Doms of Dark Haven

by Cartwright, Sierra

  Worse than Saturday night in the ER. Growling in disgust, Rona dodged around the men to get to the woman. Slinging an arm around the frail waist, Rona pulled her up and out of the battle zone. Looking over her shoulder to make sure she'd gone far enough, Rona gaped.

  Standing between the two men, Simon had stopped the fight. For a second. Then one swore and lunged around Simon to attack the other.

  Shaking his head, Simon shoved up his sleeves, stepped forward, and…

  Rona blinked. His fists had moved too fast to follow, but now one man lay moaning on the ground, arms wrapped around his stomach. Simon had the other on his knees, his hand clamped in the man's hair. From the way the jerk's arm dangled, his shoulder was dislocated.

  With a tiny quiver, Rona recognized the stern set to Simon's jaw as he talked to the brawler in a low voice. When he stepped back, the brawler scrambled to his feet and fled through the gathered crowd.

  Simon dragged the other one to a sitting position. After saying a few words, he hauled the guy to his feet and shoved him on his way. Apparently oblivious to the scattered applause from the crowd, Simon rolled down his sleeves and retrieved his purchase.

  When he joined Rona, his intent gaze scrutinized her, top to bottom, before he turned to the old woman. “Are you all right, ma'am?”

  “I am now.” The lady smiled at him. “You did a fine job there. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Well, I need to move along. I still have to get a present for Henry.” The woman brushed the dirt from her lavender sweats and frowned at the rip in one knee. “Our fortieth anniversary is tomorrow, and we buy each other a treat every year.” She nodded at Simon, patted Rona's shoulder in thanks, and walked toward the toy booth.

  Rona stared. The treat for Henry was a sex toy? After forty years of marriage? Damn.

  Simon huffed a laugh, then wrapped an arm around Rona's waist. “Come, lass.”

  “Where'd you learn to fight like that?”

  He steered her down the street. “Military, then the martial-arts circuit for a time. I quit when my son arrived.” He lifted his left hand, tried to curl the fingers, and smiled ruefully. “I fear I hit a few too many solid objects before then.”

  Frowning, Rona took his hand. White scars from old surgeries traced over his skin; the bones underneath felt rough and uneven. “You must have broken every…” She looked up guiltily, let go, and put her hands behind her back. Bad Rona. Hadn't she already learned that grabbing a dom was a no-no? “Sorry.”

  His flashing smile lightened his face. “True, a submissive doesn't touch without permission.” When he grasped her hand and ran his thumb over her knuckles, the suggestive caress sent a tingle through her. “But I enjoy having your hands on me too much to object. For now.”

  “For now?”

  He threaded his fingers into her hair and tugged her head back, forcing her to look up at him. “I think, eventually, I will enjoy reprimanding you just as much. Your ass turns such a pretty pink.”

  Before she could speak, he gave her a hard kiss and released her.

  She stared at him, the sheer heat his words had engendered burning away any sarcastic response.

  Smiling, he took her hand and started walking again. “The stage is down this way.”

  “Simon. We're not dating.”

  “We will.” He ran his thumb over her lower lip, and the carnal look in his eyes dried up all the saliva in her mouth.

  She looked away, concentrating on her walking. I'm not attracted. Really. And that's like claiming that Lois Lane never really wanted Superman. Nonetheless, remember rules one and two from the goals list. “Simon. I appreciate the trouble you've taken, but I'm not interested in…in anything more.”

  She winced at the thoughtful look in his eyes. Despite the noisy crowd and the brightly colored booths, all his attention was now focused on her, nowhere else, with an unsettling concentration.

  “You're attracted to me,” he said so confidently that she glanced down to see if she wore a sign saying I WANT YOU. “And you're not involved a relationship. So…?”

  Obstinate, wasn't he? “I was married for twenty years. The last few years, we just tolerated each other until our children left the nest, and when they did, we got a divorce. I promised myself I'd never get trapped like that again.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Being married…” It had been like wading through a dark swamp, unable to find a way out. “I have a new life. I'm free to explore and experience everything I missed. That includes a variety of men.”

