Mastered 2: Ten Tales of Sensual Surrender (23 page)

While waiting in front of the mirrored doors of the elevator, she checked her outfit for the fifth time since she’d put the damn thing on. It was one of her favorites, and while Landon had seen it before, he never failed to express his appreciation for it. She sported black knee high boots with buckles up the side on classy five inch heels. A sleek black cat suit under a burgundy leather corset peeked out from beneath a matching leather bolero jacket. Over that was a custom tailored black leather trench coat. Solie called it her “Selene’s-Underworld-Deathdealer-moonlighting-as-a-sexy-flogger-toting-Hollywood-starlet” outfit.

“Yep”, she thought to herself, “I’ll take that compliment.”

Mac stepped inside the steel and glass lift and dropped her bag on the pristine carpeted floor with a soft thunk. Another swipe of her access card and push of a button and she was on her way to the first floor to check in.

For a moment her mind drifted back to her friend, Solie, and then hung out there for a while. Solie was going through a really rough time right now. A nasty breakup of epic proportions had her wrapped up in misery, though she would surely be on the mend soon. Mac would see to it. Move heaven and earth if need be.

Mac, Landon and their good friend, Burton Khrys, were going to show Solie what she was totally
not
missing out on by leaving behind that douche-canoe she’d been tied up with. Moving on was the best thing the woman could have done for both her sanity and her heart.

Besides, if there was anything the Ivers’s and Burt did well, it was take care of their friends in their time of need. Hell, it was their damn specialty, and they had a doozy of a post-breakup party planned for Solie.

A quiet ding announced her arrival at her destination. Stepping carefully out of the lift, she headed to the reception area. A quick glance toward the entrance to the dining room’s waiting area confirmed something she already knew—this place was packed. In fact, no matter what time of day or night, if it was during business hours, Twilight Teahouse was never empty.

A perfect blend of a three Michelin star restaurant and a first-class, multi-storied kink-themed play space meant someone was always around.

Today, Mac expected a bit of both—good food and some equally good naughtiness.

“MacKenzie, dear!”

Mac turned and found herself enfolded in a friendly embrace by Madison Lee, the owner of this fine establish.

“Maddie, how are you, sweetie? I haven’t seen you in a couple of weeks,” Mac said with a genuine smile followed by a kiss on Madison’s cheek.

“Kuri and I were away at a Leatherman thing in Chicago.”

“Oooh, that sounds fantastic. Was it the yearly event? ”

“International Mr. Leather? Nah. If that were the case, I would have spread the word to some of our patrons, to you and your crew to say the least. This was a small event, personal invitation. And to be honest, I’ve been so wrapped up in running this place, I took Kuri just to get her to stop talking about her to-do list in her sleep.”

Kuri, a beautiful, caramel-skinned young lady, had come to stand next to her Mistress and blushed. She was dressed in full traditional Japanese garb—a brilliant purple and pink silk kimono covered with
sakura
blossoms. Her torso was wrapped with a cream and purple complimenting
obiage
and
obi
. She was a picture of perfection, from her coifed hair down to a sparkling white pair of tabi socks, minus the
geta
, or shoes, as no shoes were allowed past the reception areas of The Twilight Teahouse.

Kuri bowed politely, smiled and then stepped forward for a quick hug. “It’s so good to see you Ms. MacKenzie.”

“And you, Kuri. Though I must say that if your to-do list is that damn long that you dream about it, then poor Kinson must be running around with his hair on fire.” Mac laughed out loud, shook her head and winked at Madison. Kinson was Madison’s husband and Kuri’s other Dominant. If Kuri’s to-do list was a mile long, it was because she was attempting to take some of Kinson’s tasks off of his own list. The man was a ridiculous, though soft-hearted, work-a-holic.

Mac knew exactly what Madison meant because her husband was the same way. There was always something to be prepped and cooked, baked or braised. Somewhere to go. Someone who needed to be tied up, spanked and the like.

