Surrender to Fire: Maison Chronicles, Book 3

by Skylar Kade

  Once he’d finished cleaning and packing up his supplies, he turned back to her. “Ready?” He extended a hand, waiting for her to make the final decision.

  Okay, maybe he was different from Shawn. So far. It boded well for the evening, but that’s where things had to end. Her real life was fraying at the edges—she didn’t need to add a complication, especially one she’d sworn off.

  Closure. Pleasure. Answers. The mantra repeated as she took his hand, letting his warmth settle into her.

  “You’re in the cabin, correct?”

  “Better—I’m all by myself in the only occupied cabin.” Her words ruffled the tawny hair at his temple.

  “Impressive, sweetheart. How’d you swing that?” He headed for the door, pulling her along one pace behind on his right. She knew this routine, had been punished enough for not following properly.

  Cam had gotten punished for a lot. Wincing at her stupidity, she again thanked Shawn for leaving. This night might even take away some of the sting from his rejection. “Kat arranged it for me. She framed it as me reviewing the new digs. I saw it more as her pat on the back for me getting kicked to the curb. But I’m not so prideful I would turn down that kind of offer.”

  He squeezed her hand and her throat closed on itself. No pity from him in that squeeze, just a flashing moment of empathy.

  They made the rest of the walk in silence. Cam winced at the bright outdoor light—how easy it was to forget the time of day when in the basement of Maison Domine. But Damien hotfooted it across the parking lot—she wasn’t out of doors all that long, which was good, considering her questionable state of dress. When they reached the cabin, Damien tried the knob, then put out his hand when he found it locked. She fished into her pocket and pulled out the key, which he promptly snatched from her grasp.

  He swung the door open, but did not enter. Instead, turned towards her, face serious. “When you enter, strip and kneel at the end of the bed. Do you have any knee problems?”

  “No…Sir.” She gave herself a mental gold star for remembering that little detail.

  Hefting his bag over his shoulder, he stepped aside and let her enter, swatting her on the ass when she moved by.

  At her girlish eep, he chuckled. She scowled and got another smack for her efforts. At least he couldn’t see the expression on her face that time.

  She heard him moving around the main room and her anticipation grew with every clink and click. Losing her clothing was harder than she’d realized. No man had seen her naked—well and truly nude—in longer than she liked to admit. Even before Shawn, she hadn’t been much for intimacy. Playing a little at the clubs, sure, but not at any that allowed full nudity. Her blush spread from her cheeks downward until she knew her pale skin was going to be embarrassingly blotchy. But there was nothing to be done about it.

  Fuck it. She squared her shoulders, tossed the last of her clothing in a pile next to the bed and kneeled. He wanted her naked—he could deal with the consequences.

  As she waited, her mind drifted from the chill air to Damien moving around in the other room to their scene together earlier, not staying on any one thing long enough to really think about it. When classical music filtered in from the main room, it acted as a counterpoint to the video montage in her mind. She lifted on the music, bypassing the ugly fears that almost swamped her when thinking about the threat and work—barely touching on her failed attempt at being a full-time submissive—back to when she’d first discovered kink and all the appeal it held. Men who took charge and demanded submission through force of will, Doms who could twist girls up in knots, real or visceral, until they begged to please their Masters. She needed that freedom. She needed to shove aside all the clutter in her brain and focus on nothing but…

  Damien’s scent drifted through her reverie. Her eyes opened. Dark and imposing, with a face like the kindest devil she’d ever met, he towered over her. Her pussy clenched and chills scrambled through her stomach and chest until they made her lightheaded. She swayed on her knees, only regaining balance when Damien’s large hand cupped the back of her neck and held her against his solid thigh.

  Contentment sighed from her. Up, up, up she looked until she met his questioning look. “Are you ready to play, sweetheart?”

  “Yes, Sir.” The words came easier this time. It seemed almost unnatural to call him anything but Sir. Master seemed even more apropos.

  With one steadying hand, he pulled her up from kneeling, holding her against his body until she regained her balance. Only then did he swoop her in the air, setting her mind off-balance once again.

