Big Bad Doms Box Set (BDSM Romance)

by Edward Tailor

  “How did you get here, little one? All I could find in your pockets was my food.” He didn’t know anything about her. She didn’t have a purse or a driver’s licence—nothing. “If you’d like, I could contact someone to collect you?” he asked and hoped there was someone out there who would care for her. She was in a state, not just from her dire situation, but she was a nervous wreck after tonight’s fiasco.

  The food. She had forgotten she had stolen his food. Why did she have to steal his food? Next to armed robbery, a few slices of ham and a block of cheese would not add much more time to her sentence she mused.

  “Emm, there is no one,” she answered mournfully. “Did you call the police?”

  Fuck. She looked so frail. Her eyes spoke of a million heart-wrenching stories that he would love to ease from her. He thought that the young woman lying on his bed was probably the bravest, most foolish woman he’d ever met. Yet, he was drawn to her. Under all that crazy, she showed potential. She was a strong intuitive young woman that was obviously prepared to go to extraordinary lengths to survive.

  “No, I did not call the police,” he reassured her. “For the first time in my life, I’ve gone against my brother’s wishes.” Smiling weakly, he watched her colour pale. Goddamn, she looked so sexy tying her hair in knots. “You need help, little one, not prison.”

  “I’m not crazy,” she interrupted sitting forward and pulling on her restraints.

  “I know.” He spoke louder, shocking her into silence. “But you do need help. For starters, you need a bath and some clean clothes, followed by a hot meal and a good night’s sleep.” He couldn’t help but be drawn to the innocence in her eyes as she nervously twirled her hair. He stood from the bed and pulled a key from his back trouser pocket. “We are both locked in my rooms little one. There is nowhere for you to run. I’m going to take off your shackle,” he explained firmly. “Then, while you eat, I’ll run you a bath. After you’re clean, you can repay me by telling me your name so we can work out your hours and salary.”

  “My hours and salary?” she repeated quizzically.

  Cam placed an old iron key into the keyhole of the iron band and released her from her imprisonment. “Yes. You broke into my premises, stole from me and held me at gun point. Do you think you would fare better in prison?” Her brow furrowed and she started to play with her hair again, but as he studied her, she stopped. He took a plate of sandwiches and a cold glass of orange juice from the dresser and placed it at her bedside. “Eat,” he ordered softly and left to run her a bath.

  *****

  He poured himself a large cognac and waited at his desk. He was tired and was getting a headache. He sat there trying to determine what the fuck he was doing. This woman was unstable for Christ’s sake. She’d pointed a gun at him. She had broken into his club armed, with the intent to rob him. He took a long pull on the caramel liquid and swallowed back a couple of aspirin then held the glass to his forehead. God. His head hurt. It was the early hours of Friday morning now. Harvey had closed the club, but he still had to deal with the till receipts and balance the takings. Shit. Rolling the cool glass across his pounding head, he strained to focus, but it was pointless. All he could think about was that she’d pulled the trigger. Why had she done that? It was obvious she was down on her luck right now, but why pull the trigger? Man. She must be crazy or so hell-bent on not giving in that she was prepared to kill herself. His cock twitched in his pants as the possibilities flooded into his brain. If he could just channel that determination, she could be what he was looking for. She could be his ideal submissive and wasn’t that thought just so fucking sexy?

  He sat back as he heard the bedroom door open. Damn what a difference a meal and bath made. Her hair was lighter than he originally thought; she was a beautiful coppery blonde, yet even wrapped in his red gown, she still looked drawn and pale.

  “Sit little one,” he said pleasantly gesturing to Harvey’s chair.

  She sat nervously placing one naked foot on top of the other as she held the gown closed at the top of her thighs.

  “Let start with names, shall we?” he spoke calmly, holding the glass against his abdomen. “I’m Cameron Flint the man you tried to rob.” He watched her closely and was pleased to see a flush of embarrassment rise on her cheeks.

  “Natalie Darrow,” she replied weakly, squeezing the gown tight across her chest, “but everyone calls me Tilly.”

  His brows twitched a little as she offered him a personal piece of information he hadn’t requested. “Then Tilly it is,” he said softly and finished his cognac. “Would you join me in a drink?” he asked tipping his empty glass.

  “Yes…yes please…em…” Shit, she didn’t know what to call him. Cameron just seemed too friendly after what had happened earlier,

  “Mr Flint will work for now,” he added softly sensing her struggle. Taking another glass from his desk, he poured a double shot into both and held one out to her. He watched amused as she sniffed the caramel liquid before she drank it down in one swallow then coughed and pulled a funny face that had her eyes flickering and her mouth stretching.

  After downing his own drink, he spoke precisely. “So Tilly, we need to work out a way for you to repay me. Tell me what you’re good at, and I will adapt to suit.” He refilled both glasses and watched as she studied the ratted split ends of her hair before lifting her eyes to the heavens as if she was deep in thought. After a while, her champagne eyes fell to his, then to his full desk of paper work. She seemed to gather herself before responding to him with her answer.

  “I used to keep my dad’s books?” If truth be told though, she had been damn good at keeping her dad’s books in order.

