Submit to Me (The Dungeon Fantasy Club Book 7)

by Anya Summers

  Sherry's smile slipped a little. "I've been better. There's been quite a bit happening at the manor these days. And lord knows, I can't seem to find a Dom to keep."

  "That good, huh? I know this weekend is going to be crazy busy for you, but I hope we get a chance to catch up. I know I could certainly use the girl time."

  "God, I'd like that. You have no idea how much I've needed a friend here lately," Sherry admitted.

  "You know you're always welcome to come and visit. Colin would get a kick out of seeing you."

  "How is the little scamp?"

  "Getting bigger and more stubborn by the day," Veronica said.

  "Maybe after the wedding shindig, once Declan and Zoey are on their honeymoon, I'll take some time off for a visit. Even just a few days on holiday might help me clear the cobwebs from my brain—amongst other things."

  "You're welcome any time."

  "Will you be at the club later?" Sherry asked.

  "Yes, it's been ages."

  "Good. We can grab a drink and talk more tonight then. As it is…"

  "I know, you have a million things to do and guests to see to."

  "Right you are."

  Sherry gave Veronica a brief hug before leaving her alone with her thoughts. Never a good idea when her emotions were in a tempest. Only a thin wall separated her from the man she'd once loved with her whole heart. The man who had left her to go chasing after his dreams, leaving her with whispered promises that had been nothing more than the sweetest of lies uttered in the heat of the moment. The man who had made her into the woman she was today, made her understand that every action has a consequence, some more so than others.

  Her stomach twisted and turned into knots at the thought that the secret she'd kept all these years was in danger of being unearthed. It was the day she had dreaded and feared with the same anxiety most people held for the grim reaper. However, the consequences of her secret being revealed would be far worse, with repercussions that would alter the very fabric of the life she'd fought for and built over the last decade.

  Veronica wanted to rage and weep over the twist in her plans as she unpacked her suitcase. This weekend was supposed to be her few days of freedom. Five measly days where she didn't have to be just a mom, and could have an orgasm, or two, or ten, which could tide her over until the next chance she had to get away again. Which, given the circumstances, would likely be in a year or so if she were lucky. It wasn't that she didn't adore her son. Colin was without a doubt the best thing about her life. He was the reason she worked as hard as she did. It was just that, as a single mother, it was also all she did… round the clock.

  It had been far too long since she'd felt like a woman. She rarely dated in her small town of Campbeltown on the west coast of Scotland. For the better part of a decade, her focus had been on supporting herself and her son, with dating ending up at the bottom of her never-ending list of things to accomplish in a day. Most of the time, not only finding an eligible, attractive man to date, let alone attempting to schedule time to see said date, was far more trouble than it was worth. Not to mention, when she did manage to schedule one, it meant asking her parents to babysit, which had its own problems all bundled up with it and really was more the kiss of death for any potential love interest. The scrutiny she underwent under their watchful eyes, even though she had her own home, always seemed to cast a shadow on the outing, not to mention her father's refusal to serve said dates in his pub. Her father's attitude tended to make potential suitors head for the hills before they even attempted any hanky-panky.

  They meant well. As much as her father's overbearing, protective ways infuriated her, she understood they stemmed from the fact that she had ended up pregnant and unwed at twenty-one. In the first few years after Colin was born, Veronica had learned the hard way that while most men could deal with her being a single mother or her overbearing father, they couldn't handle both. So she avoided men in general, not as a rule, but because it was easier than having to deal with the disapproving looks from her parents or being disappointed by men.

  It wasn't that she'd given up on finding love—or hell, even finding someone for some no-holds-barred sex—however, at the end of the day, she was too damn tired to deal with the hassle.

  After she'd entered the lifestyle rather ubiquitously a couple of years ago, she had utilized her cousin's club as the one place where she could have her sexual needs met away from her parents' interference, and where she didn't need to worry about little ears hearing something he should not. These visits to the Dungeon Fantasy Club didn't happen often, since she had to get her parents to watch Colin. They adored their grandson, and were only too happy to help—or at least, her mom was, her dad still held a grudge against her being an unwed mother. He loved Colin, to be sure, but he held himself back, refusing to show affection.

  And that was why, when Veronica had received the invitation from Declan, she'd all but moved heaven and earth to be able to come for a visit. That way she could sate the needs and desires she had yearned for lately, without worrying about being overheard. She had planned on using her membership in the Dungeon Fantasy Club to its fullest extent, but Hunter's unexpected presence made the whole thing bloody awkward.

  Veronica finished putting her toiletries in the sizeable bathroom, which had a decidedly large, claw-foot tub that beckoned one to relax. She was just considering taking advantage of said bathtub when her mobile phone rang. Her favorite little man's face in a cheeky toothless smile blossomed on the screen. Love for him swamped her. Until she'd had him, she had not known how fiercely she could love someone.

  "Hi baby! How's it going at Oma and Opa's house?"

  "Mama, Opa let me take orders at the pub! He's teaching me how to run the place." Colin's excited chatter warmed her heart, and she reclined on the nearby leather loveseat the color of charred embers. Her Da did have his moments when it came to Colin.

