Mastering Her Desires
By Melinda Barron
Resplendence Publishing, LLC
http://www.resplendencepublishing.com
Mastering Her Desires
Copyright © 2012 Melinda Barron
Edited by Andrea Grimm and Venus Cahill
Cover art by Les Byerley, www.les3photo8.com
Published by Resplendence Publishing, LLC
2665 N Atlantic Avenue, #349
Daytona Beach, FL 32118
Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-598-4
Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Electronic Release: October 2012
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
For Chet, as always.
Chapter One
“All I said is that not everybody likes cilantro. That’s no reason for me to lose my job.” Piper Hutchinson looked over the bar crowd. Her gaze flitted from table to table; anything to keep from focusing on the frown she knew was on Cherokee’s face.
That glare had been present for the last two days, ever since Piper had announced her termination from Table for Two, one of the newest, and trendiest, restaurants in Greenwich Village. Piper had counted herself lucky to get a job there. She hadn’t counted on her boss being a jerk, however.
“It’s not the herb that got you fired, Piper.” Cherokee’s voice was soft, even. “It’s your inability to express your opinion without making everyone else sound like an idiot.”
“I don’t do that!” She focused on Cherokee’s face.
“You do,” Cherokee said, her voice soothing. “I have a feeling you didn’t say, ‘By the way, Chef, I think there’s a little too much cilantro in this sauce.’ Did you?”
An image of the chef’s expression on the day of her firing flashed in Piper’s mind. That nice phrase was nowhere near her uttered, “That much cilantro in a sauce makes you look like a kindergartener playing in your mother’s kitchen. You really should tone it down. I can fix it, if you want.”
Her former boss’s face had turned a molten shade of red before he’d booted her out the back door with a warning that when she came to pick up her final check the next day, she’d better pray he wasn’t around.
Tears stung her eyes, and she did her best to hold them back.
“Maybe you could apologize,” Cherokee whispered. “Tell him you didn’t mean exactly what you said. Tell him the words came out wrong. He’s had you blacklisted all over the city.”
That did it. One tear, then another fell. “I know that,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “But, I’m close to having the money I need for culinary school. The…job…you’ve set up for me will do it.”
Job? Could she call being a submissive for hire for an undercover bounty hunter a job? Something told her that wasn’t exactly the phrase that fit it. Hooker maybe? Or call girl? She was selling her body for money; no matter what term she put on it.
Piper wiped away her tears. “Where is this guy, anyway?” If he rejected her before he even met her that would be the end of her self-esteem. She would have to crawl into a box and spend the rest of her life wondering what could have been, if she could only learn to think before she spoke.
“He’ll be here,” Cherokee replied. “Now, he’s not a Dom who takes lip. You have to follow his lead and not try to top him from below, understand?”
“I’m not in this for the sex,” Piper retorted, “nor am I looking for a full time Dom. I’m doing this for the money.”
There, she’d said it out loud: she was turning herself into a prostitute just to get the funds she needed to go to culinary school.
“He’s taking you to a BDSM resort,” Cherokee reminded her. “That means you’ll be having sex with him.”
Long dark hair floated around her shoulders as Piper shook her head rapidly. Hearing it put that way pushed her over the edge. “I’m not having sex with him. I’m not a hooker.”
“I hope not.” The voice was definitely not Cherokee’s. A large dark hand pulled out the extra chair at the table and a huge body sat down. “I’m not looking for a hooker, just a sub who wants to make some extra cash. It’s a plus that you have cooking experience.”
Piper bristled. “I have more than cooking experience, buster. I’m on my way to being a chef.”
A slight smile spread across his masculine face. “On your way is a good thing, and the name is Sir, not buster. Understand?”
She could practically feel Cherokee’s alarm at the Dom’s command, as if Piper had already screwed up what she’d worked so hard to arrange.
Keep your mouth shut, Piper, just play it cool. “Yes, Sir. Forgive me.”
“Forgiven.” He studied her intently, and Piper took the time to return the favor. Cherokee had told her Kenan Snow was half Cree, and he wasn’t a man to be messed with; hence his success as a bounty hunter. But he was a hell of a lot better looking than Cherokee had let on. He looked like a man who lifted refrigerators for fun, with muscles that pulled at the seams of his tight T-shirt. His long, dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and his dark, almost black eyes, seemed as if they could see straight into her soul.
“I’m not going to have sex with you,” she blurted out. She winced as she watched his expression. One eyebrow lifted up ever so slightly, and his head cocked to one side.
“Not your type? I thought you were a submissive looking to make a little extra cash.”
“I am, but I’m not going to take money for sex. I’ll scene with you at the resort, to make things look real, but you can’t fuck me.”
“That’s a shame.” He sat back in his chair before he turned his attention to the waitress that had come up just as Piper had made her announcement.
The woman stared at Piper as if she’d lost her marbles. Piper almost expected her to say to him, “You can fuck me, if you want.”
