by Shelly Bell
The corset sucked in her stomach and cinched tight at her waist, making it more difficult to breathe. Not to mention her D-cup breasts practically spilled over the top.
As he took in the sight of her in the unflattering attire, Cole clenched his jaw, and his outstretched hand curled into a fist.
This is why she’d never given into the desire to truly expose herself to others. Why she’d limited herself to sunbathing naked by the pool and driving alone in her SUV with her skirt hiked up to her waist where she could feel exposed, even though no one could see her. Why she’d remained in the shadows at parties, bringing herself to climax by discreetly rubbing her forearms across her distended nipples and pressing her clitoris into a chair or the edge of a wall column. In addition to the fact that acting on several of her urges would be illegal, no one wanted to see her naked body.
Tears threatened, burning her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing to admit defeat and wither away like a vine in winter. Instead she turned around and slipped the mink off her shoulders.
A warm breath caressed the shell of her ear. Antsy excitement swirled through her belly upon the realization that Cole had positioned himself right behind her, so close she felt the heat radiating from him. She swore she felt his nose in her hair, almost as though he was inhaling her scent. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and she stifled a moan when Cole’s fingertips lightly brushed the tops of her arms.
“Sit, Danielle,” he said, the harsh tone of the command knocking her back to reality.
He’d taken her coat while she’d continued to stand with her back to him like an idiot, lost in a fantasy where he wasn’t her enemy, and she wasn’t here under duress.
He set the mink on the back of a chair and perched himself on the edge of his desk. At least he no longer looked as though he wanted her out of his home. In fact, she couldn’t read his emotionless face at all.
The sudden change in his demeanor threw off her equilibrium, and she didn’t like it, preferring his blatant antagonism over the composed businessman in front of her. Throughout her life, she’d watched how women could manipulate men simply with a smile or a brush of a hand down a tuxedoed chest.
Unlike them, this man would prove difficult to manipulate. He’d burn as hot as lava then freeze as cold as an iceberg, burying any and all his secrets far beneath the surface. How far would she have to dig in order to expose them?
Realizing he was waiting for her to follow his order, she stifled the embarrassment of being in lingerie and toed across the carpet. She lowered herself into the padded chair and, as she’d been taught in training school, crossed her legs at the ankles like a lady.
She shifted in her seat, making her aware of the dull throbbing and the sticky mix of nervous perspiration and proof of her sexual desire between her legs. If only he’d permitted her to wear real panties, she wouldn’t be so cognizant of the man’s effect on her. Every moment in his presence reminded her of the power he held over her.
And he’d never had a clue. Had no idea the teenager of his business partner slid her hands under the band of her underwear every night and fantasized about what it would mean to belong to a man like Cole DeMarco.
Even then, naïve and sheltered, she’d sensed something different about him. Something that set him apart from the boys who groped with sweaty hands and her father’s married friends who stared at her with lust. It hadn’t been until later, when Tasha told her about Benediction, that she understood what had attracted her to Cole. Like Danielle, he was a sexual deviant.
He still hadn’t mentioned their shared past. Did he know the child of the man he’d condemned to death sat before him?
His eyebrows rose, and he cocked his head as he assessed her. “Were you aroused by the sight of my slaves’ submission?”
“What?” She squirmed, her heart pounding so hard she swore she could hear it. “No.”
“I think you’re lying.” He leaned forward, pinning her to her chair with the intensity in his eyes. She felt a compulsion to avert her gaze, one stronger than the usual kind brought on by her shyness. But rather than give in, she held her ground. He smiled predatorily, his teeth white against his mocha skin and a sparkle of gold in his dark brown eyes. “Perhaps I should check.”
Chapter Three
SCREW BEING LADYLIKE. She uncrossed her legs and squeezed her thighs together. “Check?”
“Yes,” he said, the damn arrogant smile that made her insides quiver still on his face. “As your Master, it’s my right. Of course, I always abide by my slaves’ hard limits, but since your application we received last month indicated you have none, I can do whatever I want with you.” The smile melted, replaced by a curl of his lips and flaring of his nostrils, both of which reminded her how dangerous this man could be. “I can pull up your skirt, push you over my desk, and work my fingers into your pussy, one by one, until you’re full of me. Until you come over and over and over and you’re mindless and begging for me to stop. I can call five of my closest friends and order you to fuck each and every one of them. I can—”
“No,” she whispered, her throat too dry to protest louder.
The kidnappers had submitted her application a month ago? How long had they planned this?
“No?” He folded his arms across his chest, accentuating his massive forearms. “Then why didn’t you provide your limits on your questionnaire?”
She hadn’t seen the application, but based on the research she’d done in the last few hours, there were numerous choices when it came to BDSM. “There must have been a computer error.”
“A computer error. That is disheartening.” He frowned. “Your application was approved based on your answers.”
Her heart plummeted to her feet as she shot from her seat. “Does that mean you’re going to reject my application? Because I dropped everything and flew across the country for this opportunity. I might lose my docent job at the Phoenix Art Museum. Doesn’t that prove I’m serious?”
“It proves nothing.” He slid off the desk and inched closer, towering over her. “Now tell me the truth.” He softly gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Why are you here?”
