by Lynda Aicher
She made a check of the time then turned to pick up the mask. His prolonged silence said more than a flat refusal. He wasn’t ready.
Another pang of disappointment was squashed beneath her shift in focus to the coming meeting. But his presence was there, behind her. She was aware of every shuffle and movement, every deep inhale and brush of his hands over his pants as she packed up.
She zipped her briefcase closed and picked up the bondage items to return them to the cabinet when his answer finally came.
“Yes.”
She released a slow breath that could’ve been relief if she’d been willing to classify it. Her expression showed nothing when she faced him. “Good. Safeword?” The low command infused in the words was natural to her and dropped her deeper into her Domme mind-set.
“Chihuahua.”
“Do you have one?”
A small puff of laughter came out. “No. My mom does. It’s a yappy little thing.”
“Remove your shirt.” The crisp snap of her words brought them back on track, away from the personal inquiry that had slipped out.
“I thought you said nothing sexual?” He might’ve been questioning her order, but he was already loosening the buttons. The reveal of his firm chest was something she’d have to linger over later.
“I don’t owe you an explanation.” She let that sink in as he tugged the tails of his shirt from his pants. He dropped his gaze to focus on the wrist buttons. “But the shirt can identify you.”
He paused, his movements stalling as he laid his shirt over the back of the chair. “Thank you,” he mumbled before meeting her gaze.
“If you don’t trust me to watch out for you, then you shouldn’t do this.” He studied her for a long moment but said nothing. She pointed to the ground. “On your knees.”
After a second of hesitation, he dropped to the floor. He held her gaze, his eyes displaying the world of turmoil churning within him before he lowered his head to stare at her knees. “Yes, Mistress.”
There was no accounting for the rush of desire and longing that powered through her. The words weren’t unexpected, but the note of respect and reverence with them was. The defiance had disappeared with the arrogant front he’d been holding. What tumbled easily from a trained sub was more powerful coming from Hauke.
Was this an act? A game? She’d find out soon enough.
She retrieved the mask from her briefcase and stood before him. His heady cologne filled her when she inhaled. The deep, musky scents, mixed with hints of man, teased at her like a craving she couldn’t resist. The bunch of muscles across his shoulders showed the strength she’d guessed at before. And he was all hers—for now.
His hair was thick beneath her fingers, the strands smooth and silky when she ran her hand through it. “I like this. Your submission.” The appreciation showed in her voice more than she’d wanted it to, but there was no withdrawing it.
He didn’t respond verbally. He didn’t need to. The turn of his head seeking more of her touch said everything he wasn’t willing to admit aloud.
She pulled back, both mentally and physically. Getting involved beyond proving what he really wanted wasn’t smart for either of them. She’d give him this knowledge then recommend a Domme who could bring him into the world of submission.
That would be best—safest—for both of them.
Chapter Three
The hood slipped over Holden’s head in a smooth ruffle that sent a shiver over his hyper-sensitive skin. He shuddered, his reaction showing before he could suppress it.
She shifted the hood around until the mesh-covered openings were over his eyes and mouth. The hood was loose, more of a cloth bag with holes cut into it than an actual tight-fitting mask. It didn’t matter. The result of being hidden in plain sight gave him freedom.
The effect was too strong, the feeling too right. His breathing accelerated and he forced himself to take long, slow breaths through his nose.
How had she known he’d react like this? No one had ever guessed his desire before. Yet here he was, kneeling before her. Her submissive. And damn, it feels good.
He’d played along with the hopes of getting to this exact point. Yet he still feared letting her know how much he wanted it or how much he anticipated her next demand instead of dreading it.
He was so tired of denying it to the world. Here was someone he could be honest with. In action at least, if not words.
“Give me your wrists.” Her tone had lowered again, the words crisp with that edge of authority. Her voice came through only slightly muffled behind the fabric of the hood, but it was enough to encompass him in an odd softness.
He raised his arms, wrists together, without a second thought. He kept his gaze away from hers though. He had no desire to see the victory in her eyes, even if he’d given it to her.
Her grip was firm where she held his forearm. A cuff was wrapped around his wrist, the lining unexpectedly soft. The sturdy leather had appeared hard and unyielding when she’d laid the cuffs on the desk, and a part of him had wanted that rigidness.
She tugged the cuff tight against his skin, the constriction forcing a sigh from his chest. Yes. She moved to the next arm, her actions efficient. A sense of peace eased through him when she finished with the second cuff. The hold around his wrists was freeing instead of restricting.
Just like last time.
What happened now wasn’t his to control. Not his to worry about.
“You okay?” Vanessa’s voice seemed to reach into him, caressing the desire he’d struggled with since his sexuality had awakened.
He should scream “No.” Say his damn safeword and get the hell out. Instead, he spoke the words that’d felt so right when he’d said them before. “Yes, Mistress.” God, please don’t stop.
“Good.” There was a click, and the tension between his wrists increased. She’d clasped them together, further restricting his movements.
He waited for the panic to come, but what followed was the calming flow of acceptance.
