An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Chaining His Heart
ISBN # 1-4199-0763-8
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Chaining His Heart Copyright© 2006 Reese Gabriel
Edited by Pamela Campbell.
Cover art by Syneca.
Electronic book Publication: September 2006
This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
Content Advisory:
The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. This storyhas been rated E–rotic by a minimum of three independent reviewers.
Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (E-rotic), and X (X-treme).
S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination.
E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words such as “fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature.
X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Unlike E-rated titles, stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.
Chaining His Heart
Reese Gabriel
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
James Bond: Danjaq S.A. Corporation
The Lone Ranger: Wrather Corporation
Chapter One
Gordon frowned at the scene unfolding before him in the elegant, wood-paneled room. Two young women dressed in black surrounded by a half-dozen men in tuxedos, hungrily chatting them up. The women laughed gaily, soaking up the attention, clueless that they were being sized up as prey.
They obviously knew nothing of how to conduct themselves at a BDSM club and they most certainly did not know how to dress. Whatever message they intended to send, they were broadcasting quite a different one.
The blonde had a short bob and was wearing a scoop-necked cocktail dress and high heels. The dark-haired one, far more appealing in his book, wore a clingy black top and a very short pleated skirt. She was about five-foot-five, with luscious long legs. He liked her narrow waist and slightly flaring hips too.
She looked like a spitfire. She was wearing high heels like her friend, though they were slingbacks. Her long hair was contained by a classy black ribbon. Her neck was graceful and bare. Gordon’s cock stiffened at the sight of her. The outfit screamed out submissive.
They were drinking champagne and the men were watching for chances to get them refills. Not good, not good at all.
When one of the men touched the dark-haired girl’s arm, whispering something in her ear, Gordon decided to act.
He approached discreetly, to the left of the dark-haired one. “Ladies,” he addressed them as a unit. “I was wondering where you’d gone off to.”
The men’s faces changed from joy to disappointment mixed with anger.
“You should keep better track of your property,” said one of them, a large fellow with a goatee and broad shoulders.
Another, a man Gordon knew from the board of a middle-sized energy consortium, signaled for the herd to move on. “What say you to a game of darts, gentlemen?”
Gordon was left with the two females. The blonde was wide-eyed and curious, but the dark-haired one was clearly upset. Up close, she took his breath away—those full lips, the deep blue eyes, the classic nose and oval face.
“What was that all about?” the dark-haired one demanded. “Who are you and what did he mean, ‘keep track of your property’?”
“Nothing for you to worry about. I’m Gordon Dewitt,” he introduced himself. “Your rescuer for the evening.”
The blonde put out her hand. “Hi, I’m Cindy.”
“Don’t.” The dark-haired one pushed her wrist away. “We have nothing to say to this man. Except goodbye.”
“But, Chelsea, he rescued us,” said Cindy.
“So he says.” Chelsea gave him an evil glare. “But we don’t need saving, thank you very much.”
Gordon laughed dryly. “Good luck to you, then.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Chelsea demanded.
“I mean that you two are going to be harassed all night, looking the way you do.”
“What’s wrong with how we look?” Cindy wondered.
“For a normal club, you’d be fine. But here, it’s an entirely different standard. Do you even know what this place is?”
“It’s the Silver Band,” said Cindy, helpfully. “It’s a BDSM hangout.”
“Very good.” He raised a brow sardonically. “Now tell me what you’re here for.”
“Well, actually—”
Chelsea cut her friend off. “That’s not his business.”
“Aren’t you a little curious why all those men were after you?” Gordon dropped a tidbit.
“I am.” Cindy took the bait.
“Just ignore him, he’s going to hand us some corny line about how good we look,” Chelsea advised.
Gordon said the magic words, guaranteed to set Chelsea off. “Actually, everyone here thinks you are two submissives in search of Dominants.”
On cue, her sapphire eyes flashed. “That’s ridiculous. Why would they think such a thing?”
“The way you’re dressed for one. You have no collars on.”
Chelsea stiffened and so did his cock. “That’s because we are regular women. If anything, we’re dominant.”
Gordon smiled indulgently. “Dominant women don’t reveal themselves like you do.”
“How are we revealing ourselves?” asked Cindy. “Is it our clothes?”
“Dominance is in the attitude more than anything.” Gordon shook his head.
“Cindy, I told you to ignore him,” Chelsea snapped. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I read all about this stuff on the Internet.”
Gordon gave her a piercing glance. “Did you happen to come across anything on brat behavior?”
Chelsea’s beautiful blue eyes turned storm dark. Her full lips thinned.
“What did he say?” Cindy asked.
“Forget it, we’re leaving.” She grabbed Cindy’s arm.