  “Ah.”

  Obstinate, wasn't she? Simon shook his head.

  She lifted her stubborn chin and lengthened her stride, as if she could shake him so easily. She couldn't. Not after the way his body and heart had leaped when he'd seen her in the crowd. He stepped around a bare-chested gay couple dancing to Combichrist and rejoined her.

  Unfortunately, he understood how escaping a cage might make a woman wary about being caught again. It would take some clever bread crumbs to lure her closer.

  And he wanted her closer. Even if he disregarded that unexpected connection from before, she attracted him. She'd helped his son at the riot and rescued the old woman with no hysterics or screaming, just compassion and practicality. And she could have claimed involvement with someone but hadn't. She might not share her emotions freely, but what she shared would be honest. And that was as unusual as it was appealing.

  He wanted her in his life, wanted to see if they matched as well as he believed.

  No, he wouldn't let her run away, not if the need to explore proved to be her only objection. He smiled down at her, thinking of how she'd look cuffed to his bed while they…explored. But deeply held opinions rarely changed with logical arguments. So for now, his plan must be to keep her near, and he just happened to have the perfect way to do that.

  As they neared the stage, he stopped. “Rona, this coming Saturday, I'm holding my annual Christmas party for those in the lifestyle.” He touched her cheek and caught a trace of her citrus and vanilla scent—tangy and sweet, well suited to her. “I'd be pleased if you'd come. You will meet plenty of unattached doms.”

  “Really? Even though I said no to…seeing you?”

  “Even though.” He wanted to see what they had in common—and what they'd fight about. He already knew she'd be an interesting opponent, forthright and clever. He might deliberately lose an argument just to hear her husky laugh. Then again, considering her obvious intelligence, she'd probably win all by herself. He pulled an invitation from his wallet. “Since you're new, I'll make sure you don't get in over your head.”

  “Well. Thank you. I'll think about it.” From the flare of excitement in her eyes, he knew she was hooked. He'd have time to convince her to give them both a chance at happiness. And those soft curves would feel wonderful under him.

  Smiling at that thought, he handed her the bag containing the rabbit vibrator he'd bought. “I got this for you, lass.”

  “You what?”

  “I would have enjoyed showing you how it works, but since you prefer otherwise, you may simply think of me when you use it. Tonight.” Before she could recover from the shock, he kissed her lightly on her soft, soft lips and walked away.

  * * *

  The lunch crowd in the hospital cafeteria had thinned quite a bit by the time Rona managed to cut free of her phone and e-mails. The scattered tables held a spattering of nurses in scrubs, med students, two surgeons between cases, and a few visitors. She set her tray on the small table and sat down across from her friend. “I hate hump day.”

  Brenda laughed and dipped a french fry in ketchup. “Me too. Speaking of humping, did you know that Charles Madigan got a divorce?”

  “Really?” Rona dumped a sparing amount of ranch dressing on her healthy salad. Dieting was tiresome, but the anticipation of baring…everything…this weekend proved more than sufficient incentive.

  “Makes good money, our age, single, gorgeous. Why
aren't you looking interested?”

  “He's all right, but I want…more.”

  Brenda frowned. “More like in that bar you went to?”

  Rona laughed at the disapproving tone. “Uh-huh.”

  “And how the hell do you figure on finding…more? You got a plan mapped out, Ms. Obsessive-Compulsive.”

  “Thanks a lot. You know, if you don't write down what you want, you'll never know if you get there.” Rona nudged aside the insipid-looking excuse for a tomato, then speared some romaine leaves. “Actually, a man invited me to a party.” She snickered. “A more party.”

  “Oh…my.” The brunette pointed with a french fry. “Did you meet him at that club?”

  “Yes.” The memory of Simon's implacable voice threatening to chain her legs apart sent heat through her body in a mighty wave. Knowing she'd turned red, Rona lowered her head and poked at her salad. “And again at a street fair.” Where he bought me a vibrator. And told me to think of him while using it… Oh, she certainly had. The jerk had known she would.

