As a Dom, he was gratified with the trust Piper had given him. It had been a joy to see her in his ropes, see her fall into subspace. To have her trust him with all of her body.
Smiling, he looked around. Stan and Dixon were on a blanket to their left. To their right were Lindsey and deVries.
“Hey, subbie-gang, it’s time to make Dom-treats.” Never quiet for long, Dixon jumped to his feet. Yelping, he clutched his crotch. His Master got a glare. “I swear, Sir, I think that stuff burned all the skin off my dick.”
“Stan.” DeVries rubbed his chin. “I’ve got a rubber barbed wire flogger that’d remove whatever skin is left.”
“Hey!” Dixon pointed to Lindsey. “Girl, you just sit your patootie right back down. That sadist of yours isn’t getting any Dom treats.”
Laughing, Lindsey tilted her face up for a kiss from deVries, which he gave immediately.
Ethan smiled. Finding Lindsey had changed the bitter ex-mercenary. He’d always be a sadist, but he was more open, more comfortable with people. Submissives had far more power than they realized.
Piper yawned and sat up. “Sir. May I have permission to fetch some Dom-treats—whatever they are?”
“Permission granted.” Ethan pulled her against him, savored her soft mouth, and released her.
Dixon pulled her to her feet.
When Lindsey joined them, Dixon frowned at the brunette. “Girl, what did I say?”
“Dix, do you really want to spend the evening with a cranky sadist?” Piper asked. “Give him treats and keep him calm.”
“Ooooh, good point.” Dixon dodged the swat Lindsey aimed at his head, and the three headed for the closest fire pit.
“What the hell are Dom treats?” Stan took a sip of his beer.
“That’s right, you haven’t been here before.” Leaning back on his elbows, Ethan tilted his head up. The moon was full, beautiful in the black night sky. “The serving table has graham crackers, chocolate squares, and marshmallows, the ingredients for s’mores.”
“Well, damn.” Stan grinned. “I haven’t had those since fishing with my pa in Texas.”
Ethan had first tried s’mores on a camping trip with Xavier and his previous wife soon after coming to the States. He smiled. Xavier’s first and second wives were very different, but Abby was a perfect fit for the man he was now.
Ethan’s gaze settled on Piper who was roasting a marshmallow over the fire pit. The sound of her laughter was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever heard.
“There they are.” Rona’s voice came from the right. She and Simon, then Xavier and Abby claimed blankets near the group.
By the time everyone had exchanged greetings and a few stories, Piper and her crew returned. Carefree and in high spirits. Damn, he liked seeing her like this.
She went to her knees in front of him. “Might this slave give her Master a treat?”
Touching her cheek, he murmured, “Only if you rephrase the question to use first person and Dom.”
She blinked and paled, not having realized what she’d said.
In all reality, he didn’t find the phrasing offensive, but for her mental health, leaving the slave mentality behind would be best.
Closing her eyes, she pulled in a breath and whispered. “I’m not a slave.” When she opened her eyes, she smiled at him. “Thank you. May I give my most favorite Dom in the whole world a treat?”
“That works nicely.” Worked more than nicely, actually.
“Prepared with her own two hands, it was,” Dixon called.
Ethan bent to kiss her soft lips and tasted marshmallow and chocolate. “I see you enjoyed some treats while you were cooking?”
“Well…” Her lips tipped up at the corners. “I had to taste-test to ensure everything was worthy of my Sir, of course. I’ve heard baronets are really fussy.”
“They totally are,” he said agreeably and took a bite of his worthy treat. The golden marshmallow and softened chocolate square were sandwiched between two graham crackers. He’d forgotten how delicious the meld of flavors was. He finished the crunchy, gooey sandwich in a few bites. “Thank you, poppet, that was excellent.”
Her eyes lit with the pleasure of a service submissive being complimented by her Dom. It melted his heart.
Without thinking, he tucked her in the curve of his arm, up against his side. Where she belonged.
“Your girl picked up club protocols damn fast.” DeVries studied Piper, obviously having heard her refer to herself in the third person. “She even knew the present position. Has she had training?”
