by Riley, Dréa
“Hey, it was that or the letters ‘KMA.’” Dréa shrugged as she sank to the floor and wiggled her brightly painted toes on the fur rug that had been placed in front of the huge hearth just for her comfort.
Laura shook her head. It was colder than fuck and Dréa was barefoot and braless. It wouldn’t be long before her crazy little sister’s husband called. He had an instinct for knowing when HIS breasts or ass (they were attached to his wife, so by the power vested in the preacher in the great state they called home and the grace of the big G-man himself, they were HIS) were being ogled. And with Dréa, they were always being ogled. All of the collective parts that made up his crazy-ass woman were cause for traffic accidents worldwide. Combine that with Dréa’s penchant for getting into trouble and you had a double whammy. “Uh-oh”s and “Oh shit”s just couldn’t be avoided around her. Laura thought her sister’s husband was a lucky man. She’d have to make some man lucky like that one day.
“Okay, Dréa, let’s get started…we have to keep it hot and scorching if we want to win.”
Dréa sighed as she munched on another rib. “Who knew I could get ribs in Denmark?”
“Forget the damn ribs. Focus…”
“Fine, okay. Here, start like this…”
Laura watched as Dréa popped her neck and closed her eyes, oblivious to the ears that were tuned in as she began to spin her tale.
Chapter One
Calista Mooreland knew two things. One, Denmark was cold as fuck. And two, the hotel she’d booked herself into was both the shit and the bidness. The long drive from Billund after an even longer flight from Texas had done a number on her nerves and her perm. She was tired, hungry, and due to the bevy of hot-ass men strutting around, horny.
Well, the last could’ve been due to the fact she’d spent the last two years lusting after a man who had no inkling she even existed, let alone that she was five feet five inches of molten hot, late, late cable TV ain’t teaching you nothing, prime time all the time sexual diva. Calista harrumphed and preened even though that little voice in her head was mouthing again.
“He would’ve known you were the diva if you didn’t turn into a blithering puddle of mocha cream icing every time he turned those whiskey-colored eyes on you. Oh, and he would’ve noticed if he wasn’t more into dick than you are.”
Calista shivered at the thought. Yeah, her voice was right. She was just plain stupid where Ricardo was concerned. How can you be that close to someone day in and day out and not figure out he’s not just being aloof, but prefers men? Ricardo’s introduction of his longtime boyfriend, the loss of a coveted promotion, and a year of celibacy had all culminated in Calista booking herself a trip to a BDSM retreat.
She wasn’t necessarily here because she was a freak, but she’d heard rumors that her favorite boot maker would be displaying his latest line here. And attendees were offered a hefty discount. Calista couldn’t be bothered to drive in rush hour traffic to get to work on time, but she would fly halfway around the world for some coveted Ma’il Delongi’s. Gossip had it that the designer had fallen in love, and every boot was named after his new wife. Calista had her eye on the signature pair of Alosa’s. The handcrafted white leather boots would come so far up her thigh that the fur cuff would damn near tickle her nethers. The corseted laces that danced up the back called to her, but it was the seven-inch spiked heel that glinted its platinum essence right into her soul.
Yeah, the freaks were coming to this convention to get their groove on, but Calista was here to get her hands on those boots. If she so happened to pick up a matching hunky accessory, she might consider forgoing her handbag shopping trip to Italy. Who was she kidding? She was going to Italy no matter what. She was still thinking about leather handbags when she was brought up short halfway up the stairs by the sound of someone yelling at the top of the stairs.
She looked up to see two chicks getting ready to slide down the banister. Two others were egging them on, and the fifth one was telling them to get their asses off the damn banister. But before she could say another word, first one chick, then the other, came rushing down.
Calista couldn't help but cheer them on. It took lots of guts for grown-ass women to be sliding down the banister at this ritzy hotel. They obviously didn't give a shit, so why should she? What Calista wasn't expecting was one of them losing her balance, right where she stood. The impact knocked her backwards. The only thought she had as she was falling back was that her boots better come out unscathed or there was going to be hell to pay.
But she never hit the ground like she expected. Landing on the bottom of the stairs, which was carpeted, would've been a much softer landing. Instead she hit something hard and solid and damn it, it hurt. When the solid wall wrapped arms around her middle, she just about lost it. No sooner had they clamped around her than she was being lifted. As in like a baby and being carried down the stairs. Surely the impact was making her imagine things.
Yep, I've died and gone to Heaven, she thought when she lifted her head and saw who was carrying her. But Heaven sure was noisy. Everyone was screaming in all sorts of languages, and she was getting one of her dreaded migraines. Weren't people supposed to be smiling, speaking softly, and playing the damn harp? And then another thought crossed her mind. What if she was in Hell instead? And the hot-looking angel holding her was actually the Devil himself. “Oh hell no,” she yelled and tried to get away. But those strong arms simply tightened around her.
