by Lauren Smith
“At least you’re here. You’re alive and you have a good life.” The words were hollow; Sophie didn’t know what else to say so she repeated what her therapist had told her years ago, after Rachel was taken.
“It’s a half-life, nothing more.” Emery’s soft utterance cut open her soul. He understood, felt the same way she did, if not more.
She’d poured her heart into what little life she felt she had left, but it wasn’t enough to fill the empty space where Rachel should have been. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like for Emery to have lost his twin. A sibling, a person he’d shared a womb with, had been raised alongside for eight years. Whatever had been between them had been destroyed, one life ended, the other haunted.
“I’m not going to agree to an interview. Your homework should’ve told you that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve had enough of the club tonight.”
Sophie’s heart cracked down the middle. She’d failed. But there was more to it—the loss of something else, something deeper and infinitely more important: his trust. She’d never met this man before today, didn’t fully trust her, yet she hated that she’d let him down, abused what little trust he’d started to give her. It was like losing him, even though she sensed he’d never belong to anyone. He seemed so distant, buried beneath the past and that made him dangerous. A wildness emanated from him that made him seem like the sort of a man a woman couldn’t own, couldn’t claim, not matter how hard she wanted to or tried to. Her grandmother used to say you could never harness the wind.
Foolish woman that she was, Sophie just had to try. She waited a breathless moment that seemed to hang on the edge of forever. He needed her to submit to him; he needed the control between them. She could give it to him, right now, even if it was only temporary.
“Mr. Lockwood, please.” Guided by some instinct, she grabbed his hand and fell to her knees at his feet, head bowed. “Please…” She knew the second his gaze shifted to her. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, her skin prickled, and arousal flooded through her, making her damp, and her breathing shallow. Even though he was upset with her, his focus heated her blood.
There was a long pause before he spoke. “Please, what?” Emery’s voice was dom-like—cool, calm, commanding, not hard or biting like moments before. He shifted his feet, angling his body toward her—a few inches only, but it was enough to show she was getting through to him again. There might still be a chance.
She swallowed thickly. “Please, Sir.”
“And what do you request of me?” He pulled the hand that she clutched free of her grasp, but moved it to the crown of her hair, stroking. His palm moved down to her neck, fingers threading and pulling tightly enough to make her arch her back to ease the pressure. It forced her face upward, and she had to look into his eyes. He stood over her now, his towering posture not threatening but completely dominating. She didn’t cower but kept herself submissive, giving him what he needed.
No one understood. No one knew the agonizing grip of pain at losing someone you loved. But Emery did. And she wanted him to talk to her, to tell her how he’d survived with a broken heart. But when he turned to look at her, eyes so full of echoing pain, she came to a realization. He wasn’t stronger, at least not in this. He was just as wounded as she. They were both lost. He without his brother, she without Rachel. Lives taken from them that could never come back. Memories tarnished by other men’s evil, leaving them with nothing more than a child’s fear of loss and death.
She didn’t think he could give her the answers she needed. But he could give her the story, provide the details which might give her enough information to solve who was behind his kidnapping. She was so close to figuring it out. She could catch whoever was responsible and prevent them from harming Emery or anyone else ever again. It would have to be enough.
“I want your help to make the monster who did this to you pay. He’s still out there. You know that.” She paused, licking her lips. “And he could come after you again. It’s why you’ve kept bodyguards and security high for the last twenty-five years,” she guessed. Her reports always showed the same man shadowing Emery the few times he’d been photographed outside his home.
Emery’s lips pursed into a thin line and his brows drew down over his eyes, which were more the color of chocolate-kissed honey now.
“You think you can catch a man who’s eluded police and the FBI?”
Her heart jolted. He’d just admitted his captor had been a man. The reports said three masked men, but he made it sound like only one man was involved. What had happened to the other two? More puzzle pieces shifted.
“I’m a skilled reporter. I’ve focused on criminal stories for years, Sir. If you let me, I can use whatever you tell me to solve the case. I know I can.” She prayed he’d hear the sincerity and resolve in her tone. She meant every word. She’d protect him and catch the bastard who’d hurt him. As penance for Rachel. As penance for every child she couldn’t save.
He seemed to consider her request.
“What would you do for me in return?” His eyes promised he meant something sexual. Something that might shatter her lonely world into pieces and leave her craving him for the rest of her life.
“D-do for you?” Sophie stuttered. That was becoming an irritating habit she needed to fix. The man had the ability to tie her in knots when he got her thinking of other things besides her job.
“I’m a dom, darling. Your needs should involve me, and your thoughts should be about what I need and want. If I am nice and give you what you need, you must give me something in return. And no… I’m not talking about money or anything so trivial as that. My story, as you call it, is worth something beyond money. I will need something just as important from you in return.”
She hesitated. What could she give him? She had nothing to offer. Nothing but…herself. She could give herself to him. A scolding voice in her head warned her that it would be a devil’s bargain. But she silenced the voice. Damn the consequences; her body wanted him. Never had she crossed a line before, never had she wanted to. She was tired of being the good girl, tired of playing it safe. The hint of danger and the thrill of dark passion in Emery’s eyes was an escape, one she needed more than her next breath.
