by Anya Summers
Dinner was a full event, with multiple courses, from a creamy tomato basil soup to start, accompanied by a winter salad with Anjou pears, goat cheese and grilled squash. The main course consisted of beef tenderloin medallions with garlic, shallots and mushrooms in a burgundy wine sauce, rosemary new potatoes, and steamed asparagus.
Delilah had just put a forkful of beef in her mouth when Amaya nudged her. She swallowed, rather awkwardly, and turned her head toward her friend.
"Yes," Delilah said, swallowing her mouthful before she'd fully chewed it.
"Not me," Amaya said, and pointed across the table toward Zoey, who sat at one end of the table, with Declan at the head of the table on the opposite end.
"I'm sorry, what was that?" Delilah asked Zoey, feeling herself flush at missing what she'd said. Delilah had been in her own little world, not truly paying attention.
"Bastian told me that the two of you are collaborating on something special for the wedding. I can't thank you enough. I heard some of the rehearsal today and am over the moon already."
That overbearing, egocentric jerk.
Delilah fought to keep her mask in place, hiding her surprise and, more importantly, her fury. The moment she was alone with Bastian, she'd give him a piece of her mind, and he wouldn't like it one bit. She was stunned at how he'd cornered her into working with him. Delilah forced herself to relax her grip on her fork and lay it on the table. Pretending to be the soul of indifference, she said, "Um, yes, we had discussed it, and are still fine-tuning the details. I'm surprised that he would say something before it was finished."
The jerk chose that moment to chime in with his two cents as the rest of the table seemed riveted, paying an awful lot of attention to their interaction.
"Well, we almost finished it last night. It will just take some more tweaking after dinner."
And he had effectively trapped her into working with him. If she attempted to back out in front of the audience, she'd lose face. With everything she'd lost here recently, the only thing she had remaining was her spotless image.
"That it will. Hopefully we will be able to get it perfected in time," she said sweetly, thinking of the million ways in which she planned to torture the man.
"I'm sure it will be lovely. Thank you," Zoey murmured, with a slight sheen of happy tears glazing her countenance. The lovely, kind woman's joy made dread settle in the pit of Delilah's belly.
Double damn.
Delilah was sunk. The choice she'd lingered over had been made for her without her consent.
Conversation resumed in smaller groups around the table as Mrs. Stewart served dessert. It was a sinful crème brûlée but Delilah had lost her appetite, for a number of reasons. Oh, she smiled and made small talk with the others at the table, ignoring Bastian completely, but fury bubbled and boiled inside her chest. The moment they were alone, he'd find out she was not a woman who wilted under pressure or coercion.
Delilah said a silent prayer of thanks when the meal finally ended. She marched from the room, doing everything in her power to hide her rage from her host. She didn't check to see if Bastian had followed her, she felt his nearness behind her, just as she'd sensed him all throughout dinner. The push-pull energy between them was more kinetic than magnets drawn to each other. The man had to know he'd overstepped his bounds on this one. At the elevator, she grimaced as she waited, the pent-up wrath she'd restrained over the last hour needing surcease. Delilah was just about to take the stairs and alleviate some of her verve when the doors dinged open. The London orchestra crew filed in, chattering away. She smiled and kept up the pretense of being completely at ease, but when her gaze landed on Bastian, she couldn't keep her antagonism hidden.
His stare gave nothing away in the confined space.
They stood at opposite ends of the elevator, memories of their previous encounter swirling between them as conversation flowed around them. Except they could have been the only ones present on the elevator for all the impact the others had on their combustible dynamism overwhelming the space. The others didn't matter; it was like they were the only two people present. When the doors opened on the third floor, the rest of the group filed off, and Delilah exited right behind them. Bastian was at her back, placing a hand on her lower spine and steering her toward his room. Delilah allowed it, mainly because she didn't want to throw a hissy fit in front of Amaya and the rest of the group, who were headed to their rooms on the same floor.
