Lured By My Master

by Jenna Jacob

  Jeb and Freddy had seen me inside the kinky club. In a way, I’d already committed professional suicide. If I were to be shit-canned from work, I couldn’t fathom an explanation I could give my parents.

  My parents… “Oh, god,” I moaned.

  The refined, dignified socialite Natia Noland—mistress of ceremony for multimillion-dollar fundraisers and hostess of pretentious gallery openings at New York’s famed Chelsea art district, along with my father—the Revered Professor Rufus Noland, MD, MS, ScD, EdD. would shit bricks. They’d never be able to wrap their tiny little minds around my involvement with such lewd and immoral acts. Why, the very thought would shatter their perfect, aristocratic façade.

  A shudder of shame wracked my body.

  I could disgrace my family or I could live a cold, empty life without Sam. Choosing one or the other filled me with sadness and an overwhelming sense of failure. Either way I’d lose.

  Failure isn’t in our repertoire. We Nolands never fail. We rise above adversity, dust ourselves off, and forge ahead. Like a mighty gong, my father’s motivational battle cry reverberated in my head.

  “No, Daddy. We Nolands do fail.” Or rather I was about to.

  Despair gripped my heart in a tight fist. Tears slid down my cheeks and dripped onto the cotton placemat beneath my elbow.

  Growing up with overachieving parents, the pressure for both my brother, Matatino, and me to perform—not only academically but also socially—hung like a weight around our necks. My brother, Matti, seemed to take it all in stride, but not me. To this day, I wore my own perverse expectations of perfection like a dysfunctional straightjacket.

  I’d already crushed my parents dreams by settling for a career in nursing instead of achieving my doctorate in neurology and adding an alphabet train behind my name, like Daddy.

  I don’t understand why you waste your talent in the trenches of an ER, Allisinda. You’re much too bright to settle for that lowly position. Refusing to further your academia shows a lack of ambition that is totally unacceptable, but then you’ve always been a frustrating child. Your father and I raised you better. It’s time you put away your foolish notions and obtain a profession deserving of your stature. One day you’ll want nice things.

  Cringing, I shoved my mother’s sanctimonious lecture from my head. There was a time when I had aligned my future in accordance to their plan. But I’d ditched my doctorate when my ex-future husband became threatened by my success. And when the earth crumbled out from under my feet, I realized I never possessed the desire to be a clone of my father. Packing my bags, I left New York and chose the career I wanted. A career that wouldn’t keep me perched on a pedestal, meant to impress their inner circle of pretentious friends. I’d committed the ultimate in elite society suicide, and it felt really damn good. Unfortunately, neither my mother or father stopped trying to revive their dreams that I’d assassinated.

  For years I tried to convince them that my charge nurse duties were just as vital and important as anyone else in the medical profession. That working in those trenches filled me with pride and satisfaction. Still, their palpable displeasure never waned. If I wanted their approval, I merely had to inform them that I was dating Sam. While that encouraging tidbit might placate my parents, nothing short of reinventing myself would change the epic failure I’d become in their eyes.

  Fortunately, I’d never use Sam as a tourniquet for my shortcomings.

  “Sam,” I muttered on a bittersweet sigh.

  He’d done such an admirable job of mending the fragile pieces of my heart. Though we’d only been together three short months, his tender adoration made me want to try and love again. Right now, I couldn’t imagine my life without him. The invisible web of happiness he’d spun around me had brought sunshine to my dark existence…at least until yesterday.

  I’ll be by your side the whole way through this. His vow tumbled through me, like a lifeline. I grabbed hold and held tight. Somewhere along the way, between the laughter, romantic dinners, late-night conversations, mind-blowing sex, and post-coital cuddles, I’d lost my heart to the man. I wasn’t sure I possessed the strength to purge him from my life, or if I even wanted to.

  That in itself was a huge red flag. I’d learned how to pick up the pieces of my heart and move on since third grade. Bobby Pope had kissed me on the cheek in art class and told me that he loved me. But two hours later, at recess, I saw him kiss Pamela Marker near the monkey bars. Of course, Bobby’s betrayal paled in comparison to walking in on my boyfriend, L’Vaught Parsons, fucking the prom queen in a back room at our high school graduation party.

