Master of the Mountain by Cherise Sinclair




  Master of the Mountain

  Cherise Sinclair

  Master of the Mountain

  Copyright © August 2009 by Cherise Sinclair

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  ISBN 978-1-59632-992-8

  Available in PDF, HTML, Microsoft Reader, and Mobi

  Editor: G. G. Royale

  Cover Artist: Anne Cain

  Printed in the United States of America

  Published by

  Loose Id LLC

  870 Market St, Suite 1201

  San Francisco CA 94102-2907

  www.loose-id.com

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id LLC’s e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  * * * * *

  DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in our BDSM/fetish titles without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither Loose Id LLC nor its authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.

  About this Title

  Genre: BDSM Full-figured Heroine Erotic Contemporary

  When Rebecca's boyfriend talks her into vacationing at a mountain lodge with his swing club, she quickly learns she's not cut out for playing musical beds. Now she has nowhere to sleep. Logan, the lodge owner, finds her freezing on the porch. After hauling her inside, he warms her in his own bed, and there the experienced Dom discovers that Rebecca might not be a swinger…but she is definitely a submissive.

  Rebecca knows that no one can love her plump, scarred body. To her shock, lodge owner Logan not only disagrees, but ties her up and shows her just how much he enjoys her curves. Under his skilled hands, Rebecca not only loses her inhibitions, but also her heart.

  Damaged from the war, Logan considers himself too dangerous to be around the enticing little sub. He sends her away for her own safety, not realizing she believes she has once again been rejected because of her size. As Logan's mountains echo with her voice long after she's gone, he realizes she's taken his heart with her. But when he arrives in the city to reclaim her, Rebecca's phone has been disconnected and her apartment is empty…

  Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal play/intercourse, BDSM theme and content, exhibitionism.

  Author's Note

  To my readers,

  This book is fiction, not reality and, as in most romantic fiction, the romance is compressed into a very, very short time period.

  You, my darlings, live in the real world and I want you to take a little more time than the heroines you read about. Good Doms don't grow on trees and there's some strange people out there. So while you're looking for that special Dom, please, be careful.

  When you find him, realize he can't read your mind. Yes, frightening as it might be, you're going to have to open up and talk to him. And you listen to him, in return. Share your hopes and fears, what you want from him, what scares you spitless. Okay, he may try to push your boundaries a little—he's a Dom, after all—but you have your safeword. You will have a safeword, am I clear? Use protection. Have a back-up person. Communicate.

  Remember: safe, sane and consensual.

  Know that I'm hoping you find that special, loving person who will understand your needs and hold you close. Let me know how you're doing. I worry, you know.

  Meantime, come and hang out with the Masters.

  Cherise

  [email protected]

  Chapter One

  “You about there, babe?” Matt sounded as if he was gritting his teeth as he pumped into her. “You want me to rub you some more?”

  Frustration congealed inside Rebecca like cold oatmeal. She was nowhere close to getting off, and every time he asked what to do, her orgasm receded further. No point in continuing. “Oooh,” she sighed, jerking her hips up and down and clenching her vagina.

  “Oh yeah.” He groaned in relief, and again as he came a second later.

  Well, hadn't that been exciting? Not. As Matt rolled over onto the mattress with a satisfied groan, Rebecca considered pushing him right out of the bed. But it wasn't his fault. He tried. He always tried, asking her if this technique worked or that one. How could she tell him that she wanted him to just know what to do?

  She sure couldn't tell him she faked a good half her orgasms. And she resented that he couldn't tell, which was even more unfair. She didn't get off in an unmistakable fashion, after all. For her, an orgasm felt more like a sneeze, certainly not the earthquake her friends described, and nowhere close to the shrieks of pleasure from the apartment next door. What would that feel like? To be so overwhelmed as to actually scream?

  Matt spoke up as if he'd followed her train of thought. “You know, Rebecca, you never seem all that enthusiastic about screwing. And my technique's fantastic.”

  So informed by all his previous girlfriends, undoubtedly. Good to know. Thanks, Matt. Now she felt really inadequate. Heck, they'd just cosigned a lease and moved in together a couple of weeks ago, and he was already bored with her. She swallowed past a tight throat. “Maybe we're not a good match.” She rolled over and stared out her bedroom window, where the next-door apartment building glowed pink in the sunset.

  “Oh, don't get like that.” Matt patted her shoulder. “We're great together. Where would I find a woman who could be so polite during business dinners? And what other guy would let you drag him to an art show on Mission?”

  “Well, that's true.” She'd thought they were a perfect couple right from the beginning. Emulating her excruciatingly practical mother, Rebecca had created a list of the characteristics of her ideal man, and when she'd met Matt, she'd been stunned how well he matched her requirements. He was easygoing and charming. Well groomed with a sense of style. They enjoyed the same movies, books, and friends. They both had professional jobs, made about the same amount of money, and he was more metro than macho. He could actually converse about movie themes, and he liked Chinese food.