“Stand up.”
Rising reinforced the restriction on his hands and movement. He wasn’t exactly vulnerable, but he was weakened. The air was cool on his heated skin, his bare chest another thing that left him exposed.
Her hands went to his belt buckle and he gasped, his stomach muscles contracting. “What are you doing?” She’d said sex wouldn’t be involved, but he hadn’t clarified about full nudity.
He opened his mouth to protest when there was another click, and her touch was gone. The material of the hood blocked his vision when he looked down, but a tug on his hands told him what she’d done. His cuffs were now clipped to his belt, restricting his movement even more.
Fuck. He looked up and she was right there, watching him. Her brown eyes had changed to a dark coffee color and simmered with something he couldn’t describe. Longing? Desire? Maybe. But it wasn’t victory or even the smugness he’d expected.
“How do you feel?”
Great. Amazing. Like I’m home. His response was a simple “Fine.” He was still too leery of the game they were playing to reveal the whole truth.
She ran a finger over his cuffs, giving a tug. The clink of the metal clasps came across louder than he knew it probably was, yet it seemed to echo in his ears. She stepped closer and her scent surrounded him, filled him even through the mask. His inhale was long and deep in an attempt to get more.
“I’ll accept that for now.” She ran the tip of her finger over the mesh in front of his lips. The touch brief but enough to have him wanting more. “Tell me if something is wrong. I’m good, but I can’t read your mind.”
Could’ve fooled me.
“When we leave this room, you’re not allowed to talk unless I ask you a question or you need to safeword.” She moved away to grab the leash then atta
ched it to the links connecting the cuffs together. “Do you understand?”
She tugged on the leash, bringing him out of the fog that clouded his mind. “Yes, Mistress.” Whatever you want.
The verbal restriction was a relief. He had no desire to talk to anyone when he was like this. It’d be impossible to keep up the macho image when he was bound and tethered to a leash. Silence was better. Freeing. Now he could focus on serving her.
The brush of her hand down his arm sent another shiver over his flesh. His nipples puckered and the hairs on his arms stood on end. But the wave of heat that followed in the wake of her touch spread out to warm every space within him.
“Relax, Holden. I’ll take care of you.”
Through the fog that was closing in once again, two things stood out. The slow purr of his name and the promise in her voice. The idea of her taking care of him was so enticing. He wanted that more than ever.
What would the guys think if they saw me like this?
Right now, it didn’t matter. He belonged to his Mistress until she let him go, and pleasing her was all he had to worry about.
She hooked the leash over her wrist, and he willingly followed her out of the office and into the unknown.
* * *
The sun warmed Holden’s back, the rays heating his skin and lulling him into a cozy state of contentment. The air was pleasant with a summer flavor that was just starting to chill with the approach of the early June evening.
He glanced around at the assembled group. Vanessa hadn’t said to keep his eyes lowered, and he saw no reason to do so. It might not be the best submissive form, but he couldn’t become meek. That wasn’t him.
“You doing okay?” Her touch was possessive on his arm, solid. The connection to her was a tempting lure, easing his most secret desires from him.
“Yes, Mistress.” The honorary was almost natural on his lips. In this state, he couldn’t imagine calling her anything else.
The dishonesty of the ruse he’d played didn’t sit well, but the end result was worth the guilt.
She’d been at his side since they’d stepped onto the rooftop deck. There were about ten or so other people up there, all of them seemingly close friends, based on the warm hugs and the easy conversation that flowed. It was odd being the only one who didn’t know anyone, yet the complete anonymity was nice.
There was no worry of jersey chasers trying to get into his bed or fans trying to gain his favor. No media to smile for or image to uphold. The weight of all that stress was gone.
It didn’t even matter that he was the only one in cuffs and on a leash. A few were dressed in obvious club gear. One dark-haired guy had a studded harness over his bare chest that was at odds with the tiny but very pregnant blond woman at his side who was wearing a simple blue sundress.
“Do you know what this is about?”
Vanessa’s question was directed at the stocky male who’d just stepped out of the stairwell. His buzzed hair and camo cargo pants told his history better than words. He reached back to clasp the hand of the handsome black-haired man who’d followed him outside. “Not a clue.”
“Does anyone know why we’re here?” Vanessa turned to a taller man whose brown hair was pulled back into a stubby tail at his nape.
The man shrugged, but the curly-haired woman at his side burst into a round of laughter. “I have a guess,” she said, her wide mouth spreading into a grin.
“You think so?” Vanessa asked.
She shrugged, her knowing look staying in place as she skated a glance to a blond woman standing beside her. “Maybe. It’s only a suspicion.”
The blonde smiled, shaking her head so the ends of her bob brushed over her shoulders. She appeared older, and her conservative sweater set and slacks had her seeming even more out of place than the pregnant lady. “I have no idea,” the woman said, her fingers smoothing over the silver choker around her neck. Or was that a collar?
