Bound, Spanked and Loved: Fourteen Kinky Valentine's Day Stories

by Sierra Cartwright

  “I watched your scene with Master Simon.”

  Her shoulders stiffened.

  “You didn’t seem all that into it.”

  Her mouth was pressed into a firm line, making him realize he wasn’t any more adept than Simon had been. Bulldozing on, Logan took a business card from his wallet and offered it to her.

  She hesitated, and he wasn’t sure she’d accept it.

  “Feel free to call me if you want to experience a real scene.”

  “That felt real to me,” she replied.

  “Perhaps I’m wrong. It seemed like you might have wanted something more. It’s not just about feeling an impact. There’s a mental and emotional component as well. Trust is involved, and so is getting exactly what you’re looking for. I think you know that.”

  She glanced at his contact information before accepting the piece of card stock. But rather than look at it more closely, she stuffed it into her pocket.

  After saying good night but not responding to his offer, she left, closing the door behind her with a decisive click.

  “Your technique’s a little rusty,” Joe observed.

  “How long have you been lurking?” Logan pivoted to level a glare at his friend.

  “Lurking? I prefer to think of it as making sure my guests find their way out safely.”

  “He’s being nosy,” Noelle said, joining them. She lightly pressed her fingertips to her husband/Dom’s forearm.

  Logan didn’t miss the sign of deference and affection. Until this moment, he hadn’t envied the pair their hard-won relationship. Tonight, though, he felt a twinge of regret for the choices he’d made.

  “I was hoping Jennifer would talk to you,” Noelle said.

  “Maybe if he had more manners than your average gorilla, he might have had a chance.”

  Noelle frowned at Joe.

  “She took my card,” Logan said in his own defense. And maybe, maybe, she’d call.

  *****

  “You should call him,” Noelle said.

  “Call who?” Jennifer asked, feigning ignorance.

  Noelle snagged a garlic bread stick from a basket and wagged it at Jennifer.

  “Who are you talking about?” asked Eden, another member of the infamous Divas Dinner Club.

  To avoid the question, Jennifer reached for the bottle of Chianti and topped off the wineglasses of the three other women gathered around her kitchen table. They’d started meeting two years ago when they were all going through divorces. Even though Noelle was happily remarried, she still attended. Jennifer couldn’t blame her. Everyone brought something delicious, and the drinks were always plentiful.

  Tonight, they were meeting in her somewhat renovated Highlands bungalow for the first time. To save money, she was doing most of the work herself, which meant some things were almost finished and others were nowhere close, including the dining room walls that were still a shocking shade of canary yellow.

  “We’re talking about Logan Powell,” Noelle went on. “A hunky Dom who’s interested in Jennifer.”

  “What?” Eden demanded, turning to face Jennifer. “Details. All of them.”

  Hyperaware that she was the focus of everyone’s attention, she took a drink. “There’s nothing to tell. Really.”

  “Okay,” Eden said, apparently undaunted. “Where did you meet him?”

  “At a play party at my house,” Noelle replied.

  Jennifer scowled.

  “You went to a party? Finally?”

  Ever since she and a few members of the Divas club had gone to see a movie about BDSM, Jennifer had been intrigued, and afterward at a bar, she’d pestered Noelle with dozens of questions. But it had taken Jennifer several months to accept an invite to experience it for herself.

  “So,” Eden persisted, “did you play with Logan?”

  She shook her head. “No. With someone else.”

  “And what did he do to you?”

  “He, um”—she ran her finger over the base of the wineglass—“gave me a few swats with a paddle.”

  “What kind?” Eden leaned forward. “A leather one, like in the movie?”

  “It was wood.”

  “How did it feel?” Ava asked.

  Jennifer hesitated. Instead of Master Simon, she was remembering Logan and his offer to show her how it could be different.

  “You didn’t like it?” Eden said.

  “It was a bit disappointing.”

  “That’s why you should call Logan,” Noelle said triumphantly. “He’d give you a paddling you’ll never forget.”

