by Susan Arden
Table of Contents
LEATHER AND LACE (BAD BOYS & GOOD GIRLS, #1)
If Only
What The Hell?
Hungry & Buzzed
Sex Drunk
Voyeur
Truth Hurts
Want More Bad Boys & Good Girls?
Acknowledgements
Nashville
SILVER SPROCKET PUBLISHING
Published in the United States of America by Silver Sprocket Publishing LLC.
COLLARED BY THE COWBOY © Susan Arden
Originally Published February 28, 2014
Revised June 2015
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
SWEET-N-SPICY TALES
A Division of SILVER SPROCKET PUBLISHING
Thank you for purchasing this story. The published and author acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book.
Series: Bad Boys ~ Good Girls
All it takes is one bad boy...
When life hands out lemons,
these good girls give bad a try.
Collared by the Cowboy #1
A study about sex, subs, and power ignites into a firestorm.
A SWELTERING AFFAIR SO HOT IT BURNS
A study about sex, subs, and power
ends up being one hell of a lie.
A lie two people tell themselves:
We aren’t falling too fast.
Or, we can get out before we get hurt.
LOVE, not gonna happen.
Mia Santero wants a ticket out of nowheresville...
In a research project, she discovers
the man behind her ‘subject’ has stolen her heart.
Brandon puts his reputation on the line
when he agrees to train Mia as a sub.
He gives her access to his club and life.
Instead of a tantalizing and temporary diversion,
Mia’s the girl he can’t let go.
When Mia ends up missing, Brandon risks everything to rescue her.
To those who have survived abuse
and to the many still silently suffering.
If Only
Kink: “unconventional sexual taste or behavior”—Merriam-Webster
TWO EMAILS and Mia’s life was about to spin out of control. Dr. Orton, her grad program advisor wanted to ‘talk’ about her thesis proposal. An out of the box study that would take place at Spurs and Leather. Sure it was a bondage club, but they served up sex without the pretense and inhibitions regularly featured on the small-town menu in these parts.
Her one goal, her one wish equated to a ticket out of nowheresville. Since she was short on fairy godmothers at the moment, the only way that would happen required a kick-ass research project. Mia fully intended on moving to a city like San Francisco or L.A., maybe New York. A modern city where people didn’t turn fifty shades of red when a term like cunnilingus eased into the conversation.
“Here. Knock ‘em dead.” Dani commanded her attention with an outstretched hand. Over her roommate’s finger hung a hanger, and she waved a tiny scrap of red leather in Mia’s direction.
“Interesting. But no.” Her brow knitted as she stared at the crisscrossing laces of the tiny corset. “When I said outfit, I was thinking something larger than a rubber band.”
“This dress will help you fit in.” Tutting, her roommate thrust the fetish dress into her hands. “Thank me later when you land your first job.”
“By chance does that job involve a street corner?”
“Funny,” Dani replied. “You’re stalling.”
“You do realize that I’m the one who’s gotta fit into this little number. Operative word: little.” Mia held up the dress probably two sizes too small. “Just where am I supposed to fit my boobs?”
“Okay, I can see you’re going to overanalyze this into the ground.” Dani snapped her fingers. “Let’s go. Time to change. Stat!”
Rather than waste time arguing, she’d just try on the dress and make her point when a body part or two sprang loose. Mia peeled off her oversized T-shirt and with Dani’s assistance, they both tugged the rubber band up her body.
“The laces,” Dani panted.
Barely able to whisper, never mind shout, she rasped, “What about them?”
“Turn around. I need to lace up the back.” Dani motioned with a swirl of her finger.
“You can’t be serious?” She snapped up her chin as beads of perspiration dotted her cheeks. “This thing gets tighter?”
“Yeah. Unless you’d like to bare your buns. Hey, it would get you noticed and—”
“Shush! That’d be rich. I’m not starting off my research by flashing my ass.”
“When in Rome.” Dani deadpanned and she snorted in return. “Hey, all I’m sayin’ is have a little fun. Spurs is more than a research site, it’s a super exclusive club.”