Ethan started to respond, then stopped. Conversations in the evening were informal, so she could answer for herself. In his opinion, it was time for her to share more of her past, but he’d leave it up to her.
* * *
At the question, Piper felt her palms go clammy. Despite Sir Ethan’s reassuring arm around her, the world seemed to shake.
DeVries, whom everyone called the Enforcer, waited for Sir Ethan to reply.
Instead, Sir Ethan lifted an eyebrow at her, dumping the response square in her lap. Damn him. Even so, if he’d answered for her, she’d have hated that, too.
“I, uh, had some training. Years ago.” She rubbed her hands on her jeans.
Simon looked at her. “Back in Kansas?”
Of course he knew she was from Kansas. He’d done the Dark Haven background check. I don’t want to think about Kansas. About then. “Um. Yes.”
Xavier was stretched out on his side, nibbling on Abby’s fingers as she leaned into the curve of his body. He propped himself up on an elbow to study her. “How long were you in an M/s relationship?”
“How did you know?” She turned an accusatory glare at Sir Ethan who must’ve spilled everything about her past to everyone.
“I didn’t,” Xavier said, amused. “I do now.”
Her reaction had confirmed his guess.
“Sorry,” she whispered to Sir Ethan.
He tugged her hair in a tiny reprimand, then moved her into the space between his opened legs so her back rested against his chest. His arms crossed under her breasts, holding her to him. Safety and comfort. Then she realized he’d also trapped her into facing the rest of the group.
Xavier cleared his throat in a warning. Submissives weren’t supposed to be slow in replying.
“Two years,” she muttered.
“Was that kind of power exchange—slave and Master—not to your taste?” Simon asked. Snuggled against his side, Rona gave Piper a concerned look.
“No. I didn’t like the Master/slave dynamic.” Keeping her answer as short as possible, Piper set her jaw. That time in Kansas was past. Done with. Not to be thought about. Ever.
Except Xavier, Simon, and deVries were now eyeing her thoughtfully.
“Were you the only slave in the household? Was that part of the problem?” Simon asked. “Having a Master who wanted another slave?”
Even as she stiffened at the question, she saw Dix also react. But he turned to look at his Dom in dismay. Then he slid back, leaving a good twelve inches between him and Stan. Stan turned to frown at him.
Oh, no. Had Dix seen creepy Darrell’s behavior during the game? Did he think Stan wanted two slaves?
Her mouth went tight. Bad enough the questions bothered her, but if talking about polyamory was upsetting Dix… Well, she wouldn’t have it.
She forced a light tone into her voice. “No that wasn’t the problem. Can we talk about something more fun?” Not waiting for agreement, she added, “Campfire stories are an old tradition, and I’d love to hear how Dixon and Stan met.”
Maybe it would remind the two of how much they loved each other.
Pressed against Sir Ethan’s chest, she could feel him laugh. “Nice way to change the subject, subbie,” he murmured for her ears only. “But you won’t escape answering forever.”
Yes, yes, she would.
DeVries snorted. “How they met is Tex’s story, although she turns green when s
he thinks about it.”
“What?” Piper blinked. Her curiosity was huge, but green didn’t sound good. She shook her head at Lindsey. “You don’t have to share if you—”
“It’s okay.” Lindsey gave deVries a good frown, then half-smiled at Piper. Her Texas accent was thicker than normal as she said, “My ex-husband was involved with human trafficking and gun smuggling over the border. I found out, and he died, but it was horrible, and I’d need a lot more alcohol and time to talk about that day.”
Piper stared. A criminal ex? She wanted to grab Lindsey up in a hug. At the same time, she was dying to hear the whole story. Bad, snoopy Piper. “Really, I don’t need to know—”
“We’ll talk about it one of these days. Anyway, his partners framed me for his murder, and I ran to San Francisco to hide, but they came after me. Dark Haven was partying at a wilderness lodge near Yosemite, and Simon called in Stan—Mr. Homeland Security criminal investigator.” She grinned. “Dixon’s first impression of him wasn’t good.”
