Sierra Cartwright - Doms of Dark Haven

“Now release Master Blake,” Xavier said to Torin, his tone still not wavering.

Slowly Torin followed instructions.

Blake rubbed his bruised skin. Torin had a moment of regret that the man's wrist was still functional.

The dungeon monitor helped Mira from the bench and held on to her arm for a few seconds, obviously giving her time to catch her bearings and get her circulation back. Torin scowled. He'd meant it when he said he didn't want anyone touching her.

For a second she looked at Torin. Her brown eyes were wide, focused on him.

She blinked, and then, seeming to recognize her error in staring at him, she dropped her gaze.

Jesus God.

What the hell had he been thinking in not making her submit?

The little sub had begged him to flog her. More than begged she'd also cajoled.

And when that had failed, she'd, in her charming way, even demanded, trying to goad him.

He preferred to play with superbly trained subs he might or might not ever see again. He'd never had an exclusive relationship with a sub, had never collared a woman. In his line of work, being moved around the country or planet depending on Hawkeye's needs, it had never seemed prudent. He'd never even been tempted.

He'd never played with a colleague either.

He had rules. Rules were rigid. They kept the world in order.

Still, two nights ago, she'd gone as far as to crawl into his bedroom completely naked, his leather belt held delicately in her mouth. He'd drawn on his adherence to rules—well, rules and the mental reserves developed from a lifetime of studying martial arts—to send her away and lock his door.

The dungeon monitor secured her hands behind her back and then exerted pressure on her shoulders so that she knelt before them.

“Take out the gag,” Xavier said.

Shit.

The dungeon monitor unbuckled the gag and slowly drew it away. She swallowed several times, and Torin couldn't take his gaze off her. Mira was as lovely as she was determined.

Her long black hair was pinned back in Victorian fashion, and a few tendrils had escaped their confines. The strands curved alluringly across her cheeks and at her nape.

Her gown was cut fairly low, in a way he was pretty damn sure would have been scandalous when Queen Victoria had sat on the British throne. The style of Mira's dress emphasized the alluring swell of her breasts. Her exposed skin had a lovely olive tone that spoke of her Spanish heritage.

On her knees, her head bowed, she was exquisite. And he was nearly undone.

“You are…?” Xavier asked, looking at Mira.

“Mira Araceli, Sir.”

“My Liege,” Torin corrected. “You will address Master Xavier as 'my Liege.'”

She looked up at him, then instantly back down. In front of everyone, he'd corrected her, and he knew she hadn't missed the fact he was establishing even more firmly his dominance over her.

“Yes, Sir,” she said without a hint of her customary defiance.

“Now answer Master Xavier's question.”

“My name's Mira Araceli, my Liege,” she said softly, more softly than he'd ever heard her speak.

The complete contradiction to the Mira Araceli he knew stunned him. Even when she'd crawled into his bedroom, she'd taken the lead, and that's what he expected from her. Hawkeye didn't waste his time hiring women, or men, who weren't leaders, who weren't resourceful. In addition to providing personal security services to the rich and famous, Hawkeye, Inc. employees operated in the world's most hostile environments.

Mira had passed the Hawkeye screening process, and Torin had taken the time to read her personnel file along with every report she'd written. She'd been in the Middle East, and she and her client had been the only survivors of a gun battle.

She knew how to remain levelheaded in stressful situations; she knew how to handle herself. So this…

And why the hell hadn't he recognized her true submissive nature?

He'd thought she was likely a masochist. That wouldn't have shocked him. In their line of work, raw, nasty, gritty hook-ups were common, a way to celebrate being alive, a way to remind themselves they were still human.

Most of the personal security agents he knew were adrenaline junkies. Some drove too fast or burned through the gears on a crotch rocket; others signed up for extended tours and crawled through jungles or endured a mouthful of one-hundred-ten-degree sand. A handful he knew enjoyed sadomasochism; it was another way to fuel the fire.

He'd heard that the infamous Ms. Inamorata, Hawkeye's right-hand woman, even dabbled in the world of BDSM. He wasn't sure he believed the rumor, and even if it were true, he had no idea which side she would be on. The woman was tough enough to chew nails. He could picture her as a domme with tall, spiky stiletto heels. He couldn't see her as a sub, but then again he'd never pictured Mira as a sub either.

Xavier spoke, cutting into Torin's thoughts. “I take it, Ms. Araceli, that you were willingly engaged in a scene with Master Blake?”

Torin snapped his back teeth together. Dark Haven might be Xavier's club, but Mira was Torin's partner. “Xavier—”

She interrupted Torin's protest, saying, “Yes, my Liege.”

Fuck a goat, the woman had just given Torin another reason to punish her.

She continued either not recognizing or, more likely, ignoring Torin's clenched jaw.

“My Liege, I approached Master Blake when I arrived. He made certain to ask if I was alone.”

“Goddamn it!”

Xavier raised a hand to silence him. “Master Torin states you're under his protection.”

Even on the best of days, Torin didn't keep his temper under tight control. As it was, he figured he had another, oh, forty-five seconds of patience left. A minute, tops.

“Ms. Araceli?” Xavier prompted.

“Well…”

“A yes or no will suffice, Ms. Araceli.”

Torin silently counted to ten, waiting for her answer.

“I—” She looked at Torin. She swallowed. “We—”

“Choose wisely,” Torin warned. He had no claim on her, and they both knew it.

But she was smart enough to realize they'd end up back at the same house tonight. They were stuck together for as long as Hawkeye said or until one of them admitted defeat. Torin figured that would be at least several months, if not years.

The next few seconds were critical to her, to them both, to Blake's safety.

Despite his demand that people move away, several couples had gathered closer to better hear what was being said.

Finally, after swallowing, she reached the right choice and said, “Yes, my Liege. We're partners.”

“Then the decision to engage in a scene with Master Blake was not yours to make?”

Any other time he might have acknowledged Xavier's skill. As it was, with Blake standing there, onlookers greedily drinking in the scene, and Mira on her knees needing to be punished for her behavior, Torin wanted the drama to be finished and wanted her alone, subjected to his wrath.

“Mira?” Xavier prompted.

“Technically he—”

“ Mira !” Torin snapped.

She swallowed and then licked her lower lip. She tipped back her head and looked directly at Xavier, avoiding all contact with Torin. “No, my Liege. As you said, the decision to give myself to Master Blake was not mine to make.” She bowed her head. “I'm sorry, my Liege.” She then looked at Blake. “I apologize, Master Blake.”

Apologizing to the whiny bastard who'd been beating her? Torin closed the distance between them and dug his hand in her hair. Pins scattered across the ceramic-tiled floor.

“You broke the rules of the club, Ms. Araceli,” Xavier said.

“I will deal with my sub,” Torin said.