Temptation's Hold [Temptation, Wyoming 4]

by Zoey Marcel

  Chanel choked on a breathy noise when he grabbed her by the arm without warning and yanked her to her feet.

  “You’re treading dangerous territory if you think you can use sex to manipulate me. I’ve seen every trick in the book, darlin’, and I want more than sex from you. I can get laid anywhere.”

  Anger fired inside her. “Screw you.”

  His temper flared at her flippant remark. “You’re the one who’s screwed. You picked the wrong man to mess with.”

  Her heart raced in concern as he clutched her arm and pulled her down the hall with him. “Where are you taking me?”

  Dawson and Cory turned and watched from the kitchen when Brad pushed her a couple of steps in front of him, still holding her arm, and swatted her bare ass, inciting a surprised yip from her.

  “You’re in no position to be asking questions, slave.” He led her out the front door and onto the large porch. “Dawson, follow us.”

  Chanel’s legs came out from under her when Brad swept her off her feet and carried her to the truck so her stilettos wouldn’t become caked with the inevitable mud of early spring. He set her in the passenger’s side roughly and slammed the door as he went around. She nearly choked on the thick silence as she sat in the truck alone and watched nervously as he opened the door and got in on the driver’s side.

  Where is he taking me? Does he even realize I’m still wearing a corset and thong?

  Brad fired up the engine and started driving away from the house without a word. The nagging silence was dreadful and felt like a chasm between them. Should she say anything or do something? Did he want her to remain reticent?

  “Brad.”

  “What?” he growled, concentrating on the road.

  His curt tone made her grimace. There was only one way to fix a man who was this angry. She moved her palm over his groin, pleased to feel the leather bulging against her skin as his private heat sizzled against her flesh. He wanted her.

  “Get your hand off my crotch,” he ordered, refusing to look at her.

  His command cut her up inside. Chanel pulled her hand away, feeling hurt and rejected. His reaction served as a trigger to unlock the door to her past that she’d bolted shut. Lucius had sometimes denied her attempts to pacify his wrath through sex. He’d chastise her unworthiness and employ bondage and occasionally starve her until she begged through blinding tears for him to let her touch him.

  Then there were times he’d simply fucked her hard and rough after punishing the crap out of her for something. She’d hoped to get Brad to do the same, but to her sorrow, he’d taken the alternative road Lucius had sometimes used and rejected her to punish her.

  The agonizing silence continued for most of the drive. Raw panic sliced into her once they reached the edge of town and Brad kept going down the busy street.

  Chanel gasped and crouched down on the floor. “You moron, are you crazy? What if someone sees me?”

  “Mark my words, love. A lot of people are going to see you.”

  He called her love. That was reassuring.

  “What do you mean a lot of people are going to see me?

  He glanced sideways at her with a saucy expression. “Oh, didn’t I tell you? I’m taking you to the club.”

  “What?! Not like this!”

  “Just like that.”

  “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to just go along with this.”

  “If Ben sees you crouched on the floor like that and unbuckled, he’s going to give you a ticket.”

  “Better that than having someone see me like this.”

  “Get up.” His tone brooked no refusal.

  She reluctantly obeyed.

  “When we get there you’re to address me as Master and only speak when I give you permission to. Is that understood?”

  “Why would I call you Master when I’m still upset with you?”

  “Because you agreed to be my slave and if you don’t obey me I’m going to punish you even worse.”

  She gaped at him. “Why are you taking me to the club for that when you could’ve done so at home?”

  “Because you need to be publicly disciplined for blatantly disrespecting your superior.”

  “What? You’re not my superior.”

  “You agreed to be my slave. What do you think that makes me?” Brad parked the truck and gave her a stern look. “When we get inside I want you to obey me no matter what I ask you to do.”

  A wild spark of nervousness and want ignited inside when she heard this. “What are you going to do to me?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I want your word that you’ll follow my lead and call me Master.”

  She gulped. “I promise.”

  “Good. Get out.”

  Her eyes widened in disbelief when he got out of the truck and came around to open the door for her when she hesitated.

  His brown eyes turned deadly and his voice was a thin warning. “I said get out.”

  Chanel trembled as she slowly got out of the truck, feeling weak in the knees. The wind felt cool and invasive on her bare ass as Brad took her by the hand and led her inside. Warmth crept into her cheeks when various sets of eyes fell on her intimate apparel and exposed bottom. She couldn’t do this, but she gave him her word. Why did feeling trapped under his power excite her so much?

  Brad led her into a spacious room that was stocked with plenty of BDSM furniture and a vast assortment of naughty gadgets intended for pain and pleasure. He stood behind her, unlacing her corset. His nearness was enticing.

  “Strip,” he ordered, turning toward a table with a collection of toys and implements of discipline. “Leave the heels and garter on.”

  His confidence that she would obey him made her want him. Her courage faltered when she saw a balcony above with a few spectators. Oh lord. Things got even more interesting when she noticed the room off to the side that was separated from this one by a glass window. There were chairs in there, several of which were occupied. They would see her naked and watch as her Master disciplined her.

