“I will take you with me—naked if I have to. So make up your mind, you little slut. You have thirty seconds to dress. And don’t bother with underwear.”
Catherine moved towards her clothes. She dropped the bra and panties on the seat of the chair, then slipped on her skirt and blouse. She was still fumbling with the buttons when Markus grabbed her hair again and dragged her with him towards the door. She struggled and he pulled a knife from the pocket of his leather jacket flicking open the blade.
“Stop that!” he hissed at her, waving the knife in front of her face, then yanked her forward again.
He is completely insane!
Catherine’s whole body shook with fear and tears welled up in her eyes as she stumbled blindly forward.
Markus had pulled her halfway across the office when he suddenly stopped and let go of her hair. Catherine collided with his shoulder before she realised what was happening. She took a quick step backwards to put some space between them.
Catherine looked up and could have wept with relief. There, leaning casually in the doorway of her office, one eyebrow raised in question, stood her own private Lancelot, her knight in shining armour.
Jon’s voice was low and menacing when he asked, “What the fuck is going on here?”
Markus was dumb enough to try to reason with Jon. “Nothing. I came to get what is mine. She’s my wife. I’m taking her home.”
“No.” Jon and Catherine spoke simultaneously and their gazes met briefly. Jon’s calm expression reassured Catherine.
Markus grabbed her arm again and pulled her towards the door. “I have no time for this,” he snapped. “Our flight is leaving at eleven o’clock from Stansted and we still need to get to the airport.”
Catherine dug in her heels as best she could and shook her head vehemently. “No” she said again, this time with a little more confidence.
After that, everything happened very quickly. Markus whirled around to face her, knife in hand, his face contorted with rage. He grabbed her right arm with his left and brought his right hand forward to thrust the knife at her again. Catherine screamed in panic when the blade pierced the skin of her throat just below the collar. She tried to fend him off with her one free hand, but Markus was stronger and the knife came perilously close to her face. Then the hand that held the knife suddenly disappeared as Markus was pulled backwards by a strong arm around his throat. Catherine saw him struggle and writhe in Jon’s grasp, then he suddenly went limp and sank to the floor.
“Is he dead?” she whispered.
“No, unfortunately the bastard is still alive,” Jon said. “I just pressed on his larynx and put him out cold.”
“How did you know how to do that?”
“I took a first-aid course when I decided to become a Dom. It seemed the smart thing to do.” He shrugged. “You’re bleeding.” He took out a clean handkerchief from a pocket and pressed it to the cut on her throat, which was now bleeding profusely. He pulled his mobile phone from his jacket pocket with the other hand. He flipped the phone open and punched in a number. “Greg?” he barked into the receiver, “can you come over to your office right away? We have a situation here and I need your help with handling the police.” He listened for a moment then said, “Thanks,” and flipped the phone shut.
Jon’s gaze focused on Catherine’s face. Tears ran down her cheeks now but she didn’t really know why she was crying.
“Listen to me,” he said, his voice calm and steady. “I will call the police and an ambulance in a second. We had better just say that Greg and I were picking you up for a beer after work and that I walked in while Markus was trying to kill you. Take off the collar and put on your underwear, please. This had better look as vanilla as possible when the police arrive. It’ll all go much smoother and we don’t really have to lie to them. I mean—he is a raving lunatic out to kill you.”
Catherine nodded. She wondered briefly how Jon knew Greg but dismissed the thought immediately. There were more important things to think about now. She hoped Markus would be locked away for good. She didn’t think she would ever feel safe again with him still out to get her.
The ambulance arrived first and a young paramedic took care of the cut on Catherine’s neck. Fortunately it wasn’t too deep and as she needed neither stitches nor a tetanus shot, she didn’t have to go to the hospital. Markus was a different case. They were still trying to wake him up when the police arrived in the form of two middle-aged male constables and a younger female officer in civilian clothes. They listened to Jon’s version of events, then Catherine’s. Markus began to stir before they were done. The paramedics checked his throat and pronounced him healthy enough to be arrested. Catherine watched, stunned with relief, as her ex-husband was handcuffed and dragged out of the office. They could hear him screaming and cursing all the way down the stairs. Catherine supposed that calling the police officers names wouldn’t really help his case. She hoped the two constables had at least some grasp of German to fully appreciate his colourful tirade.
Two hours later, Catherine, Jon and Greg had finally signed their reports at the police station and were sent home.
What a night!
Catherine shuddered when she thought about Markus’ claim that he had wanted to take her home. She had been lucky—lucky to be alive and not dead on her office floor, or on the next flight back to Germany with her soon-to-be ex-husband, the psycho. She rested her head against Jon’s shoulder as they walked towards his car and he put his arm around her, drawing her close to his side.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “it’s all going to be fine. I’m here to take care of you now.”
Somehow, that sounded so damn reassuring that Catherine almost began to cry again.