“Apparently, I looked menacing. He jumped in front of Lindsey to protect her.” Stan smiled, grabbed Dix’s hair, and yanked his submissive into his lap.
Dixon squeaked and went silent as the hand in his hair tightened.
“That right there told me I wanted to know him better.” Stan ran his knuckles over Dix’s cheek while keeping him from moving. Apparently, the Master was finished with having Dix give him the cold shoulder.
Eyes closed, Dix stayed silent.
Piper’s heart ached for him. For them both. How could she help?
But she’d learned that interfering in a relationship rarely worked out well for anyone. Dammit. Her fingernails must have dug into Sir Ethan’s forearms because he gave her a firm squeeze, bringing her back to the present.
Leaning back against him, she could feel the slow rise and fall of his chest. Occasionally, he’d lower his head to brush his cheek against hers or rub his chin on the top of her head. Being in his arms like this, the recipient of his open affection was wonderful. Overwhelming.
Tears welled up because she loved being here. Belonging to him.
And because this was what she’d thought BDSM would be like. What Dominants would be like. Blinking back the tears, she looked around. Dixon—being cuddled in spite of his withdrawal. Lindsey—pressed up against deVries who had his arm around her and was playing with her fingers. Abby—lying down, her head on Xavier’s thigh. Rona—sitting beside Simon, a blanket over their knees, sipping from the same wine glass.
There were good Doms in the world.
BDSM could actually be fun. Like today with that crazy, embarrassing water gun game. Orgasming in public. No one had tried to humiliate her. Even the switching she’d gotten had been more for fun and sexiness than real punishment. The whole game had been a way to share a submissive with other Tops without any actual touching.
Sex didn’t have to hurt.
And restraints could be more than a way to hurt someone. Earlier, Sir Ethan had bound her body and, with every knot, had also tied her feelings to him. He’d positioned and used her for his own pleasure. Demanding it in the way of a Dom. Somehow, it had been everything she wanted.
Afterward, he’d shown her the real meaning of aftercare.
As he cuddled her in his lap, when people stopped to talk, he’d told them later, as if holding her had been the only thing he wanted to do. He’d shown no urgency, no sense of impatience. Arms around her, he’d stroked her bare skin and told her how much she’d pleased him.
Looking down, she noticed how she’d curled her fingers around his forearms. Needing to touch him.
Wasn’t it funny how the tie between her and the Defiler had started with potential and ended up as a single strand—that of fear. Even her service had been performed out of dread.
With Sir Ethan, the ties between them kept multiplying, weaving into a thick rope. Giving and receiving pleasure in mutual joy. Submitting and serving. Being appreciated, protected, cared for. Laughing together. Sharing meals and conversations.
Now she had this, too—the way he openly kissed her and cuddled her when he was with his friends, showing he was pleased to be with her.
The bond between them kept growing, and how could she keep from worrying? Did she want to risk being tied to another man again? A Dominant?
Even worse, she could feel another strand weaving itself into the rope…a strand of love.
Last time, she’d signed away everything—her freedom, her body, her life. She’d learned her lesson.
Sir Ethan surely wasn’t anything like the Defiler, but she was going to take her time.
Chapter Sixteen
In the kitchen at Ethan’s house, Piper took a moment to get her thoughts together. Over the last two weeks, she’d steadily lost ground in the attempt to keep her emotions under control.
And she’d tried really hard.
Well, okay, indulging in too much wine while watching the Fourth of July fireworks from Ethan’s rooftop hadn’t been a good idea. She’d almost blurted out the lethal I-love-you phrase that night. But, honestly, she was only human. Sex and alcohol and Sir Ethan in Dom mode. No one could resist that combination.
She huffed a laugh. Face it, keeping things on an even, cool level was just plain difficult. It was almost trickier with other people around—like when they went out to eat with Simon, Rona, Lindsey, and deVries. It’d been a great night—and she was finally…mostly…comfortable around Sir Ethan’s Dom friends.
