Unbound Surrender

  A Total-E-Bound Publication

  www.total-e-bound.com

  Unbound Surrender

  ISBN #978-0-85715-028-8

  ©Copyright Sierra Cartwright 2010

  Cover Art by April Martinez ©Copyright February 2010

  Edited by Claire Siemaszkiewicz

  Total-E-Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2010 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.

  Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-melting.

  Homecoming

  UNBOUND SURRENDER

  Sierra Cartwright

  Chapter One

  “Is there a reason you’re not on your knees?”

  Jessica McNeil met her ex-husband’s gaze as he strode from the back of the house towards her. For the tenth time, she wondered what the hell she was doing here in the home they’d once shared. Two years ago she’d promised herself she’d never walk, or crawl, through the front door again. Obviously she’d forgotten the past and lost her mind.

  Stephen stopped several feet away from her and looked at her. She had to tip her head back to look at his face. His blue eyes were nearly the colour of midnight. His shoulders were set ruggedly, and his legs spread about shoulder-width apart. His hair, still as black as coal, was longer than she remembered. It now hung past his collar, and it was styled rakishly, only adding to his devilish good looks.

  He folded his arms across his chest and waited patiently. Patience had always been one of his hallmarks and something she lacked. She was headstrong, obstinate, disobedient and, as he’d told her once, those were her better qualities.

  Jessica locked her knees. Until he heard her out, she wasn’t going to kneel for him, wasn’t going to bow her head or clasp her hands behind her back. She was at a big enough disadvantage as it was, with him towering several inches over her, making her feel much smaller, vulnerable.

  At one time his size had been a source of comfort for her. She’d felt protected by him, rather than intimidated.

  “Your choice,” he said, as if he’d read her mind. “Mrs. Boxley said you asked for five minutes.” He looked at his watch. “You have four minutes left.”

  If she obeyed, if she knelt, she suspected he’d give her more time. But unless she did, he clearly meant what he said. She had five minutes. He hadn’t invited her in, and she realised he was making sure she understood she wasn’t a welcome, or even wanted, guest. On the other hand, she supposed she was lucky he’d even allowed her across the threshold. If the housekeeper hadn’t answered the door, chances were Jessica would still be on the stoop instead of in the foyer.

  He took two steps closer to her. The sound of his boots was solid on the slate tile floor. He stood barely a foot away and she inhaled his scent; that of a rain-drenched forest on a winter’s night, cool and crisp.

  With the back of his hand, he swept the hair away from her neck and tucked it behind her ear. He pressed his knuckles lightly against her skin. “Your pulse is racing, Jess.”

  Jess. He hadn’t called her Jess since their first couple of dates. After that, it had been sub, or if she was in trouble, Jessica. It would be easy to forget why she was here and just surrender. Truth was, she wanted to do exactly that. Sex had always been good between them. She could turn into him, kiss his hand, and he’d have her naked beneath him in less than a minute. Instead, she curled her hand around his wrist. “I just ended my third relationship since our divorce.” She drew a breath and decided to be a bit more honest. “Or rather, my third relationship since our divorce just crashed and burned.”

  “Should I say congratulations? Or offer my sympathies?”

  “This time, I got dumped.”

  “So you want me to make you feel better about yourself? No worries. You’re still hot, still sexy. I’ll prove it to you.” His motions fluid, he moved his hand lower, despite her grip on his wrist.

  She should have remembered how ineffective her strength was against his.

  He slid the top button of her blouse through its hole.

  Her skin felt heated and her nipples had instinctively responded, becoming hardened little nubs pressing against her bra.

  “Would a quick fuck suit you? Over the back of the settee? Or maybe I should take you against the wall?”

  It was so damn hard to think straight with him this close. A quick fuck would do her. She’d sate the hunger, at least temporarily. But it wouldn’t get her what she came here for.

  “Or maybe you’d like a long screw in my bed?”

  “Stephen…”

  “Perhaps you’d prefer that I tie you to the St. Andrews Cross or the spanking bench and flog your arse until you beg me to let you come.”

  Her knees weakened and she had to force herself to remain upright. There’d been a time he would have done exactly that, a time she would have begged him to do that.

  “Your eyes narrowed, Jess. You liked that suggestion the most.”

  An instinctive denial flooded her, but she kept her mouth shut. He was right. And she wasn’t going to start lying to him, or herself.

  He unfastened the second button, revealing her red bra. She moistened her lower lip. Stephen Duvall had never had trouble reading her sexually. It was the rest of it that had been missing.

  “Why did you get dumped for the third time?”

  Exposing her failings was going to be the hardest part. “For the same reason we got divorced.”

  His brows drew together.

  “Lance stopped short of calling me frigid—”

  “You’re not frigid.”

