Sierra Cartwright - Doms of Dark Haven

“Or your movie-star nose,” Torin supplied.

Xavier touched his nose instinctively. If he weren't so focused on the sub before him, Torin would have laughed.

“Watch your step, young lady,” Xavier said to Mira.

“Yes, my Liege.”

Then it was just the two of them. “After tonight we will still be partners, unless you request a transfer.”

She nodded.

“But we cannot leave here without your being punished.”

“Torin—”

“Master Torin,” he corrected. “You forced my hand, Mira.”

She sighed. “You didn't have to follow me here,” she said. “I was doing fine with Master Blake.”

“I'm already pissed, Mira. Don't make it worse,” he warned.

“You ruined my evening,” she said. If her hands hadn't still been secured behind her back, he imagined she'd have poked a finger in his chest. And here, in the club, he couldn't allow that to happen.

His temper had returned to a simmer when she'd chosen him over Blake, not that he'd given her much choice. The heat was getting turned back up.

“It's the weekend,” she reminded him. “And we are not working a case. I invited you to come with me to Dark Haven, and you turned me down. You have no right to go all mondo loco on me just because Master Blake was flogging me, like I wanted, like I asked him to. He tied me to the spanking bench like I wanted him to, and he was hitting my bare ass with just the right amount of pressure. I would have come for him in only a few more minutes.”

She'd carefully chosen her words to hit a nerve, and it worked.

“You're not willing to beat me, so it's none of your freaking damn business if I find someone who will. Keep out of my personal life. Sir.”

The little minx had added the “Sir” more as an insult than a term of respect.

The idea of gagging her was becoming more appealing every moment. He leaned in toward her, close enough that he could kiss her. And wasn't that was a tempting idea? A gag, his cock, his tongue—all ways to keep her mouth occupied. “Let's get a few things straight. I'm here now, and I sure as hell intend to beat you.”

She shuddered slightly. She wanted to pretend she wasn't affected by him, by his words, his simmering anger, and the tension that had built between them over the last few weeks, but she was.

“Whatever you need, I'll make sure you get it.” Torin captured her chin firmly between his thumb and forefinger. He forced her to look at him. “Beating, flogging, spanking, punishment, humiliation, bondage…” He trailed off. “You will not go to Blake or anyone else, and you will not flash your cunt at anyone who wants to see it.” His reaction startled him. He'd never minded playing with other subs in front of an audience. One woman had been a total voyeur; she hadn't cared if he'd posted pictures of her all over the Internet. But this woman… His. “Understand?”

“Fuck you,” she said.

He snapped his back teeth together.

“As you said, we're partners. Nothing more.”

“I didn't add the 'nothing more' part, Mira; you did.”

“You can't stake a claim on me without my permission.”

“Which you gave me when you invited me here with you.”

“You refused.”

He sighed, fighting for control over his temper. “You crawled into my bedroom.

You publicly chose me over Blake. I'd say you've given permission twice, and now you're just being a brat. Brats get spanked, Mira, and I can make that happen right here, right now.”

“You wouldn't. You can't spank me through this dress, and you've already said you won't have me showing my cunt to others—”

“Enough,” he told her, ruthlessly cutting in. “You got what you wanted. Now show a little respect. Fight me all you want, but you can't win.”

They were at an impasse, locked in a battle of wills.

“Ask yourself what you really want,” he said. “Do you really want me to turn you over to Blake? Or to Xavier? Or do you want to see if I can give you what you want, what you need? But if you do, it's going to be on my terms.”

He waited, knowing how important the next few seconds were. She still didn't wear his collar, could change her mind and have him summon Xavier or even a taxicab.

Her internal struggle was visibly waged on her face. She worried her lower lip.

The act was a betrayal of the nerves that she usually managed to disguise. The liquid depths of her brown eyes threatened to drown him. Her desire lay there, exposed. A layer of disbelief was shrouded but not hidden.

“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.