Doms of Dark Haven

by Cartwright, Sierra

  “But…why? Why me?” Every woman who walked by this man cast longing looks his way. I'm not young. Or thin. Or gorgeous.

  “You, lass, have a self-image problem.”

  Well, that might be a little true, but she also had a mirror. It wasn't that she was ugly; it was that the competition was far too beautiful. And young. “Simon, I—”

  His eyes narrowed, and her insides melted like ice cream on a sunny day. “I don't think I want you calling me Simon. Not in the club or when you're restrained…or in my bed.”

  The surge of excitement at the thought of being in his bed went all the way to her fingertips. And he'd done that deliberately, hadn't he? She sucked in a breath. Keep your head in the game. “What would you prefer?”

  “You may call me 'Sir' or 'Master Simon.'” He brushed his fingers down her cheek. “I believe, for you, I'd permit a simple 'Master.'”

  Master? No, that sounded way over-the-top. She shook her head.

  “Oh, I think you will,” he murmured. “Now let's talk about what I see when I look at you.”

  Oh, let's not.

  “First, you're not twenty…or even thirty.” Almost absently, he removed one of the hairpins holding her bun in place, ignored her frown, and removed another. “But I like a woman with some life experience, one who isn't at the mercy of her emotions, and where a missed date or an argument doesn't constitute the ending of the world.”

  Remembering her son Eric's last meltdown when his new girlfriend had stood him up, Rona laughed.

  “There, now. That's lovely,” Simon said. Somehow the heat in his eyes slid right into her body. He ran a hand over her upper arm and squeezed gently. “I think muscles on a woman are beautiful, but I enjoy softness in my bed. And under me.”

  Everything he said sent more urgency curling through her body, and she lowered her gaze. “Well.” Good grief, when had she become so inarticulate? She facilitated meetings full of prima donna doctors, for God's sake. She straightened her shoulders and gave him a level look. “I'm pleased that you—”

  “Yes.” He smiled at her. “Yes, that's exactly what I mean by experience. You don't crumple easily.” Another pin slid out of her hair. “Rona, it is your choice, but I would be pleased to introduce you to whatever elements of BDSM interest you.”

  The man was smooth and dangerous, just like she'd thought. But oh so tempting. Her eyes dropped to his leather bag filled with…things, and a shiver ran through her. Let him do…something?

  His lips curved. “Ah, now that was a yes.” He pulled the last pin out, and her dark blonde hair fell down around her shoulders in a wavy mess. He tucked her pins into his vest pocket and raked his fingers through her hair. Each small tug sent tingles down her spine. “We will talk, and you can tell me what you like.”

  “Uh-huh.” Tell him her fantasies? Not going to happen.

  He stopped, and his finger under her chin lifted her gaze to his. “Rona, first rule of a Dom-sub relationship: you share your thoughts, openly and honestly, hiding nothing.”

  “I don't know you.”

  “True. But you've heard me vouched for. You're attracted to me. Can you trust me enough to share what you found interesting in the club so far? Is that asking too much?”

  She hadn't felt so cornered since the OR nurses had stormed her office about an instrument-throwing surgeon. “No. I can do that.”

  “Excellent. Considering your current position, obviously you find bondage and public display acceptable.” He set his hand on her nape, his thumb curving around the side of her neck. His keen eyes focused on her face. “BDSM includes other pleasures. Like flogging.”

  As he'd done to that woman?

  The laugh lines beside his mouth deepened. “Your pulse sped up. Excellent.”

  “Whipping.”

  She flinched. Earlier, she'd seen a dom use a long whip to create horrible red stripes on his victim. “No.”

  “Plain, bare-assed, bare-handed spankings.”

  She swallowed at the thought of being over a man's—Master Simon's—knees. Her fantasy list definitely needed revision. “Um, maybe.”

  “So everything except the whip.” He nodded. “Then there's hot wax.” He paused. “Piercing.”

  Needles? For fun? Hell no. She tried to pull away, and his hand gripped the back of her neck firmly. “Gently, lass. I'd say the wax is a maybe, but any piercing is a hard no. Is that right?”

