by Ann Jacobs
What would turn Jared McTavish on? Earl had always wanted her to wear pastel colors, lots of lace and satin. Girly-girl stuff, he’d always said, and he’d brought her home something new every time he came back from a trip. Something made her believe Jared would prefer seeing his subs in leather and denim. A cowgirl outfit, complete with curled brim hat and knee-high boots to go with the denim short shorts and plaid shirt that tied below the breasts, caught her eye, so she laid it on the counter along with a slender riding crop she hoped that he’d use on her.
Hmmm. She trembled slightly when she eyed a cat o’nine and imagined Jared wielding it with exquisite skill. It cost a bit much, considering her nurse’s salary, so she decided that if he wanted one, he could buy it for himself. After perusing the selection of sex toys, she came back to the counter and bought the outfit she’d picked out, along with a length of silken rope whose royal blue color made it impossible to resist. Her pussy creamed at the thought of wearing it tonight. Wearing the rope bondage to honor Earl’s memory, and later on the cowboy fantasy outfit for Jared’s pleasure.
* * * * *
A few hours later Jared returned from his walk on Greenway Path, sore but feeling good that he’d managed pretty well with his prosthesis on the uneven terrain. The burger and fries he’d eaten at the restaurant across from his apartment complex had hit the spot, along with a longneck bottle of Blonde Ale. One good thing about being close to home, he thought—his favorite locally brewed libation was readily available.
When he stepped inside the door, he saw it. A large, cream-colored envelope with nothing but his name scrawled on it in bold, masculine print. Setting aside his crutches and bending carefully—a motion that was damn tricky to make on one gimpy leg and a prosthesis—he picked up the thing and made his way to the nearest chair, a leather recliner.
Fuck. It was an invitation to a dungeon. Who the hell around here had guessed he’d been into the BDSM lifestyle? Had been being the operative word.
He searched his memory, trying to figure out who might have contacted this guy Marshall Wallace at a Cheyenne club called Boundless Pleasure. It had to have been his older brother Brad, who owned the club in Laramie where Jared had been a frequent visitor before enlisting and when he came home on leave. Nobody else Jared could think of was likely to know his sexual tastes as well as his present location. Pulling his cell phone off the waistband of his jeans, he put in a call.
Nope. It wasn’t Brad, although he’d been glad to hear Jared had gotten hooked up with what he’d heard was the best run dungeon in Cheyenne. Jared looked at the invitation again. It didn’t matter who’d sent it, he wouldn’t be going. Brad had apparently forgotten he wasn’t the same guy he’d been a year ago. The Dom in him was gone, left somewhere on a windblown desert in western Iraq along with his career…his future.
If he ever went out looking for a woman now, he’d be in the market for a nurturer, not a sub who needed nurturing. A strong woman, not one who’d look to him for pleasure through physical mastery. When he’d first been discharged from Walter Reed and come home to Wyoming for further rehabilitation at the hospital where Ninia worked, he hadn’t imagined he’d ever reach the point of wondering if a woman existed who’d take him as he was, love him for whatever he might have inside and not for the battered outside wrappings. But being close to home, getting a little more mobile every day, he was beginning to think about his future. To imagine someday there might be a woman who’d want him as he was.
Jared’s gaze drifted to the expanse of glass that led to the patio. He was looking from the wrong vantage point to see that balcony across the way, but still he remembered as clearly as though her image were etched on his brain. Moonlight and a mystery woman as lonely as he, pleasuring herself on her patio for his entertainment. His arousal. A woman who might be able to drive the recurring dreams with Nurse Ninia out of his head, even though he’d put Ninia’s face on her while she’d aroused him.
Could his captivating neighbor have been the one who arranged this invitation? The more he thought of it, the more he figured maybe she had. Maybe he’d figure out which apartment his mystery woman lived in, find out who she was. Maybe he’d even go to her, offer her his cock instead of her dildo…
Would she like for him to restrain her, pleasure her beyond anything she’d ever known?
