by Liz Crowe
Evan shuddered as Damian walked away, knowing he’d turned a corner, one he’d have a tough time reversing. He had tasted the power. And knew Damian held the key to the Pandora’s box he’d been toying with for so long, turning it over in his hands, until tonight when he’d peeked inside and located what he’d been craving. That key to the particular fetish he’d sampled was one his enemy grasped close to his heart.
He did want more. So he followed Damian’s retreating back, grabbing and downing the cup of vodka someone held out to him.
Chapter Five
The summer began, but Evan barely noticed. A dark hole had widened, but he no longer teetered on the edge. He’d jumped in with both feet, immersed himself, and every morning swore he’d stop; but by the time he’d staggered home from his summer job each day, his skin crawled with need. A need that had found an outlet, thanks to Damian, nearly every night at a makeshift BDSM club near downtown Detroit.
The forty-hour-a-week warehouse job helped. It focused his mind, working so hard for nearly eight hours straight. Of course, the fact his nemesis and dealer of his drug of choice, worked with him – or pretended to work – riled him no end. But his father had procured the jobs, which meant Damian had to be included.
“Evan!” A voice echoed through the giant expanse of concrete and cardboard, a distinctly female one. One he’d been trying to ignore for a few weeks. “Where in the hell…?”
He winced and stepped into her line of sight when he heard the click-clack of heels on the concrete floor. The stacks of beer and wine loomed around them as he watched her approach. The tall, slender woman was sales manager for the large distributor and had lately decided to exert an annoying level of control over inventory. Which put her in direct contact with the back-of-the-house staff, and that made Evan a nervous wreck every time she was around.
“Yes, Caroline?” He pulled his gloves off and leaned on the nearest stack of nameless California wine, attempting to arrange his face into something resembling non-ogling.
She stopped about a foot from him and crossed her arms over her silk-clad chest. Evan forced himself to keep gazing into her eyes and not let his eyes crawl up and down the hottest female form he’d yet encountered in his eighteen years. It was good practice, he convinced himself. Besides, he’d checked her out plenty. He had every inch of her five-foot-six power-suited frame memorized. It fueled every fantasy he sustained lately during the sessions of power he exerted over complete strangers at the club.
“Listen, Evan, I need your help with this. No one else will listen to me.” She glanced down at the spreadsheet that seemed permanently attached to her well-manicured hand. “I need more reliable reporting from back here, you know?” She looked up at him, brushing a strand of long blond hair out of her eyes.
He tried not to stumble when he took the report from her. Goddamn, Adams… get a grip. But she was too close. And when he sucked in a breath, not realizing his mistake until it was too late, he leapt back from her, embarrassed.
Her eyes darkened, and the chemistry in the room shifted, making him stand up straighter. “Uh, sure, okay. So how can I help?” He looked at the rows of numbers and it all clicked into place for him then. He glanced at her. She took a full step away as if intimidated, or shocked. And Evan knew damn good and well nothing set this woman back on her heels. He put a hand on her arm, relishing the spark that passed between them.
An hour or so later, she sat at the conference room table creating a new inventory system that would allow her to increase sales of their budding beer business, with Evan at her shoulder. It had been fun sorting through the dilemma together. His brain ran to organization anyway, so it didn’t take him long to figure it out. He’d used the excuse of being as confounded by it as she was to stay close, taking in deep breaths of her intoxicating combination of perfume and ever-increasing spice – a scent he’d spent the last few weeks identifying during his forays to BDSM lifestyle parties. He clenched his knees under the table, used his newfound control skills to keep his body from reacting to her, yet still maintaining what he believed passed as useful workplace conversation.
At one point she glanced up at him, away from the screen. He was leaning over her, pretending to study the numbers while raking his gaze across the tops of her breasts. They were not that big, which didn’t do much for him, but had a dusting of freckles across them. And that black bra… He licked his lips, right when she turned her face to his.
