Becoming His, Learning to Breathe: Part Two - The Collective - Season 1, Episode 8

by Ellie Masters

  After touring and tasting, they would take Tank on any of the hundreds of miles of trails lining the valley where George trained Tank in the art of rescue. That usually meant a day of hide-and-go-seek. She was the bait, often hiding under logs, up trees, or straddling creeks. Tank’s nose couldn’t be deterred. He found her every damn time.

  Odd that she didn't recognize this estate, but then, the gates to this winery had been set back from the road. It hadn't looked like a winery from the highway, but the extensive vineyards told a different story.

  "What is this place?" She twisted in her seat, eagerly peering out of the windows.

  "Damien's Cellars," Derek said. "It's a private winery.”

  Of course it was. Derek had enough money his pennies made pennies. She should have guessed he wouldn't have taken her to the run of the mill tourist destinations.

  The ground beneath the tires changed from pavement to chipped rock, then to pea gravel. The tires crunched over the gravel as the car slowed to avoid chipping its paint. She hadn't seen the driver when they'd climbed in but assumed Dan was at the helm. They crested a gentle rise, and she gasped at the beauty of the vineyard.

  Mustard was in bloom, the bushy plant filling the space between rows of vines. Planted there with purpose, it acted as a natural weed deterrent. At the head of each row, beautiful rose bushes displayed vibrant blooms. The vines might be dormant, but that didn’t mean the vineyard wasn’t a riot of color with the yellow mustard flowers and the deep red of the roses.

  "It's gorgeous," she said. "I've never heard of Damien Cellars? Do they sell locally?"

  Derek's lip twisted with amusement. "Not exactly."

  Heading over the rise, they circled a small hill. A palatial estate spread across the landscape. Brick and stone, it was an architectural wonder, with large arching windows looking out onto even more impressive gardens.

  "It's beautiful," she said with a gasp. The gardens brought to mind images of Renaissance France, with a distinctly unique Versailles feeling. Multiple paths and sculpted hedgerows spread out before them.

  "Thank you," Ellen said. "It took years of work to get the garden where it is now."

  "Excuse me?"

  Warren's face beamed with pride. "Ellen designed the grounds. The back gardens are even more impressive."

  "I thought you ran a catering business?" Certainly, she hadn't misunderstood Derek telling her Ellen ran that business.

  "Oh, yes," Ellen said. "That's a new project. I still have the landscaping company."

  Landscaping? What graced the front of the estate was nothing short of spectacular. Ellen had an impressive eye for artistic detail.

  With the tires crunching over crushed gravel, Dan did not take them to the front of the house. Instead, he continued around the perimeter of the palatial estate and stopped in a parking lot out back filled with luxury cars. A Bentley there. A Porsche beside it. An Aston Martin was boxed in by two Lamborghini’s. A Ferrari, Mercedes, Maserati, and Jaguar Bugatti lined up with plenty of space between them. Every car sparkled, was impeccably detailed, and car show ready.

  A rhythmic thumping beat through the air. Placing her palm against the window, a deep bass vibrated against her skin.

  "What is that?" she asked. "Is that music?"

  Beyond the parked cars, several white tents sprawled across an open field.

  A smile cracked Derek's face. "I thought we would have some music with our wine."

  "Music?" There was nothing refined about the beat beneath her palm. She expected a string quartet. Maybe an orchestra, but that? It was raw, powerful, and wondrous. "What kind of music?"

  "Something I know you'll love."

  Justine giggled. "She's so going to flip her lid," she said clapping her hands together and squealing with delight.

  Even Ellen couldn't keep a huge grin off her face. "Derek pulled some pretty major strings, Sally. You're totally going to squeal!"

  The car stopped. Derek didn't wait for the driver to open the door. He climbed out and offered her his hand.

  The lilting lyrics of Heart’s Insanity rumbled across the lawn.

  "Is that..." That song topped every chart in the music industry.

  Derek pulled her into his arms. "I may know a guy who knows the band.” He pulled her forward, leading her to the tents. The unmistakable rock music vibrated the air, and a distinctly haunting voice tunneled through it, hitting her directly in her gut with a haunting tune.

