Her conundrum of a career bound her up and teased her, in its own way, more thoroughly than Master Andre ever could.
As she heard herself explaining it to White, she felt a measure of self-directed contempt. What a complainer she was. No doubt she made more money than the friendly black woman, and her job had to be less stressful than a police dispatcher’s. She made herself shut up.
But White surprised her. “Well, of course you need time off; being a workaholic’s no fun. Got to go places and have fun, or maybe just sit home staring at a TV or reading a book. They’re called mental-health breaks.” She laughed. “As you can see, I don’t get nearly enough of ’em.”
Nora smiled, genuinely liking the other woman, but her words inflicted doubt: did Ryan have a point? Was she a workaholic, her priorities in need of a shake-up? She’d condemned him for what he’d done, and he’d accepted his penance. Even in the face of her letting Master Andre strip and penetrate her with a butt plug, he was still subjecting himself to discomfort and imprisonment. For her.
She didn’t exactly have the moral high ground.
Guilt resurfaced, flooding her tired body with just enough energy for her to straighten, determined. She’d set Ryan free from his imprisonment. They would discuss things. That was how normal people in relationships handled conflict.
A small headache started. “I should probably say good night.”
“Get lots of rest,” White approved. “We sleep in, here. There’s a late breakfast, informal buffet style, in case Sylvester didn’t tell you. You should really ask him for a tour of the place; tonight you got kind of waylaid, didn’t you?” Her eyes twinkled. “If I’m not mistaken, tomorrow looks like more of the same. You’re like a new toy, you know. They’re just getting started.”
“‘They’?” Nora felt a smile play at the corners of her mouth. She was a toy, was she?
“Master Andre for sure. Mage, from the looks of it. Mistress Kiana, if she’s feeling better. And maybe even Sylvester.” White frowned, played with an edge of pale rope at the neck of her dress. “You should be careful with him. He’s a heavy top.”
“Heavy top?” Nora stepped sideways, preparing to head downstairs. She had to let Ryan out of his cage and have a discussion, though she’d rather do nearly anything else.
White noticed her movement. “Yeah, get some sleep. Oh, don’t worry, really. I forget you’re a newbie: ‘heavy top’ means a rough dominant, even a little brutal. But maybe you’re up for that. Just…be aware of it, so you’re not surprised, is all.”
Nora felt warmed by the woman’s concern. “Thank you.”
White had begun to walk away, but paused when she heard Nora’s tone. “Hey, no problem, sweetie.” In a graceful and perfectly natural movement she enveloped Nora in a hug. “I’m glad you’re here. We all are! Good night, luv.” With a soft, grazing kiss on the cheek that traveled to the edge of Nora’s lips and lingered a few seconds too long to be purely platonic, White laughed again, leaving Nora with a bemused smile.
Alone in the enormous kitchen and living room area, Nora found the total silence unnerving. She made her way back to the stairs and down to the dungeon. She’d sort things out with Ryan. It was the right thing to do, she told herself.
But when she entered the room, still low lit from guttering candles and the dying fire, she found it silent as well.
The cage was empty. Ryan was gone.
7
When she again entered the kitchen, bright late-morning sunshine filtered through the tall forest of trees and dappled the clean slate-tile floor, granite counters, and carved wood cabinets.
Seeing Sylvester talking with Kitten as he assisted with dishwashing, Nora was glad she’d decided to shower and dress in clean jeans and a pretty top, rather than wear her comfortable flannel pajamas to breakfast. The owner of Twisted Wood and the service submissive both dressed casually, but had no hint of sloppiness about them: Sylvester with his all-black clothes that seemed so right on him, and Kitten with a short pink skirt and baby tee with rhinestones spelling, “Happiness in Slavery.”
Nora’s gaze kept returning to Sylvester. Even with his courteous domestic activity, he exuded a graceful masculinity that reminded her he was the man who’d captivated her from the day before. Her fantasy. The one who’d kissed her, and later, paddled and fondled her to orgasm.
It made it damn hard to know how to act around him.
“Nora.” His eyes seemed to pin her. “Good morning.”
