Chapter Two

Tony felt a hell of a lot better than he had in a long time. True, there would need to be serious damage control with Pepper; despite her denials, she was the jealous type. Tony was aware of that now, and it both pleased and frustrated him these days. But he knew better than to say a word about Naomi’s visit; Pepper would never believe the truth about not sleeping with her.

So he puttered in the garage until Happy came back and reported that Mrs. O’Hara had been safely deposited at the private airport, and then Tony and Pepper stiffly got into the limo and rode out to the jet engine testing facility in Santa Irma. The chill in the car was palpable, and Tony did his best to ignore it, focusing on Pepper’s legs as she sat in the seat across from him, typing on her laptop.

Tony rested an elbow on the door handle. “Come on, Ms. Potts—I know you’re dying to lay into me. Let’s have it.”

The quiet stretched out for a mile or two more.

Then--

“Why did she call you ‘master?” came her question, so low he wondered if it had actually been asked aloud.

Tony drew a breath and leaned back against the seat. “Because with her, I am. Naomi is . . . how do I put this? Submissive.”

Pepper didn’t look up from her typing, but her speed increased, fingers dancing more swiftly. “Oh?” came her nonchalant response.

“Oh.” Tony echoed back, feeling a little irritated now. This wasn’t the reply he’d expected from Pepper, and he leaned forward. “Yes. Has been for years, actually.”

“I see.”

He could tell that she couldn’t; that Pepper was dismissing it all as just another flavor of sex. Suddenly tired of the game, Tony reached forward and roughly pushed the laptop closed, nearly snapping it on her fingers. Startled, Pepper gripped the sides of the computer and shot him a wary look. “Tony—”

“Listen to me. Naomi O’Hara has just lost the one person in the entire world she loved, trusted and served. She needed someone to take charge of her for an evening and give her a reprieve from her grief, and although I haven’t done it in a while, I did just that. I let her lick my hands for an hour, then I tied her up, and gently flogged her until she had an orgasm. End. Of. Story.”

Tony held his breath as he watched Pepper’s face. She was working on keeping it as impassive as possible, but the little frantic tic of her pulse along her throat, and the flicker of her lashes gave away her shock. Tired, he lifted his bearded chin and turned his gaze up to the ceiling of the limo, waiting as the stillness hung between them for a while longer.

He gave a sigh. “And this morning Naomi kissed you because she wanted to thank you, Pepper, for being kind enough to . . . let her have time with me.”

“It’s . . . none of my business what you do with Naomi O’Hara,” Pepper managed stiffly, still not meeting his eyes.

Tony laughed without humor. “Yeah, I think I said that before, but frankly I’m not going to go through a second Ice Age with you about this. It’s moot point anyway—Naomi and Ian have a circle of friends who can take care of her needs from now on, and as for me, I’m . . .”

The limo slowed to a stop. Tony didn’t bother finishing his sentence, and quickly climbed out, not looking back, but trusting Pepper to follow him as he began to move towards the facility.

She kept her eyes on his back.

The Engine Test Facility was a series of cavernous underground rooms the size of hangars. Several of them were open work bays where engineers clustered like ants around various projects. Tony strode from section to section, taking in everything in each one with his usual laser intensity.

Pepper tried to push down her astonishment long enough to take notes as Tony fired comments over his shoulder at her for dictation. She managed to transcribe the better part of his departmental commentary as he moved from the main floor through a series of doors, the head engineer flanking him. Pepper strode along to follow, glad of the distraction of work as she tried to make sense of Tony’s comments in the limo.

It didn’t factor out. Tony? Into bondage and discipline? He’d always been a bit of a wild man at times, a risk-taker, yes. She’d watched him sweep countless women to bed, occasionally a pair of them, but always, only for . . . straight sex.

Well, as straight as sex with Tony Stark normally got. There were the occasional scarves or hand cuffs, and a vibrator or two but nothing out of the ordinary beyond that. Pepper had seen the maids clean up often enough to know that Howard and Maria’s son had a fairly healthy and lively imagination when it came to matters of recreational copulation.

None of the women she’d ever shuttled out of the mansion the morning after had ever looked . . . beaten, or tortured. And yes, while a few of them had tried to come on to her, Pepper was aware that it was usually just a ploy to stay close to her boss.

