My Liege of Dark Haven by Cherise Sinclair
“No.” The absent way he said it, as if she didn’t have a choice, set off an odd shimmer in her bones. He regarded her soberly. “You’re scared without them? More than being bound to a table?”
“I’m trying not to think about bondage,” she said grumpily.
He grinned, swift and wonderful.
“And yes, I’m scared. What if something happened, like a fire?” She wouldn’t be able to find her way out. “Or a terrorist attack. Or zombies.”
He chuckled. “I do like submissives with imagination.”
That wasn’t imagination—just being prepared.
“First, I would never, ever leave someone who is restrained.” He laid his hand on her face as if to promise. “However, we can compromise. You may keep them close.” He tucked her glasses beside her thigh, where her fingers could trace the metal. “Not in your hand, though—you might crush them without realizing it.”
How would that happen? As her anxiety increased to the level of a thesis defense, his lips quirked.
From his bag he pulled an eight-inch box, a water bottle, tiny hand wipes, a… Was that yogurt? Finally he took out a vibrator, still in its packaging. “This is your first toy from me.”
I didn’t ask for a toy.
He ran his hand between her legs, tracing her folds, sending her body into joyful anticipation. Her clit throbbed with demand. His finger circled as if measuring for size, then thrust inside, almost like a medical exam…only no doctor had ever made her feel like this.
Knowing she couldn’t avoid his intimate touch—or anything he chose to do—sent waves of heat through her. And worse, she couldn’t direct where she wanted his hands. She tried to tilt her hips up, to get him to pay attention to her clit, but the strap over her lower belly prevented any movement. Her skin felt as if it were on fire.
He added another finger, stretching her. The fluttering in her belly grew as he explored her and watched her, as if getting her accustomed to his touch. When he stroked a spot inside her that made her feel as if her clit had turned upside down, she made a gurgling noise.
“Oh?” He lingered, rubbing that place over and over, relentlessly increasing her needy hunger until even her toes strained upward.
“Good girl,” he said and slid the toy into her vagina. The shaft was cool and soft and slick and so much bigger than two fingers. She shuddered as it stretched her.
He flipped a switch, and the mild vibrations didn’t hit anything important—like her clit—yet her body felt as if he’d ratcheted up the pressure.
When he pulled on a pair of gloves, she stiffened. “What… I marked no to blood play.”
“Abigail.”
He knows that. She swallowed hard before craning her neck to check the items he’d put on the table. No knives. No needles. Okay. Maybe.
The vibrations were making her clit burn with need. Her body felt…strange. Unfamiliar. When her gaze tracked over toward the other scene, she caught herself. She really did try to escape, didn’t she?
And now she wasn’t paying attention to the Dom. She forced her gaze back to him.
“Don’t worry, pet.” His dark eyes were too perceptive. “You’re not going to have a choice about thinking in a minute. I won’t permit it.” He inserted a cotton swab into one vial and painted her left nipple with the liquid. It smelled like what he’d smeared on her arm yesterday. Like Christmas candles. Or cinnamon. He wanted her breasts to smell like pie? Was there such a thing as a smell fetish?
He shook his head. “That mind of yours is a busy one.” He did the other areola.
As the cool air touched her wet nipples, they bunched into hard peaks.
Without saying anything, he tossed the cotton swab into the basket, followed by the gloves. He moved slowly, deliberately, as if in a ritualized dance, as he tightened her ankle restraints and ran his hands over her trim calves. When he continued upward past her pretty knees, she wanted to hide. “You have beautiful legs, Abby.”
And fat, white thighs. You bet.
“Pale skin has a fascinating texture.” His smile glimmered for a second. “Like Egyptian cotton sheets with a thread count of six hundred or so.”
Delight at the compliment ran through her, increased by the way he stroked her thighs, showing he was enjoying himself. She held her breath when his calloused fingers curled around her hips, and his thumbs caressed the crease outside her labia. So close.
He leaned over and kissed her stomach, and she really, really wanted those lips farther down. Why had she set limits like no sex? I want sex.