She forced herself to approach, to be casual. “Hey, there. Hi, Kitten.”
“Good morning, Nora. I have waffles and berries and toast—with or without butter or jam—as well as an omelet. Oh, would you like some coffee?” The service submissive didn’t wait for her answer, but pulled a mug from the cabinet. She looked at Nora, appraising. “And a big glass of juice.” She retrieved a glass as well.
Nora nodded. She had to smile. “Do I look desiccated?”
“Like a thousand-year-old mummy,” Sylvester assured her with a wicked smile.
Nora tried to ignore the heat suffusing her face. She murmured, “Then I’d better take two.” She pulled up a stool and sat at the breakfast bar with a grimace at the quick, bright pain it caused her ass cheeks. She’d chosen the same stool she’d sat in the night before with White.
Which reminded her. “Where is White? And everyone else,” she added belatedly, blushing again. She should’ve probably asked after Ryan first. Or Master Andre. No doubt she’d bungled some sort of protocol again.
But Sylvester only poured batter into a waffle iron. Kitten handed her a steaming mug of coffee, and a moment later placed a tall glass of orange juice before her as well. “You anticipated Nora’s needs. Good job,” Sylvester told the service submissive in an approving tone. “Now get the bowl of fruit for me, the one I put in the fridge an hour ago with the strawberries.”
“I’m sorry if I’m late,” Nora began.
“You’re not.” His words allowed no doubt. “Black and White are still sleeping, Master Andre had his usual early morning bagel after watching the news, Little Peter is…” He looked at Kitten, inquiring.
“He’s taking care of Osmond and washing the toys.” Kitten danced from one foot to the other. “May I be excused? Mage said to attend him this morning.”
“You should have informed me of this initially, before committing to helping with breakfast. You can’t provide service in two places at once.” Sylvester’s reproof was mild, but Kitten wilted. “You’ve done well, other than that,” he added. “You are dismissed.”
Kitten ran.
“You’re just a big softie, aren’t you.” Nora grinned when he gave her an aloof glance. She’d seen the way the corners of his lips turned up for a split second.
“Here’s your waffle.” He dumped it on the plate Kitten had placed. “And berries. Drink your juice.”
“If I say ‘no,’ will you take a spatula to me?”
“Would you like me to, brat?” Now he did smile. Just a tiny one, and only momentarily, but she saw it. “You know what they say about brats—that’s a bottom who enjoys struggling against control, someone who’s always a challenging pain in the ass?”
“Um, no?” Nora forked waffle into her mouth. It was divine. More than made up for his calling her a brat.
“Some brats are only testing their dominant. Other brats have a desire to be conquered. Tamed.”
She swallowed despite a sudden bright flare of lust. Conquered and tamed. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than Sylvester conquering her. He played on her erotic sensibilities in a way she’d never known before. She closed her eyes for a moment in a long, savoring blink. Then asked him, “Are you my dominant, then?”
Sylvester didn’t answer her question. He disassembled the waffle-iron plates and placed them in the sink. Then, “I’ve never seen a vanilla take to BDSM as quickly as you did. Master Andre took you so far and so fast, you should still be sleeping it off.”
She replied, nonco
mmittal, “He seemed to know what he was doing.”
“He does. You’ve infatuated him. I can see why, of course, but you should know he’ll want to collar you.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Don’t get full of yourself. It’s the novice aspect of you he wants. The breaking of you.”
She pushed her empty plate away. Sylvester scooped it up and placed it in the sink.
“Breaking me. I’m not sure I like the sound of that.” At least with Master Andre.
Sylvester gazed at her as if he could read every thought in her mind. “I’d never place you, or anyone else, in a permanent collar.”
“Really?” She fingered the fading dents in her wrists where the restraints of the night before had dug into her flesh. Her butt cheeks still felt sore, but not in a bad way. “Why not?” Satisfied with good food and coffee, her belly felt content…but now the rest of her body had woken up. She wanted Sylvester. She wanted his body on hers, his touch, his rough handling. Badly. “Isn’t it strange for the dominant owner of a place like this to say he doesn’t want to collar anyone?” A horrible thought occurred to her. “You don’t want to be collared yourself?”
