I Will Not Beg

by Cherise Sinclair

She wasn’t jumping into anything now.

  Sir Ethan was the Defiler’s complete opposite. Everything Ethan did—his authority mixed with compassion, his honesty, his communication skills—none of it was a pretense. He was one of the most respected Dominants in Dark Haven. More than that, he was simply a good person. She’d never seen him be less than polite to everyone, rich or poor. He didn’t raise his voice or throw his weight around, not even to the submissives.

  She liked him.

  Okay, she was definitely lusting after him, too. He’d said she didn’t need the extra complication of sex when serving him at his house, but she’d be amenable to some complications right now. Each time she heard his resonant voice and English accent, her heart spun into a breakdance, full of leaps and somersaults and kicks.

  His hands on her breasts had been…too knowledgeable. Too sexy. She wanted those hands everywhere on her body.

  Great. She snorted. Now she was damp from more than sweat.

  Laughing, she rounded the corner.

  “Piper, here you are.” Her stepbrother stood in front of her brick apartment building. “Here, I brought this for you. Happy summer.” He handed her a single pink rose.

  “Um…” She loved flowers. She always had. “Thank you.”

  “It’s good to see you, sis.” He tilted his head. “But, you kinda look as if you had a rough day. Is there anything I can help you with?”

  Old comfy gym clothes, sweaty, hair a mess. “I was just—” No, Piper. She had no need to justify her appearance, although his offer to help softened her heart. “That’s sweet of you, but no. I’m fine.”

  “Good, that’s good. How about I take you out for an early supper? We can catch up with things.”

  “I thought you went back to Kansas.” Jerry was being uncomfortably friendly. She bit her lip as unease grew in her belly. She needed to remember that, as children, the only times he’d been pleasant was before he asked for something. “I’m sorry, but I have to go back to work.”

  “Then later?” His smile widened. “I found a restaurant last night I think you’d enjoy. You like Thai, I know.”

  Her dismay swelled under an onslaught of memories. The time he’d bought her a book, then asked to borrow her bike. The time he’d taken her to a party, then put her on the spot, making her pay for the pizzas he’d ordered for everyone.

  Now, he brought her a rose and wanted to go out to eat…because he wanted her inheritance. Suddenly, his showing up at her door felt far less friendly and more like browbeating.

  She straightened her shoulders. “I’m sorry, but no.” Why was it so hard to say no to people? To be honest? It made her feel so ugly inside.

  Pulling in a breath, she hardened her heart. “We’ve never been friends or family, Jerry. I see no reason to start now.”

  “That’s pretty brutal. I guess I don’t have any family left at all then.” He looked so hurt, guilt swept her.

  “I’m sor—” No. This was like refusing a second date. She shouldn’t let it get drawn out. “Have a good life, Jerry.”

  “It might be a really short life if I can’t pay off the loan shark, Piper.”

  “We had this discussion already. I don’t have anything for you. Go on home.”

  “I can’t, I’m afraid. That inheritance is mine.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Piper, Piper, Piper.” He shook his head sadly. “If you return my money, I’ll stop bothering you.”

  Until he gambled it away and came back. “No.”

  “If I don’t get any help, we’ll be having this conversation a lot. Maybe every day. I’ll enjoy spending time with my little sister”—his voice dropped to a whisper—“who was a sexual slave for years.”

  The threat was there, laid out. Her mouth went dry. If her clients found out about her past, they’d never respect her. She’d lose her reputation, maybe her business. SF was tolerant, but…a woman in business already had an uphill fight. To be known as having been a slave? She lifted her chin. “I doubt anyone would care, but you do what you need to do.”

  “I will. I do love San Francisco. It’s such a small city—I’ll probably run into you everywhere.”

  He’d follow her. Show up when she was with a client. She’d never be able to relax. As ice swept her body, her hand unzipped her purse, reached for her wallet.

  No. Think, Piper.

  Struggling to keep from folding in on herself, she closed her hand around her purse. “Harassment and stalking are illegal. If I see you again, I’ll call the police.”

