Trusting Her Doms [Pleasure, Texas 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Jane Jamison

  Pleasure, Texas 2

  Trusting Her Doms

  The men in Carly Rivers’s life have lied and cheated on her. The only thing she can count on is that she can’t count on men. She’s on her own, back in Pleasure, and determined to get her mother to leave her abusive father.

  Ranchers Hank Irons and Ron Callows moonlight as Doms at the BDSM club at Pleasure Ranch. After hiring Carly as a waitress, they hope they can turn her into the submissive they’ve longed for. But when she freaks out while getting a spanking, they’re thrown. Can she handle being a submissive? Can they help her lose the chip on her shoulder regarding men? Or will her lack of trust ruin all their plans?

  Carly’s past comes back to haunt her forcing a showdown between her men and her father and mother. Who will she trust? Her family? Or her Doms?

  Genre: BDSM, Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Western/Cowboys

  Length: 59,279 words

  TRUSTING HER DOMS

  Pleasure, Texas 2

  Jane Jamison

  MENAGE EVERLASTING

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting

  TRUSTING HER DOMS

  Copyright © 2014 by Jane Jamison

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-62741-722-8

  First E-book Publication: May 2014

  Cover design by Harris Channing

  All art and logo copyright © 2014 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

  If you have purchased this copy of Trusting Her Doms by Jane Jamison from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

  Regarding E-book Piracy

  This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.

  The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.

  This is Jane Jamison’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. Jamison’s right to earn a living from her work.

  Amanda Hilton, Publisher

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  www.BookStrand.com

  DEDICATION

  I’d like to thank my husband for all the support he’s given me throughout the years. Not only does he help with everything from maintaining my website to proofreading, but he’s always been my biggest supporter. He’s given up countless evenings and weekends so that I could work.

  Thanks, sweet man. You are the man I trust with my everything.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  TRUSTING HER DOMS

  Pleasure, Texas 2

  JANE JAMISON

  Copyright © 2014

  Chapter One

  “I hate this job.” Carly handed Suzie Wittacre, her best friend since high school, a box of tampons.

  “Ain’t that the truth?” Suzie’s dirty-blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail. Her brown eyes were surrounded by a thick rim of black mascara. She blew a pink bubble from the gum in her mouth, let it pop, and then shoved the gooey mess back into her mouth. Holding the box of tampons high, she chucked it into the grocery sack like a basketball into a hoop. “No one likes working here. The hours suck and the pay sucks even more. Finding a good job in Pleasure is like finding a mouse that’s died inside the walls of your house. You’re lucky if it doesn’t stink more than a week. Besides, where else are you going to work? You either get hired over at John Martin’s Poultry Ranch or at John’s Food Market. Personally, I’d rather deal with frozen chicken than with live ones.”

  At least one family made enough to live on. John Martin Senior, God rest his soul, had started both the ranch and the market. He’d been a nice man who had helped people out whenever he could. But his son, John Junior, called “Little John” by the few people who didn’t need to rely on him for a job, was the polar opposite. Like Carly’s father, he drank too much and took his frustrations out on his wife and family. Whereas John’s two sons would grow up and get big enough to defend themselves against their tyrant of a father at some point, her only choice had been to run off to college as soon as the scholarships and the federal loans had kicked in. But guilt at leaving her mother behind had brought her back right after graduation.

  Carly held up a package of Martin’s Freshest Chicken Breasts. “Do you think these guys were happily clucking away just yesterday?” She dropped it back on the conveyor belt and waited for Miss Gunderson to finish unloading her groceries out of the rickety cart.

  “How are you today, sweetie? Is your arthritis doing any better?” It didn’t matter what the age difference was. If a woman was older, then she was called sweetie by the people who waited on them, be it a cashier or a waitress. The older ones then called the younger ones honey. Carly wasn’t sure why that was but it just was.

  Carly plastered on a smile. She liked the people of Pleasure, but being a grocery store cashier made her think about moving away again. With her college degree under her belt, she could’ve found a decent job anywhere else. But that would mean leaving her mother to live alone with her father again. As far as Carly was concerned, no one should have to suffer that fate. If only she could convince her mother to come with her, but her mom was too afraid to make that jump.

