Mastered 2: Ten Tales of Sensual Surrender

by Opal Carew

  “Ms. Hutton, are you ready?” The backstage hand enquired, letting her know with a wave that this was her cue. “Just follow the steps down, then straight across the boards to the podium in the centre. The winners will come onto the stage from the right.”

  “OK, thank you.”

  She took a deep breath, levelled her shoulders, and then clutching the golden envelope that contained the winners name, walked out to face the audience.

  Chapter Two

  Spook’s heart damn near stopped when he saw her walk out onto the stage. The black shimmery dress clung to her hourglass figure and fanned out behind her ankles forming a short train. Her hair — bright, burnished copper — shone against the deep midnight hue of the fabric. She looked radiant up there. Perfect. Too perfect, exactly as she’d been when she’d lain stretched across his knee, her bare bottom raised eager for the heat of his palm.

  Oh, fuck! If he’d known she’d be here, he wouldn’t have come. He’d have made his excuses, perhaps insisted that he needed to stay in Sweden with Ash. Their lead guitarist hadn’t been quite right since he’d collapsed on stage during their last live performance.

  But he was here, and God help him, so was she. The one woman he couldn’t let himself be near, unless he wanted to risk his goddamned sanity. Allegra Hutton did things to him that no other woman had done in over seven years.

  He’d walked away. He’d deliberately walked away from her. Yet here she was, right in front of him as if destiny was laying down the law, telling him he couldn’t dream of her and simultaneously stay his distance.

  And, oh, he’d dreamed of her all right. She’d haunted his thoughts ever since that day in April. She was the only person he couldn’t block out. There was just something about her. Something that obliterated every fucking shield he had in place. Shields he’d spent years perfecting. They’d been impervious until she’d torched them all with her smile.

  Unblinking, Spook watched her stand at the podium, and wondered if his imagination had finally got the better of him, given how often she’d been on his mind of late, tormenting him with her absolute willingness to submit.

  The memory of that moment — watching the plump, peaches and cream skin of her arse turn pink — never failed to heat his veins.

  He liked inflicting pain.

  And Allegra Hutton, as much as she’d squirmed, had loved having him dish it out.

  She’d been so damn sure of what she wanted, so insistent and so eager for what he could give.

  They ought to have been a match made in heaven.

  The reality looked more like a one way trip into his personal hell. There were reasons he’d cut himself off from pursuing physical relationships. Good, sound, solid reasons.

  She shouldn’t have been able to make him feel like this — excited by her presence, tingling with the need to warm her arse. Shit! He mentally chastised himself when he found himself checking that he was wearing a belt.

  It didn’t matter one way or the other because they were never going to pursue that avenue together. He was not going to bind her with it, or trail the pointed tip against the curve of her spine, or snap the end against her perfectly rounded rear.

  Thwack! The image of it ignited desire in his cells.

  “Spook! Spook…” Xane punched him in the shoulder. “With me,” he laughed, cat’s eye contact lenses glowing in the dark. “We’re up.”

  “What?”

  It was obvious enough to work out, when everyone around him was clapping, Xane was bounding his way onto the stage, and their most recent hit was blaring from every speaker in the place.

  Spook followed at a more sedate pace, taking the time to accept congratulations from folks he passed on the way up to the stage. Honestly, he didn’t want to go up there, but as he and Xane were the only two members of the band in attendance, there didn’t seem to be a whole lot of choice. At least he wouldn’t have to say anything. Xane was always happy to hog the mic.

  He would however have to face her — Alle. And touch her.

  At minimum, a handshake was in order.

  “Fuck!” He complained under his breath as he watched Xane press a smacker to her lips. That was just out of order. It was not allowed. And worse still, there was now a palpable air of expectation. However, that didn’t mean he had to follow suit and kiss her, even if she was bent forward expectantly.

  Xane was already speaking to the crowd as Spook held out his hand to thank Alle for the award. Sparks zapped through his synapses at the contact. They raced up his arm and straight into his heart.

