In the Den Page 11
“I don’t freak out,” she protested.
“No? Then what’s happening right now?”
His radar was keen. “Maybe a little. You can be a bit overwhelming.”
“We need to take some of the tension off. Enjoy the day.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“We’ll leave in half an hour, grab some breakfast on the way.”
It sounded suspiciously mundane.
Nothing with him ever was, though.
She was overdressed, or underdressed, depending how she looked at it, for the rustic mountain lodge where they ate. He hadn’t given her back her undergarments, so she was aware that her nipples were hard, and she was sure everyone knew she had on no panties.
No one, though, gave her a second glance. Skiers and snowboarders were talking about the weather, conditions on the slopes and discussing the runs they were going to get in. Locals looked at newspapers and the national news broadcast.
He ordered steak and eggs, with a side of salsa. No carbs.
She went straight for the specialty, migas. She’d never had them before, but they sounded delicious, three scrambled eggs with jalapenos, green chillies, tomatoes, gobs of cheese and tortilla strips. “I need my energy to keep up with you,” she said while biting into the accompanying banana walnut muffin.
He finished a few minutes ahead of her. “Impressive,” he said.
“Now I need a coffee,” she said, when she forked the last bite of potatoes from her plate.
“We may need to hire a cook if you’re going to consume a couple of thousand calories at every meal.”
“Or stop exercising so much.”
“Eat up.”
She grinned and raised her juice glass in his direction.
They grabbed a to-go latte from a local coffee shop before hitting the road.
“You’re a great chauffeur,” she said. His sedan was all luxury, with heated leather seats and individual temperature controls for the driver and passenger sides.
Her side was ten degrees warmer than his. Then again, he had on jeans, boots and a cable-knit sweater.
She sipped the vanilla-flavored latte while he told her about his business ventures and gave her the history on how the Den had come about. His wife had been an avid skier who had a large family. She’d envisioned it as a place for family retreats, holidays, reunions.
“You were married?” she asked, putting the drink in the cup holder. How had she never heard that juicy piece of gossip?
“Didn’t last long.”
“I had no idea. What happened?”
“Nothing,” he said. “It was unremarkable. Margot and I married. Things didn’t work out. We went our separate ways. End of story. No great devastation that left me emotionally crippled.”
“Quit holding out.”
“We started dating when I was in grad school, then we got married a year or so later.” His grip on the steering wheel was light yet competent as he negotiated a hairpin curve while climbing Berthoud Pass. “I got a job at a private equity firm. Getting married seemed like the next logical step. But I was at least as fascinated by money as I was with my wife, and I worked a lot of hours, including weekends.”
Catrina turned in her seat to face him. “What happened to the marriage?”
“Things fell apart when she realized she didn’t want to be my sub anymore.”
“Wait. What? Sub? You left out whole chunks of the story.”
“Frustrating, isn’t it?”
She collapsed against the seatback. “I get it.”
After a few seconds, he relented. “A bunch of us frat brothers flew to a friend’s bachelor party in Vegas. We went to a BDSM club. It was my first visit, and I was hooked. I’d known I had dominant urges, but until that night, I didn’t have a term for it. My girlfriends had just thought I was an overbearing jerk. They were probably right.”
“You bossed them around?”
“And ordered them to suck my dick while I pulled on their tits.” He had the good grace to wince. “I’m not proud of it.”
“Now you make women beg for the privilege.”
“I hope my technique has improved over the years.”
“Yes.” She remembered the way her body had felt last night and the ultimate, crashing satisfaction he’d given her. “I can say it has.”
“It didn’t come easily. I joined a BDSM club out by the old airport. At a demo one evening, the instructor suggested Doms switch roles. I wish I could say it was my idea, but one of my subs told me I should give it a try.”
“Sounds as if you had a rough go of it, ego-wise.”
“When you’re told your sexual tactics need improvement? But she was right. Getting a swipe from a cane taught me that I should be a bit more careful with how I wielded one.”
She shuddered. Canes intimidated her. It was part of the reason she didn’t use one unless her boy requested it. “Was the sub Margot?”
“No.” He glanced her direction. “I met Margot at a concert, and by then I was upfront about my lifestyle and what it entailed. The idea of doing something scandalous thrilled her, at least initially. After we were married, she didn’t find it as exciting. She was bored and restless because of the amount of time she was spending alone. And being my slut princess every night when I got home close to midnight lost its appeal. She found someone less demanding and more available.”
“I wonder how that’s working out.”
“She misses it.”
“How do you know that?”
“Ran into her recently at a dinner party.”
“And the two of you immediately had a discussion about BDSM?”
“She brought it up.”
Jealousy nipped at Catrina. She shoved the emotion away. He could play with whomever he wanted, even his ex-wife.
“I don’t scene with married women, unless their husbands are there. And her fourth husband, Larry, has no intention of letting her anywhere near me.”
