by Jenna Jacob
RESISTING MY SUBMISSION
The Doms of Genesis, Book 7
Jenna Jacob
Resisting My Submission
The Doms of Genesis, Book 7
Jenna Jacob
Published by Jenna Jacob
Copyright © 2017 Dream Words, LLC
Nook Edition
Edited by: Blue Otter Editing, LLC
ISBN 978-0-9982284-3-3
If you have purchased a copy of this eBook, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book. This purchase allows you one legal copy for your own personal reading enjoyment on your personal computer or device. You do not have the rights to resell, distribute, print, or transfer this book, in whole or in part, to anyone, in any format, via methods either currently known or yet to be invented, or upload to a file sharing peer to peer program. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. If you no longer want this book, you may not give your copy to someone else. Delete it from your computer. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.
Dedicated
To
Lady M. & Master G.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Tweleve
Chapter Thirteen
About the Author
Other Titles by Jenna Jacob
CHAPTER ONE
“Oh, for the love of…leather! If I wanted to hang upside down, I’d be a sub who liked suspension,” I grumbled, teetering on tiptoes as I stretched my five-foot nothing frame inside the frosty chest cooler. My face and arms were nearly numb, and my boobs threatened to spill out the top of my corset as I quickly counted bottles of pineapple juice. Just when I thought I’d managed to keep the girls free of freezer burn, my left breast plopped out. The sudden blast of cold air caused my nipple to pucker like a trucker’s ass on icy roads. I gnashed my teeth, hissed out a curse, and wiggled from the arctic metal bastard.
“Sixty-seven. Sixty-seven.” Repeating the number out loud, I branded it to my brain. I had no desire to shove my body back inside the contraption and recount the bottles.
If not for André Perugia—the misogynistic prick who’d invented stilettos—taking the weekly beverage inventory at Club Genesis would truly suck. Truth be told, André wasn’t a prick, but my hero. His designs fed my raging shoe addiction and aided me with much-needed height. To give off a larger-than-life appearance for a Domme was pretty important shit.
I tucked my wayward boob back inside my corset and quickly jotted down the number of juice bottles on the requisite spreadsheet as the phone began to ring.
“Club Genesis. Sammie speaking. Can I help you?”
“Hey, it’s Dylan,” the blond, blue-eyed Dom with endearing dimples announced.
“Hey, doll. What’s up?”
“Everything, and all of it bad.”
“Uh-oh. What’s wrong?”
“We were on our way to the club”—by we, I assumed he meant himself, fellow Dominant Nick, and their shared submissive, Savannah, a.k.a. Sanna—“when a pimple-faced kid, texting while driving, rear-ended us.”
“Oh, my god. Is everyone all right?”
“Nick and I are fine, but Sanna might have slight whiplash. We’re going to run her by the ER and have her checked out.”
“No, we’re not. I told you. I’m fine,” Savannah insisted in the background.
I couldn’t help but smirk. The poor girl could argue until she was blue in the face; it wouldn’t change the minds of her Masters. I, too, would want professional assurance for my own peace of mind.
“Keep me posted on what you find out at the hospital. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Actually, there is. My former captain from the corps is supposed to meet me at the club in ten minutes. Do you mind keeping my man Max out of trouble till we get there?”
“Can I cuff him to a cross?” I teased.
“Good luck trying. He’s on our team. The man eats, breathes, and shits Dominance, but he’s a good guy. Just introduce him around to the other Doms if you don’t mind. You won’t have to worry about the subs, they’ll come to him…in hordes.”
“So you’re saying he’s a looker, huh?”
“He doesn’t do shit for me, but the ladies sure like him,” Dylan chuckled. “Fuck. Gotta go. The cops are pulling up. We’ll be there as soon as we can. Thanks.”
I hung up the phone, sent out a thank you to the universe that none of the three were seriously hurt. A chill slid through me thinking of trekking to the hospital yet again. There’d been a string of bad luck lately where my friends had survived one disaster or another. It was time for the dark cloud of doom to hang over someone else’s head for a while.
Counting my blessings, I wiped down the bar and glanced at the clock. An hour from now, Club Genesis—Chicago’s premier BDSM dungeon—would be teeming with my lifestyle family busy getting their kink on. My job was to serve drinks and keep the bar running smoothly, but on slow nights, I often had the chance to scene with some of the subs. It was a dream job, at least for me.
From the front of the club, I heard someone pounding on the door. I knew it had to be Dylan’s friend. The usual club members knew to wait until I unlocked the place. After pushing past the thick velvet curtains, I released the lock. When I opened the door, a wall of a man stood staring at me. Head shaved, he was dressed in tight leather pants and a white wife-beater. Colorful tattoos covered copious muscles bulging from beneath taut bronze skin. His twinkling emerald-colored eyes slid over me like a caress. I could all but feel his fingers stroking my blonde curls, crimson-colored corset, and black leather pencil skirt with the slit up the side, all the way to my glossy red stilettos. Slowly, a sexy, flirtatious smile speared his lips and sent my heart skipping inside my chest.
