Owned [Club Pleasure 6] (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Allyson Young

  “You’re okay with that?”

  As he checked his mirrors to back out of the parking space, he spoke. “Not okay. I want things to happen quicker. But you need time. Your work is important to you, and I respect it. But I won’t go long without seeing you.”

  Susan discovered just how much she appreciated his sentiment when her heart gave a little lurch to match the quiver in her belly. She addressed his profile, strong and chiseled against the lights of oncoming traffic. “I don’t have any spare time, Maurice. I work—”

  “I know, sweetheart. But I’ll take you to your day job, and pick you up and drive you to that bar.” His tone was matter-of-fact, but she heard the…disapproval? No, he’d said he respected her working. Or was it regarding the fact she needed time? “You don’t sound thrilled with my evening job.”

  “I’m not. I don’t want my woman working in a bar.”

  “I’m in the office, Maurice, paperwork, stuff like that, remember? I don’t serve drinks or bartend. I wouldn’t do well at it.” And I’m not sure I’m your woman. But I’m thinking I might want to be.

  Even in the mismatched lighting she saw him relax, broad shoulders lowering. He was protective. Possessive maybe. It felt amazing to have someone that concerned for her, but her independent side called out a warning. Too much, too fast. This man wanted to direct her whole life. And then she remembered his contention he was going to be her personal taxi service.

  “I appreciate the offer, but I take public transit and know the schedules—”

  He cut her off again, not so much talking over her, but with quiet insistence. “I want to be able to see you, Susan. Spend a little time with you, and with your schedule and mine, it seems to be the only way to do it. And you’re tired, worn out. I’ll be pleased to drive you over the next while.”

  And then what? It was all going too fast. What if she found BDSM was for her? And then didn’t measure up? What if she fell in love with him and he broke her heart? Sucking in a deep breath through her nose, she told him the first part, about feeling rushed.

  “Christ. I know. I’m a pushy bastard. Okay. How’s this? You troll those sites tonight if you aren’t too weary. I’ll come by in the morning and take you out for breakfast and to work. The bus would take an hour, right? If you took it? The time you’ll save will give us the opportunity to eat and…talk. Then we can decide about when to pick you up for the evening job and work out the following days.”

  She couldn’t see that he’d changed his proposal any, but she knew he was trying to clarify things and have them make sense to her. And she had nothing else in her life. Which makes you more vulnerable. Ignoring her inner voice, she decided. “Okay. I have to be at the shop by ten. What time?”

  “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  They turned onto her street. Their street. How strange she lived so close to this man and had never seen him in the neighborhood. But then aside from the guy who mowed her lawn, she hardly saw any of the people living right around her. Her mom had known them all, and Susan had met a number of them, but the hectic pace of her recent life circumvented any real connection. There wasn’t time. Yet Maurice had ferreted out a couple of hours to spend with her. She felt her lips curve up in another smile.

  Once again he escorted her to the back door and into her home, checking to make sure all was well before jotting the links to several websites down on her grocery pad. Then he took her head between his big hands and leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on her mouth. She sensed his restraint and wondered about testing it before ruthlessly stomping on her own rising passion. Too fast.

  “Don’t stay up too late surfing. Get a sense, some insight, and we’ll discuss it tomorrow, okay?” He ran a finger down her cheek and over her collarbone. She shivered and watched as his eyes turned that melted chocolate color.

  “What if it’s not for me? What if it turns me off?”

  “I’m betting it won’t, Susan. I feel that about you too strongly.” She bit back her gasp, because she wasn’t affronted. Nope, she was thinking he was right as she remembered a certain erotic romance that had sparked her libido. Erotic spankings and binding…

  The door closed on his broad form, and she hurriedly shot the bolts, knowing he was standing on the rickety steps, waiting to hear the sound of the locks. Pressing her cheek against the worn, wooden panels, she listened to his departing steps, her ear rubbing against the door. She wished he hadn’t left, and then chastised herself. If Maurice could manage, after clearly stating his need and intentions, so could she.

