by Ann Jacobs
She tried to quell the tears that wanted to explode inside her head then forced herself to meet his gaze as if they were equals. “It’s not going any farther. It can’t.”
“It can and will. Eventually. I’ll give you time to work through your crazy hang-ups. But not too much time. Get up now and run for cover, my sweet slave, before I decide to show you right now how completely I want to own you.”
As soon as he slid off the table, Keely got up and bolted for the door. He owned her body, that was for certain, but she dared not risk handing him her soul.
* * * * *
You’re gonna lose him, Keely girl.
Keely shivered as she stood there naked in the dressing room at Roped and Lassoed, her blood still soaring through her body in the wake of the intense scene she’d just enjoyed with the Dom who brought her wildest fantasies to life. She had to admit that other Doms who had pleasured her, no matter how skilled they were, couldn’t hold a candle to Master Brad.
Determined not to worry about what might happen in the future, Keely slipped on her jeans, boots and sweater. She had to get out of there lest her determination waver. Shrugging on her sheepskin-lined jacket, she pulled the hood up over her head and made her way downstairs, moving quickly past the swinging door that led to the saloon where half the locals came to enjoy some beer and man-talk. It wouldn’t do for any of the customers at the farm implement store where she worked to see her leaving Roped and Lassoed.
Too bad it was such a poorly kept secret that Brad had started a BDSM club ten years ago above this roadhouse on the old highway that snaked through the hills between Laramie and Tie Siding. Even worse, almost everybody in Laramie knew Brad was so much into scandalous, kinky sex that he occasionally acted as a club Dom and dipped his wick not only into the few female club members, but—rumor had it—also some of the men.
Actually those rumors were whispered with a good bit of care, as if nobody was anxious to get back to the McTavishes that he or she had originated the rumors.
It didn’t help Brad’s reputation that he went off every summer, chasing the elusive all-around national rodeo championship, risking his neck to prove he could master even a Brahma bull. Keely shouldn’t care. After all, it wasn’t as if she was in love with him. At least she didn’t think she was.
Damn it, she wouldn’t let herself get tied up emotionally by the master who’d enslaved her libido. No way. No matter how much he tempted her to get to know the man behind the leather chaps and vest, to learn when and how he’d gotten the various scars that dotted his perfectly sculpted body. She’d wanted to ask him if the one on his inner thigh—a new addition she guessed he’d gotten this summer on the rodeo circuit—still hurt. And she often wondered when and where and why he’d gotten that Ampellang piercing, and if he ever took out the thick rose-gold barbell he wore through his thick cock head for dungeon scenes. But she’d never asked. If she had, she’d have had to concede she had an interest in her sometimes-master that transcended lust. She wasn’t about to admit to herself that their relationship might become any more than strictly sexual.
For a long time Keely had realized vanilla sex didn’t cut it for her. Just like her mother. After struggling with memories of a hero Dom—her dad—and villain Vince, she’d finally decided to take care of her needs this way, twice a week at Roped and Lassoed. She wouldn’t allow herself any more than that. And she could rationalize to her guilty conscience that what she was doing was keeping her sexual cravings down to a manageable roar. No way would she risk losing her self-control. No matter how much she wanted those scenes to continue, to have them finally end with her cradled in Brad McTavish’s strong arms. To feel totally protected in his keeping. Maybe it was the fact that Brad made her want to make their relationship far more than it was—than it could ever be—that frightened her beyond reason.
* * * * *
Outside, Keely felt fast-falling snowflakes stinging her cheeks. A frigid Wyoming wind invaded her jacket, swirling over her sensitized flesh through her unlined jeans. Shivering, she made her way toward her ancient pickup. She had to get home in a hurry, or she’d be stuck on the road for God only knew how long.
She should have stayed home, ignored the impulse that had driven her to brave the storm. Three hours ago it had only been a lazy snowfall coming down from a sky still glowing as the sun was setting on the western horizon. Nothing to indicate a blizzard might come of it in such a short time. There was nothing lazy about the hordes of snowflakes that obscured her vision now, or the fierce wind that whipped around her. It came close to catching her up as though she was as light as one of the fallen snowflakes. The wind was forming treacherous drifts like this one that had practically buried her truck.
