Tied With Me
Book Six in the With Me In Seattle Series
Kristen Proby
Copyright © 2014 by Kristen Proby
All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect is appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Kaleb (Alluring Indulgence #1) by Nicole Edwards Copyright © Nicole Edwards, 2012 Excerpts used with permission.
The following story contains mature themes, strong language, and sexual situations as well as light BDSM themes. It is intended for adult readers.
Cover Art:
Photography by: Dylan Duvall
Models: Dustin and Stephanie Culp
Cover Artist: Okay Creations
With Me on Seattle Series:
Come Away With Me and on audio
Under the Mistletoe With Me and on audio
Fight With Me and on audio
Play With Me and on audio
Rock With Me and on audio
Safe With Me and on audio
Love Under the Big Sky Series:
Loving Cara, UK, AU
Seducing Lauren, coming summer of 2014
Dedication
For L. Thanks for encouraging me to write this story, this way.
A note from the author:
This book in the With Me In Seattle series is a bit different from the others. Each of the stories are sexy, sensual, and feature an alpha man with a strong woman, and this book is no exception. However, Matt Montgomery isn’t just a run-of-the-mill alpha male. Matt also dabbles in the world of BDSM. The scenes that explore this lifestyle are respectful, sane and always consensual, as should always be the case in this world. The heart of this story, like the others, is the romance. The discovery of love and deep affection for another person is paramount.
I hope you enjoy Matt and Nic’s journey.
Best Wishes,
Kristen
Prologue
“Why are we here?” I ask Bailey for the fortieth time since we arrived at the Seattle Arts Center.
“Because you need some excitement in your life,” she informs me with a sly grin. “And I didn’t have anyone else to come with me.”
“This is the kind of excitement you think I need?” I ask incredulously and take in the scene before me.
Bailey, my best friend, talked me into attending the Seattle spring erotic festival. How she managed, I have no idea. I’m the least-kinky person on the planet.
I’m so vanilla, I smell of it.
Or maybe that’s just because I bake with it all day.
“Don’t be such a prude,” she admonishes me with an eye roll. “It’s fun.”
“It’s not my thing,” I reply and step aside as a man wearing nothing but leather and chains brushes against me.
The main room has been transformed into a large dance club. There is a DJ on stage, loud music pumping out of the speakers, and lights flash as bodies move and grind on the dance floor.
There are many different levels of dress. And undress. Nudity isn’t allowed, but many have pushed the boundaries, covering only the most necessary parts of their bodies. In a smaller room off to the right is a smaller dance floor with softer music and a stage, where a burlesque group is about to perform. There is also a fully stocked bar in that room.
To the left of the main dance area is another large room that is broken into segments, where different kinks are demonstrated for the crowd.
“We’ll go in there later, after we get some drinks into you,” Bailey informs me and pulls me in the direction of the bar and burlesque show.
Bailey has dark blond hair that falls to her ass, stick straight. The highlights are natural, damn her. Her eyes are wide and deep brown, and when she smiles she has dimples that have long labeled her as cute, which she hates with a passion.
When we approach the bar, we both order 7&7s from a bartender dressed in booty shorts and orange suspenders then find a seat near the stage.
“What do you think so far?” Bailey asks with a grin and takes a sip of her drink.
“There are way more people than I expected.” And they’re of all ages and sizes, different sexual orientations. What surprises me the most is how open and comfortable everyone seems, smiling, happy to be nearly naked and unapologetically exploring their kinkier sexual side.
“This community is larger than you’d think,” she agrees and lets her eyes wander over the room. “You look great, by the way. It’s a nice change to see you out of that white jacket and hat that always hide your body.”
“It’s called my work uniform,” I reply drily.
“That’s just it. You’re always at work, friend. You’re either in that hideous, body-hiding outfit or in pajamas.”
I shrug and look away. There’s nothing to say. She’s right. I glance down at the short denim miniskirt and thigh-high stockings, heels and red strapless top that Bailey insisted I wear. I can’t help but admit that it feels good to dress up a bit.
Reminds me that I’m a woman with needs that go beyond a hot kitchen and chocolate frosting.
Bailey helped me apply my makeup of dark liner, fake eyelashes and bright lipstick, and teased my long dark hair into ringlets that fall down my back and over my breasts, which have also been teased to be high and pushed together, showing off what little cleavage I have.
God bless, Bailey and her girlie secrets.
“You have a kickin’ body, Nic. You should show it off more.”
“To who?” I ask with a laugh. “My clients want cupcakes, not my boobs in their face.”
“Depends on the client,” she replies with a laugh just as the lights fall and loud, thirties swing music erupts into a seductive pounding rhythm and a young blond woman saunters out onto the stage in a sailor’s uniform, dancing about vigorously.
Within thirty seconds, she’s left wearing pasties and a G-string.
I’m not even sure what happened to her clothes, they came off so quickly.