Holden’s hands-on knowledge of the BDSM world was limited, but he’d make a guess and say it was a collar. Especially when a dark-haired man in leather pants and a black T-shirt came up behind her, his hands going possessively to her shoulders.
“I know you better than that,” he said as she leaned into him. “You probably have the complete scoop from Kendra.”
“Where is she?” the curly-haired woman asked.
“Probably with Deklan,” another guy answered, flicking his bangs out of his eyes. His black T-shirt bore The Den name and logo on the front.
The conversation continued, but Holden let it drift around him. None of it made sense to him, so it was easy to let it go. No one had addressed him directly since they’d arrived. A few had done a double take, but that was it.
The air was warm under the hood, and Holden’s scalp was starting to sweat. He didn’t complain though. The discomfort was minor and took his attention off the way his hands pressed against his groin. His walk to the rooftop had brought home their strategic positioning. Every movement caused his hands to rub over his erection. Thankfully they also helped to hide his aroused state, but there was no hope of it going away either.
Vanessa tugged on the leash, and his attention went to her. “How do you feel?” Her voice was pitched soft, the question for him alone. The intimacy of it was at once strange and welcoming.
“I’m fine, Mistress,” he answered automatically. And he was. More than fine.
Her frown was quick, and the clench of his stomach had him wishing he could withdraw his hasty response. “That’s not what I asked.” Her admonishment was calm, the displeasure clear.
She wrapped the leash around her wrists and hauled him closer until her breath ghosted over his neck. His heart pounded, but he couldn’t look down without ramming his chin into her head, so he stared across the rooftop, ignoring everyone else.
“Kneel.”
The downward pull on his wrists was strong enough to have his knees bending before her words registered. He hit the hard rooftop with little grace. He withheld his complaint despite the jab of pain that shot out from his knee.
She gripped his chin, and he gave in easily. His gaze skimmed past the rounded mounds of her breasts to her proud chin and full lips until he reached the dark depths of her eyes. Once again he was stunned by what he saw in them. He’d expected anger, even disappointment. He’d been prepared for those. However, the concern mixed with calculation left him at her complete mercy.
Her thumb caressed the line of his jaw through the soft fabric of the hood. “Now tell me, how do you feel?” Her hair hung forward to frame her face, her skin pale against the rich blackness. It had the effect of blocking out the rest of the world so all he saw was her. All he cared about was pleasing her.
It didn’t matter if she was Vanessa Delcour, the Ice Queen and the woman who had the means to destroy his career. Right now, she was nothing more than his Mistress.
He thought about her question this time, but his emotions were a jumbled knot of confusion. How the fuck do I feel?
“I don’t know.” It was the most honest answer he had. The approval that shot from her soft smile loosened the knot in his stomach and smoothed out his thoughts. He wet his lips. “I want to please you,” he mumbled, surprised he’d admitted that to her.
Her eyes widened just a touch before she straightened, breaking the intimacy of the moment.
“Deklan,” someone shouted across the rooftop. “It’s about time.”
Vanessa glanced toward the doorway. There was a natural impulse to turn around to see who everyone was looking at, but Holden stayed focused on his Mistress. It really wasn’t that hard.
“Sorry,” a deep voice clipped out.
“So what’s this about?” a different person asked.
“Give me a second,” the deep voice said. “I forgot something.”
; “Really?” someone else groaned.
Vanessa gave a light tug on his leash and motioned for Holden to stand. He was a bit surprised by that but grateful as well when his knee popped as he stood. A college injury had a way of bothering him at the strangest times. He flexed it a little, trying to work out the ache without drawing attention.
Of course, Vanessa noticed. “What’s wrong?”
The immediate “nothing” was replaced just in time with the truth. “An old injury. It’s okay.”
She frowned and opened her mouth to say something but was halted by the return of the man they’d apparently been waiting for.
“Damn. Sorry about that. Traffic sucked.”
There was a low rumble of laughter, and the mystery man finally moved into Holden’s line of sight. He had short dark hair and the same ex-military bearing of the man with the camo pants. He was dressed in all black, but his button-up shirt and dress pants didn’t mesh with the theme of the club. Nor did the simple but elegant black dress the willowy brown-haired woman at his side was wearing.
“What’s going on?” the woman asked.
“That’s what we want to know.” The guy with the longer bangs flashed a cheeky grin at the couple.
Vanessa wound the leash in tighter, and he moved with it until their arms were touching. The contact soaked into him to calm the sense of intrusion beginning to plague him. He was obviously the odd man out among close friends.
The new guy turned to the woman, gripped both of her hands and slowly bent to one knee. A series of gasps went through the group, and Vanessa sucked in a deep breath.
“Kendra,” the man said. “You are my heart, my love. Your courage and strength are amazing. I never planned on this, but now I can’t imagine my life without you in it.” He released his hold to slide his hand over her waist, around her hips. “We know what this means, but I want the world to know exactly what you mean to me.” He slipped a hand into his pocket and extracted a small box. The woman’s hands were shaking now, her eyes blinking rapidly. He opened the box, his own hands a little unsteady. “Will you marry me?”