After all, she herself wasn’t blind to Tony’s magnetism; just wary of it.

Still, there was no denying that something had happened between Tony and Naomi O’Hara, and further, that whatever it was hadn’t been sex the way Tony usually had it.

Pepper was still concentrating on opening a new file for the notes as she followed Tony and the engineers into the wind tunnel. They all stepped out into the long room, and she shifted to get better lighting on the BlackBerry in her hands, not looking up.

That was a mistake. The sudden roar of the wall fan at the other end rose up, and the gust of breeze caught her by surprise; Pepper staggered against it, tottering on her heels. By sheer will she managed to keep hold of the PDA, but as the roar increased and her skirt whipped higher on her thighs, she began to tumble.

Arms caught her; pulled her in close against the mad rush of air through the room, and Pepper ducked her head, furious, frightened and out of breath in the maelstrom whirling around them. If it hadn’t been for the secure grip around her . . .

The fans died down, and she risked looking up. The lead engineer was against the far wall, glasses smashed, nursing a bleeding nose; he looked dazed.

Tony had her in his arms. His hair looked a bizarre mess, but what caught her attention was the long thin split on his bottom lip, oozing a single drop of blood. His eyes, dark and intense scanned her face. “You okay?”

Pepper took quick stock of herself; nothing had hit her, she hadn’t fallen, thanks to— “I’m fine. You’re bleeding.”

As she reached to touch his lip, Pepper felt Tony’s hands shift from her hips to slowly brush her skirt down from where it was bunched at her waist, and to his credit, he did it without taking his eyes off hers. “Hey, hey, no panty-flashing the shortly-to-be-fired technicians.”

“What happened?” She blushed, finger dabbing his blood. Tony swiftly bent his head and licked--suckled her finger, his hot, wet tongue sliding around it as lasciviously as a cat’s.

Pepper shivered, giving a small, helpless moan.

Then he pulled back as people began dashing into the room, and reluctantly let her go, moving to rub her upper arms in a stolidly comforting gesture.

“Clearly someone was running a simulation without properly logging it, and we walked in at the wrong time. I want a thorough review of all of this facility’s scheduled tests and personnel on my desk by the end of the day.” His voice was loud, hard and matter-of-fact, and if it hadn’t been for the wetness of her finger, Pepper might have thought she imagined his little sensual caress.

A week passed; Tony made it a point to keep himself busy and avoid any private time with Pepper, going so far as to have the limo partition rolled down for most of the rides and inviting Rhodey over in the evenings. Pepper seemed to appreciate the safety net, and began to relax again, avoiding anything more personal herself.

She brought him papers to sign, and reminded him about his schedule, his stocks, his travel plans. Tony signed, attended, invested and flew, all according to the agenda Pepper laid out for him, making sure to keep his teasing mild.

For his own part, Tony fought the urge to indulge in his current favorite fantasy too often as he watched the delectable lines of Pepper’s legs, and the sweet swing of her hips. The memory of being pressed up against her, feeling all those tantalizing swells and hollows joined to his—

Oh yes. And then that crazy, stupid moment with her finger. God, indulging in a few quick licks, because really it wasn’t the blood, but the sight of her scared, big blue eyes that had urged him on.

The closeness, the scent of her.

He might have managed to get back on even footing if the package hadn’t arrived just as he and Pepper were coming in from a long evening at the Sotheby’s auction. For a few hundred thousand dollars Tony had picked up a couple of nice knickknacks for the main lobby of SI. While he and Pepper argued about placement and insurance for the sculptures, the Fed Ex man stood with a clipboard.

“For Mr. Stark? Why didn’t you leave it at the office?” Pepper chided the man, taking the clipboard and signing off quickly. Tony took the package and hefted it; not light by any means. When he caught the return address label, things became immediately clear, and Tony tucked the big box under one arm, feeling a flush rise through him.

He hurried up to the living room, wanting to put it away, but Pepper followed him up, clearly not done with her arguments about the best way to display the Donald Judd piece. Tony hesitated, then deliberately set the box down and moved to the bar, pouring himself a few fingers of Slivovitz. “You don’t think we can shift the main lobby around and have the thing in the center?”

