Laird's Submissive [Soldiers of Passion 1] (Siren Publishing Allure)

by Dace Everan

  * * * *

  The hot water seared her skin. She scrubbed at her thighs, and then her pussy, and cringed at the thought of that masked asshole having had touched her. How he had managed to put a gag in her mouth and make her completely helpless. She grunted in frustration, wishing the damn tears would stop. Never had she been scared like that at the club.

  She tossed the loofah to the floor and started vigorously working her scalp, anger gripping her. How could she have let that fucker get her like that! She should never have agreed to take a private room with him.

  What the hell had she been thinking!

  Oh yeah, test yourself, push yourself further.

  The words flitted through her thoughts, how many times Master Laird had told her that.

  Push yourself further, test yourself. You’re stronger than you think.

  She grunted, rinsing out her hair, flipping the taps off, and stepping out of the shower. She grabbed her towel and scrubbed her thighs and her pussy, and patted down the rest of her body. Stupid pig fucking sicko! The latex black mask appeared in her thoughts, and she cringed. She hated those masks so much. Only bad things happened when men wore those stupid things.

  * * * *

  Laird lay stretched out, hands clasped behind his head, looking at the roof. This roommate was one weird chick. Bright florescent-green stars glowed on the roof in the image of constellations. Shit, he was sure she even had glow-in-the-dark fairies floating on the walls. Was her roommate a friggin’ child?

  He listened as the shower started. The occasional sob, then a grunt. Obviously poor Layle was having a hard time dealing with what happened. He could go comfort her. He probably should, but the thought of having that sweet little woman in his arms was driving him to distraction. He couldn’t afford to lose himself in her. Fuck, she was probably half his goddamn age. He had rules on messing with anything under thirty. He was sure she was just twenty-three. Way too young to be getting involved in his lifestyle.

  He’d seen it happen many times. Young thing thought she wanted to be a man’s slave, not realizing what that entailed. His best friend had broken a girl once. Three months later he had committed suicide. Shit, no way he was going to let that shit hit him.

  He focused back on the constellations, deciding the roommate had issues. Only children had glow-in-the-dark stars on their ceilings.

  * * * *

  It was still dark when Laird heard the piercing beeping coming from down the hall, followed by a grunt and groans, a slap, and then something falling to the floor with a thud.

  “Ah fuck…goddamn it!”

  He smiled. Well wasn’t she just a delightfully cheery person in the morning. He listened as she slumped back into her bed. He assumed she’d slumped into her bed, and that’s what that thump on softness was. He recognized that sound. He’d thrown many a woman to his bed.

  He stretched, and his ears perked as a soft moan drifted down the hall. He stilled and listened, a slight squeak of bedsprings. His eyebrows rose he grabbed for his watch that he had placed on the night table. Six a.m. and she was getting off? Soft hums and haws drifted to him, and his cock jerked to life. Great, just fucking great.

  Layle turned the coffee on and glanced around the apartment. It seemed so quiet. Oh wait, it was always quiet. She looked to the door and saw the wool gray coat. Shit, he actually stayed the entire night. She glanced at the clock. Was he a breakfast kind of guy?

  She pulled out pans and looked through her fridge. Eggs and a half a pound of bacon was left. She flipped open the freezer and spied her half bag of frozen hash browns. She scrunched up her nose. She would do toast.

  Laird leaned against the wall watching her standing at the stove humming away, flipping the bacon piece by excruciating piece. He hated making bacon just for that reason. He didn’t have the patience to stand there and do that. “You have the patience of an angel,” he decided out loud.

  Lyle glanced over her shoulder at him. “Thanks, but that’s not true. I hate cooking, but I love the outcome if it’s done right. I personally would have sliced it into tiny little pieces then fried it and mixed it in the scrambled eggs and made a sandwich to go,” she answered honestly.

  Laird smiled, crossing the small space. He appreciated her blunt honesty.

  Layle opened a cupboard and offered him a cup.

  He nodded his thanks and poured himself a coffee.

