His to Love (Titans Quarter Book 2)

by Sierra Cartwright

  She looked to Trevor. “Our world?”

  “Madame is referring to the lifestyle. The relationship dynamic.”

  Shelby sensed there was something more to it, but before she could press, he spoke again.

  “Thank you for inviting us.”

  “It’s more about Shelby than you, no matter how irresistible you are.” She released Shelby’s hands but held her gaze. “He’s never asked me to open at this hour.”

  “You’re not a morning person?” Which made two of them.

  “I appreciate the mysteries of the night. People are less…guarded.”

  “Madame reads tea leaves.”

  She waved a hand, making her bracelets jangle. “That’s just part of the act. I know things. The ritual, the ceremony of it. Boiling the water. Waiting. It sets the scene, enabling seekers to shed their inhibitions. I allow them to choose a teapot and the cup. That very process provides a window into their soul. While I watch, I study their aura, see who they really are, not the shell they show the world. The leaves are revealing, but what I do is invite people to seek their own truth.”

  “Don’t believe her. Madame has skills. She’s good and accurate.”

  Shelby turned toward him, eyes wide. “You’ve had a reading?”

  “On occasion.”

  “Enough chitchat. This isn’t why you came.”

  Shelby was intrigued. “Do you accept appointments?” It might be something fun for the next ladies’ night out.

  “Of course.”

  “I’d like to see you.”

  The older woman’s smile was knowing, as if she was anticipating that Shelby would say that.

  She followed Madame through the tinkling silver curtain, past a set of stairs, then through an open door. Shelby missed a step as she entered another world, one with half a dozen mirrors—some wall mounted and others cheval, tipped at various angles. Crystals dripped from a stunning three-level chandelier. The floor was interesting, wooden planks, but in the middle were white hexagonal tiles, inset with black ones to create a large owl. The most shocking part was the bird’s piercing eyes, crafted from green gemstones that reflected the overhead light in a hundred directions.

  She flicked a glance toward Trevor’s hand and the ring he wore, the one he’d promised to tell her about. His owl was a startling match to the one on Madame’s floor. Too close to be a coincidence.

  Part of her felt as if she’d been swept up into something she didn’t understand.

  “What do you think of Madame’s private shop?” Trevor asked, breaking into her reverie.

  “It’s spectacular.”

  Trevor strode across the room to stand next to her. “Isn’t it?”

  Numerous cases artfully displayed collars and sensual high-end toys, crafted from stone, wood, steel, even glass. Among them were tall sets of wooden drawers, with some standing open. Lingerie spilled out in creative waves of hot primary colors offset by demure pastels with an occasional peek of something alluring in black lace.

  But most eye-catching were the stunning gilt-framed portraits of a ballerina through the years. She was shown in various positions, and many had a subtle nod toward BDSM. In one she was blindfolded. In another, her arms were above her head, emphasizing a delicate collar around her throat. Shelby turned around, studying each. One showed the woman en pointe, her ankles tied together with ribbons from her pink ballet slippers. The pose spoke of pain and discipline, but her face was relaxed in what appeared to be transcendent obedience. Shelby’s breath caught at the agony and the beauty captured by the artists. Then she looked at Madame Giselle. “It’s you, isn’t it? All of them.” In the first, she couldn’t be any older than eighteen or nineteen. One was obviously recent, but it was every bit as stunning as the rest—perhaps more so from the intensity in her eyes and the wisdom in her face

  “Very observant.” She smiled.

  “You’re stunning, Madame.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You were a ballerina?”

  “She still is,” Trevor said. “Owns a local theater, and she dances in at least one production a year.”

  The other woman tipped her head to the side, exposing the long, graceful curve of her neck. “It keeps me young.”

  “A lot of people would disagree with that,” Trevor said. “That hard work has to take a toll.”

  “Perhaps because they haven’t been seduced by the beauty that lies just beyond the pain? It makes it worth the effort.”

  Shelby wondered if Madame was only speaking of ballet. Or was she hinting at something deeper? A life philosophy? Dreams? Risks? BDSM?

  With a tiny key, the proprietress unlocked the cases that displayed the collars, then nodded toward Trevor. “I’ll give you the privacy you require.”

  “Thank you.”

  Madame closed the door silently behind her.

  “Are you kidding?” Shelby blinked. “She’s leaving us alone in the shop?”

  “Madame understands this is a decision that doesn’t require her input.” He drew her toward the case. “What captures your interest?”

  With him standing so close—drinking in his scent, heat radiating from his body, and the knowledge of what this meant—her knees weakened. None of them. “I have no idea.”

  “Something delicate?” He walked to the far side of the counter and removed several velvet-lined trays. “Or more sturdy?”

  Trevor picked up one that was part necklace, part choker. It had a black oval stone on the front, perhaps onyx.

  She ran her fingers over it. It was light enough that she might not notice it while she was wearing it. But rather than it being jewelry, it had an actual lock on the back.

  After setting it down, he selected one that was substantial, sturdy stainless steel with a square-shaped ring on the front. She’d seen a similar one at the club, and the Dom had a leash attached to it.

