Soul Rest: A Knights of the Board Room Novel

by Hill, Joey W.

  Okay, maybe weddings didn’t help. Or they brought out the brat in a different form, because she could feel the shift inside her from pleasurable yearning to fierce insistence, whatever else was happening right now be damned.

  “Celeste. Darlin’.” He caught her nape in a firm grip, snapping her attention up to him. She met golden-brown eyes that held that steady calm, that implacable look. “Settle down.”

  She jerked away, turned and left him. She needed to breathe. Needed to get a grip. What was the matter with her? She went back into the house, up the stairs and to the guestroom. She’d forgotten what he’d said about a gift until she was there and saw the slim gray velvet box on the bed, tied with a silver bow.

  She sank down next to it, rubbing her forehead. She’d been fine until she’d let her thoughts run away with her. Sometimes she thought her quicksilver moods happened because of some dark trigger inside her. If she was too happy or content, it sprang like a trap, dragging her back into the shadows. Today everything was about light, good, love. Suddenly she felt out of place here, and she knew she shouldn’t feel that way. She wasn’t isolated. She wasn’t alone. She just kept making herself feel that way.

  Setting her jaw, she put the box in her lap, untied the bow. Removing the lid, she pulled back a thin piece of tissue paper to see what lay on the white satin beneath.

  Everything whirling inside her came to a portentous halt.

  She sensed him in the doorway. Though she hadn’t expected him to follow her, she’d hoped he would. That was what he did to her. He made her hope, and he kept making her hope, because he kept doing things she didn’t expect. Like being there when she needed him, knowing what she needed to make a bad feeling better.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said in a small voice.

  He came into the room, a big man who made the floorboards vibrate as he walked. If they lived together, she would always know where he was, would always feel his presence vibrate through her physically as well as emotionally.

  Dropping to one knee beside her, he unhooked the string of black-and-silver beads around her throat, a piece of costume jewelry that worked with the dress. Then he lifted the necklace out of the box. “Let’s see if I have the measurements right.”

  He put the delicate silver chain around her neck, leaning forward so his forearm rested on her shoulder and his body brushed hers. It fit like a choker, the pendant resting just above the center points of her collarbone. “You have such a slender neck. So fragile.” His fingers slid over it. “So beautiful. You’re beautiful, Celeste. And mine. Aren’t you?”

  She nodded, unable to speak. The pendant was a pair of linked silver hearts. Two intricate silver roses were woven through them. Where the stems emerged on either side, they threaded into a handcuff, which connected to the chain that circled her neck.

  The necklace contained multiple messages, much like the ones he sent whenever he touched her.

  “This is a pretty dress.” He dropped his hand down to smooth her skirt that stopped at mid-thigh. His fingers teased the lining beneath the hem. “Come with me.”

  He lifted her off the bed with a hand under her elbow and brought her to the dresser, so she could see the way the necklace looked on her throat. Standing behind her, he had her clasp the two handles of the long top drawer, which spread her arms out to either side.

  “I want you to hold on to those. You don’t let go until I tell you. Right?” He shot her an expectant look, and those tumultuous feelings settled at a lower spin inside her chest, like disturbed sediment returning to the bottom of a pond.

  “Yes, sir,” she whispered.

  His expression was so serious. When he was like this, she knew what he expected of her. What she expected of herself. Her breath shortened as he stepped back, unbuckled his belt, stripped it out of his slacks. Doubled it over.

  He put his hand on her nape again, massaged it, sending a sensuous wave through her shoulders and back, over her breasts. She closed her eyes, dropping her head to her shoulder, wanting to rub her face against his hand.

  “Open your eyes, Celeste. I want you to look at the necklace while I’m doing this, think about what it means.”

  She complied, though all of her peripheral attention strained for him. She bit her lip as he worked the dress up, held it just above her buttocks with one hand.

  “Wearing thong underwear to tempt your Master with your gorgeous ass.” He tsked.

  “My bad, good girl.”

