His Only Hope: The Maison Chronicles, Book 2

by Skylar Kade

Yeah, his cock definitely wasn’t listening.

  Sex with Hope had always been mind-blowing. Her body fit against his perfectly, her every curve pressed against him. And she was so tight. He growled, part lust and part frustration. She’d used sex to keep distance between them, to keep things casual. Intimacy had been one of her hard limits, as he’d learned the hard and lonely way. Now he had a second chance with her, and it wouldn’t be wasted. A smart man might not push her comfort zone this weekend, but he was born too stubborn for that.

  He would take from her all that he could coerce or seduce—they owed each other that much. And he needed to see if she was the same scared little rabbit putting on a show of bravado that she had been before. She’d certainly changed her appearance a lot.

  His chest constricted. She’d been beautiful when they’d first met, but…damn. She was a knockout now. He liked his women curvy but lean, and while Hope had lost some weight, her ass and thighs still made his mouth water. And her breasts, lush and creamy, had made his tongue tingle from wanting to taste them. Well, what he could see of them in her buttoned-up suit. His imagination had taken that little line of cleavage and zipped off to la-la land.

  It would be a challenge. But he didn’t like taking the easy road.

  With a predatory grin, he parked and surveyed the other cars there. He recognized many of them from years ago. He also noted Jax and Lara’s swanky new Tessla Roadster, which meant his duffel would be here. The couple had offered to tote his toy bag there and back so he could ride the Harley.

  He’d wanted the bag, just in case.

  Speaking of Hope, her dark gray SUV glimmered from the end of the row. Despite being a early-model car she’d owned for years, it looked brand new. Never let it be said the woman didn’t take care of her possessions. She detailed the car every Sunday morning and relentlessly cleaned dirt and crumbs from the floor mats. Even the wheels and hubcaps shone. At least that much about her hadn’t changed.

  As he unbuckled his helmet, Gabe let out a sigh. Maybe this time they’d stop hiding from each other. Or at least, maybe she’d stop hiding from him and come to terms with whatever intimacy issues she had. Gabe had made peace with his own fucked-up past long ago—it wasn’t relevant anymore and didn’t need to be shared.

  A few buckles and snaps later, his saddlebags popped free. He headed toward the huge club building and marveled once again at Kat’s business acumen, turning this former camp retreat into one of the premier BDSM clubs in America. She’d been an invaluable friend for years, even when he’d lived in Boston for his glassblowing apprenticeship.

  Gabe hightailed it to the entrance, pulse kicking up with every step, and entered the lobby. The browns and greens, the simple decor, the openness of the interior, all made him breathe more easily. Some of the tension sloughed from his shoulders and he took a deep breath, catching the pine scent always present, mixed with the faint smell of food.

  “Kat?” he called out, knowing she wouldn’t be too far off. Friday nights, she played hostess. Saturday and Sunday, she played…whatever she wanted.

  Her brunette head poked over the third-story railing that ringed the main room. “Gabriel?” She always used his full name, her rolling French accent making short work of the syllables. “Mon ami, I have only now finished preparing your room—perfect timing, oui? Bring your bags up. It is going to be a full weekend, but I made sure you would have your usual room, even after two years. I know how you hate change.”

  He hit the staircase to his left, taking the steps two at a time. The oak flooring of the third story creaked under his heavy boots as he made his way to the far end of the hall where his room overlooked the cliff and had a perfect vantage point for sunsets. Not to mention the private balcony that provided inspiration for a dozen naughty ideas. The sheer space of the suite gave two dozen more.

  Half the top floor housed her office and apartment. The rest was divided into two suites—coveted weekend rooms. He was touched that Kat had reserved one for him.

  Katrina lingered outside his open door. Nosy woman, figured she’d have questions about the first woman he’d ever brought to Maison. Her gaze flickered down to his crotch. “Happy to see me?” She arched her brow and barely restrained a smile. “Or is that for the darling Hope O’Shea I finally had the pleasure of meeting? You talked about her so often before you left, but you and she never visited the club. I guess you will not be aiding other Doms this weekend, and I know many a sub will be sorely disappointed. They still talk about you longingly, some of them.” She gestured into the open door. “Come, put your bags down and join the group for drinks and food. Hope is already down there, making friends without you. Who knows who she could meet?”