“Dark beer,” he said to the waitress, “and another drink for each of my friends, please.”
She left after a nod, and Piper was sure her comment would become the topic of conversation for the other servers at the bar: “That woman over there just told that gorgeous man he couldn’t fuck her, can you believe it? What a moron.”
“Kenan, Sir, I don’t think I’m making my point very well.” She opened her mouth to complete her sentence, but he held up his hand.
“I understand, trust me. You think that if we fuck, you’re being paid for sex. Since doing a scene doesn’t always involve sex, you don’t see that as…prostitution.”
Piper sighed in relief. “Exactly.” He understood, but did that mean she would lose her job with him?
“I have no problem with that,” he said. She smiled, but it disappeared when he held up his index finger. “However, you will have orgasms, and I will touch your body. There simply won’t be any penile penetration, vaginally or anally. But, you will provide me with climaxes, with your hand and with your mouth. If you do not agree to this, I shall look for another submissive to accompany me to Belize.”
Oh crap, Piper thought, why don’t I just agree to open my legs, too? Despite what people thought, oral sex was sex. She supposed that would just make her half a hooker. It was a small price to pay to get the money toward her dream. Besides, going down on this guy wouldn’t be a hardship. She was going to be a contracted employee, not a streetwalker staking out her own corner. At worst, sh
e could call herself a very well paid call girl.
“Agreed.” He winked at the waitress, who had just returned with their drinks. Piper wanted to tell him to quit flirting with the woman when he’d just hired Piper as his submissive. But she kept her mouth shut. She glanced at Cherokee, who had stayed silent during the negotiations, and smiled. Her friend returned the smile, which made Piper feel good. She’d handled things right.
When the waitress was gone, Kenan turned his attention to her. “I want you at my house tomorrow evening, six sharp. Do you understand? When you get there, you will…”
“Tomorrow?” She frowned. “I thought we were leaving Monday morning. Tomorrow is Friday.”
“Are your questioning my order?”
“No, Sir, I…well, yeah, I guess I am.” Before he could say anything, she hurried on, “It’s just I’d like to know the schedule.”
“Which I would have explained, if you hadn’t interrupted.”
“Sorry, Sir.” She lowered her gaze to the table.
There was an uncomfortable silence, and Piper fidgeted in her seat. Now that they’d made a deal on the sex part, she didn’t want to screw this up by, as Cherokee would say, speaking out of turn.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, he spoke again. “You will spend the time before we leave with me, that way we will get to know each other a little bit. The cover I’ve set in place for Belize is that we are a long term Dominant and submissive. My friend who runs the resort tells me the man I’m hunting comes to the resort every three or four weeks. He was just there two and a half weeks ago, which means he should be back any time.”
“I see, Sir.”
Another silence fell over the table. Finally, he said, “Let’s go over the plan. You and I will work in the kitchen, myself as a chef, and you…”
“Do you cook?” Piper lifted her gaze to him, and whispered, “Sorry, Sir.” She rolled her lips inward in a gesture that she hoped he would recognize as her saying she was going to stop interrupting him.
“Do not speak again unless I give you permission.”
“Yes, Sir.” Her gaze went back to the table.
Yet another silence. Unease spread through her when he didn’t speak again. Zip it, Piper, she whispered over and over in her mind. Don’t screw this up.
“I do cook,” he said after what seemed like forever, “and I do it quite well as a matter of fact. Now, when the man I’m searching for arrives, we will not take him down immediately. He is extremely dangerous, and I’m not going to put everyone at the resort in danger by trying to capture him on my own. He’s killed before, and he won’t hesitate to do it again, even if it’s an innocent person he doesn’t know. He has no regard for human life. I have two friends who will be at the resort to assist with the takedown.”
She must have looked surprised because he said, “I’m not stupid. This guy is dangerous, and I’m not taking any chances.”
“I see.” That made sense, and that was why he wanted them to spend time together. They would stand out in the crowd if it looked as if they didn’t know each other. Still, how well could you get to know someone in two and a half days?
“Are you pierced?” His question came out of the blue.
She nodded.
“Nipples and clit?”
Another nod.
“Anything else?”
Piper pointed to her belly button.
“No labia?”
She shook her head.
“I suppose you can’t have everything.” He pushed a card toward her. “My address is on the back. Don’t be late tomorrow, and bring your suitcase packed for Belize. You won’t be going back to your apartment. When you arrive, you will find a note with instructions taped on the door. Follow them to the letter, and don’t speak until I say you can. Do you understand?”
Since he hadn’t given her permission to speak yet, Piper nodded. It might have been a while since she’d belonged to her one, and only Master, but she still knew the rules. She glanced over at Cherokee. Her friend was grinning, as if she knew a secret that Piper didn’t. When Cherokee licked her lips, Piper got it; her friend, more attracted to women than men, was very attracted to Kenan.
