For the Sub (22 page)

She stepped aside, pulling the dogs back in with her. He closed the door and caught sight of the necklace he’d given her, sitting atop of a stack of yellow legal pads on the kitchen table. “I figured it would be in a jewellery box.”

“I like looking at it,” she admitted.

Parts of the silver were marred by her fingerprints. “Looks better on you,” he said.

MW dragged over his rubber foot. Demanding to be petted, Dana nudged Niles’ hand. Whisper hadn’t followed him in. But with that ‘fingernails on chalkboard’ sound, he came in through the pet door.

“Why are you here?” she asked, leaning against the counter, keeping the distance of half a room between them.

“For you,” he said plainly. “I let you go. It was foolish.”

“You didn’t let me go. I walked away.”

“Because you were scared.”

She shrugged. “And? Nothing has changed, except you drove for two hours because you were too stubborn to listen to me before.”

“Something has changed.”

“What’s that, Sir?”

“Me.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“I want you in my life. A woman. A sub. A wife.”

“A…” Her jaw fell open.

Dana trotted over to Brandy and sat by her side.

“What? Why?”

“I didn’t think I could fall in love again, but I did. I don’t want to live without you. You don’t have to give up yourself. If I fail, I think you’re annoyingly persistent enough to keep at me.”

“Me?” she asked with an air of innocence.

“I love you, Brandy Hess.”

“Oh, Sir… I don’t know what to say.”

“Yes will suffice. Yes, Sir, would be even better.”

In response, she crossed the room and knelt before him. Time froze then fractured into a million possibilities. “Tell me,” he urged.

MW nipping at her toes interrupted the moment. He suspected that would happen far more often in the future than he would like. Still, it was for his sub. Niles picked up the rubber foot and tossed it into the living room. Distracted, MW raced after it. “You were saying, sub?”

“I love you, Master Niles.” She met his gaze. Her eyes blue as a cloudless sky radiated the heat of her inner beauty. “Yes. Yes, yes, Sir.”

He pulled her to her feet and against him, kissing her deeply. “How much time do we have?”

“Sir?”

“Before you have to go to the Den?”

“I figured you had heard. I don’t work there anymore. They realised my heart wasn’t in it and let me go.”

“You were fired?”

“I’m not sorry,” she said.

He dug his hand in her hair and used it as leverage to tip back her head. “I’m not sorry that I don’t have to share you,” he admitted.

“What about my menagerie?” she asked. “And I will need to take in more dogs on a foster basis from time to time.”

“We’ll work it out. I’ll move up here, or we’ll get a bigger place in town. I’d never ask you to get rid of the pests. I mean pets.”

She smiled.

“At least for now, I’d like you to wear that particular necklace. The circle represents a collar, but it’s on a larger chain, and that represents the way we’re tied together.”

“I’d be honoured, Sir. I love it.” She lifted her hair and he put it on her.

She breathed out. For a second, she closed her eyes. “Thank you, my Master.”

“Thank you, gorgeous sub.”

She fingered the circle. “I really do like it.”

Repeating what he’d mentioned at the hotel, “It has whatever meaning you give it.”

“Then it means my heart belongs to you.”

His cock lengthened. This woman, every moment with her, was worth any risk. “You can help me choose your wedding ring.”

“You can help me choose, Sir,” she corrected. “I’m the one who will have to wear it all day every day for the rest of my life.”

“Annoyingly persistent,” he said with a long-suffering sigh.

“Part of my charm.”

“I think you need to be put in your place, sub.”

“Indeed, Sir.”

“Your bedroom,” he instructed.

“Mind if I change, and you can join me in a few minutes?”

“Make it worth the wait.”

When she called his name, he entered the bedroom and let out a deep, appreciative wolf-whistle. His sub was dressed in a white button-down shirt, exposing her cleavage. The necklace nestled there. Five inch heels lengthened her calves. The showstopper was the stupid-short kilt that had fuelled his fantasies for more than thirty nights. “It’s even better in reality,” he said, voice suddenly hoarse. “Is it true that people wear nothing beneath a kilt?”

“Shall I show you, Sir?”

