To Sir

by Rachell Nichole

  “I told you never to come back here,” her father bellowed and slammed the door in her face. The urge to punch the door rode her hard, but she suppressed it, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

  She could almost picture her mother on the other side of the door, ringing her hands, her eyes filled with unshed tears. Well, if she wanted to see Liz, she knew where to go.

  Liz stared at the door for another second, not sure how she was supposed to feel. She should feel something, right? The last time they’d kicked her out, she’d fallen to pieces. Now she felt nothing.

  She strutted to her car with her head held high. She got behind the wheel and started the car. So much for talking sense into her father. Should have known it wasn’t worth it to try. But Chase was worth the effort. Somehow in the past two weeks, what her parents thought of her had ceased to matter. Yet her hand was halfway to her ear when her phone buzzed. Crap. This time, though, she figured her anxiety was less about her parents and more about how she was going to help Chase. Without him knowing it.

  She reached for her phone and sighed at his text.

  You okay?

  Sometimes it was like the man had ESP, for crying out loud.

  Did not go well. I’m done. You may now consider me an orphan, she responded.

  Her phone buzzed in her hand.

  Well, screw them. You okay?

  :-) Yeah. I think so. Gonna go home. Take a long bath. After which she’d make the first round of phone calls to undermine her father. But she kept that information to herself.

  Hmmm. Naked and wet. Thanks for the visual.

  How’s your meeting going?

  About as well as yours did, I’m afraid.

  I’m sorry. But she wasn’t surprised. She drove back to her cottage. Her phone buzzed all the way home, tempting her to pull over and read his texts, but she resisted. As soon as the car was in park, she scrolled through his messages.

  Don’t be. Dusty and I will figure something out. Especially if you’ll help. We’ll be leaving here soon and heading to the lawyer’s office.

  Have a nice bath. Not too nice, of course. Remember what I said. Touch yourself for me. Just enough to make you all hot and bothered. But not enough to make you come. That’s my job. And I take my job very seriously. Should I tell you what I’m going to do to you tonight?

  Liz?

  Elizabeth. Answer me. Now.

  She waited a minute, a smile on her face and a flutter in her belly. Should she make him wait longer for a reply?

  Sorry, Sir. Was driving home. Didn’t think you would want me reading your orders while behind the wheel. Going inside now. She punched her code into her door and stepped inside, dropping her purse on the table beside the door.

  She didn’t have to worry about locking up behind her since the door did that automatically. She’d been pissed when she woke up and found Chase elbow-deep in power tools, installing the new handle and lock. Now his insistence on safety made her smile and shake her head. Maybe letting him take care of her wasn’t the worst thing in the world after all. She was still her.

  The phone buzzed again as she walked farther into the house, toward the bathroom. She stopped in the kitchen to grab a half-full bottle of white wine from the fridge and a wineglass.

  Don’t be smart with me, brat.

  Grinning, she turned the water on and plugged the tub. She set the bottle and glass down on the edge of the tub, then pulled her dress over her head and toed off her sandals. The whole morning, she’d been acutely aware of her lack of panties, and now, as she discarded her bra, she felt free for the first time in forever.

  Wouldn’t dream of it, Sir, she responded before slipping her feet into the hot water. She sat down, and the water sloshed around her body, almost burning it was so hot. Mmm, this is wonderful.

  Are you in the tub?

  I am. She poured herself a full glass of wine and waited for the water to rise, for the burning heat to tease her skin. Sipping the wine, she closed her eyes and leaned back against the cold porcelain. Goose bumps came alive on her skin as her body fell victim to the battle of the hot water and cold tub. She brought the glass to her lips and started when her phone buzzed again, spilling wine between her breasts.

  She set the glass down and cupped some water in her hand, letting it trickle down her chest and wash away the wine. Then she grabbed her phone.

  How are you feeling? Ready to come yet, perhaps?