  Fuck!

  He sucked down a breath, just to remind his lungs how to inflate.

  Alle tugged. She took the damned initiative.

  Treble Fuck!

  Her lips were soft and giving, but he refused to linger. He wished he could believe in some sort of forever with her, but to give it a chance required sacrifices he was too afraid to make. To let her close, he’d have to tear down the walls he’d built, trash the safety net he’d so carefully constructed. And then what? There was no guarantee of a happily ever after, so why even contemplate the possibility?

  Why risk everything? Better, safer, that he kept his urges and desires locked up. Giving in to them had only ever got him into trouble. The sort of shit you didn’t so much wallow in, as struggle not to drown. He’d been drowning when he’d met Xane. Black Halo — Xane — had saved him, which is why he did his damnedest to keep them both intact.

  “I thought you’d call,” she said as they broke apart.

  Spook didn’t respond. He turned to the audience, took the trophy from Xane, held it aloft and said “Thank you” into the microphone, all too conscious of Alle’s presence behind him.

  He should have called. At minimum, he ought to have told her that it’d been fun, but he wasn’t up for a repeat. He hadn’t done it of course, because that was an outrageous lie. And he didn’t lie.

  “You OK?” Xane asked as they exited the stage. “You seem a bit rattled.”

  “I’m fine.” He wasn’t about to admit that he was relieved they were leaving the stage, because that would involve admitting why. Instead, he shoved his hand into his jacket pocket. Relief flooded through his tensed limbs as his fingers closed around the lucky guitar pick he had stowed there. Ever since his prized Washburn had temporarily gone missing in Amsterdam, he’d felt ill at ease without the security of the instrument’s weight upon his shoulders. The pick didn’t bestow the same level of comfort, but it was less conspicuous.

  Carrying his guitar along to an awards ceremony, at which he wasn’t scheduled to play, would have drawn too much attention, and attention wasn’t something he cared to invite. He and the other guys from Black Halo underwent dissection by the media on a regular basis already, and now, with yet another award to their names, they were no doubt set for increasing public scrutiny. It rather made him wish they’d all stayed back on Lake Vänern, chilling, healing and pretending the world outside didn’t exist.

  “Another one for the tour bus dashboard, eh?” Xane nudged him as they headed into the stage wings, where they both paused to stare at the silver statuette, this one a stylized figured holding a microphone. “Reckon Cave Troll will like her?”

  “’Spect so.” Troels, their driver had most of the band’s trophies superglued to the tour bus dashboard, much to their PR manager’s disgust. “What do you think she’s doing?”

  “Sally?” Spook shook his head. “Probably bigging us up to anyone who’ll listen.”

  “I meant the figure.” Xane reclaimed the award and raised it so that they could both get a better look.

  “Ice-skating?” Spook suggested, based on the way her leg was kicked backwards and her arms were outstretched.

  Xane nodded in agreement, “Looks as if she’s just landed a Salchow. She’s certainly going to have trouble singing in that position, especially with the microphone two feet above her head.”

  “I didn’t know you were such a skating expert.”


  “I can skate,” Xane replied. “And I’ve watched the Winter Olympics.”

  “And there I was thinking you were going to say you’d banged a skater.”

  Xane brushed a hand back through his long black hair. “I might have done.” He grinned. “Hey, we’re up.”

  A blizzard of flashbulbs popped in front of them. Xane clamped an arm around Spook’s shoulder and they both smiled and then made inappropriate gestures for the camera.

  “Where’s the rest of the band, Xane?” one journalist called.

  “Consulting with Lucifer.”

  “Black or white for the wedding?” asked another.

  “I didn’t realize I was getting hitched.”

  “Spook, how do you feel about the award?”

  He took it from Xane’s grasp and lifted it. “Yeah, great. I always wanted to be an ice dance champion.” He and Xane both performed pirouettes and laughed at the nonplussed expressions on the reporters’ faces.

