Cherise Sinclair - The Dom’s Dungeon

He gave her a puzzled look. “MacKensie, if you could have left a kitten in the middle of the road, then you aren't the woman I thought you were.” He followed her gaze to the antique table. “But if you're going to bring beasties home—and being a vet, you probably can't resist—then we'd better move some of this stuff to the attic.”

The sinking in her chest continued through her whole body until she felt as if she stood in quicksand. “You mean”—she swallowed and stared at the white kitten purring against his chest—“it can stay? Tonight, at least?”

“Of course.” His eyes held both amusement and warmth. “However, if you bring home so many that the house smells like a kennel”—he stepped closer—“I'll have an excellent reason to spank your pretty ass until it's bright pink.”

The wave of heat that seared through her took her by surprise.

His lips curved, and he ran a finger down her cheek. “Maybe I won't wait for an excuse,” he murmured. But then, as if he had an internal switch to turn off his desire, he stepped back and handed her the kitten. “I assume there's kitten chow in your car?”

She nodded mutely and blew out an exasperated breath as he and Butler headed out the door. How come he has a switch and I don't?

Later that evening, Alex leaned on the door frame and grinned. His little sub sat cross-legged on the rug by the fire, introducing the snow-white kitten to the pleasures of string chasing. Three feet away, Butler lay quivering with eagerness to help. The dog and cat had come to a wary understanding after a few altercations. If Butler sniffed too enthusiastically, he'd get scratched. If the kitten pounced on Butler's tail, it now knew an entire dog would try to play. Alex hadn't laughed so hard in a long time.

From the way she'd been holding her ribs, MacKensie hadn't either. She had a lovely laugh when she really let go, uninhibited and joyful, and it pleased him immensely that over the past weeks, her laugh came more easily and had even descended into adorable giggling once or twice.

With a clever move, the kitten captured the string. Thin tail held high with pride, he dragged his prize off behind a chair.

“Supper is ready,” Alex announced.

Mac turned. “You cooked?”

“That's a very parochial attitude,” he informed her. “In this enlightened age, men can and do cook.”

“Uh-huh.” She pushed to her feet. “You might be enlightened—and I'm not too sure about that—but cook?”

“If you must be so literal about it all, Margaret cooked. I heated.”

His insubordinate little sub laughed at him, so he pulled her closer and took her mouth. It softened under his, and a quiver slid through her body. He hadn't forgotten the look in her eyes when he had mentioned spanking her. Perhaps he'd bed the animals down somewhere and then bed MacKensie.

He put a kiss on her forehead and let her go. As they headed to the kitchen, the kitten darted ahead, bursting out of hiding to pounce on shoelaces before scampering away again.

Alex tucked an arm around MacKensie's waist, pulling her closer. “Stay, little vet,” he'd said on Wednesday without even thinking. But now that he'd had time to think, he felt the same. Women had come and gone in his life—many women—but apparently he'd been waiting for this wary little sub.

As he started dishing up the food, something stung his calf. He looked down to see the kitten climbing his jeans to get to the food.

MacKensie sputtered out a laugh and disentangled the little guy. Holding him even with her gaze, she frowned into the innocent blue eyes. “You've already eaten. Twice.” Her gaze shifted to Alex, laughter bright in her eyes. “He's obsessed with food.”

Alex held up a tiny piece of crab to the kitten. The food disappeared. The kitten licked Alex's finger clean, then, unsatisfied, sank tiny teeth into his thumb.

Alex yanked his hand away, ignoring the snickering coming from his little sub. He glanced at his thumb. No blood. “Ungrateful feline. You can get your own food next time.” He rubbed the upright ears with a finger and sighed as claws latched onto his sleeve and a pink nose checked his hand for more food. “Definitely obsessed with food.” Alex glanced at MacKensie. “Since we already have a Butler, I suppose this one can be our Chef and hang out in the kitchen all day long.”

She grinned at him. “A chef. Anything to avoid cooking, huh, Sir?”

“You'll suffer for that impertinence, sub,” he growled at her.

No fear appeared in her eyes, just a flash of heat. “Oh dear.”

As he grinned, satisfaction washed through him. Her trust in him continued to grow. She didn't jump when he touched her unexpectedly; her laughter came more easily. Yet he'd seen the wariness in her eyes when she'd brought the kitten home. She didn't fear him physically any longer, but emotionally?