Epilogue
Catherine lay back in the warm, rose-scented water of Jon’s big bathtub. His arms were wrapped around her, and he was slowly teasing one nipple with his left hand while the other played lightly between her thighs. She was sitting in the circle of his legs, leaning against his broad chest, her head resting on his shoulder. She could feel his semi-erect shaft at the small of her back. The man truly was a machine! They had made love twice tonight already. First, he had frantically fucked her in the hallway just after they’d got home. He had taken her standing up, her back to the wall, her skirt and panties pushed out of the way as she’d wrapped her legs around his hips to take him even deeper. They had both been moaning and panting with need and it had been over quickly. After a few minutes of feverish coupling they had both climaxed hard, then slid to the floor in a tangled heap. They had needed to get the panic out of their system, she guessed.
After that, Jon had dragged her over to his big bed to make love to her more slowly. He had kissed her deeply while they’d rolled in the rose petals on the silky black sheets. The different textures had felt incredibly smooth and arousing on Catherine’s bare skin, and she had giggled with pleasure while Jon had let more rose petals rain down on her body.
Jon had made her kneel on all fours and rubbed warm, scented oil into her pussy and arsehole. She had relaxed under his touch, her eyes drooping closed as his hands caressed her most intimate openings. But then the oil had begun to work its magic. It had driven her wild, her pussy tingling with need for him, the sensitive nerve endings around her arsehole burning for his touch. She had gasped and rocked herself back against his hands. He had told her to hold still and enjoy it while he teased her slowly and carefully, his touch never quite enough to make her come. Catherine had whimpered, her whole body shaking with the need to climax again, but Jon had been relentless, teasing her only just enough to keep her on the brink of orgasm, then stopping again until she cried out in need and frustration.
Her writhing and crying had earned her a few hard slaps on her buttocks, interrupted by more teasing, so the stinging pain mingled with the pleasure of Jon’s caressing hands until Catherine hadn’t been able to control herself any longer. She had climaxed so hard that she had seen bright stars explode under her clo
sed eyelids. Jon had taken her from behind, driving himself first into her pussy, then her arsehole until she came again, while Jon was groaning with the strength of his own orgasm.
And now it felt as if the man would soon be ready to go again!
It was three in the morning and the room was dark except for a few candles. Catherine stared out of the window, her gaze fixed on the dark water of the Thames without really seeing it, her thoughts wandering. After making love to her, Jon had made dinner and brought out the champagne to celebrate their one-week anniversary. She had let him fix the collar around her sensitive neck again, but she hadn’t been prepared for his question.
“I would like you to move in with me,” he had said, “not as my sub or my slave but as my partner, as an equal in all things. I want to play with you and make love to you whenever the fancy takes us and I want to wake up with you in my arms every day. I know that what we share is not a full-blown D/s relationship, but I think it could be so much more. With you I feel I can do whatever I want—whatever we want. And, Catherine, I sincerely hope you feel the same way about me. Will you please come live with me?”
She had been dumbstruck, ready to start crying again. What was it with her and tears lately? And she still wasn’t sure how to answer him.
What if she really was a bad judge of character? Wasn’t her choice of a husband proof enough of that? How could she throw herself head over heels into a new relationship when she hadn’t even managed to get a divorce from Markus yet?
Catherine sighed. Jon hadn’t said he loved her and, in a way, she was grateful for that. Markus had once promised to love and cherish her and it had all been lies from the start. With Jon she was very sure that he would always be honest with her. But did she dare move in with him? She had only known the man for a week, for God’s sake!
Catherine sighed and wiggled a little when Jon circled her clit with clever fingers then let them travel downwards. Who was she kidding? There wasn’t really much of a choice. She was already head over heels in love with him. She turned her head to the side and kissed his jaw.
Jon smiled. “Let’s go to bed, my love. You can tell me your decision in the morning.”
About the Author
Mina Dorian lives and works in Berlin - one of the most beautiful places in the universe in summer and a real pain in winter. She is an avid reader who loves to escape to fictional worlds in both reading and writing.
Her real life alter ego holds a degree in English Literature and teaches literature and cultural studies to undergraduates. Her area of expertise and preferred reading material is Gothic fiction - from the historical variety with virgins in distress and dark abbeys to more recent stuff with cyborgs and sex with monsters.
Email: [email protected]
Mina loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.
Also by Mina Dorian
Hot Buttered Strumpet
Also available from Total-E-Bound Publishing:
Master Me
by
Lisabet Sarai, Trina Lane, Elizabeth Coldwell,
Charlotte Stein, Jane Davitt, Justine Elyot
Excerpts
The Understudy by Lisabet Sarai
“It’s him!” Adele tugged at my shirt, almost hard enough to tear it. “Look, Sarah!” She pointed to the shiny black Lincoln cruising around the corner. “I still can’t believe it! We’re really going to have a chance to work with Geoffrey Hart!” The wooden porch shook as my friend literally jumped up and down with excitement. Adele’s temperament matched her fiery hair.