  “I wasn’t the same way with him that I was with you. He felt as if I was holding something back. Mentally. Emotionally.”

  His fingers paused on her bare skin, and he didn’t open the third button. “Were you?”

  She searched for courage. “Yes.”

  “Like you did with me.”

  There it was. The truth was laid bare between them with all the hurt, the anger, the frustration that had caused their final row. He’d wanted to push her, and rather than negotiate or discuss it rationally, she’d started arguing. She’d been defiant and disobedient and she’d committed the ultimate sin. She’d ripped off her collar and thrown it on the floor. “Yes. I was holding back, like I did with you. And yes, I fought with him and ended the relationship instead of talking about it.” This was the first time she’d admitted the truth to him, to herself.

  “Was BDSM a part of that relationship?”

  “It hasn’t been part of my life since…”

  “Say it.”

  He wanted to hear it, and she didn’t want to say it. “Since I left.”

  “Since you discarded your collar and your ring without ever looking back,” he corrected, shards of ice in his words.

  “Yes.”

  “And n
ever gave me the courtesy of a real explanation.”

  Goaded, her anger flared. “Could you make this any more difficult?”

  “You want it easy? You want it easy? Baby, you must have me confused with someone else.”

  Just then, temper spiked in his eyes. She saw how deep his own anger ran and how tightly he reined it in. “I think coming here was a mistake.”

  “Probably was,” he agreed. “Feel free to run away. You always have.”

  How the heck had this gotten so out of control, so quickly?

  “You’ve got twenty seconds before I show you the door.”

  “I’m tired of running.”

  He raised a brow in that oh-so sceptical way of his.

  “I’m tired of holding back,” she confessed. “I’m tired of being so afraid of being hurt that I do the hurting first.”

  “You’re here to apologise?” he asked incredulously.

  “No.” She wished he’d step back or at least drop his hand, but she couldn’t ask for either, not since she was resolved not to run.

  “Forgive me for not being able to keep up.”

  She took a breath. It was supposed to be a deep, steadying breath that she practiced in her yoga classes. Instead it ended up as a desperate, shallow-sounding pant. “I have no right to ask this. I fully expect you to kick me out. I’m grateful for the five minutes you’ve given me.”

  “Go on.”

  “I want to learn to let go.” At one time, she might have reached up and traced the line of his chiselled jaw, but two years ago, she’d given up that right. “I want you to teach me.”

  “We were together eighteen months, married for five of them.”

  “I always trusted you,” she said. “You never crossed any of my boundaries. But honestly, it was me I didn’t trust.” The evening air whispered over the skin he’d bared. “This time, I want you to push me. I want you to demand everything I never offered before.”

  “Why in hell would I even consider this?”

  “No good reason that I can think of,” Jessica admitted. “Maybe revenge?”

  “Again, you’ve got the wrong man.”

  His integrity had never been on the line, only hers. “Curiosity? Do I mean what I say? How far will I go?” She’d spent hours lying in bed, tossing and turning, trying to talk herself out of coming here, then just as many hours dreaming up ways she could talk him into it. “Maybe the challenge? Maybe because you haven’t had a good scene in a while and need the diversion?” At least she prayed that was true. If he had another sub, another woman, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. It had taken her weeks to gather the courage to face him; she hadn’t even allowed herself to think that he’d found someone to replace her.

  His brows were no longer drawn as tightly.

  He hadn’t sent her away. If he had someone else, surely he would have. Boldly she pushed forward. “And maybe because I’m asking?” Her voice dropped as she looked up at him. Was she getting through to him? Or did he still hate her? She wouldn’t blame him if he did, but he of all people would know how much this was costing her emotionally.

  “Because I’m begging?” That was something she’d never been good at. She’d never let herself be vulnerable enough to beg for his touch, his lash. He’d said he’d been foolish enough to believe she’d be less resistant once they’d married, but she hadn’t. “I’m asking you to please do this for me, even though there’s no reason you should.”

  He caught her chin and tipped it back, holding her captive.

  A shudder, part fear, part arousal, went through her. She hadn’t completely forgotten how much his power affected her, but two years was a long time to keep the memory as vibrant as reality.

  “I don’t think you can do it,” he said.

  “Maybe not.” She had to admit that was a possibility. She’d been running her whole life. Changing wouldn’t be easy. “All I’m asking for is a weekend of your time. You can make me go away after that, and I promise never to bother you again.”

  “Four days,” he countered. “Starting immediately.”

  She blinked. It was Wednesday evening, and she’d been thinking they could spend the upcoming weekend together. She wanted to go to her yoga class tomorrow evening. God knew she needed the stress relief. She’d planned to use Thursday and part of Friday morning to tie up all the loose ends for her freelance work, leaving Friday afternoon free for a haircut and manicure and maybe some shopping. New shoes would improve her self-confidence dramatically.

