His Forbidden Submissive

by Brandi Evans

  He started thrusting.

  She started moaning.

  Over and over and over, the head of his cock tapped that sweet spot on the front wall of her channel. Arousal pooled in her belly, and she drew her bottom lip between her teeth. And just when she thought she was primed to the max, Brock sliced his fingers between the front of her pussy lips and found her clit.

  “Oh god.” The words leapt from her throat as the first swipe of finger pads jabbed at the sensitive bud. “Brock. Brock. Shit.” She rammed her head against his shoulder. Her climax hovered just out of reach. It was right there, taunting her—just like Brock’s fingers taunted her clit.

  No doubt Brock was doing that on purpose.

  “You’re not coming,” he said, his voice a seductive purr in her ear. “Am I not fucking you hard enough?”

  Lust rocketed straight to the spot where his cock was implanted so deeply inside her, working, pounding. She opened her mouth to answer, to tell him he was perfect, that his body was perfect, but no words escaped. Her vocal cords were paralyzed in that precious moment before release, that vulnerable moment where reality seemed to collapse in on itself.

  He chuckled. “Or perhaps I need to press a vibrator against your clit…”

  This time, his words sent her rocketing over the edge.

  “Fuuuck!” Every muscle in her body jerked. Hard. She shuddered with the force of the landslide climax threatening to bury her alive.

  Strong arms wrapped around her, pulled her firmly and securely into Brock’s embrace as she rode out the erotic storm. Her heart pounded. Her blood raced, pushing particles of pleasure through her entire body. Not a single molecule was spared the effect.

  She was only slightly aware she was being moved. Brock laid her on her back and moved over her. With the gentleness of a wave caressing the sand, he pushed back into her body but he didn’t start thrusting, didn’t do anything but hold her, whisper to her, caress her skin as she slowly floated down from the stratosphere.

  Brock’s prowess, his ability to take her to depths of pleasure she’d never known two people could experience, still amazed her, but it didn’t surprise her. Until now. This…this was a game changer. He’d been in complete, undeniable control. Every caress, every touch of skin, everything had come directly from him. Hell, she hadn’t even been able to thrust really. Everything had started with him and ended with her moaning and thriving in absolute pleasure.

  “God, that was intense. How’d you do that?” Her words came out so soundlessly, she wasn’t sure he’d even heard her until he lifted his head and looked down at her.

  “It’s a gift.”

  “No, it was, was…” She couldn’t form the correct adjective. Nothing seemed to be able to describe what had happened. “I just hope it’s a gift you plan on giving me on a regular basis.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way, pet.”

  A smile tugged at her lips, and she had to ask. “What’s with that name? It gives a whole new meaning to the term ‘pet name’.”

  “I’ll tell you soon enough.” His hips pushed forward, reminding her he wasn’t finished with her yet.

  Good. This was gonna be fun.

  Since he hadn’t directed her not to move this time, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him toward her. She rocked her hips against his, meeting his hardly moving thrusts.

  “So when are you planning on giving me the surprise you mentioned earlier?”

  “Soon.” His thrusting picked up speed little by little. “But first, I’m going to take you out to lunch.”

  “Lunch? No, I—”

  “Lunch first.” He hips collided with hers even faster. “Then I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”

  She sighed. He was still procrastinating, but she’d given him until lunch to confess whatever he was hiding. After all, it couldn’t be that big of a deal, right? She knew Brock better than she’d ever known any other man. Bonding over a life-threatening disease tended to do that.

  “Okay, fine,” she said. “I’ll go with you but only under one condition.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “You have to make me come again.”

  He grinned. “I’d already planned to do that.”

  “Then what are you waiting for?”

  “Absolutely nothing.” His hips slammed forward without mercy, forcing her onto another erotic joyride, pounding into her until they both tumbled off ecstasy’s cliff and into a free fall.

  * * * * *

  Brock pulled open the black gilded door of the BDSM-themed restaurant he co-owned and prepared for the worst—yet prayed for the best.

