How could his life had gotten so out of control in less than a week? How could he miss someone so desperately when they’d only spent a few hours together? Shit. He’d never believed those stories about knowing you’d met the one until Betty. Sadly, she seemed to have just as quickly become the one who got away, and he didn’t know how to change her mind.
He’d considered going to her place, but Vivienne had warned him against it. It’d only make things worse, she’d said. He’d driven up there anyway and found her car missing and everything locked. His next step was the restaurant, but he knew he’d be bordering on creepy if he went. He didn’t want to scare her away even more.
He glanced at the clock. It was time to close up shop. Tonight, he’d hit the gym and hope to burn off the surge of emotions embedded in his flesh. It’d be impossible, but he had to give it a shot.
“Hey, Viv, can you close the front door?” he called. “Going to wrap up some things here.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
Rayden stayed behind, putting everything back in order. Every few seconds his gaze darted to Betty’s folder. He shouldn’t thumb through it again. It would be obsessive behavior, but he could go to the restaurant and give it back to her. It would be a legitimate excuse. He could even have dinner there and then beg her to forgive him.
“Bye, boss,” Vivienne shouted.
“Bye.”
The bell above the entrance chimed, and the door shut with a loud clack. He heard Vivienne turn the key. Alone at last. Rayden leaned back against his chair and rubbed his face. He didn’t hear her coming.
“Hello, Rayden.”
He scrambled to sit upright. Surely, he’d fallen asleep and drifted into a dream. Betty stood a few feet away from him, dressed in a blue, halter cut dress, which flared at the waist. She had her hair down and held back with a print bandana fashioned into a bow at the side. His heart sped up, and his chest clenched almost painfully. She was beautiful. Like a mirage from a happier time.
“Betty,” he whispered.
“Rayden.” She took a step in his direction. He stood up. She was real. Her cheeks flushed. Slow down. You don’t know why she’s here.
“Have you come for your stuff?” he asked softly.
She shook her head. “No. I, well, I had to speak to you.”
He sucked in a breath. “I’m listening.”
She rocked on her heels for an instant. Then, inhaling deeply, she began to speak.
“I’m sorry I left the way I did. I panicked. I didn’t know how to react. It was stupid, really. I’d told you a lot about Antonio and my life back then. When you said you’d been there, I didn’t know what to make of it. We’d spent the night together. You’d beat me with a cane. Fucked me with your mouth. I’d just told you I wanted more, and I felt betrayed. Hurt. Used.”
Rayden curled his hands into fists. Pain slashed his insides.
“I’m sorry, Betty. I know I should have told you sooner, but you were suffering, and I didn’t want to make it worse. At first, I thought I wouldn’t tell you, but the more involved we got, I knew I had to let you know. We couldn’t start a relationship without you knowing.”
Betty took another step, her heels clicking on the floor. Her lips quirked.
“I understand. It took me some time. I—” She chuckled. “I kept touching the marks you left behind and thinking things through. When I played with Antonio, I never felt half of what I experienced with you. I was always drunk. High. I thought Antonio was out to save me, but really, he cared only about himself. Anyway, I thought about that day a lot. What could you have done? I was trapped in Antonio’s world. If you had called the police and they had tried to take me away, I would have resented you. If you had interfered, Antonio would have had you arrested or worse.” She shook her head. “The past doesn’t define us,” she said. “If it did, I’d be fucked. You could’ve sent me away when you knew who I was. You could’ve left me home when you realized what I was going through. But you didn’t, and you said, you also didn’t want things to end. Did you mean it?”
The vulnerability in her cracked voice touched his soul. Rayden’s heart picked up its pace.
“I did, and I do.”
Her smile bloomed making his chest constrict, and happiness spread across his veins, leaving him weightless.
“Good, because I was ready to beg if necessary.”
Rayden closed the distance between them.
“Well,” he said, clasping her face. “I’m always game for a little begging.” He smashed his mouth against hers, taking possession of every inch, making sure she understood they belonged together. Betty responded, tangling her tongue with his, pressing her body to him as if she wanted them to become one. He sucked her tongue, mimicking lovemaking, and she pulled back, panting.
“Rayden,” she said. “I will beg.” Slowly, she lowered herself to her knees. She dipped her head. “Sir, please, will you fuck me?”
Rayden swallowed. His erection grew to full mast, and his body tingled with the urge to make Betty completely his. He touched her head, running his fingers through her locks.
“Get up, baby doll. You don’t need to beg this time. I’m going to fuck you until you become hoarse.”
She glanced up at him, and licked her lips. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Then, follow me.”
He led her down the hall to the room where he’d first inked her. She gave him a sidelong glance, her flushed cheeks denoting her excitement. Settling on the chair, he leaned back and crossed his legs at the ankle.
“The first time I had you in here, I thought of fucking you. Take off your clothes,” he ordered.
“Yes, Sir.”
Keeping her gaze trained on him, Betty slowly slipped off her dress. The material pooled at the floor, and she kicked it aside. She turned around, swaying her hips, and unhooked her bra.
“Turn,” he said.
