His Wicked Love

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His Wicked Love Page 8

by Anya Summers


  It was progress. Her plan to make him addicted to her cooking was working, one meal at a time.

  The barriers he’d erected also gave Emily an excuse to bury herself in the restaurant, in her plans, tweaking the menu until even the standard fare they offered had her signature stamp on it. In the interim, she developed a solid routine with Tibby and Faith so that they operated together seamlessly. With her hand at the helm, she guided Tibby—who for all her brashness did not like assuming command—and the two of them rotated different shifts so that there was always coverage. But Tibby followed Emily’s directions for the menu, and carried them out without fail.

  “Okay, what gives, you two?” Emily asked Tibby and Faith. They had stopped talking when she’d walked in. The two of them had been casting her weird glances all morning long. Tibby had taken the morning breakfast shift today and Emily glanced between them.

  “We overheard that you went into Cuffs & Spurs illegally on Friday night,” Tibby said, giving her a you’re busted smirk and wriggling her eye brows.

  “And if I did?” Emily asked with a shrug, as if the incident had been no big deal. Never mind the epic kiss she’d shared with the boss afterwards. And that was something she wouldn’t share with them or admit to, even if they threatened to melt her knives. Emily gathered together the ingredients on the counter for her pumpernickel bread. It had become such a big hit, they’d started serving fresh loaves by the basket with every dinner.

  “Right on. You’re such a rebel. I love it,” Tibby said and laughed.

  “I’d never have the courage to enter a place like that without permission,” Faith added. But that was because Emily’s cute line cook, with her blonde pixie cut and soft spoken manners, never did anything out of line. Faith was sweet and followed orders without question. Yet tell her to take command and she panicked.

  Emily gave them a conspiratorial grin and replied, “Well, I’ve never been much for following the rules, especially someone else’s. And who told you? I have no idea how you would even find out about it.”

  Tibby’s eyes glittered as she replied, “My friend, Natalie. She was in the club that night. And your foray into the club has been the talk of members all week long. You and Nat would hit it off, by the way. We should have a girls’ night one evening here soon so I can introduce you.”

  Pleasure spread throughout Emily’s chest. Slowly but surely, she was being folded into the community here. The fact that Tibby felt comfortable enough to want to introduce her to her friend, include her, let Emily know she was building something here in the wilds of Wyoming. It made her feel welcome. She measured out her ingredients. Her foray had been the talk of members. Did that mean they were part of this club too? Her curiosity about the forbidden lower level piqued, she asked, “And you are all members of this Spurs club?”

  “It’s Cuffs & Spurs, but yes, we are members. We’re both submissives. Why, you interested?” Tibby asked, a sly grin on her face. She hoisted a tray full of lasagna into one of the nearby ovens and set the timer.

  “And if I was?” Emily asked, starting the industrial grade mixer.

  Tibby performed a little booty shake move and said, “Woot! I knew it. Pay up, Faith. You owe me twenty.”

  “Wait, you bet each other?” Emily glanced between her sous chef and line cook. Was she that transparent in her interest? She had tried like mad not to think about what she’d witnessed that night, or the way it had made her feel. Or that, in the dead of night, she’d remembered those scenes, had dreamt about them… only she was the one experiencing untold wicked delights—with Mason.

  Tibby snorted as Faith handed her a twenty and she shoved it into her pants pocket. She said, “Of course we did. So is it true that Mason carried you out of the club?”

  “And if he did?” Emily asked, acting as nonchalant as possible when, in truth, the memory of his hands on her turned her insides into crème brûlée.

  Faith’s cornflower blue eyes grew wide at Emily’s admission and she replied, “I would have melted into a puddle if he’d done that to me. Not to mention I wouldn’t be able to show my face around here.”

  “But, my dear, sweet Faith, that’s because you are the epitome of an obedient submissive. I have a feeling our Emily here is a bit more vocal and not as well-behaved,” Tibby explained with a wink in her direction.

  “And is that a bad thing?” Emily asked, uncertain about the unfamiliar terrain she found herself in. It begged the question: was she submissive? Or did she just like kinky sex?

