Suddenly the stocks click open and cool air rushes over my skin as I’m set free. Rider stands beside me, offering me his hand.
“That’s it?” I blurt.
He gives a small laugh. “You want me to spank you more?”
The blush burns from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. “Umm, no! No, of course not. I just wondered if we were finished for today.” I can’t meet his eyes as I get out of the stocks. He’ll see I’m lying about the spanking. I just know it.
“I just want to ask you a couple more things, but other than that, yeah, we’re done.”
“Wow, less than four hours of work for great pay. I finally luck out.”
He stands on the other side of the stocks and I have to brush against him to get by. I feel that undeniable electricity again when we touch. The intense attraction I’m trying so hard to deny.
He touches my arm, running his thumb from my elbow up, stopping me. “You can always work overtime, you know? I’d be happy to spank you longer.”
This guy is far too male and far too sexy. I think about kissing him, rising up on my tiptoes and claiming those soft, sensuous lips, but I know exactly where that’ll lead. Instead, I follow him to a table where we sit and discuss what we’ll practice next time. When I leave, I find those damn butterflies are back, and this time they’re all about anticipation.
***
Read an excerpt from a sizzling Wild & Lawless release Surrender To His Game by Anita Lawless.
Surrender To His Game
(Surrender Series Volume 4)
By Anita Lawless
A car arrives at the dorm promptly at 8 am. I’m taken to Damien’s office downtown, where I meet the P.I. he’s hired to take the case--a Gina Sparks--and I’m finally convinced the danger my sister is in is for real.
Then I head to the resort alone, and my stomach ties in enough knots to make a macramé plant hanger.
Before I left, Damien and Gina filled me in on how I would be going undercover inside this resort. The staff there think I’m being transferred from another Surrender establishment, and they have no idea I’m not truly a part of the sex geared corporation. We need to keep my true identity low key, because we really don’t know who we can trust inside this place. The whole resort is being investigated, and Damien informs me one of the top board members, a Dmitri Nichvalodov, is helping to head the operation to expose the embezzler / kidnapper.
The car pulls up to looming wrought iron gates that part to give us entry. Through the tinted back windows, I gape at the sprawling 50 acre resort grounds. The driver stops near a fountain that marks the center of a circular, cobblestone driveway and lets me out.
I’m ushered inside a gothic stone mansion that reminds me of something out of an old horror film, only less gloomy. Once inside, a smiling man in a double breasted blazer leads me to an office where I wait.
A woman with a pile of chestnut curls enters and greets me.
“Hello.” She extends a hand, which I shake. “I’m Wanda Ellerton. Please have a seat.”
I choose one of the two lush red chairs placed on the opposite side of her glass desk.
“Well, Mistress O, it seems your reputation precedes you. We already have a client interested in contracting you.”
Mistress O is my undercover name, and I already know who the client is that she refers to. My throat tightens and I hope I look calmer than I feel.
“That’s wonderful,” I say, trying not to choke on the words. “I’m anxious to meet my potential employer.”
She slides some paperwork closer to me and I scan documents detailing what will be expected of me and a personality profile for Damien Walters.
“He used to work for Surrender,” Wanda tells me. “Damien has an excellent record with us. He was in high demand as a dom before he signed an exclusive deal with one of our prior clients.”
I nod and pretend to be interested in this information I already know. Time is ticking away and the true test of my acting abilities is yet to come.
“I’ve no complaints about anything I see here,” I say, pointing to the papers. “I’d love to meet him.”
“I’ll tell Rhonda to send him in.” She gives her secretary the go ahead and the knots in my stomach tighten more. Dread leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
The door opens moments later and in walks Damien, all swagger and sophistication in a slate grey suit that molds to his body perfectly. His black hair is slicked back and he has that dangerous look that makes me swallow hard and breathe a little too fast.
