Bound and Determined

by Sierra Cartwright

  She was spent.

  She collapsed on top of Logan; he stroked her hair, soothing her, complimenting her.

  She was hardly aware of the men moving around, changing positions, but she realised she was on her side with a cold cloth placed against her entire private area.

  She dozed, and when she woke, she was in her Dom’s arms. Weak moonlight hit the window, and he pulled her against him.

  “I’m not letting you go.”

  For the first time, she didn’t protest. In this moment, she didn’t want him to let her go.

  Dawn was streaming through the window when her mobile rang. She was tempted to ignore it, but she wasn’t wired that way.

  Blinking herself awake, she tossed back the sheets and headed for the living room.

  Jack followed her, wrapping the robe around her shoulders.

  She checked the caller identification screen. “It’s My cousin, Mary.” She cleared her throat and answered.

  “Sin, sorry to bother you.”

  “You’re never a bother.” She realised Mary probably thought she was still in the States. “You can call me any time.” She snuggled into the robe and Jack’s silent support. “What’s going on?”

  “You’ll think I’m a ninny. And I wouldn’t have called unless, well, unless you called the other day.”

  “You’re not a ninny.” Mary was never one for overreaction. She was the steady one in the family, the least prone to flights of fancy.

  Jack moved off, towards the kitchen and, hopefully, coffee.

  “Well, I found a silver comb. Or rather, your ma did. She didn’t want me to tell you.”

  She sank onto the settee.

  She might not believe in curses, but she wasn’t one for coincidence either. “I’ll be home soon,” she promised.

  “Your ma will have my head for telling you.”

  “She won’t know,” Sinead promised. “Your secret is safe with me.” After a couple of minutes of chitchat, they rang off.

  She put the robe on properly and wrapped up in it.

  Jack brought her a cup of coffee, heavy on the cream.

  “I’ll marry you,” she said, accepting the cup and taking a sip. Not only had he got the cream exact, he’d also added enough sugar. She couldn’t fault the way he tried. She could only fault that she had to go through with this. “If you’ll have me.”

  He crouched in front of her. He was all man. Well, that wasn’t the total truth of it. He was all Dom.

  “What’s happened?”

  She felt numb. “My mother found a comb.” She took a sip of the coffee and shook back her hair. “It probably means nothing, but I can’t continue like this. I found one. Your grandmother found one. There was one in Maeve’s car, in your mother’s car. If there’s any chance my sacrifice can make a difference, I will do it.”

  “Marrying me would be a sacrifice, would it?”

  His eyes registered the shock of hurt.

  “I’m sorry. That was thoughtless. I didn’t mean it to sound that way.”

  “Be certain of what you’re saying, lass. If you marry me, there will never be a divorce. I’ll fight you through hell and back.”

  “I understand.”

  He took the cup from her. “Not exactly the way I’d imagined this happening.”

  “I’m a modern woman.” She forced a small smile.

  “I’m not a modern man, I’m afraid. We’ll sort it out. But be very clear on this. You’ll marry me, Sinead?”

  As if there had ever been a choice. Eight hundred years had led to this moment. Every event, every decision, every twist of fate. She didn’t feel jubilant. She felt trapped.

  * * * *

  “Do you need to be spanked?” Jack asked.

  She’d learned a one-finger response in America. Right now, she was sorely tempted to use it.

  “Maybe I should lick your cunt? You’re much more compliant after that.”

  He took her breath away.

  He stood in the entrance to his suite at his grandmother’s house, a broad shoulder braced against the jamb. He wore a dark suit that made his eyes even more staggeringly blue, like a sunrise over a cold mountain peak. He was devastatingly handsome. “The priest is waiting.”