“My, my. What a lovely sight you are. Tell me, little one…are you owned?”
His honey-velvet voice had probably lured more women to wrap their lips around him than free coffee from Starbucks. Hell, I’d gladly stand in line for a chance to dance the horizontal mambo with this hunk. There were a couple major flaws with my fantasy. First, he was a fellow Dominant. Even a one-night stand would be pointless. Secondly, his assumption that I was a submissive scraped my pride like fingernails down a chalkboard. I wanted to drive the tip of my Louis Vuittons between his legs and send him to his knees like a good little sub…another useless fantasy.
Flashing him a plastic smile, I stared straight into his hypnotic green eyes and extended my hand. “Sammie…Mistress Sammie. You must be Dylan’s friend…”
“Mistress?” He gaped and paused, then flashed me a mischievous smile. “Now…isn’t that a pity?”
My girl parts tingled.
He’s a Dominant, the little voice in the back of my head reminded. I simply sent him a tight smile.
His voice was gentle
, but his eyes pierced through me. With just a blink, I felt him delving into the deepest recesses of my soul as if wanting to discover all my hidden secrets. The fact that I couldn’t control my hormones from pinging off each other in some wild sexual dance or the carnal heat spontaneously combusting between my legs pissed me off and sent my inner bitch to rise to the surface.
No man was allowed to control me. I controlled them!
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mistress. I’m Maximus Gunn, but all my friends call me Max.”
“Maximus Gunn, huh?” I scoffed. “Is that your stripper or porn name?”
Seriously? You had to go there, didn’t you? Could you be any more insulting to Dylan’s friend?
Yes, I could, but needed to shut the fuck up. It would be much safer and kinder.
Max’s eyes widened briefly at my insult before a lazy smile stretched across his inviting lips. He started to laugh, a deep, rich tenor that slid over me like warm honey. Goose bumps erupted over my flesh. Why was I so viscerally attracted to this guy?
Because that man candy standing before you could put Hershey’s out of business. And you’ve got a sweet tooth the size of Texas when it comes to strapping, hot studs like him!
I did, but that was beside the point. Max was a Dom. He commanded women to their knees—with very little encouragement, I suspected. He could dazzle me all day and I still wouldn’t fall to his feet. I was a Domme, dammit! It was high time I started acting like one, too.
“I’ve never been a stripper and gave up my porn star days long ago.” He smirked with a wink. My knees started to wobble and I steadied myself against the doorframe. Max then suddenly turned serious.
“That’s good to know.” I forced a chuckle. “It’s also good to know you have a sense of humor.”
“I do. Is there anything else you’d like to know about me?”
How many inches is your cock and can you lick your eyebrows?
I bit my tongue as a blush warmed my face. “Nope. I’m good, thanks. Come on in.”
When I pulled the door open, Max brushed past me. His wide shoulder inadvertently scraped my breasts. My nipples tingled and stood straight to attention. I bit back a curse and locked the door behind him before leading Max into the dungeon.
Glancing over my shoulder, I saw him smiled as he took in the club. “Nice place.”
“Thank you. Mika, the owner, puts a lot of blood, sweat, and tears into Genesis.”
I rounded the bar as Max took a seat on a barstool. I found the intense and unwavering stare he’d locked on me unnerving. If he’d been a sub, I would have ordered him to drop his gaze until I gave him permission to look at me, but he wasn’t.
No, his command was thick, palpable and intimidating. As Dylan had so succinctly stated—which was a glaring understatement—Max really did eat, breathe, and shit Dominance.
I could deal with an alpha-Dom. What I couldn’t deal with was his dissecting stare. The man studied me as if he were peeling back my layers, searching for a hint of…
Oh, hell no!
A rush of panic slammed me, sending adrenaline to thunder through my veins. I had to tear his focus off me and fast.
“Dylan is going to be a bit late and asked that I introduce you to the members. He, Nick, and Savannah were in a little fender bender on the way to the club. They’re not hurt,” I hastily added as a look of horror climbed Max’s face, “but Dylan’s worried Sanna might have slight whiplash.”
“Thank god they’re okay. And he of all people would know if Savannah needed medical care. Dylan was one hell of a sniper, but he should have been a medic. He’s dressed more field wounds than I can count.”
When Max suddenly raised his T-shirt and pointed to a pink scar beneath his ribs, I nearly moaned. Though I glanced at the wound for a nanosecond, my gaze was stalled on his stony six-pack. My mouth went dry. The horny, lonely woman within wanted to tie him down beneath some soft, silk rope and lick every inch of his marbled flesh before riding him like a wild stallion. Of course, I knew it would take the National Guard and a couple dozen tanks to even attempt to restrain the man, but that didn’t stop me from dreaming. I forced my eyes back to the scar.
“See? He even patched me up.”
“That doesn’t look like a war wound, more like a battle scar from taking the wrong hellcat to bed,” I scoffed.
Okay, so I was being a bitch, an unwelcoming bitch at that. I was deflecting—in all the wrong ways—the terror and anxiety he provoked that raged inside me. There was no way I’d ever allow him to see how flustered and panicked he made me.
