by Susan Arden
“Damn. Please don’t tell me that’s your church.”
He watched Mia take a breath followed by locking her jaw. She all too seriously scrutinized the front of his shirt as he waited for her to speak.
“No. It’s one of the places where the country clubbers go. Everyone knows that. I suppose it’s small-minded to be judgmental.” Finally, she lifted her eyes to him.
You’re here with Jamison’s daughters. It’s only natural to form some judgments.”
“If you say so,” she said, turning away. He watched her walk into the storage closet and wondered about her sudden shift in mood.
After retrieving blankets, pillows and bottles of water, they went to his private room downstairs and quietly made up the sofa bed.
“There,” he said, still observing Mia and her thoughtful mood.
He wouldn’t prod her, and he crossed to the bedroom doorway and locked the doors. For all practical purposes, the living room area resembled a hotel room. He’d have Beth or Trent keep watch. Mia stood next to the bed and smiled at him. He wasn’t fully prepared for the effect of his desire to throw her down on the sofa bed. “What should happen tomorrow?” he asked, mindful that any second his staff would be coming through the door.
“They need help. If they’ve been in rehab, it’ll be easier to get them back in since they’ve got a patient history if insurance was filed. I can help. It’s not hard as long as the treatment center has the beds available. Kinda like here. Otherwise…the girls are in a fragile state. If not the center, then maybe a drug center, but I don’t think they’d stay. Girls in this state, need to detox, undergo counseling with a therapy plan. Otherwise, they’ll return to the streets, run and do whatever it takes to get the drugs.”
A short knock on the door sounded and it swung open, revealing Marty and two burly security guards ushering the girls into the room. Mia approached the men and motioned to the sofa.
“Come in Esme and Selma. This is where you’re going to sleep. Okay?” Mia went over to the twins.
The girls nodded, hardly even looking around the room. One yawned and they walked with Mia. She spoke in a low whisper, giving the girls a rundown on the plan, and saying, not once but several times, not to leave. They nodded as their eyelids drooped.
Brandon joined Marty off to the side and lowered his voice. “Make certain they don’t leave.”
“No problem. I took their keys.” Marty’s smug smile stretched across his face.
“What about the drugs and crap they had in their purses?” Brandon asked.
“Gone. Beth searched their pockets and they had some cash, but nothing else. Should we cuff them?” Marty asked, rubbing his face.
“Forget it. Just watch.” He frowned, glancing over to the girls. “I’m not about to give these two anything to discuss about being here. Anything other than sleep has bad news written all over it.”
Marty shook his head unapologetically. “You said to stop them from leaving. They’ve got feet.”
He looked down at the two girls as Mia was tucking them in. “Take their shoes. If they leave, it will slow them down. I doubt they’d take off barefoot in the snow.”
“Okay. Sounds good. I’ll put everything—minus the drugs—in a plastic bag in my office.”
Brandon met Mia’s glance, her slightly arched brow, and he stilled. The edges of her cloak came apart while she was lifting the blanket. With her arms in front of her, arranging the covers, she had no idea how she captivated him. He jerked his chin toward the door with his best Let’s go look.
She smiled then folded down the sheet under Esme or Selma’s chin. He still didn’t know them apart. He’d never been one to pace, but he was getting damn near that point. He registered that one of the security guards was telling him something. What was the man saying? Then Mia came into focus in front of him, and he trained his attention on her, vaguely waving to others leaving the room.
“You’ve done all you can,” he said, tugging on her arm.
She pulled on the neck of her cloak, adjusting the folds. “I guess.”
At the end of the hall, he held out his hand. “Give me your keys.” She mumbled something under her breath. “Care to elaborate?” he asked, his nerves pulled past the snapping point.
“Wouldn’t you like that?” she murmured with a little too much spunk.
“Not as much as you,” he retorted. “You’re in deep already.” God, he felt like there weren’t enough hours left tonight for what he needed to do with her. And her smirking at him further incited his craving for her.
