In the Den Read online

  “Open up the fucking door, Milady!”

  She froze. Damien?

  “Now.”

  He’d shredded her nerves. “I’ll be right with you, love,” she promised Shaun. “Wait there.” She put the paddle on the table then ran a finger down his cheekbone in a motion she hoped was reassuring.

  But Shaun jumped up and reached for his coat.

  Trying for a calm she was nowhere close to feeling, she strode to the door, paddle still in hand. Despite the fact her outfit would shock the neighbors, she jerked the door open. “How dare you, you jackass—” All her angry protests died. All she saw was a wall of red roses.

  He moved them aside. “We need to talk. I texted you that I was coming. Invite me in.”

  “I’m busy here.”

  “Invite me in,” he repeated, “or I’ll drag your ass out here in the cold in front of anyone who passes by and we can have our discussion out there…”

  He looked around. A couple were coming down the street with their dog.

  “Your timing sucks. Come back in an hour.” She tried to slam the door—that would be satisfying—but he angled his foot on the threshold. “Damn you.”

  With inexorable determination he moved forwards, forcing her to back up.

  Then he shut the door.

  “Master Damien?”

  His gaze settled on Shaun. “Did I interrupt something?”

  “I tried to tell you that,” she said, hands on her hips.

  He put the flowers on the couch. They covered two cushions. “There’s a VIP event at the Den tomorrow night. Not open to the public,” he said to Shaun. “I’ll put you on the list. And I’ll sign you up for a session with Gregorio. On me.”

  “Rad.”

  “Now, out.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Shaun said.

  She seethed while Damien ushered the man out. “Who the hell do you think you are, barging into my home, throwing out my guests, interrupting my life?” She strode toward him. “I told you weeks ago I was happy to put the smack down on your arrogant ass. And I’m ready to do it right now, this fucking minute.”

  “Really?” he asked, voice smooth, silky soft. Lethal with its restrained power. “Is that what you want, Milady? Really?”

  As he advanced, she stood her ground though instinct warned her to retreat.

  He caught her hair and wrapped it around his hand. She remembered her safe word, but couldn’t force herself to use it.

  “Or do you want to hear me say I love you?”

  The floor spun beneath her. “What?”

  “Or do you want to hear that I was an idiot that night in my dungeon?”

  “Which night? There was more than one,” she said.

  To his credit, he ignored that comment. “You know what I’m talking about. When you called me Sir.”

  “It was a scene,” she insisted.

  He nodded. “It meant nothing?”

  “It meant I respected you,” she hedged.

  “It meant you submitted to me,” he challenged.

  “No. I…”

  “Stop. Now. Give me the honest truth, Catrina.”

  “That was the truth.”

  “You looked down and to the left. I’m calling bullshit on your answer.”

  Adrenaline knocked the wind out of her.

  “Look me in the eyes,” he said tightly. “And have a grown-up conversation with me. You don’t like where it goes, then I’ll leave and you won’t hear from me again. Fair?”

  “Have a seat,” she said.

  “I’d rather stand.”

  “And I’d rather you sat.” She stood there, resolved. She needed the distance between them, needed him not to tower over her where she was aware of his power, the musky scent of him that spoke to something entirely too female in her.

  It took two swipes for him to move all the roses aside.

  Hardly able to string two coherent thoughts together, she said, “I’ll be right back with you.” She went into her bedroom for the thickest, fluffiest, most unflattering robe she owned. She knotted the belt around her waist then gave it an extra tug for good measure.

  With a deep breath, Catrina took a moment to compose herself. Love? Did he mean it? And so what if he did? She wasn’t changing who she was for any man.

  It might have been easier to convince herself of her resolve if she hadn’t stopped breathing when he’d said those words.

  She closed her eyes, arming herself with determination, then went back to the living room. He’d taken off his coat and he sat there as if he had every right to occupy her space.

  And damn it, his hair was tied back, all sexy like her mom had said.

  Pretending to be unaffected, she sat in a chair across from him. “I can spare five minutes.”

  “You’re lucky I don’t pull down your pants and spank your ass until you get real with me.”

  He stood but resumed his seat when she nodded toward the couch. Instead, he leaned forward, elbows on his thighs and cradling his head. “Look, Milady, I screwed up. I let you leave when I shouldn’t have.”

  “Don’t be a martyr. You tried to stop me.”

  “Before that. Before you had the need to run. I had chances to talk to you, but I ignored them. I told you I didn’t believe in love. I didn’t.”

  She inclined her head. “And now?”

  “I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind. When I realized how empty the Den was without you, I went back home. And that’s when I figured it out.”

  Holding back a dozen questions, she waited.

  “My life is empty without you. I want to share my days and nights with you. I want you to share your dreams and fears with me.”

  Heart thundering, breaking, she bravely said, “It would never work. D/s would be a problem for us.”

  “How so?”

  “Did you pay any attention to me over the two weeks we spent together?”

  “Every word, nuance, plea, moan, whimper. Along with a few screams.”

  “Then you’d know that I can’t be a sub.”