“Mr. Stark, you forked over nearly twenty-seven thousand dollars last year to have a Feng Shui consultant flown in from China to make sure that the energy flow of the main lobby was unobstructed. I tend to think that huge concrete rings in concentric stacks might disrupt that, just a little,” Pepper pointed out with a hint of exasperation. He could hear her walking towards the coffee table, and when her steps stopped, Tony took one long swallow of his brandy. He turned and looked over to where Pepper stood examining the box, and her long, elegant profile was enough to make his heart thump.

She wore a green wool suit with an opera scarf of light gold, flecked through with metallic glints, and her shoes were gold leather, three inches at the heel. Tony loved the way she’d left her hair down for the auction; it was smooth and gleaming in the fading light. Pepper looked up from the return address label, and her expression was a cross between consternation and embarrassment; hastily she tried to set the package back down, but dropped it instead, uncharacteristically clumsy for the moment.

Tony laughed softly. He stepped down from the bar, drink still in hand and scooped the Fed Ex box up from the marble floor. “Nervous, Potts?”

“I’m sorry,” came her quiet apology. “I hope I didn’t break anything.”

Tony handed her his brandy, motioned for her to sit, and fished out his micro laser off his keychain. “So let’s fly the consultant out again and show him the Judd piece; let him figure out the prosperity flow feng and how to work around it.”

“Tony—“ Pepper began, sitting reluctantly on the very edge of the sofa, eyeing the package warily, “That’s not cost-effective, and I’m sure you’d rather open that in private. I should go.”

“You’re not curious?” he sat on the other sofa and studied her over the edge of the box at her.

Pepper seemingly didn’t know where to look; she glanced away, towards the fireplace. “I’m not paid to be curious,” she replied finally, trying to smile a little.

Tony flicked the laser on and deftly sliced through the tape on one end of the box. “True, but then again, I have hardly any secrets from you, Ms. Potts.”

It came out in a quiet tone, honest above all else, and Pepper ducked her head. Tony focused on the box, since it was easier than looking at her for the moment. He tipped it, and an attaché, similar to the one locked away behind the fireplace, slid out.

Tony touched it lightly. “Ian’s . . . case. Haven’t seen this in . . . years.”

Memories came back at the sight of the rugged case, flashing through Tony’s mind in a quick strobe of flashback.

Ian in the college lab late at night, lanky and smiling, holding a length of cotton rope, tying a beautifully intricate knot with it. “I know exactly what I am, Tony. That makes everything else easy.”

Watching Ian Play for the first time; feeling hungry and achy at the sight of the blindfolded girl moaning on the dining room table, puddles of white wax rolling down her bare stomach and breasts—

Later, feeling the wax himself, flinching in hot trembly anticipation, hands bound tightly, skin alive and waiting. Ian’s voice with his lilt, gentle and commanding. “You can take more, Antonio. I know you can take so much more, boyo.”

The gentle directions, the encouragement a few years after that. “You’ll know our kind by what they do over what they say, Tony. An . . . intensity to them you don’t see in most people. Or a willingness to please.”

So many nights tutored through the rough and the sweet until his senses reeled, and his heart pounded hard. “You’re damned good, Antonio, oh yes. Lucky is the woman under your hands.”

And finally, painfully, the freshest memory: “She’s perfect for you, boyo, yet you keep holding back. Make your move like I did, or you’ll end up alone all your life.” The warm smile; Ian’s knowing grin. “Pepper’s our kind. Poor thing just hasn’t realized it yet.”

Tony thumbed the latches, and the soft snap of them made him pause. He glanced over at Pepper, who had her fingers interlaced in her lap, tension in her elegant shoulders. “You probably have an idea of what’s in here, don’t you?”

Pepper looked as if she didn’t want to answer, but he waited quietly, and she finally swallowed. “Um, yes. Given what you’ve said about Na—Mrs. O’Hara. I think so.”

Tony nodded. He wanted to take another sip of the brandy, but held off, and lightly ran a finger over the top of the case. He noted Pepper’s sidelong glance watching his finger. “Let’s have a look then.”

Before his courage could fail him, Tony lifted the lid by the corners of the case, letting the light in on the contents.

