by Tess Lamont
BOUND TO BE MINE
by
Tess Lamont
Copyright 2013 by Tess Lamont
Kindle Edition
ASIN: B00BPZG8F0
Publishing History
February 2010 Wild Rose Press, First Scarlet Rose Edition
April 2013 Kindle Edition
License Statement
Thank you for downloading this ebook. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold. The author appreciates your support for her work.
Dedication
To my South Jersey girls, especially Debbie. Let’s climb the Mt. Laurel! And to my husband for, well, everything.
PRAISE FOR TESS LAMONT’S SOUTH JERSEY BOUND SERIES
BOUND TO BE MINE
“Their chemistry is sizzling, the sexual tension palpable. A thoroughly sexy read.”
~Bella, Fallen Angel Review
“The chemistry between Lisa and Ben gives the reader a taste of what can happen when two people are ultimately suited to meet each other’s needs…Needless to say, the bedroom activities in this book are not for the faint of heart, but contain lessons in loving we can all learn from. Ultimately, the question remains, can Lisa and Ben get past their past? You will have to read this book to find out, but as smoothly written as it is, that will be no chore.”
~Sky, The Romance Studio
“I could not put the book aside until I knew what the end would be.”
~Gina Kincade
“The story is well-written and progresses at a steady pace, which is wonderful in a novella this length. Ben and Lisa have an excellent chemistry, and their emotional scenes are both touching and heart-breaking. Be sure to place this story onto your TBR list, especially if you love a BDSM themed erotica with oodles of emotion.
~4.5 Cherries-Fern, Whipped Cream Reviews
BOUND TO SURRENDER
“…she did a wonderful job keeping my interest through all 80 pages. It is a must read if you want to enjoy an hour away from all the everyday pressure to go away into the lives of Christina and Bryce.
This story is definitely a 5 Tea Cup and 3 heat index. The story makes you realize that submission and trust is needed to fulfill all your sexual desires.”
~Wendy, Happily Ever After Reviews
“Tess Lamont has done an excellent job with this story. It is well written and holds your interest from page one. If you are looking for a quick read pick up this one. It's worth it. Great job.”
~Gemstone Review
BOUND TO IGNITE
“If you’re looking for a book with hot spanking and hotter sex, Bound to Ignite is sure to hit your fancy.”
~Violet, Whipped Cream Reviews
“Bound to Ignite is a thrilling exploration into the world of spanking. I thought the author gave a refreshing take on the world of spanking, even though Eric has no experience she gives an honest take on what it would be like to try something new. An enjoyable read”
~Emily, Sensual Reads
“Bound to Ignite will definitely heat up your reading time.”
~Starla Kaye, Got Erotic Romance
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Bound to Be Mine
Also Available: Excerpts and Blurbs
About the Author
BOUND TO BE MINE
Benjamin’s eyes adjusted to the club’s dry-ice haze and darkness.
The sleazy den off Route 73 wasn’t unique. Thousands hid in the country’s cheap, neglected corners. Outside, the tar roof hoisted a neon sign promising cheap thrills.
The club known as ‘The Oasis’ lured men still stinging from the humiliations of adolescence and bemoaning adulthood’s drudgery. Here, for the price of a watered-down drink and a few wilting dollar bills, flashes of female flesh consoled lonely men to the relentless thud of 1980s music.
As if a tawdry, practiced act could substitute for a real woman. Ben flinched.
Only the act was pretend, the women here were real—just as deserving of love and protection as any woman. How could he be sure? He knew, because the woman strutting across the stage had once shared his bed. Now, she relentlessly haunted his conscience by day and his dreams by night.
He moved as if in slow-motion through flashing strobe lights. The room smelled of cheap beer and mold. He did not belong here…and neither did Lisa.
Lisa hooked a long, shapely leg around a glinting silver pole, swinging seductively to the ferocious rhythm pounding beneath his ribs. As she slid down to the stage, she curved her back as if in the throes of sexual ecstasy.
Slowly, she unwound and then inched toward the edge of the stage. There, she crouched with legs spread wide and rocked her pelvis to the music’s beat. Every thrust brought her breasts within a half-inch of a patron’s delighted leer. She drew her arms over her head and pushed out her hip, allowing another eager fuck to stuff a bill in her thong.
Winking at the man with lashes too long and thick to be real, she rose and twirled toward the next patron. Turning her back, she spread her legs and bent over. Hair hanging, she winked through her legs, then closed her eyes and slowly licked her lips. Her reward? A five on the other hip. She blew a kiss.
Ben sagged against a column. His lazy indifference was as false as Lisa’s lashes and sensual hunger. Inside his gut, rage knit into thick, heavy knots, looping repeatedly in quiet, deliberate progression. Once, he would have blamed Lisa for the adrenaline flooding his veins, or worse, appeased his anger by pounding one of the poor bastards waving crumpled bills in their clenched, sweaty fingers.
But that was before he learned to leash the madness, before he learned to bring his beast to heel.
