by Selena Kitt, Marie Shore, Alex Anders, Terry Towers, Aphrodite Hunt
“Yes.” He laughed, turning left when she pointed. “And for the record, I’m all Dom, sweetheart. Not an ounce of Switch in me.”
The roads were slick with snow—it was coming down even heavier now—but Liam took the curves without any hint of hesitation. She glanced back over her shoulder, making sure Patrick was following. She had driven her vehicle long enough to know it couldn’t handle roads like this quite as well as Liam’s sports car.
“Are you cold?” Liam glanced over at her, huddled against the door. “You’re shivering.”
“I am?” She hadn’t noticed but her teeth chattered when she said it. “My feet got wet. Stupid clogs.”
“That’s what you get for trading practicality for fashion.” He turned on the heat.
Katie sighed with relief, leaning in toward the vent. The air was warm against her cheeks, but her lower half was still cold.
“Put your feet on the dash.” Liam pushed another button and she felt warm air near the windshield.
She hesitated, looking sideways at him and then at the spotless, white leather dashboard. It looked soft and supple enough to sleep on. “Are you sure?”
“Take your shoes off,” he instructed. “And put your feet up.”
She did, leaning back in the seat, the warm air beginning to thaw her frozen toes. “Ohhh that’s so yummy.”
Liam guided the car onto the expressway at her direction—it was almost a straight shot to her house now—glancing occasionally in the rearview to check on his brother, and keeping an eye on her in the passenger seat.
“How fast can this car go?” she inquired, watching him shift gears, easing the vehicle faster.
He shifted again, settling at a respectable speed, considering the weather. “About two-hundred miles an hour.”
She gave a low whistle, shaking her head. “I bet no one can keep up with you.”
“You could say that.” He didn’t look at her, but a smile played at the corners of his mouth.
Katie wiggled her toes—they were finally getting warm—and watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was way more handsome than Patrick, she decided. Less boyish and far more broad than his brother, Liam had an air of quiet confidence and experience about him that made her feel immediately at ease. She remembered how quickly he had taken charge of things in the basement, but she didn’t dwell on the thought, her face burning at the memory. What had she been thinking?
“I’m really sorry about what happened back there, Katie.” Liam’s words jerked her out of her own thoughts, and she looked at him, startled, wondering if he could read minds. “Patrick never should have posted that ad.”
“It was my fault. I just…” She sighed, toying with the button on her coat. “At the last minute, I freaked.”
“It happens. Don’t blame yourself.” His enormous hand covered hers, giving it a gentle squeeze before moving back to the gearshift. “It was Patrick’s responsibility to take care of you, and he failed.”
She glanced in the side mirror, seeing the headlights of her Honda—dusk was quickly turning to evening—Patrick following close behind. “Don’t be too hard on him.”
“I’ll be as hard as I need to be.” Liam’s jaw tightened and she didn’t argue. She doubted anyone argued with him much.
“I just…” She shrugged. “I realized at the last minute…” Pausing, she tried to find a way to tell him what she’d felt in that moment, how her sudden realization had made it so urgent for her to stop any forward motion.
“You’re not submissive?” he offered, that smile back again.
“No!” Her protest came out quite forcefully, surprising her.
His smiled widened. “I didn’t think so.”
“No,” she said again, softer this time, trying to explain. “I just realized if I went through with it, I’d regret it.”
He cocked his head, curious. “Why?”
“Because…” She looked down, toying with her button—the one on the other side was missing. “Because…”
Because he isn’t the one.
But she couldn’t tell him that. “I guess it just felt wrong… with Patrick.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Liam nodded, glancing over at her. “You should always trust your instincts.”
“What did you mean when you said Patrick was a top, but not a Dom?” She thought she knew the answer already—she’d read everything she could get her hands on and had memorized all the terms and their definitions.
Liam was quiet for a moment, the only sound the hum of the engine and the wet slush of the tires on the road. “My brother is focused on how much control he has over someone else. That makes him a top, not a Dom.”
His answer surprised her, going far deeper than anything she’d ever read. “So what’s a Dom, then?”
“A Dom…” He looked thoughtful, his lower lip pulled between his teeth, eyes on the road. “A Dom measures how much control he has over himself, not how much control he can exert over a submissive.”
“Oh.” She blinked at his response. For some reason, it made her feel warm all over. In fact, the heater was now making her rather… hot.
“Too complicated?” Liam half-smiled as she took her feet off the dash, her socks dry now, slipping them into her clogs. “I guess what I’m saying is that tops act. Dominants simply… are.”
She turned more toward him, her knee brushing against his hand on the gearshift. “So you’re a Dom?”
“Yes.”
“Do you…” She swallowed, wondering how to approach the subject. What if he said no? “I mean… are you open to new clients?”
“Sorry.” Liam shook his head, giving her jean-clad knee a gentle let-down squeeze. “I’m very particular.”
Her heart lurched in her chest. She couldn’t take no for an answer. She just couldn’t.
“So…? What…? I have to submit an application? Go through an interview process?”
“No.” He shook his head slowly, sadly.
“But—”
His hand moved to the gearshift, leaving her feeling cold again. “I’m afraid it’s invitation only.”
