Mr. Anderson peeked his head out of his door, his long jowls swinging back and forth as he stared at her. He sniffed the air as if he were a bloodhound on the trail of some delicious treat.
Look and weep.
Veronica smiled and waved back as she stepped out on the street.
I’ll be back soon enough.
Right after I bust this guy’s balls.
Sub that.
* * * * *
Oliver paced around his living room, trying hard not to look at the clock.
She’s coming here. Here to my home. What was I thinking?
It’d been an instinctive reaction to the mess at her apartment to relocate their session to here, to where he had total control over the environment. There was no way he could see her in that flat, that tiny apartment. Her nosy neighbor almost guaranteed at least one visit from the police for a noise complaint, if not more, and he really had no urge to try to explain to a cop the idea of safe, sane and consensual.
Especially if Veronica decided to act up, and he had no doubt she’d be on her worst behavior for this first visit.
Not to mention it’d be a constant fight for control working in her personal space on her battleground.
This is much better.
It is.
The logical part of his mind marched through the argument again, trying to drown out his nervousness.
She’s coming here.
He couldn’t take her to a club, any club. There was no way he could do what he wanted to do in the very places she’d started misbehaving in. It was like taking a diabetic to a candy store for a sugar-free lunch.
He needed total control.
To do what?
The same as you do with all your past clients. Break her down. Make her face herself and embrace her submissive desires. Make her realize she needs—
A Master?
Are you the right man for the job?
His attention darted to a picture hanging on the wall. It’d been taken on a beach in Mexico, the water a tranquil blue and the sand a perfect white.
Melissa.
She wore a white dress and was waving her wide-brimmed hat at the photographer as she hugged Oliver and laughed.
He’d been in a foul mood that day courtesy of a report about a bad manager in one of the stores. Bad being criminal—the man in question had been caught with his hand in the till, and now police reports had to be filed and the situation dealt with. It’d put a damper on their vacation.
Mel’s laughing had brought him out of his grumpiness again as it always had. She’d tugged on his ear and told him to take it easy on the manager; maybe there was a reason for his actions.
“Maybe there’s more to this,” she had whispered. “He’s been with you for over five years. It’s worth looking behind the scenes as to why he’s doing this.”
Her suggestion resulted in an internal investigation showing the man had a gambling problem.
Oliver refused to press charges. Instead, he demoted the man, paid for counseling and reassigned him to another store under a new watchful manager.
He hadn’t heard a peep from the ex-gambler in years.
Mel had always seen the best in people. She’d balanced him out, kept him grounded when life got too crazy.
She’d been his world, his keystone.
The hollow ache in his heart had lessened over the years but there was still enough to make him feel like he’d been punched in the gut.
Veronica deserved a chance to find out who she really was, who she was meant to be.
And he was the one to do it.
Chapter Four
The address had placed Oliver’s house on the edge of the rich residential area known as Forest Hill. She wasn’t surprised given the man’s fortune that he lived there.
She was surprised at the mansion waiting at the end of the short driveway.
It was deceptively simple architecture, the three-story building sprawling out to the back on the two-plus acres she could see. The perfectly manicured lawn could have held a soccer field if marked off properly and the roses adorning the front garden impeccably pruned and cared for. It wasn’t as lavish as she expected it to be.
But the interior might be very different—
The cab pulled up to the doors with a squeal of brakes tearing at her ears. The driver tapped the fare box and waited for her to pay. He probably thought she was nuts, having spent the last few minutes idling at the end of the driveway.
She wasn’t going to show up early or late and provoke his wrath.
Not yet.
“Fifteen dollars.”
Veronica scowled as she dug in her wallet. “Receipt please.”
She’d be damned if she couldn’t find a way to write this off on her taxes.
As the cab roared off, she made her way up the three marble steps to the front door.
What the hell am I doing?
I could turn around and go home. Walk down to the corner and call a cab, wait for a bus.
And then what?
Veronica sighed in surrender.
I don’t have any other options. Not if I ever want to be able to step in a club again.
Don’t antagonize him to the point he throws you out. Just get him angry enough to sign off on your supposed rehabilitation, make him realize there’s nothing wrong with you.
It’d be a fine line to walk, but there was no way she was going to play submissive to his Dom for over a month.
She raised her hand to knock and froze, her nerve failing for the first time in years.
I can’t do this.
I can’t do this.
I can’t—
The door swung open before she could bolt.
Oliver stood there.
“Exactly two o’clock,” he said. “Good.” He offered his hand. “Please come on in.”
She stared at him.
He wore black leather pants and a black T-shirt, the darkness hugging his body in all the right places.
Her throat went dry as she ran her eyes over him.
I’m hungry. But I’m not the predator here.
I’m the prey.
“It’s okay.” He kept his hand extended, waiting for her. “Please.”
Veronica forced herself to put her hand in his and crossed the threshold.
