Surrender to Fire: Maison Chronicles, Book 3 (10 page)

He smacked her inner thigh. “Because it drives you crazy. Mental bondage is so much harder than physical.” He scored his nails down the back of her legs. “After all, you have the imminent threat of punishment hanging over you, just for moving.”

A trail of arousal slipped down her thigh. He swiped at it, then brought the finger to his mouth. “Delicious. And you obviously love the idea, or you wouldn’t be so wet.”

A tortured groan vibrated through her. With his thumbs, he spread her lips to expose that tight bundle of nerves that would test her control. Her hamstrings tightened and when he flicked his tongue across the exposed area, her shout sizzled down his spine.

Every time she moved, he nipped her inner thigh, which only drove her arousal higher. She fractured at the edges, her pleas and cries getting higher as he tongued her closer to orgasm. When she hovered right on the edge, begging him to let her come, he gave her pussy one long lick, then swiped his tongue up her crack. Her yelp sent dark pleasure through him, especially when her shock melted to pleasure under his mouth.

He tongued that tight ring of muscle, giving her a pleasurable distraction from orgasm, or so he thought.

“Sir, ah God, I’m coming!” she shouted. He thrust two fingers into her pussy and felt it ripple around him. Her asshole tightened against his tongue and she screamed out her pleasure. He rose and thrust inside her, letting the contractions strangle his cock.

She lifted her hips against him, begging for more. He could only oblige, fucking her deeper until her soft sighs turned into lung-deep groans. “Come for me again, sweetheart,” he bit out, keeping his own release barely leashed.

“Can’t,” she panted.

His fingers gripped her hips, holding her still against his deep thrusts. Camille tossed her head back and forth, clawed at the sheets. She needed to come again.

He slicked his thumb across her clit, gathering moisture there, before pressing against her asshole. When she sucked him right in, he groaned and bit down on his cheek for distraction. He finger-fucked her ass in time with his cock, sliding in and out of both her holes faster and deeper until she screamed his name and came around him.

Two more fierce pumps and he spilled inside her, wishing he could feel the hot walls of her pussy squeezing flesh on flesh.

By the time he cleaned up, he was sneering at himself for that kind of stupid desire. He’d overstayed his welcome, and gone too long without a woman, obviously. He returned from the bathroom to the heart-stopping sight of his woman curled on top of the mussed sheets, her thick lashes fanning across her cheeks and her breathing slow and deep in slumber.

Half-tempted to crawl in beside her, he instead tucked the blanket around her and flicked off the lights before he left.

Her sleepy words filtered to him in the doorway. “Thank you, Damien. More confused now, but that was worth it.”

Ah fuck. Holding her for a few hours wouldn’t kill him.

He retrieved his boxers from the main room, then checked his cell phone. He’d missed three calls from his brother.

Panic strangled his chest as he returned the call. With each ring, he conjured up more horrible scenarios, from Cordie in the hospital to Derek’s ex barging back into his life and shaking things up.

Finally, Derek answered. “Damien, thank God.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Cordie.” Damien’s heart seized. He loved that girl more than he imagined he could love anything. From the moment her little fingers wrapped around his thumb, he’d been sucked into her life. “She’s got a cold and won’t stop crying.” Exhaustion rang through his words. “It’s been hours, she’s screaming at the top of her lungs and my ears are ringing. Can you take her for an hour? I need to recharge. I called Mom first, but they’re still on the road from Colorado.”

“Of course,” he said, sighing with relief that Cordie was all right. Derek, maybe not so much, but his brother was resilient. They’d had a couple of nights like this and Derek always returned from his time away ready to take on anything Cordie threw at him.

“I’ll be right…” Damien had almost forgotten where he was. He couldn’t be there quickly. Maison Domine was a good hour from his apartment, maybe more to his brother’s house in Thousand Oaks. “Shit. I’ll be there in an hour. Can you wait that long?”

“Thank you, man, so much. Yes, an hour’s fine. I hope I’m not interrupting something.”

Damien walked to the bedroom doorway and looked at the amazing, exhausted, cozy woman lying there. “No, not at all. I just have to wrap this up, then I’ll be on my way.”

Derek hung up and Damien finished dressing. He headed for the door, but his stomach twisted. This felt sleazy—fucking her and leaving. Without thinking too hard about the half-formed idea that landed on him, he scribbled out a note on the pad by the cabin’s phone.

Camille, you were wonderful. Let me take you to dinner. I have a business proposition for you.

He left his number at the bottom.

It would have to do. As he mulled the seed of this idea over, he saw its brilliance. He needed another demo partner. He needed to see her again.

Now he just hoped she’d call.

Chapter Eight

Cam barely remembered the drive home, as muddled as she was by her previous evening. Sex so hot she still felt scalded, a man who fled in the middle of the night and left no more than a cryptic fucking note. Couldn’t be bothered to stay, but still wanted her at his beck and call.

Well she wouldn’t. They’d agreed on one night. If she called him, he’d have all the control. And while she’d submitted last night, in a very limited capacity, that was where it ended.

Sure, she’d wavered after finding his number, especially after catching whiffs of him in the cabin air long after he’d left. Even more so every time the ache deep within her twinged in reminder. He’d been so thick, spreading her and taking her without reservation. Dropping her into subspace and fucking her to exhaustion.

Then, right after she checked out—promising to send Kat a write-up of her impression of the cabin (“sturdy furniture” came to mind)—her phone pinged with a new email. Cam ignored it until her suitcase and laptop bag were loaded into the car, then she gave in. If it was horrible, at least no one would be around to see her lose her shit.

Another email from Shawn iced her insides.

SUBJECT: Dumb slut mistakes.
This time, he’d included a message.
You know your rules. Don’t fucking break them or you will be starching and pressing every shirt and set of sheets I own.

