To Sir

by Rachell Nichole

  That would decide whether she would try to find a second staircase down to the main floor and slip out the door or go downstairs to face Chase. If she ran from him again, she’d never be able to ask for his help, and she was tired of beating her head against the wall over this book. Clearly, she couldn’t write it without his help, much as that idea aggravated her. Could she sacrifice Hawke and Sarah because she was a coward and refused to face what was happening to her?

  What would her sexy alter ego, Elizabeth Leigh, do? She often paraded around in the mask of her author persona. But that was safely behind the keys of her laptop, or when she masqueraded as the leather-clad hard-ass at book signings. Here, alone in the house with a man whose attractiveness and sexual desires petrified her as much as or more than they excited her, she didn’t know if she could be Elizabeth Leigh instead of Liz Clark. She was too freaking raw.

  Her body had shattered into a zillion pieces and reformed into a shape she didn’t recognize and definitely didn’t trust. What self-respecting woman let a man do to her what she’d let Chase do? He’d treated her like an oversize sex toy, and she’d let him! Worse, some small part of her had enjoyed every second of the reckless abandon.

  She’d completely handed over the reins of her body to him, blindly trusting like an idiot that he would take care of her. And what had he done? Left her tied up and alone in a room, her body so far out of control she didn’t know what she did or didn’t want. Then he’d pushed her so far past her comfort zone, past the limits of pleasure she could handle.

  She slipped her hand between her thighs, cupping her sex through her jeans and soaked panties. She tried to rub herself gently to ease the painful ache she felt there, the way Chase had done with her wrists, but her thighs clenched, and she hissed through gritted teeth. Damn. Sore as she was, the lightest of touches threatened to send her into the throes of another orgasm. Was this what it was like for a submissive? Constantly at the mercy of her master and somehow relishing it? She didn’t think her body could take it, even if she could bring her mind around to the idea that this lifestyle had something to offer her besides fear and shame.

  One last delicious stroke between her thighs was all she would allow herself before she pushed her way off the bed, buttoned her pants, and looked around the room. She walked to the farthest corner. An elaborate swing hung from the ceiling. She lifted the straps and moved them around, trying to figure out exactly how one was supposed to sit in the thing. Leaving the swing, she trailed her hands along the dark charcoal wall until she stopped at the next area of the room, where he had a bench like the one at the club. Jeez, this guy was hard-core. Hanging in the shadows next to the bench were a couple of soft paddles, a feather-tipped whip suspiciously like the one she’d pictured in her dream, and some harder wooden paddles. Her rear hurt as she looked at them.

  Spanking was something she could never tolerate. Though up until an hour ago, she would have said letting some strange guy tie her to a bedpost was a never kind of thing as well. What is wrong with me? She’d never had trouble going for what she wanted. She made up her mind, and then she made it happen. This back-and-forth nonsense was getting on her nerves, and if she were a character in a book, she might have labeled herself TSTL: too stupid to live. But as her brainwashed conscience and her desire to expand her horizons warred within her, she couldn’t help but feel conflicted.

  She trailed her hands lightly over the paddles. Chase said most of these things hadn’t been used, that he didn’t bring subs home anymore. So what did that mean for her? She wasn’t his sub, obviously. But she wasn’t exactly just an author doing research either. Unsure what that meant or if she cared to find out at present, she considered lying down on the bench but didn’t know if she’d get up if she did. Exhaustion weighed on her, though it was only early evening.

  She continued her perusal, stopping at a few more interesting contraptions, all the while mulling over her situation. Maybe letting Chase have his way with her had helped her more than she thought. If Hawke and Sarah’s relationship wasn’t about learning if they liked kink but maybe more about finding the right balance of power within the kink, she might have something to work with. She’d have to ask Chase if that happened in a real D/s relationship.