  They were to marry today—in fact, it should have happened already. Jack had moved quickly when she’d agreed to marry him. He’d had the agreement drawn up in less than twenty-four hours. He’d taken her shopping, bought her a dress, all before the sun set again. He’d summoned the priest immediately. He’d offered to invite her family, but she knew they’d try to talk her out of it. “I’m hurrying,” she said. Because she was frustrated, because her hands shook, she’d already stabbed a fingernail through a pair of silken stockings. This second pair was in danger, too. Since when did she, a woman who preferred bare legs and T-shirts, shimmy into beautiful lingerie?

  He came into the room, gently closing the door behind him. “Is it so bad?” he asked. “The idea of marrying me?”

  “Yes.” She looked away. “No.”

  “Sulking doesn’t look good on you, my warrior.” He pulled her up off the bed. “You’re lovely, Sinead.”

  She laughed. “I’ve got one blasted stocking attached to this stupid garter, and I don’t know whether the knickers go over the garter belt or under. And this bra. Lord take me. My nipples are bare.” She shook her head. Then emotion crashed into her in a powerful whoosh. “What the hell am I doing, Jack?”

  “Thinking too much.” He pulled her against him then he shocked the breath from her lungs when he tossed her on the bed.

  He sat on the edge of the mattress, and reached for her, dragging her across his knee.

  “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  He swatted her bare butt, hard.

  She yelped. “Stop it, this instant.”

  He spanked her again. And again. And again.

  She was gasping, stunned, unable to think.

  Then he yanked his belt from its loops and laid leather against her skin.

  She muffled her scream.

  “Thank me, sub. Thank me for beating you.”

  He continued to spank her mercilessly.

  Gulping in great gasps of air, she managed a whispered thank you. Then another. Somewhere along the line she lost track of his blows and her shouts of gratitude.

  “Spread your legs.”

  Helpless to resist him, not wanting to resist him, she did.

  Ruthlessly he parted her labia. In less than thirty seconds, he brought her to a shuddering climax.

  She hadn’t started to think again when she felt something hard trying to intrude in her tightest hole. “What…?”

  “A butt plug,” he told her.

  “I’m not wearing a butt plug to my wedding!”

  “You don’t have a choice.” He held her captive with one arm, tightening his grip the more she wiggled. With his other hand, he squirted lube onto the plug. At least, please, please, please, let that be what he was doing.

  He opened her anus, stretching it wide with three fingers before starting to work on the plug. “Where is this going?” he asked.

  “You’re going to hell,” she said.

  He tutted. “I’ll ask again.” He slid the plug back and forth, twisting it to work it in deeper. “Where is this plug going?”

  He knew her, knew her too well, knew her responses, knew what she wanted. She was wild and wanton, needed his touch.

  “Tell me, Sinead.”

  “My arse.” The words were more panted than spoken. “It’s going in my arse. Please.” He gave a final push. “Agh!”

  “Beautiful,” he said. Then he pushed her from his lap. “Stand up. And then bend over, grabbing your ankles.”

  Her head spun, but she blindly followed orders.

  “It’s a glass plug,” he told her. “Meaning I can see into your ass. Think about that as you promise to love, honour and obey.” He pulled on the plug, then shoved it in again.

  It was so de
ep, she was so full.

  “It looks sexy. I’ll barely be able to get through the vows, thinking about your arse being stretched wide for me.”

  “Jack…”

  He helped her to stand erect, then took her in his arms, kissing her. She closed her eyes. Wishing… If he loved her, her dreams would be coming true. Instead, it was little more than a business agreement.

  Rather than watch her struggle, he helped her with her stockings, fastening them in place with the garter belt. He suckled on her exposed nipples. “Maybe we should skip the wedding and go straight to the honeymoon.”

  “I thought we already had.” Unbelievably, she was wet, soaked, and from more than just the lube he’d used. Despite their problems, they had this in common. He was everything she needed—wanted—in a man.

  He held the gown for her while she shimmied into it.

  He smoothed her hair into place. “I’m honoured you’ll be my bride.”

  “I’m a dishevelled mess.”

