by Anya Summers
"What do you mean?" Was he that miserable of a bastard that everyone was able to pick up on how different a person he was nowadays?
"It's fine if you don't want to offload your troubles on me, but even I can see you're having a hard time of it. Have you even sampled one of the subs since you arrived?" Jared questioned him, and Jesse knew he meant well. Any other time, he'd tell the man to fuck off.
And that was the issue. He couldn't seem to get himself into the spirit of things. There was a crushing weight on his chest, like the room had had all of the air sucked from it and he couldn't breathe. "No."
Jared harrumphed, his hands on the bar. "Well that's your problem. Pick one, doesn't matter who, do a scene, and you'll feel marginally better."
"Maybe you're right." Jesse took a swig of his beer with a slight nod of acknowledgement at Jared's wisdom as he left to help another patron.
Was he being that much of an idiot and wallowing? His mother had always accused him of being a wallower whenever something bad happened. The two ton gorilla of guilt would always be there regarding the accident. He would never escape it or outrun it, not with the consequences and fallout from it. That was something he couldn't change, no matter how much he wished he could go back to that day and not take that fucking pill. Except maybe, what he could attempt to alter, was how much he had allowed it to affect the rest of his life.
Jesse swallowed a long draught from the longneck, enjoying the flavor of the ale as it hit his tongue. Then he scanned the room, finding Darla still unattached for the night.
Fuck it.
Jared was right, he needed to get himself back in the game. Part of the reason he was part of the BDSM lifestyle was because it had always soothed his soul in a way vanilla sex never had, he needed the control, the absolute surrender from a woman, knowing as she writhed beneath his touch, screaming for release, that he was the one who had manipulated her body to such pleasurable heights.
The only way he could re-enter the game was if he jumped all in with a little subbie. Tonight, right now. Picking up his beer and goody bag, he saluted Jared with his beer bottle and the bartender gave him a thumbs up. Then Jesse left the bar, heading for his target. When he reached the cute little subbie in the school uniform, he asked, pointing to the open space on the couch next to her, "May I?"
Darla's green cat eyes practically purred as she nodded her head, licking her lips in expectation. The typical punch of desire he should feel only sputtered in his system. Jesse fought through it. Once he committed to a course of action, he was all in. So his heart wasn't in it one hundred percent. Jesse needed this scene with Darla to get back to being him, so he could prove that the part of himself that had been missing in action since the crash hadn't died that day.
When he reclined next to her, his big body sinking into the supple black leather, she curled her tight body against him. Clearly she was happy he was giving her attention. This would work. It had to.
"How are you, Darla? I've been watching you this week and wanted to see if you'd be interested in a scene with me? What do you say?" He tipped her chin, pleased at the demure smile that spread over her bow-shaped mouth.
"Yes, Master Jesse, I'd like that very much."
At her yielding, he tugged her onto his lap, running his hands over her small, tightly compact body. She was certainly a nice armful, with small, pert breasts. His hand undid the buttons on her blouse so he could cup her flesh. She moaned when his thumb rubbed against her nipple. He scented her arousal. This little filly was a hot piece. And while he may not have his head fully in the game, his dick didn't seem to care, liking the feel of her ass pressed up against his lap.
"Any hard limits I should know about?" He pinched her nipple, tweaking it into a hard peak, watching Darla lick her lips in anticipation.
"I don't like needles or medical play of any kind." Darla spoke frankly, an experienced sub in the lifestyle, thank heavens. He didn't have the patience for instructing a new to the life sub.
"Bondage, discipline, anal?" His hand traveled to the tight apex between her thighs, testing the soft flesh, his fingers pushing aside the confines of her thong, stroking her pussy lips in gentle exploration.
She squirmed in his lap against his hand, gasping when he slid a digit inside her channel, and he noticed her pupils dilate. "I love all of that."
Good, so did he. "Good to know. If you are agreeable, I'd like to do a public scene, with you chained against the wall, and use the whip. What do you say, pretty little Darla?"