  Chanel unhooked the front of her corset with shaky fingers and took a deep breath before removing it. She set it on a spanking bench and slowly slid the thong down her legs, being careful to prevent it from getting caught on her heels.

  Brad moved her things to a table, carrying a broad, wooden paddle with him. “Give me the garter.”

  She bent over to slip it off, feeling at least a dozen eyes on her exposed backside.

  “Kneel.”

  She got down on her knees with her hands clasped behind her back and her head bowed. He used the edge of the paddle to raise her chin so she could see his face.

  “Do you know why I’m punishing you, slave?”

  He called her slave in front of other people. The knowledge was humbling. “Because I disrespected you.”

  “Who did you disrespect?”

  She grimaced, but indignation was chased away by humiliation. “My Master.”

  “What did you do when I instructed you to sit at the table and wait for me?”

  She wanted to avert her eyes, but he wouldn’t let her. “I left.”

  He cocked an expectant brow.

  “Master.”

  “When should a slave disregard her Master’s orders?”

  Was it a trick question? “Never, Master.”

  He pulled the paddle away. “Put your hands together in front of you.”

  Chanel obeyed, apprehensive of his subsequent actions, but to her relief, he merely secured her wrists together with the garter. She could easily take it off, but confinement didn’t seem to be his motive at the moment, so much as encouraging her to keep her hands still willingly during her punishment.

  “Bend over this bench.”

  Chanel wobbled to her feet and got on her knees on the cushioned bench. She leaned forward and rested her elbows on the platform in front of her.

  The stares around them never wavered. It was humbling to be punished by a man in front of people who had se
en her behaving like a bitch at one time or other. They all knew she was an independent woman who didn’t take crap from anyone.

  Now they would all know that Brad owned her. That she was a slave to him. The memory of her naked body would burn into their minds and when they saw her in town, they would remember. She would remember.

  Chanel shivered at the realization, surprised by the wall of heat that slammed into her over being watched and vulnerable.

  Brad came around to the front of her, his tented leathers before her. He brought the paddle to her lips and she kissed the smooth wood, accepting her punishment and his authority over her. She tensed with anticipation when he walked back around and stood behind her.

  Her mouth fell open as he smacked a ragged gasp from her with the paddle against her bottom. The nasty thuds delivered a hot pain that lingered and spread along her skin, leaving it sensitized and raw. The strikes had force behind them as they let her know she’d been a bad girl. The severity of the blows told her he must be leaving marks on her butt to let her know who was in charge.

  A veil of timidity cloaked her when she spotted Trish next to her Dom, Dale, seated up in the balcony. Chanel had insulted the poor girl and now Trish got to watch karma unfold through the vessel of the wooden paddle being wielded on her rump.

  The club’s owners, Joaquin Sullivan and Dakarai Hawthorne, stood up in the balcony. Dakarai’s expression was unreadable and his hands were in his pockets as he took in what was happening.

  Joaquin stood next to him with folded arms and a scowl on his face. She didn’t know him very well, but had never seen him smile. Maybe he smiled for Claire. He’d have to. The woman was too sweet and bubbly not to steal a smile from him, though the stark contrast of her perky demeanor pitted against his stone-cold one was rather humorous.

  Chanel’s eyes stung at the painful slaps on her bottom, but she kept her tears in, determined not to give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry. She was already in the buff, getting her ass beat. She didn’t need mascara running down her face.

  The shock of stillness and the intensity of after burn was overwhelming when Brad stopped spanking her.

  “What will you take away from this, slave?”

  She blushed. “I won’t disobey you again, Master.”

  “Will you disrespect me again in public or in private?”

  She flinched, feeling chills run up and down her spine when his fingertips grazed her battered buttocks. “No, Master.”

  “Will you make a mockery of this lifestyle again and insult the people who choose to embrace it?”

  She yelped when he paddled her again, somehow hitting her harder still this time. “No, Master.”

  Brad came around and knelt by her face. Her heart fluttered at his nearness and the hypnotizing musk of his cologne.

  “Apologize to Joaquin and Trish,” he whispered.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. Damn him for demanding a public apology from her.

  She let out a startled gasp when his fingers tangled ruthlessly in her hair so the balcony was in view.

  “Look at them while you apologize.”

  Her cheeks burned with shame and humiliation. “I’m sorry, Joaquin...Sir, for creating chaos in your club.”

  Joaquin nodded.

  Her eyes flickered to Trish. “Trish, I’m sorry I called you a ho.”

  Trish gave her a forgiving smile. There was no trace of the vindictive smugness Chanel expected. Maybe Trish was a sweetie. Chanel didn’t really know her. All she knew about the redhead was that she was Dale’s pet, so Chanel always assumed that made her a brainwashed tramp for subjecting herself to being a man’s human puppy. Now she saw sweetness and innocence in her eyes.

  “Who else did you offend?” Brad asked.

  “I’m sorry, Master.”

  “Look around you, slave. Who else did you offend?”

  She took in the faces, feeling even more vulnerable and humbled. “I’m sorry I made a mockery of your lifestyle. It’s your choice and I respect that. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  She wanted to run screaming and hide under a blanket, or to cry and hit Brad for this, but the connection between them willed her to stay.

