Sierra Cartwright - Doms of Dark Haven

Instead she walked farther into the room. The industrial Goth music from upstairs blended with the sounds of flesh being struck, moans, high cries, the snap of a whip, a long, shuddering groan. A series of cracking noises sounded way too close, and she jumped, looked around, and then snorted a laugh. She'd clenched her water bottle so hard that the plastic had crumpled. Noisily.

She rolled her eyes. Hopefully no one would yell boo! at her, or she'd go into cardiac arrest.

By the second scene area, she noticed guys scoping her out. Cool. She moved her hips and made her full skirts sway. Sexy me. Then a young woman walked past clad in only a G-string, all firm skin and high breasts. Right. Sexy me as long as I'm wearing clothes. She might have lost some weight and firmed things up a bit, but those things were still well over thirty years old.

An hour or so later she knew a heck of a lot more about what kinky people did for fun. Watching Simon's flogging demonstration hadn't prepared her for canes or black whips—although no one in the place came close to his skill—let alone hot wax, needles, gags, and masks. As one dominant applied a line of small suction cups up a woman's back, Rona wondered if the glass cups ever went on more…intimate spots.

She mentally added it to the list of things to try—someday—and just the thought sent a zip of excitement right to her clit.

As if she weren't already excited. A few steps farther, she glanced through a large window into a very authentic-looking medieval dungeon. A black-haired woman was manacled to the stone wall, and a man in jeans slapped the poor woman between the legs, sending her right up onto her toes. A minute later he dropped to his knees, gripped her buttocks, and put his mouth on her pussy.

Rona swallowed and fanned her overheated face as she moved away. Shocking and erotic as heck.

By the time she'd toured the room, her corset bones felt like bony fingers digging into her ribs, and her clothes as if they weighed a good twenty pounds.

Finding an empty couch, she collapsed onto it. Oops. Proper Victorian ladies didn't drop like rocks; they undoubtedly sank gracefully down to a seat and, of course, sat erect rather than leaning back.

She'd have made a lousy Victorian lady.

She'd probably make a lousy BDSM person too. In fact, she might not even like doing it, although watching stuff like the way that belt had hit the woman's round bottom made her really…warm.

Maybe, while here, she could try a little bit—just a taste, not a whole meal.

Have someone tie her hands or something. A quiver trickled through her insides at the thought of actually acting out some of her fantasies.

Mouth suddenly dry, she sipped the last of her lukewarm water. First she'd have to meet a dom. She could watch another demonstration. But the shows—

scenes—down here seemed more personal. More intimate. If Simon wanted to beat on her, she'd rather do it here than upstairs.

She choked on the water. What the heck had brought Simon back to mind?

Well, she knew the answer to that. Any woman would want him, with that devastating combination of easy manners and merciless authority. And don't think about his voice—as smooth and rich as Dove's dark chocolate. Goose bumps prickled up her arms, and she sighed.

Hopeless, she was just hopeless. And Master Simon was way out of her league.

She needed someone less intimidating.

She looked around. Hmmm. Not the old guy over there or the fat one. She checked the other direction and spotted a tall blond, maybe in his late twenties.

Rather cute. He stood with his hands behind his back, watching a nearby scene.

When he looked around, his gaze met Rona's. She smiled at him. You. Yeah, you.

C'mere, honey.

He blinked and headed over. “Hi. You're new here?”

“That's right.”

There you are. Simon stopped at the sight of the woman he'd been hunting.

Someone else had captured his quarry first and secured her arms to chains dangling from the low suspension beam. The dom, one of the younger men, had removed her gown and petticoats, leaving her in a corset, sleeveless chemise, and drawers.

What a nice picture. Lovely, soft curves and pale skin, big eyes and a stubborn chin.

However, for someone so thoroughly restrained, the submissive had taken control of the play.

“Pitiful,” Xavier said, joining him. The owner of Dark Haven wore a frock coat like Simon's over a silver-and-blue paisley vest. Very dapper, especially with his black hair braided back almost to his ass.

Simon raised an eyebrow at his friend. “You know the sub?”

“No. She's not been here before.”

Then why is she so familiar? Simon watched for a moment and winced when Rona laughed at the dom. True, she had an adorable, low laugh, but the dom had totally lost control of the scene. From the young man's unhappy expression, he didn't know how to get it back—if he'd ever had it. The term “submissive” didn't necessarily mean pushover.

“I told David to stick to the easy subs,” Xavier said.

“Friend of yours?”

“He took one of my classes for dominants. He's not bad, just inexperienced.”

Xavier started toward the scene, but a barmaid stopped him, chattering about a problem. He held up his hand to pause her, then turned to Simon. “Do me a favor and rescue David, would you? I'll join you shortly.”

Simon heard Rona order the dom to try something in his bag and grinned.

“She's a bossy one.”

Xavier's black brows rose. “Like her, do you? Perhaps I won't owe you a favor after all.”

“No, my friend, I will owe you one. However, since she's new to the lifestyle and community, I'd appreciate a reference.” Simon clapped his shoulder and moved to where he could be seen but not interfere if David chose to ignore him. Not that there was any scene dynamic to destroy here.

David looked confused when he saw Simon, but he walked over. Frustration had tensed his muscles and jawline. “It's Simon, right?”

“Xavier sent me in case you wanted out. I met the sub earlier, and I wouldn't mind working with her.”

