Tangled & Bound
Friendly, adventurous, sexually submissive…and a complete stranger. She’s exactly
the anonymous, no-consequences diversion fetish-club owner Sam needs to kick off a
few days in Las Vegas. He doesn’t hesitate to take her up against the door of the in-
flight bathroom.
Powerful, dominant Sam could have walked straight out of one of Melanie’s dog-
eared BDSM novels. When he strikes up a conversation on a late-evening flight,
fictional fantasies become knee-weakening, panty-soaking, feminine-core-clenching
reality. And oh-em-gee, does she want another taste of that!
When Sam informs her that his plans don’t include a long-term D/s relationship
with an impulsive young blonde for whom submission is more than likely a passing
whim, Melanie throws herself into convincing him she’s exactly the submissive lover he
wants, needs and can’t live without.
T
ANGLED
&
B
OUND
Emily Ryan-Davis
Emily Ryan-Davis
4
Chapter One
August
Halfway into her nonstop flight from New York to Las Vegas, Melanie Burke
started to squirm. Her restlessness had nothing to do with her tiny middle-of-the-row
seat and everything to do with the muscular, denim-clad thigh touching her bare leg.
The thigh belonged to a man she’d noticed hours earlier while waiting to board. In
a sea of people wearing jeans and t-shirts, he’d stood out, and not because of his scuffed
cowboy boots and oversized belt buckle. Well, not only because of those. While the
whole Texas horse wrangler look was out of place in LaGuardia, he certainly wasn’t the
only man doing the Western thing. He was the only one doing it well, though.
The nice ass and hand-tooled boots weren’t what had her snapping a surreptitious
pic and forwarding it to her BFF, Brooke, who was a self-proclaimed expert in all things
BDSM. Something else was.
Something about him declared, “I’m in charge”. Ever since she’d gotten wet while
reading a BDSM-themed novel earlier in the year, Melanie had become a sneaky
people-watcher, looking for the whole “in charge” vibe Dominant men apparently put
off. When she’d despaired ever finding her Dom, Brooke had advised her to chill and
wait. According to Brooke, Melanie would just know. She was on the verge of giving up
and going back to her normal sex routine of grad students and bar crawlers, but then
she saw him.
During boarding call, she’d covertly watched the way he stood apart from the
crowd even while standing in the middle of it. Her attraction to him was inexplicable.
The cowboy look really wasn’t to her taste. She went for guys with more of a GQ look.
He didn’t exude sophisticated power like the heroes of her dog-eared novels either, but
he did take her breath away. Some part of her she was just discovering wanted to kneel
at his feet and gaze up into his eyes from below.
When she reached her assigned seat on the plane, she was both startled and thrilled
by the coincidence that booked him in the seat next to hers. Now, as she turned the
page of her book, a “mommy porn” title on every national bestseller list, she sneaked a
peek at her in-flight neighbor’s face.
Pale, grass-green eyes met hers. Caught in the act of looking, startled by the fact
she’d caught him in the act too, she quickly shifted her focus back to the book spread
across her fold-down tray.
“Good book?” Her neighbor’s voice wrapped around her, warm in the too-cold
cabin. She pressed her thighs together as her simmering arousal cranked up a notch.
“Most of the world seems to like it.” She glanced up to find him still watching her.
This time she was prepared for the intensity of his examination and managed to
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5
maintain eye contact. She even did a little looking of her own, mostly in the form of a
closer inspection of his dark-blond evening stubble and full lips. Those lips quirked
while she studied them. They would be fantastic between her legs.
As if he had access to her little fantasy, his smile widened.
“I’m not interested in most of the world. Do you like it?” He reached over, closed
the book and turned it so the front cover showed. “Who would’ve thought a simple
neck tie would become so iconic?”
“It’s a very striking cover,” Melanie agreed. But totally disinteresting to her now.
As far as visuals went, he had all her attention. His shoulders dominated the narrow
seat. She seriously wanted to climb astride his lap and put her hands on him. Maybe
rub up against that big belt buckle. And she wanted to beg him to keep talking. The
Midwest meets New York accent was weirdly fascinating.
“The question still remains whether you’re enjoying the read.”
“It’s crazy popular—”
“Yes or no?” he interrupted.
Heat flashed through her. Blinking rapidly at her body’s response to his demanding
inquiry, she managed to say, “I’m not sure.”
“There’s a simple way to tell.” He leaned close and spoke directly into her ear. “If
you’re wet right now, you’re enjoying the book.”
The powerful confidence of his voice stirred something low in her abdomen. She
was wet before his lips brushed her ear. Now she felt soaked.
“Answer me, honey.” He touched her chin and tilted her head at a slight angle.
Calloused fingertips settled on a spot just below her jaw. “Your heart’s racing, but I
don’t think you’re scared. I think that book has you so hot, you’re dying to slip your
hand into your panties.”
“The book isn’t that good.” She summoned the remaining shreds of her self-
possession and managed to teasingly say, “Maybe I’m enjoying you.”
“Not yet, you’re not.” He straightened and flagged a flight attendant.
Melanie raised an eyebrow but kept quiet. It was almost a relief to share his
attention with somebody else and she needed a minute to breathe.
When the flight attendant reached them, her green-eyed man didn’t request a drink
as Melanie expected. Instead, he said, “The lady’s getting cold. Would you bring a
blanket?”
She started to protest but he put his hand on her knee and the simple silencing
gesture sparked such an internal display of fireworks that she forgot what she was
supposed to be objecting to. She couldn’t see where he touched her because the plastic
tray was still pulled down, but she could feel. Oh boy, she could feel. That touch said
things she wasn’t sure it should say, but she didn’t want to contradict it.
“Put the book away, honey.” He stroked her knee with his thumb and lightly
squeezed her inner thigh.
Emily Ryan-Davis
6
Wanting to obey but certain she should at least try to fight the urge to surrender,
she said, “I’m trying to read it.”
To prove her claim, she stared at her book. Goose bumps spread across her skin.
They had zero to do with the temperature in the cabin or her choice in attire, a
lightweight sundress to combat the August heat. Up until he touched her, she was
perfectly comfortable in the strapless blue dress she’d chosen that afternoon.
Speaking so softly nobody but she could hear, and so close she could smell the
subtle notes of shaving cream used hours and hours ago, he said, “The real thing is
much better than what you’ll read about between those covers. Put it away.”
“The real thing?” She turned toward him to ask the question, and that was a
mistake. His breath mingled with hers. She could practically taste the mint she smelled.
Trying to keep her head on her shoulders, she asked for clarification. “Sex? Because
duh. Or do you mean…”
Not quite sure how to word what she needed to ask, she trailed off and stared at
him expectantly. He quickly supplied what she couldn’t voice.
“Submission. That’s what you’re reading about.” His smile returned, faint at the
corners of his mouth. “Critics are calling that a gateway book. Were you surprised by
your response to it?”
Melanie nibbled at her bottom lip and tried to ground herself by taking stock of her
surroundings. Her other neighbor continued to snore. Very little conversation was
happening in the cabin, nothing more than the occasional murmur of sound between
traveling companions. Most other passengers sat in the dark of a nighttime flight, their
seats reclined and their eyes closed. A few read by the glow of tablets or e-readers, and
tinny whispers of music came from two dozen sets of headphones. An action-heavy
movie flickered on a screen up ahead. Nobody paid a bit of attention to Melanie and her
impending erotic encounter.
“This isn’t my first book. I knew what I was looking for.” Her voice quaked a little,
which only seemed to amuse him. She raised an eyebrow. “Are you laughing at me? I
suppose you have years and years of experience tying women to beds and…whatever
else gets you off.”
“Years and years about covers it, but I’m not laughing. Power exchange doesn’t
amuse me. Are you going to put that book away and let me keep going?”
God. His hand was so hot on her leg, practically between her legs. And she was
seriously wet, partly from the erotic novel but mostly from the promise in his intense
gaze. Making her choice, she stashed her paperback in the pocket on the seat in front of
her and secured the tray. Once she had a clear view of his fingers splayed on her skin,
she knew any semblance of control she had over the situation was completely gone.
She’d given it over to him.
The flight attendant returned with a blanket, which Melanie’s mystery man shook
out and spread across her lap. He reached up to turn off her reading light. In the
sudden dimness, she forgot how to breathe. Some sane part of her brain warned her to
Tangled & Bound
7
stop things right now. The reckless, thrill-seeking part that she too often obeyed urged
her to part her knees beneath the blanket. In honor of her tiny remaining sense of public
decorum, she closed her eyes. If anybody happened to look her way, she didn’t want to
know.
“Lean your seat back and hold the armrests. Don’t move your hands.”
He spoke so softly, yet with an authoritative quality she couldn’t refuse. As she
angled back into a reclining position and gripped the hard plastic armrests, it occurred
to her that she was doing something foolish. She didn’t even know his name. Instead of
asking, she blew out a slow breath and inched down in the seat, closer to his stroking
fingers.
He didn’t rush to accept her invitation. Instead, he started talking to her again. “Do
you belong to someone, honey?”
Swallowing, she shook her head. Behind her closed eyes, the flickering scenes of the
movie created crazy patterns not much different from the lines and circles and swirls he
drew on her inner thigh with his short fingernails. Just when she thought he was going
to go all the way up her short skirt, he scratched a path back to her knee. The goose
bumps didn’t let up either, and a fresh wave tightened her nipples.
“If you were mine,” he said, “that’s not the answer you’d give a man who asked
that question.”
If she were his, she’d probably melt into a hot puddle of need on the floor. She
squeezed her eyes shut tighter. “What else?”
“What else if you were mine?” His fingers ventured up her thigh again, feather-
light strokes beneath her skirt.
Melanie nodded and tilted her hips, angling toward him. When he touched her
through her panties, she whimpered. He probed gently, testing the material’s give and
tracing a path down the valley between her swollen lips.
“If you were mine, I wouldn’t cover you up with that blanket. I’d make you spread
your knees wide and lift your dress so anybody who looked could see how pretty and
wet you are.” He hooked his finger behind the narrow strip of cloth covering her pussy
and tugged, drawing the sodden fabric away from her skin. “I’d pull your top down
too, and let those hard little nipples go free.”
“Why don’t you do that anyway?” she whispered, half afraid he would, half afraid
he wouldn’t.
“Because you’re not mine,” he said, with what sounded like regret.
Her chest tightened. That wasn’t what she wanted him to say, wasn’t how their
exchange should be going. She mentally revised his words to better fit the fantasy she
wanted to live.
Because you’re mine and I don’t feel like sharing right now. Would you rather I shared?
No Sir. I love being just yours.
That’s good, honey, since you don’t have any other choice.
Emily Ryan-Davis
8
Her imagination stopped there, unable to fill in what he’d do next, reminding her
that she didn’t know him at all. Swallowing, she asked, “What else would you do?”
“You’re not ready for that either.”
But he touched her, long fingers sinking into her while he cupped her mound and
squeezed, and she didn’t care to argue. The way he flexed his hand, he stimulated her
clit with her own soft, wet folds. The sensation was miles away from what she
associated with manual stimulation, more like being licked than touched, and she
wanted his mouth on her. Until he pumped his fingers, reminding her she could feel in
more than one place at the same time.
Curling his fingers inside her, he compressed her clit from inside and out. Liquid
pleasure flooded all her receptors. Her back arched like a fully drawn bow and she
gasped so loud she didn’t know how the snoring businessman didn’t wake up then and
there.
Horrified by her inability to keep quiet, she started to cover her mouth with her
hands but, at the last minute, remembered his instructions to keep her hands on the arm
rests. Her forearms strained with the effort to obey him. As she bit down on the insides
of her lips and swallowed the moan that threatened to vibrate into the quiet of the
cabin, a barrage of thoughts crashed through her head. Most thoughts were of the
extremely-bad-idea variety, with one notion that she should try to hurry. The sooner
she came, the sooner she could stop worrying about attracting an audience. Or getting
arrested by airport security in Vegas.
“Stop thinking,” he whispered directly into her ear. “Stop worrying. Even if people
can hear, they’re socially conditioned not to look.”
Melanie swallowed and turned toward him. Their lips brushed and her eyes flew
open at the unexpected contact. Surprise flashed across his face too, along with
something else, and his fingers stopped moving. Only for an instant. He wrestled the
surprise out of view and started moving again, vigorous strokes that had her biting
down on his shoulder. When he thumbed her folds apart between thrusts and pressed
directly against her clit, she broke. Her instincts waged a war inside her, half
demanding she hold on to him for safety, the other half demanding she keep her hands
in place because he’d told her to do so. Obedience won—she couldn’t seem to
physically lift her hands from the armrests.
Cotton and muscle muffled her startled cry as he cradled the back of her head and
tucked her face against his chest, keeping her from spinning off without an anchor. She
couldn’t have escaped even if she’d wanted to. He held her to the seat, pinning her with
his still-moving fingers while she jerked with small, deep convulsions.
“Good girl,” he murmured as her orgasm slowed. Eventually he withdrew his hand
from between her legs.
She struggled to find her way out of the fantasy. Eyes half open, she managed a
tentative, “Um. That was different.”
Tangled & Bound
9
He stared at her for long minutes before saying, “People should do different things
sometimes. Follow me.”
He stood abruptly and headed for the rear of the plane.
Her body obeyed without thought, fingers fumbling at the seatbelt. Melanie shook
her head sharply and forced herself to think independently of her impulses.
Mind racing with possibility, she twisted to watch him until he closed himself in the
bathroom. She settled back into her seat and stared at the top third of her paperback
where it poked out of the pocket in which she’d stashed it. Beside her, the snoring
passenger shifted in his seat. Melanie glanced over automatically—just in time to catch
him adjusting his pants. Her cheeks went up in flames and she quickly looked back to
her book.
Okay. Options. She could remain in her seat, keep her knees firmly together for the
remainder of the flight, and go on with her life without having experienced hot, mid-
flight sex. Or she could go enjoy the sex, which was sure to come with a generous side
of Domination.
After another minute of indecision, in which she kept circling back around to the
whole “enjoy” route, she stood and followed him.
Cheeks burning from equal parts anticipation and nervousness, she tapped on the
bathroom door and hoped nobody was watching her. The door opened immediately.
She took a deep breath and slipped inside.
He reached past her to lock the door before she could turn around. Warm lips
nuzzled her hair away from her nape and caressed the sensitive skin behind her ear.
“I’m going to fuck you. By coming in here, you’re saying yes. Tell me.”
Melanie closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the door, overwhelmed by
the need coiling deep inside. “Yes.”
With her explicit permission ringing between them, he spun her in the tight
confines and pushed her shoulders back against the door. Melanie stared up into his
eyes, unsure what to say to him.
He didn’t share her uncertainty. “Do you know what a St. Andrews Cross is?”
She shook her head.
“It’s two beams mounted together in the shape of an ‘X’. Your arms line up like this
and your legs spread out the same way.” He pulled her hands from his shoulders and
stretched her arms up and out as far as he could in the narrow confines of the tiny
closet. “Your wrists would be secured by padded leather cuffs and you wouldn’t be
able to move from this position. I’m going to let go now. Don’t move.”
“What about my legs?”
“You just close your eyes and worry about keeping your arms in place.”
“Why can’t I look at you?” Her fingers already tingled from the awkward position.
“I want to see.”
“You don’t need to see anything. Your job is to trust and feel.”
Emily Ryan-Davis
10
She swallowed down a little twinge of uncertainty. “Can I know the name of the
man I’m trusting and feeling?”
He grasped the sides of her stretchy smocked bodice and dragged it to her waist.
Surprised, she dropped her hands to cover her naked skin.
“No,” he said sharply.
She froze. “No?”
“Put your arms back up.”
Melanie slowly returned to the position he’d established and closed her eyes. Before
she could work up the courage to ask for his name again, he spoke.
“My name is Sam. You can call me Sir.”
Sam. Okay. She exhaled a slow breath and balled her hands into fists, trying to
ignore the burn settling into her triceps and forearms. He reached up and pushed her
fists farther apart. She bit her lip to keep from complaining about the position and an
instant later he ran his hands down her arms and sides. His touch was so confident, it
didn’t even tickle where she was most ticklish.
With his palms measuring her ribs, he angled his hands to cup her breasts between
his thumbs and forefingers.
“These are pretty,” he said. “They would be even prettier bound with rope. Do you
know what hemp rope feels like, honey?”
“No Sir,” she whispered.
“It’s soft. It gets softer the more it’s used, as it absorbs your perspiration and the oils
from your skin. It can be dyed in different colors. Dark purple for you, I think.” He
squeezed her breasts and lifted them, forcing her to arch her back in order to avoid
discomfort. “Yeah, dark purple, wrapped around your tits and down between your
legs. Two strands of rope to spread your pussy lips apart and hold your clit between
them. I think I’d tie the knot right at your entrance so every time you twist or twitch,
you feel the smallest pressure of penetration. A nice big knot for your tight little body.”
While he talked, her mind’s eye gave form to his words. She could see herself
spread open, wrists and ankles at cross points, purple rope laced around her body. As if
he’d already tightened the rope around her rib cage, Melanie’s breath started to come in
shallow, panting bursts.
“Ah, you like that idea.” He didn’t speak again for long minutes after that.
Melanie was on the verge of saying something—what, she didn’t know—just to fill
the silence, when he drew the tight peak of one breast into his mouth. Whatever words
she meant to voice took the shape of a startled gasp, pulled past her lips by Sam’s
unexpectedly powerful kiss. He sucked hard enough to sting, his mouth open wide
around the entire areola, and he didn’t just hold her there once he had her. Strong,
rhythmic tugs seemed to inflame lines of sensation running between her nipples and
her core. Things deep down in her body flexed in response.
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11
When he covered her other breast with his free hand, she barely registered the
motion. The ache in her arms faded to nothing at all. She’d never imagined her entire
world could narrow down to one tiny point, but there in the cramped bathroom, that
was exactly what happened. By the time he loosened his hold and released her, she
barely remembered anything existed outside the sensation of his mouth on her
flesh…and when he claimed her other nipple with the same fierce strike, she felt the
beginnings of orgasm trembling in her thighs.
Her wet, abused flesh stung as cold air dried his saliva. Shaking, Melanie opened
her eyes and lifted her head from the door to watch him at her breast. The nipple he’d
abandoned stood long and red, drawn out by the force of his mouth. The lewd display
shocked her. That couldn’t be right, couldn’t—
“Close your eyes,” he ordered against her skin. “You’re not ready to see.”
“What—”
“Close.”
As if connected to a switch he’d flipped, her eyes closed again. Melanie dug her
fingernails into her palms, fighting an overwhelming desire to simply surrender.
Somewhere in her thinking brain she knew this was not smart behavior, that anything
could happen, anything could go wrong. She didn’t know him, shouldn’t trust him, but
her body refused to heed her brain.
“I’m preparing you.” His steady, even voice penetrated the tangle of conflicting
impulses vying for dominance in her head. “Your nipples are too small for clamps, but
they’re so pretty and pink, they deserve to be adorned. If I suck them long enough,
clamps will stay for a little while. Piercings would be a better solution.”
She tried to tell herself he was merely verbalizing a fantasy, but deep down she
didn’t want to believe it. She wanted to believe something else, couldn’t let her mind
dwell on the possibilities. Stainless steel puncturing her delicate flesh—
“Spread your legs,” he said, interrupting her mental detour.
Distracted away from the dark potential, she focused on the reality of the moment.
In that reality, he raised the hem of her dress and tucked it into the bunched-up fabric of
her bodice where it twisted around her waist. Melanie waited until he pushed her
panties over her hips and down her legs, and then she obeyed him by inching her feet
as far apart as she could in the narrow confines. Bare above and below the waist, she
felt more vulnerable than she’d ever been in her life.
“Maybe not hemp for you.” He adjusted the tilt of her hips and drew his fingertip
down the seam of her bare, sensitive pussy. “Maybe bamboo because you’re a wet, wet
girl and we don’t want to have to wash the rope once it’s conditioned.”
Her cheeks flamed in response to his observation and the warm slide of moisture
down the inside of one thigh. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”
“I wouldn’t want you to.” He nudged her slick lips apart and pushed two fingers
into her, so much deeper than he was able to go when restricted by a seat and public
eyes.
Emily Ryan-Davis
12
She groaned and her thighs quivered, threatening to drop her weight straight onto
his thrusting fingers. Sam hummed a sound of approval and circled his thumb around
her clit.
“Everything about you is soft and pink,” he said, delivering the low compliment
along with the stretching thickness of another finger. “I could do so many things with
you.”
Her breath hitched. “Tell me.”
“I don’t think so. I think this is enough for you for one day.” He withdrew his
fingers, leaving her pussy empty.
“Please tell me.” She pressed her mostly numb fists against the cool walls. Even
though he’d given her one hell of an orgasm already, she wanted more. Needed more.
Needed things she was too afraid to ask for, didn’t know how to verbalize.
The sound of his zipper joined the droning hum of the jet’s air circulation system.
“Can you picture yourself in my dungeon? Your arms spread for the cross, rope cutting
into your skin, little gold hoops piercing your wet red nipples?”
“Yes,” she whispered. She wanted to see more, wanted to know what else awaited
her, but tried to content herself with the scenario he’d already provided.
“Good girl. Keep your eyes closed. I’m going to put on a condom and fuck you now
that you’re wet and hot and ready for me.” Foil crinkled and tore, making his statement
real.
“What does it smell like?” she asked, needing one more element.
“Like leather and sweat and cinnamon oil I use when I’m playing with your ass.
Like you, because I’ve had you there a thousand times and your cunt has soaked
everything in the place.” He moved against her, still wearing all his clothes except
where necessity demanded otherwise. As he slid his hands around her thighs, his cock
rubbed between her legs. Her pussy clenched, empty and needing, and she almost
believed him, almost believed she was born to spread her legs for him and obey every
word he uttered.
“My arms hurt,” she moaned.
“Don’t move them.” Digging his fingertips into her thighs, he lifted her in one
sudden motion.
Her legs wound around his waist, a self-preserving reflex that opened her wide.
Sam shifted and the head of his cock slid against her, right where the knots of the rope
would be. He didn’t tease her though. No, he flexed his hips and tunneled deep all at
once and even though he’d widened her with his fingers, his entry hurt.
“Ow, ow, ow.” She couldn’t keep her inner muscles from contracting to push him
out, which only served to increase the sting of his size.
“Flex your fingers.” His even tone was gone, replaced by a rough edge.
Tangled & Bound
13
“Not that—have to stop. You’re too big.” But she couldn’t escape. He held her
pinned, one hand at her shoulder, the other at her hip, and the force of his will binding
her arms.
“You can handle it, honey. Take a deep breath and let me in.” Not waiting for her to
catch up, he eased his thick cock out until only the head kept her open, paused a beat,
and shoved deep again. Even as wet as she was, even wanting him inside her as badly
as she did, the second thrust hurt almost as much as the first.
She did as he told her and took a deep breath while trying to open. Her shoulders
ached, but at least his powerful motion between her thighs distracted her from the
painful numbness between her elbows and fingertips. Pain and pleasure quickly
became one and the same as he established a steady pattern, slow and careful out, fast
and rough back in. Once she figured out his pace, she clung to the long-short pulse like
it was a life jacket, the only thing keeping her afloat in the dark behind her tightly
closed eyes.
His breathing changed, a ragged warning that she was about to lose her safety net.
Long-short became short-short, quick and hard stabs deep in her core. In a moment of
panic, she dropped her arms and reached for him. Agonizing fire tore through her
muscles and she screamed. Before the sound gained full power, he covered her mouth
with his and swallowed her pained cry.
The rich flavor of his tongue momentarily distracted her from the hot needles
pricking her palms and fingertips, and just as the sensation started to register again he
did something. Adjusted his stance, shifted his hold, and all her senses focused down to
the point where their bodies joined. Expert fingers slid across her clit, drawing her
attention away from pain and forcing her to acknowledge the erupting pleasure.