  Did he read everyone this easily or just her? She nodded.

  His eyes crinkled, and then he brushed her mouth with his. His lips lingered, firm and velvety, and without any thought on her part, she tilted her head back for more.

  “You are a sweet one,” he murmured and took her face between his hands, holding her as his mouth urged hers open. He kissed her slowly. Deeply. Thoroughly.

  With her wrists restrained, she was at his mercy, and the knowledge sent anticipation humming through her system.

  He lifted his head to look at her for a long moment, then smiled and kissed her again until every drop of blood pooled in her lower half. Her body throbbed for more.

  He moved a fraction of an inch back and caressed her cheek. “Where did I leave off? Ah, there are a variety of toys for fun like…a dildo. A vibrator. An anal plug.”

  Just the thought of someone using those on her made her squirm. “Maybe.”

  One side of his mouth curved up in a slight smile. “That was more than a maybe, lass. Have you ever used an anal plug?”

  Her backside tensed, but with her hands chained over her head, she couldn't cover…anything. “No.”

  “I look forward to seeing your reaction. Did you happen to see the cupping earlier?”

  Oh, she'd definitely seen that one. “Yes.” Her voice came out husky.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. And where else do you think a master might apply those cups?”

  The dom had put them on his sub's back, but she'd imagined them on her nipples or even…on her clit. A wave of heat rolled into her face, as inevitable as the sun in summer.

  He chuckled. “I'll enjoy that almost as much as you will.”

  “I didn't say yes.” She hadn't, dammit.

  “You didn't have to.” He grasped the ribbon at the top of her chemise and pulled it open. Her nipples puckered.

  “How about electrical play?”

  All too aware of the warmth of his hand just above her breasts, she tried to concentrate on what he'd asked. “Electrical play?” She shook her head, then remembered the TENS unit a chiropractor had used on her sore back. Could those electrodes be placed elsewhere? Her vagina clenched, making her aware of how wet she'd become.

  “Oh yes.” The glint in his eyes made her stomach twist uneasily.

  She swallowed. “Why so many questions for just one time?”

  “There's always another time, pet. One more question.” He studied her face as he ran his knuckles down the cleavage her chemise now exposed, and the closer his hand came to her breasts, the more her nipples tightened. “How about sex?”

  Sex? Her breath caught. Sex with him? Every cell in her body jumped to life, waving pom-poms, and cheering. Her gaze dropped to his waist, to… She looked back up hastily. What was she thinking? “Uh no. I don't think so.”

  “Then, for tonight, I'll use only my hands.” He didn't make it a question.

  “Uh…” She nodded. Hands seemed safe enough. The thought of him taking her, being inside her… She wasn't ready for that intimacy. She might not be ready for this either.

  “All right,” he said easily. “We will begin.” He strolled around her, and she could actually feel his gaze stroke over her thinly clad body. “You look lovely in Victorian undergarments, pet, but they're in my way.” Without asking permission, he undid her corset, tiny hook by tiny hook, and tossed it onto a nearby table, leaving her in her chemise and drawers.

  To her surprise, he ran his strong hands over her ribs, then massaged the painful ridges from the corset. She groaned from the relief. “Thank yo
u.”

  His grin flashed, a moment of sunshine in the stern face. “I've heard they're uncomfortable.” Reaching up, he unclipped her right wrist and lowered her arm. When he gathered up her chemise, she realized he planned to pull it over her head, baring her breasts.

  She had one arm still chained, and her instinctive recoil got nowhere.

  He raised his eyebrows.

  With the other dom, David, she'd felt in control. Not with Master Simon. Lord, he didn't even speak, just looked at her, and her defiance oozed away. A sigh whispered out.

  “Good girl,” he said, his voice as soothing as a caress. After she slid her arm out of her chemise, he held out his hand, palm up.

  She couldn't move for a second. Did she want him to chain her wrist back up? Her stomach shook in an internal earthquake. And then she set her hand in his.

  Approval warmed his eyes. “This is what submission is, Rona,” he said as he clipped her cuff to the overhead chain. “I can overpower you easily enough, but that's abuse. In domination, the only power I wield is what you freely give me.”

