Her reddened eyes widened as she took him in, her mournful expression replaced by the mixed emotions of fear and anger.
“What are—” she started.
The manager appeared in the doorway. “I’m sorry. He slipped by me while I was talking to Alan.”
She waved him off. “It’s okay, Dan. We’re good.” She got to her feet as he walked away. “Hello.”
“We had an appointment,” Oliver growled.
Veronica swept her arm over the scattered paperwork. “I’m a bit busy here. I’ve spent the day telling people they’re about to lose their jobs.” She sniffled. “So if you’ll excuse me—”
He cut off her sentence by moving around the desk and taking hold of the back of her neck. Oliver tilted her head up so he could look at her directly.
“No. I will not excuse you. Let’s go.”
The dazed and confused stare stoked his passion even as it annoyed him.
“What?” Veronica whispered.
He intensified his grip, feeling the tension in her muscles. “I’ll give you two choices. Either you walk out of here beside me right now of your own free will, or I drag you out kicking and screaming in front of your staff and customers.” He paused just long enough for her to analyze the choices. “Get your jacket and purse, and let’s go.”
Oliver saw the war in her eyes, the need to stay and fulfill her business duties fighting with her desperate desire to do something, anything to relieve the pressure she’d put herself under.
She blinked, and he knew he’d won.
“Okay.”
The whispered response shot right to his groin.
He released her, and she pulled the leather jacket off the back of her office chair. Her hands shook as she struggled to put it on.
It took all his self-control to stand and watch.
Oliver wanted nothing more to kiss her, bend her to her knees and slam the office door shut, put her on the desk and devour her whole, release the tension between them with an earth-shattering lovemaking session.
Instead, he ground his teeth together and waited for her to dress.
As soon as her jacket settled on her taut shoulders, he handed her the purse.
She slung it over her shoulder and hesitated, unsure what to do next.
He took her hand and headed for the door, keeping a quick pace.
Veronica stumbled along behind him, cursing like a sailor as he brushed by the surprised staff and customers.
Dan gave them a wave and a knowing nod as Oliver pulled her outside.
Good man, Oliver thought. But you’ve no idea what I’m going to do to your boss.
He pushed her into the waiting car with one last thought.
I’m not sure I do either.
She couldn’t believe he’d walked into her office and, for all intents and purposes, kidnapped her.
She couldn’t believe she’d let him.
“Where is your collar?” he snapped as the car lunged forward.
“What?”
“Your collar,” he repeated. “You took it with you last week. Where is it?”
Veronica dug in her purse and found the slim leather strap. She pulled it out and showed it to him.
“Put it on.”
She hesitated. “But we’re not—”
Oliver leaned in, dangerously close. “Either you put it on, or I will put it on and rip those clothes off you right here, right now. You will walk into my house as naked as the day you were born wearing nothing but that collar after I forcibly buckle it up, and I will make you pay for making me do it. Your choice.” His breath was hot and smelled of coffee, pulling the resistance out of her soul.
She fumbled with the collar and got it buckled up, aware of him watching her every move.
“Good.” He looked outside. “We’re almost home.”
“I—” She struggled to find the words, her world spinning around her. “I couldn’t see you today. I’m sorry.”
Oliver twisted to stare at her, and she was trapped, locked in his glare. “You spent the day giving people pink slips. Correct?”
“Yes. We’re closing in a week and a half.” She spat out the words. “I’ve been busy doing the right thing for my employees. Taking care of them.”
“Good. Now it’s time for me to take care of you.” The car came to a stop, and he flung the door open. “Follow me.”
She stumbled out of the car and into his house, barely aware of what she was doing. All she could feel was the leather scratching into her neck and the burning desire to find out what she had brought down on herself by her actions.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” she choked out as they entered the familiar room.
“I’m sorry too.” He tossed his coat in a jumble on the floor and began to unbutton his shirt. “Because you put me to a lot of work, and I didn’t appreciate it.”
Veronica shucked off her own jacket and dropped her purse on the floor, the nervous tremble of desire building in her core. Suddenly, the café seemed far, far away, the men and women under her control a tiny dot in her ever-expanding universe.
Oliver pulled his shirt off, tearing the buttons loose. “Get naked. Now.”
The tone of his voice left no room for discussion. She did so, neatly stacking her clothing in a pile. Soon she only wore her collar.
“Position four.” The command sent her to the floor in a rush.
Veronica stared at the thick shag carpet, tears pricking her eyes.
“What are you thinking?” Booted feet appeared in her range of vision, standing strong and tall over her.
“I’m sorry for letting you down. I just—” She gasped. “I just couldn’t deal with this in the middle of everything else.”
“Do you remember anything I said the last time we were together?”
“I—” Veronica drew a blank. “I don’t know.”
