Enticement (Master Class Book 2)

by Sierra Cartwright

  He raised a hand to halt her.

  “At least half?”

  “I’ve got it.”

  “You didn’t need to.”

  “I sure as hell wasn’t leaving it for you.”

  The band took the stage again and began tuning their instruments, making conversation more difficult.

  “Would you like to go somewhere quieter?” he asked. “A coffee shop? Maybe take a walk in the park? It’s a nice evening.”

  “Are you staying with your parents?”

  “No. I’m at a hotel near Parker and Arapahoe. Not too far from here, and close to Mom and Dad’s.”

  “But not too close,” she said.

  He nodded.

  What had happened that had caused him to leave home? And more, why had he stayed away? Was it his job or something more?

  She told herself it didn’t matter, shouldn’t matter. But she couldn’t tamp down the curiosity. “There’s a Starbucks on Parker Road,” she said, decision made. “I think it’s open for at least another hour.” It would be busy with students and couples on dates, but not too noisy to talk. On the other hand, this conversation might not be one she wanted others overhearing.

  What was she thinking?

  A rational part of her brain urged her to thank him for bailing her out and make an escape. Her heart thundered a warning. Adrenaline swamped her stomach in short, furious waves. All her instincts screamed that he was a man who could—would—devastate her. But sensual longing and sexual need went through her like lightning, obliterating everything else. “I also have coffee at my place.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Uhm, I mean, if you’re interested.”

  His blue eyes flared with intensity and her insides did a flip-flop.

  “Do you want me to follow you there?” he asked.

  “Actually, I could use a ride.”

  “You told Junior you had a car.”

  “I lied.”

  “Was it your wicked plan all along to get me to drive you home?”

  “What if it was, Staff Sergeant?”

  “It worked.” He grinned. “And you can call me Sir.”

  * * * *

  Like everything else, the rental car suited Pierce. It was gloss black, American, all muscle and restrained power. Dozens of images flitted across the movie screen in her mind. Her naked and kneeling. Him undressing her. Her running her fingers over his chest. Him tugging his belt from its loops.

  Ella shifted uncomfortably.

  “Cold?” He looked at her while reaching for the temperature control.

  “I’m fine.” For someone who’s lost her common sense. She was under no illusions. Pierce was suggesting a scene, nothing more. No whispered promises. But on Sunday or Monday, he’d be returning to active duty.

  The only thing he was offering was the one thing she’d promised herself she’d avoid.

  She told him to take a right turn, then he followed the rest of her directions and snaked the rental car through the streets until he reached her home. Fortunately, the unit next door was for sale, which meant she had no neighbors.

  If he made her scream the way she was fantasizing about, that would be a good thing.

  Once he’d parked, he walked around to her side to help her out. Pierce closed his hand around hers firmly, but not too tightly. He held her for a few seconds longer than necessary. The combination of his gentleness and reassurance made her apprehension vanish. She just wished her nervousness would go along with it. The idea of getting naked with a man for the first time, especially one who might be tying her up and spanking her, left her shaky.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Fine.” Her voice was a little high-pitched.

  But after a few seconds, he nodded and let her go.

  Until that moment, she hadn’t realized she’d stopped breathing.

  “Nice place,” he said as they walked up.

  “Thank you. I’m rather proud of it, honestly. It’s close to work and I don’t have to do any of the outside maintenance.” The exterior was a type of stucco, the color of red clay. Cheery blue shutters provided a homey touch that had made her fall in love with it. In a way, the contrast of colors had reminded her of a trip she’d once taken to Santa Fe. To add to the feel, she’d planted lavender in southwestern-style pots on her front porch.

  She flipped on a light when they were inside, and she wondered what it looked like to him, a man who oozed solitary, masculine style.

  The townhouse was two stories, with a wide-open floor plan. The focal point of the first-floor room was a fireplace. The white-painted mantel above it overflowed with framed snapshots. Some were of her with friends, others with her mother. Ella’s absolute favorite—occupying the center spot—was a faded picture of her with her late father. She’d been three, sitting on his shoulders waving a flag at a hometown Fourth of July parade. He’d been smiling, and she’d been giggling. It was the last picture of them together.

  The remaining space was filled with dried flowers in vases and a few vacation souvenirs, including a conch shell she’d hand-carried back from the Caribbean.

  Every time Morgan visited, she complained that the living room was cluttered with too much seating, but Ella liked entertaining and having company. She had blankets and pillows stacked on the sofa and the chairs. And because she liked to read, end tables held books and magazines. Two torch-shaped lamps added atmosphere.

  She had numerous potted plants in every corner and hanging from hooks in the ceilings. Almost all of her artwork highlighted the importance of family and friends, of memories and enjoying the moment. She figured now that he’d seen the inside, there was no way he could doubt how different they were.

  “Nice place. Homey.”

  “It drives your sister crazy. Too much stuff. I’m surprised it doesn’t bother you.”

  “After living in barracks and my spartan apartment, it’s a nice change.”

  Surprising her even more, he moved toward the fireplace to look at her knickknacks and photos.

  “Your mom?” He pointed at a photo.

