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On His Terms
ISBN # 978-1-78184-282-9
©Copyright Sierra Cartwright 2013
Cover Art by Oliver Bennett ©Copyright March 2013
Edited by Rebecca Douglas
Total-E-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, Total-E-Bound Publishing.
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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 2013 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Total-e-melting and a sexometer of 3.
This story contains 159 pages, additionally there is also a free excerpt at the end of the book containing 13 pages.
Mastered
ON HIS TERMS
Sierra Cartwright
Book two in the Mastered series
It was business only… Chelsea Barton is terrible at the whole submission thing, and she wants to snare the Dom of her dreams. She seeks out the renowned trainer Master Alexander. Alex has his hands full with Chelsea, especially when he realises he doesn’t want to turn her over to another man…
Damn, damn and double damn. This was so not supposed to happen.
Chelsea Barton always gets what she wants, and she wants the up-and-coming rocker Evan C to accept her as his sub. But her performance always disappoints him. Determined to have her way, she begs Master Alexander Monahan to train her.
Alex has given up training submissives, and no matter what, he would not work with someone as bold, headstrong, and stubborn as Chelsea. But there’s something about her that intrigues and impresses him, an enthusiasm that is missing from his too-dull life. Under very strict guidelines, he agrees. She has to try her best. She has to submit uncomplainingly to his punishments. And there’s a two-week obligation, after which they will part ways. Being a trainer is a very different relationship than a D/s, and despite his intentions to remain aloof, he starts to care deeply for the headstrong Chelsea.
Chelsea unhesitatingly agrees to Master Alexander’s rules—after all, he’s going to give her the skills she needs to get what she wants. But damn it, the longer she trains with him, the more she is attracted to his rugged good looks as well as to his firm, but relentless ways. She reminds herself of her goals, but that becomes more difficult every day.
For Alex, falling for a sub who will belong to another man was never part of the deal.
Chapter One
“There he is.”
“Where?” Chelsea Barton craned her head to get a look at Master Alexander Monahan.
“Near the fireplace,” her friend Sara said.
Chelsea glanced in that direction. Dressed in blue jeans, a long-sleeved, western-style shirt, a black leather vest, a silver bolo tie and a cowboy hat, he didn’t fit her image of a BDSM trainer. His height, though, over six feet tall, was definitely what she’d expected.
“Quit staring!” Sara said in a harsh whisper. “A good sub doesn’t behave that way.”
That didn’t stop Chelsea. Rules were helpful for other people. As for her, she knew what she wanted and she ruthlessly pursued it. And she wanted Master Alexander to make her into the perfect sub—or at least passable enough that no one noticed if she wasn’t really all that into it. That was step one in Project Snag Evan C.
Master Evan C was a rocker whose band was climbing the charts. With the right PR firm—hers, if she could sign him—he could become a household name. As a double bonus, her firm would gain some real credibility by signing Evan C. But first she needed to snare his attention. And so far, her efforts had been a dismal failure.
She’d met him at a party six months ago, and she’d developed a certifiable fangirl crush on him. She masturbated to fantasies of him tying her up and fucking her hard. She wanted him, bad. And not just as a client, but also as a Dom. What could be more fabulous than career success and having a sexy man to boot?
Sara, always the unwelcome pragmatist, had advised Chelsea to forget her ideas. Master Evan C liked well-trained submissives, women who perfectly subjugated their needs to suit his. Which, as Sara pointed out, really wasn’t Chelsea. Chelsea was headstrong and determined, a driven type A-plus personality who chewed antacid for breakfast, had rampant insomnia, and hadn’t taken a vacation in over five years. That Master Evan C discarded women like the scarves he wore while performing made her all the more resolved to be the one to win him.
That was where Master Alexander came in.
According to Sara, he used to be a trainer, and he was still well respected. He didn’t get emotionally involved with subs, and he was one of the best. That he was no longer in the business didn’t deter her.
“He’s looking this way,” Sara said, unnecessarily.
“And he’s alone, finally,” Chelsea replied. When she’d heard that Sara and her Dom had been invited to Master Alexander’s birthday party at the Den, Master Damien’s luxury mountain retreat, Chelsea had begged, pleaded and cajoled for an invitation.
At first, Sara had refused. She hadn’t wanted to be part of any more of Chelsea’s schemes. While Chelsea didn’t blame her friend—after all, their last escapade had earned Sara a punishment beating from her Dom—Chelsea was set on her course. “If you’ll excuse me…”
“Remember, you promised not to use my name. You don’t know me.”
She looked at Sara. “Have we been introduced?”
“Bitch,” Sara said.
“Love you, too, girlfriend.” After setting her shoulders, Chelsea headed straight for Master Alexander.
