Remind Me, Master [The Martinis and Chocolate Book Club 5] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic)
Page 1
The Martinis and Chocolate Book Club 5
Remind Me, Master
When Conor Hart comes home after another eighteen-hour day to find his clothes strewn all over the front porch, he knows there’s trouble in paradise. His usually sweet wife, Lisa, has had it with his selfish, workaholic ways. She hands him a suitcase and kicks him to the curb.
Lisa’s tired of being taken for granted. Conor doesn’t seem to have the time or energy to be her hard-ass Master anymore. She’s broken every rule he’s made, but he can’t even be bothered to spank her. She’s heartbroken at what her marriage has become, but they need to completely renegotiate their relationship if they’re going to be able to make it work.
Conor loves his wife deeply. He didn’t realize he was being a gigantic jerk. Telling her he’s changed won’t be enough, he has to show her. But first, he’s going to remind her of all the reasons they fell in love in the first place.
Genre: BDSM, Contemporary
Length: 42,527 words
REMIND ME, MASTER
The Martinis and Chocolate Book
Club 5
Lara Valentine
EVERLASTING CLASSIC
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Everlasting Classic
REMIND ME, MASTER
Copyright © 2013 by Lara Valentine
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62740-385-6
First E-book Publication: August 2013
Cover design by Les Byerley
All art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
About the Author
REMIND ME, MASTER
The Martinis and Chocolate Book Club 5
LARA VALENTINE
Copyright © 2013
Chapter One
Conor Hart, Esquire, was fucking exhausted when he finally pulled into his driveway. He’d been at work before seven and hadn’t made it home before dark every day this week. It felt like he’d been working these ungodly hours forever. The economy had taken its toll, and his law practice was no exception. It was harder for clients to pay their bills in full, and so many had to make payments. That meant he had to work more to have the same income. It was a crazy hamster wheel he’d jumped on, and he couldn’t seem to find a moment to hop off and catch his breath.
He grabbed his briefcase and pushed open the car door, his stomach growling in protest. The last thing he’d eaten was a half a turkey sandwich at eleven thirty, in between client meetings. It was now almost eleven in the evening. He hoped Lisa had saved him some leftovers from dinner.
He levered out of the car and headed for the front door, noticing that most of the houses in the neighborhood were dark. He yawned and stretched his shoulders. Even Lisa wasn’t bothering to wait up for him very often anymore. He missed coming home to her beautiful smiling face and warm, welcoming body. If he was honest, he just missed Lisa.
This time, lights were on inside the house, and he smiled in anticipation of seeing his family. The kids would already be in bed, but perhaps he and Lisa could spend some time together before he fell into bed to sleep like the dead. It was dark with very little moon, and he tripped over something on the porch step. He reached down and lifted it out of his way, frowning when he realized it was his favorite T-shirt from his college days. Another step and he was landing on something else, a pair of his khaki shorts.
He shook the exhaustion off and took a good look around, amazement warring with disbelief. The front patio of the house was littered with clothes. His clothes. They were everywhere, draped from the chairs, the steps, the railings, and in neat, small mountains against the house.
He tossed the T-shirt on a chair and pushed his key into the door, determined to find out what hormonal cocktail had made Lisa throw his clothes out on the lawn. Perhaps the kids had done it without her knowledge, but it was unlikely as Lisa was a fantastic mother and they didn’t have a hellion in the bunch. He twisted the key but the door wouldn’t open.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He was tired, hungry, and pissed as hell. He just wanted a hot meal and bed, for fuck’s sake.
The door opened and light spilled onto the porch, blinding him for a second. Lisa was standing there, her chin jutted out as if ready for battle. The rest of her looked less threatening in pajama pants and a tank top, her long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, and her pretty blue eyes sparkling with defiance. He’d seen that emotion in her more than once in their years together. Usually she displayed it when she was looking to be punished.
In the mood he was in, she’d get the spanking she was seeking
. Just as soon as he got a decent night’s sleep.