  “Oh, my God! That’s Angel Fire,” she exclaimed. “And that song…it’s Heart’s Insanity, Blaze wrote it for his wife.”

  “I take it you’re a fan?”

  “You’d have to be living under a rock to not to know them. They’re living Rock legends.”

  “Like my surprise?”

  Angel Fire played to sold out stadiums, their tickets often selling out within minutes of release. “What are they doing here?” There had to be less than a few hundred in attendance. Angel Fire didn’t play venues this small.

  “It’s an event I’m co-sponsoring with a friend. We’re raising money to combat human trafficking.”

  “Wow?” Of course he was. Patron of the arts. Philanthropist. Venture capitalist. What else was there to this man? He stole her breath with every kiss, invaded her thoughts, and promised so much more, then he went and did things like this.

  He led her around the tents to the strangest rock concert she’d ever witnessed. She expected small and intimate, not a full-sized stage with all the bells and whistles of a stadium-sized show. A full spread of catered delicacies sat beneath one tent. Chairs and tables had been placed beneath another, providing shade for those who hid from the sun’s damaging rays. Rows of seating lined the area in front of the stage, where the younger attendees sat with cellphones propped in their hands. And up front, an open area provided a spontaneous dance floor.

  Angel Fire rocked it on stage. Ash Dean, known as Blaze to his fans, stood back to back with Spike, jamming the chords to Heart’s Insanity. Only the drummer’s arms could be seen as he set a frenetic beat. To stage left, their keyboardist lay down the breathtaking melody to one of the most poignant rock ballads she’d ever heard.

  “Derek!” The voice was more rumble than words, spilling over the noise of the crowd and band with ease.

  Sally turned toward the sound, gaping as a behemoth of a man approached. Towering above everyone else, a vision straight out of Nordic legend advanced on them with ground-devouring strides. She grasped Derek’s arm and hid behind him. The mountain of a man glanced at her, a twinkle sparking in his eyes.

  He reached out and shook hands with Derek. “Hey, glad you made it. You’re late.”

  “Yeah, traffic.” Derek ran a hand through his dark hair. “The place looks great, and the turnout is more than I expected. How do the numbers look?”

  “Better than we’d hoped.” The towering giant of a man glanced at Sally, and his eyes flicked back to Derek, brows lifting in question.

  Derek lifted his arm, wrapping it around her shoulder. “Sally Levenson meet my good friend, Forest Summers.”

  Forest stuck out his massive paw of a hand. “Nice to meet you.” His hand dwarfed hers, but despite his size, his grip was surprisingly gentle.

  “Nice to meet you, too,” she managed.

  Fiercely beautiful, Forest carried himself with the weight and wisdom of too many years, a haunting presence lingered over him, making him seem both fierce and vulnerable. Briefly, she wondered whether this charity event held personal significance for Forest. An aching loneliness hovered in his hooded gaze. Or maybe, she was simply making things up.

  Forest glanced over Derek’s shoulder, then clapped him on the arm. “Hey, gotta go. Skye’s giving me the sign. I’ll catch you at the after party.” His gaze flicked down to her again. “Are you heading to The Cellars?”

  Skye? There could only be one woman with that name in this crowd. Sally turned around, trying to pick out the woman who’d stolen a rock legend’s heart. She couldn’
t see anything through the crowd, unlike Forest who towered over everyone, she was barely average height for a woman. All she could see were backs and shoulders.

  “After the after party, I think,” Derek said. “I’m not interested in crowds tonight.”

  “Ah, gotcha.” With a farewell shake, Forest was off. The milling crowd parted before him, and she didn’t blame them. She’d step out of the way, too, if faced with his approaching bulk.

  Derek tugged her close. “Didn’t know you were an Angel Fire fan.”

  “Of course…wait? That’s not the surprise?”

  He shook his head, soft laughter filling the air and warming her heart. “Well, if I thought it would be that easy…but no. I’ve got something else in mind.”

