Best Bondage Erotica 2013 by Rachel Bussel

Author:Rachel Bussel [Bussel, Rachel]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Publisher: Cleis Press
Published: 2012-11-06T00:00:00+00:00

STEADFAST

Andrea Dale

Want. Want want want.

It wasn’t fair, she told herself, to want for anything more. For one thing, she already had what she wanted. Her soldier had come home alive from Afghanistan, and he wasn’t going back. They had enough money, a decent house, and although she couldn’t dance professionally anymore, she loved being a choreographer.

Wanting…

For another thing, what she wanted was selfish. This wasn’t about her.

Her soldier had changed.

Always he had been steadfast, stern and—once he’d gotten past the idea that women were to be handled like spun-glass ballerina figurines—a devoted but firm master in the bedroom.

He had been the man she needed; to give her balance when she teetered, near to falling; to show her joy and ecstasy and fulfillment again.

In other words, her dream man.

But since her soldier had returned to her, her dreams had been uneasy, and he had been distant. She knew he loved her deeply still, but his emotions were secured away in a footlocker left behind and buried in the desert sands.

As if something else deep had been injured when his leg had been, but as his leg healed, so had the deeper wound festered.

She didn’t know how to treat the wound; find the footlocker; bring her soldier truly, wholly home.

Since he would not initiate, she tried to set the stage. It would be like a choreographed ballet, she thought, if only she could position the set pieces in the right places, the necessary props where they needed to be.

Silvery clamps that shone and glittered (she shivered, needing to have them adorn her small teacup breasts), pale pink ribbons (their bonds of choice), a pair of worn toe shoes (to effectively hobble her).

A wooden paddle, worn smooth to the touch. A pinwheel with nasty, witch-sharp teeth. Her favorite, the whip, coiled snakelike and wicked.

She knelt before him, a tutu around her waist and a blue, spangled sash between her breasts, her hair wound up in an elaborate bun. She raised her wrists to him, where she’d wrapped the pink ribbons; they needed only to be tied together.

He shook his head.

“Please,” she said in a voice that shook with need.

He lifted her, unlooped the ribbons, slipped off the sash and tutu. His hands were gentle as he guided her to the bed, his leg not strong enough to support him if he picked her up. His tenderness brought tears to her eyes, but they were also tears of frustration.

He stripped then, except for the bandages he still wore around his leg. She knew he didn’t need them anymore, had seen the puckered scars when he showered and didn’t know she watched. She also knew he needed to feel whole, needed to be whole for her, no matter how she insisted that no, he was just as strong and brave as he’d always been.

Come back to me, she wanted to say, but the words always died on her selfish lips.

She rolled on her front, rose up, presenting herself for a spanking, but instead he planted a line of kisses along her spine, over her curves.

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