Surrender to Fire: Maison Chronicles, Book 3 (13 page)

His powerful car pulled onto the streets of LA. Cam couldn’t help watching him drive. With one hand on the steering wheel and the other shifting, he was every inch a man who controlled his surroundings. He navigated through the lingering Thursday night traffic and returned to her apartment without one direction from her. The only noise in the car, aside from her breathing, was the rustle of his suit when he was shifting gears.

The closer they got, the heavier her lungs became. She needed to know what he had planned. She even suspected he might give her a chance to bottom for him, but uncertainty still lingered. That tore at her.

They pulled up to her building and into the passcoded underground-parking structure. Damien guided the car into a visitor parking spot, shifted into Park and turned to face her. “I am demanding, strict and I do not tolerate lies. I expect all this not only from any woman who becomes my submissive, but anyone who bottoms for me.”

Cam swallowed. His self-description was intimidating, but it also hit home for her. She wanted rules, needed them, almost as much as she craved the freedom of submission that she’d barely tasted with Shawn, but gorged herself on last weekend.

He filled the silence. “I also promise to be fair. We will never work without a safe word. But if you agree to bottom for me, even just for these two events, I cannot promise it will be pain-free. These two demos are more intense than last weekend’s. I do not want to put you through that if you are not ready to openly communicate and work with me.”

Shit. Dread filled her. How could she agree, knowing what he had planned?

Chapter Ten

Damien waited anxiously for Camille’s reaction. He’d wanted to top her during his demonstrations and her unwitting submission this evening had only made him crave her more. Until her story… But even that sparked his Dominance, albeit in a more dangerous way.

Hearing what she’d suffered, knowing she’d willingly submitted to him Saturday, only increased his respect for her. Such a strong woman would be a beautiful submissive.

Not his, though. He’d accept her as a bottom, for his lessons, but some other Dom would have the privilege of discovering all the hidden depths she kept locked away when not submitting. He’d seen glimpses of them when she’d hit subspace, but suspected she’d need to go deeper, harder, before letting them free.

His stomach clenched at the idea of Evan or Jaxon or any other Dominant playing her. But he knew her true submission would come with an emotional price he couldn’t pay. By her own admission, Camille wasn’t looking for more either, which was another point in her favor.

He drew mental boundaries around this relationship with Camille—provided she even agreed to one—and fortified them with the staunch resolution he’d developed over the past months of being alone. He cemented the walls with the pain his brother had experienced after being abandoned and the frustration he’d felt when his ex betrayed his trust. No, he had settled for getting his rocks off during his demos, maybe the occasional one-night play session with a willing submissive. After Camille, he’d do the same.

She moved, lifting one shaking hand toward his face. He froze, bracing for her gentle rejection of his offer.

“You look so sad,” she said as she traced his lips with her finger.

Her concern shocked him. “For you.” Her finger brushed across his mouth as he spoke. Her skin tasted sweet. He nipped at the pad of her finger, loving the spark of surprise and arousal, the way her teeth bit into her supple lower lip. He grabbed her hand, curling their fingers together. He didn’t need the distraction of her touch. “No submissive should go through what you did.”

Her shrug jostled her breasts beneath her sleeved black dress. He wanted to free them, watch them bounce up and down while she rode him. Maybe bind them with silky rope while he dripped wax onto her sensitized nipples until he made her come. His unruly cock hardened and bit into the zipper of his slacks. He didn’t move, letting the pain wash up his spine and clear his head.

“I don’t want to be defined by one stupid decision. I’m in.” Her decisive nod seemed to be more for her benefit than his.

His cock throbbed, begging to consummate their new
professional
relationship in unprofessional ways. They had more to deal with first, however. “I will not go easy on you, Camille,” he said.

“I don’t care.” Her bravado was betrayed by the quiver in her lower lip. “I need this.”

That was new. “Oh? Tell me.” Camille tugged at her hand, but he held it tight. “No running, sweetheart.”