  Why on earth, with such a stellar track record, had I put an ounce of faith in my ex-fiancé, Darnell’s promises of love and devotion? I’d always been a hopeless idiot when it came to men and love.

  But I’d never been weak—even through the darkest days of rejection, I’d found my spine and held my head high. Though now, when it came to Sam…I didn’t feel the least bit strong. If he’d been fucking Destiny, I wouldn’t be trapped in this endless loop of indecision. I’d have cut my losses and moved on.

  Why was I so fucking torn when it came to Sam?

  Because you love him…truly love him…more deeply than anyone else in your whole life.

  Yes, I did. But if I couldn’t accept his frightening desires…

  A tidal wave of defeat-laced self-pity swallowed me whole. I slumped to the table and sobbed. My gut-wrenching cries echoed off the walls and rang through my ears, mocking my weakness.

  As I crumbled beneath the onslaught of emotions, my heart felt buried in ruins. I ached to feel Sam’s strong arms around me, hear his whiskey-soft voice assuring me that everything would be all right.

  “Oh, god. What am I going to do? I don’t want to lose him,” I wailed pitifully.

  Filled with unsettling panic, I bolted from the table. Coffee sloshed from my cup, but I ignored the mess as I began pacing my apartment. Arms clutched around my waist, I tried to keep from unraveling even further, but it was no use. My stomach swirled in a sickening pitch as I raced down the hall. Dropped to my knees before the toilet and purged the coffee I’d consumed. After retching violently, I lay on the cold, hard tile as tears streamed down my face. Several long minutes later, I gripped the sink and heaved myself off the floor. Trembling, I rinsed my mouth with cold water and blew my nose. With shaking fingers I dialed HR and feigned the flu, then shuffled back to my bedroom. Crawling beneath the covers, I cried myself to sleep.

  I woke hours later feeling as if I’d been hit by a train. Feeling drained and depleted, I rolled out of bed, then padded to the kitchen where I brewed myself a cup of tea. After curling up on the couch once more my brain engaged again. Thankfully sleep had aligned my thoughts a bit, but the internal pressure to make a decision about Sam rode me hard. Instead of falling victim to my emotions, I decided to dissect this clusterfuck in a clinical way…or at least attempt to.

  Would I have any inkling to pursue the BDSM lifestyle if I weren’t involved with Sam?

  No.

  Were my fears of submission reason enough to end things with him?

  Maybe. I wasn’t sure.

  Do you think you have the power to change him?

  Never. Nor did I want to.

  If we remained together, could I come to terms with what he wanted?

  Who the hell knew? I certainly didn’t, and that was the crux of the whole damn mess.

  The feminist within reared her head.

  Why should I sacrifice my independence and morals for any man?

  I shouldn’t, any more than I should toss aside my convictions and embrace a degrading and demeaning lifestyle. I didn’t need that kind of misery in my life. I was happy, dammit. Content even. I was self-sufficient, liberated, and successful. I didn’t need a man in my life to make me complete—I had the fortitude to do that on my own. Besides, I’d never be some spineless, codependent submissive.

  Filled with self-righteous indignation, I launched off the cou
ch and stormed into the kitchen. Snagging a bag of potato chips from the cabinet, I sat down at the table and began munching away. My body might very well revolt at the intake of fat and rain down a load of hail damage all over my thighs, but they were my thighs, if that happened, I’d deal with the aftermath…at the gym.

  “Oh, to hell with the gym,” I snarled. “I might just let myself go. Blimp out so no man will look twice at me. Besides, I’ve got a drawer full of toys that are tons less hassle than a fucking man.”

  After consuming half the bag of chips, I scrolled through the television channels. Scarfing down all those wasted calories, I’d tossed off a layer of propriety. I might not have my course fully charted, but putting the focus back on me had certainly filled my sails.