“Yeah.” The word was guttural, he wondered if she’d understood him. “Bend over and touch your toes.” He took a couple of steps towards her.

Her movements sassy and seductive, she did. The tartan rode up, exposing her rounded cheeks, and, God help him, a stainless steel butt plug with silver crystals refracting light a hundred directions. “Unbelievable.” No sub had ever surprised him, delighted him this much.

He stripped then took out a condom from her nightstand drawer.

“I’m ready for you, Sir.”

He fingered between her labia and found her moist. “You are.”

“The very thought of you fucking me arouses me, Sir.”

“With the plug, this will be tight,” he warned.

“The way I wanted it, Sir.”

Reverently he parted her buttocks, leaving her off-balance, depending on him to keep her stable. He held her hips to keep her secure.

Even with her heels, he had to bend his knees to enter her pussy.

He gritted his teeth to keep from spilling prematurely. The sharpness of her scent, the wetness of her pussy and the tightness because of the plug stuffed up her ass were a near-lethal combination.

“I want all of you, Sir.”

Goaded by her honesty, he took her with a single thrust.

She screamed, and he caught her weight as she pitched forward.

“I’ve needed this,” she said, her voice hardly audible.

“Me, too,” he responded. He fucked her hard, then pulled out before he ejaculated.

“Sir?”

He helped her to stand and look at him. “I want to finish this differently.” Niles placed her on the bed, then entered her with slow strokes, watching her expression.

She kept her eyes open, meeting his gaze. Even if she hadn’t told him she loved him, he’d have known by looking in the crystalline depths.

Brandy wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Who am I?”

“My Master,” she answered. “My love. My husband-to-be.”

All three sounded right. Perfect.

He fucked her hard, claiming her. He made sure she came, crying out his name.

Then he sought his own release, sealing their mutual promise. “Mine,” he said.

“Yours,” she agreed, cradling his face. “Yours, Sir. Now. Always.
Yours.
”

Coming Soon from Total-E-Bound Publishing:

Mastered: In the Den

Sierra Cartwright

Released 17
th
January 2014

Excerpt

Chapter One

Damien Lowell always got what he wanted. Granted, sometimes the challenge was greater than he anticipated. But that didn’t matter. The more difficult the task, the more he relished it. Working hard for something flexed his mental muscles, sharpened his senses and fed his creative energy.

Right now he was standing with his arms folded across his chest, his focus on the gorgeous dark-haired Domme on the other side of the room.

Tonight she’d used kohl liner and several layers of mascara to add drama and depth to her startling green eyes. Her hair hung over her shoulders and cascaded down her back in a shining mahogany waterfall.

She wore thigh-high black boots with heels so tall he was amazed she could walk in them. Fishnet stockings were attached to a garter belt, and her tiny black skirt barely covered her buttocks. She’d topped the breathtaking outfit with a leather corset that he itched to unlace.

As if sensing his perusal, she glanced over and raised her glass in salute. He inclined his head in acknowledgment.

As she sipped, she continued to regard him.

This was a bit of an unusual circumstance for him at the Den. He’d bought the massive mountain estate years before, and he’d turned it into a private and exclusive BDSM club. While female dominants were welcomed and accorded the respect due their position, less than two dozen had applied for membership.

Most of the women he associated here were subs. They didn’t meet and hold his gaze like Mistress Catrina was.

After several seconds, she severed the contact and returned her attention to her submissive. She snagged a canapé from a passing server and offered it to the bare chested man kneeling before her. Since he sported spikey blond hair, the pair presented a striking contrast.

The man, on a leash and wearing nothing other than tight, gold-coloured shorts, looked up at her adoringly as he opened his mouth. She smiled and brushed a hand across his forehead. She drew him in closer, then popped the treat into his mouth.

All the while, Damien pictured the Domme on her knees, affixed to
his
leash, fully understanding what it meant to submit.

He’d known her for several years and he knew she was an excellent mistress. Recently she’d attended a private event he’d hosted. That evening, he’d witnessed a deeper, more contemplative side of her. At one point, she’d stood in front of a window, gazing into the distance. When he’d joined her, she’d faced him. For a moment, before she’d schooled it away, he’d seen a groove between her sculptured eyebrows. When he’d asked how she was enjoying the evening, she’d responded with politeness. But she’d excused herself and left soon after.