Grey foam cushioning with carefully cut out panels that held so many different items. Some glittered. Most didn’t.

Tony passed a hand over layout and whistled. “You can always tell the degree of an artist’s commitment by the quality of his tools—something I’m sure you know, given my workshop downstairs. Ah Ian,” Tony sighed, pulling out a glittering instrument. It looked like a pizza cutter, but the wheel had long thin spikes that caught the light. “Platinum—no plebian stainless steel for Doctor O’Hara, nope.”

“W-what is that?” Pepper asked, her gaze shot through with alarm. Tony held it in one hand and flicked the wheel with the other, making flashes slide along the ceiling.

“A Wartenburg Pinwheel. Officially, it’s used to test neurological responses. Unofficially it’s quite the little agent of erotic provocation. The lightest roll of it over the ribs, or along the underside of soft, exposed breasts . . .” He trailed off and slowly tucked it back into the case. Tony reached into another cushioned compartment and pulled out a slender leather ring with imbedded rolling beads. It looked like a bracelet although smaller. Tony hummed with amusement as he undid the little latch that unlocked it.

“That’s too small for a wrist—” Pepper ventured, then blushed hot and pink as a realization hit her. “Oh.”

“Twisting cock ring—with a little lube and a flexible grip, this can drive a man insane,” he murmured in a low voice. “Someone else’s grip that is.” Tony set it back and pulled the grey foam up, slipping a hand under it. Out came a sleek, long paddle of pale gold lacquered wood, gleaming and smooth. Carved on the other side was a stylized thorny rose and the scrolled motto: ferite di amore.

“Love hurts,” Tony translated for her, touching the leather braided grip of the paddle, remembering the heft of it. Pepper made a little wordless noise, and he risked a glance at her. Her attention was on the paddle though, and it wasn’t the sweet flush along her cheekbones made him blink; it was the glitter in her eyes.

“Not necessarily,” she murmured in a whisper so low he almost missed it. Tony gripped the handle tightly for a second, a wildness coursing through him in a quick, relieved pulse. Pepper’s tone held no judgment; no condemnation or revulsion. She looked a little surprised, but certainly not frightened, and Tony dropped his gaze, shifting a little on the sofa.

“Very true. Not everyone sees it that way though.”

“Spanking is different. It’s almost . . . mainstream now,” Pepper ventured in the same little voice. “It’s not the same as some of the . . . other things represented in that box, Tony.”

“It’s a gateway kink,” he teased. “Potentially the lead into a lifestyle that can get much more . . . complicated. Although . . .” Tony continued slowly, “I was very good at it. One of my . . . fortes.”

Pepper sighed; he shot her a quick surprised glance since the sound had held a hint of regret. Tony wondered if he’d imagined it, but when he noticed her gaze was still on the paddle, he handed it to her. She hesitated, then took it from him gingerly, setting it down on the coffee table. Tony turned his attention back to the case, but out of the corner of his eye, he noted how Pepper’s hands twisted around each other in her lap.

“Relax, Potts—nothing here is going to bite. And considering your last few comments, I’m going to assume you’ve been spanked once or twice before.”

She said nothing, but a brief, quick curl of one corner of her mouth left him feeling a hard pang of jealousy; whoever had had the pleasure of paddling Ms. Potts was one lucky bastard, Tony inwardly growled to himself.

He reached back into the case and tugged out a tiny pair of gold thumb cuffs and spun them on his index finger. “Another Ian touch—subtlety in bondage. He was never one for the overt leather and chain displays.”

“So I’m realizing,” Pepper replied thoughtfully. “I never . . . suspected.”

This made Tony laugh; his first since the auction earlier that evening, when she had been constantly tugging at his sleeve in a despairing attempt to stop him from over-bidding. “Ian was very good at keeping a low profile. If he hadn’t trusted me all those years ago back at MIT, I would have never known it about him either. He was a good mentor.”

“He taught you.” It wasn’t a question; Pepper was looking at him now with shy interest, more relaxed than she’d been previously. Tony reached for his brandy and paused, gesturing wordlessly if she wanted one. Pepper nodded, and he rose, heading for the bar, his own glass in hand.

