Yes, she had a collar on, but it looked like one of those fashion collars. There was a leash or a strap attached to it, but Ronan held it almost absentmindedly around his wrist. It wasn’t tight. She wasn’t being choked.
She was bent over the arm of a chair, wearing a black leather bustier with feathers, and her hands were tied with what looked like the same material as the leash, likely a leather strap, and her legs were cuffed to a spreader bar, holding them open. She wore nothing else. Ronan was behind her. His eyes were closed, his hands were on her hips, and he was taking her from behind.
I checked the rest of photos, and they were basically time-elapsed images of the same thing. I then searched the photos for other things like whips or implements of pain. I found none. I noted in one of the pictures you could see clearly that Brona had a scarf or silk tie over her mouth, but it looked loose. She’d hardly been gagged.
Feeling both relieved and oddly excited, I was struck by the anomalous irony of the situation. I was looking at photos of Ronan having sex with another woman, and rather than jealousy I was picturing myself in her position, with my legs held apart and my hands bound as Ronan used my body for pleasure.
“I saw Brona on my way out.”
I stiffened, straightened, sucked in a sharp breath, and my eyes flew to the door.
Ronan stood just at the entrance, his eyes wary but intent as they searched my face then dropped to the pictures in my hands. He stepped all the way in and shut the door with a soft click.
“She said you were sick, just like me.” His words were teasing, though they carried an edge of something that sounded a lot like hope. He stalked toward me, looking painfully delicious in a charcoal grey suit.
I gathered a deep breath then let the pictures fall to the desk, arranging the images so he could see them as he approached.
“Joan convinced her to sell them plus a tape of the two of you.”
He nodded absentmindedly, glancing at the pictures. “Have you watched the tape?”
“No. I don’t have a mini-DV player.”
He turned his gaze to mine, ensnared it. He looked cautious; his stare was probing. “But you would have? If you had a player for it?”
I met his stare and gave him honesty. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. The pictures paint a pretty clear picture on their own. Ronan, do you think…?” I paused, trying to figure out how to ask my next question. At length I blurted, “Do you think there is anything else? Do you think Brona might blackmail you with something else? Or is this it?”
“This is it.” He indicated the photos with a tilt of his head. “As far as I know, this is the worst of it.”
“The worst of it….” I echoed, scanning the pictures.
“And what do you think? Of the pictures.”
“I think….” I swallowed with effort, tilted my chin up to fight my instinctive urge to look away. “I think I don’t like seeing pictures of you with someone else.”
The corner of his mouth curved upward, and he took the top picture and turned it face down. “Don’t look at the pictures then.”
I pressed on before I lost my nerve. “I also think that we should maybe talk about how you—I mean—what it is that you….” I licked my lips nervously. Again, I didn’t know how to ask the question.
Just how kinky was Ronan?
Just how kinky was I?
“Go on,” he said, the beginnings of a smile now melting some of his caution, his gaze turning warm and curious. He reached for my hand and then began pulling me while he walked backward toward the bedroom.
“What I mean is, do you like the collar? Do you want to…leash me, too?” My voice broke on the last word, making me cringe. I wasn’t good at communicating about sex because I’d never done it. Everything I’d done prior to being with Ronan was vanilla to the extreme and hadn’t required any discussion.
He shook his head as we crossed over the threshold into the bedroom. The curtains were open, and sunlight served as the only light source.
“No. The collar was Brona’s idea, as was the leash, and we used them only once. I think now, now that I’ve seen the pictures, she must’ve done it only for the sake of the camera.”
“And the spreader bar?”
“Oh, now I’d like you in that very, very much. And maybe later, once you’ve grown used to the bar, we could use a sling.” His gaze darkened as he led me to the bed. Ronan guided me to a sitting position at the edge of it, but instead of sitting next to me, he backed away until he was standing at the wall, next to the dresser, putting at least five feet of distance between us.
“So….” I stared at him, feeling dichotomously aroused and worried by the idea of a spreader bar or a sex sling. What we’d done so far, what we’d been doing with restraints and ice cubes, that felt entirely normal to me—frisky but well within the confines of normal.
Ronan was the first guy who’d ever wanted to tie me up during sex. Even though we hadn’t actually discussed it beforehand—or after—it felt… right. It was good.
But toys? A collar and leash? Leather and feathers? Full-on kink?
His left eyebrow lifted, very slowly, as he watched me struggle for words, his lips twisting a bit to the side.
Finally he prompted, “Annie, what do you think we’ve been doing so far?”
“I guess—I guess I thought we were—” I sighed, blinking at a spot over his shoulder. “I thought you just liked things to be intense during…and I like it, too. But I wouldn’t call tying me up or blindfolding me BDSM.”
“It is and it isn’t. What we’ve been doing is what I like—restraint, dominance, and submission. I’m not keen on sadomasochism. I don’t get off on hurting people, but I do like to be in control.”
“Dominance and submission?” My voice cracked again, and I felt a little breathless, excited by the labels.
“Yes.” He inclined his head, studying me thoughtfully. I watched him with wide eyes as he nonchalantly plucked my scarf from the dresser and strolled back over to where I sat perched on the edge of the bed. He hovered above me for a long moment, his dark eyes hot as they unapologetically stared down the front of my shirt. My insides did a somersault and heated, rearranging themselves, burning beneath his suggestive stare.
Ronan took a deep breath then knelt, situating himself between my legs. His hands slipped under my skirt, inching upward and spreading my thighs, still holding the scrap of fabric. He tickled me with it. The silky softness sent a shock of goosebumps along my skin, spreading heat up my chest and neck and searing arousal between my legs.
“I like,” he whispered, his gaze holding mine. “I like deciding what happens and when. I like having control and being responsible for your loss of control. I like taking care of you, all of you. I like your trusting me, implicitly and explicitly.”
Ronan’s thumbs were rubbing light circles on the skin of my thighs just below my apex. Instinctively, I inched closer, my legs opening wider. I reached for his shoulders and tried to pull him toward me. I needed his touch a few inches higher, but he retreated. He withdrew his hands, his fingertips skimming my bare skin, sending a shiver to my center.
“Do you trust me, Annie?” He leaned back, his eyes still holding mine as he unbuttoned my shirt and meticulously pushed it down my shoulders, all the while holding my scarf.
“You know I do.”
“What if I tied you up?” Ronan discarded my shirt and then unclasped my bra. His question was soft, curious.
“You’ve done that.” I helped him by withdrawing my hands from the bra straps. “You know I-I like that.”
“But what if I tied your legs, too, spread them, and you were face down on the bed? What if I blindfolded you? What if I used toys?”
I blinked at that, instinctively covering my chest with my arms. “T-toys? What kind of toys?”
“Only toys that would make you feel good.” Ronan took one of my hands, then the other, from where I crossed them over my chest; he looped the now-twisted scarf around my wrists and tied a secure knot, his thumb and gaze lingering on the vulnerable skin.