“Damn it, RILEY. If you've killed that child…,” the leader of the motley crew was shouting from her perch high atop the stairs. The female who was apparently named Riley had the gall to momentarily look chastised before puffing up her more than ample chest and shoving her hands into the back pockets of her burnt orange leather pants. Calista couldn't help but marvel at the miniature demon’s bare feet and tank top.
“She ain't dead. One of those hunky Mchunksters caught her. Besides, I won,”
her racing companion objected whilst dusting off the bright white tip of her black leather Chucks.
“I hate to see you sad, baby girl,” her very proper accent flowed melodically, “but I distinctly remember being in the lead this time.”
Calista was dumbfounded and about to comment as three pint-sized divas made their way dramatically down the stairs. All three of them rocked amazing all-leather ensembles molded to their hourglass figures in ways that defied gravity and Calista's steadfast belief that she only did men. Staring at the group of five women made her question her sexuality. Well, briefly—she was so lost in how badass the chics looked standing together that she nearly forgot all about the wall of man holding her aloft.
Before she could formulate a sentence, the cherub of a diva with the wild curly hair and bright leather pants rocked up and looked directly in Calista's face. Cocking her head this way and that as if studying both Calista and the hunk, she spoke.
“I'd say I’m sorry for knocking you over, but I think you'll be thanking me later. If he gets out of line ask the girl at the front desk for me. I'll come kick his ass.” The husky, twangy accent and the little white longhorns embroidered on the back of the woman’s pants gave away her Texas roots. Calista smiled. That chic was trouble...the fun kind. She listened intently as the group made their way up the stairs.
“We know, restriction, but if we hear her screaming his name later it was worth it.” The ladies were shepherded off to a sermon that would make Paul stand up and dance.
Calista sighed and closed her eyes. Resting her head back against the rhythmic heartbeat and steady breathing of her rescuer, she forgot all about trying to get away from him. Instead she opened her eyes briefly. She took in the large square jaw with its cleft chin, the full lips that seemed so succulent and ripe. She let her eyes graze over the slightly crooked nose and right into the most glorious blue eyes she’d ever seen. So bright they seemed to radiate a neon glow. So bright and piercing that she closed her own eyes against their luminosity. Her heart clinched with fear that he’d
seen past her veneer and directly to her soul.
Chapter Two
Garth couldn’t believe his luck. He’d been reluctant to come to this retreat. Not that he had anything against BDSM. As a Dom, he was totally at home with the crowd. His problem was that this wasn’t solely a pleasure trip. Having recently broken up with his longtime girlfriend, he’d been volunteered to represent his cousin, the famous shoe designer Ma’il Delongi, at the convention.
Garth didn’t mind selling the amazing works of art that his cousin created. He was, however, having a problem being in this place that exuded passion, lust, and desire, alone and without the prospect of taking part. Not that anyone here had inspired him. Well, except the crazy ladies from the States who’d been given asylum, but they were dangerous and he liked being in a state of “un-beat the fuck up and not in pieces.” Their words, not his.
No, he wasn’t interested in picking up one of the tourists, though opportunity abounded. No, he wasn’t looking for a fling. Garth was determined now more than ever to find what his cousin had found. Love. Not just love that was written about in flowery poems and chick flicks, but the love of a partner and equal. Someone who would give as much as she got. Someone to be the other half of him. As a Dom, he needed a sub. But not just any sub. A sub who was tailor made for him. A sub he could finally let himself be free with. A woman who understood that deep inside his desire, his ultimate pleasure was giving his mate her ultimate pleasure. Being the source of her every orgasm. The provider and equal partner in happiness and bliss. Both sexually and even more intimately in love.
Looking down at the armful of heaven that had fallen—well, had been knocked—into his arms, Garth felt both his heart and his cock swell. He’d been in the hotel with the “divas” for several days and had witnessed the banister races at least twice. At first he’d been taken aback, and then amused. Today he was thankful. The Texan may have lost the race, but she’d gifted him with a winner’s prize. Tightening his hold, he turned away from the stairs and headed back past the reception area toward the service elevator. It was the quickest way to get his charge to what had only moments ago been his room. It would be their room as soon as he made sure she was feeling better and had suffered no ill effects from their collision.
“Mind telling me where the hell we're going? You're hot and all, but yeah, I'm still going need to know where you're taking me.”
Garth looked down at her questioning gaze. He didn't want to scare her off with his domineering ways, but he also wasn't letting her go. “We’re going back to my room to make sure you're not hurt.”
“So you're a doctor then?”
“No.”
“A medic?”
“No.”
“Ever taken the minimum CPR required for a babysitter or lifeguard?”
“No.” Garth hid the smile that was threatening to appear. His one-word answers angered her. He could see the narrowing of her eyes. Felt how her body tensed.
“Then you’re qualified to put your hands on my body and tell me I’m okay how?”