The urge to tell him the truth about Tasha’s kidnapping had her nearly spilling everything. But how could she trust the man who’d provided fabricated evidence of her father’s embezzlement and security fraud to the FBI? The father she’d known and loved wouldn’t have cheated his clients out of their money. For her, there was only one explanation: Cole DeMarco had set her father up for the crimes. He’d been her father’s business partner in his wealth management firm, Walker Investment Securities, and yet he’d completely escaped liability.
No matter how much she’d pressed her father about the accusations against him, he’d remained silent on the subject, going as far as foolishly pleading guilty to all charges and accepting a life sentence in federal prison.
The last time she’d visited her father there, she’d begged him to hire the new attorney she’d found who believed he could overturn the plea deal, but he’d stubbornly refused.
Less than a week later, he’d committed suicide.
Any lingering teenage romantic feelings she’d had for Cole died along with him. From then on, all her fantasies of Cole DeMarco had revolved around revenge and finding the evidence to prove her father’s innocence.
Which is why she didn’t understand how she could still be attracted to him. Trapped both by his touch and the magnetic pull in his eyes, she had no choice but to answer as honestly as she could. “I want you to train me to be a slave.”
A low hiss emitted from between his clenched teeth, and a pained expression pinched the corners of his eyes. “Do you even know what a slave is, Danielle?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
Actually, she knew very little about slaves. Was he going to tell her what to wear and what to eat? Would every move be dictated by him for her entire stay?
He relinquished his grip on her and took a st
ep back, but she could still feel the warmth of his fingers on her skin. “And why do you wish to become a slave?”
Sensing this was a trick question, she toyed with the bottom edge of the corset, resisting her usual habit of biting her nails. “Didn’t I explain it in my application?”
“Your application was vague, to say the very least.” His jaw tensed as he rounded his desk and took his seat behind it. Then he slapped down a file marked with her name. “I don’t permit liars in my club or in my home. That’s not what this lifestyle is about. Safe, Sane, Consensual. I need to ensure you meet those standards, or you’ll find yourself on the next plane back to Arizona. Why are you here?” He didn’t raise his voice, but it was tight, as if he was barely containing his anger.
Honestly, she’d prefer if he yelled. At least then she’d remember she was supposed to hate him.
“There’s a man. A Dom . . . Dominant. He’s asked me to marry him, but he has certain needs. He says he’ll give up BDSM for me, but I worry I won’t satisfy that part of him.” When Roman had proposed marriage before leaving for his business trip, she’d been shocked. She loved him dearly, but as a friend, and she thought he’d felt the same. As for the part about him being a Dom, she’d learned that bit of information one night when the two of them had gotten drunk celebrating the New Year with a bottle of vodka. Pretending to gag but secretly curious about what that meant, she’d made him promise never to discuss his sex life with her again.
Cole ran his hand over his bald head. “This isn’t a job like a cashier at McDonald’s. This is a lifestyle. You don’t just wake up one day and decide to become a submissive. It’s in your blood, your head, your heart. It’s a part of your identity, and without it, you’re incomplete.”
“That’s me.”
His lips twisted into a semblance of a smile. “Really? I’m so glad to hear it. I have my doubts about training you. If you really want this, you’re going to have to convince me.” He pressed the speaker on his desk phone and pressed a couple numbers. “Adrian. Please come into my office.” He punched off the speaker with his fist and sat back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest, smirking as if he held the secrets to the world in his hands.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Whatever I want. Isn’t that what you agreed to?”
There was a double knock and the subtle groan of the door opening a moment before Adrian entered the room looking every bit as uncomfortable as he had when he left. He paused by the desk, his arms clasped behind him. “Master. How may I please you?”
Cole pushed back from his desk and swiveled his chair toward Adrian. “I’m afraid our new slave here is keeping secrets. That deserves a punishment, don’t you agree?”
Adrian bowed his head. “Yes, Master.”
Punishment? A chill passed through her, hardening her nipples and creating shivers down her arms. A heaviness settled in her chest, causing her to feel breathless. She was guessing punishment wouldn’t be a time-out. Her own father had never laid a hand on her in reprimand. She’d never given him reason. Fifteen minutes in this house and she’d already earned one. How the heck would she survive however long it took to save Tasha?
The strangest part of it was her reaction was only based in part on fear. She hated that his words aroused her, and she had no idea why.
“What’s your favorite color, Danielle?” Cole asked.
Shivering, she thought about home and the burning glow of the Arizona sun on Mt. McDowell at sunset, so different from the cold she’d found in Michigan. “I . . . uh . . . red.”
Adrian chuckled but covered it with a cough and a hand to his full lips. Her stomach swooped and her body tingled as though she was on a roller coaster, balanced on the top of the largest hill, facing the inevitable drop.
“She’s new to this, so I think we’ll start gentle,” Cole said to Adrian. “Let’s try ten open-hand spankings.”
Her mouth parted to protest, but the image in her mind of Tasha being blindfolded, bound, and gagged stopped her. Who knew what horrible things were happening to her right now?
The least Danielle could do was endure a harmless spanking. How badly could it hurt?