She nodded her head in the affirmative, groaning as he stroked his finger in and out of her pussy, already drenched with moisture. "Yes, please, Master Jesse."
Jesse kissed her, taking her mouth in a demanding invasion of tongue and teeth until she was whimpering in delight. When he was satisfied by her response to his kiss, after thoroughly exploring her recesses, he broke contact with her mouth, thankful that his dick was responding for the first time in what seemed like forever.
He helped Darla onto her feet, stood himself, and then slid an arm around her petite waist, which he could span with his two hands. Then he hefted his goody bag, leading her over to the unoccupied scene area he wanted to use. Once they entered the arena, he pulled her over to the wall, stripping the schoolgirl uniform off her pretty body. She was lean and taut, her pretty pussy denuded of hair. When she was nude, he buckled her wrists and ankles into leather restrains that were attached to the stone wall so that she stood spread eagled, with her back to him.
"Darla, your safeword is red, understood? Since this is our first time playing together, if there is something that hurts, or feels wrong, you need to use it. If there is something uncomfortable, I want you to say yellow and we will halt and readjust as necessary, okay?"
"Yes, Master Jesse," she sighed.
Jesse withdrew his whip from his toy bag. Using the whip was similar to racing for him; it took skill and concentration to use properly. He tested his arm, thankful that his rotator cuff had healed and given him mobility without pain. Then he snapped the whip, testing a few lashes against the wall before he laid it across Darla's creamy flesh.
He flicked the whip. The strike caressed the creamy white mounds of her ass. He started with gentle strokes, testing Darla's response. The whip transformed into an extension of himself, an extra appendage he used as he rained whacks along her back, buttocks, and legs. Every time his whip retracted, the coiling black leather electrically alive with energy, it left a series of blazing red stripes across her flesh in its wake.
Darla's responses to the whip were a Dom's dream brought to life. The pretty brunette moaned and writhed with every caress of the leather against her skin. He increased the pressure and force of his lashes, driving the little sub into higher orbit. Darla's keening cries of ecstasy filled the space. Repeatedly he struck a new swath of flesh, transforming her back and butt into a fiery red mass.
Moisture of her arousal dribbled down her milky spread thighs from her apex. The Dom in him rumbled his delight at witnessing the sub's exquisite pleasure. Wanting to reward her, Jesse delivered another ten strokes, harder than he previously had, bent on driving Darla over the edge into subspace.
"Master," she keened, mewling moans flowing from her mouth unimpeded as she neared her climax.
After the final stroke, he laid the whip down, unzipped his leathers, and covered his cock with a condom from his toy bag. He walked over to Darla, who was on the razor's edge of coming, fitting his cock at the entrance to her pussy dripping its readiness, and plunged inside her tight-fitting cunt. He gritted his teeth at the snug feel as her pussy constricted around his cock.
Darla groaned as he established a no-nonsense pace bent purely on release. His dick didn't mind as he thrust, holding her hips for purchase as he fucked her, hard and brutally fast. In no mood for extended play, his balls tightened and his cock swelled as he pumped his hips in rapid succession, the sound of his balls smacking against her flesh filling the space. He reached around, his hand zeroe
d in on her pussy. He teased his fingers over her clitoris, rubbing her sensitive nub as he pounded his dick, feeling the head hit the walls of her womb. His cock lengthened and jerked, his balls tightened as pleasure curled up his spine. Gripping her nub between his thumb and forefinger, he squeezed and felt her climax shudder and clamp around his dick. He plunged his cock as his own orgasm hit, his cum spurting in hot jets inside the condom. Jesse thrust his hips until his dick stopped thumping and spilling semen.
When his body ceased it tremors, he withdrew his semi flaccid cock. The release, while nice, had left him more unsatisfied than when he'd begun. A piece of his soul had died on the track that day. It had nothing to do with the sweet little sub Darla. The fault, the cause, was all on him. In an effort to shield Darla from his true feelings, he took care of her, seeing to her needs as she sagged against the wall in her restraints. He tossed his condom in the trash, fixing his own clothes. Then he helped Darla out of the restraints, wrapping a blanket he'd taken from the armoire around her shoulders, and carried her over to a nearby couch. He grabbed a bottle of water from Sherry as she passed by with a tray.
