Tie Me Down: 2 (Knights in Black Leather)

by Cerise DeLand

  Tie Me Down

  Cerise DeLand

  Knights in Black Leather, Book Two

  Rancher Case Turner is a shibari master who prefers his partners submissive, silent and lush. When he meets an outspoken, curvy lawyer from Austin, he’s wild to capture the colorful creature he calls his butterfly. His cho. Yearning to tie her up nice and tight. And defying the rule of the single men in Bravado that they share desirable women, Case plans to keep Samantha Marlowe all for himself.

  Sam has a big, bad aversion to Dominants, so resisting Case’s magnetism seems like a wise idea. Yet Case, who usually binds his women to him in erotic public exhibitions, lures her with sweet-talk and humor. Case becomes the lover Sam told herself she’d never have—kind and tender.

  But Case wants to tie up her heart, as well as her body—and she’s ready to bolt. If Case puts his heart on the line as well, Sam might admit there’s no rope stronger than love to tie her down.

  Tie Me Down

  Cerise DeLand

  Prologue

  She let the engine of her rented car run as she absorbed the sight of the three-story limestone building at the edge of the parking lot. Imposing, luminous in the moonlight, the gilded ivory structure jutted up into the black velvet sky of the Texas Hill Country as if it pierced deep space.

  She smirked. Appropriate that a BDSM club would command the emptiness of these arid plains as if it were a Titan.

  Go in.

  She shivered. In fear, yes. Dread crawled up her spine and she pounded the steering wheel with her fist that this was her reaction to the huge windowless edifice with giant solar panels on the pointed roof.

  Get out. Out of your quandary. Out of the car!

  She bit her lower lip and repeated the phrases she had memorized like a mantra. I need to enter a club once more. To know if I have the guts. To learn if I can decide to stay or go. To learn if I still need a Dom.

  With a jerk, she turned the key. The motor died. In the silence, she closed her eyes. Memories washed through her of her last experience in a club like this. Tied down by her master. Hurt. Hurt by his lack of control. Hurt beyond her need for ecstasy. Perhaps beyond her need for domination ever again.

  Was that a discovery or a decision? She had struggled with that question for almost a year since that terrible night when her Dom had made her bleed.

  She trembled and crossed her arms to squeeze herself into stillness. Inhale. Follow the energy. Exhale.

  “I want freedom from fear. Freedom from the past. And most of all, now…”

  Say it.

  “I want to know if Case Turner belongs to this club.” Then she corrected herself. Samantha Marlowe has to learn if she is attracted to the brawny Texas rancher who strolled into her office one morning weeks ago, introduced himself as the mayor of Bravado and charmed her so much that she imagined kissing those sculpted lips for days afterward. Or is it this woman? She glanced at her brief costume of emerald pasties, sapphire latex panties and red patent leather stilettos. Is it this sub who wants him to claim her because she suspects he is a Dominant?

  He was big, broad, muscular but beefy. Imperious. Her pussy gushed, her nipples peaked, her tummy churned. He could smile and her bones went to mush. He could speak and her blood ran fast. He could state his argument about needing more water from the agency she represented and she saw red.

  He was not simply a tough Texas hombre. He was a man used to winning everything he wanted. Commanding and watching others agree, hands down, no fight necessary. And men like that often needed more compliance, complete control. If he wasn’t a Dom, she’d eat her metallic green pasties.

  There is only one way to find out.

  Cursing, she forced herself to climb out of the front seat, yanked her skintight latex down over the swell of her ass and cinched her belt.

  “No time like now.” She reached inside her tote, withdrew the feathery, sequined, multicolored half mask and secured it over her head. “If he’s here, I learn one thing. If not, I still accomplish a goal without him.”

  * * * * *

  He gripped the ends of the jute, the three silken threads sliding over his fingertips with a sinuous glide that electrified him and made his cock stiffen in his loose Japanese trousers. Catching both ends of the rope, he pulled them slowly tighter and made the coil for his final knot. Perspiration beaded on his temples. Over his bare chest, rivulets of sweat dribbled down his rib cage beneath his cotton hakama to tease the root of his shaft and his balls.

