Declaration to Submit by Jennifer Leeland Page A

blindfold? Everyone has something they want to hide, Anelda. Everyone.”
     
    NELL’S GUTS CHURNED He knew. He knew about her ex, Darrin. He knew about the pictures. She thought she’d nipped that in the bud, but here it was again. Mark must have talked to Professor Alyet and put two and two together. There was a lump in her throat, and she couldn’t speak or swallow.
    Part of her knew she should tell him. After all, that betrayal of trust had kept her away from anything that seemed like kink for most of her sexual life. It kept her from being open or honest with anyone. She wasn’t stupid. She knew what a Dominant wanted from a submissive. Openness. Honesty. Things she hadn’t been willing to give him.
    “I got involved with the wrong guy.” What an understatement. “He…lied to me. I got hurt.” She couldn’t meet his stare.
    “We both know there’s more to that story.” His jaw was set, and his expression was resigned, tired. “But I don’t assume that your reticence made you guilty of something.”
    “He— I told you that my second boyfriend spanked me.” Resentment still seethed beneath the surface. “He also blindfolded me. And when he did, he took pictures of everything we did. I trusted him. He betrayed me. Professor Alyet suggested I take legal action, and I got the pictures back.”
    “You won’t be blindfolded because of it,” he said in a hard tone. “I don’t put myself in the media’s cross fire. We make choices. I don’t judge yours.”
    What right did she have to judge him for shutting out the public when the scrutiny he’d undergone when he was just a boy had to be devastating? “I’m sorry,” she whispered and twisted her fingers together.
    “How sorry?”
    How sorry was she? She wanted to make it right. So she stood up, fell to her knees, hands clasped behind her back, and bent her head down. She stared at the legs of his chair and hoped he understood that she was truly sorry.
    “You could…punish me.” She kept her gaze on the floor and waited for his response.
    He was still for so long she wondered if he hadn’t heard her. Then he tipped her chin, and she glanced up to find him with a fork of food by her mouth. Obediently, she parted her lips, and he slid a ravioli onto her tongue. She ate what he gave her and tried to interpret the expression his face.
    It wasn’t just his good looks and fit body. He had a natural confidence and a suave manner that disarmed her and made her feel a little awkward. It wasn’t a sensation she was used to. His fingers brushed her face as he fed her another forkful of food. There was a comfort in the silence, a relaxing passing of time. They had skirted the edge of something serious, something emotional, and he slowed it down, giving her a moment to adjust to the speed of the passion they were mired in.
    He put the fork on his plate and shifted in his chair until his feet were by her knees on the floor. She stared at the V of his polo but couldn’t help glancing down as he unbuttoned his pants. His cock was long and hard, making her mouth water and her heart race. When he wrapped his hand around his length, stroking it, memories of the way he’d marked her returned as she watched it swell. The smell of him was still all over her, and now her pussy was wet and ready for more.
    “Please, Sir,” she whispered.
    “Be still, Anelda,” he ordered. His hand moved faster over his cock, his harsh breathing like music to her ears. Was he going to come on her skin again? She didn’t know and didn’t care. She wanted to see him come, give him release, see his features strain during his orgasm.
    Without conscious thought, she scooted closer until her face was near his straining cock. “May I suck you, Sir?”
    “Do you want my cum in your mouth, Anelda?” His gaze held hers, and his hand slowed.
    Yes. She wanted it. She wanted the taste of it on her tongue. It wasn’t something she usually enjoyed, her past experiences not very pleasant.