Initiation (Master Class Book 1)

by Sierra Cartwright

  “Trust takes time,” he agreed, his voice gruffer than he’d meant it to be. “We can start by having you move into my place.”

  “What?”

  “You can keep this one until you have faith in the relationship. In me. In us. And that’s built over time. If that’s what you want.”

  “I agree about the trust. But I like this house. It’s close to my work, and I like the neighborhood. If you’re going to be gone for long periods, I want to be in a place that I chose. I want to stay here.”

  “Do you have a basement?”

  Her pussy flooded with moisture. “Yes.”

  “And the canary-yellow walls are going?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “You’ll be naked, unless you bought coveralls. I can’t wait to clean the overspray off you.”

  “I…” On her naked thighs, she turned up her palms in supplication. “I missed you.”

  “Then let’s take that first step.”

  “Yes. I’d like that, Sir.”

  He was desperate for this woman and fighting his natural instinct to toss her on her back and fuck her ragged. “There’s a penance for trying to steal my orgasm.”

  “Even though I waited almost a week?”

  “Even though.”

  She licked her upper lip.

  “What’s your safe word?”

  “Marshmallow,” she said.

  “Unless you want to use it, drape yourself over the footboard.”

  Jennifer didn’t hesitate for a moment.

  When she started to stand, he said, “I’d prefer you crawl.”

  Even though her breath caught, she got on all fours. The chain attached to the alligator clamp swung back and forth as she moved. From her wince, he knew it was shooting sparks of pain through her.

  She reached for it, but he snapped, “Leave it.”

  Wrinkling her nose, Jennifer continued past him and got herself into position.

  “Stretch your arms as wide as you can,” he instructed.

  He went into her closet and found a number of long scarves. After tying them together, he secured each of her wrists to the wrought-iron headboard. “This bed is perfect. I think it’s meant as bondage equipment.”

  “Everything is to you,” she said, perhaps remembering the coffee table at Joe and Noelle’s house.

  “Kiss me,” he told her.

  She pulled up as much as possible and turned her head toward him.

  That was all he needed. He framed her face with his palms and held her firmly. “I’ll teach you not to doubt me.” Then he kissed her hard, deep, with promise and commitment. “And I’ll start by letting you know I’m serious when I give you a command.”

  “I understand.”

  “Tell me again how many days have you waited?”

  “Five, Sir.”

  “Five?”

  “Six. Six, Sir.”

  He lowered one hand and squeezed the breast that still had the alligator attached.

  She cried out, and he silenced her with a kiss that stole her breath and made her grind the balls of her feet into the floor.

  He left her for a second, only long enough to grab the loose clamp and affix it to her neglected nipple.

  “Sir!”

  “You’re going to come six times before I fuck you, Jennifer.”

  “Can we please get on with it, Sir?”

  “Impatient?”

  “The clamps are driving me batty.”

  “Yeah. I can smell your heat.” Heady stuff, submissive female arousal.

  He slid his hand between her legs and rubbed her cunt. The harder she pulled on the restraints, the tighter they got.

  She started to breathe faster, and he reached for the vibrator. He turned it on and smiled when he realized the small bullet had a surprising amount of power.

  “Sir…” Her eyes were wide as he moved closer.

  Then he touched it to her clit.

  She screamed and arched her back. “Stop, stop, stop!”

  “Stop isn’t a safe word,” he reminded her, slapping her left ass cheek with hard openhanded swats.

  “I’m going to come,” she warned, promised.

  He pressed the nubs tighter against her and told her, “Yes.”

  She called his name as she shattered, collapsing over the metal. But the moment her breasts touched the mattress, she pulled up again.

  “This is unbearable,” she said, her voice containing a pitiful wail.

  “We haven’t even started,” he promised.

  Logan removed his belt and gave her six strokes—not as hard as the ones he planned to deliver after she was properly warmed up—all aimed at that tender spot at the tops of her thighs.

  She squirmed and cried, and her tears were sexy and real.

  “You’re gorgeous,” he told her. And he reaffirmed, “Mine.”

  “Fucking prove it,” she said.

  He knew it was a plea and that she wasn’t simply goading him. “I intend to.” He finger-fucked her hot cunt until she was dripping. “Ask me to touch your G-spot.”

  “I might die if you don’t,” she said.

  “You’ll only think you will.” He found the right place and gently touched it.

  She whimpered. “More,” she begged when he remained still.

  “I told you to ask. Be specific.”

  “Please touch my G-spot, Master Logan.”

  God, he liked the way that term sounded. He moved his free hand to her ass and dug in his fingers. Then he pressed her G-spot harder, keeping firm pressure until she clenched around him.

  “May I come, Sir?”

  “Yes,” he whispered, enjoying the sound of her crying out.

  “How many was that?” he asked when she was able to drag in a couple breaths of air.

  “Two,” she whispered. “Feels like a hundred.”

  “Do you have lube?”

  It took her long seconds to answer. “In the bathroom,” she said eventually. “Under the sink.”

