Tie Me Down: 2 (Knights in Black Leather)

by Cerise DeLand

  “More than.” Cara nodded, shaking back her long blonde hair in laughter. “We talked. In my shop. She bought a little something.”

  At her tone, Case’s brows shot up. Cara imported the finest French and Italian lingerie to sell in Knickers, but a month ago, she had expanded, adding a back room filled with even more exotic goods. Cara carried everything from chains and rings to heavy floggers and delicate Spanish whips. She even stocked erotic jewelry for a woman’s most intimate folds.

  But why would a woman in town for a high-profile issue like water distribution walk into a Dom club easy as could be? The question had plagued him like a bad rash. Miz River Authority Marlowe had to know there might be consequences. Not that anyone in the club would talk outside it. Not that anyone would use the knowledge against her. Still, her action was odd. Bold. Bore explanation. “So tell me, Cara. What’s her pleasure?”

  She wiggled her brows at Case. “Not certain. She didn’t tell me and, keeping to the rules, I didn’t ask. But she made a pretty picture the other night, don’t you think?”

  He frowned. That’s my problem. Since I clamped eyes on her generous curves, I’ve gone brain dead. Angry at her, wanting to claim her, he had no clear mind for anything. “Pretty? Not even close.”

  “Turner,” Harry chided him. “We breed bulls at our ranch. We recognize red-hot testosterone from miles away.”

  Case accepted the statement with good grace. “So did you dress her, Cara?” He had to know. Was Marlowe a novice? If so, he would kick himself. Mistaking a greenhorn for a person in the lifestyle was an error he did not make. Ever.

  “Only sold her a bracelet.”

  Case had seen one on her wrist. A flash of black leather. The rest of her healthy body had provided too arresting a playground to spend much time figuring out if the bracelet had a lock. If she had a master. If he himself had a chance to claim her. Enjoy her.

  Cara rattled on about Samantha’s visit to Knickers and he listened intently. “She said she had lost her bracelet and needed a new one. It was a birthday present to herself.”

  “Birthday, huh? When?” He thought it as good an excuse as any for a sub to buy herself her own marker.

  “That was all I learned. Next thing I knew I saw her at the club Wednesday night as Jed and Will helped me down from our couch.” Cara and her three husbands had put on a tableau of the four of them together. Their family offering was a light bondage display with Cara tied to a specially designed couch, enabling her to serve all three of her men at once. If Case ever needed a sexual rush to complement his shibari mastery, watching Cara satisfy her three lovers was his drug of choice. “She certainly was a beautiful blur of color.”

  A butterfly. Her clear blue eyes had drawn him like magnets as she stared at him in the last few minutes of his performance for the evening. She had distracted him. Destroyed his concentration. That’s when he ruined the beauty of the last knot. Case Turner, wonder of wonders, enthralled by a butterfly sub.

  He had ended the exhibit quickly. Too quickly to give his jujun proper homage for her service. His sub, who usually came in huge waves of delight with him, had enjoyed only a brief ripple of relief after the hours of her bondage. He had seen her dejection in her slack posture, though true to her nature, she had not voiced her hope for a more powerful reward. But Case could not leave her fast enough to get to the tall, Rubenesque beauty whose plush body made him hungry. Weak. Outraged that he could want to strip her there, tie her to him then and bind her up, helpless to his fingers and his tongue and his cock.

  Such rapture was not normal for a man who took everything he wanted. Without question or fear of refusal.

  Yet the butterfly had refused to play with him. Right then and there in the club she had told him no. Even after they talked for a few minutes at the bar. After he had told her he knew who she was. That she was safe here. With him. Even up in his ropes, he assured her she would not suffer harm.

  When her thick lashes had fluttered in confusion and she’d asked for an explanation, Case realized she was not very familiar with kinbaku, the erotic rope bondage of shibari. Whatever delight she had come to the Bravado Club for remained her secret. But her colorful outfit had stunned him, churned his gut and intrigued him. Most subs he’d met favored the insignificance of black or nothing at all. Her rainbow of color had dazzled him. Cho, he had called her and explained the name. Though she said she was honored, she had visibly palpitated not merely with desire but with distress. She had wanted to fly away from him.