  Putting the kettle on, she sorted out the makings for some Earl Grey tea, eschewing the honey in consideration of the sweetness of the brew. She left it to boil while she went and powered up her old laptop, and tapped in the first of the sites Maurice had recommended. The visual on the home page made her eyes pop, and she wondered if she really wanted to delve into the other labeled pages. Anticipating nothing more than porn, she read along the toolbar. Scenes. Restraints. Bondage. Roles. Aids. Furniture. Furniture?

  Shivering, she studied the woman depicted, clad in some kind of bodice and a scrap of a skirt, head thrown back with her hair streaming over her shoulders and down her back, eyes closed and lips parted in apparent ecstasy. Only then did she register the large dark figure looming over the woman, muscled chest gleaming with oil or sweat, leather pants stretched tautly over corded thighs and molding an impressive package. His gaze was absolutely focused on the woman kneeling before him, and the intensity of the scene made Susan’s heart hammer and pulse her blood hotly throughout her body. Maurice looked at her like that. In public. Without anything close to the environs on the screen. Holy shit.

  As she eased the curser over to the bondage section, the shriek of the kettle yanked her back to her perch on the uncomfortable wooden chair, her body bowed like a comma over the keyboard. She scrambled to her feet and went to make the tea, wondering how Earl Grey might taste with a splash of whiskey. Not an issue because there wasn’t a drop of spirits in the house.

  Sipping at the beverage, she approached her laptop like it might bite her, until the duo filled her vision again. She could imagine herself in that position. Settling back on the chair, she began to load each page, scrolling through the items depicted, each with a comprehensive explanation of their use. It was partly about sex. Sex and pleasure. But more about roles. Submissive. Dominant. Switch. And a few other titles that totally disinterested her. Aside from the home page, it was fairly clinical and allowed her to process what she came to understand were essentially props. The relationship was clearly central, coupled with total communication. No holding back. Maurice had known exactly what he was doing when he’d suggested this particular site.

  Paying only cursory attention to the other links, she drank an additional two cups of tea, the first one having grown cold. Already she had a confirmed sense of where Maurice was headed. He wanted to choose for her, even insofar as everyday things went, determining what really mattered to her then doing his best to provide it. It was overwhelming.

  The quote that resonated kept repeating within her brain until she shook her head against it. Being brought to one’s knees by one’s Dom would force one to consider things—things never even dreamed of—and look deep inside to the very center of one’s vulnerability. As much of a neophyte as she was, Susan knew that depth of intimacy couldn’t be forced or faked. Did she want that? Did she? Would it make her a happy, contented person?

  Shutting down her computer on autopilot, flicking the lights off, she made her way to her bedroom. Undressing mechanically, she crawled into bed without bothering to don any night apparel. As she lay there, curled up on her side, staring into the dark, her innate intelligence surged. All Maurice’s suggestions, no, his insistence that they were fated to be together aside, Susan recognized she was ripe for this type of relationship. She was worn down to the nub, all of her former life stripped away, no money, no place in the high-powered finance world any longer, and surprisingly, absolutely
no interest in returning to it. Oh, enough money would be nice, but she was getting there, slowly but surely, paying off all the debt. It had given her a keen appreciation for the slower, smaller things in life, previously contaminated by her father and his rejection of his first family.

  So, her former interest in life was pretty much depleted, and she was in a space where she might consider being taken care of, focusing only on pleasing…her Dom. Like starting out again, fresh. It was an intriguing thought and one she’d explore tomorrow. Over breakfast.

  Chapter Three

  “Cheese omelet? And fruit. Tea with honey.” Maurice watched her closely as he designated the breakfast decision. It very nearly made her smile, but it was exactly what she would have chosen for herself, although she might have deferred the toast. She could afford the extra calories for now.