Her bra snagged on her arms. She winked at him, and slid it off first one, then the other. Keeping her hand on her chest, she maintained the material there. Rayden popped the button on his jeans. Betty’s lips formed a perfect O, and she dropped the garment, her breasts coming into view. He leaned forward, eager to touch and suck on her tender nipples.
“Come here.”
She stood next to him, and he lightly traced the bird tattoo on her left breast.
“To think this was what brought us together in the first place.”
Betty smiled. “It made us free.”
Rayden nodded. Very gently, he kissed the scar he knew lay beneath.
“It did.”
He switched to her other breast and sucked the rock-hard tip into his mouth. Betty grabbed his shoulders, thrusting her chest out. His hands slid to her ass, squeezing it.
“Finish taking it all off, baby doll.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Without further preamble, she got rid of her panties. She made to kick them aside, but Rayden tsked.
“Pick it up, fold it and place it over there.”
“Yes, Sir,” she said sweetly.
Rayden raised his eyebrows, not sure what to expect. She bent over and very slowly followed his orders. His cock twitched at the sight of her ass and her already swollen pussy.
“I should spank you for that,” he murmured.
“Tonight?” she said.
“Yeah.”
“Hand me my wallet and come here.”
She did, and he fished out a condom. Handing it to her, he stood and quickly freed his erection. Betty’s lips parted, and her chest rose and fell at a faster rate.
“Like what you’re seeing?”
“Very much, Sir.”
“You can suck it tonight,” he promised. “Now, I want to be inside you. Turn around and lean against the chair.”
Rayden checked out her bottom. Most of the marks were still visible; some had bruised, and others had vanished altogether. The important thing though was the lack of fear in Betty. She’d gone through hell and come
back unscathed, and if she ever returned again, he’d be there for her.
“I think I’ll have to redo some of these.”
“I’d enjoy it if you do, Sir.” She wriggled her butt, and he gave her a hard smack. She moaned.
“Spread your legs.”
He touched his pussy, pleased to find her slick and wet.
“You’re ready.”
“Have been for a while, Sir.”
“Definitely will have to spank you tonight.”
Sliding his cock over her engorged lips, he wet his throbbing mushroom head. Placing himself at her entrance he filled her in one solid thrust. Betty arched, mewling in pleasure.
“Sir.”
“Yes, doll. It’s the perfect fit.” He pulled back and shoved inside again. “Perfect.”
“Yes, Sir. It is.”
Gradually, he built a rhythm. Their bodies grew slick with sweat, and the smell of sex permeated the air. His balls hardened and lifted. Reaching around Betty’s waist, he pressed the hilt of his palm to her clit.
“You can come for me anytime, doll. Be free.”
He squeezed harder, and she cried out, her orgasm washing over her and drawing out his. Breathless, he hugged her close. Slowly, they broke apart. Rayden sat on the tattoo chair and brought her with him. He brushed the hair out of her face and kissed her nose. She laughed, the sound warm and comforting. He’d never grow tired of it. There was one last thing they needed to talk about, though.
“Betty, about the internship,” he began.
“I’ll find someone else to mentor me,” she said.
“No. That’s not where I was going with this. We’re adults, Betty. We’ll try to make it work. We’ll be professionals here. You will only be my trainee, and I’ll treat you as such. But when we’re alone.” He cupped her cheek. “You will be mine. My submissive. My woman. My baby doll.”
Betty’s eyes lit up.
“Yes, Sir.”
Epilogue
Betty took a deep breath. This was it. Her first tattoo. Over a year since she’d started apprenticing for Rayden, she was finally going to ink her first person. She swallowed drily. And it was none other than Kendra Patricks, BDSM model.
“Don’t be nervous,” Kendra said kindly. “We all have to start somewhere.”
Betty nodded. She fiddled with the stack of pens on the desk, obsessively ordering them. One of them rolled to the floor.
“Seriously.” Kendra handed her the pen.
“Easy to say. You’re a model. What if I botch it up? Your career could be ruined.”
Kendra laughed.
“Honey, the last thing men are looking at when they see one of my pictures is my tattoos. But, if you do mess it up, then we can get Rayden to cover it up,” she whispered in a conspiratorial tone, green eyes filled with mirth.
Betty’s chest tightened. She gazed at Rayden, seeking an outlet for the irrational fear consuming her. Vivienne had the day off, so he was a few feet away, tending to a customer who had popped in last minute. As if he sensed her gaze, he glanced her way. His lips quirked for an instant before he returned his focus to the business. Betty’s heart flipped, warmth spreading across her limbs, leaving in their wake a sense of insurmountable love.
“You guys are good together,” Kendra said.
Betty grinned, unable to hide her happiness.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Did Rayden tell you that when I first met you, I thought you and Rayden were already an item?”
Betty nodded.
“He did.” Betty pressed her lips together, flattening them. “He also told me, well, about you guys.”
“It meant nothing,” Kendra said. “It was just a scene, and it was ages ago.”
“Oh, I know. I’m not worried at all. I trust him.” She gave Rayden another quick glance. Love pounded in her veins. Her attention returned to Kendra. “Actually, what I wanted to ask—well, you don’t need to answer if you don’t want to.”
