Sierra Cartwright - Doms of Dark Haven

“You're not going to give up working for Hawkeye,” he said flatly.

“No.”

He nodded.

How could she have been so blind? Of course he'd already chosen option number three. He'd already left their relationship. He was only still here because Hawkeye had placed her on a leave of absence. He wouldn't walk away until she was completely healed and his reassignment came through.

He might have been a wonderful caretaker, but she should have realized the significance of his refusal to touch her. Everything he'd done had been out of a sense of obligation. It was what partners did. Her heart seemed to break into a thousand tiny pieces. “I mean nothing to you?”

“Not true. You mean too much to me. I can't live with your recklessness.”

“So that's that, then?”

Instead of answering, he walked around her. He left the room and closed the door behind him.

Shattered, she collapsed in the chair he'd just vacated and stared numbly out the window, no longer able to think.

Torin cursed himself for being ten kinds of fool.

He was five miles into a punishing outdoor run, and he wasn't even close to leaving the demons behind.

She was right that he was rigid in his thinking. No one but him would call her a fool for her actions. No one but him was in love with her. And that was the biggest problem. Somewhere along the line he'd fallen in love with the stubborn Mira Araceli. It'd be easier to cut off a limb than leave her, but he didn't have a choice.

Eventually they'd both get on with their lives.

He just wished the devastation on her face didn't haunt him.

Finally, after another mile, winded, he turned back around. She'd be cleared to return to duty in a few days, a week at the most. He'd get a new partner, a new assignment.

And so would she.

The idea pissed him off.

If he were honest with himself, he would admit there wasn't much about her that wasn't pissing him off at the moment.

She couldn't be cleared soon enough to suit him.

When he returned to the house, he discovered she'd closed herself in her bedroom.

He didn't like the lack of interaction. But he needed to get used to it.

He stayed up later than he usually did, waiting to see if she'd join him in the living room or maybe head to the kitchen for an evening snack. As far as he knew, she hadn't had dinner, not that it should matter to him. She was a big girl, capable of making bad decisions all night long.

Finally he gave up and headed for the shower, remembering the sex they'd had in the small stall, the way she'd ground her hot little cunt against his thigh, the way she'd screamed out her orgasm as he'd inserted a finger deep in her rectum.

His cock was hard, demanding. He'd gritted his teeth and endured it most nights since her injury. Some nights he'd masturbated, but the vixen had supplied the fantasies that made him ejaculate in a hot spurt.

He turned the water to a colder setting and then waited until goose bumps raised on his skin and then turned off the faucet. He towel dried his hair but left his body wet and went into the bedroom.

She was there, waiting for him. She was naked, on all fours, his belt held between her teeth.

His body reacted instantly, his cock straining with an erection.

His mind lagged a few seconds behind.

When rational thought returned, he knew he should send her back to her room. But his body was having none of that. Blood surged, demanding release.

“Why are you here?”

She removed the belt from her mouth. She kept hold of it, though. “You said I mattered to you.”

“It's too late.”

“You were right,” she admitted. “I was foolish. Reckless. I wanted to prove something, that I'm strong, capable, independent.”

She kept her legs parted. He forced himself to focus on her words, but he had a hard time not responding as a dominant. Her pussy was spread wide, and he wanted to possess her. He wanted to use that belt on her rounded ass, punish her hard for the stupid risk she'd taken. He wanted to return things to the natural order.

“And the truth is…”

He saw her swallow and look down before continuing.

“The truth is I love you. You—we—matter more than what I want. I realize I am stronger, more capable when you and I collaborate.”

“I'm not a bastard, Mira. I was well within my rights to expect that you would share your thoughts and feelings with me about what was happening that night downtown. Despite what you may think, even if you're in a submissive role, I don't think of you as weak or stupid. I'm not the type of man who expects his woman, his sub, to keep her mouth shut. I respect your brain. I'd be insulted if you thought I didn't want you to use it.”

“Thank you for that.”

“I never expected or wanted you to lose yourself to be with me.”

“I'm asking, begging, for a second chance, as your partner, as”—she took a breath—“as your submissive.”

“Mira—”

“Beat me,” she pleaded. “I heard what you said, and I believe you. You weren't the problem; my own beliefs were. Of my free will, I'm asking you to allow me to submit to you.”

He was undone.

She looked up at him.

“You will be punished.”

“Yes…”

“For your lack of trust.”

“Yes…”

And then the truth. “For scaring the shit out of me.”

She leaned back on her haunches and spread her legs even farther apart.

“Because of your wound, I won't restrain you,” he said.

“It's healed.”

“You will be tied by my will.”

She was silent.

“Your choice, Mira.” He knew what he was asking from her, and she knew it too. He'd put her in position, and it would be up to her to keep herself there. Being restrained was often easier, because the sub could let go emotionally and physically, surrendering to the pain. He was demanding she be a full participant the entire time.

Without saying another word, she offered him the belt. He took it.

She crawled to the bed and positioned herself, her torso on the mattress, her feet on the floor. She stretched out and crossed her arms at the wrists.

She spread her thighs wide and turned her toes inward, exposing her ass and her pussy to his punishment.

“How many strokes do you deserve?”

“Ten, Master,” she said without hesitation.

His cock tightened. He'd expected an answer of six, maybe eight. But ten would have been his choice.

He landed the first stripe from the leather just beneath her buttocks, across the top of both thighs. She gasped but remained in place.

He placed the second one slightly higher than the first. This time she moaned.

Inexorably he worked up a bit higher with each of the next four stripes.

“Are you counting, Mira?”

“Six?”

“Good girl.” He crisscrossed the next two on the full globes of her rear. “Your ass is beautifully red,” he said.

“Thank you, Master.”

Her hips swayed seductively. He was captivated. It took all his restraint to focus on her punishment instead of taking her and riding her hard.

“Please,” she said, “finish my beating and fuck me.”

How could he resist?

He laid the last two on her already moistened pussy.

She jerked against the pain, but she didn't try to escape his lash. She kept her wrists crossed, her legs parted.

“Turn over,” he said to her. “I want you on your back. I want to look at you as I take you.”

He helped her reposition so she didn't have to put much weight on her injured arm.

“Take me,” she said.

He stroked her pussy, and she was wet. He grabbed a condom from the nightstand and fumbled with opening the package.

Seconds later, he'd sheathed himself in the latex, and his cockhead was poised at her opening.