“Can you blame him?”
“He’s a retired pro wrestler. Could still pile-drive me straight into the ground.”
The image was laughable. “I’d stay away, too. Seriously, no lasting repercussions from the divorce? You haven’t remarried.”
“No need.” He slid her a sidelong glance. “I have my businesses and my fill of beautiful women.”
The unwelcome envy slithered back in. “Seems a little superficial, maybe even lonely.”
“We all make our choices, Catrina.”
She crossed her bare legs. The man had a way of saying things that made her see her own life, as if he were holding up a mirror in front of her.
“There are times when I’d prefer the company of others. That’s part of why I have the Den along with a circle of close friends. I’ve no desire to marry again.”
“I thought you performed Julia and Master Marcus’ wedding.”
“It was an honor to do so.”
Before she could ask another question, he held up a hand to stop her and added, “Don’t get me wrong. I understand why some may choose to do so, and I respect all of those reasons, especially the legal and financial ones. But I have no need to do it again.”
“How did you end up with the Den?”
“Gregorio had thought of the business possibilities, so I bought out Margot’s interest. It’s turned out to be a solid investment.”
“You don’t miss having someone to share it with?”
“As I said, there are trade-offs.”
“Are you afraid of falling in love again?”
“That seems like a romantic question, coming from you.”
“Ironic, isn’t it?” she asked.
“In answer to your question, I was never in love to begin with.”
She faced him, her mouth open. “Never?”
“As I said, getting married seemed like the next logical step. I cared for her deeply. I was committed to her. Ultimately that wasn’t enough for either of us. Anything beyond affection never e
ntered the equation.”
“You don’t believe in it?” she pushed.
“I haven’t thought about it much, but no. I suppose not. You?”
“Been there, done that, and I’m a quick study. Once was enough.”
When they neared Denver, she directed him to her bungalow.
“Nice area,” he said.
“Yeah. I love Wash Park. Great for people-watching. Lots of dog walkers, coffee shops, boutiques and lunch places.”
“You hungry again?”
“No. Haven’t burned any calories.”
He came around and opened her door. She pulled her lapels tight against the chill.
Inside, he said, “Lots of potential.”
“Lots of time,” she added. “And money.” She could have hung their coats on hooks. But she chose to fling them over the back of the couch. “I bought it as an investment a few years ago. I fix it up a little every year.”
“Solid thinking,” he said. “I approve. Mind showing me around?”
The kitchen was the first room she’d improved. She had granite countertops, top-of-the-line appliances and had installed a window over the sink.
“Nice backyard.”
“Much better in summer when I have potted plants blooming.”
He followed her into the living room. The hardwood floors were dull and splintered. “On the to-do list,” she said. As was, eventually, building shelves to hold her knickknacks, photos, books, magazines and DVDs. As it was, every surface was covered, with items stacked on top of one another.
Next up was her office.
“Nice job in here, too.”
“This was the easiest room. Less trim work here, and the floors were in fairly good shape since the previous owners had used it as a guest room. While I’m here, I might as well grab my files and computer.”
She didn’t excuse the clutter. She was a creative thinker who left notes and ideas in every corner. She hadn’t met a piece of paper she didn’t want to write on.
He held a box steady while she filled it. “What do you do, exactly?”
“I’m a financial advisor.” She tossed her favorite pen on top of the folders. “For women.”
“The former fiancé who wiped out your bank account?”
“You were listening.”
“To every word you say.”
He said it so honestly that she had no choice but to believe him. “After I picked up the pieces, I used it as motivation.” She met his gaze. “To advise others how to rebuild or carry on after the loss of the primary earner. Eighty to ninety percent of women, at some point, will be solely responsible for their finances.”
“I like your style. You took something painful for you and used it for good.”
“Wasn’t just for me,” she admitted. “My mom, too.” She smiled at the memory. “She was my case study. If you can get your mother to listen, you’re doing okay. She’s always believed in me, but to do what I said with the small amount of funds that she did have… She made a plan, set some objectives, read a whole bunch of prospectuses, did some research on her own. She’s still a few years away from being able to retire, but I got her to double the amount of money she thought she might need.”
“Impressive.”
“Most times, women are not prepared for the shock of their loss, and then you throw in retirement funds, or lack thereof, debt ratios, bills…” She shrugged. “I get most of my business through referrals, and I have a group that meets monthly where women set goals and share their frustrations, help one another with strategies.”
“Different approach than I’ve seen men use.”
“Turns out the sexes are different, Mr Lowell.”
“You don’t say.”
She put her computer in a backpack, grabbed her phone charger then led the way back to the living room. Part of her couldn’t believe she was going to do this.
“I want to see your bedroom.”
“I’m just going to throw a few things in a bag,” she said when he placed the box near the front door. “You’re welcome to watch television or have a drink while you wait. I have beer in the fridge.”