  The first strike of the belt was low, on her upper thighs, the next on the widest part of her ass. The sting of it was sharp, immediate, a relief. She had to resist the urge to close her eyes again, absorb it through all her senses more deeply.

  He did it a dozen times, until she was flinching and she could feel the throb of the strikes on her thighs and ass. He slid her skirt back in place, moving behind her to smooth it over her buttocks. When he pressed himself against her, she made a hungry sound at his size, her pussy aching to have him thrust his thick cock inside her. But he was teaching her something, and proved it now by catching her gaze in the mirror and locking it in the unblinking regard of his.

  “I’m your Master, Celeste. When you want something, you don’t get pushy about it. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.” Her voice was trembling. He always made her tremble.

  He bent to put his lips on her throat just above the necklace. His collar. “I expect you’ll remember that for as long as it takes me to leave this room and reach the bottom of the stairs. But I don’t mind reinforcing the lesson. I’ve thought a lot about tonight. About the different equipment Ben has in his loft. I don’t want anyone else touching you, but I think I wouldn’t mind them seeing how lucky I am, with my beautiful submissive. What do you think of that? What will you do if I want to peel you out of that dress and take you, right there in front of all of them?”

  “I think you’ve got me so worked up I wouldn’t care if you did it in the middle of Bourbon Street.” She gave a desperate half laugh, dipped her head because she couldn’t look at herself in the mirror just then. “Please. I can’t think.”

  He cupped her face, held it to his shoulder as he pressed against her back. “You need your Master to fuck you right now, make it better?”

  She nodded again.

  “I will fuck you. Later. Until then, I expect you to behave.” He touched the necklace on her throat, the linked hearts. “Will you behave?”

  “I’ll try,” she whispered. A person she didn’t know was taking her over, the person she wanted to be with him, no matter how much it scared her when she was in her right mind.

  “All right then.” He turned her around, kissed her lightly. “I’ll see you in a couple hours. I want you to wear this dress tonight. Take that nap I told you to take. No work. And keep your hands and all electronic devices away from what’s mine.”

  “How about non-electronic devices? Pillows? Showerheads? Air?”

  She’d waited until he reached the door to be that brave. It had also taken her that much time to get her breath back. He tossed her a glance that was full of fire and amusement both. “You can rub up against any inanimate object you want, darlin’, but your climaxes are mine. Remember that truck ride? I can make it much worse. Much.”

  §

  It took a while for her to settle enough to take a nap. Her body was humming like a generator, thinking about his belt striking her thighs and ass, the way he’d looked at her. However, eventually she drifted off into a fitful cat nap. When she woke, it was close to ten. The after-party at Ben’s loft was scheduled for eleven, so she slid out of bed. She’d left the stockings, thong panties and bra on, and slipped her dress back over them before stepping into her high heels. He was telling her what to wear, and she was getting a sexual charge out of being commanded, following those commands. No, not just being commanded. Being commanded by a man she’d called Master. Who, in those incredibly intense exchanges between them, she accepted as exactly that without question, worry or fear.
r />   Could it be that simple? Nothing about relationships had ever been simple for her. But Leland had a force of will that made things simple for her. When he took control, experiencing it as simple action-reaction, pure feeling, nothing to doubt in herself, seemed so much easier. And the alarm bells that should be going off at that thought…didn’t. Not tonight at least.

  Bemused, she descended the steps, following the comfortable chatter of female voices. She glimpsed Savannah and Cassandra in the kitchen, standing on opposite sides of a marble-topped island as they sipped wine. Cassandra had a hip cocked and was making some point with her free hand while Savannah smiled, bringing the glass up to her pink frosted lips. The two of them were wearing short black dresses as well. When she found Dana and Rachel in the adjacent living room, sitting on the couch, she verified the same fashion choice. Though the styles differed to highlight and enhance the unique shape and curves of each woman, the after-party obviously required a certain dress code.