The door closed behind her with a hollow thud.
Oliver felt her fingers tremble, the fear radiating out from her in frantic waves.
“You’re right on time. Thank you,” he said as they walked down the hallway.
She nodded, too busy studying the artwork.
“Old family portraits.” He stopped in front of a yellowed framed print. “This one is of my great grandfather in his World War One uniform. Met his wife at the first aid station where she was working as a nurse.” He couldn’t help chuckling. “Bet there were plenty of love stories like that.”
As they moved along, he pointed out various relatives and their history, simple tidbits he’d learned over the years. She nodded in reply but said little.
Her grip intensified, and Oliver felt her uneasiness at the leisurely gait he’d set.
You’re not used to small talk. You want to get to the main attraction fast and furiously. Time for you to learn the value of going slow.
He led her farther down the narrow hall. “Some of the old pictures were so degraded, it was a miracle we could get them back.”
Veronica stopped in front of a couple dressed in Victorian garb, the pale image circled by a deep rosewood frame. The blonde stared out at them with her arm tucked in the crook of a distant uncle possessing a handlebar moustache that had been the focus of many family jokes over time.
“She’s beautiful.” She stared at the black-and-white photograph.
“She is.�
�� A gentle tug kept her moving along. “As are you.”
A light blush touched her cheeks, and she looked away.
Not used to plain old compliments are you?
Oliver filed the information away.
He led her through the living room and into another hallway, this one with a handful of doors. Most of them led off to storage areas filled with old history.
Some not so much.
By the time he reached his target, her fingers were tightly wrapped around his, her nails digging into his flesh.
What are you so afraid of?
I’ll be here to catch you when you fall.
He gave her hand a squeeze. “We’ll be in here today.” He swung the door open.
Veronica wasn’t sure what she expected.
Maybe a clone of the private rooms from the clubs, decorated with a variety of whipping posts and spanking benches, a St. Andrew’s Cross set up in one corner or cuffs hanging from the ceiling. A box displaying the various toys available for use, a rack holding the floggers and paddles. Ball gags and masks, vibrators and butt plugs at the ready.
This—this wasn’t that.
She stepped in and stared at the books lining the walls. Thick, luscious dark red shag carpet ran the length of the room, ending at the bookcases filling every panel.
A chaise lounge sat in the middle of the room with a love seat nearby. Both had a red-and-black swirled pattern matching the rug. Overhead, a chandelier hung with a dimmer switch on the wall controlling the light intensity.
What the hell is—
“I know.” She spun to see Oliver grinning. “Not what you thought you’d see when you came in here.”
He swept his hand over the shelves. “Most people think it’s all about the toys. That doesn’t apply to just the sub/Dom relationship but to everything. First date, second date, engagement, marriage. BDSM or vanilla. Whatever you’re into, keep on buying the toys and tossing them into the mix. If it’s not a new cell phone, it’s a new car. If it’s not a new pair of cuffs, it’s a fresh new leather outfit. And every purchase ups the ante for the next time the sex gets boring and they’re looking for that thrill.”
He strolled by her to stand by the love seat and ran his hand over the soft fabric. “That’s where they make their first mistake.” Oliver tapped his temple with his index finger. “There’s a joke about how the best sex muscle is the brain, and they’re right. This is where all the magic happens.”
He crooked his finger at her. “Come. Sit down.”
She moved to the small couch and settled herself on the plush cushions, dropping her purse on the floor.
Her pulse thudded in her ears as she felt his hands fall on her shoulders.
“The relationship between a sub and a Dom isn’t all about the sex. It’s not all about the paddling or the flogging or the blood play or whatever you’re into. It’s a mental space you share with your partner, where you give and take as you need. On both sides.”
He took hold of her leather jacket. “I thought I told you no leather.” His tone changed from the soft whisper to an angry snap.
His right hand curled at the base of her neck at the jacket’s collar, tightening his grip.
“I—” Veronica gasped as he pushed her forward with one hand on her shoulder while he yanked the jacket down with a sharp jerk behind her, pulling her hands and arms behind her.
A burst of fear had her thrashing to break free of the improvised restraints.
“No.” The heated whisper at her ear froze her in place as his arms went around her, cradling her and holding her tight. “Don’t.”
Veronica panted. “Let me go.”
“Tell me what you’re thinking.” The steady voice ran over her jagged nerves. “Tell me what’s going through your mind.”
“Let me go,” she repeated. She tried to move but couldn’t, as securely held in place as if he’d wrapped her in iron bars.
His interlinked fingers lay across her stomach. “Tell me.”
“You’re crazy. This is crazy. I don’t want to be here, and I don’t want you to touch me.” She spat the words out past the growing anxiety threatening to shut her mind down. “Let me go. You can’t do this to me.” Veronica fumbled for something to grab on to, to stop this insane spin of emotions rushing through her. “We haven’t even set up a safe-word.”
