Love Me, Master Me (The Dungeon Fantasy Club Book 6)

by Anya Summers

  And in a single swipe, the dratted man defused her anger and made her feel like a heel for questioning his motives. This day was off to a fabulous start. She had to temper the urge to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over her head. Her anger may have subsided a bit but she wasn't going to let him off the hook entirely.

  "Maybe. Can I think about it?"

  "Sure, I can give you some time."

  "I'll have an answer for you by the end of the day. I realize we are on a time crunch here."

  "My thoughts exactly. I'll leave you to get your day started. The band and I have to get our equipment set up. I'm a bit obsessive about our sound."

  "You? No!"

  That got a grin from him. She placed her empty mug on the coffee table and stood to escort him to the door, following a step or so behind. Delilah couldn't help but notice the way his jeans fit over his rear. Good lord, did the man have a mighty fine tight end.

  He swiveled at the door. "One more thing."

  Before her brain could compute, he hauled her into his arms and kissed the daylights out of her. Delilah actually felt her brain shut down and hang up the 'not open for business' sign as his lips claimed hers. Her thighs trembled, her nipples perked up, and she moaned into his mouth. At the precipice of tumbling into a pleasured abyss, Bastian broke the kiss and held her face between his hands.

  "Regardless of what you decide about the duet, I want you to wear my cuffs at the DFC this week." He nipped her bottom lip and let her go. "Think about it." His gaze melted every bone in her body.

  And then he was gone, shutting her bedroom door behind him. Delilah could only stare at the door knob. He'd spun her world on its axis on both fronts.

  And she didn't have an answer for him. Just because he could melt her panties off—if she were wearing any—with a simple kiss, it didn't mean she should give in to his offer to experience more mind-blowing orgasms. Even though her body appeared on board with the idea, her brain, and more importantly, her heart, wouldn't allow her to jump at his offer without carefully considering the implications. If she wore his cuffs at the club, it would signify to every Dom in the place that she was unavailable and off limits to others. They would have to get Bastian's permission to do a scene with her, and he had the authority over her to refuse it.

  And as for singing with him; it was a gift for Declan and his fiancée, which she was totally onboard with, in theory. She loved Declan, and wanted nothing but happiness for him and Zoey. Bastian was correct in that it would be a unique and one of a kind gift to present to the bride and groom on their wedding day. It was just that Delilah wasn't sure performing with Bastian was a wise move on her part. She'd already crossed boundaries with him last night, and that could not be undone. If she accepted his offer, it would move her further into Bastian's orbit.

  Music was intimate and emotional—when she performed, it opened her up and made her vulnerable. Delilah wasn't sure it was wise of her to connect with Bastian on that intimate a level.

  At this point, the only thing she knew was that she was going to need a hell of a lot more coffee if this was how her day was going to proceed.

  Chapter Six

  Delilah stewed as she prepped for the day, finding more finger-sized bruises on her back and butt—or, as she liked to call them, badges—from last night's hookup. In her wildest fantasies, she'd never imagined having an encounter quite like it.

  Bastian Dean was a puzzle. The Australian rocker exemplified the devil-may-care playboy, living large and fast, gallivanting around the world. Delilah was the exact opposite. Oh, she traveled, quite a bit, and she did enjoy that part of her job, but at the end of the day, she would seem boring to someone like him. She toured museums and found out of the way cafés. Sure, she lived the BDSM lifestyle, but she wasn't a partier. She went to clubs to fulfill her needs. Bastian landed on People, and The Examiner, and all manner of paparazzi news outlets talked constantly about his latest conquests and exploits.

  Except, after last night, she was left wondering what he hid so well behind those enigmatic hazel eyes to make people believe that was all there was to him. He'd suffered a case of insomnia, and instead of binge-watching television, like most people would do, he went and wrote a song for a friend's wedding. Selfish playboys didn't do overtly generous things like that. They were typically more concerned with scoring the next big trend or finding the latest hot spot. It made her question her first assumptions about him. And her second assumption; that he was an uber alpha Dom who seemed to know just the right chords to play on her body, totally supported the first.

  She was seeing different facets of his personality that weren't quite adding up, which made her want to learn more about him, as it made her question everything. Had she been wrong about him? Had he been honest about having a bad day that had made him appear like a jackass? More importantly, was she being an idiot for even considering his proposal? Was she using him to salve her wounds from Ethan? Was that so wrong, and such a bad idea in the first place? She could use a little self-love after the wallops life had handed her lately, and maybe just allowing herself the uninhibited pleasure Bastian offered would do the trick.

  After all, Bastian had swaggered into her room and she'd barely kept from flinging herself at him again. If he'd pushed her when he'd kissed her that morning, she couldn't be sure whether she would have had the resolve to stop him. A few mind-blowing orgasms and she wanted to worship him. Or at least, her body did; even now, liquid pools of heat stirred in her loins at the thought of last night and his suggestion to accept his cuffs while here.

  She was pathetic. Her mom would call it typical behavior for someone her size. As if being considered plus-sized meant Delilah couldn't delineate from the losers, or the men who just wanted to use her and toss her aside like yesterday's garbage.