  He paused, admiring the symmetry of the naked female suspended before him. His subject was as calm as when he had begun to bind her more than two hours ago. She was obedient, this jujun. She had been his model for his last three exhibitions here and she had been his most compliant. She always permitted him to experiment with her, creating art forms in rope. Alternately a shrimp, a tortoise or a star, she had been eager to become each one. If she did not totally surrender to the ropes, if she could not yet embrace her surrender to reach a meditative bliss, he forgave her and hoped she might improve.

  Tonight he had chosen to do a new nawa-tsuri to hang her from the ceiling and cast her in a different motif. Her thin body was spread before him as if she were a dancer in open-leg kaikyaku attempting to touch her toes midair. Her long buttery-blonde curls he had tied up into a dozen plaits with his strings. Her tiny breasts he had bound simply. Her corded arms he had extended out, each finger separated by his careful knitting of jute. His strongest weave held her buttocks, providing her body the support to hang midair. Her thighs splayed wide, her dewy, flowering sakuranbu open to his view and their audience of appreciative observers.

  His knuckles brushed her labia as he secured this last knot from her anus to press against her vulva and rub her clit. Her distended cherry—her pussy—truly was beautiful, flawless in succulent ruby. Swollen and glistening with her cream, her clit protruded from her heavy lips. Each time he had bound her before, she had been a worthy sub. She had shown her reverence for his artistry by her stoic trance, her hardening nipples, quivering stomach and a constantly flowing cunt. In fact, she had presented him with such luscious appreciation for his skills that in a few blind moments of flow he might have ended his deliberation about her and named her his perfect partner. After all, sublime mating came with time and trust and experience.

  For a moment, he closed his eyes to offer up a silent mantra that this time she would fulfill the perfect ending to their exhibit. He prayed that when he placed his mouth to her wet core to grant her the release she had labored so diligently to offer him that she would not groan and destroy his concentration.

  He opened his eyes, ready to continue when a blaze of color danced in his peripheral vision. He blinked, forcing back the world and taming his will. Annoyed at this distraction, he criticized himself for his negligence to his art and his subject. He narrowed his attention on his jujun’s bare skin. Her pussy, musky with need for his touch and rosy in invitation to his tongue and teeth, beckoned. But green, blue, red and tempting ivory flickered on his right.

  He winced.

  Do not look. Do not consider the kaleidoscope.

  But curiosity ate at his mind. Anger, dark and disturbing, welled up that he could be sidetracked. Instinct mixed with outrage and made him turn to glower and search beyond the klieg lights down into the floor of the audience.

  And there stood a butterfly.

  Regal, glorious in her rainbow of color.

  Inhale. Ignore her.

  His body could not obey.

  Tall, with long auburn hair, a gorgeous creature gazed up at him. She had voluptuous breasts dotted at the nipples with emerald sequins and sapphire shorts that cuppe
d her shapely hips. Covering her face but not disguising who she was, she wore a half mask of whimsy. Feathers and fake jewels, sequins and pearls in a riot of hues concealed her forehead but revealed the rounded beauty of her clear blue eyes.

  Ethereal, she was also earthy. Bold enough to stand there and lose herself. Shocked enough at the sight of him to remain motionless and distract him. Yet so fragile, so open in her admiration that he could stoop down and capture her and somehow he knew she would not protest. A dazzling butterfly. Cho. The Japanese word floated across his consciousness.

  The jute slipped through his fingers. Just in time, he caught it and held fast. Fury stirred blacker in his guts. Desire brighter in his cock.

  He stared at her. Knowing who she was.

  Known by her for what he was? Of course. She would recognize him. She would remember him as the mayor here. Now she saw him as Turner-san, the rope master. This man wore only a black leather half mask and loose hakama trousers.

