Cherise Sinclair - My Liege of Dark Haven

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?

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 as closely as possible here.

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.

Add in the way Xavier had taken control, doing exactly what he wanted with her. She pursed her lips. She hadn’t had one coherent thought from the application of the first chemical to when he’d stopped kissing her. Talk about sensory overload.

Her research had suffered, but she’d certainly experienced very erotic dreams since. And played with that new toy Xavier had given her. She’d thought of him each time.

She took a big gulp of her tea, burning her mouth. He was the reason she had trouble concentrating on her essay. How was she ever going to face him again? She felt her color rise. Using that stuff and his fingers, he’d made her climax so easily it was humiliating.

Even worse, Nathan was a member of Dark Haven, so he and Xavier must know each other. What if he told Nathan about her?

She raised her chin. Did she care? Nathan had broken everything off. Still…how would Nathan feel if he knew Xavier had put her in the bondage that she’d never let Nathan use?

With a sigh, she watched a hummingbird sample the flowering sage. Even if he’d dumped her, she didn’t want to hurt him. She still missed his company and how they would sit out here and discuss research and statistics. She’d liked having someone to date and someone in her bed. She’d been a girlfriend. Had felt like a normal girl.

You are normal, you moron.

Sometimes. Intellectually brilliant, socially retarded. Graduating high school at sixteen hadn’t been too bad. But the guys in college had called her jailbait. Then she’d received her doctorate a year after she’d been able to legally drink.

Really, she should have scheduled social interactions the same way she had her classes. Maybe then she’d have known how to date. Of course, each time she had actually found a boyfriend, her stepsister had stolen him away.

Nathan had lasted the longest. She’d had hopes… Blinking hard, she took a sip of tea.

Get over it. Everyone suffers disappointments. She had a job—at least until spring. A nice house. A good family. And hey, she had her health too.

A squeak from inside made her smile. Even puppies had problems. Who was she to complain? Nathan was gone, but in his place, she had kinky evenings and an interesting research project.

The phone rang, and she ran into the house to answer, puffing slightly. Must add exercise to the list of things to do this summer. In fact, sex with Xavier would undoubtedly be hot, sweaty, and burn lots of calories. I didn’t need that picture, thank you very much.

“Hello?”

“Abby, sweetheart. How are you? Did you have a nice weekend?”

“I’m good, Mom, and my weekend was okay.” I was tied to a table in a kink club. Someday she’d decide if she was proud of herself or appalled.

“Friday is Grace’s birthday, and I’m making all her favorite foods,” her mother said in her warm voice. “Can you come to an early supper? Around five?”

Birthday. Abby winced. She’d marked the date on her calendar and planned to gift-shop on Sunday. Instead she’d spent the day researching other papers about BDSM. I’m scum. “Of course I’ll come.”

“Wonderful. It’s been a while, and I miss you.”

“Me too.” Smiling, Abby ended the call. Her mom was the best, and her stepfather, Harold, was a pretty good deal as well. And they’d given her a little half sister.

Her smile soured. A shame she’d also gotten a stepsister as well. Harold’s daughter, Janae, two years older than Abby, never missed a chance to insult the interlopers, Abby and her mom. They’d upset Janae’s perfect world where she was the one and only child, and she’d never forgiven them.

Abby frowned. Really, if Janae had possessed a different character, Harold’s doting behavior wouldn’t have spoiled her. But Janae was a walking, talking example of nature over nurture—she simply had a rotten personality.

* * *

On Friday, after tapping lightly on the front door, Abby let herself in to her parents’ home. “Helloooo.”

The large living room in sedate blues and greens was empty, but the arched windows to the backyard showed smoke rising from the grill.

“Abby, you’re here. I’d begun to worry.” Her mother bustled out of the kitchen to enfold Abby in a patented mommy hug. Maybe someday Abby would be able to dispense love with the mere tone of her voice.

“I needed to feed the pups one last time before I left.” And clean up the mess. How did a fixed amount of intake create twice as much output? Don’t want to research that one, thank you. “Are the presents outside?”

“Yes. And thoroughly shaken and checked out. She’s already figured out at least three.”

Won’t figure out mine, Abby thought smugly. She’d put the small box with the bracelet and earrings set into a file-sized box.

As she walked onto the patio, Grace jumped up. “Abbeegale!”

Wrapped in a spinning, bouncing hug, Abby squeezed back, laughing. How had her quiet mother and dignified Harold created a child with all this energy?

Grace let go and checked Abby over. “You look good,” she said in delight. “More happy or something.”

“Why, thank you.” Abby tilted her head. “You look older.” In the past year her adorable little sister had transformed into a stunning young woman. Long reddish-blonde hair, big green eyes accentuated by a fair amount of makeup, tight clothes on her slender body. She could be one of Abby’s university students.