  She'd fought for so long to love herself for who she was, when deep down she was terrified that her size was all anyone would ever see. Her father had said to her on more than one occasion that no man would ever want a woman with a bit of a belly, meaning no man would ever want her the way she looked. That it made her look like she was pregnant, and that was unattractive to the males of the species. And her mom's words to her, things like, "You have such a pretty face," while more well-meaning, had cut just as much to the bone and ended up making her question her worth. What was the rest of her like if only her face was pretty? Did she have a body like the bride of Frankenstein or something?

  Was it any wonder she'd fallen for Ethan's lies and sweet talk?

  That was why she needed the break from the stage. How could she get up there and bring forth the emotions of someone who was loved when deep in her heart she knew no one really ever had loved her? At least, not really. Not exactly as she was, with no agenda or ulterior motive, no desire to fix her or save her from herself. Ethan had done that for a time; made her believe and think she was special. She could remember, after the first month of dating him, thinking, 'finally!' there was someone who loved her for who she was, as she was. Or at least he had in the beginning of the relationship. So she'd put on these blinders, happier more with the fact that a man, an attractive, successful man, professed to love her. She couldn't be that horrible to look at if someone like him had chosen her, had pursued her. There had been signs along the way that his heart, his motives, were questionable, but she'd excused them, more caught up in the appearance of being in love than in the person she was with.

  It hadn't been her love for Ethan that had shattered when she'd walked in on him mid-thrust with Greta. It had been her own illusion about who she was and the sand her foundation had been built upon. That was why she'd canceled the rest of her appearances for the next few months. It felt like her music, her passion for it, died that day.

  She needed the break to get back to her center, to rebuild herself internally so that she wouldn't be played for such a fool again. Find her way back to the stage, somehow. The problem was that when she looked at the road she'd already traveled, at her career,
the thought of going back to that fabricated life left her chilled to the bone.

  And that left her with no answer for Bastian. So she tabled any decisions regarding him, at least for now.

  After a shower and room service breakfast with a full pot of coffee, Delilah left her room and headed to the conservatory. The orchestra players had arrived that morning. While she'd been in the shower, she'd received a text from Amaya Taneka that she and the rest of the troupe had made it up from London. Amaya was the best violinist in the world, sitting first chair with the London Symphony Orchestra.

  Delilah rolled her shoulders to ease her tension as she entered the room to the lovely strains of violin strings being tuned. Some of the workers from yesterday were still present, but overnight, by their efforts, the room had taken on this ethereal feel. Kara Lowe and company had created a fairytale wonderland. The ivory draped walls amid Greek columns and bare trees which they were stringing with lights gave the conservatory a Midsummer Night's Dream quality Delilah was sure would be stunning when it came time for the actual ceremony.

  Solomon Ventura sat at the Yamaha black baby grand piano, his long, lean fingers tickling the ivory notes like a man caressing a lover. The thick black waves of hair on his Italian head were rumpled in wavy disarray, and that, combined with his large, lean body, made him just this side of downright gorgeous. The two cellists in the quintet, Olivia Drummond, with her shoulder-length blonde hair softening her sharp, fine-boned features and her medium build, and Ian Kane, with his bookish coke-bottle glasses and dark, short trimmed hair, looking like a college professor, bow tie and all, were bent in close in conference over the sheet music. Elizabeth Von Klepper, her soft, burnished brunette hair falling in gentle waves over her shoulders, rigidly sat in her spot and held her flute under her trim arm as she arranged her music on the stand.

  Amaya spotted Delilah's entrance first. An unrepentant grin appeared on the diminutive woman's exotic face. She was of Japanese descent; tiny, delicate, and could play circles around other violinists. Delilah had always envied Amaya's look, the way her midnight hair ran halfway down her back in a straight sheet, or, as it was now, meticulously drawn into a ponytail at her nape. And the fact that she was trim enough that she could wear a paper bag and make it look fabulous. The woman was drop dead gorgeous, and just about the nicest person on the planet.

  "Madame Gregory, so pleased you could join us." Amaya nodded Delilah's way with a slight bow.

  Delilah snickered, placing her hands on her hips as she approached them with her first true smile in what seemed like weeks appearing on her face. "Madame Taneka, you know how I like to make an entrance."

  "That I do."

  After a few brief hugs, the unofficial ringleader of the group, Solomon said, "We set up a space for you. If you want to relax, we are going to do a run through of the entire ceremony to get a feel for the pacing. Here's the full list."

  He handed her a wedding program that listed the full song list for the ceremony. It was all standard wedding fare. Hearing it played by members of the London Symphony Orchestra was the real treat.

  "Sol, you know I love listening to you. Practice away."

  Delilah found her seat, a folding chair off to the side of the group that would grant her easier access when her time came to perform.

  The quintet began with the pre-ceremony numbers: Prelude in C by Johann Sebastian Bach, Spring by Vivaldi, Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven, and The Swan by Saint Saens, which they would end up playing on a repeat circuit as guests flowed in and took their seats. Delilah could listen to them play all day.

  She loved classical music. She knew not everyone thought highly of it.

