First Time

by Lynn Burke

  I lowered my head, all too aware of the bruising he must have noticed that night and the weekend before.

  “The relationship between a Dom and his sub is supposed to be one built on trust. Love and acceptance. The only time you should be acting like a slave is if you’re scening with that intent, and only for the pleasure you both would find in it.”

  I sat in silence, considering his words, knowing he spoke the truth.

  “What Stephen does to you”—he lowered his voice and he angled to face me—“the way he treats you is abuse, Becky. I sat front and center watching a similar relationship for eighteen years.”

  I clenched my eyes shut, swallowing against the tightness in my throat and chest. “You don’t know Stephen like I do,” I whispered.

  “I’ve seen his videos.” Anger laced his words.

  A tear squeezed out between my eyelids and slid down my cheek.

  His tumbler clinked against the glass-top coffee table, and he took my water from me, also setting it down. He scooted close as another tear escaped and he pulled me into his arms.

  The warmth, the security of his hold broke the dam I’d been forcing my emotions behind since the weekend before. I sobbed against his chest, fingers grasping at his sweatshirt, releasing all of the shit emotions bottled inside of me.

  His hands rubbed my back. Warm breath caressed my head. A steady heartbeat sounded in my ear pressed against his rock-hard chest. I wanted to crawl inside of him and hide—from myself. From Stephen. From life.

  My well ran dry.

  “I’m so tired.” My voice quaked as I curled into Master Cooney.

  “Sleep.”

  I breathed him in, filling my lungs, and giving over to the exhaustion pulling on me from every angle.

  ****

  The softest sheets and Master Cooney’s scent surrounded me. I stretched and smiled as warmth sprang to life between my thighs. God, the dreams I’d had … my skin marked by his ropes, his mouth on my nipples, my clit. The memory of my climax rushed to mind, and my eyelids snapped open.

  Chantelle’s guest room, I realized, taking in the warm tones of the walls and drapes attempting to keep out the morning sun. No Master Cooney, I noted, my gaze turning to the other side of the made bed and unwrinkled pillowcase.

  I didn’t remember walking to the bedroom. Last I could recall, I had curled up against Master Cooney, wishing I could crawl beneath his skin and hide from reality. He had held me while I cried, and I’d felt truly comforted for the first time in years.

  He must have carried me in here. Heat rose to my cheeks. God, I hope he didn’t throw out his back.

  I recalled his strength in pulling my rope-wrapped body off the floor at Chantelle’s. Without a grunt or groan of effort. The man was a pure mountain of muscle, but it couldn’t have been an easy feat.

  A knock sounded, sending a rush of adrenaline to my heart.

  The door cracked open, and Chantelle stuck her head in. “Good, you’re awake,” she said, walking in, two cups of coffee in hand. A green silk dressing gown hung past her knees. No makeup and a messy bun made her look like any other woman rather than the intimidating, glamorous Domme she’d become. She moved unlike a typical woman, though. Confidence—some sort of authoritative air—followed her like it did Master Cooney, immediately setting me at ease.

  I sat up and leaned against the headboard as she crossed the room and settled onto the bed beside me.

  She handed me a cup of coffee and smiled. “How’d you sleep?”

  “I think I slept through the night.”

  “Good.” She sipped, her gaze resting on my face as I lifted the mug to my lips and blew the steam over the rim. “How long did Daniel stay?”

  “Daniel. Master Cooney?”

  “He should only be Master Cooney to you while scening,” she said, a small smile at the corner of her lips. “You enjoyed acting as his sub, didn’t you?”

  “Very much.”

  “He’s the perfect kind of man for you.”

  My brow rose, but I didn’t comment. Chantelle would have a plan, and I’d found out long ago when we both still lived in Oklahoma that it was best to let her have her say—and usually her way.

  “You’re a true submissive in every way, and he’s a gentle dominant uninterested in inflicting pain.”

  I nodded and sipped, keeping silent.