  With one last glance at the room that would no doubt plague her dreams, Liz left, wandering down the hallway in search of the bathroom. She used the facilities and tried to clean herself up with wet paper towels. Every touch made her thighs clench. It hurt…kind of. But it also felt so amazing that she had to force herself to stop. Could you die from having too many orgasms? She’d have to Google it.

  She finished cleaning up and washed her hands, then sighed at her reflection in the mirror. She looked a bit worse for wear. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks severely flushed. She fixed her hair back into a tight bun at the base of her neck and— What the? She leaned closer to the mirror and gasped.

  Seriously?

  Oh, she was going to kill him. After grabbing the towel, she ran it under cold water and then held it on the hickey, hoping to soothe the bright red mark. Who the hell did he think he was? She knew she’d let things go too far, and she was trying to accept that. She was a consenting adult, after all, as he’d not so delicately pointed out. But this? This she could not tolerate.

  She tossed the towel onto the counter and stormed down the back staircase.

  “Yeah, D. That’s great,” Chase was saying as she stomped into his kitchen, her heels clacking angrily on the floor. “Gotta go. See ya soon.” He put the phone down and strode to meet her halfway through the kitchen.

  She smacked him, not caring if she ruined her one chance at making this book work. Sarah and Hawke would have to suffer. Chase reeled back from the blow, instantly putting some distance between them. Shock bloomed on his face, along with a nice red mark. Good.

  “I know I let you take liberties, that I allowed things to cross the line and go too far. I’m woman enough to admit it, but this?” She jabbed at the deep red mark on her neck. “I am not some piece of property you can brand. How dare you?” She wrapped herself in wrath. This was something familiar to her, an emotion she could handle, control. She and anger were old friends, forged in the fires of her childhood, and now it soothed her like a warm blanket.

  “Thank you so very much for reminding me why this was such a horrendous idea,” she said. Without giving him time reply, to react, or try to justify his behavior, she marched past him, grabbed her purse, and flung the kitchen door open. She held on to her anger all the way home, until she closed the door behind her and crumpled into a mess of sobs and recrimination.

  Chapter Eight

  “What the hell happened to you?” Dusty asked as soon as Chase entered the club an hour later.

  “Not. Now.” He practically growled the words at his friend.

  Dusty was no stranger to his temper and knew instantly to back off, thank God. Without so much as a hurt glance, he pulled out a bar stool and sat, indicating for Chase to do the same. Chase barely had his ass on the stool when Dusty started updating him. “DJ said he’ll be here within the hour. Caterers are on their way. Have called, well, everyone. It’s up on the message boards, our Facebook page, main website, and Twitter. We’re going full Mardi Gras costume tonight. Your outfit’s in your office. Have a few new members already.” He slapped down a stack of applications between them. “These are ready for your review. I’ve told them it will take us a few days to have a new-member orientation. The bank called again, and I think that’s it.”

  “I love you,” Chase said, staring the other man in the eye and not feeling the least bit weird about it.

  Dusty lifted his chin to the side. “Well, duh.”

  Rolling his eyes and chuckling, Chase rose, examining the main floor of the club. They hadn’t been closed that long, but he knew all eyes would be on them tonight, and this place had to be perfect.

  “Crew’s already downstairs cleaning up.”

  “You are a god. I mean, honest
ly, man, how do you do this?”

  He never would have been able to make this place a reality without Dusty, a fact the other man reminded him of daily with his dedication and amazing ability to conquer any obstacle in their path. When Chase had presented his friend with the proposal of opening the club over five years ago, Dusty had jumped on the idea, throwing all his immeasurable energy behind Chase’s plan and making the dream come true. For a sub, Dusty had balls of steal. Chase often wondered if his friend was more of a Dom than he was on most days.

  “Babe, what’s the matter?” Concern lines marred Dusty’s face, making him appear ten years older.

  Chase shook his head. “I’m going to go look these over and change. Holler if you need anything.”