  Jennifer squirmed, and she felt a flush creep up her cheeks. All week, she’d thought of nothing else, picturing a paddle in his strong hands. Or better, a flogger. Her flogger. The one she’d bought on a wild impulse when she and Ava had gone shopping for bachelorette gifts for Noelle. “He’s not my type.”

  “Why not?” Noelle demanded.

  “He looks dangerous,” Jennifer replied. Too masculine. Too broad. Too big. Too handsome. Too unnerving.

  “His scar’s sexy,” Noelle said.

  It was.

  “Scar?” Eden asked, looking between the two of them. “What kind of scar?”

  “It runs from the corner of his eye up into his hairline,” Noelle replied for her. “When I asked him about it one time, he changed the subject. I know he’s a detective, but all Joe will tell me about Logan’s past is that they were in some sort of peacekeeping unit in the Middle East a long time ago.”

  Ava shivered dramatically. “He sounds yummy.”

  At the party, Jennifer had been highly aware of him. She’d noticed him the moment he’d entered the basement, and her core temperature had shot up. Noelle was right. He was handsome, if you liked men who were big, muscled, and rugged. The nasty, jagged scar had continually drawn her attention.

  “So why don’t you call him?” Eden asked.

  “Because I’m a coward,” she confessed.

  “You went to the party,” Ava pointed out. “That’s something.”

  “Come on. Here’s your chance to live a little,” Noelle said.

  Until recently, Jennifer had always done the right thing. In school, she’d worked hard so she could get into the college her parents had selected for her. She’d graduated near the top of her class, become a CPA, and joined her father’s firm, exactly as expected. Even so, she was still figuring out what she wanted.

  “He’s trustworthy,” Noelle went on. “Joe considers him a friend. And...” She reached for her glass and trailed off mysteriously.

  Jennifer didn’t want to be intrigued, but damn it, she leaned forward with interest.

  Noelle glanced around, heightening the tension. “I’ve spoken to a couple of the subs he’s played with...”

  “Quit teasing and tell us,” Eden begged.

  “They say he’s an exceptional Dom. Unrelenting, demanding, but patient.”

  Ava fanned herself. Jennifer was suddenly tempted to do the same.

  “You could do worse,” Noelle finished, leveling a look at Jennifer.

  “You can’t let What’s-His-Face fuck up your whole life,” Eden added unhelpfully.

  “Brett,” Jennifer supplied. “His name was—is—Brett.” Not that Eden had forgotten.

  “Maybe you can get a better paddling from Logan,” Ava said.

  “Master Logan,” Noelle corrected.

  Jennifer met her friend’s gaze.

  “Well, if he were swinging a paddle at my ass, I’d call him Master Logan.”

  She tried to shove that image from her mind. But it wouldn’t budge.

  The conversation moved on, and Ava mentioned the new guy who’d been hired at her firm. She said he dressed in suits and seemed aloof. But she’d seen him last weekend while running in Washington Park, and she’d noticed his sexy tattoos on his biceps.

  “Did you talk to him?” Eden asked. “Maybe trip him?”

  Ava shook her head and finished her wine.

  “You should go for it.” Noelle
had always been brave, and she served as a cheerleader for her friends. “Can’t hurt.”

  Though she tried to participate in the conversation and nodded at what she hoped were appropriate intervals, Jennifer’s mind was otherwise occupied with the tantalizing fantasy that Logan might demand she call him Master...

  Even after her guests left, the thought remained. More than ever, she wished she could find the courage to take him up on his offer.

  Chapter Two

  Where the hell is everyone?

  Logan checked his very expensive, very precise watch. Three minutes after seven. Noelle Montrose’s surprise birthday party was scheduled to begin in less than fifteen minutes, and he was still the only one here. He was starting to get pissed off.

  Only for Joe and Noelle would Logan have left work early, driven up to unlock the house, and put a bottle of champagne on ice.

  The loud sound of a doorbell ringing shattered the silence.

  Finally.

  Jarred from his annoyance and glad someone else was here, he went to answer the summons.

  When he saw Jennifer Berklee standing on the stoop, hand raised to press the bell a second time, he had an instant attitude change. If Joe had mentioned that Jennifer had been invited, Logan would never have bitched at all.

