Shackled

MORGAN ASHBURY

Copyright © 2011

Chapter 1

If I survive the next half hour, it will be a miracle
.

Bethany pulled her car into the parking lot across the street from the two-story, renovated, gray stone building. The dashboard clock assured her she had a few minutes yet as it was just approaching twelve-thirty. An unexpected late summer heat wave had gripped the city for the last few days. Not many people strolled about on the sidewalk just past midday on this Wednesday in September. Most had likely taken refuge in the air-conditioned restaurants that dotted the area.

Bethany checked her appearance in the mirror on her visor. The image that reflected back made her sigh. She pushed away the depression that wanted to settle into her thoughts. Time had wreaked havoc on her, no question about it. Her mahogany hair fell into a chic style. She’d covered the circles under her eyes with makeup and smoothed as best she could the lines that stress had given her. Despite that, it was easy to believe, looking at her reflection, that there had indeed been forty-eight candles on her last birthday cake. “Ah, well. That’s as good as it gets these days. I best just get over myself.”

She’d started talking out loud to herself at some point over the last few months. She wasn’t certain why, and although she tried hard not to do so in front of either her grown children or her sister-in-law, the new habit didn’t concern her overmuch.

You’re stalling, Bethany
.

Yes, she was. She’d been the one to request this meeting, after all. She’d wanted to meet him here, at his place of business, instead of a more neutral location. Bethany sighed, rested her hand on her belly, and rubbed lightly. It didn’t do any good. The nervous riot in her midsection didn’t calm. In her experience, only one thing made this kind of anxiety go away, and that was action. So she’d best get off her ass and go meet with the man.

Bethany locked her car and moved smartly through the parking lot to the sidewalk. Not one to dawdle, she walked as she normally did, with purpose, her steps clicking a staccato beat along the sidewalk.

Putting things off never paid. She wanted to do this, she really did. But the thought of
actually
doing it had made her more nervous than she’d been in a very long time.

Since her destination was the large building directly across the street in the middle of the block, she didn’t bother going down to the corner to cross legally. Traffic was nearly nonexistent on this side street in the middle of a weekday, so she simply crossed mid-block, jaywalking be damned.

This district, and more to the point, this particular business, came alive at night. Now, there would only likely be a few souls on the premises, employees and, of course, the owner.

She knew the owner would be there, because that’s who she was meeting. She’d never been here before, of course, because she wasn’t a member of his club. She knew the man through other channels. Having served as both member and chair of several civic charities, she knew a lot of the movers and shakers of the city, people who, but for their civic service, she’d likely never know at all. Such was certainly the case with this man.

Bethany paused in front of the door, looking for a bell, or a knocker. In the next heartbeat, the door swung open.

Younger than her by at least a dozen years, Bethany couldn’t deny the man’s rakish good looks and sex appeal. Black hair, silver-gray eyes, and a face that looked equal parts angelic and demonic, he packed a charismatic punch, one that even she could feel.

And then he smiled, and Bethany felt her nerves begin to settle down.

“Hello, Jordan,” she said. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

“Bethany, I’ve always got time for you. Come in. Oh, and welcome to Reckless Abandon.”

* * * *

“I hardly know where to begin.” Bethany hadn’t expected the quiet elegance of Jordan Fitzpatrick’s office. She supposed she’d imagined he’d have chosen nude paintings and other classical décor that would denote the space as being exactly what it was—the office of a man who owned a hedonist’s paradise.

“How have you been? Tim’s been gone, what, six months now?” Jordan asked.

He sat back, relaxed, and sipped coffee out of a fine china cup as if he were an ordinary man and this an ordinary encounter between friendly acquaintances. Because he seemed so in control, Bethany found she could relax her nerves, at least a little.

Now that she thought about it, she realized it shouldn’t surprise her that, despite their not having spoken since her husband’s funeral, Jordan knew how much time had passed and for how long she’d been widowed. “Yes, it was six months last week. I’ve been well, thank you.” She paused, because she wanted to be completely honest with this man, which meant doing away with useless platitudes and politically correct answers.

When she looked up, she saw he understood she wanted to say more, for he nodded his encouragement.

“The children are grown and are living in other states. Tim’s gone, and for the first time since I became an adult, I’m on my own. It’s not that I’m bored. I’m not. I’ve been keeping quite busy. But… I’m unsettled. I suppose in some ways, I always have been.” She paused and licked suddenly dry lips. While he’d lived, she’d rarely spoken a word against her husband. No matter the problems and animosity between them, it had always been her view that spouses never denigrated each other in public. She closed her eyes, inhaled. She needed to be honest with Jordan Fitzpatrick so that he’d understand. “I could put up with being unsettled, unhappy, and unfulfilled while Tim was alive. My mother was fond of telling me I’d made my own bed, marrying so young and under
circumstances
, and that I’d just have to lie in it.”

“Whenever I hear that expression, I wonder how long a person is expected to pay for a simple mistake in judgment,” Jordan said. “It never seems fair that the payment should be so hefty for simple human failing.”

“No, it’s not fair. But that’s life.” And life goes on. Bethany inhaled deeply. “I think my payments are done now,” she said.

“Yes, I agree with you. It’s time for you to move on.”