Melanie moaned into his mouth and clutched at his shoulders with hands that barely
functioned, desperate for an anchor as he drove her to a sharp, bright peak and shoved
her over.
As if he knew about her fall, he tore his lips from hers and pressed his mouth to her
ear. “I’ve got you. Let go.”
Later, she’d try to figure out why she believed him. Now, she obeyed, just like she’d
followed his every other command. Letting go freed her to feel everything, from the
pain arcing away from her elbows to the spike of hot sensation spiraling out from her
clit. This time when she cried out, he didn’t silence her. Instead, he answered with a low
grunt and a curse muttered into her hair. His cock filled her so deep, she felt his hard
length jump with the force of his release.
Sam stilled after a few more harsh words. He lowered her feet to the floor and
eased from her body. Still clinging to the fantasy, Melanie kept her eyes closed while he
disposed of the condom and raised his zipper. The tingling in her hands slowly brought
her back to reality, along with the voice of the pilot announcing their estimated time
until arrival in Las Vegas. No longer able to pretend she’d just experienced anything
more profound than sex with a stranger on a plane, she flexed her fingers and opened
her eyes.
Emily Ryan-Davis
14
The green light from the lavatory bulb cast his handsome features in weird shadow.
Overcome by a sudden wave of uncertainty, she looked away and fumbled to cover her
bare body. Sam left her to fumble for a minute before he brushed her hands away and
straightened her dress, pulling the hem down and the bodice up. Her panties were a
challenge she couldn’t handle due to space limitations, so she kicked them aside and
wrote them off as a loss.
“Your hands will work again soon.” He gently massaged her forearms. “Once the
blood returns to your fingers.”
“All passengers must now return to their seats.” The pilot’s voice interrupted
whatever else Sam was going to say.
“We should get back,” Melanie murmured. She could ignore the pain now. It was
dull, little more than discomfort. And her knees were only shaking because she’d come
so hard.
Sam cursed. “I shouldn’t let you go yet.”
“So don’t,” she suggested tentatively. “We’ll both be in Vegas, right? We could
have dinner, try this again….”
His expression closed off as she spoke. She let the words trail off, averting her eyes
so she didn’t have to see his refusal.
“I meant I should get you put back together,” he said.
“Oh. Um. I think this is as presentable as I’m going to get.” She urgently needed to
escape the tight space and the reality of what she’d done—submitted to a stranger who
wanted nothing to do with her after now that the physical stuff was over. Twisting
away, she unlocked the door and hurried back to her seat.
Tangled & Bound
15
Chapter Two
After she left, Sam Fletcher raked his fingers through his hair, hard enough to
hopefully drive some sense into his head. What the hell had gotten into him?
When the little blonde suggested they follow up with a repeat performance on the
ground, the image of her kneeling at his feet in a casino was so vivid and so right that
he’d almost agreed. She was obviously a new submissive, uncertain of her path and
uneven at the edges, nowhere close to his perfectly behaved preference. For an instant,
her status hadn’t mattered. He’d trained many women to accept and embrace total
ownership. He was confident he could successfully lead her down that road and shape
her into his personal pet, a lovely creature he wouldn’t be giving back to her Master at
the end of their time together.
He’d wanted to agree. Wanted to introduce her to the reality she wouldn’t find
between the covers of a novel. Wanted to put an end to his long search for someone like
her, a fresh soul not yet scarred by the emotional games he so often witnessed in the
fetish club environment that lately ruled his life.
Something held him back. Fear. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that his unexpected
attraction to a stranger on a plane had shaken him down to his boots. He appreciated
beautiful women but beauty didn’t affect him on this level.
Bracing his hands against the narrow bathroom door, he spoke aloud for the
realness of hearing the words. “Boredom. Exhaustion. Too long between lovers, and
you’re getting old. Too old to torture yourself with a sub-curious little girl who will
probably change her mind and decide she’s actually a lesbian instead of a submissive.
You’d get a few months out of her at most. Not worth the effort. Once was all you
wanted when you started this. A responsible Dom doesn’t backtrack on his decisions.”
Sam prided himself on his sense of responsibility and the care he took with
educating and guiding when asked to do those things. Sometimes when not asked.
He’d needed the irresponsibility of a fling with a neophyte, something new and
clean to refresh his increasingly jaded outlook, but he still maintained a measure of
control. He’d used a condom, he hadn’t made any promises he couldn’t keep, he hadn’t
taken her so deep that she couldn’t recover quickly, mostly on her own.
“Time to be responsible again,” he told himself.
A knock sounded on the other side of the door. Sam straightened and opened it,
ignoring an echo of disappointment when he found one of the flight attendants instead
of his blonde.
“On my way,” he said before the attendant could remind him to return to his seat.
Emily Ryan-Davis
16
She backed up and he stepped out into the aisle. Dread settled into his stomach.
Sam chalked it up to the aftereffect of mistakes. He didn’t make so many, not as far as
treatment of submissives went, that he was overly familiar with the sensation. He never
made mistakes he didn’t immediately attempt to rectify, but as he lowered himself into
the seat beside her, he didn’t have the first clue how to begin.
Melanie sat through the remainder of the flight in silence, not making eye contact
with Sam. He was restless and several times she thought he was about to say
something, but he seemed to understand it was over. The “over” part was exactly what
she didn’t want to deal with, but what other choice did she have? He hadn’t even asked
her name.
When they finally landed, Melanie turned on her phone to a reply from Brooke.
She’d talk to her friend later. For now, she fired off a text to her brother, who responded
with a promise to meet her at the baggage-claim carousel. Despite her dark mood, she
smiled. David was getting married, and she couldn’t wait to call Jovanna her sister.
Sam was busy texting someone too. Probably a girlfriend or something. Melanie
waited anxiously while he finished his exchange and retrieved his carry-on from the
overhead compartment. When he finally stepped out into the aisle, he hesitated. She
deliberately turned her back on him in order to grab her own little suitcase and
dawdled until he had no choice but to move forward at the insistence of other
passengers clambering to debark.
The minute she was free of the plane and Sam’s presence, her mood brightened. She
couldn’t shed the lingering sensations of being recently pleasured, or the strange low
spirits that followed her foray into submission, but she did try to ignore them. Dwelling
wasn’t her style.
After she stopped in the ladies’ room to smooth her hair, wriggle into a pair of clean
panties and make sure she didn’t look like she’d just been fucked, she headed for the
baggage area. She spotted Jovanna’s sleek, dark-plum ’do almost immediately. Jovanna
stood alone, fingering one of her dangly silver earrings and watching the ebb and flow
of people. Jovanna saw Melanie a second later and a smile lightened her focused
expression.
“Where’s David?” Melanie asked, dropping her bag and throwing her arms around
the other woman. “Did you come to your senses and decide to dump him for me?”
Jovanna laughed and returned the embrace. “He’s here somewhere, meeting
another guest. You were both on the same flight so he’ll probably show up down here
soon.”
They parted and Melanie retrieved her carry-on from the floor. “How many more
people are you waiting for?”
“Just you and Sam. Your parents arrived yesterday. That was a weirdly awkward
dinner last night, by the way. Nobody told me your mother’s romantic interest only
speaks Portuguese. Oh there’s David.” Jovanna raised her hand in a wave and Melanie
Tangled & Bound
17
closed her eyes, filled with a sinking sense of dread. She’d barely heard anything after
his name.
“We got waylaid by the slots,” David said behind her. “Sam made a killing in
nickels. Dinner’s on him.”
He draped his arm across her shoulders and she didn’t have any other choice but to
open her eyes and pretend to be normal. Jovanna gave her a strange, questioning look,
which Melanie ignored. Fingers crossed just in case luck might be with her, she turned
in David’s embrace and prayed for David’s Sam to be someone she’d never seen before.
When she met Sam’s unforgettable green eyes, she finally knew just how much God
hated her. Recognition flared Sam’s nostrils, but he didn’t react otherwise except to
hold out his hand in a polite gesture.
“Sam Fletcher,” he said.
“Melanie Burke.” She accepted his hand for a brief moment that took an eternity to
pass. Her heart skipped a beat, the damn thing, and her body tried to heat and soften
for him.
“Have you seen your luggage yet, Mel?” David asked.
“I haven’t gotten that far.” She retreated from Sam’s hold and focused on her
brother. “Why don’t you go be a manly man and get it for me?”
David snorted and dropped his arm, only to nudge her toward the circling
conveyer belt. “Because I’d lose my manly man status if anybody saw me carrying your
flowery pink suitcase.”
“I’ll get it,” Sam announced unexpectedly. “You three do your family catch-up
thing and I’ll be back.”
Without waiting for anybody to protest, he turned and walked away to join the
crowd of passengers impatiently watching the empty conveyer belt. Melanie exhaled
and dodged Jovanna’s curious stare by focusing on David. “Jo says Mom and Dad are
both here? What happened to ‘secret Elvis wedding’?”
“He convinced me that our union should be witnessed by people who matter,”
Jovanna answered for him.
Ah, there was her chance. “Sam’s somebody who matters? I haven’t met him
before.”
Again, Jovanna answered. “You’re David’s witness and Sam’s mine.”
“For the paperwork,” David added, giving Jovanna a look, the nature of which
Melanie decided was none of her business.
“Oookay. That’s cool.” She’d just work on her poker face and avoidance techniques.
She’d need the blank expression for the gaming tables. “Anyway, I’m starving. I missed
dinner while in the air. Where are we eating?”
“I made reservations for a late dinner at the Eiffel Tower Restaurant,” Sam said,
rejoining them in time to catch the end of her question. “I didn’t realize we would be
four instead of three, but I already put in a call to change the seating.”
Emily Ryan-Davis
18
“You didn’t have to do that,” Jovanna protested.
Sam shouldered Melanie’s pink garment bag and gestured toward the exit. “This is
an occasion to celebrate. But Melanie and I should probably check in at our hotels and
clean up.”
“We’re all in the same hotel,” David said. “Come on, I’ve rented a car.”
Five minutes later, Jovanna waved Sam into the front seat. She climbed into the
back beside Melanie. While David and Sam settled themselves and talked man-talk,
something about a nightclub opening in Seattle, Jovanna leaned over and said, “Don’t
go down that road until you understand exactly where it will take you.”
Too late. Not quite sure what to say, Melanie bit her lip and turned her attention to
neon scenery outside.
* * * * *
Two hours later, Sam found himself alone at a table with Melanie while David and
Jovanna rode the elevator to the top of the Eiffel Tower. Melanie wore another strapless
dress, this one a slim-fitting black sheath that hugged her curves from knee to sternum.
Despite his earlier claim that he’d bare her to be shared, he now fought a possessive
urge to cover her with something. The tablecloth would do.
The dress zipped up the back, easy to remove for a man standing behind her. As he
waved the maître ’d away, refusing another bottle of wine, Sam worked on thinking
about something—anything—besides all the things he could do to his little submissive
from behind.
The fact was, he couldn’t do anything. Shouldn’t have done what he already did.
Wouldn’t repeat the experience, not knowing who she was. Even if she weren’t Melanie
Burke—Burke, for Christ’s sake, of all the damn coincidences—he wouldn’t be going
down that path again. His actions on the plane were a whim, driven by a desire for
someone and something he wouldn’t be responsible for after it was over. He shouldn’t
have indulged, no matter how hot it was watching her flush and nibble at her bottom
lip while she read erotica beside him.
Melanie twisted her napkin anxiously and broke the silence. “Will you please stop
looking at me like that? I didn’t do anything to deserve anger.”
He hadn’t been looking at her like anything, had been deliberately looking at
everything except her whenever he could politely get away with it. Now he met her
eyes across the table. Her helpless, confused expression twisted his gut.
“I’m not angry with you,” he said, hoping to put her at ease. His error in judgment
wasn’t her fault. “I do wish I’d known who you are.”
She dropped her gaze to the table. “You didn’t ask.”
“I behaved irresponsibly on a number of levels.” He hesitated before adding, “I also
behaved disrespectfully. I apologize.”
Tangled & Bound
19
“Well, you used a condom and you didn’t leave me hanging, so I figure you
fulfilled your obligations.” She shrugged with studious casualness that didn’t fool Sam
for a minute.
“I’m not talking about STD and pregnancy prevention. I took advantage of your
curiosity about submission.” Her cheeks flushed bright red and Sam cursed beneath his
breath because his body reacted to her response.
“You didn’t take advantage of anything. I wanted to have sex with you so I did. I’m
a big girl. I get to drink and vote and make decisions like whether or not I should follow
a man into an airplane bathroom.” She was back to strangling her napkin and staring so
intently at her lap that Sam couldn’t see her face past a curtain of her shiny blonde hair.
Not quite sure why he couldn’t let it go, he said, “Decisions have consequences.”
“I’m a big girl,” she repeated.
Her phone vibrated and she snatched it off the table like it was a lifeline. Sam
leaned back and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“David,” Melanie said. “He and Jo decided to take off. He says sorry and thanks for
dinner.”
She put her phone back on the table and bent to retrieve her handbag from where
she’d stashed it at her feet. While Sam considered this development, Melanie produced
a Frommer’s pocket guide to the city and flipped it open to a bookmarked page. From
where he sat, he could see part of a map of the Strip.
“I’ll see you back to the hotel.” Sam didn’t bother asking if she was ready to go.
She’d refused dessert earlier and he’d already taken care of the check.
Melanie didn’t look up from the book. “You don’t have to do that. I think I want to
walk anyway. I have a map. You should just take a cab.”
“If you’re walking, I’m walking.” He stood and pulled her chair away from the
table, not giving her room to run. “In this, you don’t get to make the decision.”
She visibly struggled with a desire to accept his authority and a need to regain her
independence. Sam had seen the same array of emotions on countless faces as new subs
battled with their instinct to defer power and the conditioned teaching to take charge of
their own lives. In his experience, the response was prevalent in women.
Melanie would bow to her instincts instead of her conditioning. He patiently waited
for her to come to terms with the situation. He didn’t have to wait long.
“Fine. Do whatever you want.” She stood with an annoyed sigh and started for the
exit.
Sam suppressed an urge to bring her to heel by reminding himself that she didn’t
belong to him. He had no rights even though she’d conferred them upon him by
acknowledging his position. Brooding over the distasteful concept of her unchecked
freedom, he followed her from the restaurant.
Emily Ryan-Davis
20
Outside, desert heat wrapped around them. Melanie stopped on the sidewalk and
closed her eyes, a small smile playing over her lips. Sam watched her, enthralled by the
unabashed expression of joy displacing her recent irritation.
“It’s amazing,” she said after a minute. “The energy in this city. Excitement and life
and money and sex. And Elvis. Sooo much Elvis.”
He pushed his hands into his pocket to keep them out of her hair. “It’s artificial and
fleeting. Many people will go home broke.”
“Yeah, but they’re having a good time now.” She opened her eyes and her smile
faded. “Most of them, anyway.”
“Are you tired?” he asked abruptly.
“No, not really. I want to see things.”
“Come with me.” Giving in to the need to touch her, Sam took her hand and steered
her in the opposite direction from their hotel. “Every first time in Vegas deserves a
fountain show.”
Melanie laughed, a lighthearted sound that cracked something inside him. Even
though he knew he’d regret it later, Sam decided not to worry about the break in his
armor. It wouldn’t go any further, not now that he knew who she was. The anonymous
woman on the plane had gotten under his skin, but her identity protected him from any
more damage.
He and Melanie fell into an easy silence as he guided her down the Strip and
through the ever-present traffic, both pedestrian and motor vehicle. When they reached
the Bellagio’s man-made lake, Sam carved a path through the crowd in order to secure
an unobstructed view for her.
“The songs change,” he said, standing behind her and bending his head so he could
speak in her ear. “Elvis’s Viva Las Vegas is usually on the playlist. I’m not sure what else
is running right now. I haven’t been here in a couple of years.”
People packed in around them, chatting and snapping photos while they waited for
the next show to begin. When a few minutes passed without action on the lake, Melanie
turned around and leaned against the stone at her back. “Can I ask a question?”
Something in her expression warned Sam to say no. Instead, he nodded.
She fingered a chin-length lock of hair and looked away from him. “Do you do the
whole contract thing? Lists of expectations and forbidden behaviors and all that?”
Shit. His cock stiffened instantly at the thought of sitting down with her to define
her permissions and her limits. He should have listened to his instincts. If he had, he
wouldn’t be wondering how she signed her name. He was tempted to pretend he
hadn’t heard her, but he wasn’t a coward and as a Dominant, he had a responsibility to
educate. Even when he didn’t want to, especially when the information-seeker was a
lovely, naïve submissive-curious getting all her information from storybooks.
He blew out resigned a breath. “It depends.”
Tangled & Bound
21
“On what?” Melanie had rediscovered her ability to make eye contact. She watched
him expectantly.
“Every pair of people has a different situation.” Knowing that wouldn’t satisfy her,
he continued. “For me, it depends on the circumstances and the person. If dinner leads
to bed, then no. If dinner leads to a power exchange relationship, then yes.”
“Do airline peanuts count as dinner?”
Sam grunted.
Still studying him, she tilted her head. “What if dinner leads to bed more than
once?”
“It isn’t going to.”
“But what if it does? When does something that’s casual become something
requiring a written contract? Is the contract a way of saying ‘let’s be boyfriend and
girlfriend’ or is it more commitment-oriented, like an engagement ring?”
“It depends,” he repeated, and checked his watch, suddenly desperate for the
fountain show to begin.
“How many contracts have you signed?” she asked.
“Nine.”
“Nine!” Her eyes widened. “Is that a lot? It seems like a lot.”
“I’m not new to this.” But he was finished talking about it with her.
Melanie grimaced. “So I would be number ten. Or I guess if you’ve had nine
contracts, you’ve had other non-contracts, so I wouldn’t even be number ten, would I?”
She couldn’t keep her emotions off her face. As she talked, her confidence visibly
faded away to uncertainty. “Thirteen seems kind of insignificant.”
Taking charge of the situation, he said, “Enough, Melanie. You asked your question
and I answered. All you’re doing now is hurting yourself. It’s time to stop.”
Water spouts broke the surface of the water and the energy of the crowd changed.
Thank God. Sam nodded at the lake. “Turn around and watch. The show’s starting.”
Still frowning, she shifted to face the water. Sam let out a relieved sigh, which
became a silent curse when she leaned back against him. If she noticed the erection
straining his pants, she gave no indication. While she turned her head to watch the
progression of the fountains as water erupted, he tried to bring his body under control.
Instead of Elvis’ energetic tune, the PA system crooned an Elton John ballad. Melanie
swayed to the music, and even though he couldn’t hear her voice, he knew she was
singing along because her back vibrated against his chest.
The truth was, he hadn’t kept a count of his one-time encounters. Even though
Melanie wasn’t even close to the thirteenth woman he’d fucked, she was too far from
insignificant for his peace of mind. Every minute he spent with her sharpened his desire
to own her. In that capacity, she wouldn’t be the tenth, she’d be the first.
Emily Ryan-Davis
22
His past contract-bound relationships were very specific in nature, granting him
slave-training authority for a limited time. While he’d personally trained nine
submissives who had wanted to learn how to be more than bottoms, he’d never entered
into a total power exchange relationship that involved his emotions as well as his body.
At the peak of the show, she half-turned to say something to him. Her hip brushed
his groin and she paused mid-sentence. Surprise widened her eyes and realization
darkened them. She visibly shook herself, licked her lips and started over with
whatever she meant to say. Sam didn’t wait for the words. Driven by an inexplicable
need to claim her, he tunneled his fingers through her hair and twisted, pulling her
head back to a point that strained the tendons in her neck. He saw acceptance in her
gaze, followed by surrender. He swooped to take, plunging his tongue into her mouth
and turning her to fully face him. He felt more than heard her whimper as he backed
her against the stone wall until her stomach cushioned his groin.
Melanie flattened her hands against his ribs and stood on tiptoe, rising to meet him.
Completely unnecessary—he wouldn’t have allowed her to escape even if she’d tried.
The crack she’d started broke open and ran long, destroying the barrier he’d built over
years of watching so-called serious D/s relationships begin and end due to changing
needs. Young women like Melanie flitted from one stage of life to another, and she
wasn’t anywhere near the same page he was on. He’d been looking and waiting for as
long as he could remember, searching for the woman he could claim for a lifetime.
Sam knew he’d have a hell of a time repairing the wall after indulging himself, but
something beyond his control decided the pain was worth it. While he sucked at her
wine-sweet lips, he committed her flavor to memory and counted the reasons why this
had to be the last taste. Her newness headed the list. Ironic that it also headed the list of
things that attracted him.
When he finally lifted his head, she opened her eyes and smiled at him. All her
earlier distress had vanished, replaced by a dangerously self-assured confidence. “You
should tell me more about that dungeon of yours.”
“No.” He released her and backed away. “What I should do is put you in a cab and
send you back to the hotel. And that’s what I’m going to do right now.”
Tangled & Bound
23
Chapter Three
Melanie spent the next morning doing the spa thing with her mother, stepmother
and Jovanna. Her face tingled from the herbs in the European scrub and her scalp ached
from a vigorous massage. After the night she’d spent tossing and turning, wanting Sam
and trying to figure out why he didn’t want to desire her, the morning’s grooming
activities only exhausted her further.
Snuggled into a fluffy white robe, she wiggled her toes in a basin of hot, perfumed
water. The whirlpool pedicure tub frothed bubbles around her ankles while a small,
silent woman massaged moisturizer into her right hand. Neither the steam nor the
acupressure did anything for her headache, and she couldn’t block out the sound of
maternal advice being pushed upon Jovanna.
By some blessed stroke of luck, the motherly figures finished their mani-pedis first
and left to get started on the hot stone massages they’d both decided upon.
Jovanna groaned out loud once they were gone. “I am so glad they live away from
David. Far, far away.”
Melanie closed her eyes. “Not as glad as I am. I don’t even want to think about the
‘when are you going to get married’ harassment I’d suffer if they were closer than email
and phone calls. Bad enough that my dad thinks I need a financial planner and a
husband, or a financial planner as a husband.”
“What do you think you need?”
“I dunno. An android to manage my bank account and my schedule so I don’t have
to.” She grimaced, reminded of the scheduling mess she had to puzzle through when
she returned to New York. She’d missed her chance to register for a required class, and
somehow had to convince somebody to add her to the overfull roster. Maybe if she
showed up with a photo of the litter of dehydrated kittens that had sidetracked her on
her way to the registrar’s office, she’d win a little sympathy for her situation.
A few minutes later, Jovanna spoke again. “Sorry about dinner last night. David
and I got distracted. Leaving you alone with Sam wasn’t the plan.”
Melanie’s pulse sped up and she tensed. Trying to keep her tone neutral, she said,
“It was fine. Everybody was finished eating anyway.”
“Yeah.” Jovanna paused before asking, “What did you two do after leaving the
restaurant?”
“We walked over to the Bellagio to see the fountain show.” The nail technician
sprayed Melanie’s hands with a drying agent and promised to come back shortly to
check the polish. Once they were alone, Melanie half-turned in her chair to look at
Jovanna. “Do you know him pretty well?”
Emily Ryan-Davis
24
“Who, Sam?”
Melanie nodded.
Jovanna drummed her crimson-lacquered fingertips on the arms of her chair,
obviously trying to decide what to say in reply.
Before the other woman could deflect or give a vague answer, Melanie spoke again.
“I know he’s, uh, kinky. So if you’re trying to figure out a way around that, you don’t
have to worry about preserving my pristine innocence. I just want to know other stuff
about him.”
“Like what?” Jovanna asked warily.
Melanie took a deep breath. “Like whether he has a contract with anybody right
now.”
