EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2017 Raven McAllan
ISBN: 978-1-77339-366-7
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: JS Cook
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To Paul with love.
Without you, I would have never visited my favorite place in the world, and this book would not have been written.
To Caness for letting me use her name. To Helen and Cherry for making sure I had my Hong Kong as it should be.
To you the readers, and everyone at Evernight, especially JoAnne and Jay. Because of you all I have the opportunity to keep doing what I love. Writing with you all in mind.
And the fantastic Doris O’Connor the best friend and wielder of the red type anyone could wish for. Her ‘rediting’ keeps me straight.
Thank you.
IN HIS HANDS
Raven McAllan
Copyright © 2017
Chapter One
She should be in a rush. Instead, she stood and ignored the heavy downpour known as black rain that indicated typhoon weather. There was little enough time to get home before all public transport was suspended for the duration, but Caness still didn’t move. It might be her last day at work before she went freelance, but she’d still had obligations and left late. Now she wished she wasn’t so bloody conscientious, but it was ingrained in her psyche. Or imbibed with her mother’s milk. Finish what you start.
However, a Hong Kong typhoon was not to be messed with.
Her long red hair, so at odds with her vaguely oriental looks, had left its plait once the growing wind caught it and was now plastered to her skull and hung almost to her waist. God knows what sort of a mess it would be when it dried. Corkscrew ringlets no doubt. Her once pristine and demure work suit was fast becoming tight, and more sexy than suitable for a day of meetings. Nevertheless, Caness Clacher remained steadfast as she stared into the gallery window at the glorious barbaric and unique jewelry she saw there. No doubt it cost a king’s ransom.
What? She blinked and looked closer to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. No, it was there all right, and it was what she thought at first glance. Silver fetters, of twisted strands, which looked as if it were a collection of barbs. On closer inspection Caness could see the barbs were an illusion, and there were no sharp ends to mark or tear the skin. Wrist cuffs and a thick collar completed the set.
She salivated, and her pussy muscles contracted as she thought how she would feel wearing them. Them and little else. She moaned softly—talk about making her completely wet. Her underwear was now as damp as her outerwear. How come she’d never seen things like that in here before? She walked this alley with its expensive designer shops, art and craft galleries, and boutiques every day.
Usually in a rush.
Nothing before ever caught her eye and made her slow or stop to look more closely.
Just this.
In black rain, and a rapidly approaching deadline of no transport until the typhoon passed. She must need her head examined.
“Lovely, isn’t it? It would suit you, Caness.” The velvet tones with a hint of an accent she couldn’t place curled around her like a warm security blanket. They were so mesmeric her mouth became dry and her clit tightened into a painful throbbing nub. Lord, she hadn’t felt such an instantaneous reaction since her first date with the school lothario, and that had ended once he’d opened his mouth and talked rubbish.
“That and nothing else,” the stranger said with a definite note of authority in his voice. “On your knees, before me.”
Her legs began to dip before she came out of her reverie and straightened. What the hell? Had she really been going to assume the position of a perfect sub, in public and no doubt in a puddle? Caness shook her head in amazement and the stranger stepped back to miss the water that she scattered with her actions.
“Er…” It was several seconds before the fact registered that not only did he know her name, he’d pronounced it correctly—Kennis. Most people said it like the French city, which was infuriating to say the least. Nevertheless, it was better than the Mandarin Chinese name her Hong Kong born mum (one quarter Chinese and three quarter English) and Scottish dad had given her. Xiǎomèi.
One translation, little sister was acceptable, but the other, bestowed on her because of her chubby cheeks as a baby, meant little plum. Her elder brother Quánnéng—omnipotent, or strong in every area—was equally not enamored with his name and chose to be called Anthony. Neither of their parents could give a definite answer as to why they had chosen Mandarin names for their children. The last time she asked, a year or so earlier, her mum just shrugged and looked at her dad. He’d raised one eyebrow, her mum had blushed, and they’d left soon after. Not before she heard her dad tell her mum he’d sort that sass out later.
“Shall we put it on you?” the stranger asked. “Will it work?”
“What?” She came back to the present and stared at him. What did he mean work? She didn’t think she’d ask him, not then. She ignored his questions and gave him one of her own instead. “How do you know my name?”
The stranger laughed. “I was at Hong Kong University with Anthony until he left and went on his search to find himself.”
“He did,” Caness said defensively. Her twin had decided medicine wasn’t for him, went to California and—true to the definition of their Scottish surname—became a stonemason. “Find himself.” She looked at him more closely and a faint glimmer of awareness flickered. She remembered him. Just. He’d been around a couple of times with Anthony, but she had never spent long enough with him to really get to know him. All she had were vague impressions of a tall, enigmatic man who said little but never took his eyes off her. Even then he’d oozed dominance and her body responded, although she had no idea what her response meant. Now she did and wasn’t sure if it excited or scared the hell out of her. No doubt time would tell.