  “Earth to Case. I see wheels turning in your head.” Harry narrowed his eyes at him. “What’s the matter?”

  “She did seem skittish that night,” Case murmured. Why had she even gone there if she was not ready to participate? A new club might cause a sub some initial concern. But entering a new club in a town where she would have to deal as a professional on a controversial issue could trump the simpler issue. He turned to Cara. “Did she tell you if she’d been playing for any length of time?”

  She shook her head. “I got the impression she was forcing herself to go. She seemed torn despite the rule of anonymity. I told her that only a few members came out on weeknights.”

  And lo and behold, she went and there I was. The one man in town she had argued with twice before. Once in Austin three months ago. Once Wednesday morning.

  Jed, Harry and Will frowned at their wife.

  “Who told her about the club?” Jed wondered.

  “Had to be someone in town,” Harry observed.

  “Cara?” Will prompted her.

  “Of course it was. Joel told her. He had met her at a club in Austin. When he saw her here in town Tuesday at the Chamber of Commerce luncheon, he asked her back to his office and evidently they had a long conversation.”

  Case bristled. Is that all Joel had with her?

  Hell, Turner. Jealousy does not become you, man. Not with Joel, for certain. You and he have enjoyed too many threesomes for you to get proprietary. And just who is she that she strikes this chord in you? No one. Just a butterfly.

  Cara squeezed Case’s arm and lowered her voice so passersby wouldn’t hear. “Look, guys. She may be here to represent the River Authority, but she’s a person too. If she came to me requesting a new bracelet, then she has experience in the lifestyle. Stop worrying.”

  Will agreed.

  Jed said, “I dunno.”

  Case had to see where this went. “Did she say if she had a lock for the bracelet?”

  “No. And I didn’t ask either. The shop was very busy and a long private conversation impossible.”

  “Thanks for the info, Cara.” In his peripheral vision, he could see the lady in question walking toward him. “And now’s the time to learn more.”

  The four MacRaes took that as their cue to begin their exit to the dance floor.

  “Eager to see your intro.” Will slapped Case on the back.

  Case got a bright idea about how to make it a special one too. Maybe learn a thing or two about a certain luscious redhead. “I aim to astonish you all tonight!”

  “Aw hell,” Jed moaned as he took Cara’s arm. “I know what that means.”

  She looked from Jed to Will to Harry. “What?”

  None of the men held back their laughter.

  Case grinned, reaching for his lasso coiled up on the bench behind him. “I do the welcome on opening night each year. And choose one lucky lady to work it with me.”

  “Oh? Really?” Cara checked each man’s deadpan face. “How?”

  “I have a few tricks.”

  Cara stood a moment, her eyes drifting down to the rope that Case held in one hand. “Not shibari. Certainly not in the rodeo.”

  “Come on, darlin’,” Harry took his wife’s other arm, trying to suppress a chuckle. “It’s fine. Honest. Case’s daddy was the national champion at trick roping.”

  “Is that so?” she asked, a smile dawning on her lovely lips.

  “Sure is,” Harry said.

  “And
I suppose his daddy taught him a little bit about that?”

  “Enough to make us all gasp, darlin’. Come on, let’s get ourselves a good spot near the bandstand.”

  “Hello again.” Sam thrust out her hand to Case Turner, a wide smile on her face and nothing in her eyes, she prayed, but normal civilized friendliness.

  His calloused hand engulfed hers. His was too big, too warm, too strong for the indifference she wanted to feel when she touched him. “Glad you came. Good for you to get to know the town to make a sound judgment.”

  “True. Joel has been helpful in that regard.” She kept to the professional tone as she turned to let Winthrop greet the man who was so broad in the shoulder, so blindingly blond that all light, all air in the room belonged only to him.

  “Has he? Hey, Joel. How’s it going?”

  “Wonderful. Sam and I were discussing how the town has come alive for the rodeo.”

  “Every bed and breakfast booked. Even the hotels down in San Antonio claim a full house this weekend because of us,” Case told them.

