Little Rainbows

by Helena Stone

  Table of Contents

  Legal Page

  Title Page

  Book Description

  Dedication

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  New Excerpt

  About the Author

  Publisher Page

  A Totally Bound Publication

  Little Rainbows

  ISBN # 978-1-78430-458-4

  ©Copyright Helena Stone 2015

  Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright February 2015

  Edited by Jennifer Douglas

  Totally Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2015 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

  Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

  Warning:

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Burning and a Sexometer of 2.

  LITTLE RAINBOWS

  Helena Stone

  When an experienced Dom loses his drive, can an old flame reignite his fire?

  When Jason Hudson and Heather Staunton first met, they were young and sure they were wrong for each other. As a result they spent a summer admiring each other from a safe distance.

  Twenty years later, Heather is coming out of mourning, having lost her husband and Dom eighteen months earlier. Jason, now the owner of an exclusive sex resort on the west coast of Ireland, is struggling with the loss of his desire to dominate.

  Jason’s resort is about to celebrate its first anniversary and party planner Heather has been hired to create the perfect celebration. Their reunion comes as a big surprise to both of them and is the start of an unexpected sequence of events.

  Old and familiar attractions battle with new and conflicting emotions as Jason and Heather work together to organize the ultimate BDSM event.

  Overcoming the issues between them isn’t the only obstacle Jason and Heather face. In the background lurks a threat both to Heather’s independence and Jason’s livelihood.

  Dedication

  For Dermot, who stayed with me when even I wanted to leave me behind. You are my heart and soul.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Beetle: Volkswagen Group

  Fly Me to the Moon: Frank Sinatra

  Range Rover: Jaguar Land Rover

  Skype: Microsoft Corporation

  Prologue

  “What do you need, sub?”

  The young woman’s panting reverberated through the room. The fine sheen of sweat covering her body reflected the lights shining down from the ceiling, making her glow and sparkle. Wearing nothing except her high heels, her feet held apart with a spreader-bar and her upper body tied to the spanking bench, the beautiful blonde was a picture of vulnerability. Arousal wafted from her, strong and enticing—and it left him cold. He had no desire to touch. Hell, he didn’t even want to be here.

  “Do you think you’ve earned your orgasm, my dear?”

  So far the only response he’d been able to get from her were moans. And they both knew he’d do nothing to release her need unless she asked him—no, begged him for it.

  You can’t blame the girl for being incoherent, he thought. The clamps on her nipples were as tight as he could make them, exerting the kind of pain she craved. Her arse and upper thighs were a glorious shade of red, courtesy of his hands and the black leather flogger. He knew all it would take to make her come was the lightest of touches to her clit. But he wouldn’t touch her again until she begged him for it. He knew it and she knew it. It was a crucial part of their play. He had mastered the game over the years and played it very well, even if the enjoyment he used to derive from it was gone.

  “Please, Sir, please.”

  He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “You know that isn’t enough. You have to tell me what you want. You won’t get it unless you name it. Tell me what you need.”

  The young woman groaned and shook her head, the tips of her long blonde hair stroking his face. He grabbed a handful of the soft locks and pulled her head backwards.

  “Tell me!”

  “Please, Sir, I need to come. Please make me come, Sir.”

  “Good girl. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

  He moved his hand between her legs and found exactly what he’d expected, a soaking wet pussy. For a moment the memories of the pleasure he used to derive from these shows guided his actions. He indulged himself and teased her, stroking his fingers through her wetness, between her folds, managing to miss her clit on every pass. He changed direction and pinched her hard little bud between his thumb and index finger before stroking it with purpose.

  He’d been right. It only took a few seconds before her body tensed and started to shake. Her groans turned to screams as her orgasm took hold of her body and mind. He prolonged her release with his finger’s continued pressure on her clit. When she at last started to come down from her high, he freed her from the bench and helped her up. He caught her when her legs, still kept apart by the bar, gave way. With a look to his left, he summoned one of the many dungeon assistants. The young man released the sub’s legs and picked her up, carrying her to a couch where he wrapped her in a soft blanket and enveloped her in a tight embrace.