  Had their Masters ordered them to wear the dresses the way Leland had? She had a feeling the answer to that question was yes. When Cass and Savannah glanced her way and nodded, they exuded the same expectant, simmering arousal and anticipation coursing through her own blood, quickening through her thighs and keeping her sex damp against the narrow panel of her silky thong.

  Stepping into the living room, she saw Dana was braiding Rachel’s blonde locks and pinning them up on her head. “There,” the black woman said. “You’ll have to check the mirror to see if it’s lopsided, but that should hold until he decides to tear it loose with those clever long fingers of his.”

  Rachel glanced over her shoulder at Celeste. “What do you think?”

  “Not a bit lopsided. And fetching around the face and neck, as if just waiting for a man with long, clever fingers to take it down.”

  “It’s so delightful to have a writer in our midst,” Jon’s wife responded with a twinkle in her gold-and-green gaze. Like Celeste, Rachel had hazel eyes, though like most people with hazel irises, the blend of colors were different. Rachel’s grey, green and gold mix reminded Celeste of the depths of a forest, whereas her own eyes had a brighter green and brown-gold mix. Like fairy wings, her sister had once told her. A long time ago, when Trice still believed in fairies.

  “We were just going to check if you were awake. Max is driving us. The guys went to get the loft ready.”

  “Where’s Marcie?”

  “You really think Ben is letting her out of his sight for the rest of the month?” Dana snorted. She had her brown legs folded up on the couch, the skintight latex skirt of her dress so short it revealed the ribbon garters at the top of her sheer stockings. “He was probably consummating in the limo while we were still throwing birdseed at the back bumper. Hope Max had the privacy screen up.”

  Rachel grinned at that, then nodded to Celeste. “To answer your question, if the two of them come up for air, I expect they’ll show up at the loft a little later.”

  “They are really…something,” Celeste responded. Feeling a little foolish, she crossed her arms over herself, but Dana cocked her head and Rachel gave her a look laced with empathy.

  “Yeah, you’re feeling it too, right?” Dana scoffed. “I’m blind and I could feel the pheromones vibrating off them like a nuclear reaction. Left all of us needing to be fucked hard and now against the nearest vertical or horizontal surface. Yet what do those bastards we married do? They all run off together. Insensitive jerks.”

  As Celeste blinked, Rachel spoke up. “Her Army personality sometimes seizes control,” she said helpfully.

  It only took Celeste a moment to rally. She’d grown up in a trailer park, after all. “I think said bastards did it on purpose,” she rejoined. “To make us more agreeable to whatever perverted thing they want to do.”

  “That is exactly their plan,” Cassandra concurred, coming in to join them, Savannah with her. “And of course we’ll go along with it. Celeste, what a beautiful necklace.”

  “Thank you.” She put her hand over it, turning rosy at the protective gesture. Savannah’s blue eyes and mouth softened.

  “Congratulations.”

  “Well, I…it’s just a necklace.” Though she just flushed deeper.

  Dana rose from the couch. “May I?” she asked, turning in the direction of Celeste’s voice and reaching out with questing fingers.

  “Yes.”

  Dana explored the design, adding in light strokes of Celeste’s collarbone. She wasn’t wearing the dark glasses right now, so Celeste could see her pale green irises from her mixed-race parentage. “Can you describe it?”

  “Um…yes.” As she described the detail of the interlocking hearts, Savannah bent closer to take a look.

  “Nice, detailed work. Artisan quality.” As she spoke, she stroked her own necklace, a choker of polished rose quartz and pure silver.

  It was an absentminded but telling caress. Celeste had no doubt it was Matt’s collar for his wife and cherished submissive. As her gaze traveled around the room, she could pick out that symbol of ownership on each woman without any difficulty. It emanated a significance another submissive, even one new to all this, couldn’t miss.

  Dana’s was a wide strap that fit her long elegant neck like a second skin. A waterfall of decorative chains fell from it. The D-ring in front had a Saint Christopher’s medal as a pendant. Rachel’s was a choker of sterling silver wire bound with gold bands. A small sapphire pendant against her sternum was wrapped in the slender silver wire. Cassandra wore nothing on her throat, but instead had a pair of beaten silver wrists cuffs with engraved Japanese characters, matched by thinner bands around her ankles.

