by Brandi Evans
Reading His Submissive
Restrained Fantasies Book Two
Brandi Evans
Blushing Books
©2018 by Blushing Books® and Brandi Evans
All rights reserved.
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Brandi Evans
Reading His Submissive
EBook ISBN: 978-1-61258-561-1
Print ISBN: 978-1-61258-620-5
Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
What’s Inside
Raven couldn’t breathe, but she couldn’t decide if it was Carter’s intimate touch, the way he looked at her as if he’d honestly never seen anyone more stunning, or his use of her given name which was mostly responsible.
The fact she pleased him pleased her, which didn’t make any sense to her, but she couldn’t deny the effect. She was coming alive in ways she never had before. Hell, in ways she didn’t know were possible.
He made her crazy, but crazy was just the tip of the iceberg. Carter made her want in ways which terrified her. Would she survive the night intact?
With cobweb-soft touches, he circled the outside of her breasts, and she bit her lip against the desire building inside her. She held her breath. When would he finally touch her? All those things he’d said about making her come, she wanted him to make good on them.
Now.
“You’re shaking, pet. Why?” His grin told her he already knew why.
The asshole.
“I want you to touch me, Sir.”
“I am touching you.” His lips played over hers as he spoke. “See.”
He eased his fingertips down her torso, careful to keep from touching her breasts, and he took hold of the button on her jean shorts. With one good yank, the fastener gave, and the zipper quickly followed.
“Maybe it’s the way I’m touching you, hmm?” With the same spider-web soft touches, he worked his fingers into the waistband of her shorts and gave the material a tug. All the while, his lips stayed against hers, not kissing her. This was more akin to sharing breath.
She swallowed the emotion lodging in her throat. “I’m ready for my first orgasm, Sir.”
“Is that so? Such a greedy little sub. Tell me…” He finally pushed her shorts free, leaving her completely exposed. Well, except for the fishnets which, considering she’d forgone underwear, weren’t giving her any sense of coverage whatsoever. “Are you going to return the favor? When I’ve worked orgasm after orgasm from your tired, beautiful body, will you open yourself to me when I’m ready for my climax, in whatever manner I want?”
A shiver played over her. She was so in over her head. His tempting words left so much open. How did she give consent to a Dom for something she may or may not allow when the time came?
Did consent now override a safeword later?
She still had so much to learn. Working as a bartender in a BDSM club had been a poor prep course for a night with Carter Burkes. Then again, she wasn’t sure if being with every Dom in the club would have prepared her for him, but as she stared into those caring eyes which saw everything, she knew one thing with absolute certainty.
She couldn’t deny him.
“In whatever manner you deem fit, Sir, I’m yours.”
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Acknowledgments
Throughout these pages, my Dom hero, and Dallas detective, is teaching a class called Reading Your Sub. As I compiled the information he uses in his class, I used my go-to book for reading body language, What Every Body is Saying: an Ex-FBI Agent’s Guide to Speed-Reading People by Joe Navarro (with Marvin Karlins, Ph.D.). The basic elements of reading people discussed came from Navarro’s book; I merely built upon them to craft this erotic tale.
Chapter 1
Carter needed a sub, and he needed one now.
In four hours, he was supposed to start a class at Restrained Fantasies, the Dallas BDSM club that was his second home, but forty-five minutes earlier, the sub he’d enlisted to be his teaching subject had called in sick. How was he supposed to give a class on reading subs without a fucking sub?
If he had a little more time, he’d be able to find someone from Restrained Fantasies’ clientele, but time was the one thing he didn’t have. And not having everything planned out ahead of time scraped on his every nerve.
Carter dropped onto the leather desk chair across from one of the club’s co-owners, Brock Michaels. The other man made an interesting contrast to the sleek modern feel of his office. Brock was menace and intimidation that had somehow been fused together to create a living person. Shaved head, tattoos covering most of his upper body, the man oozed bad-boy-biker out the wazoo. He was the kind of man Carter, a detective outside the walls of the club, would pay close attention to if he were skulking around in dark alleys at night.
“Oh, I know who I could ask,” Carter said with a smile, the suggestion more to get a rise out of his friend than being an actual suggestion. “You could always let me use your pretty little sub. Viv looks spectacular in chains.”