Damn it, he had no business fantasizing about an encounter that never would take place. Setting aside the invitation that had started his mind to wandering in a world of make-believe, he heaved himself out of the chair and limped off to bed. He’d rest a while, then maybe if he felt up to it, he’d check out the place called Boundless Pleasure.
So what if he found himself standing on the sidelines, playing voyeur while other Doms pleasured their subs? He figured there was nothing like a rude awakening to keep him focused on how his life had changed and reminded that since his injuries, some people inevitably would look at him not with desire, but with thinly veiled pity for what he’d lost. Figuratively as well as literally.
Chapter Three
Would Jared come tonight? Ninia hung out in the dressing room at Boundless Pleasure as long as she dared, counting goose bumps on her nearly naked body and toying with the full-face mask she was trying to work up enough courage to leave in the locker with her street clothes.
Four years. That’s how long it had been since she’d come here with Earl the night before he shipped out. He’d shown off a new pattern of rope bondage he’d learned just for her, or so he’d whispered when she’d reached that delicious level of pleasure-pain that had her on the edge. As if it had been just yesterday, she felt the roughness of his hands, his callused fingertips. He’d caressed her throat, her back, everywhere but the spots he’d known would send her tumbling into a haze of Nirvana. A state he’d granted her—finally—by giving her his cock and fucking her before a dozen pairs of eyes, glowing like predators in the forest, attracted by the sexual energy he’d roused in her and himself. By giving her permission to come in his gruff, beloved voice when she’d thought she couldn’t hold out a minute more. Then he’d untied her, tenderly, tugged on the slim gold chain he’d put around her neck the day they’d married. And ordered her to wait for him until he came home.
But a Taliban terrorist’s IED had come between them, kept him from keeping his promise. Ninia shed the mask and wiped a tear off her cheek. Her usually steady hands uncharacteristically clumsy, she fumbled with the elaborate clasp that undid the slender chain, letting the gold links slide through her fingers like tears of farewell.
She’d endured four years of loneliness and grief, but the memories weren’t so painful now that she could consider living again, satisfying another Master’s needs, taking pleasure from giving herself to him. It was almost as if Earl were there, guiding her, lifting her hand and placing it in Jared’s.
Earl’s deep voice rang in her ears, almost as if he were beside her. This was mine, but now I’m gone. Now she’s yours to care for.
Would Jared find the Karada bondage she’d decided to wear in Earl’s memory arousing? She closed her eyes, imagined Jared tightening the confinement she’d always loved. He’d caress her with callused hands the way he’d touched her last night with his hungry gaze. Her mouth watered when she pictured him, still hard-muscled, a beautiful man despite the ordeal of surgeries and recovery.
No, she shouldn’t have surreptitiously managed to be the one accompanying him to the physical therapy rooms. But she had, and she’d nearly crumbled emotionally when she’d watched him working out his upper body so fiercely, as though he were still fighting terrorists. How he’d struggled, how he’d pushed those muscles he obviously had deemed too weak. She’d felt his determination in every grunt, each droplet of sweat that dotted his brow—in the tight set of his jaw as though he’d force the still-working parts of his body to be more powerful than ever or be damned trying.
He hadn’t seen her watching. Hadn’t known how much she’d wanted to tell him then that he wasn’t weak. To whisper that he mad
e her wet just looking at him, imagining him claiming her, taking her. To show him he was perfect in her eyes.
She visualized his long, thick cock, imagined as she had so many times when tending him in the hospital how satiny it would feel in her hands. Her skin tingled when she thought about the way he’d explore her body with his long, slender fingers before ordering her to take him in her mouth, her cunt, her ass.
Her pulse raced. Her heart pounded in her chest. She wanted a Master tonight—not just any Dom who might hit on her. She wanted Jared, the wounded soldier who’d come to dominate her dreams. When she stepped into the main dungeon, she saw him.
Gorgeous. Bare-chested, with a light dusting of dark hair over well-developed pecs and impressively muscular arms, he wore low-riding leather chaps over snug black jeans…and cowboy boots. Her gaze settled on the coiled black leather whip he clutched in his left fist. She’d guessed right—the cat was his specialty. Made sense, with him having come from the rugged Wyoming ranch country near the Colorado border, as he’d mentioned the first day while she filled in the blanks in his patient history after he was admitted to her inpatient unit at the hospital.