Jovanna cringed. “Oh my God. What do you know about contracts? Have you slept
with him?”
“Um. There hasn’t been any sleeping, no.”
At that moment, Jovanna’s phone chimed with an incoming text. While she read
and responded, Melanie slumped in the chair. She wished she hadn’t opened the
subject of Sam up for discussion.
“I don’t know him well enough to have any details about his personal life,” Jovanna
said several minutes later. “I don’t think anybody does. I’ve heard vague rumors that
he’s kind of hardcore, but people make up stories to fill in the blanks they can’t fill with
facts. He owns Bondage but he doesn’t actively engage with anybody while he’s in the
building, that I’ve ever noticed. Whatever he does when he’s not in the building, he
keeps it to himself. Hence the rumors.”
“I am so not going to ask what you do at Bondage,” Melanie said. She was familiar
with the fetish club—everybody was—but she’d never been inside. Not only was
Bondage a membership-only establishment except for one night a month, but it was
also a little bit scary. Even Brooke, who’d had three Masters, steered clear. Melanie
probably wouldn’t ever visit now, not knowing if she might encounter David among
the crowd. Ew. She shuddered. Extra ew.
“Thank God for the little things,” Jovanna muttered. Louder, she said, “He’s very
experienced. He’s respected. He’s straight. He’s…whether the rumors have any basis or
not, he might be too serious for you, Mel. I don’t think he’s the right man for
experimenting or having a little fun.”
“He seems like he could use some more fun in his life.”
“Don’t play with him,” Jovanna warned, giving the exact opposite advice she’d
received from Brooke early that morning. Brooke suggested some serious playing-with
and insisted men like Sam thrived on being provoked.
“But he’s fun to play with. I don’t think he knows what to do with me.” Her lips
curved and she closed her eyes. She’d rather follow Brooke’s approach, since she
suspected provoking Sam was the only way she’d get him to look her way.
Tangled & Bound
25
Jovanna sighed and continued texting.
* * * * *
Sam sat at a poker table with David, David’s father Howard and another man
named Joaquin, who David introduced as his stepfather. Four hands into the game, the
two Burkes began to discuss Melanie. Since the day was so early and the casino crowd
slim, the dealer didn’t comment on the amount of conversation.
Sam requested a beer from a passing server and glowered at his cards while he
waited for the cocktail waitress to return.
“I’ve decided to cut her off,” Howard Burke said. “She has to learn she can’t keep
throwing away money on stray cats. She calls me every month asking me to send her
deposit through early. How can she have nothing left for her actual needs?”
David flipped a plastic chip into the pot to up his bid. “Leave her alone, Dad. The
cats make her happy.”
Joaquin chewed on the end of his cigar and placed his own bid, nothing to add to
the conversation. Nothing in English, anyway. He muttered to himself in a language
that didn’t filter through Sam’s rudimentary background in French.
Howard grunted. “You’re going to be taking a new wife home with you. Your
sister’s happiness shouldn’t be your concern, not if you want your marriage to last.
What does Jovanna think about having eight or nine flea-ridden felines in the garage?”
“Jovanna likes animals.” David glanced at his phone and, frowning, started tapping
out a text with one hand.
“She won’t like them once she’s wearing a wedding ring.” Howard folded and
leaned back in his chair. “Trust me, son. You want to worry about your wife’s
happiness, not your sister’s. When Melanie has a man of her own, she can have her
fleabags again. Even better, the man will take her in hand and put a permanent stop to
it. For God’s sake, she could get rabies from one of the little mongrels.”
Sam stared at his cards until the cocktail waitress finally returned. When he looked
up, he found David watching him with an inscrutable expression.
Sam steeled himself to maintain eye contact and asked, “Your sister likes cats?”
“She’s been having a love affair with them since she was seven,” Howard
answered. “The skinnier and closer to death, the better. Now she wants to go into
veterinary medicine and it’s gotten out of hand. This is the third time she’s changed
majors. At this rate, she’ll never finish college.”
“I suppose she figures starving kittens won’t divorce each other and send her to live
with her brother.” David glanced away from Sam to glower at his father.
Howard ignored David’s accusation. “She needs a man to keep her in line and give
her direction. She can love him and a few babies instead of an endless parade of
animals.”
David refocused on Sam. “I don’t disagree.”
Emily Ryan-Davis
26
Joaquin pulled a royal straight, ending the hand and saving Sam from having to
respond to the knowledge and permission in his friend’s stare.
* * * * *
That evening, Sam leaned against the hotel’s poolside bar with a bottle of beer in his
hand and a hard-on in his pants. Public erections weren’t part of his life anymore. Years
of forty-hour weeks first working in, then managing, the fetish club he now held fifty
percent share in, had desensitized him. Visual displays were standard procedure. Yet
there he stood, undeniably stiff.
A few yards away, Melanie lounged naked by the kidney-shaped pool. Practically
naked. The tiny green triangle of cloth that made up her bikini bottom bunched toward
the crease of her shapely ass, giving him a big eyeful of her tanned cheeks, and her top’s
ties dangled toward the ground. She rested her head on folded arms, her face turned
away from the hotel. Sam took a long pull from his beer while studying the pale hollow
under her arm and the bare, full curve of her breast.
That’s where he’d start. He’d start right there, running his tongue over the swell of
flesh compressed between her chest and the lounger. He wouldn’t be able to reach her
nipple, but that would come later. He could taste the suntan oil and salt just fine by
dragging his open mouth across her shoulder and down her back.
A skimpy bow secured her bikini bottom at her hips. One quick tug and the bow
would give, leaving her ass bare to his view. Her slim, curvy legs were already
spread—nothing lewd, but enough that he’d be able to admire her slit and maybe get a
taste of her cream while he was down there.
Once he woke her up with his tongue, he’d turn her over onto her back and get
down to the real business of slaking the need that had kept him awake most of the night
after leaving her, untouched, at the door of her hotel room. The long, thin cord hanging
from her ear buds would fit nicely around her slender wrists. He could stretch her arms
taut above her head, secure her to the lounger’s frame and feast on her pussy until she
begged him for relief.
Cock aching, Sam straightened and left the bar behind. Melanie didn’t stir as he
walked around her lounger and sat on the chair beside her. He rested his forearms on
his spread thighs, relishing the discomfort as his fly constricted the painful thickness of
his erection.
Her lips, shiny with gloss, were slightly parted in her sleep. She didn’t wear any
sunglasses. This close, he could hear the music coming from her ear buds—not enough
to make out the songs, but enough to know she wouldn’t hear anything coming at her.
Sam frowned and swallowed another mouthful of his still-cold beer. The sun blazed
high in the sky and beat down relentlessly. Stupid. No, that was wrong. At dinner last
night, while David and Jovanna provided a buffer, she’d proven herself well-versed in
everything from world events to art, able to hold her own in conversation. He couldn’t
call her stupid. The nubile young blonde occupying his fantasy was reckless.
Tangled & Bound
27
He should leave her alone. If he was smart, he’d walk away—but he wasn’t smart.
He was the stupid one, thinking he could enjoy something noncommittal with a
stranger, thinking he’d feel differently about responsibility if he didn’t know the
woman. Years of watching casual encounters at his club should have kept him from the
mistake he’d made during their flight. Casual Dominants could play for the sake of
playing and walk away without more than surface obligation to the submissives they
topped. He wasn’t a Dom who could shed his obligations, and stupid man who he was,
he’d decided to take responsibility for her. Worse, that kiss outside the Bellagio had
made him want it. Irritated with his situation and her lack of self-preservation, Sam
leaned over and pulled out her ear bud. “Wake up.”
Melanie opened her pretty blue-gray eyes immediately and started to sit up. Sam
stopped her with the base of his beer bottle, holding the cold glass between her bare
shoulders.
“I wouldn’t,” he said. “Unless you’re interested in giving me an eyeful.”
“It’s nothing you haven’t already seen.” She licked her lips and curled her hands
around the edges of the lounger but she didn’t raise her shoulders any higher. “You
could just look away.”
“I could. I’m not going to.” Sam took his bottle back and sat it on a nearby table.
“Ever heard of skin cancer?”
Melanie held his gaze a long minute. Sam could’ve sworn he saw the instant she
decided to ignore instinct in favor of attitude. He braced himself for what was to come.
Pushing up off the lounger, untied bikini top and all, she swung her feet around to
land between his. She flashed a sly, knowing smile. “Did you see any discolored spots
while you were checking me out?”
Sam gritted his teeth, smothering his desire to rid her of the attitude and fortifying
his determination not to look down. “I wasn’t checking you out.”
“Hmm.” Her smile grew. She leaned forward and reached past him to snag his
beer. As she tipped the bottle to her mouth and tilted her head back, a drop of
condensation rolled off the bottom.
He lost the battle with his eyeballs. The droplet of water landed between her breasts
and slid south. Her bikini top had landed fortuitously, mostly covering her breasts.
Mostly, not completely. He could see the curve of a pink nipple, the same color as her
lips.
“Tie me up?” she asked. She sat the bottle on the ground between them and
twisted, presenting her bare back.
Sam blew out the breath he was holding. He shouldn’t touch her. Despite the
unspoken approval he’d picked up on that afternoon, David was a good friend and a
man he respected. Bad enough that his imagination wanted to fuck David’s little sister,
without crossing the line into actual physical contact. More physical contact. But
Melanie stared at him expectantly over her shoulder and Sam desperately wanted to
test the silk of her skin one more time. Against his better judgment he picked up the
Emily Ryan-Davis
28
ties, drew them across her narrow back and permitted himself to linger while securing
the flimsy strings in a square knot.
“Thanks. That was very gentlemanly of you.” Melanie pushed up off the lounger,
grabbed her mp3 player and towel, and sauntered off toward the hotel.
Empty bottle dangling from his fingers, Sam settled in to watch her retreat and
mourn the unfairness of it all. In a perfect world, he would have finished his beer in the
sun and emptied his balls in her hot, tight little pussy.
He was starting to lose sight of the reasons why he couldn’t do exactly that.
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Chapter Four
Sam was still beside the pool when Melanie returned forty minutes later, freshly
showered and ready to explore the Strip. She smiled when she saw him and decided
not to let it bother her that he scowled in return.
“Everybody went to dinner without me,” she said, coming to a stop beside his
lounge chair. “Looks like they went without you too.”
Sam wasn’t listening. Gaze glued to her thighs, he asked, “Don’t you own pants?
“I don’t like them. The crotch rubs up against everything and they make my legs
look shorter than they are. Anyway, we’re in the middle of the desert. Too hot for
pants.” The cotton sarong she’d knotted between her breasts was much more suitable
for the hundred-plus-degree heat.
“Spread your legs,” Sam ordered.
Melanie blinked. “What?”
“Take a big step out until your feet are wide apart.”
Heart suddenly racing, Melanie stood still for a moment, weighing her options. She
could refuse him, obviously. Free country, he wasn’t her father, grown woman, blah
blah blah. Intellectually, she knew all the reasons why she could say no and he couldn’t
do a thing about it. Instinct was a different matter. Instinct told her to do as she was
told. At least by this man.
Pussy already damp for him—pretty much a constant state now—she obediently
moved one foot to the right.
Sam’s scowl darkened. “If I can see your underwear, everybody else can too.”
Flushing, she readjusted her stance and pressed her thighs together, self-defense
against his black look and the interest pulsing between her legs. The edges of her sarong
fluttered back into place, covering everything from mid-thigh up. “I don’t plan on
walking around with my legs spread, so I’m pretty sure I won’t be scandalizing
anybody.”
Instead of responding, he directed his attention to the pool. Hotel guests still
splashed in the water but most of the kids were gone, leaving behind a more subdued
adult crowd. The sun hung low in the sky, its reflection coloring the water gold and
orange. Pretty, but Melanie wasn’t interested in any scenery except the man half-
reclined in front of her.
Jovanna’s warning not to play nagged at her, but Melanie ignored it. Sam’s foul
mood could be directly traced to sexual frustration, a problem she was only trying to
remedy. Since she knew an invitation wouldn’t be forthcoming, she helped herself to
the edge of his lounger. His body heat practically reached for her.
Emily Ryan-Davis
30
“Would you tie me up?” she asked after a moment, partly to break the silence and
partly because she was dying to know.
Sam cursed beneath his breath.
Melanie rushed to clarify. “I mean, hypothetically speaking. You created such a
vivid fantasy for me on the plane, but I’ve been wondering whether it was only fantasy
or whether you’re actually interested in bondage. Um, tying me up. Well, tying
someone up. Would it be a line item in your contract? Like, ‘submissive must be willing
to be tied to the bed’?”
He sat silent for so long, she began to wonder whether he’d decided to pretend she
wasn’t there. Melanie was scrambling for a new tactic when he finally answered.
“An agreement doesn’t read like that,” he said. “It’s not a document that dictates
what one party must do. The goal is to establish needs and boundaries and goals for the
purpose of fulfillment, respect and achievement.”
“How would we start negotiations?”
“We wouldn’t,” he said flatly.
Melanie rolled her eyes. “Fine, how would Dominant man S and submissive
woman M start negotiations?”
Sam leaned his head back against the lounger, a pained expression crinkling the
corners of his closed eyes. “S wouldn’t even talk about contract negotiations until he got
to know M.”
“Got to know her how?” She twisted to better face him and placed her hand on his
thigh. Sam flinched and she jerked her hand back. Melanie winced. “Sorry, I—”
“Interests,” he bit off, aborting her apology. “S would find out what M is interested
in. Hobbies, charities, what she wants to do with her life. What she’s currently doing
with her life. He’d find out what she sees as obstacles to achieving her goals, and if he
thought he could help her become the person she wants to be—the person he believes
she can be—and then he might start talking about entering into an arrangement.”
“That sounds very…businesslike.” Melanie laced her fingers together to keep
herself from touching him again. “S doesn’t sound like he sees M as anything except a
student. Isn’t he attracted to her?”
“Not every power exchange relationship has sex as its foundation. Successful long-
term arrangements take into consideration every aspect of a person. Of both people.”
He lifted his head and opened his eyes to frown at her. “You know damn well I’m
attracted to you. You also know neither of us knows a single thing about each other
beyond our names.”
“We could find out more,” she ventured. “I mean, we’re both right here. Why not
be right here together? We could have dinner and try to get into a Cirque du Soleil
show. Er…I guess unless you just don’t want to know more about me.”
Mortified that the possibility hadn’t occurred to her, she stood abruptly. “Oh God.
You really don’t and now I’m harassing you. I’m so sorry. You should just pretend I—”
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“Stop,” he interrupted. He swung his feet off the lounger and planted them on the
damp concrete pool deck. “Just stop talking. I’m in Vegas partly on business and I have
a dinner meeting tonight. Do you want to go with me?”
“Yes,” she whispered. Louder, she said, “But if you don’t want me—”
“Believe me, honey, want isn’t the problem.” Standing, he cupped her elbow and
urged her toward the hotel.
* * * * *
“We’re early,” Sam said half an hour later as he held the door for her at the Ceasar
Palace mall entrance.
During the cab ride, they’d both avoided any conversation remotely related to sex.
Sam had directed her attention to different landmarks while Melanie had perused the
Ceasar’s Palace section of her Las Vegas guidebook.
Now she stopped several feet inside, her attention caught by the cream and gold
architecture. When Sam’s fingertips brushed her bare shoulder blade, she flushed. He
stood really, really close, his body heat beckoning her even closer. If she wanted to keep
with the no-sex-talk streak she was on, she had to step away.
Moving away from him? Sucked. But she did, walking deeper into the mall to stare
at a directory of shops. “Do we have time for chocolate?”
“Do you want truffles or pastries?” Sam came up behind her again, so close his
deep voice tickled the back of her neck.
“I was thinking of Vosges Haut Chocolate,” she said, pointing at a spot on the
directory. “It’s not too far from where we are.”
“So, truffles.” He slid his hand over the bend of her waist and steered her away
from the directory. “Do you prefer milk or dark?”
“If it melts in my mouth, I prefer it.” When she spotted the small boutique store
front ahead, she grabbed Sam’s hand and pulled him along. The rich aroma of melted
chocolate warmed her as soon as she entered the shop.
Sam immediately headed over to the glass-enclosed array of truffles, where the
clerk engaged him in conversation. Melanie listened to them while she explored the
offerings displayed on the glass shelves that lined the shop’s walls.
“This is one of our newest collections, perfect for a bourbon connoisseur,” the clerk
said.
Sam rejected the suggestion. “No, that’s too masculine. I’m looking for something
cheerful and delicate.”
Melanie glanced over her shoulder to find him looking at her. The clerk was
speaking again but Sam didn’t break eye contact. When he beckoned her to join him,
Melanie didn’t even think of refusing.
Emily Ryan-Davis
32
“We have a selection of floral flavors. This one is a combination of dark chocolate
and champagne, dusted with rose powder.” The clerk scooped a pink-powdered truffle
from the case and placed it on the counter. “If she enjoys rose water, the limited edition
Persia Truffle is another to consider.”
“Do you like roses, honey?” he asked, still holding her gaze.
Melanie nodded. Sam finally looked away long enough to acknowledge the clerk.
“She’ll try both.”
While the clerk presented the second suggested candy, Sam picked up the first.
“Close your eyes,” he said as he lifted the morsel to her lips. “Some experiences are
best had one sense at a time.”
Swallowing, Melanie decided not to tell him about how her various senses were
functioning at peak performance in that moment. With her eyes closed, some of those
senses became acute. For example, as Sam brushed rosebud dust across her upper lip,
she was acutely aware of the salesgirl’s stare.
“You’re supposed to inhale first,” the Vosges employee offered helpfully. “The
same way you’d taste wine.”
Sam didn’t say anything, for which Melanie was glad. She wasn’t sure she could
handle the low timbre of his voice, not while battling the memory of the last time he
bade her close her eyes. If he’d rubbed cinnamon on her lips instead of rose dust, she
would have been a useless mess of shivering arousal. Bad enough that she was already
well on her way, and she wouldn’t be able to smell a velvety red rose ever again
without associating the crimson petals with Sam.
While the clerk stood by, he nudged her lips with the chocolate. Self-consciousness
heated her face but she couldn’t exactly ask for privacy in the middle of the Forum
Shops even if eating from Sam’s fingers felt as intimate a thing as sex. Hoping to hurry
through this, she opened her mouth wider. His fingertips touched her tongue, salty and
masculine beside the drugging flavor of the rose powder. When she bit into the truffle,
the rich, berry-toned champagne filling blended with the more bitter chocolate. Melanie
moaned out loud.
“It’s a very sophisticated combination,” the clerk explained.
“Do you want to try another?” Sam’s voice held a rough edge.
“I don’t think so.” Melanie licked a trace of rose powder from the corner of her
mouth. “This is the one. Definitely the one.”
“Try one more.” He pressed another cool piece of chocolate to her lips.
She shook her head, rejecting the herbal fragrance of the second truffle, and opened
her eyes to look at him. “I don’t need to try any others. I know which one I want.”
Sam’s nostrils flared but he held her gaze. “You’re not making an informed
decision.”
“Information’s for the head. Choices like this should be made with the heart.” She
dropped her eyes and picked up the truffle she’d bitten into. Scooping the remains of
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33
the filling onto her fingertip, she reached up to paint Sam’s bottom lip with the sticky,
shiny stuff. Before he could lick it off, she rose on tiptoe to kiss him.
He made a low, strangled sound but didn’t push her away or deny her access.
Instead, the wet heat of his mouth welcomed her in. Not expecting such easy passage,
she froze. Sam didn’t suffer from the same brand of performance anxiety. He cupped
her nape and applied pressure at either side of her neck, urging her to tilt her head back
as he claimed the sugar lingering on her tongue.
“So…the rose chocolate,” the clerk said, a slight pitch of desperation in her tone.
Sam squeezed her nape briefly before breaking their kiss. He didn’t physically let
her go, but his words…
“She can’t have the rose chocolate. Wrap up a dozen each of the others.”
She turned away from his words before the stinging sensation behind her eyes
became tears.
Sam handed his credit card to the saleswoman, ignoring whatever she said about
price and storage and product expiration dates. Melanie had his complete attention and
too much of his gut as she stood just outside the shop. She kept her back to him but he
hadn’t missed the hurt written on her face. Even if he’d been too slow to notice before
she turned away, he’d see it now in the way she leaned against the glass hugging
herself.
Her upset pained him, not only because he was the cause of it but also because
every instinct he possessed demanded he draw her back and heal the hurt. Angry with
his inability to resist the temptation she presented and keep his hands to himself, he
slashed his signature across the credit card receipt without seeing the numbers. The
price printed on the paper was irrelevant. He hadn’t refused the chocolate of choice as a
matter of cost—at least not monetary cost. He’d refused because Melanie had assigned a
much higher value to the bit of sugar and fat, and as much as he enjoyed the idea of
possibility with her, she clearly wanted more than the idea.
Praying he’d done enough to push her away, he collected the shopping bag and
receipt. Dinner would be torturous but at least he had business to hold his focus and
stand as a buffer between him and the vulnerable woman he couldn’t seem to keep
himself from touching. He tried to recount the reasons why he had to stay away from
her but couldn’t remember most of them anymore.
A strange weariness settled in his bones as he joined her outside the store and
offered the Vosges package. “This is for you.”
She glanced at the purple shopping bag and shook her head. “No thank you.”
“Melanie—”
“Please keep it. I’ve decided I don’t really like chocolate after all and I’d rather you
didn’t buy me gifts.”
Emily Ryan-Davis
34
The few times Sam had found himself face-to-face with a woman’s sullen
stubbornness, he’d known exactly how to deal with the problem. Since he couldn’t
command her to communicate with him or suffer discipline for withholding her words,
he stood beside her silently, mentally working through his remaining options.
“We need to go if we’re going to make dinner on time,” Melanie said with a
particularly frustrating neutrality, staring at something in the middle of the corridor.
“Dinner will wait.” Consciously controlling his urge to touch her and force her gaze
to his, Sam moved to stand in front of her. She didn’t look up, but she didn’t turn her
head either. Thin victory, bitter to swallow, but what choice did he have, given the
limits he’d placed on their relationship?
Marshaling his thoughts—and his willpower—he did what he would’ve made her
do if the situation were different. He talked. “I understand you’re hurt. I realize my
failure to remain consistent is the reason you’re hurt, and I apologize. I’m attracted to
you. I want you. I want you under me, submitting to me, and begging me to fulfill you. I
also want you turning to me for comfort when you’re upset, looking to me for guidance
when you’re lost and relying upon me for strength when you’re weak. Wanting you
isn’t the problem. Trusting you is.”
She jerked her head up, shock in her eyes. “You don’t trust me? Me? What does you
trusting me have to do with anything? I’m the one offering to let you do…do…”
With a vague, all-encompassing gesture of her hands, she said, “Everything.
Anything. I trust you.”
“Christ. I could shake you.” As his carefully won willpower weakened, he lowered
his voice in an effort to control his hands. “Melanie, listen to me. Listen. When two
people enter into a power-exchange relationship, there’s an exchange. I don’t trust you.
You’re young and your interest in submission is new. How many times have you
become passionate about something new, only to lose interest once the newness wore
off or a challenge came along? I’m not going to be an impulse fuck, nor am I going to be
the next thing you drop when you figure out BDSM relationships are harder to manage
than you expected.”
The color faded from her cheeks. “I guess you’d know about impulse fucks,
wouldn’t you?”
Sam swore and closed his eyes. “Melanie—”
“It’s all right,” she interrupted. “I get it. You’re afraid of being used once and
dropped when I’m finished with you. Why didn’t you just say so in the first place? I can
deal with a man who’s afraid of me. Whatever. Moving on. Who are we meeting for
dinner?”
