Free Blue Desire by Sindra van Yssel Page B

she had a streak
going with him. She looked around for his CD collection and realized it had
probably gone the way of the books. It was getting so you couldn’t figure
people out by snooping around their houses anymore. She giggled.
    “What’s
funny?” he asked.
    “I
think I’m in the habit of looking around people’s homes and checking out their
books and their music and whatnot to see what they’re like, and you’ve thwarted me.”
    “You’re
curious as to what I’m like?” He grinned at her.
    Well, that was
forward .
She blushed. “Fuck,” she said, because she didn’t know what else to say. It was
lousy reason to swear, which she tried to do only for effect. He was right,
though, about her curiosity. “Show me about the corsets, please.”
    He
nodded and gestured for her to sit on the couch while he sat cross-legged on
the other side of the table. The table everything was on was very low, and she
realized the only way he was at the right height for it was sitting on the
floor.
    He
used corsets in various stages of progress to explain how things all went
together: the metal pegs and hooks that made up the busk in the front of a
corset, the way he sewed the seams so that flat steel could be inserted to give
the corset structure, the grommets for the lacing in the back. But her
attention was drawn by what looked like a completed corset lying next to the
ones in progress. The fabric was in two shades. The predominant one was a shade
darker than a royal blue and took maximum advantage of the shine of the silk.
Mixed with that were delicate vines and flowers of a midnight blue that she
thought at first was black. As lovely as the corsets she had seen in the club
had been, this one was perfect.
    “I’ve
lost you,” he said.
    “I’m
tired,” she lied. She ought to be exhausted, but she wasn’t. The evening’s
performance had been exhilarating. The incident with Angus had been
nerve-racking. Between the two, she was about as far from sleep as she could
get.
    He
looked at her for a moment, and she had that feeling again that he could tell
when she was lying. “It’s not finished,” he said. “I still want to sew some lace
around the edges. But it’s wearable, and it’s about your size. Stand, take that
shirt and your bra off, and I’ll show you how it feels.”
    He
stood up. She stood also. She locked eyes with him. He hadn’t asked, and she
wasn’t there as his sub. The moment stretched. As they stared, it became clear
they were in a contest of wills. He didn’t look like he’d blink first. If she
obeyed him without a fight she was tacitly admitting his dominance over her,
although she could take the edge off that by an offhanded, “Sure, whatever.” Or
she could bring it out into the open by asking if they were going to play. But the idea of him taking control again made her heart beat faster
and her skin warm. She remembered the last time in the club, and how
good it had all felt until she thought he was in a relationship with that
blonde woman.
    She
lowered her gaze and lifted her shirt. She didn’t look at him while she took
off her bra either.
    “Lift
your hands. I need them out of the way,” he told her, and she obeyed, closing
her eyes to avoid looking at him. She wasn’t ready to surrender completely, and
the way he read her untruths made her reluctant to look straight at him. Her
nipples were stiffening and her skin was probably getting pink and she was having to concentrate to make her breathing sound calm.
He didn’t need to see her eyes to see how he affected her. She was giving off
way too many clues as it was, and she knew it. And he seemed psychic anyway.
    The
fabric felt soft as it brushed against her breasts, but it didn’t stay soft. He
wrapped the corset around her and tugged at the laces in the back until it was
tight enough not to slip. The fabric might be smooth, but there was far too
much steel in it for it to be called soft. He adjusted it, the silk