“I’m taking the Fifth on that one.” Mia pivoted and rolled her eyes. But just how far would she go to get the goods if it involved a spanking or two? Don’t go there! She felt her face heat hotter if that were possible. This was an opportunity. A goldmine to excavate avant-garde research. Serious business. “Whoa!”
Dani yanked the corset in place. “Hold the bedpost. Don’t let go until I give the word.”
Gripping the post, she sucked in her gut. “Aye aye, Captain.”
Her roommate began pulling on the leather laces that crisscrossed down the back, cinching the corset tighter and tighterrrrr. After several minutes of fetish dress torture, Mia was certain she’d heard a rib crack.
“Done.” Dani wiped her forehead on the back of her arm. “Take a look!”
Standing in front of the mirror, Mia’s eyes widened as her mouth dropped open. The cups of the corset clutched at her breasts like overeager palms. Her nipples were barely covered and apparently breathing was optional in this getup.
“Help!” Covering her chest with her arms, she whispered-shrieked, “I’ll be arrested by the Fashion Police.”
“Help nothing. Hot stuff coming through!” Dani wolf-whistled. “Girl, let the sisters come out for a night. If I had your rack, I’d show more than a little cleavage. Those turtlenecks you’ve got going on are all well and good for your therapist look, but it’s time to put that outfit to bed. If you’re gonna rock it at a private sex club, being a wallflower is counterproductive.”
“Do you sit around and think this stuff up?” she quipped, but Dani had a valid point.
For the last two weeks, Mia had tossed her idea around for a groundbreaking project. With all the BDSM talk in spin, she wanted to uncover the real story behind the hype. Was it fantasy, mere fiction? What type of man or woman indulged in hot and hard desire—raw lust—giving up control and bowing down? In other words a sub. She decided to take this topic and tease out the truth. Was BDSM a journey or a destination? Impossible to study every aspect. The subject was too broad for a thesis. So she narrowed her focus on submission, or as she titled her project: The Art of Surrender.
“Fine, you win.” She knew when she was beat. Dani was a brute when it came to unrelenting persuasion and over the last year, she’d gotten a taste. Slowly, she lowered her arms. Tentatively, she traced her fingers over the leather, jangling the metal chains of the corset. From her peripheral vision, a flicker of light snared her attention. Holy crap. “Dani, don’t you dare!”
“Too late.” Her roommate snapped a photo of her and then giggled darkly. “Oh yeah. This dress shouts look at me! Mia, lose the glasses, put on some lipstick, and seriously let down your hair. Do you want one of the doms to notice you or not?”
Of course
, she’d given Dani the right ammo to out argue her. The only way she’d find and speak to a bona fide submissive was hunting down a real dom. Glancing at the photo of her chest displayed on Dani’s cell, she cringed. “Dear Lord, that better not end up on Instagram. Ms. Burns?”
“If I leave it up to you, you’ll show up in a black cocktail dress and pearls. That look won’t cut it. Consider this leverage. Promise to wear the dress?”
Her roomie was in the same graduate program but hailed from Alabama. She was a redhead dynamo, standing five foot two, and sported two full sleeve tattoos. Usually dressed in black except when she broke strategy and mixed it up with off-the-wall pieces like this red leather fetish dress. Wild was Dani’s middle name.
“That isn’t leverage. It’s outright blackmail.”
“Yes or no?” Dani’s smile only widened. “May I remind you there’s FB, Tumblr, Pinterest, and I can twat this in a heartb—”
“Okay! Just put the cell down. Jeez. I’ll wear it.” With her blood pressure on the rise, she narrowed her eyes, and cocked her head. “And just how do you know what goes on at a bondage club anyway?”
“Rest assured, I did my research. We’re living in Paris and there are only so many nightspots around town. I tried to snag a guest pass at the S & L. But only those dives on the east—”
“Those places out in the sticks?” She jumped down Dani’s throat.
