Angelina looked at Marc, who waited patiently on the bed for her to obey his order.
“Lie…down. Now.”
His calmly spoken, yet firm, command set off a flurry of butterflies in her stomach and increased her pulse exponentially each time he repeated it. Not sure why she complied, she eased back onto the bed, her gaze never breaking contact with his, determined to show him how submissive she was not. No doormat’s downcast gaze for her.
Marc took her wrists and held them above her head with one hand, sending an immediate jolt of electricity to rejuvenate her clit.
Mio Dio! He hadn’t even touched her and already she’d felt her body respond, just by having her hands restrained by him. No! This wasn’t happening. She was not submissive! Her mind screamed the denial, rejecting the signals pulsing through her.
He lowered his mouth to her right breast and she closed her eyes as he took her nipple between his teeth and bit her through the cotton peasant blouse, tugging her nipple to the point of pain. Her knees bucked up as her pussy contracted.
Oh, God, yes!
Looking down at the top of Marc’s head, his short black curls caused an image to flash before her eyes of her dream lover holding her safely in his arms—with a wooden St. Andrew’s Cross visible out of the corner of her eye, so like the one she’d been tortured on. Marc raised his head and met her gaze and smiled, pinching her nipple. His jawline and mouth were so like her dream lover’s they could be twins. Or…
Oh, Dio, no!
What if those images were some kind of premonition? If so, then that was a dream she never wanted to come true. She did not want to be his or anyone’s whipping post. Her body began to shake and Marc grew serious and stretched out again, pulling her against him, holding her down with his arm across her abdomen, his leg over her thighs.
“Stay with me, pet. Tell me what’s going through that busy mind of yours.”
She shook her head, too embarrassed.
“I can’t meet your needs if you don’t talk to me. Now, answer me.”
No!
Talk to him.
Angelina looked away as the two sides of her brain dueled for supremacy just as hard as Marc battled to dominate her body. Trying to sort out the confusing messages her brain and body were sending. His finger crooked around her chin, forcing her to face him again.
“Don’t shut me out, pet.”
She opened her eyes. She did not want to react sexually to pain, even minor pain. Allen had made her feel like a freak at that BDSM club. She’d suffered the physical effects from the beating for days—and still fought the emotional ones from having her trust shattered. Marc said she’d even had a nightmare tonight, probably stemming from that incident, if not the attack last night.
Did she want to be demeaned by such labels as pet? To be convinced she was a pain slut, as Allen had called her? She groaned.
“Now what are you thinking, little one?”
Angelina shook her head. She couldn’t speak the words. Some thoughts were best kept private or he’d think she was some kind of freak. Lord, maybe he already did. Maybe he was into pain freaks. But he hadn’t seemed interested in whips. That was something at least. Still she didn’t want to be his…
“Talk to me, cara. I have a feeling your mind is conjuring up half-truths at best. Ask me questions. What do you want to know about submission?”
“I came for Luke and he didn’t hurt me.”
“Submission isn’t about pain. It’s about training your mind and body to surrender control to a Dom who wants to meet your needs and protect you. For tonight only, I am that Dom.”
Did he have someone else? Why hadn’t she asked before? “Are you married?”
He threw his head back and laughed. “No, pet. I’m not the marrying type. Not even dating anyone at the moment.”
Then why would he want to be her Dom for only one tonight? Wait! He was confusing her. She didn’t want a Dom for even one night.
Her mind latched onto what else he’d said. Training. On the drive home from Denver last month, the club’s singer, Karla, had told Angelina how desperate she was to get the owner, Master Adam, to notice her.
“Master Damián trains unattached submissives at the club to please the Doms,” Karla said. “I’m thinking about asking him to train me.”
“Why not just ask Master Adam to ‘train’ you to be what he wants?”
When an immediate response wasn’t forthcoming, Angelina glanced across the car seat at the woman driving the SUV. Karla bit the corner of her lower lip.
“I’m afraid I might not be submissive.” She spoke barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to disappoint him or embarrass myself. If I can’t be a submissive, then I’ll never attract his attention.”
Karla’s voice had broken, probably along with a piece of the young woman’s heart. Angelina wondered where love entered into a BDSM relationship. So what if Karla wasn’t submissive? Couldn’t the club’s owner find her attractive anyway? Why couldn’t they just have a normal sex life, without the dominance and submission stuff?
Angelina felt so sorry for the woman. She had it bad for someone who didn’t even know she existed unless she could fit into the cookie cutter shape of a submissive. Karla could have this crazy stuff if she was that desperate to have her man, but Angelina would never let anyone restrain her or beat on her again.
