Chapter Four
Patrick watched, amused, as Caness prowled his lounge and stared at the pictures and ornaments he’d used to make the space a home. Each could be viewed in two ways, depending on how your mind worked. To some they would be erotic, to others no such thing. He tried to see the room through her eyes. Even though it would be a mirror image of her own home, he guessed it would look very different, and even more so than when the Choys had lived there. They’d favored clutter and bright colors everywhere. He’d chosen to add color in a few well-placed furnishings. A bright antique fan, a traditional cheongsam, and some intricately carved chopsticks. He’d kept the furniture to the minimum and had, he hoped, achieved a clean, uncluttered, but welcoming look.
The room wasn’t over large. The cost of anywhere much bigger than a shoebox in this part of Hong Kong was exorbitant, and he’d chosen to spend his money on quality, not quantity. He might be a millionaire, but the emphasis was on million not billion, and he intended not to squander what he had.
Built over his half of the garage, the lounge had a large balcony overlooking the bay and was for entertaining general guests. It was as vanilla as they came.
Downstairs was a room intended for a maid, which he planned to use for something totally different. No view but lots of useful wall space, it was perfect for what he had in mind.
Not that you could view the bay at that moment. The only water to be seen was the rain lashing down and obscuring everything else. The noise as it hit the windows made him grin to himself. With that racket going on outside, you’d not need a soundproof room if you made your sub scream.
The rest of the house consisted of a kitchen connected to the maid’s room by a narrow staircase, and on the floor above the lounge, two bedrooms, both with an en suite bathroom and a Juliet balcony. A tiny garden behind the building, not much bigger than a space to dry washing, finished his plot.
Much better than the apartment above his gallery that he kept on whilst he worked abroad, and intended to use for the times he worked late.
If Caness agrees to be my sub, and if I collar her, will I ever use it? He stopped that train of thought. Too fast, too soon. They might find that after tonight, that was the end of the road.
Or we might not.
“This is Anthony’s work.” She pointed at a tiny, stone carved Buddha. “I’d recognize it anywhere.”
Patrick nodded. “I brought that back from Mendocino, along with some bits and pieces that’ll go in the gallery soon. You said you hadn’t seen it before? The gallery, I mean.”
She nodded.
“It’s always been there, well for the past five years or so, but until this week it was conventional,” he said. “I let it out, but now I’m back to stay, it will be more, shall we say, unusual.”
Caness blinked and ran her tongue around her lips. Fucking sexy. Very deliberately he moved his dick away from his zipper and watched her follow the action.
“You do that to me, pet. Right. If you want to freshen up, I’ll show you to the room and en suite you can use. I hope we can then read over your limit list and take things from there. So, if you’re happy for us to carry on, may I suggest you put on the clothes I leave out for you? Which means when you come down, we’re in Sir and sub mode. Ready to scene as and how I think fit. With, of course, your get out clause to safe word. I’ll say here and now if you agree to be my sub, be it for one night or longer, pet, it will be a sexual partnership. If you agree to sub. If it’s not to your taste or interest, wear whatever you choose. I’ll still look after you through this typhoon. We can play dominoes.”
He watched her deliberate with interest, and honestly had no idea what her answer would be. Oh, he’d thought she was going to sub sooner or later, but was he moving too fast?
“I’m shit at dominoes. I prefer Snap.”
Was that a positive or a negative comment? With Caness he had no idea.
The rain hit the windows with such force they rattled and he moved swiftly to shut the curtains. “I’d shower now, pet, whilst we still have electricity. I’ll sort out the emergency generator, and candles, and such.”
Caness dipped her head in acknowledgement. “That sounds great.” She didn’t say what part of his speech she referred to. “Lead on, MacDuff.”
****
Patrick whistled as he checked the generator was set up and ready to click in as soon as it was needed. Which, he judged, by the way the lights flickered, wouldn’t be long. Luckily, he remembered typhoon time from when he’d lived in Hong Kong before, and it had been one of the first things he’d sorted out. That and his playroom. He’d bet there weren’t many people knew about the specialist firm who fitted out BDSM dungeons in your home. He turned on the oil heater in the redesignated maid’s room, just in case they did use it, and made his way back upstairs. The house was well insulated, warm and cozy, and with the curtains closed you could almost imagine the weather was nowhere as crazy as it was.
Almost. The howl of the wind and the noise of the heavy rain thundering down still impinged, but not as much as it could.
He didn’t expect Caness to be waiting for him in the lounge and he wasn’t disappointed. He judged it would take her a while to warm up and then decide which of the outfits he’d left out for her to choose from, if any. The noise of running water from the shower vied with the noise of the running water from the skies. If he didn’t want to be aware of when Caness came back downstairs, he would have put some music on.