  Satisfied his aftercare instructions were being followed to the letter, Jason left the stage and made his way to the exit. He accepted compliments and greetings on the way but didn’t stop to talk to anyone. The show was over and he needed to get away from the scene. He stalked through the resort he’d opened less than a year ago with high hopes and expectations, not seeing anything or anyone. He was blind to the guests making their way to private rooms, impatient to alleviate the sexual tension he’d ignited in them with his show. He pretended he didn’t see the worried expression on his best friend’s face as he exited the BDSM area and he ignored the vanilla guests taking advantage of the facilities in the more innocent part of his club. Waiting for the e
levator would take too long and give others an opportunity to approach him, so he took the stairs two at a time, impatient to be alone and in his own environment.

  He slammed the door to his apartment. What the fuck’s wrong with me? This wasn’t, had never been, just a job. This was his life. He’d been born to play this role, to be this man. He’d finally reached the stage where his life resembled everything he’d dreamed about and the feeling was gone. Why had it been months since he’d felt the need to bed one of his subs? Why was the portrayal of his dominance, their willing submission to his will, not enough for him anymore? Why had these exhibitions started to feel like a chore rather than a welcome side benefit to his chosen profession? He had to find out—and soon. In just over a month’s time the elite of the Irish BDSM community would be meeting here, in his club, for its first anniversary. His reluctance was growing so fast he feared it wouldn’t be long before he’d find himself incapable of putting up a believable performance.

  He groaned out loud while he poured himself a large whiskey. His anger made him restless and he ignored the comfortable large couch and chairs. The walls of his spacious and bright apartment seemed to be closing in on him. A need for fresh air brought him to the glass wall opening onto a building-wide balcony. The clear night sky combined with the distant sound of waves hitting the shore went some way toward settling his edginess.

  He forced himself to be honest. It wasn’t just about being believable. He felt as if he’d lost himself. He’d always known he was dominant from his first, clumsy, sexual experience. Opening his club in Ireland, the country he’d grown up in and had always seen as home, had allowed him to turn his desires into an income while giving other people the opportunity to discover everything sex had to offer in a safe environment. Sure, he could still earn a comfortable living and offer that service without ever rediscovering his inner Dom. He just didn’t know who he was without that need. His sense of self had disappeared as his dominant side receded and he didn’t know what to do about finding it again or how to go about discovering who he was without it.

  The star-filled sky, the moon and the sea watched but didn’t provide answers as he struggled with his inner demons.

  Chapter One

  There it was, her opportunity to kick-start her life again. And, as restarts went, it made quite an impression. The hotel or club—she wasn’t quite sure how to label the building—looked rather grand at the end of the long drive. The Atlantic Ocean, throwing up a spray in the distance, only enhanced the picture. Even on this bright summer’s day she could see small rainbows in the watery mist the waves were producing. It would be easy to confuse this place with any of the up-market tourist traps the west coast of Ireland was peppered with. This could be any other posh resort catering to Americans trying to find their roots and golfers looking for an opportunity to try the links courses littered along the coastline. The heavy gate blocking the entrance told a different story. She knew too much about this place, its purpose and what happened behind those gates to confuse it for anything except what it was, a dream from the past and—if everything went according to plan—the start of the rest of her life.

  She’d been looking at the building, the grounds, the gate and the little buzzer on the intercom box for a few minutes. If anybody on the inside happened to be keeping an eye on the entrance through those security cameras, they would have decided she was either scared or crazy by now—and they’d be right. She was apprehensive. Her hands were clasped together, her fingers worrying her wedding ring. After eighteen months of virtually living like a hermit, coming here felt like diving in headfirst. Still, if she’d had any doubts about leaving Dublin, that surprise visitor two weeks ago and his shocking proposal had taken care of those.

  The bastard. She refused to even think his name. It still bothered her he’d had the nerve to show up at her door like that. Where would he have gotten the idea she’d be open to his suggestions? It had been clear that he’d expected her to embrace his offer—or should she call it an order—with open arms. His delusions of grandeur must have gotten the better of him, or he’d confused her with someone she clearly wasn’t. She didn’t get it. Even before her self-inflicted confinement, she’d made a point of staying away from him. Why would he think she’d changed her mind about him just because she was on her own? She didn’t know but lingering on that memory right now didn’t serve any purpose. She didn’t want him in her thoughts, especially not now. It would only make her more nervous than she already was.