I tilt my head and watch her move effortlessly across the stage, smiling, biting her lip, flirting with the guys—and girls—in the audience.
Four more girls perform, much to the crowd’s delight, before they take a break, rearranging props and giving the crowd a chance to refresh their drinks or go explore other parts of the event.
“Okay, let’s grab another drink and go check out the exhibits.” Bailey claps her hands and pulls me to my feet.
“Do we have to?”
“Yes!” She rolls her eyes again and drags me behind her. “You don’t have to participate. Just watch. It’s fun, Nic.”
“If you say so,” I murmur and greedily sip my fresh drink as we walk through the dance room to the fetish exhibits, where the music is gone and instead there is laughter and moans of pleasure.
“You didn’t say that people participate.” My voice is three octaves higher than normal, and I don’t care.
“Of course they participate. But you don’t have to.”
The first demonstration we come across has me sucking down my drink in one long sip of the straw and pulling Bailey’s drink out of her hand to suck hers down, too.
A woman is lying on a massage table, face up, with a blue satin sash over her naked breasts and pelvis. A large, shirtless, gorgeous man is standing over her with a metal wand in his hand. It’s attached to a machine, and when he touches her skin, it shocks her.
“Electro play,” Baile
y informs me.
My eyes can’t move away from the woman as she writhes and moans on the table. The man leans down and murmurs in her ear, but she smiles and shakes her head. “He’s checking in with her, to make sure she’s okay.”
“Kind of him,” I reply sarcastically.
He resumes pulling the wand over her breasts, making her nipples pucker even more than they were, which didn’t look possible, down her stomach and finally between her legs, sending her into a screaming orgasm.
“Dear God.”
Bailey laughs at me. I didn’t even realize I’d spoken the words aloud.
“You’re into that?” I ask her.
“No, it’s not for everyone, and it takes a lot of trust and someone very practiced to dive into that world.” She smiles as she watches the couple on the small stage.
The man has turned the machine off and pulled the woman into his arms, soothing and petting her as she shakes and pants. He kisses her cheek and whispers lovingly in her ear. Watching them together, so intimate, so loving, makes my chest hurt.
It’s beautiful.
“Those two are married. She’s been his submissive for about three years.”
“Submissive?” I ask.
“Are you really that naïve?” Bailey asks with a shake of her head.
“I had no idea that stuff happened in real life. I thought it just made for a fun romance novel.”
“It happens.”
“Are you submissive?”
She smiles at me then shrugs her slim shoulder. “Unfortunately, no. I tried, but my mouth kept getting me in trouble. My ass was sore for a month.”
I swallow hard as we move along to the next demonstration.
I jump when I hear the crack of a whip. “Holy shit!”
Bailey laughs and tucks her arm through mine as we watch another tall, lean, shirtless man wield a bullwhip. A woman is suspended by the wrists to a chain in the ceiling, her arms pulled high over her head. She’s wearing black panties and a bra.
The man circles the whip over his head and cracks it in front of him, leaving just a tiny red mark on the woman’s shoulder blade. She moans, as though it’s the sexiest thing she’s ever felt.
The man circles her, his focus completely on her, and when he gets to her back, he repeats the motion, leaving another, identical mark on the other shoulder blade.
He approaches her, grips her red hair in his fist and pulls her head back so he can whisper in her ear.
“Yes, sir,” she replies breathlessly.
He grins and kisses her deeply before releasing her hair and raising the whip above his head, the leather kissing her skin, leaving one, two, three more red marks on either side of her spine.
“How can he do that and not break the skin?” I ask in awe.
“Lots and lots of practice,” Bailey whispers back. “That’s Master Eric.”
“Is she his submissive?” I ask, proud of myself for understanding the lingo so quickly.
“No, she’s not with anyone that I know of. But she is a masochist, and Master Eric is happy to oblige her.”
“Jesus,” I whisper, but can’t deny the clench in my stomach when Master Eric cups her ass in his hand, pushing his fingers between her legs and pulling them away sopping wet, glistening in the soft light.
“See? She’s happy. Master Eric would stop if she said her safe word.”
Jesus, I think again. Safe words and whips and electrowands. Who would have thought?
When we move along, a woman is pouring ladles of hot wax on eager participants.
“Ah, we’re moving on to the more vanilla demonstrations,” Bailey explains. “Not that hot wax is vanilla, but it’s no bullwhip.”
I smirk and watch in rapture as a shirtless man has wax poured on his chest, down his defined abs, and smiles in pleasure. A hard ridge beneath his blue jeans proves that he is enjoying himself.
“Want to try it?” Bailey asks me.
“No, thanks.” I shake my head but can’t look away as the next woman in line takes a seat and scoops her hair off her neck, giving the woman pouring wax space to drizzle the hot liquid over her collarbones and chest. It cools and hardens almost immediately and is peeled seductively off the skin.
It’s actually kind of…sexy.
