His to Love (Titans Quarter Book 2)

by Sierra Cartwright

  She took another last glance around, and, just like she’d been outside, she was captivated by the view. “I’m not sure how you get any work done here to be honest. I’m not sure I would.”

  In a few steps, he was behind her. “I used to live in the city, with its more frantic pace. I had a small house out here, rustic, no air conditioner, only a fireplace for heat. One bedroom, one bathroom. It wasn’t much more than a fishing camp, and I’d come up here very chance I got. Weekends, holidays. I never wanted to leave. John Thoroughgood, a friend of Mason’s, started searching for a piece of property for me. It took a couple of years to find the right one. Mostly because I wanted more than one lot.”

  “Do you go out on the water every day?”

  “There are winter days when the north wind is blowing when I’ll be honest, I’d rather be in front of the fireplace watching repeats of bass fishing competitions.”

  “I can only imagine.”

  “Shall we?”

  She followed him from the room, and he closed the doors with a definitive click. Letting her know she needed permission to enter the hallowed space?

  “If you need it, the bathroom is over there.” He pointed to a spot beyond his office.

  She walked through to the kitchen with its decorator-inspired oversize island, quartz countertops, six-top burner, built-in espresso machine, and white glass-fronted cabinets. “This…” Shelby had no words. Even though she didn’t love to cook, she would happily prepare three meals a day here.

  “I hope you’ll be comfortable here.”

  Comfortable? This definitely qualified as the getaway that Shelby needed.

  “The refrigerator is kept stocked by the housekeeper. She comes and prepares meals twice a week. But if there’s anything you need, we can either drive to town or boat to the marina.”

  Beyond the dining room, a second set of French doors beckoned. As if hypnotized, she walked toward them.

  “Go on out and have a look,” he encouraged, joining her to open the lock.

  Once they were outside, she sighed. “Wow. Is this still Lake Pontchartrain?”

  “This is Lake Catherine.”

  “So you have a different view from every side of the house.” For as far as she could see, there was water and boats. “I think I get it.” This place was more wild and free than areas closer to the city. “Living here, it comes with risks, though, doesn’t it?”

  “No doubt. Storms off the Gulf. Hurricanes. The house is built to all the latest specifications and then some. Still, you could say it tempts fate. You’d be right.” He smiled. “Even if it’s destroyed tomorrow, I’ll have the memory of every single sunrise and sunset, though.”

  She walked to the edge of deck. From here, ripples from the pool and hot tub below beckoned in invitation. His courtyard was mostly concrete with large chairs and colorful umbrellas. Plumeria and oleander formed a hedge around the perimeter, offering privacy as well as beauty. She glanced over her shoulder to see him. The sun silhouetted his broad frame, nearly making her forget what she was going to ask. She took a breath to clear away the toe-curling excitement that chased through her whenever he was near. “That… Is all of this yours?”

  He nodded.

  To re-center herself, she turned back toward the lake.

  The pier’s planks extended forever, with a couple of chairs bolted to the wood, presumably for fishing. At the end, there was a structure that contained a pontoon and another boat, cradled in a sling. “It’s like you live in a vacation wonderland.”

  “You could say that,” he agreed as he joined her. “I’ve never looked at it in quite that way.”

  For a few minutes, they stood next to each other and watched a boat pass by, dragging a large inflatable flamingo behind it. A couple of kids were riding on top, and their laughter and screams rippled across the distance.

  “You can try that too while you’re here.”

  “You have one of those?”

  “Mine’s a dragon.”

  She faced him. “Yours is a…dragon?” Then she blinked. “Are we still talking about inflatables?”

  “Well…” A wicked, slow smile sauntered across his lips, sending her thoughts into a freefall. “You might have to blow it up.”

  “Oh Jesus.” She blushed furiously. How had their conversation taken such a dirty turn?

  But Trevor’s smile was irresistible, and so was seeing this teasing side of him, a new facet she never suspected existed. The security of being in his own place clearly brought it out in him. She wondered if she’d ever relaxed that much. Or had she spent her life on guard, protecting herself?