  He’d been right on time picking her up, no surprise, and if his forehead wrinkled when he took in her voluminous smock, he didn’t comment. Once again, he didn’t challenge what was necessary, although his eyes lingered on the fabric covering her breasts. They tingled and swelled in response, prompting her to head for the door. She wanted to talk with him, someplace where they weren’t closeted alone together.

  Inquiring about her well-being, telling her where they were headed for breakfast, Maurice filled the slightly awkward silence during the drive to the restaurant where he seated her in a booth and took his place across from her. She was grateful for the table between them, even as she perversely wanted to sit beside him.

  “You’re pensive.” His quiet observation reminded her of the need to have a discussion.

  “I suppose I am,” she admitted. “I looked at those sites you recommended.”

  He sat quietly, brown eyes fixed on her face, waiting for her to expound. His dark hair, so dark it was nearly black, was still damp from a shower, and a nerve ticked faintly in his cleanly shaven jaw. Maurice might present as calm, but she sensed he was highly anxious, concerned that she was going to reject his suit.

  “I found the entire premise intriguing. I’ve read some romances with the theme, although that site…it’s a little more…defined than those.” She went on to share the thoughts and conclusions she had come to while lying in the dark.

  “I’d like to take you to Club Pleasure. Introduce you to my…colleagues. Show you things.” He spoke quietly, and she suspected she might never hear such diffidence again if she accepted, and she definitely didn’t miss his reference to his colleagues. Didn’t he have any friends?

  “I’ll talk to Ray tonight. Find an evening. If that works.”

  “I’ll make it work, Susan.” The thrum of well-concealed relief…and what she understood to be throttled back glee, colored his tone, and she gave him her best smile, reveling in the way his own face lightened as he returned it.

  Without the softening of a smile, his features were bold, hewed as if by a chisel out of unforgiving stone, yet she wasn’t intimidated or put off. Instead, she sought to read him, searching out what signaled his gentle, compassionate side, for she’d experienced it while weeping in his arms. She wondered if his tats stopped above his biceps or if they decorated any other part of his body. Lost in her observations and speculation, the server’s appearance with their meals startled her.

  As soon as the woman departed, Maurice spoke. “What were you thinking?”

  Normally disinclined to share her thoughts, Susan spoke up. “Trying to read you, Maurice. And checking out your tats.”

  Swallowing a mouthful of egg, he replied, “I applaud the former. And the mystery of my tats will be solved shortly. Do you have any tattoos? Piercings?”

  “Hah. Not likely. I had my ears pierced, and that was enough.”

  “So you have no need for, say, a piercing that might enhance your sexual pleasure? Or a tat proclaiming you as mine?”

  Crumbling a piece of toast, she considered. “I’m not into pain.” She shifted in her seat as she recalled one particular picture on her laptop.

  “Susan?” The man missed nothing. She squeezed her thighs together.

  “The spankings? Not the ones on the furniture. The over-the-knee swats.” She covertly looked around, but none of the other diners appeared to be listening and she realized Maurice had chosen a booth where the likelihood of being overheard was minimal. “Those didn’t look like they really hurt. At least the woman’s face expressed differently.”

  “You’ve probably heard the expression about there being a fine line between pleasure and pain. I subscribe to that old adage. Pain should be inflicted with great care, quite deliberately. Both to punish and augment sexual pleasure.”

  The coffee went down the wrong way, and she sputtered. Maurice was up out of his seat and beside her in a heartbeat, offering her a napkin and urging her to breathe. Only when the paroxysms subsided did he return to face her again.

  “Punish?” The word escaped on a breathless squeak.

  “I’m a hard Dom, Susan. I don’t tolerate any breach of protocol, the rules we’ll put in place.”

  “We’ll put in place?” Somehow she doubted he meant that.

  “I’ll put them in place, sweetheart,” he conceded, “but no fear. They’ll be rules you can live with, even if you’ll break them sometimes.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “No one is perfect, and there will be occasions when you’ll choose to challenge them. And me. And you’ll be punished. Other times you’ll break them when I push you and you resist, don’t trust me.”