  Where he was concerned, she was always ready to come. But she couldn’t tell him that. He’d think she was being cheeky again. Mmm. Almost. Having a glass of wine, letting the hot water caress and soothe my aches from this morning and last night. The heat feels glorious on my tender folds.

  She laughed, picturing his lips curved up into that wolfish grin as he read her texts. Tender folds! She couldn’t believe she’d actually texted that. Was he still at the bank? Sitting there in the middle of his meeting, reading her words and knowing that even from miles away, he could still command her obedience?

  The thought thrilled her.

  I’m sure it does. Do you know what I’m going to do to you tonight, Elizabeth?

  No, Sir. But I would so enjoy hearing about it, please.

  She took another sip, waiting for his reply. It took longer than she would have liked before her phone buzzed again. She was already halfway through her glass by the time she picked up the phone. She lifted her foot to the handle and shut off the water.

  I think I’ll start out with a spanking… Yes, that sounds wonderful. A just-because spanking. Not due to your naughty deeds today, of which I am sure there are many, but because it will please me to smack my open palm down on your bare flesh until it turns that delicious shade of pink I love so much.

  She quivered at the thought, her thighs clenching, her heart pounding. A just-because spanking sounded about right to her too. She kept reading.

  And I do believe I shall fill you with two Ben Wa balls so that they move inside you with each hard smack.

  She groaned. No wonder the text had taken so long to come through. It was extensive.

  They will fill you with an aching need you’ll be begging me to satisfy. But after that little stunt in the driveway this morning, I think I’ll make you wait. We’ll keep the balls inside while I lead you, blindfolded, around my playroom. Each step will be the most delicious torture, pushing you to the brink of orgasm. And you’ll want to come. You’ll want to come so hard and so bad that you will do anything I ask, won’t you, Elizabeth?

  Panting, she typed her reply. Yes, Sir. I already ache with the need to have you inside me.

  Play with yourself while I finish telling you what I’m going to do.

  Oh, God, he wasn’t done yet? She was already so keyed up, so past the point of being able to think straight. Tonight would be torture. No way would she be able to hold off orgasm through all that. She didn’t know if she would make it through the next five minutes, let alone the next five hours. But she had to. Because he’d commanded her, she wanted to. Wanted to let him take her on this erotic journey and push herself to the limits. Could she make it?

  She quickly sent, Yes, Sir. Will play until your next instructions come. As instructed, will not allow myself release, then set her phone down.

  She dipped a hand below the surface of the water and slid it up the inside of her thigh. How long would she have to touch herself before the phone buzzed again? She stroked herself slowly, knowing if she went too fast, she’d never hold off the orgasm. She fondled her breast with the other hand. The heat of the water rushed to lap at her clit when she spread her folds. She cried out. She clamped her mouth shut, curled her toes, and froze, trying to breathe.

  She was going to come. If she moved an inch, if she touched herself one more time, that was it; she would explode. She lifted her hand from between her thighs as slowly as she could, panicked that the slightest movement might set her off. She used both hands to cup and knead her breasts, and even that touch had her moaning, straining. Plea
se, please hurry, Sir. She begged him in her head over and over again as she massaged and stroked her breasts. Gasping and moaning, she gently thrust her hips uncontrollably against the hot water.

  Her phone buzzed. Thank you, God.

  She dried her hand and grabbed her phone.

  Then, Elizabeth, I’m going to strap you to the cross, facing out so your sore ass will rub against the leather every time you move. I’ll keep you blindfolded and torture you with the feather and then the riding crop until you are dripping with need, until you’re out of your mind with lust. And then, and only then, will I fuck you until you scream.

  She spasmed, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle her scream. She clenched her thighs shut and shuddered, the need to come riding her so hard that she squeezed her eyes closed and took big, gasping breaths. She didn’t know how long she stayed like this, so tense she felt like she might shatter. So consumed with raw pleasure that she wanted to roll around like a cat and let the hot bath caress every inch of her skin.