“I have the goods. I’m not worried.” Her voice reflected the same overconfidence he’d expected from her.
Damn, she was begging to be spanked, and his hunger to deliver skyrocketed. Mia’s spunkiness turned him inside out with a crazed lust crawling under his skin, fueled by her pink lips. In a matter of minutes, his craving to spank her and fuck her would be an out of control firestorm. Tonight he’d show her in no uncertain terms who owned her—body, mind, and especially her sassy mouth, if she kept this up.
“You do remember that you’re the one wearing the collar. Right?”
Only then did her cocky smile falter, but in a flash her eyes regained their usual glitter overlaid with a veil of pride. Mia was his personal Mount Kilimanjaro. He wasn’t certain if the veneer she’d taken to wearing was done out of habit or just around him, but he’d soon find out. He had plans to get her to lay aside any need to hide herself in his company. He wanted to discover and get to know the real Mia. The woman behind the researcher.
“Cowboy, why don’t you remind me?” Mia swept the tip of her tongue over her lips, making them glisten with a trail of moisture that he could almost feel on the head of his shaft. She shifted on her feet, notching up her chin, and throwing back her shoulders.
Talk about throwing down a sexy gauntlet.
“Oh darlin’,” he smiled tightly, his cock responding to her on so many levels. “Come with me.”
MIA crossed her arms over her chest and shook her stubborn head, scattering her black mane of hair over her shoulders.
“Hard-line? To take off your dress?” he asked incredulously.
“Yes, Sir. Red light. Hard-line. Too many people coming and going. What if the girls need me?”
“I need you,” he growled, unbuttoning his shirt and staring down at her as she hiked up her dress over her gorgeous legs.
“Hard. Line,” she said fiercely.
“Fine.” His cock twitched at her ability to play hardball. “Let’s get one thing perfectly clear. I’ll install a lock on that outer door by next week, and then this is a clothes-free zone. Would that work?” When she smiled, teasing him with her dimples, he forgot the issue at hand.
“You give a little, and I will too. Deal!” She flashed him a peace sign.
“You sure are something,” he said, picking up the flogger and placing it in her hands. “Questions?”
Mia came up onto her knees next to him and asked, “Like the one Pen used? But different.” She tilted her head, curling her fingers around the handle.
“This one is brand new. Ours. We’ll need more tools, but this is a good beginning to introduce you to kink and sex toys.”
“The other one was made from hair. Horsehair?”
“Keen eye, darlin’. There are different types. I intend on taking you shopping and we’ll explore your edge together.”
She smiled and slapped the leather across her palm, shrugging. “I can take it.”
Oh his little researcher. He bit back a smile, when she extended the flogger. “We’re going to start slow. Get you used to the feel of being spanked. You’re being disciplined, but I also want you to get off. Sometimes, I’ll withhold from you, Mia, but not tonight.”
He tossed the flogger down on the bed, chomping at the bit to tap Mia’s submissive soul. He rubbed his hand down from her shoulder and settled his palm on the curve of her hip. He squeezed her body, still clothed. She watched him, her chest rising a
nd falling like the sea battling a storm—for her it would be a storm brewing because of fear.
He couldn’t wait to get her across his lap, her ass exposed to him, but first and foremost, he desired to assail her anxiety. He relished being the man to introduce her to this type of domination, but it was also bittersweet. “Tell me what you’re thinking?”
“I don’t know what to expect. This is all brand new.”
“In a little while you won’t be able to say you’re a virgin to kink anymore. Will you?”
“No, Sir,” she whispered, so softly he almost didn’t hear her.
“As the Dominant, my job is to protect you,” he said, massaging his hands on her thigh. “And you have made that especially difficult with your impulsiveness. Do you agree?”
He mentally reviewed the list. She’d balked at his desire to retrieve her bag from her car while she waited inside…warm and cozy. She just had to make certain that he didn’t accidentally lose one of her folders. That cost her. Then when she’d refused to walk alongside him, heading out the back exit on a whim and nearly slipping on the ice, another ten smacks were added. By the time they’d gotten upstairs, his breath was frozen in his chest, and his need to hear back-to-back apologies from her luscious lips rode rough on him.