Of course my own heart beat faster than normal as the town car approached the inn at a sedate pace. Geoffrey Hart was a legend in American theatre. Since his first appearance off-Broadway ten years earlier, he had won every award in the world of drama. He’d played every prestigious role from Oedipus to Willy Loman. One summer in Central Park I’d seen him as both Hamlet and King Lear. He was astonishing, equally convincing as the callow, indecisive university student and the bitter, world-weary old man. His magical voice, full of nuance and music, reached the back row without amplification. His body language was eloquent with emotion. In both plays, he’d made me cry. His performances were an inspiration, one of the things that finally made me settle on drama—much to my parents’ chagrin.
I’d been thrilled when the Berk Hills Playhouse offered me a place for the summer. I never in a million years expected that I’d meet the man who had been such a role model.
But why on earth was he coming here, to a little summer stock theatre in the rural hills of western Massachusetts? The last news I saw, he was lead actor and part owner of the Gotham Repertory Company. What could possibly have induced him to abandon the city for the sticks?
“I heard that he broke up with Anne Merrill,” said Adele, sotto voce, as if she’d read my mind. “She dumped him. He’s come out here to the country to lick his wounds.”
“What? Who told you that?” I recalled the actor’s handsome face and imposing presence. It was hard to believe someone would dump him—he seemed like the type to do the dumping.
“I can’t reveal my sources.” Adele’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “But the word is that his heart is broken.”
Paradise of Pleasure by Trina Lane
“You want me to do what?” Mike Wright exclaimed.
Elaina Roman lifted her chin, and looked straight into the shocked, pale blue eyes of the slack-jawed man across from her. “I want you to tie me up.”
“During sex?”
“Yes.”
“Why on earth would you want something like that? It’s silly and theatrical. What we have is more important than games in bed. At least I thought so.”
“It has nothing to do with games, Mike. A couple who dabbles in BDSM or chooses it as a lifestyle doesn’t have any less of a meaningful relationship. Some would argue that they have stronger base for success because they’re honest about what they need. I want to try, is that so bad?”
“It’s not bad, El. It’s just not us. Isn’t what we have enough? Don’t I satisfy you?”
“What we do is fine, but haven’t you ever wondered if it could be more? We’ve been dating for six months, and I can count the number of orgasms I’ve had on one hand.”
Elaina watched her current boyfriend’s—or imminent ex-boyfriend by the way things were looking—face go pale. His eyes darkened in embarrassment or maybe anger. She still couldn’t read his expressions very well because they surfaced so infrequently.
“So if you’ve had so few orgasms, what’s with all the moaning and gasping when we’re in bed? Are you telling me you’ve been faking this whole time?”
“It’s not that I fake enjoying sex with you. I do enjoy it. You make me feel good. I just rarely ‘get there.’ Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe there’s something wrong with me. It’s…”
“It’s what? You started this. Go ahead, spit it out.”
“I was reading this book the other day about female sexual fantasies. In it the woman was describing being tied up by her lover. Being controlled, not by force but quiet authoritative command, and I…god, Mike, it made me so hot I nearly had to run to the ladies’ room in the lounge. I figured if reading about it got me so turned on, maybe experiencing it would be even better. I want to experience that with you.” Elaina looked down at floor in her Miami Beach condo. The cool travertine tile beneath her bare feet did nothing to dispel the heat in her cheeks.
Neil and Obey by Elizabeth Coldwell
The envelope was lying on the mat when Liz came home from work, addressed to her in handwriting she didn’t recognise. Ripping open the heavy cream stationery, she found an invitation inside. It read… Mary and Don Burney request the presence of Miss Elizabeth Webster and guest at the marriage of their daughter, Jillian, to James Anthony Steele, on Saturday November 6th at three p.m. at St. Michael’s Church, Greater Endover. Reception to follow at the Endover House Hotel. RSVP.
She scanned the wording again, not quite able to believe it. James was getting married, less than eight months after the two of them had split up. She’d kept on friendly terms with him after they’d gone their separate ways, so she knew he was seeing some girl he had met at a conference, but he’d never given the impression the relationship was particularly serious. There had certainly never been any talk of engagement and wedding bells.
He’d always told her he didn’t want to settle down. Now she realised he just hadn’t wanted to settle down with her. And while she’d been sure, deep down, that James would find happiness with someone else, she hadn’t expected it to happen quite so quickly. For a moment, she considered dashing off a reply to tell the Burneys she was sorry, but she wouldn’t be able to attend. Thinking about it a little longer, she had to admit she was actually curious to see the woman who had captured James’ heart in a way she’d never managed.
Her eyes were drawn again to the word, “guest,” on the invitation. If only she had someone to accompany her. The truth was, she’d barely been on a date since her break-up with James. She had thrown herself into her demanding job as the press officer for a small charity, which helped London’s rough sleepers, telling herself that when the time was right she would start looking for love once more. Petty as it might be, she simply didn’t want James to feel he had succeeded in meeting someone else where she had failed.
Liz propped the invitation on the mantelpiece, in a spot that had once been occupied by a photo of herself and James on the beach at Brighton. It had been her favourite snap of the two of them, taken not long after they’d started dating. How long ago that seemed now. She had a week before she needed to send a reply. If only a hot, available man could wander into her life before then, everything would be perfect.
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