“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 entered 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 you.”
“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.
He wrapped an arm around her back to support her as her knees weakened. He moved his hand and gathered her close, holding her.
“I didn’t know I could come this many times,” she told him.
“We’re consuming some of those calories so I can take you to lunch later.”
“A man after my heart,” she said.
“I hope so. When you’re ready, please kneel on the bench.”
She looked at it, then back at him.
He stepped away from her and went to the closet where he found her Domme stash. “Anything in particular you want to explore?”
“Ah, no. All of those things were designed for a man’s tough hide.”
“I think you’ll find yours is much tougher than you might have imagined.”
“I was afraid you would say that.”
He pulled out a flogger then selected a cane. When he turned back to her, she was kneeling as he’d instructed. “Ever felt a cane?”
She paled.
“It can be vicious,” he said. “But it doesn’t have to be. You no doubt have subs who want varying degrees of intensity.”
“And?” Her voice wavered.
“A good Dom can deliver that with almost any implement.”
“I’m skeptical.”
“Timing and arousal and location all factor in. Certain body parts are more sensitive than others. And of course, the way I wield it matters more than anything.”
“Still not buying it.” Her gaze was riveted on the thin, reedy piece of rattan.
“Enough talk from me. I’ll let you decide for yourself.”
She stood. “I’m good with skipping this lesson.”
“Would you like to be tied?”
“No…” She paused.
He thought, for a moment, she might call him Sir. Then the moment passed and she resumed the position he’d requested. “Thank you. You please me, Milady.”
“Can we get this over with?”
“My pleasure.” And he intended to make sure it was hers, too. He brushed aside her hair and kissed the back of her neck.
She rolled her shoulders.
“I’m going to flog your back.”
“Fine.”
Damien sighed. At no point had he thought this would be easy. He hadn’t expected it to be so difficult, however. She, though, was worth any cost. He moved all of her hair across her left shoulder, and softly said, “I’m marking you as mine, Catrina.”
She gripped the bench until her knuckles whitened.
He trailed the broad, thin strands over her exposed skin. He flicked it back and forth. “What would you do to relax an uptight sub, Milady?”
“I’d keep talking to him,” she said. “And I’d start easy.”
“Would you now? Even though a man has a thicker hide, in your words.”
“Absolutely.”
While he’d been distracting her, he’d been slowly using the flogger on her, letting it fall with a gentle sway. “How would you know if your technique was working?”
“His breathing would change. He may perspire a bit…” She trailed off.
“Then what?”
“His muscles wouldn’t be quite as tight. So I’d be able to actually see that he wasn’t as nervous as he had been.”
“Right.”
“Eventually he’d stop running his mouth.”
Damien grinned. He noticed that she’d loosened her grip. Since her skin was starting to appear dewy, he made his hits more random, across her back, her buttocks, even her feet. He took a step back so he could get more leverage on his swing to give the blows more impact.