Gordon slipped Cindy his card on pure impulse. “In case you have any more questions.”
She thanked him, even as Chelsea was dragging her to the double doors. As they exited he felt a rush of excitement. A woman like Chelsea was worth chasing. Anyone who resisted being called a submissive that vehemently usually had an ocean of it, hot as lava, just below the surface.
She had come here looking for something, hadn’t she?
Gordon went to the bar for another scotch.
He felt bad about Cindy. He’d given her his card only because he wanted Chelsea. In his bed, moaning, surrendering…submitting.
No matter, it wasn’t like he would hear from either of them again.
“Make it a double,” he told the bartender.
&
nbsp; It was going to be a long night.
* * * * *
Chelsea had never been so irked in all her life. The arrogant stranger had not only ruined her girls’ night out with Cindy, he had managed to insult her six ways from Sunday.
The fact that Cindy had practically been eating out of the man’s hand did not help matters.
“It says here he is a ‘Capital Investor’,” she read off the card as Chelsea drove them home to their modest two-bedroom apartment. “What do you suppose that means?”
“It means he’s a stuck-up, meddling ass,” said Chelsea, navigating the late-night traffic.
“Do you suppose he’s very rich?” Cindy wondered.
“I have no clue,” Chelsea groused.
He had called her a brat…the kind of submissive who taunts her Master with impudent behavior in order to be punished and dominated.
Cindy sighed, leaning back in the cloth seats of Chelsea’s five-year-old hatchback. “He sure is a hottie, though, isn’t he?”
“If you’re into that type.” Like any woman wouldn’t be into six-foot-one, broad shoulders, silver-streaked black hair, distinguished masculine features and deep brown eyes.
“Do you think he’s a Dominant, Chels?”
Chelsea squeezed her thighs together, thinking of how all those other men had reacted, scattering as soon as he showed up, like some kind of Lone Ranger in a tailor-made tuxedo, elegant enough for James Bond. Could there be any doubt that Mr. Gordon Dewitt was a sexual Dominant?
Chelsea really had done homework on the Internet and a part of her was secretly excited by the idea of surrendering to a powerful, trusted male. One who wasn’t afraid to blindfold a woman or tie her down. One who was willing to tease and torment as well as simply give in to a woman’s demands.
In her sex life she had known all kinds of men, some wanted their own pleasure, others tried to help with hers, but none of them really seemed in command. Not like a Master. You didn’t fool around with one of them. When they wanted you, you were going to be had. Their way. You were going to beg and you were going to surrender.
And you were going to obey.
Chelsea’s panties dampened just thinking about it. It had started back at the Silver Band. Just seeing some of the women. A few had collars on their necks. One was sitting on a plush pillow at her Master’s feet, in pearls and satin, while he conducted a conversation with a friend.
Others stood at the sides of their mates, eyes demurely lowered. Chelsea felt jealous, seeing how secure they seemed to be, how loved. Not repressed at all, but…treasured, somehow.
That was not what she had expected to find at the Silver Band.
The question was, what had she expected and why had she dragged her roommate, and dearest friend in the world since college, to one on a Friday night?
She had no idea. She thought it was a lark, just for laughs.
“Can you believe how he swooped in like that?” said Cindy, still on her Gordon Dewitt kick. “He was like some kind of knight or something.”
Chelsea lost it. “For cryin’ out loud, Cin, if you’re that in love with the man, why don’t you just be his slave and have his babies.”
Cindy went quiet.
She was the turtle in the relationship, retreating into her shell. Chelsea was more like the wind—calm most of the time but every once in a while capable of blowing up into a hurricane.
“Sorry, Cin,” Chelsea said softly.
“It’s okay,” said Cindy. “I know it’s not me.”
Chelsea’s lips descended into a frown. Cindy was right. Gordon Dewitt had clearly upset her world in a totally disproportionate way for a mere stranger.
The only thing to do was forget him completely.
Easily said, but would her aching, lonely body buy what her head was selling?
Chapter Two
“You did what?!” Chelsea confronted Cindy with the wrath of a woman scorned.
Cindy flashed a “whoops” smile. “I kind of invited Gordon Dewitt to lunch,” she repeated the nightmarish information.
“Why? Why would you do such a thing?” Chelsea threw her hands in the air, her T-shirt riding up to bare a bit of her flat tummy.
“I don’t know.” Cindy shrugged.
Chelsea sighed. Cin frequently made plans that her brain could not account for. Some were good, others okay, while a few had been utter disasters.
“Please, say you’ll go with me?” Cindy pressed her hands together. “Pretty please?”
Chelsea’s eyebrows shot up. “Does the term ‘fifth wheel’ mean anything to you?”