“Oh! The bondage area!” Bailey exclaims excitedly and pulls me over where a small line of women are waiting patiently as a handsome man ties long lines of ropes around their torsos, arms, legs, leaving a trail of intricate knots around their bodies.
Wow.
“I had no idea that ropes could look so artistic,” I murmur.
“It’s definitely an art form,” Bailey agrees and eagerly steps forward when the man motions her to join him.
He crosses her hands over her lower back and begins looping and knotting a blue rope over and around her. The color of the rope looks amazing against her little black dress and accentuates her curves.
She’s stunning.
The man plants a kiss on her forehead and grins when she thanks him and bounces over to me.
“You should do it, too.”
“You can’t move your hands,” I respond, pointing to where her arms are restrained behind her.
“You don’t have to have your hands bound,” she replies and nudges me forward. The man is grinning, but then is interrupted by another man.
I stop about a foot away and watch as the second man whispers in the other’s ear. They both nod, and the new guy grins at me, and suddenly, he and I are the only ones in the room.
He has ice-blue eyes. The kind of eyes that pull you in and drown you in their depths. His hair is light brown and cut relatively short.
His face is shaved clean, and his full, sexy lips are pursed in a smirk.
“Are you coming or not, little one?”
Chapter One
Weddings really aren’t my thing. Well, baking the cakes for them, that is. I own a successful little cupcake bakery in downtown Seattle, and cupcakes are what I enjoy most.
But when Brynna Vincent, now Montgomery, asked me to bake a cake for her wedding, I couldn’t refuse her. She rushed into my shop just about two weeks ago, her eyes bright with happiness, and asked me if I could bake a cake for her because my cupcakes are her very favorite.
Yes, it was a nice stroke of my ego.
And when she assured me that she just needed a simple two-tier cake for a small wedding, I was in. It didn’t hurt that she had her adorable six-year-old twin daughters with her, and they bought a dozen chocolate cupcakes to go with them.
But now that I’m in the thick of it, arranging the cake, making sure it’s displayed perfectly, while the last of the vows are said and the large family behind me cheers with delight and joy, I’m reminded why I never ventured into the wedding cake business: It’s too damn stressful.
Brynna has been a dream to work with. No bridezilla here, thank God, and I’d even be willing to say that she and I have become friends in the past few weeks while putting our heads together for her beautiful cake.
But the actual execution the day of the wedding is torture for me. I have to be sure that every tiny rose, the placement of the cake topper, everything is perfect.
Because if I were the bride, that’s how I’d want it to be.
I make a mad dash out to my car to gather the last of my supplies and hustle back to the cake table behind the home where Brynna and her husband were married today.
The house isn’t terribly large. It’s in an average neighborhood and probably boasts three or four bedrooms. But the backyard is something out of a Better Homes and Gardens magazine.
Brynna had mentioned that her new father-in-law is an avid gardener, and she wasn’t kidding. The yard is blooming brightly with fragrant summer flowers. There are ponds and paths scattered throughout the large property, giving it a park-like feel.
Kids from toddler to the twins’ ages are running about, enjoying the warm day. Soft music has been piped in, from where I’m not sure.
&nb
sp; “When do we get cake?” a man asks from behind me.
I turn and have to crane my neck back to see the man’s face. He has bright blue eyes and dark blond hair, and he’s smiling down at me.
He’s one of the largest men I’ve ever seen and, for some reason, looks very familiar.
“That’s the bride and groom’s call. I’m just putting the finishing touches on it.”
I grin back at him and fuss with the last of the baby-pink rosebuds on the top of the pretty white cake.
“Will you tell if I steal a slice?” he asks with a chuckle.
“I will,” a stunning redhead replies drily and rolls her eyes. “Don’t mind him. He’s always hungry.”
“You caught me,” he murmurs and nuzzles the redhead’s temple. “I’m Will. Brother of the groom.”
He holds his big hand out for me to shake.
“And this is my beautiful fiancée, Meg.”
“Nice to meet you both.” And then it hits me. “Holy crap, are you Will Montgomery, the football player?”
“Yeah,” he confirms almost shyly. “But today I’m just a brother.”
“Cool.” I grin, proud of myself for maintaining my composure. I had no idea that Brynna’s in-laws were those Montgomerys.
Will and Meg wander away, and I finish the cake, then look around for Brynna to say congratulations and leave the party, relieved that my job is just about finished.
I look out over the yard and see Brynna standing with a group of her guests, waving at me. I grin as I wipe my hands on my jacket and join Brynna, standing on my tiptoes to hug her close.
“Congratulations, friend!” I murmur. “Where is your man?”
“Right here,” Caleb announces with a wide smile as I pull away from his bride. “The cake is beautiful, thank you.”
“My pleasure,” I reply happily, relieved that they’re happy with the end result of many hours of planning.
“You make the best cake in the whole world,” a blond woman next to Brynna tells me, but as I turn my head toward her, I swear to God above, I have a hallucination.
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