Instead, as he moved into the kitchen and made coffee, Patrick made sure he listened for the sound of Caness approaching. He had no intention of offering her alcohol or indulging himself until he knew they were definitely not going to play, so it was coffee, tea or water. If she didn’t want to take things further, he wanted to hear her say, not assume one way or another. Meanwhile coffee and soup—homemade, not from a tin—was a good, easy, and swift snack to produce, even if he had to use his small gas cooker to heat it.
Patrick shook his head in mock reproof at himself. When he was growing up, all his mum had to cook on was a two ring stove, nothing else, and he learned all he knew about good quality and tasty cooking from her. He was getting soft.
In his mind maybe, but hopefully not in his body. His cock certainly wasn’t getting soft. The distant noises from the floor above had his imagination and libido going into overdrive. He turned the soup off and picked up her limit sheets. He’d look them over whilst he waited for her.
One caught his attention immediately. Next to wax play, she’d ticked soft, crossed it out and ticked no limit instead, and in the boxes he’d asked on one to five how interested are you, five being most, she’d marked five. Nipple clamps got a soft limit but only a two. He wondered why? Hopefully he’d have a chance to find out.
The wax level really was a pre-cum inducing statement. He’d have a stain on his suit trousers if he wasn’t careful, and that would be a difficult one to explain to his dry cleaners.
“Oh, my sub indicated she’d love for some wax play, and the thought of dripping hot wax on her beautiful soft skin, and tracing patterns in wax on her breasts and cunt almost made me come there and then.” Of all the things he loved, wax play was far and away his favorite form of BDSM pleasure.
The sound of a door shutting and then footsteps on the plain wooden stairs brought him back to the here and now. He checked the coffee pot was perking properly and returned to the lounge just as her bare feet came into view on one of the treads of the stairs, followed by long legs clad in…
Clad in what?
Get a grip, Lim. Bare feet; it goes without saying bare legs. His dick twitched as more of her appeared as she came further down the stairs.
Up until then, Patrick had always pooh-poohed the idea that your heart could miss a beat. Now he knew it could. Blood rushed to his groin, and his prick rubbed against his zipper so hard it hurt. Uncaring whether she saw or not, he reached under the waistband of his trousers and adjusted the angle, just so he didn’t get any more of the wrong sort of pain.
Pink? A tiny glimpse of floaty pink silk appeared.
She’s wearing the pink. Oh shit, fuck, and thank the lord for small mercies. It was a wet dream in the making. Patrick looked at the stairs and realized that Caness was walking slowly on purpose. If it was to tease and get him randy, it worked. If it were for any other reason, he’d sort that out pretty damned quick.
“May I suggest, pet, you get your ass down here on the double. Because If I have to come and help you, we’ll not make it off the stairs. I have a fantasy in my mind here. One where I tie you to the newel post and fuck your ass.”
Her gasp was everything he could hope for.
“Maybe not yet, Sir.” One bare foot waggled in the air, and the ‘fuck me now’, red nail varnish on her toes twinkled in the light, calling to him. “I’ll say yellow for that.”
He chuckled. She had an answer for everything. “Sassy sub, pet. Even so, wiggle your tush as well as your toes and come here.” He put every ounce of authority he had in his tone without raising his voice. “You really wouldn’t want me to have to come and get you.”
Although I really wish you would.
Evidently her inner sub responded with alacrity, because more pink silk appeared and then her hand could be seen on the banister, fingernails in the innocent, iridescent shade he’d noticed earlier. Such a contrast to her toes, it was enough to make even a patient man desire to get his dick out and use it. Patrick wasn’t noted for his patience.
“Yes, Sir.”
Did her response add up to submission? Even if it was just for that night? Patrick leaned back against the long dining table—the perfect length on which to torture a subbie—with his arms folded and watched as more of her body and her attire was revealed. It was so bloody hard not to let his breath out in one long whoosh, as the hem of the short skirt showed, along with a flash of naked pussy. No hair, no panties. Perfect. Then a delightful flash of naked midriff. What had she chosen to wear on top?
He’d left out a strappy barely-cover-your-breast cutoff vest which would be decent as long as she stood up straight and didn’t move round too much. Plus a peek-a-boo bra, an ordinary T-shirt, and a plain but see-through black blouse which was in fact a lot more arousing than anything else. As an afterthought, but one he wondered now if he should have bothered with, he’d put a nipple chain on the bed next to the clothes. It had been more to tease her than anything. Maybe he should have left a box of candles and said choose your color?
Now he wanted to do that, even more so since he’d read her limits.
Sheer black material came into view. He’d forgotten how tall she was, and how short that blouse. The vest wouldn’t have covered half as much as he thought.
“If this is the prelude to play, Sir,” she said in a humorous tone, “I can hardly wait to find out what else you have in mind.”
The lights flickered and went off and Caness yelped. “If that’s supposed to help, let me tell you, oh master of the elements, it doesn’t. How can I find my Sir and do all that’s proper if I don’t know where he is?”
Patrick couldn’t help it. He laughed out loud. “It does seem to conspire against us doesn’t it? Stand still, I’ll light some candles and then I’ll go and get the generator running.”