  Still clicking through channels, I paused on an old seventies movie, my heart clutched double time. A young Robert Redford appeared on the screen. I never realized the actor bore such an uncanny resemblance to Sam. Both shared the same wheat-colored hair, rugged jawline, and the eyes… Oh, the look of longing in Redford’s eyes as he gazed at Barbara Streisand sent a chill down my spine. Sam had blessed me with that exact gaze time and time again. Mesmerized, I sat staring at the actor as the camera panned out and the music came up—a tune I remembered my mom listening to when I was young.

  Memories. Light the corners of my mind. Misty water colored memories, of the way we were. The lyrics assaulted me like a punch to the gut. And the sad, melancholy expressions the actors portrayed as they parted and went their separate ways slammed through me like an apocalyptic prophecy.

  That would be us if I said good-bye to Sam.

  As my vision blurred and a lump of regret lodged in my throat, I clicked off the television, threw the remote across the room, and curled into a ball on the couch. All the butterflies and rainbows I’d been blowing out my ass flew right out the damn window. My heart filled with pain, annihilating every one of my brave intentions. Closing my eyes, I let the sorrow pull me under and dissolved into a sobbing, hot mess.

  Though I cried all the tears I could muster, I remained on the couch, wrapped in a heavy blanket of depression. When a loud knock came from the front door, I ignored it. I didn’t have the energy to get off the couch, let alone deal with some overzealous magazine solicitor. As I burrowed deeper into the cushions, another knock rang out, louder and more insistent.

  “I know you’re in there, Cin. Open up,” Sam bellowed from outside the portal.

  “Shit,” I cursed as I leapt to my feet, quickly palming away the tracks from my tears.

  “Go away, Sam. I’m sick. I don’t want you to catch this bug.” My words came out thick and laced with remorse.

  “Open the door. Open it now, or I’ll kick the son of a bitch in,” he roared.

  “Okay. Okay,” I spat. Flipping the lock while keeping the safety chain engaged, I opened the door.

  Sam eyed the chain with a quizzical expression before turning a hard stare on me. His brows pinched together in concern. “Let me in, Cin.”

  “Sam,” I stalled. “You don’t need to catch this flu.”

  “Open the fucking door. Now,” he barked in a tone that brooked no further argument.

  With a heavy sigh, I closed the door and unlatched the chain. Before I could even drop my hand back to the knob, he burst through, causing me to stutter-step backward.

  “Why have you been crying?” he asked…no, actually more like demanded.

  “I-I was cutting onions in the kitchen,” I stammered. “Going to make some soup.”

  Turning, I began walking away. Before I’d even taken half a step, Sam gripped my arm and spun me around to face him.

  “Don’t. Don’t ever lie to me again,” he warned. “Now what the hell is wrong? Why are you crying? Do I need to take you to the ER?”

  “No. I’m fine. I told you that. What are you doing here?”

  “Stop evading my questions, girl. Answer me.”

  “I…I…”

  Tell him you’re through. Do it now. Get it over with, the voice in my head beseeched.

  “Fuck,” he spat as he clutched me in his arms so tight I couldn’t breathe. “Don’t say it, Cin. Goddammit, don’t even think it. If Liz had only kept her fucking mouth shut, I could have explained the lifestyle to you…gradually introduc—”

  “Don’t you dare blame this on Liz.” I bristled, jerking out of his grasp. “If you’d have leveled with me from the start, we wouldn’t be in this…this mess.” Angry tears pricked the backs of my eyes, but I blinked them away.

  “I was waiting for the right time to tell you.” He glowered. “I took the risk last night and look where it’s gotten us.”

  “And that’s Liz’s fault?”

  “No. It’s mine. I simply wish she’d talked to me about her concerns at the club, not at the fucking hospital.”

  “Well, it’s too late to change that now. She did me a favor. She made me open my eyes and take a good hard look at myself.”

  Sam lifted his chin. Challenge was written all over his face. “And what did you discover, Cin? Did you finally unearth the scared little girl inside you? The one who’s decided to tuck her tail between her legs and run away screaming before you’ve even had a chance to learn the basics of the lifestyle?”

  “Don’t try to psychoanalyze me,” I hissed, slapping on my bitch wings. “If I need a kink shrink, I’ll give Tony Delvaggio a call. Personally, you need to see him far worse than me. Maybe you should schedule a few appointments…find out why you can’t have a normal relationship without needing to tie up your women and beat their asses.”