He’d spent the better part of a year trying to make sense of their relationship. Once, he had believed nothing could separate them. Together they’d explored the outer edge of every craving—lust, love, power, and pain. But at what cost? He was certain now he’d pushed their relationship too far. He alone held the blame.
With therapy, he’d mastered external control, but he could still imagine the sweet satiation that an all-out riot would bring. The urge to pounce tantalized.
Ben raised a brow as his gaze stalked Lisa across the stage.
A fight would hardly suit his purpose. He’d come here to atone.
Lisa bowed forward, cupping her breasts. She moaned above the music. He shivered.
Lord, the woman had tits to die for—and she knew it, too. He clenched his folded arms tighter against his chest. A patron leaned forward to stuff a bill into her thong and Lisa turned her head, meeting Ben’s eyes. She swayed, losing the beat.
Ben doubted the grinning, drunken sap who’d given her a buck even noticed, but Ben had. Lisa was aware of him. His breath grew shallow.
The book in his back pocket cut into his upper thigh. Although the contents would not change things—only a miracle could do that now—his scribbled thoughts were his best and last offering to the insane connection they shared.
He’d hurt Lisa. Now, he hoped to heal her.
The men by the stage were chanting Venus, her stage name.
Right. She was Venus and he was, like the sorry men at her feet, a moon doomed to circle around her brilliance, but never to touch.
Would she even listen to his apology? He wasn’t about to let her know how he trembled inside, how much he needed her. His Adam’s apple jerked as he swallowed convulsively. How much he needed her forgiveness.
****
Lisa flung back her head and twirled toward center stage.
Ben was here, watching. Her calculated, impersonal gyrations demanded unusual effort. He had awoken her hibernating senses, and they prowled with fervent hunger.
Finish the dance. She could not falter, or Ben would sense her true feeling. Anger burned the air in her lungs as she leaned forward with a forced smile. She pressed her arms together, and then, keeping her ass as high in the air as possible, she eased to the floor. The practiced arc made the horny–bastards wild—her Yoga classes had been worth every penny.
The men whistled as they clapped and yelled the usual obscenities. But Lisa’s attention remained on the silent man ten feet away. Although he stayed apart from the small crowd, his show of indifference was a lie, just like her practiced expressions of desire.
Not that she was immune to desire—not at all. She loved cock, but she knew men. They would take and take and take without ever acknowledging what had been given was a gift…especially the one leaning against the column.
Bastard.
The DJ called out her stage name as the song came to an abrupt end. She did not rush her rounds. Ben didn’t move and she never lost her sense of his presence, no matter how focused she appeared to be on whatever sad little man lined her thong.
She laughed and flirted, sighed and tickled her way through the club, collecting whatever tips the cheap losers would give. She’d been dancing for more than three years, and the act was wearing thin. She had come to the club because stripping seemed less humiliating, and more lucrative, than the minimum-wage receptionist job she’d had right out of high school. At least, when dancing, she earned a decent wage and retained control.
Or did she?
Her gaze slipped to Ben. He was a full-color man in a black-and-white world. She had always believed she could keep herself apart from the baseness of the club, but she was no longer sure. Ben’s presence was just another reminder.
Why should he be so vivid? He had taken everything when he left…her pride, her hope, and her love. She had to summon raw will to pull her life’s pieces back together.
If he thought she would make his return easy, he was goddamned mistaken. No way, Buddy.
In their years together, she and Ben had followed their instincts down a darkly sensual path. Always, they had taken each step together—discovering what felt right for them and never allowing others to define the rules. Naively, she’d reveled in the dark depth of their connection. He was the master, she the devoted servant. She’d trusted him to stand by the heart he’d trained.
Only suddenly, he disappeared, leaving her confused, hurt, and very, very angry.
If he wanted something from her, he was going to have to work. Hard.
When the next set started, she sauntered to his side. She approached Ben as if he were a stranger. Peeking at him from beneath her lashes, she gave no sign of recognition.
“Is there something I can do for you?” she whispered in her husky club-voice. “Lap dance perhaps? No touching, of course.”
“You done for the night?”
His baritone stiffened her nipples. A muscle in her cheek twitched, ruining her sensual smile.
“I don’t take patrons home,” she quipped, raising her chin.
His gaze was hard and guarded. “How about a hotel room?”
“Bastard.” Engaging him was fruitless. The mock chains at her waist jingled as she swiveled.
“Easy, pet.” He touched her arm. “The diss was unintended. You get under my skin, is all.”
“Don’t―” she said through clenched teeth as she turned, “―call me pet.”
He threw up his hands. “Venus, then. Whatever the Goddess wants.”
“Got that right. The bouncers would toss you on your ass, if I gave the word.”
His ice-blue eyes hardened. “Look, we need to talk.” He stepped closer. “Just come, alright?”
Lisa inhaled. He smelled better than wine, damn him. Warm and spicy, his scent canceled out the club’s dead smells—spilled alcohol and unwashed carpet—filling the vacant hollow in her heart.
Shit. Not only did she want to follow him out the door, she wanted to wrap him in her arms and stake her claim. Mine, her body chanted, mine, mine, mine.
