Sierra Cartwright - Doms of Dark Haven

“Give me what I crave, Torin.”

“Master Torin,” he corrected.

“Give me what I crave, Master Torin.”

“You're submitting to me?” he asked, pressing for answers so they were both clear. “Willingly?”

She took a breath and exhaled it in shaky measures. “Yes, Sir.”

Satisfied—finally—he secured the collar around her neck. He tightened it to the point he could get just one finger between her throat and the collar.

She looked up momentarily. Her mouth was slightly parted, and her breaths were shortened, whether from fear or anticipation, he didn't know.

“I'm nervous,” she confessed.

“I hope so.”

“You're not helping to reassure me.”

“I'm not trying to reassure you. I'm pissed, Mira. And you will pay for your behavior. Now stand.”

“We've never played together before.”

“If you think I'm playing now, think again. It may be fun and games to you; it's not to me. Stand up this instant, and don't make me repeat myself again.”

Since the gown was a monstrosity of length and fabric, and because her arms were still bound behind her, she struggled to comply. He made no move to help her.

The usually graceful Ms. Araceli was out of her element, but to her credit, she didn't protest. When she stood in front of him, head bowed slightly, he said, “Good girl.”

She glanced up long enough to glare. He grinned. His partner, his submissive, was a complex woman who intrigued him immensely. She had natural submissive tendencies, and she was clearly a masochist. But she was still a highly trained operative accustomed to being large and in charge. Apparently the three facets sometimes collided. The mix intrigued him.

“I—”

“You look lovely.” He didn't think his cock had ever been harder.

He wrapped the leather cord around his wrist several times, then gave it a light tug. She was pulled off balance, and her eyes opened wide.

He liked having her at his mercy, on his leash, the black collar tight and stark against her delicate throat. She'd goaded and pushed until she got what she wanted. But if she wanted to be in control—top from the bottom—she'd chosen the wrong man.

At a fast pace, probably uncomfortable for her in those fantastic-looking, do-me-now shoes, he led her downstairs toward the Medieval Room.

Once inside, he closed the massive door, sealing out everyone but them. There was a window for voyeurs, and he figured Xavier would check on them at least once.

As much as he hated the idea of anyone seeing her, watching her receiving his punishment, he also had to respect the club's policies and Xavier's pronouncement.

And truthfully, she didn't mind, so why in God's name did he? If she wanted to show her cunt to the world, it was technically none of his business.

So why couldn't he convince himself of that fact?

She'd fired a protective streak in him, one he'd never had for another woman.

It was more than just their being partners—something much, much more. The idea of her willingly exposing herself, asking another man to flog her, infuriated him.

“Let's keep the rules straight,” Torin told her. “In here, you're the sub, I'm the dom. There will be no topping from the bottom. Your disobedience, your questioning, your testing were left outside. We're both clear that when we're training or on duty we're partners, and I will respect you as such. For the rest of this evening, you have my permission to respond with a 'yes, Sir' or 'no, Sir.' Or if you prefer, you may say 'yes, Master' or 'no, Master.' You will answer direct questions, and you will not speak without permission. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir. You made your point.”

Good start . He gave the leash a little more slack and said, “Turn around.”

This time she didn't hesitate at all.

“Keep your gaze on the wall.” The walls of the Medieval Room were made from stone. Shackles were bolted into them. He wanted her to focus on the shackles, imagining what he had in store for her.

He removed the bindings from around her wrists, and then he went to work unfastening the dozens of tiny hooks and eyes that held her dress closed. He gave silent thanks that women didn't dress like this anymore. As it was, it took all his restraint not to whip out his pocketknife and go barbarian on her, slicing her out of the yards and yards of material.

“I—”

“You crawled into my bedroom,” he said against her ear.

She trembled slightly, responding to him. The knowledge he affected her was heady stuff. “That was different.”

“Because you were in control.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. He saw a flash of fire in the dark depths of her eyes, and he didn't see a sub. Instead he recognized the woman who showed up for their training exercises, the woman who ran five miles a day, adding punishing sprints to increase her endurance, and who pounded out fifty noncheating push-ups, five more than he did. She could outshoot him, outthink him, and she had never rubbed it in.

She wiggled, trying to turn. “Stay still,” he ordered. “I want you looking at those shackles.”

He heard her sharp inhalation. Her training as an operative helped her be a better sub, he realized. She had self-discipline that she could call on from the bottom of her soul. Tonight, and others, would be a treat.

He drew the dress off her shoulders and let it fall to her waist. “Good girl,” he said when he saw she wasn't wearing a bra. His cock was hard, demanding. He reached around to cup her breasts.

“Torin—”

“Master Torin. Here, I'm your master, and you're my sub. I want you naked, and I'll have you naked. Any questions?” He flicked his thumbs over her nipples.

They hardened instantly, and her knees weakened a little. “Stand up straight.”

The bass from the music outside the room reverberated through them.

She supported her weight, and he rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. “You brought me a belt two nights ago,” he reminded her. “In your mouth. That was bold.”

She didn't say anything.

He squeezed her nipples.

She moaned ever so softly.

He increased the pressure on her nipples until he knew it was painful.

Her knees buckled again, but she caught herself and stood up tall before he had to remind her. “Quick study.” Not that he'd expected anything less. “I assume that means you like pain.”

She didn't answer.

“Mira?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I didn't hear you.”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, Sir. I like pain.”

He tightened his grip on her nipples.

She moaned, but she didn't protest.

“Tell me.”

“I like it,” she said. “It hurts. S-s-sir!”

He finally relented, releasing her. His cock throbbed behind his jeans. He wanted to be naked, buried inside her.

He unfastened the final hook and eye that secured the dress at the small of her back. The fabric pooled on the Medieval Room's floor. He noticed her ass was slightly red from the force of Blake's blows, and it took all his self-control not to go after the man and finish what he'd started. He reminded himself that Mira had asked for it, but it didn't take the edge off his anger; it only fueled it. “Step out of the dress.”

She did.

Little vixen. While he'd been outside chopping wood for the fireplace, she'd been getting ready. She'd spared no detail.

Even though she couldn't have known it, her choice in lingerie was perfect.

Her black lace garter belt and silky, sexy stockings were the stuff of his fantasies.

Her high-heeled, fuck-me shoes could not have been fashionable in the Victorian era, but they sure as hell turned him on now.