“Take off your panties and bend over my desk. Let’s see if Adrian can turn your ass your favorite color.”
She sucked in a large breath and slowly let it out, gathering the nerve to bare herself to these men. They’d already seen most of her, and she’d survived.
She sighed. “I should’ve said pink.”
Adrian didn’t suppress his laughter this time. Cole, on the other hand, didn’t appear amused, his lips tightened into a straight line. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, but in the future, back talk will result in additional punishment, brat.”
A brat? Her? He really didn’t know her at all. No one here did.
And that’s when it hit her. Here at Benediction, she was a blank slate. She could be whomever she wanted. For the first time in her life, it was safe to surrender to her secret desires.
She rose from the chair and crossed to stand in front of the fireplace. As the fire warmed her skin, she slipped her fingers under the waistband of her panties and dragged them down her legs. Both men tracked her movements, making her feel as though she was on display.
Hanging the scrap of lace on her finger, she waved it back and forth before it fluttered to the carpet. Cole and Adrian stared at her hairless pussy with lust in their eyes.
Infused with a sense of power she’d never known, she stepped out of the shadows of the fireplace and moved to the desk. She laid her chest on the desk, the position making her hyperaware of the restrictive boning of the corset. With her ass to Adrian, she rested her cheek on the cool, smooth wood so she could still see Cole.
His gaze burned into her. “Danielle, I want you to count each spank out loud.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, hoping she wasn’t supposed to call him Master.
Anticipating the first blow, she held her breath and closed her eyes. Adrian settled his hand low on her spine and pressed as if holding her in place. As soon as she realized that was exactly the point, he smacked her left bottom cheek, the force of it sliding her forward and the sting of it causing tears.
“One,” she whispered, her voice cracking. No way could she take nine more of these without bursting into tears.
“Danielle,” Cole said softly. “Look at me.”
Compelled by the gentleness in his voice, she opened her eyes. Cole’s pupils swallowed his brown irises, giving him the look of a man who was about to lose control. Because of her. She didn’t know how or why. All she knew was she liked it.
Cole gestured to Adrian, and the slave slapped her again, this time on the right side.
“Two,” she said, maintaining eye contact with Cole. For each subsequent blow, she counted, her voice steady and strong. It still hurt. Her ass and upper thighs stung like she’d sat on hot summer asphalt. Clearly, she wasn’t a masochist. But rather than focus on it, she watched as Cole’s eyes grew hooded. Watched as his breathing turned shallow and rapid and his throat worked over a swallow.
And in turn, he watched her equally as intently, as if he saw straight into her soul.
Her pussy throbbed, her vaginal muscles clenching and releasing, a pressure building low in her belly. By the time she counted to ten, her entire lower half pulsated with heat.
“Adrian, check if she’s aroused,” Cole said almost in a growl.
The slave slid his hand down her ass and all too briefly brushed his fingers through the folds of her pussy before removing his hands from her body altogether. “Yes, Master. She’s extremely wet.”
“Do you want an orgasm, Danielle?”
“Yes, sir. Please,” she begged, her hips canting backward in a shameless attempt to cajole Adrian into touching her.
“Bring her to me,” Cole ordered, the deep timbre of his voice almost bringing her to climax.
With a hand on her waist and one on her shoulder, A
drian led her to Cole.
He yanked her down to his lap, facing her outward, and then banded one arm above her breasts and one arm around her middle, securing her to him. “Spread your thighs and hook your feet behind my legs.” Without a thought, she obeyed, exposing her pink, swollen folds to the blond slave who stared at her with sexual interest as he licked his lower lip. “Adrian, on your knees. Hands clasped behind your back. Use only your mouth. For every minute it takes to make her come, I’ll tack on another minute to your cock torture.”
Adrian dropped in front of her, his blue eyes narrowly focused on her sex. Her heart beat in tempo with a pounding between her thighs. She’d never felt so wanton. So alive. But it wasn’t Adrian who made her feel that way. It was the man underneath her. The man whose rock hard thighs pressed into the softness of hers. The scent of him, as if he were fresh from the shower, surrounded her, making her mouth water for a taste of his skin.
She melted into his hold, becoming one with him, her body his puppet to command. Her darkest teenage fantasies brought to life by the man she’d dreamed of every time she’d rubbed her clitoris to orgasm. In none of them had Cole sat like a king on his throne, summoning his subjects to do his bidding. No, in her dreams, he’d touch her with his own callused fingers she’d imagined he got from spending hours in the gym lifting weights to maintain his muscular physique. He’d lick her with the tip of his tongue, circling her bud until her thighs shook from the impending orgasm. Then he’d pin her down with his weight and drive his cock into her again and again.
In her wildest fantasies, she couldn’t have conjured this situation. Yet it was as if he knew her better than she knew herself, because something about Cole demanding Adrian to pleasure her made it a million degrees hotter than if he did it himself. The muscles of her pussy fluttered in a mini-orgasm, evidence of it trickling down her thigh.
She moaned, lost on a tumultuous sea of aching need that threatened to drown her. Cole’s chest, pillowing the back of her head, rose and fell in rhythmic pulls of air, and she found herself synchronizing her breathing to his.