  “The boathouse has kayaks also, if you’re interested. You’re free to indulge in all the amenities. In fact, I hope you do.”

  His offer was lovely and appreciated. “Thank you. I’ve never tried that. I don’t suppose you have one that seats two people, and theoretically, I could have a glass of wine while you do all the work?”

  He grinned. “That could be arranged.”

  “Really?”

  “Tonight, even.”

  “I can’t tell whether or not you’re serious.”

  “Most assuredly. And you’re going to need the relaxation after what I have planned for you.”

  The now familiar tension left her breathless.

  “Let’s go back inside. I’ll show you the upstairs.”

  Was that where his dungeon was?

  When they were back inside, he picked up her bag, then led the way to the second level. “There are two bedrooms up here.”

  His master suite was enormous, dominated by a king-size bed that faced a set of sliding glass doors that led to a private deck overlooking one of the lakes. There was a peace here, in the views of nature and in the way the home was constructed to take advantage of them.

  Along one wall, he had a coffee bar, with a small refrigerator and sink. Two chairs were nestled against a wall, with a table between them. He even had a desk with a computer and a divan.

  The bathroom had a walk-in shower and soaker tub in a little alcove with its own window.

  His suite contained everything she needed to be happy. “I’m not sure I ever want to leave.” The moment she said the words, she wished she could take them back. She was being impetuous. “I didn’t mean that literally.” That wasn’t the entire truth. Part of her already mourned the end of the week.

  “Mason will be pleased the home has that affect on you. That was the intention.”

  She appreciated his easy smile.

  “Your closet is here.” He opened a door, and she entered.

  “Seriously? This is bigger than my bedroom.” There was a built-in set of drawers, and nothing on the shelves or hanging from the rods. Her few belongings would be lost in the vastness.

  It took her a moment to realize he’d placed her bag on a shelf and was saying something. “I’m sorry?”

  “Come with me.”

  She followed him into the spa-like bathroom that had numerous windows and unobstructed views. And since there were no neighbors, there was no reason to close the blinds. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Exposure to sunlight, as well as the stars. And always, the lake.”

  “The attention to detail is amazing.”

  “The designer added all these candles.” He swept his arm wide. “I’ve never had the opportunity to use them. But you are more than welcome to make yourself at home.”

  If she soaked in the oversize tub surrounded by flickering candlelight, she might never want to go home.

  “Towels are in this linen closet. You can use the sink on the right. And those drawers”—he pointed to a spot beneath the vanity—“are empty. And there’s plenty of room in the cabinets.”

  Commingling her toiletries with his? The reminder of what was happening here sent an electrical impulse through her. “This will be perfect.” Her voice was higher-pitched than usual, revealing her sudden tension.

  “Would you like to see the guest roo
m?”

  She held her breath. Since they were almost out of places to see, she figured he’d turned that into his dungeon.

  Down the hallway, he opened the door, and she exhaled in a rush. There was a bed, a wardrobe, a cozy chair, and a large television. There was nothing extraordinary about it.

  Had he been teasing when he said he had a dungeon?

  She sighed as she shoved away her earlier fevered apprehensions.

  Evidently unaware of her inner turmoil, he led the way back out and showed her the laundry room. “You won’t have need of it, however. Since I mostly intend to keep you unclothed.”

  Every time she started to relax, he said something that was a terrible reminder that she was his submissive.

  “Now, I’ll leave you to settle in. Meet me downstairs.” He checked his watch. “Say, ten minutes? Is that enough time?”

  The floor shifted. It took every ounce of her control for her to whisper, “Yes, Sir,” instead of objecting.

  When he reached the staircase, he placed a hand on the banister and turned to look back at her. “Shelby?”

  “Sir?”

  “I want you naked.” He paused. “And don’t keep me waiting.”

  Chapter Seven

  What in the hell was wrong with him?