Bastian's bedroom was clear at the opposite end of the hall from hers. She waited for him to unlock his door and entered after him before rounding on him with the full force of her fury.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" She shoved against his chest. Feeling like a caged lion let loose, she shifted on her feet, agitated by his size, his attitude, and most importantly, her body's stupid sizzling, melty reaction to touching him again.
"If you don't want to do the duet that's your prerogative, but—"
She forcefully poked his chest as her wrath and indignation spewed forth from her mouth. "There are no buts about it, Bastian. Let's get one thing very straight. You don't own me. You don't even know me. And you had no right to commit me to something without my full consent beforehand."
Never again would she allow a man to control her that way. It was one thing to give up control in the bedroom, but quite the other to do so with the rest of her life. That ship had sailed. Ethan had made damn sure of that.
Bastian had the audacity to look like the injured party, shrugging his broad shoulders with a candor that made her want to scream. "You can back out."
"No I can't, and that's the issue here. You backed me into a corner," she said, realizing only too late what she'd said as the memories from their previous encounter swirled around them.
The man had perfected his panty dropping stare, meant to make all his little groupies go from zero to instant lust in two point five seconds. She wished like hell that it didn't stir her blood or make her core tingle with need. His voice dropped low, sounding like molten dark chocolate as he said huskily, the blaze of banked embers in his eyes, "Like I did last night, you mean?"
"To hell with last night! It was nothing more than a momentary lapse in judgement on my part, and it won't happen again. You can take your cuffs and shove them where the sun don't shine."
"Delilah, I didn't mean to—"
"Fuck you. I've lived through someone thinking they could control every aspect of my life and it will never happen again. Do you hear me? Never again. Save your excuses for a woman who's had a lobotomy. I'll do that damn song with you, but nothing more. You don't have my permission to touch me in any way. Understood?"
It should horrify her that throughout her speech, she'd repeatedly shoved against his chest in an attempt to drive her point home. Delilah wasn't a violent person. She never had been, but she was too battered, too bruised by recent events, only to be pigeonholed and forced into submission again. It was her choice, goddammit. Hers and hers alone.
"Careful. Watch your tone with me, Dee. I'm still a Dom in a club you are a member of. I don't like that type of attitude from a sub, love. If you continue, you will leave me no choice but to discipline you."
"Lay a hand on me, dickwad, and I will rip your balls off."
"That does it."
In a move that would have made a Viking king proud, he hefted her, no small feat in her mind, over his shoulder and sauntered across to the couch. Delilah bucked against his hold, rage dominating her movements. She fought like a she-cat about to be baptized. For all the good it did her; her efforts were more like bringing a garden hose to a forest fire. Bastian landed a humdinger of a smack against her rear. The force brought a startling amount of tears to her eyes. She blinked them away but her eyes kept filling, feeling like she was being ripped in two.
"Keep it up and I will add more to your discipline."
The bastard would do it, too. But she didn't care anymore. Delilah was beyond the point of reason, beyond the point of falling into l
ine just because a Dom ordered her to. As much as she needed to submit in the bedroom, not a single Dom had ever proven he was worth her full submission. And it would be a cold day in hell before she ever handed a Dom that much control over her life ever again.
"I'm not going to apologize when I call them like I see them, asshole. You could be god himself and I would—"
She screeched and kicked her legs at the next spank. But it did little good against the steel forge of his hands clamped around her legs. He sat, re-positioning her body until her rear lay over his lap. One of his arms pressed down over her lower back, keeping her body in place, while the other yanked her dress up over her hips and tugged her panties to her thighs, exposing her rear. She kicked. She swore. She fought. It seemed like everything she'd held down, all the taunts about her size, the indignities that Ethan had put her through during their relationship, and even Bastian overstepping himself, had all bubbled to the surface in a thunderous volley of fury that she couldn't stop if she tried.