  “You did?”

  “Yes, it was small scale, though. We used to own a small hardware outlet but...” She looked down at her drink, swirled the liquid around in her glass and drank it again in one swallow.

  He watched her, not wanting to push her for more information. When she didn’t offer up any further explanation, he nodded and gave her warm smile. “Ok then little one, you can start tomorrow, but now it’s late and it’s been an eventful night.” He stood suddenly, effectively dismissing her.

  Tilly held the robe over her body and wondered where she was being dismissed to. She looked at Cameron or Mr Flint as she had been instructed to call him, and he smiled at her warmly.

  “You take my bed, Natalie. I still have plenty to do here before sleep claims me.”

  He sounded weary she thought. He sounded as if he needed the bed more than she did, but something in his tone told her his decision was final. “Thank you Cameron, em… Mr Flint.” God, when he looked at her, his eyes bore into her and she had to fight the urge to bow or salute. Christ Tilly, he’s offering you a lifeline. The least you can do is show gratitude. Standing, she placed the empty glass on his desk, opened her mouth to thank him again, but closed it instead, nodded and made her way back to his bed.

  Chapter Four

  There were new clothes, including lacy French underwear draped over the bottom of the bed when she woke. As she held the garments to the light to study them, she became a little alarmed wondering how much they must have cost. She didn’t want to be indebted to him for more than she already was, and although the £500 pair of ivory lace panties and matching bra felt beautiful on her skin, it all added up to another month’s worth of I owe you. Slipping on the short navy skirt, she rolled her eyes as it swayed against the top of her thighs. As for the top, she knew in the right light, the top would be practically see-through. She was just debating whether to change back into his gown when there was a knock at the door and Cameron Flint entered. Oh boy, if she thought he looked hot last night, today she was sure of it. He wore a pair of stone-washed jeans that hung off his hips and a plain white shirt. He was mouthwateringly gorgeous, she thought breathlessly.

  “I’ve made some breakfast,” he stated casually and seemed to wait for her reply.

  Crossing her arms over her breasts, she remembe
red why she was here. Although the clothes were not to her liking, they were at least clean. “Ok”, she answered cheerfully while she slipped on a pair of heels, wondering briefly if he’d brought them so she couldn’t bolt. She followed him out through the office to the kitchen she’d raided the night before.

  Wow he certainly had been busy. On the black marble counter was a breakfast fit for royalty. There were sausages, bacon, scrambled eggs, cereal, mixed diced fruit, freshly squeezed orange juice, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee…Lush.

  “Sit,” he ordered gently as he gestured to a round, wooden stool.

  She didn’t need to be told twice. She was starving and the thought of hiding her pale skinny legs and bare midriff behind the counter made the demand even more appealing.

  “Coffee?” he asked holding up a fresh pot.

  Nodding, she watched his shoulder muscles flex and ripple under his cotton shirt as he reached for the mugs and pulled open the fridge for the milk. Oh my.

  “How’s your hand this morning?” he asked with a smile as he brought the coffee back to the counter.

  Tilly instinctively lifted up her bandaged arm and flexed her fingers. She was surprised to realize how good it felt, and it must have shown on her face.

  “Good. I thought it would feel better this morning. We have some pretty powerful ointments and creams here so I would have been surprised if it was still painful.” Cameron slid onto the stool next to her and gently took her injured hand in his. “You were lucky. The direction of the blast went away from you and towards me, or you may have been left with a scar,” he explained in no more than a whisper. Gently, he unwrapped the length of gauze covering her wound and lifted off the bandage. “Emm,” he commented as he tilted her hand back and forth, studying the pinkish burn that fanned out across the back of her hand.

  “It actually feels really good.” Watching his deep blue eyes narrow and his mouth purse into a thin line, her womb clenched as she wondered momentarily what his lips would taste like.

  “In another day or two, it should be just fine.” He stood abruptly, opened a long storage cupboard behind him, shuffling things around until he found the white pot he was looking for. He placed the pot and a pack of fresh dressings on the counter, sat back down and started redressing her wound.

  She watched in silence as he took surprising care in applying a thick translucent cream to her burn. His thick digits worked lightly as he brushed over her sensitive flesh in little circles. The sight and feel made her heart race and her pulse quicken.

  “Does that feels nice?” he asked seductively, putting more meaning into the statement than intended.

  The question and its intent caught her off guard and she stumbled for an answer. “Yes, it feels much better, thank you,” she stammered.

  “The cream should cool as it soothes,” he prompted playfully as he redressed her hand with the gauze and bandage. “Now eat,” he ordered with a full-on smile.

  She smiled back a weak thank you and turned her attention to the food. God, this amount of food could feed her for a week or more. If she could bag it, she could take it away, divide it into daily rations, and store it until she needed it.

  “Tilly, it’s ok. There’s always plenty of food here,” he said in a whisper, but it was a message that was meant to be heard. It was also a polite way of telling her that she didn’t need to either steal it or more likely pig out. “Now eat,” he repeated and started dishing sausages and eggs onto her plate.