His hold lessened. “True. Tell me what it is.”
Veronica’s mind went blank.
“Come now,” Oliver whispered. “You’re no rookie. You know the routine. You’ve checked with every one of your submissives before starting a session as to what their safe-word is. Now I’m asking you to come up with one of your own. What’s the problem?”
“I’m not a sub,” she rasped as she struggled against his firm grip. She felt the fear bubbling up from inside.
I’m not a sub.
I need to be in control.
His tone left no room for discussion. “When you’re here with me, you are. As you agreed to when you signed the contract.” He pulled his arms away. “But I’m not going to force you against your will. If you really want to leave I won’t keep you here.”
The cool air hit her exposed skin where he’d been touching her, sending shivers up her arms. “I can’t leave until you sign that damned form.” She ground the words out through clenched teeth. “I’ll never get back into the clubs. I can’t go.”
“Well then. The matter’s settled.” His hands descended on her shoulders, the heat from his palms burning through the thin T-shirt. “Let’s take this slow. Start at the beginning. Your safe-word is—”
“Chai.” She blurted out the first thing that came into her mind. Her cheeks felt hot as she realized the silliness of the word.
“Chai it is.” He squeezed lightly. “Was that so hard?”
“It’s a stupid word,” she spat out.
“I’ve heard stupider,” Oliver said. “As you have. The point of a safe-word is to make it something difficult but not impossible to remember. Something you’re not likely to toss out in the throes of passion by mistake.” He whispered in her ear. “When you’re not in control of yourself.”
She twisted her head from side to side.
“So do you want to leave it at chai?”
“Yes.” Veronica pulled at the self-made restraints. “This is hurting me. Let me go.”
Oliver let out a low chuckle. “Are you going to safe-word out on me and end this session? Really?”
She stopped moving, assessing the situation.
Don’t be a wimp, she berated herself. You can handle this. You can handle him.
You need him to sign the damned form.
Keep your eyes on the prize.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“Don’t worry, I’ll let you go. But not yet.” He began to massage her shoulders, his fingers unerringly seeking out the tense muscle knots she’d compiled as of late. “Let’s talk about things.”
“Things?” She laughed. “Going all Dickens on me?”
His fingers paused. “Excuse me?”
“The time has come to talk about many things. Cabbages and kings?” She allowed herself a smile, sensing the confusion behind her. “You’re not the only one who’s read books.”
“Ah.” The massage resumed. “I like a woman who appreciates the classics. So let’s talk about what you think a Domme’s responsibility is.”
Veronica sighed. This was a conversation she’d had more than a few times. “Don’t hurt the boy, and give him what he wants. He wants to be paddled, you paddle him. He wants to be flogged, you flog him. When he safe-words out, you stop.”
“Fair enough. And what does he get out of your interaction?”
“A sore ass, if I’m doing it right.” She laughed.
“And what does it do for you?” The warm air caresse
d the back of her neck. “What do you get while you’re giving him a sore ass?”
“Hot. Bothered.” She shifted in her seat, a flush of heat singing through her veins at the memories. “If I like the boy and he’s done well, I give him a good screw.”
The soft chuckle echoed around the room. “And you think you’re that good for them to hold out for, hold on through the pain for that honor?”
“I’m damned good.” Veronica forgot her nervousness and twisted her head around to glare at Oliver. “I’m worth it. A reward for those who get that far.” She turned back to stare straight ahead. “I’ve never had any complaints,” she bragged.
“Probably because they don’t dare talk back to you.” He laughed. “Let’s take a step further back. How did you get into this lifestyle?” His hands continued the gentle rubbing. “Don’t tell me you found a Domme course in university.”
She couldn’t help giggling at the mental image. “I wish. That’d be one popular class.”
“I could have used one,” Oliver confessed. “Put it right in there next to student orientation. Call it something like BDSM basics and see the crowd rush to sign up. So how did you become a Domme?
Veronica felt herself relaxing under the double dose of calm talking and the massage. “I actually found out through a friend.”
“A boyfriend?”
“No. A girl friend. And not in the way you’re thinking, you pervert.” Veronica leaned back into the massage and sighed. “It was my roomie, first year at university. She was the social butterfly and got invited to all the parties. Of course she dragged me along for safety—make sure we both got home okay.”
“A wise precaution to take,” Oliver said. “Better to be safe than sorry, especially when alcohol is involved.”
“There was a racy party one night, and she went all in leather, took her current boyfriend along on a leash. Told us she’d seen it online, one of her video channels.” The memory flashed, bright and hot in her mind. “It was pretty kinky compared to what we’d been used to. Public flogging, a bit of an orgy—in retrospect, it was all pretty silly. I’m sure half of those people had no idea what they were doing.”
Oliver’s grunt encouraged her to keep talking.
Strictly Pleasure: Hooded Pleasures, Book 2 Page 5