His kisses descended until his breath ruffled the fine curly hair covering her mound.
“I…I don’t shave there,” she offered. “I—”
“Sometimes I insist on it. Sometimes I don’t,” he said. He fluffed her curls, sending a jolt of heat through her. “At the moment I don’t want you to shave. I like the white-tipped look against all that pink.”
His finger circled her belly button idly, as if he was killing time, waiting for…
Oooh, my breasts! Each nipple felt as if a wet mouth had closed over it, and the warmth increased steadily into heat. Her breath caught. He’d swabbed that ointment on her. No wonder he’d worn gloves. “You…”
“Me.” His voice took on a hint of steel. “You don’t speak again, unless to use your safe word or yellow to indicate you’re frightened.”
“I was at yellow the minute I walked in the door.”
His laugh was as deeply masculine as his voice. “Then tell me when you reach orange.”
After donning new gloves, he chose a different vial and swabbed the outside of her inner labia. A minute later, the tissues turned cool, like an icy breath mint with a decided bite. Her nipples continued to grow hotter.
Uncanny sensations coursed through her: cold here, heat there, vibrations inside. She needed more. Something. When he picked up another vial, she tensed. I don’t want that. I want sex.
He held up the dampened cotton swab where she could see it, and the longer he waited, the more she felt everything he’d already done. A terrifying anticipation bubbled in her veins.
With a faint smile, he slowly and thoroughly rubbed the swab on her clitoris.
Oh, oh, oh. The roughness of the cotton was an exquisite torment. She inhaled hard, breathed out. In. Out. Nothing happened. She took an easier breath. That one wasn’t so bad.
Setting the swab and gloves aside, he stroked the outsides of her breasts, then trailed a finger down the center of her torso to above her pubic mound. Playing with her, fondling her, letting the vibrator, the ointments keep her arousal at an uncomfortable pitch. But why—
The stuff on her clit turned hot. Unlike the heat on her nipples, this was a thousand fiery needles attacking the nub of nerves. No. Sweat broke out on her upper lip, then over the rest of her body. It was too much. Vibrating inside. Her nipples burned, her folds felt icy, yet the most sensitive spot was on fire.
He bent and blew a stream of air right at her pussy. Her back arched as everything increased. Cold. Hot. She moaned.
“There’s a good girl.” With a low laugh, he upped the vibrator one notch.
Her insides clenched around the shaft as sensations rioted over her. Hot and cold and biting hot, and her core trembled around the buzzing vibrator.
In the stew of overload, she heard someone laugh nearby, and the smack of a paddle, and a scream. She inhaled the fragrance of cinnamon. Peppermint. The air seemed to billow around her, and she couldn’t focus. Too hot, and yet not, and as each second passed, the need to come clawed at her until her body shook with it. “I… Please…”
No, wasn’t supposed to talk. She bit the words back, feeling as if the ground were quaking.
A sound made her look up. Xavier had pulled on new gloves and squirted on lubricant. Standing beside her hip, he watched her as he ran slick fingers around her burning nipples. Slow, hot circles. Down below, her folds were cold, but her clit felt as if tiny teeth gently gnawed at it, and now… The lub
When he rolled her nipples between his hard fingers, edgy pain joined the sensual collage, and her body shuddered. Her whole core had become one giant nerve.
“Pretty little Abby. I like seeing your eyes go unfocused.” His voice was a low murmur, a soothing background to the upheaval inside her.
She wanted to say something, only couldn’t escape the hold her body had. Too many things were divorcing her brain from any ability to process. Her insides coiled as the pressure grew higher and higher, but never, ever enough.
Her legs tried to draw together to rub her burning, aching clit. Nothing would move. Her hands fisted as another wave of heat rolled over her. She stared up at him helplessly.
He leaned forward, his gaze trapping her, so dark and direct and pleased that a whimper escaped her.
