“Would you come here?”
“I need to stay right here,” she said. The risk to her emotional stability was too great to take a step toward him. If he’d come here to apologize and nothing more, she needed the distance so that she could regroup, smile, wish him well before she showed him out and shattered.
“What do you want, Sarah?”
“Not to take this risk.”
“You trusted me with your body, your heart as recently as a month ago. Just one more step.”
She wondered if she was strong enough to survive him. “This is the most difficult thing you’ve ever asked me to do.”
“I know. I told you I would test you. I want everything you have to offer, all your fears, doubts, tears.”
She shook.
“Give them to me, Sarah.”
“I want what I hope you’re offering. A second chance.”
“I want more than that. I want your total unfettered commitment to us. I want you to keep talking, even if you think I’m not listening. To keep trying as hard as I will. To tell me when things become too difficult for you. Tell me yellow if you need to, even if we’re not in a scene. That’s what I want from you.”
“And in return?” she asked.
“That’s my girl.” He brought up his chin and met her gaze with steady conviction. “I offer you my devotion. My love. My unfettered commitment to us. My vow that I will put you first. My promise that I will pay more attention to your fears and seek you out before you run.” He took a step toward her. “And more? My pledge that I will never again test you the way I did today. I give you my trust.”
She took a step toward him.
“The rest we can sort out. The marriage, if you’ll have me, and when you’re ready for it. You moving back in. The collar I hope you will someday accept, on mutual terms.”
She threw herself at him. He caught her up, spun her around.
“I can’t live without you, Sarah.”
“I don’t want to live without you, Reece.”
He kissed her, long, hard, deep.
“I love you, Sarah.”
She reached up. Fingers trembling, she moved aside the lock of hair that had fallen across his brow. “I love you, Reece. I will marry you. And I’d be honored to wear your collar.”
He kissed her again. “I have something else I need to tell you.”
She held her breath.
“I’m still hung up on that jig image.”
“Come take a shower with me. I’ll show you the happy jig.”
Epilogue
Determination and nervousness colliding inside her, Sarah went to Reece’s dresser and took out the red velvet pouch.
She still heard the water running in the shower and he was singing, badly—his college fight song, or something similar. In the two months they’d been living together, she’d learnt his routines. Twenty seconds after he finished the final verse, the shower would turn off. He’d open the glass door, grab a towel from the rack then duck back inside the stall to dry his hair and take a cursory swipe at the rest of his body. He’d wrap the cotton material around his waist then exit. After combing his hair, he’d come looking for her.
She found it, him, his idiosyncrasies charming.
Before she could change her mind and decide to do it later, after the celebratory dinner he’d arranged to commemorate signing a franchising agreement with the Blancharde Group, she placed the pouch on their white bedspread, next to the black dress he’d bought her in the Keys.
She realized that she could no longer hear him singing. Seconds later, silence followed. Her pulse tapped out a thunderous tattoo.
“You almost ready?” he called out.
“I am,” she said. “But not in the way you mean.”
“Can’t hear you. Give me a minute.”
Feeling certain she was doing the right thing, but still ridiculously nervous, she knelt, knees spread, hands resting on her thighs.
When he walked out of the bathroom and into their bedroom, he missed a step.
“Sarah…” He froze. “Look at me.”
The sight of her gorgeous man, dark hair dripping wet, beads of water clinging to his sexy, toned body, a towel wrapped around his waist, his eyebrows drawn together, took her breath away.
Two months ago, Reece had said that he would never test her again, and he’d been true to his word. He’d been patient, steady and, on numerous occasions, they’d spoken hypothetically about marriage and her collaring. They’d discussed what the commitment would mean to each of them, and a few weeks ago, he’d started writing down their agreement. He’d periodically leave it on the kitchen counter next to the coffee pot, along with a pen for her to make notes or cross things out. Each time they talked or wrote things down, her confidence went up and her fear faded.
He hadn’t pressured her to sell her town home, but last week, she’d contacted a real estate agent and had made the listing official. After she’d told Reece, he’d bought her a bird of paradise plant to thank her.
“My God, you’re beautiful.”
“I…” She lifted one hand then dropped it. “Thank you, Sir.”
“Tell me…” He glanced from her to the red pouch, to the dress then back at her again. He curled a hand into a fist at his side. “Tell me this means what I think it does.”
“It means that I’m being bold. I’m not sure what the etiquette book says about this, but I didn’t know how to ask and…” She paused, wishing he’d take the lead, make this easier. But now, with the way he stood there, implacable, she knew he’d been waiting for her. “I’m asking, Sir. I’m asking you to put the collar on me before we go out tonight.”
“Why?”
“I want to make a statement to you,” she said, fighting the urge to whisper. “To me. To the world. I’m yours, your submissive, your partner.”
“You’ve humbled me, Sarah.” He crossed to the bed and picked up the pouch. “I want us to be clear—this isn’t a permanent collar. We’ll shop for one together that you feel comfortable with, or we can put a permanent closure on the choker I bought you at Julien’s party. I want, with your permission, to do a more permanent collaring. It can be private if you choose, but I’d like us to exchange vows.”
“Yes,” she said. That had been on his agreements list, and she hadn’t crossed it out.
He shook out the collar.
It was every bit as thick as she remembered, but it was significantly more beautiful. Light danced across the silver surface, and the O-ring looked like a promise, not a threat.
“You’re certain?”
“I am, Sir.”
He used the hex key to open the clasp.
“Come to the mirror with me. I want to be able to watch your reactions, and I want you to see my reaction when I have it locked on you.”
She should have known to expect that he would do this in his unique way. She stood and joined him in front of the cheval mirror.
“Lift your hair.”
Their gazes met and held. Intensity radiated from his eyes, his body. She’d hoped that this would mean something to him. Until now, she’d had no idea how much.
