A Dom for Christmas (7 page)

Cam laughed. “As ever you
manage to twist something to suit you. Beg away, my love. Show me.
But first.
Do you truly feel able to play?
Because if you indicate even one tiny reaction that tells me
differently, I will be more than unhappy.
Nothing is more important than
your health.”

 
That made sense. Angie mentally examined
ever
inch of herself. She took her time, and saw the
approval in his eyes. It gave her a warm, mushy, and loved feeling. He truly
did look after her, whichever life she was in.

“Within
reason, Sir.
I don’t think bondage would work, or too much movement.” She ran her tongue
around her lips. “And it would be
very
bad
to deny me my orgasm.”

“Hmm, then we best not play.”
To her horror, Cam stood up and smoothed her night rail back down over her
legs. “Perhaps you should rest. For I fear you shouldn’t orgasm in case it is
too much for you.
”

Damn it, that’s not why he’d hold me back. Bratty is me.

“Sir, I’m sorry I’ve been a
brat. Please let me come?
Just one little tiny orgasm.”
She let all her pent up needs and desires show in the way she spoke.

 
Cam laughed and stroked her cheek. “Angelina,
you know as well as I, whether I withhold your orgasm or let you come straight
away, little is never any part of coming.”

“Busted.”
She sniggered. “You’ve got me
there. Seriously though, maybe if I orgasm it would do me good? I wouldn’t be
all hot and horny, and I’d be able to rest. My skin is tight, my clit is tight,
my nipples are tight, my vagina wet, oh and tight, and your cock is hard. Add
all that together and I’m sure we could be creative.” Angie leaned forward and
put her hands on his chest. It would have been better if she could stroke his
nipples under his shirt, not over, but at the angle she was she couldn’t reach
the hem.

 
Cam moved back. “When your Lord says no,
lady-mine, he means it. And added to that, just who is dominant here? Did I
give you leave to take over? To demand or deny what is to happen?”

Angie got nasty creepy crawlies
in her stomach. It wasn’t often the Cam she knew spoke in that tone, but it was
final, and never boded well. She had to assume this Cam was the same. After
all, surely if she was Angie and Angelina, he was Cam mark one and two.

“No, Sir.” Her legs felt weak
and wobbly, and she thanked goodness she didn’t have to stand on them. There
wasn’t anything else Angie thought she could say. She looked at the floor and
rubbed her fingers over her palms, and hoped this Cam didn’t remember it was
definitely one of her shows and tells.
The oh-God-I’m-nervous
one.

“Exactly,
lady-mine.”

There was a knock on the door.
Cam walked to it, and Angie strained to hear the low-voiced conversation he
held with whoever was in the corridor. She didn’t catch one word. Cam let the
door close and walked across the room, to hunker down until their eyes were
level.

 
“Now, I want you to sit there, and do not move
until I get back. And you are on your
honor
not to
pleasure yourself.”

 
Oh she knew he’d say that. Half of her wished
he’d not felt the need to mention it, because it was a given unless she was
told otherwise. But then, that was in the twenty-first century; she had no idea
what they did in the nineteenth.

She nodded and he cleared his
throat. It was as good as a warning.
“Yes, Sir.”

“Good.”

He didn’t even say where he was
going or why, but left the room quietly. Angie sighed as the door shut, and
looked around her. It was the first chance she had to take in her surroundings
properly. The room was
cozy
, and feminine. The wall
coverings soft shades of creams and gold, and the curtains
a
deeper
golden velvet. Beside the daybed, a tambour frame with a hardly
started embroidery waited for someone to add to the stitches. Not hers, then.
Angie hated even to thread a needle, let alone use one. Next to it, on a low
table, was a book, and she picked it up. She might as well read to pass the
time. It wasn’t likely it was the sort of book to get her juices flowing.

Idly Angie flicked open the
cover and almost dropped the book. It was a diary, with
Diary of Angelina McAllister
written in cursive script on the first
page. Her hand shook as she turned the sheet of vellum over. She was Angel
Mairi
McAllister from Stirling, Scotland. Not some
nineteenth-century Angelina from heaven knows where. Her eyes blurred as she
read the first entry.

The diary wasn’t the sort she
knew. The days were all hand numbered and sometimes it seemed the entries were
few and far between. However, one caught her eyes, and she stopped flicking and
looked at it closely:
My Lord
Rawcliffe
can not
take no for an answer. When will he realize I don’t
want to dance, walk, chat, or sup with him? Better the devil than he.

The next few entries were about
gowns…
too fussy
, and balls…with the comment,
so boring
. That
sounded like the Angie she knew. Then one word, heavily underlined:
No
.
Followed after a gap of several inches, and days, before a sketched
heart and the words:
Thank the Lord for Camberley.
He had sent
Rawcliffe
away with a flea in his ear and a threat of
dire retribution. I found the small wooden angel my mama gifted me on the floor
near the front door. It is said to be important to both our ancestors, but as
yet I know not why.
So strange.
I took her back to my
trinket box. A small thing, but something from my
grandmama’s
childhood I cherish.

Angie closed the diary
thoughtfully. So Angel Dora was in this here and now, before
she
herself knew about it, although not as a Christmas tree ornament.

What the hell was going on? She
looked at the quill and ink on the inkstand doubtfully. As a left-handed person
in everything, ink and writing was a massive no-no.
Argh, did they still persecute corrie-fisted people in whenever I am
?
All sort of horror stories came back to Angie and crowded into her mind. She
put the diary on the table and clenched her hands together. She couldn’t use a
pen of any description. She’d end up with ink stains everywhere. A thought
struck her. If that diary was written by Angelina, and she was Angelina, where
were the ink
blots?