Over the clink of the bottle’s lip against the rim, Tony spoke. “Yeah. Ian was my tutor for biomechatronics during the day . . . and my Scene mentor at night. Claims he saw a lot of potential in me for both fields.”

He carried the two snifters back and handed one to Pepper, who took it and breathed in the bouquet for a moment before sipping it. Tony watched her swallow; enjoyed the vision of that long beautiful throat in the dim lighting. “I learned . . . a lot.”

“I bet,” Pepper replied, clearly feeling the burn of the Slivovitz.

“You’re taking this pretty calmly, Potts.”

“Tony—“ she smiled at him with gentleness. “You have a miniature arc reactor in your chest. You built an armored flying suit and you fight terrorists and warmongers. I’m sort of over being surprised at anything regarding you.”

He laughed again, the relief bubbling up this time, genuine and good because until this very moment, Tony hadn’t realized how much he cared about the way Pepper was going to take the news about his 
. . . tendencies.

She took another sip of the brandy, and moved to touch the paddle again, with one finger. Tony noted that with a little throb, and pretended to be interested again in the case. “Yeah well, I still might throw a shock or two your way, Potts—you never know.”

Out came a set of padded blue velvet cuffs, complete with tiny silver moon-shaped padlocks. Pepper made a little murmur, and Tony held them up so she could see them better.

“They’re almost . . . beautiful,” she whispered in surprise.

He nodded. “Ian is . . . damn it--was--romantic, no matter who he was Playing with. That didn’t mean that he couldn’t be hard, or cruel sometimes, but overall to him, it was all about trust and seduction.”

“Did he . . . seduce . . . you?” Pepper breathed, then looked frightened to have overstepped her bounds. Tony swallowed the last of his brandy in one gulp, eyes watering, and not just from the burn of the liquor.

Tony sniffed hard, to clear his throat of fumes. “Sure, of course he did. Not that we ever had sex all that often. Ian went both ways, but me? Not so much. I’m pret-ty hardwired to women, frankly. I’m sure you’ve noticed that once or twice.”

“I . . . I should get going,” Pepper murmured.

Tony sighed and closed his eyes. “I don’t Play anymore, Pepper. You know that, right?”

She paused, right on the verge of rising up from the sofa, and looked at him. “I . . . Yes, I know.”

“I can’t. I run a billion dollar company where I’m directly and indirectly responsible for the employment of thousands of people. I can’t afford to hurt them or let them down. The average citizen is more than willing to support me climbing into an armored suit and taking on terrorists. But tolerating a scandal involving a lifestyle that’s still seen as perverted? You know what would happen to Stark Industries if anything like that ever got out. You know better than I do what would happen, Pepper.”

She nodded; the American public was still highly conservative when it came to CEOs, even ones as flamboyant and charismatic as Tony Stark. “I understand.”

“Most of the time it’s not a big deal. I’ve got more than enough to keep me occupied,” Tony pointed out wearily. “Ian and Naomi used to visit just enough to keep me from going crazy.”

“Oh.” It was the only thing Pepper could think of to say, and it seemed completely inadequate. Impulsively she reached over and laid a hand on his arm, patting it.

Tony looked down at her long, pretty fingers. “It’s not about sex, you know.”

“Tony—“

“No, I need you to understand, just a little bit. It’s more of a safety valve; a way of releasing tension before . . . before I go crazy. Yes, a lot of times it . . . leads to sex. It makes sex better. Makes it more intimate, more raw and satisfying. But what Playing a scene is really about is trust, Pepper. I’m a billionaire; I can get all the sex I want. Trust? That’s not buyable, not at the level I need for this. Ever.”

Pepper bit her lower lip and reluctantly nodded; a deeper part of her understood Tony’s lonely position in life all too well. Having money brought unusual heartaches at times. “I get it.”

“Sure,” Tony sighed, and carefully repacked the cuffs into the case. “Of course. Just another twist to your boss’s psyche. What the hell, I guess I’m maudlin tonight. Naomi sends me this magnificent gift of Ian’s toys and I can’t . . . I can’t even use them. Nicely ironic, don’t you think?”

“She meant well,” Pepper offered quietly.