“You have never been more perfect to me than you are in this moment.” His words shook, as if raw emotion vibrated across his vocal cords.
He placed the collar around her neck and slid the clasp together.
She sucked in a tiny breath.
Then he locked it and tossed the hex tool onto the dresser. “I love you, Sarah. I thank you. I will always cherish your commitment to us.”
The metal lay heavily on her collarbone. She traced a forefinger around the O-ring. The collar was as unyielding as she’d suspected it would be, but the satisfaction in his nod liberated her in a way she could never have imagined.
He turned her to face him. Then with a passion he’d never before shown, he kissed her, consuming but also feeding her fire. He tasted intoxicating, of restrained power.
Part of her couldn’t understand why she’d waited so long, but she also had an inner peace that her timing was perfect. They’d redefined their relationship, and she’d honed the skill of directly asking for what she needed.
When he ended the kiss, he scooped her from the floor. “Your first act as my submissive, Sarah?”
“Sir?”
“Move our dinner reservations back an hour.”
She grinned. “I was presumptuous, Sir. I already did.”
He gazed at her, and it was all she could do not to squirm in his arms.
“In that case, shall we get on with it?”
“Your, ah, rattan cane is next to your nightstand, Sir.”
He placed her on the bed and hooked his forefinger in the O-ring. “You are feeling brave.”
She’d learnt to tolerate it, but more, in the last few weeks, she’d also started to enjoy its uncompromising bite. There were times it soothed more than others.
“How many strokes, my Sarah?”
“Ten, Sir.”
“Ten?”
“It spells out I love you. And I remembered to count the spaces.”
“You’re perfect, Sarah. Perfect.” He sat on the bed. “Have I told you how much I love
you?
”
“Not in the last half hour, Sir.”
“In that case…”
At his whispered words, a promised threat, an illicit thrill jolted her. And when he pulled her over his knee, her pussy turned molten.
He snatched up the rigid rattan and said, “Let me spell it out for you.”
Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:
Mastered: With This Collar
Sierra Cartwright
Excerpt
Chapter One
“And now, friends, Lana will offer her submission to her new husband,” Damien Lowell said.
Julia scowled. Submission?
Lana and Julia had chatted on the phone earlier in the week to discuss the final wedding plans. Lana had warned that the union would be a bit untraditional. She’d been vague about the details, but she’d made Julia promise to say nothing during the ceremony.
They’d been friends since they were ten, and there was no way Julia would miss the festivities, even if they were a bit odd.
Until now, everything had been what she’d expected.
Lana and Ben were being married at their friend Damien’s mountain home. Damien was also performing the ceremony.
About two dozen of the couple’s closest friends had gathered in the great room and, at dusk, Lana had descended the stairs of Damien’s picturesque home, carrying a single, beautiful, white rose to match her full-length gown.
The only gift requested had been a candle. In a romantic gesture, the pair had said they wanted all their friends to light their way into their future.
As Ben and Lana had joined hands and faced Damien, fat snowflakes had fallen from the cloudy sky. The vows had included the word obey, which was somewhat unusual among their circle of friends. But everything else had been normal. Lana had placed her rose on the mantel behind Damien before she and Ben had exchanged rings.
“Lana?” Damien prompted.
“Yes, Sir,” Lana said.
‘Sir’?
Until tonight, Julia hadn’t met Damien. She knew he was a friend of the groom’s, and he was drop-dead, movie star handsome. The man had rakishly long, dark hair that curled at his nape, and he wore an indefinable air of command as easily as he filled out his charcoal gray suit. But still, for her friend to call him ‘Sir’…?
Lana cast her gaze at the floor and gracefully turned her back to her new husband.
Ben undid the row of tiny buttons that held her gown closed.
What the hell?
Ben drew the material from Lana’s shoulders and let the dress fall to the floor.
Lana, wearing stacked heels, a merry widow and stockings, stepped out of the dress, and another man scooped it up and laid it across a chair.
Like Damien, this man was also ridiculously tall. That was where the resemblance ended. This man had an olive complexion that hinted at a Mediterranean background. His head was shaved. He wore black jeans and a black T-shirt that revealed a number of tattoos. A thick, knotted silver bracelet adorned his left wrist, and a silver stud pierced his right earlobe. He could have been a pirate in a former life.
Suddenly
unconventional
took on a whole new meaning. Julia had never been more distressed. Part of her wanted to make an escape, and a bigger part of her wanted to shake some sense into her friend. But she was riveted in place by her promise to remain silent.
With a grace that spoke of practice, Lana knelt.
Jesus.
All through college, they’d each vowed to keep their independence. They’d pushed against the glass ceiling, and they’d fought for their positions in corporate America. And now her friend was kneeling in front of her husband, almost naked, for their guests to see?
Julia wondered if she was the only one who was frozen in shock.
Lana spread her legs a bit farther apart, and she leaned forward to kiss one of Ben’s shoes.
Julia gasped.
From the front of the room, Damien looked over his shoulder at her, his eyebrows raised.
Firm, relentless hands landed on her shoulders. Her heart rate increased with her panic.
“Be quiet,” a man whispered harshly into her ear.
“I—”
“I said be quiet.”
She gritted her teeth. The man’s tone was commanding.
He pulled her back a bit, and she inhaled the unmistakable—and sexy—scent of leather.
In that same rich and rough, for-her-ears-only voice, he added, “Or else I’ll haul your sweet ass out of here and turn you over my knee.”
For the first time in her life, she was rendered speechless.
“Lana’s doing this of her own choice,” he continued.
She struggled against his grip, but he dug his fingers deeper into her flesh.
“Surely she told you to expect some unconventional things.”
“But—”
“Trust her,” he urged. “Like she trusted you.”
About the Author