by Brandi Evans
For a long moment, she didn’t answer, and when she finally did, it was little more than a shake of the head. No, no, no. Nonverbal communication wouldn’t cut it. He’d long ago made a habit of having all subs, especially new ones, verbalize all answers directed at him.
“I need you to voice all answers from here on out,” he said. “I’m very good at reading people, but there are times when the voice can counter body language. A person might learn to control their body language and nod in consent to a question posed, but it’s harder to hide emotion in the voice.” He trailed an index finger along the pounding vein in the left side of her neck. “The husky rasp of arousal, the quiver of fear. The physical, hormone-laced responses are much harder to control. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she murmured.
“Yes, Sir,” he corrected.
As he’d anticipated, she went tense at the suggestion of having to call him Sir. Back in Ravenous, his mention of her being submissive had triggered an adverse reaction. He wasn’t sure why, but something about being called or thought of as a sub was downright insulting to her. But why? And would he have time to get to the bottom of it before the class was over?
“I’m not your sub,” she said, head held high.
“For the next two hours, you most certainly are, and you will act the part accordingly.” And maybe, if he was lucky, she might discover she liked being submissive, in the bedroom anyway. “This is not a class on proper punishments for unruly subs, so you’ll need to act like a good little sub for the duration of the class. Do I make myself clear, little one?”
He held his breath as he waited for her response.
“Yes, Sir,” she said finally, her defiance never wavering.
Could she have spoken through more clenched teeth? It was, however, a start, so he’d take it.
He rewarded her acquiescence with a gentle kiss to the forehead. “Good girl.”
She smelled like vanilla and desire. He doubted he’d be able to smell anything vanilla scented again without going instantly hard.
“Exactly how much do you know about the lifestyle?” he asked. “Safewords, obviously. What else?”
All employees were instructed in the use of safewords—specifically the club’s safeword, red—so they could be on the lookout for anyone not respecting a member’s rights.
“I know the boss usually orders a house draft. Vivian gets a Porch Swing. Master Stephen never gets anything from the bar. And I know you like to order Caipirinhas because I keep the Cachaça on the back of the bottom shelf, so I have to bend over to reach it. And you, in turn, get to check out my ass.”
The left side of his lips turned up. The girl was good. “So, in other words, you don’t know much about the lifestyle specifically.”
“Not really.”
She pursed her lips and looked skyward. He swore he could hear the curse words in her expression before she spoke again.
“Not really, Sir.”
He rewarded her catch and correction with another soft forehead kiss.
He held his hand out for her. “For tonight’s class, safeword and subservience will probably be all you need. So, if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you some of the toys I might be using on you later.”
Might be using on her later?
Fear nearly froze Raven to the tiled floor. The man standing before her terrified her on so many levels. One way, more than the others, but she didn’t want to admit it.
It wasn’t the black leather pants or the simple black tank top showing off arms powerful enough to squeeze her broken pieces back together. It wasn’t the leather wrist cuffs or the thick silver chain which connected to some hidden spot on the back side of his belt and to a big “O” ring on the front. It wasn’t the strong set of his jaw or the penetrating way he looked at her. No, what scared her most was the way he made her feel in deep, untouched parts inside her, parts she’d neglected far too long.
Wanton.
Needy.
Ridiculously desperate to please him.
He created a shitstorm of emotions she couldn’t handle, couldn’t decipher them either. It was why she actively avoided him at the club. She had no foundation to deal with feelings not revolving around anger, disappointment, survival, or pure lust, but somehow, she found the inner strength to place her hand in his.
Skin connected to skin, a simple touch, nothing more than two people experienced when shaking hands, but the heat inside her core doubled and threatened to drop her to her knees.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck!
She steeled herself, drawing in a much-needed breath. She wouldn’t fall for whatever spell he was weaving around her. And it was a spell. She might not believe in magic, but it was the only explanation she could conjure to explain how much he affected her sanity.
Carter smiled and drew her hand to his lips. As with the other two kisses he’d given her, a warmth began at the spot where his lips contacted her skin and spread out to encompass her entire body, giving her the exact calming sensation she’d been seeking herself. Damn it! Were his lips laced with fucking Xanax?
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“Liar.” He drew a fingertip along her forehead. “The skin here’s gone wrinkly. Something has you upset. What is it?”
She swatted his hand away. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Getting inside my head. It’s… disconcerting.”
“Classic redirection.” Grinning, he stroked his thumb over her lips. “But I won’t push you to tell me things you don’t want to. Just know, I’m here if you need me.”
“I don’t need someone to save me.”
“Never said you did, little one, but I’m here nonetheless. Even if it’s just to be a sounding board.”
He eased his thumb again over her lower lip. She fought the urge to laugh. Did guys ever want to ‘just talk’ with a girl unless sex was involved at some point?
Not in her experience.
But she nodded anyway.
Seemingly satisfied, he walked with her onto the dungeon’s circular platform, which sat two steps higher than the rest of the floor, and directed her toward a long table covered in black satin. She’d noticed the table when she’d walked in, but her fear and the sexy Dom at her side had usurped all her brain power—not so much now.