He greets Wanda first, then turns his eyes on me. I don’t miss how they boldly rake over my hip hugging black slacks and red blouse. My face heats and my temper starts to simmer.
“Mistress O.” He extends his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard many stories about your talents.”
He brings my hand to his lips, sweeping a kiss across my knuckles. Then he flicks his tongue out over the top of my fingers, tasting my flesh and making me inhale sharply. Damn the impudent bastard!
“Thank you,” I say, trying to keep my irritation out of my voice. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Master Damien. I’ve looked over your contract and I find your terms suitable.”
He grins a Cheshire grin that gives me an odd kind of ache right in the center of my chest.
“I’m pleased. But before we sign anything I’d like to look you over.” He clasps his hands behind his back and continues to pin me with that smug, confident stare.
I want to slap his face, but that would spoil the ruse. And he is in his rights, damn him, to demand this. It’s part of the contract, much to my chagrin. All I can do is relent.
“Of course.” I try to sound confident and experienced in this situation.
Wanda sits down and watches us.
She’s going to stay in the room while he inspects me like a side of beef? My pulse now rushes in my ears. My face is so hot from a combination of embarrassment and anger I’m sure I’m the color of a tomato.
“Please remove everything but your bra, panties, and stockings.” He grabs the other office chair and positions it at the side of Wanda’s desk. Then he sits back in it, props his ankle on a knee, and waits for me to strip.
I bite the side of my cheek to keep from screaming curses at him. Then I try to remain calm as his eyes feast on me while I unbutton my blouse, though I can’t rid my fingers of a slight shake.
An artificial breeze from the air exchange system skims over my skin, raising tiny bumps. My instinct is to cross my arms over my breasts, which spill over the top of my lacy bra cups, but from what I know of the BDSM lifestyle I don’t think an experienced sub would do that. So I resist the temptation to cover up and avoid his scrutiny. To make matters worse, Wanda regards me like I’m an oil painting hanging in a museum. To say I’m embarrassed is putting it mildly.
“Turn for me,” he commands, twirling one finger.
I bite my bottom lip when I’m not facing them, vowing I’ll get revenge on that smug jerk for this humiliation. One day.
Once I’m facing them again, Damien unfolds his long body from the chair and saunters toward me. His eyes never leave mine as he does so, and my nostrils flare as I fight my temper and to breathe evenly.
He walks around me and his blazer grazes my bare skin, sending shockwaves of sensation through my hyper aware nerves. Primal instinct screams at me to wrap my hands around his corded neck and squeeze, but I fight that wrath. I grit my teeth, waiting for him to touch me, knowing that he will. My treacherous libido carves it, my practical brain dreads it.
His hot breath fans my neck as he leans in and inhales the perfume I wear. He moves closer and his lips almost brush my ear. I can smell his cologne now--a clean scent that reminds me of the sea. I lick my lips and realize my sex is growing damp. My whole damn body is declaring mutiny on me!
When his wide, warm palm touches my wrist, I jump, hoping Wanda doesn’t notice my flinch. His fingers sweep up my arm, and the higher they cl
imb the harder my heart beats.
Then he does the unexpected. He gives my nearly bare ass a sharp smack as he circles me like the predator he is.
I want again to slap his face, maybe grind the spiked heel of my stiletto into the toe of his Gucci, but for my sister I hold back. I keep an image of her face at the forefront of my mind to strength my resolve and lessen my reaction to him.
“Very nice, sweetheart,” he whispers close to my other ear before he stops in front of me once more. “I can’t wait to see you naked.”
I bite my tongue hard and look away from his chiseled face.
Asshole!
“Mistress O, I think you’ll make the perfect sub.” He brushes some red curls from my shoulder and I try not to shiver.
“I’m glad I please you,” I say, using the same tone I use on difficult professors at school.
“Wonderful,” Wanda says, opening a drawer in her desk to remove two keycards. “After you’ve signed the papers, I’ll have Emile show you to your room.”