  “It’s just plain awful today, thank you for askin
g.” Miss Gunderson flexed her hands and moaned. “Don’t ever get old, honey. Especially if you work with your hands like me.”

  Myrtle Gunderson was the proud owner of her own hair salon, named as many businesses were, after herself. She wasn’t the best stylist at Myrtle’s Salon, but she was definitely the most talkative one. If anyone wanted the goods on what was happening in the small town, then Myrtle was the first person they’d run to.

  “I’ll try, but I haven’t found the fountain of youth yet. If I do, I’ll let you know.”

  Myrtle’s eyes grew wide. “Do you think there’s really such a thing? The closest I’ve ever heard of is that fifty dollar jar of facial cream they sell at Turnbull’s down in Big D. But it didn’t do anything for me.”

  There were a lot of “miracle cures” in the cosmetic sections of the big-name department stores in Dallas. Not that any of them actually worked, but she’d bet Myrtle had tried most of them. Still, she wasn’t about to tell the older lady that she was wasting her money. Everyone had to believe in something and she figured age-defying lotions couldn’t do much harm, except to lighten a woman’s pocket.

  She punched in the codes for each item, once again wondering when Little John would update the market to the same kind of registers every other grocery store in the world used. But Little John’s wallet was as closed as a whore’s pussy to a broke man.

  Suzie had advanced her way up the ladder to working behind the customer service counter, but she was always ready to lend Carly a hand sacking groceries. That and to get in a little gossip time.

  Carly made change—didn’t anyone in town have a debit card?—then handed Myrtle her receipt. “Y’all come back now, ya here?” She hated saying that to every customer, but that was one of Little John’s rules. It didn’t matter if it was said to one person or to a group. That was how he wanted it said, so that was how she had to say it. The one time she’d forgotten, he’d docked her pay.

  Myrtle waved her thanks, then snagged her sack of groceries and headed for the front door. Carly was about to suggest that she and Suzie take their well-earned breaks when she heard the swish of the automatic front doors and saw the two hottest men on the planet striding into the place like crusading warriors ready to save her from a life of slavery.

  “Carly, it’s—”

  “Hush. I know, I know.”

  She’d been home for two weeks and this was the first time she’d seen them. Damn, but they looked even better than she remembered.

  Hank Irons and Ron Callows. Do two sexier men exist?

  Her pulse raced and the beat of her heart grew stronger, louder. They were her heroes, having served in Afghanistan, and then they’d returned home one month before she’d headed off to college. She’d had a crush on them for years before they’d joined the armed forces, and had never even imagined that she’d have a chance with them. Why would anyone who looked like they did and owned their own ranch give a poor, average-looking cashier the time of day?

  Hank grabbed a basket, then motioned toward the meat department. His thick brown hair had grown out again, teasing his earlobes and leaving the military cut behind. The tour of duty had served to make his already buff body even better, but the kiss of the sun turning his skin a deep rich tan had added the final perfecting touch to an already amazing body. She knew his statistics, having gleaned it from the gossip mill. He was six feet three inches of solid man with hazel eyes that had seen far too much, but still held a warmth that made her knees turn to jelly.

  Damn. If I only had the nerve, I’d…

  She’d what? Sit on his face and beg him to lick her juices?

  Yeah, that.

  Then there was his friend and co-owner of the Lazy Creek Ranch, Ron Callows. He looked similar enough to Hank to be his brother. He was a couple of inches shorter, but he was broader through the shoulders, giving him a stockier, but by no means chubby, appearance. He was considered the smarter of the two only because he’d gotten his accounting degree in record time. Ron did the books for most of the businesses in town as well as several of the ranchers, including helping out with the accounting at the one exciting place around those parts, Pleasure Ranch and the Club.

  While Ron was busy getting his accounting degree, it was Hank who’d found and purchased the ranch, then offered his friend a partnership. They both wore the usual outfit for most the men in Pleasure. Broken-in jeans with a shirt, belt, and buckle, and the obligatory worn boots. The only difference was that Ron preferred not to wear a big cowboy-style buckle and Hank tended to dress in black.