As busy as they both were, it was all Mac could do to get the man to stop moving long enough to sleep at night, though his stamina did mean he was an energizer bunny in the sack—of which she had no complaints.

“So what in the world are you doing here in the middle of the day, woman?”

“I’m here to see my hubs. He in the kitchen?” Mac asked.

“Of course. I can’t get him out of there. Actually, I’m wondering if there’s something you can do about that?”

“Are you telling me that he still won’t go near the play spaces?” Mac asked discreetly.

“Not even close,” Madison Lee responded with a scowl.

Chapter Two

A year ago, Mac and Landon had gone through a particular rough patch. Because of the specifics of that “patch” Landon was reluctant to play with anyone. And Mac didn’t like that one bit. He was denying his nature. Denying who he really was inside. The old sayings claimed that time healed all wounds, but for her husband, he hadn’t quite seemed to move on.

He was a Dominant. Period. Yet, he refused to do what he did best—tie up submissives in the prettiest decorative rope work.

When things were more “normal” in their relationship, Landon did the tying and Mac did the flogging. A perfect team...yet one of the players was now deliberately missing because he thought that was best for everyone.

Little did he know, Madison Lee had quietly shared a juicy secret with Mac—she’d just been contacted by one of the premier movie studios in the Los Angeles area. Incidentally, they were looking for someone knowledgeable with bondage. With the current kink craze, they were making a BDSM film, and they didn’t want it to be some horrid, hot mess like some others. They’d asked for permission to come get some first-hand knowledge, and there was no one in the area better suited for what they needed than Landon.

It was rare for a playwright, novelist, artist or movie director to ask for good, solid help with research from the kink community. Not to mention, the possibility of having one’s name associated with a tastefully done, artistic work could really put a person, or establishment on the map. The opportunity was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing.

Twilight Teahouse didn’t need such visibility, as it was already on the map. In fact, it
owned
the damn map. But a positive look at their little domain of kink couldn’t hurt. And who knew where something like this could take Landon Ivers?

“I’ll talk it over with him, I promise. Okay with you if I head into the kitchen to see him?”

“It’s crazy back there right now.” Madison Lee tapped a little device at her ear and spoke quickly to the staff on the other end. And just like that, someone was on the way to tell Landon that Mac was here. “Are you eating as well? If so, I can order your favorite dish for you. Kuri or one of the others can bring it to wherever you’re going to be. We’re packed today—”

“How is that different from any other day?” Mac laughed.

“Touché, my dear. You can have the private dining room if you like.”

“I have no idea. Landon asked me to come, but he wouldn’t tell me why.”

Madison’s deep blue eyes took on a sparkle of mischief and Mac wondered if she was in on whatever her husband had planned. The other woman continued in her typical quiet, yet confident, timbre. “He’s on his way out now. He said to tell you that he did indeed order lunch, and if you would, please meet him on the fifth floor.”

Mac’s stomach did a freefall. “Oh my god, are you serious?” She practically forgot she was standing in a lobby full of people and started jumping up and down with excitement.

Anxious to know what the man was up to, she gave Madison another quick hug. The other woman whispered in her ear, “Kuri will bring your food up to the Hatshepsut room in an hour.”

With that, Mac backed her way toward the elevator with the biggest, goofiest grin on her face.

The entire five-story club was private, except for the restaurant on the first floor. There, one could enjoy haute cuisine at the lunch and dinner spot on the public side, and a delectable dessert haven, with ankle stocks and spankings, on the private side.

All the other floors had their own particular themes, with both enclosed and open spaces.

The second floor held a full-service spa, traditional Japanese baths and massage space with an open community feel, just like the family baths in the old country of Japan, but with mani-pedi heaven thrown in. Club members could even bring their young family members without any concern that they might see something they shouldn't. But that is where any youngster-friendly activity ended.