Damien didn’t often allow his thoughts to be consumed by women, especially dominant ones. But since that night, he hadn’t been able to get thoughts of Mistress Catrina out of his mind.

“How’s it going, Boss?”

Damien turned his attention to the Den’s second-in-command, Gregorio. Hiring the man had been one of the smartest strategic decisions Damien had ever made. Gregorio lived onsite in a caretaker cottage. He ensured the safety of their guests, and he oversaw the estate when it was open for a production company’s use. Not only that, but he managed the calendar, the employees, the accounting and maintenance. As if that were not enough, he also participated in scenes. Since he could top or bottom, he was even more valuable to the house.

Gregorio folded his arms across his chest. Tonight he had on a black T-shirt beneath a leather vest. With his silver earring and motorcycle boots, he looked suitably intimidating. “Your demonstration starts in fifteen minutes, Boss.” He hooked a thumb and pointed over his shoulder. “Good turnout.”

They’d had plenty of reservations for the annual open house extravaganza. “There are a lot of new faces,” Damien agreed.

“And buttocks,” Gregorio added with a grin.

Despite a widespread snowstorm, guests had arrived from all over the region, including parts of Wyoming, Kansas, even Montana. Gregorio had planned ahead, reserving a block of hotel rooms in the nearby ski town of Winter Park. Skilled staff shuttled people back and forth in four-wheel drive vehicles.

“Sarah went to the ladies’ locker room to prepare. She’ll meet you in the entranceway. Your items are laid out on the mantel as requested.”

Damien nodded. “Great job, as always.”

“All in a day’s work,” Gregorio said. “I’ll be assisting you onstage.” With a nod, he excused himself.

Mistress Catrina was no longer in sight, and Damien wondered if she’d taken her submissive downstairs to one of the private rooms.

Demonstrations typically drew a number of neophytes and people curious about joining the club. During that time, long-time members often took advantage of the uncrowded conditions in the dungeon to connect and scene.

He went upstairs to his private suite and flicked on the fireplace to banish the winter chill. The blinds were open, and snow drifted past the massive windows. Another stunning Colorado night, cold and windy, perfect for sleep—or other things—in the custom-built bed.

In the backyard area, the fire pit blazed and a few well-dressed hearty souls stood around it.

After changing into black leather pants and a short-sleeved T-shirt, he clipped a whip to his side and went back down the stairs in time to see Mistress Catrina placing her empty champagne flute on a passing waiter’s tray. So, she was still in the public area. He tried not to show how ridiculously pleased he was. “Catrina,” he said by way of greeting.

“Damien,” she returned, glancing at him through long, enhanced lashes.

He wondered what she looked like natural, naked, on her knees, her lips trembling as she waited for him. Then he shoved the thought away. No sense allowing his imagination free rein. He’d enjoyed success in business because he was pragmatic, not fanciful. “Enjoying the evening?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“I’ll take that as a polite lie.”

She scowled. “Your events are always fabulous.”

“So why aren’t you having a good time?”

“You’re the one who said I’m not,” she countered.

Her scent was as exotic as she was. Musk and vanilla, layered with a pervasive sexual need. He wondered if he was the only one who noticed it. “Where’s your boy?”

“He’s outside having a smoke. Bad habit,” she said. “But who am I to judge?” She shrugged, her creamy shoulders rising and falling before settling into a gentle slope.

“Who, indeed?”

“We only hooked up for part of the evening.”

“That collar isn’t yours?”

“No. I’ve never formally collared anyone. That particular one belongs to Master Lawrence. We’re hoping he makes it up here tonight.” She shrugged. “But with the weather…”

A sudden urge to wrap his fingers around her upper arms and drag her to her toes assailed him. But that would violate personal as well as house rules. He owed her the same respect accorded to all dominants. In all his years of being a Dom, he’d never had the urge to drive a Domme to her knees. Until now. “Are you planning to attend my demo?”

“No,” she said.

When he’d first met her, he’d decided she was blunt. Over time, he’d learnt to appreciate her honesty. “Perhaps you should.”