  Sam shivered as Case’s sandpaper baritone brushed her skin with tingling electricity. A few formal words in Austin. A few harsh words Wednesday morning. More than a few surprising words they’d shared Wednesday night in the Dom club. The sound of his voice, the way his lips formed words, the way his teeth flashed when he laughed worked together to fill her with an odd comfort. And a disturbing desire. She prayed none of that showed in her eyes as they ate him up.

  She stood motionless, a prisoner to her inner combat, while the two men discussed heaven knew what.

  “So what do you say?” Case was asking her, his lips hitched up to one side in a grin that would tempt a nun.

  “To what? Sorry. Not listening.” She waved a hand toward the crowd, pretending fascination. “I haven’t been to a rodeo in forever.”

  “Well, this one is special.” Case took her wrist then, his rough fingers around her like a band. Hell, what had she done by going to that club the other night and putting her reputation on the line? Now she had this man to deal with. Like this. Why hadn’t she stayed away from it? Going in there, seeing him touch that naked woman spread-eagle in the air had gutted her.

  From the moment she had set eyes on Case weeks ago, she had wanted his magnificent body as her own. Such a carnal sexual reaction to a stranger was titillating, exhilarating but rare, and her only coping mechanism was to stay far away, deal with him like a professional, a mere acquaintance. But then that night, to see him as a rope master tying knots against that woman’s pussy made her heart pound and her insides pulse.

  She wanted him for herself. His hands on her. His mouth on her. His arms around her. And she mustn’t have him. Not if she wanted to keep her independence from Dominants. Not if she wanted to keep her job. She should have never gone to that club.

  What in hell had happened to her instincts?

  Blown away, that’s what.

  “Not a problem. Just come,” Case told her, tugging her with him toward the bandstand, in the other hand one long coil of well-worn white rope.

  Rope.

  No. She halted, wishing her boots could grow roots down into the sawdust-covered wooden planks. He turned back to her, his dove-gray eyes a caress, his mouth pursed in a challenge she could not refuse.

  “You’ll enjoy this,” he commanded beneath his breath.

  Will I?

  How do you know?

  How do I?

  She had wondered if he was a Dominant since she’d met him at her office and been overwhelmed by his chi. He wore his energy like armor on his skin. And so in truth, she had been only vaguely surprised to see him onstage at the club, his sculpted chest bare, his loins in loose Japanese trousers, his massive hands deftly tying and loosing intricate knots on his submissive’s body.

  She had gone to the club to see if he was a member. To confirm her first impression of his nature. But had she gone as well to show her true self to him?

  And if she had, why had she run?

  You know.

  She was drawn to him the moment she met him months ago in the innocuous setting of a government office. At his overwhelming height, she stared. He dominated the room, his aura engulfing her as if she were tiny. At five eight and a size fourteen, she never thought of herself as a little woman. Absorbing his ridiculously blond, tanned macho good looks, she wanted only to remain still and silent, only to admire him as he moved and note the play of sinew and bone. When he spoke, his resonant voice invaded her self-imposed seclusion and made her want. Yearn to be near him.

  With the admission, she opened her mind to him and at once, she shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. Each particle rose up like iron shavings, cleaving to his magnificent molded body like negatives to one monolithic positive. His expressive gray eyes, his keen attentiveness to her every word signaled that he recognized what had happened to her. He had pressed for and gotten her agreement to come to Bravado to investigate the county’s appeal.

  “You. No one else,” he had declared.

  In that second, whether he was into the lifestyle or not, she would lay odds he ought to be. He had the power to be. If he did play, she didn’t care if he was into bondage or servitude, hot wax or knife play. But she vowed to learn. Even if she wasn’t ready to play with him. But oh she wanted to be.

  She had gone to the club the other night to learn if he was a regular. If she had ventured there also looking for release or renewal, she admitted to herself she was not ready to return to her old lifestyle. The moment she had recognized him behind his mask as a principal in her everyday life, she became conflicted. She vibrated with joy that he was a Dom, but he was a man with whom she must deal as an equal. And so she had refused his invitation to submit to him.

