Bonds of Courage (16 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Five hours later, he stood in the same damn office where the push-and-pull struggle with Vanessa had started. The light dinner he’d managed to get down was now a hard ball that felt like a rock in his gut.

He couldn’t sit. The energy that pumped through him was too wild to restrain. So he stood, leg bouncing, arms crossed, waiting.

She’d texted him with instructions, and he’d followed each one. Black jeans, black T-shirt, black boots. He felt like he should be riding a Harley, but it was what his Mistress wanted.

Taking a deep breath, he exhaled and spread his stance. In the next breath he clasped his hands behind his back and lowered his head. The position helped to settle some of the restlessness that plagued him.

He was here for her. That thought alone relaxed him more than any exercise or breathing technique. Would she punish him tonight? Tell him to get lost?

Or was this another forward pass in their relationship—agreement? They didn’t have a relationship. Not the one he wanted, at least.

He’d find out tonight if they had anything at all.

* * *

Vanessa swept into Seth’s office on a stride that snapped with assurance. Her façade held in place by sheer force of will.

She shouldn’t be relieved that he was there, yet she was.

He stood in perfect rest position facing the door. His gaze was angled at the floor just as she’d defined. He didn’t even look up to see who’d entered.

“Mr. Hauke.” She kept her voice void of emotion, which was harder to do than normal.

“Mistress.”

The sun might’ve burned her skin that afternoon, but it hadn’t chased away the inner cold the way Holden’s single word did. Filled with a deep ring of respect and reverence, it warmed the chill from her bones.

She walked up to him, her admiration for his form—for him—filling the angry void that always seemed to stalk her. Where did that leave her?

His chest was firm when she ran her hands over his pecs. She’d wavered all afternoon over her next steps, the risk versus the want that wouldn’t go away. His nipples puckered under her palms, and she tweaked each one through the cotton until his breath hitched.

She moved back, his scent teasing her to stay close. “Shirt off.”

She’d been forced to stare at his body for half the day. Now, she wanted to claim all of it. He folded his T-shirt and set it on the desk behind him where she indicated. His shoulders and chest were pink from the sun, much like her own. A light touch confirmed the warmth that simmered from the burn.

“You should’ve used more sunblock.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Yes, Mistress. So compliant now, but he’d been angry with her that afternoon. “Why are you here, Holden?”

“Because you told me to be.”

The correct answer once again. “And?”

He wet his lips, the only reaction he’d had since she’d entered the room. “Because I want to be here. With you.”

The first response would’ve been enough from any other sub. The rest was what she wanted from him.

“Would you ever tell me no?”

His eyes closed, and she tilted his chin up so when he opened his eyes he was looking at her. He searched her, his hesitancy showing before it disappeared behind a wall of confidence. “Yes, I would, Mistress.”

Not the answer most submissives would give. By some standards, it was a very wrong answer. But it was the exact one she’d been hoping he’d give her.

She reached up, his hair ruffling between her fingers as she raked her nails over his scalp. His eyes flickered, lips parted in an unintentional offer. He didn’t resist when she dug her fingers into the back of his head and pulled him toward her. Her heels alleviated some of their height difference, but she liked that he still had to duck to obey her.

She held him there, their mouths a breath away, his eyes showing the lust, the desire and the barest of hope. She wet her lips then blew a trail of air over his parted ones. His lids drifted closed, lips parting more, but he didn’t press forward or force his position on her. Off balance, hands still held behind his back, his trust in her was explicit.

His submission for her was so pure.

Damn him.

She dug her nails deeper into his scalp, her other hand twisting the tender bud of his nipple in a hard pinch. His gasp was silent, and she claimed it as her own.

His lips were soft under hers, the flesh yielding when she pressed harder, took more. She swept her tongue into his welcoming mouth to find a sweet heat that played over her senses. His tongue swirled with hers, his lips moving to meet hers, yet he never tried to control the kiss. Not when she nipped his lip or sucked on his tongue or tortured the nipple between her fingers with a vicious twist that sucked the breath through his nose.