Her false lashes made each rapid blink noticeable. No. No tears. Ben did not deserve tears.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She stepped back. “You better leave.”
His body seemed to shrink on his exhale, but he did not argue. Strangely, his reluctance to fight increased the ache in her heart and the sting in her eyes.
Was he really going to give up that easily? What had happened to Ben?
“I’ll go. But first, promise to read this.” He pressed a small, black book into her hand.
She turned over the book. She’d seen these little journals in bookstores. She opened the leather cover and thumbed to a random page. Ben’s neat, even script jumped out.
She blinked and snapped the journal shut.
“What is this?” she asked, ashamed at her voice’s slight tremor.
“Something I wrote for you,” he replied.
Without another word, he turned and strode out of the club. Had she imagined his voice’s crack?
Lisa gripped the journal as goose bumps spread along her arms.
****
Home at last and finally clean.
Lisa yanked open her refrigerator, shivering when the sudden chill cooled her cheeks. Her hair hung loose and wet from her shower. Her terry-cloth robe slid along her legs as she removed a re-corked magnum of chardonnay.
On working nights, she always indulged in a single, cold glass of wine after a long, hot shower. The ritual separated her small apartment’s comfort from the club’s brash nastiness. To heighten her sense of luxury, she used a beautiful crystal glass—one she had found on sale, of course.
As she poured, she glanced at the small black book sticking out from the outer pocket of her satchel by the door. She frowned. She hadn’t exactly promised Benjamin she would read the journal, although, mute acceptance of his “gift” may have implied a promise.
Her frown switched into an all–out scowl.
She stuck close to the counter as she slipped into her living room, as if getting too close to the book could be dangerous. She sank into her cushy velvet couch. From there, she could consider both Ben and the journal in relative safety.
When she had flicked open his journal in the club, she’d caught three words in his careful script—so very sorry.
Those words had been enough for surging adrenaline to steal her breath and render her mute. She had not known how to react. Now, the thought of touching the page made her shudder.
Perhaps he had thought his apology would be received as a kind gesture, but she could not get past her ache to feel any gratitude. Why should she give him the chance to spill his guts uninterrupted? Why should she allow him to hide behind paper and pen? For so long, she’d played by his rules…why should he have the chance to explain when he’d never given her a chance to vent her anger?
She took a sip from her glass. The cold, tangy taste lingered on her lips.
The night they’d met, she’d picked Ben out of a bar-full of men. Across the room, her body had recognized its mate. Later that night, when he’d pressed his lips against her ear and asked her how she liked to be touched, she’d gone wet in an instant.
Any way you want.
He’d clasped her hand and run his rough thumb along her knuckles.
Mmm, so willing. Any place I want, too?
Yes.
Nice. How about any time?
She’d swallowed through a dry throat and nodded.
Meet me in the back.
Of course she had. Shielded by a coat rack, he’d pinned her wrists behind her back, lifted her skirt and stroked her to a shattering orgasm.
Their sexual games of dominance and submission had intensified with every passing day—blindfolds and spankings, ropes and commands. Neither of them had explored “the scene” before, and she was certain they had broken more than a few ‘rules’ as they’d gone along. Still, the world they created had been her private haven, a kingdom of two.
&nb
sp; By their third year together, their games had begun to crystallize into something true and deep. They played longer, and the rules of their word had grown more complex. Lisa had peeled away layers of her false self and sensed her very essence: the nature of a “sub,” the heart of a servant. In truth, Ben had become her master.
And then, he had left.
Their intense connection had scared her, too, but they could have stayed together, they could have explored the dark world’s depths step-by-step. She shuddered, shedding the vibrating sense of right she felt when remembering the weight of his collar around her throat.
Fuck.
She pursed her lips, pushing aside thoughts of what could have been if they had achieved the mysterious blend of yin and yang they’d neared.
He seemed thinner now than when she last saw him, though his looks had never been what attracted her most. Yes, he was hot. His dark, brown hair fell over a smooth forehead, and his light blue eyes lit a finely chiseled face. But what she found most captivating was in his eyes—a way he had of looking at her that made the whole world fall away.
Ben was like a magnet, specifically charged to attract and hold her. She could not believe how, even at the club, a place where her body was firmly shut down, Ben could cause a slow fire to smolder in her belly.
A sweet chill slid over her tongue as she took another sip.
Ben had left her seriously wantin’ some and there was no pretending her fever was anger alone. No, as always, he had left her yearning for his commands, salivating for his cock. She ran her hand inside her robe, unsurprised to find her nipple stiff.
Bastard.
She narrowed her eyes at the journal. So he had something to say, did he? He thought he could toss a couple crumbs of apology at her and walk away unscathed, untouched?
Well, if he wanted to tell her something, the least he could do was tell her in person. They had lived together for over three years and he owed her that much at the very least. She swallowed a large gulp of wine and stood.
A business card was tucked into the front of the journal. A slow smile curled her lips. If he wanted her to read his damn book, he’d have to read it to her—that would serve him right. She tried to conjure an image of him sitting at her feet, book-in-hand, face contrite.