He blew out a loud breath and tried to exorcise his overwhelming desire to turn her
over his knee and beat the attitude out of her pretty ass. Before he could convince
himself the right to discipline her was worth the other trouble he’d be taking on, he
said, “A prospective seller.”
“What are you buying?”
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“My partner and I are looking at expanding to the West Coast, but instead of
building from the ground up we’re considering existing venues.” Relieved to have a
neutral topic to discuss, Sam started in the direction of the restaurants. “Buying an
established club will mean we have to work within the existing reputation, but will also
mean we don’t have to start at ground zero with a community that doesn’t know
Bondage.”
Melanie asked a few other polite questions but when they reached the traffic-
congested dining area of the hotel, conversation became impossible. Sam held her arm
to avoid losing her in the flow of people. As they neared the Italian restaurant
suggested by Liam Douglass, who’d inherited a nightclub in Seattle and was eager to
sell, Sam released Melanie and stepped away to put physical space between him and
temptation.
The restaurant’s hostess informed Sam that Douglass was already seated and led
the way to their table. Douglass, a tall, raw-boned man in his early thirties with close-
cropped red hair, stood at the sight of Melanie.
Sam made introductions. While he talked, Melanie repositioned herself to
Douglass’ side of the table.
Holding her chair for her, Douglass said, “I didn’t realize we’d be a table of three or
I’d have asked for better seating.”
“This is fine,” Melanie replied with a sunny smile, one that she hadn’t turned on
Sam in too long.She scooted her chair closer to Douglass. “It’s cozy. A perfect romantic
spot under different conditions.”
As Sam narrowed his eyes and took his own seat, their server came along with a
bottle of wine and two glasses. Douglass immediately signaled for a third glass and slid
one in front of Melanie.
“I took the liberty of ordering champagne because I’m confident we’ll all have
something worth celebrating before the evening’s over,” Douglass informed her. “Have
you had champagne before?”
Melanie shook her head and, without looking at Sam, leaned so close to Douglass
the man could probably smell her hair. “I’ve recently been advised that I make
uninformed decisions because I don’t try new things. What better way to begin
exploring than with champagne?”
Emily Ryan-Davis
36
Chapter Five
“And then what happened?”
“Nothing, really. Dinner, Sam did his business-talk thing. When dinner was over, I
asked Liam to sneak me into the Ceasar’s Palace pool, which I’ve heard is gorgeous.”
Melanie transferred the phone to her other hand so she could pass a wad of crumpled
bills to the cab driver and climb from the car. “Sam looked furious.”
“Yeah, I bet he did,” Brooke said. “Did he say anything?”
“Not a word. Except for looking pissed, he acted like it was totally acceptable for
me to leave with someone else.”
“Um, no. It wasn’t acceptable to him. He just couldn’t do anything about it without
backtracking on the whole ‘not going to get involved with you’ issue. What are you
going to do now?”
Melanie shrugged and walked into the hotel. “I don’t know. Look for someone else,
I guess, since Sam’s not going to budge. He was dead pleasant to me during the
wedding and dinner after. Please and thank you and nothing else. No dirty looks,
nothing.”
“You’re just going to give up?”
“He’s obviously not interested. Well, he’s interested, but he’s not going to follow up
on his interest.” After Sam left the restaurant the night before, Melanie had backed out
of going anywhere with Liam Douglass. Instead, she’d wandered from hotel to hotel,
giving herself a casino tour of the strip and resigning herself to Sam’s refusal of her.
Brooke’s scoffing question grated on her nerves. There was no “just” about it—Melanie
couldn’t force Sam to do something he didn’t want to do.
“You can’t give up,” Brooke insisted. “Some men have to be pushed into action. Get
him to lose his control, and you’ll have him.”
“I’ll have him through manipulation, which is cheating.” Stopping just inside the
hotel doors, she balanced on one foot and then the other to remove the strappy heels
she’d worn for David and Jovanna’s wedding. Nearby, the elevator doors whooshed
open. Melanie started toward the elevator but out in the casino, somebody cheered at
the clink of coins pouring from a slot machine.
“Hey,” Melanie said, interrupting Brooke’s lecture on the topic of women deciding
their own fate. “I’m going to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Before Brooke could object, she ended the call and turned off her phone with a sigh.
The casino beckoned, promising an opportunity to wander aimlessly, too stimulated by
lights and sound to have mental space for thinking about Sam. Swinging her strappy
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37
heels in one hand, she ducked into the hotel lounge for a drink and caught sight of the
very same person she wanted to avoid.
Sam was so many things she hadn’t found with her high school and college
romances. Intrigued by the possibilities, intrigued by him, she wanted him like she’d
never wanted anybody else. She wanted to know him.
Even though she knew Brooke’s suggestion was a bad one, Melanie paid for her
margarita and circled around to approach Sam from behind. He sat at a poker table
with a pair of jacks, a pair of sevens and an ace in one hand and a drink in the other
hand. When she reached him, she dropped her shoes on the floor and slid her arm
around his waist. Sam tensed and turned his head to see her but he didn’t move away.
Instead, he looked back to his cards.
“That’s impressive,” she said, resting her chin on his shoulder and her hand on his
fly. His cock started to thicken and swell, which she encouraged with a little squeeze.
Her pussy softened in response to the memory of him taking her, big and deliberate
between her legs.
Melanie rubbed her face against the side of his neck and breathed in his spicy scent.
“Your pile of chips, I mean. What’re you going to do with it if you win?”
“Hire a nanny to keep you out of trouble.” He repositioned her fingers to his belt
and pushed a stack of plastic chips to the center of the table. “Douglass can’t keep you
in line either?”
“I didn’t offer him any authority over me. Why aren’t you married?” She ignored
his belt and drew her fingernails along the line of his growing erection, enjoying his
obvious discomfort and equally obvious physical response to her undisguised flirtation.
And just because she enjoyed poking the tiger with a stick, she added, “You’re getting
up there in years.”
He discarded his ace and collected another card from the dealer. “Are you calling
me old, little girl?”
She shrugged and wiggled her hand deeper between his legs to cup his testicles.
“I’m not a little girl. And you, well. You’re on David’s guest list. He’s not exactly college
frat boy age anymore.”
The dealer cleared his throat.
“Quiet,” Sam said to her. But he didn’t move her hand this time.
Quiet meant quieter, right? While Sam did what he needed to do with his hand of
cards, she gathered all her courage and whispered in his ear, “I want you to dominate
me again. Tell me more about your dungeon. Let me see it when we get back to New
York.”
His abs tensed hard beneath her arm and his cock jumped against her palm.
“You don’t know what you want,” he replied, too low for anybody but her to hear.
“You prove that to me over and over again.”
Emily Ryan-Davis
38
“I do know. I want you. I want to submit to you. You’re the one who devalues my
decision by refusing to acknowledge it as legitimate.”
“Fold.” Sam put his cards down on the table, pocketed his remaining chips and
pulled her off him. Turning on the stool, he met her eyes. “I’m thirty-six. You’re what,
seven? You’re a little girl.”
“Hmm. Well, you were checking out my tits down by the pool yesterday. And the
day before that you had your dick in my—”
“Melanie,” he warned.
“Well, you did. Does that make you a pedophile?” Flashing another smile, she tilted
her head in the direction of the crowded bar. “And does that mean you’re going to call
the cops on the guy who made my margarita a double?”
“No cops,” Sam said after a minute. He picked up her drink and sniffed it before
handing it to a passing waitress. “But I am going to make him wish he’d chosen a
different career path. Right after I get you locked away in your room. Come on. You’re
drunk.”
He stood and they weren’t eye level anymore. Sam had half a dozen inches on her
even when she was wearing heels. Standing in front of him barefoot, she had direct
access to his muscular chest. The neck of his shirt was unbuttoned. The glimpse of dark
hair enticed her. Melanie fingered a button on his shirt, wondering about the texture
and pattern over the rest of his body.
“I’m not drunk.” She wasn’t, but she stooped to retrieve her shoes anyway. A little
buzzed, sure, but her judgment was as clear as her vision, and she had Sam squarely in
her sights. If she were drunk, she wouldn’t have recognized the opportunity he’d just
handed her—an opportunity to have him all to herself in her fancy Vegas hotel room.
The tequila did give her an excuse to let her shoulder strap slide down her arm as she
straightened, hooked her hand around Sam’s elbow and allowed him to lead her away
from the poker table.
At that time of night, the hotel corridors were practically empty. Melanie and Sam
had the elevator to themselves. He chose her floor and retreated to scowl at her from the
corner.
Smiling mischievously, she put her hands behind her back and crossed to stand in
front of him, so close the hem of her dress clung to his pants and her breasts rose
against his shirt when she inhaled. “You could look again if you wanted. I wouldn’t
mind.”
He narrowed his eyes but didn’t drop his focus from her face to her cleavage.
“What you would or wouldn’t mind isn’t my concern. I’m not interested. Back off and
stop being a brat.”
She swayed forward until she could feel him against her belly, fully erect and the
definition of interested. “Liar, liar. Hmm. Maybe you want to submit to me. Should I
turn you over my knee and spank you for not telling the truth?”
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Sam snorted. “If anybody’s getting a red ass out of this, it’s not going to be me. Step
away, Melanie.”
“Or…what? Else?” Another fraction of an inch closer and she felt his strength from
breast to thigh. He radiated heat in the air-conditioned climate of the elevator. She
closed her eyes and clutched his shirt, humming appreciatively. “You feel good. I’ve
been freezing all day in the casinos and theaters. The only other time I was warm, you
chased me back inside.”
“The next time you come to Vegas, you’ll know to pack a sweater.” He finally
touched her, but only to wrap his hands around her upper arms and push her away.
Before she could make another bid for contact, the elevator door slid open. Sam turned
her around and marched her out into the corridor.
Melanie sighed and moved away, breaking his loose hold. He hadn’t cracked a
single smile. His disinterest in playing dragged at her good spirits. “Never mind. Good
night, Sam.”
As much as she wanted him in her bed—or in her shower or on the bureau or
against the ice cooler in the alcove around the corner—she refused to beg. His loss.
Shoulders straight and head high, she left him in front of the elevator and headed for
her room, which was at the end of the extremely long corridor. He watched her the
whole way, if the itch between her shoulders was any indication, and Melanie
alternately cursed him and wished he’d change his mind.
When she reached her room, she took her time looking for the key. From the corner
of her eye, she could see him still standing by the elevator. Still looking like exactly
what she wanted.
Maybe she wasn’t ready to give up yet. After unlocking her door, she bent to place
her shoes and bag just inside so the door wouldn’t close and lock again. When she
straightened, she turned to face him and reached back to unzip her dress.
“I want somebody to fuck me,” she called down the hall. Shimmying out of the
dress, she kicked it into the room, pushed her shoes and bag out of the way and pulled
the door shut. Locked out, wearing nothing but a silky pink thong and a fabulous
pedicure, she turned to face Sam. “You’re top on my list of choices but if you’re not
interested, I’m sure somebody will be.”
He stood by the elevator for a long minute without saying anything. When he
finally did speak, his voice was even and controlled. “Come here, Melanie.”
She suppressed a triumphant smile and obeyed.
If she thought the walk away from him took forever, the walk to him was endless.
She wasn’t lying about being cold in the hotel. Her feet felt like icicles and her nipples
peaked to hard, uncomfortable points by the time she reached the halfway mark. By
contrast, her cheeks were so hot they felt like they were on fire. Sam wasn’t looking at
her face or her breasts though. His eyes were hooded by thick, dark lashes and focused
on the narrow triangle of her panties, which felt clingy and damp against her smooth
skin.
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At the elevator, she stopped and watched him, not quite sure what to do about her
predicament. She kind of hoped Sam had a plan that involved getting equally naked.
“You’ve been trying to provoke me into dominating you because you’ve discovered
a new fantasy and decided I’m the right person to play with.” The elevator opened. Sam
pointed a finger, directing her inside. “So we’ll play, but I’m not some boy all wrapped
around your pretty fingers. If you want something from me, you’ll ask for it. You’ll say
please and Sir and thank you. And if I say no, you’ll abide by the decision or you’ll be
punished as befits the behavior of a willfully disrespectful brat.”
Sam held the elevator door and raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Is there
something you don’t understand?”
There was a hell of a lot she didn’t understand, starting with the hot flood of cream
between her legs, but this was what she wanted so she shook her head. “No Sir.”
“Then what are you waiting for? In.”
In. Right. In way over her head. But oh-em-gee. Barely able to breathe around her
crazy racing pulse, Melanie stepped into the elevator.
Fifty shades of Fletcher, here I come.
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Chapter Six
She was so turned-on, he could smell her arousal. Sam glared at the elevator doors
and cursed himself for being a fool. She’d manipulated him and he’d succumbed
despite his better judgment. Because he wanted her. Because he didn’t want her
surrendering to anybody else. Watching her with Douglass, he’d realized that single
truth. He might not trust that she knew what she wanted, but he knew himself well
enough to accept when his wants outweighed his good sense. When the elevator
reached his floor, he was relieved to find the corridor empty. He wanted Melanie to
suffer the embarrassment of walking around stripped bare, since it was her idea, but he
didn’t want to share the view with anybody else. Stepping aside, he waved her out of
the elevator ahead of him.
“We’re going to room 703,” he said. “It’ll be on your left.”
“Could I have your shirt?” Melanie bit her lip before adding, “Sir?”
“No.” He fixed her with an expectant stare and gestured toward the hall.
To her credit, she didn’t fuss over his refusal. She stood in the corner for a minute,
arms across her chest, before she squared her shoulders, lowered her hands and walked
out ahead of him.
When he caught up to her, he pulled his key card out of his wallet. Melanie stood
silent beside the door, her hands balled into fists at her hips.
Instead of immediately opening the door, he frowned at the key card. “When’s the
last time you were spanked?”
Her breath hitched. “My parents didn’t use corporal punishment.”
“How did they correct you when you were disobedient or reckless?”
“Time-outs, essays. Sometimes I lost things like Internet or phone privileges.”
He slid the card through the reader and opened the door. “Did any of that stuff
actually work?”
Melanie shifted beside him. “I learned right from wrong.”
Sam paused with his hand on the doorknob and glanced at her with a raised
eyebrow. “Did you really?”
Her flush grew darker and spread to her upper chest. “I…maybe this hasn’t been
my finest decision-making hour.”
“Maybe not.” He smiled sardonically. “Go on in and we’ll deal with your decision.”
She hesitated. A variety of emotions crossed her features while she worked out his
meaning and came to whatever decision prompted her to step across the threshold into
his hotel room. When Sam let the door swing shut, she jumped—and finally realized
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her vulnerability, if the tense set of her shoulders and arms crossed over her breasts
were any indication.
He walked around her and pulled his suitcase off the room’s second double bed. He
found a clean t-shirt and a pair of running shorts and tossed them on the foot of the
unused bed.
Sam pulled a straight-back chair away from a small desk and sat, facing her. Her
bare, flat belly was a damn distraction that he had to work hard to ignore. Worse than
the dip of her navel, though, was what he couldn’t see…or what he would be able to see
if her panties had even a centimeter less fabric.
Sam forced himself to focus on her face. “Here are your options. You can get
dressed, call the concierge and arrange for a replacement key to be brought here
immediately, and go back to your room where you’ll go to sleep. Or you can put
yourself across my knee, accept the ass-beating you very much deserve, sleep here and
get your replacement key in the morning. Do you have any questions about your
options?”
She licked her lips and averted her eyes, looking over the room. His rational half
prayed she’d choose to get dressed and go. His primal half desperately wanted the
chance to redden her ass with the flat of his hand…and then bury his cock in her wet
heat. He tried not to dwell on the possibilities of the latter scenario.
“I do have a question,” she finally said. “Is it always this way with you?”
“What way?”
“Please and Sir…and spankings…and all-or-nothing options.” She swallowed and
met his gaze. “I’m not complaining. I just want to know.”
Her question caught him off guard. Sam looked down at his hands, considering
what answer to give her. The short answer would probably scare her away. The long
answer would definitely scare her away.
Because some weak part of him wanted her to choose him, he went with the short
answer. “Yeah. It’s always this way.”
She stood silent for a minute, breathing shallow and quick like someone fighting
panic. Sam left her to her decision and didn’t look up even when her pink-polished toes
appeared in his line of sight.
“I’ve never done it this way before,” she said, the words slow and careful around
the shaky quality of her voice. “I mean, except that once with you. I won’t know if I do
something wrong until I’ve done it because I don’t know your rules. You’ll have to tell
me. I want to stay but I don’t know what you want me to do.”
Fuck. Sam closed his eyes. “Melanie—”
“You’ll have to straighten up so I can lie down across your lap,” she said,
interrupting his attempt to change her mind.
He nodded and lifted his head, settling back in the chair. Melanie wasn’t covering
her breasts anymore. She stood with her hands behind her back and her chin tucked to
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43
her chest, a posture so inherently submissive that Sam couldn’t contain the sense of
possessiveness surging through him.
Not mine.
Except he was lying to himself. Still, he said the words out loud. “I’m not giving
you any rules because you don’t belong to me. This isn’t a permanent arrangement.”
Her breath hitched. “I need you to tell me what you want from me. Please tell me.”
“I want you to make careful decisions about your safety. What you did on the
plane—what you did tonight was dangerous. You have no idea what kind of man I am,
what kind of things I could be doing to you right now. What kind of things I could still
do, with you powerless to stop me.”
“I know what kind of man you are,” she said.
“Yeah? So when you took off your dress, you knew I would respond by putting you
across my knee?” He finally touched her, hands on her hips to pull her forward. Her
scent hit him full-force, powerful like a drug. He wanted to run his tongue along her
panties and taste the wetness soaking through. Instead, he maneuvered her across his
lap. “Face down, Melly. Both hands on the floor.”
She stiffened and resisted, a physical response Sam quickly overpowered with the
advantages of strength and practice. The bare curve of her ass, bisected by the skinny
pink thong, shattered his barriers. He didn’t ask to be responsible for her but he
couldn’t deny the rightness of the role.
He spread his fingers across her ass, enjoying the tension beneath his hand, and
said, “Tell me how you’ve done it before.”
Melanie lifted her head.
Sam pushed her back down and held her in place with a handful of her silky hair.
“You don’t have to look at me to answer. How do you fuck, Melly? Do you sit on top
and bounce on your boyfriend’s dick? Do you do it doggy style? Missionary?
Bareback?”
He pressed on her flesh and spread her cheeks, revealing the pucker only half
hidden behind her thong. “What about in the ass? Have you ever accepted a man in
your ass?”
She squirmed against him. Her hip nuzzled his cock so Sam didn’t correct her by
demanding she hold still. He did demand an answer though. “Which one? Tell me. And
call me Sir.”
“I don’t know what bareback is, Sir.”
“Without a condom.”
Understanding and fear shuddered through her at the same time. So. She did know
right from wrong—and he knew what her answer would be. His anger at her self-
endangering behavior flared anew.
Melanie locked up tight, every muscle tense.
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He picked the point of his first strike, low where her thigh met her left cheek. “Be
honest. I’ll know if you’re not.”
“I’ve done all those,” she whispered.
“I can’t hear you. Tell me specifically what you’ve done. And call me Sir. Don’t
make me tell you to do it again.”
“I’ve been on top. I’ve done it doggy style and missionary and…” Her voice
wavered before she trailed off.
Sam gave her ten seconds. By the time his count reached four, she spoke again.
“I’ve never had anal sex. And I’ve skipped the condom a couple of times, Sir.”
Fury rippled through him. He struggled to bring it under control, but he did
manage. What was done, was done. After tonight, she wouldn’t do it again. “No reason
is a good reason for unprotected sex. Tonight, I’m punishing you for what you did
tonight and for not using condoms every time. Do you disagree with my decision?”
“No Sir.”
He released her hair and placed his free hand between on the middle of her back.
Her heart raced behind her rib cage. Sam counted the beats for a minute, grounding
himself in the rhythm of her heart, and then he delivered the first blow. The crack of
flesh on flesh was loud in the room and her yelp was even louder. Anybody listening
on the other side of the wall would hear everything. He slapped her ass again, targeting
the same spot and monitoring her heartbeat as close as he could with her surprised gasp
filling his ears and her rich, aroused scent distracting him.
Melanie tried to crawl away from his fifth strike. Sam slapped her thigh and
repositioned, dragging her backward until her hands no longer touched the floor.
She clutched his leg and the edge of his seat and tried to rear up with the seventh
smack. “You’re hurting me!”
“It’s punishment. It’s not supposed to feel good…yet.” In her new position, he had
no trouble wrenching her panties down to her thighs and baring her completely.
Stripping her didn’t affect his access to her ass but he wanted to take away her last
defense. And later he wanted full access to her pussy.
Careful with the intensity of her response but not so careful with her golden skin,
he landed another half dozen blows on her left cheek before the angry red palm prints
satisfied him. He didn’t miss a beat in shifting his attention to her other cheek. Melanie
shrieked and dug her nails into his ankle.
Sam smiled slightly. “I take it back. I’m feeling pretty good where I sit.”
“I want you to stop,” she gasped. “Sir!”
“Really?” He paused and plunged his hand between her legs. Her pussy was so wet
she soaked his fingers and her clit slid right out of his pinching grasp. The fleeting
contact was enough. Her back arched and she moaned, most definitely not in pain. Sam
teased her opening and gave her a single shallow thrust before pulling back and
slapping her ass again. “Tell me the truth. Do you deserve more?”
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45
She didn’t immediately answer. Sam raked his fingernails across her previously
reddened cheek, sending a new wave of pain to her abused nerve endings. Melanie
whimpered but she didn’t ask him to stop. Instead, she lifted her ass a little higher.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He accepted her unspoken permission to continue
and hit her again, relishing the way his palm smarted with each new blow. If he felt it,
she certainly did.
Soon her shallow breaths deepened. She started squirming again, but now she
rocked her pussy against his thigh. Her little whimpers signaled pleasure instead of
pain. They also signaled the end of effectiveness. He could continue to spank her, but
pain was no longer a useful tool. Sam slowed his pace and gradually backed off until
his smacks were more like love taps, each one ending with a stroke down the back of
her leg. Melanie didn’t move, even after several minutes passed without a slap, except
to rub against him.
Closing his eyes, he crossed a line and slid his fingers back into her slit. Dripping
wet, she didn’t put up a single bit of resistance. Her heat wrapped around him as he
delved inside, three fingers sinking in deep. Her tight pussy clutched at him,
contracting hard and drawing him deeper.
In the new silence of the room, her breathing took shape and became words, a
whispered chant of “Please, please, please”.
Sam gritted his teeth against an overwhelming desire to turn her over, spread her
out on one of the beds and replace his hand with his cock. Determined to hold at least
that line, he angled his wrist to catch her clit and blocked her plea from his mind. Her
physical response—he couldn’t wall himself off from that, no matter how hard he tried.
Her heat scalded him, cream sliding into his palm as he caught her clit and twisted,
triggering the first climax.
“Please” became “oh God” and she arched hard. Sam caught her before she
tumbled off his lap. One arm locked around her ribs, he lifted her against his chest and
pushed in deeper, finger-fucking her through the second orgasm. She hid her face in his
throat. A sob racked her body right before the third peak, which was short and fast.
Sam buried his nose in her hair. Ignoring her jerky shudders, he went after her G-spot
with an aggressive determination to make her beg. Beg him to stop before he lost his
last shred of good sense.
Melanie’s voice rose in a high wail and she twisted in his hold, her mouth searching
for his. Desperately trying to hold the last of his self-control, Sam turned his face away
from her seeking kiss. If he tasted her, he would be finished, unable to stop anywhere
short of complete satisfaction deep inside her.
She, damn her, persisted. Her teeth scored his bottom lip. Shocked by the electric
sensation of the small pain, Sam froze. Melanie took advantage of the opening, her kiss
hot and wet. She tasted like watermelon liqueur and tequila. He wanted to drink her
down.
