He was undone.
She looked up at him.
“You will be punished.”
“Yes…”
“For your lack of trust.”
“Yes…”
And then the truth. “For scaring the shit out of me.”
She leaned back on her haunches and spread her legs even farther apart.
“Because of your wound, I won't restrain you,” he said.
“It's healed.”
“You will be tied by my will.”
She was silent.
“Your choice, Mira.” He knew what he was asking from her, and she knew it too. He'd put her in position, and it would be up to her to keep herself there. Being restrained was often easier, because the sub could let go emotionally and physically, surrendering to the pain. He was demanding she be a full participant the entire time.
Without saying another word, she offered him the belt. He took it.
She crawled to the bed and positioned herself, her torso on the mattress, her feet on the floor. She stretched out and crossed her arms at the wrists.
She spread her thighs wide and turned her toes inward, exposing her ass and her pussy to his punishment.
“How many strokes do you deserve?”
“Ten, Master,” she said without hesitation.
His cock tightened. He'd expected an answer of six, maybe eight. But ten would have been his choice.
He landed the first stripe from the leather just beneath her buttocks, across the top of both thighs. She gasped but remained in place.
He placed the second one slightly higher than the first. This time she moaned.
Inexorably he worked up a bit higher with each of the next four stripes.
“Are you counting, Mira?”
“Six?”
“Good girl.” He crisscrossed the next two on the full globes of her rear. “Your ass is beautifully red,” he said.
“Thank you, Master.”
Her hips swayed seductively. He was captivated. It took all his restraint to focus on her punishment instead of taking her and riding her hard.
“Please,” she said, “finish my beating and fuck me.”
How could he resist?
He laid the last two on her already moistened pussy.
She jerked against the pain, but she didn't try to escape his lash. She kept her wrists crossed, her legs parted.
“Turn over,” he said to her. “I want you on your back. I want to look at you as I take you.”
He helped her reposition so she didn't have to put much weight on her injured arm.
“Take me,” she said.
He stroked her pussy, and she was wet. He grabbed a condom from the nightstand and fumbled with opening the package.
Seconds later, he'd sheathed himself in the latex, and his cockhead was poised at her opening.
“Yes,” she whispered.
She was perfect. Submissive yet in charge of what she wanted. She was ideal for him. He knew they'd have disagreements going forward, but he believed her when she said she'd communicate with him in the future. What they shared together was more important than what either of them individually wanted.
He sank into her in a single, possessive stroke.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, inviting him deeper.
He took her as his own.
She reached up and dug her fingers in his hair, holding his head close. “Kiss me,” she demanded.
He did, but he allowed her to set the tone, and her kiss was fierce, as if making up for lost time and simultaneously staking a claim on the future. Fine by him. He met her tongue and returned the kiss with his own intensity.
Sparks ignited when they were together; he liked it that way.
Finally she ended the kiss and closed her eyes
He rode her, filling her, impaling her, imprisoning her. He felt raw and savage in a way he'd never felt before. Her breaths came in frantic pants, and she whispered his name.
“Take it, baby. Come for me.”
She did, shuddering and crying his name, her internal muscles drawing out his climax. His balls tightened, driven by her responsiveness.
His body stiffened as he ejaculated deep inside her.
Her lips were swollen; her eyes glassy. “You're mine,” he said.
“Yeah?” she asked, full of sass.
“Yeah.”
“Prove it.”
He would. Again and again and again. “You sure you know what you're asking for?”
She shuddered, and it was obviously in delight and anticipation. “I”—her smile seemed to tremble—“I think so. I hope so.”
He pulled out of her, grabbed a damp washcloth from the bathroom, and cleaned her up.
He knelt on the floor near the bed and hooked her knees with his arms, positioning her so her legs rested on his shoulders. “Are you sure you know what you're asking for?” he repeated.
“Oh God,” she said with a tiny whimper.
Using moisture from her still-damp pussy, he lubricated two fingers and slowly worked them up into her ass.
She gasped.
“You sure you know what you're asking for?” he asked yet again.
“I…”
He inserted fingers from his other hand into her cunt.
“Torin!”
“Master Torin,” he corrected.
“Master Torin,” she said.
He who'd never wanted a sub, he who'd preferred a different woman every night was now besotted. Completely. Totally. In addition to keeping her, he was planning to collar her publicly at Dark Haven. There'd never again be a question of whom she belonged to. “Still want me to prove it?”
“Yes!”
He fucked her hard in both places, and when she was on the edge, he closed his mouth over her pussy and sucked hard on her clit.
Her heels dug into his shoulders, she thrashed and screamed on the bed.
He didn't settle for wringing one orgasm from her body; he demanded a second and a third. “Still want me to prove it, mo shearc?” he asked when she lay there panting, her head thrashing from side to side.
“You win,” she said, her voice ragged. “I think I've met my match.”
He was going to have a wonderful time showing her they were a perfect match.