“That’s a good sound. You’re ready, aren’t you?” He moved his left hand between her legs, and his lubed fingers rubbed her clit with featherlight strokes. Even the lightest friction… She moaned as her core contracted around the vibe tightly that vibrations shook her body. The pressure grew with each slow stroke of his slick fingers, coiling tighter and tighter. Her back arched, holding, holding…
Then his finger firmly pressed on her clit even as he wiggled the vibrator in a circle. Outside sensations and inside ones merged in a glorious rush, knotting and blowing apart. A tidal wave of pleasure broke over her. Her insides convulsed, tightening around the vibrator, and the feeling of being penetrated sent her higher.
Xavier’s fingers slid over her clit, and another breaker hit, shoving her further into the ocean of sensation. Drowning her in it. She gasped for breath and quaked as lingering waves rolled over her.
Her body eased down in shuddery jerks until she could feel her heart and hear herself breathing.
“Very nice,” Xavier said, his low, smoky voice filled with approval. “Go again.” He leaned down and blew.
The gust of air slid first over her pussy, chilling the ointment, and then over her clit, where heat erupted like a volcano. Her body arched up in a terrifying convulsion of pleasure before dropping her back limp to the table.
THE LITTLE FLUFF certainly wasn’t thinking of anything else at the moment.
Pleased, Xavier watched her pant for breath. Sweat-dampened hair clung to her temples, and her face had turned a gorgeous pink. She stared up at him with unfocused gray eyes. He changed gloves again and tugged on the vibrator. She gave a delightful gasp, and her cunt clenched, trying to keep it in.
A shame he couldn’t replace the toy with his cock.
He kept an eye on her expressions as he removed the peppermint, cinnamon, and hot pepper ointments with the various cleaning agents he thought best. Nothing worked perfectly, and she’d still have a residue of heat. Then again, he rather enjoyed knowing a scene would linger, not only in a submissive’s mind but also on her body.
He released the restraints and put her glasses back on. Not that she was seeing much. He gently sat her on the floor at his feet and tucked a blanket around her. She sagged against the table leg as he cleaned the scene area and handed off his bag to a staff member.
After taking a bottled water from the nearest service stand, he lifted her into his arms.
She squeaked and froze.
He grinned. Submissives had the sweetest startle reflexes. “Shhh.” He rubbed his chin on her silky hair. “I’ve got you, Abby. Take a breath.”
Not moving, he waited, willing to stand all night until she relaxed. Until she physically showed him the trust he wanted. The submission he demanded.
Her little body stayed stiff, and he knew her instincts would be screaming that he might let her fall. After an orgasm, she was very vulnerable, very open to emotions. Holding her like this, keeping her both dependent on him and safe, would start building the trust she needed to have in him.
A minute. Two. Her exhausted body melted.
“There we go.” He kissed her hair, pulling her closer. She was so soft. Not light, but she had a nice heft that let him know he held a woman. Someone who wouldn’t break under his weight and his size.
No, don’t go down that path. She was his receptionist, not his submissive. But even as he’d pulled her into the play, she’d involved him just as deeply.
Of course he could tell himself the scene tonight was just a lesson given to a staff member.
He tried not to lie to himself. He’d enjoyed this scene far more than mere instruction would warrant. He wanted to play with her again, to see how much further he could take her. To hear and feel her response when he entered her. When he took her gently. Or roughly.
He settled into one of the oversize leather chairs in the center of the room. The unwritten, occasionally idiotic Dom rules said he should set her on the floor between his feet to reinforce her submission. With a shrug he pleased himself and adjusted her on his lap as comfortably as possible, considering her soft ass rested on his rigid cock.
Her damp skin held the light scents of an almond lotion and lingering cinnamon. Combined with the fragrance of her arousal, it made her smell like a sexual pastry.
No fucking the dessert, Leduc.
Instead he took her lips again, hard and rough, and felt her body sink further into submission.
She was quite a puzzle—wanting to submit yet fighting it.
An experienced Dom often played with submissives whose styles clashed with his. Xavier preferred being on the same wavelength, riding the high of anticipating a submissive’s responses, knowing exactly what to give her to elicit the reactions he wanted.