  “It’s a public street. There’s nothing illegal about my being here. Or anywhere else.” He never lost his smile as he continued, “You probably have lots of friends coming and going from here who’d love to talk with me.”

  Her friends. Her work. He threatened everything she’d built here.

  “I don’t want to cause problems for you. Just give me what should have come to me—and I’ll be history.” He moved forward. Bigger than she was. “I want my—”

  “No!” Her fist shot forward, impacting his belly with a hard thump.

  Satisfying.

  Terrifying.

  As he folded over with a loud groan, she held her bag to the door sensor, heard the lock click, and entered. Quickly, she yanked the door closed behind her.

  The door rattled behind her. A glance back showed him scowling at her through the metal-reinforced glass.

  She jogged up the four flights of stairs, needing the exertion to keep from breaking down in tears as she had when she was a little girl. Like after he’d thrown her favorite doll down the storm drain. Like when she was sixteen and refused to turn over her allowance, so he’d told everyone she’d fucked her history teacher to get an “A”. Her stepfather hadn’t spoken to her for a month.

  Piper, just stop. There was nothing she could do. She’d made her refusal clear. Verbally and—an edgy satisfaction filled her—physically. Surely he’d give up and go away.

  There was no time right now to worry about Jerry—she was due at Ethan’s and was now running late. His cleaning crew had been through earlier, and she wanted to do a quick evaluation before he got home.

  As she held her purse to her automatic door lock, Stan and Dix’s door opened. A tall man with chestnut-colored hair came out, reading a paper as he walked.

  “See what I mean about the motivating factor?” Stan followed and pulled the door shut. “Sorry about the detour. I should have remembered to bring my notes to the office.”

  “Not a problem. I never mind an invite to your place, JS.” Standing very close, the stranger set a hand on Stan’s shoulder, his body language past friendly, more like intimate.

  Piper stared.

  Not seeing her, Stan shook his head. His voice dropped to a reproving, “Darrell.”

  “C’mon, we were good together. Could be even better.” Darrell ran his hand down Stan’s arm, spotted Piper watching, and stiffened.

  Alerted, Stan turned. He started to smile at her, then frowned. “Are you all right, darlin’? You’re pale.”

  She was? Then she remembered Jerry. “Fine. I’m fine.”

  She slipped into her apartment and shut the door. The sound of their voices and footsteps diminished as the two men left.

  That must have been the co-worker of Stan’s who Dixon was worried about. The guy was definitely making a play—and had been in their apartment. Did Dix know? Should she tell him?

  Probably not. It seemed like Stan needed a good shaking, but she didn’t really know what was going on. At least Stan hadn’t jumped the guy’s bones, despite Darrell’s flirting.

  With a sigh, she headed for her bedroom and the shower she badly needed. Workout sweat. Emotion sweat because of Stan and the jerk. Anger and fear sweat because of Jerry.

  She turned the water in the shower to hot, waited for the steam to rise, and stepped in.

  Tipping her head down, she let the hot water flow over her. The tension in her muscles wasn’t rinsing away at all.
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  Because she really doubted Jerry would simply give up.

  Ethan walked into his home, smiling because Piper’s car was in the garage. She’d mentioned that Chatelaines liked to do a post-cleaning evaluation the first few weeks.

  He had hoped to see her today.

  Spotting her all-black trainers under the coatrack inside the garage, he removed his shoes and climbed the stairs.

  Her lilting voice came from the living room. “Good job on the kitchen. The cleaners need to work on getting the cat hair off the furniture. Maybe the pet-sitter could do some brushing if Churchill will let her.”

  Her voice turned to a sweet coo. “Hey, buddy. Will you let our girl brush your fur? Most kitties love it, you know.”

  At the kissing sound, Ethan grinned. Someone liked cats, and Churchill was particularly lovable.

  “You are just what I needed after the day I’ve had. Thank you, PM.”

  After the day I’ve had? Her voice did sound thin. Stressed.

  Concerned, Ethan walked into the room.

  Her back to him, Piper wore belted black slacks and a dark red, collared shirt. A matching red scrunchie held her ebony hair in a low tail just past her shoulders. Bad day or not, she still looked admirably professional.