“Yes,” said the literal-minded Cindy, “it does.”
“Then you’ll understand when I tell you no, n-o, no.”
“Actually,” she got that look again, “I kind of told him you would. He’s kind of expecting it.”
Chelsea’s pulse raced. The man was expecting her?
“It’s still no.” She folded her arms over her chest, nipples tightening against her will. “Not in a million years.”
It was useless—she would give in for Cindy’s sake. She always did. It was only fair, she supposed, because Chelsea dragged her on just as many misadventures. Like last night at the Silver Band.
Chelsea had slept poorly, no surprise. Gordon had inhabited her dreams, making her writhe and sweat as he told her what he was going to do to her. He thought she was beautiful and sexy, but it wasn’t enough to make simple love to her. He intended to use her, to exploit…and fulfill her.
The words seemed foreign, as though he had planted them.
Masturbating was no help. She had given in to her vibrator, letting it take her again and again. Usually she drew comfort from it, but this round the orgasms had felt artificial, incomplete.
“That’s because you’re mine now,” whispered the image of Gordon. “Your body is my sex toy, I operate it, not you.”
Fuck that. She was no man’s toy.
And yet the words made her come harder than she had ever come in her life. She pinched her nipple, upping the sensations. Finally she pushed the pillow against her face to muffle the screams.
But it wasn’t enough.
And now, today, the man wanted her along for lunch with Cindy. Why?
“It’s Saturday,” said Cin. “I know you don’t have plans.”
“Right,” said Chelsea glumly. “Because I’m a social loser.”
“You know what I mean. It’s just lunch…”
Famous last words. Chelsea sighed, shoulders moving up and down dramatically, the universal signal of her surrender.
“Oh, Chels, thanks, you’re the greatest.”
Chelsea received a great big hug. She wondered what it would be like in Gordon’s arms. A dangerous, exciting place. A woman would change in that kind of embrace. She would be captured. It would be up to him to release her, if and when.
“Please tell me it’s casual enough for jeans?”
Cin gave another pained grin. “Actually he specified a skirt. He…doesn’t like women in pants.”
Chelsea seethed even as she felt a secret thrill. Gordon was the kind of man who ordered women what to wear. For his visual pleasure. A female would have no doubt, none whatsoever, that in his presence she was wanted.
“I asked him if he was dominant, he said yes,” Cindy added.
Chelsea rolled her eyes. “I’m sure he’s a legend in his own mind.”
“I’m going to start getting dressed,” said Cin.
“It’s only eight. What time is lunch?”
“One, but I want to look good.” With that she took off for her room. “Don’t forget—no pants,” she called out.
“Okay,” said Chelsea sweetly, already deciding which pair of jeans would most irritate Mr. Gordon Dewitt.
* * * * *
Gordon stood as the women approached. Cindy had followed instructions and was wearing a white skirt and fashionable green top. Chelsea, predictably, had disobeyed and worn a pair of snug jeans and a black spaghetti st
rap top.
He noted the high heels and pearls she had picked for accessories.
Gordon smiled. She was darling. A bundle of contradictions.
“I’m sorry we’re late,” said Cindy, heels clicking on the pavement of the outdoor café. “The traffic was awful, wasn’t it, Chels?”
Chelsea said nothing. Gordon was quite certain she had been responsible for their late arrival in one way or another. “Think nothing of it,” he said. “Please, won’t you be seated?”
He held a chair for Cindy but Chelsea seated herself before he could get to her. She clutched her purse, looking like a woman determined to have a miserable time.
“I took the liberty of ordering wine,” he said.
“I don’t drink wine,” said Chelsea.
“Sure you do,” said Cindy.
“Not anymore,” said Chelsea, giving her a sharp look. “I gave it up.”
Gordon poured some wine for Cindy. “May I propose a toast?” He raised his glass of pale Chablis.
Cindy’s glass went high in the air.
“I’ll pass,” said Chelsea.
Her lips were pink today, bright and moist. He pictured them puckering for sweet kisses, parting to do his will, begging to obey, opening wide to moan under decreed pleasure.
“To new beginnings.” He clicked glasses with Cindy.
“To new beginnings,” she repeated.
Cindy tasted the Chablis with relish. “This is very good.”
“It’s one of my favorites,” Gordon agreed. To Chelsea he added, “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Oh, I have a pretty good idea.” She cocked an eyebrow.
Gordon smiled. Good, very good. She had all the spunk necessary and she was obviously smart as a whip. All the really fine submissives were. Seduction of any kind, after all, began and ended in the mind.
Chelsea picked up a menu from the center of the table. “Am I allowed to pick my own food or did you do that already, too?”
Chaining His Heart Page 1