Garth nailed her with those piercing eyes as he leaned back against the wall of the elevator. Leaning down, he whispered in her ear, “I am qualified because God created your body, mind, and soul just to compliment mine. You and I already look amazing together, like night and day. Ying and yang. But when I have you tied up on my bed, all that mocha skin wrapped in supple leather stays awaiting the first beat of our symphony, then you will know how I am qualified.
“When your body sings from my loving, when your voice is hoarse and all the patrons of this hotel know my name, then you will know why I am qualified. And when I finally give you your pleasure and take mine from the glory of yours, then, my beauty, then you will have no need to ask me how I am qualified. A blind man will be able to read my credentials in the glow of your skin, the tentative way you walk on trembling legs. The way you stand to avoid sitting on that luscious rear, still tender and heated from the sting of my palm. All of these things will remind you of how I am qualified.”
All Calista could do was look up at the man who carried her. No man had ever spoken to her with such conviction. His promise made her believe in the unbelievable. Something she’d thought she’d never find and she wasn't all together sure she'd found it here, but he believed. That had to account for something. Still, stating and doing were two totally different things. Part of her couldn’t wait to see Garth make the attempt, and the other, well, she told it to shut the hell up. The other half of her was what had always held her back. And here, in this place, in this time with this man, Calista was on a mission. To live and have kickass boots as proof of that living. If her nethers were a little tender and her rear a little sore, well, she'd take that soreness as a bittersweet reminder that she had lived once. It would make her memories that much sweeter.
“You've just earned yourself three swats to that luscious ass. They won’t be just your memories. As long as we’re together, they will be your reality. And I will take extreme pleasure in watching you live.”
Calista wasn't aware that she'd spoken out loud. But she was aware of the way her heart was pounding, her pussy gushing. This man—this Garth was giving a girl dreams. It would be a damn shame if he couldn't fulfill them. Calista closed her eyes and settled in for the ride. It ain't everyday a man wants to carry me around; might as well enjoy it. Hell, this is more fun than sliding down a banister.
When they finally entered his room, she practically jumped out of his arms when she saw all the boots scattered all over. “Why do you have all these boots?” she asked as she reached out to touch the supple leather. If she was dreaming she didn't want to wake up. This was her version of paradise. Ma’il Delongi's boots of every style were lined up against the walls of the room. All different colors and she hoped all different sizes, because she wasn't leaving without a pair. She didn't care how or why he had them; she just knew that he owed her. And as payment she would gladly accept a pair of one of the sexiest boots in the Ma’il Delongi collection.
“My cousin is the designer. He was recently married to a feisty lady whom I am proud to call family. I offered to take his place at this convention so they could spend their time here, well enjoying the atmosphere and not working. I’m not sure how I owe you my beauty, but you can have your pick of any boots you see here. I have connections, so I’m sure I can get you any pair you want. But there’s a price.”
“Hey, I am no ho, but I’m willing to bargain.”
Garth laughed long and hard. ”I would never think you were a lady of questionable profession, but the price may be steeper than you realize.”
“What, you want me to flash you the girls? Please—there are at least ten state troopers back home who’ve seen them.” Calista raised one hand to her blouse while making her way around the room, mentally picking out several pairs and the quickest escape route.
“I'll need to know their names and badge numbers, but I’ll get that info later. No, darlin', the price of those boots is you, in my bed every night for the rest of your life.”
“Oh, boots and a hot hunk. A girl could get used to this,” Calista muttered, still not paying attention to the hunk who dominated the room.
Garth had never been a jealous man, but he might just have to go into therapy. Watching Calista stroke the leather was doing things to him that would drive a lesser man insane. It was time to take control of the situation. No matter how he wanted her, she needed to know who was in charge.
“Calista come here.”
“Hmm, in a second,” she muttered idly while turning a small pair of booties in her hand.
This wouldn't do. Garth allowed his voice to deepen and stated again more forcefully,” Calista, put down that shoe and come over here.” When she turned to look at him, he had to bite the inside of his cheek not to laugh. Everything in her face read WTF? Before she could brace her hand on her hip and tell him where to go, Garth extended his hand to her and beckoned her forth.
“In my arms you wil
l only ever find love and pleasure, but you must be willing to allow me to be the master of your body. You must give me complete control. Can you do that, Calista? Can you trust me to care for all your needs?”
“Listen, Garth. I don't know about Dom/sub, BDSM, or whatever you want to call this. I’m here because of these boots. I kind of skipped over the whole grown folks doing grown folks stuff part of the brochure. But hey, I'm grown folks, and we can have some fun. But you need to understand that I do not plan to be meek and mild about anything. If you want to be the boss, you’re going to have to earn it. I'll trust you to get me off tonight, and we’ll see about forever after that. Don't mess with my hair and don't get too heavy handed with the spanking. There is a difference between ‘ouch motherfucker’ and ‘oh yeah baby more,’ okay? Other than that, could you cut out all the ‘I am your master’ bullshit and fuck me already?”