The Switch by Christine Denham Read Free Book Online Page A

the living
space.
    “Place your belongings there,” she said,
pointing to the chest in the corner. “You may use the bathroom if
you need to, but you may not ‘relieve’ that.” She indicated his
pretty desperate-looking hard-on.
    While Grayson ‘freshened up,’ Marion took a
mental inventory and went over her plans for their evening, making
adjustments here and there. She already discovered he wasn’t a fan
of the crop.
    At least, not for switching purposes, she thought wryly. But that would change soon enough.
    The large, antique dresser held a collection
of items she’d picked out earlier, but now she reconsidered,
shifting a few things around for easier access. Behind her, she
heard the bathroom door open, the light switch off.
    “Knees,” she said, not turning around. The
soft thump of him complying sent a thrum of heat through her belly,
giving her pause. With a slow, deep inhale, she attempted to reel
herself in.
    You’re here to fulfill his needs , she
reminded herself as she fingered the buttery braid of leather wound
around the handle of her crop.

Seven
    Grayson
leaned back on his heels and waited. At first, he kept his eyes
dutifully trained on the silk braided rug beneath his knees. As the
silence unfurled into the warmly lit room, however, he allowed his
gaze to sneak across the floor and up the back of his new
mistress.
    This wasn’t ‘Marion,’ after all. At least,
not the Marion he knew. That Marion was usually found in jeans and
an old college sweatshirt, or a Bruins jersey. Oh, she knew how to
be a sex-pot when it called for it. But he couldn’t remember the
last time he’d seen her in a skirt, much less those five-inch
stilettos that had him suddenly considering a foot fetish.
    He couldn’t reconcile it quickly enough.
He’d always wanted ‘his’ Marion, but this - god, this was a whole
different situation entirely. No one woman could be this utterly
perfect for him. How was this even possible?
    “Eyes down, Jones.”
    Fuck.
    Her footfalls were silent, but he watched
her approach out of his periphery, his pulse thumping almost in
time with each step. She stopped when her toes were barely an inch
from his knee.
    Fingers slid through his hair, stroking his
scalp and cradling his head like the possession he was. His body
reacted before his brain could catch up; a soft, sweet echo of need
heated his nerves and loosened his spine quicker than the Scotch
had earlier.
    “You’re just racking up the punishments,
aren’t you, pet?” she said, her thumb tracing the edge of his ear
before pulling away.
    “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered without
thought.
    “Why is that?”
    Huh? He blinked at the floor.
    “Because I’m a bad boy?” he replied dumbly.
He thought it was a given that submissives acted out because they
craved the punishment. Wasn’t that the point?
    A soft chuckle on a breath as she cupped his
chin. Only when she tilted his face upwards and commanded him to
look, did he obey.
    “Because you’re a ‘bad boy who needs to be
punished’?” She gave a cluck of disapproval. “I determine when you
are punished and how, Grayson. And I need no reason, other than it
pleases me to see your skin change color for me. Now, why don’t you
give me your honest answer?”
    Her eyes held him in place for a long
moment, cool and deep and slightly narrowed at the corners. Again,
he was thrown off-balance as he tried to assimilate both versions
of Marion McKellan. Her grip on his chin tightened as she lifted
her face expectantly.
    “I - I can’t,” he gasped.
    This brought a frown.
    “Can’t? Can’t what?”
    “I don’t know!” He closed his eyes.
Something frantic and mortifyingly uncertain was flailing around
inside his chest.
    “Look at me, Grayson.” Her voice was steel
quiet now. “Either open your eyes or say your safe word.”
    Apple.
    No.
    His eyes snapped open with the sudden
realization - she wanted him to submit. Not only physically, but
mentally. Maybe even