I Will Not Beg

by Cherise Sinclair

  “Of course I am. I’m a Dom—just a step under God.”

  When she laughed, her muscles loosened even more.

  * * *

  Sir Ethan was incredibly nice, Piper thought, resting her cheek on the table. Of course, yes, he was a Dom and totally took charge, like how he’d told her to remove her clothes. He hadn’t raised his voice, but his authority came through loud and clear. Yet he didn’t mind her questions and had even reassured her she wasn’t an idiot.

  Her lips curled into a smile as she remembered her first visit with Rona and Abby. The baronet Dom really had come with the Dark Haven seal of approval.

  As she watched him set up his equipment, she could tell he was very experienced. There were no worried pauses or fumbling for supplies. He wasn’t using her for a practice subject. She tensed, remembering when the Defiler learned to use a bullwhip and had practiced on her rather than an inanimate object. So much pain, so many scars.

  “Subbie,” Sir Ethan gripped her nape firmly. “Whatever you’re thinking about, let it go.”

  “Right.” She exhaled and tried to relax. “Sorry, Sir.”

  His warm hands slid over her back, slow and even, massaging the tension away, continuing until she started to melt into the table.

  “Much better.” He straightened.

  Tensing again, she watched him set the mini-torch on fire, hold it in the cup, and blow the flame out. He placed the cup on the big muscle to the right of her spine. The rim was warm and…

  Everything under the cup pulled upward with the oddest sensation.

  “Breathe, long and slow,” he reminded her.

  Right, right. “It doesn’t hurt.”

  “No, there shouldn’t be any pain today.” Another cup, then another. More. A deep tugging sensation came with the suction under each cup.

  He slid some of the cups to new places. Did more. Took some off. Moved others.

  The dance of warmth zigzagged across her back. As each spot of tension smoothed out, her eyes closed. Somehow the cushion beneath her grew softer and softer…

  Eventually, she realized he’d stopped, that nothing was touching her back.

  She managed to lift her eyelids.

  With the lights behind him, his face was in shadows, but she could see the curve of his lips. “How are you doing, poppet?”

  “I don’t think I’ve been this relaxed in years.”

  “Excellent. Consider this your reward for being brave enough to enter the dungeon and strip down.”

  A reward? Whoever heard of that?

  When his mouth tightened, she realized she’d spoken the questions aloud.

  His hard face turned gentle, and he ran his knuckles over her cheek. “I enjoy rewarding good behavior, Piper. Now, are you ready to try the next scary step?”

  Scary? No, no she wasn’t ready. She’d far rather take a nap right now, with him standing guard. How had he made her trust him?

  He was waiting for her answer. Focus, Piper. As a submissive, she knew the proper answer to any question posed by a Dom. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Brave girl. Roll over.”

  Uhhhh…that would put her breasts on display. Next scary step.

  His gaze met hers. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

  Right. She could do this. After a second, she squirmed and rolled until she was face up on the bondage table. In the cool dungeon air—and under his gaze—her nipples contracted into tight, aching peaks.

  He leaned over her and brushed her tangled hair out of her eyes. “At this point, I’d like to tie your wrists over your head and continue the massage—not the fire-cupping—on your front. Whether I touch your breasts or not, is your call.”

  Her throat went tight. Fear, arousal, excitement—the unsettling brew of emotions sent her pulse skyrocketing.

  “Piper, there’s nothing to fear.” His smooth English accented voice remained easy and quiet, as effective as a tranquilizer. “The dungeon safeword is red. As I told you before, you can also say no or wait if needed.”

  “I understand. But you want to tie my arms and…and—”

  “You’re asking why I think I should restrain you and touch you in a more intimate way?”

  Well, at least one of them could articulate things. “Yes. That.”

  “Because I get the impression you respond sexually to Dominants, which for many submissives, can mean vanilla men won’t attract you.” He smiled slightly. “It’s a common problem for those in the lifestyle.”

  “Oh.” How reassuring it was to hear she wasn’t alone in that dilemma.

  “To date someone who can fill your needs—a Dom—you need to move past being terrified of the basics. Shall we see how you do with your arms bound and being touched?”