“Oh, no.”
She relaxed again, or as much as she could in his presence. The idea of such dominance and expertise, such controlled poise as Sylvester’s being brought low would have been appalling. She didn’t try to hide her relief. “Good.”
He looked at her with a knowing smile. His eyes were half lidded and dark. “To answer your question: the reason why I wouldn’t collar a slave for myself is I prefer a woman’s rebellion to cowed, obedient submission. I enjoy spirit.”
“So you can conquer and tame it?” She held her breath. Her body felt tingling and alive, her nipples hard as rocks. She wanted him to conquer her right now. She could use a little of his kind of taming. Or a lot.
Again, he sidestepped her question. “The dom/sub lifestyle isn’t for me.” He intercepted her look. “Lifestylers don’t just role-play, they adopt the master and slave dynamic in every part of their lives. Being a master becomes integral to their personalities rather than just a game. Collared means twenty-four/seven. Some lifestylers don’t even use safe words.” He frowned, then shrugged. “It works for some people, and that’s great. I have…different interests.”
“Such as?”
“We can discuss that another time.”
Exasperating man. Her blood sang in her veins, mingled irritation and lust. Sylvester only tossed back his juice and strode to the sink once more. He moved like a panther. His body, in those black jeans and frame-hugging shirt, redefined masculinity for her then and there. His deliberate movement of simply washing out a glass riveted her. Paired with a body that looked strong and capable enough to engage with any challenger and come out on top, he made a mesmerizing package. Plus his voice. And his ideas. And his intensity. Everything about him drew her with one hand while warning her off with the other.
Irresistible.
She wanted him. No, that was too mild of a word. She craved him, his punishing kiss, his particular brand of handling.
Unless she was mistaken, Sylvester craved her, too.
She was about to suggest the conquer-and-tame idea to him in no uncertain terms, but just then there was a terrified scream.
“That was outside,” Sylvester said, already running to the deck.
Nora followed. “It sounded like…”
Sylvester slid the glass door open with enough force to make it bounce partway back, then cursed when he reached the railing and looked down.
Nora had guessed the screamer’s identity, but when she saw what was in the clearing at the front of the house, she gasped.
A large bear batted a doghouse back and forth with its clawed paws. Within, Ryan screamed again.
“Stay here,” Sylvester snapped, running back indoors.
Nora covered her mouth with her hands. The bear snuffled at the arched opening of the small doghouse. Growled.
What was Ryan doing in there? Black must’ve put him inside it. Nora never should have left him alone in that cage, alone with Black. She should never have agreed to this whole plan in the first place.
Dismay and guilt propelled her down the stairs. She’d drive off the bear herself. She’d distract it so Ryan could get indoors. With her marathon training, she could outrun it. Probably.
“Hey! Bear!” She waved her arms. Only when she felt the low heels of her slip-on ankle boots crunch the small rocks edging a walkway did she realize she wasn’t dressed for a marathon. She kicked them off, never taking her eyes from the beast. A minor hysteria gripped her. “Beary beary bear! Over here! Ryan, when we get out of here, I’m going to kick your ass good!”
Ryan remained silent. Prudent, she thought, taking a step closer.
The bear looked from the doghouse to Nora, then back to the doghouse. Undecided.
With the loudness of a rifle shot, a whipcrack sounded. Watching the bear, Nora saw it flinch at the noise. Cautious, it sniffed the air.
Another whipcrack. With impressive calmness, Sylvester passed her, approached the bear. “Go on,” he told it, then underscored his request with another snap of the bullwhip.
It worked. The bear backed off. With one last longing glance at the doghouse, it ambled to the edge of the forest, then disappeared into it.
“Are you okay?”
She tore her gaze from the spot where the forest had swallowed the bear. Sylvester bent to retrieve her boots with his free hand. He offered them to her.