Simon and deVries had reported that, when they’d visited Jerry in his hotel, he’d been packed to leave. Realizing who they were, Jerry’d actually burst into tears, still traumatized over what she and Ethan had done to him. It was appalling how satisfied she’d felt at hearing that. Everyone had grinned, and Ethan had fist-bumped her. When deVries complained about not having an excuse to beat Jerry up, the laughter had cleansed the room.
So that was done.
Opening the fridge, she glanced at the labeled dishes left by the chef. Curried turkey casserole sounded good. She popped two servings into the oven.
Picking a meal wasn’t hard. If only it were as easy to decide how she felt about Ethan. Instead, her feelings were as erratic as…as the San Francisco weather had been. People here expected their mid-July weather to stay in the 60s, not climb to an appallingly sunny 85 degrees, then plummet. She glanced out the window at the fog closing in, blurring the world.
That was her relationship. Confusing. Foggy. Occasional spikes of heat. It could be she was going crazy.
A furry body twined around her ankles, making her jump. “You smelled the turkey, didn’t you?”
Churchill gave a plaintive meow, trying to convince her he was wasting away to skin and bones.
“Uh-huh. It’s obvious you haven’t eaten for weeks.” The pudgy cat was probably closing in on twenty pounds.
But his big blue eyes were so pleading. So effective. “Don’t tell Ethan, okay?” She dropped a few kitty treats onto the floor.
Purr, purr, purr.
“We’re a lot alike, cat.” All her life she’d felt starved for love, and now, with Ethan’s open affection, she couldn’t seem to find her balance. She sure didn’t want to act as needy as Churchill did with his kitty treats.
In the living room, she heard footsteps, indicating Ethan had finished his post-workout shower.
“Do you need help, Piper?” he called.
“Nothing to do. We can eat in half-an-hour or so.” Oh God, didn’t that sound so domestic? How in the world had she ended up practically living here?
She’d noticed the chef, who came in weekly, was now preparing food for two rather than one—and she hadn’t been the one to make that change. She had to admit she really enjoyed having food prepared and ready to pop into the microwave or oven. Making meals was boring, which was why she had a long list of take-out/delivery places in her phone.
Baking—and giving the goodies away—was her thing. She glanced at the berry tartlets on a cover
ed platter and smiled.
Although, she had to admit, mixing drinks for a gorgeous Dom came in a close second. She carried out Ethan’s gin and tonic along with her rum and coke, then stopped to look at him.
He was stretched out on the couch, his back against the armrest, feet on cushions. Comfortable and drop-dead sexy, like Hollywood’s idea of a pirate—sharp blue eyes in a tanned face, brown hair still wet from his shower. Dark mustache and thick stubble-beard. Bare-footed, he was in his usual evening-at-home attire of black drawstring pants and a loose sleeveless shirt that revealed his stilled pumped-up muscles.
What was there about his biceps that made her want to bite into the hard curve?
Laughter glinted in his gaze; he could read her like a book. Damn Dom.
She huffed in embarrassed exasperation. “I’m not going to jump you.”
“Now, that’s a pity. I wouldn’t protest, you know.” He wouldn’t. Unless they were observing stricter protocols and she wasn’t supposed to touch without permission, he liked when she made advances. Of course, that moment of control lasted only a second before he took over. Even when they were “playing” he never lost that air of command.
Shaking her head, she handed him his gin and tonic.
“Thank you, poppet.” He sipped, and his appreciative “very nice” sent a glow through her. Doing anything for him, especially when he showed his approval, dropped her right into service-subbie space. Not the fluffy chemical stew of subspace obtained from impact or rope play, but a happy quietude. A blanket of contentment in a beautifully silent world.
Sipping her own drink, she sank down into a chair.
“You look like you had a good day,” he observed.
“I did. Chatelaines has two more new clients, both from Dark Haven.” She frowned. “Actually, I’m not sure more clients is a good thing.”
“You lost me. Why?”
“Having ample money coming in is rewarding, of course, but if the business continues to grow, I’ll have to hire managers.”
“Considering the hours you work, I’d say you’ve reached that point already.”
“I know, but”—she gave him a rueful smile—“I like being hands-on and knowing my clients are getting the best service. Managers might not be as fussy as I am.”
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