Signed, Sealed & Delivered

by Sierra Cartwright

  But one thing subs rarely realised, the Dom needed every bit as much control, if not more, than a sub. If he gave into his impulses, she wouldn’t learn a thing, but he’d be satisfied.

  He fucked her with the dildo, bringing it out, forcing it in, pulling it out, slamming it in with a twist of his wrist.

  Her head tossed back and forth.

  She was wanton and sexy.

  “Makes a man want to ride her, Master,” Thomas said.

  Ethan saw her try to form a response, but she couldn’t. He smiled. Training her would be an absolute pleasure.

  Ethan touched her clit.

  She dug her heels into the carpeted floor even deeper and forced her pelvis up higher, silently begging for him to touch her clit again.

  “Naughty little cunt,” he said as she all but ground herself against him.

  As suddenly as he’d started, he stopped. He pulled the dildo from her, leaving her wide-open and unsatisfied.

  Chapter Three

  Alana cried out.

  Bastard. Ethan was a bastard.

  Thomas laughed from the front seat.

  “The next time you’re given the opportunity to climax,” her Master said quietly, “I advise you to take it.”

  Her thighs trembled. She turned her head to the side and bit her lower lip.

  “Concentrate on your breathing,” he told her. “It’s the most effective way to control your emotions.”

  She shuddered.

  What the hell was she doing, thousands of miles from home, turning her wants, needs, desires, her entire body and its responses over to a total stranger? Why was she lying on the floor of a limo, her legs spread and her wet pussy open to view?

  Her cunt juices cooled on her thighs, and she became aware of the chill in the car. But no one seemed to notice or care.

  “Breathe,” Ethan told her a few moments later.

  She let out a shaky sigh and then drew in a shallow breath.

  In and out.

  Then again, a bit deeper.

  As she did, the fatigue in her muscles seemed to subside. As he’d promised, she did manage to control her emotions and she no longer felt as though she’d start to cry.

  “Silently count backward from one hundred,” Ethan instructed. “And when you get to one, you may rest your arse on the floor.”

  No one counted faster than her.

  “No cheating.”

  She slowed down, schooled her breathing, and did as he said.

  She didn’t exactly lower herself gracefully. It was more like a plop of exhaustion.

  “That needs work,” he observed.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Again,” he told her. “Lift your hips, and then silently count backwards. This time from two hundred.”

  Even her ankles were screaming in protest of the weight she balanced on them. Tears burned in her eyes. Her entire being felt raw and ragged, and it wasn’t just from the jet lag, it was just a complete sense of being overwhelmed.

  “I enjoy seeing you spread open like this. I believe I’ll have you do it every day. Perhaps even while Thomas serves breakfast.”

  She gritted her teeth. Protesting would likely earn her the opportunity to be spread like a Christmas turkey at suppertime, as well.

  This time, when she lowered her body, she did so very slowly.

  “Elegant,” he said. “Much better.”

  She had no idea how long she lay there, ignored while Thomas completed the drive.

  By the time they arrived at Ethan’s country estate, her nerves were stretched tight. He’d already taken her farther than she imagined possible, past the point she had ever been before. From her years of reading and adventurous forays into the world of BDSM, she thought she understood what it meant to be a submissive. The experiences she’d had so far left her woefully unprepared for the reality, the intensity of Ethan Kendall.

  Thomas opened the door. In the absence of other instructions, she remained where she was. Which, evidently, was the correct thing to do. Relying on the cane, Ethan climbed from the car, and then said, “You may exit the vehicle.”

  Elegant, she reminded herself. Every motion must be elegant. That was easier said than done, with her skirt tucked into her waistband, her crotch exposed, her shirt awry, the slim, spiky heels, trembling muscles, and no mascara to freshen her makeup.

  The rain had stopped, but the air hung heavy with cold humidity.