Darla sighed against his chest as he cradled her form, her contentment with the night's scene obvious. In another life, he would have felt the same, but no more. Jesse couldn't help the hollow emptiness that took hold and overrode what should have been a great scene.
How could he pick up the pieces of his life, if his soul had all but died?
Chapter Two
Lucy Martin's stomach finally stopped somersaulting as the plane's tires touched down on the tarmac. She held on to the armrests in a severe death grip as the pilot applied the brakes while the g-force of the Boeing 757's momentum fought to maintain their five hundred mile an hour speed. Lucy hated flying. Not in an 'I don't like it, it makes me restless' kind of way. Lucy detested it, could find any number of things she'd rather do, like get something waxed, than strap herself inside a metal tube, and hurtle across the globe at ridiculous speeds.
Mainly, it was a control thing. She didn't like handing hers over to anyone else. And she had a rabid, unholy fear of it, too. If whoever created human beings, be it some higher mythical God or scientific natural selection, had wanted humans to fly, they would have wings. As it was, airplanes tended to make her claustrophobic, and travel in them could only be accomplished with a Valium to calm her anxiety.
Her dose had worn off an hour before and she had suffered through, knowing that once she landed, she would be behind the wheel of a rental vehicle.
Lucy avoided flying as much as possible. She only suffered through it when absolutely necessary. And right now, desperate times called for it. The next time she boarded a plane, her best friend would be with her. Even if she had to hogtie her and smuggle her out of Scotland in order to get her on board. Maybe she could hire one of those double O guys that served the Queen, have them infiltrate Mullardoch Manor with an extraction team.
She was able to disembark the plane without much fuss, as she had only packed for a four-day stint to the Highlands. Lucy followed the signs, thankful she didn't have to navigate a foreign language as she was ushered through customs and on to baggage claim. Once she had her single roll on suitcase, she went to the car rental company and picked up a vehicle—she wasn't sure it was even a car, but it would do. At least she would be in control of the Mini Cooper. The compact car was like the Chihuahuas the Beverly Hills crowd carried around their designer purses. Tiny and sweet, but not much else there.
Once her bag was stored in the pint-sized trunk, Lucy set off, speeding through the hills and vales of the Scottish countryside. She was sure it was charming. If she had more time to stop and smell the roses, or in this case the sheep and cow country smell, she would. Actually, strike that thought, if she were actually going to take a vacation, it would be at a spa at Big Bear Lake or Lake Tahoe. She liked nature; she did—from a distance as she watched it out a window while sipping wine. Lucy was not the outdoor girl type, in any way shape or form. She'd kicked more than one man to the curb when they continually tried to get her to go camping.
Of course, she could go outdoors if need be and kick some serious booty if pressed. She hadn't taken Taekwondo, Jujitsu, kickboxing, and boxing for nothing. She'd taken self-defense classes, handgun training, and could run an army styled obstacle course if pressed. Although that did set her up outside again. It had been a worthwhile excursion, though, since it meant she could defend herself. Long ago, Lucy had sworn she would never be the victim again. That the next time someone laid a hand on her in show of force by any means, she would take them down and make them bleed.
She picked up a boxed lunch in Inverness when she filled up the petrol. She drove on, munching on a ham sandwich and chips as she neared her destination and planned her method of attack. Lucy had four days to convince Zoey to get on that plane with her Wednesday morning. And if all else failed, she'd roofie Zoey with one of her valiums, and do whatever necessary to get her onto the damn thing without her knowledge. They'd made a pact long ago with each other. If one of them jumped headlong into a relationship where they were dancing on the lines of crazyville, the other was supposed to rescue her from her mistake. They'd been fifteen and in high school at the time, both of them swearing off boys entirely after they were dumped at the winter formal.
