“No one is as careful as the owner,” he agreed. “But if you don’t expand, you’ll cap your profit.”
“I know.” She shrugged. “As long as I have enough for the basics and some fun, I don’t need more.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“I know, I know. Being content with less is sacrilege to you rich people.”
“You have no respect at all, do you?” His chuckle showed he wasn’t offended.
A meow drew her attention. Beside the couch, Churchill stared up at Ethan, butt wiggling slightly. Picking a landing spot.
“Your Prime Minister wants a lap.” Piper picked him up, took herself a cuddle, and set the hefty feline on Ethan’s stomach.
The Dom made an oomphing sound, although there was no way the cat could dent those rock-hard abs. He stroked the cat. “I think you’ve gained a couple of pounds, Church. We’re both going to be in trouble with the vet.”
Frowning, he squeezed the cat’s rounded belly. “I get the feeling someone has been giving in to your begging.”
Uh-oh. He’d warned her last week that if he caught her slipping food to the cat again, he’d spank her. Her stomach sank as his gaze turned stern. “How many treats did you give him since you got home today?”
She lifted her chin. “None. I haven’t been home.”
“Piper.” The very quietness of the single word held more menace than loud ranting.
“Six. I gave him six treats just now in the kitchen.”
Sitting up, he set Churchill on the floor and beckoned to Piper with two fingers. Come here.
No, no, no. Yet, somehow, her body stood her up and took her the two steps to the couch. He gripped her hand and guided her to a stomach-down, ass-high position over his knees.
Her hands were on the carpet, her feet on the other side of his legs.
“Don’t move from there.” His English accent was brusque, showing his displeasure. “Was I less than clear about the consequences of feeding the cat?”
He’d been very clear. She had no excuse other than being a sucker for furbabies. “No, Sir.”
“Very good. I will not require you to count for me, since even I can count to six.”
Punishment got no warm-up, no sexy fondling before his hard hand slapped her bottom. Her lightweight cotton pants provided no cushion, and the blow stung like fire. She sucked in a breath, bowed her head, and gritted her teeth.
The spanking continued without pauses. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.
He had a merciless hand, but at least it was over quickly. Tears burned in her eyes, but she hadn’t cried, and—more importantly—hadn’t tried to fight or cover her butt. She hadn’t moved.
Now, she tried to sit up.
He set a hand in the middle of her back, pinning her against his legs. His other hand massaged her burning bottom. “Why did I spank you, poppet?”
“I-I fed Churchill treats that he’s not supposed to get.”
“Is spanking an effective deterrent? Do you think you can keep from indulging him in the future?”
“I won’t do it again.”
“Good enough.” He helped her sit up and, despite her efforts to pull away, settled her on his lap.
His thighs were all hard muscle, and her butt hurt. She sat stiffly, in no mood to cuddle. Or do anything else with him. The jerk.
Ignoring her resistance, he pulled her against his chest and sighed. “I know some Doms, especially sadists, enjoy punishing their submissives. I don’t. Mixing sex and pain in an erotic context is fun. I don’t like simply hurting someone.”
I don’t care. Her jaw was clenched so hard it ached.
Her hand was clenched just as tightly. He pried it open and put a kiss on her palm.
“Don’t try to be nice to me. It won’t work,” she gritted out.
“No?” He ran his hand up and down her rigid back muscles. “You’re angry because you were punished. Do you feel I overstepped my bounds?”
“Yes.” Or no. Maybe? “I don’t know.”
“Actually, I did want to talk to you tonight. It’s past time,” he murmured.
Talk to her. A shard of ice penetrated her heart. No. Oh no. He was going to break things off. She’d known this would happen, knew she wasn’t good enough for him. But, already?
More tears stung her eyes from a different pain, this time in her heart. She set her hands against his chest and pushed herself back. Tried to stand. “I-I’ll get my stuff.”
“You’ll do what?” Hands on her upper arms, he held her far enough away that he could see her face. His eyes sharpened. “Sweetheart, whatever you’re thinking, it’s wrong.”
“You want me to leave. I get it; we’re done.”
“We’re nowhere near being done.” He cupped her face, brushing the tears away with his thumb. “I merely want to discuss the boundaries in our relationship.”
She stared into his face, seeing affection. More—actual caring and concern.
“Relationship?” When his gaze trapped hers, she felt her equilibrium go askew.
“Yes, poppet. This is a relationship.” His tone was amused, but lifting her chin, he kissed her firmly. Seriously.
She breathed out. He wasn’t pushing her away. “Relationship,” she said again.
“Yes. In case you haven’t noticed, we have a romantic relationship.” He stroked her hair back from her face. “But we’re also in a D/s one—and that dynamic needs clarification.”
Enlightenment broke over her. The spanking. He’d been talking about boundaries.
On the weekends when they were working on her fears, they had certain limits. But this wasn’t the weekend. She straightened her shoulders. “I’m not a slave.” Please, don’t let him want a slave. He’d said once he didn’t…
“There we go. A good start.” A crease appeared in his cheek. “I’m not interested in a total power exchange where I think I own you. I am a Dom, however.” He paused. Lifted an eyebrow.