  Cam was ungainly and awkward in his arms. “I’m too tall for this.”

  He dropped her onto the couch. The deep-green cushions that had been so cozy last night didn’t do anything to warm her against his icy look. He shoved apart her knees, then crouched between them so they were eye level.

  “Let’s get one thing perfectly straight.” His soft words cut at her. Ah shit, she knew better. Even if their routine had gotten lax at the end, she’d been trained better than this. “You will either take more care with your tone, or I will gag you.” He dropped the threat like he was asking about the weather, so completely sure of her obeisance. Dominant to his core. That resonated with her more than anything else he’d done and only compounded her self-recrimination. Yeah, it was only one night, but he respected her enough to take it seriously.

  Guilt dragged her eyes to the floor, where she fixated on his bare feet. Damn him—how could feet be sexy? She was going for contrite and she ended up turned on.

  “I take it we’re on the same page now?”

  “Yes, Sir.” Just that little slice of submission eased her mind and she sneaked a glance at him. His clean-shaven face showed off high Nordic cheekbones and a kind mouth that was curved into such a pleasant smile that alarm surged through her.

  Any Dominant could play mean. Most of them did. It was the sweet ones who had the worst bite—they who hid their cards until you pried them from their iron fists. Lust surged through her and she squeezed her thighs together, momentarily forgetting he was keeping them spread. She closed around his waist, which only made her think about sex, wrapping her legs around his hips and getting fucked silly.

  Heat crept up her chest at his knowing smirk. His long, elegant hands tightened around her knees and pulled, until her bare pussy rubbed against his jeans. “Oh God,” she moaned, flicking her hips up against the rough material.

  “Don’t move.” His words flipped a switch and she froze. His “good girl” elicited a another throb in her clit. Never had those two words been so erotic, but when his raspy voice dropped them, she melted.

  She’d be willing to do a lot tonight to hear that again.

  His fingers slid up her thighs. With every inch, she shook from the effort of holding still. The heat from his body radiated against hers, warming her core until she sizzled—then he leaned down and blew a cool stream of air against her tender, exposed flesh.

  Her hips jerked up, desperate to bring him closer. Cam got a smack in response, which only served to inflame the tender skin of her inner thigh. “Ah, please…Sir.”

  “What are you asking for?” How could his voice still be so calm? She’d been more together last time she and the girls had gone out for Jager Bombs, and he was being even-keeled?

  “Touch me,” she begged.

  His index finger raised to her lips. She kissed it, let her tongue dart out across the tip. He hissed, then pressed the digit against her lips. “Do you want my cock here?”

  His explicit words dragged her higher and a ragged moan let loose from her chest. She sucked at his finger, showing him how much she liked that suggestion.

  When he pulled away, she gasped at the loss. He dragged his wet finger down her body, freezing against her overheated skin. He circled one nipple, then the other, tightening the peaks until they ached. “Tonight, what are you?”

  His question didn’t make sense, or maybe she was lost in his ever
y movement. His nostrils flared and that turned her on. His lip quirked and her pussy clenched. His words didn’t register until he pinched down on her nipple. That got her attention.

  “I said, ‘Tonight, what are you?’” His open, easy smile hid wicked, deviant thoughts, she just knew it. What she didn’t know was the answer to his question.

  “I…I don’t get it, Sir.”

  He stood and she reached out for him. Had she driven him away already? Cool air washed over her body. She shivered and huddled in on herself.

  Cam braced for his departure, so when he commanded, “Stand,” she scrambled to obey, almost losing her footing as she did. Once she was steady on her feet, she looked at him. She might not be submissive enough for Shawn, but she wanted—for one night—to be enough for Damien.

  “Repeat after me, okay?”

  She nodded.

  “I belong to Sir Damien.”

  The words choked her, panic and thick arousal locking around her throat. Belonging, isn’t that what she wanted? But not to a Dominant. No more. Her eyes burned with unshed tears and disappointment.

