“Beautiful little girl,” he said. His voice was low and heavy with hunger. “I’m half-afraid to flog you. I could probably use a shoestring on you and still break you in half.”

  “If it pleases you to break me, sir,” she said, “I’m pleased to be broken.”

  SIX

  Her hand on his cock was killing him. He had to stop her before he came. As much as he relished the sensation of her soft palm and slender fingers around him…as much as he needed to spill all over her stomach and naked breasts…he didn’t want to, not yet. He was the master. He had to be in complete control so she could feel safe enough to lose control. And that’s what he wanted more than anything—to watch her lose control as she came and came and came.

  Soon. But not yet.

  He took her wrist in his hand and pulled it from his cock. Quickly, before he changed his mind and put her on her back on the rug and fucked her raw, he zipped up his trousers and fastened them, tucking in his shirt to protect the tender skin of his cock from the cold metal of the zipper. He hadn’t been this painfully brutally hard in months, so hard the tip was already tender. When he came tonight, finally, it would feel like a dam breaking.

  But first, he was going to hurt her. And he was going to like it.

  He turned her to the fireplace and had her stand in front of it, facing it. From his trunk, he took out a spreader bar and four hooks.

  When Brad designed his private dungeon, he made sure that no one, not even someone kinky, would realize it was a dungeon unless they knew exactly where to look. No massive looming St. Andrew’s Cross here. Instead, he’d screwed D-rings under the wooden fireplace mantel. And it was to these rings he hooked Sheridan’s arms wide, a pale naked, trembling letter T.

  Then, kneeling on the rug, he pushed her legs apart wide enough to fit the spreader bar between her ankles. Two hooks secured it. He waited for her to test it, to try to push her legs closed. All subs tested their bonds. It was a temptation they couldn’t resist.

  Except for Sheridan, it appeared.

  Just his luck. The perfect submissive he’d always wanted, and he couldn’t keep her past midnight.

  While on his knees, he couldn’t resist touching her again. He brought his hand up to her cunt and stroked the bare folds of her vulva, wetting his fingertips. Then he found her clitoris. It was swollen, throbbing against his touch when he pressed it. She gasped and pumped her hips. He let her. He rubbed it while she pumped her hips into his hand, shameless. She’d already come once, and he wasn’t about to let her do it again. It was his turn…but pain before pleasure.

  He moved his hand away, leaving her sagging and panting, still pumping her hips like a cat in heat. He found the flogger he wanted—suede tails. Soft as velvet when wielded gently. Wielded roughly, it would set her on fire.

  Flogger in hand, he walked to the side of the mantel so she could turn her head and see him. He set the flogger onto the mantel.

  “You look beautiful in that collar,” he said. He slipped out of his suit jacket.

  “Thank you, sir.” Her words came out in pants. Her face was red and loose strands of hair fell over her forehead. She looked half-wild already. “Who were they for?”

  He stopped halfway through unbuttoning his right cuff. Then he carried on, rolling up his right sleeve, then his left.

  “They were wrapped up for Christmas,” she said. “I just assumed—”

  “No one you know,” he said, realizing how inadequate that answer was as he said it. “Someone I’m not with anymore. Her choice.”

  Sheridan nodded as if those few words told her the entire story. Was it the words or the look in his eyes?

  “Wrong choice,” Sheridan said. “Sir.”

  God, could she be any sexier? When her driver came, they would have to pry Sheridan out of his hands. He pushed that thought away and focused.

  “Tell me if it hurts,” he said. “Not because I’ll stop. Just because I want to make sure it hurts.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said in a small voice. “It hurts.”

  “I haven’t even started yet.”

  “That’s why it hurts.”

  “You keep this up, kitten, I’ll never let you leave.”

  She lowered her head, ready for her beating. It sounded like she said something under her breath. Maybe it was Good.

  Or maybe he only hoped that’s what she said.

  He picked up the flogger.