There was no pre-amble or warning as his palm connected with her naked derriere with a vigor that made her eyes water. Delilah knew she'd been disrespectful to a Dom but she didn't really care in this moment. She would never go back to being a Stepford doll and allowing another to decide her fate. Her life, her career, and her heart were her own. She'd unknowingly granted Ethan that type of power. In many ways she'd done it, subverted who she was, so that he would love her. She'd been so desperate for affection of any kind after being labeled the unworthy and unlovable one for so long, she'd all but flung herself off a cliff in an attempt to be whatever he wanted her to be. And in the end he had told her he wouldn't have slept around if she hadn't been so boring. The irony of that sad little fact was not lost on her. She'd given him what he wanted and in the end it had been wrong. She had not been enough.
Was it really so wrong of her to crave having one person who would love her exactly as she was, without agenda or a need to fix her? She wasn't broken. She had faults and needs just like everyone else, had a tummy and thighs, and still deserved love.
Bastian's palm connected with her flesh again and heat engulfed her rear. She took it, focusing on her fury, or attempting to, at least. But instead of anger, the tears flowed unimpeded so fast and furiously they blinded her.
"Are you ready to apologize?"
"Eat shit," she snarled on a giant sob, incensed over his attitude, over his manhandling her, over his maneuvering her so that she had to work with him, and the way her insides fluttered and spasmed in sexual hunger with each stroke of his hand against her bottom. In this moment, her enjoyment of being disciplined was a weakness when she wanted to be in control.
Three hard smacks fell against her rump and she swore with her breath hitching in her throat, calling him every name she could think of and some inventive combinations to boot.
"Keep it up, Delilah. I could go all night."
Seeing red, blinded by her tears, her emotions swirling like a tornado in her chest after all the indignities she'd faced recently, Delilah did something next that shocked even her. She snuck one of her unrestrained hands between his legs, grabbed his crotch, and twisted. When he gurgled at the pain her grip induced, his hold slackened over her lower back. In a storm of emotions, each one more virulent than the last, she reared up and shimmied around until her face met his chest. Then she bit down on his shoulder.
"Ow! You little brat!"
She knew she was fighting like a girl but she didn't care. He yanked her hand off his crotch with a grunted hiss and had her upright with her hands restrained behind her back before she could blink. Suddenly, Delilah was staring into the eyes of one furious Dom. In all her years in the lifestyle, she'd never been so disrespectful to a Dom. And by the astonished fury in Bastian's gaze, knew she'd crossed a dangerous line.
"You little termagant, I can't believe you fucking bit me! For your information, the only reason I even mentioned the song to Zoey was because I wanted to spend more time with you and get to know you."
Shame unlike anything she'd known overwhelmed her. This was why she needed to get away from people. Delilah wasn't fit to be around others, inadvertently maligning someone with good intentions—albeit a poor delivery of those.
She splintered under the intensity of his gaze. Blubbering sobs fell unchecked. She bowed her head as she wept; the magnitude of her grief riddling her body with tremors. Delilah expected censure for her waterworks, expected belittling words that would slice her to the quick and make her feel even more worthless. But she never expected to feel Bastian's arms surround her and cradle her to his chest, nor the comfort of his hands as they caressed her back.
Just that, the simple offer of comfort, seemed to make everything inside her unravel. No longer fighting against his hold, Delilah burrowed into his formidable warmth as she purged all the hurts and sorrows.
"Let it out, love," Bastian said as he soothed her.
And she did. It was like someone had finally turned on her internal faucet and there was no stopping the deluge. She raged. She sobbed. She clung to his strength like a life raft. And through it all, Bastian held her.
Her eyelids drooped as her crying slowed. Worn out from the battering storm, Delilah surrendered to the oblivion of sleep, still cradled in Bastian's arms.
Christ!
Bastian noticed the tension finally drain from Delilah's body with a ragged sob. Her tears hit him square in the chest on a fundamental level. The fact that this gorgeous creature had been hurt so deeply made him want shield her, protect her, slay dragons in her name.