Anxious to put distance between them, she pushed him away, surprised that he let her up without resistance. She bolted upright and stood in one motion, feeling dizzy for a moment, but moved a few feet away before turning to face him. Looking at him sitting there so calmly, she said, “I won’t be anyone’s submissive, Marc.” When he only smiled back, she screamed, “I am not your pet. And I most certainly am not anyone’s pain slut!”
He spoke calmly, not letting his voice rise with emotion as hers had. “Cara are you trying to convince me…or yourself?”
He got up from the bed and came to stand a few feet in front of her. “You are spending too much time in your head, ignoring the needs of your body, blocking your body from feeling anything. Someone hurt you, Angelina, but I am not that Dom.” He came closer to her, towering over her as he rubbed warmth into her cold arms.
“If I promise you I will not cause you pain, will you let me show you how your body responds to dominance?”
She remembered back to when she’d tried and failed to seduce him on her bed only minutes ago. No response from her body at all, and not for a lack of attraction. She found him very sexy, but she’d been too busy trying to figure out how to please him—trying to get him excited—to pay attention to her body’s wants and needs.
No flames ignited. Not even a flicker.
Because you were too busy trying to analyze it in your head, Angie.
Oh, God. She had. Then he’d restrained her arms, bit her nipple, and... Dear Lord. Just thinking about the scene sent her clit into spasms again. Was she a pain freak?
Wait. He said he could show her if she was submissive without pain. Maybe she should at least give him a chance to try. Under her terms.
“No restraints.”
He smiled, as if he’d won some victory. “No restraints—as long as you obey me.”
Obey? The seemingly minor clarification sounded like semantics, but just what commands did he plan to deliver?
Really, she had only two other criteria. “No pain, no humiliation.” She felt like she was ordering a sundae—double scoop vanilla, peanuts, no sprinkles, please.
Only this kind of sex wasn’t vanilla; and it was all about the sprinkles.
He grew serious. “Let’s clarify pain.”
“What is there to clarify? Pain is pain.”
“When I bit your nipple a moment ago, was that painful? Be truthful.”
Her face grew warm at the memory and she felt her clit jerk at the sensory memory. Oh, yes. It had hurt—hurt so good.
“No. It…it excited me.”
“Good girl. Thank you for your honesty.” She felt her stomach turn to mush at his praise. “Now, let’s get started.” She had a feeling he was afraid she would change her mind. A valid concern, given how shaky her resolve was.
“I’m going to gather together some items we’ll need for our scene. This might be a good time for you to take care of any bathroom needs you have. You’re going to be tied up for a while.” When she flinched, he added, “Figuratively speaking, pet. Don’t worry. I take your trust very seriously.” His hand reached out and stroked her face, causing her insides to quiver.
“Now listen carefully, pet.” His smile faded. How did he switch from gentle to authoritarian mode so seamlessly? Dom mode. “When I return, I want you kneeling on the floor.” He walked over to the bed and took one of her pillows, placing it on the floor about two feet from the bed. “Here,” he said, pointing to the pillow. “Back straight. Head down. Hands clasped behind your back. Facing the bed. Completely naked. Is that clear?”
“Ye—.” The word didn’t quite make it past the lump in her throat. She cleared it and tried again. “Yes.” Would she remember all of his instructions?
“During this scene, you will refer to me as Sir.”
She swallowed down the uprush of fear at the thought of being naked and vulnerable before him. Could she submit to him? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t already seen and touched her girly bits. But she’d still had her clothing then. And she hadn’t given up control. Well, not entirely.
But, truth be told, what she felt wasn’t fear alone. His words excited her more than when he’d touched or bitten her. She swallowed hard.
“Yes, Sir.”
He smiled, satisfied with her response.
Dear Lord, what had she just agreed to?
* * *
After watching Angelina walk into the bathroom through the closet—a bizarre architectural concept, to say the last—Marc crossed the short distance to the closet himself and searched for…ah, yes. Perfecto. He chose a wide satin sash and saw a few other cloth belts on her belt rack, if he needed them later. Her being so ticklish might present a problem. One last check, but he didn’t see anything else he could use.
Too bad he hadn’t thought to pack his toy bag while he was in Denver yesterday afternoon, but he hadn’t expected things to progress to this level with Luke in tow. He tamped down the momentarily rearing of his conscience. This wasn’t about sex. This was strictly about control and giving Angelina a lesson in how a Dom should treat her, should she ever dip her toe into BDSM waters again.