Brock glared up from the paperwork scattered across his desk, his expression a few degrees’ shy of homicidal. “I don’t share Viv with anyone. Ever. And if you want to keep your testicles from being kicked into your throat, you’d do good to remember that.”
Carter fought to keep his grin from spreading and failed miserably. “I know, I know. Viv’s off limits. What about her friend Anne? Do you t
hink she’d be game?”
“Most likely.” The other man leaned back, crossing muscular arms across a chest about as wide as the Grand Canyon. “Anne’s game for almost anything. If she says no, you could always ask Terry. She might like the overtime.”
“Already asked Terry, but she has plans she said she couldn’t get out of.”
Brock opened his mouth to respond, but a knock sounded against his partially open office door, and an angel followed the sound inside. Well, a dark angel, anyway. Raven Malek, with her blacker-than-black hair and purple highlights, tattoos running the length of her arms and shoulders, nose and eyebrow piercings, ripped jeans, and a T-shirt with a bleeding rose could never be classified as an angel. But damn, she drew him in with the unstoppable fury of a supermassive black hole.
Emphasis on black.
Raven was one of two bartenders at Restrained Fantasies and, for the past few months, she’d also been an on-again, off-again player in Carter’s jerk-off fantasies. He couldn’t pinpoint precisely when the young woman had snagged his attention, but she had. All five-foot-six, lush and curvy inch of her.
What would her sexy body look like tied open to him? Or better yet, what would it look like on the end of his cock?
She flashed him a quick, nervous smile before turning her attention to the man who ran the place. “May I have a quick word with you, Boss?”
“Sure thing.” Brock turned to Carter. “Give us a minute, would you?”
“Of course.” Carter adjusted his hardening cock as he pushed to his feet.
Raven motioned him back into his seat, a lock of purple hair falling over her eye and creating a stunning contrast to her creamy complexion. “That’s not necessary, Carter. This won’t take long.”
Carter nodded but didn’t reclaim his seat. At this point, it’d probably be better to keep still, his hands crossed over in front of him concealing his hard-on.
Raven turned back to Brock. “I was wondering if it were possible to pick up some extra shifts over the next month? I need to make some extra cash. It’s kinda a desperate situation deal.”
Extra cash?
Desperate situation?
The cop inside Carter jolted to attention, and every protective instinct inside him leaped to the surface. What kind of trouble was Raven in? Car broken down? Medical emergency? Paying off another drug-dealing pimp for her low-life mother? Knowing some of the shit Raven had lived through, he was placing bets on the latter.
Like all Restrained Fantasies’ employees and clientele, she’d had to submit to both drug testing and a background investigation. Raven had come back clean on all accounts, but she’d been mentioned in several police reports related to a Brenda Malek. And damn. Her mother was a fucking mess. Drug possession, prostitution, resisting arrest, child endangerment, the list went on and on.
Regardless as to the why, something was apparently bothering Raven. Tense shoulders, inability to remain still, fisting her hands. She was the textbook definition of a person on edge, and every instinct in his body cried out to help her.
“I’ll have to check the schedule,” Brock said. “I can’t make any promises, but I’m certain we can work something out.”
Raven kneaded the muscles along the side of her neck; Brock’s answer hadn’t been the one she’d been hoping for.
Her lower lip trembled, drawing Carter’s attention to the scar bisecting her chin. He’d often wondered how she’d gotten it. The scar was quite faded, which meant it was old. Had her mother given it to her? Child endangerment didn’t reach the severity of child abuse—at least under the law—but it didn’t mean her mother hadn’t hit her.
“I’ll work anytime, anyplace, Boss. Restrained Fantasies or Ravenous… whatever I can get. I promise I won’t be picky.”
Ravenous was the non-hardcore BDSM restaurant downstairs; a restaurant with little more than some surface kink, which was why Carter had only been there a few times.
“I’ll clean the sex rooms,” she continued. “I don’t care. Whatever you need, I’m your girl.”
Whatever she could get? Did whatever include moonlighting as his sub for the class?
Brock looked his way, and judging by the expression on his face, his thoughts were traveling along the same track as Carter’s.
“Come to think of it, Raven,” Brock said, “I might have something for you. It’s a little unorthodox, but the pay’s good. I just need to talk to someone before I can give you the details.”
She nodded. “Thanks, Boss. You don’t know how much I appreciate this.”
The small upturn of her lips appeared spontaneous and genuine, not like the forced one she’d given Carter earlier. This was good news for her, which only underscored her desperation—and his need to help her.