His hand landed on the back of her neck and pressed the buckle into her skin. “I spend all that time with you, and you don’t remember?”
He sounds—hurt.
Is that even allowed?
She swallowed. “I’m sorry. I was upset that day.”
“Because you got kicked in the balls by your father.” He paced around her. “I get how that feels. But that was last week and I explained to you the importance of you being here. Instead you blew me off like a blind date you didn’t have the guts to call and at least try to lie to. Left me hanging as if I had nothing better to do than sit around and wait for you to award me with your presence.”
Ouch.
He’s right.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated.
“Sorry doesn’t cut it. Not this time.” He moved back into sight. “Get up.”
She stumbled to her feet, acutely aware of her nudity.
Oliver stepped in front of her. “I have to confess. I lied to you.”
Veronica raised an eyebrow but stayed silent.
It seemed like the best move.
“I told you this was my playroom. It’s not. Not totally—” He walked to the bookshelves and pushed a trio of hardcover books to one side. “It’s the entrance.”
The secret door swung open, the loose books shifting on the shelves as it settled.
“Follow me.” He walked into the adjoining room without looking behind him.
She pursued him without hesitation, caught up in her own curiosity.
Oliver stopped and reached out to hit the light switch. The room flared to life around her.
Oh. My. God.
She’d seen some nice rooms at the clubs, but this—this was far beyond anything she’d even imagined.
The whipping post in the corner was made of solid oak, the varnish gleaming under the fluorescent lights. A spanking bench to one side was made of the same strong wood, the leathe
r pads ready and waiting to lift her into a vulnerable position for punishment.
He touched another switch, and a metal bar began to come down from the ceiling, the leather cuffs at each end open and waiting.
Veronica couldn’t take her eyes off the shiny metal spreader.
Oh, girl.
You went and did it this time.
“Get over here.” He pointed at the carpeted floor right under the bar.
She did so, pushing down the fear in her gut.
Veronica dared to look at him directly.
His breathing was strained and his face flushed.
She frowned.
Something’s wrong with him.
With us.
Chai.
The safe-word hovered on her lips, but she hesitated.
Oliver grunted. “I’m not a complicated Dom, but what I do, I do well. And whipping is one of them.” He took her right wrist and held it up over her head to fasten the cuff around it. “I’m not going to gag you. If you want to scream, scream. I’ve told the staff to take the night off so no one will hear you.”
She tensed up as he worked on the buckle, securing it tight against her skin.
“You know how this works. You’ve whipped others before.”
It wasn’t presented to her as a question.
Veronica nodded.
“They usually safe-word out before too long. Why do you think that is?”
She felt the world slipping out from under her as her other hand went into the cuff, stretching her out.
“I pushed them too far.”
It was a safe answer, an honest answer.
His disapproving frown startled her.
Not the one you wanted.
Her stomach sank, the fear of displeasing him taking over her thoughts.
“I—” She watched him return to the switch on the wall.
The bar rose slowly and stopped, her arms fully outstretched. Her feet were on the floor but barely, her toes brushing the red carpet.
“I don’t know,” she admitted.
Oliver opened a cupboard to display a series of floggers.
Veronica couldn’t help but be impressed by the variety.
Leather, plastic, furred—all neatly hung up and waiting.
He pulled down a black leather slapper, the rectangular shape coming to a pointed end.
“You couldn’t sympathize with them. You had no idea how far you were pushing them into subspace. You pushed them so far, they raced right through and popped out the other side.” He held the flogger in front of her. “Last week, you went into subspace.”
“Yes.” She felt the anticipatory sweat break out on her forehead at the memory, the need pulling her toward him. It was matched by the delicious desire curling in her core, the tension of the past few days stretching her out too thin.
“Let’s put you in there again. Remember your safe-word?”
“Chai,” she replied.
“Good.” He slapped the palm of his hand with the leather strap. “Last week, I went light on you. Today I’m annoyed with you, and we don’t have a lot of time left together. One more session after this, and we’re done.” Oliver stepped in and kissed her cheek, startling her with the soft brush of his lips, the stubble rasping over her skin. “Please let me help you.”
“Please let me help you,” she repeated back to him and saw his eyes widen.
This isn’t so much about me anymore, she said silently. It’s all about us.
Oliver moved behind her, and she tensed up, waiting for the first blow.
The sting on her shoulders spread warmth over her entire body, both pain and pleasure. The second and third followed with a hypnotic rhythm, drawing her deep into the sensations, the sounds, the scent of her own arousal and of the man behind her.
She let out her breath in a long sigh as he continued to work her over, leaving no inch of her back untouched.
Yes.
He hadn’t been in here since Mel’s death.
That wasn’t quite accurate. He’d come in to dust, to maintain the equipment because he wanted to keep their sanctuary their own, a shrine to what they’d had.