It was clear that she'd been deeply injured. He figured it was the ex—Ethan—she'd mentioned before, and imagined all manner of torture he could heap upon him.
Bastian had gravely miscalculated his approach. He had never wanted to cause her harm. If he'd known her feelings, he would have chosen a different path, been a bit more gentle with his coercing instead of the full on frontal assault tactics he'd used. Bastian had treated her poorly, considering more of his wants and desires than hers. Because, at the end of the day, in the last few years he'd been a selfish bastard, even when he had dallied with subs.
That didn't mean he hadn't seen to their needs, but his ultimate goal had been his own, ignoring that inner voice of his that urged him to take more care. It had become a mindless pursuit of pleasure that never truly satisfied him deep in his core. If she hadn't bashed him over the head with her aggressive display of passion the previous night, he might have thought through his tactics more thoroughly. As it was, she'd rocked his world on its axis, and he still didn't have his bearings.
At her soft snore, he glanced down. Her eyes were puffy and swollen closed from her crying jag, her makeup smudged under her eyes. Her lips; those full, pouty, begging to be kissed lips of hers that he could suck on for hours at a time, were slightly parted, her breaths a little ragged and uneven as she slept against him. It was the hand, her hand, curled into a fist against his chest with a swath of his shirt in its grasp that got him.
Even with his bungling things, she'd clung to him. It spoke volumes of inherent trust.
Trust between a Dom and his sub were essential building blocks to a solid relationship. As much as he wanted to brush it off as meaningless, he couldn't stop the contentment filling his center at her actions. When was the last time a sub had offered him her full trust as Delilah did now in her sleep? Not ever, in his recollection, which made him a piss poor Dom.
He'd had long term D/s relationships, although he used the term relationship loosely, but not one of them had ever achieved true intimacy. There had been trust extended during scenes, which bled into the sexual relationship, but he'd never been close to one of them. All of it had been totally by his design. He kept women at arm's length, hell, most people in general, when he thought about it. Bastian had been abandoned by his parents. First his father, when he was a toddler, and then his mother had overdosed on sleeping pills when Bastian was seven. There'd been no extended family that would t
ake him in, and he'd ended up in a group home for orphans in Perth. Since then he'd never allowed himself to get close to another woman. His band members were his brothers, all of them having met in the orphan and foster system in Australia, banding together against the bullies in the group homes. Yet when it came to women, well, they could too easily leave and decide you weren't what they wanted. Which brought him full circle, or so it seemed, to the beautiful armful sleeping against his chest.
Delilah made him feel. More than he had with any other woman. It terrified him.
When he went to shift his body, she clung tighter and burrowed more deeply against him. With a sigh, he surrendered and laid his head back against the couch, resting as best as he could. The need to cuff her, to mark her as his, pervaded him. Bastian had never offered a sub his cuffs before, but Delilah made him crave more permanence. He wasn't positive exactly what it was about her that created that urge, but he'd never wanted it more.
His last thought was that he'd have to change his tactics and seduce her, show her how good it could be to belong to him and be with him. Convince her to accept his cuffs.
Chapter 7
Delilah wasn't sure what startled her awake. But her eyes snapped open and she found herself staring at Bastian's sleeping countenance. His head was tilted back against the lip of the couch, the fan of his lashes inky black against his cheeks, his mouth opened slightly with the steady rise and fall of his chest under her as he breathed. Her body had molded itself over his sturdy form in sleep, her head rested against his shoulder, but what surprised her was that he'd never let her go. His arms held her tight like she was his own personal teddy bear.
Warmth suffused her. She'd not been held so securely since she was a child. Ethan had never liked to cuddle with her after a scene, once again blaming her size, saying that his arm would fall asleep if she used it as a pillow. Bastian's body had taken the full brunt of her weight in sleep without complaint.