But this little fluff was a contradiction. Working with her was like searching for a favorite radio station in the mountains. The music between them was perfect…when he managed to get her tuned in.
He hadn’t had this much fun in a very long time. Wasn’t it a shame he couldn’t take her home and keep her?
Chapter Six
On Tuesday Abby nuzzled a furry body, grinning at the scent of puppy breath. “You are so cute,” she told the tiny fuzz ball. Sure, she’d said the same to the others, but she meant it each time. “You’re going to make someone a wonderful pet, and they’ll love you more than you can understand.”
Tippy stared into her eyes, licked her chin, and accepted every word she said.
“So why do you guys get someone to adore you, and I don’t?” If reincarnation existed, next life she’d demand to be a pampered pet. Snuggled and fed. And carried.
Who knew that being carried could be both scary and seductive? She shivered. Xavier had scooped her up like a puppy.
He’d held her in his lap as if he had nothing better to do. And when he’d kissed her, he’d made that approving sound low in his throat, the tone that turned her bones to melted butter.
Okay, getting a little warm here.
She returned the puppy to the wading pool. Tippy squirmed his way between blankets and siblings, earning small complaints, then, legs trailing, dropped into sleep. Wakened from his slumbers, Blackie rose and stumbled through the pile of bodies, trying to find a new place to settle.
That’s me, Abby thought, not able to fit in and blundering around. Bad enough in an academic setting where she mostly belonged, but in Dark Haven? Whew. She kept expecting someone to yell imposter and toss her out the door.
“Sleep tight, my dears.” Abby made herself a pot of tea, got her notebook, and stepped outside to her tiny half of a backyard. Her stepfather had given her the down payment for the duplex as a graduation gift—thank you, Harold—and the money from her renters paid the mortgage.
She set the tray on the small wrought iron table and took a chair. As the breeze whipped her baggy silk pants, she smoothed down her embroidered tunic top. She’d bought the salwar kameez in India and discovered that the soft materials made perfect lounging wear.
After pouring a cup of tea, she leaned back to enjoy the beauty of her yard. When in England, she’d fallen for the cottage gardens and duplicated them
Honeysuckle climbed the dark wooden fence that separated her yard from the other half. Morning glories were trellised along the back of the house. Behind the fragrant heritage roses, her hollyhocks had reached waist high. Patches of lavender, rosemary, and sage added the clean scent of herbs to the air. In the beds, zinnias, marigolds, and impatiens made bright splotches of color, and white-flowering geraniums in containers lightened her tiny patio.
At the sight of a few weeds, she stood, then sat again. No, she needed to work on her paper. Nibbling on the eraser, she considered and then wrote out her thoughts about her last weekend. When a physical description of a Domme slipped in, she erased it. She absolutely wouldn’t risk revealing anyone’s identity.
She was already in an ethical gray area. When does observation become invasive? Was it wrong to research dynamics at a football game without getting consent from the thousands of fans? How about a classroom? And what if the subjects were breaking the law or in an urban gang or alternative lifestyle? What if knowing they were being watched would change their interactions?
Not having their consent made her uneasy, but they seemed quite happy playing in front of other people, so would they really care?
She shook her head and concentrated. Would the tiny Dark Haven community be considered a family or a tribe or maybe a feudal society? The club members treated Xavier more like royalty than a father figure. Even the other Dominants deferred to him. He had “councilors” like Simon, and a Dom everyone called the Enforcer.
The submissives… She tapped her pencil on the paper. They had their own hierarchy, but she didn’t quite grasp how it worked. Of course, some subs weren’t even allowed to speak, and silent greetings and smiles were hard to categorize. To add to the complexity, both Dominants and submissives could be male or female. She hadn’t realized the social network would be as complicated or her analysis of it so time-consuming.
Last Saturday she’d lost quite a bit of observation time during that scene with Xavier. She shifted in her chair. Just the memory made all her female parts tingle. The mixtures of burning and coldness had been overwhelming.