  Move past being terrified. That was what she was here for. She looked up at him, seeing the aristocratic chiseled features, the firm lips, the stern jaw. So very controlled. So very patient. If she said no, he wouldn’t get upset.

  Why did that make all the difference in the world?

  This really was the next step. If she had the courage. She could think of no one she trusted more. She could give him this much control. She could.

  Be honest with yourself, Piper. She wanted him to touch her. Just the thought of Sir Ethan’s muscular hands on her skin made her heart thud harder. And touching her breasts? She could feel how tight her nipples were, as if they were calling for his attention.

  She could do this—because it was Sir Ethan. “Yes, Sir.”

  A corner of his mouth lifted. “Yes to bondage?”

  She swallowed and took the next step. “Yes to everything.” Lifting her arms, she offered him her wrists.

  Surprise then approval lit his eyes. Taking her hands, he kissed her fingertips. “I’m proud of you, Piper.”

  His compliment sent a thrill of happiness through her.

  His silence drew her attention, and she realized his eyes had narrowed. Darkened. Turning her hands over, he examined the scars on her wrists. To her relief, he didn’t say anything, just wrapped the soft rope into a singularly effective tie around her wrists with a loop at the end. Lifting her arms above her head, he hooked the loop over something at the end of the table.

  After setting bandage scissors on the metal rolling tray table, he smiled down at her. “All right, here’s the test. Pull on the rope.”

  What kind of a test was that? Didn’t he think his knots would hold? She gave a little tug, then a stronger one.

  There was no give. The rope was gripping her wrists, gripping like brutal hands, cruelly holding her down. There was no way to escape, no way to—

  “Piper.”

  The resonant warmth in the masculine voice slid between her and the ugly memories, a shield blocking away horror. With an effort, she opened her eyes.

  Sir Ethan cupped her cheek in a big hand and leaned his elbow on the table, comfortably close. Waiting for her to recover. “Do you want free, poppet?”

  She’d had a flashback, nothing more. Sir Ethan was here, near enough she could inhale his clean, brisk scent. A breath cleared the constriction in her throat.

  She met his gaze and gave him a firm nod. “Thank you. I think I’m good now.”

  “You’re remarkable is what you are.” The smile on his face was all for her.

  Then he squirted lotion in his palms, rubbed them together, and stroked up each side of her waist, just above her drawers. His hands were hard, not a businessman’s hands at all. Like her, he had quite a few scars—a couple on his face, the one on his chest, lots over his knuckles. Didn’t boxers wear gloves?

  “What put those scars and calluses on your hands?” Her question popped out followed by her gasp of dismay. A submissive interrupting a scene with her stupid chatter. Her worthless mouth should be put to better—

  “Piper.”

  His voice was a tide pulling her back to the safety of the shore.

  “Sorry, I’m so sorry.”

  “Sweetheart, I’ll remind you as often as needed
that this is exactly why we’re here—to find out what triggers you and defuse it. Perhaps to replace some of the ugly memories with better ones.” His hands moved over her slowly, exerting even pressure over her upper arms, her shoulders. He firmly squeezed away the knots, leaving warmth behind.

  She gave him the proper, “Yes, Sir.”

  Beneath the dark mustache, his wicked grin was white in his tanned face. “Did I tell you that I want your silence during this scene?”

  She frowned, trying to remember. “Um, no, Sir?”

  “If I don’t want you to speak, I’ll tell you. Sometimes I care; usually, I don’t. I’ll never punish you for not being able to read my mind.” He held her gaze, letting her see his sincerity. Letting her absorb the truth.

  Another knot unraveled.

  “There, that’s better.” His hands slid up and over her breasts.

  She gasped.

  Sir Ethan’s firm hands were on her. Touching her intimately.

  Deep in her core, buds of excitement began to unfurl, blooming with a slow seductive heat.

  He ran his palms under her breasts, over, molded them, pushed them together. He kneaded her upper pectorals for a moment before stroking downward again.

  Her breasts tightened, the nipples pebbling into hard peaks. Wanting more.