  Chantelle huffed a breath. “Aren’t you tired of the abuse yet, Becky? Stephen isn’t going to ‘get better’,” she said, lifting her free hand to add the quotes around the words I claimed on a weekly basis. “He’s spiraling out of control to the point where I’m starting to fear for your life. I’ve seen the latest videos, and quite honestly, I’m surprised the websites he’s posted to hasn’t removed them. He’s an asshole. A selfish prick who gets off on hurting and humiliating you.” She scowled. “His actions toward you are not born of love. They’re born of a sick mind who needs serious help—beyond what you being a slave to him will ever accomplish.”

  “I know,” I whispered, my vision hazing. “But he’s all I’ve ever known, the only man who has ever shown an interest in me.”

  “Bullshit.”

  I met her hard gaze.

  “Daniel has shown more than a little interest in you, hasn’t he?”

  “I-I suppose so, yes.”

  “The way he looks at you. The way he touches you.” She leaned toward me. “The words he says to you … so beautiful. So soft. My sweetness.”

  Warmth filled me as his voice echoed in my memory. “H-how do you know he said that to me?”

  “I have cameras throughout the club sending live feed to my computer.”

  I shifted on the soft mattress beneath me. “You watched him tie me up?”

  “I wanted him to turn you on. I watched him string you up, and I watched you climax for the first time, free as a beautiful, fucking butterfly.”

  My throat tightened again, keeping embarrassment at bay.

  “He wants you, but he’s a gentleman and won’t say or do anything until you make the decision to leave Stephen and start your life over.”

  “Why—how…” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “What makes you think that?” I asked once I gathered my thoughts.

  “He told me.”

  I slumped against the pillow behind me. “No.”

  “Oh, yes.” That sly grin I’d grown wary of when we were kids lifted her perfectly bowed lips, lips that hadn’t been so plump and perfect when we were young.

  “You want me to leave Stephen, don’t you?”

  “Yes. And, when Daniel comes sniffing around, I pray to God you’ll be wise enough to grab hold of him and never let go. He’s a rare one, Becky. The type dreamers dream of. The kind of man women wished whispered poetry in their ears.”

  “Why don’t you grab him, then?” I asked, frowning.

  She huffed a snort of laughter. “Because I like to dominate men. Tie them up and inflict the kind of pain that turns us both on. Daniel wouldn’t let me touch him with a crop let alone my lips.”

  “Would you?” I asked. “I mean if he let you?”

  “No,” she answered without hesitation. “I prefer blonds with a little less … breadth of chest and shoulder width.”

  “I happen to like Daniel’s size,” I murmured and lifted my mug. “He makes me feel safe.”

  “He’ll keep you safe if you let him,” Chantelle whispered back, smiling as I sipped.

  I lowered my mug to my lap, hands clasped around it. “But what about Stephen?”

  “What about him?”

  “I’ve spent eight years with him. Leaving him wouldn’t be easy.”

  “He’ll probably throw a major hissy like the little pussy he is, but other than that, leaving would be easy. There’s no marriage, so no divorce. It’s simply a matter of packing up your shit and moving out.”

  I chewed on the inside of my lip. “He wouldn’t let me go so easily.”

  “He wouldn’t have a choice, and if he did come after
you, you file a restraining order. Find yourself a real man who will protect you from him.”

  I smiled. “You make it sound like a fairytale happily-ever-after.”

  “It’s yours to take.”

  My smile faded. “I … I just can’t give up on him, Chantelle. All of those years I spent investing in his life, his mental and emotional health … he doesn’t mean to hurt me. It’s just that stress pulls him under. He gets overwhelmed and needs someone to help with the demons haunting his mind.”

  “That someone should be a doctor in a coat, not you.”

  “He needs me,” I whispered, thinking of Stephen’s tears, the countless sobs he had released on my shoulders over the years. “He’s sick, and I’m his caretaker.”

  Chantelle stared at me, lips pursed, her gaze full of concern. “You’ve always made excuses for him.”

  “They’re not excuses. They’re reasons, and we all have them.”

