Training Tess

by Sabrina York

  Training Tess

  Sabrina York

  When Jared spots his sister’s very vanilla assistant in a BDSM club, he can hardly believe it. He’s lusted after Tess for years but didn’t think she could handle his darker needs. Like his predilection for cuffs. And whips. And spanking. Hell, for domination of every kind. But as soon as he sees her wearing a collar, he’s lost to his desire. He vows to claim her for his own.

  For Tess, dressing up as a sub while researching an article she’s writing is a lark—until she sees Jared in the club. She may be new to the Dom/sub scene, but she knows what she wants. With Jared—and only Jared—can her deep, primal desires come to light and be fulfilled. Let the lessons begin.

  Training Tess

  Sabrina York

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my dear friend Celeste, who inspires me and tells me I’m wonderful and always reads my books. Though she skips over the naughty parts. You should probably stop reading this one now, my darling.

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to Carrie Jackson for always loving my work and being so gentle with me when I get it wrong. I so appreciate your hard work, talent and of course your sense of humor. Kudos to Irene Adler and the Ellora’s Cave art department for an awesome cover and to all the folks at Ellora’s Cave who make all my books the best they can be.

  My heartfelt appreciation to my fellow writers for their help sharing the word about my books. Especially Kate Hill, Cindy Spencer Pape, Jianne Carlo, Paloma Beck, Zenobia Renquist and all the Mischievous Authors.

  To all my friends in the Greater Seattle Romance Writers of America, Passionate Ink and Rose City Romance Writers groups, thank you for all your support and encouragement.

  Chapter One

  Jared Mittlebank froze, his drink halfway to his lips. He wasn’t sure how he kept his footing because his world had just tipped on its ear. He blinked several times to make sure he was seeing things right.

  He was.

  Tess was here. In Fetters. In a dimly lit club frequented only by Doms and their subs. Holy crap. He shuddered as the realization—and its implications—scudded through him.

  God, he’d wanted Tess from the moment he saw her. He’d wanted her sweet mouth stretched around his cock, her body trembling before him, her cunt dripping with his juice.

  But Marla had warned him off, threatened him even. “She’s far too innocent and sweet for the likes of you,” she’d said. “Keep your damn mitts off.” His sister could be a rabid wolf when it came to protecting her little lambs and Jared would do just about anything to avoid the lash of her ire.

  Besides, Jared didn’t really have a taste for vanilla.

  Tess oozed vanilla.

  At least he’d thought she did. She wore excruciatingly conservative clothes—how he itched for the opportunity to dress her—and was always suffused in a cool, professional, dispassionate aura. She kept to herself and focused on her job to the extent the other women in Marla’s office called her the automaton—and Tess didn’t mind.

  But there was more to it than that.

  A Dom knew. He knew like a visceral fist to the gut when a woman craved submission. When she wanted a man’s hand hard on her ass, when she yearned for the tight bonds of the worktable, when she ached…to ache. Or even when she was simply willing to experiment.

  A Dom knew.

  With Tess, there’d been no hint, no clue, no subtle innuendo. None of the outright teasing or flirting that usually preceded a seduction. Nothing. It was almost as though she’d built a wall around her sexuality to keep it in, dam it up. Or keep the world out.

  So as much as he’d wanted her, as many nights as he’d spent sweating and straining with his cock in his fist, thinking about her, he’d never made a play for her. Never even tried.

  It had not been easy. Jared was the kind of guy who reached out and took what he wanted. With Tess, he didn’t want to take. He wanted her to give. Accepting that she just wasn’t in the cards for him had been a tough pill to swallow.

  As time passed, it even became difficult for him to come in to the office. Fortunately it wasn’t necessary for him to do so—Marla managed everything just fine without him, often reminding him there was a reason it was called a silent partnership.

  So he quit going in. Because it was too fucking painful to see Tess. To see her sitting there primly at her desk, to suffer the hollowness in his chest at her cool, impersonal smile. One glance at her and he’d ache for days. He hated those reminders that he couldn’t have her—at least not in the way he craved.