“Because I have brain in my head,” she retorted, much too quickly for his taste and he frowned.
“You’re one naughty filly who needs a firm hand,” he replied, regarding Mia next him on the bed. “Lift your dress. Turn around!”
He removed his shirt and belt and sat on the edge of the mattress, riled up to the max, and not certain if he could hold out long enough to spank her ass. Not one day in his life had a filly or a woman gotten him so worked up. He didn’t know if he was coming or going.
Mia lifted her dress, revealing a tiny thong of lace that peeked out along the seam of her incredible ass.
“You changed?” Lust bloomed within him, skittering jolts of excitement all over his body.
“You ripped my other one. I bought these in the store downstairs.”
“I’ll make certain you have an account there, as well,” he groaned. She was so beautiful and so freaking smart, it tore into his ability to concentrate on getting his head together about how he’d deliver her training. As a Dom, he wielded more than just a whip or flogger, he delivered control, and the subs he’d serviced in the past had trusted him and also understood what he offered came with no strings. Nothing beyond a one-night adventure. With Mia, he skated an edge, wanting to give her what she needed and wary that she’d take too much. He stood, not happy that her hands were free to touch him and drive him to the brink.
“I’m going to bind your wrists together like before. One smart aleck word, and I’ll throw in a blindfold.”
She nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
“Time to learn what to say after you count.” He lifted her chin until her eyes met his. “Just. Like. This. Say, ‘Thank you, Sir.’”
“Thank you, Sir,” she repeated cautiously.
He didn’t smile—on the outside. He kept his face impassive. Tension brewed inside the bedroom and his body. She stood between his legs, tempting him to pull her up against him and kiss her sassy mouth into submission. Like this she appeared a mixture of sexy and angelic, dressed in white and calling him ‘Sir,’ that one word coming from her rose-colored mouth had him chafing in his own skin.
“Do you trust me?” he asked her, on edge to hear the right words.
Mia lifted her eyes to him. “Yes, Sir.”
His heartbeat thudded faster as he placed his hands on either side of her wrists. “Who do you belong to tonight?” Mia’s hair fell over her shoulder, a veil along her face. Goddamn, she was mind-blowing. He brushed it back, tucking a few strands behind her ear. “Answer me, baby.”
“You, Sir. All to you.”
He traced her lips with the pad of his thumb. She’d said the words; soon she’d understand—if she didn’t already—what his ownership of her entailed.
He thought better of keeping anything in the dark. “We’ve gone over a safe word and I want you to be clear on our roles. My job is to push you. To know what your limits are, even if you may not. If you trust me, then let me do my job. What are your hard limits…besides that dress?”
Mia smoothed her hands over the material along her hips, and he reminded himself to focus on her message coming from her mouth, not the one emanating from her body.
“The standard. I read the list the club gives out. Besides those, I think we already agreed that I’m up in the air about public scenes. But inside your bedroom, between you and me, I’m open.” Then she quickly added, “Sir.”
Her voice pitched in a husky range, rolled over his skin, igniting his blood, and he reached for his glass of water, knowing the futility of relieving the slow burn spreading through his body. “You still get to ask questions. Coming from a psychological perspective, you understand that talking and honesty are important if this is going to work.”
“I understand, Sir.” She held his gaze, pride burning brighter in her dark eyes now than before. From a spark, her eyes held a firestorm ready to burst. All he had to do was get her to the edge.
Oh, before the fall. For all her sir-calling ways, her pride was larger than Texas, and he bit his lip to keep from laughing and simultaneously groaning.
Chapter Twelve
“Kiss me,” Brandon growled softly. This was his test and Mia understood why he commanded her. Something that could be casual between two people, was taking on more and more meaning—at least for her. A road sign that between them, intimacy bloomed…or deepened. Rapidly, if she didn’t find the means to control her feelings, she’d be in trouble. They’d agreed this was temporary, and a man such as Brandon was hardly the type to seek the pleasure of one woman for long. Clue number one: him owning and running a club like this, and she’d better wake up and smell the coffee.
