Unrestrained

by Hill, Joey W.

  The man was diabolical. By the time he decided he was finished between her legs, she was quivering with renewed arousal, as if he hadn’t wrung two extreme climaxes out of her. And that was apparently the state in which he intended her to remain.

  For some Masters, that was a vital part of the turn-on. While a lot of men were done once both partners found satisfaction, Dale obviously liked to take a sub through the whole roller coaster multiple times. But instead of letting her get off the ride at the logical ending point, he took her past that and hit the brake at the peak of that first huge hill, right before the thrilling fall. It was enough to make a woman hit him with a blunt object, except for the fact she’d wait until the end of time for him to do it all again.

  It was late afternoon when she dressed, collected her picnic basket and prepared to depart. He insisted on walking her to her car. She tried to dissuade him from it, not wanting him to go that far using the crutches. The look he gave her was one he’d probably used on SEAL recruits. At some point, she was going to prove to him she wouldn’t be so easily cowed, but she wasn’t going to rock that boat today.

  Especially when he rewarded her by rocking her world a wholly different way. At the BMW, he pressed her back against the car door and kissed her so thoroughly, she felt the tingle all the way to the soles of her feet. He took his time with it, drawing it out such that the sun had dropped another notch in the sky when he finally released her. His last words, breathed against her ear, merely confirmed his agenda to drive her to distraction.

  “I’m going to be so fucking hard this week, remembering how hot and wet you are right now. No more touching yourself when it’s not my command. You save it all for your Master.”

  “When will I see you again?” she asked. Their fingers were laced together and her heart beat a little faster as he lifted her knuckles to his lips, brushed his mouth over them.

  “I’m glad you came to see me, but for our next visit, you wait for my call.” He stroked a hand over her hair, his mouth softening as he gazed down at her. “I have to handle some prior commitments, but you’ll hear from me in a few days. I promise.”

  —

  She was a busy woman with many demands upon her time. Work, meetings at home, offsite and in the office. Yet there were certain things for which there was no distraction large enough. Dale Rousseau was one of those things. Several days later, her focus still wasn’t on her responsibilities but on Dale’s hands, his eyes, voice, the powerful body and, most importantly, the way he made her feel. Her skin felt exposed and tingling, the friction of her clothes just exacerbating it.

  She was as besotted as she’d been as an eighteen-year-old, when she’d met Roy and developed the crush that would ultimately result in falling head over heels in love with him and into a life together.

  Troubled by the thought, she rose from her desk. She’d been staring into space—again. When she moved to gaze out the window at the New Orleans business district, her fingers were twitching where they lay against the base of her throat, her other arm wrapped around herself. The first couple of days, she’d told herself her agitated state had to do with how new this all was to her, like a first love, but each day her feelings were more out of control. The waiting was agony. Dale Rousseau was turning her into a basket case.

  She was more disciplined than this. She was a middle-aged woman, for pity’s sake, not a teenager. Truly irritated with herself, she went back to her desk. She glanced at her accounting software on the screen and noted Ellen had flagged the charitable giving ratio to profits in the first quarter. They had a surplus, which meant she could give a little more to one of their existing charities or do a onetime donation.

  No big surprise, Dale’s shelter was the first thing that crossed her mind. After their lunch and before she’d left, he’d taken her to the section of the junkyard where the kennels were. The runs could be opened to allow the dogs to play in a communal area when he wasn’t letting them explore the junkyard. He’d landscaped around the area with a wealth of fragrant bushes that helped minimize the kennel odors. He and other volunteers for the shelter, some of them fellow SEALs, had poured the concrete pads and installed the necessary plumbing so he could keep the runs clean.

  They’d also built a small supply building for food and other necessities, and he’d mentioned their plans to build a bigger building, perhaps one with an indoor exercise and training area, an examination room where a vet could visit and examine the animals on site. But her questions had revealed they didn’t have a capital fund at this point. Most of the donations given went to operations, like vaccinations, getting the dogs spayed or neutered before adoption and some efforts to publicize the animals up for adoption.

  Ed Senior, the former owner of the place, was the father of a SEAL with whom Dale had served. Eddie had died in action. Though Dale didn’t say so, Athena had a feeling it was the same mission where Dale lost his leg. During his last years as a SEAL, and then through his retirement, Dale had checked in on Ed Senior, helping him with the maintenance and management of the dog shelter. The old man had stopped operating the junkyard as a business about five years ago, except for the occasional hobbyist or mechanic looking for an old car part. When he’d died a few months ago, he’d left the place to Dale.

  Dale had moved onto the property and taken over the dog portion of it. There were a total of fifty dogs there now. Adoptions and donations were coordinated by word of mouth, and most of those came from the military community and their contacts.

  Athena was very good at nonprofit management, and had helped improve the operations and fund-raising of a variety of New Orleans charities, first as a volunteer, and then later as a sitting member of several of their active boards. Sitting back in her chair, she considered the potential of the place, especially with a man like Dale running it. Their relationship was so new, she wasn’t sure how Dale would react to her advice, but increasing the publicity would improve funds as well as adoptions.