“Get hold of yourself, Mom. Those dives let guests in without a background check, but they still charge a huge ass fee. I’m not that desperate or rich. Truthfully, I had the pleasure of seeing a dungeon or two for free during that same sex marriage seminar in Houston. Unless Spurs relaxes its policies, my Dad would lose it if someone from a sex club called for a reference. You’re so freakin’ lucky to score a connection to the Spurs’ owners. Do you realize how many women would kill to be in your shoes?”
“Ones with money to blow on their submissive wardrobes.” Mia looked down at the shoebox on her bed. A pair of heels she’d been out of her mind to buy. Patent leather stilettos that looked like she’d raided the closet of Lady Gaga.
“Just get your foot in the door. This outfit on you is hot! And it’ll get the research you’re lookin’ for to impress a headhunter for therapist openings. I could’ve sworn that’s what you said, Ms. Santero.”
“Excuse me, but do you take notes during our conversations?” She gazed back at the mirror and how little the dress covered. “I also remember that research isn’t code for sex.”
“Ah, but it isn’t me you have to sell. Pick up the phone and call Orton. And enjoy the dress.” Dani exited her room and she sunk down in the chair in front of her computer.
Christ on a cracker, Dani was right. If she wanted to snag a headhunter’s interest, she needed a stellar grad project. One that shouted cutting edge and sophisticated. Not the same old tried and true studies that inspired yet one more yawn from the psychology department.
Penrose, one of the owners of Spurs and Leather agreed to let her discreetly study his submissive clientele and find an answer to ‘why’ a sex club. From her vantage point, it appeared that doms got off on running the show and administering discipline. And subs sought a type of freedom while being bound. An echoing ‘why’ and ‘how’ kept Mia on edge. A slow burn seared the hunger hugging the pit of her stomach from the void in her knowledge—and her spank—bank that demanded in-depth details. She exhaled sharply. What did a dom-sub relationship really entail? Hard to answer questions from abstract studies and this explosive subject pricked her curiosity.
The key involved face-to-face interviews, and if it meant visiting a sex club in the flesh, then she’d do it for the sake of science and her career. All she had to do was convince her program advisor, Dr. Orton.
Drumming her fingers, Mia’s gaze landed on the magazine near her elbow. It featured a glossy photograph of Jamie Dornan, holding a riding crop. She wasn’t the only person who wondered about the pain-pleasure fixation that had rocked the world of late. What was it like to be bound? Being ordered to kneel blindfolded and naked. Bow down. Having my ass spanked and being taken hard and rough by a man who controls my every move.
A cloud of what felt like fire spread across her skin. Good God, this isn’t about me!
But unlike the magazine racks at the grocery store, around town it was slim pickings to find therapy professionals as sounding boards who made it their business to know the ins and outs of sex. Dr. Oz, Oprah, and Dr. Laura Berman were as racy as it got around here and that was just TV and radio. More often than not the term ‘mixed company’ was whisper-shouted and all sexually hued conversation ground to a halt. People living around here liked sex, they just didn’t like to openly discuss it which made subjects like rape and incest harder to address.
Sex was still something taboo.
Mental disease was stigmatized.
Two hot button topics.
The shame attached to both was archaic.
The learning curve was steep in the mental health department especially in female sexuality. She’d been a tad naïve when she began her coursework—okay, plenty inexperienced in the earth-shattering world of ‘O’ herself. Her search led her to a handsome banker, Charles ‘Beau’ Humphrey, III. Underneath his old money and southern charm, he’d wielded an agenda. Knife-sharp humiliation and remorse stabbed through her whenever his face slithered into her mind. After her dismal affair with Beau and one nasty breakup later, that bit of ugliness sent the last shred of her naiveté up in smoke.
Now, she had to set her oars in the water and get ready to leap into her future. For the last seven years her education had been an uphill climb and a constant battle, especially with her dad. Earlier this year, her mom had gotten terribly sick. Mia took the summer and a semester off to help care for her, but she’d passed away.