  Had that arsehole executive caused more problems? Or was the culprit another of her clients? She was such a sweetheart, it was difficult to believe anyone would give her a rough time, but some people were more shark than human, attacking at any sign of vulnerability.

  “Piper.”

  With an audible gasp, she spun, Churchill in her arms. She took a hurried step back as if fearing to be struck. “Sir.”

  Ethan waited, keeping his shoulders relaxed, hands at his sides, expression calm. Last weekend, when she’d left Dark Haven with Rona and Simon, she’d been relaxed enough to hug him. Today, tension simmered around her. It appeared the gains they’d made had disappeared. Yet her trust in him wasn’t completely gone. If he’d surprised her like this the first day they’d met, he’d have had to peel her off the ceiling.

  As he waited, she pulled in a long breath. “Sorry, Sir.”

  “It’s all right.” Slowly, he moved closer, lifted a hand, and touched her cheek with his fingertips. She didn’t flinch.

  Progress.

  Her gaze went to the brass wall clock. “Did I mix up your schedule or are you early getting home?”

  “I’m early.” He took Churchill, gave the cat a stroke, and set him on the recliner.

  Piper wrapped her arms around herself in a self-soothing movement.

  He’d rather she learn to take reassurance from him, instead. He ran his hands up and down her arms. Her skin was cold. The little muscles beside her mouth and eyes were tense. “Rough day, hmm?”

  “Yes.” Before he could ask, she added, “I don’t want to think about it. This is your time.”

  “Is it then?” That wasn’t an opening a Dom could resist. Giving her ample time to refuse, he drew her to him. “Come here, poppet.”

  With a sigh like a lost child, she flattened against him, soft and female. Seeking comfort.

  Comfort he could give. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her temple. Without any hesitation, she hugged him back.

  It must have been a truly bad day.

  As he simply held her, he was pleased to feel her muscles relax.

  She rubbed her forehead against his chest and murmured, “This is very unprofessional.” But she didn’t pull away.

  “Not really, pet. Chatelaines business or not, while you are in my house, you’re under my command. When our D/s arrangement stops, we’ll move to a purely business relationship.”

  He rubbed his chin on the top of her head. Her hair was slightly damp and smelled like lavender with a hint of citrus. She must have showered before coming here.

  The knowledge made him harden.

  “That sounds straightforward. Okay.” Although she must be able to feel his erection, she melted against him even more.

  With someone else, he’d assume she was extending an invitation.

  Slowly, he pulled back far enough to lift her chin and see her eyes. Molten chocolate. Flushed cheeks. Under his gaze, she turned pinker. Aroused?

  He ran his thumb over her soft lower lip and felt the quiver. “Piper. Did you want to alter our arrangement to include sex?”

  * * *

  At Sir Ethan’s English-accented question, Piper’s body sparkled to life, like a Christmas tree strung with an overabundance of tiny lights.

  No, foolish body. This can’t happen. Only…she wanted to have sex with him. To have something more than merely sex.

  She was being foolish. He was a Dom—he simply wanted to fuck. This once. Nothing more. She licked over her dry lips and saw his eyes ignite. “Yes,” she whispered. “I want to include sex.”

  “Mmm. All right.” His hand on her ass pressed her against his hard erection, and with the other hand, he cupped her breast firmly. He showed no hesitation, taking command with an ease that took her breath away.

  Anxiety and heat twirled from her head to her toes.

  A corner of his mouth lifted. “To me, sex means bondage, oral and vaginal penetration, possibly spanking your ass or light swats in other places, and toys, including anal toys. Several orgasms for you; at least one for me.”

  Her mind went utterly blank.

  “Piper.”

  She managed to focus on his face. So absolutely masculine and sexy. The dark mustache and beard framed his firm lips, ones she wanted to kiss over and over. When he rubbed his shaft against her, hitting her mound above her clit, a hot shudder shook her. Her whole lower half was turning into a molten pool.

  “Did you have a problem with any of that, poppet?”

  “What?”

  He huffed a laugh. “This is called negotiating with your Dom, pet. Are you all right with that list?”