“So, this algorithm here…” She had one short, dark-painted nail on the screen. “It’s… Uh, hello? My face is up here.”
He shivered, realizing he’d let himself get caught. Anger made him take a step back, run a hand down his rough jaw. She turned to face him and crossed her bare legs slowly. At that moment he knew – as much as he needed to run his tongue over those freckles, she wanted him to do exactly that. She opened her mouth to speak and he sensed himself slipping, losing control, so he reached deep for discipline and decided that getting out of her space was the only possible solution.
“Uh, sorry.” He turned, bumped his shoulder against the doorway in his haste to escape from the ramped-up need that emanated from her like a visible cloud.
Stumbling back to his comfort zone amongst the cardboard, his face burned as he commanded himself to be calm. Good practice but painful to be sure. He flopped down on a stack of boxes, heart pounding, mouth dry, and forced the memory of her long legs off his brain where they seemed fairly permanently imprinted. Mistake, Adams. Don’t go there. She is your boss; she is probably ten years older than you and hotter than any woman has a right to be. He looked up at the tall ceiling and took a breath. The clear and somewhat disturbing image of the lovely Caroline on her knees in front of him floated through his lust-addled consciousness: her wrists would be bound, mouth gagged, eyes covered as he walked around her holding his current favorite implement – the butter-soft and effective leather flogger.
Shit. He had to get out of here, now.
But the second he stood, he smelled her again and felt the familiar rush of desire, anger, and purpose. He squared his shoulders and turned, his best smile fixed in place. The hesitant, confused, but needy look on her model-perfect face made him take a single step towards her and yank her close, as the black hole yawned, sucking him and his new conquest into its maw.
Her low voice oozed into his brain. “I know what you want.” She was utter perfection, pressing her body along his, threading her fingers in his hair. He let her walk him a few steps back, behind the taller stacks of inventory they’d just been analyzing.
His head spun for a second until a strange calm settled over him, reminding him of what he had to do. She needed something from him, and he would give it, not at her command but at his. He kept his movements slow, steady, and unthreatening, but black tendrils of lust were coiling at the base of his brain, comforting him now that he had a slightly better handle on how to use them. He bumped against the concrete block wall, still silent, letting her make all the noise while he concentrated very hard on maintaining control. Her lips made their way along his jaw line, down his neck, and her hands trailed down his t-shirt clad torso, one of them coming to rest along his zipper. She made a satisfied sound down in her throat, until he gripped her arms and pushed her away.
“What?” She pouted, running a hand through her hair and looking right at his crotch. “C’mon, baby…” She reached out to touch his chest again but he grabbed her wrist, yanked her close and whispered in her ear.
“I know what you want, Caroline.” He paused. “But we are gonna do this my way or no way at all. Got it?”
She nodded, shivering when he bit down on her earlobe then nibbled his way around to her full lips. Practice, that’s exactly what this was and what he needed. Time spent honing his technique, pushing himself ever further as he explored how strong he could be, how much he could please his partner while resisting his own natural impulse to just fuck and be done.
“Evan,” she whispered, wrapping her arm
s around his neck and molding into him once more. He stopped just as he was about to kiss her – to finally taste what had tempted him from day one. Gripping her arms again, he disentangled and held her off. His entire body was on fire, but his mind was still, and he allowed himself a second of self-satisfaction. He was learning control, thanks to the girls and women at the small club. And, he hated to admit, thanks to Damian who’d taken him there in the first place.
“You can’t call me that anymore,” he said simply, running his thumb across her mouth, letting his fingertips trace her neck down to the tops of her breasts. “Not if I give you what you want, that is.”