“Hell yes. Take her.” The dom scowled. “Xavier warned me about getting in over my head. Now I know what he meant.”

“Like anything else, it takes practice. Does she have any hard limits or requests?”

“No blood sports. No anal. She wanted to play the rest by ear and chose

'Houston' for a safe word.”

“As in 'Houston, we have a problem'?”

David grinned. “Yep.”

She definitely has a sense of humor. Simon nodded acknowledgment and turned his attention to Rona, his anticipation rising. He'd wanted this woman since the minute she touched him. Totally illogical, but in life, as in the martial arts, he'd learned his instincts were rarely wrong.

He heard David grab his toy bag and leave, but didn't take his focus from the sub. He'd caught her as handily as any of the animals he'd hunted in his youth.

She'd been amusing herself, twirling and swinging on the chains like a child, and he suppressed his grin.

Looking up, she saw her dom leaving. “Hey! David, where are you going? Hey!”

Simon paced forward. Slowly.

She saw him. Her eyes widened.

Perfect.

Oh sweet heavens—Master Simon. As Rona stared at him, the laughter inside her fizzled out, and her heart began an annoyingly fast pace again.

His black gaze wandered over her, stroking her with heat. Her gown lay off to one side, but she hadn't felt particularly exposed—until now.

After setting down his big leather bag, Master Simon took off his coat and tossed it on a chair, leaving him in the white shirt and vest. His movements unhurried, he removed his cuff links. When they dropped onto the table with a metallic clink, Rona's breathing hitched.

He turned, rolling up his sleeves and exposing his muscular forearms.

Oh Crom. Wait, she started to say, but nothing came out of her frozen throat.

She tried again. “Wait. You're not… I didn't… Where did David—the other guy—

go?”

His dark eyes fixed on hers as he moved forward. “The other guy is a dom, but perhaps you got confused and thought him submissive.” His level tone sent icy shivers down her spine. “I don't believe you'll make that mistake with me.”

“I don't think—”

“Very good.” He cut right through her sentence. The feel of his callous hand cupping her chin silenced her completely. “Thinking is my job, not yours. Your safe word is 'Houston.' Use it if something—mentally or physically—becomes too much for you.”

She considered yelling it and took a breath.

His jaw tightened which dried up that notion instantly. “Don't toy with me, pet,” he said softly.

She shook her head. Not me. No, never.

“I like that wide-eyed submissive look.” His gaze ran over her. “In fact, I like seeing you in chains.”

His words brought her attention to her restraints, and a quiver of fear joined the heat in her belly.

He cupped her cheek, his big hand disconcertingly gentle. “No, don't be frightened. We're just going to talk. First I want you to meet someone.”

Master Simon glanced at a man standing off to one side and motioned him forward. Also in formal Victorian attire, the other man had coloring slightly darker than Simon's.

And as their attention turned to her, she felt like a mouse trapped in a feline festival. “Um. Hello?”

Master Simon's lips quirked. “Rona, this is Master Xavier, the owner of Dark Haven. Submissives here call him 'my Liege.'”

Her initial reaction— you've got to be kidding—died at the lack of expression in Xavier's calm, dark eyes.

“It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Rona,” Master Xavier said, his voice quiet but easily heard over the myriad of noises.

“Pleased to meet you.” I love meeting people while standing around in my underwear.

“Since we're immersed in the nineteenth century tonight, let me formally introduce you to Master Simon.” A smile flickered on Xavier's lips. “He is well-known in the BDSM community, has an impeccable reputation as a dom. And I call him my friend.”

The measured addition of the last part told her that Xavier didn't offer friendship lightly.

“Um.” She glanced up at Simon. A crease appeared in his cheek as if he found her discomfiture amusing. Kicking him might be satisfying—if he didn't own a flogger. “Thank you, Xa—uh, my Liege. I appreciate the information.”

Xavier nodded and walked away. No frivolous conversation for him.

And that left her with Master Simon. The sinking feeling in her stomach hadn't improved.

“Did you enjoy your tour, lass?” he asked politely.

Lass. Her grandfather from Glasgow had called her that, but coming from this utterly confident man, it made her feel funny—young and uncertain. And pretty.

“Yes. It's an interesting place.” He wanted to have a normal conversation with her standing here in chains?

“Have you tried BDSM before? At home, perhaps?”

On second thought, let's go back to normal. Her hands gripped the chains. “No.

Never.”

He stroked a finger across the nape of her neck, just under her bun. “Then I will give you your first lesson.”

“But…why? Why me?” Every woman who walked by this man cast longing looks his way. I'm not young. Or thin. Or gorgeous.

“You, lass, have a self-image problem.”

Well, that might be a little true, but she also had a mirror. It wasn't that she was ugly; it was that the competition was far too beautiful. And young. “Simon, I—”

His eyes narrowed, and her insides melted like ice cream on a sunny day. “I don't think I want you calling me Simon. Not in the club or when you're restrained…or in my bed.”

The surge of excitement at the thought of being in his bed went all the way to her fingertips. And he'd done that deliberately, hadn't he? She sucked in a breath.

Keep your head in the game. “What would you prefer?”

“You may call me 'Sir' or 'Master Simon.'” He brushed his fingers down her cheek. “I believe, for you, I'd permit a simple 'Master.'”