“And I’m not invited?” She turned toward the door, folding her arms across her chest, trying not to take what he said personally and failing, miserably. Patrick had been more than willing to talk to her, to set her at ease, to educate her and offer to set a scene with her.
This man—he was stubborn. Arrogant. And what did he know anyway?
“Why do you want to be a submissive?”
She sniffed. “I don’t.”
“No?” He looked at her, confused.
“I don’t want to be a submissive.” Katie swallowed, turning her face toward the window, feeling tears welling up. Oh god, not again. Hadn’t she’d cried enough in front of this awful man? “I am a submissive.”
They were quiet, the silence stretching as the Maserati covered the snow-covered road like a cat, purring low to the ground. They were getting closer to her home now and she wanted to give him a real answer, something that might change his mind, make him understand how important it was, how desperate she was.
So she told him about Thomas Dunn and “The Erotic Bondage Handbook.” And once she began, she couldn’t stop. She told him about all the other books and the websites and how she’d found Patrick. And then she told him about losing her father when she was ten, to cancer, watching the strongest man she’d ever known fade away until he finally disappeared. She talked about her mother’s aimless wandering, living in an RV and being homeschooled as a teen, about boys who thought she was too shy to bother, about a chaotic world filled with pain and insanity and constant choices, about never knowing which one was the Lady or the Tiger.
She talked about becoming a librarian, about finding routine and order and, finally, quiet. She talked to him while tears ran down her face and soaked her coat and she didn’t care, she had to make him understand that this thing she’d only read about in books, this crazy, kinky, twisted thing, had made her feel ali
ve in ways she didn’t understand, but wanted—needed—to experience.
“Shh,” he said finally, reaching over and sliding a hand behind her neck, massaging gently, as if he could cut her racing thoughts off with a gentle squeeze. “It’s enough, Katie.”
She swallowed her tears and pointed at her exit without a word, directing him silently to her house. Liam pulled into the snow-covered driveway, taking her hand as she reached for her purse sitting on the console between them. His was more paw than hand, swallowing hers as he caught her attention with his eyes, holding her with them. She felt awful—looked awful, she knew, red-nosed and red-faced from crying. She wanted to hide, turn away, but he held her with just the heat of his gaze.
“Show me.” It was more whisper than words.
She looked at him, confused, staring at the hand holding hers, and then she did the first thing that came to her head. She took his hand in both of hers—his was big, tanned, well-manicured, a silver ring on his middle finger—and turned it over, palm up. Katie sobbed silently, pressing her lips to the middle of his hand, head bent, tears falling onto his wrist.
She felt his other hand move in her hair, that same slow caress, heard his slow, deep breath, a sigh, and then felt his lips pressing against the top of her head, a soft, firm kiss.
“Go inside, Katie.” Liam let her go and she looked up at him in wonder, unable to speak. Patrick appeared, knocking at the window, and Liam powered it down.
“Your keys.” Patrick handed them over, and Katie noticed he was still wearing his boots and hadn’t bothered with a shirt. His chest was bare above the zipper of his Sherpa coat. He looked at her face and then at his brother’s, frowning, mistaking her tears. “Katie, I’m so sorry. Really…”
“It’s okay,” she choked, letting Patrick open the door and help her out of the car. She wanted to look back, to say something to Liam, to ask him what had just happened, what it meant. Patrick walked her to the door, still apologizing, and she let him, murmuring something as he headed back down the walkway, getting into his brother’s Maserati.
She saw Liam’s face for just one brief moment before they left, when Patrick opened the passenger door, saw Liam looking straight at her. His gaze had never wavered.
And she knew.
He’s the one.
* * * *
Katie sighed, pulling misfiled books off the shelves for the third time in an hour, and it was her own damned fault. She had sandwiched a stack of fiction from A to Z without regards to alphabet in the “K” section without thinking, just automatically putting books on the shelf one after the other, her mind wandering. She couldn’t help it. It had been wandering all week, back to the moment when Liam burst into the room to rescue her, back to the ride home, her tearful, shameful confession, and mostly to the one incredible moment in his car, her lips pressed to his palm and his lips brushing her hair.
She had fought the urge to call, had struggled with her desire, confessing everything to Lori, whose cliché-machine had been running full blast, telling her that Katie had obviously gotten herself into a “fine kettle of fish now,” and while Lori didn’t want to be the “doubting Thomas,” she was suspect of the whole “smoke and mirrors” act.
So Katie had spent the week in a fog, going to work, coming home, only checking her cell phone a hundred times a day or so, sure one minute he would call, despairing he never would the next. At least she’d lost three pounds that week, because she could hardly eat anything. She was too distracted.
“Hi there.”
It’s him.
She looked through the stacks to find the source of the voice and saw Liam peering at her between the spines of Koontz and King. Her heart hammered in her chest and immediately her palms felt clammy.
“Hi,” she said faintly, trying to discern if she was actually seeing him, or maybe she was hallucinating?
“I’m looking for a book.” He came around the stacks, his shoulders so broad they almost brushed the shelves on each side.
She straightened, librarian-mode kicking in. “What book?”