  "Is he now? And did you like it?" If he said no or was unhappy at his grandparents', she'd cut her trip short in a heartbeat. Colin's happiness and wellbeing mattered to her more than anything else, including her own.

  "It was great. Old man Cameron gave me a tip, too." That old gobshite typically was a right foul git, but Colin had a way with people, charming even that surly bastard.

  "That's wonderful, baby. Your cousin Declan said to tell you hello, and he hopes to see you next time. Tell me about your day so far."

  Veronica settled back into her seat, listening to his precocious voice prattle on about his day. Deep down she felt guilty for leaving him, even for such a short amount of time. And then she glanced at the luxurious bed, piled high with fluffy pillows, and its Victorian, black wrought iron frame giving the appearance of cathedral stained-glass windows. It looked like heaven, and made her consider just spending the night in her room instead of going to the club. She could take a luxurious bath, order room service, and snuggle into bed for a blissful, undisturbed eight hours of sleep.

  "Gotta go, Mama, Oma and I are going to bake brown bread."

  "Be good. Love you to the moon and back, baby."

  "Love you too, Mama."

  At the knock on the door, Veronica almost dropped her phone. Wondering who it could be, she strode over and opened the heavy oak door. And then she wished she had pretended she was no longer in her room.

  Hunter.

  He'd aged far too well. At thirty-five, his six-foot frame was still powerfully built, from his broad muscular shoulders that tapered down to a narrow waist and long lean legs. He dominated the space with his alpha energy, and made her internal organs forget why she'd broken it off with him all those years ago.

  Even wearing nothing more than a black, long-sleeved tee-shirt and jeans, the man was downright fuckable. It wasn't fair. Couldn't he have gone bald or grown a beer belly instead of being drop-dead gorgeous and tangling up her sentimental heart?

  Being this close to him, she could smell him, that scent that had always been uniquely Hunter. The dark, delicious arom
a that made her think of woodsy campfires and fresh cut cedar. The combination with his own natural body chemistry and pheromones had always made her want to rub her face in his chest and cuddle as close as possible. It infuriated her that after all this time, he could ignite her passions just by being him.

  "What can I do for you, Hunter?" Veronica's voice dripped with annoyance. Her left hand planted itself on her hip while she held the door open with her right.

  "Got a moment? We need to talk." With his hands shoved in his jeans pockets, he gave her this unassuming, innocent, Catholic school boy look.

  It made her want to slam the door in his face.

  "No we don't. There's nothing for us to talk about." The man had a lot of nerve showing up at her door this way, like he owned the place.

  "Dammit, Roni." Hunter advanced into her room without warning.

  When his body brushed against hers, she wasn't prepared for the sizzling live wire that zapped through her system. Out of self-preservation, she retreated a few steps as he shut her door behind him, trapping her in with him. Alone, with Hunter? Not good. In fact, in the dictionary next to bad ideas, she was positive it said being alone with Hunter. When it came to him, there was nothing but a string of poor life choices and heartbreak.

  "Yes, we do—need to talk, that is. I didn't realize you and Declan were related. He never mentioned you." He ran a hand through his tousled, sun-kissed golden hair.

  "Why does it matter?" So Declan was her cousin, why was Hunter all bent out of shape about it? She was the one who should be losing her mind over it, not the other way around.

  "Look, Declan's one of my best friends. I don't want our past differences to potentially harm his nuptials."

  "Excuse me? Our past differences? Has Hollywood rotted your brain? You actually think I'd do something that would ruin my cousin's wedding, like throw a hissy fit, over you? Wow, your ego astounds me. Do you really believe that I've been sitting around moping after you all these years?"

  His emerald gazed scorched her with a glance. "It wouldn't be the first time it's happened."

  Something inside Veronica snapped. Maybe it was all the sleepless nights she'd had in the last ten years, maybe it was the fact that seeing him, being this near him again, was transforming her insides into quicksand charged with a million volts of electricity, or maybe it was the startling realization that after all this time, he could still make her feel more than any other man ever had—and most likely ever would.

  "Get the hell out of my room." She shoved against his chest, attempting to maneuver him toward the door. "How dare you barrel in here, uninvited, and then insult me while you're at it?" Her body shook with the sheer force of her rage.

  At her next shove, he caught her wrists. With his superior strength, he repositioned them until he had them manacled behind her back, his hands acting like handcuffs. The contact of his skin against hers felt like she'd put her hands in a smelting fire. In this position, the iron bands of his arms acted like a cage and surrounded her. They pressed her body up against his, smooshing her breasts against the hard planes and muscled contours of his chest.

  "Dammit, Roni, cut it out," he snarled, his temper flaring as he gave her a thunderous glare. A muscle in his angular jaw ticked. Up this close, she could see the individual flecks of gold amidst the dark forest green of his eyes.

  Stunned by his swift movements and ability to render her feeble attempts to remove him from her room ineffective, Veronica frowned at him. Restrained against him, her stomach did a series of back flips as his emerald eyes blazed with fury and simmered with something far more dangerous to her composure. Her knees trembled and she fought against the corresponding onslaught as her body responded to the desire flaring between them. She opened her mouth to blast him, to tell him to go to hell, to reclaim her sense of self before it was too late.