  “Cream is in the fridge, sugar is in the golden pot.” She turned back to the bacon and flipped again.

  “So tell me, Layle, what you do in your real life?” he asked, stirring in sugar, smirking at the miniature pot of gold that held the sugar.

  Layle shrugged her shoulders. “Odd jobs all over the place. Thank God for Harley and her steady income.” She mumbled the last part.

  Laird looked at her. “You seem to keep the club pretty constant.”

  Layle cringed, as she didn’t want to talk about the club. “I would prefer not to speak of that place in my home,” she quipped, flipping the bacon and turning down the heat and starting on the eggs.

  She had always made sure to keep the two lives separated. She was pretty sure if the people she worked with knew she was some weird pervert who liked to go to clubs and give out blow jobs like some whore, they would not look on her kindly.

  She cringed as she thought of Jonathan. Of the mask he had dared wear in her presence. Dread gripped her, and she stilled her shaking hand.

  Laird leaned up against the counter and watched her. “You fix a bed fast, so I’m guessing housekeeping. You cook, maybe some kitchen work? I’ve seen you clean the boots of a Dom, and your intensity shows me you’re anal in cleanliness. I do believe you almost passed the point of comfort with him. He likes to watch menial jobs done, but with the thought you put into it was past what he wanted.”

  Layle glanced at him. “I try to take pride in everything I do,” she admitted. That has nothing to do with the many years of being in the cadets as a teen, or enrolling in the army, she thought sarcastically to herself.

  Laird nodded. “I see that.” He crossed to the living room and stared at the large blank canvas taking up most of the wall. “Your roommate is fine with this being here?” he asked.

  Layle chuckled, and it was deep and husky.

  Laird glanced back at her. He hadn’t been aware she could get her usually high tone that low.

  “I flip it around for her. She likes the other side better.” She put a lid on the eggs and turned the heat down. Hopefully he liked sunny-side up. She crossed over and easily flipped the canvas over.

  Laird stared. Wow, it was pretty, he supposed, for a giant goddamn flower. He stepped closer. “Is that a fairy?” he asked, looking at the center of the flower.

  Layle laughed. “Yeah, it is,” she shared, crossing back to the kitchen.

  Laird stared at it. There was no signature. “Did your crazy roommate paint this?”

  Layle looked at him a tad bit irate over his conclusion of Harley. “Crazy? Sorry, let me inform you what my crazy roommate does for a living.”

  Laird turned his attention back to her. He had never struck a nerve with her and obviously had now.

  “She is a sniper and works her ass off serving our country.”

  Laird held up a hand in his defense. “I am sorry. That explains a lot.” Shit, how could he have screwed that up so bad? Of course her room would be done brightly, anything to forget the horrors of being overseas or anywhere for that matter. Shit, the crap that happened in their own backyard would turn some people green.

  “So your roommate’s military and you just wander? You two are old friends?” he asked, taking a seat at the island that obviously served as their only means of a table.

  Layle shrugged. “I tried a stint. It didn’t work out so well with me…I can’t seem to take direction from a man in uniform and yelling in my face.” She shrugged her shoulders.

  Laird grinned. That was funny. “Yet you can come in and take direction from a man half-dressed and le
t him command you any which way he wants?”

  Layle poured a glass of juice and looked at him, silently asking if he would like a glass.

  He gave a slight nod.

  “I don’t find them as obnoxious if that makes any sense?” She placed his juice in front of him and took a seat across him.

  Laird looked over the food, stomach grumbling.

  Layle ducked her head as if it were her whose tummy had just grumbled.

  Laird’s grin grew. “Yes, it does, and talking about men commanding, we do need to discuss what happened last night.”

  Layle’s brow furrowed and her fork clanked to the plate as discomfort reared through her.

  Chapter Three

  “I would prefer not to,” she squeaked.

  Laird sighed, plucking up a piece of crispy bacon. He nibbled on it in thought. There was no way in hell he was leaving her here thinking that what occurred last night was by any means acceptable. “Did Jonathan have your list of acceptable criteria?”