  “What’s this after party?” Forest mentioned The Cellars, and she hadn’t missed the distinct undertones of his voice, making her think there was more to The Cellars than a simple club for rich people. Was Derek’s surprise a trip to a kink club? She’d read about some, but didn’t know what she thought about going to one.

  “The Cellars is Damien’s private space. I helped him design it.”

  “Who’s this Damien? And when do I get to meet him?”

  Concert

  Angel Fire rocked through their set on stage. Derek led Sally and the girls to the front row, where they ogled the band members. He then wandered a short distance away, where he spoke with that giant of a man with the shock of shoulder-length white hair. Forest Summers had a presence about him, docile while at the same time exuding a fierceness she planned on staying well away from. Another man stood with his back to her, talking animatedly with Derek and Forest. Something about him seemed oddly familiar, but she couldn’t place her finger on it.

  After Angel Fire cleared the stage Beneath the Burn took their place. Her jaw dropped, with the magnetism of this tight group. They set up their instruments and started right in with their set.

  Justine jumped to her feet, her tiny body swaying to the haunting lyrics. Sally remained seated, hands clenched in her lap, mesmerized by the beauty of the band. Looking left, she checked in on Derek, but he had moved on. Forest towered over the crowd, his face cracking into a smile as none other than Angel Fire’s front man, Ash Dean, approached. Sex-on-a-stick on stage, Ash Dean, carried himself with a boyish swagger on the manicured lawn.

  Ellen squeezed Sally’s hand, pulling her to her feet to dance with Justine. With her social phobias ever at the forefront of her mind, Sally generally avoided parties like the plague, but she couldn’t ignore Ellen’s exuberance. Nor was she surprised how well Ellen danced. At least she wouldn’t look like an idiot next to the willowy redhead. Classically trained in ballet as a child, Sally could more than hold her own on a dance floor.

  Before long, a strong arm encircled her waist. Derek pulled her to him, swaying to the frantic beat. His entire face smiled, from his full, plump lips to the sparkle in his eyes, he took the opportunity to show her his dirty moves, and she obliged him with a smile on her face and the sashay of her ass. When he spun her around, she wriggled her hips against the front of his jeans, not in the least surprised to feel the long length of him hardening with each purposeful grind.

  He gripped her waist, tugging her tight against him. “Do you know what happens to subs who tease their Doms?”

  She bit her upper lip. “They get rewards?”

  The banked heat in his eyes wasn’t associated with a reward, but it did promise hot sex. She arched back, lifting her arms over her head where she laced them around his neck to pull his lips against the sweep of her neck. The curve in her spine allowed the perfect angle to grind even harder against his cock.

  With a primal growl, he lifted her into his arms and marched off the makeshift dance floor.

  “Derek!” While loud, her squeal could barely be heard over the pounding music. A few heads turned. Amused spectators smiled and pointed as he carried her to the main house, barely pausing to kick open the door. A few breathless seconds later and he carried her upstairs where he threw her on a bed.

  Light-headed, her entire body set to buzzing. Derek’s proximity couldn’t be denied. The feral need in his eyes echoed in the deep pull of his breaths and the straining of his muscles as he removed his tie. An ache pulsed between her legs, memories of the brutal thrusts from earlier that morning imprinted in her mind. Her muscles twinged with the eager anticipation of more.

  Her chest felt light, as if a constricting band had been lifted and snapped free. Her mind cleared, calming with the promise storming in his eyes. Anxiously, she waited and raised up on her elbows to admire his painstaking beauty.

  His biceps flexed as he tugged on the buttons of his shirt. His fingers fumbled in his haste. She drank in his majesty, crawling to the foot of the bed, and then cautiously daring to stand before him.

  “May I,” she asked, with her fingers hovering over his.

  She bit her lower lip, feeling both bold and timid. What she needed was that ever elusive more, where she could embrace her new position, a role she shared only with him. In front of the others, she remained unsure, but alone with Derek, she had no fears. She wanted to give him something and knew of only one thing which would stop his heart.

  He didn’t answer, although his head slanted down, the expression in his eyes churning.