  Her phone rang. She touched the screen to answer the call. “Sir?” she whispered, trying to stifle a groan.

  His chuckle echoed through the bathroom. “Good girl,” he purred. Then hung up.

  She knocked her glass of wine over in frustration, barely stopping herself from throwing her phone against the wall. Damn him. He knew from the strangled sound of her voice how close she was to bliss, and the fact that she’d denied herself. Again. Anger helped clear her head, helped her slow her breathing and release some of her clenched muscles without fear of sending an orgasm ripping through her body. She sank into the water, letting it cover her head to toe for a moment until she could focus. When she reemerged, she dried her hands and got her phone again, wanting to send him a text that would no doubt make tonight’s torture session worse.

  Instead, she breathed deeply and texted, Thank you, Sir.

  ;-) Hold on to that for me, sweetheart. I promise I’ll make it worth every agonizing minute.

  And with that promise, her anger evaporated. She knew he’d reward her well after the torture. Her nipples, already diamond-hard peaks, tingled with his last words. She slumped back in the tub and reached for the bottle of wine. She’d sent her glass skittering out of reach, but she didn’t care. Needing the wine to help steady her, she lifted the bottle to her lips and took a swig. She kept drinking until a warm, fuzzy feeling settled into her head and her muscles relaxed back to normal.

  The soreness between her legs was almost gone too, and she wouldn’t have noticed any discomfort if not for the way the blood still pounded into her groin. When the bottle ran dry, she unstopped the tub and got out. She stepped around the wine on the floor, wary of making sudden movements. She dried carefully and picked out some lingerie to wear. He’d left a couple matching sets in her drawers last weekend. Settling on a dark purple pair of lace panties and bra, she laid them out on her bed and took a picture, then sent it to him. She didn’t bother to say anything.

  She slipped into the lingerie, then pulled on some sweats and one of his soft cotton shirts. Her phone buzzed.

  Brat.

  She grinned but didn’t respond. She took her phone and a cup of hot coffee into her office and sat to start making phone calls. First her father’s assistant, and then everyone else on her list. Four hours later, she knew she might have a shot of blocking his legislation. She’d set up a meeting with Senator Bragdon—an old enemy of her dad’s—for Monday, had contacted the online friends she’d made in the BDSM community and tried to rally support for the K Club, and had written a rhetorical plea for those tax-paying, voting members in the area to stop the crusade Senator Johnson was making against consenting adults living their lives. She posted the article everywhere she could think of, generating responses immediately on message boards.

  Then she made up an online petition and sent it to the group of authors she knew who wrote in the genre, urging them to not only sign, but to pass it along to everyone they knew in the community. Dusty was right. At least she’d inherited one good trait from her father—she was going to use every ounce of tenacity she had to protect Chase and the lifestyle she was suddenly thoroughly entrenched in.

  She glanced down at her phone. Crap. She’d missed a call from her agent. And one from Chase. She called her voice mail.

  “Liz, it’s Sophia. This is the hottest thing you have ever written. Oh, my God. Couldn’t put it down. Call me right now!”

  Liz dialed Sophia.

  “Chiquita, how much do you love me?”

  “A bucketful. What’s up?”

  “I sold your book.”

  Liz’s heart stopped. “What the hell?” Sophia had never negotiated a deal without checking with her first.

  “I’m sorry. But it had to be done. You weren’t answering. I called, like, a dozen times, and there was no way I was going to tell Simpson to wait until tomorrow for your answer. The contract should be sitting in your in-box. I’ve already negotiated terms with him. This is the deal we’re getting. And it sure as hell better be one you’re taking.”

  “Simpson, as in…”

  “Yes, ma’am. As in editor in chief at the largest publisher in the business.”

  She trusted her agent. They’d been friends for a long time, long before building a working relationship, and Simpson was known for his snap decisions. If Soph told her this was the deal, Liz could count on that. She opened her e-mail and screamed. “Oh, my God. Are you serious?”