  And did he also wear his desire for her? This butterfly?

  His cock strained higher, harder. His thin cotton garment would display his reaction.

  Yes. She knew him as Case Turner. And now she would know him as a nawashi. In both personas, he was hot to have her.

  His audience murmured, rustling in impatience. Later, he vowed to himself and her, we will talk. I will learn why you are here.

  He tore his gaze from the ravishing sight. He must continue and grant his jujun the orgasm her devotion merited.

  He faced his sub and frowned. She paled in comparison to this other vibrant being.

  Grasping her under her buttocks, he continued to weave the matanawa knot that rolled back her labia and displayed her swollen nub. With a fervent appeal to his inner self to form this last knot with skill and speed, he finished all too quickly. He stood aside and allowed his audience to admire his artistry.

  Most in the crowd bowed to him. A smattering applauded.

  Staring into the lights, he dared not seek out Cho. Attraction to her had already cut into his inner self. He could not allow her further inside too soon or too easily.

  He bowed to his audience, hating his eagerness to bringing his jujun to fulfillment. He could not disappoint her, fail her or frustrate her.

  But his spirit was no longer in this. His seishin had fled elsewhere. To his dismay, it now enfolded a woman he barely knew. But needed to.

  Facing his jujun once more, he placed his lips on her inner thigh, a reverence that was a hollow act. Doing the same to her other thigh, he considered her pussy. She was red, dripping and hot. Could he lavish her with the praise of his lips and tongue? Lave her labia. Nibble her cherry. Spear her core. Could he gratify her with less than what she deserved? His fingers, perhaps?

  No. He bristled.

  His jujun had served him well tonight. The butterfly had torn the fabric of his concentration. He owed himself a completed if not perfect practice and he owed his audience their ultimate joy.

  Only after he had completed his duty to his jujun would he shed this manifestation, become Case Turner and find Samantha Marlowe. Then he would turn his full attention to learning why she had come here. Why she unnerved him.

  And how she made him want her for his own.

  Chapter One

  Case Turner whipped his gaze from the far corner of the reception hall and the redhead who ate up his concentration.

  He controlled every aspect of his life, didn’t he? His ranch, his corporate empire, his playtime and his partners. So if he couldn’t control his brain, he could certainly control his eyes. Not allow them to drift to the corner and appreciate every damn laugh and gesture of the female who had refused him her company in the Bravado Club Wednesday night. He didn’t need unwilling partners.

  He winced, angry with himself for his lapse of willpower.

  Get with the program here, Turner!

  “How are you?” He smiled at the next person in the receiving line, focusing his attention to his job as mayor. He shook hands, easy as could be, with the townsfolk who’d turned out tonight for the opening of the Bravado County rodeo.

  “Howdy. Good to have you. Hey there, glad you came out,” he greeted this one and that as the crowd pushed through to hear the country and western band on the platform. The annual Memorial Day weekend event had brought in more each year from nearby San Antonio and Austin to cheer on finalists before next month’s statewide competition. The crowd tonight could easily top last year’s attendance record.

  “I have a little something for your campaign, Case.” Breanna Masters winked, waved a check at him and dropped it in his tall silver boot as she passed though his receiving line.

  “Thanks, Bree.” He gave the lady a kiss on the cheek. Tonight’s kickoff was Case’s way to put a public face on his reelection campaign for mayor. Running for political office in Texas was like breaking a wild mustang, but the Turners had done it back five generations. Won everything they tried their hand to. Ranching. Grocery stores. Cards. Women. Lots of women.

  Case was no exception.

  But one woman was.

  Case trained his gaze on the drool-worthy woman who stood in the far corner of the hall laughing with his buddy Joel Winthrop. So far, curvy Samantha Marlowe had not trotted over to shake his hand.

  She had not so much as turned her baby blues in his direction.

  Her reticence felt like a stick in his eye.

  And fire to his cock.