  Layle nodded. “Yes, I always hand it to my Dom before anything starts. He looked it over and placed it to the side, did the usual sit-down and talk, and put up some new boundaries. I know I need to work on the whole blindfolding issue, and I made it past that, but then he mentioned gagging me and I went to speak and as I opened my mouth…” She clenched her teeth. That had happened entirely too easily. How he had just shoved it in and gagged her.

  Laird wiped his fingers clean on the napkin Layle had provided. “Jonathan has been let out a few times to play. I have been keeping tabs on him and I need to apologize for not keeping a closer eye on him last night. I had looked over his bag and hadn’t seen the gag or the blindfold for that matter. It was the only reason I allowed him to play with you.”

  Layle’s eyes shot up and her gaze met his across the island.

  “Yes, every Dom in my club has to come to me before they get to play with the girls that have come to me to be collared.”

  Layle bit her lower lip. She hadn’t understood that part. She was under the assumption that when collared by Master Laird he just accepted that you were a good girl and he approved of you. Fuck was she screwed up! She didn’t even get that right.

  Laird released a breath and arched his hands below his chin and studied her a moment. “You think I play with those I collar at the club?”

  Layle nodded. She couldn’t even look at him. She felt like such a stupid person.

  Laird offered a small smile. “I don’t play with any of the girls at the club, Layle. I never have. My needs are far passed what you girls can or are willing to offer,” he offered.

  Layle scrunched up her eyebrows. It was true then. The rumors she had heard. He was a sadist. She had heard it go around the club. She could never imagine him getting off on delivering pain. “I understand,” she mumbled.

  Laird smiled, reaching across the small area that separated them, and caressed her cheek. “Your boundaries tell me you are off limits. I, like Jonathan, like to wear the mask…I would rather have you over a spanking bench so that I can mark your ass and shoulders. You would be gagged and bound.”

  Layle dared meet his gaze. How was it she didn’t get scared when he talked of doing these things to her but the thought of what Jonathan did last night terrified her. She looked back down at her plate of untouched food. She wanted to fuck him…shit.

  Laird hooked a finger under her chin and made her look back at him. The desire there in her deep green eyes melted his heart. “Fucking and doing what I do are two different things, Layle. Outside the club we are different people…” He grimaced. He shouldn’t even be saying it, let alone let it be an option. He had seen so many relationships mess up because of options like this. His thumb caressed over her lower lip. “Do you want me to tie you down, blindfold you, gag you, and cause you pain?” he asked.

  Layle swallowed, her body reacting to his words. She gave her head a shake. No, that wasn’t what she wanted from him. She was sure she couldn’t do that.

  Laird nodded. “So you want to fuck then.” It wasn’t a question, and the way her cheeks turned that delectable pink told him the answer. He released her jaw and turned his attention back to the table. “When was the last time you had a sexual partner?”

  Layle turned a shade of red he had not seen her turn before.

  “That long?”

  Layle near choked in embarrassment. She hadn’t expected him to ask that right out. His club was a no-sex-permitted club. It was strictly spanking and touching, no penetration whatsoever. She inhaled short quick breaths.

  “Relax, Layle…it’s just a simple question.” He hummed.

  Layle shook her head, trying to calm her rearing thoughts. She didn’t want to think about sex with the last person she’d had sex with. Or persons. Her hands trembled as lucid, unspeakable memories swept through her mind. Of that horrendous night that had changed her life. That had changed her.

  She backed her stool away and left the island.

  Laird looked after her. Okay, he was learning his little one had a lot of hidden issues.

  Layle splashed cold water over her face. Laird was going to think she was a freak! How could she have been…she couldn’t even think the stupid R-word. How could something like that happen to her, and here she was spending her evenings in a club that allowed men to spank her, to flog her. She patted her face dry and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Tears welled. Maybe she was crazy.