“With pleasure, Sir.” She offered him her mouth, and quivered when their lips touched. God, he tasted so incredible. Oh God, she prayed.
Her lips were a barometer of her internal landscape, the same as her words and ability to be articulate when she was upset. No small wonder Brandon had absorbed that fact about her. She leaned into the kiss. She’d wanted to brush, tease, and then devour his mouth, but she couldn’t. Her nerves were stretched into stiff wires, ready to fray. Inhaling Brandon’s scent, a cross between leather and fresh hay, maybe the tang of the ocean, she rubbed her cheek against his, her fingers curling snug on his forearm that he tightly flexed.
He groaned. “Jesus.”
“How was that?” Her voice came out a rasp, her mind whirling, and they gazed at one another for several seconds, a raging desire to fuse their mouths swimming between them.
“Enough to send us over the edge. Wouldn’t you say?” He pressed his lips together.
“Way over. Sir.” Her breasts swelled, making the tips peak and ache for relief. All from just one kiss. Wake up! The siren sounded again.
Well, no wonder. Brandon, the man who represented sex in cowboy boots, had her in his bed. An inner voice kept up a stream of torrid suggestions and heated images of him spanking her, pulling her hair, and commanding her. She’d digested the theory of sexual discipline and interplay between a couple, thanks to him. On the fly, she could now write a research paper on the subject of being tempted to engage in spanking.
Now, the issue was the practical. With Brandon’s hands on her body, tying her wrists, she had a choice to make: trust him or not, as this would be another doorway they’d cross. One marked intimate and explosive.
“Hold out your hands,” he said, picking up what looked like a black silk tie.
“Is that…yours?”
“Yes. Never used it like this before. Don’t enjoy wearing a tie, but this one I just might after tonight.”
His fingers on her skin brooked her body’s response. The coiling in her belly swirled and between her legs pulsed with the sliding sound of him lashing
his tie, while pulling one end with his teeth to tighten the knot. She stared at the clove hitch around her wrists. “Skilled at tie-down roping. Rodeo?” she asked.
“Some. Not exactly two wraps and hooey, but it’ll do. Ranching skills have their uses…in the bedroom. Later, I want to hear how you know so much about roping,” he replied, massaging his hands up her arms, then back down again.
Roping, tie-downs, lassoing weren’t on the same playing field when she thought of what she knew about rodeo and what she knew about being a woman who voluntarily submitted to an overpowering man. This wasn’t something she could do halfway, not if she wanted to know what a sub experienced and why a woman would want to submit to a man who, like Brandon, believed he owned her. In her mind, it had all come down to the woman losing her free will.
If she tempered her desire to fully submit to Brandon, then he’d never own her lock, stock, and one opinionated barrel. It wasn’t a mystery that as her Dom, he wanted her to yield. She just couldn’t let go and let him in, not with the price being her will. Her identity.
She wasn’t some plaything for men to use and then toss away. Somehow, she had to find the elusive place where she’d be able to balance the equation of trusting him, without giving in to him completely. Her position was frigging tenuous at best.
He released her bound wrists. “Nervous?” he asked.
She pressed her lips together, refusing to acknowledge the bereft effect that his sudden disconnection had on her. Her eyelashes fluttered; she couldn’t just be one more quaking sub in front of him. “Not in the least.”
“Be honest with me,” he said, taking hold of her again. “It’s what you expect of me.”
“Uh.” She mentally stumbled, while his acumen glinted from his eyes and the heat from his hands warmed her skin. “A bit. Without experience…”
“Yes?” He studied her for a beat or two. “What I’m going to do is structured discipline. This isn’t your call, so worrying is fruitless. If you were the one, making decisions, then the stress is on you. But not tonight, and you’re always a word away from stopping anything you’re uncomfortable with. Trust me—I won’t hurt you.”