  “Any comments on Iain Willow’s exodus from the band?”

  “None.”

  “That’s it, guys. Let’s get back to our seats, eh?” Xane remarked, steering Spook back towards the main auditorium and their plush theatre seats. Spook paused before sitting, still too aware of the taste of Alle’s lips and the hurt that had shone in her eyes. What sort of coward had he become, to leave so much unsaid between them? More of one than he cared to be.

  He caught sight of her across the room, standing at the end of an aisle waiting for the other occupants of the row to let her pass. She mesmerised him. Even from here he could feel the magnetic pull that existed between them.

  “Are you going to sit down?” Xane asked, tugging him into his seat. “What the fuck is up with you?”

  “I was just thinking about the guys. They ought to be here with us.” It wasn’t an actual lie. He had been thinking that earlier.

  “Yeah, well, none of them wanted to be here.”

  That wasn’t strictly true. It was only that they’d all had other things on. Luthor was in the studio drumming for his old band; Elspeth and Paul were off at some folk festival recapturing their youth and Ash — poor Ash — wasn’t up to facing a crowd. He had wanted to be here, but it was more important that he stayed out of the public eye and got himself healthy.

  Spook settled uncomfortably into his seat.

  “We should have been up for this one too,” Xane remarked about the next award.

  “Well, if we have to go up again, no kisses, OK?”

  His friend flicked his tongue against his lip piercing. A broad grin stretched across his face. “Is that what’s put a bee in your bonnet? It’s not compulsory to follow suit. Besides, it was only a peck. It’s not like I snogged her face off.”

  “Just as well or your girlfriend would have a fit.”

  Xane sniffed, then gave his head a shake so his long black hair settled against his shoulders. “Gonna have to call her later. Going twenty-four hours without her amplifies certain cravings. It’s gonna be fucking cold in bed tonight — ”

  Try going months, years…

  “— unless you’re up for some snuggling?”

  “Last time I looked, you thought snuggling was a synonym for fucking, so I’m gonna have to pass.”

  “Damn, spoilsport,” Xane joked. Spook knew he wasn’t serious. Well, not very, anyway. It depended on whether his heart or his libido was talking.

  “Hey, hold still.” Xane said to him. He reached out and dragged his thumb across Spook’s lower lip. “Looks like Miss Hutton left a bit of herself behind.” He showed Spook the smear of her lipstick he’d wiped away. “She did an OK job on remastering Within You. Maybe we should see if she’s free to work on the new album. What do you think?”

  “We probably want someone more experienced for that.”

  “For the whole thing, yeah, but for a track or two…”

  “Can we discuss this later? We’re supposed to be listening.”

  “Graham,” Xane hissed, leaning over Spook to reach their manager. “What do you think to getting Allegra Hutton in to work on the new album?”

  Their manager snapped his beady eyes towards Xane. “It’s a possibility, and she’ll be cheap and amenable. It might solve a few things, like your ruddy insistence on recording in Sweden. I’m not seeing much interest among the top tier producers and mixers for roughing it in the wild. I mean the middle of a bloody lake, what’s that about?”

  Oh God, the pair of them were going to completely fuck him up if they brought her in to work with the band. A couple of hours in a room with her and he’d need a one way ticket to a padded cell. Spook looked over his shoulder, trying to spot her again and realized she wasn’t sitting. Head bowed low, Allegra Hutton was scurrying towards the exit.

  “Fuck,” he hissed beneath his breath. It didn’t take a genius to work out he was responsible for that.

  Spook dragged his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his contacts until he found her number. Having a conscience really fucking sucked sometimes, but he wasn’t going to be responsible for making a woman cry.

  Not ever again if he could help it.

  Chapter Three

  Alle left the stage trembling. Somehow it had all been far worse than she’d imagined. When his soft lips had hit hers — fire! Like whoa-fucking-instantaneous-burn-the-house-down, panty-melting fire. Then he’d doused her in ice with his blank stare. Dammit, she’d promised herself she wasn’t going to say anything and then she’d gone and blurted it out, unable to stop herself, because with heat like that between them, there had to be a reason — a flippin’ amazing reason — why he hadn’t called.