  Laird eyed her as she came back into the kitchen. “Sorry. I need you to go. I have to get to work,” she mumbled, picking up her plate and scraping the remaining food into the garbage.

  Laird nodded. He would leave her be. They would have another time to speak. He would keep an eye on her at the club. He slipped his coat on and looked at her as she placed the plates in the dishwasher. “Layle, come here,” he ordered.

  She was automatic on the command and bowed her head as she stood in front of him.

  Such beautiful obedience she had.

  He pulled her close and engulfed her in a hug. “I have other things to offer as well, Layle…if ever you need an ear or arms to hold you…I offer you that.”

  Layle nodded, sniffling as fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Laird kissed the crown of her head. “Be safe please, Layle.”

  Layle nodded, turning away from him as he left.

  * * * *

  Laird settled at his desk and opened the ledger, the soft knock at the door irritating his mood further. “Come in,” he called.

  Lania peeked in, a mischievous smile coming to her brightly painted red lips. “Master Laird,” she greeted, slipping into the room.

  Laird couldn’t help but smile. Black leather minidress open on the sides and the sexiest string-up job he had seen in a while. Long legs encased in spiked thigh-high boots, delicate chains dangling down the sides.

  He leaned back in his seat and waited for Mistress Lania to get her words out.

  Lania crossed the room, motioned to the chair across from his desk and waited for the invitation to sit.

  Laired chuckled. “I would really prefer you to stand and ogle you, but go ahead,” he hummed, relaxing back.

  Lania giggled. She loved Master Laird. He was such a man. “I heard a little bird went home with you last night?” she asked right out.

  Laird laughed. “No, I went home with a little bird. You know I don’t take anyone home,” he corrected.

  Lania nodded. “Is she okay?” Concern etched her voice and filled her eyes. Something had to have happened for Laird to go home with a sub.

  Laird grimaced. “From last night, I have no idea. From previous experiences, no.”

  Lania furrowed her brow. “Would you like me to take her under my wing?”

  Laird shook his head. “She can handle herself. If you see that she is struggling, feel free. I think I’ll only allow Dedrick and Jamal to play with her this week.”

  Lania furrowed her brow. “You never talked to her?” She was appalled! That wa
sn’t like Laird. He always talked to them and calmed them down.

  Laird shook his head. “We never got that far. She was pretty panicked. She has underlying issues that need to be dealt with.”

  Lania perked up. “What do you mean underlying issues?” she urged.

  Laird chuckled. “Ah, look, the gossip in our house Mistress is seeping out,” he criticized.

  Lania scoffed. “Don’t you dare think for a minute that I’m gossiping. Layle is a good girl, and to see her scared like last night fucking pissed me off!” She tossed a large black curl of satiny hair over her shoulder and glared at him. “You have any idea how creepy that shit is to her? I talked to her once and prodded the subject of the masks. I’ve seen her cringe at the sight of those masks.”

  Laird settled back in his seat and waited for Lania to share her information. “She was in training and wanted to be in some friggin’ military ops.” She sniffed and notched her chin. “She had surpassed some douche bag who thought he was all that! Thought he was the man,” she scoffed. “Little tiny Layle kicked his ass in the training and he took her down.” She clenched her fists.

  It took months of being friendly with the girl to find out her secret. Lania knew there was one. She just needed to find the way to get Layle to talk about it. “He tricked her at her coronation or whatever the hell it is they do for passing. Even asked to take her to some dance and got her to trust him.”

  Laird’s upper lip twitched. Even he knew this would end badly.

  Lania stood and paced behind her chair. “He walked her to her car.” She shot him a sharp look. “You know what he did to her out there at her car?”

  Laird cleared his throat and dread crept down his spine. “I could imagine,” he whispered.

  “He grabbed her, threw her to the ground, and then proceeded to let her know who of the two of them was the man…she was nineteen, a friggin’ baby,” she uttered, her hands on her leather-clad hips. “She was a friggin’ virgin baby, Laird! I swear if I ever meet that fucker he will know what women can do,” she promised.