  “We have a rule here,” he had told her when she declined to let him bind her then or in the future. “You come, you play.”

  “I apologize then.” She had bowed her head in deference and risen from her barstool. “I should have asked at the door.” Then she had gotten her sorry ass out of there as though the wind was after her.

  For two days afterward, she had trembled and yearned for the moment when she’d meet him again. Maybe have his hands on her. Enjoy his touch. As she had when they had first met in the day-to-day world in Austin and argued about water.

  She swallowed her own naïve hope. She didn’t relate well to him on any level. Not as attorney Samantha Marlowe. Not as a sub either. She was neither this nor that. Suspended in midair. Cho, he had called her. A butterfly.

  She gave a loud snort. He had pegged her.

  Yet he hadn’t spurned her, but led her toward the bandstand.

  “You’ll enjoy this.” His words were as much an order to her as they were jovial assurance for those bystanders who could hear him. She followed, wishing to run again, knowing she couldn’t, wanting whatever he would grant her if only for tonight. “Trust me.”

  Chapter Two

  He curled an arm around her waist, drawing her flush to his side as he took the microphone and grinned at the audience. “Hello, Bravado!”

  The crowd stomped and cheered.

  Shaking her long red waves over her shoulder, the woman beside him beamed at the throng. Though she had balked at his insistence—and the rope—she could easily don a public face. This was the bright, sultry one that had captured his interest that first day he’d met her. A professional used to working with others in high-powered situations, she knew how to deal with challenges. He was here to help her. He was going to show her she could trust him. With a rope too, which spooked her. He smiled to himself, to her, to the crowd, summoning all his skill to lure her from her fear of ropes. His daddy hadn’t raised a klutz. He hugged her against him.

  It’s okay, Butterfly. Go with it.

  She did. Tipping her head to one side, she grinned up at him.

  “I’m Case Turner, the mayor hereabouts of Bravado City, and we’re honored to have you all come out for our annual rodeo. This year, we’
ve got the Texas state semifinals for team roping and bull riding, in addition to some of those other things we’re famous for. Tie-down competitions and barrel racing. But y’all know the one competition we are hands-down notorious for is trick ropin’. So tonight, to help me introduce you to the art is one of our newest visitors to Bravado.”

  Case raised Samantha’s arm in the air. She put a hand on her hip and posed this way and that, playing to the crowd. “This here is Miz Samantha Marlowe who hails from Austin, Texas. Miz Marlowe, say hello to Bravado.”

  She put that pretty mouth of hers close to the mic and offered the gathering a low, slow, “Howdy, Bravado!”

  He squeezed her fingers. Good girl. “Now Miz Marlowe says she has not been to a rodeo in a long time. So I thought you’d help me get her comfortable. Whaddaya say?”

  From the hometown folks who had heard his line of rodeo BS, Case got what he intended. A din of shouts and hoots and hollers of their favorite tricks.

  “Wedding ring! Wedding ring!” Joel Turner yelled along with others.

  “Texas skip,” shouted a few teenage boys from the back. Others chimed in with more.

  “All right then.” Case put a hand up to quiet them down. “Miz Marlowe, will you do me the honor to step down right there?” He pointed to the center of the dance floor right in front of him.

  “No, Case.” She turned to whisper to him, her body gone stiff as a corpse.

  “You’ll be fine, honey.”

  “No.” She stepped backward but he caught her.

  “Yes,” he commanded. “Help her down, will you, Mr. Winthrop?” Case bored his gaze into Joel’s and handed her off to him.

  As he watched Joel assist her down the steps to the floor, Case saw her complexion go to chalk. Christ, honey, you won’t get hurt.

  When she was in position and Joel stepped back a few paces to leave her in the center of the floor, Case began to uncoil the end of his rope. “Folks, now let me just tell you a bit about the people who will be here this weekend.” He started to circle the rope over his head.

  Samantha’s blue eyes widened, the twirl of his rope mesmerizing her, her body as still as stone. Hold steady there, darlin’, while I do this.