  If the board voted on it, that tidy surplus from this quarter’s earnings, plus a hundred thousand from the discretionary funds she controlled through a foundation she and Roy had established for such efforts, would give Dale more options.

  She buzzed Ellen, asking her to get her banker on the phone. Once her admin patched him through, she initiated the paperwork with him. She asked him to deliver the first check to Dale, provide him notice of the account and how it was set up. She wanted to give Dale a call, let him know about it herself, but he’d been pretty clear, telling her in that unmistakable Master voice he would contact her. Oh well. If he called her before the banker reached out to him, she could tell him. Otherwise, it would be a nice surprise for him. She couldn’t wait to see what he thought.

  Nodding, pleased with the decision, she returned to work in a better frame of mind. She could do this. She could handle the type of relationship she was cultivating with Dale and keep her life in perspective.

  Balanced.

  NINE

  When she arrived at the office the next morning, she came down the hall on brisk heels, her mind already on the things she needed to do. Since she’d be meeting with the board at lunch, she was wearing her pearls and dark suit, anticipating her usual power struggles with Mel and the other handful of members who wished she would retire from the board and tend to her gardening. Maybe Mel would be better due to their last interaction, and the others would fall in line behind him. She didn’t put a lot of stock in it improving Larry’s behavior, however.

  Ellen was at her desk as usual, but she had an odd expression on her face. When Athena entered her reception area, she rose, looking flustered. “Ah, Mrs. Summers. You have a visitor this morning . . .”

  As she glanced past Ellen, she was startled to see Dale. He’d risen when Ellen had and now stood squarely facing her. He was wearing his boots and a dark T-shirt tucked into belted jeans. It seemed to be his preferred fashion statement, one she personally f
elt worked on him anywhere. The mere sight of him made everything flip-flop, like she was sitting naked on his bed again, doing his bidding, doing any unspeakable, incredible thing he demanded.

  The fact those blue-green eyes were cool, direct—a Master’s eyes—didn’t mitigate that feeling in the slightest. His body language broadcast it as well. Surely he wouldn’t act inappropriately at her place of business. Or would he? As her pulse ramped up, she told herself not to be ridiculous. She was in control of this situation. They weren’t Master-sub at the moment, no matter that his very presence made her feel like they were.

  “Dale,” she said, summoning the appropriate smile, which of course felt inordinately fake. “What an unexpected pleasure. Did you—”

  “We need to talk about this.” He lifted a thick envelope that displayed her bank’s logo.

  Though his tone was blandly courteous, he didn’t smile. Before she could think of another polite response, or invite him into her office, he’d taken a step forward, closed his fingers on her elbow and was directing her there. Just like that, he’d taken control of the situation. Catching the bemused expression on Ellen’s face, she managed to speak with a calmness she didn’t feel. “Hold my calls, Ellen.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  Once inside her office, he released her elbow, but only to close her door. She moved to her desk, pivoted to stand behind her chair and face him. In hindsight, she wasn’t sure why she’d chosen to put such a barricade between them, but he recognized it as a shield, his gaze narrowing upon her. “Come out here, in front of me.”

  His tone had sharpened like a knife, the eyes even cooler now. She lifted her chin. “What if I say no? You didn’t strike me as the type of man intimidated by a businesswoman.”

  “Does anything about me suggest I’m intimidated, Athena?”

  Not a damn thing.

  He bared his teeth in a smile, her expression apparently giving him the answer to the question. “If you refuse to come out from behind the desk, I have two possible responses. One, I leave and we’re done, because if you say no and mean it, that says you’re not ready for what you claim to want from me.”

  Her reaction to his walking out the door was strong enough to make her put tented fingers on the back of the chair to brace herself. Images of everything going back to exactly what they were like before their first meeting at her house flipped through her mind like one of those cartoon books, the ones where the characters moved at the pace of the riffled pages. Every page a slight movement, so the frames helped the character move forward . . . or backward.

  She’d always thought the painstaking work of the artists, their passion, had to be akin to monks illuminating manuscripts, one perfect letter at a time. Did they ever recognize that connection themselves, or was it just tedious? Maybe the monks had felt the same way. Maybe they hadn’t seen it the way those who admired it did. As a complex process, step by step, to create something amazing.

  “And behind door number two?” she said, noting her voice had a strained note to it. His gaze caressed her face, even as his expression remained uncompromising.

  “I come behind that desk and get you. Whatever you imagine, I promise you will not like that option. You’re not going to yank my chain and not get bitten.”

  She didn’t know what he meant, but for some reason she didn’t want to ask him to clarify. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  “Yeah, you are. Not in the way you mean, though. You know I’d never do anything to truly harm you, and I’d break the fucking arm of anyone who did.” The different tone sent a ripple through her. “You’re afraid of what I’m doing to you, who you become when you’re with me. Come out from behind the desk. Now.”

  She obeyed. She wasn’t sure what to do, if she should lean her hips casually on the front of her desk like a cat pretending she’d meant to fall off a railing, when she’d really lost her footing and ended up where she hadn’t expected. He took the decision from her, surprising her by closing his hands over hers in a gentle way. Her slim fingers looked small inside his grip. She’d missed that. Roy had been a big man, and she’d always liked the difference in their sizes, the way it could make her feel so feminine.

