by Maren Smith
Nodding, she bowed her head and looked at her hands. She felt miserable for disappointing him and now he was going away with hard feelings between them.
"Can't you punish me now, Sir? I don't want us to part this way." Her voice quivered, her emotions in upheaval; foremost was guilt. "Please, Eric. Don't go this way." The last word slipped out with a shuddering breath and she blinked rapidly to keep the tears from falling. She didn't want to manipulate him with her blubbering… Ha, as if she could.
Silence followed her plea. What was he waiting for? Looking up quickly, she saw him standing in profile rubbing his face, his large hand sweeping around to squeeze the back of his neck, a sure sign of his frustration.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. I know you have to go," she said softly. "Will you call me when you get back?
He turned towards her then, his eyes blazing with such emotion she took an involuntary step back.
"No, do not back away from me." He slowly approached her and she waited as he expected. "Bend over the back of the couch."
Shocked, she complied without hesitation.
"I am trying to remember how new this all is for you. After a week, you are still a mere babe in the woods."
He stepped up behind and lifted her dress in back. Leaning over her, he used his chest to press her forward until she was forced to catch herself with her hands on the cushions.
"This is what I mean when I tell you to bend over." His voice was a seductive growl in her ear as his big body covered and enveloped her. She ached in response. He spread her legs, his booted feet nudging hers wide apart. Her bare cheeks and pussy lips separated as he aligned their hips. He ground his hips into her, allowing her to feel every inch of his hard length pressing against her softness. Then he stood, the loss of his support making her teeter unsteadily, her toes straining to maintain contact with the floor as she balanced over the high-backed couch.
Eric's hand came down upon her lower back, keeping her in place. His other hand delivered a smarting swat a second later. It was followed by another on her other cheek. Like a clock striking twelve, the sound of his hand spanking her echoed resoundingly through the room, until a dozen hard stinging slaps had been applied to her bottom and upper thighs.
"You asked something of me, Valerie. I have given it to you. In return, I ask this…" Her breath caught in her throat as his warm hand stroked her heated skin, soothing the sting; the heat of a dozen blows merging into a fiery ache beneath his hand. "While we are apart, consider what a D/s relationship with me entails. I will expect you to trust me and yield to my guidance. I shall expect you to obey me and submit to my dominance."
Bending his head, he pressed a brief kiss against her mouth. He slid his lips along her cheek until he reached her ear and latched on. Nipping the lobe gently between his teeth, he delivered one final message. "Think it over carefully, because the next time you decide on willful disobedience, I shall not be so pleasant." Then he was gone.
She didn't know how long she lay there, the burn in her bottom surrounding her as surely as his body had just moments ago. A knock at the door finally prompted her to move. Pulling her dress down in back, she hissed as the clinging material abraded her tender skin.
The knock came again. "Miss Thornton?"
Hurrying to the door, she opened it to find Samson leaning against the frame, her white T-strap four-inch heels dangling from his broad fingers. "Your Master asked that I see you to your car. He wanted to make sure you didn't wander anywhere you didn't belong, this time."
Nodding, she relieved him of her heels and went to gather her things. She had to sit to buckle the strap around her ankle, and hissed as her tender ass met the plush couch, her thin dress providing no protection.
As she prepared to leave, Samson's deep voice delivered words of caution. "Eric can be daunting, but he's a good man. You are the first woman he's considered making a go of things with for as long as I've known him. That's more than twenty years. So if you're not in this for real, for the long haul, do us all a favor and cut him loose."
Her shoes buckled, she walked toward him. Even with four additional inches her heels gave her, she still found him an intimidating figure, but she looked up, meeting his gaze with determination. "I'm in it for real and the long haul, Samson. I don't plan on letting him down again."
Samson laughed. "That's impossible. You subs are a mischievous lot, by nature. Just remember, he is the boss man here and your behavior reflects upon him. When you screw up, you diminish him in the eyes of the members. My advice, don't do that again."
"The hierarchy!" she whispered as realization dawned.
"You understand," he said with relief. "There is hope for the rest of us after all. Eric is hell on wheels when he's pissed."
"You're telling me?" Her query was accompanied by the rubbing of her sore bottom as she walked next to him.
"Sorry, Val, I guess I don't have to tell you, after all."
Chapter Seven
The next morning started with an eight o'clock appointment. Afterward, Val worked on insurance claims until her next client arrived at one. Her stomach was a jumble of nerves and she hadn't been able to eat her lunch, worried that she had screwed up the most promising and exciting relationship in her life. Val checked her messages a million times—still no word from Eric. By the end of the day, she was feeling hopeless, certain she'd pushed him too far. The walk to her mailbox wasn't much of a distraction, but the envelope bearing her son's return address did. It was a Valentine's card. Reading it, she found it bittersweet. Every year since he was old enough to draw, he'd made or sent her a card. Over the years, crayon had turned to pencil, which graduated to ink, but it always touched her heart. Thinking about spending another Valentine's Day alone, instead of sharing candy hearts with her kids or being with Eric as she'd hoped, was disheartening. She supposed she'd spend it with her old friends—Ben and Jerry—diving into a pint—better make that two pints—of Chunky Monkey, every lonely girl's best friend.