A couple stopped to talk to him. With a sigh, she paused to grab a glass of wine from a passing server. She was woman enough to appreciate the hottie. He wore a bow tie, but no shirt. He could have been poured into that pair of dress slacks. The material revealed his muscular thighs as well as his hot rear. And she supposed it was possible he had oil rubbed on his bare chest.
He bowed and said, “Enjoy your evening, madam.”
Maybe she’d hire this crew for her next event. It would certainly be a shocker, get her some much-appreciated press.
Rather than taking a drink, she rolled the glass between her palms and waited. Finally the couple moved off.
She put down the drink, pulled back her shoulders, and began to move towards him. Damn, the cowboy hat just made him look like an outlaw.
He rested his forearm on the mantelpiece as she approached. Even from several feet away, he exuded power. Chelsea was weaned on bravado, and she had to call on that to keep moving forwards when she became aware of the way he watched her. His focus was intent and purposeful, and he casually glanced from the toes of her pumps to the top of the shiny clips she’d placed in her short hair.
He didn’t greet her. Instead, he waited. That didn’t surprise her. She’d done plenty of research on him. He hadn’t got to where he was in the financial world by rushing to judgement. “
Mr Monahan, I’m Chelsea Barton.” She extended her hand and gave him her most dazzling, dentist-whitened smile. The look was practised. She could charm anyone with it. “I wanted to wish you a very happy birthday.”
“Thank you.” Finally, he dropped his arm and accepted her hand.
His grip was warm, firm, reassuring. Electricity all but danced up her spine. This close, he was gorgeous. Small lines were etched next to his eyes, and his lips were firm and full. The crazy notion of kissing him skipped through her mind before she ruthlessly shoved it away. She had a business proposition for him, nothing more.
He released her. “Who are you here with?”
“I came with a friend,” she hedged.
“Are you always evasive?”
“Are you always so direct?”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Save us both some time, Ms Barton. Let’s cut through the bullshit. It’s my birthday, my party and I approved the guest list. I saw you speaking with Sara. And I’ve met everyone else whose date I didn’t know, so I assume Sara invited you. And since she didn’t introduce you and is pretending not to see you talking to me, I assume you wanted to meet me for a specific reason.”
“A lot of people want to meet you, I take it?”
“I don’t play games. You’ve got thirty seconds.”
Suddenly she wished she’d taken a drink of that wine. “You’re right,” she confessed. This wasn’t going how she’d envisioned. “I wanted to meet you. But it’s not what you think. I own a company named You’re The Star. We do PR.”
“Monahan Capital has a PR firm.”
“That could have done a better job of spinning the Bartholomew deal initially, but they’ve done a good job of managing the conversation since then. If you did a couple of events in the community, such as a fundraiser, your positive press would shove the other headlines off the first page of the search engines. But that’s not my point.” Since he was still listening, she kept talking. “I looked you up because I want you to train me as a submissive.” Her research had indicated he was inflexible, a formidable foe in the business arena despite his recent setbacks.
She was tall, especially in her spiked ‘fuck-me’ heels, but he still towered over her by a number of inches. Since she was accustomed to looking men in the eye as they spoke, looking up at him was a little disconcerting. For one of the first times in her life, she felt small, overpowered. “Word in the community is that you’re the best.”
“At one time that was true.”
From his mouth, that didn’t sound arrogant.
“But I’m quite sure you’ve heard I don’t train anymore.”
She pushed back the trepidation that had started doing the backstroke in her veins. The years had taught her a valuable lesson—when she wasn’t getting what she wanted, she needed to turn up the charm. She placed her hand lightly on his arm. When he didn’t react, she continued, “I’m sure a man as discerning as you has high expectations and demands excellence. I understand that a price tag is attached to that. I will write you a cheque tonight, Mr Monahan. Name your price.”
He didn’t respond to her tactics. In fact, his jawline could have been chiselled from granite. “I’m not for sale, Ms Barton.”
She gave up on charm and dropped her hand. She noticed that Master Evan C and a woman were heading down the stairs. Although she hadn’t seen it, she understood Master Damien had a dungeon with some private playrooms. She angled her chin, vowing not to fail. “You’re a businessman. You, better than anyone, knows everyone has a price.”
“What’s yours?” he countered. “Would you sell your soul for success?”
“That’s harsh. You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you will use manipulation in order to get what you want. Machiavelli was your inspiration, perhaps?”
She pulled back.
“If you want this conversation to continue, be honest.” His tone was as icy as an Arctic cold front.
Chelsea had not expected this to be so difficult. She’d figured most Doms would love to have a sub begging for their attention. The money she’d offered should have sealed the deal. “I want Evan C to hire my company and accept me as his submissive.”