  There were a few nods and some dumb stares, but the awkward silence was breached when an old man in the balcony clapped. Everyone turned to look at him and he grinned and shrugged. He cupped his hands to either side of his lips and called out to Chanel. “God bless you, sweetheart!”

  She smiled, feeling the stress of the situation exiting her body at the chuckles and the old man’s kindness.

  Dakarai grinned and Joaquin’s lips twitched, but no smile formed. His eyes danced with humor, though, when he glanced at Dakarai before nodding at Brad and leaving with Dakarai. Some of the people got up and left while a few lingered.

  Brad slipped the garter off her wrists. “Get dressed. Dawson will take you home.”

  Chanel’s arms ached to hold Brad and feel him touch her to let her know he still adored her, but he turned his back and got supplies to clean the paddle and bench with, never reaching for her. A tear ran astray down her cheek, mascara be damned, but she wiped it away before anyone discovered it.

  This was the part of the lifestyle she hated. The awkward, distant coldness that followed the penalty. The brief period of anguish when she lost her Master’s favor and, she feared...his love.

  * * * *

  Chanel felt numb inside, though her rear end glowed with heat and pain when she sat on it during the drive home.

  She went into the bathroom once they arrived and shut the door, thankful for the solitude. She washed off her makeup, shed her lingerie and looked over the marks Brad had left on her butt. The rubicund cheeks had light bruising and small, reddish-purple welts.

  As a child, she’d lamented getting cuts, scrapes, and bruises, but as an adult, she reveled in the punishing marks of her Master’s ownership.

  A tiny spasm of pain seized her heart that she was alone right now. Brad wasn’t here. She was all alone with only an inflamed ass and the memory of her humiliation in the club. She wanted one of her men to hold her and reaffirm their love for her in spite of her objectionable behavior earlier. But the Master/slave relationship didn’t work that way in her experience.

  Chanel craved the liberation of being completely dominated, but she desperately needed to be worshiped. She wanted a Master and a loving husband. She’d thought she could have that with Brad, but after the way he’d sent her home without a hug after he taught her a lesson and the way he’d rejected her intimate touch in the truck, she feared that the reflection of Lucius’s treatment of her was simply a mirror of the way all Masters treated their slaves.

  Brad would never hurt her. She knew that, but would he ever love her again after the way she’d treated him? Would he make her go through hell to win his favor back?

  Chanel sank to her raw bottom, wincing at the fierce, hot tingles from the pressure of the cool tiled floor in the shower stall. It felt like sunburn, but the lump in her throat, stemming from her achy heart, eclipsed it. Hot tears rolled gently down her cheeks, tasting salty where they became trapped at the corners of her lips.

  She endured the pain and humiliation for Brad as she had for Lucius, clinging to the hope that he would offer a subtle smile, or a loving gaze at the end to quiet her insecurities. Neither man had.

  BDSM was a euphoric rush, an addiction she’d never be able to cure herself of, but it left her cold and hungry for the love vanilla couples seemed blessed with.

  The other couples and triads in town seemed happy, even the ones in permanent Dom/sub relationships. How could they be happy living such a complicated, demanding existence?

  Cory came in just then and saw her naked and weeping in the shower. “Dawson, come quick! Chanel’s in tears!”

  His presence was a relief, yet unwelcome. She needed to wallow right now, but he’d probably find some way to cheer her up. But she didn’t want temporary comfort. She wanted healing.

&n
bsp; Cory got into the shower with her and sat down next to her, still clothed. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

  “I’ll be all right.”

  Dawson came in, appearing troubled by her tears as he, too, sat down next to her. “Honey, why are you crying?”

  “I just screwed up.”

  “When?” he queried.

  “With my whole life. I don’t even know where I went wrong,” she sobbed as they held and rubbed her with soothing caresses. “I never should’ve broken up with you. I shouldn’t have taken that job Lucius offered me. I shouldn’t have gone to Vegas, or made enemies with half the people in this town, and I shouldn’t have consented to be Brad’s slave.”

  “Why not?” Brad stood in the doorway with his arms folded.

  Chanel lifted her head with a tiny gasp. “You’re home early. Why?”

  He came into the bathroom, features softening with affection. “I figured you’d need me.”

  Her chest constricted with joy and the organ therein swelled with hope. “I do need you, so much. I’m so sorry I treated you like crap.”

  She buried her face in her hands and wailed.

  He knelt in front of her and tilted her chin up. “Hey, it’s okay. It was just a punishment for bad behavior, not the end of our relationship.”

  “But you didn’t want me to touch you in the truck. That really hurt.” Her eyes squeezed shut, milking the salty droplets from her ducts.

  “Baby, look at me.” He smiled at her compliance and brushed away her tears. “I told you to take you hand away because I was getting hard and was about a fraction of a second away from pulling the truck over and fucking you senseless. You behaved shamefully earlier and I had to discipline you, but all I wanted to do was tear the lingerie off you and bury myself deep in your cunt.”

  Chanel grinned, pussy tingling at the suggestion. “Really?”

  He smirked. “Yes, really. You can’t dress like a siren and expect me not to want you. I always want you, even when you’re in yoga pants and a hoodie.”