  He left her where she was, and when he returned, he placed his feet inside her ankles and forced her legs farther apart. “Stay like that or I’ll tie your ankles, as well.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He poured a liberal dose of lube on her, letting it run down her, over her anus. Then he scooped up some with two fingers and pushed into her.

  “That’s too much.”

  “Is it?” he asked, unconcerned. “You’ve done it before.”

  Even he hadn’t recalled her feeling this tight.

  She swayed back and forth, trying to get away.

  He worked himself in until he was buried up to his knuckles.

  “It’s…” She bit her lip. “I’m so full.”

  Logan parted his fingers slightly, then began to ream her, uttering words of comfort. “Take it for me. Stop thinking about yourself and think about your Dom.”

  She froze for a moment as the words resonated.

  Then she totally relaxed. “Yes…”

  Even as he tormented her delicious little ass, he picked up the bullet. He flicked off the nubby top, exposing three tiny metal nubs. On his next thrust, he entered her pussy with it, simultaneously filling both of her holes.

  He fucked her until she came, hard. “That’s three.”

  “I’ll never complain again,” she vowed. “Even if you go away for a long, long time without calling or texting. Or writing. Or sending a telegram.”

  He kissed the side of her neck. “Nice try, sub.”

  “Couldn’t you just beat me or something? Flogger? Paddle? That evil belt?”

  “Orgasms,” he said. “You owe me three more.”

  “But…”

  “Not done with you yet.” When she didn’t respond, he said, “I didn’t hear you.”

  “Anything you say, Sir.”

  He went into the bathroom to wash up. When he returned, Jennifer’s body was dotted with perspiration, and she looked so gorgeous, spread, bound, bent over, helpless.

  W
ith a damp washcloth that he’d brought back with him, he cleaned off the excess lube. Then he released her wrists before sitting on the floor and resting his back against the footboard near her.

  “What are you doing?” Jennifer asked.

  “Come here. Put your cunt on my face and fuck it,” he ordered.

  She sucked in a breath before slowly saying, “That’s outside my comfort zone.”

  “This is about what I want, little sub. Do it.”

  “I…”

  He waited. She was so fucking hot, and the scent of her musk made his cock ache.

  “You’re impossible, Sir.”

  “And you’re going to get the insides of your thighs pinched unless you do as you’re told.”

  After a few seconds, she moved over him and bent her knees slightly.

  “More.” When she didn’t immediately respond, he carried out his threat and pinched her hard.

  She yelped, and her body instinctively swayed forward to escape the pain.

  Then she was on his face, and his tongue was inside her. Her sounds of protest yielded to moans of pleasure.

  With his hands on her, he forced her to move until she was humping his face and he was licking her hot pussy. “That’s it.”

  “Sir, Sir, Sir!”

  The metal chain jangled as it swayed, and she drew in desperate, labored breaths.

  He pulled her down even harder, unbalancing her. But he was there for her, demanding she give him what he wanted, even if her cunt was getting tender.

  With his tongue, Logan traced an infinity knot on her clit.

  She gyrated and thrashed.

  “Give it to me.”

  Screaming a protest, she came, her essence all over his face.

  He stayed where he was, supporting her weight while she regained control of her body.

  “Sir…” she began when he stood.

  “Hmm?”

  “If I promised I’ve learned my lesson…” She turned her head to the side, seeking his gaze. “Will you please fuck me?”

  With her lips parted, her blue eyes glazed with desire, he ached to give her everything she desired.

  Logan rubbed her body, starting with her arms. He checked the circulation in her wrists, massaged her shoulders, made certain her legs weren’t cramping. “This time, I’m taking you from behind.”

  “Just take me. I need your cock.”

  He pulled out a condom from his wallet then stripped slowly, aware of her watching his every move. He rolled on the condom then stroked his shaft a few times as she silently stared.

  “I forgot how big it was,” she said, slightly breathless.

  “It’ll fit. I promise.” He brushed that stubborn lock of her hair back from her face. “Tell me what you want. Be specific.”

  “Your cock filling me, Sir. Master Logan.”

  Anything she wanted. Anytime.

  He moved behind her.

  Since she was so much shorter than him, he had to bend his knees while she lifted herself onto her tiptoes.

  He guided his cockhead to her pussy, then slowly stroked himself in. “I waited,” he told her. “Since I asked you not to come, I chose not to as well.”

  She tried to angle herself so she could look at him, then gave an annoyed hiss when he and the bondage held her tight. “Are you serious?”

  “I am.” As her body accommodated him, he made his thrusts longer and slower, pinning her with his hips. “This—you are worth any wait.”

  “Damn.”

  He had no idea whether she was referring to the sex or the fact he’d denied himself. “Come when you’re ready,” he told her. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to hold off. Last night after he’d arrived home, adrenaline had still thrummed inside him, keeping him awake. It wasn’t simply the remnants of the case, but the fact he’d been unable to reach her. Jerking off would have helped him unwind and get to sleep, but he’d known that being with her would make every sleepless minute worthwhile. “I’m at least halfway to being in love with you,” he said.

  “Good. Because I’m not going there alone,” she said, her words ringing with conviction despite how breathless they were.

  “Then we’re agreed.” He rode her hard, reaching out to hold her hair. By the time he was done with her, Jennifer would know she was his.