She needed him now, so he’d just have to improvise for this sensation-play scene. Quickly. She would feel vulnerable as she knelt waiting for him to return. If she knelt. He wasn’t completely certain she’d submit to him yet. While he wanted her to wait long enough to begin to surrender some of that tight grip she had on her control, he knew if he waited too long, she would get too deep into her mind again and talk herself out of going through with the scene.
What else could he use? There should be plenty of implements in the kitchen. She was a chef, for God’s sake. He left the bedroom and headed down the hallway and found Luke asleep in the chair where he’d left him. Marc shook his head. What his friend really needed was a wake-up call. If they managed to get her to Denver, would Luke come to his senses?
With Asshole lurking in the shadows, surely Marc could convince her she’d be safer at his house in Denver—for her own protection, of course, until things with Asshole died down. His place was much larger than Luke’s, had a security system, and would give Angelina her own living quarters. His house had nothing but space. What would it be like to share it with someone—even merely as a house guest? The only people who’d ever shared it were his brother and sister, Sandro and Carmella, on their forays into Denver to market the resort at various trade shows.
Marc heard a buzzing sound and walked around the sofa to look for the source. The purse Angelina had carried last night had vibrated off the table top onto the floor. When he bent down to retrieve it, he spied an antique sewing basket under the small table. It reminded him of his grandmother’s basket.
He grinned, knowing just what he was looking for when he opened the lid. He lifted a neatly rolled, but frayed, tape measure and a scrap of green fabric out of the way and there it lay. Filigreed silver handle. Whoever owned this one had been a serious seamstress. Judging by its age, he surmised the tool was a family heirloom. Her Nonna’s?
Forgive me, dear Angelina’s Nonna, but she needs this for another purpose tonight.
He lifted the pattern-tracing wheel out of the basket and ran it along the back of his hand. The tool had fascinated him as a young boy in Italy in his own Nonna’s sewing basket. The tear-drop handle of this one fit well in the palm of his hand, its weight perfect. Oh, yes. This would do nicely in place of his Wartenburg wheel.
Marc went into the kitchen to grab a bowl and to take some ice from the freezer. Turning, he saw something he’d forgotten about and picked it up. Smiling, he carried his cache into the living room. When the phone buzzed again, he picked up her purse and added it to the items in his hand, then crossed the room toward the hallway. He glanced over at Luke, who snored softly, still sitting upright. Tomorrow, they’d have a talk. Marc intended to find out what was going on in his friend’s head—and pound some sense into it if he hurt or disappointed Angelina.
Shit. He’d left her inside her busy head long enough. She’d be wound tighter than a two-dollar watch by now—naked, kneeling, and waiting for him. God help him, his cock throbbed at the image. Dawn was just a few hours away. He needed every bit of his self-control to give her what she needed most during his brief time as her Dom.
Tomorrow, he’d have to step aside for Luke. Marc had enough respect for the hereafter, after many years of catechism lessons about saints and angels, to know you didn’t mess with messages like Luke had received in his dream.
Apparently, she’d been sent to Luke, not him.
* * *
Angelina could no longer control the trembling in her body as she waited for Marc to return to her. The air in the chilly bedroom caused her nipples to stand at attention. She’d placed the long strands of her hair over her breasts to cover them, feeling a little less exposed.
But she knew the state of arousal she was in had more to do with imagining what Marc had planned than it did the cold. Kneeling as he had instructed, she hoped, and waiting for so long was doing something very strange to her mind. Anticipation warred with fear for supremacy in her head.
Anticipation had been winning for a while, but fear seemed to be edging it out at the moment. What did he plan to do? Would he keep his promise not to hurt her? He had wanted—no demanded—that she be naked. Kneeling.
Submissive.
Fear reared its deadliest weapon. Could she give up control and do whatever he commanded of her? How could he control her without restraints? She’d thought that would be a deal breaker, but he hadn’t batted an eyelash when she’d given her restrictions. Would she be able to surrender her mind and body to him? Could she trust him? For heaven’s sake, she’d only met the man Friday night, although it seemed as if she’d known him much longer. She felt so comfortable with him.
Well, comfortable might not be the operative word at the moment.
Mio Dio, what was she doing? She couldn’t do this! As she prepared to get up and flee to the bathroom, she heard the doorknob turn. Her heart skittered into a rapid tattoo against her chest. Too late to escape! She tried to fill her lungs with air, but the tightness in her chest made breathing nearly impossible.