His anger was terrifying and she pitied his current submissive, all while marveling at his lack of attention to detail. He still couldn’t be bothered to make sure he was sending it to the right person. Not surprising, considering the only thing in their relationship he’d been able to keep track of was her punishments—and, even then, he usually overestimated. Prick. She looked down at her hands, finally recovered from their dishpan state. If she never washed another plate in her life, she’d be content.

But they were also a stark reminder of why seeing Damien again was a horrible idea. He’d been useful in showing her that a submissive edge to sex wasn’t a disaster and his little party tricks that made her body sing hadn’t exactly been a hardship to endure. But starting any kind of relationship with a Dominant? Not. Happening. Even if Damien was looking for more than a service slave. If she found out who Shawn’s current submissive was, maybe she’d call her, check in. Those emails didn’t bode well.

Never again would she compromise herself for some man, thinking if she just showed her love enough that he’d become what she needed.

When she got home, she’d take a hot shower to rid herself of the dark, clinging emotions from Shawn’s misguided email, then curl up with her favorite book and brace herself for work in the morning—because unless Ian told her otherwise, she’d be there, head high. Bitches in the office would gossip, she knew that, but for Indigo’s manuscript they’d done everything by the book.

It was pride that had kept her from being Shawn’s Cinderella doormat. That pride would get her through this disaster too.

An hour later she dragged her suitcase up the steps to her building and into the elevator. Walking down the short, spare hall to her 3B apartment, she stopped cold at the bouquet of vibrant roses sitting outside her door. The roses’ heads were scattered around the vase, violently sliced from their stems.

She neared, as if drawn by the bright-green card tucked into the blood-red blooms, abandoning her luggage on the way. Cam’s heart swelled into her throat, drowning her in fear. She snatched the envelope, then ripped it open.

You will pay for your lies.

Her knees buckled and the hallway swam. Only her hand braced against her door to her apartment kept her from crashing to the gray, threadbare carpet. Throughout her short career in the literary world, she’d seen crazy writers, critics and readers, but this was a scary new level of obsession. Especially if this was the same person behind the note at work. Cam didn’t know which would be worse—one focused stalker or two stalkers with Chihuahua-like attention spans.

With shaking fingers, she reached into her back pocket for her phone, then called Ian. He answered on the second ring and she told him what happened.

“Don’t touch the flowers. I’ll be right over and I’ll call the police on the way. It’s time they got involved, if only so it’s on the record.”

Twenty minutes later Ian showed up. Thank God for the relatively light Sunday traffic. A lone cop, broad as a linebacker and about as intimidating, to boot, had arrived only minutes before. After a perfunctory introduction—“Officer Davis, ma’am.”—he kept Cam busy answering his questions. She was weaving on her feet, exhausted by the whole fucking affair, when Ian stepped off the elevator. He looked at the flowers in disgust, then swept her up in a hug.

Ian introduced himself to the officer, then stood by while Cam finished answering his questions. Davis took the flowers’ note after Ian had thoroughly examined it, then gave her his card. “Please let me know if anything else occurs.”

She doubted the overworked LAPD would be devoting time to her pathetic case, but she appreciated the gesture.

After he left, Ian chucked the bouquet, vase and all, down the trash chute, then made Cam wait in the hallway while he checked out her apartment.

“You seem to know a lot about all this,” she said once inside.

“Four years in the military police before getting into the lit world,” he replied, obviously distracted by taking in every detail of her place. She cringed at the mess she’d left, but figured Ian had seen her desk at its worst. He’d probably expected a little clutter and disorganization here.

“You’ll stay with me tonight,” he said over his shoulder.

What was it with domineering men in her life? Cam screamed through gritted teeth, “I will not!”

Shock slackened his jaw when he spun on her. “Excuse me?”

Okay, maybe that was an overreaction.
She ducked her gaze, then said, “I’m sorry.” She bit off her sentence before she could add the
Sir
lingering on her tongue, then sighed. She wouldn’t sleep at all if she tried staying at her place and all she wanted was a little solitude to get over her weekend. “I’ll grab a hotel room—”

“Not necessary. Stay with me tonight.” He met her wary look with a long-suffering sigh. “Fine, do what you want. The offer stands if you get tired of shelling out for a hotel for however long this lasts.” He ran a hand through his short, spiky brown hair.

This was the most casual she’d ever seen Ian, his normal suit replaced by jeans and a Rolling Stones T-shirt. They had a close relationship, as far as work went, and he was really bending over backwards to help her out now. “Thank you for the offer, and I might have to take you up on it.” Though, she hoped this would all blow over before it came to that. “But tonight I just want to go somewhere and crash until work.”

He made her promise to use both locks on her door after he left, which she promptly did. The empty apartment echoed around her. The normal creaks and groans that had taken her months to get used to once again had her on edge. Eager to get out, she pulled up an app on her phone and booked a last-minute stay at a hotel within walking distance of the office.

Once that was out of the way, she moved into hyperdrive, throwing all her weekend clothes into the hamper before packing two days of clothes into the empty suitcase. Within twenty minutes, she was out the door and driving away from her compromised home.

Chapter Nine

By Wednesday morning, Damien was crawling up the walls of his office. Yes, he’d been drowning in work for the new Kingman project—they’d gotten the offer Sunday night, right after he got home from his weekly family dinner—but he still froze every time his cell phone rang, hoping it would be Camille.

No dice. Since he had another demonstration on Friday at a club in San Diego, he needed an assistant, stat. Jax and Lara had offered him the names and numbers of some local subs who’d be more than happy to help, but he wanted Camille. He kept telling himself she was the perfect submissive to work with because of, and only because of, her expressive reactions. The audience at Maison Domine had been more effusive and engaged than any before.