She rolled her eyes.

“One,” he said, looking forward to disciplining her later in the evening.

Her thighs pressed together and he knew she was as turned on as he was. When she didn’t start talking, he grabbed both wrists and hauled them onto the middle console, squeezing them. Not hard enough to hurt—just enough to remind her who was in charge. She gasped and her eyes started to glaze over. She was such a perfect little submissive. Her ex was an idiot of massive proportions. Camille was no more a service submissive than he was a bottom. “Why do you need this?”

Her moan ended in, “Because it’s been a shitty week! I’m so tense I’m going to break and you’re not helping!”

To reward her honesty, he tugged her forward and laid a deep kiss on her lips. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Her lips looked swollen, wet from his tongue. The vision of them wrapped around his cock, his hands tangled in her hair, almost broke his concentration. “What has you so tense? Work?”

Camille froze and shook her head no, retreating to her side of the car. Not happening. He grabbed her curls, knowing this was one of her good-submissive triggers.

She went lax and gazed at him expectantly. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she finally replied.

“Not good enough. I need to trust you to use your safe words and if you get in the habit of holding things back, we won’t establish those good behaviors.”

First her bottom lip trembled, then her whole body. He cursed, then pulled her onto his lap, once again grateful for the roomy seats. Though she was tall, she managed to fit perfectly in his arms.

“I’ve got you.” He stroked a hand up and down her spine. Tears spilled over her cheeks, each one a drop of Chinese water torture for him.

“Work has been shit. It’s got me all knotted up and it all started the day Shawn left, so it was kind of a double whammy. I expected last weekend’s getaway to be more soothing—and it was, don’t get me wrong—but it didn’t carry over to this week.”

It didn’t explain her tears. Something more was going on, but he decided to bide his time. That was enough of the story for now. It wasn’t like he was spilling his guts to her either.

He kissed her forehead and her cheeks, the salt of her tears bitter on his tongue. “And submission helps?”

She nodded against his chin. “With you it did. I forgot while we played. And hitting subspace? That was one giant reset button for me. For a while, anyway.”

An idea formed, something mutually satisfying. “Would you like to play tonight? We can test your limits in private and you’ll get a little relief.”
Me too.
He needed his own reset button tonight—she was wrapping him up, making him care more than was safe. Playing her, “practicing” for a lecture, would be good. It would reinforce their boundaries.

He hoped.

“Okay, Sir. I just have one question.” She looked up at him, her big blue eyes bright with unshed tears. “Why me?”

The most simple yet complicated question to answer. Since he’d yet to figure out the more complicated parts of it, he stuck with what he knew. “Two reasons. One, you put on a good show. Temperature play is something you click with and the audience felt that.”

Her soft curls tucked against his neck as she repositioned on his lap, coming into direct contact with his insistent erection. He gritted his teeth, but didn’t move her. The pain was good for his control, especially once he remembered she wasn’t wearing panties under that dress. Fuck. He rushed to finish, needing to get her out of the car and into true privacy, where he could do all kinds of creative, wicked things to her. “Second, sweetheart, we have chemistry. I know neither of us wants a relationship…but I think our needs are complementary. We’re both getting exactly what we need. That’s a rare find.”

She smiled sweetly at him. “Agreed, Sir.” Then her smile faded. “So what happens after Saturday?”

Hell, he could barely think past that evening. “What do you want?”

Camille’s sweet lips met his, her tongue darting out across the seam of his mouth and begging entrance. He let her rule the kiss for a moment, then took control, grabbing her cheek with one hand and pressing into her jaw until she opened more for him. His tongue explored every inch of her mouth, dancing along her teeth and sweeping over her lips before pulling away.

Her deep breaths pushed her soft breasts against his chest. “As long as I get more of that? I don’t really care.”

“Good answer. Shall we?”

She scrambled back to her seat and out the door, snagging her little purse in the process. He followed at a more sedate pace, grabbing the food and his toy bag before locking his car, while she waited for the elevator. “A little eager, sweetheart?”