  “You’re still wanting to control things, Jessica, little wanna-be-a-submissive. First step is to do this on my terms.”

  “I have work.”

  “You may use my computer three hours a day.”

  He knew as well as she did that she could shuffle her work. She didn’t punch a time clock, and the time he allotted was more than generous.

  She was going to protest that she didn’t have her toiletries or clothes. But those were excuses. Under his roof, she’d have no need of anything except what he provided.

  “You’ll be naked of course, but you’ll be allowed to do your work.”

  Her mouth felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton wool. What was she getting herself into? This was a man who showed no quarter, and she’d asked him to test her every emotional limit.

  He took a step back. She’d been hoping he would, but now that he was no longer touching her, she missed the feel of them, skin to skin.

  “I’ll ask you for the second time, is there a reason you’re not on your knees?”

  Stephen wondered if she’d obey. Without actions to back them up, her words were meaningless.

  He meant it when he told her he didn’t think she could do it. Jessica McNeil, his ex-wife, former lover and submissive, might realise she had a problem with emotional intimacy, but finding the courage to confront her fears again and again was another thing. Even when their marriage had been on the line and she couldn’t, wouldn’t stand and fight for it, for them, not even when he’d begged, cajoled, threatened, promised…

  Stephen wasn’t the world’s most forgiving man. If he were, maybe he’d have seen the troubled waters their relationship had been steering towards and maybe he’d have behaved differently, giving her time to work through her concerns before heading down to the courthouse to file their divorce papers. But, damn it, even he had limits.

  Without complaint or argument, she slowly she sank to her knees on the cool, uneven and uncomfortable slate. First point to her. He’d made her kneel often, but never on slate.

  Her motions weren’t as seamless as they’d once been and her breathing was a bit ragged. He’d knocked her off balance with his counter to her outrageous request. He intended to keep her guessing.

  Seeing her there, knees spread to shoulder-width, the way he liked, he questioned his sanity.

  She might still be dressed in a skirt and a silk blouse, but he remembered what lay beneath. He was desperate to have his hands on her.

  She looked up at him, and when he raised a brow, she quickly cast her gaze down. “Good girl.”

  Slowly, without his coaching, she bent her head.

  “You remember a few things.”

  “A few.”

  So did he; more than he wanted to remember. Like the way she smelled after a bath, of lavender and vanilla, the way she tasted, of femininity and surrender. “Remove your blouse.”

  Her head still lowered, she unfastened the last couple of buttons. She parted the shirt then shrugged, allowing the silk to pool on the tiled floor.

  “Now your brassiere.”

  He noticed that her fingers shook slightly as she released the hook and eye, then drew the straps over her shoulder and dropped the scrap of red lace on the floor. Blood rushed to his cock at the sight of her breasts, tipped by erect brown nipples. “Pinch them.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  At first, she touched her nipples gently, making them harder, more alluring. He wondered if her actions were calculated to to
rture him. Then she squeezed each of her nipples between a thumb and forefinger before tugging. Finally she pinched them tightly. She leaned back, like she did when facing exquisite pain. And she moaned.

  Christ. His cock was throbbing. “Harder!”

  She froze for a second, but she didn’t break position. He watched her torment those beautiful little nipples. “I said harder, Jessica.”

  She gulped.

  He imagined when she planned this little visit that she thought they’d have a polite conversation about her proposal, perhaps picturing them sitting politely in the Queen Anne chairs in front of the fireplace while Mrs. Boxley brought in a pot of tea, all very civilised. Had she forgotten how uncivilised he could be? He had ideas for the Queen Anne chairs, all right, but they included punishment and her being bent over. “Shall I show you what I mean?”

  He saw her sink her teeth into her bottom lip. She’d often complained his grip was worse than her most vicious clover clamps. She closed her eyes and ardently squeezed tighter on her nipples.

  She gave a gentle moan that made his cock even harder.

  He couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to touch her.

  Moving in closer, he said, “Offer me your breasts.”

  “I…” She opened her eyes and looked up at him.

  He waited, wondering if she’d protest or at least dally.

  With only a moment’s hesitation, she released her grip on her nipples and cupped her breasts, pushing them up slightly, drawing them closer together.

  He liked seeing her vulnerable like this. When she’d walked out two years ago he never imagined she’d come back, never conceived of the possibility she’d actually be on her knees in front of him after begging him to push her boundaries. “Ask me to squeeze your nipples.”

  She swallowed deeply.

  “Please… Please squeeze my nipples…”

  They both waited then. He heard the tick of the clock in the parlour. At one time, she’d called him Stephen. Then she’d called him Sir. After he’d collared her, she’d called him Master.