Cherise Sinclair - The Dom’s Dungeon

When she appeared, he knew it had been worth the wait. An embarrassed flush highlighted her cheekbones almost as nicely as the French-maid's corset showcased her round breasts. The white lace and ribbon decorating the black latex gave her a fragile appearance, one that would be accentuated when she had on the garters and G-string that she held in her hand along with the other accessories.

“That will do nicely,” he said.

“You cannot be serious.” Her brown eyes sparked with indignation. “I'm not going to—”

When he lifted his eyebrows, she managed to cut off the rest of her protest.

“Wait in there,” he said. “You'll need at least one more outfit.”

She actually growled as she retreated.

* * *

“Surely Nordstroms doesn't have kinky clothing,” MacKensie said. As they entered the fancy department store, she was all too aware of Alex's guiding hand on her lower back. He touched her—often—and always stood just a few inches too close. She knew he did it deliberately. Since he'd done nothing blatantly sexual that she could challenge him on, she tried to pretend his actions didn't unsettle her.

He bent down to murmur in her ear, his warm breath washing across her neck and making the hairs on her arms rise. “We're done with kink. Now we're shopping for formal wear for the party you want to attend.”

“I want to attend? Does that mean you don't?” When she turned to look up at him, he was still so close that her lips grazed his cheek. She froze.

Rather than stepping away, he slowly straightened, his lips brushing against hers, as if accidentally. Only the crinkling of the lines at the corners of his eyes told her he'd done it deliberately. That, and the fact that every move he made was as controlled as the words he used.

“Normally I'd make a short appearance and leave.” He touched her chin lightly with a finger. “But to do a good job of networking for you, we'll need to spend the evening.”

He'd do that for her? An odd uneasiness lodged in the pit of her stomach, one having nothing to do with his teasing games. Jim and Mary had shown her a selfless generosity, but they'd thought of her as a daughter. Her sorority sisters in college had befriended her and given her etiquette lessons, thinking of her as a challenge. But men…men didn't help women. Not unless they wanted something, and Fontaine already had her under his thumb. He didn't need to do this.

Head tilted, he studied her face. “I've rarely seen that amount of disbelief when I ask a woman to a dance,” he murmured. “But this isn't the place to discuss it.” He guided her forward through the aisles of clothing.

If he thought she'd talk about her reaction or why, he was sadly mistaken. Not a chance.

A minute later, she planted her feet as something else occurred to her. “I didn't mind your paying for the…the kinky clothing since it's more for your problem than mine, but you can't buy me formal wear. That's not right.”

He turned, his piercing blue eyes as focused as a laser from a science-fiction novel. Then he smiled and ran his hands up and down her arms, less a sexual than a comforting gesture. “MacKensie, I doubt you could afford what you need. It's my pleasure to get it for you.”

She knew better. Gifts came first, followed by demands. She wasn't that kind of person anymore. “I can't accept, but thank you.”

When she tried to step back, his hands tightened on her arms, holding her firmly in place. “I see. Well then, how about a trade? A lifetime of free care for Butler in exchange for my purchasing everything I think you'll need while you remain under my care.”

“Under your care?”

“Yes, pet,” he said, deliberately emphasizing the word. “I believe that is the bargain we made yesterday. This just adds a codicil to it.”

“What are you, a lawyer?”

When he grinned, the sternness left his face. “I have a law degree, yes, but I'm mostly a boring businessman.”

“You couldn't be boring if you tried,” she muttered, then realized he still held her arms, apparently oblivious to the people having to detour around them. He'd probably wait there forever for his damned answer, wouldn't he? Considering the exorbitant price tags for the T-shirts on the rack beside them, the fancy clothing must be horrendously expensive. Even a lifetime of vet care might not cover it. But he obviously wasn't lacking for money, and he'd made an effort to salvage her pride. “All right. We have a deal.”

“Good girl.” He released her and headed toward the elevator.

Despite the fact that he wore jeans, he obviously exuded the scent of money, for the saleswoman in the formal-wear department upstairs pounced on him like a cat discovering a mouse. With an effort, Mac concealed the fact she was shaking in her sneakers and tried to emulate his polite reserve.

Arm around Mac, Alex instructed the woman about what he had in mind, consulting Mac only to get her shoe size. Mac couldn't decide if she felt insulted or coddled. Coddled won out since she had no clue how to buy a formal gown; she'd never bought one in her life. Her college finances sure hadn't extended that far. She'd only been in the sorority because of the influence and funds provided by an alumnus friend of Mary's.

The saleswoman returned with an armload of gowns that she held up for Alex's approval. Not Mac's.

“If you like them so much, maybe you should try them on,” Mac muttered.

Alex laughed and then shocked her stupid by kissing the top of her head.

She pulled on gown after gown, with the saleswoman helping her lace and tie and button and zip. Gold, blue, black. With each one, Alex made noncommittal noises. The final hanger held a long, full-skirted gown in pink, and Mac sneered at it. The color of cheerleaders. “I never wear pink.”

“Pink would be lovely on you,” the saleswoman said. “Your man has a good eye for color.” She whisked the gown over Mac's head.

Mac had barely a glimpse before the woman pushed her gently out of the room to where Alex waited on a plush couch. Legs outstretched, one arm resting along the back, he looked thoroughly at home. His eyebrows rose when he saw her this time. “That's lovely on you, MacKensie.”