“I know, I was there last week,” he said now.
What on Earth was his name? She searched her brain. Peter? Patrick? Paul? Phillip? Something like that.
“His work is amazing,” the not so much of a stranger went on. “I’ll bring some back to show as soon as I can arrange it. Anthony told me you were here. I didn’t expect to see you staring through my shop window, getting soaked to the skin, though. Come on in and dry off.”
Caness looked at her watch. “Shit, I can’t,” she said with genuine regret. She itched to stroke the set and see what else he had to show. “If I don’t get on the MTR damned quick I’ll miss the bus home. The warning went ages ago, and it takes me over an hour at the best of times. Sodding typhoon stops everything.”
He looked down the alley toward the main road, where the traffic was queuing in a never-ending stream of vehicles pouring past, even if it was at a slow, slower or stop-and-start pace. “Everything?”
His raised eyebrow made her chuckle. “Almost everything. But the two hour ‘get home or be stranded’ warning was over an hour ago. I’m on borrowed time. Fuck. Look, Mr. Whoever, nice to meet you, and all that, but seriously I ought to go.”
“You ought to be spanked for language like that. Don’t let me hear it again. Unless of course you want a spanking. That would be my pleasure.”
To judge by the gush o
f liquid that dampened her panties yet again, it would be her pleasure as well.
Oh lordy. “Look you still haven’t told me who you are, so this seems a bit stalkerish, and well, scary. Corporal punishment scary.”
His eyes widened, and he waggled one long finger in front of her face. An intricately carved ring of twisted silver shone in the ever-increasing gloom. “You don’t really think that. I watched your face when you realized what this jewelry was for.” He took hold of her chin and pressed a swift kiss to her lips. Before she even registered what he intended to do, he’d moved back and straightened. “Patrick Lim at your service. Now, pet, get your sweet booty inside, and let me lock up.”
So I wasn’t far wrong.
“This is yours?” She gestured at the gallery.
“All mine.” He patted her bum, somewhat harder than a gentle ‘move it’ tap, but not a full-on spank—more was the pity. “I don’t ask twice and I do expect to be obeyed.”
He does? Lord almighty. “What are you?” she blurted, and could have cut her tongue out at her tumbled breathless words. They would set a good impression—not. “Are you a silversmith?”
He turned and did that bloody sexy one eyebrow raised thing again, before he inclined his head. “A Master.” He invested the word with something indefinable. Whatever it was made her swallow and drop her gaze to his feet, clad, she’d bet her week’s salary, in Gucci loafers.
“Oh, I like that.” His words were soft but the intent in them made her lift her head and briefly shut her eyes.
If he meant what she thought he meant, she was in big trouble. Caness shook her head again and wet strands of hair flicked water towards him, splattering his suit and cheeks. Droplets ran down her chest and pooled in her cleavage. That was all she needed.
He watched one errant raindrop chase another across her skin and under the neck of her blouse. “That is where my tongue should be.”
What?
“Look,” Caness said desperately. “I’ll be fine if I go now. I don’t want to take you out of your way.”
“Rubbish.”
He took her hand and, to her amazement, she found herself meekly following him inside. Caness started to look around, and a barked, “Not now,” stopped her. She stood and watched him instead.
He turned toward the window, and lifted the silver jewelry out. “Give me five minutes and we’ll be on our way. And before you come up with excuses, I know where you live. Glorianna Villas in Sai Kung.”
“How? No don’t tell me: Anthony told you.”
Patrick pulled the window blinds down, and locked the door. “Amongst other things.” He looked over his shoulder at her as he moved into a back room. “Here you are, catch.” A second later a fine linen towel flew through the air toward her. Caness caught it automatically.
“He worries.” His voice became faint, and she heard the clank of a heavy metal door. Presumably he was putting the jewelry in the safe. It must be worth thousands.
Damn, I’d love to have tried it on. And spend half an hour just looking. Some of the display appeared so unusual she itched to take her time and savor it. However, it wasn’t about to happen. One day, I hope.
“What other things?” she asked suspiciously as she tried to dry her hair, cleavage, and legs. Wet stockings were the pits, but there was no way she was going to take them off. No doubt he’d come back in and see her with her skirt bunched up around her ass and her lacy underwear on show. Caness was a great believer in the motto, “if you look good under your camouflage you’ll feel good and act it.” She might have to present an image of a banker on the outside—whatever that image was—however, what she wore underneath her prim and proper suits was anything but.
“That you’re denying your true needs because there’s no one strong enough to take you on.”
Bloody Anthony lives up to his name.
“He’s just jealous he hasn’t got a Sir.” She stopped as she realized what those words showed. “Um, I mean…”
“I know what you mean, and who’s to say he hasn’t?”
She gulped at the expression on his face. Stern, confident. Oh fuck he’s not… No, Anthony was gay and happy to admit it. In his last letter he’d said that he wasn’t going to sub for just anyone. It would have to be someone special. Somehow, she didn’t think Patrick was that one. If he were, Anthony would have told her, surely? They were open with each other.