  And now here she was. In leather. And a sub collar.

  Fuck.

  “Damn, man.” His buddy Cord nudged him with an elbow. “Are you okay? You look kinda green.”

  Jared swallowed but even his spittle stuck in his throat. “Yeah.” He nodded. “I just saw someone I know.”

  “Really?” Cord scanned the club, squinting against the smoke and deliberate murk.

  Jared bristled. He didn’t know why he bristled, really. Why the thought of Cord settling his eyes on Tess made his belly churn. He and Cord had shared more than one horny little sub. Hell, he and Cord had shared a lot.

  But they weren’t sharing Tess. His gut lurched at the thought.

  And then Cord saw her. His muscles tensed. A certain predatory energy hummed around him. “Mmm,” he murmured. “A virgin.”

  A prickle of annoyance raced over Jared’s scalp. “How do you know she’s a virgin?” He didn’t mean to snap. He couldn’t help it. He was in a really bad mood all of a sudden. And it wasn’t just due to Cord’s blistering perusal of a woman Jared wanted for himself. The sight of Tess on the end of another man’s leash gnawed at him as well.

  He wanted Tess at the end of his leash.

  The fact that her Dom had a less-than-alpha energy didn’t matter. And it was evident, plain as day. In the way he held her leash, the way he angled toward her, the way he looked at her. Deferred to her. More importantly, the truth of their relationship was telegraphed by her body language.

  An idiot could see they were tourists.

  An idiot could see she wanted more. Needed it. The knowledge made Jared want to storm across the bar, deck the guy and claim her.

  Maybe bend her over the table and fuck her. Right then and there.

  That Cord, and every other alpha in the bar, was thinking the same thing nearly gave Jared an aneurysm. The thought of some other man, any other man, touching her made a pulse throb at his temple.

  Cord grinned. “Oh, she’s a virgin. Check out her posture. That woman hasn’t been trained a day in her life.” He snorted at Tess’ excuse for a Master. “Not by a real Dom, anyway.” Cord stood, studying the couple, teasing his finger around the lip of his glass, planning his attack. Jared’s hackles rose “So. How do you know her?”

  Jared waited until Cord tossed back his drink. “She works for Marla.”

  Whiskey shot out of Cord’s nose. “Oh, shit no.” He laughed and turned back to the bar. A wave of red rose on his tanned face, all the way to the tips of his ears. “I’m not touching that one with a ten-foot pole.” He shot a woebegone glance over his shoulder. “A damn shame though. She’s a sweet turn of cheek.”

  And he wasn’t talking about her face. The leather pants were tight, molding Tess’ prim ass. Jared had always known she had a body to die for hidden under those conservative business suits but seeing her butt displayed like this made his palm itch. God. He wanted to smack it. He wanted her over his lap, naked and writhing and red. He wanted his handprint rising on her flesh. He wanted… Hell, he just plain wanted. His cock was hard as a rock.

  He should storm over there and take her, command her. Hunger, feral and raw, gnawed at him.

  She was sweet and,
according to Marla, innocent. And maybe she was a virgin. Maybe she was new to the submission scene, or maybe she was just a tourist. But Jared couldn’t expunge the thought from his mind that she’d been interested enough to come here. To dress up in a leather outfit—which was damn tight and excruciatingly sexy on her—put on a sub collar and a leash and stroll into a club littered with men drooling to tie her down and manhandle her.

  He couldn’t shake the hopeful prospect that maybe, just maybe, he could have her. And if she gave herself to him willingly, there wasn’t a damn thing Marla could say about it.

  How fucking sweet would it be to see Tess on her knees in shackles, gazing up at him with his cum dripping from her chin? Oh, sweet. A shudder coursed along his solar plexus. Every nerve in his body hummed.

  He had to have her. He had to.

  “Oh, too bad.” Cord’s tone was sticky with sarcasm. “They’re leaving.”