  “You’re going to go back to him, aren’t you? Even though he threatened to kill you for your betrayal.”

  “I didn’t betray him,” I whispered. “My body did.”

  “No.” Chantelle stood and glared down at me. “Your body responded to the gentle touch of a loving man, one who turns you on because you feel a connection to him.”

  I opened my mouth to argue I had a connection with Stephen, but did I, really? Connection to, yes, but not with. The damn tears hazed my vision again. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Chantelle heaved a sigh. “Like I said last night, you’re welcome to stay here until you do.”

  “I don’t know what I would do without you,” I said through my tears, smiling up at her.

  “You’ll never have to find out, either. This far from home, we need to stick together. Now”—she grabbed my hand and tugged—“get out of bed, get showered, and get ready to take a drive by Stephen’s house. If he’s working, we’re getting you some clothes and coming back here for a little girl time.”

  Chapter Seven

  Daniel

  “She what?” I shut my eyes and shook my head.

  “I know,” Chantelle said over the phone. “I’m pissed she changed her mind and decided to go back, but there was nothing I could do.”

  “Fuck.” I dropped onto Micah’s couch, the beer I had retrieved from his fridge wrapped in my hand.

  “She listened to me yesterday morning, though, when I was giving it to her straight,” Chantelle said.

  I opened my eyes and stared at the huge flat screen hanging in Micah’s man cave. Bruins were losing two to zip. I heaved a sigh. “Think he’s going to hurt her?”

  “I pray to God he doesn’t, or I’ll make sure he disappears never to be found again.”

  I didn’t doubt Chantelle’s declaration one bit. She would take his life, burn his body, and feed his ashes to the ocean without a second thought. “Just make sure you string him up for a bit and make him suffer.”

  “Without doubt.”

  I smiled at the amusement in her voice, but my smile quickly faded. “Keep me informed, will you?”

  “Of course.”

  “And if there’s anything I can do, anything she needs…”

  “I’ll call you first.”

  “Thanks.” I hung up and tossed my cell onto the end table.

  Micah peered at me from his favorite, thread-bare recliner, brow raised.

  “I’m quitting Elite.”

  His gaze narrowed. “Some woman grab you by the balls, too?”

  “My woman hasn’t touched me yet. Doesn’t even know she’s mine.”

  He swigged his beer and muted the Bruin’s game. “Sounds like a good story.”

  I gave him the brief version, sticking to the facts, but it still took me a good ten minutes.

  Micah sat quietly for a time after I finished, and I swallowed down the last of my beer. “I think you know from experience that she won’t be forced into leaving him.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Until she makes up her own mind…”

  I rubbed a hand down over my face, swearing. “So what can I do? Sitting on my hands is going to drive me fucking insane.”

  “Be her friend.”

  Brow raised, I peered over at him.

  “Find out where she goes when she isn’t with Stephen. Make sure you’re there. Might take you a long-ass time,” Micah said, getting up from his chair, “but show her what a real fucking man is.”

  He headed to the fridge, and I grabbed my phone. Relaxing back on the couch, I stretched my legs out and hit redial.

  “Chantelle,” I said after she answered. “I’ve got an idea.”

  “My idea!” Micah hollered so she would hear.

  “I’m all ears,” she said.

  ****

  I told myself to lay low for a few days, let Stephen calm the fuck down and give Becky some breathing space. I lasted all of two before heading into the Dunks she worked at. My height made it easy to see over the counter.

  Becky had her back to me, tossing a sliced bagel into the toaster.

  “Large regular,” I told the cashier, keeping my gaze on Becky.

  She tilted her head and glanced at the screen of orders beside her, and I saw fucking red.

  The makeup she’d slathered on didn’t hide the purple along her jaw.

  Mother fucker. I took my coffee and stepped toward the left. Forcing my anger down, I made myself smile. “Becky?”

  She stiffened and turned. Her slow smile lit her face, made her dark eyes sparkle. God, was she beautiful.

  “D-Daniel!” With a quick glance side to side, she moved to the counter separating us. “What are you doing here?”

