Nine months earlier . . .
Cordell observed the skittish-looking woman whose gaze was searching the Panera Bread restaurant. He’d recognize her anywhere from her social media pages, but she was even prettier in person. A month shy of her twenty-eighth birthday, she was about five foot six, slender—a little too slender, in his opinion—with beautiful, wavy, dark-brown hair, and chestnut-colored eyes. She was biting her plump bottom lip, worrying the abused flesh.
Mitch Sawyer had warned him about several of Tiffany Armstrong’s issues when it came to dominant men. Looking at her now, Cordell doubted the other Dom had scratched the surface of the submissive’s “issues.” She’d been in an unhealthy D/s relationship for two years and, thankfully, had gotten out of it recently. However, the damage had been done. Her so-called Master had really fucked with her mind. Cordell had seen it many times before and had become known in the local lifestyle community as the “submissive whisperer.” He thought the title was corny but true. He’d helped many subs recover from bad relationships over the years and then had found them Masters who would continue the work he’d started. Each Dom had been fully investigated—like Sawyer had done before contacting Cordell—and he hadn’t regretted a single D/s match he’d facilitated. He kept in contact with all of them on a monthly or semi-annual basis, talking in private conversations with both the Dom and submissive to make sure there weren’t any problems that couldn’t easily be fixed. Two of his rehabilitated submissives had actually married the Doms he’d paired them with, and one of those was now expecting her second child.
Cordell wasn’t sure how he’d developed a gift for helping damaged submissives and wished he could save them all, but he only took one at a time into his care. It wouldn’t be fair to any recovering submissive to have to compete with another for his attention and affection. However, he’d made it clear to each of them before a contract was signed that their time with him had an end date when he was certain they were ready to move on. He had to be careful when reading a sub because, sometimes, they were scared to leave him and started acting up again if they thought he was getting ready to cut them loose. Some subs stayed with him for only a few weeks or months. The longest had been a little over a year, and she was the one who was now happily married with children.
From across the room, the little wisp of a woman’s gaze slammed into his, and she froze. She clearly recognized him from the screen shot he’d sent her. He hadn’t wanted her to approach any random single men looking for him if she’d beaten him there. Of course, he’d arrived fifteen minutes early to ensure that wouldn’t happen.
Cordell started silently counting to three, but the word “two” had barely registered in his mind before her gaze dropped to the floor in front of him. She stood there, waiting, and Cordell knew if he didn’t approach her or call out a demand, she would stand there all day. People walking in and out skirted around her, with a few giving her looks of confusion or annoyance.
Getting to his feet, Cordell strode over. Her gaze lifted, briefly, before hitting the floor again. Cordell stopped in front of her. “Tiffany?”
“Yes, Master Cordell,” she responded immediately but didn’t look up. Her words had been spoken so faintly, he was certain he was the only person who’d heard her, despite the lunch crowd. The responses of “yes, Master,” and “no, Master,” had probably been drilled into her so often, she didn’t realize what she was saying half the time. They were just automatic, subconscious reactions to anything a Dom said to her. According to Mitch, the sub seemed much more confident when she was interacting with people who weren’t alpha males.
“Eyes on me, pet.”
“Yes, Master Cordell.” Slowly, her chin lifted, and when her eyes met his he gave her a soft smile to try to ease the wariness that filled her face.
“I’m simply Cordell when we’re in public, Tiffany.”
She nodded. “Yes, Master—um, I mean, Cordell. Thank you for clarifying.”
Oh, yeah, she was ready to bolt or drop to her knees the moment he did or said anything that scared her. Hell, something as simple as holding out his hand for her to shake might cause her to collapse. Mitch had said it’d taken a few hours for her to relax around him with others present. When it’d finally happened, she’d been bubbly and delightful, but that wariness had always been under the surface, waiting to emerge again. Cordell had his work cut out for him, but it wouldn’t be the first time.
Taking a step back and to the side, he gestured toward the table he’d been sitting at. “Please, come have a seat and join me.” When she hesitated, he knew he was going to have to spell out every request or command to her. “If I want you to walk behind me, little one, I’ll make that clear. However, we have much to talk about before we start with any rules. For now, please walk in front of me to our table.”
“Yes, Mas—yes, Cor-Cordell.”
As he followed her, she glanced back at him several times, as if making certain she was walking correctly. When they reached their table, he pulled out a chair for her. “Please, sit.” When she complied, he asked, “What would you like to drink and eat, little one?”
Her eyes grew wide. “I-I don’t need anything, Sir.”
He stared down at her. “That wasn’t what I asked you, Tiffany. Did you eat before you came here?”
“No-no, Mas—” She shook her head. “No, I didn’t. I was too—too nervous.”
The corners of his mouth ticked upward. “Thank you for your honesty. Now, I asked you here to have lunch with me, so we could talk in a neutral setting. Eating and drinking were included in that. I also prefer not to eat alone when in the company of a beautiful woman, so I’ll ask you once more. What can I order you for lunch?”
“Um, I’m—I’m not picky.” Her shoulders lifted up and then dropped. “And I like all their salads, so I’ll have whatever you order for me.”