As she headed back inside, she saw a package at her front door. She never used that entrance and wondered how long it had been there. It appeared to have been sent via courier, the label coming from the same boutique where Julie had taken her to shop. Unable to wait, she ripped into it. Folding back the tissue paper, she found a delicate white lace nightie. Searching for a card, she found it tucked inside the matching lace G-string. Opening the card, she read:
Valerie,
It appears that I will be tied up with business all weekend. That will give you plenty of time to consider my request. I hope to see you on Monday at 9 o'clock sharp with the right decision made. It is the 1st Annual Valentine's Pajama Party. I can't wait to see you in white lace. Remember my new dungeon rule.
E
Sighing with relief, she said a prayer of thanks that she hadn't spoiled everything. She didn't need plenty of time to make up her mind. She wanted sexy, handsome, confident, dominant Eric Dupree and to quote the sexy Dom, 'all that a D/s relationship with him entailed.' Eyeing the delicate sheer lace, she figured she could take the 72 hours to wrap her brain around being virtually naked at her first club party. Smiling, almost giddy with glee, she did a little happy dance providing Mrs. Gleason next door much needed entertainment, before she rushed inside to try on her nightie.
* * * * *
Eric cursed the time as he rushed into Rossi headquarters. They had a high profile case that had been escalating in the past few days and today, it had imploded. Keiran, the Rossi branch manager here in LA, had called in reinforcements when the actor they had been hired to protect had come up missing. He had been receiving hate mail and death threats for several weeks, ever since his character had killed off the lead actress on a popular cable drama. The show had developed a cult following with devoted fanatics who, in Eric's opinion, took TV too seriously and needed to get a life.
For three days, they had been providing round the clock security in the celebrity's home. Plus, they had the challenge of keeping him s
afe on a Hollywood sound stage. Although it was a closed set, it was far from secure. When he'd turned up missing yesterday, after filming had wrapped for a few weeks and just days before the start of the new season, Eric had gotten suspicious. It was just too convenient. There was no evidence of a break-in at his Malibu home, or signs of violence or kidnapping on set. The local police were busy searching for evidence at both places, but Eric felt sure they'd come up empty.
With a finance background, he always turned to the best source of evidence, the money trail. He pulled out his phone and called the home office to talk to the best computer man he knew, Jonas Mitchell to be precise. Although located in San Antonio, Jonas was doing double duty until they found their own tech man in LA. Tony, the CEO and company's namesake, had been out several times and had flown in candidates, but they'd been unable to find a good fit yet.
"Mitchell here."
"It's Dupree, you got a few minutes?"
"Sure man, what you got?"
He explained the situation and asked Jonas to run a check on credit cards and all banking activity for their client in the past two weeks.
"Easy enough, it should only take thirty minutes at the most. This is entry-level stuff. Are you guys any closer to finding your own computer man?"
"Not that I know of, but with The Club and overseeing finances, I'm usually not involved until second call backs when hiring is imminent. Not having an IT expert hinders some of our investigations. It's all about the money out here."
"Hmm… Same here, except adding the cartel situation makes it all about the money and drugs in San Antone, anymore."
"My home town, a drug haven… That's shit man."
"We're working on it. In the meantime, Lil T should be able to help you dig out. Cap sent him up your way to help out for a while."
"T knows computers?" Hell, of all the people for Cap to send, T was his last choice.
"He doesn't have my skills, but then few do."
"That's what I like about you, Jonas, your humility."
He laughed good-naturedly. "I'll get this Intel to you in a few."
"Thanks, Jonas."
"No thanks needed, I'm just doing my job."
Jonas had all the information to him in less than fifteen minutes, including a bank statement confirming their client had made a $20,000 cash withdrawal two weeks ago. His credit card activity revealed that the lying S.O.B. had checked into the Four Seasons-Santa Monica the day before. Eric had no doubt that he'd been lounging on the beach while half the police force and all of Rossi were out looking for him.
He dialed Kieran's number next, noting the time. Damn—seven o'clock already—he had just enough time to get to Santa Monica, drag the pipsqueak from his cozy suite and deliver him to the police, doing his best to get back in time to meet Valerie at nine. After making a few more calls, he headed out.
While driving toward the coast, he replayed Thursday night's drama in his mind. He'd calmed down considerably since leaving her that night, the spanking helping to ease his anger, but not his disappointment. Samson and Thomas had talked him down, reminding him she was a newbie and newbies fucked up.
"That's half the fun, my man," Samson had reminded him.
Thomas's recommendation was: "Spank her ass and make damn sure she knows not to do it again."
They were right. He was going to wrap it up fast and get back to her. Even though he had the upper hand right now, submissive or not, a woman in a new relationship would only tolerate so many cancellations and broken dates. To do that to her on Valentine's Day might just be unforgiveable. He didn't plan to disappoint her again.
Chapter Eight
By the end of her workday, Val's excitement had reached a fever pitch. After her last client, she'd considerable time prepping for the evening ahead. Eric had sent explicit instructions on the back of the card included with her lingerie—hair down and loose, shave everything closely, and absolutely no alcohol-based products: no hairsprays, gels, or perfumes. He'd emphasized this last order by underscoring the word 'absolutely' several times.