“To Protect and Serve—a Dom’s Guide.”
Katie frowned, already running through the catalog in her head—and she had an extensive personal reading list to draw from as well. “Who’s the author?”
“Liam Quinn.”
She stared at him, blinking. “You wrote a book?”
“Oh never mind, here it is.” He flashed an impossibly sexy smile, holding up a hardcover with a woman on the front. She was restrained, hands behind her, nude, back, bottom, and the side of her breast showing.
“That’s not one of ours.” She knew it before she even checked the spine for a call number. The library had strict policies about books with nudity on the cover. She’d had to order most of her BDSM books from Amazon.
“No.” He held it out. “It’s for you.”
It was one she hadn’t read, although she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. There were hundreds, if not thousands, of books on the subject.
“It’s actually out of print,” he confessed. “That’s one of the few author copies I have left. It’s probably a collector’s item…somewhere.”
“Thank you.” She opened the cover and saw two things—Liam’s picture, arms crossed, on the flap near the bottom, and her name, written in Sharpie, on the cover page, with a message,
For Katie,
In service.
Liam
She looked up at him, confused. “So… is this what you came for? To give me your book?”
“I also wanted to take you to dinner.” It wasn’t phrased as a question, but he waited for an answer, his gaze moving over her face, like he was drinking her in. She touched her hair, piled onto the top of her head, pushing her reading glasses up her nose, knowing she looked like the quintessential librarian in her pencil skirt and v-neck blouse, and wished she’d at least left her hair down today.
“Okay.” She tried to imagine sitting across a table with him, doing something so mundane as eating, and couldn’t fathom it. But she said yes anyway, without a moment’s hesitation. “When?”
“How’s now?”
She didn’t even check her watch. “Let me get my coat.”
* * * *
“So what do they call you?” Katie was feeling far more relaxed after two margaritas and she giggled when she cracked her crab and red pieces of shell exploded onto the tablecloth.
“Don’t you love it when it comes out like this, instead of all shredded?” she asked. Liam watched her pull the crab meat out of its shell in one, long piece. She eyed it delightedly before dipping it into the butter sauce, not even bothering with a fork.
“They call me Liam,” he answered her question, watching her lick butter from the tips of her fingers.
“Not Master? Or Sir? Or something… you know… cool?”
Liam snorted. “What did Patrick want you to call him?”
“Dom.”
“How original.” He rolled his eyes and she saw his jaw working as he put his fork down on his plate next to what little was left of his salmon. “This isn’t a game, Katie.”
“I know.” She paused, licking butter off her lips, and took a sip of her margarita.
“Patrick’s sin is pride.” He took a drink of his water—he hadn’t ordered wine or alcohol with dinner—catching the waitress’s attention. “Hubris. A Dom is humble. A servant, really.”
She crinkled her nose at him, regrettably finishing the last piece of delicious crab. “But the submissive is the one—”
“Sure.” Liam smiled at the waitress as she stopped at another table on her way to theirs, acknowledging her need to serve them first. “Everyone knows what the submissive is giving up. Your power. Your control.” His gaze moved back to Katie and she felt it immediately, rushing hotly through her, like the blood through her veins. “Your body. Your love.”
“Love?” She swallowed, putting her fork down next to her place. Her hands were trembling and she didn’t trust herself
to actually hang onto her utensils.
“But the Dom is always in service to the sub,” he explained, watching as she started to nervously play with the corner of her napkin. “He’s offering you his time, his focus, his attention. He has to be completely present with you in every moment.”
She had never wanted anything more in her life than what he was talking about. And the way he said it! His words were fluid, sure. He knew exactly what he was talking about, had experienced it, lived it.
“And the Dom has to be willing to accept the gifts a sub is offering,” Liam went on, his voice soft, and she focused on him, entranced. “It’s a precious thing, when someone is willing to give themselves to you that way. It takes trust beyond measure. It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”
She nodded, feeling tears prick her eyes, and she quickly blinked them away, turning to her margarita and hiding behind it as she sipped. She wanted to give herself, wholly, completely, had wanted it for so long—and now… now she knew she’d found the man she wanted to give herself to. It seemed so simple, but her heart ached as she looked at him, fearing his rejection still, feeling as if she was at some sort of “submissive tryout,” trying to say and do the right thing, walking on eggshells.
“But a Dom has to be worthy of such a gift,” he reminded her. “And he has to feel worthy of it.”
Katie’s eyes widened. “That’s really Patrick’s problem.”
“Yes,” Liam agreed. “That, and his damned pride.”
He looked up as the waitress approached. She was the bright, shiny sort of pretty Katie always wished she could be—bubbly and blonde, she smiled easily and flirted with her customers, moving with a natural grace.
“Tiramisu,” Liam ordered.
“Two?” she asked, putting pen to pad.
“Just one.”
Katie opened her mouth to protest—dessert sounded delightful!—but she argued with herself that she’d had more than enough as the waitress continued to flirt with Liam, exchanging some pleasantries about where she was going to school, what she was studying. Katie hadn’t been paying close attention—she’d been too focused on how the girl flipped her hair and flashed her smile, the way her hips swayed under her black skirt when she walked away.