  Insight flashed in his eyes. “Ah. How about ‘Tonight, I give myself to Sir Damien’?”

  She tasted the words and found them sweet. “Tonight, I give myself to Sir Damien.”

  “Good girl.” He kissed her forehead, a satisfied smile on his face. His tenderness went straight to her knees and they buckled.

  “You’re awfully nice for a Dom…Sir,” she said when his arms caught her around the waist.

  He snorted. “What, you expected whips and chains and protocol from the get-go?”

  She took advantage of his nearness and inhaled his scent. “Yes. No. I mean, I just didn’t expect…this. Whatever this is.”

  One hand twined in her hair and yanked her head back. “Let that be lesson one, then: Nice doesn’t mean weak and being a dick doesn’t make for a fiercer Dom. Okay?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Lesson two: Tonight, what are you?”

  In his arms, the question seemed more obvious. “Tonight, I belong to Sir Damien.”

  He exhaled at her answer, his warm breath floating across her shoulder and down the chilled skin of her back. “Good. Now we can play.” His wicked grin set off butterflies in her stomach. “I’m not going to cuff you. That would be too easy. No, you’re going to have to hold yourself still.”

  Back at the beginning, when they’d occasionally played, Cam had always flailed in her bonds, yanking at the cuffs when she was flogged or paddled. Would she have the same reaction to whatever he had planned? “Shitballs,” she breathed, then winced at her language.

  His thumb brushed her lips. “Such a dirty mouth.” In a flash, she was bent over the arm of the couch, facedown in the cushions. “Don’t move.” Her ears perked up, listening for any hint of what he was doing. As the moments dragged on, little itches popped up behind her knee, on her shoulder, the back of her neck. She strained to hold still, knowing that whatever punishment he had in store would only be worse if she disobeyed.

  Footsteps muted by the thick carpet, he eventually returned to her side. “What I wouldn’t give to take you over my knee and turn your ass red.” Anxiety curled through her until he continued. “I won’t, because we said no pain and I don’t want to cross that line. I had wicked things planned for you, sweetheart, but those will have to wait.”

  His hand rubbed across her shoulders, down her spine, then up to rub her neck. “Anything hurting?”

  “No, Sir.” The couch and apprehension muffled her voice. “But I do have an itch on my leg that’s awfully distracting.”

  His hands trailed over her ass and south to her feet. “Where?”

  Every inch his hands touched was connected straight to her clit. If her experience so far was any indication, he could probably touch her nose and she’d get turned on, which was fucking ridiculous. “Back of my right knee,” she said, lust and anxiety warring for dominance. Yes, he was gorgeous and he probably deserved a Nobel prize in Devious Fuckery, but that didn’t excuse her lack of control.

  “Better?” he asked, scratching the area.

  Her nod was met with a smack against the back of her thigh. Bastard laughed at her yelp. “Yes, Sir,” she corrected, grateful when he rubbed the area, even though it had been more of a shock than a sting.

  “Good. Now don’t move until I tell you. But feel free to make all kinds of noise.”

  That didn’t sound warm and cuddly. She braced for whatever was coming, which was the only reason she didn’t move when shards of ice stabbed at the middle of her back. “Ah, motherf—” Cam bit her lip, not wanting her mouth to increase this punishment. The cold dulled, then seeped outward. “What the hell is that?”

  “An ice cube.” The obvious joy in his voice almost made her smile until she remembered she was on the suffering end of his happiness. And she’d be a liar if that didn’t turn her on. Twisted minds thought alike.

  Fingers of ice water slid down her spine and bled across her back to spill down her waist. “That wasn’t so bad,” she panted, starting to recover from the initial shock.

  “Only two more, sweetheart.”

  Somehow, she made it through them, with a freezing back and shaking legs and arousal-coated thighs. Dizzy with need, she felt just a little drunk from focusing so hard on holding still, on the slow movement of melting ice on her flesh. Not being bound had made the punishment infinitely harder to take, but she didn’t want to disappoint him, which made all the difference. Failure wasn’t an option.

