“No,” she snapped harshly. “I’ve let this go on long enough. You need this, Maddox. You are the only one capable of helping her see past her fears, because you are the only one who has been to the same hell—and never even tried to come back from it.”
“I haven’t slept with a woman in six years. How the fuck can you sit there and tell me I should fuck Allen’s little sister?”
“I said no such thing, and stop being a whiny little shit. I said you could help her get past her fear of Doms, not that you should drag her home and fuck her the way you want to do to Riley. Stop thinking with your dick, Maddox. This could help both of you get past your fears and stop denying yourselves what you really, truly need. If she can get comfortable around you, a true Dom, then maybe she’ll be able to accept that part of herself and figure out what she truly needs. Because it sure as shit isn’t a wannabe Alpha male with cock-envy issues. Understand me?”
He winced. “All right, all right. I understand. And you’re right, I am thinking with my dick. Sorry. Force of habit. Especially around you.”
She laughed. “Forgiven. We’ll see you bright and early tomorrow. Have the house in the middle set up for her. Fewer access points, that way.” And she hung up on him.
Maddox tossed the phone onto the bed, heaving a great big sigh as he flopped back onto his back. Sidri had done it again—steam-rolled right over his protests, done exactly what she wanted to do without even a by-your-leave. She did that to everyone, though, so he couldn’t really be offended. Sidri was a force of nature, after all.
Still, that didn’t mean she was absolutely correct in this case. If Amber really was afraid of Doms, if she really did have a reason to back up her fears, then Maddox was the very last person who should be looking after her. He had no business, none, getting involved with a female sub, ever again.
Not after what he’d done to one, six years ago.
Memory assaulted him. He was twenty-two, just coming to accept himself as a sexual Dominant. He’d met Sidri and Tatum in a club one night, the very first time he’d ever been to one. The two of them were so electrifying, every single person in the place was watching them, waiting to see who they would choose for the night. Knowing he probably wasn’t on their radar, Maddox had been relaxing at the bar, just taking in the atmosphere, when he felt a tap on his shoulder.
Tatum stood behind him, a living, breathing wall of overwhelming male sexuality. His big, sensitive hand wrapped around Maddox’s shoulder, forcing him to turn and look up into impossibly blue eyes. “You’ve never been here before,” Tatum said, absolute assurance in his voice.
Maddox licked his lips, shook his head.
Tatum nodded. “You’re not for us,” he said quietly, “but maybe we can help you get past some of those insecurities. Being Dominant doesn’t mean you already know the whole handbook by heart. Join us tonight. I promise, we’ll make it worth your while.”
Maddox had had to fight to swallow, overwhelmed by lust for another man. It wasn’t the first time—he’d known he was bi since he was twelve—but it was the first time he’d ever wanted to drop to his knees in front of one. Though he already knew his natural tendencies leaned toward being a Dom, Tatum was so much more than he could ever hope to be that Maddox found himself fighting the need to kneel, to prostrate himself before the man’s sheer physical perfection. He fought it, barely.
That is, until Sidri walked up to them.
Sex walking, he thought, blood draining toward his dick so fast his head spun. Woozily, not even aware of it, he lifted from his bar stool and dropped to his knees, right at her feet.
“Well aren’t you a treasure,” she said in that silky, sexy voice of hers. She tipped his chin up, forced him to meet her emerald-green eyes. “I do love seeing a Dominant man on his knees. Pity you don’t belong to us. Come now, on your feet. We have someone we’d like to introduce you to.”
Rising unsteadily, amazed at himself, Maddox cleared his throat. “Why? Why me? You don’t even know me.”
Tatum cocked an eyebrow as Sidri just smiled. “Not yet,” Tatum rumbled agreeably. “But we will, we will. We’ve seen you before, hanging around outside the club. Now that you’ve gotten up the courage to come inside, we felt it best we take you under our wing.” He paused, pinned Maddox in place with hard blue eyes. “There are many, many things a Dom needs to learn, Maddox. Many ways he needs to control himself during encounters with a sub. If you don’t, you could find yourself and your partner in a world of pain. We don’t want to see that happen to you. Or to your chosen submissive. Join us, and learn what we have to teach. I promise, you’ll enjoy the ride.”