Blood coursed through her body, tightening her nipples and raising her pulse until it battered her chest. Her pussy clenched, seeking to be filled. The desire for his thick length was both annoying and hot. She didn’t crave men or sex, yet she craved Holden.

She eased back, their panting breaths mingling in the small space between them. His eyes were opened wide, his pupils consuming the blue to declare the desire she felt.

“You’re my submissive,” she said, her voice soft and husky.

“Yes, Mistress.” His response came with a gravelly shudder that reached into her.

She yanked him down to nip his earlobe. “Don’t fuck with me, Holden.” Her warning was spoken directly into his ear before she took another bite of his lobe.

“Never.” He twisted his chin toward her, his breath caressing her cheek. “Vanessa.”

She bit her lip at the soft roll of her name. Damn it to hell. It sounded too good coming from him. It was audacious of him. Bold and bordering on insubordinate, but she didn’t want to object.

He was acknowledging her, not the role or the image she presented. But...

“Not here.” She licked a trail around the shell of his ear and finally released his nipple. His shuddered groan as the blood flooded back into the bud sent a rush of power through her. “That’s for my playroom,” she continued when his breathing leveled into soft pants. “Not here.”

His low moan had a smile forming on her lips. The solid thump of his heart under her palm backed up his silent agreement.

She sucked in a long breath and stepped away. He followed her departure, his body leaning forward until he caught himself before he lost his balance.

There was such need in his eyes, but it was underscored by the strength that was a quiet part of him. He solidified his place when he lowered himself down to rest his weight on his strong knee. A modified kneel that worked for him. He was giving his submission without injuring himself. Giving himself to her over and over again when she’d done so little to earn that honor.

She didn’t want to think about what place he’d just claimed within her. But it’d never been filled before. Not by a friend, a submissive, a man or any combination of the three.

She ran her fingers through his soft hair, the stands feathering through her fingers on each return pass. “Go home, Holden.” Her plans for the night were shot.

His breath caught. A low “Mistress?” reached her.

“You don’t belong here, Holden.” The Den wasn’t the place for him. Them. The thought of parading him through the club on a cock and nipple leash didn’t appeal to her anymore.

She backed away, the air chilling with each step. His gaze was lifted now, the questions so clear in his eyes. She shook her head, a smile cracking the hard set of her features. His lips parted when she traced them with the tip of her finger.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Her retreat was just that, but she managed it with a controlled grace that kept her gait even and her shoulders back. Her composure was firmly in place when she entered the main room of the club, the thumping beat of the dance music swirling around her.

“Good evening, Mistress V.”

She gave a small nod, the title protecting her from everything Holden had broken open within her.

* * *

Holden held his pose long after the door clicked closed. His kneecap dug into the industrial carpet and his shoulders protested their prolonged hold, but the ache only grounded him in the surreal moment.

You don’t belong here.
Her words circled in his mind, the impact and outcome still holding him captive. Each little event analyzed over and over.

The kiss was important. He knew that intuitively. The absence of it last time was more profound now that she’d shared that intimacy with him. He pressed his lips together, his eyes squeezed closed as he attempted to capture her flavor once again. It was gone from his lips, yet it was etched in his memory, along with every other trait that defined her.

That’s for my playroom.
Vanessa. It’d been bold of him to use her name, yet it was her he cherished. The Mistress was a part of her, not a separate entity, and he didn’t want to distinguish between them anymore.

A stream of voices grew louder then passed by the door. The dull slam of a car door echoed through the window, and still he stayed there. It wasn’t until the air kicked on to blow a cold stream over his skin that he finally opened his eyes.

His knee popped when he stood and he shifted his weight to flex and bend it until the soreness dissipated.

Go home
,
Holden.
He’d almost groaned in misery at those words. Once again shut down. The roller coaster of ups and downs had him raw inside. Until the last saving words.
I’ll see you tomorrow night.

This wasn’t a backward dump, but a slap shot up the middle. He tugged his shirt on, his mind still lodged in the blissed-out zone that wasn’t true subspace, but very close.

Dazed. Sated, yet desperate for more.

One last glance around the room showed the same sedate office he’d entered. The same dark wood desk, common office chairs and large cabinet against the wall. So it was him who’d changed. But then, that change had begun the second Vanessa had first entered this room.