  “Logan,” she said, her voice rushed, breathless.

  Until this moment, he hadn’t allowed himself to realize how disappointed he’d been that she hadn’t taken him up on his offer three weeks ago.

  She remained outside, mouth slightly parted, her breaths coming in quick little bursts.

  Perhaps she’d thought about him as much as he’d thought about her. Not for the first time, luck was on his side. “Come in.” He opened the door a bit farther and she entered the foyer, stamping a few snowflakes from her black ankle boots. He reached above her to close out the howling, unfriendly wind.

  For a moment, their gazes locked, but then she looked away.

  “Is everyone else hiding?” she asked, dragging a trembling hand through her short hair and restoring order to the weather-tossed locks.

  “I’m afraid it’s just you and me so far.”

  She scowled. “I thought I was going to be late. Did I get the time wrong?”

  “Joe told me to be here by six.” Probably figuring Logan would be half an hour late, which he had been. Fortunately, no one had been waiting, and he’d found the spare key affixed to the underside of a rain gutter. That had been fun in the dark and cold.

  After putting down her oversized bag, Jennifer unfastened the belt around her waist, then removed her wool coat.

  She stood before him, ridiculously close since he hadn’t taken a polite step backward.

  As he might have expected, she was dressed in a short leather skirt that highlighted her feminine curves. It was appropriate for a kink event—which he anticipated this evening’s party might become—but it wasn’t so scandalous that it would be whispered about at a vanilla gathering.

  Her white turtleneck was another matter. It hugged her body, showing off her breasts and trim waist.

  She’d completed the outfit with tights and those sexy boots.

  His blood pressure spiked.

  “May I?” he asked, extending his hand.

  “Thanks.” She gave him the coat, and he placed it on a nearby peg. “Wait. Let me get my phone so I can take pictures of Noelle when she gets here.”

  Once she’d extracted the device from her bag on the floor, she followed him into the kitchen.

  The Montroses had built the house with entertaining in mind. This part of the home featured an open concept with the kitchen seamlessly transitioning to the dining area adjacent to the living room.

  The most stunning feature was a bank of picture windows that faced east and overlooked downtown Denver. Generally the view was breathtaking, but this evening a layer of threatening clouds loomed thick, making it seem as if he and Jennifer were cut off from the rest of the world.

  Tonight, streamers hung from the soaring wooden beams. Red and white balloons were everywhere, tied to chairs, attached to end tables, floating at various heights over every flat surface.

  “The place looks great,” Jennifer said.

  “Joe missed his calling as an interior decorator.”

  “He did this, really?” She glanced at him. “I figured they hired a company.”

  Logan made a circular motion near his temple. “He says it’s relaxing.”

  “I wouldn’t. Cleaning. Cooking. Inviting people. Tracking the RSVPs. Prep work.” She shuddered.

  Yet Joe did it routinely. At least once a month, he made the trek from Cherry Creek to the foothills to organize play parties for his closest friends.

  “If there are only going to be a few people, this is a lot of cupcakes.” She looked toward the three-tiered structure on the dining room table.

  Plates were piled high, sitting next to the napkins and silverware. Silver dishes were filled with mints and nuts. And the inviting, expensive bottle of bubbly was chilling in an elegant stainless-steel bucket.

  A chime sounded, and Jennifer checked her phone.

  A moment later, his phone vibrated, and he pulled it out of his pocket. Seeing there was a message from Joe, Logan entered his pass code, then read the text.

  Surprise!

  He frowned.

  “What the hell?” Jennifer asked.

  He glanced up from his screen.

  “It’s from Noelle. It says surprise.”

  Logan turned his phone so she could read it.

  “Now I’m really confused,” she confessed.

  Both phones signaled new messages.

  Happy Valentine’s Day! The house is all yours. Don’t do anything we wouldn’t, and enjoy the evening! We love you both... Joe and Noelle

  P.S. The champagne is for you.

  “I think we’ve been had,” he said.