“Very good,” he said, jerking her attention back to him. She felt a thrill of excitement at his praise. He leaned over and pressed his lips against her ear. “When I’m gone, you may speak. Tomorrow, I’ll introduce you to a beautiful leather strap that might keep you from interrupting me when I’m talking.”
She nodded again.
“Very nice,” he whispered in her ear, and then he was gone.
A loud exhale escaped her lungs, and Piper gasped for air. “I think I’m in over my head,” she said to Cherokee.
“Nonsense,” her friend replied. “It’s just been a while, that’s all. Kenan is a wonderful Dom. He’s given me two of the best spankings I’ve ever had, all under the guidance of my Mistress. If there was ever a man who could turn me straight, it would be him.”
Piper exhaled loudly. The palms of her hands were sweaty. “Cherokee, am I doing the right thing?”
“Yes.” Her friend patted her hand. “With this money you’ll be able to go to school, and pay rent and your bills. You won’t have to work while you’re trying to concentrate on your classes. This is everything you’ve ever wanted, and it puts you back onto the path of becoming a chef, something you veered off of when you were fired. There’s just one thing I’d do differently.”
“What?”
Cherokee leaned toward her. “If I liked dick instead of pussy, I’d let him fuck me.”
* * * *
She felt like a hooker. Piper tried not to concentrate on that thought as she packed her suitcase. She put in underwear, bras, jeans, socks—wait, would she need socks? She was going to Belize, a tropical country. Would she wear sneakers? Or sandals?
What do hookers wear? She shook her head. She’d need both types of shoes—the sneakers for while she was working in the kitchen, the sandals for other times.
What about tops? What would he expect her to wear? Something that left things to the imagination or something more scintillating?
What do hookers wear? Stop it, stop it, stop it! She sat down on the edge of the bed, one of her sexiest tops in her hand. There was a huge part of her that thought she was selling her soul for what she wanted. Kenan had offered her ten grand for this trip, money she desperately needed. She’d been saving for culinary school for years, only to have the rug ripped out from under her.
But was being a submissive for hire the right thing to do? Even with the no penetration rule in place there would still be sex. She’d tried not to concentrate on that too much last night, as she’d thought about her decision. Touching was still sex, but she would withhold the big one, she’d reasoned.
She’d hashed out some of this with Cherokee last night. Her friend had told her she was over-thinking things that she needed to take the opportunity at hand and run with it, all the way to the registration table at the school.
When she’d gone to bed, Piper had thought she’d worked through her issues; yet, they were waiting for her when she’d woken up this morning, like old friends wanting to have coffee. And she hadn’t been able to forget them. She was due at Kenan’s house in two hours, and the address he’d given her was in Queens. It would take at least an hour to get there, possibly more depending on the traffic. She needed to get a move on.
She finished the packing in record time, throwing in a few more shirts, her toiletries, a brush, and a few books. She doubted she’d have time to read, but she always took one with her, just in case the opportunity presented itself. She was surveying the case, wondering if she’d forgotten anything where there was a knock at the front door.
Cherokee was spending an afternoon with her Mistress at the museum where the woman worked. “It gets her off to know I’m in the building, wandering around with no underclothes on,” Cherokee had joked before she’d left. They’d exchanged hugs, and Cherokee had admonished
her to relax and enjoy herself and put her worries about being “a call girl” behind her.
The knock came again. Piper stared out of her bedroom door, looking toward the front of the apartment. It was a third-floor walkup, with no doorman. Still, visitors had to be beeped into the building, although the device wasn’t always working. If she remembered right, though, it was working last night when she came home.
Someone had buzzed in a salesman, she decided as she turned back to her packing. She had to get a move on, or else she was going to be late, and that wasn’t the way to start her new job. Thinking of it as a job brought up the same argument she’d been having with herself since she’d met Kenan.
The suitcase seemed to have everything it needed. She was just flipping the lid onto the case when she heard the unmistakable sound of the front door opening. Her blood froze in her veins. Cherokee always announced her arrival with a loud, “Lucy, I’m home.”
Piper waited, but no greeting came.
“Cher?” The cold in her veins intensified as the door closed.
I need a weapon. They had a baseball bat, but it was in the living room, where she’d left it after their last day of softball in the park. Why wasn’t she neater than this? If she had that gene, the bat would be in her closet, and she would be able to—
“Oh crap.”
Footsteps, coming across the living room—heavy ones, like a man’s gait.
Her breath seemed to freeze in her lungs as she thought about what she could use: hairspray in his eyes, but that product had already been packed; keys between the fingers, but those were on the kitchen counter; or maybe…the rock she kept on her desk to hold her bills in one place. Her former Master had given it to her just days before they’d split. At the time he’d told her she was dumb as a rock, since she didn’t follow orders very well. She’d kept it to remind herself that nobody, Master or not, talked to her that way. Now, it seemed it would come in handy.
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