Item number three made Val nervous. The word flammable came to mind when thinking of what all the items had in common. Master T had told her Eric liked edge play. Could he have something like that planned for tonight? She'd spent a lot of time reading online over the weekend and had come across fire play and a thing called cupping. She trusted him to know what he was doing, but fire! Holy cow! She found nothing sexy or erotic about that. Careful, Val, she warned herself, you didn't think a whipping on the ass would be all that and a bag of chips either, but look at you now.
Arriving ten minutes early, she signed in and checked her coat. Julie was working up front, helping the regular receptionist on a busy night. When she saw Val's outfit, she gave a loud wolf whistle, making her new friend blush.
"You look smokin' hot, honey. I knew that would look perfect on you."
Val looked at her with dismay. "I thought Eric had picked it out."
"Oh honey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. Master Eric did pick it out. I was just the errand girl. He described what he wanted; short, lacey and classy were his requirements. I went back to the boutique and sent him pictures on my phone until he found what he wanted. I think he has excellent taste. You look amazing."
Val smoothed down the apron style nightie. It was sweet in the front and sassy in back. The low-cut top cupped her full breasts, giving them just enough support. The lace was sheer and she knew the shadow of her nipples was visible to anyone who looked closely. She had no doubt that would be happening a lot tonight. The lace clung to her flat belly, flaring out low on her hips in a ruffled skirt that ended at mid-thigh. Her back was practically bare except for the ties from her halter-top. The matching thigh-high stockings covered her legs except for about an inch around her upper thigh. Although they stood up by themselves, she had attached the lacy top to the garters on her skirt. Scrutinizing herself closely in her mirror at home had told her she looked good, but she was still self-conscious.
"It's more revealing than anything I've ever worn before."
"That's because you forgot to wear panties," Alicia, the regular receptionist, said with a catty little sneer.
"Don't mind her. She's just pissed that Master Eric didn't choose her." Julie's eyes met the other girl's and she warned, "You better curb that attitude, Alicia. If Master E gets wind of it, your ass will be out on Beverly Boulevard faster than you can say jealous bitch."
The other girl paled, knowing that was an accurate scenario, and turned to help the next guest.
Val was shocked at the vehement defense by her friend. "Are you sure you're a submissive? Because that wasn't just assertive, it was out and out aggressive."
"I'm a sub, honey, but that's not a synonym for doormat. Besides, one of the sub traits is caretaking of others. Consider yourself taken care of."
They laughed and hugged briefly.
"I better go. I've only got three minutes. Wish me luck, Jules."
"In that outfit, honey, you don't need it."
She waved at her and turned to enter through the nickel-plated double doors. Once inside she looked around for Eric. Taller than most men, she thought he'd be easy to spot, but the lounge was packed. The noise from the chattering crowd and live band was close to deafening. There were hearts and cupids everywhere as well as red, pink and white streamers. Each table was adorned with a bouquet of red roses. Champagne flowed, couples danced and the setting was bursting with romance.
She pushed through the crowd, wending her way toward the bar where she saw Samson and Tara both working. Before she'd gone another foot, someone touched her shoulder. Thinking it was Eric, she turned with an eager grin. She stopped short when she saw a dark-haired gentleman, dressed in black lounge pants and nothing else. He looked vaguely familiar.
"I've been watching for you for a week," he said with a kind smile.
Puzzled, Val pulled away from his clinging hand. "I'm sorry, do I know you?" She had to shout to be he
ard.
"I've had my eye on you since your internship at my office. It wasn't the appropriate time, but now that you're in private practice, I decided to take a shot. I hope I wasn't too forward with the invitation.
"It was you!" At the same time, she placed him. "Dr. Colby, oh my goodness!" Her hands flew to her mouth, dismayed to run into someone she knew.
"Don't worry sweetheart. Remember the confidentiality clause? Everyone here has signed one. Not to mention they're all rich. If they break it, it'll cost them. They wouldn't dare."
"That's true. Still, it's weird to see someone in their pajamas when you usually see them in a suit and tie."
"You look stunning in your sexy PJs."
"Thank you, but I'm terribly sorry, I'm with someone else."
"I should have known someone would scoop you up. What happened to you that first night? I waited."
"I actually met someone before I even got through the door." She frowned momentarily, thinking that made her sound kind of slutty. "It was purely by chance. He was a nice man, one of the owners here, and took me under his wing. I was a little nervous coming here all alone the first time."
"Me too. I've only been a member about three months. It is a fantastic place and there are great people here, like-minded people. I suspected something about you. I bided my time after your husband passed. I guess I waited too long for that as well."
"I suppose it was fate."
"Possibly." His gaze swept down her body in the practically transparent gown until he came to her shoes. "I thought you were taller. Those are some shoes. I can't imagine how you women walk in those things."
"We hold on to a man for dear life." Val laughed, looking down at her impulse buy—transparent-topped stilettos. The heels were six sky-high inches. She'd never worn anything like them, and although she was a touch unsteady, she liked looking men in the eyes for a change.