She swallowed against the lump forming in the back of her throat, and Carter placed a hand tenderly over her throat. Not around. His hand was only slightly curved, palm contouring against her voice box.
“Relax, pet,” he cooed. “No one’s going to hurt you. At best, I’d orgasm you into a coma, and that’s not an exaggeration. Well, not much of one.”
A shiver chased down her spine. “That sounds, um…” She swallowed again, her larynx working against his hand. “…um, interesting.”
And okay, it was as far from interesting as anything could possibly be. Calling the idea interesting was about as apt as saying the desert was a bit dry.
“Is ‘interesting’ really the best word you can come up with?” he asked.
No way she’d answer that.
With his free hand, he gripped her hips and pulled her firmly against his hard body and even harder cock, her back to his front. “Remove the sheet.”
His voice was a soft seduction, and she obeyed without hesitation. The satin was cool against her skin, a welcome contrast to her clammy grip, but the second the table’s content was revealed, everything lurched into slow-motion.
She worked at the club long enough to know what most of the items were. The rather mundane stuff like blindfolds, handcuffs, wrist and ankle cuffs, and collars. The middle-of-the-line kinkiness like leashes, harnesses, and a flogger. Those, if she were being honest, she’d expected. The stuff on the far-right side of the table, however, gave her pause.
Nylon ropes, a riding crop, two types of whips—oh fuck, nipple clamps. She tried taking a step back, her head flailing back and forth
, but he had her in his grip. She was trapped. This wasn’t what she’d signed up for.
“Breathe, pet,” he murmured. “Your heart’s pounding.” With the same gentle hold, he cupped a hand around her neck and positioned her head against his mountainous shoulder. “Just breathe. Breathe…”
Easier said than done. Her mind was racing. Okay, not only her mind. She was racing. Heart, breath, libido… every fucking thing. It was too much.
“I will not hurt you,” he said. “I will not expose you to any of the other Doms or allow them to hurt you or touch you. You have my word, Raven. Trust me.”
Trust…
She grabbed onto the word. Trust didn’t come easily. She wasn’t sure it ever had. Or ever could. Even when her mother was around, Raven had been on her own since the age of five. Fending for herself. Cooking for herself. Cleaning the house by herself. Stealing money from the scattered bills on her mother’s bedside table, the ones the Johns’ had left, and giving them to Mrs. Bishop, the kind lady next door. Raven and Mrs. Bishop had had an arrangement; Raven would bring over what money she could, and Mrs. Bishop made sure the electric and water bills got paid.
Looking back, Raven was pretty sure what money she stole hadn’t come close to the actual bill amount, but Mrs. Bishop had never once complained. Nor had she complained whenever a hungry Raven had shown up at her door, stomach rumbling, or when Raven had needed to get away from the Johns who arrived at all hours of the night. Mrs. Bishop and a single foster father had been the only people in Raven’s life who had come close to earning her trust, but here Carter was, asking for trust.
Asking.
Not demanding.
It was a distinction something inside Raven recognized. Still…
She closed her eyes and raked in a calming breath. She couldn’t give all her trust, but here, in the confines of Restrained Fantasies, in the arms of a man sworn to obey and uphold the law, maybe—just maybe—she could give a little. Not her complete trust. That was too damaged and broken to ever give entirely, but she believed Carter when he’d said he wouldn’t hurt her.
She’d hold tight to the thought.
“I trust you, Sir.” She dug her fingernails into his leathers and grabbed on, as if holding tight to him was the cure for all her ills.
“Good, girl.” He grazed his lips over the shell of her ear as he spoke, before moving to tease the pounding vein along the side of her neck. “I like the way you respond to my touch. It’s incredibly arousing. What I wouldn’t give to explore every inch of you.”
His words were liquid desire, fueling her lust and igniting something inside her she’d never experienced before. A powerful vulnerability which left her feeling raw and exposed but in the best possible way.
“Sir…”
He kissed her neck, not lingering too long, which only served to make her want him more. Had he done that on purpose? Probably.
“Turn around,” he ordered. “I want to study your face.”
She obeyed before the consequences of her actions registered in her mind, until his gorgeous eyes were boring into hers.
The hand which had been around her neck was in her hair, fingers grabbing tight. The hand at her waist shifted to the small of her back and tugged her against him. His erection was heavy against her belly, a physical sign leaving no doubt to the way she affected him. He wanted her as much as she wanted him.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. He licked his lips as if trying to decide whether kissing her was a good idea, which it wasn’t. It was a terrible idea.
She pushed to her tiptoes.
“How’d you get the scar on your chin?” he asked. “I’ve always wondered.”
His question threw her for a moment, and she shook her head. If she allowed her thoughts to travel back in time, to the night she’d gotten said scar, the darkness could overcome her again.
She carried many scars from her childhood and not all were physical.
“Okay,” he murmured. “The scar’s an off-limits topic. Got it.”