  Dusty pressed his lips into a thin line, obviously wanting to say more, but fortunately, he refrained. The man was Chase’s platonic mate, the perfect complement to his personality. And neither one of them thought it odd that a gay sub and a straight Dom were lifelong companions, like two pieces of the same puzzle. Now if only Chase could find the same kind of relationship in a sexual way, he’d be all set.

  He’d started losing hope that would ever happen, and Elizabeth Clark was just the latest nail in the coffin of his love life. Suzanna and her multitudes of problems were starting to sound easy compared to the hot and cold reactions he got from Liz.

  Chase rose and made his way up to his office. Once there, he tried to focus on the applications on his desk, but his hand kept returning to his still-stinging cheek. That little package packed a big punch. He’d known she would be pissed when she saw the hickey, but he hadn’t been prepared for her Chernobyl-magnitude reaction. And seeing her in the full throes of anger had excited him almost as much as seeing her in the throes of orgasm.

  He’d never had a woman hit him in his life. He’d more than deserved it this time, for sure. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. Halfway through the second application, a hard knock on his door brought his head up.

  “Come in,” he called, closing the packet in front of him and sliding the stack aside. He’d go over them tomorrow with fresh eyes.

  Dusty opened the door and quickly closed it behind him. “Stuff’s almost ready downstairs.”

  Chase knew. He’d been watching through his tinted window when he could drag his thoughts away from Liz.

  Dusty sat down, leaning forward in the chair. “Can’t let it go, boss. What gives?”

  Chase sighed. He knew he couldn’t keep Dusty in the dark. But it wasn’t only his story to tell, and letting even his best friend in on the details of what had happened with Liz seemed like a betrayal on some level. He opened his mouth, intending to tell Dusty to back off again, but the story came pouring out, from the first step Liz had taken into his house right up until she’d smacked him. He left out only the most intimate details.

  “Holy shit. When you said you were busy, I figured you’d finally brought someone home to play with. I completely forgot you were meeting with her again today. I had no idea she was the one you let into your space.”

  “Yeah, dumbass move that it was. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, taking her upstairs, especially after the way she fled here like the hounds of hell were chasing her.”

  “So she slapped you…just for trying to tie her up and show her a good time?”

  Chase closed his eyes. Damn it. He should know by now that he couldn’t lie to Dusty, even by omission. “Not exactly…” he hedged.

  “What did you do?”

  “I may have gotten carried away and possibly left the teeniest, tiniest little pink mark on her neck.” In fact, it had not been small in the slightest and was bright red, not pink. Though he knew it was wrong to mark her, knew she would hate the show of his dominance, he’d secretly delighted in seeing the hickey there—some proof she couldn’t deny that he’d brought her pleasure, that she’d allowed herself to be dominated, however briefly. It was a heady drug, being the only man to ever explore her darkness. This kind of rush was the number one reason why he didn’t train new subs, because he could so easily become addicted to that level of power, of possession. And that scared him like nothing else ever could.

  “You are a world-class asshole.” The incredulity in Dusty’s voice would have been comical on any other day but this one.

  “As if you and I didn’t already know that.” God, some days he really hated himself.

  “Damn it, Chase! Be serious. She should have done a lot more than slap you. Even to an experienced sub, any kind of marking like that has to be talked about, agreed upon.”

  “I know.”

  “She might not know what a big deal it is, but you do. And if that had happened under our roof instead of yours, your ass woulda been toast. As it is, I might have to smack you around simply on principle. Christ, Chase. What were you thinking?”

  Regret clawed its way through his chest. “I really fucked up.” Tears clogged the back of his throat. Liz might never try again to delve into the deep end of learning what she liked in her sex life. All because he was such an epic failure.

  He met Dusty’s angry gaze. But his friend’s face fell in a second, all the anger washed away. Then his partner was pulling him up into a fierce hug.

  “All right, okay, I’m done yelling at you. You have to figure out a way to apologize to her.”

  A knock on the door interrupted, and without thinking, Chase said, “What?”