Tony laughed a little, his expression sweetly wry. “She’s a good little sub. Always wanting to make people happy.”

“She could . . .” Pepper began slowly, “Still come to visit.”

Tony glanced up, seeing the conflict in Pepper’s face and shook his head firmly. “No. She was, heart and soul, Ian’s sub. She’ll drop in now and then, but strictly as a friend, Potts. We’ll never Play again.”

His voice was firm, and held a tiny note of bleakness in it that reached deep into Pepper, making her ache for him in a way she never thought she could. Her fingers tightened on his arm, and gently Tony dropped his other hand on hers, patting it gently.

Neither of them said anything for a while as they sat together on the sofa for a long time.

Finally Pepper stirred, her gaze flickering back to the paddle on the coffee table. “I’m sorry, Tony. I may not understand everything about what you’ve said tonight, but I wish I could help.”

Tony had his eyes closed again. “Is that an offer to let me spank you?”

He said it lightly; another throwaway tease to make her blush, but Pepper quivered for a second, her gaze darting to the beautiful little paddle, and her silence was enough to make him open his eyes. “Potts, that was a joke.”

She kept her gaze averted from him, her profile long and beautiful. “I know,” Pepper whispered, and paused. “But . . . I . . . could.”

Tony held his breath, hearing his pulse hammer in quickening thumps in his ears. Forcing himself to calm down, he waited to speak until he was sure his voice could carry low and deliberate amusement in it. “That’s the Slivovitz talking now. It’s been a long night Pepper, and I know you’re incredibly tender-hearted, but that’s not an offer I can consider seriously.”

The air in the room seemed heavy now, full of unsaid things and odd little wavers of light and dark.

Pepper’s skin tingled, and she gave a shiver, crossing her arms to rub the opposite shoulders as she spoke, her words tumbling out. “I’m not afraid, Tony. Not of being . . . spanked. I just don’t want to see you going back to your old way of living, and losing everything good you’ve become in the last year because you’re . . . alone. Not when I can help.”

Tony dropped his head, not able to look her in the eye. He flexed his shoulders, and spoke, his voice directed more to the floor than to the woman sitting next to him. “I could love you for that alone, my sweet, sweet, Pepper.”

She reached over and picked up the paddle, long fingers wrapping around the leather braided handle to grip the implement. “It’s not heavy,” Pepper murmured in surprise.

Tony did look up then, and nodded. “But well-balanced. A custom job.” He smiled at some unshared memory. “I’ve been on both ends, so I know what it’s capable of delivering.”

Pepper blinked at him, her mouth dropping open a tiny bit; he fluttered his eyelashes at her with exaggerated coyness. “Didn’t I promise you a shock or two?”

She found her voice, and the little curl along the corner of her mouth was back. “I’m not shocked . . . I think it’s a very—very pleasant image, given all the times I’ve considered taking a bit of revenge on you, myself, Mr. Stark.”

Tony laughed.

With the mood lighter now, he slowly stood up and stretched a little, then turned to Pepper, holding out a hand to help her to her feet. Her fingers were cool in his, her grip soft. “You’re honest to a fault, Ms. Potts; one of your better qualities. I think it’s time to call it a night, and we’ll get back to figuring what to do with the Judd sculptures in the morning, okay?”

“All right,” Pepper agreed, her smile slightly relieved. “We have the trip out to Vail tomorrow too. But Tony—” she continued, her voice dropping. “I . . . I do want you to consider my offer.” Pepper took the paddle she still held and then his hand, wrapping his fingers around the handle. “I don’t understand everything, but this, I can do.”

She tried to smile calmly and not reveal the racing thrum of her pulse, the dryness of her mouth. Tony took the paddle, looking down at her fingers around his, and when he lifted his gaze again, Pepper noted how very rich the brown of his eyes was. “I’m serious, Tony.”

He swallowed; she noticed it with a sense of amusement. “Don’t keep offering, Pepper. I’m half-way tempted as it is.”

“Sleep on it,” she murmured. “But the offer stands. Goodnight, Mr. Stark.”

Long after Pepper had gone, and the mansion was dark and quiet, Tony roamed, moving restlessly from room one to another, letting his steps wander as his thoughts and desires tormented him until shortly before dawn.