Walking out, he was still Holden Hauke. Professional hockey player. Brother, son and teammate. He was also Holden Hauke—Vanessa Delcour’s submissive.

You’re my submissive.

She’d claimed him with that kiss and dismissal. He didn’t belong here, not yet. One day he would belong in every part of her life, but now, he’d take the small victory and bask in it while he could.

Chapter Eighteen

A bead of sweat ran in a slow descent down Holden’s forehead. It skimmed the edge of his eye before dripping off the tip of his nose to land with a silent splat on the mattress below. Bowed forward, arms bound by ropes tied in an intricate line of shibari knots down his back. His naked ass raised high to display the length of rope that wound around the base of his cock and balls, one end connected up his ass crack to the rope at his wrists, the other to his bound feet spread and tucked beneath him.

Vanessa’s boy was beautiful.

But the term “boy” didn’t fit Holden. She shook her head, sending sweat tumbling down her own brow. She swept it away, her focus never leaving her sub.

Suspended from the hooks anchored into the ceiling beams, he hung bound in the ropes tied by her. The black coil of soft jute around his neck held his head in a downward tilt. Its connection to the rope around his groin ensured that he felt every moment from head to toe.

Those solid thighs, perfect ass and hard bobbing erection were not a boy’s. Her man. It rang truer in her mind than the traditional “boy.”

She moved toward him, her heels clicking off her approach across the tile floor. A light flick to the weights dangling from the clamps attached to his nipples produced a low moan that sang through her. “Do you have anything to say to me, Holden?”

Outside of her explaining her intent to him after they’d entered her playroom, they hadn’t spoken during the hour it took for her to complete her task.

“Thank you, Mistress.”

Although clearly stated, she caught the floating cadence of his words. He’d dropped into his subspace awhile back. He’d relaxed so completely into her hands with so little effort she’d almost purred in contentment. A lot of trained subs could find their happy place fairly quickly. But Holden wasn’t trained.

“Anything else?”

She ran her nail down the small space from the base of the rope at his nape to the first crisscross of ropes that held his arms at his back. His uncontrolled shiver shook his whole body. A deep, guttural sound escaped Holden’s mouth, and Vanessa smiled. The movement contracted the noose around the base of his cock and balls, constricting the blood flow to the already hard and dark blue-tinged appendages.

He swung with his movement, the ropes creaking on the bolts in the ceiling. His weight was balanced on the six ropes that supported him.

His low breaths held such power. The even flow signaled his state of mind, along with the pulse that beat solid and steady on his neck.

“I’m sorry...” He sucked in a gulp of air when she raked her nails over the curve of his ass. “Vanessa.” Her name came out on a croaked groan. Instead of a slight to be reprimanded in this room, her name rang like praise for who she was.

“For what?” Her voice had lowered to a rough grate that vibrated over her vocal chords.

“My arrogance yesterday.”

Her deep laugh sounded only slightly sinister as it rolled into the room. He’d called it in one.

Her nails teased over the bulging globes of his scrotum. His whimper reached deep within her to wrap around this need of hers, the twisted bend of control and dominance that ruled her life. She had complete control here. With him.

He was at her mercy. Willingly.

She checked the time then ran her hands over his fingers and toes. Still warm. “Who do you belong to, Holden?”

His feet curled into the line left by the single path of her nail down the center of his soles. He bucked, head tossing. So responsive. The weights swung like pendulums from his tortured nipples, but he wasn’t fighting the bonds.

Not at all.

“You,” he barked. “Only you, Vanessa.” The reverent tone warmed everything inside her. She owned him right then. The knowledge was pure and powerful and such a turn-on.

She slid under him, the mattress soft on her back. The bed wiggled as she moved into place. The sight from below was just as gorgeous.

The ropes crossing his chest and hips were part of the support system that safely held the two-hundred-plus—pound man. His nipples were stretched by the weights, his cock thick and engorged above the bulge of his hard ball sac.

She leaned up and slid the tip of her tongue over the head of dick, collecting the salty fluid that glistened on the end. Her hum of pleasure blended with his garbled cry.