  “Won’t,” he contradicted.

  “Can’t,” she insisted.

  “My touch does nothing for you?”

  “You know it does.”

  “The way I build a scene doesn’t leave you breathless with anticipation?”

  “Of course it does.”

  “Then where’s the problem?”

  “I can’t fit into a typical D/s relationship.”

  “There’s no such thing.” He came to his feet.

  She supposed she should have been grateful he’d harnessed his energy as long as he had.

  “I think you have an idea that D/s has to mean something specific.”

  “It doesn’t to you?”

  “Just as every relationship is different, so is the way the couple treats D/s. I like beating your ass. I like bringing you off slow. I like the way you writhe and scream. I like the way you called me Sir.”

  “That was a slip.”

  “I agree. But it was an honest one. Your defenses were down. It was one of the most real moments we’ve shared.”

  A chill held her spine rigid.

  “Don’t diminish it by denying it.”

  It scared her how easily he could read her. It had meant something. And even she didn’t want to believe that. “Okay.” She tried for flippant. “But I also love chocolate. And I refuse to eat it more than once a month because it makes my butt bigger. And the more I get, the more I want.”

  “More truth, Milady. You want it. You want me. You want my domination.”

  She shook her head and knotted the tie more carefully.

  “You just don’t want to get hurt again. You want someone you can lean on, trust, who will be there for you. And you think that if you get on your knees for me and call me Sir, all of the other disappears. But it doesn’t have to. What if you can have it all, Catrina? Love and submission. Respect and security?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re saying.”


  “We’re good together. Even if you submit in our sex life, it doesn’t mean I require it of you in public. I will always treat you like a lady and invite you into the inner circle of my life, my plans, goals and ideas.”

  She didn’t know what to say.

  It astounded her that he’d sorted it all out, even when she hadn’t. Yes, the word Sir had been a slip, but he’d caught the significance. Not as quickly, maybe, as she would have liked. And instead of letting it feed his ego or shoving it aside, he’d pursued her. He’d tried to give her the space to come to him, but in the end, he’d relentlessly tracked her down.

  He’d taken the time to figure out what he wanted and was willing to give. And he’d thought about her and how to give her what she needed.

  “I’ve heard you coach your clients. I’m willing for us to exchange financial plans…whatever you need to feel comfortable. All I need in return is the word Sir spoken of your own free will.”

  “I’ve got to have room to think.” Which wasn’t easy with him standing there and with the overwhelming scent of flowers permeating the air.

  “I understand. I’ll give you five seconds.”

  “You are impossible.”

  “I am who I am.”

  She knew the next words without him saying them. “You know what you want.”

  Tension radiated through his shoulders. A pulse throbbed in his temples. She’d thought he was determined, two-hundred pounds of unstoppable Dom. But now she glimpsed beneath his gruff exterior and saw the raw truth exposed in the stark blue depths of his eyes.

  The Big Bad Dom was nervous. This—she—they—mattered that much to him?

  The truth was, she’d become a Domme to close herself off, to protect her emotions from hurt, much as he’d guessed a month ago.

  Tonight, with Shaun, the kick she used to get out of dominating a man was missing.

  She wanted to be the focus of someone’s attention. And not just someone’s. Damien’s.

  “I love you, Milady Catrina,” he said again, voice hoarse with emotion.

  At one time, she’d wanted to shake him up. She’d gotten what she wanted. His honesty was emotionally raw. In this moment, he seemed as shattered as she was. “I don’t know how this works,” she admitted.

  “Me either. D/s is a power exchange. I only have the power you give me. You have ultimate control.”

  She frowned.

  “I’m humbled. I am here because I need you, want you. I desire you for your intellect and your strength. I was mad with jealousy when I thought of you and Gregorio sceneing together.”

  “I told you it was a joke.”

  “I had never felt anything like that before. You matter. You, Catrina. I know we can work it out together. And I know I’m better with you by my side. We’ve had a decent track record of talking to each other. Come to me with your fears and doubts.”

  “You’re asking a lot.”

  He took one step toward her, the first step.

  Then he waited. His intent was clear. Whatever happened next was up to her. Her heart raced, and a hundred emotions collided inside her soul.

  Closing the distance scared her. But the idea of a future without him was bleak and dark. Did she dare risk what he was offering?

  She took a large, symbolic one toward him.

  And he was there, meeting her, capturing her, holding her, kissing her.

  “I will protect, honor, cherish you, Catrina.”

  “And give me dozens of orgasms?”

  “That seems like a good place to begin.”

  “Begin, Sir?”

  “Tell me you love me, Milady. It might not be easy, but together we can sort the rest out.”

  “I…” She shook. “I do love you, Damien.”

  “Every day, I will earn it.”

  She lifted onto her tiptoes even as he unknotted her belt.

  “You’re mine,” he said, impatiently removing her robe and loosening her corset.

  “Yours,” she agreed, mastered.

  Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:

  Unbound Surrender

  Sierra Cartwright

  Excerpt

  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 toward 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 color 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 realized 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 sh
e 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.