  Jared whipped around and stared. His belly lurched. Shit. They were. They were leaving. Even as he watched, the couple stopped at coat check and collected their camouflage—cloaks to hide their true nature. It was only here that a Dom or a sub could be what they really were. The rest of the world was not to know.

  He swallowed a bitter laugh. Oh, she could cover herself now. She could wear all the prissy business suits and frock coats she wanted. It was far too late. Jared had seen her true self. And he would not, could not, forget.

  He was going to have her. Somehow. By hook or by crook. He was going to have Tess splayed before him, begging for release, pleading for his cock, dribbling cream on his workbench. He was going to have her tied to the rack and whimpering her pleasure, squirming against him, clutching his turgid cock with the sweet muscles of her cunt.

  He was going to have her. He needed her like he needed air.

  He had another need at the moment though. A raging need. His cock was heavy and throbbing. When Tess and her date disappeared up the stairs of the dank basement, Jared scanned the club, hunting for a suitable replacement.

  Oh, there were plenty of pretty slaves and subs simpering from table to table, several tied to the manacles on the wall, squirming, offered up by their Masters for the entertainment of the other Doms. The waitress was flirty—Jared couldn’t count the times her hand had crept to his thigh as she served him this evening. Her lowered lashes marked her as a viable prospect.

  But somehow she wasn’t. She wasn’t a viable prospect. None of them were. None of them even pinged his interest.

  He wanted Tess. His mind, and his cock, were fixed on that prospect. No, he wouldn’t be lashing out his frustration on any second-rate substitute tonight. Tonight it would be him with his cock in his fist, thinking of Tess, her large bluer-than-blue eyes, her soft creamy complexion, her lips, wide and poised to suckle his weeping rod.

  But tomorrow…

  Tomorrow he would have her.

  * * * * *

  She couldn’t believe she’d done it.

  Tess focused on her computer screen, desperately trying to pretend she was working. Marla was due in soon—she scheduled her day like a Nazi with OCD—and Tess always tried to look busy when her boss arrived. It was best to begin the day without a nasty scene. But it was difficult because her mind was a roiling turmoil.

  Marla Mittlebank was a harsh taskmistress—not surprising of an heiress who always got her way. She did not suffer fools or incompetence in her staff. Usually this wasn’t a problem for Tess, who had no purpose in life but pleasing her boss—no husband who demanded her time, no children like some of the other staff, no family, not even a cat. She had her job, the occasionally exciting, usually monotonous, position as the assistant to one of the most successful online magazine publishers in the industry.

  The position was perfect for her as an aspiring writer. Mittlebank published a series of e-publications, most dealing with sex and sexuality targeted to various niche markets. And while they were niche markets, they were very healthy niche markets. Marla firmly believed most people lived a great portion of their lives in secret and judging from the soaring subscription rates, she was right.

  Bondage, shoe fetishes, food sex, immobility, exhibitionism and voyeurism, infantilism, forniphilia, troilism—they all sold. And well. Marla was well on her way to making back the fortune her sleazy ex-husband Derek had stolen.

  And though she was a mere executive assistant, Tess lived and breathed for the day Marla would turn to her and demand—with the crisp precision at which she excelled—that Tess compose a feature article. She’d already written several in anticipation of such a request, and had thoroughly enjoyed the research.

  Especially last night…

  Her heart stuttered at the recollection. When she and her friend Billy strolled into the hottest BDSM club in the city—just to check it out—she’d never expected to see Jared there. And her reaction to seeing him sitting at the bar, looking dominant and superior…wow. She hadn’t expected that either.

  She’d always fantasized about submission. It was one of the things she thought about when pleasuring herself under the covers at night. She collected photos of women in bondage with nipple clamps gouging into their breasts, with palm prints clear on their asses. But she’d never tried it. Never wanted to try it. Not really.

  She didn’t quite understand her fascination. As a foster child shuttled from pillar to post most of her life, her independence was the thing she valued the most. She’d built herself a life from the rubble and, having learned early it was foolish to depend on anyone else, she didn’t. The thought of putting herself at someone’s mercy frightened her to death.