  Forgetting to breathe, she looked at him.

  “It makes you nervous?”

  “Yes.” She cleared her throat. Because her answer had been embarrassingly squeaky, she tried again. “A little.”

  “Perhaps that makes it the perfect one.”

  He pulled out another. This had long, artistic links, and the front was a stylish O-ring. Most people wouldn’t recognize it as fetish wear, she realized.

  “We’ll skip the leather ones as I want to leave it on you for the duration of our time together.” He chose several more and then lined up each next to the other, in a precise row. All of the collars were all different, in terms of size, functionality, beauty. “What else would you like me to add?”

  She scanned the choices. The next case over had some that were nestled in pink satin. The light caught one, and she moved closer. The silver collar was less discreet than some, but delicate in comparison to the large one he’d selected. It had a raised, intricate floral and vine pattern. It was both functional and beautiful.

  “Art nouveau.” He studied it more closely. “And crafted from high-grade silver. Excellent taste.” He laid it on top of the glass. “Any others that catch your eye?”

  She shook her head. Now that she’d seen this, nothing else appealed. “No.” Then because it was so appropriate in this setting, she added, “Sir.”

  “In that case, shall we make a decision?”

  Under his guidance, she tried on all of the collars. When he fastened her selection in place, her heart thumped.

  “It’s perfect, isn’t it?” He held a mirror in front of her.

  Shelby ran her index finger across the metal’s surface, tracing the dips and lines of the vine, lingering on a small flower. “Yes. It’s exquisite.” Even if he didn’t like it, she might purchase it herself. It would be a sexy reminder of this moment, but also, something she’d feel sexy wearing when she visited the Quarter in future.

  “So it’s the one?”

  “If it’s okay with you, Sir.” She met his dark, mysterious eyes.

  “Nothing would make me happier.”

 
; He put down the mirror to select a small heart-shaped lock. “I’ll remove this next Saturday.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. Shelby tried to add Sir, but the word died in her throat as he moved behind her.

  “Please lift your hair for me.”

  When she did so, he asked, “Ready?”

  Fortunately he didn’t wait for the answer she couldn’t form.

  The soft click of the lock closing echoed in the small room.

  “You may drop your hair.” He took her shoulders and turned her to face him. “An absolutely stunning choice. It suits you and your personality.”

  “Do you…” She cleared her throat then tried again. “Do you like it?” Was her voice as doubtful as it sounded?

  “I approve of anything that marks you as mine.” He fisted her hair to hold her in place, then captured her mouth and devoured her with a breath-stealing kiss. His passion shouldn’t surprise her, but in a place that was only semiprivate, it did. The man—Dom—took what he wanted and demanded her submission.

  When he released her, her lips were swollen, and her legs trembled. She grabbed on to his biceps for balance. But that wasn’t necessary. He clamped his hands on her waist, offering silent, strong support.

  “But yes. I do.”

  Yes? She shook her head. “What?”

  “In answer to your question.” He smiled. “Of all of the offerings in this shop, this particular collar”—he traced her skin just beneath it—“is my favorite. The craftsmanship is superb. And it is stunning on you.”

  “Ah!” Madame swept into the room. “I’ve had that piece for some time. It’s a personal favorite of mine.” Her eyes danced. “It’s been waiting for you.”

  Shelby blinked.

  “I trust my intuition. I purchased it and waited for the buyer to appear.” She accepted Trevor’s credit card. “Would you like a box?”

  “No.”

  “Actually—” Shelby glanced toward Trevor. This was temporary, not permanent. Right? “That would be nice. Please.”

  His nod was sharp.

  “Agitation tells us a lot, Trevor,” Madame observed as she turned away to choose a lacquered wooden box. “It’s the distance between where we are and where we would like to be. It’s a new sensation. Oui? Unwelcome, perhaps. Different, at any rate.”

  “Tea leaves tell you that?” Gruffness made Trevor’s voice rough.

  “None needed.” The woman faced them again and placed the receipt and box into a beautiful black handle bag with the store’s name in raised gold lettering. “I’ll see you again, Shelby.” Madame’s words were a statement, not a question. “You’ll have things to sort through. But ultimately only you can know your heart. No one else’s thoughts or opinions will matter. Trust yourself.”

  She accepted the business card that Madame slid across the counter. “Thank you.”

  After a few pleasantries, Trevor excused them.

  “That was…interesting,” she said when they exited through the main store and back onto the street. When they’d wandered down an hour ago, the French Quarter had been relatively empty, but now cars were bumper-to-bumper, and pedestrians streamed into shops. A few were already sipping hurricanes from tall glasses.

  “Always. Coffee? Brunch, perhaps? You didn’t eat much this morning, and you will need extra energy when I get you to my house this afternoon.”

  Heat that had nothing to do with the Southern sun surged through her, and the weight of his collar settled on her, part promise, part possession.

  Chapter Six

  “You won’t be needing those.”

  At the implacable command in Trevor’s voice, Shelby froze. Holding a handful of panties, she turned to find him filling the doorway to her bedroom. Somehow, he seemed even bigger than he had earlier, overwhelming her small home.