  Unlike the main club a floor up, Ravenous was just for show. A place where those who didn’t practice the lifestyle could enjoy a scrumptious meal while engaging in their curious side. They’d get a little taste of the BDSM lifestyle, but not too much, which was precisely why Brock had decided to bring Viv here for the big reveal.

  Here, he could get a feel for her thoughts on the subject before dropping the big bombshell smack on her head. Oh, he already had some inklings as to what to expect with her. Although she might not even realize it, their earlier sex had had a nice element of BDSM in it. And she’d responded beautifully. She’d obeyed with very little reminding, and her orgasm…

  God, thinking about it too much would likely give him another hard-on.

  But simply obeying him and getting off in the process was a long cry from embracing the lifestyle. What would she think when she got upstairs, out of the mildly themed restaurant and into Restrained Fantasies, where the real fun was?

  Restrained Fantasies was the real deal, a private club for likeminded people who wanted a safe, erotic environment to indulge in their salty sides. Would Viv flee when she witnessed the scenes being played out one floor higher? Or would she beg him to show her what it felt like to put herself wholly and completely in his control?

  Intrigue lit Viv’s eyes. “Where are we?”

  “Ravenous.” He treaded carefully. “It’s a little kickass restaurant with a…well, let’s call it a debaucherous side to it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll see, sweet. You’ll see.”

  He escorted her to the hostess stand. A leather-clad bombshell decked out in full dominatrix fashion smiled seductively at them, just the way she’d been instructed to do when patrons entered. Like most of the restaurant employees, she acted like someone in the lifestyle, but she wasn’t.

  “Good evening, Master Brock.”

  Viv stiffened at his side, no doubt in reference to the “master” comment.

  The hostess continued. “Would you like your—”

  “Yes, Brin,” he said quickly, knowing where her question was going as she always asked him the same thing on his arrival. Would you like your usual table?

  He and his business partner, Stephen, had a reserved seat, just like they did in the club. And speaking of Stephen, was he here? The man was practically a permanent fixture around this place except, of course, when he was at the hospital saving lives.

  Like when he’d saved Viv’s life.

  “Is Ste—” He stopped the name short. He wanted to see Viv’s face when she realized her oncologist co-owned a BDSM restaurant and club. “Is the table empty?”

  “Yes Sir.” She gathered a menu for Viv as she spoke—he no longer needed one. “Would you like to start your meal with your usual drink?”

  “Yes.” Shit. When he’d concocted his plan to bring her here, he hadn’t thought about the fact his own employees might give him away prematurely. He turned to Viv. “What would you like to drink, sweetheart? Coffee spiced with a little Bailey’s Irish Cream?”

  She nodded, a smile playing with her lips. What? Was she surprised he remembered her fondness for coffee, spiked coffee at that?

  “Very good. I’ll get your orders to the bar as soon as you’re seated.” Brin motioned for them to follow her. “Right this way.”

  As Brock fell into
step behind his employee, he turned his complete attention to Viv. Her gaze seemed to be taking everything in, so he took the opportunity to do the same, to attempt to see the space as she might.

  When he’d designed his getaway, he’d blended “old” style with “new”. Sure leathers, chains and rod-iron bars dominated the bulk of the décor, but the space wasn’t dark or drab. Creams blended with deep reds and blacks to give the place a light appeal with a trim of edginess.

  He’d rounded out the look with ornate chandeliers and rock walls, giving the restaurant a dungeon-esque aspect, but his favorite feature of the restaurant, however, was the tables—although tables might be a stretch of the term.

  Large, cushioned platforms hung suspended from the ceiling by four thick chains and were secured to the floor with a hidden base. Couldn’t have drinks tipping whenever people got up to use the facilities. Circular rod-iron “tabletops” sat in the center of each platform—they weren’t large, but they were big enough to hold Ravenous’ trademark shared, no-silverware-required meals.

