Expecting Surrender (Dominion Trust Book 3)

by Trent Evans

  “Julia?”

  Keihl noted the proprietary way Tom’s hand settled on the woman’s shapely hip.

  “Yes, Sir. What can I do for you?”

  “There’s another Prime here tonight — I think you’ll know who I’m talking about.” Tom gave Keihl a quick glance. “Younger man, probably here with two other women?”

  Julia’s cheeks colored and she nodded. “In the Vaults, Sir. They’ve only been here an hour or so. Would you like me to take you to them?”

  Tom’s hand stroked up and down the girl’s hip. “I think I’ll take them down myself. That’s all, girl.”

  He patted her bottom and she gave Tom a quick bow of her head, before moving off. Keihl tried not to notice the way the woman’s buttocks moved in the snug skirt.

  “Follow me,” Tom said, standing. “I meant to show this to you later, but I suppose there’s no time like the present.”

  Kirsten’s eyes were bright pools as she stood. “I — where are we going, Tom?”

  “It’s okay, Kirsten.” His gaze flicked to Keihl before he reached for her hand, giving it a squeeze. “Just going to go meet someone. Might help answer some of the questions you two have.”

  She looked to Keihl and he nodded, smiling. “This is all okay, girl. Don’t worry.”

  Of course, Keihl felt anything but inside, but his nervous wife needed a little reassurance even if he didn’t feel it himself. He’d been in situations like this before, and what this place exuded more than anything, was power. He knew they were both, far, far out of their depth here, and this was increasingly taking on qualities of the surreal.

  None of that mattered though — all that mattered was making sure she felt safe, making sure that she was safe.

  Tom lead them down a long, wood floored hallway, a rich carpet leading down the center of the passage, the low hum of the table area fading behind them. Then Tom stopped before a door painted black as night, and turned to them.

  “The Vaults are where, uh, relaxation happens,” Tom said. “I want to make sure you guys are ready. You’re going to see things, and I don’t want you to be scared or uncomfortable. Everything happening down there is normal. Okay, ready?”

  “Pretty damn far from ready,” Kirsten mumbled.

  Both men smiled.

  * * *

  The creaking of the stairs as they descended just cranked her tension up even higher, the air seeming to thicken and warm as they reached the bottom, muted, recessed lighting emphasizing the hush, the anticipation — and the dread — she felt down to her very bones. She felt as if this might be a turning point, where it all —or at least part of it — might be revealed.

  “I’m guessing they’re at the end — it’s where he usually camps out.” Tom extended an arm, directing them down the long corridor.

  At intervals along either wall, burgundy curtains extending floor to ceiling could be seen shielding entryways. On their right, further down the hall, the curtains had been pulled open at one of the entryways, Kirsten’s heart thudding louder in her chest as they drew near.

  Tom stopped at the open curtains, as if anticipating her interest in what lay beyond. Keihl took her hand in his as she peered inside.

  A small, intimate chamber lay within, maroon and gray upholstered couches and chairs dominating one side, while on the other a beautiful gas-fired fireplace heated the space. The beautiful form of a naked woman, perched on tall black heels, stretched toward the ceiling. The woman faced mostly away from them, her back to the curtained opening. Her head drooped, her torso hitching as she wept softly. Her long dark hair had been draped over one shoulder, revealing the bare, vulnerable expanse of her narrow back. Padded leather cuffs wrapped around the woman’s wrists, her hands drawn together overhead by a chain extended to a steel eyebolt in the ceiling. Dark leather straps extended from the cuffs, snaking around her forearms, gripping them firmly.

  The woman’s shapely buttocks were a bright red, with darker splotches at the crown of each cheek. Droplets of sweat beaded her pale skin, sparkling under the bright overhead lights illuminating her bound form. Her feet were also bound together, the thick dark leather around her ankles tied off with a stout chain extending down to a ring bolt set into the carpeted floor.

  “She’s not going anywhere soon,” Keihl whispered in Kirsten’s ear, his arm wrapping around her, the gesture both a comfort and a warning.