He'd asked her about her past twice in the last week. The last time, he could see from the growing tenseness in her body, the way she ran her hands up and down her thighs, that she'd wanted to share with him. But her uncertainty had won again.

A little more time he'd give her, and then, if needed, he'd drag her back to the dungeon for another session in trust.

As the door to the mansion opened, Mac rubbed her clammy hands on her cape and frowned. She'd heard of butterflies in the stomach, but hers felt more like giant birds. With claws. She pressed her hand to her abdomen. I'm a friendly, competent, pretty woman. I can do this. She could act like a lady and not humiliate herself or embarrass Alex by doing something gauche. Piece of cake.

When she glanced back at their car—again—Alex's arm slid around her waist, preventing any escape. She glared into his amused eyes and managed to put a smile on her face.

“Good evening. Please come in.” The butler—a real one—took their coats. He glanced at Mac's attire and didn't—quite—sniff in disapproval.

Mac raised her chin. Alex had wanted to buy her a dress, but she'd refused. She had an adequate dress, after all. A basic black that she'd worn everywhere, ever since her sorority sister Tiffany had tossed it across the room to Mac, declaring she'd never wear the dismal color again.

In the center of the foyer, Victoria turned from the last guest. When she saw Mac, her smile disappeared. And probably not because of the dress.

Why did Alex have to have a mother? A rich, dignified mother.

“I'm pleased you both could come,” Victoria said, giving her son a kiss on the cheek. “Alex, you know the way.”

Mac stopped just inside the room and stared. A huge chandelier cast glimmering light over people dressed in suits and cocktail dresses. The babble of conversation swamped the soft music. Perfume and aftershave scented the air.

“You look lovely, little vet.” Alex kissed her fingertips, then nipped one sharply enough to make her squeak. “And when this is over, I intend to strip you out of that pretty rag, bend you over a bench, and take you hard.”

Before she'd recovered from the surge of heat at his totally unexpected words, he was introducing her to an older couple. “John, Felicia, this is MacKensie Taylor. She's a vet and working with Susan Weston. MacKensie, this is John and Felicia Lordan. They have three cats from the shelter—or is it four now?”

Just that easily, the conversation took off as Felicia talked about their newest adoptee. Mac gave Alex an admiring glance before attending to the talk.

After meeting more people, Mac turned to Alex. “Most of the people here are high society and politicians, except for the slew of veterinarians infesting the place. Isn't that combination a little strange?”

He grinned. “My mother uses her parties for recruitment. She—” He broke off, his attention on the door.

Pleasure washed through Mac when Peter and Hope entered the room. Look, I actually know someone in Seattle.

While the men shook hands, Hope gave Mac a hug, saying, “I hoped you'd come.” The small group wandered over to the drink table, presided over by a man in a black coat.

Mac smiled at the bartender before confiding to Hope, “This is the first time I ever met a real butler, but I like our Butler better. Not nearly as stuffy.”

“I have noticed that myself.”

Mac turned and froze. Alex's mother. Oh frak. Open mouth, insert foot.

Alex didn't seem to notice the chill as he laughed and said, “Our staff is growing, Mother. We now have a Chef who spends most of his time in the kitchen.” Alex grasped Mac's wrist and turned her arm over to display the scratch marks.

“Our staff?” Victoria's eyebrows rose and then snapped together as her gaze turned to Mac. “You like cats?”

Alex's voice turned cold as he said, “Enough to risk life and limb rescuing a scrawny ball of fluff from the center of Mercer Street.”

Mac winced. She'd thought the story of her dramatic rescue of the cat amusing. Instead she had gotten swatted on the butt—really hard—for almost getting killed.

“Well.” The chill in Victoria's eyes eased. “Good for you. Far too many people don't like cats.”

“I—Well, hell,” Alex said and earned himself a real frown from his mother. He held up his hand. “I'm sorry, Mother. I didn't realize I hadn't mentioned it at the ball. MacKensie's a vet. Susan already snatched her up to work at the hospital.”

Whoa. The chill disappeared completely, Mac noticed, as Victoria murmured, “A vet. Indeed.”

“Here she goes,” Alex muttered, and then the full force of the woman's personality came to bear on Mac.