared to take a razor to myself, what would have kept me from slitting my wrists when Josh broke up with me?

  I shook my head and forced my tongue to work, though my lips were numb. “No. He took me to a club sometimes.”

  “When the need became too much.”

  “Yeah.”

  He shifted forward, making my breath snag in my throat, but all he did was pick up his glass of wine. Then he settled in his chair as easy as before. “Who hurt you the way you needed the most?”

  I watched him carefully. “No one ever did it for me. Not completely. But there was a sadist at the club who came close.”

  Charlie sipped his wine, his eyes dark and mysterious, gleaming like bottomless pools. But I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, not at all. This wasn’t the piercing glare of the master demanding my obedience, nor even the power of the dominant. This was just...Charlie. The man who loved his dog and came to the vet clinic.

  God I’m so confused.

  “What’d he use?”

  The memory was enough to thicken my voice, and I’m sure my eyes were taking on that foggy daze that Josh had hated so much. “A whip.” Sometimes I dreamed about that whip, and even without the cut of pain across my back, remembering the sharp snap the leather had made against my skin was enough to jerk me awake in the middle of a climax.

  “How’d Josh handle that?”

  “Not well.” I let out a wry laugh, shaking my head. “He didn’t like that look in my eyes for another dominant.”

  “I imagine not.”

  I flicked my gaze up to Charlie’s face quickly, but he merely smiled wryly, still casually drinking his wine. “I didn’t think he’d take me there again, but he did once, right before he broke things off. That second time was a test, one that I failed miserably.”

  “Ah,” he breathed out, nodding. “You said that earlier and I didn’t make the connection. You needed too much. Meaning, you needed pain that he couldn’t provide, not that you were too dependent on him.”

  Shame burned my throat like acid, but I swallowed it down. Maybe that was the wine talking to me again. “I was too dependent on him, but yeah, he didn’t like how much I wanted pain. He told me not to approach that room. But then he left me, and I cou
ldn’t stay away. Not once I heard the whip.”

  “So you betrayed him with another dominant.”

  I hung my head, my heart shredding all over again. I’d thought if I could love him enough, I would have been able to deny my needs. And here I was, facing another wonderfully passionate and dominant man who didn’t seem to have a single predilection for pain and punishment. I swiped the tears from my cheeks, but I still managed to laugh. “What’s ironic is the sadist didn’t hurt me that much that night. I mean, it was hardly worth losing our relationship over. I didn’t come and he had to quit because his arm gave out.”

  “You disobeyed Josh.”

  There wasn’t any judgment or disappointment in Charlie’s voice, but I still cringed at the memory. That had torn me up more than anything, that I’d failed my Master, even though he’d set me up to fail and couldn’t provide the one thing I needed more than anything else. “Yes.”

  “If he loved you enough, he would have set you up to fulfill your needs, whatever they were.”

  I shrugged, still hanging my head. My therapist had said pretty much the same thing, but deep down, my heart still couldn’t believe it. If I didn’t need so much, then I could have a normal relationship. I wouldn’t have let him down.

  “Are you going to disobey me?”

  Misery hunched my shoulders and I shrugged again, afraid of the condemnation I’d see on his face. “I won’t mean to. But there are some things I can’t do without, even if that’s what you expect.”

  Silence stretched between us. Moment by moment, my muscles winched tighter. I tried not to shake, but I was quivering with need. The need to wail and cry at the unfairness. To hide from the shame churning my stomach. To avoid his pity.

  When he finally started to speak, I flinched, though his voice was still soft as ever. “What do you need most of all, Ranay? What’s the one thing that no one has ever been able to do for you?”

  “Pain,” I whispered hoarsely. “While you fuck me.”