Not surprisingly, he followed her. “Where do you keep your lingerie?”
She sighed and pointed to the dresser. “Third and fourth drawers.”
“Grab your suitcase.”
Since there was no point in arguing, she did as he said.
He selected a few items and tossed them on her bed.
“Shoes?”
“In my closet.”
He added a pair of stupid-high sandals to the growing pile. Surrendering to the inevitable, she gathered her toiletries from the master bathroom while he started going through her street-safe clothes.
“You can wear this,” he told her when she returned.
She was relieved to see he’d selected a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt.
“No bra.”
“I’d figured that much.”
“When you play with your subs, do you go to their place, or do they come here?”
“They come here.”
“Where do you play?”
Catrina knew where this was going, and she didn’t like it. “The other bedroom.”
“Show me.”
“That’s…” She hesitated.
“Private. Your domain?”
“Yes.”
“Then that’s where I’ll master you, Catrina.”
“Is that really necessary? We can go back to the Den.”
“There, as well.” He nodded toward the open door. “After you.”
Chapter Seven
This gorgeous woman appealed to him on so, so many levels. Her eyes were as green as they were revealing. And her face, devoid of make-up, hid nothing. All her concerns were clear in her expression, including the fact her eyebrows were drawn together, and he sensed an impending argument. Having no intention of indulging that, he acted, picking her up and tossing her over his shoulder.
“What the hell are you thinking?” she yelled, kicking futilely. “Put me down!” She pummeled his back.
He swatted her upturned derriere.
“Ow! Damn you, Damien.”
Undeterred, he strode to the end of the hallway.
He carried her past the beautiful black, oriental screen that hid a kneeling bench. He put her down next to it. “Take off your shoes, please.”
She glared up at him.
“Use the safe word or do as you’re told.” When she did neither, he said, “What’s the punishment for defiance?”
“Talking about it,” she said.
He fought to hide his grin. “The punishment is having to talk to me?”
“Yeah.” She folded her arms across her chest protectively.
“Go on.” He sobered.
“I don’t know what’s wrong,” she admitted. “This makes it… I don’t know. More real.”
“It hasn’t seemed so until now?”
“No. It’s been more like… Playing at a club. I could be detached in a way.”
“I hear what you’re saying.” He allowed her to keep a small distance between them. “And that’s why it’s crucial we do this.”
“If we do it here, it’s part of my life.” She looked away.
“Safe word. Otherwise I’ll push.” He gave her a few seconds to think it through then repeated, “Please remove your shoes.”
She scowled. A full ten seconds ticked by before she complied.
“Thank you.”
“Thank you?”
“I know this isn’t easy, and I appreciate you yielding to me.”
“Don’t get too cocky.”
“I assure you, Milady, you’ll never let that happen.” He knew trust didn’t come easily, if at all, to her. All day, he was sure, she heard stories of failed relationships and hurt. No doubt that reaffirmed her resolve to protect herself. “Now the dress.”
She removed it and dropped it on the floor.
“I could have hung that up for y
ou.”
“I know.”
“Trying to bring a little disorder to my life, Catrina?”
“Me?” She blinked innocently.
“I’m onto you.” He walked around her. “Please put your hands behind your head and spread your legs.”
“You going to inspect me, Damien?”
“I am.”
She wouldn’t be allowed to goad him into losing his temper. But he would give her a taste of what it was to submit, totally.
“This is under duress.”
“Duly noted.” He gave her time, but she followed his direction rather than using her safe word. “You really are a treasure, Milady.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“I was sincere,” he said, walking around her. “I don’t say things I don’t mean. I don’t need to.”
She continued to look ahead.
“You’re tempted,” he said.
“To?”
“Look at the floor.”
“No.”
“As a show of respect.”
“No.”
“As a submissive act.”
“No,” she said, the word all-but a breathless whisper.
“As an acknowledgment that I’m your Dom.”
“No.”
But as he circled her, she did what he asked. “Lovely.” He stopped in front of her and trailed his fingers down her chest, between her ribs, over the stomach that trembled from his touch, past her pubic hair then between her folds.
She jerked.
“Slide yourself back and forth. Do it.”
“Yes, Damien.” She moved her pelvis against his hand.
“That’s it. Pretend you’re fucking it.”
“I—”
“Stop thinking.”
She gyrated her hips, and he felt her become wetter.
Usually he talked to his subs, encouraging, engaging, soothing. But he forced himself to remain silent while she worked through her emotions.
Her back loosened, and she no longer held herself as rigid.
That’s it. He slid a finger into her moist cunt. She moaned. He knew the instant she’d managed to let go of her thoughts and surrender to him. She humbled him.
He decided to let her have the orgasm she was working toward. “Take it,” he told her.
She curled her toes then slammed her heels against the floor as she came.