Page 17 of Renegade
I shake my head. “It’s offensive!”
He shakes his head. “Gemma, you don’t have to do this. Just tell Declan you aren’t cut out for this kind of life.”
“But I am! I want this.” I cross my arms over my chest again. “You don’t think I can do it,” I accuse.
“I have my doubts.”
“Try me. Right now. Let’s do a scene or whatever it’s called, and I’ll prove to you I can. I am not going to lose this opportunity with Declan. I really like him.”
His eyes narrow. “Okay, fine,” he snaps. He sounds the teensiest bit angry, and I’m impressed with how quickly he morphs into the role of scary dominant. “You’re on. Kneel.”
Oh, damn. Walker Kinkaid is calling my bluff. But I’m determined to show him—and maybe myself—that I can do this. For Declan.
I slowly lower myself to my knees, my gaze never leaving Walker’s face.
“Stay like that, up on your knees without your butt resting on your heels. Spread your knees apart a little more…more!”
I feel sorry for the men who serve under Walker’s command. He can be a demanding son of a bitch.
“Good. Now place your hands behind your neck, elbows wide, shoulders back.”
Oh, God. The stance pushes my breasts forward, and I feel a little tug of desire at how vulnerable the pose makes me feel.
“Very good.” Walker’s approval, which I only moments before railed against, now sends pleasure singing through me. What the hell? “This is the ‘attention’ pose. Some doms like the protocol and ritual of the positions and some don’t, but your guy seems pretty old…school.”
I don’t miss the not-so-subtle pause after the word “old.” I have no idea why, but Walker seems to have hated Declan on first sight.
“Regardless, you should know them,” he continues. “They serve a multitude of purposes—forcing the submissive to concentrate on her position and body, which reinforces her sense of helplessness; showing off her body to her dom for his inspection or so he can simply enjoy looking at what’s his; and giving him easy access to all of her.”
Inspection? “I see.” The words sound strangled to my ears.
“Now lower yourself onto your heels, but keep your legs spread, and place your hands on your thighs with your palms up.”
I follow his directions.
“Straight back. Chest forward.” He barks the orders like a drill sergeant. Then I remember, he sort of is a drill sergeant. “That’s called the waiting position, indicating the submissive’s willingness to serve when needed.” He watches me intently, and I know he’s expecting me to go off on one of my trademark feminist rants. I want to. God, how I want to! But I’ll bite my tongue off before I give him the satisfaction of getting to me, or worse, proving to him that I can’t do this. After a minute, he says, “There are some variations on this that you will need to know. They’re pretty self-explanatory, but let’s try them.” He looks to me for confirmation, and I nod.
“I’m here to serve.” I smirk.
He doesn’t smile back. Instead, he leads me over to his laptop and pulls up a website with something called “slave positions” and tells me to look it over. After a few minutes, he lifts one eyebrow. “Ready to try them?”
I feel hot and flushed after what I’ve read, but I nod. He starts calling out the positions, waiting for me to assume each one before moving on to the next. Wrists crossed behind, wrists crossed in front, hands clasped behind, hands on head, wrists offered, arms overhead with palms together, and box—wrists to opposite elbows—the only one he has to help me with.
“Okay, stand up.”
I awkwardly climb to my feet.
“There’s also the standing attention pose, which is just like the kneeling one, but obviously, you’re standing. Try it.”
I widen my stance and lace my fingers behind my neck, hyperaware of the way it makes my breasts jut forward. Walker notices, too, and I can feel my nipples pucker into tight little points under his scrutiny. I hope he can’t tell.
“Okay. Drop down onto all fours.”
Oh, God. How can something so humiliating be so erotic? And I’m just with Walker. I do as he says, looking up at him expectantly.
“Head bowed,” he snaps.
I immediately lower my head.