  The door opened, and DJ stood in the door. “Shit, guys, so sorry.” He backed out and closed the door without another word. Chase and Dusty busted up laughing and broke apart. It felt good to laugh after the day he’d had.

  He swiped at his face, sobering. “I have no idea what to do.”

  “Whatever you need from me, you got it, man. You know that.”

  “Good. I might have to take you up on that offer of an ass kicking.” He clapped his friend on the back. “Oh, one more thing…” He cleared his throat.

  “What?” Dusty asked.

  “I know you told me to keep what I’d saved outside our business account for myself, and I wasn’t going to. I was going to send some or all of it to the bank to buy more time, but I can’t now. Mom’s medical bills are growing, and she and Dad can’t keep up. My sister was going to help, but she lost her job, and I—”

  “It’s your money, dude, not ours. You spend it whatever way you need to. We’ll find a way to buy more time from the bank before the end of the month. Don’t worry about it.”

  Chase tried to accept Dusty’s words, to assuage the feelings of suffocation he’d been experiencing the past few months, but it didn’t do any good. That money should have gone to help him save his business, their business, and now it couldn’t. Bile rose in his throat. “Thanks, man,” he managed sadly, then shooed Dusty out the door.

  He changed for the night’s festivities, put on the black mask Dusty had left for him, and went out to face his guests. By the end of the night, he still had no idea how to fix anything. His club was open, and cash was flowing in the door, but it would never be enough by the end of the month to save them from the bank’s lien. Worse, he feared he might have broken any trust Liz had not only in him, but also herself and the BDSM world at large. He knew Suzanna had been right with her parting words.

  He was a poor excuse for a Dom.

  * * * *

  Liz rubbed her earlobe uncontrollably. Why did she torture herself like this? Her monthly dinners with her family had gone from bad to worse over the years. And still she kept coming back for more. Maybe she was the masochist she’d been trying to deny after all. Could she really stay in denial after yesterday with Chase? She shook the thought aside and focused on where she was now.

  She hated this house.

  Keep driving. She could do it. Just drive away and never come back. But her family was all she had. The only connection to the real world, besides Sophia, that she’d allowed herself. And Soph lived two thousand miles away. She got to see her every couple of years at a conferen
ce if she was lucky. Her mother, father, and brother were the only people in her world who didn’t live inside the pages of a book or the folds of her mind. And she hated them all.

  She’d thought maybe being an adult, a successful writer living out on her own, would enable her to build some kind of relationship with her mom, but that had been a joke. The woman was still pressed so firmly under her husband’s thumb that if it wasn’t so sad, it would be laughable. Liz turned the car back on. Here went nothing. She was going to leave. And never look back.

  Crap.

  Mom was already on her way out to the car. And Liz couldn’t drive off while her mother was waving to her happily as if nothing were wrong. She shut off the engine and took a deep breath, then opened the door and got out. She clutched her purse to her like a lifeline. Like it would somehow protect her from impending doom.

  Jane had an incredible ability to pretend, a great big streak of denial, and a need to please those around her and keep the peace. Liz might have admired her mom if the woman had ever set her mind to keeping Liz happy and healthy, instead of only the males in the household.

  Trying to swallow her disgust, Liz muttered, “Hey, Mom.”

  Her mother patted her on the shoulder. “Hi, sweetie.” A small shadow in her mother’s gaze told Liz her father must be in a particularly nasty mood this evening. Fan-freaking-tastic. Guilt swirled in her gut. And she’d been thinking about driving off and leaving her mom to deal with the jerk on her own.

  Every time Liz saw her, Mom looked the same—a bit of gray had been in her black hair for years, a laugh line here and there, but no major wrinkles to announce her age. Mom’s Asian face still looked so much like her own that Liz sometimes resented the resemblance. She was nothing like her mother. Where Liz was rebellious against the family-centric traditional way she’d been raised, Jane was very proud of her Chinese heritage and, as a second-generation Chinese American, still followed many of the traditions of her childhood growing up in the immigrant community in San Francisco.