  “I take it you saw the five zeros at the end of that number?”

  She was going to faint. Literally pass out right there. She stammered, trying to catch her breath, failing. “Is— I, uh… Holy crap. Is this for one book?” she finally managed to say.

  “Three, but they said they would gladly wait for the others. Sign the contract.”

  “How much of the advance can I expect on signing?”

  “Ten percent.”

  It was enough. “Will have the contract overnighted,” she said. Even with her agent’s cut, she would have enough money to pay off the loan for the club. Chase was going to hate the idea, but she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Actually, she decided it was probably a very good idea that she not mention this to him at all until it was too late for him to do anything about it.

  “Gotta fly, Soph. Love you. Like forever and always.”

  “You too, babe.”

  They hung up, and Liz scrambled to print and read the contract. Sophia was right. It was not simply a great advance, but also a good, fair contract she would be happy to live with. Excitement bubbled inside her as she signed all the papers and grabbed her purse and keys. Never had she signed a contract this big, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. She flew out the door and raced to get to the post office in time to overnight the package. Yes! Made it with ten minutes to spare.

  When she was back in her car, still wearing sweatpants and Chase’s shirt, her hands shook. This was fate. It was the sole explanation for meeting Chase, writing this book, selling the book that fast and with an advance that was almost the exact amount he owed the bank. She took a few calming breaths, the exhilaration threatening to overcome her.

  But as she drove to Chase’s, all she could think about was one thing: she was already deceiving him about her father and going behind his back to fight for him. Now she was going to also conceal the money. The thought of lying to him for the next week left a sour taste in her mouth and a knot in her stomach. She knew she could only help him if he didn’t know about it. Otherwise, he’d stop her before she could do any good.

  Real fear cramped her stomach. Would he ever forgive her?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chase grinned down at Liz, knowing his smile was evil. If not for his texts with her, assuring himself she was still his, however briefly, he wouldn’t have made it through his infuriating meetings, first at the bank and then the lawyer’s office. At least something in this world was good and still under his control. She’d risen to the occasion of submissiv
e, surpassing his expectations. When she’d made it clear she was only going to be his bottom in the sexual sense, he’d feared he would miss the day-to-day Top/bottom-relationship stuff, but Liz seemed content to play her role in some aspects of her daily life. Thank God.

  Torturing her in person this morning and then through his texts all day had kept his lust sharp, torturing him nearly as much as he did her. Now she knelt in his playroom, her bare bottom resting on her heels, hands lying palms up on her thighs, and her eyes were more brown than green tonight as they gazed up at him.

  He ran a finger down her cheek. “You were a very good girl today.” And he was going to take extra special care of her tonight. She’d been disowned by her parents, and though she’d denied it when he asked, he could see it was bothering her. A shadow darkened her eyes that hadn’t been there this morning.

  “Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. At least she would allow him to comfort her. Here, in their playroom, she could be free; she could let go of whatever else troubled her and focus on her submission. On bringing them both pleasure. He was determined to work the worries out of her, to send her out of her mind with lust and help her pick up the pieces.

  “I think it’s time for your spanking. What do you think?”

  “Of course, Sir.” Her gaze remained on him, as he liked it, and he sat down in the large chair beside her, spreading his legs wide. Her eyes moved to keep him in sight, but she stayed perfectly still.

  “Get over here.”

  She stood and walked to him on bare feet. Her breasts swayed beautifully as she moved, and he found his palm twitching with the need to touch her. Anywhere. Everywhere. He ensnared her wrist and tugged her forward until she bent over his legs. She rested her forearms on the footstool next to his outer thigh, and her head slumped to lie on her fisted hands.

  “Good girl,” he said, adjusting her stance to widen her legs. Her breasts rested on his jean-clad thigh so that with every stroke of his hand, her nipples would rub against the rough denim. Her hair hung in a braid over her arm. Sometimes he liked it loose so he could bury his fingers in the tendrils and yank it.