  “For the scars on my knuckles”—he lifted his hands—“they’re from boxing. I wasn’t always careful about wrapping or using gloves.”

  She should have guessed that. “And the calluses?”

  “Weight-lifting.” Smiling at her, he ran his palms over her nipples, and the sensually abrasive scrape sent excitement coursing through her body.

  She sucked in a stunned breath.

  His gaze lifted from her breasts. Met hers. Forthright hunger was there in his eyes, and as he studied her face—her undoubtedly flushed face—the sun lines at the corners of his eyes deepened with his smile.

  He continued massaging downward, her sides, her ribs. When he returned to her breasts, his touch was firmer. His thumbs circled her nipples.

  Streamers of need ran in a direct line from her nipples to clit, wakening a restless need. She was aroused. The sensation was terrifying. And wonderful.

  Leaving her breasts, he massaged the tenseness from her shoulders before returning to tease her some more.

  After the fire cupping and under his hard massage, her muscles were limp—even as her breasts swelled until every touch of his hands reverberated through her. Her nipples ached.

  She stared up at him, the intense blue of his eyes, and the dark shadow of heavy stubble-beard along his jaw. His lips. What would his lips feel like?

  Her pussy slickened—because it was Sir Ethan who was touching her.

  His gaze swept over her face, and a crease appeared in his cheek. “I believe that will be enough for this session.”

  He pinched her nipples slightly and tugged, making her back arch. And then he undid the ropes on her wrists.

  The oddest disappointment welled inside her. Because she wanted him to do more.

  “You did well, Piper. Good girl.” His voice stroked over her in the wake of his hands, approving, leaving warmth behind.

  After helping her lower her arms and sit, he tipped up her chin—and she got her wish.

  His lips were firm and yet velvety as he kissed her. Slowly. Lingering for a wonderful moment.

  As he straightened, she stared at him…and felt barriers dropping. Leaving her open. Defenseless.

  Oh, she was in so much trouble.

  * * *

  On the new landing, Dixon did a quick dance step to the Queen of the Damned soundtrack that played in the dungeon. It totally added to the dark steampunk atmosphere. Perfectamente. He loved it when Stan would swing a flogger or cane in time with a song’s beat.

  Dixon’s ass was already wiggling in anticipation. It was going to be a great night.

  Lindsey had been right—he and Stan had needed a trip to Dark Haven to reconnect. Stan hadn’t even needed any persuasion.

  “Great decorating job,” Stan leaned on the railing.

  “Scary as shit.” Dixon took in the harsh, almost frightening ambiance in the room and grinned. He and his Dom had dressed perfectly for the evening.

  Stan wore black jeans tucked into knee-high, brown leather boots. His buckle-laden, brown leather vest covered hard pectorals and a six-pack to die for. In fact, Dixon’s tongue had traced every dip and hollow as they dressed.

  Rather than a vest, Dixon wore a chest harness made up of brown leather straps and buckles and a matching leather jock strap.

  When Stan tucked his fingers in Dixon’s heavy brown leather collar, Dixon shivered happily. His Master always left the collar loose enough he could use it as a handle. Being firmly pushed into place made Dixon harder than a rock.

  Moving closer, he breathed in Stan’s scent, sighing in happiness when his Master’s iron-hard arm curled around his waist. He wasn’t the only one with a woodie happening…and he couldn’t help himself. Like a heat-seeking missile, his palm was right on target to stroke over his Master’s rigid cock.

  “For touching without permission, I’m breaking out the dragon tail,” Stan growled.

  Dixon jerked his hand back. Oh, fuck a donkey. Like a contagious disease, the cruel dungeon mood was affecting his Master. Stan was a sadist.

  Not an over-the-top one like deVries…except sometimes.

  This might be one of those sometimes.

  There would be pain tonight, wonderful, heady, cock-spasming pain. Dix’s balls started to throb in time with the music.

  Stan motioned toward something across the room. “Isn’t that Piper?”

  “Ha, she made it! Rona said she was coming tonight if she didn’t chicken out.”