She closed her eyes and the lusty odor that oozed around them made him bite back a gulp. When she opened them again, their clear message pierced him right in the gut. She bit her lip, dropped her gaze immediately. He cupped her breast through the thin silk of her shirt. She kept her distance, let him flick his fingertips across her nipple and then continue down, never taking her eyes from his. When he reached the lower edge of her short skirt, she shifted, and he knew she was seconds from orgasm. “Sir,” she whispered, her voice hoarse as she gripped the boxes on either side of her and planted her feet further apart. “Please, sir, I need… oh…”
He kept his distance, but because she said it – called him “Sir” without his prompting her – he decided to give her a small taste of what he could do. He let his hand drift up under her skirt, found the damp fabric of her panties. Without preamble or warning or breaking their eye contact, he slid his finger against her bare, moist flesh with a distinct purpose.
She dropped her head back. Evan stepped into her space, gathered her long thick hair in his free hand and tugged hard, making her groan just as he dove into her mouth with his tongue and pushed high inside her as her body flexed and pulsed around his fingers. She shuddered, but kept her hands off of him. Admirable, and with a nice hint of just how submissive she already was.
As abruptly as he started, he stopped. Releasing her hair, he took his hand out from under her skirt, watching as she continued to shiver. The only noise was their breathing. The only light came from behind the stacks of wine cartons. But the smell, the intoxicating aroma of healthy, mature female desire made his head spin and his body start to shake. He put his fingers to his lips and sucked on them, tasting her, as she slumped against the boxes. He pulled her in, sensing her need for contact. She let out a long, shuddering sigh against his chest.
“I knew there was something about you I really liked,” she muttered.
He allowed himself a second to press his aching, denim-covered cock against her. Then he let go. She stood, running a hand through her gorgeous thick hair which he could not wait to get his hands on again. “So,” he said, leaning back. “Tonight. I think we need to explore this a little more.” He sidestepped as she moved towards him. “No. I’ll let you know when you can touch me, Caroline. Don’t forget that.”
She lowered her eyes again, clasped her hands in front of her, and spoke to the floor. “Forgive me, Sir. I… I’m… I need this so much. I’ve missed it.” She flicked her gaze up, then away when he frowned at her. “After I rejected Damian, I was afraid you wouldn’t want me.”
Evan’s ears buzzed at her words. He tilted her chin up so he could look into her eyes. “Damian tried to…?”
She jerked away, wouldn’t meet his stare. “He did. Pretty much the first week you guys were here. But I made it clear I wasn’t interested in him that way. Or any way, really.”
Evan watched as her eyes clouded over. “He’s… overwhelming.”
She shook her head. “He’s a jerk. Who is over-compensating by acting like… like…” A tear quivered on the ends of her lashes. Evan touched it, put it to his lips. His head ached with only slightly repressed memories, quick flashes of imagery – Damian, dressed head to toe in black, the white-blond of his hair a beacon in a dark room. He was fond of the bullwhip, the ball gag, and hard metal cuffs. He liked to bring pain, tears, even blood, before walking away from more than one sobbing female, a satisfied smirk on his face.
Evan never said anything, figuring it was none of his business. Everyone was encouraged to take what they needed from the experiences, as long as rules were followed. Besides, he had his own skill set to learn. It took almost one hundred percent of his energy these days to master his own knee-jerk reactions to the many scenes of bondage, domination, and sadomasochism that had bombarded him for the last few weeks.
“Shh, Caroline, it’s okay. I won’t let him have you,” Evan declared, meaning it more than he had ever meant anything. While he had a lot to learn, he knew one thing: he was going to spend a very pleasant summer with his very own submissive, learning his way around the quirks in his own personality. “I mean it. Look at me.”
She did, and what he saw in her eyes he would never forget, no matter how many years came between this moment and his ultimate destiny. Trust, utter and complete, was reflected in her deep gaze. She would let him do what he wanted, as long as he protected her. Something in him rose up then, took wings, and his brain nearly burst with understanding – he was being entrusted with something more valuable than the mere ability to get a girl off. That part was easy. What he had finally found was the nugget of motivation for his newfound Dom – a sub who would give over to him body and soul in exchange for the sort of guardianship she craved and couldn’t find anywhere else.