Maybe. Just maybe she should go back inside, not try to leave until the storm let up. But no, she didn’t dare let down her guard. As much as she would like to spend a whole night in Brad’s arms, to kneel at his feet and suck his cock before a roaring fire while he tunneled his fingers in her hair and forced her to take him deeper, she mustn’t give in. Not even now, while her knees trembled and her pussy still twitched with aftershocks from an orgasm that seemed to go on and on and on.
Especially not now.
And especially when the snow had started to swirl all around her so much she could hardly see to fit the key into the door lock. She had to get home fast, or she wouldn’t be going anywhere except into the nearest ditch. That was if the truck decided to start, not just wheeze and sputter into a screeching, silent heap right there in the parking lot the way she imagined it might.
* * * * *
“Snow’s coming down mighty fast, boss. A fella can hardly see his hands in front of his face. Looks like we may be in for the first real blizzard of the year. Doubt if anybody gets here who isn’t already inside. Sure looks worse outside than what the weatherman predicted.”
His night manager Eli Thompson’s gravelly voice was easy to place even when Brad had his sweater halfway over his head, blocking his vision. “Looks bad, does it?”
“Mighty bad, winds whippin’ around the snow. Wouldn’t be surprised if it buried whatever cars are still in the parking lot before too long.”
Oh, shit. If Brad didn’t miss his guess, Keely would already have hightailed it out. His dick twitched at the memory of what they’d been doing over the last two hours. Why do you always have to run out the minute a scene’s over?
He knew why. She was scared shitless of starting a relationship she didn’t think she could finish.
He jerked his sweater all the way down and wrestled open the small window in the men’s dressing room. There she was, climbing into that worn-out wreck of a truck that he’d have consigned to the junkyard at least ten years ago. Stubborn little bitch! He pictured her freezing her ass off, stranded in one of the deep ditches bordering the highway into Laramie. “Gotta run. Keely’s out there tryin’ to get that rust bucket of hers to start. I’ve gotta try to stop her.”
Shrugging into his Gore-Tex jacket but not taking time to zip it, Brad took the stairs three at a time and sprinted across the icy lot. He grabbed the driver’s side door as Keely was trying to start the balky engine, and flung it open. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Do you have a death wish?”
She tugged at the door handle, but her strength was no match for his. “Close the door. Can’t you see I’m trying to get home before this storm rolls in?”
“Looks to me like it’s already rolled. You’re not going anywhere in this piece of shit, even if you can manage to start it.”
“Hey, the master-slave scene is over. Get out of my way.” She jerked on the door again, but he easily maintained control. Reaching into his jeans pocket, he used the remote control to start his own truck on the other side of the parking lot and turn on the heater.
He grabbed Keely around her narrow waist and lifted her onto the ground, slamming the creaky door behind her. “Well, Keely girl, I’ve decided it’s time for us to start a new one. Come on, unless
you want to get laid right here in the snow.” Determined that she wasn’t going to get away so easily now, Brad scooped her up in his arms and strode across the lot.
“What are you doing? Where do you think you’re taking me?” She punctuated the words with sharp jabs to his chest that might’ve hurt if it hadn’t been for his several layers of winter clothes.
“Here. Get in. Sorry it’s cold in here, but you didn’t give me much time to start the truck and get it warmed up.”
He tossed her into the cab of a huge red crew-cab pickup and strapped her in. Jerking up the hood of his jacket, he stomped around to the driver’s side. Somehow when he crawled in behind the wheel, the air inside seemed to grow warmer just from his presence. Keely shivered when Brad cupped her chin with his icy callused fingers and made her look into his dark, mesmerizing eyes.
“I’m taking you home with me. It’s closer than downtown Laramie, not to mention a much less treacherous drive. If you weren’t such a priss about folks seeing you come out of here in the morning we’d just go back upstairs.” He paused, shot her the grin that had a way of turning her resistance into jelly. “Relax and think about the hot cocoa and grilled cheese sandwiches I’m going to make for us before I tie you to my bed and make you come until you forget all about why it is you’re so damn determined not to be seen with me.”