Our room, I think, and it hits me. Of course, to keep up our ruse, we’ll have to share a room. Just great. I’ll be trapped in a lavish bedroom in a sex resort with Damien.
Emile arrives in his tight shorts and little else. He wears a bow tie that reminds me of male strippers I once went to see with Sasha. He gives us both a knowing grin before he turns and leads us from the room.
“I’m not going out there like this,” I whisper to Damien, holding him back when the doors open.
“Darling, you’re supposed to be my submissive,” he drawls in my ear. “Doms often parade their scantily clad playmates through a Surrender resort. Hell, they’re usually naked. You’re getting off lucky. And you want to act the part so we can get your sister back, right?”
I grit my teeth. “Yes.”
“Then walk.” To add further insult, he slaps my ass again as I inch forward.
Inside I’m fuming, and I want to whirl on him and spew curses, but instead I focus on Emile’s muscled, oiled back and follow him and Damien out of the room. I plot revenge as I go. Once this is all over and my sister is safe, I will find a way to get even with this arrogant dom.
We head up a staircase carpeted in red and stop after we pass a few doors. I’m thankful few people see me, but my whole being heats with humiliation when some male and female members walk by and give both me and my dom an appreciative perusal.
Emile leaves us and wishes us a pleasant stay. Damien swipes the keycard through the silver lock and lets us inside.
The door clicks shut, sealing me in alone with him. A sense of doom and anticipation bloom in my stomach.
He walks toward me, and when his hand encircles my elbow, I blurt, “I’m not sleeping with you.”
Damien chuckles that damnable chuckle. Then he pins me with a smoldering gaze as he brings his face closer to mine. “Here’s something to think about. We need to make this good, convincing. For all we know, there could be spies inside this resort, reporting to David or Drake. Whoever our embezzler is. This room could be wired.”
“You’re being paranoid.” I wrinkle my nose at him, scoot back a step to make space between us. I don’t like the way he’s getting to me. Damien is utterly too male and too gorgeous for my own good.
“We have to be paranoid, have to be careful. Your sister’s life depends on it.” He continues to hold my wrist, and now he strokes his thumb back and forth over the big vein that beats with my erratic pulse.
My sister. Thoughts of her life in jeopardy put my pride on the back burner. I inhale deeply then whisper back, “Look … I don’t know a lot about the rules involved in this whole BDSM lifestyle. You’re going to have to coach me.” I hate being vulnerable like this with him, but my options are limited, and if I’m going to play the part well I need his guidance.
One corner of his mouth crooks up. He takes his time replying, drawing my wrist up to his lips first and kissing it, then flitting the tip of his tongue over my sensitive skin. “It’ll be a pleasure, Mistress O.”
“But I’m still not having sex with you.”
The corner of his mouth lifts higher. “We’ll see.”
“Excuse me?”
“I can be a very convincing man.”
I shiver as he trails kisses up to the fold of my elbow. I try to jerk my arm away but he holds me. His free hand snakes around my bare waist and I feel as if his touch scalds me. Wetness slickens my sex and I curse my traitorous desire.
At my ear, he stops and tugs on the lobe with his teeth before saying, “We’ll keep it simple tonight. Vanilla bdsm for the new girl. I won’t fuck you yet, sweetheart.”
“You bet you won’t!” I jerk back and finally get some space. I need to get my breathing and response to him under control.
“Only with your consent,” he says as he walks toward the bed while removing his blazer. “I’ll never do anything you don’t want me to. But I plan to have you begging for it by the time I’m done.”
I feel my eyebrows shoot upward. “Never!”
He continues stripping. We’ll see, sweetheart.”
***
Read an excerpt from a sizzling Wild & Lawless release Surrender Forever Surrender Series Volume 1 by Anita Lawless.