  “Yeah. She lives in Colorado Springs, but I don’t see her as much as I’d like. She’s too busy with her job, social engagements, volunteer work, that sort of thing.” Ella shrugged. “I have to call her a month in advance to get on her calendar.”

  “Is this your dad?” He picked up the framed snapshot.

  “That was a couple of months before he died in a car wreck.”

  “Sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m not sure people heal from something like that. Of course, we were forced to go on, but it shaped who I am, my view of the world. All of a sudden, I didn’t feel as safe. But it has helped me to focus on what really matters to me.”

  “Relationships.”

  Which was another reason why a one-night stand was so difficult for her. She nodded. “And how precious every moment is. I spend as much time as I can with the people I care about.”

  “Did your mom remarry?”

  “No. She threw herself into taking care of me, making sure I had the same kind of upbringing I would have had if Dad hadn’t died. He left life insurance, but she still worked two jobs to keep the house so I didn’t have to go to a new school. When I went to college, it was as if she’d been reborn. So many men, so little time. Last we talked, she was juggling three.”

  “Three?”

  “Until recently, she was seeing four. But she broke up with the preacher.”

  “She was dating a preacher?”

  “For a short time. It turns out they had different expectations about certain carnal things.” She grinned. “She got tired of him praying for her soul. She thinks it’s just fine, thank you very much.”

  “I like your mother already.”

  “She’s a character. There’s nothing I can’t tell her.”

  He replaced the photo.

  Ella led the way to the kitchen, and he took a seat at
the granite-topped breakfast bar.

  “Can I offer you coffee?” Nerves assailed her. “Or I have beer.” To distract herself, she opened the refrigerator and pretended to survey the contents. “Wine? Soda?”

  “Just the conversation.”

  “Water?”

  “That’d be great. Thanks.”

  She grabbed two bottles, closed the fridge then turned toward him.

  Pierce wore an easy grin, as if he sensed her nervousness. Her hand shook as she slid one across the countertop to him.

  He nodded a thanks and set it aside, unopened.

  She uncapped her bottle and swallowed a long drink. To keep much-needed distance between them, she took a few steps back to prop her hips on the counter next to the fridge.

  “Tell me about your BDSM experience.” His voice was half invitation, half unyielding command.

  He didn’t waste time. She toyed with her bottle as she answered. “The last man I was involved with, Lance, introduced me to it. We went to a few play parties, but it was an occasional, kinky kind of thing. I’d dress in leather when we went to clubs, we’d have scenes when we got home. That sort of thing.”

  Pierce nodded. “So you didn’t live together?”

  “No. He was stationed at Fort Carson, and had his own place with a couple of buddies. He’d come over maybe once during the week, and at least every other weekend.” In retrospect, she realized she should have recognized the warning signs, but she’d been in love. She’d convinced herself he was busy, working hard or in the field on maneuvers. And she’d allowed herself to believe that he’d one day figure out they were meant to be together.

  “Any other relationships?”

  “That included BDSM? No.”

  “You didn’t go back to play parties? Clubs?”

  She shook her head.

  “You told me earlier that you miss it. So why haven’t you looked before now?”

  “Do you have a questionnaire you’d like me to fill out?” Ella demanded.

  “Just curious,” he said easily. “I want to know you.”

  Funny. She quizzed her dates in the same way, probing, wanting to know as many details as possible in the shortest amount of time. She wasn’t sure she liked being the focus of that attention, though. “No. It seemed odd for me to go by myself. The idea made me uncomfortable. I wanted to be with someone who could offer guidance.” She deliberated for a couple of seconds before adding, “I talked to a couple of men online who said they were Doms. But I was never comfortable meeting them. They seemed more interested in hook-ups or exchanging kinky emails and pictures than in having a real relationship.” Ella had nothing to lose by being honest with him. “I only started dating again recently. For obvious reasons, BDSM isn’t something I mention when I first meet a new man.”

  “A real man won’t be scared of your needs. If he is, he’s not worth the investment of your time.”

  He could be right. “I went out with an accountant once,” she said. “I made a joke about spanking…to gauge his interest. He dropped his butter knife on the floor of the restaurant. And then he shushed me.”

  “He—”

  “Told me to shush.” She nodded. “All the dramatics, too. Pressed a finger to his lips, just in case I hadn’t understood the word. And he looked around to be sure no one else had heard me.”

  “I’m guessing you didn’t appreciate that.”

  “As much as I would have enjoyed him throwing his drink in my face. Which is what he did, figuratively. I did learn that the life expectancy of a one-hundred-dollar bill is nine years. That’s always good to know, right?”

  Pierce smiled.

  Despite the sexual tension crawling through her, she’d never enjoyed a man’s company more.

  “That explains why you were talking to Junior.”

  She nodded. “Tonight… I guess he met a client at the Neon Moon. And then when he was leaving, he saw me and recognized me from the country club.”

  “I know you work there.”

  “Morgan has a big mouth.” Ella scowled. “Anyway, yeah. I figured he was safe.”

  “He’s not.”

  “Could you make your dislike any more obvious?”