  “You’re breathtaking. You look like a woman who’s been fucked. There is nothing sexier.” He reached into his pocket. “I have a wedding gift for you.” He shrugged. “Not much, but it’s a token.”

  Her heart swelled. If she were a weepy woman, she’d be a watering pot right now. The golden pendant on a chain bore a picture of Saint Patrick.

  “When we’re apart, I hope it provides protection.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, lifting her hair so he could fasten the gift in place.

  “Now, wombat, are you ready to get married, or do you need another spanking?”

  “One is sufficient.”

  “How does the plug feel?” he asked, as he guided her down the stairs.

  “Awkward. Uncomfortable. Full.”

  He smiled. “In other words, perfect?”

  She couldn’t believe how he’d settled her down, calmed her fears, restored everything to rights.

  Catherine had thought of a bouquet, and she’d added sprigs of four-leaf clover to it for luck.

  For the music, Jack had selected a piece she’d composed.

  The ceremony was quick, thankfully, because she wasn’t sure how much longer she could tolerate the plug.

  And afterward, as Jack offered a toast to his bride, Catherine smiled and offered her own wishes. “To many healthy children, to happiness, to the end of the curse.”

  Logan lifted his glass in their direction. His knowing smile told her he intended to be part of the honeymoon. She shivered with anticipation. Things could be worse.

  “I’m glad you two love one another.”

  “Love?” Sinead asked.

  “Máthair Chríona?”

  Catherine frowned. “You do love one another, right? You chose him.”

  Oh God.

  “The curse is specific. There has to be love.”

  “Love?” Sinead demanded. “You never told us that.” She looked at Jack. “I’m sorry. I don’t love you. I can’t love a man who doesn’t love me.” Tears streamed down her face.

  Catherine looked stricken.

  Sinead dropped her flowers as she ran out the door.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nothing like work to soothe the savage beast that was her soul.

  Over the last five days, she’d composed a new tune. One could be guaranteed it wouldn’t be played at weddings and birthdays. More like funerals and for those on suicide watch.

  She’d returned home to Radharc Na Mara Manor, to lick her wounds. She hurt. She ached. She was lonely. She wanted Jack. She wanted…

  Love.

  Right.

  As if he was capable of it.

  He was all about duty, nothing else.

  She blinked back tears. Sinead O’Malley did not cry over men. She didn’t, she didn’t—

  Even if her heart was broken. Even if she…

  Loved him?

  That wasn’t possible.

  She’d sworn never to love again after Donal. In fact, she didn’t even believe in it. It was a wild emotion that opened you to be battered and bruised. She couldn’t love; she would have to give up who she was. But there it was. She was battered and bruised.

  Why else was she working like a madwoman?

  For truth, she’d missed the manor, its hustle and bustle, its eccentric guests. The Major and his newest wife were back again. Well, the Major was back again. This was the first visit for wife number seven. Lord love him. Sinead wasn’t willing to do it properly even once.

  But she was working round the clock so she didn’t have to think. Didn’t have to see his face every time she closed her eyes. Didn’t have to curl into a lonely ball in the big, oversized bed.

  She swiped her knuckles across her eyes and was refreshing beverages in the breakfast room when the front door blew open and slammed against the back wall.

  “Yum and chocolate in one tight package… Who’s that delicious morsel?”

  At her cousin’s words, Sinead looked up.

  ‘Twasn’t the wind that blew the door open, ‘twas Jack who slammed it open.

  “I’m Jack Quinn,” he told Mary.

  “The Jack Quinn?” She made the sign of the cross.

  “Sinead’s husband.”

  Sinead’s heart leapt into her throat and threatened to choke her.

  “Sinead’s —” Mary broke off. She looked at Sinead then Jack.

  “Husband,” he repeated.

  The Major and his wife stopped eating and stared at the pair. The Major’s fork was paused in the air, a piece of ham attached.

  “Not here and not now,” Sinead pleaded.