Surrender To A Sex Therapist
(Surrender Series Volume 1, Part 1)
By Anita Lawless
I enjoyed my new job so much it was almost too good to be true. An old friend of Dad’s from the precinct, Sherri Taylor, had landed me the interview with Dmitri Nichvalodov, and I’d become the secretary of this prominent sex therapist three weeks ago. At first I’d had reservation about working for him. Not that I was a prude, but I knew little about sex--I’d only been with two men in my life, and one was a disappointing fumbler at best--plus I’d heard Dmitri was a stunner. Being introverted and a social kumquat, my reservations stemmed from the fact there was a good chance I’d stumble over my words, or tip over a coffee table, and make a complete ass of myself. I tended to do just that when I was nervous or intimidated by the subject or persons involved.
However, the salary promised was generous, and it would cover Dad’s mounting medical bills. Dad came first, so I swallowed my fear and accepted the position.
“Charlotte,” Dmitri said, his green eyes meeting mine, making my stomach do a flutter I tried to ignore. “Would you join me in my office when you’re finished up there? I’d like to ask you something.”
“Oh, certainly, Mr. Nichvalodov.” I adjusted my glasses, thankful they slipped down my nose at that moment, because it gave me a chance to break away from his penetrating gaze.
“It’s Dmitri to you.” I watched his broad shoulders, clad in a pinstriped suit, disappear behind the door. His long hair gleamed as the sun caught it just before he vanished. He wore his straight, black mane in a braid that fell to the middle of his back. How a psychiatrist managed to look like a male stripper was beyond me. Maybe it had something to do with being a sex therapist. I scolded myself for picturing him out of that suit for the second time today.
Dmitri also came from money, a lot of it, and his family held a history of investing in entrepreneurial ventures that had, for the most part, paid off well. He’d told me, in some of our frequent office conversation, that there had been some risky investments in the early days, and his great-great grandfather lost his shirt a couple times over a hunch that went sour. However, these days the family had enough wealth to take a million or more dollar loss and not even feel it. They invested a great deal in green energy technology. Dmitri told me the only thing holding green energy back, in his educated opinion, was the lack of funding for researching and developing these techniques.
“Why work as a sex therapist then?” I’d said one day, and when he turned those penetrating green eyes on me, I’d added, “If you don’t mind me asking.”
He flashed a wide, dazzling smile. “Our parents encouraged my brother and I to be more than a part of the family empire. Mom and Dad worried focusing on one thing would n
arrow our minds, our pursuits. They wanted us to be well rounded, so here I am.”
Now, as I stepped into his office, I tried to slow my heartbeat to normal. Had I entered some data incorrectly in our patient database? I mentally checked over the day, looking for a mistake. There had to be one. I’d been doing a great job so far, but this had to be about a screw up. I just knew it.
Dmitri looked up from a sheaf of papers and gave me that winning smile. “Please, have a seat, Charlotte.”
I sat in the chair he indicated, crossed my right leg over my left, uncrossed, repeated the process. Then I silently scolded myself for fidgeting.
He sat in his looming, leather office chair, folded his hands on top of the desk, and gave me an intense gaze. “How would you feel about seeing me outside of the office? Maybe tomorrow night? Dinner perhaps?”
I choked and coughed on my nervousness. Enough so that I had to get up and excuse myself so I could grab a glass of water. As I brushed a lock of mouse-brown hair from my face, I noticed how badly my hand shook.
“Sorry about that,” I said, after I sat in his office once more. “I must be coming down with a bit of a cold.”
He stood, walked around the desk, then leaned against the front of it. Obviously he was waiting for my answer, but he didn’t make it any easier to speak when he towered over me that way.
I dared a glance at him, felt my face warm, played with the silver chain Dad had given me for my sixteenth birthday. When he gave a impatient sigh, I finally managed to speak. “Dinner, oh, that would be fine, great, yes.” I nodded like a bobblehead. “Certainly, Mr. Nich--I mean, Dmitri, I’d love to have dinner with you.”
Hostage Of Lust Page 5