  I lifted my coffee, my grin coming easy. “Didn’t know you worked here.”

  “Yeah. Six months, now.”

  “It’s really good to see you,” I said, trailing my gaze over the rest of her face.

  “Y-you, too.” Her smile wobbled.

  “I heard you went back.”

  Becky glanced down and shifted. “Yeah.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “It will be.” She lifted her head and tried for another smile, but failed. “I … uh … have to get back to work. I’ll see you around?”

  “Absolutely.” I didn’t move until she turned her back once more and grabbed the toasted bagel from the tray. If only she knew how much I planned on seeing her around.

  Twice more that week, I drove from my home office to get coffee from a Dunks a half hour farther northwest than the one a quarter mile down the street from my place. Both times, I caught her eye, a smile, and a few quick words.

  Better than nothing, especially since the final time earned me the knowledge of what time she got to go on break.

  The following week, I showed up five minutes before her break, ordered my coffee, and sat in one of the leather chairs by the gas fireplace. She passed me on the way to the bathroom, but I waved her over on her way out.

  “Are you allowed to take your break out here?” I asked, motioning toward the empty chair beside me.

  “I could.” Lower lip between her teeth, she glanced around.

  “Afraid Stephen will find out?” I asked.

  Her dark eyes peered into mine. She nodded.

  “He doesn’t like you having friends.”

  “Not of the male variety, no,” Becky replied, her voice low. “Especially one who … well…” Her cheeks turned a deep pink. “You know.”

  I raised a brow along with a corner of my mouth. Yeah, I knew all right. The memory of her cries while climaxing still haunted my dreams—day and night alike. I longed to hear them again, but with my cock buried deep inside of her lush body. “Yeah.” I cleared my throat, needing to adjust my swelling cock. “I do know.”

  Her blush darkened, and she wrung her hands at her waist. “Why are you here, Master Cooney?”

  God. I wanted to groan. That title on her lips… I glanced around and returned my attention to her face. “Call me Daniel.”

  �
�Daniel.” She smiled. “Okay.”

  “Save Master and Sir for when we’re scening.”

  Her smile faded, her pupils dilated, and her lips parted.

  I stood and moved into her personal space so she had to tip her head back or step away. She chose the first. Allowing my desire for her to show in my gaze, I peered down at her. “I can’t wait to hear you call me both again someday.”

  “I-I’m with Stephen,” she whispered, taking that step back.

  “You deserve so much more, Becky,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Someone who will care for you. Love you how you deserve to be loved.”

  “What are you saying?” Her voice escaped breathlessly. Needy.

  “I’m telling you that I could be that man—if you’d let me.” I pulled a business card from my pocket that I had written my cell and address onto. “If you ever need anything—anything at all, day or night—call me. Please.”

  Becky accepted my card and glanced down. “Thank you.” Tears glistened in her eyes when she lifted her gaze.

  “Even if you decide to stay with Stephen, I’ll always be your friend, Becky. Don’t ever forget that.”

  “I-I won’t.”

  I turned and strode out before I grabbed her and tasted those pouty, full lips. Pink and bowed on top and bottom…

  I adjusted myself before climbing into my car.

  While I doubted she would ever just up and leave Stephen because some other man claimed to want her, I hoped like hell it wouldn’t take something drastic to make up her mind for her. No new bruises tinged her visible skin, but that made me fear what lay beneath her clothing. Too often, Dad had taken care to keep Mom’s pretty face pretty so as not to attract attention. But I had paid attention. The lifting of arms pulled up her shirt, revealing an inch or two. Winces when bending to retrieve something … pain etching her face as she gingerly sat on the wooden chairs at suppertime.

  The vivid and haunting memories stayed with me for the next couple hours, and I found myself driving back to Dunks and parking in the gas station lot across the street a few minutes before Becky got out of work.

  She exited the building and climbed into a beat-up, old Chevrolet without glancing in my direction. I followed at a safe distance, and ten minutes later studied the shack she disappeared into.