When she didn’t speak, he tapped her chin with a finger. “This, poppet, is a negotiation. You have to contribute.”
Yes, he was right. Okay. He was a Dom. Did she consider herself submissive? Want to do the D/s stuff as his submissive? And how stupid was she to even think that she didn’t? Of course, she was submissive. She dug deep, pulling up the honesty that he’d demand. “I like when you take control.”
“Now we’re making progress. Not ownership, but authority is good.” His perceptive eyes stayed on her face. “All the time?”
“No.” She swallowed. Was he going to be angry? Or disappointed? The thought of disappointing him twisted her emotions into a tangled mess. “I’m submissive. We both know that. But I’m also the owner of a business, have friends, things I do—stuff where I don’t want to be answerable to you.”
“Very good.” His eyes warmed with approval. “Agreed. Neither of us wants Master/slave or 24/7 Dominant/submissive. So the next question is when. I think we both enjoy D/s in the bedroom.”
Her cheeks heated because he knew all too well how much she enjoyed being dominated during sex. “Yes.”
“I don’t care what you wear or eat or do during the day.” He brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “I will want to select your clothing for the club or for any activity associated with kink.”
The constriction around her chest was loosening. She’d panicked because she’d screwed this stuff up so badly the first time, simply handing over everything. “Okay. Yes.”
Days were hers; sex was his. That left quite a few hours unaccounted for. “What about the evenings like now or weekends—or when we’re just together? Restaurants and events?”
“Now, that’s the question,” he said softly. His gaze held hers. “How much control do you want during non-sex time, poppet? If I tell you not to feed the cat and you do, is that a D/s infraction or a romantic relationship one?
He wasn’t a heavy-handed Dom.
When her lips quirked, his chin rose slightly, telling her he wanted her to share that tho
ught. She flushed. “I was thinking you weren’t a heavy-handed Dom, but my butt sure hurts.”
His grin appeared and disappeared so quickly that only her heightened heart rate was evidence of its existence.
She spoke more slowly, trying to untangle her thoughts. “You don’t have a lot of rules and rituals, and I like that, but if I mess up, I like that you don’t blow it off, either.” Because that would feel as if he didn’t really care.
She sighed, knowing she was consigning herself to more spankings. “And I like that you don’t let me go unpunished.”
When he’d disciplined her, it felt like he was involved enough in what was between them, in his own rules and regulations, to take the time and effort to enforce them. Not because he liked hurting her, but because the dynamic of their relationship was as important to him as it was to her.
She loved serving him, loved that he required it, loved that he noticed what she did, good or bad, and gave her praise or disapproval accordingly. “It seems like we fall into a kind of power exchange most of the time.”
His lips twitched. “You noticed that, did you?”
She hadn’t at first, but then she’d realized how she felt more comfortable leaving decisions up to him—although she’d speak up if she didn’t agree. He picked up if something bothered her, often before she realized it. What they did on Saturdays was the way they interacted with each other most of the time. Even when they simply watched television, she felt as if she was under his authority.
And he did become more…forceful…in the bedroom. To her great pleasure.
“All right, let’s try this,” he said. “At home or where it’s appropriate—as when we’re at Dark Haven or BDSM parties—we observe the power dynamic. Anywhere vanilla, we don’t.”
“Yes, Sir.” She curled against him, her cheek against his chest. He had that wonderful fresh-from-the-shower scent.
“Since you have now handed over control during the evening hours,” he paused, deliberately torturing her with anticipation, “each night, you will take fifteen minutes and write out your thoughts on how this is working. How you feel. Where I’m not meeting your needs. Resentments. What you like or don’t like.”
That…wasn’t what she’d thought was coming. Journaling?
From the amused glint in his eyes, she knew she was pouting. She heaved a massive unhappy sigh to accompany the pout. In case he had any doubts about her enthusiasm for his project. “Yes, Sir.”
He snorted. “The attitude nets you an extra fifteen minutes tonight, pet.”
She barely kept from growling at him, yet pleasure was a lovely ball pulsing inside her. Because he hadn’t let her get away with it. Because there was a comfort in knowing the limits and being forced to live up to them. He’d told her once that a fence could be seen as a prison—or as the protection that kept wild animals out of the backyard.
To her, his rules felt like a wall of protection.
He ran his finger down her cheek. “I will be reading your notes, poppet. I’d especially like you to use them to bring up topics you’re uncomfortable discussing. I might well write in it, too.”
They sat like that for a while—and there was nothing more wonderful than being held.
When the oven timer dinged, they got the food onto the table, and he poured them both some wine. Sometimes he let her do the work and serve him; more often, they worked together as partners.
It was always his choice.
As they ate—with Churchill under the table in hopes of dropped food—Sir Ethan smiled at her. “We’d been talking about your new clients before your spanking interrupted us. I wanted to tell you there are ways to grow a business without sacrificing quality. We can go over some methods if you like.”
He was always willing to coach her in business management, finances, or anything else she wanted to learn. Even better, he was never patronizing. He respected her, even if her company was a million times smaller than his conglomerate. “I’d like that, Sir.”
“Good. I have a book you might like. I’ll get it for you tonight.” He rubbed his neck.