“I feel like I’m going to explode. I just don’t know what’s going to get me first—you or all the shit from my week.”

They got on the elevator and he caught a hint of her sweet arousal. “Explode, you say? I think that can be arranged.” He slipped into his most predatory smile and watched her freeze like a snared animal. He stalked the two steps across the small elevator as the doors opened on her floor. “I can have you exploding all night if you’d like, sweetheart. You just have to ask nicely.”

Her needy whimper drove into his gut. He led the way down the hall, mentally planning out the evening.

A few doors away from her apartment he froze, his arm swinging out to stop her.

The molding around her doorknob was shredded. He dropped his bags to the carpet. “Don’t move, Camille, or I will tan your ass.”

“What—”

“Hush.” Trusting her to stay, he crept down the hall, listening for any sound coming from the apartment.

Nothing. He pulled his handkerchief from his breast pocket and used that to push at the door. It swung open without resistance, exposing a ruined apartment. Shredded couch cushions vomited stuffing, kitchen drawers slumped open and what was left of her TV screen glittered all over the carpet.

That was enough. He marched back down the hall, holding one finger up to Camille before she could speak. “Your apartment’s been broken into.”

Whipping out his phone, he dialed 9-1-1 and explained the situation when the dispatcher picked up. “They’re sending a car around. After they clear the place and talk to us, you’re packing a bag and coming home with me.”

Camille held herself so rigidly he was afraid she’d shatter. He reached out a tentative hand, wishing she’d say something. Do something. Instead, she stared off into the distance, tears brimming in her eyes.

When he couldn’t take it anymore, he hauled her against him, pressing her face against his dark wool coat. “Cry, sweetheart. Let it out.”

Her first sob ripped at his heart. The dam opened and she bawled into his chest, smacking her fist against his shoulder. He rubbed her back, wishing there were more he could do. Tonight, he’d play her until she let it
all
out—not just whatever emotions she’d allowed to bubble over—then she’d sleep peacefully. He hoped.

The tears ended as abruptly as they’d begun. She swiped under her eyes, straightened her dress, but wouldn’t look him in the eye. He was about to press, but the elevator
ding
ed and a police officer walked out. The stocky black man had kind eyes and an easy smile that turned into a frown when he spotted Camille. “Ms. Verona, I was hoping I’d never get called out here again.”

Camille said nothing, just let her hair fall into her face as she stared at her shoes. The cop looked up and down the hall, taking in both of them, their leftover food on the floor and Camille’s tight black dress, lingering a little too long on the sweet curves of her body.

Possessiveness swept through him. People would watch her at the club in even less clothing, but he didn’t like the way this guy noted the distance between him and Camille, as if that was an indication that she was single. Damien thrust out a hand to shake with the officer. His other hand curled around Camille’s waist.

“Damien Winter, Camille’s boyfriend.” She jerked against him. The word had rolled off his tongue without a thought—good to know it surprised her as much as him. But damned if he’d leave the other man with any opening.

“Officer Roger Davis.” A firm handshake and crisp nod, and the cop was all business again.

Damien also returned to the situation at hand—and Davis’s first words. “When did you get called out here before?” His chest ached as he struggled not to jump to conclusions.

“Sunday. Ms. Verona received a threatening package.” Davis’s sharp glare implied that this was something her
boyfriend
should know.

His arm tightened around Camille. She hadn’t mentioned anything, which he would deal with later. “Any leads?”

Davis shrugged. “The flowers didn’t have any indicator of where they were purchased. Nothing distinguishing about the vase, paper, pen or handwriting on the note.” He shrugged. “Not much we could do, given the extent of that threat or, rather, the lack of extent.” Davis turned to Camille and stepped closer to her, then placed his hand on her shoulder. Damien tensed, but didn’t interrupt. “Ms. Verona, do you still think this is a disgruntled reader?”