“Does he?”
Patrick walked across the room in a few strides and took her chin between thumb and forefinger.
“He’ll tell you what’s going on when he wants to…” He tightened his grip and forced her to look him in his eyes. The deep dark blue was mesmeric. “It’s not me, pet.”
Pet? I’m not imagining things then.
“I have someone else in mind.” He let go of her chin, removed the towel from her unresisting fingers, and took hold of her arm. “Come on. Let’s go whilst we still can.”
So he is a Dom, and he has a sub waiting for him? That made her heart sink, except…
No, he said ‘someone in mind’. What is he keeping back? What’s Anthony not telling me? We’re close. Or we were. He hadn’t mentioned Patrick in his last e-mail; the one she’d received a few days ago. Who does Patrick have in mind? Am I worried or excited?
Whatever, it was all mighty suspicious.
Why did she smell rodents? Big ones.
Chapter Two
Patrick watched a myriad of expressions cross Caness’s face and chuckled inwardly. She might not realize it, but he’d waited a long time for this. He hefted his heavier than normal bag over his shoulder and took a tighter grip on her arm. “The car is in the basement garage. We can go out through the back.”
“Why are you doing this?”
His long strides made her jog to keep up with him. “Because I want to.”
He steered her out of the gallery and locked up behind them. The last few shop owners and shoppers were all intent on getting home whilst they could, and the lift was full. Pushed up close to her back, her delectable curves nigh on plastered against him, his cock decided to get in on the act and press against her ass. He heard her short indrawn breath and saw the faint tremble that shivered through her.
“It would prefer to be in your ass, not rubbing it, but even if we didn’t get arrested, this lift is a bit too full to get it out, let alone in,” he whispered in her ear. “It’ll need to wait. But hold the thought, will you?”
She snorted and twisted her head so she could look at him. Her mouth was near enough to his ear for him to hear her speak and it not carry to the tall Japanese gentleman next to him.
“Of you trying to wave your dick in the air and say ‘hey it’s got a mind of its own’, and then watch the men in white coats cart you off? Oh sure, I’ll hold on to that, no worries.”
“Sassy sub… Remember though, pet, there’s a time and a place.” The lift stopped and as soon as the doors began to open, people spilled out and streamed off in different directions. Patrick tugged Caness to one side and waited until they could move with ease.
“The grey BMW to your left.” She nodded and moved in the direction he’d indicated. Patrick wondered if she’d always be so obedient. When Anthony had spoken of her, and her lack of a Dom, Patrick’s body had tightened as he remembered the girl who had looked at him with submission uppermost in every inch of her. Even then he knew that one day, she’d be his.
Anthony, however, had warned him off. Asked him to wait until she’d established herself in her profession. There was, he said, enough of him in her to know that once she gave herself to the right Dom, her life would change forever more. Patrick, who was only just beginning to establish himself in his own career, had reluctantly agreed.
That had been three years ago, but unbeknown to Caness—he hoped—he’d kept tracks on her. Then last week, Anthony had said the words Patrick had wanted to hear. “She’s ready.”
“For a sub you’re awful mouthy and dictatorial,” Patrick told him w
ith a grin.
Anthony nodded. “When it’s my sister’s life we’re meddling in, yup.”
That was fair enough.
“You’ll shake up the man you refuse to name.”
Anthony didn’t pretend to not understand. “If he lets me.”
“He will, you just need to be patient. And that is something you’ll need to cultivate as a sub to him.”
They’d both laughed. Anthony was not known for his patience.
Patrick unlocked the car and held the door open for Caness, before he put his bag into the boot. He was conscious of excitement and expectation, the likes of which he’d never experienced before.
Within a few minutes they were in the queue to get out of the car park. He glanced across at her and she squirmed, kicked her shoes off, and wriggled her stocking-clad toes. Her nails were a deep ‘fuck me now’ red, totally at odds with the pale pearly color on her hands. Such a contradiction.
“I’m sorry I’ll be making your upholstery wet. I got soaked through and really, although I dried the worst of it, I’m still not dry, if you know what I mean.”
Patrick nodded, his attention on the flow of traffic. He nudged the car into Nathan Road ahead of a taxi. The driver tooted his horn and Patrick waved.
“There’s one of my jumpers on the back seat, pet.” He stretched his arm behind him, found it, and put it into the footwell next to her shoeless feet. “It’ll work as a dress on you, and it’s cashmere and warm. Take off your clothes and put that on instead.” He made sure it didn’t come across as a request, or even as a, “well, if you want to.” He might as well start as he hoped to go on. In charge.
“Eh? But we’re driving up a main road. Anyone could see.” She didn’t appear half as outraged as he thought she might. Especially for someone who—allegedly—wasn’t interested in what else he might ask. “There’s buses all over the place and every one of them is full.”
In His Hands Page 1