  He stopped dead at her words and turned back to Kat, who had been following him in. “Meet?”

  Her sly look made him wary. “Oh Gabriel, you know how beautiful women attract attention, and there are quite a few unattached Dominants here this weekend. And if you recall from your past visits, beautiful women alone are—how do you say—jackpot here.”

  “Well, that’s not going to happen. Hope is here as my guest.”

  He pivoted and continued into the room. The plush carpet muffled his footsteps as he walked past the kitchenette to unceremoniously drop his bags next to the dark brown couch of the “entertainment room”, as Kat liked to call it.

  She sat at the table for two in the kitchenette, making herself at home. “She is your guest, of course, but so far as I have seen, you and she had no official arrangements.”

  He ground his teeth, surely making his dentist shudder. “She knows the deal.”

  He stalked into the bedroom to check on the bag Jax should have left there. His toy bag sat on the expanse of Cal-King mattress, mocking him to get a move on with Hope.

  Katrina laughed, the sound filtering through the open French doors that separated the bedroom from the rest of the suite. “Gabriel, your self-assurance is so cute! All I know is that a stunning woman is downstairs having hors d’oeuvres, one who arrived by herself without any weekend agreement or marks of possession. And every Top—male and female—looking for play partners this weekend knows that too.”

  “Shit.” He ran a hand through the barely there stubble on his head and scratched his goatee. Too much of the past needed to be hashed out before playing. Gabe had hoped to catch her before the festivities started and take measure of the situation, but of course Hope would have arrived early—she didn’t have a late gene in her body. The best laid plans of mice and men…

  “What was that, darling?” Kat stood in the doorway, amused look still on her face.

  “Let me change into something less windblown and I’ll meet you down there.” He started rummaging through his bag for his black slacks and Under Armor. The athletic shirts were perfect for a long, physical evening.

  Wishful thinking, yeah.

  “Gabriel, there are other unattached submissives downstairs. And more than a few couples who would like to scene with you again. After all, how well do you really know Hope after two years?” Katrina shook her head and pieces of brown hair fell into her eyes. She swiped it aside with a flick and continued. “To get so worked up over a long-past ex…”

  Gabe, clothes in hand, faced Katrina. “Okay, woman, enough digging for information. Let me change so I can spend some quality time getting to know her again.”

  Katrina shot him an insouciant wave and made her way out. He followed her to the doorway to the suite.

  “Difficult wench. I’ll pray for the Dom that tries to tame you,” he called to her retreating form.

  He shut the door and changed clothes before returning to his backpack. From inside the front zipper pouch, he pulled two blue boxes. The smaller one he set aside to take downstairs with him. The larger one should have stayed in his workshop. Maybe he was the masochist, and not Hope.

  He lifted the lid. A collar—more of a necklace, really—lay stretched out like a living metal vine crawling across the velvety box. Small green l
eaves, the color of Hope’s eyes, unfurled from the silver stem that formed the necklace’s core. Larger cream-colored flowers dotted the front of the vine, and at the center of each one lay an amethyst, Hope’s February birthstone. It was the most beautiful piece he’d ever created, but it had never left his workshop. After Hope left him, he’d worked like a maniac to create the collar, not knowing he’d ever see her again or that they’d both return to LA. Hers was the first metal collar he’d ever made. It had been a compulsion he could not ignore and it had helped to purge some of his frustration and longing.

  Now it only taunted him with things he couldn’t have.

  Gabe sighed and snapped the lid closed, tucking the box into his backpack. He popped open the smaller box and took out the small chain mail and leather cuff before slipping the jewelry into the pocket of his slacks.

  A quick roll of his shoulders to shake off a bit of tension and he left, braced for whatever Hope might throw at him this weekend.