  “So what do you think?” he asked as she slid onto her seat.

  “I think it’s quite breathtaking. I love the colors, and these tables are phenomenal. It makes me feel risqué while also feeling safe.”

  “Good. That’s pretty much exactly what I was going for.”

  She went completely still. “What you were going for?”

  Oh shit, he’d just royally fucked up. He’d brought her here to judge her reaction, not to confess anything. Yet. But talking to her came so naturally, he’d just opened his damn mouth without thinking. He could lie, tell her he’d helped the owner build the club, which was the partial truth. But then what would happen later when he told her the truth?

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  He couldn’t lie to her. Whether he’d meant to or not, he’d crossed the line. Going back now only to go forward later would be far worse than simply telling her the truth.

  Wouldn’t it?

  As he joined her on the platform, he carefully prepared his next sentence. “Yes. I designed Ravenous. I’m also a co-owner.”

  “Co-own?” She seemed to be speaking as if she were in shock. Her words had no inflection, her facial muscles paralyzed. “How long have you owned this place? Were you thinking about opening it while I was sick? You never mentioned anything to me.”

  “Yes and no. The restaurant’s been in the making for years now but we’ve only been open about a month. I actually met my business partner while you were going through chemo. He’d been planning to open a place like this for years and had most everything lined up when we met but finding an architect and designer familiar with the BDSM lifestyle was hanging him up. So when he approached me, I jumped at the chance to design the place.”

  “The BDSM lifestyle? Oh god.” Her pupils turned to big, black saucers. In the span of two seconds, she went from shock to something closely resembling panic. “Oh my god. You mean…you’re actually into that? The place isn’t just for show?”

  Christ. He was losing her. And fast. “I’m an active participant in the lifestyle, yes. I have been since my early twenties. Does that bother you?”

  He examined her expression for any sign of rejection or worse—fear. But before she answered, their server arrived.

  “Good evening, Master Brock,” the blond in a black leather vest and matching pants said as he placed their drinks between them. “Do you know what you’d like to order or do you need more—”

  “More time,” Brock said quickly. Much, much more time.

  The young man seemed to know where he was and wasn’t wanted and departed post haste.

  Viv took her coffee between two suddenly shaky hands, brought the mug to her lips and took a sip. Then a larger one, then a larger.

  “Damn, love.” He intercepted the cup before she could take a fourth scalding sip. “You’re gonna burn your mouth, if you haven’t already.”

  She didn’t respond when he took the drink from her, didn’t protest when he scooted closer. She simply sat there, looking as if he’d taken a wrecking ball and destroyed the foundation of her life. He recognized the turmoil roiling in her eyes. He’d experienced something life demolishing before too.

  The day his brother told him Viv had what was probably terminal cancer.

  He placed his hand on hers and took the opportunity to explain as much as he could. “I’m what we call a Dom, which is short for a Dominant. I—”

  “Stop. Stop. I can’t.” She shook her head, her voice as feeble and fragile as an autumn leaf. “Oh my god, Brock, I can’t believe this. There’s this whole other side to you you’ve kept hidden. I feel like I don’t even know you anymore.”

  “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t actively trying to be dishonest with you, but unfortunately, secrecy and the lifestyle go hand in hand.”

  “But you lied to me, Brock.” She brought her torrential gaze to meet his. “To me.”

  Her words were a branding iron to the heart. He’d kept his secret out of fear of rejection, never thinking that keeping it could have the same effect.

  She pushed on. “How could you fucking lie to me about something like this? I didn’t think we had any major secrets left between us.”

  Despite the harshness of her words, they resounded as little more than hoarse whispers. Guilt stabbed him in the center of his chest. He hadn’t thought of hiding his lifestyle from her as lying. He’d looked at it more as protection. She’d been in such a sickly state back then, and him…well, his heart had never been more raw or exposed.

  “I swear, Viv, I wasn’t purposely trying to hide that part of myself from you or to be dishonest. I’m not ashamed of the way I like to have sex.” He took a chance and pressed his palm against her cheek.