Completely at a loss, Maddox just nodded. What followed was a hedonistic, intensely sexual encounter between the three of them and a club submissive, an encounter that stayed branded on his brain, from that day to this. He’d left the club that night, more certain of his sexuality than he’d ever been—and with two new best friends.
Months later, he’d met Trina. She was a beautiful girl, maybe twenty-two, with long black hair and soulful brown eyes, her skin the color of deep brown velvet. Something about her called to him on the deepest level of his psyche, and he knew in an instant she was a sexual submissive. He approached her, asked her out, and within a week, they were getting hot and heavy. She’d known there was something missing from her life, but until she met Maddox, she didn’t know what it was. He reveled in teaching her about being a submissive, reveled in showing her all the titillating ways he could Dominate her.
It wasn’t until she discovered she liked pain that things started going awry.
Sidri and Tatum, his teachers, were not into pain. Period. And though Sidri had taught him to use a crop and a whip, neither one of them fully condoned the practice of giving pain as pleasure. While they didn’t begrudge other people their needs, neither one of them ever chose a submissive who liked pain, and neither one of them would teach him any more about it than they already had.
And so, for the first time since he met the two of them, Maddox started exploring on his own. He and Trina dipped deeper and deeper into the world of BDSM, discovering that both of them had a kink for this harsher, grittier side of D/s. Trina absolutely loved being punished, would go out of her way to incite him to flog her or whip her. And he loved hearing her moans of pleasure, loved seeing the flush spread across her body every time the crop left its mark on that mouthwatering dark skin. Their sexual encounters started getting darker, more heated, and he couldn’t get enough.
Then, one night, Trina begged him to tie her up. She’d seen a woman get pillioned in the club they favored, and desperately wanted to experience it herself. Since they didn’t have the proper setup in her bedroom, he’d simply tied her arms and legs to the bedposts, keeping her spread-eagle while he decorated her body with tiny welts and stings. She’d been crazy with lust, begging him to go faster, harder, daring him to do his worst.
And something inside him snapped.
Later—much, much later—he came to himself. He was on top of her in the bed, still quaking from the most intense orgasm he’d ever had in his life, cock buried deep in her pussy as he shook and fought for air. He looked down into Trina’s gorgeous face—and that’s when he saw the bruises.
Horrified, he lifted off of her. Her whole body, face, head, and neck, were covered with ugly purple bruises. He’d gone at her so hard with that little whip he’d broken the skin in a few places, leaving little dribbles of blood on her sides, legs, and arms. She was shivering, crying uncontrollably, begging in a continuous whisper, “Stop. Please, please stop.” But he hadn’t heard her, hadn’t realized she’d discovered she didn’t like pain as much as she thought, hadn’t realized he’d lost control and gone from giving her what she wanted to hurting her on purpose.
Horrified, Maddox untied her and rushed her to the hospital. When the doctors asked if Trina wanted to press charges, he’d answered for her, saying yes, he deserved every punishment they chose to throw at him. But to his surpri
se, she’d refused, saying she didn’t want to deal with it. Dead inside, Maddox had left her there, in the ER, calling her sister on his way out the door so she would have a ride home.
He never spoke to her again. He couldn’t believe he’d lost control, couldn’t believe he’d hurt her so terribly, so remorselessly. And from that day to this one, he’d sworn off all women, convinced he couldn’t be gentle enough with them to avoid hurting someone else in the future.
The worst part was when he’d confessed his sins to Sidri and Tatum. He’d thrown himself to his knees before them, begged them to punish him, make him bleed for what he’d done to Trina. And Sidri, Goddess that she was, had just looked at him with pity in her gorgeous green eyes.
“I think the way you’re feeling now is punishment enough, don’t you?”
And it was. For the past six years, he’d hated himself for losing control, vowing to never put himself or anyone he cared about in that kind of position, ever again. He was still a Dom, still enjoyed taking a submissive to orgasm. But he never used restraints, and he never, never used pain.