  Tibby shrugged. “Depends on if you like to be disciplined. I have a fondness for the cane and like provoking a Dom.”

  A part of Emily rebelled at the notion, made her think that perhaps she just wanted kinky sex and she asked, “But isn’t that abuse?”

  Shaking her head, Tibby replied, “Nope. Not when it’s a properly trained Master or Dominant. And the level and tenor of a submissive’s punishment is within a submissive’s control as long as you are honest with a Dom about your limits. Not to mention, that’s why there’s a safeword. In case a scene or punishment gets too intense.”

  Tibby’s explanation made sense. A properly trained Master. Wasn’t that what Mason had said he was? That he enjoyed restraining a woman and disciplining—what had he said? Mouthy submissives? Except, Emily wasn’t certain how she felt about that aspect. Especially since she was all tangled up with her desire for him, which conflicted so strongly with her need to prove herself as head chef and stay away from him. Did she want a man to hurt her during sex as a kind of foreplay?

  Maybe. When Mason had smacked her butt cheek while he’d carried her, it had turned her on. Didn’t mean she wasn’t conflicted about it. Or that she wanted someone besides Mason to administer it, for that matter.

  Faith sweetly asked Emily, “Are you a submissive?”

  Wasn’t that the question? Ever since her misguided kiss with Mason, Emily had imagined different scenarios with him. Not on purpose, but her blasted brain seemed intent on rousing her hormones into screaming idiots any time he was around, or while she was sleeping and unguarded. And in those visions, they were playing hide the pickle while she was restrained. Sometimes with a silk scarf in her bed, sometimes with a pair of handcuffs, and other times on the X contraption she’d seen at the club. And she enjoyed every minute of it. Just that morning she’d woken up, achy and needy—for Mason.

  It infuriated her. It had been one blasted, misguided kiss.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe,” she admitted. “But it’s not like I can figure that out. I’m not a member of the club.”

  “But you want to be?” Tibby asked while she helped Faith on the line, assembling burgers for a family of four in the dining room.

  Would it hurt Emily to explore this path? Part of her adventure in moving here had been to shake up her stale existence and add some spice back into it. Among other things. Would she regret not taking a chance on herself and finding out if she really was a submissive? Or if she was just in an extreme desert wasteland of sexual frustration and anything—including the super kinky extreme—would do. Not showing a hint of her raging internal debate and uncertainty, she calmly said, “Perhaps. Why? Is there a way for me to join?”

  “Spencer,” they said in unison.

  “Huh?” she asked, completely confused.

  “Go see Spencer Collins. He owns the Teton Cowboy and runs the club for us,” Tibby explained.

  “I’ll think about it,” Emily replied. But then the lunch rush hit and there wasn’t time for idle gossip. It gave her much-needed time to mull over her options.

  What would Mason think if she became a member of his forbidden club?

  Chapter 10

  On Thursday, Emily entered the double doors of the Teton Cowboy toward the end of the lunch rush. She hoped she’d timed this excursion properly. Her day had started before the sun crested the mountains. In the time since, she’d cooked breakfast for a packed dining room, prepped ingredients for lunch, and given instructions on the
prep that needed to be done for the dinner rush that evening. Before she left, she’d handed in a proposal to Mason about hosting an Oktoberfest event at the lodge in two weeks’ time.

  She hoped he wasn’t stubborn and refused. With him, she never knew whether she was coming or going.

  In the midst of all the chaos, one answer had become startlingly clear. Emily wasn’t going to sit on the sidelines of her new life but was going to jump in feet first and see where she landed. She hoped it landed her a membership to Cuffs & Spurs. One, because her curiosity was at an all-time high. Two, she had to satisfy her sexual cravings with something other than snack cakes or by this time next year, she’d be in a competition to become the next Goodyear blimp. Three, perhaps there would be another man at this club who would stoke her fires. That way she could stop lusting after Mason, stop fantasizing about him, and actually make a go of this place.