The Ice Palace up on the third level was Mediterranean in nature with gleaming white columns, white floors, white everything with strategically placed mirrors that made it all seem to glitter endlessly. The fourth floor held a private Japanese spa for couples and kink only. And the fifth floor was split into two themes, a hot Egyptian flavor on one side, and sultry Caribbean on the other.

Madison and Kinson Lee, the proprietor geniuses, had truly outdone themselves. Mac couldn’t think of a single person she knew that belonged to the club who had much to complain about in regard to the luxurious accommodations.

A lyrical ding announced her arrival. The lift doors slid open and there stood six feet, four inches of hunka hunka burnin’ love.

“What are you snickering at, woman?” Landon asked, taking her play bag from her fingers and pulling her into a hug with his free arm.

She shook her head and refused to tell him that an image of him doing the Elvis hip swivel had bounced right into her mind. Head pressed against his chest, his strong heartbeat was reassuring. God, there was nothing like being held by the love of her life.

She didn’t love him because he was the hottest man in the world. Nor because he was a hell of a chef. Those things were nice, but not nearly enough to hold a relationship together. MacKenzie and Landon were bound together, through joy, tears, heartache, and reconciliation. Years of marriage, followed by divorce and remarriage. Ups and downs. Peaceful times and fighting times.

Bottom line, there was only one Landon Ivers in all the world. And she was on her way to being naughty with him in the middle of the day on a Tuesday afternoon.

* * *

Landon’s tatami slippers quietly swooshed across the tile as he led Mac to the shoe cubbies along the wall in the foyer. Kneeling, he unzipped the supple leather boots. Cool air was delicious against her calves as they were bared an inch at a time.

Once off, Landon put her shoes into a cubby, and then took a moment to rub her stocking-clad feet. The natural stress of wearing five-inch heels leached from her toes. Arches relaxed as she unashamedly sighed.

“Better?” he asked quietly.

At her nod, he let go of her happy feet and stood. Bag in hand again, fingers laced through hers and they were off down the hall. Shortly, then entered an open observation area full of overstuffed chairs and couches. Several piles of plush colorful pillows beckoned one to lounge in the midst of golden-colored X-style crosses and padded spanking benches. As always, the free-standing wall caught her eye and her gaze was drawn to the cuff hooks embedded between hieroglyphs that lined both sides of the ancient-looking adobe-styled structure.

Strangely enough, the plain black tee-shirt poured over Landon’s ripped muscular chest and long legs encased in denim, looked as if they belonged among these trappings of ancient pharaohs.

Must be the man and not the clothes.

“Are you back there looking at my ass or are you admiring the hieroglyphs?” he asked in his oh-so-sexy Irish lilt. Hand securely holding hers, Landon glanced back at her as they moved through to the next part of the area.

“Hell yes to both of those questions,” Mac responded without hesitation. After all, his ass was pretty damn spectacular. Must be all those squats he did when working out in the afternoons, of which she had no complaint. The wicked smile he sent over his shoulder put her gut into dance mode. And if she weren’t mistaken, it was grooving to seventies disco music.

God, the man simply lit her fuse. All. The. Time!

At the door to a private space, Landon led her over the threshold and dropped her play bag at the entrance. He took a scrunchy from his pocket and pulled his jet-black waves into a thick tail.

Mac watched him settle into the only chair in the room. It was an Egyptian throne, placed between two huge replicas of hieroglyph-inscribed rose granite obelisks.

Behind him was a floor to ceiling mural of the walls of the Hathor Chapel from inside the Temple of Hatshepsut.

And in that moment, he was every bit her king.

Mac was an alpha to the bone. It was simply her personality and style. It allowed her to successfully run a thriving business in a field dominated by men, and deal with emergencies with ease. In her case, alpha didn’t mean bitch...well, unless some bitchiness was required at the moment.

On the flip side of that coin, this man, her husband, brought out the submissive in her like literally no one else could. And when her man crossed his legs and let his vivid green gaze roam boldly from her head to her feet and back again, she automatically bowed her head with a blush.