  A well-built man in dark slacks stalked back and forth behind the woman, his gaze fixed upon her vulnerable, reddened bottom. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up, revealing the brawny forearms, the dark, coarse hair over the tanned skin. Clutched in his big hand was the gleaming black leather of a broad, stiff paddle. His suit coat lay over one of the chairs. The woman’s clothing, a bright, black and white patterned dress and cream slip, lay neatly folded on the floor at her feet.

  “What’s… what’s happening?” Kirsten murmured it almost without thinking, looking at Tom.

  “Anyone who wants to can come utilize the Vaults.” Tom nodded toward the pair. “Jack Fletcher and his wife are regulars here. He likes it when people watch.”

  But does his wife?

  “It’s okay, sweetie,” Keihl said softly, kissing the crown of her head, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “This is all okay, just like Tom said.”

  The man glanced back at them, his avid, intense gaze peering out from under strong, dark eyebrows. He looked at both Kirsten and Keihl for a moment, a smile of recognition curling his lips as he spotted Tom. The man turned his attention back to his weeping wife, and laid the paddle against the lower curve of one cheek. He drew it back, and snapped it against her bottom, the buttocks bounding upward with the force of the blow, a strained cry drawn from the woman as the redness bloomed ever deeper.

  “Come on,” Tom said. “We’ll be here all night at this rate.”

  Keihl drew her by the hand further down the hall, Kirsten craning her head to get one last look, the man’s hand caressing the inflamed marks on one martyred buttock, leaning close to the bound woman, saying something to her in stern, but hushed, tones.

  Then they reached the end, Tom stopping and glancing at both of them.

  “You ready?”

  “What are you about to show us, dude?” Keihl shook his head. “You act like you’re sending us to the gallows or something.”

  Tom gave him a wry smile. “Point of no return might be a better description.”

  The doctor drew the curtains aside, tipping his head toward the room beyond. “After you.”

  “Men,” Kirsten muttered, shouldering past the both of them.

  Then she froze.

  A tall, curved couch formed a semi-circle before a huge roaring fire, the wood popping loudly in the intimate stillness of the wood. A well-muscled man of about thirty, with dark, close-cropped hair, wearing only a light blue button down straining at the shoulders, and faded blue jeans lounged at one end of the great couch, affording him a clear view of what occurred at the other end of the semi-circle.

  A stunning blonde, perhaps in her late twenties, perched on the couch, leaning forward, her elbows on her knees, the form-fitting gray skirt showing off the length of her tanned, trim thighs, the firm muscles of the calves bunched above the strappy, yet classy heels. Her icy blue gaze regarded the woman kneeling on the carpet before her. The black flapper of the crop held in the blonde’s hand lazily flicked at the golden rings pierced through the kneeling woman’s nipples.

  The kneeling woman, nearly profile to Kirsten, Keihl and Tom, was entirely naked save for the coffee brown leather at wrists, ankles and the thick collar clasping her long, graceful neck. Her hands were clasped neatly in her lap, her gaze downcast, her face flushed. The kneeling woman’s sable hair was up, numerous sticks keeping the thick tresses piled atop her head in charming disarray. The orange firelight danced across the contours of her slim form, the twin dimples at her lower back like deep dark wells against the sheen of the fire. The pale soles of her feet could be se
en tucked neatly under the rounded bottom, red and purplish whip marks inflamed livid across the pale skin of the girl’s buttocks.

  Kirsten winced in sympathy, grateful that Keihl’s s tastes didn’t run quite so… brutal.

  At least not yet.

  The thought had Kirsten’s nipples tightening against the lace constriction of her bra.

  The man in the jeans looked up from the tableau taking place before him, a grin brightening his face, the shine of his eyes glittering with the roaring fire.

  “Tom! I didn’t think you were serious about coming down tonight.”

  His glance switched to Keihl, with a nod, then settled upon Kirsten, the weight of his regard making her throat tighten. The man’s gaze dropped for a moment to the roundness of her belly, his grin brightening further as he captured her gaze once more.

  “This must be Keihl and Kirsten, then?”

  The man stood, the movement as smooth and purposeful as a tiger, and strode over to them, his fingertips brushing against the cheek of the kneeling woman as he passed.

  He extended a hand to Keihl. “Blaine Forster. Nice to finally meet you.”