  He stretched across her back, his hot, naked chest flaming against her skin and his hands wrapping around her wrists. She jerked against him, crying out and waiting for steam to fill the room. He bit down on her earlobe. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she moaned.

  “I can smell your arousal.” His hand slipped between her thighs, slicking across her clit, yanking a gasp from deep in her lungs. He stepped to her side and lifted his fingers to her eye level. “So turned on. So sexy.”

  She watched as he slipped the fingers between his lips, tasting her cream. “Ah, Sir…” Her womb contracted, cutting off all rational thought. She needed him, desperately.

  He cupped the impressive erection barely restrained by his jeans. “Ask for what you need, sweetheart.”

  Her fingers curled into the sofa cushion, but not even that grip on reality grounded her. “You,” she snapped, “I need you.”

  “Insolent wench,” he hissed into her ear, pulling her hair until her neck arched backward. She whimpered, lust drowning out all reason. “You like that, don’t you?”

  The room faded around her until only Damien stood in focus. She nodded, reveling in the extra tug against her scalp as she moved.

  He cursed and left her side. Silence screamed in his absence until she heard the swish of his jeans and he once again appeared next to the couch. “Come.”

  Cam snorted. “I wish it were that easy, Sir.”

  “Not what I meant, sweetheart,” he said as he guided her to the sheet-covered dining room table. He said nothing in response to her arched eyebrow.

  Firm, gentle hands led her up a two-step stool and onto the edge of the heavy oak table. Damien guided her back until she was staring up at the white ceiling. The rest of the room faded away as his hands touched her everywhere except between her legs. Eyes closed to block out his agonizingly slow movements, Cam focused on his breathing. The sound lulled her into a semblance of calm. She could distance herself from the all-consuming need that was eating at her edges and still know he was nearby.

  A flash of heat exploded on her stomach, surprising but not painful. She knifed upward, stopped by Damien’s heavy hand on her shoulder. “Stay still.”

  Okay, she might be able to do that—another hot slice against her side made her whole body tense, but she managed not to move. Tremors fanned out from her stomach, undulating down her legs and arms until her body vibrated in anticipation of his next mo
ve.

  “Open your eyes.”

  She obeyed and was met with Damien standing between her legs, that strand of hair flopping in front of his eyes, black shirt missing and hair sprinkling across his chest. She wanted to run her fingers across his tight muscles, feel the crisp hairs spring against her palm, grow finer and paler as she moved down his abs and around what had to be an impressive cock.

  Then she noticed the knife. Light glinted off the curved blade.

  Blood rushed to her head and she barely registered his words until his hand gripped her jaw and he came back into focus. “Camille, listen to me. This is not a cutting knife.” With his free hand, he ran the edge along his forearm, right in front of her face. Panic subsided, but just enough to listen to him. “The blade retains heat, baby.” He removed the hand from her jaw, reached for something on the table—a lighter, she saw—and used it to run flame along the metal blade. He touched it to his own arm, then moved it to her breast, letting it hover over her skin until she nodded.

  Not hot, not really, the metal bit at her skin before warming it. “Okay.” Her eyes sank closed again, trusting him a little more. Wanting him more.

  The knife danced around her skin, keeping her on edge and stealing all her attention. When the edge turned into a hot line curving around one breast and under the other, draping off her side, she gasped. The heat melted into her skin and then disappeared. Then the knife, the edge—then flat, quick swipes and long presses. Back to the line, hotter and burning deeper. Her skin pulsed like a hundred beating hearts everywhere his instrument touched her. Each throbbed in time with her clit.

  He walked her up to the edge of pain, but never crossed the line, until ice skimmed from her collarbone to her navel. “Sir!”

  His only reply was an evil laugh and a “Don’t move. And don’t even think about coming.”

  Torture. That was the only way she could describe it. Hot, then cold, until she couldn’t tell them apart. Dueling blades of fire and ice and slashes of hot-cold-hot bisected her torso until her blood screamed for him to touch her.