  Emily approached the hostess stand. The short brunette woman behind it smiled warmly but she noticed the hint of exasperation in her jade gaze. Emily felt her pain. The end of a mealtime rush could leave a body frazzled beyond measure.

  “Welcome to the Teton Cowboy. How many in your party, today? Just one?” she asked. Her nametag said her name was Paige.

  “Actually, I’m here to speak with the owner, Spencer Collins,” Emily replied, her nerves a bit on edge. While she’d made her decision and would stand firm with it, that didn’t undermine the anxiety slithering through her system over that decision. Did she really want to join a kinky sex club and let some dude tie her up? Considering her brain flashed an explicit image of her with Mason, yes. Yes, she did.

  “Did you have a meeting scheduled with him, because I don’t see that he has any appointments scheduled,” Paige asked politely with an edge of steel in her voice.

  “No. But it’s about Cuffs & Spurs,” Emily explained. Her voice carried and she winced.

  The hostess went stock still and the cheerful expression on her features dropped as she glanced around the restaurant, checking to see if anyone had overheard.

  Then, with a steely nod, she said, “Follow me.”

  Emily trailed behind her. They wove around wooden tables and headed toward the back of the building. Paige guided Emily through a pair of double doors, past the kitchen that was still moving at a fast pace, even with the rush complete, to an open office door. Inside was a luxuriously furnished office, for a restaurant. Decorated with dark woods and burgundy walls, the richly appointed room seemed more like a personal at home office. Behind a stately lake of a desk sat a man whom Emily assumed was Spencer Collins. The man was alpha, every line of him distinctly male. If not for the faint, jagged white scar that ran from his crown to his angular jawline, he would have been pretty. Too pretty. As in: Hollywood actor pretty. The scar gave him a dangerous air, with his thick black hair and trimmed beard. He wore a dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, and she spied the hint of tattoo ink where it was open at his neck.

  “Excuse me, Sir?” Paige murmured with a knock on the wooden door.

  He lifted his head up and said, “Yes, Paige. What can I do for you?”

  “She would like to speak to you about our club,” Paige replied.

  His black gaze homed in on Emily in an assessing fashion. She’d left her hair down and had tried to appear casual in jeans and a layered top, but maybe she had been too casual. She typically didn’t worry about the sort of tops she wore since they were usually hidden under her chef’s jacket. The white tank top, layered with a pale blue Henley, the buttons open in the front, might not have been the best choice. They showed off her curves but maybe she should have worn something more revealing and low cut. What should you wear when you were trying to join a kinky sex club?

  “Thank you, Paige, you may go. Come in, and have a seat, Miss—” he asked as he stood.

  “Emily Fox. It’s nice to meet you,” she said as he approached and held out her hand.

  He was tall, about Mason’s height, a good solid six feet. His black slacks were molded to his thickly hewn legs. His long, blunt fingers closed around hers and he replied, “Spencer Collins, Miss Fox.”

  Then Spencer shut the office door before he returned to his seat behind the desk. His black gaze studied her. “You’re the new chef out at Black Elkhorn Lodge, aren’t you?

  “I am, but how did you know that?” she asked.

  “The subs of Cuffs & Spurs have been all atwitter about your cooking,” he explained. “I haven’t had the chance to get out there yet but I hear nothing but good things.”

  “Thank you. You won’t regret it once you do, I can assure you,” she replied, and was proud of herself for sounding so calm when she felt like she was under a microscope.

  Cocking his head a bit to the left, he asked, “Didn’t you sneak into my club the other night?”

  “I wouldn’t call it sneaking so much as I saw an open door and wanted to see where it led.” She didn’t bat an eye or show that her internal systems blared code red at her obvious mistake. But this was her story and she was sticking to it. Emily wanted an in here.

  “And you think you’re submissive?” Spencer gave her a studious look, like he was attempting to divine her innermost secrets.

  She shrugged. Emily had never been shy and figured honesty was the best policy. “Possibly, but only in a bedroom manner. I think I’m a little too independent for anything outside of that. It’s a sort of conflict I’m having with myself. The thought of being dominated by a man in the bedroom is a complete turn-on yet, at the same time, if a man tells me what to do, I’d likely body slam him.”