“You do,” she agreed, her exhale feathery over his damp cock. “Don’t forget that again.”

“Fuck.” His shudder sent everything moving again, including his erection that bobbed with the clench of the rope at its base. “I won’t,” he panted.

His ready agreement went straight to her core. She swirled her tongue over the end of his cock, a tease before she skimmed her teeth under the rim. Undistinguishable sounds purged from him as she continued to play. A constant contrast of light edged with pain. A lick then nip, suck then pinch to his balls until his faint moans of bliss told her he’d floated past thought to where nothing existed but this moment.

Her nipples ached against the abrasive material of her bustier as she scooted out from under him. She kicked off her shoes and they clattered across the floor in a noisy tumble before she climbed onto the bed, the mattress soft beneath her bare feet when she stood.

The crack of her hand on his flesh was sharp and harsh in the quiet of the room. His ass cheek pinked instantly, his grunt a low undercurrent to her power. She landed five more strikes, evenly paced across his cheeks, before she stopped. Momentum kept him swinging on the ropes until she halted him. Her hand stung, the tingles spreading over her palm and around her fingers to reinforce her dominance.

His cries had tapered off to soft moans that rang with that wonderful mix of pleasure and pain. Her breath was heavy, her adrenaline soaring.

With measured movements, she stepped off the bed and went to the complex pulley system on the wall. The tile was cold beneath her feet, a small relief for her boiling flesh.

The grooved wheels squeaked with each turn that lowered Holden to the mattress. His legs were bent beneath him, the kneeling position a perfect rendition of a servant to his master. He was covered in a sheen of perspiration that went all the way to the damp ends of his dark hair.

The loops of rope circling his neck kept his face pointed down, his eyes closed. The small rise and fall of his back and shoulders were measured and slow. He was floating again, lost to his surroundings. The implied trust was humbling and potent.

He didn’t move or even flinch when she started releasing the knots. She worked his arms first, undoing the cross work pattern with practiced efficiency. His arms were limp under her hands when she lowered them to the bed. A slow massage from fingers to shoulder got the blood flowing again. His soft whimper told her the sleeping appendages were once again awake.

His feet and legs were next, then the ropes around his neck before she carefully unwound the loops that hugged his cock and balls.

“Don’t come,” she reminded him before she let the tension out.

He growled and panted, his forehead grinding into the bed as he struggled to comply. He wanted to please her, despite the almost impossible biological urge of his body to disobey. With the blood rushing into his cock, the need to come would be excruciating.

She murmured soft words of praise, stroked the damp skin of his back as he shook from the effort to control his body.

“Please.” His whimpered plea held an edge of hard frustration that scorched her. He was so hot. Strong and unyielding except for her.

“Not yet.” Her light smack to his bottom jerked another groan from him.

“Not helping,” he grunted.

“I wasn’t trying to,” she answered, a smirk lining her face. Another slap to his already rosy ass brought the sharp sting back to her hand. Any complaints from Holden were muffled by the mattress, where his face was buried. His hands held fistfuls of bedding, the muscles in his arms and back straining with his effort for control.

Beautiful.
The word kept returning to her mind on a repetitive cycle that she didn’t care to stop. He was giving her things she hadn’t known she’d wanted.

The chance Liv had encouraged her to take—the risk in trusting Holden’s intentions—was proving to be worth the possible betrayal that could still come. He wasn’t giving her blind submission or trained reactions. Every grunt, reflex and action was raw and unscripted. Pure emotion just for her.

The understanding left her flying and shattered at the same time. No man had ever given this much of himself to her. No one had.

It was only a matter of time before he let her down. Men always did. For now, she’d focus on the gift he gave her and cherish it as she’d never done before.

* * *

“Roll over.”

Vanessa’s voice reached him clear and true through the haze that clouded his mind. Holden tried to speak, but his voice was stuck behind the sandpaper that lined his throat.

Gentle hands guided him as he rolled his aching body to his back. The weights slid to the side, yanking on clamps clipped to his numb nipples. He couldn’t even moan anymore.