“Good girl.”
And suddenly an odd warmth flowed over her, relaxing her taut nerves. Why did that simple, almost condescending, expression set her all aquiver? She didn’t understand it, but knowing she had pleased him made her feel so good inside.
She heard him place items on the nightstand and started to turn to see what he was doing.
“I did not say you could move.”
His sharp tone froze her in place and she returned her gaze to the rumpled covers in front of her. She’d practically memorized the pattern on the floral comforter. He walked into the bathroom and came back moments later to place something else on the stand. She waited, her heart thudding as fear returned.
Marc’s legs and the crotch of his pants came into her field of vision as he stood before her, then sat on the edge of the bed, mere inches away. He still wore his black slacks, but had removed his shirt. Keeping her head down as instructed, she allowed her eyes to venture upward to stare at his gorgeous chest. His well-defined pecs were covered in a soft sprinkling of black hair. She longed to touch him, but hadn’t been given permission to move. She didn’t want to displease him, although she’d think most men would welcome having a woman touch them the way she wanted to.
His abdomen was taut, not an ounce of flab, his waist narrow. Again, she fought the urge to touch, or even lean forward and lick him. Her face grew warm at the thought. She’d never licked a man’s abs before. But she’d never seen anything so beautiful in all her life. If he hadn’t ordered her to remain on her knees, she’d have stripped him naked and taken his penis into…
Mio Dio. She could feel the wetness between her nether lips. She smiled at the knowledge she wasn’t submissive after all. Why, she could get turned on just looking at a man’s chest.
“Will you trust me not to hurt you, cara?”
She tilted her head back to raise her gaze to his. His expression was serious, but not frightening.
“Did I say you could raise your head?”
Confused, she quickly lowered her head. How many times would he put up with her little mistakes before he put an end to this role play? His erection strained against his pants, riveting her attention. Apparently, she hadn’t caused him to lose interest yet.
“I’m sorry, Sir.”
Her mind registered that his hands were held behind his back, but before she could process why that should concern her, he brought his right hand out to reveal what he had hidden.
“No! I don’t need that!” She knew her voice had risen an octave, but when she saw the red satin sash she’d worn on her dress last Christmas, she panicked and sat back on her heels to put more space between them.
“Do not move again, pet. You will not like the consequences.”
No! She didn’t want to be restrained. Not after what happened at the club. Marc had promised. Already he was going back on his word?
Marc’s voice remained firm. “Look at me, pet.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to regain some sense of control, then opened them again as she raised her gaze to his. Tears welled in her eyes. “Please, Marc,” she said on a whisper. “I can’t be tied up. Trust me. You don’t want to do this.”
Something in her tone or expression seemed to get through to him. A shadow crossed his face and he laid the sash on the mattress beside him and reached out to stroke her hair and brush his thumb over her cheek. “Believe me, pet, I do understand.” She could see the frustration and hurt in his eyes. “Please trust me.”
Angelina relaxed a bit. Even though she had known Allen so much longer than Marc and thought she could trust him, Marc seemed different. Of course, she’d read enough books to know one of the cardinal rules of bondage was to never let someone tie you up unless you trusted them completely. She wasn’t at that level of trust—far from it.
Oh, why couldn’t they just have hot sex like a normal couple?
“Come.” He stood and placed his hands at her elbows to help lift her to her feet. “Oh!” When she swayed on legs left wobbly from kneeling so long, he steadied her and helped her to step off the pillow, which he kicked aside.
He moved his hands to her upper arms and gazed down at her. “I haven’t gone back on any promise to you. I said I wouldn’t use restraints if you cooperated and you have done everything I’ve asked. I am well pleased.”
Pride swelled inside her. She’d pleased him, even though she’d forgotten herself a couple of times. Like now! Was she supposed to be looking up at him? She lowered her head, in part so he wouldn’t see her tears, which now spilled onto her bare breasts.
He took her chin and lifted her gaze to his again and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. “First, let’s work some more on trust. We’re going to try something called honor bondage.”
Angelina had heard of honor killing. Somehow that correlation didn’t give her peace of mind.
Marc turned her sideways, took a step away from the bed, and extended his hand toward her. “Give me your hands.”
Her heart fluttered, taking her breath away. Angelina stared back at him for the longest time, but her feet remained glued to the floor, her hands at her sides. She wasn’t ready for this. Was she? Her body began to shake.
Oh, dear Lord, help me.
She couldn’t go through with this.