  At Spencer’s bark of laughter, she blushed.

  Emily explained further, “I just want the chance to find out if I’m really submissive or if I just need some bedroom kink. Both Tibby and Faith mentioned that this club was a safe place to explore. Besides, I don’t really know anyone here. I’m not used to being stuck at home. So it would be nice to belong to a community that I might fit in with.”

  “You have spirit, I will give you that. All right, Miss Fox, I will grant you a temporary membership. There are rules.”

  She snorted and rolled her eyes. Of course there were.

  “Problem?” Spencer asked. His entire body had stilled. And Emily realized she might need to temper her sarcasm a wee bit around him.

  “No, it just seems that everything in my life is temporary. My job here, the temporary insanity that made me accept the position at Black Elkhorn Lodge, coming here today…” She wondered if she would live to regret this decision.

  “Sweetheart, life is temporary. Do what makes you happy and forget the rest. There’s no time for anything else. Trust me,” Spencer said, his stare haunted, almost as if he were saying the words to himself.

  “And are you?” she asked, curious.

  “What?”

  “Happy? Are you happy?” Emily asked. Because she knew, deep down, she’d felt that there was a lack in her life. An emptiness that no amount of Ho Hos or Ding Dongs was going to fill. It was part of the reason why Ormond’s betrayal had lacerated her so deeply. Before then, he’d been her biggest supporter, encouraging her to push her boundaries as a chef, and had showered her with praise when she succeeded. Chef Ormond had filled the lack that had always been present in her life. Her need for one person to acknowledge her and make her feel worthwhile.

  Spencer observed her, his black gaze glimmering with respect, and then he replied, “In a roundabout way, yes.”

  “That’s it? A maybe yes? No explanation?” she said, rather exasperated. She wanted him to tell her that yes he was, that being a member of this club was everything to him and made him deliriously happy. His non-answer deflated her a bit.

  “I don’t know you and you don’t know me, so that’s all you’re getting,” Spencer chided with a lopsided smirk, pulling paperwork out of his desk. It made him likeable instead of formidable.

  “For now.” She fluttered her lashes at him in a dramatic fashion with what she hoped was a winning sm
ile.

  He chortled at her antics, then said, “You’ll do well here, I think. Fill all of these forms out with your limits and so forth. Then I will get your cuffs ready to pick up tomorrow if you want to attend.”

  Emily began filling out the forms to join, reading through everything. Making note of what she was going to need to research on the Internet because she had no idea what it was. And she was frankly too embarrassed to ask Spencer. He was a stranger, and a rather attractive man. There was no way she could ask him what medical play was without dying of embarrassment. She could feel the blush just from checking the box marked restraints. As she wrote, Spencer explained some of the rules that she would need to follow as a submissive. There was a submissive meeting she was required to attend once a month, as long as the weather cooperated.

  By the time she had finished the application and all the paperwork required, her head was swimming with information.

  Spencer gave her a packet of information to read through at home and then walked her out toward the front entrance. “I will have your cuffs for you tomorrow, if you decide to attend. Since you are new to the lifestyle, if you need any assistance, you are to let me know. That includes deciding to be with a Dom. I’d be happy to help in any way I can, including introducing you.”

  “Thank you, Spencer. I really do appreciate it,” she said, grinning at his offer. He really was handsome, and she was certain, should he turn the charm on, he’d be a panty-melter. Maybe he could be the one to help turn her hormones away from Mason. When he lifted his face and looked past her shoulder, his face turned into granite.

  “What are you doing here, Meghan?” Spencer bit out harshly.

  Emily turned her head to discover who had earned the man’s wrath, glad it wasn’t her for once, and was shocked. The woman was stunning. Beauty pageant stunning. Glossy, long blonde hair that fell over one delicate shoulder in a thick braid. She wore a pair of skinny jeans and knee-high black boots with a formfitting pastel pink sweater.

 

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