  Even though he was downstairs, he was aware of her. Her fresh scent lingered on the air, and he imagined her moving around his bedroom and placing her belongings alongside his. Intimacy.

  With a sharp pivot to shatter his reverie, he paced to the rear set of French doors and stared out. Ever since he could remember, vast expanses of water had soothed him, whether it was a lake or the ocean itself. He found answers in the depths. There was a steadiness to it, something he appreciated.

  Today, it offered no solace for his soul.

  Even though he’d been involved with numerous submissives over the years, nothing could have prepared him for the sight of sweet, trusting Shelby in his collar.

  The gorgeous art nouveau collar suited her. The moment he closed that tiny lock on the back, something unwelcome had crashed into him. Possession.

  Last night at the hotel, while she’d still been wearing the bolo tie, he’d been taunted by a thought—that he might not want to remove his sign of domination. And now he was pretty fucking sure he wouldn’t be capable of releasing her tiny padlock.

  Hell and back.

  In frustration, Trevor scrubbed his hand across his face.

  He wanted her under his protection.

  He wanted her as his.

  These unexpected and wholly foreign emotions tied him in knots. Madame’s earlier words had struck an uncomfortable nerve. He was, indeed, agitated. It thrummed in him, like something live, as persistent as the turning of tides.

  Upstairs, a door closed. He’d given her ten minutes, and he knew she wouldn’t take even thirty seconds extra.

  Though she would be ready, he would have been smart to give himself a little longer. He needed time to think things through.

  For him, patience was not a virtue—it was a skill he’d been taught by his mentor. He didn’t rush. He planned; then he executed.

  Deviation was not an option. If he didn’t stay strong, he might end up like his father.

  The man—Trevor sneered at that word—had been in and out of his mother’s life. He’d abandoned her when she was pregnant with Trevor. But then he’d come back when Trevor was around four and said he wanted to be a family. His mother, as desperate for love as she was the help, accepted Jerome back.

  Their relationship existed several more years, with Jerome running around, quitting jobs, drinking too much. And then they had twins, born prematurely. A few months later, when one of the babies was running a fever, he drove to the store in the middle of the night to buy children’s pain reliever and kept on going, never to be heard from again.

  Seeing his mother shattered had forced Trevor to grow up. At age ten, he became the man of the house. Even as a child, he vowed he’d do everything in his power to take away his mother’s tears and ensure his little sisters had a roof over their heads.

  He’d brought home fish and learned to cook them. When he had extra, he sold them. Eventually, he had enough for a rusty secondhand bicycle. Intrepid, he’d jumped on the torn leather seat and pedaled to an affluent area of town. He waited for the guard in the pure white-painted shack to make his rounds; then Trevor furiously biked his way through the entrance, hid behind some bushes for a while, then stashed his ride. Pretending he was the son of a neighbor, he offered to help homeowners with chores, cleaning garages, mowing yards, carrying in groceries, washing cars and boats.

  Wayne Dixon had instantly seen through Trevor’s bold charade. Instead of sending him scampering back to his own neighborhood, Wayne had invited him inside, and Mrs. Dixon had prepared him a hot meal. After Trevor had eaten his fill, Wayne had given Trevor a long list of chores. At the end of the day, he’d been paid well. He’d clutched the cash as if it were a lifeline—and it was. Each Saturday morning, Trevor pedaled ferociously back to their home.

  The summer he turned fourteen, Wayne started taking Trevor to work. He was given a respectable salary, and he had to use his own money for haircuts, khakis, Oxford shirts, dress shoes, even a belt. He’d learned about budgeting, saving, then investing.

  Wayne wasn’t just wealthier than Trevor could imagine; he used his money to do good on a scope that had been unthinkable to Trevor. In addition to working on emerging medical issues all over the world, Wayne invested in worthwhile businesses, then served on their boards of directors, steering the companies toward profitability. Only then did he take back his investments, sometimes with little to no interest. Always, he invested that capital back into another company.