Even though Sidri had said she didn’t know the details about what happened to Amber, they could both guess. The easiest way to damage a sub was to restrain them—then go way, way too far. Amber had probably been young, just exploring her sexuality. Probably gotten involved with a guy who thought he was Dominant, probably tried to experiment with restraints and flogging. If neither one of them knew what they were doing, it would have been frighteningly easy to go too far, for Amber to find herself trapped in a situation she didn’t know how to get out of. If that was the reason she feared Doms, Maddox didn’t blame her.
Maybe Sidri was right, though. Maybe, simply being around a Dom like him would help her get past some of her fears. He knew how she felt on the deepest, most intimate level possible. He understood the reason behind her fear, understood the feeling of betrayal and helplessness that could quickly overwhelm a person. For a true sub—or a true Dom—there was nothing more debilitating than having your core sexuality called into question. Being submissive or Dominant wasn’t a choice, wasn’t something that could be flipped on or off like a light switch. He understood the agony of desperately needing something while also desperately fearing that need.
He understood Amber, without even having met her. And because he could understand her so well, perhaps he would be able to help her. As long as he never touched her, never put her in a situation where she had cause to fear being taken advantage of, she might be able to get past some of those bad memories and move forward.
And maybe, just maybe, so could he.
Chapter 4
Amber sat in the passenger seat of Allen’s silver Viper and thought, How the hell does Allen deal with this every single day?
If this was what her brother’s life was like, being surrounded by Doms every day, she had no idea how he was still sane. Both Sidri and Tatum had more energy between them than a nuclear power plant, with just as much explosive potential. Amber had been in their company less than twenty-four hours, and already she felt like a well-loved toy, constantly getting dragged from one place to the next with no say in the matter whatsoever. It was barely midmorning, and she was already exhausted.
The morning had passed with a whirlwind of activity. Allen woke her at dawn, made her breakfast, and then took her shopping for some new clothes. When she tried to protest, he just snorted, saying, “Sidri says you need something different to wear. We’re buying them, end of story.” After that, it was shoes and hygiene products, until the tiny trunk of his gorgeous car was packed to the brim.
When they returned to the lake house, it was to find her BMW gone from the driveway. From the far side of the living room—Tatum still wouldn’t come anywhere near her—the big man told them he’d had it towed to a garage down in Sugar Land, a nearby town on Houston’s southwestern flank. It was far enough away from where she’d be staying that even if her father did track the GPS chip in the car, it wouldn’t lead him to her location. A new car was on the way, he said, would probably be waiting for them when they got to the townhouse. Then he’d gifted Amber a soft smile, dragged Allen over for a panty-igniting kiss, and left the room, saying he had to get ready for work. Amber, head spinning, could only stare at his retreating back in dumb shock.
Sidri joined them next. Her presence was so intense, so all-encompassing, it was like the whole world stopped breathing whenever she entered a room. Amber found herself fighting the urge to drop to her knees, gripping the back of the couch in a white-knuckled hold. Sidri had taken one look at her, sighed, and taken her chin in one hand.
“Amber,” she said in that soft, deeply feminine voice of hers, “honey, you need to stop this. You are not mine, do you understand? Though I have enjoyed women in the past”—and her green eyes flashed appreciatively, making Amber whimper—“I am not currently interested in the fairer sex. So, while you are a truly lovely woman, I have no desire to claim you. Please, you need to stop reacting this way. Just relax, all right? You’re making your brother uncomfortable.”
“I think you’re the one doing that,” she’d whispered, voice woozy with unwanted lust. “You just said you’ve enjoyed women in the past. Don’t all guys want to watch women going at each other?”
Both of them glanced at Allen, only to find him beet-red. Sidri laughed heartily, crossed over to her lover, and captured his lips in another panty-searing kiss. She caressed his jaw, her smile wicked. “My apologies. I should have thought before I spoke. But if that is something you want, Allen, we can definitely look into various possibilities.”