Keely could have screamed, and maybe someone would have charged out of the saloon and rescued her if they’d been able to hear her yelling over the raging wind. But for a moment she was taken aback. She’d thought Brad had accepted at face value her very rational explanation of wanting to keep her BDSM life private and confined to the club. She’d assumed her typical conservative reasons for secrecy made sense to him. She could’ve insisted Brad take her to her place in Laramie, storm or no storm, and she knew instinctively he’d do it. Dom or not, Brad McTavish wouldn’t do anything to her that she didn’t want.
And there it was again, that niggling sense that maybe, just maybe Brad had more of her dad than her stepfather in him. Of course she could be only deluding herself, hoping that was the case so she could indulge her repressed desire to learn who he was and how he lived in real time, outside the fantasy world of the dungeon. Could she manage her wayward libido long enough to sample his loving on his own turf without losing perspective?
The temptation was now here, right in front of her, and it was almost as if the storm was conspiring with him, blowing away her choices. Of course every submissive knew how even the illusion of having her choices taken away could ratchet up desire. The battle lost, she lowered her gaze and spoke. “I-I don’t mind. Not really. I know you’d never hurt me.”
“Hurt you? No, baby, I’ll never hurt you, not unless you need a little pain to get off.” Brad tilted her head and joined their lips.
He’d never done that before. She’d never allowed it. She must have been crazy all these months, because this simple kiss conveyed more than lust. It spoke of tenderness that touched her deep inside.
He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, asking entrance. Not demanding it. Keely opened to him, stroked his tongue with hers, felt his warm breath mingle with hers in the dark solitude of his truck’s cozy interior. All of a sudden the chill left her bones, replaced by a warm glow that began in her belly and snaked its way through her body. Yeah. She was still afraid of taking their purely sexual relationship to a new level, but not so afraid that she could tell him no. “Please take me home with you,” she murmured against his lips when he released her.
“Oh, yeah.” He slid over and put the truck in gear then patted the space beside him. “Curl up next to me and let me keep you warm. But don’t think I’m about to forget you need a good old-fashioned spanking for even thinking about taking off by yourself. Look out the window, watch the snow. Feel the wind rattling the windows. And thank God this truck has four-wheel drive and new snow tires, and that it’s only a couple of miles to my place.”
“Yes, Master.” Keely stared out the window, watching the wiper blades send melted snow flying as they made their way out of the parking lot and onto the highway. Brad drove the big, new pickup truck like a pro—the way he drove her to mindless climaxes in every encounter they’d shared at the dungeon. “Your transportation’s a far cry from mine.”
He turned into a winding country road that led up a steep rise. Though she braced herself for feeling the truck slipping and sliding, instead she listened to the motor’s growl become fiercer. The oversize tires dug in, crunching through the newly fallen snow to get to the frozen ground below. Soon Brad drew to a stop inside the garage of a breathtakingly beautiful contemporary house, all angles and expanses of sparkling glass and rough-hewn cedar.
After turning off the motor, Brad came around and opened her door. “I need something rugged and reliable to get myself home on nights like these. You do too,” he added, his smile morphing into a scowl. “Come on, let’s go inside and get warm.”
Chapter Two
“Make yourself at home,” Brad said, helping Keely take off her jacket and hanging it beside his on a rack outside the door from the garage. “Fire or food first?”
Keely’s teeth were chattering so hard she had trouble speaking. “Fire, please,” she said, her voice as shaky as her heartbeat. Now that she’d given in to temptation, no amount of rationalizing could make her believe she’d done the only thing she could have, even considering the rotten weather that had come on so suddenly. The warmth of Brad’s big hand at her waist as he ushered her into the biggest living room she’d ever seen should have made her quit shaking. Instead, she kept on trembling even after he’d started the kindling with some sort of giant lighter.