  He was not used to being avoided. Or refused. Not by any woman. But especially not by one who showed up nearly naked in the Bravado Dom club and whetted his appetite for her. But she had strutted into the private club night before last in her brief brazen outfit and done something no woman had ever done. She had destroyed his focus in the midst of his shibari exhibit. Ruined his last suspension knot. Displeased him. Captured him.

  And few women did.

  He did not find that many women so appealing that he wanted to play with them at first sight. And when he did see one, truth was, he usually got a willing sub. A woman who knew precisely why she was in a Dom club. Someone eager to trust her body to his skills.

  But then, just as Samantha had recognized him behind his black leather mask, he had seen who she was behind the elaborate winged one. The auburn curls, the clear blue eyes. Who could mistake her?

  Not he.

  Yes, he had stared. What man with breath in his body wouldn’t want to put a collar around her elegant neck and keep her? Who wouldn’t want to strip the sequined green pasties from her heavy upturned nipples? Hell. Not even a dead man would fail to notice her. The firm hips encased in brilliant blue latex. Or the long legs, bare, flawless and shapely down to her bright-red painted toenails and the killer red stilettos. Contrasted in rope, she would be exquisite to contemplate. To arouse and satisfy.

  Case shifted, fuming at himself for mooning like a kid. He had vowed early in life to capitalize on what life gave him, take what was offered and never regret what did not come his way.

  If Samantha Marlowe was one to walk away, he had other prospects.

  He ground his teeth. Still, he had to deal with her. Not just tonight but in city council meetings and over in Austin at hearings for the state water commission.

  She might not want to play with him after hours, but she damn well had to listen to him during the day. She had driven into town last Monday to investigate the county’s request for an increase in water allotment from the Colorado River Authority. He vowed he’d be in her face with all the information she needed to make a decision in the city’s and county’s favor.

  Soon, darlin’. You’re with me every day whether you like me or not.

  “Hello, Case!” Jed MacRae, oldest of three brothers on whose land the Bravado Club stood, clamped his hand good and tight. “Nice doings. Great crowd.”

  Jed’s new bride Cara reached up on her toes to give Case a peck on the cheek. “Hope you do your trick to open the night’s entertainment soon, Case. It’s only six and I fear they h
ave a snootful already.”

  “No worries.” Case tipped his head toward the local sheriff. “Wade Saxon and his posse are lining Main Street, ready to write tickets.”

  “The sheriff sure knows there’s more than one way to make a buck,” Jed’s younger brother Harry said as he pumped his hand.

  “We have special needs here in Bravado,” he told Harry as the third MacRae brother, Will, stepped forward to bid Case hello.

  “Tell me about it,” Will added. “Joel Winthrop just told me ticket sales for the weekend are over eight thousand. Good thing the city and county councils funded that bigger grandstand last fall.”

  “Don’t I know,” Case told Will. All three men claimed Cara as their wife and the family typified the challenges here in prosperous Bravado County. More men than women. The MacRaes had seen what a gem Cara was as soon as she’d moved back to town last year. A slinky blonde with a desire for a quiet Texas life, Cara had opened her own lingerie shop on Main Street while showing a rare and risqué talent for balancing the desires of the three hard-driving cowboys. The MacRaes had romanced and married her before any of the other Bravado men could get any bright ideas.

  “My biggest challenge at the moment,” Case said with a roll of his eyes toward the luscious Ms. Marlowe, “is to get the water rights settled.”

  “Looks like Joel might be making a few points for us with the visiting official,” Jed observed.

  “Making hay, you mean,” Harry snorted.

  Case suppressed the impulse to look over at the two.

  “I talked with Miz Marlowe a bit the other day.” Will shook his head. “Our drought last year seems not to make much difference to her.”

  “Now, guys,” Cara admonished. “Give her a chance to get to know us.”

  Maybe the lady lawyer has already made up her mind. “I’m doing my part.”

  Cara widened her eyes at Case. “Seems like a cool cookie, doesn’t she? Confident and—”

  “You’ve met her?”