She swiped them from his grip. “Peachy. Thank you.” She trembled suddenly, feeling the way she did after an extra-stressful day at work. Now she’d have to collect Ryan and go home. No more BDSM fun. No more Sylvester. Time to be a grown-up.
Sylvester looked at her. The look in his eyes reminded her of the bear’s.
Ryan screamed again, now profanity-laden abuse. “Was that supposed to be part of it? Huh? I don’t fucking think so!”
Nora stared at him. Ryan peeked out of the doghouse, a turtle emerging from its shell. She saw his bare shoulders and realized he was naked.
“He must be freezing,” she said, uncertain.
“Inside there’s an arctic-rated sleeping bag. He wouldn’t freeze,” Sylvester assured her.
As if to demonstrate, Ryan pulled it out with him, wrapping himself in it as he continued to curse. His face was red with rage or embarrassment, or both, as he shouted at them.
Nora took a step back, confused. Why was he yelling at her? She didn’t want or need it, not after she’d tried to help, not at the tail end of her truncated vacation. Not right when she was deciding to be responsible, take the stressful vice president position, embrace a normal life.
She no longer felt her original impulse to rescue Ryan. In fact, anger flared in her. Big anger.
“Shut up! You ungrateful…dog.”
Ryan stopped as if she’d slapped him.
“Good job,” Black told her. The pale woman had slunk up unnoticed beside her. “You can’t let them disrespect you. Disrespect is a difficult habit to break, once they have it.” She drifted toward Ryan, smiling. “Right, dog?” Nora noticed her elegant cream-colored skirt and blouse, her delicate small-heeled pumps. She might have been one of the VIP clients who occasionally visited GoGlobe.
Nora felt her tension subside. Nothing made sense anymore, but Black’s actions seemed exactly right.
Ryan sputtered. “I…you…”
Black stopped. “Would you like to say your safe word and end all play? And all chance of Nora’s forgiveness?” She drummed her short, sharp nails against her skirt.
Ryan stared at the woman as if hypnotized. “No, Mistress.”
“Very good. You stayed in the doghouse all night. You must need to relieve yourself. Is that right?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Then do so. Crawl to that bush and lift a leg like the dog you are.”
“What? No!”
“What did you
tell me?” Her low, dangerous voice had Ryan swallowing visibly. “You will be punished for your disobedience and appalling lack of manners. But first things first.”
“Hardcore,” Nora murmured. She heard a noise like muffled laughter, but when she looked, Sylvester’s face was impassive.
On the verge of reassuring Ryan he didn’t have to do that for her sake, Nora glanced down his body. She swallowed her words.
Ryan’s penis jutted up, as hard and ready as she’d ever seen it.
“I need to stop worrying about him,” she said to herself, even as she felt an answering heat in herself—not for Ryan’s erection, but for his reveling in the humiliation. It made her remember her own desperate need the night before, naked and shamed and toyed with…and aroused. She saw Sylvester nod out of the corner of her eye. In the meantime, Black had collared Ryan, and was retrieving the six-foot leather leash coiled on its hook on one wall of the doghouse. She attached it to his collar. “Heel,” she commanded, and without waiting, tugged Ryan toward the bush. Ryan crawled awkwardly, his erection bobbing.
Nora leaned on Sylvester, weak with lust. The contact of his body, not embracing her but not moving away either, aroused her further. He knew she wanted him. She remembered very clearly how much he wanted her, too. His discipline over his own reaction aroused her further.
His body didn’t move at all, not even to avoid her. A statue. She frowned. Had she misjudged? Had his interest in her faded?
Turning her back on Ryan’s leg-lifting attempts, she stared her challenge directly into Sylvester’s eyes.
A small shudder ran through him. It vanished the very next second. But she smiled. Not impervious! She curved her body farther into his, feeling his hardness.
“I think it’s time you visited Mage,” he finally said, backing away. “He’s up to the taming of you, if I don’t miss my guess. He won’t be distracted by possessive, softer feelings. Unlike…”
Her breath stopped in her throat as she waited for him to finish his sentence. He had to say, “me.” Had to admit he had feelings for her. She craved it suddenly even more than his hard, driving use.
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