~ * ~
Loose Id Titles by Sierra Cartwright
I Heart That City: Double Trouble
The HAWKEYE Series
Danger Zone
Bend Me Over
“Met Her Match (A Hawkeye Story)”
Part of the anthology Doms of Dark Haven
With Belinda McBride and Cherise Sinclair
Sierra Cartwright
Born in Northern England and raised in the Wild West, Sierra Cartwright pens book that are as wild and untamed as the Rockies she calls home.
She's an award-winning, multi-published writer who wrote her first book at age nine and hasn't stopped since. Sierra invites you to share the complex journey of love and desire, of surrender, submission, and commitment.
Her own journey has taught her that trusting takes guts and courage, and her work is a celebration for everyone who is willing to take that risk.
If you'd like to encourage Sierra Cartwright to tell us more, she would love to hear from you. Feel free to email her at [email protected], or check out her website at http://www.sierracartwright.com.
* * *
Educating Evangeline
Belinda McBride
Chapter One
DARK HAVEN.
The sign was small and subtle just over the door of an inconspicuous building. After blocks of running, Eva had merged into a large group of men and women who wore Victorian attire like hers. It didn't look like a private party, so she followed them inside the club, praying she'd find her haven from the hunters who were just blocks away.
The group moved quickly inside, clearly accustomed to the place.
“Do you have a membership?”
She blinke
d, looking down at the cute…and scantily dressed receptionist. Eva cleared her throat. “Uh…no…” The girl's breasts were clearly visible through the Goth-inspired Victorian outfit that she was barely wearing. The girl smiled, and a diamond winked like a brilliant beauty mark over the side of her upper lip.
Gotta love San Francisco.
“That's okay. Is this your first time at Dark Haven?”
Eva nodded, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face with a gloved hand.
“No problem, then. Membership is five dollars, plus tonight's entry fee. Just fill out the paperwork. By the way, my name's Destiny.”
Somehow she doubted that was really the receptionist's name, but heck, her name wasn't her own either. She paid and then scribbled a false name and address on the form, grateful that they weren't checking IDs.
Eva looked around the dark little reception area. The place was clearly a club, most likely a dance club. Music reverberated through the walls. She heard muffled laughter, and the occasional woman's squeal punctuated the air. A bulletin board on the wall held flyers for alternate-lifestyle events in the area. Eva's stomach sank. Was she in a sex club? She looked back at Destiny.
“Restrooms and lockers are to the right. If you have any questions, look for a staff member; the DMs have bandannas on their left arms.”
Eva decided to skip the ladies' room. There was no doubt that the people following her would venture into the club soon enough. She didn't need to get cornered in a toilet. Hesitantly she stepped through the curtains and into the main room of the club.
Immediately she was assailed by the pungent mix of sweat, alcohol, perfume, and sex. Lots of sex. Adrenaline and the bite of fear saturated the air.
Her skin prickled; phantom hackles rose in panic. She blinked, trying to focus on the room and the myriad of possible dangers within. A woman's scream carried faintly from downstairs, and Eva's wolf growled. Blindly she turned to run, to escape. She found herself surrounded by people moving into the club and nearly staggered to the floor. A hand steadied her elbow; another patted her rump. She jumped away, barely hearing their laughter.
Run! The wolf whirled and spun in panic.
Just yards away, a woman was lying prone over a man's lap. Her skirts and petticoats were pulled up, leaving her bottom bare. With a crack, he slapped her ass bare handed. A strangled cry left Eva's throat. Against another wall, a naked man was suspended from chains that dangled from the ceiling. A collar circled his throat, and a complicated ring held his penis upright.
She whimpered.
Bodies in ruffles and frills and frock coats milled around tables. Some danced, and some leaned together in intimate conversation. The civilized behavior was a paper-thin veneer over the raw lust that drenched the atmosphere.
Too much. The sensory overload was too much. She tried to make a run for the door and slammed into a broad expanse of velvet and silk and man and the most wonderful fragrance in the world. He was sandalwood and vanilla and something she couldn't define.
Eva screamed, and her scream was echoed by that of the woman who was being spanked.
She screamed again.
Hands gripped her upper arms, and she began to struggle; her feet were caught up in the long, trailing skirts of her dress. A booted toe connected with a shin.
“Damn! Take it easy, sweetheart!”
“Sorry! Stop! I need to go!” She twisted in his grip.
Strong hands lifted her clear off the floor. “Sweetie, look up at me. Now!”
His voice was deep and compelling, and it cut through her panic. She shook her head, doing her best to bring herself back under control. For a moment—just a moment—she rested her forehead on his chest, inhaling deeply. The yummy scent of the man helped distract her from the surrounding chaos. Eva's entire body reacted to that fragrance. To her great humiliation, she was growing aroused and wet. She blinked hard and looked up into his face. His beautiful face.
“Now that I have your attention, can I help you?” His nostrils flared. He leaned a bit closer, his face coming dangerously close to her throat. She whined in panic. And then she bared her throat in surrender.
What the fuck did she do that for?
“You're scared witless. Follow me.” He lowered her to the ground and turned away, clearly expecting to be obeyed.