  She didn’t have to tell him she was ready to come. He felt her go rigid, heard her desperate gasps.

  His balls drew up, and he thrust deep inside her, burying himself to the hilt.

  Her internal muscles clenched, milking an ejaculation from him.

  With a guttural, primal grunt, he came, deep, hot, claiming.

  “Fuck. Master Logan!”

  For a moment or two, long enough to be freaky, he had an absence of thought, of contentment. He wondered how long it had been since he’d felt this relaxed.

  Eventually he became aware of his cock softening and her shifting to get more comfortable. “You’re a magnificent sub,” he said.

  He took his time removing the alligators, gently squeezing her nipples until she stopped groaning and they returned to their normal size.

  “I don’t know whether I love or hate those evil little clamps.” She frowned.

  “You had them on when I arrived.”

  Her next comment was spoken into the bedspread.

  “Repeat that.”

  “I wasn’t able to climax without them.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Along with every other detail about her.

  He unfastened her wrists then helped her stand before turning her to face him.

  She threaded her arms around his neck and buried herself against his chest. There was nothing that could have been more perfect or a bigger symbol of her trust. “I’m not finished with you yet,” he warned like he had last week.

  Jennifer looked up and gave him a bratty smile. “Bring it. Sir.”

  Also available from Totally Bound Publishing and

  in paperback at WHSmith:

  Bound and Determined

  Sierra Cartwright

  Excerpt

  Chapter One

  Bollocks.

  Jack Quinn propped his elbow on the polished wood bar of the lower downtown pub and drank deeply from the pint of stout as he watched the petite and smoking hot Sinead O’Malley move into action for a solo.

  He’d seen pictures of her—his sworn enemy—online. His luggage contained a folder full of information about her.

  He’d chased her across two continents and through half a dozen cities in the United States. He thought he knew everything about her yet nothing had prepared him for the first in-person sight of her.

  He’d known she was an Irish step dancer, but the dossier provided by his grandmother’s people hadn’t mentioned that the talented Ms O’Malley also played three different types of drums as well as the bagpipes.

  Seeing a good-looking woman, enemy or not, in snapshots was one thing, but he’d had no idea he’d have such an immediate, raw, unwanted masculine reaction to seeing her athletic body.

  Her cutoff white T-shirt was too tight across the swell of her breasts and left part of her toned midriff bare. If she was wearing a bra, it wasn’t very serviceable. He imagined he could see her nipples all the way from here.

  Her kilt was way too fecking short. It barely covered her well-shaped arse. And when she danced he saw a pair of sexy black knickers. At least she wasn’t commando beneath the skirt.

  Her muscular legs were bare, and her socks had pooled around her ankles.

  Even though he watched her squeeze the pipes from halfway across the pub, his cock hardened.

  Noise in the room diminished as gazes turned towards the stage. Every man in the place was likely sporting an erection. Lust was palpable. If she were his woman, he wouldn’t stand for her being dressed that way in public and he’d want her wearing a whole lot less in private.

  He took another long drink from the glass. He’d be needing another pint in only minutes. A man needed
fortification to manage the likes of Sinead O’Malley and manage her he would.

  He wouldn’t be leaving Denver without her in tow. He intended to possess her. Ride her. Claim her. Dominate her. Make her his submissive. Claim her as his.

  The eight-hundred-year feud between their clans ended now even if he had to tie her to his bed and spank the sass out of her.

  Since it wouldn’t be seemly to drag her off the stage, bend her over, yank down her knickers, make her call him Sir as he fucked her ragged on top of a table, he bided his time.

  She’d started dancing with the group a few years ago as a way to pick up a little extra cash. He hadn’t taken the time to listen to the CD provided of her music and he was surprised by how much he enjoyed the sound of the Celtic-infused rock band that pulled from all nations. Or maybe he was just intrigued by the lass and wasn’t really hearing the music.

  All the other band members fell silent as she worked the pipes.

  A spotlight hit her. He recognised the Kelly tartan…from her mother’s side of the family. The Kellys were one of the few Irish clans entitled to wear a tartan—the same as the royal house of Stewart.

  Because of the distance and the way she held the bagpipes, he couldn’t quite read the writing on her white T-shirt. The distance and dim lighting made it impossible to see her eyes, even though the information he had on her said they were green.

  Then again, the file said she had blonde hair. It hadn’t mentioned the fiery highlights that seemed to ignite in the overhead lighting. It hadn’t mentioned that the lengths fell in bedroom-like disarray across her forehead and around her face and shoulders.

  It looked the way it might after a good, long, hard screw.

  “Got your eye on that one, have you, mate?” the barkeep asked, pocketing the tip Jack had left on the bar. “She’s been in here half a dozen times in the past year. A right handful, she is. Won’t be having none of the likes of you.” He glanced at her then back at Jack. “She won’t be having any of us for that matter.”

  “We’ll be seeing about that.”

  “Good luck. She vanishes after the show. She doesn’t stay at the same place the rest of the band does. She’s talented all right. But she ain’t interested in any socialising. She’ll cut any man to the quick.”