  She immediately pulled back. “Was this why you tried to push me away?”

  He nodded. “I panicked. I was terrified of how you’d react. I didn’t want you to run when you found out.” That was mostly the truth. “It was a stupid reaction. I know that. It’s just—”

  “You lied to me, Brock. Plain and simple. Just like your fucking brother.”

  Her words lashed deep through his chest. “I’m nothing like that prick.”

  But she wasn’t listening. She rocketed from her seat and ran.

  She didn’t look back.

  Chapter Six

  Viv woke to an insistent pounding, a relentless, painful banging on her hotel room door. Wham, wham, wham. Obviously the “do not disturb” sign she’d hung on the knob last night meant nothing to the asshole in the hallway.

  “Go away!” she yelled but immediately regretted her outburst. Pain reverberated in her head, as loud and palpable as the knocking at the door. Why the hell had she let herself drink so much last night?

  Try the last couple of days.

  She pulled the covers over her head, shielding her poor eyes from the annoyingly cheerful morning sun. Nearly two days had passed since she’d walked away from Brock at his restaurant, and even though she’d nearly gone through the alcoholic content of the hotel’s mini-fridge, she still felt as unhinged and unbalanced as she had the moment Brock had made his little confession.

  Little?

  Hmph.

  She still couldn’t get her mind around the fact Brock was into BDSM. She thought she’d known him better than she’d ever known anyone else, but he’d been harboring this huge secret. From her. What else was he hiding? Was he secretly married with a boatload of kids?

  Wham, wham, wham.

  She ignored the pounding.

  By not telling her earlier about his seedier side, Brock had essentially been lying to her, just like his brother had made a habit of doing.

  Wham, wham, wham.

  “Christ.” Giving up hope of being left alone in her hungover misery, she kicked off the covers and jumped from the bed. More like fell from it. She tripped and stumbled her way across the room. Hangovers plus anger plus early-morning interruptions didn’t a good mood equal.

  She yank
ed open the door. “What!” she screamed—but then immediately smiled when she saw Anne’s friendly face.

  Ouch. Bad move. Smiling hurt.

  In typical Anne fashion, she barged in without preamble. In one hand, she juggled a drink carrier with two steaming, venti-sized Starbucks cups. In the other, she grasped a brown bag Viv prayed might have some oatmeal—or better yet, a slice of lemon pound cake. She was hung over and upset. Who wanted healthy?

  Viv shut the door behind her new friend. “Not that I’m not happy to see you but what are you doing here?”

  “I figured you might need a friendly ear. I would have been here sooner, but my idiot brother forgot to call me and let me know you were here.” Anne set the goodies on the nearby breakfast table. “Our deal is simple. I send clients to his hotel. I pay the bills, with an added stipend to ensure privacy I might add. All he has to do in return for all the business I send his way is to call me when one of my clients checks in. It’s not really that difficult. But anyway…” She fisted her hands on her hips. “After severely berating him for not telling me after your first night, I hopped in my car and headed over.”

  “Well, I appreciate it. I could use a friendly ear right about now.” Viv fought back a smile. It was odd, having someone to talk to. Being married to Eugene had made it hard to make friends, let alone keep them.

  Anne pointed to the breakfast table. “Sit, sweetie. I have the not-so-sneaky suspicion you and I have a lot to talk about.”

  Wasn’t that an understatement?

  The women settled around the small table and Anne began dishing out the goodies she’d brought. Viv couldn’t help but watch her friend as she worked. Anne looked quite different here. Gone was the corporate lawyer in a pantsuit, wedge heels and her hair in a bun. Anne the Attorney had been replaced by a carefree woman in a wraparound sundress, strapped sandals and dirty-blonde curls that fell freely about her round face and shoulders.

  Anne placed a cup in front of Viv. “Skinny Cinnamon Dolce Latte with soy. That’s what you usually get, right?”

  Viv nodded. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”