  She closed her eyes for a second, and when she opened them, he again noticed how intense they were, but tonight the blue was spiked with gold flecks of anger. “Noelle knows I hate Valentine’s Day. I’ll kill her. Kill her. Long. Painful. Slow. Very freaking slow.” She focused her gaze on him.

  “I had nothing to do with it. I swear.” Still holding his phone, he raised his hands. “I hate Valentine’s Day too.”

  “Do you?” She put a hand on her heart and tipped her head to the side, regarding him skeptically.

  “Rather have a root canal than deal with it.”

  “Yet here we are.”

  The truth was as cold as the Colorado windchill. “Set up by our best friends,” he said.

  “Some friends.”

  He lowered his hands.

  “All this stuff. We can’t just leave it out since we have no idea when they’ll be up here again.” She dug a hand into her hair, sending a lock spilling in front of her eyes. As she raked it back, she said, “God.”

  “What?”

  “We don’t even get to enjoy the party, and we have to clean up the mess.”

  “Who says we don’t get to enjoy it?”

  Their phones lit up again.

  We’re celebrating in town. So feel free to spend the night.

  Jennifer replied to the message. He didn’t know it was possible for a person’s fingers to move so fast. But then she stared at the screen as if expecting Noelle to respond instantly.

  After thirty long, painful seconds, it was obvious no reply was coming. Instead, Jennifer touched an icon to call Noelle.

  From a few feet away, he heard the instant, pleasantly professional notes of Noelle’s voice mail message.

  “She turned off her phone,” Jennifer said unnecessarily.

  Then she tried Joe’s number and got the same result.

  With a deep sigh, she tossed her phone onto the island. “Now what are we going to do?”

  “I have an idea.” Logan crossed to the bucket that held the bottle of sparkling wine. After pulling it from the ice, he looked at the label. “Expensive stuff. I
’d hate for it to go to waste.” He removed the protective wire cage, then gave the cork a quick turn, then used his thumbs to pop it off. “How about a drink?”

  *****

  Along with survival instincts, common sense urged Jennifer to get back in her car and head for home. The weather was terrible. On the way up, she’d heard a report on the radio indicating that the Front Range would receive up to four inches of snow. Even though that wasn’t a significant amount, freezing temperatures would be enough to make the roads slick and nasty.

  But that wasn’t her real fear. Logan was.

  As she’d told her friends the other night, the man spelled danger, in capital letters. It wasn’t just that compelling scar that jaggedly arrowed between his scalp and his right eye. His size intimidated her. He stood over six feet tall, and he was impossibly broad. Then there was his shadowy past. Noelle had said he was some sort of detective, but what kind of detective wore motorcycle boots, a faded-to-gray button-down shirt, and a watch that cost half a year’s salary?

  His raven-colored hair was cut military short, and his arms were corded with muscle. Everything about him warned her to stay away. The man made her feel vulnerable.

  After pouring the sparkling wine, he held up both flutes and tipped one in her direction.

  She wanted him. And just as desperately, she wanted not to want him.

  Noelle’s words, though, echoed in Jennifer’s head. “They say he’s an exceptional Dom. Unrelenting, demanding, but patient.”

  The renegade part of her still wanted to experience exactly that.

  Rationalizing that her friend trusted him and that no harm could come from sharing a simple glass of champagne, Jennifer walked into the dining area.

  She accepted one of the flutes, and electricity jolted through her.

  Jennifer snatched away the glass. Some of the expensive liquor splashed over the rim. She licked it off, then became aware of his gaze on her as he watched.

  “So you hate Valentine’s Day?” he prompted.

  “I didn’t always. But I had a bad experience three years ago.” At first, Brett had seemed like the ideal boyfriend. He was thirty-four, wore Italian suits, had an impressive portfolio, a stunning mansion off Eighth Avenue, a ritzy downtown office, and was already a successful criminal-defense attorney. Her parents had loved him. But his expectations had started to wear her down. He was looking for the perfect wife, someone to host his events and organize a high-profile social calendar, and he’d made it clear that he expected her to forget her dreams of owning her own CPA firm.