“There’s a part of me that just lately has been edgy. No, that’s not the right word.” She’d not rehearsed this part, and even if she had, she very much feared those words would have deserted her, just as the others she’d practiced that very morning had done. She was alone, and had never felt more at sea. Her thoughts scrambled for just the right words. Maybe she could skip trying to define the emotions roiling within her. Maybe she could just get closer to the heart of what she needed to ask him. “I was wondering, could I ask you some questions about…” Her nerve failed her. She felt such helplessness fill her that she wondered she didn’t burst into tears.

She’d spent enough time with the man not to be surprised he seemed able to read her mood.

“You want to know about the D/s lifestyle,” Jordan said.

Bethany exhaled. The topic had finally been broached. “Yes, I do. I didn’t know anyone else to ask.”

“That’s certainly not a problem. What do you want to know?”

“Oh, dear.” It struck her then that she felt as if she was in the middle of a play—and a farce, at that. “I don’t know why I ever thought I was brave enough to do this.”

Jordan sat forward, folded his hands on his desk.

“Ask your first question, Bethany.”

She’d never heard that tone from the man before, but it was a tone that both settled her and compelled her to do as he ordered. “Is it about power? Is the lifestyle just an excuse for a man to abuse a woman?”

“No, absolutely not. It
is
about control. There isn’t just one way to live or only one interpretation of the Dominant/submissive dynamic. There are, however, some common denominators. The first would be our own particular version of the golden rule: do no
harm
. Trust must exist between a Dom and a sub, and each has obligations to the other because of that trust. Now, why don’t you cut to the chase? Tell me
why
you want to know about the lifestyle.”

Bethany felt a dam burst inside her. “It’s always been me. I had to do it all, working, worrying, all the decisions, all the responsibility. And year by year, I felt it eating me from the inside out. And now I’m free, but I’m not free, I’m
trapped
. And then one day I was surfing the Internet and I happened upon some e-books. I bought them, and as I read them…” She stopped, because breaking down had not been in her game plan. She
hated
when women would use tears to get what they wanted, or earn sympathy, and she refused to shed them now. She sat back in her chair, focused on a corner of Jordan’s desk, and fought for control of her emotions. It took a couple of minutes, but finally she took in a deep breath, exhaled, and met Jordan’s gaze.

His expression looked patient, and she knew he’d understood her battle, and he’d given her the freedom to wage it by waiting. “As you read those books, skirting the edge of BDSM, and the D/s lifestyle, you recognized yourself, didn’t you?” Jordan stated her own personal epiphany as if simply repeating a well-known fact.

“Yes! You understand? You know…you know how I feel? How could you know?” How
could
he know, when she hadn’t seen him since Tim’s funeral?

“Yes. Bethany, I know why you’re here. I even knew why you wanted to see me when you called a few days ago. But you’re going to have to say it out loud. You’re going to have to tell me what it is you want me to do for you—the
real
reason you came to see me today. I can’t begin to help you until you do.”

In the face of Jordan’s certain knowledge, Bethany found those words she thought would be so difficult and so embarrassing to say.

“I came here today because I need a favor from you, Jordan. I need for you to find me a master.”

* * * *

I need for you to find me a master
.

Jonathan Steele’s cock hardened as Bethany Craig’s words echoed through the loudspeaker of the telephone on the desk. He closed his eyes to appreciate this moment, a moment he had never believed he would ever experience. He’d wanted Beth with a desire stronger than any he’d ever known for longer than he cared to think about.

Inhaling deeply, he reached forward and disconnected the line. He wouldn’t waste another moment. As he stripped off his shirt, he realized he shook with anticipation. Stopping for a moment, he inhaled deeply and focused. This was not the time to not be in control. The tremors ended, and he nodded once, content.

He shucked his jeans and reached for his leathers, pulling the snug material in place over his hips. He’d only wear one other garment for this all-important meeting.

The cowl fit him like an old friend. All through his mentorship with Jordan, he’d worn this cowl when called upon to play the role of guardian or jailer here at Reckless Abandon. He’d enjoyed those scenes he’d been invited to join in, times when he could stand back and watch other Doms at work, and learn. He’d been invited to be the third in a couple of short-term relationships and had found a new turn-on. No doubt about it, meeting Jordan had in fact introduced him to his own true nature. Hell, he’d even enjoyed the moments when he would give a slight caress, either with his fingers, his breath, or a riding crop. Some of the subs he’d encountered as guardian had been well immersed in the lifestyle. A few had been new, still learning. And one, he recalled with a smile, had been a complete virgin to this scene.

He thought of Molly Durant—Molly
Grant
, now.
Probably thinking about her because Beth is likely to be even less educated about what’s about to take place than she was.

He’d mentored for more than two years under Jordan’s tutelage. When he’d been satisfied he’d finally gotten all his latent negative traits under control, he’d become a full member of Reckless Abandon. He’d met his best friend here, and with that man had shared some rather unique experiences. He’d learned what turned him on the most, and he’d come to accept what—or rather, who—he really wanted. He’d long ago reached his financial goals. Now it was time for him to go after his personal goals.

When Jordan had called him a few days ago, he thought it must be kismet.

Jonathan opened the closet door, scanned the contents. His eyes fastened on one particular item, and he smiled. This tool would be perfect.

He’d given the man enough time to set things up after Bethany’s confession. Jordan’s office was just a short walk down the corridor from the one he’d been using. He stopped outside that door now and inhaled deeply.