  Why the fuck hadn’t he called?

  And where did he get off on just blanking her?

  Anger briefly ate up her humiliation, but couldn’t obliterate the hurt. It stung in her nose and made her lungs feel tight. It took every bit of dexterity she possessed to walk off the stage without toppling out of her stupid heels.

  Neither man acknowledged her once they were off the stage either. It was as if she were too insignificant, too far beneath them. Well, she virtually expected it of Xane. She’d realised the last time they’d met that he could be a narcissistic wanker, but Spook… This was not the man who’d taken the troll cross from around his neck and placed it around hers as protection, or the one who’d been prepared to give her a chance to prove herself when his friends were set on writing her off before she’d even had a chance to work with their track.

  What had changed?

  What had she done?

  Had she done anything?

  Arms crossed defensively, Alle watched the two men perform for the press. They seemed so at ease, so comfortable with their environment, larking about and back-chatting the showbiz photographers. Perhaps the truth was that she wasn’t part of their world. Rock stars dated models, or actresses, or other rock stars. Sure, they banged their support staff, but they didn’t date them or have meaningful relationships with them. That was assuming they had meaningful relationships at all, aside from within the band. Working in a recording studio, she got all the gossip on which members of various bands were shagging one another. In the case of Black Halo, Xane was allegedly doing everyone. Not that she believed it. It sounded more like wishful thinking on the part of the tellers than fact. That said; she reckoned Xane had seen a fair bit of action. Perhaps that was why Spook maintained he was celibate, to keep Mr. ‘Sex on a Stick’ Geist from trying anything on.

  Still, the point of all this speculation remained. She was a fool; a fool with too high an opinion of herself. She and Spook weren’t even in the same league.

  However, that didn’t excuse him for being shitty.

  Oh, Spook. She’d genuinely believed there was something there between them.

  Alle stumbled back to her seat in time to watch another award being presented, but her excitement over the evening and her enthusiasm for the coming after-ceremony drinks had evaporated; dissipated into nothingness along with her hop
es and dreams. She jacked out of her seat again. She couldn’t stay motionless with her mind so jumbled and her heart cracking down the centre. She needed to move, get up and do. That’s what her brothers had taught her. No wallowing if you wanted something. You had to get active and fight for it.

  Their strategy worked nine times out of ten. It had worked for getting her a job making music in a male dominated industry. But how did you fight to win a man who wouldn’t even acknowledge you? And did she really want to?

  Of course she did. Which perhaps said some things about her that weren’t too flattering, but… Well, the man she’d met had not behaved in the same way as he had tonight, and he’d given her something no one else ever had. He’d satisfied her craving for a little physical pain mixed in with the sexy.

  Alle shivered as excitement rolled through her body at the memory of being upended over his lap. His thighs had been warm and solid beneath her, and his voice had instructed her in a soft, yet firm tone. Admittedly, she’d only managed to cope with a few smacks that first time, but she’d craved a repeat ever since — craved that and so much more. Moreover, she was certain Spook Mortensen was the man to give it to her.

  Outside the auditorium, only the low rumble of a vending machine disturbed the silence. Alle ventured over to it. Chocolate might not be the ideal fix, but it was something. Sure, it’d end up straight on her hips, but what was wrong with a few curves? Besides, she not only needed a pick me up, she had to get the taste of him off her lips or she’d never be able to think straight.

  Her gaze failed to focus on the rows of brightly coloured confectionary. Fighting for a chance with him would involve, sticking around, doing the whole after party, and likely enough having her heart trampled again. On the other hand, phoning a taxi and scurrying off with her tail between her legs wasn’t going to get her what she wanted.

  She made two purchases. Took a huge bite out of one and stuffed the spare into her purse, just in case she needed it later.