Kendra’s posture stiffened lightly and Betty regretted bringing up the topic, but she and Rayden were good friends and curiosity took the better of her.
“Go ahead,” Kendra said. “I think I know what you’re going to ask.”
“Rayden told me you don’t kneel. To anyone.”
“True.”
“But you’re submissive?”
“I don’t need to kneel to be submissive. I can still bend to a man’s will without being on my knees.”
“I know. Really, I was just wondering if you missed it, specially, because of your choice of tattoo.”
Kendra sucked in her cheeks. She glanced at Rayden, then back at Betty. She shook her head.
“The tattoo is a reminder,” she said. “Of what kneeling to a man can do to you. No, Betty,” she said. “I don’t miss it.”
Betty gave a brief nod and returned to reorganizing her pens. She didn’t want to dig any deeper into what was clearly Kendra’s wound, but her eyes had spoken volumes, the lie open to anyone who cared to see it.
The bell above the door chimed, and Rayden clapped his hands, startling her. He stood at the entrance, hands splayed out and a big grin on his face. Their gazes locked, and heat crept up her spine. Rayden’s gaze darkened, but his smile didn’t fade. Approaching them, he grabbed her by the waist and drew her in for a smoldering kiss.
“Get a room, you two,” Kendra called.
They broke apart. Betty licked her lips, still tasting Rayden and craving more.
“Not yet,” he said. “Are you ready to perform your first tattoo, baby doll?”
The End
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BONUS SAMPLE CHAPTER
BREAK ME
Elyzabeth M. VaLey
Copyright © 2017
Prologue
Grisha Vasiliev entered the ballet studio. His five-hundred-dollar leather shoes squeaked against the vinyl floor. He frowned and stood to one side, away from the other spectators, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. The velvety smoothness of the piano chords playing from the speakers wrapped around him like the touch of a lover’s caress.
“Down, up, down, plie, tendu, pli-plie.”
Anton Phillip, the ballet master of his company, drilled instructions from the front of the room across a floor-to-ceiling mirror. A group of close to forty dancers aged fifteen and over followed his commands. They were there to learn and take their technique to the next level with the best: Anika Vasiliev’s ballet company.
His business. Grisha not only owned the city’s ballet company, which included dancers, an orchestra, managerial and support staff. He also had schools for both children and adults. Furthermore, he employed permanent staff of craftsmen for prop and costume design, as well as his own physiotherapists and physical trainers.
“Your back must turn you around, not your knee, your back. Observe,” Phillip called out.
Grisha swept his gaze around the room. His breath caught. There she was. In the front row, a few feet to the left of Phillip. She was unmistakable in her red leotard with the low scooped back and black skirt.
Ayla Clark.
She was his reason for coming to today’s master class. He’d seen her name in the registry list and he knew he had to see her up close.
Her pale skin contrasted sharply with her choice of outfit. Her dark hair, which she had pulled into a bun, caused her aquiline nose to stand out. She kept her attention on Phillip as he demonstrated the movement. She copied him.
“That’s it,” Phillip praised her.
Ayla smiled. Full lips pressed tightly together, eyes downcast. Grisha cocked his head. Always the same. He had been observing her for the past few months and her smiles were never wide or open. For him, it appeared as if she were pleased but didn’t want to show it. Either that or she felt she wasn’t good enough.
Yet, her technique was flawless. H
er body lithe and flexible. When she danced, her spirit showed through and true joy reflected on her face. Those were the moments he hated her.
Grisha swallowed. His fingers trembled. He closed his hand into a fist. Easy now. It wouldn’t do to lose control here. Taking a deep breath, he turned to look at some of the other girls. There were some wonderful dancers assembled in the studio and some which would never make it far in the business. He caught sight of another girl. She turned well but didn’t land properly. Her eyes narrowed, clearly displeased. She tried again. Grisha shook his head. She was a good dancer, but she was not the best. Her movements lacked finesse.
He found himself searching for Ayla again. He followed her across the floor as she performed a chasse and a pirouette.
How could she move with such precision? In her, he saw true love for what she did. She wanted to be a dancer. It was her dream, her purpose in life.
Yet, she currently worked for a small ballet company as part of the corps, a mere background dancer. She never held a position for more than a year, even though she was good. Why? He wasn’t a dancer himself, but he had grown up in that world. He knew perfection and passion when he saw it. Ayla had both. When she danced, he could almost taste the happiness coming from her. Grisha licked his lips.
It was intoxicating.
Sickening.
Bile climbed to his throat. The bitter taste in his mouth made him grimace. Happiness. The word clanged in his head like loud church bells. A myth. A legend. There was no such thing. Women like his mother Anika, Marie, and now Ayla, equated the world of dance with bliss. It was an illusion, just like ballet. They were one and the same. Castles built on clouds. Beautiful on the outside but so sensitive a mere breeze would blow them into nothingness. The real world was bleak.
Dark.
Lonely.
Painful.
Grisha ran his fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to alleviate the growing headache in his temples. The words hammered in his skull harder and harder as they had done for the past year.
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