Raven swallowed hard, suddenly aware of where her hands were. Her fingers were inching their way up his back as she pushed further onto her tiptoes. She almost felt like she was under some form of hypnosis. Or maybe it was more like a prisoner in her own body. She wasn’t sure how to describe it; all she knew for sure was if his mouth didn’t cover hers right fucking now, she might completely lose her mind.
As if reading her mind, Carter took her lips—and time stood still. It was stupid and cliché, but there it was.
Reality froze around them. Surrender built in her body like a pressure cooker nearing its blast point. Every passing second, she grew more and more insistent, and she hated it. She wasn’t submissive to anyone. She wasn’t. But even as she tried talking herself back from the ledge, Carter deepened their kiss.
God almighty.
His tongue slid over hers, claiming it, claiming her in one powerful move, and her stupid, traitorous body was all too eager to surrender.
A knock sounded against the closed dungeon door, and the sexy man in her arms drew back, cursing under his breath, although she wasn’t sure if it was the interruption or the kiss itself annoying him most.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to find out either way.
“Come,” Carter said as he stepped away from her and turned to the door.
Raven didn’t turn to see who entered, but she didn’t run either, which, all things considered, she considered a win.
Holy fuck, her heart was pounding like she’d sprinted up every flight of stairs in the building. She’d never been on the receiving end of a kiss like that—a kiss that had barely begun. Who knew kisses could harbor that kind of intensity?
What had she gotten herself into?
A man’s deep baritone drew her attention. “It’s time. You ready to get this shindig started?”
God, that was the boss. Fuck. Why did his presence make her feel even more emotionally strung out?
“Yeah,” Carter answered, his voice annoyingly unaffected. “All ready to go.”
“Good.” There was a slight pause, and when the boss spoke again, humor played on the outer edges of his voice. “I’ll give you a few moments to wipe the lipstick from your mouth. It’s not really your color, Carter.”
Gawd. She wanted to melt and slink away through the building’s pipes.
As the door clicked shut, Raven reached into her back pocket, where she usually kept her compact, but Carter caught her by the wrist and tugged until they stood face to face again. The tempest in his eyes had lessened, which annoyed her to no end. She was still reeling from their kiss; he should be too.
He ran the pad of his thumb carefully over the bottom crease of her lower lip. Holy shitballs. Was he fixing her lipstick?
“There we go,” he said when he’d finished. “All perfect again. Now, my turn.”
Her hands trembled like she’d been two weeks lost in a blizzard. Wiping away her lipstick from his lips was a strangely intimate act. Were all Doms as sweet? Or just Carter? Because yeah, she didn’t quite consider Doms and sweet as copacetic terms.
Would he be this sweet with a flogger in his hands?
Did she want to know?
“You ready?” he asked.
She nodded and then immediately caught herself. “Yes, Sir. I’m ready.”
“Good.” He pressed a quick kiss to the end of her nose. “Now, let’s get you into a little bondage.”
Chapter 2
Raven Malek was an assault on the senses—and Carter’s better judgment.
Hand hovering over the table, he tried to decide what would be the best way to restrain her for tonight’s lesson. Having her in his arms had wreaked havoc on his higher brain functions, which was never a good thing for a Dom, especially when said Dom needed his wits about him.
Not having a sub with the ability to overwhelm his senses was the beauty of inviting Caroline to be his sub for the evening. She was a fun distraction when he needed one but nothing more. No e
motions to muddle his thoughts, just mindless fucking, his inner Dom on autopilot, but with Raven, he’d have to watch himself. And he wasn’t sure how he felt about this.
He wanted Raven; this much was clear. To play with her, to help her, sure, but the control-busting attraction had not been on the menu. It was never on his menu. A smart Dom would walk away, and he was a smart Dom.
So why continue with the class?
He glanced at the woman to his side. Their kiss still tingled on his lips as well as his mind. What was the point in lying to himself? He was pushing forward for her. Plain and simple. Not for the newbie Doms he had to teach. Not for the experienced Doms ‘auditing’ the class. For her. Because she needed help, and helping those in need was his Achilles’ heel.
He turned away from her and grabbed the wrist and ankle cuffs from the table. For her first foray into bondage, why not go with a BDSM classic?
He held a hand out to Raven, palm up. “Place your hand in mine.” He kept his voice firm but not harsh.
Positively terrified didn’t begin to describe her expression, and it didn’t take an expert at reading body language to decipher her tense muscles and fidgety stance. Terror darkened her beautiful face, giving her features an unfamiliarity which made him want to do whatever it took to ease her tension.
To her credit, she hesitated only a few seconds before placing one of her hands in his. Like before, he rewarded her submission with a kiss to the back of the hand.
After securing both wrist cuffs into place, he knelt before her to attend to the ankle cuffs. He used every ounce of willpower to keep from kissing his way down her body as he worked. If he gave into his impulses now, it’d be game over.
The class and his sanity.
Carter faced his class, remaining within arm’s reach of Raven. Six new Doms—five men and one woman—as well as three regular Doms from Restrained Fantasies—Masters Brock, Steel, and Ewan—scattered around the platform. Carter had known Brock would be there, but it was a pleasant surprise to see Steel and Ewan in attendance as well.