  At the bottom of the basement stairs stretched a door-lined hall. The last one on the right held the only room big enough to gather all the guests, so that’s where the meals and meet and greets took place.

  The room looked like a four-star restaurant and the food matched, thanks to a talented local chef. Tables for two and four peppered the middle while a few round eight-person tables sat on the outskirts. All had white tablecloths and fresh flowers in the middle.

  Two walls had high, opaque windows, letting in natural light into the otherwise fluorescent basement. The playrooms down here each had at least one window, a welcome change from almost every public or private club he’d visited. Sunlight just never went with that dungeon-y feel.

  Maison Domine didn’t need darkness to get its Doms and subs in the mood.

  He scanned for Hope and found her at one of the larger tables, sitting with several men and one collared woman. Hope was engrossed in conversation with one of the men, who looked too interested in her. His dark hair almost hit his shoulders and he was dressed so casually he almost looked out of place, something remedied by the confidence radiating off him.

  Gabe didn’t like his body language. His possessive instincts rose until he remembered he had no real claim over Hope. He needed closure and answers, not a second go at their relationship. Sure, and I’m Mary-fucking-Poppins. He tuned out the voice before the bastard insinuated something Gabe didn’t want to hear.

  He made his way over to the table and, lucky for the men already there, one of the few unoccupied chairs was next to Hope. Well, a purse lay on the seat, but that was an easy enough fix. Gabe plucked it up and set it down on the table, taking its place.

  Hope glanced over, then turned toward him and scowled. “You know, I was saving that seat.”

  “Thank you, Hope. How considerate, holding a place for me.” He grinned and her frown deepened.

  She heaved an angry sigh—oh, he still recognized that one—and he wanted to kiss away her frustration. Kiss her cheeks, her forehead, her lips, and…on that bump in the middle of her nose. Where had she gotten that? His body surged in demand, needing to know who’d broken her nose and why.

  It looked just like his mother’s had, and that memory just didn’t sit well with him.

  “Whatever you say, Gabe,” she retorted before returning to her conversation.

  He didn’t like that one bit, but it did pull him back from those black memories and give him a chance think about something far more pleasant.

  Though she wore a simple sleeveless blouse and blue jeans, the fabric hugged her curves like it was lingerie. Her new, dark red hair framed her face and floated around her chin in soft curls, and Gabe was sorely tempted to grab one and see if she still used the same lavender shampoo that always drove him crazy.

  No way would he let some random guy flirt with Hope when she looked so hot.

  He leaned around her to the other man and offered his hand, getting a dizzying whiff of her delicious hair in the process. Yep, still lavender. His groin tightened, and he almost forgot what he was doing until the other man took his hand.

  “Gabe,” he growled, thoughts returning to reality. “Hope’s my guest for the weekend.” He made sure to grip the man’s hand enough to emphasize his words.

  “Jovan,” the man replied, his eyes narrowing at Gabe’s handshake warning. “And Hope was just telling me she’s here to discuss business with Katrina.”

  The man had a foreign accent, the kind women tended to drool all over. He needed to get Hope away from him, stat.

  Gabe dropped Jovan’s hand and slung his arm across the back of Hope’s seat. “Cara, why are you telling lies?” he whispered before growling in her ear, “Are you looking for a spanking?”

  Her sharp inhale was oh so satisfying. How he’d missed flirting with her, walking that fine edge between turning her on and pissing her off. He did it just to see that fire in her eyes.

  Those endless green eyes blazed with anger when she turned toward him, but Gabe also noted the flush in her cheeks and her choppy breath.

  “Gabriel, don’t you dare,” she hissed.

  “Don’t I dare what, cara?” He drew his other hand up to cup her cheek. “This?” He captured her mouth in a brief kiss and pulled back just in time to see her face go nuclear with anger.