  Dixon leaned forward to see better. Hot damn. Not only was she here, but she was half-naked and looking all flushed, confused, and aroused.

  Sir Ethan did have a way about him. A shame he only played with females.

  “Come, boy.” Stan tugged on the collar. “I hear a spider web calling your name. The steel one.”

  Fuck, yes.

  As they crossed the dungeon toward the steel-wire web, Dixon noted—once again—that people with hard-ons shouldn’t have to ambulate. It felt like he had a baseball bat between his legs.

  “Now, why did I have a feeling you’d know this place?” Darrell Legrand stepped in front of Stan. “We gotta stop meeting this way, JS.”

  Hackles rising like a dog, Dixon stared at the chestnut-haired special-fucking-agent. Stan’s new partner from Texas. Why the piss-in-the-iced-tea was he here?

  Karma, you bitch, you’re supposed to be on my side.

  “Hell, man.” Stan stopped with a grin. “I didn’t know you were still in the lifestyle.”

  “Eh, now and then.” Darrell’s smile widened. “I’ve had a craving to bottom for someone recently.” The desire in his eyes as he looked at Stan said exactly who he had in mind.

  “You’ve come to the right place,” Stan said—and Dixon’s heart sank. Until Stan added, “There are a lot of good Tops here tonight.”

  Ignoring the hint, Legrand moved closer, as if Dixon wasn’t standing right there beside his Master. “Been a long time since we played together, JS.”

  Dixon held his breath.

  Stan shook his head. “Thanks, but no. I have a subbie who has an appointment with a spider web.” Stan did a chin-lift and headed away, still gripping Dixon’s collar. “Have fun tonight, Legrand.”

  “Yeah, I will. I always do…as you well know.”

  As they headed for the spider web, Dixon tried to recapture the glow of before. His Master had turned the guy down. He had. Hadn’t even looked particularly interested, but Legrand sure was. He looked at Stan like a starving Doberman, spotting a juicy steak.

  Once Monday arrived, Special Agent Darrell Legrand and Special Agent Jameson Stanfield would be working on some Homeland Security case. Hours and hours…together.

  Dixon’s he
art ached like a sorry piece of meat.

  At the spider web, he knelt, waiting as Stan set things up. The dragon tail came out of his toy bag along with other impact toys.

  Dixon felt no shivers. His hard on had disappeared.

  He looked up at Stan through his eyelashes, feeling the pull of the man. So fucking gorgeous, all stern attitude, chiseled features, ripped muscles. With an ability to be tender, loving, beneath all that.

  Yeah, he was head-over-heels and wasn’t that just a fucking uncomfortable sort of love, anyway?

  Miserable, in fact. For the first time since they met, Dix wished he hadn’t fallen in love.

  Closing his eyes, he tried to get his head into the right space for playing, for being touched and hurt and undoubtedly fucked. Even if his heart ached, he needed to be the perfect submissive for Stan.

  Because there was another contender for the position.

  Chapter Eleven

  Feeling proud of herself, Piper strode down the sidewalk with long steps. Sweat dampened her T-shirt, and her pectorals and glutes ached in a good way. Because, hoorah, she’d just finished a kickass workout. Embarrassing as it was to admit, Ethan and his muscles had been the incentive. As busy as he was, he worked out religiously. She had no excuse not to do the same.

  He was good for her, in more ways than one.

  He was also the reason she was losing sleep. For the past three nights since Dark Haven, she’d dreamed of him touching her, of his hands ruthlessly holding her down, of him taking her in a thousand different ways.

  She’d be with him again this Saturday, and the thought filled her stomach with happy butterflies.

  Slowing, she shook her head as uneasiness crept over her like a black fog. She’d felt this fizzy anticipation and desire. Seven years ago.

  No, that wasn’t a fair comparison. What she felt now wasn’t the same as then.

  When she’d been new to BDSM, the Defiler’s dominating control had seemed like the answer to all her needs. She’d been too inexperienced to see the red flags—like how he insulted his exes, how he demeaned waitresses. Recklessly, she’d flung herself into his arms and handed over everything. To a total bastard.