“Today, it’s you, me and some rope. Do you consent to this, MacKenzie Chalice Daniels-Ivers?”

Oh dear lord, he called her by her whole name! That was typically reserved for when she was in trouble, or when he planned something intense. Butterflies in her gut were a thing of the past as they morphed into pterodactyls. A shiver went through her whole body and settled down between the joints in her knees. A deep breath did nothing to calm her at all. But one thing was for sure—her nerves skipped around from sheer anticipation of some serious delight.

“Well?” he asked.

“Yes, of course I consent.”

“Good. Go to your play bag and get all of the red bamboo rope.”

How did he know she had that in there? Before she could ask, he said, “I put it in there two nights past in place of that rough jute stuff you had bundled up inside.”

One brow winged its way up her forehead as his words truly registered. And then her man gave her one of the most deliciously promising grins she’d seen on his face lately.

She smiled in return as understanding dawned that he’d planned this well in advance. Sure she’d seen the rope when she’d inspected her bag not fifteen minutes ago, but she always had some in there just in case. Easy knots for easy play was something she could handle. But all the ins and outs of rope and its intricate uses were Landon’s domain. And it was a domain he ruled, completely.

Once she was across the room and standing over her bag, another command came.

“Put your locs up into a bun, high on top of your head. Then remove your clothes and leave them folded neatly where you stand. You may keep on the sexy ass panties that you were sashaying around the house in this morning though.”

“Sashay?” she gawked.

“Absolutely. And it was a beautiful sight. Have a problem with the word, sashay?” he asked. He lowered his head and watched her through thick coal-black lashes. A smart ass comment was on the edge of her lips when he gave her
the look
and raised an imperious brow.

Mac blurted, “Nope. No problem at all.”

Usually Landon liked to yank on her dreadlocs. Back to the task of putting up her hair, Mac was glad she always kept a few scrunchies on hand since he obviously had something else in mind today.

Squeee!

Hair up, skin bare and several bundles of rope in hard, Mac made her way back to her husband who sat regally on that golden throne.

Instructed to stand, elbows up and held at chest height, Mac placed her hands on her shoulders and stood absolutely still. A scrap of silk was secured over her eyes and her heart rate kicked up a notch or three.

There was nothing quite like the anticipation of being bound and at the delicious mercy of her husband. She trusted him not to ever hurt her, and to respect her limits. But she also trusted him to make her fly, aloft on the wings of sensuality.

Not to mention this was the first time he’d volunteered this kind of play with her or anyone else for almost two freaking years!

As he began to create a basic chest harness, the first pass of the rope over the bare skin just above her breasts sent a tremor through Mac's stomach. She made no attempt to demand the flying dinosaurs that danced around in there to behave. Instead she let them get a bit more rowdy until they reflected the excitement she felt in anticipation of what was to come.

Cinched tight in the back, he then brought the rope back around to the front, beneath her breasts this time. As the soft bamboo was put in place, Landon took every opportunity to touch her nipples—tugs, tweaks and the occasional lave of his tongue meant instantaneous and maintained arousal. With each tie, the folds of her sex swelled until they throbbed for release.

Mac floated away, her mind a haze of pleasure and anticipation of the end result of the rope session with her husband. Landon was one of the Pacific Northwest’s top riggers and she knew when he was done, her body would be transformed into a work of art. Not that she didn’t like her body minus being wrapped in rope, but the colors, designs and different knots that Landon pulled out of his head and wrapped around her muscles and limbs made her beyond beautiful.

He continued to twist and twine until the most gorgeous red harness covered her entire upper body, secured to her waist and hips. And last, arms were secured behind her back with rows of what Landon called overhand bow knots laid down her spine.

“Oh, I love this on you, baby.” The hushed whisper in the wide open space seemed to vibrate in the very air. “You’re a stunning woman. And in my rope, you’re even more beautiful.”

“I wanna see,” she declared, wishing her hands were free so she could take off the blindfold.