  “Why you—”

  He stopped her with another kiss, longer this time, and she melted against him, just a little. Gabe wanted her pliant, off balance. They had to talk in private, about unpleasant things, and she’d keep putting it off unless he gave her no other choice. Gabe knew she’d agreed to the weekend for the sake of meeting Kat, but he wouldn’t let her intentions get in the way of his, for both their sakes.

  He could see the little signs of stress, her bitten fingernails, the growing bags under her eyes, things he’d learned to be wary of during their short, intense relationship. Hope needed release, and Gabe needed to talk her into it before the stress hurt her. Again.

  Delicate, slim arms wrapped around his neck and his cock sat up and took notice. His chest constricted. She needed a keeper, dammit, someone who could handle her idiosyncrasies. If only she’d open up to him…

  She ripped her mouth from his and rested her forehead on his chest.

  “Hope, cara, I brought you something.”

  “Mmm?” she questioned from her position against him. Gabe glanced at Jovan. The man nodded curtly in understanding. Good.

  He reached into his pocket and withdrew the cuff, setting it on the table where she—and the rest of the table—could see it.

  Hope stiffened against him and lifted away from his chest. Frustration lined her face. “No. I’m here for business, not pleasure.”

  “Your kiss said otherwise.”

  She flapped her long, slim hand at him. “Momentary estrogen poisoning. It won’t happen again.”

  He wanted to laugh at her attempted denial. Jovan did, and Gabe shot the man a silencing look that half-worked.

  She scooted back from him and her expression turned so serious that Gabe wanted to hold her and promise everything would be okay.

  “I need this contract, Gabe. And you—you are too distracting for my own good.”

  “Hope, I promise you will not leave this weekend without your referral. But I also told you what I wanted from you and I intend to get it, sooner rather than later.”

  She opened her mouth, looking for all the world as if she were about to ream him one, then paused. Standing, she turned to the rest of the table and said, “Excuse me. I seem to have lost my appetite.”

  Chapter Four

  Jovan’s eyes tracked her out then looked to Gabe. “Careful there, amigo. She might be more woman than you can handle.”

  He smirked and Gabe’s lip curled in response before he rose to follow Hope’s exit.

  The guests scattered around the room, many of whom he knew from before, took a veiled interest in the events. From the opposite side of the room, Jax threw him a questioning look that seemed more admonishment than con
cern. Okay, so maybe Hope had the right idea in leaving—their conversation was bound to get heated.

  He pulled open the solid oak door and walked into the hall. Though there were lights studding the walls like a trail of taillights on the highway, he still needed to let his eyes adjust from the dining room’s fluorescent brightness.

  A flash of movement on the edge of his vision drew his attention to a red door slipping closed. He scanned the hall to make sure Hope wasn’t lingering farther down then rapped on the door.

  “This room is occupied.” Definitely Hope’s voice.

  He turned the knob and pushed at the door, giving himself a few inches of open air to speak. “Hope, baby, I know you’re in here.”

  A growl barely reached his ears. He loved the sexy rumble that rolled from the back of her throat when she was frustrated.

  “Go away, Gabriel. You don’t own me anymore.”

  He grimaced. “I never owned you. You were on loan.”

  Since she hadn’t kicked him out yet, he pushed the door open another inch and slipped into the dark room, letting the door whisper shut behind him.

  A thick curtain had been pulled over the window. Indistinct shapes loomed in the corners of the room, which had changed since his last visit. He could identify the bed, and possibly Hope’s shape curled on top of it.

  “On loan?” she finally answered. “From whom?”

  Clothing scraped together from somewhere near the bed, drawing him one step closer.

  The memories weighed heavily on his chest. “From yourself, cara. I knew I couldn’t keep you, so I made the best of what we had.” His self-deprecating laugh echoed through the room, bouncing back to mock him. “Or at least I tried to.” He took another step forward.

  “Why did you even bother trying to make me open up then?”

  “You ask that like I had a choice. I was your Dom, I needed to get into your head. Learn about your past and how it shaped you.”

  He scraped a hand across the back of his head. He’d need a haircut soon. If all went poorly, he could schedule one for tomorrow. The thought didn’t help.