  She followed the men into the house, if that was the right word. In America, she’d never seen anything quite like Ethan’s ancestral home. Rich woods, tapestries, portraits, and warm fires in the hearth.

  She didn’t have much opportunity to enjoy her surroundings before Ethan said, “I’ll see you in the drawing room.”

  She followed Thomas, vividly aware of Ethan’s gaze on her backside as she walked away.

  “Wait in the centre of the room and remain fully clothed. Master will join you when he’s ready.”

  “Thank you.”

  He placed her personal items on a tray near a decanter of whiskey.

  “Thomas?”

  He paused near the door.

  “Are you a slave?”

  He shook his head. “But there’s no man I’d rather serve.”

  He left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

  She paced nervously, and when Ethan entered, she was wearing a hole in the marble in front of the fireplace.

  She stopped and turned to look at him, getting her first real view of the reclusive Sir Ethan Kendall. He was tall, well over six feet, and the cane he leaned on lent him an air of mystery.

  Like his manservant, he had dark hair. It was much, much longer than she anticipated, however. She knew he’d been in the military, so she expected his hair to be regulation length. Instead, it was so long he held it cinched back with a thin strip of leather.

  His eyes were dark and stormy, grey, matching the weather.

  His shoulders were broad, stretching wide the blazer he wore. Like a true gentleman, he dressed, even at home.

  My God, he was good looking. Really, really good looking. His nose may have been broken in the past, but that did nothing to detract from his looks. His features were strong and masculine, as if chiselled by a master craftsman.

  She wanted to run her hand down his face, tracing the strong curve of his jaw. She wanted to slide a finger into his mouth and have him suck on it. She wanted sex.

  “You’ve much to learn,” he said.

  She offered a half smile.

  “That nervous energy,” he clarified. “It’s not going to be tolerated here.”

  Her smile froze.

  “Elegance and grace define a submissive.”

  “I thought—”

  “Despite what you said in the car, you think it’s mostly about spanking and being pushed to your limits.”

  “Yes. That’s what I read about. That’s what I saw in the clubs. Read about in chat rooms.”

  “It’s that, and more. In the clubs, do you not notice that some subs have an air of something almost intangible about them? An acceptance, perhaps?”

  She frowned. There were women, men, as well, who seemed more suited to their roles. Some seemed to be playing a game. Some seemed to be loving it.

  Leaning on the cane, he crossed to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. “And one for the sub?”

  She raised her eyebrows and licked at her lower lip. He’d allow her to drink? “Yes, please.”

  “Submission, being a slave, is a state of mind, more than anything else,” he said, pouring a second, neat brandy, “which is why the titillation is so exploited. You can’t see state of mind.”

  She crossed the room to stand near him. She accepted the crystal snifter, whispered, “Thanks,” and kept her eyes lowered.

  “Much better,” he approved.

  She sipped the smooth, classy alcohol.

  “When I came in, I expected to see you in the middle of the room, emotions under control, waiting on
my pleasure.”

  She said nothing. What could she say?

  “Perhaps Thomas didn’t give you instructions? Perhaps he was remiss?”

  She shook her head. “No. No, Sir. Thomas told me to wait in the centre of the room.”

  “Then?”

  “I…” She trailed off. “I don’t have an explanation. I wanted to see the room; I had been cooped up in a plane and a car… My muscles needed to be stretched.”

  “And you didn’t give Thomas’ words the same weight you would have given mine.”

  She hadn’t.

  “For future reference, Thomas is to be obeyed, just as I am, unless an order of his countermands mine. In this case, sub, he was the bearer of my specific instructions.”

  She felt as if she were swimming through murky, shark-infested waters. “I apologise.”

  “An apology is a start, but not good enough.”

  “I’ll be punished?”

  “You will.”

  He left the words hanging between them.

  Her hand trembled as she finished the brandy. It warmed all the way down, and yet it did nothing to soothe her nerves.