  On a muttered curse, Hunter's lips captured hers. Her brain short-wired and fried as he commanded a response from her. Veronica whimpered at the exquisite feel of him. All their years apart melted away as he drank in her surprised moans and ravished her mouth. Hunter claimed her with a kiss, showing her with more than words that nothing between them was settled. Proving that, as much as she had pretended she had gotten over him, it had all been for show. He kissed her brainless. The only man who'd ever done so.

  Hunter steered her body, never breaking contact with her lips until she felt the hard firmness of the wall solidly against her back. He kept her hands imprisoned at the small of her back with one of his, and her body responded to his overbearing control. He used his big frame to govern her movements, pressing his muscled form against hers, crowding her against the wall. In a word, he felt marvelous. He tasted of cinnamon as his tongue plunged inside her mouth for a heated battle as she returned his fervor.

  Lust blasted between them. Veronica couldn't get enough of him, his kiss, or get close enough. He conquered her as he changed the angle of the kiss, tilting her head back and drinking in her startled cries. No man had ever kissed her the way Hunter did, like he wanted to take possession of her body, mind, and soul. In the back of her mind, she knew she needed to put a stop to this, that kissing Hunter, inviting him back into her life, was a road filled with land mines better left untraversed.

  But by all that was holy, Veronica couldn't tear herself away from his mouth. Not when he was kissing her mindless with all the confidence and demeanor of a Dom. It had been so long since she had been mastered in any way, and his kisses, the sinful feel of him pressed up against her, breached the floodgates of her emotions. Her body responded to his nearness. He'd been the one she'd woken up at night craving all these years. He was the one she'd wished for in the dead of night.

  And just as surely as he'd broken her heart all those years ago, leaving her shattered, bleeding, and wondering how she could have ever believed him when he'd said he loved her, he'd do so again if given the chance.

  Veronica fought her desire for Hunter. In the intervening years they'd been apart it had grown to epic proportions. Tugging against his hand, she attempted to free her wrists from the prison it created while his tongue thrust inside her mouth and sent whirls of desire shuttling through her body. She stifled a groan as lightning arced through her system. When she couldn't get him to release her wrists, she did the first thing that came to mind. She sucked his lower lip into her mouth and bit down until he yelped.

  "Christ, Roni! What the fuck?" Hunter released her like he was dropping a hot pan out of the oven.

  Serves him right. His body vibrated with fury as he rubbed his injured lower lip.

  "Do not touch me again without my permission. And I'm here to tell you that you don't have it. Now get out of my room." She marched the few feet to the door and yanked it open—more as a way to get away from him, otherwise she'd do something remarkably stupid like make amends for hurting his lip by attaching her own to various parts of his body.

  Hunter glared, unmoving but for a slight tick in his clean shaven angular jaw, his lips pursed in a firm, no nonsense line. He stalked toward her and the door. Veronica did her best to appear as though his prowling approach, his nearness, didn't affect her in the slightest. On the inside, she trembled, holding herself together by sheer, stubborn force of will.

  When he reached the door, he said, "This isn't over, not by a long shot."

  "It's been over for ten damn years. And I'm not looking for a walk down memory lane. Now, if you don't mind…" She nodded toward the hall.

  Hunter grudgingly crossed the threshold and twisted as he did so, giving her a final assessing glance. If she were made of less staunch stuff, Veronica would have caved right then and there as her bones turned to jelly under his gaze. Before he could issue a rejoinder, she spurred herself into action.

  "Goodbye, Hunter," she said as unemotionally as possible, closing and locking her door with an assertive thud and driving the point home that he was unwelcome.

  Tremors seized her as she backed away from the door and sank onto the nearby
chair. Veronica was terrified that he was right. Nothing was finished between them. Not when a simple kiss could slash her heart open like a fileting knife and make her bleed.

  Chapter Three

  The little termagant! She had bitten the crap out of Hunter's lower lip.

  Un-fucking-believable. There were teeth mark indents where she'd drawn blood.

  Thank Christ they were hidden on the inside of his mouth, otherwise the Doms of the DFC would never let him live it down. And there was the small issue of having to explain where he'd gotten the marks from. Hunter was positive Declan would not appreciate him kissing his cousin, regardless that he'd done much more with her than that in the past.

  He sauntered to Declan's office with the grace of a man who knew his place in the world. He liked Declan's home. The history and understated wealth fit his friend, and was more of an extension of the man himself. The ivory walls, lined with masterpieces from some of the world's most renowned artists, interspersed with Scottish artifacts, lent an unexpected warmth and hominess to the manor.

  Hunter's place in Beverly Hills, which he'd recently put on the market, was a show piece with its Spanish style frame, but it had never truly felt like home to him—more like an accomplishment and status symbol. The house had served a purpose in his career as a way to impress industry peers and as a place to host lavish parties. One did not entertain an Oscar winning director or studio executives in squalor. But for all its grandiose flair, the house was a cold mausoleum.