  A bemused look creased her husband’s lips as he shook the man’s hand. “Tom’s… little brother? Hardly recognize you.”

  “That’s me. Been a while since you’ve seen me,” Blaine said, lifting his chin toward Tom. “Don’t let the ‘little’ part fool you though. I can still take big brother — and he knows it.”

  Tom’s eyes rolled. “Spare me, meathead.”

  Blaine laughed, the sound as easy and confident as the young man looked. He turned to Kirsten then, taking her hand before she could object, both of his strong hands clasping it firmly. “My brother didn’t do you justice, I’m afraid. How far along are you two?”

  “Almost thirty weeks now.” Kirsten hated how small her voice sounded.

  She didn’t like the alluring electricity the man’s touch played across her skin, either.

  Watch it, horndog.

  Someone cleared their throat behind Blaine, the sound feminine — and pointed.

  “Shit, what’s wrong with me?” Blaine said, stepping out of the way, his arm sweeping back toward the two women. “This is my wife Kathryn, and that misbehaving girl there is Erica.”

  The kneeling woman’s head drooped, her face coloring. Blaine stepped close though, stroking the curls at her temple, as if to calm her, Erica’s head tilting into his touch.

  Kathryn rose to her feet, smoothing her skirt down and setting the crop across the long thighs of the kneeling woman. The charcoal gray of the skirt set off the pleasing sweep of the blonde’s hips, her dark gray coat draped over her shoulders. The blue of her eyes sparkled as she took in each of the new arrivals in turn, seeming to assess each with merely a glance, the pleasing pale gloss of her lips curving into a gentle smile as she looked at Kirsten.

  “You look beautiful, my dear.” Kathryn’s voice was smooth, cultured, seemingly at odds with the rough plain-spokenness of Blaine. “It’s nice to have some more estrogen around here. Erica and I can’t keep up with all the testosterone at this place.”

  Kirsten looked down, trying to hide her smile. “I can relate to that.”

  Striding forward with a hip-swaying confidence Kirsten instantly envied, Blaine’s wife shook hands with Keihl, giving Tom a quick, but warm, hug.

  “Aw hell, you girls love it.” Blaine glanced back at Kirsten. “You try to hide it — but we know better.”

  Jesus, that is a fine looking man.

  She couldn’t help the image of Keihl, Blaine — and Tom — descending upon her like a pack of wolves. Taking, claiming.

  Conquering.

  Get it together, slut. What’s wrong with you?

  Kirsten needed to change the subject. And the subject she wanted to ask about was the naked woman kneeling behind Blaine and Kathryn.

  “So… do we get to say hello to Erica too?” Kirsten looked from Blaine to Kathryn, refusing to be intimidated.

  Erica’s head twitched ever so slightly at the mention of her name.

  Kathryn frowned a moment, then looked back at the kneeling woman.

  “A minute is fine, Kathryn,” Blaine said, watching Erica as well. “I’m sure they’d like to get a look at her anyway.”

  “Get up, girl,” Kathryn said, her voice suddenly cool. “Face our visitors and lace your fingers behind your head.”

  Kirsten’s heart nearly stopped at that. “No, Kathryn, that’s—”

  “Kirsten.” Keihl’s hand squeezed hers, a warning, and she shut her mouth, her blush heating her cheeks. Fortunately everyone was watching Erica at that moment.

  Erica rose in a graceful motion that bespoke long hours of practice, the long muscles of her thighs flexing appealingly. Erica was taller than Kirsten expected, nearly six feet, she’d guess, despite being barefoot. She turned toward the group, her hands reluctantly moving up and behind her head. The thick collar prevented the girl from lowering her head, but she dropped her gaze immediately. She was young, certainly younger than either Kathryn or Blaine — perhaps early to mid-twenties. Her body was long and lithe, her breasts proportional but full, the bright rings pierced through the very hard nipples contrasting with the dark brown of the areolas. The line of her narrow waist flared to surprisingly wide hips for a girl of her athletic build. The thick shock of sable pubic hair between Erica’s thighs was a surprise — Kirsten didn’t think any females that girl’s age kept their pubic hair unshaved anymore.

  “Love the growth,” Tom said, looking down at the very pussy Kirsten couldn’t help but gaze at.