  She’d thought this place would be the perfect setting for her return to the BDSM world she’d been ignoring for well over a year. Now that the moment was close, now that she had to take this last step out of her confinement, the first step into her future, she couldn’t help second-guessing herself. Was she really ready to move forward? Could she do it on her own? She’d never been a part of this lifestyle without her husband and his loving support.

  With a sigh she lifted her hand and pressed the little button. She’d come this far. She hadn’t driven the five hours from Dublin only to turn away at the last hurdle. If she gave up now, it would be the end of the business they’d built together. If she chickened out of this, there would be no way of ever going back on her own terms. Going forward scared the shit out of her but going back frightened her even more. She could do this. She’d promised she would take this step. Breaking her word was not an option, no matter how scared she was.

  “Can I help you?”

  The voice from the intercom brought her out of her reverie. “Hi, I’m Heather Staunton, I…”

  “Mrs. Staunton, welcome to The Blowhole. You’re expected. Please drive up to the parking area and make your way to reception in the lobby.”

  The voice disappeared at the same moment the black steel gates started to noiselessly open. Heather put her bright yellow Beetle into first gear and with a deep sigh, started the too short drive up to the parking area. She wondered about the name as she drove. The Blowhole. It could be a reference to everything going on behind the resort’s walls. Or, maybe the owner enjoyed provoking and shocking people. Anyone unaware of the true nature of this place would probably assume a connection to the numerous chimneys on the roof. Knowing all too well what awaited her once she stepped out of her car, she doubted chimneys had anything to do with the choice.

  Heather’s curiosity about the name receded as she parked her car and stared at the imposing building in front of her. It was magnificent. Built in gray stone, the resort had the higgledy-piggledy appearance of a manor built over the centuries, with bits added on as circumstances required. Of course she knew this wasn’t an old building—she’d done her research—but she liked that it had been erected with materials and in a style that made it appear old and worn. High and low rooflines alternating in an apparently random fashion gave the manor an uneven and fascinating exterior, to which the protruding and receding sections only added. It made her curious about the interior and excited about exploring all its nooks and crannies. She wouldn’t be surprised to find secret passageways, dark cellars, roaring fires—although it wasn’t quite the season or the weather for those right now—and adventure.

  She got a glimpse of the grounds behind the manor and studied the extended garden with at least one other building. Off in the distance, she could still see the Atlantic Ocean. She took another moment to delight in the tiny rainbows in the sky above the sea. The sight took her breath away and made her feel better about the whole enterprise. She decided to take it as an encouraging sign. She chose to believe that Mother Nature herself had put her stamp of approval on Heather’s decision to come here.

  She wished she could stay out here and enjoy nature’s beauty, but, she wasn’t here for the view, breathtaking as it might be. She’d come here to do a job, as well as to restart her life. Daydreaming about little rainbows wouldn’t achieve either. Heather’s worries resurfaced as soon she thought about the days ahead of her. In a few minutes she would come face to face with a man she knew little to
nothing about in order to help him organize the BDSM party of the decade. Someone who called himself Master Jay and had been conspicuous in his absence from the negotiations so far. She’d only dealt with his manager, Karl Mulready. A few minutes from now that would change. Heather and the elusive Master were about to meet.

  Almost reluctantly, Heather made her way to the entrance. Close up, the hotel resembled a jigsaw with all its corners, the various doors and height differences. The doors of the one-story extension in front of her were wide open, inviting her to enter.

  Once again she questioned her sanity. She’d kept herself away from anything and everyone connected to the kinkier side of Ireland for almost two years. Why did she think she still knew everything and everybody in that world well enough to offer any real assistance? It had been two years since she’d last planned a BDSM party, so why did this Jay—she couldn’t refer to a man she’d never met as Master—think she’d still be able to do the job?

  For a moment she closed her eyes. Unless she kept on moving forwards, she would never answer those questions.

  Heaven or hell? Heather had no idea what she would find on the other side of the threshold. Her fear took her by surprise. She’d known starting again would be daunting but hadn’t expected to be this scared.

  Another big sigh took her up the few steps, through the doors and into a wide and spacious reception area. The high ceilings and the sun streaming through the open doors and various windows made the lobby bright and welcoming. Through a long hallway she saw a glass wall. For a moment she stopped and stared at the view of the Atlantic those windows provided. There was only one word for what she saw, stunning. Even on a quiet day like today, the ocean looked wild and dangerous. She had no doubt the view would be even more spectacular in bad weather.