Squaring his shoulders and trying not to grunt when his cock got hard again so fast it made him dizzy, he smiled at her. She smiled back. “Tonight,” she said, kissing his cheek then looking away. “Sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”
“It’s fine,” he said, amazed at this entire situation but ready to embrace it. He cupped her face with one hand. “But tonight we will see how far you are willing to go. Something tells me you aren’t new to this.”
She shook her head, eyes alight once more with anticipation. “No. But my first experience was good. He was a good man, a great teacher. I moved away, came here because I needed the job. So he released me.”
Evan nodded, still trying to parse how this astounding woman was about to submit to him. “How old are you?” he asked.
“Twenty-eight, Sir,” she said, closing her eyes and leaning into his hand.
“Hmm… Could spoil me,” he whispered, already getting the scene for tonight set in his head. Ropes, he thought, leather corset and shoes for her, blindfold, and the spanking bench. He gritted his teeth as the urge to orgasm without even being touched nearly blinded him in his tracks. “You know how old I am, Caroline?”
“No. And I don’t care. Sir.”
“Good.” He stepped away from her. “Let’s finish the workday. Let me know if you need help with the program again. Otherwise I’m gonna go over to the brewery and talk with those guys about our plan and see if they can increase their output.”
The shift away from the overtly kinky sexual to all-business made her blink. But she recovered fast. He grinned, watching her sashay back through the warehouse. Hell yes, this is gonna be fun.
Chapter Six
Evan rushed through his day, at least mentally, keeping his movements steady, with purpose, and completed all of his tasks without speaking to anyone else. He worked hard, lifting, moving, shifting boxes and in general exhausting himself so he could keep his focus. His nights at the club were always best if his body was teetering on the brink of collapse from physical exertion.
When he pulled into the driveway, having safely avoided Damian who’d been out making deliveries all day, his heart sped up at the sight of the boy, sitting with Olivia in the swing on their front porch. Damian had one arm around her shoulders and was whispering in her ear. Evan gripped the steering wheel, saw her flush red and giggle and turn her lips up to meet his for a kiss.
A roaring fury so visceral he could taste it on the back of his tongue forced him out his car and up the steps. His inner, mature Dom urged him to be calm, to stop and think. He shoved that annoying bastard out of the way
in favor of the innate brother–protector and blurted out the first thing he’d been thinking when he saw them all cuddled up together. “You know what he does with other girls, right?”
Damian turned his face away from Olivia’s slowly, as if bored yet amused at Evan’s outburst. Olivia frowned at him, folded her legs up close to her body. “Shut up, Evan. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she insisted, snuggling further into the other boy’s side.
“Olivia.” He kept his voice firm, hoping she’d respond to it, praying she would, because a new sort of terror was enveloping him, making it hard to breathe. His sister was in the clutches of a devil. The worst sort of devil – the kind masquerading as an angel.
He knew he owed Damian for exposing him to the sort of lifestyle he’d likely never have found on his own. The sexual fetish had finally stilled the disquiet Evan had sustained for the last few months. But he would be damned if he’d surrender his sister to him. Damian would hurt her, badly. And there was no way in hell Evan would allow that to happen.
He watched, as if from a distance, as he reached out, grabbed his sister’s stick-thin arm and yanked her up. Damian stayed seated, arm draped across the back of the swing, moving it back and forth a little with his foot. His cold eyes held a whole lot of fake innocence.
The fear flushed out of Evan’s brain, leaving a space suffused to every corner with rage. “He is an animal, Olivia. A man with the worst sort of urges. He… gets off on… hurting… women.” Evan’s face flushed.
He watched Damian raise one eyebrow. The words he didn’t say: “Oh really. And what do you do with them, mate? Seduce them by playing board games?” nearly deafened Evan with their unspoken truth.
“Fuck.” He let Olivia go, stumbled away, unable to catch his breath. What had he done? What did he think he was? How could he be anything but the same damn thing as the man-shaped evil sitting on his porch, ready to defile his sister, if he got off on hurting women too?