On trembling legs, Eva followed the stranger until they reached a little room that opened into one of the walls. As soon as the door closed, the music muted, and the scents faded to a tolerable level. She panted, fighting down the panic that still played at the edges of her consciousness. Gazing around, she gulped. The room was the exact duplicate of a police interrogation room.
She knew; she'd seen the inside of those a time or two.
“This is a bondage club.” He looked serious, but she could see he was stifling a smile. It was there in a dimple that flashed in his cheek.
“Thank you. I think I just figured that out,” she said wryly. Good God. Of all the doors she could have ducked into, she'd chosen a bondage club's.
The man gave her space, taking a seat on a battered table that dominated the center of the room. She couldn't miss the chains and shackles that were conveniently anchored to the floor.
“It's all for play here. Adult play, but still, everyone's here because they want to be.”
Eva bit her lip and glanced away from him. He was tall. Of course, everyone was tall compared to Eva, but this man would be tall next to most people. His wide shoulders were clad in a precisely tailored Victorian suit in dark coffee brown. His lush, wavy hair was the same color. A waistcoat of gold and green brocade winked out at her. The colors of the waistcoat matched his hazel eyes. He was handsome enough to immediately put her defenses up. His cheekbones were sculpted; his nose, straight and slender. His lips were just short of being full and were beautifully shaped.
In Eva's experience, the pretty men were usually pretty damn worthless.
But the way he smelled…
“I know what the club is all about. I don't have a problem with what goes on here.” Eva had plenty of knowledge about the scene; it was the surroundings that gave her problems. The place crushed the breath from her body. She shivered in delayed reaction. She wasn't shivering because of the presence of this much-too-handsome man. Hell, maybe she was.
“Why don't you tell me what you're doing here at Dark Haven? You're dressed for tonight's theme. Did someone pull a prank on you?”
She faltered, glancing away. How to explain her situation? She opted for the truth. He probably wouldn't believe it anyway.
“I was being followed. They were waiting for me outside where I work. I saw some people coming in here, so I followed them.”
His casual posture suddenly looked alert. “Followed? Who was following you?”
He didn't ask why. There were many reasons a woman would be followed in the city, and none of them were good.
“I don't know. Some men. Maybe three. I managed to shake them for a few minutes.”
She gathered her courage, deciding to trust him.
“One was following me by scent.”
“Shit.” He'd gone white. “Abraxas is in San Francisco.”
“I didn't know that's what they're called. But I thought I'd lost them a few years ago. I thought I was safe here.” Tears prickled her eyes, but she would not have welcomed his comfort. He was too strange, too male. She breathed deeply, calling up her female pride.
“Now I've led them to you.”
“You've led them to my pack. Several of us are here tonight. Patrice wanted to come for the Dickens thing.” He looked at her speculatively. “They won't be looking for us, so their tracker won't fixate on anything but you.”
Eva took a breath. “I should go, then. I know this city. I can lose them down in Chinatown.”
“No, we can hide you here. Right under their noses.” His eyes took on an eerie glow. Immediately Eva stifled an impulse to retreat. As a general rule, she never let others decide her actions or dict
ate to her. But this man was an alpha; her wolf could sense it. He'd switched from Good Samaritan to predator right before her eyes. She'd rarely encountered other shifters in her life, and she'd never met an alpha before. He was a complication she didn't need right now.
“How?” She swallowed. Her voice was just a whisper. He was examining her, his bright gaze lingering on her stocking-clad legs and then moving up her body. She should take offense at his rude behavior. Instead she felt wobbly—weak.
“Remove the cloak.”
She raised her chin at the command. He held her gaze, backing her down, and she looked away.
Eva reached up and untied the bow at her throat. The heavy velvet cloak slipped to the floor and puddled around her feet in a crimson pool. She stood impatiently as he evaluated her.
“There. If they get a look at you now, they won't recognize you at all.” His gaze now wandered her figure. “Corsets are generally worn under the dress.” He was hiding his smile again, and that seductive fragrance filled the air. Eva shifted, mortified at the arousal that pulled low at her belly. She'd never reacted to a man before—not like this.
“I worked at a corset booth at the Dickens Faire today. This is how we display the merchandise. The corsets…” Eva trailed off; her voice was thick and husky. When she peeked up at the alpha, he was staring at her with frightening intensity. She didn't glance down, aware of how the snug lingerie pushed up her ample breasts so that they strained against the pink silk of her blouse. Her deep purple skirts flared out from beneath the lacy pink edge of the corset. Her stockings were held up by frilly lace garter belts that attached to the corset. Her clothing had seemed fun and silly when she'd put it on. Now she wanted to strip, to bare her skin for the alpha.
He straightened, approached her, and then walked slowly around her in a circle. He reached out and stroked a strand of hair that curled next to her cheek.
She growled at his presumption. He ignored her anger.
“It's your scent that's going to be the problem. And there's one obvious solution to that tonight.” He came to a halt in front of her, just inches away. Eva had to look up to see his face.
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