  Maybe she should have included sex somewhere on the list, but she'd never considered it very important. Aside from sex, she and Matt were very compatible. She rolled back over with a sigh. “I guess you're right.”

  Lying on his back, Matt had a well-tended look with boutique shop-trimmed blond hair, muscles from dedicated gym usage, and a lingering tan from a business trip to San Diego. Tomorrow he'd get up, eat something low-fat and disgustingly healthy, and head off to his job at the brokerage house, content with life.

  Her contentment matched his. Really. After all, the managing director of her ad agency was considering her for the position of senior art director, putting her on the fast track to the top. A gust of wind whipped the curtains inward, bringing the sea tang of San Francisco Bay and the scent of a spring rain. She
lived in the best city in the world.

  “I have an idea, but you probably won't like it.” Matt turned to face her and propped himself up with an elbow. “I belong to this group, and we're taking a very long Memorial Day weekend in the mountains.”

  “I remember you said you'd be out of town.” She bit her lip. Maybe they weren't as close as she'd thought. He'd never mentioned belonging to anything other than his fitness club and some business associations. “What group is this?”

  “It's a swingers' club.”

  “Very funny.” Only he wore no smile. He wasn't joking. “Seriously? Swingers, like in exchanging-partners swingers?”

  He shrugged, half-embarrassed and half-smug. “That's it. We get together for a weekend every couple of months… Uh, seems like last time we met, you were in Chicago for a seminar. Anyway, there's about twenty in the club and—”

  “You've been screwing around with twenty other people and are just now letting me know? God, Matthew, how many diseases have you given me?”

  He held up his hand. “Don't lose it, babe. Everyone uses condoms and gets tested routinely. It's not like that.”

  The fist squeezing her insides relaxed slightly. “Well, that's good.”

  “And it's not like you and I have an exclusive relationship. Right?”

  “True.” Just because she didn't go out and screw the neighborhood didn't mean he couldn't. They'd both agreed to keep it loose. But good grief. Sure, her…libido…didn't match his, but who would have thought he'd take care of that little discrepancy in such a fashion?

  And here she'd thought he was commitment-phobic because his last relationship had gone bad. She'd been forcing herself not to push him. Duh, Rebecca. “So you're going off to have an orgy?”

  In the dim light from the living room down the hall, she saw him roll his eyes. “It's not an orgy. We swap, and sometimes two couples get together in a foursome, but not more than that. Usually.” He grinned.

  “Oh, well then, that's all right,” she said drily.

  “More can be really fun. Come with me this time, babe.” He took her hand. “We take over this great place up in the mountains. There're rustic cabins scattered throughout the pines, and we're the only people there. We go up Friday, spend the weekend, Memorial Day, and Tuesday, then drive back on Wednesday. Nice people, amazing sex. You could even bring your paints.”

  “Rustic cabins?” She stared at him in disbelief. Vacations, not that she'd taken one since she left college, should be spent somewhere warm and sunny with room service. But she'd gotten off the subject. He was talking about sex. “Jumping in and out of bed with other people? Matt, I'm not into that.”

  The smile died from his face. “Rebecca, we need to add some spice to this relationship. It's…”

  Inadequate. Lacking. The echo of the door slamming behind her father twenty-some years ago seemed to reverberate in her ears. “You're fat and boring, and so's the kid. I'm leaving.” Her ribs seemed to squeeze inward, compressing her lungs until she couldn't get a breath. She shook her head at him.

  “Well,” Matt added, “it's just not working out for me.”

  What he meant was she wasn't working out for him. How could she not have realized, have seen this coming? What about my list and my plans? “What about our lease?” she asked through numb lips.

  “Oh, let's not get carried away here,” he said lightly. “Just come with me this weekend. It'll be good for you. Maybe help you lose some of those inhibitions.”

  She bit back her first response—no way—because, as bluntly as he'd put it, he had a point. Their sex life lacked something… No, be honest, she lacked something. But messing around with a group? Going to bed with strangers? She just couldn't do something like that. “Matt…”

  “Only for a weekend, babe. Give it a try.”

  A try. She tried to imagine it… Probably some strange man would come into her room. And maybe she'd hesitate, so he'd grab her, pin her to the mattress, force her to cooperate. Her clit started throbbing like she was sitting on her vibrator. “Well, maybe…”

  He rubbed her shoulder. “I've really been wanting you to join us.”

  And if she didn't go, their relationship would end. That was all too clear. No more boring. “Amazing sex, huh? Why not?”

  * * * * *

  As the car bumped down the never-ending, rutted dirt road, Rebecca felt as if every bone in her body had turned to splinters. The car lights created a thin tunnel between the encroaching trees, then suddenly speared out across a wide clearing.

  Serenity Lodge. Finally.

  “At last.” Matt echoed her thoughts as he pulled the car into a small parking area well concealed behind bushes and trees.