  Each of those accessories indicated the woman was a submissive who willingly belonged to a Master. And she was part of that exclusive group tonight. The delicate chain on her neck had a symbolic weight that she felt tingling through her nerves. It flustered her, made her uncertain, until she remembered Leland’s gaze on her. It was too soon, she knew it was, but maybe just for tonight it would work. She could accept what her heart wanted and not question it.

  “You’re not wearing your wedding rings,” she noted, then bit her tongue. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to be rude.”

  “You shouldn’t feel uncomfortable about asking us anything,” Cassandra said. “It isn’t about being a reporter tonight, is it? It’s personal.”

  Celeste nodded. She should feel defensive at being so out of her element, but the thing was, she wasn’t out of her element. It was like when she followed a lead on a story. At the beginning, she didn’t have all the information. It was asking the right questions, following the right leads, seeking a deeper understanding of what was happening, that resulted in the fully fleshed-out story she wanted. Only this time the heart of the story she was trying to uncover was her own.

  “We typically don’t wear our wedding rings when we’re going to be in scene with our Masters like this, more formally or in a group setting.” Cassandra glanced at the other women, then back at Celeste. “A husband and wife are partners, helpmates, a different type of relationship in many ways. Master and submissive requires a power shift. Removing the wedding rings is a ritual that helps us transition to that mind-set.”

  “Do they remove theirs?”

  “No. Because we’re the ones handing over power and control. Their wedding rings reinforce the fact we belong to them. Kind of hard to explain.”

  “No, I get it.” She did. She understood so much of this without having to think it through, it was a little scary. It was when she did think it through that she messed it up.

  Cassandra nodded. “I figured you did.”

  Dana spoke up then, dispelling the serious exchange before Celeste could get uncomfortable. “So is Janet going to come and put Max through his paces? I would give good money to hear that, and have Rachel describe it in detail.”

  Celeste blinked. “I know Janet’s a Domme, but Max… Marcie said he’s not a sub, not that way. In public…like we’re going t
o be tonight? I mean, I know it’s not truly public, but…”

  “Oh hell no. He’s definitely not a sub, honey.” Dana chuckled. She took the glass of wine Cassandra poured her and returned to the couch with Rachel, stretching her bare legs over Rachel’s lap. On the left one, Celeste saw a network of faint scars from the explosion that had taken her sight. From how extensive she’d heard the original wounds were, Celeste thought the plastic surgeons had done an admirable job. “But he serves her just the same. SEALs are all about service. It works for them. Which is why I’m only teasing. I don’t think she’d ever make Max play publicly, especially not in front of Matt and the guys. I’m not sure who would be more mortified by that.”

  “It wouldn’t be Janet,” Savannah pointed out. “She likes showing Matt and the others how she can bring a man to his knees.”

  Celeste had glimpsed Matt’s efficient admin several times during the reception, obviously overseeing a wealth of details involved with the event. The woman who had the build and grace of a ballet dancer and the demeanor of a strict schoolteacher was terrifying, though Celeste was always hoping for an opening to learn more about her. A reporter couldn’t resist investigating a fascinating subject, even if the purpose wasn’t to write a published story about her. “So they won’t be there tonight?”

  “Max is going to drop us off and then head back home. Janet worked her ass off today. I expect what she most wants is a foot massage before she falls asleep.”

  “I’m good with going to sleep, though I want some really hot sex first,” Rachel declared.

  Dana pinched her. “I told you, I can’t do you tonight. I have to take care of Peter. You’re just going to have to settle for Jon.”

  Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Jon and Peter are likely to separate you two. And I know Janet. Yes, she’ll go for the foot massage, but she’ll order Max to give her fantastic sex right afterward. Make him do all the work, and then go to sleep in his arms.”