Everything seemed to throb. His arms, shoulders, nipples, ass, thighs and most of all, his cock and balls. His heartbeats thumped loud and clear down there to the point that he counted each beat as a way to maintain his control. The urge to scream “fuck it” and come was tempered only by the stronger compulsion to obey.

Her. Just her.

He tried to open his eyes then gave up when it took too much energy. The darkness was better to float in as he tried to catalogue his emotions. Yet he couldn’t even do that. He’d never experienced anything like this. The high of winning a hard-fought game or championship or scoring the winning goal didn’t compare to the hot fire of euphoria and steel-edge need that thrummed through him now.

“Now I’ll help,” she said. “You’ve done well.”

Her praise glowed like a bright flame within him. He was aware of hands on his genitals, the lightest touch enough to have him arching in a mixed quest of avoidance and the desire for a harder grip. A tight band surrounded the base of his cock and balls, then another was added at the top of his scrotum, holding his balls away from his body. The urge to come didn’t subside, but the fear of imminent failure did.

“Thank you.” His gratitude was whisper-soft and he hoped she heard him. His voice just wouldn’t work louder than that.

The bed shifted, then the heady scent of her flooded him on his inhale. Wicked and dark, sex and leather, it had him teetering on the edge once again. She shuffled up, a leg on each side of his chest before the heat of her bottom settled on his abdomen.

Oh
,
fuck.
His erection was nestled between the moist heat of her sex and his stomach, the sensation a form of hell he somehow loved. His lip stung where he bit it. The throb in his cock turned to a pounding that threatened to make him fail, despite the double straps restraining his orgasm.

He wouldn’t fail her. Not now. Not ever. The vow beat back the pulsating drive to seek that final satisfaction.

Her touch was light over his closed eyelids, skimming over each one before tracing his brows then the line of his jaw. The hard and soft approach she’d mastered kept him off balance. There was no way he could guess or assume what her next move would be. It was perfect and so exactly like her.

There was no fear in giving her everything, in showing her just how much she owned him. He’d never trusted anyone this much, yet it was almost natural with her. Another thing he couldn’t control and didn’t want to.

“Open your eyes.”

Her airy command didn’t have to be strong. The tone alone worked to pull his eyes open when he’d been unable to just moments ago. Deep pools of chocolate brown met his. Flushed, damp and predatory, her expression stole the last of his breath.

Belatedly he logged in the rest. Her skirt was gone, letting him see the trimmed hair over her mound, dark and alluring like the rest of her. Her breasts were pushed over the top of the bustier, round and full with dark rosy nipples waiting for him to worship.

He reached for her, wanting to ravish her, to thrust into her and show her his deep gratitude. But a shake of her head had his arms dropping back to his sides, regret stealing through him. He should’ve known better. She hadn’t given him permission to touch her.

“Arms out.”

The sheets rustled as he complied, the softness caressing his arms and legs as his feet automatically followed into a spread position. He was laid open to her. To anything she wanted. A vulnerable pose, yet her admiring gaze gave him power.

He could make her happy. Please her. He got everything he needed by giving her what
she
needed. It was a perfect combination that focused the restless energy within. Directed it all to her.

She traced his lips before bending down to follow the same path with the tip of her tongue. He wanted to lift his head to get more, but he held still. She tormented him with nothing more than her soft breath and barely there flicks of her tongue. He was panting by the time she shifted away.

She turned around, and he caught a glimpse of her round bottom before she squatted over his face. Her musky scent surrounded him, her sex so close his mouth watered in anticipation.

“Please, Mistress.” He’d beg forever if it got him a taste of her. If he could finally give her even a portion of the pleasure she’d given him.

To thank her.

“God, please, Vanessa.”

“Please what?” She dipped closer then away, teasing him with all that she was.

“Let me taste you. Eat you.” He wet his lips. “If it pleases you.”

His sigh was pure joy when she finally lowered herself to his face. His first taste of her exploded on his taste buds and reverberated through his senses. Her knees came down to hold his arms, the minor restraint another reminder of her dominance.

He focused everything on her, lavished his tongue around her clit and through her soft folds to find every spot that elicited a sound of pleasure from her. He rimmed her entrance, plunging his tongue deep to suck it back.