Instead, he tore away from the kiss. “Don’t.”
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“Sam—”
“No.” Needing her silent and distracted, he dumped her on the floor and followed
her down. Pinning her on her stomach, he dragged his fingers from her pussy to her
ass.
She froze. “Wait—”
“Push against me, Melly. It’ll be easier.” He worked against her pucker, wetting the
tight entrance and coaxing her to let him in. Finally she took his meaning and with a
short, ragged breath, she opened enough that his fingertip slid inside.
Her low moan snapped another thin line of resolve. Unable to look at her still-red
ass and maintain control, he closed his eyes. A powerful flood of sensation washed over
him and he knew he was screwed. He could drown in her scent, which was bright and
sunny and brought her playful eyes to mind.
The mental image acted like a pitcher of ice water down his pants. Shocked back to
sanity, Sam jerked away from her before he succumbed to weakness and tasted her.
Melanie rolled to her side and reached for him.
He shook his head and looked away. “No. This has to stop now.”
Shocked silence answered him.
Fully aware of how badly he’d fucked up, he gathered her in his arms and stood.
Not even permitting himself a glance at the bed he’d been sleeping in, he carried her
into the bathroom, kicked the toilet seat cover down and sat on the lid. She clutched
fistfuls of his shirt while he got the water going. The bathroom quickly filled with
steam.
“Sam,” she whispered. “Why?”
“Because we’re not lovers and that wasn’t supposed to be foreplay,” he bit out.
More silence and she started to shake. The water level in the tub rose with
excruciating slowness.
Sam manhandled his head into a responsible place, separating the part of his brain
that desperately wanted her—couldn’t have her—from the part that knew he had an
obligation to repairing her mental and emotional states. He stroked her hair and thigh
until she stopped trembling and he had enough self-control that he could look at her
without imagining her spread wide beneath him.
He pushed her hair off her forehead and tilted her face toward him. The glassy
sheen of need in her eyes made him forget what he was going to say. His search for
words came up nearly empty but he did manage to ask, “All right?”
She swallowed hard. “I…sure. Fine.”
He nodded. “The water’s hot. It’ll help.”
A small frown furrowed her brow. She looked away from him and blinked at the
bath. Once he was satisfied she’d oriented with her surroundings, Sam carefully
lowered her into the deep water. The big spa-style tub nearly overwhelmed her petite
frame. He kept his arm behind her shoulders to prevent her from sinking under the
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water and guided her hand to one of the safety rails. “Hold on to this for me. I’m going
to wash your hair.”
She nodded and wrapped her fingers around the rail but didn’t say anything or
make eye contact. Sam grabbed a plastic cup off the sink and used it to wet her hair.
Melanie sat quietly while he shampooed and rinsed. By the time he finished, she sat
upright on her own, knees drawn to her chest and arms around her legs.
He reached for a hand towel to dry her hair.
She shook her head and shifted away. “I can do it.”
The small quality of her voice chilled the back of his neck. He held the towel
another minute. “I know you can but you don’t have to.”
“I want to. Could you, um…will you wait in the other room?” She cleared her
throat. “I’d like you to wait in the other room.”
Sam left a bath towel on the toilet lid and gave her privacy. When would he learn
that real, three-dimensional women weren’t for him? Not for years, now.
He should stick with trained subs when his resolve weakened to this point. One of
the thrill seekers who frequented the club. They didn’t want him for who he was, but at
least he wouldn’t break any of them. Or he wouldn’t give a damn if he did.
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Chapter Seven
Melanie lingered in the bath until the water grew cold and cleared her head. Doing
her best to ignore the physical craving that raged through her, she tried to solve the
puzzle of the day’s events.
Sam wanted her. She knew he did, no matter what he claimed. His body responded
to hers, his eyes were hot when he looked at her, and that line about foreplay was a big
fat load of bullshit that he probably didn’t even believe himself. He wanted her. So why
wouldn’t he accept what she offered?
Maybe she was better off being turned away. The intensity of his way…her whole
body heated and her pussy softened all over again. Closing her eyes, she leaned back
against the tub wall and slid her hands between her legs.
Recalling the sensation of Sam holding her down and demanding she divulge
details of her sexual past made her blood pound in her ears. She circled her clit, afraid
to get too close to the hypersensitive spot, afraid she wouldn’t be able to handle
physical contact after lingering so long in this overly aroused state. Just as she worked
up the courage to touch that tender place, a knock on the hotel room door stayed her
hand.
Melanie suppressed a frustrated growl and gave up. While Sam answered the door,
she climbed from the bath and wrapped herself in the fluffy white robe provided by the
hotel…which was a horrible mistake. The robe smelled like Sam’s aftershave. Her core
clenched and the fire of need drove her out into the hotel room just as Sam closed the
door on the visitor. When he turned, their eyes locked.
For a brief moment, she could read his unguarded expression. Sexual hunger
etched harsh lines at either side of his lips. He dropped his gaze to a spot below her
chin and his nostrils flared, the uncontrolled response so feral that her inner muscles
contracted hard enough to push cream from her pussy. Her response to him was so
powerful, she took a step back.
Sam countered the move, and before she knew quite how it happened, she stood
with her back flat against the wall. Barely daring to breathe, she balled her hands into
fists and waited.
He fingered the edges of her robe for a minute before abruptly yanking them
together across her chest. As if the action liberated him from some invisible chain, he
finally looked up from her chest and met her eyes. His gaze bored into her, pinning her
to the wall, and he said, “You have to put that look away.”
Melanie frowned. Not what she expected him to say. “What look?”
His focus dropped to her mouth. “The one that says you still want me to fuck you.”
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She licked her suddenly dry lips and whispered, “I do still want you.”
Sam shuddered visibly. Still holding the edges of her robe, his fist at the base of her
throat, he planted his other hand on the wall beside her head and leaned in close. His
breath warmed her cheek and he spoke directly into her ear. “What do I have to do to
get you to stop?”
This close, she didn’t need the trace of aftershave lingering in his bathrobe. Sam’s
masculine scent drowned her senses. Her head sagged against the wall, too heavy for
her neck. When his lips grazed her jaw, she feared her legs would give out.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to think past her body’s maddening demand for
his touch. Tried to come up with something clever and blithe, but the only words she
found were, “You want me. Why won’t you take me?”
He raised his head and released her robe. Melanie swallowed, both relieved and
disappointed at once. His proximity overwhelmed her but some part of her loved the
residual helplessness. She released a slow breath…and choked on the next one as she
felt Sam’s warm hand engulf her bare breast. Her nipple responded instantly, hard
before she could make her lungs work again.
“You’re too young,” he muttered. Anger fueled his words and guided his fingers on
the sensitive peak. “Too eager. Too responsive. Too damn innocent. Untrained.
Breakable.”
She opened her eyes and started to counter his complaints but Sam chose that
moment to shove her robe aside, plump her breast high and lean down to suck her
nipple into his mouth. Her argument fled, replaced by a wordless gasp. She reached for
him but Sam caught her before she made more than fleeting contact. Bracketing her
wrists with his free hand, he pinned her hands against the wall above her head. His
teeth scored her flesh, a painful sharpness that made her whimper and jerk, but she had
nowhere to go.
Sam raked his blunt fingernails down her side, turning her whimper into a low cry
of surprise. She tried to squirm away but he trapped her hips by jamming his thigh
between her legs. His cock bulged against her hipbone, hard and prominent, and if she
had any doubt about his physical response to her, his thick length divested her of it.
He let go of her nipple, leaving a stinging ache in the wake of his brutal kiss. “I
don’t want you.”
But he untied the belt of her robe and shifted away far enough to push his hand
between her legs. He cupped her pussy, separated the folds as if they were no stronger
a barrier than tissue paper, and held her like that—spread open, naked to his view. And
he was looking. Melanie couldn’t tear her gaze from his face. Hunger carved grooves at
the corners of his eyes, left the outline of his lips white. She knew the moment his
restraint buckled, had only a heartbeat to prepare before he gave her clit a savage little
twist.
White hot, release pierced to her core. She stopped breathing as her muscles
convulsed and her inner walls clamped down hard, searching for something to ground
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her. Sam pressed the pad of his thumb against her abused nub, forcing another wave of
pleasure-pain, and worked a single finger into her desperately grasping pussy. Her
body acted against her, the fast, hard contractions coming counter-time to Sam’s deep,
slow thrusts. What he did to her—
“Beg me to stop,” Sam rasped, his voice thick and deep.
What he did to her bypassed every one of her personal control centers. She tried to
command her body to calm but he demanded more of her, dragged more from her.
She closed her eyes and let her knees go limp, trying to break his hold by force of
gravity. He couldn’t hold her weight with his fingers between her legs and his hand at
her wrists. He’d have to release her.
Except he didn’t. Sam followed her to the floor, straddling one of her thighs and
pinning the other. With her hands free, she should have lashed out, tried to force him
away, and she did reach for him—she did—but instead of pushing, she pulled. Her
fingernails bit into his forearm and she pulled him harder against her wet, swollen
flesh.
He got down close, his lips against hers, and said it again. “Beg me.”
Melanie lifted her head, reaching for his mouth. “Please. Please!”
“Beg.” He evaded her attempt to kiss him and spoke against her jaw. “Beg, Melanie.
Tell me exactly what you want me to do. Tell me to stop.”
Between his actions, his words and her body’s response to his relentless touch, she
hit a breaking point. Pleasure became something terrifying and she started to cry,
heaving sobs that shook her body and burned her throat. Sam kissed her then. He
changed in an instant, gently holding the back of her head and cradling the flesh
between her legs. He caught her trembling lips in a slow, deep kiss, invading with his
tongue and swallowing her broken gasps.
Too late. She didn’t want him to kiss her anymore. She wanted him to let her go. As
soon as she found an opening, she turned her face away. Sam stayed close, crouched
above her and caging her with his bigger body. The heat that had earlier lured her now
made her feel like she was suffocating.
“Need to go,” she managed to whisper, squirming until she could roll onto her
hands and knees.
Sam’s weight pressed against her back and she froze, an image of him mounting
her sliding unbidden through her mind. Her traitorous pussy clenched, physically
responding without her conscious permission.
“I do want you.” His tone was calm, such a contrast to her frantic emotions. “I do
want you, but I won’t take you. You’ll break and even if you do rebound, I’ll want to
break you again. Find a nice boy. You deserve a nice boy.”
A riot of conflicting emotions drove her into action. Humiliation, fear, regret—
want, because she still wanted him, still, and that desire terrified her—fueled her as she
scrambled from beneath him and lunged for the clothes he’d thrown on the spare bed.
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Shaking, taking pains to keep as much skin covered as possible, she dressed with
lightning speed.
She could hear Sam moving behind her—running water in the bathroom, exhaling a
loud breath that she didn’t even try to interpret. Her skin tingled painfully where his
clothes touched her, which was in all the worst places for her sanity. He still had the
water running when she finished dressing. Good. Maybe he wouldn’t notice her leaving
if she crept quietly toward the door and closed it gently—
“Wait,” Sam said, interrupting her attempt at a stealthy exit. He emerged from the
bathroom.
Melanie’s stomach dropped. She did wait—couldn’t seem to stop herself from
obeying him—but she didn’t look up from her white-knuckled grip on the doorknob.
“I added a second room to my account. This is the key. You should stay there
instead of roaming the halls by yourself at this time of night. Visit the concierge in the
morning when you’ll encounter more families and fewer drunk gamblers.” He pushed
an envelope at her. “Both keys are there. I won’t have access to the room.”
In the interest of getting out of his room as soon as possible, she accepted the
envelope. Sam didn’t stop her as she opened the door and slipped into the hall. With
the door between them, she dropped the envelope in front of his door before heading
for the elevator. After that experience, she’d take her chances with intoxicated hotel
guests. She needed her own clothes, her phone, her credit card and an immediate flight
home.
Nearly twelve hours later, Melanie dragged her exhausted body through a crowd of
New York businessmen to retrieve her luggage from the baggage claims area. While she
waited for the carousel to bring her suitcase around, she powered on her phone.
Between texts and voicemail, she had a dozen messages. David and Jovanna had
both tried to get in touch while she was in the air. She sent a quick response to David
letting him know she was back in New York, and deleted everything else. There were
messages from an unfamiliar New York number that she couldn’t bring herself to read,
deep down knowing they were from Sam.
During her flight, she’d decided she wouldn’t ask for anything else for the rest of
her entire life if God would just make sure she didn’t have to see Sam Fletcher ever
again.
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52
Chapter Eight
December
Her again. Everything came rushing back to him—the overwhelming need to bend
and break her and own her, the unshakable certainty that he could not succumb, that
she wouldn’t be the same person in the end. That she would decide she didn’t want to
submit after all, leaving him with everything invested in her and nothing to show for it
except the ache of loss.
“Ahh, a blonde. So that’s what your problem’s been.”
Sam glanced at the perpetually-thirty-nine-year-old brunette who’d sidled up to
him while he watched the blonde in question. “Do you know who brought her?”
“I hit traffic and only just got here.” Theresa, his fifty-percent partner at Bondage,
tucked her heavily be-ringed hand in the bend of his arm. “Why are we interested?”
She’s mine. “She’s the sister of a friend.”
Sam mentally kicked himself for using Melanie’s brother to justify his interest and
establish his barriers. While David sure as hell wouldn’t approve of his baby sister’s
presence at a munch, Sam knew firsthand exactly how little say his friend actually had
when it came to either Sam’s or Melanie’s choices. He couldn’t help but wonder where
he’d stand with her now if he’d regarded her as someone to be educated instead of
disciplined. Someone to be eased in instead of driven away.
Not that he regretted one second of spanking her ass. She’d deserved that. Problem
was, she’d deserved more than that from him.
Knowing her capacity for passion didn’t change his opinion though. Melanie
belonged at family barbeques and church potlucks, wearing high-necked dresses and
being watched closely by someone with the sense of self-preservation she lacked. She
did not belong at a munch, surrounded by men and women on the hunt for everything
from a casual plaything to a household slave. He had to get her out of there for her sake
as well as his.
“Hmm. Why are we really interested?” Theresa pressed.
“We aren’t. She’s a brat and we will have nothing to do with her.”
Theresa laughed. “Brats are fun. You never have to manufacture an excuse to
punish them.”
Sam didn’t answer.
“You’re allowed to have somebody, you know,” she said in response to his silence.
Theresa’s words barely registered. Melanie reclaimed his attention, a golden light
pulling him toward her. Melanie and the man with his hand at her slender throat,
touching her like he already owned her.
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“Not a fucking chance.” Leaving his business partner behind, Sam cut across the
ballroom.
Neither Melanie nor her companion spared a glance for his approach. Invisibility
suited Sam. He welcomed the extended opportunity to shore up his defenses. While he
maneuvered through the crowd, he pretended he was an art aficionado appreciating a
fine portrait. Downgrading Melanie from human being to portrait model helped him
reinforce his barriers. Beautiful girl. For him, a beautiful girl to be admired from afar.
Not to be touched. Not to be wanted. Touching her once did enough damage.
Her companion said something and stroked the side of her throat with his thumb.
Violent urges hummed down Sam’s spine. If he couldn’t touch her, nobody else could
either.
Melanie raised her shoulder, a movement so subtle Sam wondered whether she
even realized she’d given the “back off” signal. Her companion disregarded the
warning and leaned closer.
The other man noticed Sam first. He looked up from Melanie and narrowed his
eyes. His loose grip on her throat tightened when she turned her head to follow his line
of sight.
Several details came into focus at once. The nametag Melanie wore pinned to her
plunging neckline read “Emma”. The set of her pink-glossed lips spoke of uncertainty,
not interest. Her cheeks went from pink to white the instant she registered his
approach.
Up close, Sam recognized her companion as someone who’d recently applied for
membership at Bondage. Sam focused on that. “Winston, right?”
He deliberately extended his left hand instead of his right. He wanted Winston to
stop touching Melanie yesterday. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m one of the reviewers of
your recent application to Bondage.”
Winston hesitated, obviously reluctant to relinquish his claim on Melanie. In the
end, he must have decided he wanted Bondage more than he wanted one girl because
he finally surrendered his hold.
“Strict review process,” Winston remarked by way of greeting. He shook Sam’s
hand briefly and reached for Melanie again.
Sam noted that she’d taken the opportunity to scoot toward him, out of Winston’s
reach. And she’d attempted to cover her nametag.
“We have a strong reputation for safety,” Sam said. “My partner and I like to speak
with membership applicants personally. Are you available now?”
He was counting on Winston’s eagerness to access Bondage overcoming his
eagerness to take advantage of Melanie’s ignorance. One gullible woman or an infinite
supply of them. In Sam’s experience, predators could be swayed to surrender one kill in
exchange for a thicker flock. Winston’s short nod of assent proved him no different
from any other man on the hunt.
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Sam led Winston to the bar. Along the way, he queued up Theresa’s number in his
phone and sent a brief text message. By the time he finished with Winston, “Emma”
should be long gone. It would be better for both of them if Sam left the past in the past.
Shit, shit, shit. Melanie blew out a shaky breath and swallowed the last of her
chardonnay, glad for Sam’s intervention and equally glad to see him walk away. She
was in over her head. Way over. But she didn’t know how else to proceed. She’d been a
wreck ever since she fled Sam’s hotel room. She didn’t want to think about the
experience, but she’d learned something that night—she was sexually submissive and
she wanted a Dom. It wasn’t just a fantasy thing, it was a compelling need. She needed
a Dom. Not Sam—she didn’t want to see him ever again—but definitely someone who
would show her how to submit. Preferably without making her feel like a subhuman
life form unworthy of affection.
After months of lurking in BDSM chat rooms, reading blogs written by both
Dominants and submissives, and forming tentative cyber friendships, she’d worked up
the courage to put out real feelers. She’d found Vic Winston—otherwise known as X-
actingMaster—via Twitter and a New York BDSM lifestylers hash tag. The prospect of
meeting up with a man she’d found on the Internet hadn’t appealed to her, but she’d
been bordering on desperate. Vic had expressed interest in training her, but only if they
met to speak in person. She’d resisted until he suggested the party—a munch, he’d
called it. The promise of safety in numbers and meeting in the mostly public eye coaxed
her away from the security of TweetDeck and into the ballroom of the Mintley West
Hotel.
Her skin still crawled from the remembered heat of Vic’s hand. He was an attractive
man but nothing about him appealed to her once they’d started communicating in more
than one hundred forty character exchanges. Exactly the opposite—instead of a warm,
fuzzy feeling, she got a danger-danger feeling.
Melanie suppressed a shudder and stood to leave before Sam decided to return.
Biting her lip, she scanned the ballroom in search of a discreet exit. Every avenue of
escape required her to pass the bar where Vic and Sam stood with their backs to her.
She wasn’t afraid of getting too close to Sam but she didn’t want to catch Vic’s attention
again, not now that Sam had given her an out. She didn’t really want to catch anybody’s
attention but by the looks of the striking beauty making eye contact and striding toward
her from across the ballroom, she’d failed in the avoid-notice department.
“You look singularly out of place,” the unknown woman said by way of greeting.
She casually slid an arm around Melanie’s waist and steered her toward an exit Melanie
had missed in her search. “Pretty, but out of place. Do you belong to someone in
attendance?”
Panic spiked in Melanie’s stomach but she forced it down. She’d done her research.
The party was not invitation only. “I’m here by myself. And on my way out. Excuse
me.”
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Instead of releasing her, the tall brunette tightened her hold and drew Melanie
closer. The curve of a breast cushioned her shoulder. “Sam asked me to make sure you
leave safely. I’d like to be able to truthfully tell him I saw you on your way. Can I call a
taxi for you?”
Melanie’s brow furrowed. She glanced over her shoulder but couldn’t see the bar
anymore. “He ordered an escort?”
“I believe he needed to ensure his own peace of mind.” The other woman laughed
softly. “Which makes me very curious. May I ask how you know one another?”
“We have a mutual acquaintance,” Melanie replied cautiously.
“Ahhh. An acquaintance, of course.” The tall woman’s tone said she suspected
more, but she didn’t press. Instead, she asked, “What draws you to the lifestyle,
sweetie? The allure of being taken care of by a powerful, wealthy man? Pain with your
sex?”
“I just want—” Melanie stopped herself before she could say it. She did not want
Sam. He was merely her first. A sudden thought made her stomach twist though. “Are
you Sam’s, um, sub?”
“Am I his what?” Sam’s friend laughed.
“Never mind.” She didn’t really want to know. Melanie shook her head and dug
her valet ticket from the bottom of her purse as they stepped out into the blustery
December wind. A shiver immediately rocked her. She’d forgotten her coat.
Handing the claim ticket to the valet waiting just outside, she finally disengaged
and backed away from Sam’s maybe lover, whom Melanie didn’t care about one bit.
She immediately reached for the twenty-first-century evasion tactic of pressing her cell
phone to her ear and half turning away from the other woman. “Thank you for seeing
me out.”
Melanie carried on a fake conversation with her voice mail until the valet returned
with her car and her Sam-appointed babysitter retreated. The valet agreed to wait while
Melanie went back in for her coat. She loved that coat. No way was she leaving it
behind.
The warmth of the hotel lobby slid around her like a snug embrace. She retrieved
her coat from the concierge without incident, but on the way back to her car, she
spotted Sam. He saw her at the same time and set a course for her. All her instincts
screamed at her to just run, but her feet refused to cooperate. Despite the deep-seated
hatred she felt for him, heat unfurled low in her abdomen and her nipples responded to
his predatory pace.
Jaw in a hard line, he lengthened his stride until he reached her. “Emma?”
The ripple of heat chilled. Melanie drew back from his obvious displeasure and
covered the upper curve of her left breast with one hand, forgetting she’d already
removed the falsified name tag. Her heart thudded beneath her palm. Mouth dry, she
lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I’m not stupid enough to use my real name.”
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Sam’s calm, tightly controlled tone belied his flashing eyes. “Dishonesty is not the
approach you want to take with this community. Come on. I’ll walk you to your car.”
Melanie’s cheeks burned at his reprimand. She fumbled for something to say but
Sam didn’t stand around waiting for her to string her thoughts together. Nor did he
grab her the way Vic Winston, and afterward the brunette, had done. Instead, Sam left
her to follow in his determined wake. Like an obedient puppy, she fell into step behind
him.
By the time they reached her car, she’d decided to just keep her mouth shut. She
didn’t want Sam to think she was an idiot. She wanted him to think she was smoking
hot, totally over him, and on her way to becoming New York’s most-desired sex slave.
“Keys.” Sam held out his hand.
Hoping to make their encounter as brief as possible, Melanie silently placed her key
ring on his upturned palm.
Sam unlocked the driver’s side door and held it open. He stood with the door
between them and frowned at her. “What are you doing?”
She furrowed her brow. “Uh…getting ready to go home?”
“Here, Melanie. What are you doing here? With people like these? People you
found on…what? Facebook? Winston said he met you online.”
“Twitter,” she muttered. She squared her shoulders and mustered her flagging self-
confidence enough to step closer to him. With her hands atop the door between his, she
tilted her chin and met his eyes. “I’m kind of wondering what you’re doing here. I get
the ‘call me Sir and lick my shoes’ thing, but why are you messing with me?”
As soon as the words were out, she regretted them. Melanie bit her lip. Respectful
dialogue was something she could manage online, but she couldn’t seem to curb her
naturally sassy personality when she didn’t have the advantage of a backspace key.
And Sam…damn it. Something about him compelled her to push his buttons.
He glowered. “Because I’m here and somebody has to run interference with your
foolish choices. David should be watching you more carefully.”