  Dale rubbed his thumbs over her palms. “How were things this week? And I’m not looking for a rundown of your itinerary. Was it a good kind of crazy? Like a teenage girl waiting for roses?”

  She flushed, but he squeezed her hands. “Answer me, Athena.”

  “Yes.”

  “But it wasn’t all good, was it? There was something bugging you, eating at your gut.”

  When she didn’t say anything, he sighed. “The first day, maybe you felt like you were at a carnival, thrilled with how unpredictable things are. But after that, it started to feel like it does when it’s getting late and the carnival is packing up. The fantasy is over, so where does that leave you? You did this thing with the trust, the check, and then you felt way better. Glowing.”

  He was right. Startled, she ran it over in her head, feeling him watching her, waiting on her, waiting for it to make sense. She pressed her lips together. “I don’t understand.”

  “Yeah, you do.” He tapped the top of her hand with a thumb. “When you acted as a Mistress for Roy, I bet you were like a sponge, absorbing every impression. You learned from other Dommes, from their subs, from Roy’s own responses. You have great intuition, and the fact you’re a successful businesswoman tells me you’re good at reading people. It’s really not so hard to understand both sides of the coin once you’re born into at least one side of it. So what were you doing, Athena? Put yourself in a Mistress’s shoes and evaluate what you did.”

  The shift brought a click, like a key turning a lock. The moment it did, she wished she could close the door, but she couldn’t, because he’d made her open it, face it.

  She’d been holding on to control. Taking it back from him, afraid to let him hold the reins. Damn it. It was pitifully obvious. How could she be so stupid?

  “Hey. Look at me.”

  It was too difficult, but he put a hand on her face, guided it to obey his direction. “If you give yourself shit for it, you’ll have an even bigger punishment coming than you already do.”

  Her stomach fluttered at that, but she couldn’t suppress the self-castigation. “I’m sorry, Dale.”

  His lips twisted. “You have to do everything exactly right, or you’ve fallen short, haven’t you, Ms. Perfectionist? Failed yourself, failed me.”

  She pulled away, moved to the window. She resisted the desire to cross her arms, assume a defensive posture. “You’re right. I’m new to this. It’s not an excuse, but—”

  “Stop talking.”

  She closed her mouth, startled by the mild command, when his expression wasn’t mild at all. Those blue-green eyes had gone laser sharp. As he stepped up beside her, she quelled an absurd urge to hide behind her desk again, but the implied threat in his proximity wasn’t entirely unwelcome, given that her fingers were curling against her sides, wanting to touch him.

  “You put yourself together so well, Athena.” His gaze coursed over her, from the light flush in her cheeks to the tips of her polished heels. “Nice outfit, appropriate for an office setting. The skirt a little snug, enough to show you have a good ass, but not flaunting it. The blouse exposing those delicate collarbones, reminding a man you’re a woman. And more, reminding him he’s a man, and all those differences between you. Proper and enticing, all at once. Don’t even need that hint of lace you can see at this angle.”

  She started to glance down, but he intercepted her, fingers catching her chin. “Your body belongs to me, girl,” he said. “And you don’t have permission to look at it right now.”

  When he released her chin, she kept her eyes fixed on his, her head up. He nodded in approval, slid his knuckle down her sternum, then over, inside the collar, teasing the lace under the silk. Her nerves ting
led at the heat of the direct touch. “You didn’t fail me, Athena. Or yourself. By the time I leave this office, you’ll understand that. And you’ll feel much better about everything. In a real way this time. Even though the carnival packed up, you’ll know there’s something even better in that empty field. Do you want to trust that I’m right?”

  “Yes. I want to trust you.” She wanted to trust him with everything she was. She wanted to say yes, she did trust him, but of course he’d just proven that she didn’t.

  “All right. Does your office door lock?”

  She nodded. His lips firmed into a line. “Yes sir,” she corrected herself. Just like that, the environment shifted from any uncertainty about their roles to a clear line between Master and sub. There was a relief to it, even though it scared her, too, given she was right in the heart of a place that was all about her being in control. Dale had obviously intended to confront her here for that very reason.

  “How much can your assistant hear through the walls?”

  “They’re not soundproof, but the walls are well insulated. Conversation sounds like a distant murmur when the door is closed.” Her heart was moving up in her chest, closing in on the pulse in her throat. She needed to tell him they couldn’t . . . not here. But she couldn’t seem to say anything. A war was going on in her stomach. That uneasy, uncertain feeling she’d experienced before she decided to send the check was back now, but it was competing with her response to what he was implying. She didn’t know how to resolve it, or feel right about it, so she did nothing. He’d put her in a position of waiting to see what he would do. How he would resolve it.

  She was giving him control.

  She was amazed at how that cold ball became a little less painful at the realization. It wasn’t gone, but something was on the right track. That feeling intensified when he settled his hand at the base of her throat, collaring her.