  Negotiating. She knew what it meant. But her brain had snagged on two words. “Several orgasms?”

  Laughter lightened his eyes. “Is that an objection and/or do you have other concerns?”

  “Um. No objection.” Several orgasms? Her body hummed like someone had flipped a switch. Think, Piper. “Ah…no marks that’ll show and a safeword, right? I’m not a slave.”

  His mouth firmed. “I insist on safewords for anyone I top, slaves as well as submissives. Use the stoplight system—yellow for pause and talk, red to halt everything.”

  Her last faint worry dissipated like mist on a sunny morning. “Yes, Sir. I understand.”

  He considered her. “Let’s add pink for panic.”

  “Doesn’t yellow or red cover that condition?”

  “I want you to catch an anxiety attack before it gets a grip. If I know you’re worried, I can help you figure out ways to move past it.”

  Even when she offered him sex, he was thinking of ways to help her. The center of her chest had gone as soft and squishy as a melting tootsie roll. “Pink. Got it, Sir.”

  Gripping her low ponytail, he tugged her head back and kissed her. Gently at first. Using his teeth to nibble on her mouth. Tracing her lips with his tongue. As she leaned into him, he deepened the kiss. His tongue invaded, possessed, and lured her into dueling.

  As her arms wrapped around his neck, he flattened her against him.

  He was erect. And huge.

  When he lifted his head, she made a needy sound. Bad Piper. Her mouth closed tightly to prevent any more unwelcome stupid-slave noises.

  “Piper, I like hearing you. Hearing everything—moans, whines, screams.” Even as he touched her cheek lightly, his lips quirked. “Begging is fine also unless I tell you to stop.”

  Cold shot through her, turning her muscles to ice. She jerked away from him. Beg. Never, ever, ever. “Never mind. I’m sorry. I don’t want to do this.”

  He didn’t reach for her. Head tilted slightly, he stood still. His eyes pierced her, going deep, dissecting her. His gaze lingered on her breasts—no, on her arms that s
he’d wrapped around her torso. “Piper. Are you at pink?”

  Pink? What the heck did he mean? No, wait. Pink was for panic. She rubbed her fingers on her pants. Her fingertips were numb. She was teetering on the edge. Breathe slow. Look at four things. Slight bump in his nose. Crease between the dark brows. Corded neck. Button-up shirt. Hear three things. Her breathing—still too fast. The hum of the refrigerator. The thump as Churchill jumped onto the couch.

  Sir Ethan hadn’t moved. His stillness pooled around her like a calm lake.

  Her next breath was slower. “Yes. That was pink.” She hadn’t been prepared for how suddenly she’d dropped into the abyss of terror. “I’m sorry.”

  Not a trace of anger showed in his face. Instead, he gave her an encouraging smile. “Have you got it under control now?”

  “Ah…” She did a quick self-eval and blinked. “Yes. Yes, I do.” And without his help. She’d done it all by herself.

  “Very good.” He moved forward and tapped her chin lightly with his knuckles. “I’m proud of you, poppet.”

  Proud. Of her. He’d ignored how she’d jumped away from him and snapped out that they were done. Instead, he focused only on how she’d overcome the attack. Her lips curved. She was rather proud of herself, too.

  “There we go,” he murmured. “Tell me what set you off.”

  “Um.” She wet her dry lips. Say it. Just say the word. “B-b-beg.” A breath. “I hate that word.”

  “That’s good to know.” Questions rose in his eyes, but he didn’t ask. Not yet. However, he was a Dom, and all too soon, he’d want to discuss why the word got to her.

  Too bad. She wasn’t going to talk about it. That time was in the past; those days were over and wouldn’t be brought to the surface. Ever.

  God, she’d totally messed up this sex stuff, hadn’t she? Should she leave? Swallowing, she let herself look at him.

  Despite his lazy stance, he simmered with an aura of lethal power. That was his personality—purely dominant. The air of command was amplified by his appearance. A perfectly tailored white shirt showcased broad shoulders. Designer-scruff shadowed a strong jaw. Scarred, deadly hands.

  A flutter of desire rose up. She wanted him. Had always wanted him.