  After repeating the process with the other arm, he pulled the chemise over her head, leaving her bare from the waist up.

  As the coolness brushed over her breasts, she looked around. Oh Lord, two doms and their subs had stopped to observe. A hot flush rose into her face. What was she doing here, letting herself be stripped?

  “Look at me, pet.”

  Her gaze returned to him, and he held it until everything else faded except his dark eyes. He studied her for a long moment until her muscles stiffened with anticipation. Then he cupped a breast in each hand.

  Oh Crom. Pleasure rushed through her like a tidal wave. Her nipples had been hard already and now tightened until they ached.

  “You have lovely breasts, Rona.” He paused and then frowned. “The correct response to a compliment is 'thank you, Sir.'”

  “Thank you, Sir,” she whispered. His gentle pinches on both nipples made her want to pull away with embarrassment and yet push forward for more. And she'd grown wet below, very wet.

  As if he'd heard her thought, he put his boot between her bare feet and nudged her legs open. “Are your drawers traditional?”

  When he ran a finger over her exposed skin just above the waistband, her stomach muscles quivered. “Traditional?”

  “Crotchless?” He put his hand between her legs, right on her exposed pussy.

  She gasped.

  His grin flashed white in his tanned face. “I do love historical accuracy.” He unhurriedly ran a finger through her wet folds, back and forth, never touching the one place that throbbed like mad. As her head spun, she started to draw her knees together and got another of those looks she'd begun to recognize.

  “Don't move, pet, or I'll restrain your legs too.”

  She froze.

  Her thighs quivered uncontrollably as his fingers explored her even more intimately, tracing over her clit, around her entrance. When he pushed a finger gently inside, she raised on tiptoes, stifling the moan in her throat.

  “Very nice,” he murmured, and she heard the approval in his deep voice through the swishing of her pulse in her ears. His finger eased farther into her, and his other hand touched her breast, tugging lightly on the nipple.

  Oh Crom. Sheer, insane need swept over her like a landslide. When his thumb pressed on her clit, everything receded except the feeling of his hands on her. Her eyes closed as her insides gathered.

  “No, not yet, sweetheart,” he said. His touch lifted. “I want you a little on edge when I teach you about pain.”

  Her eyes flashed open. Pain?

  The flogger he took from his bag didn't look like the same one he'd used before, but still—leather-covered handle, multiple blunt lengths of suede.

  “You're going to whip me?” Her voice shook.

  The dark eyes glinted with amusement. “Oh, I think so, yes.” He brushed the flogger up her legs, her stomach, and teased the soft, dangling strands over her breasts until the peaks ached. The scent of leather filled the air as he lightly ran it up her arms and down her back, continuing until her skin grew so sensitive that each small caress sent a pulsing thrill through her.

  The flogger brushed against her butt, and then the strands flipped across her bottom in the first blow.

  She jumped. But it didn't hurt, didn't even sting. Instead the ends thudded against her skin like tiny hammers. More flicking touches moved down her legs and around to the front. As the lashes tapped slowly up her thighs, her heart started to pound. She pulled her legs together.

  “Stay in position, or I will chain your ankles, pet.” No anger, just a statement.

  She moved her legs out. A little. Caught the expression in his eyes and opened them all the way, leaving her pussy dangerously vulnerable to those strands. A shudder went through her. Why didn't she use that safe word he'd given her?

  But his intent gaze held her in place. And so did the way she felt—incredibly aroused—every nerve alive and singing with excitement.

  He tucked the handle of the flogger into his waistband and moved closer. “You're being a good girl.”

  His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs circling the nipples until a stream of electricity flowed straight to her clit. Her exposed clit. The open-legged position just begged for his touch. Her hips tilted forward, and she bit her lip, embarrassed. She wasn't like that, had never begged for anything. Ever. And yet… Please touch me.

  He moved a hand to her pussy, sliding through her wetness. When his finger traced over her clit, she gasped at the sheer rush. But his finger eased away, gathered moisture, and then circled her clit. Around and around.