Not exactly the answer he wanted, but it was a start. “And what would you like to drink?”
Tiffany let out a shaky breath. “Uh, water or an iced tea is fine. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. I’ll be back in a few minutes. In the meantime, please try to relax.” Yeah, that was probably like telling a chicken to relax while it was surrounded by a dozen foxes. At least Tiffany nodded in response. “Good girl.”
As Cordell stood in line at the counter, he studied his new recovery project. That’s how he had to think of the women he helped, to keep from growing too close to them. He often compared himself to a person who fostered stray dogs or cats, socializing them until they could be adopted into their forever homes. Yes, it was sad to say goodbye to them, but knowing they were in good hands made the heartache a little easier.
Each of Cordell’s projects had been different—unique in their personal backgrounds and the hell they’d gone through at the hands of someone who’d been supposed to cherish them, not abuse them. It could take him a few hours, days, or weeks before he could get into their minds so he could figure out what his plan of action needed to be. In the meantime, he’d take one step at a time, gaining their trust and submission. Today started step one for Ms. Tiffany Armstrong.
All Tiffany wanted to do was throw up—well, that and run out of there. Thankfully, her stomach was empty. As for hightailing it, she didn’t think her knees would support her if she tried to stand up again. She just had to get her nerves under control before Master—no—before Cordell returned. She’d recognized him right away from the photo he’d texted her after they’d made arrangements to meet. When Mitch had given her the police lieutenant’s number and told her he was expecting her call, she’d just assumed Cordell would talk to her and negotiate a contract with her over the phone. Instead, their conversation had been brief, mostly pertaining to their current public meeting.
Her palms were sweating, and she rubbed them on her thighs. She hoped she was dressed okay. It’d taken her over an hour to settle on a navy-blue skort, an emerald-green, short-sleeved, V-neck top, and navy and white sandals. Her c
lothing was appropriate for both the weather and the venue, but she didn’t care about either of those things. Instead, she was worried about what Master Cordell thought of her outfit. Was it too revealing? Not revealing enough? And, damn it, stop calling him Master. Do as he told you to do and just call him Cordell. At least in public like this.
“Here you go, pet.”
Tiffany startled when he set two glasses of iced tea on the table, one directly in front of her. She hadn’t realized he’d placed the order and returned. She must have zoned out for a moment, and that wasn’t a good thing. Not in a Dom’s presence. Inattentiveness was a sure way to earn a punishment, and she didn’t think she was ready for that yet with a new Dom.
“Thank you, M—Cordell.” When he just eyed her as he took the seat across from her, she added, “I’m sorry—it’s habit Ma—” She huffed loudly, irritated with herself. “It’s a habit Mitch said I needed to break.”
“Okay, we can work on that.” He set a little card with the number fifteen on it into a silver holder on the table, so when their food was ready, a server would know which customers it belonged too. “Would you be more comfortable calling me Sir instead of my given name?”
Relief shot through her, and she gave him a small smile. “Yes, Sir, I would, very much, but . . .”
“But what, pet?
Her honesty had clearly pleased him a few minutes ago, so she answered truthfully. “Is there a reason you don’t want me to call you Master, aside from us being in public?”
There was a pause, as if he hadn’t expected the question and was weighing his response. “Yes, there is. I never ask my submissives to refer to me as Master until we both feel I’ve earned the title. You’ll find I’m not like most of the Doms you’ve known before now. I have my own rules I follow in addition to the rules I’ll expect you to follow if we negotiate an agreement and sign a contract. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir.”
The grin on his face gave her the warm fuzzies inside. It also eased the harsh features of his face and the nausea in her stomach. “Good,” he said. “Now, while we’re waiting for our food, I have some questions I want you to answer. I will warn you that a few of them may be uncomfortable for you, but I expect honesty from you. My intent is not to embarrass you, but your answers will help me decide if I think I can help you. Understood?”
She took a deep breath and let it out. This is what she’d expected to do over the phone, which she would’ve found easier. Having his eyes on her made her nervous, but she needed to do this. Bruce had mind-fucked her for too long. She recognized that now, after several conversations with Mitch, Tori, and Mistress Rayanna. It was time to take back her control, but to do that, she needed to willingly give this Dom her submission. If, by the end of their meeting, either of them didn’t think a D/s relationship would work between them, then she’d have to call Mitch and ask him to find another Dom to help her. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good. Let’s start off with an easy question. How long have you been in the lifestyle?”
“Almost three years, Sir.”
“How did you discover it?”
“Through Tori, Sir. She came to visit and accidentally let it slip that she was a submissive. I’d read a lot of fictional books in the lifestyle genre and found it intriguing.”
He frowned. “Those books have their pros and cons. Many submissives finally found the lifestyle does exist, but others who don’t belong in D/s relationships joined clubs because suddenly kink was fashionable. However, after speaking with Mitch, I do believe you fall in the former group. Continue.”