  “You wouldn’t believe the protests she made,” Kathryn said. “The girls these days — they seem to be allergic to hair down there. I think it’s quite attractive, actually.”

  Keihl moved behind Kirsten, his hands coming around to cradle her belly in a way that made her sigh quietly. He pressed his hips against her, his erection jutting against her buttocks, letting her know the sight was arousing him.

  There was a time such a thing would’ve pissed her off. But now? It was as if that time were in another galaxy, another universe. Now, all she had to remember was that she was his, that his arousal was something she didn’t need to fear. Instead, she reveled in it, though she wasn’t quite ready to admit to him that Erica’s bound, subservient form held an allure for her too that she’d never have expected.

  You’re becoming a complete slut, Kirsten. And it’s not just hormones either.

  So what if it was? She searched her feelings, for the truth of things. The truth was, she didn’t care. The truth was, she wasn’t ashamed anymore.

  And the truth was, she wanted more. Always more.

  “So,” Keihl said, his tone neutral. “Is Erica a… friend?”

  His body tensed ever so slightly behind Kirsten.

  Kathryn turned back to them, her hand on her hip, the white tips of her French manicured nails bright against the charcoal tone of her skirt. “Oh, she’s our slave.”

  “Theoretically,” Blaine muttered, with a good-natured wink. “Kathryn keeps her mostly to herself.”

  “Someone’s got to train her, Blaine.”

  Blaine shot his blonde wife a glance, the gentle rebuke in his gaze just as clear as the heat Kirsten saw in the man’s dark eyes.

  Kathryn’s face paled for just a moment, then she flashed him a quick smile. “I’m sorry. I get frustrated with how much training she needs — and how little time I have to give it to her.”

  Blaine nodded. “Unfortunately, my wife here travels more than a goddamned stewardess. You flying out again tomorrow?”

  Kathryn sighed. “The Three Lakes project in the Permian basin — it’s getting held up by the county again. NIMBY bullshit.”

  “Thank God she enjoys project management,” Blaine said. “Makes my eyes glaze over most of the time.”

  “He’s exaggerating,” Kathryn said with a shake of her head. “I just close the deals and fight the fires. He has to make them p
an out.”

  Blaine grinned, extending an arm toward the couch. “Have a seat, you guys. Tom says you’ve got questions. I’ve got answers — I hope.”

  Kirsten sat down on the firm couch, grateful to be ensconced between Keihl on her right and Tom on her left. Their close proximity allowed her the courage to watch, to wonder… and maybe to wish.

  Kathryn took the far end of the couch once more, a few feet separating her from Keihl. Erica sank to her knees once more, and at a snap of Kathryn’s fingers, the girl scurried forward on all fours, wrapping her arms around the blonde woman’s leg. Kathryn’s fingers stroked through Erica’s hair, the girl’s forehead laid against the woman’s knee.

  Blaine remained standing though, warming himself by the fire, leaning an elbow on the carved wood of the oak mantle above the flames. The light from the fire cast flickering shadows across his handsome face as he talked.

  “I’m assuming Tom’s told you a lot already, so hit me with whatever you think you want to know.”

  Whatever we think we want to know?

  Keihl cleared his throat. “Why me? Why did Stan invite me here? The guy all but threatened me — and he’s my client.”

  Blaine and Tom exchanged a quick look, and Blaine looked down a moment before continuing.

  “Stan… leaves much to be desired in the manners department. I’m sorry about that. But he’s a Prime — and I trust him. We all do. If he invited you here, then you’re the kind of guy we might be interested in.”

  Kirsten could hear the growing irritation in Keihl’s voice. “And that is…”

  “Membership in the Trust, of course.”

  “Oh” Keihl took a deep breath, looking at Tom.

  The doctor held up a hand. “Hear him out.”

  Kirsten snuggled close to her husband, trying not to look over at the kneeling Erica, at the way she seemed to crave the touch of the cool, imperious blonde above her.

  “Stan’s been watching,” Blaine continued. “The Coal Creek Development is a total cunt — and he knew it would be before he hired you. But you’re good, and he had a hunch you might be interested in working with us again — or maybe even more.”