  A fiery blaze ignited in his eyes before he slowly closed his lids and clenched his jaw. Sucking in a long, slow breath, Sam exhaled, then looked at me once again.

  Calm.

  Centered.

  In command.

  That pissed me off even more. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Sam. The world’s not going to implode if you lose control for five damn minutes. Let it out…say what’s on your mind. It might do you some good to vent once in a while.”

  Before I could draw in a breath, Sam was on me like a lion taking down a gazelle. Driving my back to the wall, he pressed his hard body against me, then pinned my arms high above my head.

  All at once, a white-hot surge of desire lit up inside me.

  “You really want me to lose control, Allisinda?” he purred with a feral gleam in his eyes. “If that’s what you want, I can give it to you, sweetheart. But you won’t sit right for a month. Don’t tempt me, girl. Once I start, I won’t stop…not even if you beg.”

  “I’ll never beg…never give you the satisfaction of breaking me.” The hateful words spewed from my mouth before I could stop them.

  Like a balloon, Sam’s entire body deflated. Releasing my wrists, his shoulders sagged as he backed away. Resignation and regret were written all over his face before he slapped a façade of control in place. He began erecting a palpable arctic barrier between us.

  “So you’ve made your decision.” His voice was but a whisper.

  Unable to look him in the face, I issued a barely perceptible nod.

  “I never pegged you as the kind of woman who gave up on anything. At least not the things you truly want. I guess that means you weren’t in this for the long haul. Tell me something, Allisinda. Did you make your choice before or after we made love last night?”

  The accusation in his tone frayed the last of my frazzled nerves.

  “If you’re trying to manipulate me with some kind of ridiculous guilt trip, save your breath.”

  A humorless smirk kicked up one corner of his mouth. “If I wanted to manipulate you, I’d have your sweet, innocent mind wrapped around my little finger. Tell me something. Why the need for an exclusive relationship if you were only using me to scratch your itch?”

  “I…I wasn’t using you, Sam. It was never like that.”

  “Oh, really? It certainly feels that way to me. I have to give you props. I haven’t let a woman play me for over
a decade. But you? Well, you pulled the—”

  “Stop saying that,” I screamed. “If anyone was being used, it was me.”

  “How do you figure that? Because I didn’t tell you I was a Dom until last night? What about your secrets, Cin? Were you ever going to tell me what fuck-nut obliterated your ability to trust?”

  “That doesn’t have anything to do with you and me.”

  “The hell it doesn’t. It has everything to do with us,” he spat. “Because whatever scars you’re hiding are bleeding into our relationship. Your secrets are just as important to this relationship as my Dominance. The only difference is I’m not afraid of your secrets. Not like you are of mine.” Folding his arms over his chest, Sam pinned me with a taunting stare as if waiting for me to deny his accusation.

  “Not all of us are as confident and sure of ourselves as you,” I countered derisively.

  “True. But I know one thing—you’re as cute as a button when you’re all riled up.” He chuckled.

  His glib comment sent a flash fire of rage singeing through me. Grabbing the first thing in reach, I heaved a stone coaster toward his head. Ducking, Sam cursed, then rushed me like a linebacker, tackling me onto the couch beneath him.

  Struggling, I fought for freedom, but the weight of his beefy body made it impossible for me to escape. Swearing like a sailor, I slapped at his chest and tried to ignore the masculine scent of his skin. Dismiss the enticing heat pouring off his body and leaching through my clothes that distracted, infuriated, and aroused me. If I let the son of a bitch know how easily he melted my defenses, I’d be toast.

  “Get the fuck off me,” I hissed.

  “No.” His one-word command vibrated through my rib cage.

  “Goddammit, Sam. I said get off.”

  “I’ll let you up. Once you convince me you’re not giving up on us.” Conviction, concern, and a glimmer of grief swam in his eyes.

  Staring at his lips, I wanted to bite them…draw blood…make him physically suffer for putting me through this shitload of mental anguish. But mostly, I wanted to kiss him. Drown in the texture of his mouth and tongue and let him wash away all my fears and insecurities.