Allen groaned, surreptitiously adjusting his jeans, which Amber noticed seemed to be missing the button. Wondering why her very rich, very stylish brother would be wearing jeans like that, she’d turned away from them, hiding a grin, and went to the kitchen to get herself a cup of coffee. It had given her a vicarious thrill, inciting Sidri to use her Domme voice on Allen. Though she had no business inserting herself into their relationship, it did give her a little punch of forbidden delight. Shaking her head at herself, she left them alone.
Now the three of them were heading for the townhouse. Sidri reclined in the Viper’s tiny backseat, nose buried in her iPhone as she checked e-mails and responded to texts from people at their office. As the owner of the company, she could do anything she damn well pleased, and she’d told Amber that she’d given herself and Allen the morning off so they could help her get settled in. Tatum was there, holding the fort, and she was always available to her employees via electronic means. That she could be so nonchalant and confident in her ability to run a multi-million-dollar company from her cell phone made Amber shake her head in awe.
She’d never met a woman like Sidri. Never even known such women existed. Amber’s only examples of older female role models were her mother and two elder sisters, and none of them could even hold a candle to Sidri. She’d always thought of her mom as a powerful, self-assured woman, always wished she could be like her mother when she finally grew up. But after being around Sidri for the past few hours, she knew her mother was nothing but a pale reflection of what a real woman should be. Sidri was the embodiment of confidence, the very definition of self-assured. Amber was in awe of her.
Not to mention in lust.
Never gonna happen, she scolded herself, shifting uncomfortably. You’ve never been interested before, so stop acting like this is something you really want. You only want her because she’s a Domme, and because you can tell just by looking at her that she could take you over in a nanosecond. And she’s female, which means you could be Dominated by her and not have to worry about being overpowered by sheer, brute male strength. Get over it, girl. She’s not yours, she’s Allen’s, and you need to get that through your pretty blonde head.
Sighing, she concentrated on the scenery passing by. Houston’s Uptown District was a small, extremely expensive part of town near the Galleria Mall. Featuring some of the most upscale boutiques in the city, it was home mos
tly to big-money yuppies who wanted to act like they were rich, but who couldn’t afford to live in the more affluent parts of town, like her own native River Oaks. The District had made itself stand out from the maze of busy streets surrounding it by having huge, shiny metal arches placed at intervals across the major intersections. Allen had told her that the townhouses they were taking her to were within walking distance of Uptown Plaza, which had a Starbucks, a cupcake shop, a dozen different restaurants with menus from a dozen different countries, and a wide variety of specialty clothing boutiques. She could buy a coffee, walk a couple doors down to get a cupcake, then spend the rest of the day looking at designer shoes, one-of-a-kind handbags, and expensive outfits, and still be home in time for supper.
It would be a new experience for her, for sure. Houston wasn’t known for being a “walking” city. There were very, very few places where a car wasn’t required for everyday living, and even fewer that actively encouraged pedestrian activity. The gay-friendly Montrose district was one of them, as was Downtown. But even though she’d lived in Houston her whole life, she’d never really spent much time in any of those areas, never really paid attention to the differences between a sprawling, car-necessary area like River Oaks compared to a tiny, close-knit community like Uptown. She found herself looking forward to it, imagining taking a stroll through the maze of stores in the plaza, stopping for lunch before spending an afternoon window-shopping. It would be quite a change, to say the least.
Eventually, Allen turned into a tiny driveway that was half-hidden by overgrown trees and towering green hedges. There were maybe seven townhomes all together, all stuffed cheek-by-jowl on the right side of a tiny parking lot. The walls were dull tan brick, obviously old, with red slate roofs. Each home was two stories, featuring a pair of bay windows on the second floor, overlooking neat little stoops with wrought-iron handrails on either side of a short staircase leading to black-painted front doors. The first house in the row was missing all its windows, the door standing wide open as men wearing jeans and heavy plaid work shirts swarmed in and out. The tiny yard in front of each house was filled to the brim with two-by-fours, gray roofing tiles, and assorted piles of equipment. As she watched, a window was raised to the second story by a pair of men hauling on a heavy nylon rope, while another stood beneath them, directing their movements.
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