It took a second to remember where she’d left off. “Um . . . oh, so Tori and I discussed it, and she advised me to find a munch so I could talk to other subs and some Doms to see if I was truly a submissive. She also gave me some websites and chatrooms to join. After a munch, I started taking sub classes at Indigo.” Although the club was a public one, all play was closely monitored there. The Dungeon Masters had no issues interrupting scenes if they thought a sub was in danger, mentally or physically. They offered classes in various types of play for both Doms and subs. Tiffany had taken every class available for subs and had honestly thought she’d learned enough and had been cautious enough to weed through the wanna-be Doms and sadists. She’d done a good job up until she’d met Bruce and fallen for his magnetism. However, she now knew that’d all been a farce. One that many domestic violence victims fall victim to.
“Indigo is a good club, despite being a public one. How many Doms did you play with before you met this last one?”
“Before Ma—” She shook her head. “Before I met Bruce, I’d played with six or seven Doms, but I only had sex . . .” Her voice had dropped to a whisper for that one word, since she didn’t want anyone around them to comprehend what she was talking about. Although, no one seemed to be paying any attention to them. “. . . with two of them, and I’d known them for a few months before agreeing to that during negotiations.”
Cordell’s lips had twitched when she’d said, “sex” in a hushed tone, but a full smile hadn’t appeared. He did, however, lower his voice a little when he spoke again. “As for Bruce, Mitch said you were with him for two years, is that correct?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“In a Master/slave relationship?”
Tiffany’s gaze dropped to the table as her cheeks heated in embarrassment. Why, oh, why had she let Bruce talk her into being a slave instead of a submissive? As a slave, she’d handed over all aspects of her life for him to control—what she did, what she wore, what she ate, who her friends were, and so much more. Now she found she was lost without someone making those decisions for her, and she hated it. She wanted her freedom, yet she also wanted a Dom to satisfy her submissive nature. Could she find a Dom who could handle both?
“Pet, eyes on me.” When she met his gaze again, he continued. “I asked you a question. Please answer it.”
“Yes, Sir. It was a Master/slave relationship.”
“Is there a reason you agreed to be a slave?”
Shit, she should have known that question was coming. What should she say? She’d been stupid? She’d fallen for his charm? She’d thought he’d loved her? “I-I don’t know, Sir. The only answer I believe I can give you is I was gullible.”
The Dom tilted his head and stared at her, as if contemplating her answer. The silence stretched a moment, and Tiffany was grateful when a male server stopped at their table with a tray. “Fuji apple salad with chicken?”
Cordell pointed at the empty spot on the table in front of Tiffany. “That’s for the lady.”
“Okay, that means you get steak and arugula sandwich, correct?”
“Yes, thank you.”
After the server left them with their meals, Cordell said, “I hope that was a good choice.” He indicated her salad with a jut of his chin.
Tiffany smiled, relieved they were off the difficult questions, at least for the moment. “Yes, it is. I love all their salads, but this is one of my favorites. Thank you.”
She’d expected him to dig right into his sandwich, but he just sat there waiting. After several seconds ticked by, he said, “Tiffany, rule number one about meals. I will not start eating until the woman I’m with takes her first bite.”
Understanding the prompt, she picked up her fork and speared a piece of apple. “May I ask why?”
His lips twitched again. “Because it’s a gentlemanly thing to do. Now, please start eating because I’m quite hungry.”
Present . . .
Cordell closed the file in front of him and leaned back in his desk chair. Well, between his disability retirement being officially approved and reading the Sawyers’ proposal for the resort, it looked like he was going to be moving to the Florida Keys in about a month. First thing he had to do was contact a realtor friend to list his house on the outskirts of Vegas to rent. It didn’t matter if he didn’t get someone to move in right away, since he was going to be living at the resort for free—one of the perk
s of the manager’s job description. Packing was the second thing he needed to do. Whatever he didn’t have room for down there he’d put into storage in case things didn’t work out with the Master Key Resort. That was also the reason he was not selling the house right away. In law enforcement, he learned to always have a Plan B in case shit went sideways and upside down.
He snorted. Yup, the Sawyers had come up with a great name for the place. The play on words was not only amusing but catchy. They’d even filed paperwork with the state of Florida to have the small, private island officially renamed Master Key.
Since Cordell’s parents were deceased, and his two brothers and a sister lived in other states, there was nothing binding him to Vegas, other than his circle of friends, but they all had their own families. In fact, before being shot, he’d been thinking about where he’d eventually want to retire after his twenty years in the department were up. Florida had been one choice. Arizona the other. The job offer had helped make the decision for him, and he didn’t have a problem with it.
A knock on the open door drew his attention. Tiffany was standing there, wearing nothing but a pink bra and matching thong. His cock twitched as it did every time she responded like this to a summons from him. He tried to convince himself it was the same reaction he’d gotten to any of the other submissives he’d retrained over the past several years, but it wasn’t true. Well, it was partially true. He did have the same reaction to all those other women when they’d worn nothing but underwear in his house, as per his rules. He was a healthy, heterosexual guy in his midthirties. Of course, his cock noticed any woman in sexy lingerie. However, he could honestly say he’d never had a reaction to any of the other submissives when they’d been fully dressed, no matter what they’d been wearing. He had a feeling Tiffany could be wearing a house frock, four sizes too big, and his body would still respond to her the moment she came into view.
Master Key Resort: A Novella Page 3