  “You’ll not get brandy again,” he told her. “You’ll learn to control yourself without artificial help.” He moved across the floor and picked up the personal items Thomas had left on the sideboard. Ethan set aside the letter and said, “Your passport, identification, and money will all remain right here on this table. You are free to leave at any time. In fact, you’re encouraged to leave. Thomas will always be at your disposal.” He looked up and nodded towards the corner of the room. “Rather old-fashioned of me, but there’s a rotary dial phone on the stand. There’s a telephone book there, as well. If Thomas is not available, feel free to ring for a ride. No one will stop you from leaving.

  “Your submission to me must always be freely given.”

  She nodded.

  He took a seat, leaning the cane against the chair’s arm, and then opened her letter.

  She knew the contents by heart. She asked him to please accept her and train her. She vowed she was here of her own free will. The period of her training was to be fourteen days. Under no circumstances would she be allowed to stay longer than that.

  She’d also listed that she was using birth control and included her latest blood work results; he’d sent her his as well.

  He’d asked her to list her preferred method of punishment. He’d clarified in his e-mail, “In other words, if I were going to punish you, and you were to become sexually aroused, what implement would I use?”

  “Your hand,” she’d said. “Followed by your leather belt.”

  “Why do you like to be punished with a belt?” he asked now.

  “I like the way it smells,” she said. “And its bite.” She hesitated.

  He sensed it. “Go on.”

  “It’s personal.”

  “Meaning?”

  “If you wear it, if it’s yours.” She struggled for the right words. “Being punished with your belt is intimate. More so than anything except your hand.”

  “And what, if anything, would you prefer never to be punished with?”

  “Isolation.”

  He raised his brows. “Being caged?”

  She shuddered. “I’m not particularly claustrophobic. But I would prefer not to be left alone.”

  “So being sent to your room?”

  “A fate worse than death.”

  He laughed.

  “Seriously, I want to be the centre of your attention.”

  “Now that’s honest.” He scanned the letter again. “There is nothing crossed through.”

  “Making things off-limits during my training seemed counterproductive.”

  “Lying is counterproductive to your training.”

  Her blood chilled.

  “There’s nothing here to indicate those things you want to try but are embarrassed to tell me you want to try.”

  There’d been two things that made her shudder, but she’d decided not to draw attention to them. Standing here, in front of him, she definitely didn’t want to talk about them.

  “You’ve insulted me, woman.”

  Her mouth opened, then she snapped it shut. “Insulted you?”

  “As my sub, you’re allowed no secrets. You’ve kept them with your refusal to answer. There are things on here that terrify you.” Pointedly, he looked at her. “Piercing?” he asked. “Branding?”

  She shivered.

  “You’re game for them all?”

  Her eyes were wide.

  “Perhaps, then, you should go put a poker in the fire.” His gaze flicked to the assortment of metal implements next to the hearth.

  Her stomach turned over.

  “Ten minutes ought to do it.”

  He wouldn’t. “Ethan…”

  “You signed the bottom.”

  “I…” Her entire body shook.

  “You made nothing off limits.”

  “You made your point.”

  “This is a contract, Alana, and I expected you to give it due consideration.”

  Chastened, and, for the first time, scared to death, she said, “I’m sorry.”

  “Indeed.” He rang a bell.

  Moments later, Thomas appeared. “Show Alana to her room.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “But—”

  He held up his hand. “Take your miserable letter upstairs with you. And when I summon you in the morning, it will have things crossed through. It will have a question mark next to those items you think you might like to try but are nervous about.”

  “Mas-ter!”

  “Your disobedience began before you left the States. I will not tolerate anything less than your total honesty. And unless you can give me that, Thomas will deliver you to Heathrow first thing tomorrow morning.” He re-folded the letter and scored the lines with his thumbnail, placed it back in its envelope, and handed it back to her. “You’ll have the rest of the night, in isolation, to think about your transgressions.”

  A flush of humiliation drowned her.