Mom’s death had touched Dad, Margo her sister, and her—but not the type of grief that brought them closer together. More like shattering a crystal box that had kept them centered. It wasn’t Mia’s finest moment in dealing with her dad being overprotective and wanting her to quit school to help out at their family’s horse farm.
During a time of mourning and heartache, she was even more convinced she was on the right track. Her father did more than talk to sway her from returning to school. He’d pushed her into a corner, giving her an ultimatum that had ended in probate court, tying up her inheritance.
Even under the threat of being cutoff, she refused to remain cooped up on the farm. Mucking out stalls and regularly getting kicked and bitten by untamed horses until she was a grandmother wasn’t her vision of a future. It was her mother’s wish that she get a college education. Mia staunchly argued with her father, and had left, not on the best of terms.
Wearing a frown, she reread the email from her father. She’d asked for a loan. It was her money from her mom but he sent her a hard-nosed reply.
“Since you refuse to stop this nonsense, as we discussed I won’t be a party to tossing away your future. That includes no loans for money to pursue these ridiculous interests for job interviews. I remind you, I’m the executor of your mother’s estate and I intend to carry out that duty both as your father and the trustee of your inheritance until your twenty-seventh birthday (unless you plan to marry soon). If you’d like to come home, we’ll discuss reasonable plans for your savings, which include you working here. Put your education to use, helping our family.”
Like what? Was this the year 1402?
Her father had control over her inheritance all because she was twenty-three and a single woman. Some backwoods judge in the tiny town where Dad lived had ruled against her. Now her chance to hunt down a job that involved airline tickets and travel expenses was snatched out of her grasp. She’d be lucky if her car lasted until graduation. Forget traveling to interviews, unless by Greyhound or thumbing a ride.
Her bank account teetered on being overdrawn but it didn’t matter. She had her T.A. job and she was going to rock her grad project into reality. S
he wasn’t going to succumb to Dad’s demand that she return home and stop what he deemed ‘nonsense.’ Mom had wanted her to follow her dreams. It was her mother’s dying wish and one she intended to honor.
Her father Nate Santero aka Never In a Good Mood was just the first tough sale she had to make today. The other was Dr. Orton who’d stonewalled her sex club research proposal.
She dialed her father and prepared for battle number one. “Hello, Daddy,” she began with an upbeat note. “How are you doing? Did you get much snow last week?”
“We got enough to use the snowplow and I’m not doing well. I need your help back here where you belong. Mia, I’m serious. How can you even consider moving to some place like New York? Especially when our business is on shaky ground.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. But it’s not because of me. And my choice to move to New York would be an excellent opportunity. Don’t you want Margo to have choices? We can’t all stay at home and do what you do. That’s your dream, Dad. This is my last semester and we talked about this. I’m not calling to argue. I’m calling to tell you either you support me with your blessing or it isn’t only Santero Farm that’s on shaky ground. I’m not about to let anyone stop me from making my dreams come true.”
“Mia, you’re so like your mother,” he retorted, his voice cracking. “She was so impassioned too. About our horses and our farm.”
“Don’t Dad. Don’t throw that dart.”
“Then come home. I’m going to Florida to look at new stock. Palominos. You could run the place like old times. Your momma would be so proud.”
“Dad...I’m in school. And Mom wanted me to graduate.” Her heart squeezed in her chest and tears flooded her eyes. She still had trouble dealing with Mom’s death. “I gotta go. I love you and I’ll call you next week.”
She hung up unwilling to be a pawn and listen to Dad demand, plead, or manipulate her into returning to the farm. She would and she’d be miserable. She wasn’t a replacement for Mom and her father was trying to brainwash her sister into falling in line. Maybe if Margo saw it was possible to do something else besides settle, she would. Mom wanted her to do this. Help other people. Give them hope when mental illness dropped like a bomb into their lives. Assist her patients, teaching them how to cope and overcome an invisible illness that so many people swept under the rug.