  He helped Trevor win a scholarship to college. And after he had completed several semesters, Wayne put Trevor in charge of a couple of investments, had him serve on the boards, ensured he knew how to be strategic.

  After business school, Trevor had become the man’s partner. Now they were fast friends, and Wayne was still his mentor.

  Because he carefully calculated the chances of success in everything he did, Trevor avoided long-term relationships. He had the same physical and emotional urges as any man, maybe more so, but he refused to let them rule him. He stayed in control and harnessed the powerful energy.

  That was, until Shelby and her wide-eyed trust.

  Last night he’d awakened with her tucked against him. In the ambient light, he watched her. As if aware of him, she’d made tiny, satisfied sounds and moved a little closer. He’d wrapped strands of her hair around his hand and lifted them to inhale the scent of her. Some sort of flower, perhaps. Maybe from her shampoo. But there was something else there as well. Belief in him. In a way no one else had—perhaps ever.

  He’d seen her hesitation when she walked out onto the hotel’s balcony while he was talking to Caroline. Instead of making up her mind that he was seeing someone and getting angry, Shelby showed curiosity and joined him.

  Because of that, he’d become even more determined to give her whatever she desired. If she asked for the moon, he’d wrap it up and add a star for good measure.

  So what the fuck was he doing here?

  Shelby made it clear that she wasn’t in the market for a relationship. A month ago, that would have suited him fine.

  Today he wasn’t so sure.

  Though he didn’t hear her, he sensed her presence in the way his awareness prickled.

  Trevor turned to see her on the bottom stair, a hand tightly gripping the banister. “There you are.” Her expressive eyes were wide, radiating her uncertainty. “Exquisite.”

  She remained rooted in place.

  “Come here, sweet Shelby.”

  After descending the final step, she slowly walked toward him.

  “You’re uncomfortable with your nudity.” Trevor appreciated her bravery.

  “Uhm…” She tipped her chin up. “Yes, Sir.”

  “I appreciate
your doing this for me.” And she’d done it without fuss, showing she’d learned from earlier.

  She stopped in front of him and repeatedly opened and closed her hands at her sides.

  “Let’s set some ground rules, shall we?”

  “Actually…” Her voice was little more than a whisper as she went on. “That would be nice. I’m a little confused.”

  “It will be clear to you when we’re in a scene. And if it’s not, simply ask.”

  She nodded.

  “In future, when I ask you to join me naked, please kneel. You’ll get better at it with practice. And the next time you’re watching a poker game that your Dom is playing, you’ll be perfectly behaved.”

  She opened her mouth as if to protest but then quickly—smartly—shut it again.

  “Excellent. You’re a quick study.” He nodded toward the floor.

  Shelby lowered herself in front of him. Could he get her to do this while he worked every day? She’d be a hell of a muse. “Knees a little farther apart, please.”

  While she adjusted her position, he walked around her, and she tracked his movement. “Keep your head still.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Unless I countermand my order, keep your gaze downcast.”

  “That’s difficult, Sir.”

  “Because you don’t know what to expect?”

  “I think so. Yes.”

  “You may find that having structure calms you. You now know what position I expect and when. All you need to do is wait. And since you fidget, keep your hands laced behind you.”

  “I fidget?”

  He quirked a brow, and she laughed.

  “I mean, I’ll do better, Sir.” She finally remembered to lower her gaze.

  “Let’s try this again. Return to the bedroom. Wait thirty seconds, then join me again.” He stood in front of her and offered a hand up.

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  Once she was steady, he released her.

  She didn’t look back as she silently crossed the room, her hips swaying in an enticingly feminine way.

  Thirty seconds later, she returned. This time, she was less wobbly as she lowered herself to her knees. She scooted around a little before lacing her fingers behind her, and her grip was so tight that he wondered if she might cut off the circulation. After a few shallow breaths, she remembered to look down. “Well done.” It was an exercise in self-control not to lift her up, crush her against him, then fuck her into oblivion. “Now, please return to my bedroom and choose one of my shirts. You will be wearing it.”