“There’s something wrong with the fucking door. I couldn’t get it to unlock. You need to call the locksmith. And what the fuck are all my clothes doing on the front lawn? Have you lost your mind, slave?” He kept his voice down as to not wake the kids, but he put force into the words so she would know her Master was very displeased.
He started to enter the house, but she put her hand on his chest and pressed him back. He was so surprised and tired, he let her.
“I already called the locksmith, Conor. He’s the one who changed the locks. All of them, including the code for the garage. I’m kicking you out.”
He sighed. He wasn’t in the mood for this shit. She’d used his name instead of his title deliberately to make a point. “I’m tired, hungry, and pissed off, slave. This isn’t funny. You’re going to be punished severely for this.”
She quirked her eyebrow. “Really? Are you sure? Because I’ve been breaking rules right and left around here with no consequences whatsoever. It seems you’ve been too busy or lazy to punish me. Or pay attention to me. Or fuck me. So I think I’ll get away with this pretty easily. I’ve decided I’m not your slave anymore. I’m not even sure I’m your wife. You barely acknowledge my existence or the existence of your children.”
She reached behind her and handed him a small overnight case. “Here’s your toothbrush and a few things you’ll need. I’m serious.”
Conor took a few deep breaths to control his anger. He’d been working terrible hours, but it wasn’t that bad. His conscience stung at the unwarranted criticism. He was working to take care of his apparently ungrateful family. He sure as hell hadn’t been doing it for himself.
Never punish a slave while you’re angry.
“You couldn’t just bring this up to me? Instead you have to make a spectacle of us to the entire neighborhood?”
She leaned against the doorway, the cool breeze peaking her nipples. Conor couldn’t stop his body from stirring. Even after all these years, his wife was a knockout. The anger he was feeling right now only fed his libido. They both loved it hard and rough.
“I didn’t throw your clothes out in the daytime, and I kept them on the porch. I could have strewn them all over the lawn and the mailbox, but I have to live in this neighborhood.”
Conor started to brush past her, but she once again pressed him back. It wasn’t in his nature to push his petite wife aside, no matter how pissed off he was. He stared at her, slack jawed with amazement. She really wasn’t going to let him in the house.
“You really want me out? You’ve made this dramatic statement and now you want me to go? You don’t want to talk about it at all.”
“I’ve been trying to talk to you for months. You’ve been too busy or tired, brushing me off. You haven’t wanted to hear what I’ve been saying. You haven’t wanted to deal with anything. So, now I’m forcing the issue. I didn’t do this lightly or to just piss you off. I did this because the alternative couldn’t be allowed to continue.”
Her voice was soft and even, but her expression was heartbroken. He could see tears shimmering in her eyes. Like most men, the sight of his wife crying did him in. He fought the urge to pull her into his arms. It wouldn’t be welcome at the moment.
“You know I could get past you? You can’t keep me out if I don’t agree to it.”
She nodded. “I know. I’m asking you not to push me aside. I don’t want you here right now.”
Conor swallowed his frustration. It was clear nothing was going to be solved tonight, and he was too fucking tired anyway. He grabbed the overnight case and stomped back down the porch steps.
“Fine. Fucking fine. I’ll go somewhere else and spend the night.” He turned, and he could swear he saw her chin quivering. His heart squeezed in his chest. He was angry but hated the sight of his wife in distress. “Tomorrow we’re going to talk, so don’t make any other plans. Got it?”
She nodded. “Unless, of course, you have to work. Then, I’m sure that will come first.”
He tossed the suitcase into the car in frustration. “We’re going to talk, if I have to drown my phone in the Gulf of Mexico. I’m serious, slave. We’re going to sit down and hash this out.”
“I’m not your slave anymore, Conor. A good Master doesn’t treat his slave this way.”
The words cut to the quick. He’d always prided himself on being a good Dominant, cherishing and loving Lisa.
“And a good slave doesn’t throw her Master’s clothes on the front lawn.”
“Porch.”