  “What safe word do you use?” Pierce asked, rather than responding to her question.

  “Stop.”

  “That works for you?”

  She leveled her gaze at him. “I know red is more common, and if it’s the safe word at a party or club, of course I’ll use it. But I’m the type of woman who means stop when she says it.”

  “Respected,” he acknowledged. “And for slow down?”

  “I’ve never needed one,” she admitted. “In fact…”

  With seemingly never-ending patience, he waited.

  Ella appreciated that Pierce made the discussion easy, with no more sexual charge than if they were discussing the weather. It made it possible for her to separate her feelings for him from the details of a potential scene. “I always wanted more.”

  “Did you ask for it?”

  Heat crept up her face again. “Once or twice. But I guess I’m the kind of woman who tries to be grateful for what I get.” Not that it had mattered in the end.

  “What was it you wanted?”

  “Something longer, maybe. A few times, it was over just when I was getting into it. And… There was a woman at one of the parties who talked about subspace. I wasn’t sure whether she was joking or not.”

  “What do you think now?”

  “I looked it up. A lot of people say they’ve achieved it. But I’m not sure I’ve been to the point that I had enough pain to tip me over the edge. I don’t know.” She searched for an explanation and came up empty. “Maybe I haven’t been in a scene that lasted long enough. Or I haven’t been able to empty my mind. Who knows?” She shrugged. “Or I could be lacking something.”

  “I doubt that.” A smile tugged at his lips, and somehow that made him seem even more threatening. “But we could find out.”

  She slid her bottle onto the counter so she wouldn’t drop it.

  “Not that it should be the objective of a scene,” he said. “Your satisfaction should be the goal.”

  “And yours?”

  “Comes from seeing yours.”

  Without planning, the thought on the top of her mind tumbled out. “And sex?”

  “Are you propositioning me?”

  “No!”

  “I was hoping you were.”

  Suddenly, she was wishing she had.

  “It’s up to you,” he told her. “I have no expectations of sex. To me, BDSM is about the scene, the focus, the exquisite manipulation of pain so it becomes raw pleasure.”

  His words made her arousal spike.

  “If you’re agreeable…” He swept his gaze over her, taking his time, lingering.

  Silently he’d reassured her of his meaning. He desired her, and whatever happened was up to her. “I don’t sleep around,” she told him.

  “Neither do I.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “Surprised?”

  “Flabbergasted,” she admitted.

  “One-night stands are awkward. I never know what to say. I hate leaving in the middle of the night. Worse, I don’t want a woman getting out of my bed and finding her way home after dark. Having breakfast together is my preference, but that can lead to more intimacy.”

  She recalled being at a man’s house years ago, and experiencing the same dreaded morning after. No toothbrush, limited makeup, a tight dress from the night before. She’d cooked him eggs and bacon when she’d have preferred granola and tea.

  “I prefer to stick to scenes.”

  All of a sudden, ice went through her. “Do you have a girlfriend? Someone at home?”

  “No. I’d never do that to her. Or to you. I’ve seen too damn much heartbreak to intentionally inflict it on someone else.”

  She raised her hand. “Recipient. Though I suspect Morgan told you that, too.”

  “Wha
t happened?”

  Ella noticed he had neither confirmed nor denied her guess.

  “I believed things were more serious than Lance did.”

  “Was he your Dom?”

  “Yes. And it turns out he had a girlfriend in Killeen.” She might as well get it all out in the open. “I’m embarrassed to admit that I missed obvious signs because I liked him and the play.”

  “Ouch. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I’m wiser now. I’m grateful I found out before I invested any more time or energy into the relationship. That’s my story. And since I’m being so straight with you, I do miss the scenes.” Miss them? Obsessed about them was more like it. Last night, she’d dreamed she was being flogged. The Dom hadn’t been Lance, but more of a compilation of a several men she’d seen at parties. She’d woken up horny, and using her vibrator had only given her temporary relief.

  “What about you?” Ella folded her hands across her chest. “I mean… You have needs, right?”

  “I masturbate.”

  “Lucky hand.”

  “I can show you how I like it done.”

  “Or I could watch.” What the hell was it about him that removed the filter from her mouth?

  “That’s hot,” he said. “Do you have toys that you like to use?”

  She squirmed as things became more serious. “A few.”

  “Show me?”

  “They’re in my bedroom.”

  “You can get them or I can come with you.”

  “I…ah… Let me get them.” She pushed away from the countertop and had to pass him to get to the stairs.

  So fast that she didn’t see him move, he snagged her wrist, stopping her. He turned her to face him.

  “This is a good time to practice,” he said.

  “Practice what?”

  “Proper responses.” His eyes had darkened like they had in the bar when he’d taken her onto the dance floor. The softness that had been there a moment earlier had vanished, ice into vapor. “‘Let me get them, Sir,’ is what I want to hear.”

  Ella gulped for air, once again wondering what the hell she was thinking in agreeing to scene with Pierce. He was nothing like Lance. Pierce seemed much, much more serious in his approach to BDSM. And most other areas of his life, she surmised. Her voice soft and obedient, she repeated, “Let me get them, Sir.”