  On the drive to her home, they’d discussed plans for the upcoming week. He’d encouraged her not to rearrange her schedule and informed her she could drive one of his cars back and forth to work.

  There were a couple of clients she wanted to see, but there were others she intended to transfer to her colleagues. Hannah had been right. Shelby did need a little break, and the upcoming week was the perfect opportunity.

  But until he’d issued his gruff statement, she hadn’t considered he’d have requirements for the way she dressed.

  With a few strides, he devoured the distance between them to scoop up the lingerie and dump it back the drawer. “Tell me why you think it would be okay to cover yourself in that way?”

  This was all too real. She was falling into the abyss of surrealness. Since last night, she’d been swept up in an alternate universe, and at times, she didn’t know how to behave.

  After leaving Madame’s shop, they’d eaten brunch at the hotel before riding the elevator back to his room. Following his instructions, she’d packed his belongings and stowed his hat in a box. Then he’d followed her home.

  For some odd reason, she thought he might wait outside while she grabbed her clothes and toiletries.

  “I’m waiting for an answer.”

  She cleared her throat. “I was thinking… Maybe when I go to work?”

  “We can discuss that. So for now, grab a couple of pairs. Would you like me to choose for you?”

  “No.” She shook her head, and her collar moved. The metal rubbed her collarbone in a reminder of what she’d agreed to.

  “Black is always good.”

  She fished out her favorites that met her requirements.

  “Good. Do you have something you can swim in?”

  She should be lucky that he wouldn’t make her skinny dip. Shelby crouched to open her bottom drawer and pulled out one that would cover everything.

  Relentless, he folded his arms across his chest. “Any two-piece suits?”

  For a moment, she considered fibbing. She owned three but hadn’t worn any of them in years. Somehow, he would no doubt figure out if she lied to him and go through her belongings himself. Caught, she sighed. “Yes.”

  “Let’s see them.”

  She moved things around, but since he was so close, overwhelming her, she extracted a red one and then another covered in pink polka dots.

  “A bikini, perhaps?”

  Damn him.

  She reached all the way to the back to pull out a skimpy little stringy thing that she’d bought on a trip but never had the courage to wear.

  “Perfect.”

  “I should have known you’d say that.”

  “Or anticipated my desires and met them without being asked?”

  Pulse thundering, she looked up. He appeared much as he had last night at the club, hard and uncompromising. His voice had an edge that made it clear he wasn’t a man for playing games. A shiver jogged through her.

  She selected a couple of outfits for work.

  “Now for the time at my house. You’ll need a few things you can be comfortable in. Shorts?”

  “Second drawer.”

  Of course he chose the smallest ones.

  “Dresses?”

  “In the closet.” She pointed to the far side of the room.

  “May I?”

  No man had ever gone through her clothes. “Of course.”

  She stood and followed him. Not for the first time, she wished she were better organized. Skirts hung next to work slacks and blazers, with blouses and long-sleeved shirts sprinkled between. In order to find what he was looking for, he’d likely need to sort through everything.

  He thumbed through the hangers. “These will suffice.” He pulled out a couple of sundresses and handed them to her.

  “I have several more.”

  “You can choose one that you’d like to wear on the way to my place. Unless you’d prefer shorts? With the breeze off the lake, you might find them more practical.”

  “Agreed.”

  He selected several T-shirts from a shelf and instructed her to put them in her overnight bag. “I believe we’re finished here.”

  �
��Wait.” She scowled. He’d obviously never seen her get ready for a trip. “That’s not enough clothes for an entire week.”

  “While we’re at home, you won’t be needing anything.”

  Shelby tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry.

  “You’ll want to change before we head out.”

  Since her jeans were all-but stuck to her, that was a good idea. “I’ll, er, just meet you in the living room?”

  In unspoken response, he raised an eyebrow

  Why did undressing in front of him now seem so much more intimate than what they’d already shared? Perhaps because this was her space, and she hadn’t allowed any other man in it.

  With an overblown sigh, she unfastened her pants.

  “Shelby, Shelby. I appreciate how difficult some of my requests might be.”

  Requests? On what planet did he consider his words to be an option?

  “Hear me, and hear me well, my precious, struggling submissive.” He eased back her chin. “You can always refuse or negotiate, or even terminate our agreement. But if you are going to comply, please consider your actions. And ask yourself if you are behaving with the grace I expect from you.”

  Horrified by his gentle rebuke, she reeled.

  “I expect—demand—to be with a sub who communicates with me, even if it’s just to express discomfort.”

  The cold steeliness in his eyes enslaved her.

  “If you are going to obey my directives, do so in a way that proves you are happy to wear my collar.”

  No other person had ever been this unyielding with her. Trevor didn’t just want her body; he wanted everything she had to give. “I’m sorry.”

  “Your apology is accepted and appreciated.” His thumb still beneath her chin, he traced a finger across her lips. “Thank you.”

  Expecting a kiss, she leaned toward him.

  But he lowered his hand and stepped back from her. “You were changing into a pair of shorts.”

  First he reprimanded her. Then comforted her. And now he was reinforcing what he’d said. He made her mind swirl.