  “Twice? And now a party? Ooooh, this sounds good.”

  “No.” When eagerness to see him roused, Rona stomped it flat. “I'm not going for him. I want to meet other guys. Getting involved isn't in my plans.”

  “So enjoy him without getting involved. Like Max does.” Brenda jerked her chin toward the surgeon. He was notorious for his having affairs with several women simultaneously, although he'd discovered the dangers of dating two OR nurses at once.

  Rona studied him with rising hope. That might just work. “Sex with Simon one night, then with someone else a day or so later, and so on. No way could anything get serious.”

  “That's the spirit.”

  Boy, it sounded a bit—a lot—slutty, but making up for lost years wasn't for sissies. And tonight she'd revise the rule list: No sexy seconds unless dating additional men.

  Chapter Five

  On Saturday evening, Rona walked through the open front door of Simon's three-story, stone-and-stucco house. A myriad of guests stood in small groups under a huge sparkling chandelier, and laughter and conversation filled the foyer. The party had definitely started.

  “Merry Christmas!” A young woman in an elf costume with bright green fishnet stockings hurried across the gleaming dark wood floor.

  At the high-pitched greeting, people glanced toward Rona. A second later a man disengaged from a small group and strode across the room. Master Simon.

  Rona pulled in a breath as her nerves went on alert as if someone had called a code blue for a heart attack.

  Arriving first, the elf beamed at Rona. “Come on. I'll take you around.”

  “Mandy, I'll show her to the dressing room,” Master Simon said as he stopped behind the elf. He squeezed the young woman's shoulder. “Thank you, pet.”

  The elf gazed up at him in adoration, then scurried away, the white pom-pom on her red hat bouncing with each step.

  Simon watched her for a second, and he murmured, “So much energy.” Then his black gaze turned toward Rona like a dark laser beam, the type that would cut a villain right in half.

  Her heart gave a violent thud. The man had dressed simply, in black slacks and a white shirt that set off his dark tan, yet when a smile lightened his stern face, her blood fizzed in her veins like a shaken Coke.

  “Rona. I'm pleased you came.” He held out his hand, waiting patiently until she gave him hers. His fingers closed, encasing her in warmth.

  “Thank you for the invitation,” she said, falling back on proprieties. She caught sight of his guests and frowned. Although the dominants remained fully clothed in jeans or suits or leathers, all the submissives were in elf costumes. One wore only a Santa hat and red nipple clamps. Oh Crom. Rona's stomach sank as she glanced down at her slinky black dress.

  Growing up, she couldn't afford the trendy clothing her friends wore, and had hated never fitting in. Shallow or not, her feelings hadn't changed. She stepped back. “I don't think that I—”

  He chuckled. “Relax, pet. I took the liberty of selecting an outfit for you.”

  An elf pranced by wearing only red high heels, a red thong, and a hat. Rona winced. Do I even want to know what he got me?

  Ignoring her hesitation, he set a hand on her low back and steered her across the foyer to a powder room. “I left your costume on the counter in one of my company bags—look for a Demakis International Security logo.”

  “Well.” All arranged. He'd obviously put some thought into making her comfortable. “Thank you.”

  “I think a more enthusiastic expression of gratitude is in order.” With one finger, he tilted up her chin. Before she could protest, firm lips explored hers, teasing for a response. When she sighed and leaned toward him, he yanked her against his solid body and took the kiss from sweet to devastatingly possessive.

  Crom. Her memories hadn't come close to how he really kissed or how easily he could control her. Heat pooled in her belly like molten lava.

  When he pulled back and steadied her on her feet, she was breathing like an asthmatic having an acute attack.

  “Now that was a very nice thank-you,” he murmured. “Go change, lass. Then meet me in the living room. I'll explain the rules and introduce you around.”

  As he pushed her gently into the powder room, she frowned. Rules?

  * * *

  In the living room, Simon did the rounds, greeting his guests, making introductions. Along with the local BDSMers, quite a few friends had arrived from out of town. Busy or not, he kept an eye on the arched doorway, his anticipation rising. He spotted Rona the minute she walked into the room.