Jared stood in the entryway to the main dungeon, not yet certain if he’d stay. Then he spied a familiar face. Ninia.
Not that he hadn’t pictured her in a dungeon like this. But he’d imagined her decked out in black leather and stiletto-heeled boots, whip in hand. Not like the submissive angel who stood, eyes downcast, decked out in loosely tied Karada bondage that drew his gaze to her naked breasts and sex.
There was something more seductive than plain bare skin about the intricate pattern of royal blue rope against her pale, creamy body. He watched her eyelids flutter, her full lips curve upward in a shy smile. Her eyes remained downcast, as a good sub’s should, yet he sensed that she recognized him, that she’d singled him out somehow, even before he’d noticed her. Like the woman across the courtyard last night, she wore her blonde hair loose, trailing down her back, soft curls caressing each womanly curve. Who had wrapped the intricate pattern of blue nylon rope? Apparently not her Master, for she waited with the other unattached subs for an invitation to play.
Jared figured he might fit the role of submissive better now that he wasn’t all he’d been, but that thought didn’t set well. He’d planned to say he was just here to observe tonight and not commit to either preference, but when the dungeon master had asked him his chosen role and orientation he’d answered automatically, “Dominant. Heterosexual,” as he’d done countless times in dungeons around the world.
Old habits died hard. Real hard.
Making a conscious effort not to limp, he made his way across the room, not realizing until he stopped in front of Ninia that he’d been headed for her all along. It shocked the hell out of him because she already knew his physical limitations when the other subs wouldn’t have discovered them right away. He’d assumed his nurse, who’d seen him helpless and battered, would be the last one he’d want, for fear it would be a pity fuck. But it was as if his recurring dream had become reality. She had his cock rock-hard, his balls aching. There was no other woman in the room he could see past her.
“Without your uniform you are one hell of a beautiful woman,” he told her, reaching out his hand in invitation. “Come with me.”
When he noticed her eyes glistening with tears, he remembered she’d lost a serviceman-husband. Undoubtedly a Dom, since she was obviously a practiced sub. He met her gaze and knew. This was her first venture into the world of BDSM in a long, long time—most likely since before her husband had shipped out for the last time. Would Jared, limited as he was by his injuries, be able to wipe out the pain he’d glimpsed so briefly in her eyes? He didn’t know, but there was no way he could turn away, deny her whatever pleasure he could give her.
As though she sensed his doubts, she smiled, her tongue darting out to dampen her lips in shy invitation. “Yes, Master Jared.” He could barely hear her, but he saw the longing in her eyes. “What can I do to please you?”
If he told her all the things he’d fantasized her doing to him, she probably would run, so he stroked her satiny arm the way he might gentle a skittish mare. “Many things, but first I’d like to know I’m not stepping onto another Dom’s property. Who tied your Karada?”
“I did, Master. My husband taught me how, and I thought of doing it because Master Chad is presenting a demonstration of the art tonight for everyone to view. The binding is loose, so if it pleases you, you may tighten it.”
If it pleased him? He couldn’t remember feeling as alive—as whole—as when he felt the softness of her skin beneath his fingers, the rhythmic pulsing of a delicate vein. Jared reached out, traced the intricate pattern of rope around her slender neck, down between her breasts, around and down past her hipbones over her downy mound. She’d done this to seduce him, and knowing that made him feel a Master’s responsibility to bring her pleasure. “I’m not an expert in the art of Japanese rope bondage, so I will think of this as merely an arousing wrapping for an incredibly erotic package. I want to shave this. I like eating a smooth pussy.”
“Whatever gives you pleasure. Master.” A tiny tremor went through her body, made him wonder…
She was being too damn compliant, even for a sub. Suspicion washed over Jared—suspicion she might be doing the Good Samaritan bit for a Dom who couldn’t dominate without his sub’s overt consent. “And I may want to fuck your ass.”