  Of course, deep in her heart she craved it. She craved belonging to someone, someone strong who could protect her from the world. Someone who would.

  But no one like that had ever surfaced in her life. She didn’t expect he ever would.

  So when she wasn’t pleasuring herself under the covers in the dark of night, she ignored the obsession, the irresistible tug that drew her to images of women in bondage and sent a sinister thrill snaking through her womb.

  When Billy had laughingly suited her up for this research trip, she’d laughed right along with him. Nothing about the leather suit or the collar or the leash had moved her. Not until she walked into Fetters and laid eyes on Jared.

  In that instant, everything suddenly became real. Too real. Her body melted, her muscles shook, the leather wedged tight up into her cunt became uncomfortably damp.

  And she knew why. She knew why she’d never acted out her fantasies. She knew why she suddenly desperately wanted to.

  Jared.

  Jared Mittlebank. He was the hottest man she’d ever met. First of all, he was tall—Tess had always had a thing for looming men. And he was broad. He had the kind of body a woman would do anything to touch.

  She’d never seen him naked but over the two years she’d worked for Marla, she’d had occasion to take papers to his house for his signature and she’d caught him once in the pool. Another time—an early morning visit—he’d been dressed in nothing but a silk robe. So she could extrapolate.

  Aside from the mouthwatering body, Jared was just plain gorgeous. He had pretty ice-blue eyes that sparkled with humor and lush lips usually tweaked into a smile—he always looked as if he knew a secret, one that amused him. His chin was covered with dark scruff that made Tess wonder how it would feel drawn across her swollen nipples.

  Oh yeah. Jared Mittlebank was the most attractive man she’d ever met.

  Also, the most unavailable.

  And it wasn’t just because Marla glared at any woman who flirted with her brother on the odd occasion he deigned to visit the office. It was because whenever Jared’s eyes settled on Tess’ face or form, they just flicked away. Dismissively.

  Tess was used to being dismissed. She usually didn’t mind.

  With Jared, she minded. With Jared, it was painful.

  Especially now. Now when the vision of him in Dom leathers burned into her brain. When fantasies o
f Jared seeing her, wanting her, owning her, danced in her head.

  She sighed and scrolled through Marla’s emails, barely paying attention to the ones she was deleting. She really had to get him out of her mind, and quickly. He was a dangerous man and especially detrimental to her sanity. And her focus.

  On the upside, he hadn’t seen her in the club. She and Billy had skedaddled as soon as she realized Jared was there.

  That was the upside, wasn’t it?

  She buried her face in her hands, swamped with a familiar wave of melancholy.

  Of course he hadn’t seen her. He never did.

  The door opened and Marla swept in, looking ferocious and fashionable, surrounded by the fortress of her attitude. She was a gorgeous woman, but hard. Her chin led the way, proclaiming to the world, “I don’t need anyone. But you, you poor stinking sod, you need me.” She glanced at Tess with her ice-chip eyes. They were so like Jared’s, but they lacked his irreverent humor.

  She thrust out an exquisitely manicured hand. “My messages.”

  Tess handed her a sheaf of pink papers. “You have a meeting with Hot Sauce at ten.” And at Marla’s quirked brow, “The new advertiser.”

  “Ah yes.” She whipped through the messages in a flurry, tossing them one by one back onto the desk. “No. No. No. Hell no.”

  She paused on one and her face softened—but only infinitesimally so. This message, she tucked into her pocket. Then she thumbed through the rest in rapid succession and let them flutter into an untidy pile. Tess resisted the urge to straighten them up. At least until Marla had gone.

  Like a whirlwind, she headed for her office, her Chanel bag looped over her arm. She paused at the door and turned back. “By the way, Jared’s coming in at three. Schedule a meeting in the small conference room.” Her lids flickered. “And Tess?”

  “Yes, Marla?”

  “Pick up some of those cannolis he likes from Carlo’s.”

  “Certainly.” Tess fought to keep her face immobile.