As warmth bloomed inside her, she tried not to reveal how much the compliment meant.

He twirled a finger in the air, a silent command to turn.

She did and—to hell with it—enjoyed the feel of the luxurious fabric swirling around her bare legs. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrors and stopped dead. Whoa, look at that, Miss Elegance. She turned one way, then the other, admiring herself, before remembering who watched.

“But pink?” she said, making a token protest.

“Pink looks good on you,” he said mildly. “We'll take this one,” he told the saleslady. “Please select the appropriate undergarments, hose, and shoes.” He tapped his fingers on the arm of the couch, thinking. “A purse and a cape also. The evening will be chilly.”

Mac's mouth dropped open. As the saleslady scurried away, beaming like a woman whose commission had just gone through the roof, Mac realized she should have put a limit on how much Fontaine could spend. “That's too much.” Maybe most women would gloat over the windfall, but it made her feel obligated.

“We have a deal.” Alex rose to stand beside her. With a faint smile, he ran a finger down her cheek, his touch somehow more intimate that any john who'd pounded into her.

She changed the bandage on his back when they got home. Only a tiny bit of clear pink drainage had stained the gauze, and the wound was healing nicely. As she taped the gauze down, she couldn't help but notice the long lines of his torso and the contoured muscles of his back. Under her fingers, his warm skin felt velvety soft over disconcertingly hard muscles beneath. No businessman she'd ever seen had muscles like that.

Bemused, she looked up and met his penetrating gaze in the mirror. Oops. She stepped back hurriedly, only to have him grasp her wrist.

“MacKensie, it's time we talked.” Still holding her wrist, not her hand, he led her to the family room and pointed to the couch. “Sit there.”

As she took a seat, he opened the curtains to display a magnificent view of the Sound, with the white-capped Olympics beyond, then disappeared into the kitchen.

Mac leaned her head on her hand and studied the mountains. Yeah, they really were gorgeous. Yet right now she wanted cozy instead. A place deep inside her ached with the need to be rocking on her porch swing with the neighbor's cat a warm weight in her lap. Red and orange leaves would be swirling down from the big maple, and she would grumble to Fluffball about having to rake them all up.

Before she could descend into a major homesickness attack, Butler got up from the rug by the fireplace and leaned against her leg with a heavy sigh, as if he'd worked a twelve-hour day. She leaned forward to pet him and whispered in his ear, “I had a rough day too, baby.”

Alex returned and handed her a glass of dark red wine.

After taking it, she regarded him warily. “What are we going to talk about?”

He sat down in the middle of the couch. Why did the man always crowd into her space?

“In a couple of hours, we're going to my club to spend the evening,” he said. “A friend and his sub had a private collaring ceremony earlier today, and they plan to celebrate at Chains. You'll be on display as my sub, MacKensie.”

Good thing he'd given her the wine. She took a hefty gulp. Good stuff. Smoother than any she'd tasted before. “And what exactly will that display entail?”

One corner of his mouth turned up. “Your first lesson is this: what we do—what you do—is entirely up to me.”

Oh now, didn't that just sound great? Undoubtedly, protest would be futile. She was being assimilated and liked it no more than Captain Picard had.

He sipped his wine, studying her until she felt like a lab mouse. “Let's talk about diseases. Have you been tested since the last time you had sex?”

“I've been tested.” Jim had insisted on it after taking her in. “I'm clean.” But hadn't Alex promised no sex? “But—”

“Any chance you're pregnant?”

God forbid. “No. I have an IUD.” Thanks to Ajax, who didn't want to have any of his “girls” sidelined with pregnancies if and when a condom broke. She'd replaced the IUD in college when she'd started dating and hoping… Well, she'd been more optimistic back then.

“Any medical problems? Any at all, MacKensie?” he warned. “I don't like surprises.”

“No. I don't have any medical problems.”

“Have you ever been tied up or restrained in any way?” he asked. “Are you claustrophobic?”

She choked on her wine. “Um. No, and maybe a little.” Just don't shut me up behind a locked door. “I don't like small, dark places.”

“Good to know. Have you ever been whipped? Beaten? Flogged? Hit at all?”

To each question, she shook her head.

“Spanked?”

No one has ever cared enough to spank me. She swallowed. “Only by you.” When his eyes narrowed, moving from her fingers clenching the wineglass to her eyes, she had to look away.

A finger under her chin forced her gaze back to his. “When was the last time you made love with anyone?”

She shoved his hand away and snapped, “I've never 'made love' with anyone.”

“All right,” he said easily. “When was the last time you had sex?”

“About twelve years ago.” And when that john had complained about her unenthusiastic blowjob, Ajax had decided she needed incentive. After the two men left, she'd crawled out of the alley to collapse at Jim's feet.

“That's a long time, little cat.” Alex's low voice broke into her thoughts. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and then massaged her shoulder. “What happened? You would have been…sixteen?”

How did he know that? Oh right. The application she'd filled out for Exchanges had her birth date. “Nothing happened.”

“Don't lie to me, pet.”

“Well then.” She tried to ignore the warmth of the hand on her shoulder. “It's none of your business.”

“Actually it is. As your Dom, I need your history so I know what land mines to avoid. Or head for.”

Head for? But she could see why a person into kinky stuff might worry about emotional hang-ups. “I had some—a—bad experience with sex. That's all,” she said stiffly.