“I’m an adult,” she said after a moment, trying to compose a thoughtful response
worthy of a well-behaved and educated sub. “Well past the age of consent and
experienced enough to reliably make sound choices on my own. I don’t need anybody
to protect me. I don’t need anybody to give me permission. I need somebody to respect
me, which is something you very clearly don’t want to do. I need somebody to educate
me, which is again something else you obviously don’t want to do, and I need
somebody to dominate me. Again, not you.”
Sam relaxed his grip on the door and dropped his hands to his sides. Melanie
exhaled a slow breath, hoping he would drop the issue now that she’d taken her stand.
When he stepped back, she allowed herself to relax further. His next words made her
blink. Twice.
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“You still want to submit, even after Vegas.” He didn’t pose it as a question. And he
wasn’t at a safe distance anymore. Sam now stood inches away from her, cornering her
between his body and her car door.
Melanie moistened her lips and stared at the hollow of his throat. Dark-blond hair
curled above the crew neck of the t-shirt visible past the open collar of his button-down.
She hated him. She hated him, with big bold capital letters and a double underline and
twelve exclamation points. But she also wanted to touch him, to pull the tails of his shirt
out of his pants and test the heat of his stomach, to press her lips against that silky patch
of hair below his pulse.
“And you? What do you want?” she heard herself ask.
Sam stiffened. “I’m not looking for a playmate, Melly.”
“Then why come to a party like this?” She forced her focus up to his eyes, made
herself concentrate on asking questions even though his casual slip into the nickname
only he had ever used melted her a little inside. “Is it part of your job? I thought it was a
private party.”
“Knowing my clientele is part of my job, yeah. So is networking and advertising my
business. So is reading intent in body language and interactions between people.” His
fingertip skimmed the bare line of her collar bone as he spoke. “I have years of
experience watching people, interpreting their signs. Do you know when Winston
touched you, you shrank away from him? Your muscles were tense. Your lips pressed
tight.”
He kept touching her, drawing a line up the sensitive ridge of a tendon in her neck.
The pad of his thumb stroked her bottom lip. Melanie’s eyelids grew heavy. She fought
an urge to close her eyes. H.A.T.E.
“You weren’t giving off the signals of a woman who didn’t want to be touched,”
Sam said. “You were giving off the signals of a woman who didn’t want to be touched
by the person touching her.”
Melanie struggled to swallow past the knot of excitement in her throat. She tried to
focus on hating him but instead of a rush of humiliation like she’d felt slinking from his
hotel room, the rush she experienced now was one hundred percent eagerness for more.
She tipped her head back and raised her chin. Exposed her neck, closed her eyes and
surrendered.
Sam’s free hand slid into her hair. He pulled her head back at a sharper angle and
drew a line from her pulse to the valley between her breasts. Hooking a finger in the
keyhole notch above the center point of her bra, he made an inarticulate sound.
Her questioning murmur came out more like a moan. Sam cursed beneath his
breath. “You have no idea how to protect yourself, do you?”
The rough edge of his tone abraded her spine.
“I have pepper spray.” She refused to open her eyes. The heel of his palm rested
between her breasts, a warm weight she didn’t want to frighten away.
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“I’m not talking about protection from being mugged. Hell.” Sam flexed his fingers
in her hair and on her skin. “You need somebody to keep you safe from yourself.”
“Sir—”
“Not me.” He released her abruptly and backed away. She hadn’t realized how
close he was until the heat of his body left and the winter cold blew across her
unprotected stomach.
Back to shivering, Melanie reluctantly opened her eyes. Sam stood in arm’s reach
but only barely, raking one hand through his hair and not looking at her. In a single
sweeping glance, she picked up on the evidence of his arousal, prominent behind the fly
of his pants.
“Sam,” she said, trying again. Tentatively, she added, “Sir.”
He shook his head and pointed at her car. “Get in and go home. Stay off the damn
Internet.”
Her back stiffened. “You have no right to do this. My personal life is mine. You
didn’t want it, remember?”
His refusal of her made no sense, not given his obvious interest and her obvious
response, but it was a good thing. Humiliation and embarrassment buffeted her like the
icy wind, reminding her of the hate. Ignoring the curious eyes of the valet, she slid
behind the wheel and tried to close the door. Sam blocked her.
With one hand on the roof of the car and the other on the door, he leaned down
until they were eye to eye. “Do you really think you’re ready for what I want from
you?”
She couldn’t look at him. Turning away, she stared straight ahead and mustered her
courage. “I really think you owe me an apology, and then I think you owe me the right
to make an informed decision about what you want and whether I’m capable of giving
it.”
He straightened. Melanie clenched her fists on the steering wheel, disappointed.
Mad at herself for being disappointed. What happened to the hate that had fueled her
since August?
“Move over,” Sam said. “I’ll drive.”
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Chapter Nine
She turned off the radio. “Where are we going?”
“I haven’t gotten that far in the plan.” He navigated her small car out of the hotel
parking lot and merged with traffic. He quickly glanced at her, only to find her staring
out the window. Sam looked back to the road. “I’m sorry about the way I treated you in
Vegas. Right from the beginning, I undervalued your feelings and dismissed your sense
of self-awareness. When you turned to me with your questions, I should have referred
you to somebody who could answer them with a neutral attitude.”
“You confused me.” She sighed and shifted in her seat, as if she had something else
to say, but she didn’t continue.
Sam prompted her with, “What else? We’re talking right now. That means you have
to keep talking.”
“And you scared me, that last night.”
“I didn’t know of any other way to stop myself, except making you want me to
stop.”
“I didn’t—don’t—want you to stop yourself.” She frowned at a little hula girl
bobble-head figure mounted on her dashboard. “I want you to trust me to be able to
handle you, without pushing to extremes that you know will scare me.”
“I need somebody who will be able to cope with extremes.” Sam tried to ignore the
doll. He didn’t need the cheerful plastic reminder of Melanie’s lightness, so sunny that
it made him feel like the cruelest troll for even entertaining the idea of bringing her into
his darker world of deviance and excess.
“Then show me how to welcome them instead of how to fear them. I might be
younger than you’re used to, but I’m not some emotional infant.”
Silence fell between them as he chewed on her words. This wasn’t the first time
she’d shown him how he underestimated her, but he decided it had to be the last.
Wherever their relationship would go in the future, he couldn’t keep assigning flaws
that didn’t exist. He couldn’t keep hiding behind them.
Determined to move forward, he asked, “Is there somewhere you’d like to go?”
She fingered the hem of her skirt and spoke to her knees. “I’d like to see your
dungeon for real.”
Sam’s fists clenched on the steering wheel. “That would be a very bad idea right
now. Pick somewhere else.”
“I want to be where you feel like you have the right to Dominate. Where you won’t
feel like you have to hold back. If you won’t take me to your dungeon, will you take me
to your club? I’ve never seen anything like that before, not in person.”
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Choosing his words carefully, he said, “Honey, my right to Dominate has nothing
to do with location. If you think a submissive who’d given me authority over her would
be safer in a grocery store than a bedroom, you’re wrong.”
“Will you please stop talking about me as if I’m a hypothetical?” Distress weighed
on her voice. “I’m giving you control. Whether you choose to take it or not, it’s real. Not
an ‘if’.”
“We’ll go to Bondage,” he said tightly. “But if you’re looking for a scene with me,
that’s not where it will happen. I work at Bondage. I don’t conduct personal affairs
there.”
The prospect of granting her access to his territory left Sam with a bad feeling in his
gut. The club was no place for her but if he took her home, he wouldn’t have the safety
net of witnesses to keep his instincts in check.
She fidgeted for a minute before saying, “Thank you, Sir.”
“Melanie.” He infused the word with all the warning he could muster.
She was quiet so long he started to relax, but when she spoke again, one of his few
remaining threads of willpower snapped.
“You’re my Sir. I can’t help it. I’ve tried to replace you with somebody else. I was
trying tonight, but you stopped me.”
Possessiveness surged in his chest. He kept his focus on the road. If he looked at
her, he’d have to pull the car over. “Winston isn’t for you.”
“No, he isn’t. But if you’re not either, then I don’t know what else to do.”
Since he didn’t know what to do either, they made a perfectly matched pair.
* * * * *
At Bondage, Sam parked at the rear of the club. Floodlights illuminated the lot and
the vehicles that filled every space. Someone had generously scattered rock salt across
the ground, but some spots still bore shiny coats of ice. In the time it took Melanie to
unfasten her seatbelt and retrieve her clutch purse from the backseat, Sam exited the car
and walked around to open her door.
“Careful,” he said, taking her hand when she reached for the top of the door frame
for balance.
Touching him supercharged her nervous system. Heart racing, a little lightheaded
from his unexpected reaction, she stood unsteadily on her heeled ankle boots. Sam
didn’t help matters by taking her other hand to warm in his grasp.
“You need gloves,” he said. “Do you have a pair in the car?”
She shook her head. “I can’t get a good grip on the wheel when I’m wearing
gloves.”
“The right kind of gloves will solve that problem. For now, inside before you freeze.
Watch the ice.” He stepped back and drew her forward, reaching around her to close
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the passenger door. Melanie closed her eyes, just for a minute pretending she had a
right to his heat and scent.
It was a really great minute, stretching on so long Melanie started to shiver. She
opened her eyes to find Sam studying her intently.
Still holding both her hands against his chest, he asked, “What draws you to D/s?
The kink?”
Part of her started searching for the answer he would want to hear. Another part of
her realized she didn’t know him well enough to guess at what that might be. Stuck
with truth, she cautiously asked, “Is it weird and daddy’s-girl of me to want somebody
to be in charge? To say ‘no, that’s a bad idea’ when I come up with a bad idea, before I
act on it?”
“It’s not unusual,” he said, nothing in his tone to give away what he actually
thought of her response. “Many people find the kink is just a gateway to something
else.”
“Well, the kink isn’t exactly a turn-off. Will you…I’d like to learn more about
yours.”
“Head and heart first, body second,” he said. “When did your parents divorce?”
Melanie shrugged. “Officially, not that long ago. Three years. Unofficially, they’ve
been separated for ages.” She bit her lip and added, “I don’t have daddy issues. I have
personal-faith issues.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Clarify.”
“I’m never sure whether I’m making a good decision or a bad one. I second-guess. I
second-guessed a lot with you, and I got bad advice, which made things worse, but the
problem isn’t that I got bad advice, it’s that I didn’t recognize it as bad advice. Or I did,
but I acted on it anyway.” She averted her eyes. “I’m sorry for that. For pushing you
and disrespecting your right to say no and mean it.”
“It’s important to acknowledge and accept ‘no’.” He released her hands, but
grasped her chin and tilted her head until they were eye to eye. “Don’t submit to
anybody you don’t trust to accept your ‘no’. Do you understand?”
She did understand—from what she’d read and absorbed, BDSM participants were
fanatics for consent. Even though she couldn’t imagine a scenario in which she’d refuse
something Sam wanted from her, and she had a hard time envisioning herself
submitting to anybody else, she said, “Yes Sir.”
He nodded and ran his thumb across her bottom lip before releasing her. “Come on.
I’ve frozen you long enough.”
She was cold, and her thighs were going to burn like crazy when they entered the
club and her flesh thawed, but she had no complaints about standing outside talking
with Sam. She could’ve gone on all night.
Sam had other plans. He linked their hands, a gesture she wasn’t sure he was even
aware of, and led the way across the lot. Melanie paid careful attention to avoiding
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patches of ice. As she side-stepped a frozen-over puddle, movement between two cars
caught her eye. A weak, thready mewl reached her ears. She stopped walking.
“Did you hear that?” Pulling her hand from Sam’s, she took a few steps toward the
vehicles.
“I didn’t hear anything.” He caught up to her and reclaimed her hand, preventing
her from advancing. “Whatever you heard, you shouldn’t be investigating it at night in
an empty parking lot. I’ll send somebody out to take a look around.”
She strained at the limits of his reach, trying to see into the shadows between the
cars. “Do you have cats out here?”
“The staff probably feeds a stray. Melanie—”
“Strays should be collected and placed in homes or shelters, not fed scraps of
buffalo wings or whatever.” She escaped him and darted over to crouch between the
cars, slipping on a patch of ice in her haste. Even though she caught herself with a hand
on the fender of one of the cars, Sam’s jaw clenched.
While David’s veiled permission to proceed with Melanie was never far from Sam’s
thoughts, he’d forgotten the rest of that poker table conversation. Her father’s tirade
about stray animals and babies came back to him along with the sound of Melanie’s
voice lowered in soft, tender reassurance. Sam scrubbed both hands over his face, one
step closer to defeat, before he hunkered down to join her beside a tangle of scrawny,
dirty fluff.
“I need a box,” she said, tucking one tiny, squirming body into her coat. As she
gingerly rescued a second kitten from behind a tire, she yelped.
Sam caught her wrist and shifted to bring her fingers into the light. A long scratch
bisected the back of her hand. Small dots of blood beaded on her skin.
“Enough,” he said. Standing, he pulled her to her feet, ignoring her protests. “Bring
the one you’ve got and come inside. I’ll send somebody out to round up the rest, but
this isn’t a job for you.”
“But—”
“No ‘buts’. You’re not equipped to handle them and you’re not qualified to care for
them. We’re going inside, where I’ll disinfect that scratch and you can contact the
shelter of your choice to come get them.”
Melanie opened her mouth to say something but closed it after a moment. The
animal inside her coat squirmed, a lump scrabbling up her chest, if her wince was any
indication. “I just don’t want them to freeze to death out here.”
“I understand, honey, but the best thing you can do is ask for help from a qualified,
prepared organization.”
She sighed and turned toward the building. “You must think I’m the biggest pain in
the ass.”
Sometimes, but he didn’t tell her that. Instead, he said, “I think you have a very soft
heart.”
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“You probably think that’s a bad thing.”
“Stop trying to read my mind before you get yourself in trouble.” At the employees’
entrance, Sam withdrew his work keys and unlocked the door. As soon as he opened it,
muted music rolled over him. He ushered a wide-eyed Melanie inside and re-set the
security code before pocketing his keys.
Turning to her, he said, “I enjoy your soft heart, but you’re going to have to harden
it a little while you’re here. You’ll probably see some things that scare you, on behalf of
yourself or the submissive, but it’s not your place to interfere with anything. If you have
questions or concerns, talk them out with me.”
“Yes Sir.” She pulled the thin kitten from inside her coat.
With a frown, Sam led her to the employee break room. A newer member of his
staff, one of the hospitality crew responsible for ensuring clean-up after private rooms
were used, sat at a round table with a paperback and a bag of M&Ms in front of her.
“Hey, Carrie,” he said as he and Melanie walked into the room. He made a personal
policy of knowing his employees by name.
Carrie flipped her cell phone over, quickly checking the time—to make sure she
hadn’t overrun her break time, Sam assumed. Once she satisfied herself regarding the
time, she smiled at him.
“I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight,” she said.
“I wasn’t but my plans changed. How are you with cats?”
She looked confused, but realization quickly dawned when Melanie’s kitten
mewled. “Oh wow. Ginger had her litter.”
“I found them outside,” Melanie said.
Carrie stood and rounded the table to admire the animal. While the women cooed,
he rummaged through the first-aid kit mounted to the wall and grabbed a couple
alcohol pads.
“I want you to clock back in and round up someone to help you get them in a box
and bring them inside where it’s warm.” He glanced at Melanie. “Which organization
should Carrie contact?”
Melanie reluctantly surrendered the shivering cat to Carrie. “Cat Rescue
Association is on call 24/7. They’d be able to send someone out tonight.”
“I’ll put in a call,” Carrie promised.
“Thank you,” Sam said. He tore open an alcohol packet. “Let me see the scratch,
honey.”
Melanie balled her hand into a fist and drew back a step. “That’s going to hurt.”
“An infection will hurt worse. Give me your hand.”
She bit her lip uncertainly. Sam held her gaze and said, “Now.”
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The little word pulled her back to him. She was still anxious but she straightened
her fingers and held out her hand. Sam encircled her wrist with his thumb and
forefinger. Their palms lined up, hers much smaller than his.
“Trust is important,” he said. “Trust is what you give even though you know it’s
going to hurt, because you have faith that your Master won’t intentionally prolong pain
that isn’t asked for or earned.”
He swiped the alcohol pad down the long line of the scratch. Melanie’s breath
caught, but she didn’t make any other sound. Sam tossed the used pad and nodded at
her coat. “Did it scratch your chest?”
“Maybe a little.” She unbuttoned her coat without prompting from him and shifted
the neckline of her sweater to reveal the upper curve of her breast. A couple of pink
lines marked the creamy softness, but the cat hadn’t drawn blood.
Sam tamped down his desire to trace the marks with his tongue. He pocketed the
second alcohol pad and nodded at the door. “Out with you.”
That was five minutes ago. Sam led her through a maze of hallways. The music
grew louder and the lights dimmer, the deeper they moved into the club. He opened
one last door and she came face-to-face with a sea of people. Fetish costumes, some
complete with masks, captivated her. Beyond the dance floor, the glimpses of low-lit
rooms roused her nervous curiosity. Sam cupped her elbow and guided her into the
crowd. Assaulted by the close-up scents of perfume, hair product and what she would
have sworn was lust, Melanie inched as close as she could and followed Sam’s lead. She
tried to ignore her strung-thin nerves. This was a triumphant moment. She was inside
the club and about to collect all the first-hand experience she could put her hands on.
Nothing she’d seen on the Internet compared to this. Bonus, she was with Sam, a
pleasure in itself, even if she didn’t know where they were going from here.
Melanie reached for a handful of his shirt to anchor herself to him. Now that she
was in the middle of the crowd, the mass of people intimidated her. She was glad for
Sam’s confident stride as he steered their course toward the far right section of the club.
Left to her own, she wasn’t one hundred percent sure she would have worked up the
courage to venture into a fetish club. As it was, part of her wanted to run.
Sam led her into a large chamber off the central floor and some of her sensory
overload backed off. Couples and threesomes sat together on low, leather-upholstered
benches, some talking and others pursuing more carnal activities. One particular trio of
people caught her attention and she couldn’t help but stare.
A man and a woman sat side by side, angled toward one another as they talked. At
their feet, another woman knelt between them, completely naked except for a pair of
tall, slim white bunny ears mounted atop her head and a fluffy white pouf peeping
from between the cheeks of her bottom. While Melanie watched, the fully clothed man
pulled a baby carrot from his pocket and offered it to the girl on the floor, who visibly
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quivered at the sight of the treat. The bunny-girl leaned in to eat the carrot from her
Master’s palm.
“That’s an interesting blush you’re wearing,” Sam said in her ear.
Blinking, Melanie averted her eyes as her face flushed hotter. “It’s, um.”
“Pet play. I don’t see it often here. I think most people reserve that for private
situations.” He brushed his knuckles across the pulse point at the base of her throat. “It
excites you.”
“The tail’s pretty,” she said defensively, unable to even imagine what was going
through his head.
“Yeah, it is.” He placed a fingertip beneath her chin and tipped her head back.
Melanie closed her eyes but Sam denied her that retreat with a sternly spoken, “Look at
me.”
She reluctantly met his gaze. The heat in his eyes seared straight to her core,
alternately melting her body and confusing her head. She suddenly had trouble
breathing.
“Something that genuinely excites you is not a turn-off to me. You have no reason
to hide or deny.” Sam lowered his head as if he were about to kiss her, but he stopped
himself with a low curse and released her. “Come on. We’ll sit for a little while.”
The big room seemed to be a hub of some sort, with several exits into other rooms
and halls. Melanie followed on trembling legs as Sam led her into an intimate area that
resembled an old-fashioned theater. When she drew abreast of him, he bent his head to
speak into her ear. “This is a showcase. The Dominant partners are presenting their
submissives for display. Think of it as a classic car show, where collectors go to have
their efforts seen by other collectors.”
Melanie nodded to indicate she’d heard but she didn’t look away from the couples
doing their thing in the room. One pair in particular caught and held her attention. The
fully clothed man crouched behind his nude, kneeling female partner. While Melanie
watched, he put his hand on top of her head and pushed her facedown to the floor. The
woman folded over at her guide’s urging and Melanie could see her wrists tied together
at the base of her spine. The man released her head and stroked her flanks, an upward
caress that coaxed the woman’s buttocks into the air.
Sam touched her elbow, breaking the thrall. She glanced up to find him still close,
his breath steady at her temple.
“Do you want to spend some time in here watching?” he asked. “Or do you want to
move on?”
“I’d like to stay.” She licked her bottom lip. “If that’s all right?”
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug and tugged her toward him. “My time is yours
tonight. Come out of the way of the door.”
For the first time since entering the room, she noticed the club’s designer had
provided for audience seating. She and Sam weren’t the only audience in the room
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66
either. Both men and women occupied the plush upholstered chairs arranged in
semicircles to the right and left of what she now realized was an un-elevated stage. The
other observers sat both together and apart, some with their heads together,
whispering. Others seemed content to enjoy the show as solo entities.
Sam dropped onto a loveseat and gestured for her to claim the cushion beside him.
She carefully smoothed her too-short skirt before sitting. The precaution didn’t help.
Her hem persisted in climbing her thigh of its own volition, leaving a thin strip of bare
skin between the slinky material of her skirt and the lacy band of her stocking. Absurd
that she felt exposed with that bit of skin showing, considering she and Sam were
seated facing full-on nudity. And considering exactly how much of her skin he’d
already seen and touched.
While she fussed with her skirt, another cluster of people caught her eye. Two men
stood facing one another, their erect penises touching, their postures perfectly straight
and their eyes locked. Melanie slanted a questioning glance at Sam, who tipped his
head to the right of the two men. A woman sat within arm’s reach of the men and Sam’s
car show analogy finally struck her as appropriate.
She leaned into Sam to say, “They really are displaying their possessions, aren’t
they? What about the…possessions?”
Her shoulder touched his chest. Heat coursed down her arm, along with a bone-
deep awareness of him. Sam shifted his weight and stretched one forearm along the
loveseat behind her back as he ducked his head for a quiet response. “If you’re
wondering how they feel about being on display, you’d have to ask one. Generally,
though, they might be excited by the prospect of being watched. Or the act of giving up
control and being posed.”
She frowned at his chin, recalling what he’d once said about baring her to others’
view. “Is this something you’d want to do? Display me?”
“Displays for the sake of showing off aren’t my thing,” he answered. “I might not
conceal you from view but I wouldn’t model you either.”
Melanie turned back to the scene, unsure how to handle the fact that he’d dropped
the hypothetical submissive “if” and directly laid claim to her twice now. The first time
could’ve been a simple slip of the tongue. If the second time was a slip too, she didn’t
want to know.
Sam’s fingertips grazed her shoulder and his voice rumbled close behind her,
drawing her back from her thoughts. “Bored already?”
She turned abruptly, found Sam too close as her lips bumped his chin. His light
touch tightened, the breadth of his palm closing on her shoulder in a secure grip.
Melanie froze. She expected him to recoil but he didn’t. His breath warmed her cheek
and his fingers flexed once before sliding down her arm to her biceps. When he did
retreat, he did so slowly and did not relinquish his hold.
Swallowing, she said, “It feels rude to watch.”
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“You’re in an awkward position as an observer instead of a participant, but they
want to be watched.” He finally released her and stood but offered his hand
immediately. “Come on. There’s more to see.”
Finding she welcomed the opportunity to touch him, she placed her hand in his and
stood. Sam steadied her with a hand on one hip as he steered her forward, urging her to
lead the way from the room. Sam took the lead and guided her down a short, narrow
corridor. They weren’t alone in the hall. A petite woman held a nearly naked man on
his knees at her feet and a cell phone pressed to her ear. The man’s head was bowed, his
hands on his knees and his spine straight. Melanie looked back as she and Sam walked
by, surprised to see an expression of calm patience on the man’s face.
She squeezed Sam’s hand to get his attention and he paused, turning back to her
with a question in the arch of his eyebrow.