Lucy punched the gas as she spied the only home she had come across for miles. Her little car blurred past Loch Mullardoch's calm gray waters. Taking the windy road at speeds that were likely unwise, she gritted her teeth with a tenacity borne of stubbornness. She had little time to waste with formalities or worrying about potential speeding tickets in foreign countries. Hell, she didn't even know if they ticketed people for speeding over here. Not that she wanted to discover it first hand, especially when she was practically on a first name basis with the cops in Burbank due to her lead foot.
Mullardoch Manor rose out of the mountain like the last bastion of civilization. Well, hell, there was something you didn't see every day. The manor was majestic, its dulcet gray stones blending with the surrounding landscape. High arched windows, turrets, and even a circular fountain. The drive changed from country-paved blacktop into smooth concrete so that its color blended with the rest of the manor. At the sight of civilization, at least somewhat, Lucy realized she could damn near kill for a cup of coffee and a bathroom. And not necessarily in that order. After which, she would implement her plan to remove her best friend from Scotland, of course.
Lucy parked right in front of the steps, not minding the available parking on the rather ginormous drive. She pulled her suitcase from the trunk and headed to the front door. She tapped a foot as she waited for someone to answer.
"Och, may I help you?" A devilishly attractive man, brawny, with gladiator wide shoulders, a narrow, tapered waist, and a face that surely had been carved by the angels opened the door. He was a man made to tempt women into scandalous and nefarious positions. His dirty blond hair fell in a riot of unkempt curls almost to his shoulders, softening the harsh lines of his beautiful face.
"That's definitely a possibility. I'm Lucy and I'm here for Zoey Mills." She flashed him what she had always considered her killer watt smile, designed to make men melt in a puddle at her feet.
"You and everyone else, it seems," he said chagrined, seemingly unaffected by her attempt to charm him.
When he made no move to invite her in, her temper—which, let's face it, she was a redhead, and it was true what myths foretold of their tempers—the short fuse that had frayed with her travel, snapped. As tempting as he was, she was in no mood to spar with the likes of him. Her bladder was nigh on exploding and she needed to see Zoey. "Are you going to leave me on the step, Sparky, or do you always allow guests the indignity of peeing in their pants?"
If it were possible, his spine stiffened even more ramrod straight. "Come in."
He pulled the door further open, allowing her entrance into what she could only describe as a freakin' castle. She brushed past him on purpo
se, testing his response.
He looked past her to her rental vehicle and his jaw ticked. "We have other places you could park your car, you know."
"Kinda in a hurry here, Sparky." She danced on her feet for emphasis.
He nodded, grinding his teeth, and gestured for her to follow him. She left her luggage near the door, more intent on relief, and followed him to a small water closet hidden in a side hall.
After she had relieved herself, she departed the lavatory and nearly ran into his bulky frame. "Just point me in the direction you want me to go, Sparky, and I'll find Zoey."
"My name isn't Sparky. And follow me," he quipped, marching ahead of her, his back stiff.
"Are you always this grumpy with visitors? And what is your name if it isn't Sparky?" she asked, admiring the way his trousers fit over his tight end.
His answer was a snorted harrumph. If she'd known men in Scotland were this handsome, she'd have made the trip years ago. They ascended a stairwell on which she expected to see one of the crown regents descending, it was so grand, between the polished mahogany banisters and marble stairs.
"So where exactly are you taking me?" Lucy asked as they arrived on the second floor and took a left down an immaculate hall with posh, old world décor. She'd looked up this Declan guy online, researching him before she made her trip. She knew he had mega-money, but had never seen what true wealth had meant until now. Oh sure, they had the rich and famous in Hollywood, but many of the homes were lavish and outlandish, whereas the décor here spoke of understated wealth that didn't have a thing to prove to the rest of the world, it just was what money bought—and lots of it.
"Miss Mills is in the library at the end of the hall." Her guide—who was what, a butler perhaps?—finally replied to her inquiry. He definitely was the hottest butler she'd ever encountered. Definitely not what all the television shows purported they looked like, anyway. His tone wasn't any warmer, but it had lost some of its edge. If Lucy had anything to say about it, she'd have him whimpering at her feet before she left this speck of dust on the map.