  She sighed in relief that the drive was over. Then apprehension prickled across her nerves. “What happens now?”

  Matt patted her leg. “Nothing's going on tonight. We'll just sign in, unpack, and make an early night of it.”

  “Good plan. I'm exhausted.” The only swinging she wanted to do tonight was into a bed. Before leaving, she'd finished off the work on her desk, met with one account team, then with a copywriter. She couldn't afford to get behind, not with the manager watching her work.

  She slid out of the BMW convertible and took a breath of air so cold and crisp, it burned her lungs. Looking up past the towering pines at the fat white dots in the black night, she blinked in surprise. Wow. Stars grew bigger outside of the city, didn't they? Had the sky looked like this before she and Mom moved to San Francisco after her parents divorced? “Can you believe these stars?”

  “What, babe?” Matt called, head buried in the trunk.

  “Nothing.”

  After pulling out the two suitcases, he slammed the trunk and handed over her bag.

  They crossed the clearing to a massive two-story log building. Rebecca lugged her case across the wide, encircling porch and followed Matt into a huge room. Numerous leather couches, big armchairs in dark red upholstery, and brightly colored rag rugs created cozy sitting areas. On the left wall, a fire crackled in a stone fireplace bracketed by well-stuffed bookcases. Four men played cards at the far end.

  A woman by the fire called a welcome to Matt, and suddenly people seemed to come out of the woodwork.

  Matt beamed, shaking hands with the men and exchanging hugs with the women. “Rebecca, this is Paul and Amy.”

  Rebecca nodded and smiled, trying to put names to faces. Paul and Amy: a tall, balding man and a slender brunette with a dark tan. Ginger and Mel: a redhead and a beefy man. Serena and Greg: blonde woman, nerdy man with glasses.

  Then she started losing track, but not enough to miss the fact that the men came in different sizes, but all the women were toned and slender. She sure didn't fit in if that was a criterion for acceptance. A sinking feeling pulled at her stomach; being the last person picked in gym class had sucked. Would these sexual calisthenics be the same?

  “Nice to meet you all,” she said, noting the bulky sweaters, T-shirts, and jeans. Very casual. Why hadn't Matt mentioned the dress code? She still wore her suit. Then again, she hadn't had much choice. Aside from two pairs of Ralph Lauren jeans, her entire wardrobe contained only business clothes, sweats, and more sweats covered with paint.

  “Let's get signed in. Then we can haul our stuff over to the cabin,” Matt said, pulling her toward a desk to the right of the front door.

  A low growl halted her in her tracks. A dog. Her suitcase dropped to the floor as she recoiled. Heart thudding inside her chest, she fought to stand still and not run out the door. Any dog allowed inside couldn't be vicious. It couldn't.

  “C'mon, Rebecca. Sign in.” Matt gave her an impatient look.

  “Right.” She forced her feet forward, one hard-won step after another. Where was the dog? As the man behind the desk shook hands with Matt, Rebecca checked the floor. There. Standing beside the man, it looked huge, with dark brown fur and a darker muzzle. It stared at her, and she heard another rumble.

  “Thor,” the ma
n said, his low voice almost a match for the dog's. “Down.”

  The dog flattened to the floor. It never stopped looking at her, though.

  “Rebecca, this is Logan Hunt. He owns the place,” Matt said.

  “Hey, Matt!” one of the women yelled from the front door. “Come help us decide on tomorrow's plans.”

  “Be right there,” he called back, then patted Rebecca's arm. “You go ahead and sign in. I'll be on the porch with Paul and Amy.”

  She nodded, unable to tear her gaze from the dog.

  “Rebecca, eyes on me, not the dog.” The deep, rough voice broke her free, and she turned to the owner. He looked as mean as his dog, with steel blue eyes in a deeply tanned face—a ruthless face decorated with a day-old beard and a white scar below his left cheekbone. After handing her a pen, he tapped the paper in front of him. “Name and address. Signature on the release.”

  “Release?”

  His firm lips curved. “So you can't sue us if you fall down the mountain and break your neck.”

  Right. After filling out the paperwork, she picked up her suitcase, holding it in front of her just in case the dog moved. When the owner rose, she retreated a step. He stood at least an inch over six feet, with muscles straining his dark red flannel shirt. The rolled-up sleeves displayed thick forearms with heavy-boned, corded wrists. More scars graced his hands. Whatever he'd done in the past must have been brutal.

  “I'll show you to your cabin.” He walked over to her, and when the dog followed him, she couldn't seem to move. That animal would rend her to shreds, spilling her blood, tearing her…

  “Open your hand, sugar.” A flash of amusement showed in his eyes as he tugged the suitcase from her hand.

  “Sorry,” she whispered. Matt was already out the door; he'd left her, left her here with that dog.

  It stared at her, growling.

  “Thor, be nice,” the man snapped.

 
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