  The spicy aroma as he lifted the lid made her tummy growl with its own approval. Cutting up her sausage with the back of the fork, she eagerly started eating. A soft involuntary groan of approval left her lips as the succulent herbed meat met her taste buds.

  “That is a wonderful sound,” he acknowledged before he dished himself up a bowl of fruit and yogurt.

  He’d probably do the same if he couldn’t remember the last time he ate breakfast she thought. Instead, she smiled, groaning a second time as she tried the soft-whipped scrambled eggs. Gesturing around the spacious well-equipped kitchen with her fork she asked, “So what is this place, a hotel?

  “No” he chuckled softly as if she had cracked some sort of joke.

  “No?” she repeated. “A school then maybe?” she guessed watching him as she tackled another sausage.

  “No, not a school. What made you think that?” He swallowed back his laugh with a spoonful of breakfast and it made her centre cramp. He was such a honey, when he smiled like that; she just wanted to cover him in his yogurt and lick it off…slowly.

  He was definitely amused, she thought, but she didn’t know why. Narrowing her eyes, she explained in a stop mocking me tone. “Well, that tall, dark guy last night said my master should have known better than to leave me outside as a punishment,” shrugging, she loaded up her fork with egg, “So I assumed he meant a school master of some sort.”

  Fuck. She was a beautiful innocent. Sure, she’d fallen on hard times, but he would bet his left nut she’d never heard of BDSM. He was sure as shit, as he stared at her, that she would bolt as soon as he told her. Shit. Spinning around on his stool, he ran a hand through his thick hair. He knew he had to do this diplomatically; he couldn’t have her run. Fuck no. The thought of her out there on the street frankly made him sick. For fuck’s sake, he could only imagine how desperate she must have been to even attempt to obtain the gun? Fucking hell. He’d spent all night thinking about her alone on the street, being approached by pimps and sicko’s. Swallowing back his anger, an image of this scared frightened girl swam front and centre. God only knew what she’d offered in trade to the punk kid for that shooter. Sex, for him was always the ultimate reward for trust. Sure, he’d fucked loads of women in his time, but it had never been about a trade. The thought of that asshole taking her body in payment for that shit shooter made his blood boil and his stomach turn.

  “This is a private club little one,” he started to explain carefully. He didn’t want to lie to her. Ultimately as always, relationships, even if they were boss and employee, should be based on trust. “My club,” he started again, “is a highly sought after club, with a limited clientele.”

  Frowning at him, she tilted her head slightly, showing him her long slender neck.

  He gave a little sigh of need and continued. “The clientele that come here come for a sole purpose.” He watched her closely for her true reaction. She shifted in her short skirt, kissing the wooden stool with the back of her bare thighs. Noticing her nipples beading through her lace bra and thin top, his body reacted immediately, a hard on pressing against the zipper of his jeans. Shit “They all come to my club to practice control and domination, and here we specialise in Dominant sexual acts for the people who move in these circles. It’s known more commonly as a BDSM club.” He rested his chin on his linked fingers and waited for the information to sink in.

  Her jaw dropped, her eyes bulged, and she gave him a small giggle before she replied with a little high-pitched squeal. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “No Doll. I never kid.” He wanted to make that loud and clear.

  “You mean you whip people here?” Her face was flushed with embarrassment, but she was still giggling.

  “Only if they require it.” He cocked his brow and looked at her sideways.

  “You do? You have to be kidding me! Really?” She laughed and cupped her hands to her face. “What do you mean if they require it?”

  “I told you, I don’t kid and yes, I do…Really. Some of my subs require a heavy hand in order to reach their release. Others, well they require fluffy hand cuffs and blindfolds.” He watched as she stroked her top teeth with her tongue and imagined how that supple muscle would feel around the ridge of his cock.

  Turning away from him briefly, her joviality had gone when her gaze swung back to his. “You really aren’t kidding, are you? But why? Do they pay you? Are you like a gigolo?”

  “No Tilly, I’m a Dominant. We do not trade sex for money,” he explained in wha
t she now understood to be his Dominant tone. Hot.

  “I can read your body little one better than you can yourself and if you were my sub…”

  “Sub?” she interrupted softly.

  “Submissive, a willing partner that trusts her Dom to take her to sexual heights she never knew existed. A Dominant takes total care of a sub’s body, mind and well-being, whether it’s for an hour, an evening, a day, a week, or a collaring.”

  “And in return, you what…whip her and fuck her?” she said more bitterly than she meant to. She didn’t mean to be so rude; she knew he was being very patient with her.

  “If she agrees and either deserves, or needs the release the whip brings, then yes. Whipping is pretty hardcore though Tilly. Only a rare few will take the lash of a whip. Besides, we use safe words. A sub is free to call a safe word, stopping everything at any time.” Smiling softly, he tried to word the rest of his answer sensitively because for some reason he wanted her to understand him. “In return Tilly, as a Dom I get respect and the sub’s overwhelming need to please me.”

  “So you do them a favour and they worship you?” she replied sarcastically, making her wince as she wished she could learn to filter her thoughts before they spilled from her mouth.

  “NO!” He raised his voice because he didn’t like where her thoughts were going.