“Whatever. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
She was standing in the doorway, her slim body outlined in shadow as he backed out of the driveway. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do about this, but one thing was for sure. He wasn’t going to lose his wife and children. They were everything to him. His life and his world.
They would talk tomorrow, and he’d apologize for whatever she was pissed about. She’d forgive him like always and everything would go back to normal.
* * * *
Lisa softly closed the door and slid down the wall, the sobs racking her body. The last year of her marriage had been terrible. Barely tolerable. Conor worked sixteen to eighteen hours a day, seven days a week. He was like a ghost who haunted their home but really didn’t live there.
He ate his meals long after she and the kids had gone to sleep. He was up and out the door in the morning with a cup of coffee in his hand with barely a word or a kiss for her or the children. He’d even missed their oldest son’s birthday a few weeks ago. She was pretty sure he didn’t even realize it.
When she’d tried to talk to him about it he would scowl, get annoyed, and head out the door or to bed. He would mutter some excuse about the economy and how they needed the money. Lisa knew it was only an excuse.
She handled the family finances. They were fine. Hell, more than fine. Conor didn’t need to work himself into an early grave so the kids could have karate lessons and she could buy another handbag. In fact, she rarely went shopping for anything, her wardrobe already too big for the walk-in closet in their bedroom. He’s wanted her to look nice for client dinners and parties. She knew dressing the part was important. Most of the time, she preferred to putter around the house in cutoff shorts and one of his T-shirts.
If he was that worried about money, they could put the kids in public school or sell this monstrosity of a house he’d insisted they buy. She’d wanted a smaller home that would be easier to maintain and decorate. He’d gone on and on about appearances in his business, and they’d ended up with this five-bedroom McMansion in an affluent part of Palm Harbor.
She loved her home, but she loved her husband more. She’d trade everything for time with him. She pushed herself to her feet and grabbed a laundry basket before heading out to gather his clothes from the porch. She certainly couldn’t have them out there when the sun came up tomorrow. She’d only done it to get his attention. Nothing else had seemed to work.
She methodically gathered up his clothes and carried them to the laundry room. She’d take care of them tomorrow. After her crying jag, she felt numb inside. She welcomed the deadening of her senses, needing it to hold herself together. She’d been working up the courage to do this since Tyler’s birthday party. Now it was done and she didn’t feel any better.
There were only two places she felt really and truly happy anymore. The first was with her children. They’d been a godsend these last months, holding her together and giving her hope she and Conor could make this work. She came from divorced parents and didn’t want that for her children. She might not have a choice.
The second was her sculpting. She slipped quietly into the back area of the garage she’d set up as her studio. Lisa had wanted to set up her studio in the spare bedroom where she kept her workout gear. The light in that room was especially good, but Conor had objected, saying the clay would be a mess. She’d known what he was really saying.
He thought this
was just a passing phase for her, and he didn’t want to be inconvenienced by a hobby. She’d had hobbies in the past, but nothing woke up her soul the way sculpting did. She’d taken some classes, and the instructors thought she really had talent.
She dug her fingers into the thick clay, letting her mind’s eye take over. Things had changed, and tomorrow wasn’t going to be an easy day. Somehow, someway, she had to make Conor understand they were different people than they used to be. Their lives had to change.
She couldn’t go back to the way things were.
* * * *
Conor stretched out his legs under the kitchen table and took a long swallow of his beer. He’d ended up at Nate and Brianne’s after leaving his house, and he was telling them his sad tale. He’d felt badly as they had clearly already gone to bed, both of them wrapped in robes, but he needed the support of his family tonight.
He was still reeling in shock, unable to quite comprehend what had happened.
My wife threw me out of the house.
“So, I left. I told her we’re going to talk tomorrow. I still can’t believe she did this. She must be hormonal or something.”
His eyes rolled back in his head as something made direct and painful contact with his shin. Brianne jumped up from the table, her face red.
“You’re blaming this on PMS? You asshole. You’ve been treating Lisa and the kids like shit for months and then you blame hormones. Like you didn’t have anything to do with this. You’re just an innocent bystander. You can fucking go to hell, Conor!”