  SEVEN

  At first, it didn’t hurt. The tips of the suede tails brushed over Sheridan’s body like the softest breeze. But then the breeze turned into a wind, and the wind became a firestorm as he struck her again and again. It hurt. It hurt like fire. For minutes, hours, days, Brad flogged her from neck to knees. With her arms locked to the mantel and her legs wide open, she couldn’t move away from the assault, only endure it.

  Endure it. Enjoy it. Adore it.

  Between strikes, she would glance left at the mirror on the back of the door. Brad in his bare feet, his suit, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, tie tied just so perfectly, and his suit vest begging to be unbuttoned with her teeth. She could even see his erection through the tight wool of his trousers.

  Silver hair peppered with brown. Wolf eyes watching, ready to strike.

  She’d never wanted a man this much. It was a fire that nothing could put out but his cock in her. Images of him fucking her flooded her mind. On her back on the rug, legs splayed, cunt spread wide, his cock pounding into her core. On her hands and knees, his fist inside her to his forearm. Bent over the chair. Cock in her ass. Dildo in her cunt fucking two holes at once. Tied spread-eagle to the bed naked while he straddled her head, fucking her mouth. Him on the leather club chair, fully dressed but for his cock out and dripping, her on top, grinding her hips, riding him while he pinched and pulled her nipples until she came so hard she screamed…

  Just when she thought she couldn’t take any more pain, he changed tactics.

  With a sudden swing of the flogger, he brought the soft suede tails between her legs, striking her cunt. The pain of the flogging hadn’t killed her arousal, only masked it. And when the leather slapped her clitoris, she cried out. Another strike was one too many. With a loud cry, her vagina spasmed, her orgasm erupting from her without warning.

  She sagged in her bonds, unable to stand as the waves ripped through her. Brad caught her with one arm around her waist. Her head fell back against his chest, and she gazed up at him through eyes half-closed, barely seeing.

  His mouth came down on hers in a demanding kiss…but then it was over. It was all over. He unhooked her legs from the spreader bar and her hands from the mantel. Then he took her to the rug and laid her out in front of him. She spread her legs. Her climax was waning, but already she wanted another.

  From inside the trunk, he took out a condom. He opened his pants again. The condom was on in seconds. Kneeling between her wide-open thighs, his hands found her breasts and rubbed them roughly, possessively. She arched her back into his hands, offering herself to him, all of her.

  He lowered her head and wrapped his hot mouth around her nipple. She cried out as he suckled it deeply, then cried out again when his cock speared her. She lifted her hips to take it. Inside, she was so wet and slick, he went into her core with one powerful thrust. After that, it was all animal fucking, rutting. She went wild under him, pumping her hips so hard into his thrusts that she imagined she was almost lifting him by the sheer force of her need.

  And his need seemed as great as hers. His mouth ravished her breasts, sucking the pink tips until they ached. Then he rose over her and covered her breasts with his hands again. Pressing her down onto the rug, he pounded her, pounded his own orgasm into her until her head fell back, her mouth opened, and she came like the end of the world.

  Then it was over.

  She flinched as Brad pulled out of her. She turned onto her side and brought her legs to her chest. Emotion overwhelmed her. When he’d been inside her, she’d been safe and warm. Now, suddenly, she was freezing, shaking, shivering like the world truly had ended. She’d never experienced this before, this overwhelming sense of loss. A loss so profound it almost felt like grief.

  But why?

  Brad didn’t seem surprised by it. He appeared ready for it, in fact. He left her side but only long enough to bring her a bottle of water. Then he lifted her head and helped her drink it before laying her down again. Calmly he draped his suit jacket over her and sat behind her, massaging her back.

  “It’s all right,” he said. His voice was steady, tender, and calm. “It’s just the drop.”

  “No, I don’t get the drop,” she said, shaking her head. She knew all about X-drop, sub drop, top drop—that weird emotional collapse some people got after topping or being topped. She’d been told it felt like you were flying one second, and then suddenly, someone cut the strings. “I just get euphoric and silly and, um…” She shook her head.