When he’d gone to the café, he hadn’t thought about bringing Veronica in here. All he could think of, all he wanted was to drag her back to his home and help her release the tension and stress he saw tearing her apart.
Tearing him apart.
Upon entering the outer room, Oliver had known it wouldn’t be enough, the environment not what he wanted or needed for this.
She deserved more.
So he’d gone over to the door and opened it, let her in where no other woman had ever gone for so long.
Veronica.
My Roni.
Oliver focused on the task at hand, drawing his arm back again to land another blow.
Her skin blossomed under the leather, the scarlet spreading over her back and shoulders as if he were holding a paintbrush instead of a flogger.
His decision not to blindfold her was on purpose. He wanted her to have her eyes wide open, to see the room around her for what it was and what he was doing to her, what she was letting him do to her.
What she was giving him.
The low moans and gasps coming from her open mouth only served to fuel him, feed his need as he continued to work her over. He’d hesitate every few minutes to give her a bit of relief, let her recover enough to keep going.
Sweat dotted his chest as he continued to strap her, his arms aching. He’d done something like this with the others, but never in here, never with anyone but Mel.
Roni.
He listened hard for her safe-word and heard nothing.
Oliver shifted down to her bottom and legs, noting with pleasure the moisture appearing between her thighs; the ultimate evidence and reward of his hard work.
Yes.
He felt himself retreating into that special place in his own mind, accepting her gift and pulling it into himself, into where there’d only been one woman.
Melissa.
The image morphed, reshaped into another familiar face.
Veronica.
Oliver caught himself, the shock dragging him out of his euphoria.
He stumbled backward away from her.
He bent over and put his hands on his knees, gasping for air.
“Oliver?”
The whisper echoed around the silent room.
“Oliver?” The single word was tinged with fear and concern.
Roni.
He wiped his forehead with his arm and walked around to face her.
Veronica leaned her head to one side, her eyes wide and soft. She hung limp in the cuffs, the spreader bar keeping her from pulling her hands together.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“No.” He forced the word out. “No I’m not.”
He reached up and undid one cuff with shaking fingers, avoiding her gaze.
Her hand came down to her side, and he moved to the other, fumbling with the buckles. Finally, he put her other hand down by her side and swallowed hard, staring at the carpet.
“I’m sorry. You’re free to go.”
She rolled her shoulders before reaching up and stroking his cheek with one finger. “No. Sir.”
Veronica wasn’t sure what was going on, but she knew one thing.
She wasn’t going to walk away and leave Oliver like this.
He slipped to his knees, ragged deep breaths escaping as he stared at the floor in an ironic reversal.
He was breaking down, and she had no idea why.
She knelt in front of him. Her arms ached and the raging need in her soul was overwhelming, unlike anything she’d had before as a Domme or a submissive.
The desire was tempered by the need to h
elp, to console the man in front of her.
Veronica looked around the room, trying to find what had hurt him, what had set him off the road they’d chosen together and then stopped him in his tracks.
What had triggered his actions and reactions.
The light sheen of dust on the spanking bench. The near-perfect polish on the post.
This room hasn’t been used for weeks, maybe months. Maybe years.
Not since his wife died.
She put it all together.
She drew him into her arms, their sweat mingling as she hugged him. Her arms ached, but the pain wasn’t intolerable.
“I’m the first one in here since she left, aren’t I?”
He nodded into her neck.
“Thank you.” Veronica kissed his cheek. “I’m one lucky lady. As she was.”
Oliver let out a long ragged sigh. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Letting you down.” He sat up and cupped her face in both hands. “I saw you were getting into it. I was too. But it was too much for me, too much like—” His gaze dropped away and he shook his head. “I was wrong to bring you in here.”
“No. You were right. It was your decision, and you made it.” She covered his hands with her own and smiled. “You’re the Master.”
My Master.
The unspoken words hung in the air between them.
He drew her forward into a deep, hot kiss.
She sighed and pulled him down to the ground, her hands roaming over his bare chest.
Chapter Sixteen
He couldn’t get enough of her.
He gripped the back of her neck and devoured her mouth, plunging his tongue inside as he shifted his hips to rub against her wet center, his leather pants dangerously close to being ruined on a number of fronts.
Here. Now.
She wasn’t lying back and being compliant either. Her hands ran down to his hips and around his waist to fumble with the button and zipper holding his pants closed, her fingernails scratching his bare torso.
Oliver couldn’t help letting out a groan when her fingers slipped inside and took hold of him, her soft but strong touch almost enough to set him off with a single stroke.
Two can play at that.
It took all of his concentration, but he forced himself to let go of that luscious back with one hand and concentrate on the rest of the naked woman beside him even as he continued to nip and kiss those delicious lips.
Strictly Pleasure: Hooded Pleasures, Book 2 Page 20