Max scowled. His dark brows slashed at my inept veil of humor. Long, silent minutes passed while the muscles in his jaw twitched and his emerald eyes took on a haunted dullness.
Inwardly cursing myself for being so rude and flippant, I wanted to take my stupid comment back, but it was too late.
“Dylan hooked up with my unit in Ramadi after his captain and most of his team were wiped out in Anbar. One afternoon we were pinned down under heavy fire, next to a shelled-out building. Insurgents were crawling all around us. We’d accidently walked into a fucking Allah ambush. We were definitely SITFU…stuck in the fuck up.”
Max’s voice was brittle, matching the hard expression on his face. Though he was sitting in front of me, I knew his mind was miles away reliving a hell I couldn’t…didn’t want to imagine. Guilt for sending him back there made me feel two inches tall.
“Dylan was at my six as we tried to take out as many as we could. My battery-operated grunt was calling in coordinates for an air strike when a bullet sailed through the side of my body armor. I kept firing though it stung like a motherfucker. When Dylan saw the blood, he broke open a butt pack and fixed me up. The cavalry soon landed a few mortars and we got the fuck out of there.” Slowly, Max began to focus and a weak smile curled the edges of his lips. “I would have had a hell of a lot more fun getting this scar from a hellcat in bed though.”
I had the decency to send him an apologetic smile. I had no idea what to say…sorry for stirring up the horrific memories? Sorry I got my nose out of joint when you thought I was a sub? Sorry for being such a malevolent bitch because you scare the fuck out of me and make me feel like you can see what’s buried inside me?
Max wasn’t the enemy. My stupid insecurities were. I needed to lower my defenses and stop treating the man like a surgeon bent on slicing open my secrets and start acting human!
“Would you like something to drink?”
“What do you have?”
“Sodas, juices, water…flavored waters, and tea. What can I get for you?”
Once again, he leveled me with a penetrating gaze that left me feeling open and exposed. A foreboding chill slid down my spine.
“You sure you’re a Domme? ’Cause the way you word things sounds an awful lot like a submissive.”
A tremor of fear solidly shook my body. In an instant, I began slapping bricks and mortar around me. I swallowed tightly and lifted my chin. “I run the bar. It’s my job to ask the question. Either I can get you something to drink or you can strip off your clothes and step up to one of the crosses. I’ll be more than happy to show you exactly how un-submissive—”
“Whoa, easy.” Max held up his hands in surrender. “I was only teasing.”
Get a grip. The man isn’t a psychic, palm reader, or seer of visions in a crystal ball. Max doesn’t know shit about you. He’s simply pulling your chain…and you’re letting him! Stop!
“Hey, Sammie.” Breaching the archway from the hall that housed the members’ private rooms, Mika headed toward the bar. As he eyed Max, the club owner’s expression grew suspicious. “Everything okay?”
“Fine as frog hair,” I replied with a lightheartedness I didn’t feel. After introducing him to Max, I peeked around Mika’s shoulder. “Is Julianna with you tonight?”
“No. Just me. She’s home watching Tristan and Hope. But Drake and Trevor just pulled into the lot as I came in.”
Julian
na, known as Emerald at the club, was not only Mika’s slave but the mother of their child, Tristan. She was also the surrogate birth mother of Hope, Drake and Trevor’s six-month-old daughter.
“Tomorrow night, the guys are taking babysitting duty. I plan to bring my mouthy slave to the club and give her a much-needed attitude adjustment.” Mika’s eyes danced in delight. “I’m going to paddle the sass out of her.”
I grinned. “Are you sure you have enough hands to get that job done?”
“I only need one and a big paddle.” Mika beamed as he sat down next to Max. “Can we get you something to drink, man?”
I flashed Dylan’s friend a derisive smirk, all but daring him to make the same submissive comment to Mika.
Max refused to take the bait and simply chuckled. “Do you have any pineapple juice by chance?”
Of course he wanted the one drink I had to nearly crawl inside the damn cooler to reach.
“We sure do.” I smiled and gritted my teeth.
Sliding the metal lid open, I clutched the front of my corset before diving headfirst into the frigid unit. Grasping the can, I wiggled back. Max had lifted off the barstool, wearing a sly grin as he ogled my ass.
Prick!
I slammed the can on the bar and turned my focus on Mika, dismissing Max altogether. “What can I get you to drink, boss?”
Clearly sensing the undercurrent crackling in the air, Mika simply grinned and shook his head. Seconds later, Daddy Drake—who, until Max arrived, had been the biggest, baddest tattooed Dom in the club—strolled through the archway, leash in hand and wearing a grin. At his side, naked—except for a thick, leather collar attached to the leash his Master held—was Drake’s submissive, life partner, and co-parent of Hope, Trevor. The willowy blond sub’s boyish features looked none too happy.
“Uh-oh. Is someone spending time with me, chained to the bar tonight?” I asked.
Trevor stuck out his bottom lip and sent a pleading look Drake’s way.