The warm overhead lights he turned on bathed the room in a cheery glow. “Be right back, Keely girl. Relax and let the fire thaw you out while I fix something to warm your innards.” He bent, framed her face between his hands and kissed her, a gesture more tender than sexual.
Was this the stern master who regularly subjected her to his will? He looked the same, had the same seductive smile, the same woodsy cologne she’d learned to recognize even from the opposite side of the dungeon. But this—this gentle reassurance, this kind, respectful treatment—soothed her trepidations more than any overt action could have done.
Keely sighed as it came to her that he’d touched her many times, many ways. He’d taken her pussy and stimulated her ass. He’d ordered her to service him orally. She’d squirmed under his lips when he sucked her nipples and teased her clit with his tongue. But the simple brushing of his lips on hers…he’d never done that until tonight. And these two brief kisses somehow seemed more intimate than anything they’d ever played out in a scene back at the dungeon.
It boded ill for her resolution to keep their relationship strictly sexual, especially here in the warmth of his home, before a crackling fire that was slowly letting her absorb its heat. The chill in her bones began to dissipate even though the storm raged outside. The scene looked almost like a Christmas card, with snow on the ground in billowing drifts and huge evergreens tipped with a thick coating of snow and ice.
She looked away from the windows, focusing instead on the casual yet elegant lines of the towering peak of the ceiling, the cheerful whistling of a teapot she traced to a spot just past a circular staircase. A mouthwatering smell of melting cheese and hot cocoa reminded her of sleepy winter days when she’d been a little girl, before her dad died.
Sitting there, Keely let her thoughts wander back years. She’d often seen her mom and dad at home, enjoying each other and a stormy night. They’d been happy, and so had she. Had Mom been so desperately lonely after the love of her life had died that she’d grasped at anyone—even Vince—who had made her feel a tenth of the way she’d felt with Daddy? Like the home she remembered from her earliest years, Brad’s house had similar homey touches.
She’d expected he’d have a showplace, not a home, but the effects were totally masculine. Oversize, earth-toned leather furniture, inviting stac
ks of pillows and expansive spaces hinted that he valued casual living. Framed photos looked down from their spots on a wide mantel made of native stone. Not what she’d expected at all when she’d allowed herself to imagine Brad in his personal space. She saw no hints that he was a sexual Dominant…at least down here. She glanced up the staircase, wondered if he had his own private dungeon tucked up there where no casual guest would see it.
Suddenly Brad appeared in the doorway where all those good smells were coming from. “The bedrooms are up there. Three of them. And an exercise room. I’ll show you after we eat.” He set a tray on the table, set out plates, mugs and napkins. “Come on and sit beside me. I won’t bite.”
Much. The man had a snake charmer’s ability with her even when they weren’t playing a scene. She couldn’t resist joining him at the rough-hewn table then letting him seat her. The clean citrusy smell of his cologne mingled with aromas of melted cheese and hot cocoa. Homey smells. Not the smells she desperately wanted to associate with him—musk and sweat and sex, and the distinctive odor of those leather chaps and vest he always wore during their scenes at the club on Tuesdays and Thursdays. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
“So how did you think I manage to keep my strength up for the games we’ve been playing?” He lifted an eyebrow, giving him a devilish look before spoiling it by taking a monstrous bite from a sandwich and snaking his tongue out to catch a wayward strand of melted cheese.
“The saloon downstairs? Or maybe a housekeeper in a Parisian maid’s outfit ruling over your kitchen here?” She knew as soon as she said it that she sounded jealous as hell, but she couldn’t call back the words.
He set his cocoa down and shot her a self-satisfied grin “Well, you’re half right. I grab plenty of burgers and barbecued ribs at the saloon on days when I’m holding down the fort at Roped and Lassoed. As for the housekeeper, she comes to clean wearing jeans and sweatshirts and leaves as soon as she’s finished. Once in a while she brings me a jar of the chili or soup she’s made for her husband and kids. I don’t need a woman living in unless she’s my lover…my 24/7 slave ready and willing to satisfy all my needs, not just fill my growling belly with food.”