  “Sheridan? Talk to me. That’s an order.”

  “I don’t want to go home.” It came out at once, and she hated herself for saying it, especially how she’d said it. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry?”

  “I’m being a child,” she said. “I sound like one. ‘I don’t want to go home.’” She mocked herself, putting on the voice of a whining child. “I was always like that as a kid. I’d be at a friend’s house, and we would be playing the most wonderful game of pretend princesses, and then Dad would show up. And I would beg for five more minutes. Anything to stay in the magic world a little longer.”

  “You can stay. I won’t make you go home.” His strong hand stroked her hair. Every kindness only made it worse. “I don’t want you to go home either.”

  “I can’t. I want to, but I can’t. I can’t be like this all the time. Just every now and then when no one’s looking. If I get caught, they’ll fire me, and then my agent loses her best client and my manager and my cast and—”

  He hushed her gently. She curled her knees closer to her chest.

  “I’m just being emotional,” she said. “I’m sorry to ruin it.”

  “You aren’t ruining anything, Sheridan. You just gave me the first good night I’ve had in three months and one of the best nights I’ve had in my life.”

  Maybe it was calculated, dropping the detail about “three months.” Something to distract her, but if so, Sheridan didn’t care. She rolled onto her back.

  “What happened three months ago?”

  “My fiancée left me.”

  Sheridan was shocked, though she couldn’t say why. What was so shocking about a well-off, incredibly handsome man getting engaged? Only that she had trouble imagining being kinky and married. Maybe that was the problem?

  “She wasn’t kinky?”

  “No, she was. But she—”

  And that’s when she heard it…the last sound she wanted to hear.

  His phone alarm started going off.

  Time to go.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said.

  “No, it’s not your fault.” She started to roll up, but he held up his hand to stop her.

  “Wait. That wasn’t my alarm.”

  “What was it?” She sat up, holding his jacket over her. She was still shaky, but she felt more like herself now.

  He stood up and held out his hand to her. She took it and let him pull her to her feet. Suddenly aware of her nakedness, embarrassed by it, she pulled on his jacket and wrapped it around her like a robe. She could swim inside of it, it was so big on her. He went to the window, and she followed him.

  “That was a severe weather alert.” He drew back the curtain. In the hour and a half they’d been in his dungeon, the world had turned white. Snow was coming down in sheets. She couldn’t even see the house next door. “And all the roads are closed.”

  “I don’t have to go home tonight?”

  “No, kitten,” he said, and she saw the quickest flash of a smile in the window glass. “You’re with me tonight.”

  EIGHT

  In the kitchen, Brad could overhear Sheridan in the living room talking to her driver.

  “Oh, no, it’s fine. I’m safe here. When the roads are clear, then you can pick me up. Please don’t try driving anywhere tonight, okay? Sleep well.”

  First, she was kind to her driver, friendly. Brad had known a few celebrities in his day, and he couldn’t say the same for most of them.

  Second, she’d said, “I’m safe here.” He liked hearing that so much Brad caught himself smiling mid-pancake flip.

  Sheridan walked into the kitchen through the dining room. He’d given her one of his Oxford shirts to wear. Although it was three times too big for her, she looked incredibly sexy in it. Especially with her blond hair down and a little mussed from the sex. She was still wearing her cuffs and collar.

  She smiled shyly at him as she lingered in the doorway. “You changed,” she said, nodding toward his clothes—red and black flannel pants and a gray T-shirt.

  When it was clear Sheridan would be staying the night, he’d decided to make the sleepover as comfortable as possible for her.

  “I don’t usually cook midnight breakfast in a three-piece suit,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t either. That was a nice suit.”

  “All the better to seduce you with.” He gave her a wink as he went to the fridge. “You can take the cuffs off if you want. You’re a free woman if you want to be.”

  “Is it okay if I keep them on? I like them.” She held up her wrist. “Real fur?”