She eyed him. “You look tired. Did someone beat you up at the gym? Were you boxing?”
“No to being beaten up. Yes to boxing.” His brows drew together. “The tiredness comes from a day spent inspecting one of the manufacturing plants. Their accident rate went up this year without any apparent reason, according to management. I spent the day talking with the workers to see if that was true.”
“Did you figure out the cause of the accidents?”
“I did.” His eyes turned hard as steel. “Which is why I fired the occupational safety professional and one of the VPs.”
“They were cutting corners?”
“Yes. Profiting at the expense of their people.” His mouth thinned. “Arseholes.”
Of course he was displeased. He was as protective of his employees as he was of submissives. Aristocrat or not, he was incredibly easy to talk to. His laborers had probably shared every single problem.
He must have been talking and on his feet all day. Maybe she should give him a back massage. No, she knew where that would lead, and it sure wasn’t rest.
But there were other options.
After they finished eating and returned to the living room, she got lotion from the bathroom. Settling at the other end of the couch, she started massaging his bare left foot.
His sigh of pleasure made her smile. “Piper, you need to stop that”—she froze—“sometime next year.”
“Very funny, Sir.” She ran her thumbs across the bottom arch of his right foot, pressing firmly. It was wonderful how massaging the knot out of foot muscles could relax everything else.
By the time she finished, he still looked tired, but the signs of stress had disappeared.
At least until his cell phone rang. Darn it.
He picked the phone off the ottoman and checked the display. “Xavier, what’s up?”
From the phone came the deep voice of Dark Haven’s owner.
No rest for the wicked, hmm? Piper went into the kitchen to fix more drinks and get the berry tartlets she’d baked.
When she set the plate on the ottoman, Churchill lifted his head, ears swiveling in interest.
“Behave, PM,” she warned. She and Churchill had differing opinions on where the boundaries lay. The PM respected that tables and counters were human owned and off limits. Piper agreed that any food landing on the floor had hit feline country. Ottomans and coffee tables however… Diplomatic discussions were ongoing over those territorial boundaries.
Ethan was still on the phone. “I’ll talk to human resources and see if they can find something suitable.” After a second, he added, “Not a problem. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.” He ended the call and laid the cell down.
“Problems?” Piper picked up tartlet and took a bite.
“Xavier asked me to hire a woman. She has an arrest record and is getting turned down for jobs. Rona and Xavier both vouch for her. Apparently, she’s highly motivated, even beyond the fact she needs a job to get her child back.”
That sounded unusual. “Is she a friend of Xavier’s?”
“No, the request is through Rona. As a hospital admin, she occasionally runs across abuse survivors and will send them to Stella’s for help with job-hunting.”
Piper choked. “Stella’s?”
“It’s a nonprofit company of Xavier’s to help women who were abused to find jobs.” Ethan shook his head, his eyes sad. “He named it after his mum who died at the hands of his father.”
“Xavier owns Stella’s,” Piper said slowly.
“You know it?”
All too well. “I…um, some of our Chatelaines’ contractors hire through them.”
His gaze was far too focused, and Piper concentrated on selecting another small tartlet.
Swinging his feet down, dislodging the cat, he stole her pastry right out of her hand. Popping it into his mouth, he pulled Piper onto the couch beside him.
> “Hey.” She frowned at him.
“Very tasty, pet.” He didn’t let her go. One arm around her shoulders kept her from moving away. His other hand turned her face toward him. “Now tell me why Stella’s makes you uncomfortable. And evasive.”
Her jaw clenched. “Why do you have to go digging at everything?”
“It’s a Dom trait, poppet.” He gave her a half-chiding, half-affectionate squeeze. “Answer me, please.”
“It…it’s nothing important. I’m not uncomfortable.” She totally was. “As it happens, Stella’s helped me when I first got to San Francisco.”
“Ah, I hadn’t thought about that.” He frowned. “How long did you stay at the shelter in Wichita?”
He knew that? She stared at him. Had he checked on her after hinting she could escape her slavery?
Oh, he totally had.
“I stayed only long enough to get patched up. I was eager”—hysterical, panicking—“to get out of the area.” Out of the Defiler’s reach. “A shelter employee was leaving for San Francisco to see her grandchildren and agreed I could go with her. She liked me because I looked like her daughter. She tucked me into the backseat, and by the time we got here, the Wichita shelter had everything set up with a shelter here. Then later, I got sent to Stella’s to find a job.”
Her eyes burned with tears. “Everyone was amazing.”
* * *
Ethan cuddled her closer, remembering back to when he’d first set eyes on her in Kansas. He’d seen her spirit hadn’t been crushed as Serna had undoubtedly hoped. But the wounds from that time were not yet healed. “I’m sorry you had an abusive bastard masquerading as a Master.”
Her shoulders hunched. “I put my signature on that contract of my own free will.”
“I doubt you realized what was going to happen. If you were new to the lifestyle, how did you meet Serna anyway?”
She stiffened at the arsehole’s name. Withdrawing, mentally and physically.
Bloody hell. “How can I help you if you can’t even talk about your time with him?” Or even hear his name?
I Will Not Beg Page 23