  Pressure built inside her, and everything tightened, begging for just a little more. She moaned.

  “Lovely,” he murmured and stepped away. Before she could whimper a protest, the flogger struck her again, up and down her legs, front and back, then over her bottom, and a sting joined the thudding sensations. Not hurting, not really. Over her shoulders lightly and her hips, the blows circled her, and each time, the strands landed a little harder.

  Still it didn't hurt, exactly, but she'd rather have his hands on her.

  His eyes narrowed. “There goes that mind of yours, thinking away. You definitely need a tad more.”

  She caught her breath, hoping he'd touch her. Amazing how her inhibitions had disappeared.

  Smiling slightly, he laid the flogger down next to his bag and pulled out a leather collar, fully as wide as his hand.

  A collar? What kind of “more” was that?

  He fitted it around her neck, adjusted her chin to rest in a small notch, and buckled it. Then he stood in front of her, caressing her cheek. Waiting.

  He hadn't fastened it too snugly, and yet when she tried to move, she realized it raised her chin and kept her from looking either around or down. A flash of panic went through her and died at the steady look in his eyes.

  “I won't leave you, sweetheart. If anything bothers you too much, use your safe word. Do you understand?”

  She tried to nod and couldn't.

  His eyes crinkled. “Say, 'Yes, sir.'”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good. Now you just stay put while I enjoy myself.”

  What did that mean? Her hands curled into balls as he knelt. With her chin held up by the collar, she couldn't see him. The bastard. Yet the arousal in her body edged up a notch as she waited for his touch. She had to wait; couldn't do anything else.

  She heard a rustle, felt his hands on her pussy, and damn, it felt so good, his firm hands doing whatever he wanted. He buckled some sort of harness around her thighs and waist. Okay, that wasn't so bad, but then something pushed up inside her. Something cool. Hard. Not his fingers.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice shook.

  “Whatever I want, sweetheart.” Liquid drizzled down her pussy, wet and cold, and she jumped. She felt a pinch over her clit, one that didn't release. Not painful but…disconcerting. A few clippi
ng sounds and then tugs on the harness. “I'm just adjusting everything so it stays in place.”

  So what stays in place? She throbbed from the pressure of whatever was inside and from whatever sat over her clit. What was he doing?

  When he stood, he had a microphone on his collar and a box—a control box?—clipped to his waistband.

  Before she figured out what that combination meant, he ran his firm hands over her, stroking her skin, cupping her breasts, sending the warmth rising in her again. His lips settled on hers, and he took a long kiss. God, he could kiss. Her body relaxed…and heated.

  He pulled back, smiled into her eyes, and then flipped a switch on the box.

  Something made tapping sensations her clit and up inside her. Like tiny hammers. She jerked, her eyes wide. “What is that?”

  “I'll show you in a bit. Your only job is to let me know if anything becomes uncomfortable.” He put a finger on her chin and gave her an uncompromising look. “Otherwise I do not want to hear you speak. Am I clear, pet?”

  She stiffened yet melted inside at his low, resonant voice and the commanding look in his eyes. “Yes, Sir.”

  As the tapping increased—somehow different from a vibrator, more inside than out—her clit tightened until it felt as if it would burst. Everything down there coiled, aching for more, and it wasn't enough. She smothered a moan. And she realized he'd stepped away to study her reactions.

  He nodded. “Perfect.” And then his flogger struck her thighs. The added sensation shocked through her and zoomed straight to her clit. Her legs tensed, and she rocked. He didn't stop. The leather strands hit lightly up her back, and each blow made the burning need in her pussy worse, so much worse.

  She closed her eyes, swamped by the sensations.

  He lashed her bottom, the backs of her thighs. “Rona.”

  With his words, the tingling on her clit increased in force and speed, and she moaned uncontrollably.

  A second later the tapping abated. The flogger didn't. “Rona. Look at me.”

  Again, the vibrations intensified for a few seconds. Not nearly long enough. And the flogger never stopped, weaving a sensory spell around her. Up her legs, almost touching her pussy.