“I don’t understand the interactions,” she said. “Some of them aren’t behaving
sexually at all.”
“Sex can be a very small part of the BDSM relationship. Did you not learn about
that on the Internet?”
Bristling, she said, “I’m sure there’s plenty I didn’t learn about. I did learn that I
need to be in a real relationship.”
“With a stranger you met online,” he countered, his tone suddenly hard.
“I don’t want some stranger.” She drew a deep breath for courage. “I want you.”
Sam’s Adam’s apple rose and fell. “Why? You don’t even know me.”
She tilted her head, perplexed by the question. “Because I do.”
“No. That’s not good enough. Give me reasons why.”
His demand broke her strained attempt at keeping her emotions in check. Voice
rising with frustration, she asked, “Haven’t you ever been drawn to somebody with no
reason? Overcome with curiosity to discover what kind of person they are? To explore
the way they kiss? Be surprised by what they’re like in bed, be humbled by the kinds of
things they whisper about before sleep and smile about in the morning?”
The answer made her heart hurt and she didn’t wait for him to reply. “Of course
not. You prefer to know exactly what you’re getting out of a sexual submissive, to draw
up a contract outlining precisely what she will and won’t be for you, and probably even
make her sleep in a separate bed or separate room because you don’t care to hear what
she has to say after being with you. You’ll never know what she loves about a new day
because she’ll never have the emotional energy to start the day with you.”
“Melanie.” He tugged on her wrist.
Shaking her head, she pulled out of his grasp and turned away, looking for an exit.
“Forget it. I can’t do this. Trying to make you see me…it drains me. Love should
energize the soul, not suck the joy out of it.”
“Melanie.” Her name fell between them like a whip-crack.
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Fundamentally unable to disobey that tone, she froze. Sam appeared in front of her
and touched her chin, guiding her head back until their eyes met.
“First, contracts serve a very important purpose. At the very least of their
usefulness, they protect you and they assure your limits will be acknowledged and
honored. Second.” Frowning, he rubbed his thumb across her bottom lip. Something
shifted in his eyes, mysterious to her but clarifying to him. He lowered his head and
kissed her, little more than a fleeting touch.
“Second,” he continued, speaking against her lips, “my dungeon and my bed are
reserved for my submissive. When she surrenders her trust to me, I surrender my trust
to her.”
“Give it to me,” she whispered, aching at the thought of him with anybody else.
He pushed his fingers through her hair and cradled her face against his chest. “I
don’t think I have any other choice.”
Desperation wound her arms around his waist. After months without touching
him, she’d begun to forget the way her body fit against his. Melanie tilted her head and
opened her mouth at the base of his throat, frantic for a taste of him. Sam’s groan
vibrated against her tongue. He shifted and suddenly she was sandwiched between the
unyielding wall and his equally hard body.
Behind Sam, people moved past them. In an instant, she went from observer to
exhibit and the change in roles affected her on a primal level. Sam grabbed a fistful of
her skirt and hauled it over her hip before sliding his hands over her bare ass and lifting
her off her feet. Melanie scrambled to hold on to him as he pushed her up the wall and
shoved between her legs, forcing her thighs to part. She crossed her ankles behind his
back and moaned as his erection settled squarely against her, hard and big and so
amazingly good even through his pants and the front panel of her thong.
The club’s music throbbed through her, dragging her racing pulse into an
electronica rhythm that Sam encouraged by grinding into her softness. He released one
of her cheeks and crammed his hand between them to wrench her panties aside.
Robbed of that barrier, her folds parted and he rubbed right up against her clit.
“Omigod, you feel good,” she breathed in his ear, just before letting her head fall
against the wall behind her. “Don’t stop.”
He shoved her top up beneath her breasts, baring her stomach to the buttons
marching down the front of his shirt. One broad hand curved around the dip of her
waist and he dug his fingertips into her flesh, aggression and desperation and painful
pressure in his hold.
“Don’t stop,” she said again, craving everything, anything he would give.
“Not against a wall again. Not here. You deserve better than this.” But he raked his
teeth down her arched throat and forced his fingers into the crease of her bottom,
behind her thong’s skinny string, over the tender pucker he found there.
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“I don’t want better. I want you.” She clutched at his shoulders and twisted her hips
frantically, terrified he would stop and leave her empty, that he’d leave her to another
four months of dying for the fullness of his cock inside her.
“I’m not taking you against another wall.” Breathing raggedly against her neck, he
adjusted his stance and slid his hand lower between her legs. “Christ, you’re wet. Every
time I touch you—”
He bit off the rest on a low curse and pressed, two long fingers curling into her
pussy, so deep a twinge of pain made her cry out. The front of his pants soaked up the
moisture between her labia and his grinding motion started to hurt, the friction rough
on her sensitive clit.
“Ow—Sam—”
“Come for me,” he muttered, so low she wouldn’t have heard him if he weren’t
speaking right against her ear. “Melly, come for me.”
“You’re hurting me,” she gasped, an edge of panic creeping into her field of
awareness. Panic because even though the rough scrape of his zipper nudged her from
pleasure into pain, she didn’t want him to stop.
“You want me.” He dragged his open mouth from her ear to her lips, spoke
between hungry, kissing bites.
“Yes.” Behind her tightly closed eyes, the club’s lights sparkled in crazy patterns.
Her pussy started to pulse all on its own, erratic jumps that seemed to mimic the lights.
Sam stroked faster, encouraging the deep spasms. “This is me. I want to hurt you,
push you through pleasure and into pain until it’s all pleasure again. You want me, you
come for me. Hurting and all.”
“Sam, please.” She squeezed her eyes shut so hard her temples started to ache.
“Please—”
“You. Wanted. This.” He cut her off with hard words, accusing words, and he bit
her bottom lip with punishing force.
“Please—”
“Damn you for not leaving me alone—”
Desperate to be heard, she opened her eyes to meet his and leaned forward to bite
him back. “Please more! I need more. Do something.”
Sam froze for half a heartbeat before slanting his lips across hers. He speared into
her mouth and robbed her breath just as he pulled his fingers from her pussy and
shoved them into her ass instead.
Melanie shrieked into his mouth, responding to the sudden pain and the equally
unexpected release, which broke over her like a storm. She shuddered violently in his
arms, unable to breathe. The club’s lights danced wildly in the black behind her skull,
multicolored lightning in the dark. It seemed to go on forever, so long she scratched at
Sam’s neck in an urgent grab for reality.
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He scratched back, a smaller pain that helped ground her, and forced her legs from
his waist. When she stumbled, he held her up.
“Lock your knees, honey,” he instructed, speaking in her ear. “Get the floor under
your feet.”
Melanie shook. “Sam?”
His arms slid around her waist and he pulled her away from the wall. “Right here.
Let me see your pretty eyes.”
“I don’t want to.”
“The sooner you open up, the sooner you’ll have your balance back.” He brushed a
soft kiss across her temple. “Come on, Melly. Come back for me.”
“I don’t want to,” she repeated. Opening her eyes would mean letting go of their
few minutes in the dark.
He sighed and ran his hands down her back, smoothing her shirt into place. “The
speakers on my laptop are dead, so the text-to-speech software is useless. You’ll need to
open your eyes so you can read the contract and decide if you want to make any
changes before we sign it.”
That got through her muddled emotions. Tilting her head back, she blinked up at
him. “You’re not pushing me out again.”
“No, I’m not.” He gave her a wry smile. “But some day you might wish I had.”
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Chapter Ten
They didn’t reach Sam’s office. Before they emerged from the corridor, a member of
his staff strode up to them.
Eric, one of Bondage’s VIP-level supervisors, conspicuously avoided looking at
Melanie. Soon the entire staff would know Sam had finally broken his personal rule of
keeping his affairs outside the club. Since he had no reason to hide, he drew Melanie
closer and asked, “What’s the problem, Eric?”
The other man grimaced. “I know you’re not officially here, but we might have a
situation upstairs. Theresa left awhile ago and Donnie is caught up in a big scene that’s
been going on for at least an hour.”
Sam nodded, accepting the explanation. “It’s fine. Give me details.”
Eric hesitated. He finally looked at Melanie, an apologetic expression on his face,
and said, “Jennifer Dane and her Master went up to a room earlier tonight. Several
guests came to me with suspicions that the scene has become non-consensual.”
Hell. Nothing about this was going to go well. He looked down at Melanie. “I have
to deal with this. I’d like you to wait for me in my office.”
“Who’s Jennifer Dane?” She asked exactly the question he didn’t want to answer,
with some strange element of feminine knowledge in her eyes.
“A submissive I trained.” No way around the truth, except to lie, and he wouldn’t
do that.
Melanie paled. She started to pull her hand from his but he tightened his grip and
held her in place. Regretting that he didn’t have time to talk to her about the jealousy
and fear obvious in her eyes, he said, “I have to go now, honey. My office—”
“I’d like to stay with you,” she interrupted. “Please.”
“If at any point I tell you to leave the room, you obey me instantly and without
question.”
“Yes Sir,” she said without hesitating.
Sam nodded and Eric led the way through the thick crowd downstairs. Upstairs,
they entered a wholly different environment. A few people leaned against the rail of the
balcony that overlooked the dance floor below. Doors to private rooms lined the
balcony, some open, some closed. Blue light spilled from the open doors and outlined
the closed doors.
Eric stopped at a closed room and opened the unlocked door. The sound of leather
cracking across flesh greeted them.
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When Sam caught sight of the whip Jennifer’s Dom was using, he released
Melanie’s hand and pointed at a spot beside the door, outside the room. “Wait there.”
He waited long enough for her to nod and then he entered the room. The blue
rooms were all appointed similarly—a bed, a cabinet filled with assorted toys, a
straight-backed chair. This one was no different but the furniture had been put to use in
a way Sam would have never sanctioned. Jennifer, a tall brunette with short hair, hung
from the ceiling by her wrists. Her toes touched the bed’s mattress, but only barely, not
enough for her legs to bear her weight. The muscles of her arms stood out, straining
with the effort to keep her weight off her wrists, which were manacled to mounts
drilled into the ceiling. The straps of a ball gag bit into the back of her head, preventing
her from using her safeword.
Ugly red welts swelled across her back and the backs of her legs. Her Master, a man
Sam had never met before—not the Dom who’d hired Sam to train Jennifer for
slavery—drew his arm back in preparation of delivering another lash of his whip. Fury
spiked through Sam.
Before the Dom could land his next blow, Sam spoke loudly and clearly over
Jennifer’s pained whimpers. “Dragonfruit.”
The Dom faltered at the sound of Jennifer’s safeword. He swung around to face
Sam, shock crossing his features. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m the man revoking your privileges in this club. Eric, relieve him of that whip
and his membership card and send someone up from the bar with water and some
clean rags.” Sam didn’t wait to watch. While Eric moved forward, Sam climbed up onto
the bed and, supporting Jennifer’s weight with an arm around her ribs, used his master
key to release the manacles holding her upright. She sagged against him with a low cry
of pain.
He lowered her to the bed on her stomach and pulled the gag from her mouth.
Panic vibrated in her rapid, shallow breath. Sam stroked her hair, a gesture he’d
employed during her training, a signal that she was safe. For good measure, he said,
“Easy, Jen, I’ve got you.”
Eric directed her silently fuming Dom from the room. As soon as they’d left,
Melanie peeked around the door frame. Pale-cheeked and stricken, she looked from
Jennifer to Sam. Stomach tight, Sam beckoned her to him.
“I don’t…is she all right?” Hugging herself, Melanie edged into the room.
“She’ll be okay.” Sam continued to pet the woman beside him but Melanie had the
bulk of his attention. “Come here, honey. It’s all right.”
As soon as he could reach her, Sam pulled Melanie between his knees and drew her
down to sit on his thigh. Before he could say anything, Jennifer moved, bunching her
knees beneath her body and turning her face toward him.
“Sir?” Jen’s question came out ragged and hoarse.
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Melanie flinched. Sam wasn’t sure whether the rough sound of Jen’s voice got to
her or whether she objected to Jennifer’s submissive deference, but he wrapped his arm
tightly around her waist to reassure her.
With his other hand, he tucked Jennifer’s hair behind her ear. “What do you need,
Jen?”
Jennifer squeezed her eyes shut so hard, the vein in her temple throbbed. “He
wouldn’t let me come. I need to come. Please, Sir.”
Sam braced himself for his body’s reaction to her plea, but nothing happened. He
blew out a breath and patted her head. “All right, Jen. I’m going to take care of you and
you’ll be just fine.”
In the circle of his embrace, Melanie stiffened. Jealousy flashed across her face,
quickly hidden. Wishing he had time to explain, knowing he didn’t after what Jen had
endured, he caught one of Melanie’s hands and placed it over his fly. At her touch, his
cock did stir, but one look at Jen’s abused, needy state quelled the physical response.
“Don’t move your hand, honey.” He met her eyes, confirming she understood the
command as just that, before turning his attention to the woman whimpering on the
bed.
Acutely aware of Melanie’s misery in the situation, he moved quickly. Sam took
care to avoid the visibly marked areas of Jen’s body and eased his fingers between her
tense thighs. Jen’s time in his service had ended more than two years ago, but her body
still responded the way he remembered. When he parted her folds, she moaned.
Melanie breathed a small, pained sound that wrenched at something in his chest. To
distract her while he thumbed Jen’s clit, he slanted his mouth across hers in a claiming
kiss. Melanie’s lips parted for him seconds before Jen found release.
With Jen moaning her gratitude, he withdrew his fingers and grasped Melanie’s
knee. Her fingers flexed around his cock, which had begun to harden in earnest the
instant her tongue slid against his.
At the door, someone cleared her throat. Sam reluctantly broke away from Melanie.
Eric stood behind a female member of his staff, who held a first-aid kit and loose,
gender-neutral clothes over her arm.
He reached over and touched Jen’s shoulder. Deliberately removing himself from
the equation, he said, “Eric and Carmen are going to help you get cleaned up and
dressed, Jen. They’ll call whoever you want to come get you, or an ambulance if you’d
like to be seen by a doctor.”
Jen nodded her understanding and his employees entered the room. Sam stood,
taking Melanie with him.
To Eric, he said, “I’m not leaving but I’m unavailable until closing time, at which
point I expect everyone on shift tonight to report to the bar. This incident shouldn’t
have happened.”
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Taking a silent Melanie’s arm, Sam exited the room. He quickly located a clean,
vacant room and drew Melanie into it. She turned to him as he closed the door, a
question furrowing her brow.
Sam grabbed the alcohol pad he’d stashed in his pocket earlier in the night. After
cleaning Jennifer’s scent from his fingers, he started unbuttoning his shirt.
Her throat worked. “What are you doing?”
“Nine contracts,” he said, pulling the shirttails from his pants. “Jennifer was one of
them. A submissive who wanted to go further and present herself as a slave to her
master. I trained her. I didn’t fuck her. I sure as hell didn’t make love to her.”
Melanie retreated, backing up until the backs of her legs came in contact with the
bed. Despite her actions, her gaze was fixed on his bare chest. Sam shrugged free of the
shirt and threw it at the straight-backed chair beside the door.
“The other eight were similar circumstances, arrangements made between me,
other Doms and their subs. Obedience training, third-party assistance with tricky
scenes, a surrogate authority figure for a sub whose Dom was stationed overseas for
several months. Some of those, I did fuck.” He unfastened his belt, released the button
of his fly and advanced to take her face between his hands. Holding her gaze, he said, “I
didn’t make love to any of them.”
Tears suddenly appeared, threatening to spill over onto her cheeks. Sam froze.
“Melly?”
“You said you want to h-hurt me.” She scrubbed frantically at her eyes, which only
served to set her tears loose. “I don’t want to be hurt like Jen was. I don’t—I can’t—”
“Shhhh, stop.” He pulled her hands away from her face and held them at her sides,
fighting her straining efforts to escape him. Melanie’s breath hitched on a sob and he
swore. Releasing her hands, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her up against
his chest. Speaking against her ear, he said, “Never. I will never do anything like that to
you. I’ll never take away your voice or your right to object and I’ll never push you past
the point where pleasure becomes real pain.”
She rubbed her face in his chest hair, shaking through every word of his vow. He
didn’t hear anything besides sniffles, though, so he angled for a look at her red-rimmed
eyes.
Melanie swiped at a fresh wave of tears. “I asked if it’s always this way with you,
and you said yes.”
“I said that months ago.” Sam rested his chin on top of her head and tried to ignore
the stab of pain that marked her slipping away from him.
“I can’t…I don’t…” She stopped, a low cry of frustration on her lips. “I want to be
more than somebody who jumps when you say jump. I want to be more than somebody
you train to sit at your feet and eat carrots out of your hand and beg for your touch
and—”
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Sam ended her gasping speech by plunging his tongue into her mouth, so
thoroughly telling her what he wanted that she had no need to question him even if she
could find the air to do so. Holding her hair with one hand, he used the other to drag
the hem of her sweater up over her breasts. He locked his urgency up in the back of his
mind and touched her with great care, gently stroking her ribs and back until she
started to soften.
Melanie started to kiss him back and some of his fear eased off. He loosened his
grip on her hair and broke contact long enough to pull her sweater over her head. She
wore a tiny, half-cup bra beneath, a scrap of cloth and wire he didn’t bother removing.
One tug exposed both soft mounds, the skin pale from months without sun.
As he bent to roll one stiff peak into his mouth, she tentatively touched his hair.
Sam encouraged her with a wordless sound of approval and her fingers smoothed
across his shoulders. The light touch reached him somewhere deep, reminding him of
all the things he missed out on when his partner’s only motions were motions he
commanded.
With a groan, he sought out the zipper on her skirt. Melanie leaned against him, her
nipples stabbing against his chest, and shifted her weight from one foot to the other as
Sam divested her of her skirt and panties. He had no patience for the stockings and lacy
garter belt she wore around her hips. After months of wanting her, remembering the
few brief minutes he’d spent buried in her pussy, he couldn’t be bothered with the rest.
Melanie drew a surprised breath when he lifted her and spread her out on the bed,
little heeled boots and all. She rose up on her elbows but Sam came over her quickly,
settling between her splayed legs.
“Months ago,” he repeated, holding her gaze. He reached between them and freed
his cock, which responded to her wet heat like a divining rod. “Do you have any idea
how much you changed me, months ago?”
She shook her head and looked down her body, fixing on the length of his erection
jutting from his pants. “I don’t…can we talk about this later?”
“Completely.” He stretched across the bed to grab a condom from a drawer full of
them. “Completely changed. I never wanted somebody like you.”
“Obnoxious and overly aggressive?” She helped him open the package.
“Playful and endlessly optimistic.” Bowing his head, he ran his tongue across her
stomach, tasting her sweet warmth and making her muscles jump. His cock strained in
his hand as he unrolled the condom. Ignoring the insistent ache that persisted from
their earlier show in the hall downstairs, he moved farther down her body and parted
her slick folds with a kiss.
Whimpering, Melanie drew her knees up to frame his head. Sam hooked his arms
behind her thighs and lifted her to his mouth. Her hot, creamy flavor hit him with the
force of a fast-acting drug. His balls tightened as he licked down to her entrance and
dipped inside. Her pussy fluttered for him, hidden muscles flexing to grasp at his
tongue.
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“Sam,” she moaned, arching against his face. “Can we do this later? I’m dying for
you to be inside me.”
“Sunny and honest,” he said, reluctantly leaving her taste behind. “Curious and
intelligent. Impulsive and maddeningly provocative.”
She took his cock in hand and drew him against her tight hollow. “Please.”
“Adorable.” He hung his head to watch as he pushed into her, hating the latex
barrier between his cock and her pink, wet pussy. She stopped breathing and he drove
deep, fueled by his all-consuming need for her. Her head fell back. She lifted for him,
digging her heels into the mattress so she could follow him as he pulled back and meet
him as he shoved in again. Over and over again.
Bracing himself over her, he bore her down and pinned her hands beneath his.
“Mine,” he muttered, angling to catch her clit on his downstroke. “I knew you were
mine. Changed me. Fighting it changed—”
She whispered his name. Sam looked up from their joined bodies and met her eyes,
which were glassy with need.
“Later,” he promised.
Melanie nodded and dropped her head back. Her throat worked over some
swallowed emotion and she rolled her hips beneath him, encouraging him to move. He
hardly needed it. Shutting down his thinking brain, he threw himself into feeling and
didn’t stop until her high cries faded and his muscles quivered from the force of long-
denied release.
* * * * *
At the ungodly hour of four a.m., after dealing with his staff and making love to
Melanie a second time, Sam sat beside his bed watching her sleep. She was a bed hog,
draping herself across the mattress at an all-encompassing angle. After he’d eased
himself from beneath her sprawled limbs, she’d rolled over to claim his pillow.
He couldn’t sleep though. For several minutes, he passed his phone from one hand
to the other, rolling half a dozen thoughts around in his mind. When he finally made
the call, he still had no idea what he was going to say, but the sooner he got it over with,
the sooner he could rejoin her in bed.
David answered on the fourth ring, his voice rough with sleep. “Burke Security.”
“David, it’s Sam. Sorry to wake you.” A woman spoke in the background. Sam
winced. “Give my apologies to Jovanna.”
“Is my sister with you?” David asked, no longer sleep-slow.
“Listen, I—”
“It’s fucking four o’clock in the morning, Sam. Is she with you?”
Sam ground his back teeth together. “Yes.”
“Christ,” David said. “Finally.”
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“Thank God,” Jovanna said in the background. “I couldn’t take it anymore.”
Frowning, Sam started to launch into his explanation and statement of intent, but
David cut him off.
“Going back to sleep. Let Mel know a package showed up for her today.” David
ended the call, leaving Sam to stare at his phone.
So much for his unwillingness to violate the friendship code. Shaking his head, Sam
folded his big body into the small space Melanie didn’t occupy and drew her back
against him.
She stretched and cuddled into his heat. “Sam?”
“Go back to sleep, honey.” He kissed her shoulder.
“Can I ask a question?”
“Always…but preferably during daylight hours.”
She nudged him with her elbow before saying, “What’s going to be in our
contract?”
“I figured your part would state that you agree to turn to me when you’re
struggling with something, confide in me when you’re afraid of something and tell me
to stop when you feel like I’m doing something to you that you can’t handle.” He slid
his palm over her hip, drawn to her heat the way snow is drawn to the ground. “Sound
like a commitment you could make?”
She shifted, granting him access, and asked, “What’s your part going to say?”
“That I promise to love and cherish you, and do everything in my power to help
you realize your dreams.”
Melanie tensed and Sam did too, wondering whether he’d said something wrong.
“Does that sound like a commitment you could make?” she asked quietly.
“Could, can, already did.”
She rolled onto her back. “Will I still get spankings?”
Sam chuckled. “Probably on a daily basis.”
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Chapter Eleven
The image of his bold signature beside her flowery scrawl was burned into her
brain. Melanie could barely remember the details of the contract but she’d suggested
amendments, and he’d agreed, and as of three days ago, she belonged to Sam Fletcher.
Sam insisted on a three-day separation period so she could have time to review the
contract and back out of it if she had second thoughts. The only thoughts she’d had
were of being with him again.
“You’re not eating,” Sam said.
She glanced up from her plate to find him watching her with a much different
expression than the last time they found themselves seated across the table from one
another. Now, instead of anger, his eyes gleamed with hunger—and not for food. While
she’d barely touched her meal, he’d finished his.
“I’m nervous,” she confessed. The few bites of salmon she’d eaten were perfect but
her stomach churned with anxiety. “Would you be offended if I pass?”
“No.” He pushed away from the table and offered his hand, which Melanie grasped
gratefully. Sam pulled her up from the chair and drew her close, into the warmth of his
body. He pressed their linked hands against the small of her back, forcing her breasts
against him. “Tell me what you’re afraid of.”