“I’ll give you anything. Name it and it’s yours. I came here knowing what to expect.” She threw a glance around the room, eyes touching briefly on the spanking bench before settling back on him.
He chuckled and brushed the pad of one thumb over her lips. “That’s a dangerous offer.” His hand dropped to her neck, his fingers curling around her throat, the touch a warning, but he didn’t hurt her.
“What if I demand you strip completely and I tie you to a St. Andrews cross and fuck you senseless? Or if I require you to walk through the main room and accept any intimate touch another dom wishes to give you? Would you agree to that? There are a thousand things I could ask of you that would not just push your limits but break them. You were spooked at the sight of one little bench, and that tells me everything I need to know. You may have studied domination and submission, but you haven’t lived it. The importance of this particular lifestyle is that one must always be safe, sane and consensual. Your offer shows no consideration for any of those, and half the doms outside would do things you might not consent to. You have natural submissive tendencies. It’s clear from the way you responded to my commands, but we aren’t in a vanilla sex world, Sophie. While this life demands trust, it is a dark world, full of fire, passion, loss of control. Are you truly ready for that?” The bite to his tone made her arousal sharp; her womb clenched in eagerness, even as she felt a cold sweat dew on her body as trepidation set in.
Sophie breathed deeply. He’d warned her, hadn’t just accepted her blanket offer. Trust. Even as scary as what he’d mentioned sounded, she also longed for a taste of that forbidden passion. She was hungry for it. But she needed to trust him in return.
“Would you really do those things?” She glanced away then forced her eyes back. H
e was watching her, the way a hawk at the tallest branches of a tree might survey a rabbit in the field below. Yet he was close, so incredibly close to her he could have kissed her.
With a sigh, Emery shook his head. “Absolutely, unless of course that fell within your hard limits. I’m not a saint, and I have only the semblance of being a gentleman, but I would respect your safe word. Sharing my bed would push you right to the edge of your limits. Lucky for you, I’m in no mood to bed a woman who inherently denies her submissive nature.”
“You think I’m a real submissive?” Sophie could hear the shock in her own voice. Was she truly? More importantly, could she trust him to keep his word and respect her safe word if she needed to use it?
“You are submissive. To the right man, you are. When I held you in my arms and commanded you to focus only on me, you did it without hesitation, without question. You submitted to me and it was a beautiful thing to behold. You’re too strong for most, but you still crave submission. Being a sub doesn’t mean you’re weak. It only means you need to surrender. Many weak people crave power, crave to hurt others, to take control, but they are still inherently weak individuals.”
Sophie knew that was the truth. She had met killers and murderers—pathetic examples of humanity. They were too weak to stand up for themselves when it mattered, and the resulting loss of power or control turned them toward paths of violent retribution on innocents. Such behavior was more common than it should be.
A sudden thought struck her. “What if…I let you teach me how to surrender?”
Curiosity flitted shadowlike in his eyes, but his wariness was stronger.
“I’m not sure I come out on top in this bargain. You might prove to be too much trouble.” Emery moved over to the spanking bench and sat down on the edge, seemingly unbothered by its real purpose. Sophie’s face heated with a treacherous blush.
It should have surprised her how much she did want to please him. He seemed an intricate puzzle and knowing her behavior was a partial key; she couldn’t help but wonder what doing his bidding would unlock.
He leaned back, crossing his legs at the ankles, and looked at her. She was still on her knees, hands clenched together, fingers knotted. Sophie studied him, traced the perfectly tailored suit that clung to his body like a second skin. He was every inch the rich recluse she’d heard him to be.
People spoke of him in sad whispers, their eyes full of pity. But when Sophie met Emery’s gaze, she couldn’t pity him. Sympathize? Yes. Pity? No. His expression of domination demanded obedience, respect, and not one second had passed where he’d let that expression falter, except when he’d stared at the picture from his past. Only then had she seen the other Emery, the one trapped in childhood memories. The one she had to save. For that was clear. Part of this man before her needed to be saved.
“I’m not sure bedding you is worth my tale of woe.” His tone sounded almost taunting, rather like he was reciting Shakespeare. He was mocking her!
Embarrassment flooded her face with heat, but her pride was pricked. Without a second thought she slipped off one shoe and threw it at him.
Thunk! It bounced off the solid wall of his muscular chest and dropped to the floor. He didn’t move an inch except to drop his eyes to the shoe, and then raise his gaze again. She could feel it passing over her body as he did so.
“You just threw a shoe at me.” His eyes flashed fire, but his lips twitched.
“Yeah? Well, you just implied I’m not good in bed!” Muttering to herself, she bent to remove her second shoe, wanting nothing more than to chuck that one at him too. She was completely unprepared for his reaction.
One second she had her hand on her remaining shoe, the next he’d spun her around to face the wall, his body pressing tight against hers from behind. Both her wrists were caught in one of his hands at her lower back. He rolled his hips, rubbing against her bottom, grinding a very hard erection against her miniskirt. Emery put his free hand on her stomach, his large palm making her feel incredibly small.