  She placed her hand over his, took in a breath, and spoke with as much conviction as she could manage. She lowered to her knees, maintaining eye contact during the long journey to the floor. “Show me how a Master takes his slave.”

  The erotic words, and what they promised, heated her skin and sank deep into her bones. There was something beyond sexual chemistry in the weight of her whispered words. There was the sense of a future shackled to this amazing man.

  The stubble on his chin peppered his skin, casting the dark shadow of his inherent maleness across his face. His thick lashes lowered in a ponderous arc, but he never once broke eye-contact. His gorgeous lips, plump and full of devious pleasure, separated on a ragged exhalation. Wickedly arousing, he stared down and set her entire being to a low burn.

  “Jesus,” he said, “look at you. So fucking amazing on your knees. What is spinning in that head of yours?”

  “You said I wasn’t ready, but can we just pretend?”

  “Pretend?” His eyes narrowed, and he reached down to trace the angle of her jaw.

  “That I’m yours.”

  He crouched, getting eye-level with her. His hands cupped her shoulders and skimmed down her arms, touching her everywhere. The caress of his fingers raised goosebumps on her skin, and it was all she could do to suppress a shiver.

  “You are mine.”

  “But, I’m not your slave.”

  His finger swept under her chin and pressed against her jaw, forcing her head to tilt back. “You don’t have to be my slave to be mine.”

  “Show me.”

  “You don’t understand what you’re asking.”

  The caress of his fingers, that flutter-light touch down her arms, and the agony of the slow draw back up to her shoulders set her heart to pounding and constricted her breath. Her throat tightened, a strange feeling, stealing her words.

  He dropped his forehead to touch hers and breathed out slow, measured, and raw. Tilting his head, he brushed his cheek against hers, the scratch of his whiskers sending electricity shooting down her spine. The tender intimacy of the moment had her reaching up, digging her fingers into the hair at his nape.

  She’d expected an assault, him lifting and tossing her on the bed, ripping her clothes off and fucking her like a man possessed. Instead, his gentleness spoke greater volumes about his control. He dominated a crowd, commanded her with nothing more than a look, but controlled himself with the fiercest will.

  “To be my slave, you give yourself fully unto me. This is not something constrained to the bedroom or sex between us. You give over the entirety of your life, from the most basic decisions to the most complex. I would own every piece of you.” Hi
s fingers skated across her jaw, and her body responded with a wild flutter of nerves set on overdrive. “Everything,” he said. “And until you understand what that means, we keep this here.”

  “Here?”

  “A Dom and his sub.”

  “But—”

  “I would be a monster if I asked this of you now.” He huffed out a breath. “And don’t think for a moment, that’s not exactly what I want. But this isn’t a fantasy. It’s your life. To own you is to control you. Your body. Your mind. Your home. Your finances. Your job. You don’t understand what I require, but I will take every piece of you and make you mine.”

  Her job? Wait! What? She released his hair and dropped her arm to her side.

  “Do you see now the power that gives me? The danger it places you in? You’re not my first submissive, nor would you be the first woman I’ve taken as a slave.” A darkness descended upon him, a weight of great pain. “But, by damn, when we do this, you will be the last. If I decide—and I will be the one who does—it will be done within the tenets of SSC. Take the time to slow down, my dearest sub, because when you give yourself to me there is no going back.” He shifted, moving to sit beside her and leaned against the foot of the bed. When he ran his fingers through his dark hair, they trembled ever so slightly.

  Her entire body quivered. It flared with a flush of excitement, an arousal coiling deep in her bones. She swallowed down the lump clinging in her throat and wrapped her arms around her chest. He’d said no, but also the fiercest yes hung in his words.

  “I…I don’t know what to say,” she managed. The sexual potency of the moment fizzled between them, weighed down by disappointment and an uncertain future.

  But, he was right. She had no idea what it meant to be a slave.

  A soft knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts.

  “Come,” Derek barked.

  She shifted back to sit, not wanting anyone to see her kneeling beside him.

  Ellen poked her head inside. “Um, Master Derek, Warren asked me to come get you.” Her gaze cut to Sally. “He said they’re taking the stage.”