Angie leaned back and shut her
eyes.
So much to process and so little to go on.
Angel
Dora had to be involved, as did that bugger Stuart
Rawcliffe
,
and of course her beloved Cam.

Did reincarnation exist, and if
it did, did you come back as a later version of yourself? It seemed likely, but
how on earth could you explain that without being sectioned?

Apart from that, there was one
other not so small problem—how to get back to the twenty-first century.
With Angel Dora, of course.

It was enough to make anyone’s
head ache, let alone someone who had recently suffered a bang on the head and
amnesia.

Chapter Five

The gentle bounce, as someone
put her down onto a mattress and it swayed under her, woke Angie up.

She opened her eyes and stared
into the concerned face of Cam.

“Hi.”

He frowned.
“High
what?”

Of course that particular
greeting wouldn’t be in use, would it? “
Er
, I mean
hello.”

He leaned closer. Angie inhaled
the scent she knew as Cam—both Cams. “As in, My Lord, good day and what is your
pleasure?”

He grinned. The expression lit
up his face, and his eyes twinkled. Angie beamed back. As far as she was
concerned, it didn’t matter how often a scientist reiterated eyes didn’t
twinkle or gleam or any other such thing, at that moment Cam’s did.

“You.
All you.
For ever you.
But only what at this moment you can
give. So, I wonder, what can you give?” His expression was pure devilment.
Whatever had happened
outwith
the room seemed to be
in her
favor
.

“I can give whatever you ask,
My Lord.” Somehow the older title seemed to fit.

“Anything?”
The word was loaded with
suggestion.

Angie sniggered.
“Within my safe words, of course.
Er
,
within the parameters of our agreement.” Did that sound better? Would he
understand? Not that they had a lot of no-go areas. They seemed, or the modern
day Angie and Cam seemed, to have very similar preferences. She had to assume
the Regency Cam and Angie were the same.

“You are sure?”

“Very sure.
Seriously, Cam, all things
hot-and-bothering apart, my head doesn’t ache, my skin isn’t too tight for my
body, and I can’t feel the lump on my head unless I go hunting for it. Now if
we swap things around a bit, my skin is too tight because I’m so hot and ready
for you, it tingles, and the only headache is from wondering how to convince
you I’m wet and wanting.” Angie leaned up on one elbow and held her hand out to
Cam. “See? I’m shaking because I want you. I want you to touch me in love and
lust and want and need. Not for any other reason.”

He dipped his head and ran his
hand up under her night rail, toward the apex of her thighs. Each time he
stroked her body, the fine hairs under his fingers stood on end and her skin
stung with arousal. Her pussy was damp. Her juices were gradually coating the
tops
of her thighs. Angie took in a large, tremulous
breath and squeaked as Cam ran
one finger around the back on her knee.

“T…tickles.”

He grinned. “I know.”

“Cruel.” She tried to squirm
away, and Cam held her in place by putting one hand on her tummy.

“Always.”
He moved his hand a few inches
lower and extended one finger toward her clit. As his nail gently scraped over
the sensitive nub, Angie screamed in pleasure and arched upward. The rush of
heat that rolled over her, combined with the exquisite pain of that touch, sent
her to the very edge of the abyss where her climax would overtake her, and she
would tumble into the sensations of orgasmic bliss.

 
Only the pressure of his palm held her down.
Only the warning of “No” stopped her from coming. She bit her lip and forced
herself not to rub her thighs together.

“If you try to make yourself
climax, I’ll tie you,” Cam warned her.

Did he really think that was a
deterrent? Angie sighed, and he chuckled as he continued his exploration of the
contours of her leg.

“Good things come to those who
wait.”

“And waiting is not a good
thing when you want to come,” Angie said. “Ah, for fuck’s sake,
please
.”
His hand had reached her damp thighs, and she shivered in a good way. Did he
realize what he was doing to her? Of course he did. She’d guess this Cam was
aware of everything he did, in the same way as the other one was.

“Begging?”

“You bet. Begging, pleading, ah
yes, so fucking good.” She writhed on the cover as yet again he used his
fingers to bring her to the edge of a climax and then stopped. It was enough to
bring tears to her eyes.

“I love to watch you like
this,” Cam said and blew on her clit. “Do not come, not yet.” He nipped her
thigh and laughed softly as she opened her eyes and stared at him in annoyance.
“Oh so wet, oh so aroused and yes, oh so cross with me. Now where were we?”

“You talk too much. I want to
come. I bet you do as well.” Angie reached down toward his cock.

Cam moved so fast she had no
time to react. Wherever he’d hidden the ties, she had no idea, but before she
could say “Regency romance,” or “cock ahoy,” he’d spread her arms and legs wide
and fastened them.

She huffed as the bed dipped.
Now what?

 
Here she was, unable to move, her nightie—no
night
rail—
bunched up around her
waist, her pussy on show and her boobs covered, horny as hell, and he was
sauntering away from her as if she held no interest to him whatsoever.

Bastard
.
Angie watched as he moved toward a
tallboy and opened the top drawer. She couldn’t see what he took out until he
turned back and faced her.

Her heart did a weird flip-flop
.
The dagger he held glinted in the
light of the candles on the mantle, and the flames in the fire helped to create
strange phallic patterns on the wall behind him. Angie gulped and Cam chuckled.

“And what shall I do with
this?” He held the dagger by the handle and slowly lowered it toward her. “Do
you trust me, Angelina?”