  “’Tis true,” Mary demanded. “You’ve married a Quinn?”

  “You need to leave,” Sinead said, wishing her voice sounded stronger, wishing she had the courage of her words. In truth, all she wanted to do was touch him, kiss him, feel the power of his possession.

  “Not without my wife.”

  “We didn’t—” Because they hadn’t consummated their wedding, their marriage could be annulled, right? She put down the tea pot before she dropped it.

  “Here and now.” He was unyielding. “Unless you want a public spectacle, you’ll see me in your office.”

  “You’ve married a Quinn?” Mary asked. “God help us all.”

  How in the hell would she explain this?

  With his fingertips pressed to the small of her back, he urged her towards the privacy of her office.

  The door hadn’t closed behind them when he crushed her lips beneath his.

  His kiss was searing. And it tasted different. It tasted of…desperation?

  She pulled back, confused.

  “Damn it,” he said, stepping away and dragging a hand through his hair. “Enough is enough. I want you in my life. I want you in my bed. I want you under me, screaming my name as I fuck you ragged.” He drew a breath. Before she could say anything, he continued, “I’ve totally gone and done it.”

  “Done it?”

  “Damn it. Fallen in love with you. Never intended to. Never wanted to. But there it is. This isn’t about the damnable curse. It’s not about my máthair Chríona. It’s about you. Wombat. Vixen.”

  “You love me?”

  “Crazy, stupid. Head over heels. Can’t live without you.” He paced, formed his hands into fists. Nervousness?

  She was speechless. Her heart thundered. Her mouth dropped open.

  “Tell me you love me. Or tell me I’m a fool. If you make me go away, I will.”

  The tears she’d been denying flooded her eyes. Sinead launched herself into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. She nipped his ear and dug her hands into his hair. She kissed him senseless, her overpowering, powerful and humbled man.

  “Tell me,” he demanded. “But before you do, know this… I will not settle for anything less than your total commitment, emotionally and physically. Everything you have to offer, I want. And more. There will be no half-measures between us.”

  “I love you, you oaf! I’ve loved you sinc
e the island.” He was everything she’d ever wanted, dreamt of, fantasised about. “I can’t live without you.”

  “Bean mo chroi,” he murmured. Woman of my heart. I am not pleased about the idea of you being on the road after we have children, but I’ll manage. You may need to soothe the savage beast that is your spouse, but I’ll not stand between you and your dreams.”

  She threw her arms around his neck.

  He disentangled her. “About that honeymoon…” He locked the door. “Show me your cunt.”

  Her nerves jumped into her stomach. She gulped, then complied, dropping her trousers and knickers.

  “I’m going to take you, Sinead. Here. Now. Fast. Hard. I will prove you belong to me. Bend over. Legs apart.”

  She trembled, knowing what to expect.

  The first stroke was a feathered touch. That was unexpected. The second was a light slap. That was more or less what she expected.

  The third was a stinging slap that ignited her pussy.

  She would have collapsed, but he caught her. “Tell me,” he urged.

  “You’re everything I’ve always wanted.” He’d been right all that time ago when he’d told her she’d lacked the courage to face herself, her feelings, her wants, her desire, her passion. Now, she’d found it. “Fuck me, Jack.” She stood, faced him, unzipped his pants. “Here. Now.” She planted her hands on the desk, bending over.

  She felt his cock against her. She moved back, demandingly.

  “My woman.”

  “My man. My Master.”

  About the Author

  Born in Northern England and raised in the Wild West, Sierra Cartwright pens book that are as untamed as the Rockies she calls home.

  She’s an award-winning, multi-published writer who wrote her first book at age nine and hasn’t stopped since.

  Sierra invites you to share the complex journey of love and desire, of surrender and commitment. Her own journey has taught her that trusting takes guts and courage, and her work is a celebration for everyone who is willing to take that risk.

  Email: sierracartwright@hotmail.com

  Sierra loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.