  She paused in the doorway. Her hands rubbed the white fur downward in a nervous gesture, although her face appeared serene and self-confident. To come to a party by herself, to try something so new… Brave lass.

  And she looked beautiful. A fuzzy red Santa cap with a white puff ball at the end sat on her wavy blonde hair. The long-sleeved, red velvet coat trimmed with white fur reached only to the top of her creamy white thighs. Right where he wanted his hand. If she bent over, everyone would have an enticing glimpse of the ribbon-tied, peppermint-striped bra and thong set he'd bought.

  Wanting her to feel comfortable, he'd chosen relatively conservative clothing. Of course, being a dom, he'd selected for his own pleasure also.

  The wide sleeves would accommodate wrist cuffs, and only a securely fastened leather belt held the buttonless coat closed. Poor sub. Belt and ribbons could and would be removed over the course of the evening. He hardened at the thought of revealing those sweet curves.

  When she spotted him, her eyes lit up in a way that made his chest compress. Her head might tell her not to get involved, but apparently her emotions matched his. He'd do his best to see that her emotions won.

  He crooked a finger, then grinned as her passage across the room netted interested glances from the dominants.

  One stepped away from her friends. Tara gave Rona a long look. “Oh, that's nice. Tell me she likes girls and not boys.”

  “No,” Simon told the tall domme, not looking away from his sub. “She's straight.”

  Tara's eyebrows went up. “Well, well. I haven't seen that look in your eyes in a long time…if ever.” She slapped his arm in approval before returning to her group.

  Rona stopped in front of Simon.

  “You look lovely,” he said and enjoyed how her cheeks turned pink.

  “Thank you. And thank you for…for giving me enough costume.”

  “You are very welcome.” He tugged her silky hair lightly. “Do bear in mind that submissives usually wind up wearing less clothing by the end of a party.”

  The wary look she gave him included a fair amount of excitement. “I'm not sure I understand.”

  “These are the rules: as is normal for a submissive at a party, you will serve the doms food and drinks. Since you're not owned, a dom may touch any part of you that isn't covered.” He grinned when her arms wrapped protectively around the coat.
“Touch only, pet. Scenes and intimate play must be negotiated. The safe word in my house is 'red.' Some doms and subs have their own safe words, but if someone shouts 'red' in here, everyone shows up to enforce it.”

  “That's both scary and reassuring,” she said.

  Smart girl. Despite all the precautions, BDSM still hovered on the dangerous side. “Before playing, you will inform the dom of your inexperience. But as an additional precaution, I had this made for you.” He pulled the gold necklace from his pocket and put it around her neck. It settled just below her throat.

  She picked up the lettered part and tucked her chin down to read it. Elf-in-training. Her laugh was husky and open.

  Would she laugh during sex? He'd given her intense; how about playful? He shoved the question aside. “Now, who would you like to meet?”

  * * *

  Rona chatted with an older dom named Michael in the great room. During the past hour, she'd wandered around, just observing the interesting scenes going on. Master Simon had scattered BDSM equipment over the entire first floor for the party. Tables and spanking benches with various forms of restraints were in the living and dining rooms, a massive St. Andrew's cross stood in the center of his great room. The large granite-countered kitchen held a stockade, and chains dangled from the exposed beams. All set up to entice people to play.

  So, dammit, why couldn't she find a dom who was half the man Master Simon was? Whenever he entered the room, she could feel his presence—a shimmering aura of power. His gaze would sweep the room and settle on her. He'd look her over so thoroughly, she'd feel the heat rise in her cheeks. And then he'd turn away.

  Leaving her alone, as he'd promised.

  That was what she wanted, right? She really did need to have a few more men on her string before indulging in hot, roaring sex with him. Just the thought made her mouth dry. Bad sign, Rona.

  Time to jump into the party spirit and stop stalling. She smiled at the man beside her. Maybe she'd start with him.

  “Doms.” Master Simon's voice filled the room, making her breath hitch. “If you are not occupied, I need assistance judging the first contest. Any uncollared elves who are not busy, please line up here.”