“You have an unusual way of expressing your temper.” His low growl summoned deep shivers from the base of her spine. “Some doms like to paddle that temper out of their subs, then they pound the sub into delicious submission until the sub is dying of pleasure.” He punctuated this with a sharp arch of his hips again. Her clit throbbed and her breath quickened.
Images rose in her mind—him dragging her skirt up to her waist, tearing away underwear and taking her hard from behind. Sophie jerked when her knees smacked together and she wobbled. Emery held her upright, rubbing her stomach, the pressure arousing rather than soothing.
“Don’t tell me I’ve struck you speechless.” His husky laugh was rich as scotch and burned her to the core.
He nuzzled her ear, then nipped at it. An explosion went off somewhere below her waist and Sophie sucked in a breath. Her blood pounded in her ears, and a dark mist seemed to roll across her vision as she sank into him and his teasing kisses and touches.
“I’m having trouble…thinking,” she admitted through the fog that seemed to curl around the logical part of her mind. All she could focus on was his breath on her cheek, his tongue flicking inside her ear and the stinging jabs of arousal that spiked though her lower spine and zoomed straight to her clit. She was empty, needed something inside her, needed him. Her body actually hurt with the wild craving to have him. All it would take was his thrusting into her softness and giving it to her hard enough, and she’d die from the pleasure.
“You respond well to me. Perhaps you are worth a few nights.” He licked a path up from her shoulder to a spot beneath her ear, and then feathered kisses before blowing softly on the now sensitive shell of her ear. Her hands shook violently in his hold.
Then he was gone. He’d released her and stepped back. Sophie fell forward a few inches, her body resting against the wall as she fought to regain her composure. The stone against her cheek was cool and slightly rough, like the craggy rocks of a castle’s keep. It lent a dungeonlike atmosphere to their sparse surroundings, more than chains and whips and other objects might have. She was at his mercy, his to torture or to pleasure, or perhaps a combination. Her clit pulsed to life at the thought of both.
“Very well. Unlace your corset.”
The command was so abrupt that Sophie balked instantly. There was no way she’d do that, and it didn’t have anything to do with modesty.
“You can’t obey a simple command?” One golden brow arched over his eye.
“It’s not that I don’t want to obey…”
“Are you plagued by modesty?” His lips tilted down, but a glimmer of amusement danced briefly across his face.
“I’m not plagued, I’m naturally modest. But that’s not why I can’t unlace the corset.”
Emery sighed and crossed his arms. “I suppose I’ll give you one easy out today. Tell me why you won’t open your corset and I will release you of the command to actually unlace it. Can you do that without issue?”
“Just tell you?” She could do that, couldn’t she?
“For now. Someday you will show me.” He raised one hand to his hair, raking his fingers through it, mussing the blond waves. It made her ache to do the same. To lie beside him in bed and know that she mussed up his hair, that she had grasped the thick shimmering strands and tugged while in the midst of passion.
“I don’t like delays, Sophie,” he warned.
Swallowing a shivery breath, she nodded, more for herself than him. “I’ve got scars.” There. It was out. No going back.
“What kind of scars?” Emery’s voice was soft, velvety, like he wanted to soothe her.
His question confused her.
“Scars. There isn’t any other kind.”
Emery’s eyes trained on her. “I mean, are they scars from abuse? From an accident?”
“No abuse. Surgery.”
“What did you have surgery for?”
“Explaining that isn’t part of the bargain,” Sophie replied. She’d agree
d to submit, not tell him her every secret.
Emery stood up and left the bench to come toward her. He moved so fast she had no time to react. He snatched her wrists and dragged her over to the bench, bending her over it and spreading her knees with one thigh. He pulled her wrists back behind her body and pinned them there with one of his hands. When he pushed his leg up against the apex of her thighs beneath the skirt she whimpered. The soft, expensive fabric of his suit rubbed erotically against the sensitive skin of her thighs.
“Lesson one: never lie to your dom, or any dom. Punishment is always the result, or worse, the dom severs the relationship and releases the sub. Now, let’s try this again. What was the surgery for?”
“All right!” Sophie hissed. She was madder than a wet cat, but she knew he had her beat. Still, she jerked and jostled against the bench, testing his hold. Tight. No way to get out of this.
“Stop.” His bark made her flinch and go slack. “Tell the truth. I have ways of making you talk if you think to keep quiet.”
Did he mean he’d spank it out of her? She wish she knew, then again, maybe she didn’t want to know. Her eyelashes fell against her cheeks and darkness captured her vision, thankfully making her feel alone enough to utter the truth. “I had an accident and got cut. The surgery was to sew the cuts back together. Is that a personal enough answer for you?” She flinched, waiting for a blow.
“I didn’t want a personal answer, only a truthful one. And I don’t ever beat answers of anyone, especially a sub who surrenders to my care.” Although his words suggested a chastisement, he didn’t seem angry, rather puzzled and hurt that she’d assumed he’d beat it out of her.
“How did you know I was afraid you would hit me?” she whispered.
“You flinched after you lashed out verbally. I’ve seen that before in other submissives. You expected me to spank you, but know this, I don’t ever react with violence, only with erotic punishment. There is a difference and I will teach you.”