  Suzie leaned closer. “I’ve heard they’ve gotten into the Dom scene at the club. What do you think? Should we investigate the rumor? I’ve always wanted to see what it’s like out there, but I never had the nerve. If we do, do you want to give them a try? I’ve heard that they haven’t chosen one woman to be their permanent submissive yet. You know they want to share, don’t you? Carly? Are you listening to me?”

  “Hmm?”

  She’d never been to the club since she was unsure if she could handle all that went on there. Members of the Club at Pleasure Ranch were into all things sexual, from simple voyeurism and vanilla sex to BDSM. She’d even heard that some women and even men liked to become “slaves” for others. Not that she was a prude or anything, but she’d never gone that far into sexual play. But then, there was always a first time.

  She followed them as they moved around the small market, picking up a couple of steaks, then some vegetables and fruit. They took their time perusing the wine, then placed a couple of bottles in the already-full basket.

  Was she ready for that kind of sexual play? She’d experimented while away at college, but hadn’t gotten into the whole tie-me-up-and-whip-me thing. The idea of spanking made her queasy. But it wasn’t like she wouldn’t try some of the other types of sex play. She’d definitely be willing to go for a hold-me-down-and-lick-me session. As long as she could trust the men involved. After all, wasn’t that the real reason she’d stayed away from BDSM? Her lack of trust? She couldn’t imagine trusting any man that much. Too many of them had proven that they couldn’t be trusted.

  First, her father was, well, an asshole. Not only did he like to bully her and her mother, she couldn’t think of a single time that he’d kept a promise. Trusting him was like trusting a coyote in a hen house. Do it and all hell would break loose.

  Then there were her so-called boyfriends. Ex-boyfriends now, of course. The first two had cheated on her within a week of declaring their love for her. After that, she hadn’t dared to trust anyone, and had, in fact, made sure she dumped them before they could hurt her. It was a system that left her lonely but protected her heart.

  Her throat closed up as Hank and Ron started toward the front of the store. Since she was the only one of two check-out lanes open, they had to come to her.

  “Carly? Yo, Carly? Snap out of it.”

  She blinked, then forced her attention to her friend. “What’d you say?”

  “I asked you if you were ever going to make a move?”

  “Make a move? Here?” She glanced around. Why not? Old Man Hawn was the only customer, aside from the men, that was still in the store. Thankfully, Little John was holed up in his office, probably checking out his favorite porn site.

  She didn’t have time to think. They were already smiling at her and putting their basket on the belt.

  “Hey, it’s Carly, right?”

  Oh, wow. They remember my name.

  “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  Hank gave her a strange look, then pointed at her name tag. Her joy deflated. They hadn’t remembered her, after all. “Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

  “He’s screwing with you, Carly. We remember you.”

  Was Ron telling her the truth? She wanted to think so. “And I remember you, too.” She flushed, then hurried on to cover her mistake. “I mean, your pictures were in the local newsletter when you came back to town. Um, my mom forwarded each month’s newsletter to me.” She wouldn’t let
them know that it was the one time she’d actually read the newsletter. Or that she still had it archived on her computer.

  Pleasure was too small to have its own newspaper. Instead, Patsy Harper had taken it upon herself to put out an e-newsletter every month. Most of the time it was filled with recipes and whoever won the latest calf roping contest, but that one time, she’d been thrilled to see Ron and Hank’s photo. They were Pleasure’s hometown heroes.

  “Didn’t you go off to college?”

  She took the first item and punched in the code. “I did. And now I’m back.” She’d never explain why although she was sure most of the town knew what went on in her home.

  “And everything’s going okay?”

  She paused, hand in the air holding one of the steaks, and met Hank’s hazel gaze. He’d asked a loaded question and they all knew it. But she wasn’t about to spill her guts. Not after keeping her mouth closed all her life. “Sure. Everything’s good.”

  He wasn’t convinced. That was easy enough to see. She averted her gaze and went back to scanning their items.

  “Look, Carly, we don’t want to stick our noses into your business or anything, but if you ever need help, you can call on us.”

  Ron slid a card over to her. She picked it up, thankful that her hand didn’t shake. It was his private card with their landline number at the ranch and his cell phone number listed across the bottom.

  “Thanks, but I’m okay.”

  It was now or never. She had to give it a try or kick herself the rest of her life.