She moistened her lips. “I’m not exactly afraid. I missed you—it’s been days and
days, and the months before that, and I—um.”
Sam kissed the corner of her mouth. “You’re ready.”
Melanie nodded.
“Come with me.” Still holding her hand, he picked her plate off the table and
carried it into his galley kitchen. Sam slid her barely touched dinner into the refrigerator
and passed her a bottle of water after opening it. “I won’t push the eating issue, but you
need to drink this while I clean up.”
He left her in the kitchen and went back out to the small dining room. Melanie
sipped at the water while listening to the clink of silverware and glasses. Leaning
against the refrigerator, she closed her eyes and tried to calm the butterflies in her
stomach. She wasn’t afraid of him, didn’t have second thoughts about her choice, but
she was in a huge sea of the unknown. Unfortunately she’d probably continue to drift
along on that sea for a while, at least until she knew for certain that she could actually
survive a night of submission.
Sam returned and quickly loaded the dishwasher.
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Watching him perform the domestic chore should have eased her anxiety. Instead,
she worried she’d messed up by not offering to do it for him. Housekeeping wasn’t part
of their contract, but still.
He started the wash and faced her from the other side of the narrow kitchen. He
studied her for long minutes, examining her face and lower, lingering on the curves of
her breasts where they rounded above her square-necked sweater. Her nipples pebbled
under his scrutiny.
His eyes darkened and he pushed away from the counter. “Finish up now so we
can go upstairs.”
“Yes Sir.” Those two little words changed things. Melanie sucked a surprised
breath as heat settled between her thighs, overtaking the anxiety that had plagued her
all evening.
Sam nodded but didn’t say anything else. Eager to be with him, she finished the
bottle of water and dropped it in the recycling bin.
He once again took her hand and led, this time back to the foyer, where the stairs
were. Her heels tapped the hardwood floors in the wake of his quieter footfalls. She felt
conspicuous but when she’d tried to slip her shoes off earlier, Sam told her to leave
them on until otherwise instructed. He’d claimed the privilege of undressing her at his
whim.
Halfway up the stairs, he spoke. “Melanie, what are you afraid of?”
“I’m…what happens if I can’t handle you?”
“We stop and decide on something else,” he answered patiently, not pointing out
that he’d already addressed these very same concerns through email exchanges during
their separation period. “When I gave you the key to the front door, I gave you access to
everything. There’s nothing you can do or refuse to do, as long as we both agree to
change our relationship, that will make me revoke it.”
“Okay. All right.” Giving herself a mental shake, she managed to smile at him.
His frown remained. “You’ll tell me if you’re having second thoughts about
anything, and you’ll use your safeword if you need it.”
“Yes Sir.” She hesitated and her smile disappeared. “In Vegas, you said you’d break
me. Did you mean it?”
“Yes. You wrecked my self-control. If I’d kept you that night, I would have pushed
you to places you weren’t ready to go.”
“What about now?”
“You’ve given me back my control.”
“I…all right.” She looked up the stairs. “We should go. Just go. Because the longer I
think about this, the more scared I get.”
“Simple solution, honey.” Sam pulled her away from the wall and directed her up
the stairs ahead of him, one hand resting possessively on her hip. “You stop thinking
about anything except how much I want you.”
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“A lot?”
“More than that.”
The second flight of stairs stopped at a heavy, dark-wood door, which Sam
unlocked with a key he produced from his pocket. Melanie tensed as the door swung
open, then released her breath in a rush. The scent of cinnamon wrapped around her,
warming her from the inside out and taking her right back to the tiny in-flight
bathroom with Sam’s mouth on her skin.
She expected something dark and gloomy, iron accents and leather restraints
hanging from the walls. Instead, light from an enormous winter moon flooded the
space, coming in through a huge skylight built into the angled roof. Very few
furnishings interrupted the caramel-stained wood floors—a high-backed chair, a
padded bench, glass-fronted cabinets against the walls. A little bit of her confidence
returned and she walked into the big, open space before Sam prompted her to move.
She spotted the St. Andrews Cross immediately and the last of her reluctance fled,
replaced by a wet rush. Her fingertips tingled with phantom needles of pain. She took
half a dozen steps toward the big X-beam before Sam stopped her.
“That’s not what we’re doing tonight,” he said.
When she turned back to him, the rest of the room finally registered. Sam closed the
door while she nibbled the pad of her thumb and stared at a fixture that resembled a
sawhorse, except with a padded and leather-upholstered body. Other shapes lurked in
the far shadows, furniture she had no doubt she’d become familiar with over time.
“Nerves again?” He circled behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.
“Different nerves. Outside nerves.” Trusting Sam’s experience, she forced her
spinning thoughts to stop and emptied her mind of everything except him.
“We’ll do something about those in a minute.” He kissed the spot where her
shoulder met her neck. Melanie shivered. When he lowered the zipper hidden at her
hip and pushed her skirt to the floor, the shiver settled down deep.
He stripped her efficiently, removing everything except her sheer white stockings
and black patent leather heels, and he held her hand for balance while she stepped
away from the puddle of clothes at her feet. After moving her clothes to the chair, he
walked around to stand in front of her. Desire darkened his eyes and her nervousness
crept back into the room.
“I haven’t seen you naked,” she said into the silence.
Sam didn’t look detour from his rapt examination of her breasts. “You haven’t,
have you?”
She shook her head. “You made me keep my eyes closed on the plane, and every
other time, you still had at least half your clothes on. You wake up and get dressed
before me. If I hadn’t felt you inside me and seen you that night at Bondage, I might be
wondering whether you actually have the right equipment.”
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He jerked his head up and stared at her. “Are you telling me I have something to
prove?”
Melanie flushed. “I mean—”
“Don’t take it back,” he said, cutting her off. “Elaborate.”
“Well, I, um.” She fidgeted. “It’s just that I had a thought.”
He raised an expectant eyebrow.
Since he wasn’t going to let her off the hook, she charged ahead. “I’m naked again
and you’re not. I was wondering if it was a power thing. Whether you feel more in
control if you’re fully clothed.”
Without responding, Sam moved out of her line of sight to open one of the cabinets.
Melanie started to turn toward him but he stopped her.
“Bend over and put your hands on the bench. There are little leather loops for your
fingers. See them?”
“I…yes Sir.” Because she did, and a picture of herself obeying him filled her head,
and suddenly her tongue forgot how to form any other words.
The squat bench wouldn’t have reached her knees even if she weren’t wearing four-
inch-tall heels. In order to follow Sam’s directions, she had to spread her feet apart and
lean forward in an awkward sort of pose yoga enthusiasts would call downward
dog…if she were in an extremely naked kind of yoga class. The posture didn’t leave her
with any sense of modesty whatsoever. As she spread her fingers and pushed them into
the loops, which fit like supple rings sized for her small hands, Sam returned.
He presented a shallow, felt-lined drawer adorned with an array of oblong, tapered
instruments. Melanie recognized them immediately as anal plugs and her pussy
squeezed in on itself, a helpless muscle response to her sudden uncertainty and
excitement.
“Choose one,” he said.
She tried to look up at him but the combination of low bench and high heels
severely limited her range of motion and she was unable to see higher than his thighs.
He palmed the back of her head and nudged her back down. “Don’t look at me.
You’re the one who will be wearing it. Which would you like?”
Melanie licked her lips and wondered if he could tell how hot her cheeks were. The
plugs ranged in colors and materials, from what appeared to be clear blue glass to a hot
pink toy that had a silicone look to it. Two of the plugs sported adornments, one a fluffy
pink feathered concoction that, when positioned correctly, would resemble a tail. The
other one was a tail outright, all white and poufy and long, like something that
belonged on a long-haired cat. It was attached to a simple plastic body. She could
totally picture herself arching and rubbing up against him in a plea for attention.
When she hesitated, Sam crouched until he was on eye level with her. “I wouldn’t
offer anything I’m not interested in seeing. Nothing you choose is the wrong choice.”
She flexed her hands against the leather beneath them. “Can’t you choose?”
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“I could but I want to know your head as well as I’m about to know your body.”
“I should just do it, shouldn’t I? Quick like a Band-Aid. Or something.”
Sam chuckled and tucked her hair behind her ear, only for gravity to pull it back
down. “You could keep agonizing over the decision all night if you want. I’m patient
enough to wait and I know you’ll choose eventually.”
“This is cruel,” she moaned.
True to his word, Sam settled in and rested his forearms on his thighs. She risked a
glance at his face and sighed. “Please don’t laugh at me.”
His expression sobered. “Your submission isn’t amusing to me, Melanie.”
He didn’t raise his voice or lift a finger in her direction, but his displeasure struck
her as unmistakably as a physical blow. Closing her eyes, she said, “I’m sorry, Sir.”
“I accept your apology. I’d like you to choose now. While I’m willing to wait you
out, I’d rather move on to preparing your ass to accept me.”
Her mouth went dry while her pussy creamed, responding to the mere thought of
him filling her. A touch of uncertainty floated through the back of her mind as she
recalled how much his size stretched her. Struggling to control her doubt that he’d fit in
her tighter passage, she swallowed hard and managed to say, “I think the white tail is
pretty.”
“You’re pretty. That just serves a purpose, a little coverage so the whole world can’t
see your cunt if I decide to make use of you in a play setting.” He stood and removed
the array from view.
He wanted her to accompany him to private gatherings, where he might display
her—but not share her. That was something she’d agreed to when they worked out
their contract, but she hadn’t considered the reality of it. Being exposed to Sam was
overwhelming enough. To a crowd—she couldn’t think about it right now.
Melanie hung her head between her arms and tried to remember how to take real
breaths again. Her calves had begun to ache from the unnatural strain created by her
heels and her weight distribution over the bench. Behind her, Sam’s footfalls moved
away. When they came back toward her, she tensed.
He stopped immediately behind her. She could see his legs between hers, faded
denim framed by her white stockings. He did something and the sweet, rich scent of
cinnamon burst into the air. Before she mustered words, she felt the warm slide of thick
fluid between her cheeks.
“Remember how I told you to push out a little?” He stroked her bare cheek before
working his fingers into her crease. The cinnamon-scented oil brought a flare of heat to
her delicate flesh.
“I remember.” Melanie inhaled through her nose, trying to breathe through the
low-grade burn.
Something round and hard nudged her pucker. “You’ll want to do that now.”
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“I don’t think I’m rea—ahh!” Goose bumps spread over her skin, fast like fire as
Sam pressed the plug’s narrow tip past her protesting entrance.
“Don’t squirm, honey.” His hand fell heavily against the small of her back, holding
her in place. While her nipples tightened to painful peaks, he worked the plug deeper
and deeper until her natural resistance gave and the toy slid into place. The tail’s silky
fringe swung against her thigh, light and tickling, an enormous contrast to the hot
fullness lodged in her ass.
“Sir?” She shook so hard, she feared her knees would give out.
“That was the hard part. Kneel up on the bench.” He stroked her thigh before
urging her to position her knees between her restrained hands.
She hadn’t realized exactly how much pressure the initial pose put on her legs.
Intense relief ran down her thighs as the pressure eased. Breathing hard, she threw her
senses out in search of a distraction from her body.
Sam didn’t let her be distracted for long. He flipped the tail over her hip and
pushed her knees even closer together. Sure fingers slid between her folds. He took her
outer labia between his thumbs and forefingers and opened her to the room’s cool air.
“You have the sweetest little clit,” he said, running his knuckle over the exposed
nub. Melanie gasped out loud and tilted her hips higher, trying to find his touch again.
He evaded her and drew the tail back, positioning it so it swung against the backs
of her thighs. “Very sweet. I could spend all night licking and sucking at you. All night,
some other night. Do you know why I’m stretching out your ass, honey?”
She had to force her voice past her need-constricted throat and it still came out as a
whisper. “Because you’re going to fuck me there?”
“Over and over again.” He kissed the base of her spine. “Nobody else and nothing
else, Melanie. Your submission’s mine and so is your ass. I’m not sharing either, not
with anything I don’t put inside you with my own hands. You understand?”
Her voice was completely gone. She managed a raspy squeak, which seemed to
satisfy him because he didn’t demand more from her. A moment later, the sound of his
zipper hissing open stopped her heart. The rustle of his jeans hitting the floor kick-
started her pulse into overdrive.
Instead of taking her hips in hand and pushing his cock into her, Sam walked away.
She didn’t have a chance to be confused. He dragged the straight-backed chair across
the loft, positioned it in front of her face, and sat.
“I have complete control over you right now,” he said.
Melanie stared at the thick, purple cock standing inches away from her face.
Muscular thighs framed Sam’s erection, which glistened with pre-cum at the head. She
licked her lips, dying of thirst for him.
“Clothing might be an element of your power or lack of, but it has nothing to do
with mine.” He threaded his fingers through her hair and drew her forward, tipping
her balance off until her lips brushed his smooth crown. “Open your mouth, Melanie.”
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She didn’t even think to disobey. When Sam urged her head down, her lips parted
around his cock and she took him deep, moaning into the salty flavor of his semen. Her
physical concerns became a low-grade throbbing nothing as the world narrowed down
to his heat and scent and taste.
He wrapped her even more tightly around his fingers, not allowing her any
movement of her own, by drawing her mouth down his shaft. She tried to retain some
control by tensing her shoulders but Sam had calculated well in the way he positioned
her. She couldn’t resist him while also keeping herself stable on the bench.
“You’ll want to take a deep breath,” he warned seconds before flexing his hands
and forcing her all the way to his root. As his wide head reached for the back of her
throat, wetness slid down her inner thigh.
She didn’t get the deep breath fast enough or deep enough, but breathing didn’t
matter. Nothing mattered except trusting him to push her as far as she could go before
she broke, giving him everything she could find in herself and then some things she
didn’t know she possessed.
Sam took and took, holding her in place by her nape and her hair. As blackness
hedged the outskirts of her awareness and he still seemed so far from coming, she
started to panic. His touch changed almost instantaneously. He relaxed his hands and
pulled her off his cock, the length red and glistening from her mouth. Still hard,
quivering for release. Melanie whimpered an objection and strained toward him, frantic
for a second chance at bringing him over the edge.
“No,” he rasped, hoarse and deep. The pitch of that single syllable sent waves of
pleasure into her, gave her something to act on, something to obey.
She drew a shuddering breath and turned her head to rest it on his muscle-corded
thigh. His pulse jumped near her temple and his wiry hair tickled her ear. Rubbing her
cheek against him, she pleaded, “Let me try again, Sir.”
“Tonight’s not going to end with me in your mouth.” He shifted beneath her and
eased her back, returning her to a balanced position on the bench.
As she settled back to sit on her calves, the silky tip of the tail skimmed her legs and
the hard toy shifted inside. Melanie gasped as tingling fingers of sensation covered her
with goose bumps all over again.
“Pretty.” Sam rubbed the pad of his thumb across one of her tight, aching nipples, a
soft caress that didn’t prepare her for his sharp pinch. She jerked in surprise. Sam
smiled. “Sometime soon we’re going to pierce these, aren’t we?”
His question rocketed her back to the airplane bathroom, shoving her past a fear of
pain and into a memory of excitement. Swallowing, recalling the first surprising slide of
his cock inside her, eager to accept him again—and again—she only managed to nod.
Sam leaned close to kiss her parted lips, a quick caress before he stood and circled
around behind her. “Present your ass, Melanie. As much as I enjoy decorating you, I
want the rest of what’s mine.”
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Her pulse kicked to a new level. After a brief moment of hesitation, she
redistributed her weight and offered her bottom. Sam worked his hand beneath the tail
and drew a single finger along her slick crease, close enough to her clit that she
shuddered, so far away that orgasm seemed like a finish line she’d never cross. She
whimpered and tried to follow his receding hand, but he was faster and without the
constraints of bondage.
He did touch her again though, one hand at her hip to steady her, the other firmly
grasping the base of the tail. Melanie stiffened.
“Breathe out,” Sam instructed. “Relax. Don’t fight, Melanie. I don’t want to hurt
you…this way.”
Don’t fight. Relax. Commands she couldn’t possibly obey, not when she was this
raw and exposed.
“I said breathe.” He slapped the outer slope of her thigh, a light crack that
succeeded at drawing her back from an encroaching edge of panic.
As her pulse slowed to a slightly more reasonable pace, she closed her eyes and
focused on releasing a long, slow breath. Sam tugged, and the toy eased from her body
along with the breath. She missed the fullness immediately. A sob of protest rose in her
throat but turned into a groan of surprised pleasure as he lightly circled her opening
with his fingers. Heat melted into her sensitive skin and the scent of cinnamon revived,
gaining in power.
“Christ,” Sam muttered, the word rough. He dipped his fingers into her body,
spreading the lubricant deeper with slow strokes in and out. “You’re so welcoming,
honey. A perfect little hostess. You deserve a kiss.”
His fingers slipped free. Melanie didn’t have time to protest. Something warm and
wet followed his fingers, so soft on her stretched, heated flesh. The damp softness
stiffened, dipped into her passage, and the realization of what he was doing—tasting
her there, kissing there, combined with the sensation to wrench a long moan from her
chest.
Her clit throbbed, aching to be touched, and her pussy contracted so hard her
whole body shook. “Sir, please. Pleasepleaseplease touch me.”
He licked up to the top of her crease and nipped the sensitive flesh there. “I am
touching you.”
“It’s not enough,” she cried.
“Tell me what would be enough, honey.”
Nothing. She didn’t think anything would be enough, but said, “I need you to
touch my clit. I—”
He did, responding before she finished talking. Reaching beneath her, he thumbed
through her soaked folds to find the throbbing, distended bud. Melanie’s breath caught
in her lungs, brought up short by the high crest of orgasm that rose over her. She
tensed, fighting the sensation, but Sam persisted with a firm, quick massage that led her
Emily Ryan-Davis
86
body to override her mind. Sam drew back as soon as she peaked, leaving her poised on
an edge.
“More,” she moaned as she swayed on the bench, trembling.
“Not yet, honey. Soon.” His hands left her, but foil crinkled and the scent of latex
invaded the drugging perfume of cinnamon and musk. Seconds later, Sam notched his
broad head against her slick, prepared opening and advanced.
His cock stretched and filled her, excruciatingly slow, the sensation so different
from any other penetration she’d experienced. Gasping, needy, she tried to angle back
to hurry him.
Sam grasped her hips and held her still, claiming the pace as his right. “Stop. I want
to watch your body welcome me. The show’s too good to rush.”
He moved again, sinking into her in incremental stages. Dizzy with want, she
closed her eyes and searched for a calm place, somewhere she could ignore her body’s
demands for relief. She found it just as he hilted himself in her dark sheath—and then
he retreated, dragging her right back to him with relentless pleasure.
“Give me your hands,” he said, going still behind her.
Melanie shook herself, trying to shed her mental fog. Thinking was difficult. She’d
become a being of pure feeling. He repeated himself and she flexed her fingers against
the leather holding her hands to the bench.
“I don’t know if I can.” Her thighs quivered, weakened by the strain of her position.
He bent over her and wrapped his arm around her upper chest, anchoring her
against his torso. “I won’t let you fall.”
She believed him. No hesitation, no second guesses, no questioning—she believed
him. Awed by the realization, she dropped into his care, removing her weight from her
arms so she could free her hands.
Sam straightened and took her with him, not breaking the hot line of contact that
spanned from her shoulders to her ass, which he cradled securely against his groin. He
arranged her arms to loop up and back around his neck and kissed the side of her
throat, his mouth hot and hungry.
The new position gave him total access. He gripped her breast and used the soft
mound to anchor her against his chest. His free hand skimmed down her stomach and
burrowed between her thighs. Tunneling through her wetness, between her folds, he
pressed the heel of his palm against her clit and curled the tips of two fingers into her
pussy.
That was all it took. Her entire body stiffened, rocking with deep, powerful
contractions. She stopped breathing and clenched her hands in his hair as orgasm
overcame her, hurtling her into some crazy free-fall space. Sam cursed behind her,
surprise in the explosive word, and his deep-seated cock jerked in response. He
stiffened and bucked as one spasm followed another, his release chasing hers.
Tangled & Bound
87
Sam held her locked against him and they descended together, both breathing hard
and riding aftershocks that seemed like they would never end. Melanie turned her
head, searching for his mouth. A small part of her feared he would reject the kiss the
way he had in his hotel room but fear was unnecessary. Sam seized her lips and didn’t
let up, devouring her as he caressed one last small shock from her spent body. He
withdrew from her before she stopped shuddering, leaving an emptiness that made her
ache.
“More,” she moaned plaintively after he raised his head. “I need you back.”
“I know what you need, honey.” He gathered her in his arms and lifted her against
his chest, only to deposit her atop a thick rug. Braced on one hand, he rose over her and
kissed each of her closed eyelids. “I’m going away for just a minute. I’ll be back for you
before you even know I’m gone.”
“I already know you’re gone.” She stretched, spreading her arms out to her sides,
luxuriating in the softness beneath her. “Please hurry, Sir.”
He didn’t waist time responding. Cool air skimmed her flushed skin as he rose and
left. Melanie sighed in the silence and opened her eyes. A bit of purple ribbon caught
her attention. She rolled onto her side, but the Vosges Haut Chocolat box was just out of
reach. Appetite returning with a vengeance, she sat and grabbed the box, ignoring the
fact that the candy inside had probably expired months ago.
The ribbon came free with a tug and she carefully lifted the top off the box, only to
stop in confused surprise. Rose-pink powder dusted each carefully packed truffle.
“You were supposed to wait for those,” Sam said from the door. “Don’t you know
what kind of trouble your curiosity could get you into?”
Melanie’s head jerked up and her gaze locked on him. Every naked inch of him,
well-muscled and, she noted with a hum of approval, ready to begin anew.
Meeting his eyes, she repositioned herself to sit cross-legged and hugged the box to
her stomach. “These aren’t the ones you bought before.”
Sam shook his head and advanced on her without closing the door. “It occurred to
me that I did a pretty stupid thing, insisting I knew what was in your heart better than
you did.”
“It was a little stupid,” she agreed. “Um, well, kind of a lot stupid. Colossally
stupid. Epic—”
He plucked one of the truffles from the box and shoved it in her mouth. “Be quiet
and eat, you brat. You need calories so you’ll be able to keep up with me.”
“Mmmmm.” She closed her eyes and bit into the chocolate, deciding not to push
her luck by pointing out that she had the advantage of youth to tip the rest of the night
in her favor.
About Emily Ryan-Davis
Emily Ryan-Davis lives in Maryland with her loving husband and hateful guinea
pig. On any given day, you can find her shopping (online or in stores), chatting/writing
(the pair go hand in hand, can’t have one without the other), knitting (or buying yarn)
or mocking her husband’s comic collection (while parenthetically wondering why
comics haven’t upgraded to the ebook age; imagine all the extra space she’d have).
Occasionally she picks up her mandolin, but mostly she just ignores it. You won’t find
her paying attention to current events or the latest celebrity gossip because writing
stories is her way of pretending it doesn’t matter that she doesn’t know how to use the
television remote.
Emily’s favorite authors are Megan Hart, Terry Pratchett, JR Ward and Orson Scott
Card. She loves sexy, magical, funny and intense stories, but especially enjoys
immersing herself in the breathless intensity of a “with feeling” love scene. She can’t
pick a genre (decision-making issues!) so writes in whatever setting calls to her at any
given time: contemporary paranormal, historical western, medieval Europe, Gothic
France—if she can imagine a strong emotional attraction existing in a particular place or
time, chances are she’ll write the story.
Emily welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email
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Tangled & Bound
ISBN 9781419936852
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Tangled & Bound Copyright © 2012 Emily Ryan-Davis
Edited by Briana St. James
Cover design by Syneca
Photo: Christian Boeving
Electronic book publication September 2012
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