With a quick glance his way, Raven turned and headed back the way she’d come. Carter followed her with his gaze. Her walk didn’t have its usual pep. She wasn’t jamming away to the music in her head, wasn’t freely throwing around her incredible smiles. Oh yeah, something had her insides in pretzels, and the detective in him wanted to help.
The Dom in him needed to help.
The moment she cleared the room, Carter turned back to Brock and flattened his palms on his friend’s desk, a move that relayed dominance. “I want her.”
Brock smirked. “For the class, I assume.”
“Yes.” And in other ways, but that was a different conversation entirely.
The left side of Brock’s lips curled up as if he could read Carter’s lie for what it was. “You have my permission to approach her, but be careful. She’s not part of the lifestyle, and I don’t want to lose my best bartender because you pushed her too far. Got it?”
“Got it,” Carter lied. Well, mostly. If she agreed and showed even the smallest attraction to him and the world of submission, it would be balls-to-the-fucking-walls.
Raven punched the elevator button and waited for the doors to open. Damn her fucking mother. Damn her, damn her, damn her. Ten thousand dollars. How the hell was Raven supposed to come up with that kind of money by the end of the month?
Who fucking screwed over their own child this way?
She fisted her hands at her side and fought the urge to punch more than the elevator button. Taking out another loan or getting new credit cards with credit limits large enough to help was out of the question. She was over-extended as it was; served her right for trying to help the bitch in the first place. After helping her mom out with attorney fees and bail after her last arrest, Raven had been left holding the bag. She still couldn’t believe her mom had skipped on bail. Again. And crazier still, Raven didn’t know why she’d bothered helping in the first place. That had been her first—twentieth?—mistake.
Meth was slowly destroying Raven’s life, and she’d never touched the stuff.
The elevator doors slid open, and Viv Michaels strutted through. Viv was the boss’ sub and the love of his life. She was a sweet, vivacious woman Raven had come to like a lot.
Viv was dressed in her usual club fare. Black fuck-me boots, red miniskirt, and a matching leather corset which barely contained her ample breasts. She was the boss’ perfect match in every way—and it made Raven a whole lot envious. She’d never trusted anyone enough to let them in, let alone have what Viv and the boss had.
Viv’s lips curved into a friendly smile. “Hey, Raven. How’re you?”
Raven forced herself to return the other woman’s smile. “I’m good.”
Viv’s gaze sharpened. “You sure? You look… upset.”
“Just having a bit of a tough time today, but everything will work itself out. It always does.” More likely it won’t. It never did.
Over the years, she’d gotten damn good at lying about her emotions or redirecting the conversation, so with luck, Viv would take the near-lie at face value and move on. Because this problem wouldn’t work itself out. She might as well face reality and get used to it.
She’d be homeless by the end of the month.
&nb
sp; Viv placed her hand on Raven’s arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Okay. Just know I’m here if you need to talk.”
The offer warmed Raven. Part of her acknowledged the impulse to accept Viv’s offer, hug her close, and let the tears come. The other part, however, the stronger part, reminded her trusting another person only ended in disaster. She’d had enough tragedies in her life already. The only person she could depend on was herself.
“I’ll keep your offer in mind,” Raven lied.
“Good.” Viv flashed another smile and then headed toward the boss’ office. She seemed so sweet and sincere. Maybe, if Raven was very lucky, she could trust Viv.
Yeah, and maybe someday, Raven would have more than two fond memories of her mother.
Raven stepped onto the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor. She still needed to go home before her regular shift. She’d come straight from the bank, and she wasn’t exactly dressed for—
“Hey, Raven, wait up!” Someone forced their arm through the sliding doors and kept them from closing. When they opened again, she found herself staring at the handsome face of Carter Burkes. And her libido jumped to immediate attention; it usually did when he was around.
The sexy cop might be close to ten years her senior, but he wore his age like a badge of honor. Defined biceps and triceps bulged from the sleeves of his black T-shirt. The cotton stretched over his trim torso in all the right places, and his leather pants did little to cover the contour of muscular legs she’d admired more than once in the club.
A few strands of gray decorated the hair at his temples; otherwise, the perfectly messy brown locks appeared thick and lush. More than once, she’d had to squash the temptation to bury her fingers into the strands just to see if they were as soft as she’d imagined.