  “Faux. Faux fur. Vegan leather. Not that I’m a vegan, but the intended recipient was. And they were hand-made, so it’s nice they aren’t going to waste.” He was about to tell her how beautiful she looked in them when the kettle screamed its whistle. “So…tea? Coffee? Both are decaf.”

  “Tea, thank you.”

  He tossed a bag of peppermint rooibos into a mug and poured hot water over it. “All good staying overnight?”

  “All good. I convinced my driver I could survive twelve to twenty-four hours in the ’burbs without dying of boredom. He thinks I’m at a bridal shower for an old castmate who quit the business to get married.”

  “That’s a pretty elaborate lie.”

  “I like to give the characters in my lies backstories,” she said. “This one’s a TV actress like me. Got sick of the grind. Very depressed. Then went to a party one night and met a famous Broadway composer twice her age. Fell in love, obviously. Moved to the ’burbs. Getting married at the Gansevoort. I got her a spa day at Oasis as a gift.”

  “The Gansevoort? No offense, I’d pick The Sherry-Netherland.”

  “I never said my fake retired actress in my elaborate lie had good taste, just good luck.”

  “‘Broadway composer’ is also a very specific detail. Anyone I’ve heard of?”

  She fluttered her eyes coquettishly. “Well, to be honest, I had a massive crush on a composer I worked with in my Broadway days. Nothing ever happened between us, but he did write a song for me. He put it in his next show and ended up winning a Tony for Best Original Score. He gave the award to me and said I could give it back to him the day I won my own Tony. Which I, uh…swore I would do. Then I got a job in television, and that was the end of Broadway and me.”

  “You miss it?”

  “Every day.”

  “Can you go back?”

  “To Broadway? I could, but it doesn’t pay nearly as well as TV does. I make as much per episode as I would for a full year on Broadway, even in a top production. And I have a lot of mouths to feed.”

  “Kids?”

  “Agent, manager, castmates…”

  “That’s a lot of pressure on one little kitten.”

  She shrugged again. “With what they pay me, I can’t complain.”

  He picked up the mug of tea and carried it over to her. She took it from him with both hands.

  “You can complain.” He kissed her cheek. “Pancakes?”

  “That sounds amazing. Haven’t eaten in hours.”

  “Have a seat. Two minutes.”

  She went back to the dining room. He warmed the syrup, found napkins and forks, and brought them out.

  Sheridan sat with her back to the picture window, her knees pulled up to her chest.

  “A dom who sets his own table,” she said. “There’s a name for that, right?”

  “If there is, I don’t know it. Unless it’s ‘adult.’”

  She unfolded her napkin and laid it across her legs. “You know what I mean,” she said, spinning her fork in the air as if trying to turn the gears in her brain. “There are the dominants who do everything, and the submissive just sits there and waits to be used—”

  “Daddies,” he said. “Or mommies.”

  “Right. And then there are the doms who, you know, order the sub around and beat them over any infraction. I know there’s a name for it. Mistress Nora would know.”

  “That’s DD,” he said. “Domestic discipline. Basically, turning your submissive—male or female—into a 1950s housewife.”

  “That’s it. I’m not into that. I’m into this.” She spread her arms out to indicate the table he’d set, the food he’d cooked. “Less discipline, more spoiling. Not that I’d mind washing the dishes. You wouldn’t even have to order me to do it.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” He winked at her as he returned to the kitchen to fetch the pancakes and syrup. He brought them out, and as soon as he set the plate in front of her, Sheridan tucked in with a good appetite.

  “DD isn’t my preference either,” he continued. “It can work, but I know too many doms who take their real frustrations out on their partner. If you’re angry—actually angry, not just doing a scene—when you hit someone, I don’t care what name you call it, it’s abuse with a bow tied around it.”

  She was staring at him, a bite of pancake hanging off the end of her fork.

  “You’re going to drop that, kitten,” he said.