  She dropped her head forward.

  This man was harsh and unyielding. And she would do anything not to be sent away from him.

  She was horribly aware of his gaze on her as she followed Thomas from the room.

  Chapter Four

  “Another brandy, Sir?” Thomas asked, joining Ethan in the drawing room. It had been a number of months since Thomas had seen Ethan like this, legs stretched in front of him, crossed at the ankle, rolling an empty glass between his palms. His brows were slightly furrowed as he stared at the fire. He seemed contemplative, but not morose.

  “She’s going to be a challenge.”

  “Aye, Sir. That she is.”

  “She didn’t like being left alone.”

  It was more statement than comment, but Thomas answered anyway, “She hated it.”

  “Good.”

  “She asked if she could please just have a beating.”

  “She’ll get both.”

  Thomas fought back a satisfied smile. It’d been too damn many years since Ethan showed this much interest in life. Not for one minute had Thomas regretted his slight assistance in helping Alana’s email get through to his master. The fact that the woman was sexy enough to give Thomas an electrifying hard-on was an added benefit.

  “She needs to be mastered.”

  “And you’re the man to do it. And damn is it fun to watch you do.” Thomas took the glass from Ethan and added another splash of brandy.

  “What the hell am I doing, Thomas?”

  “Your civic duty, Sir.”

  Ethan laughed. ‘Bout damn time, as well, if anyone asked Thomas.

  Ethan accepted the snifter. He took a sip, and then put the glass on the sideboard. “Drop your trousers.”

  He raised a brow in shock. His friend, his lover, had fucked him often enough, but it was usually Thomas who initiated their sexual relations. His cock hardened, and blood warmed in his veins.<
br />
  He grabbed a condom and a tube of lube from a drawer in the sideboard.

  Thomas wanted Ethan naked, but the man was too much of a master, even when he wasn’t with a slave, to have his will bent to another’s.

  Thomas stripped, and his penis became even more turgid when Ethan looked at him, his storm-grey eyes darkening.

  Ethan toed off his shoes and removed his socks, and then he used his cane to stand.

  Wordlessly, Thomas lowered the zipper on Ethan’s pants.

  As usual, he wore nothing beneath his trousers. The man’s cock was hard, throbbing. His balls were large and full. He’d removed all of the pubic hair from his testicles, leaving them smooth, lickable. Thomas’ mouth dried.

  He fumbled with the condom wrapper, his fingers shaking. No matter how many times he and Ethan were together, he trembled with anticipation.

  Thomas sheathed Ethan’s cock with the latex condom. He reached to uncap the lube, but stopped when Ethan said, “Leave it.”

  He dropped the tube on the sideboard.

  “Over the arm of the chair then, Thomas.”

  “Oh, aye, Sir.” He took his position, his arse exposed as he bent and reached across the chair to grasp the arm on the far side. His breaths were ragged, and he empathised with how Alana must have felt earlier when she’d been on her back on the car’s floorboards, her legs spread, rear end lifted, pelvis tilted. She’d been completely exposed and vulnerable, just as Thomas was now. It was an exhilarating, frightening feeling.

  The cane clattered to the floor.

  Ethan caressed the cheeks of Thomas’ arse, kneading, and spreading at the same time.

  Thomas’ cock was erect, but there was nothing to rub it against. “Take me, Ethan.”

  “In due time.”

  “Now!” he begged.

  Ethan’s hand closed around Thomas’ cock. “Argh!” Urgently, he thrusted. The friction of skin on skin drove an orgasm closer and closer. He humped his lover’s hand shamelessly, shamefully.

  Suddenly, Ethan uncurled his hand.

  “Damn you.” Rather than a curse, the words emerged as a plea.

  In a total lack of sympathy, Ethan smacked Thomas’ right thigh.

  Ethan wasn’t a selfish lover, but Thomas was surprised when he heard Ethan squirt lube onto his hand.