  Delilah cursed herself internally as an image of Bastian with a sardonic gleam in his eyes flared in her mind.

  When they moved on to the opening number, she sighed. It was one of her all-time favorites. The sheer haunting beauty of Claire de Lune by Claude Debussy, as the notes wafted into the conservatory, aided her as she mentally gave herself a little shake. She couldn't focus on Bastian and the distraction he presented.

  She watched Solomon as they ended the Debussy piece, the final luminescent note resonating in the space. And then he tilted his head in her direction, giving her the signal that she was up. Delilah rose to her feet as the first strains of the piano accompaniment lilted throughout the room. She inhaled a large breath of oxygen into her lungs, and working her muscles, she expanded her diaphragm as she opened her mouth and sang. The rest of the quintet slowly joined in, increasing the power and the potency of this piece as their rhythms synced.

  Even with all the issues she faced, when she was here, in the space, with the music flowing from her mouth, she was home. It gave her a smattering of hope that the recent malaise with her career would subside so that she could return to the one place she never felt different or absurd, but which was where she belonged, doing what she'd been pre-ordained to accomplish in her lifetime.

  After the final note trilled from her throat, Delilah spied Bastian standing in the doorway to the conservatory. The hungry expression covering his features set off a series of corresponding aches in her core, with a yearning so fierce she came close to melting on the spot. Delilah turned away. She had to, otherwise she'd end up doing something wholly foolish and reckless, like saying yes to wearing his cuffs.

  "Again," Solomon said. "This time, I want Amaya to join me first. She and I will do a small overview of the refrain and then you come in, Dee."

  "Got it," Delilah murmured, blocking out the sensual tension deluging her system. When she turned back into position, the spot where Bastian had stood was vacant.

  Delilah spent the better part of her day rehearsing with the musicians. It was truly remarkable but after a few hours with them, removed from the normal milieu of her repetitious schedule on stage, a lightness of spirit suffused her being, making her feel better than she had in weeks. Maybe it was the change of venue and change of people; then again, she could also chalk her excellent mood up to multiple orgasms. She wasn't certain, other than she knew she didn't want to overthink the pleasant feelings too much. Delilah would rather just enjoy feeling good for a change.

  They'd all been invited—the London Orchestra quintet and Bastian's band, The Harbingers—to eat dinner with the bride and groom that evening in the larger dining hall. Delilah tried not to fidget, fixing her appearance as she walked. She strolled down to the dining room after a brief stop by her room to freshen up and change into a black lace dress that was a bit of a throwback to the 1920s, with a V-neck that flattered her rather ample chest and complimented her fuller figure, falling to just below her knees.

  Bastian would be there. It made her stomach knot and clench. She still had no answer for him on either account. What did she want? Twenty-four hours ago, she would have said no, but anytime she considered saying just that, she stopped herself. Why? What was it about Bastian that made her want to fling caution to the wind and accept the pleasure he so readily offered her?

  To wear his cuffs or not to wear his cuffs had become her existential question.

  It had circled inside her mind all afternoon like a flock of vultures nose-diving prey. Why was that the question which plagued her more than the other? Her steps faltered. Was she just an easy mark to him? Because, in her heart of hearts, she didn't get why someone so handsome, who could have any woman on the planet, would want her in the slightest. She didn't trust that a man could really want her.

  God, was she a head-case. She pretended like it didn't matter what other people thought of her when in reality it did. She knew it shouldn't in her head, but her heart was another matter entirely. Maybe there had been too much damage done throughout her lifetime regarding her appearance for her to truly heal. That little voice that would whisper her fears that people were right and she really was an unlovable fat frump, might always play on the back burner in her mind. It was exhausting. And it didn't make her any less conflicted over Bastian, only more so.

  Delilah
had to pull herself together. There was a part of her, after today with the quintet, that believed she could handle the closer interplay of singing a duet with him. The only sticking point on that for her was whether working with him would sway her to accept his cuffs for the week.

  The commitment to it, and to him, in that regard, filled her with enough anxiety to inflate a hot air balloon.

  At the entrance to the formal dining room, Delilah hesitated before entering the packed place. It was the type of dining room where one would imagine foreign dignitaries would meet to discuss treaties, with a multitude of crystal chandeliers hanging from the molded inlay ceiling. The table itself was deep mahogany, covered by festive, Christmas red table linen, and set with decadent gold chargers and wine goblets.

  Everyone mingled over near the great hearth, which was made of gray marble and slate, and which was enormous enough that she could walk into it without needing to crouch. She spied Declan, looking dashing as ever in all black, with a possessive arm around his bride-to-be, who appeared to be his opposite when it came to fashion, as she was wearing a colorful, deep green fitted dress and black boots. They were talking with some of Bastian's band members Delilah had yet to meet.

  Amaya and Solomon were laughing at something Zeke Driscoll, whom she'd briefly met earlier, had blurted out. Delilah scanned the crowd, noting the DFC members. She didn't want to admit that she was looking for Bastian, nor that, when she didn't spy him amidst the melee, it left her feeling a bit deflated. And with that, she needed to have her head examined.