  Instead of reacting negatively, all the erogenous areas of her body awoke, and she looked down at the table, trying to shield her thoughts. Her pussy literally throbbed.

  “Susan.”

  Her eyes immediately lifted to meet his, and the flare of heat and interest she saw dismissed all vestigial interest in her food.

  “You can trust me to make the decision, the choice.” A quiet, solemn statement with a hint of satisfaction.

  She did. Holy shit. It was like being seduced with mere words. It was seduction.

  “Finish your breakfast.” He slid out of the booth, reaching for the bill, and didn’t bother to hide a very evident erection. Her mouth dried up, and she blindly reached for her glass of water. Food was the last thing on her mind, but she swallowed a few more pieces of fruit, and a bite of toast before he came back from the till, walking a little less stiffly now.

  Surveying her plate, he nodded, and it absurdly pleased her, because she’d pleased him. He was seeing to her welfare. She took his outstretched hand and thrilled at his easy strength as he helped her up and walked her out to the truck. They made the drive to Felicity’s shop in near silence, broken only when she gave him the address. Susan was working hard at managing her arousal and awareness, and she suspected Maurice was in the same boat as they pulled up in front of the florist shop, finding a spot to park.

  “Can you just drop me?”

  Throwing the shifter into Park, Maurice raised a brow.

  “I need a little time before I introduce you to my boss.” And to Missy. The sexy little blonde was everything Susan wasn’t, and her lack of confidence surged. It served to underscore her rapidly developing attachment to this man and how vulnerable that made her.

  Something flickered in Maurice’s eyes, and she forgot about Missy. He thought she was ashamed of him. Impulsively, she reached out and caught his hand and the way his big fingers curled around her own helped her share.

  “Felicity will make me crazy, speculating about you and me, until I can talk with her. It’s too soon. Too…special.” She nearly whispered the final word, and Maurice’s other hand tucked beneath her chin to tip up her head. He stared right inside her.

  “Got it. It’s okay, sweetheart, although there’s a face in the window.”

  Squirming away to look, she winced. Crap. “That’s Missy, and the other reason I didn’t want you to come in right now. Until…until I feel more secure.”

  “Look at me.”

  She faced him
so quickly, responding to that dark tone, that her neck cricked.

  “You are it, Susan. Mine. No other woman has my interest or my attention.”

  He didn’t add the tag line she expected, the “for as long as we’re together,” or, “for as long as this lasts.” And there was, quite suddenly, no doubt. She was well aware that relationships failed, any kind of relationships, but Maurice wasn’t hedging his bets. He believed in this, like for forever, and would not be deterred. She decided to put her hand in his and her faith in him, and follow. He might have no idea how momentous that decision was, placing her trust in another, especially a man, but her mom’s precipitous demise had taught Susan something. If one didn’t live in the moment, there might not be a later time to do the things set aside.

  “Okay.”

  One simple word, acquiescence, and his entire demeanor changed, making her breathless. Leaning forward, awkwardly avoiding the console, she rested her lips against his, knowing he allowed it, considering his dominance and what she’d found out by perusing those sites. His sensuous lips returned the caress, and then he pulled back to exit the truck and make his way around to open her door.

  “I’ll be back at six.”

  “I might be a few minutes late.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Impulsively, she said, “Come just before. I’ll introduce you to Felicity. And Missy. Give me the day to absorb this.”

  “I will.”

  She backed away and turned into the entrance of the shop, ducking her head as she did so. It felt vaguely feudal but not at all awkward. She had no reason not to defer to him. She knew he wouldn’t abuse it, and if that meant burning her feminist card, then so be it.

  Missy bounced her way, eyes sparkling and obviously brimming with interest and a number of questions Susan was going to buffer and deflect. She drew the younger woman along with her to where Felicity spoke angrily into the phone. Something about delayed orders. The older woman gave her an inquiring glance, and Susan made a thumbs-up, then continued into the back to start unpacking the fresh flowers.