Her nipples hardened noticeably at his bald declaration. “That would please me immeasurably.” Those words slammed into him, got his heart to pounding, his mouth watering to taste those rosy nubs. So what if she was in it for a pity fuck? He wasn’t about to question her motives, not when she was here and she was hot and willing. The heady musk of her arousal already filled his nostrils, and he’d barely touched her. His balls throbbed and his cock pressed painfully against his zippered fly. “Come then, I’ll get us a private torture chamber.” He wasn’t ready to strip in front of between twenty and thirty strangers. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
* * * * *
One on one. Ninia wasn’t surprised Jared wanted to play their scene between just the two of them, but she found herself craving privacy too, needing to go into this one step at a time. Yes. She’d enjoyed group scenes with Earl, found it stimulating to have strangers watch him play her body like a fine violin. It had aroused her when he’d allowed his fellow Doms to join him in their sex play, sometimes even to take whatever holes he wasn’t using at the time. But this was different, a first time with a new master. She sensed that this was Jared’s first scene since his injury, as well. When she heard the heavy door close with a thud, she took in a deep breath, felt the heat of his dark eyes burning into her from behind.
“I’m going to unwrap my present now,” he told her, his deep, mellow voice sending chills down her spine as he laid his hands over hers and splayed their fingers over her belly. “Help me.”
In those two words she sensed his doubt. His vulnerability. His determination to give her what she wanted in spite of his emotional baggage that was obvious from the way he’d dressed to cover the evidence of his loss. She wanted to heal him, give him back…
But then he pulled her close, stole her thoughts with pure sexual sensation. The heat of his body, the rasp of his leather chaps and jeans against the backs of her legs, the woodsy smell of a light cologne, the powerful aura of a Master surrounded her, reassured her, made her feel lightheaded as she glanced around the chamber he’d chosen.
Big enough for a group scene, the paneled room reminded her of a bedroom in the bordello in an old-West movie she’d once seen, with its roughly hewn four-poster bed, matching washstand, and a mirrored wardrobe conveniently placed beside the big bed. One of the wardrobe doors was ajar, showing off an array of toys that seemed somehow incongruous with the antique furniture. Her heart beat faster when she noticed a sturdy spanking horse centered on a red frieze carpet beside the bed. She imagined Jared restraining her acro
ss it, using that cat o’nine to flick at her tender skin.
The room suited him. Suited them. Her hands moved beneath his, found where she’d tied the rope and loosened the knot. “Here, it’s loose now, Master. Do you want me to unwrap it?”
“No. I want to see how it’s done, because I intend to learn how to wrap the rope myself.” Very slowly, gently, taking his time to free her from the silken rope, he bent and nuzzled the back of her neck. His warm breath heated her, made her want him to hurry, take her, force her to unleash all the restraint put on her by a long-ago promise that could never be fulfilled.
Earl had bound her as surely as if he’d been the one to tie the Karada in the dressing room tonight. Now Jared was releasing her, symbolically. Releasing her so he could take her and make her his, for tonight. Maybe longer. She absorbed his heat, his strength…the desire that surrounded them as the rope slid gently off her body onto the floor.
He reached out, took her hand, led her to the bed and laid back the red brocade coverlet. “Stand here a minute.” Limping now but looking no less powerful because of it, he moved to the washstand, grabbed a towel and came back to spread it on the edge of the bed. “Now sit down and spread your legs for me.”
“Yes, Master.” When he sat beside her and drew one of her legs over his thigh, she felt his erection and wished she dared to touch him there. But she didn’t. It felt so good when he lathered up her pussy and began to shave her, following the razor with his fingers to be sure he’d made her completely smooth. Moisture gushed, slickened her flesh so his fingers glided over it. God, it had been so long. She needed to come, prayed he’d order her to do so. But he didn’t. Her clit hardened, elongated, throbbed with anticipation as he worked the razor around her ass. “God yes.”
“There, this is the way I like my pussy.” He set the razor down then stroked along her slit, slipping one long finger inside her before moving back and working that finger gently up her rear entrance. “So soft. So wet. So fucking tight. I’m going to have to stretch your rear so you can take me here.”