“And you think some training will get his attention?”
“It will.”
“You sound convinced.”
She recalled the party they’d been at. “He snubbed me once because I was too new.” Seeing him toss his scarf over his shoulder as he’d walked away had stung.
“What kind of experience do you have?” Master Alexander asked.
“Not much,” she admitted reluctantly.
“Be specific.”
“How much information do you want?”
He captured her chin, ignoring the way she’d tipped it stubbornly. His fingers were strong and firm, as unrelenting as the glint in his brown eyes. “I’ll tell you when I’ve heard enough.”
She tried, and failed, to hide her shiver. For the first time in her life, she wondered if she hadn’t set her sights too high. He saw her subterfuge and cut through it, despite the fact she’d become a master at it. He let her go.
When one of the servers came near, she signalled for a glass of wine. She was going to need the fortification. She had no problem at all promoting others or her firm. But exposing her secrets? That required courage.
She took a long drink of her wine, then gripped the stem as if it were a lifeline. “I didn’t know I liked kink until one of my boyfriends blindfolded me.”
“What did you like about the experience?”
Several Doms and subs moved into the living room, and she looked around nervously.
“Eyes on me,” he instructed.
Damn. He was relentless. She caught a glimpse of what he might be like as a trainer, and it terrified her as much as it intrigued her.
“Or excuse yourself now.”
She looked up from where she’d been staring into the depths of her wine.
He missed nothing.
“I liked that I had no idea what would happen next. My hearing seemed heightened. And when he touched me, the sensation was magnified.”
“Go on.”
“One guy would sometimes swat my bottom when I passed him.” She had no idea this would be so embarrassing. There was nothing sexual about the conversation, rather, the facts were somewhat clinical. But that didn’t stop her from blushing. “Last Halloween, I attended a BDSM party. Compared to this…” She swept her hand around. The gathering at Master Damien’s house was for people who lived the lifestyle. “Well, most of us were just dabbling. We wore outfits we bought at the costume store, but afterwards my date tied me up for the first time. It was just to his bed, and he used a light whip on my ass. I liked it. Well, enough to explore more. I wanted more experiences, but he said it really hadn’t worked for him all that well. He didn’t like hurting me. Even though I promised him he hadn’t.”
“You’re telling me most vanilla guys aren’t interested in spanking an ass like that?”
She blinked.
“I noticed you when you first came in, and you wore that skirt hoping I would.”
“Yes,” she admitted. “I did.” It was one size smaller than she bought for business meetings, and she’d never wear it out in public. The material hugged her rear so tight she was nervous about sitting down.
“So show me.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Lift your skirt to your waist, turn around, spread your legs as far as you can, then bend over and grab your ankles.”
For a moment she could hardly breathe. He said nothing further, and he looked unconcerned, as if it didn’t matter to him one way or another whether she did as he said. She recognised it as a test, though.
He extended his hand to accept her glass. That was probably for the best—she was suddenly afraid of dropping it. He slid the stem onto the mantelpiece, then used his thumb to tip back his cowboy hat.
She pulled up her skirt, and she was g
rateful she’d worn a thong. Exposing herself to a stranger was far different than playing with a man she’d been dating.
Master Alexander continued to say nothing. She realised then that he was a man of few words, and he didn’t repeat himself. There was no cajoling from him, no teasing, no ‘Oh, come on, Chelsea, have a little fun’. This man was a Dom, not a play toy.
She turned away from him and followed the rest of his instructions. For at least sixty interminable seconds, he said nothing. Her heart beat faster. The tops of her shoes dug into her ankles, and blood rushed to her head.
“This is the ass you’ve had a difficult time convincing men to spank?”
“Yes,” she said. Then she wondered what the protocol was for addressing him. Sir? Mr Monahan? Master? Alex? Alexander?
He caressed both her butt cheeks.
Slowly she began to relax.
Other people continued to move through the rooms, and one stopped to talk to him. He removed one hand and continued to rub her with the other.
She started to stand, but he pinched her upper thigh. She gritted her teeth and had to remind herself to stay in position rather than stand, drop her skirt and get the hell away from him.
Determination drove her. She’d worked two jobs through college, and she kept her eyes on the goal, even when she was exhausted. And she wanted Master Alexander to train her.
She tightened her grip on her ankles. Never in her twenty-nine years had she been more humiliated than she was right now. People at parties wanted to meet her, to brainstorm. She’d never been completely ignored, bent over, with her rear exposed.
Finally the man moved off. Although he kept one hand on her bare butt, Master Alexander said nothing. Chelsea didn’t know what the hell to do.
Suddenly he slapped her left butt cheek, hard. She cried out, more from shock than because it had hurt. She wanted to stand, but she forced herself to remain in position.
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