His to Cherish

“Which floor?”

“Twelve, thanks.” Emma exhaled her relief. The gentleman in the elevator had patiently held the door open while she hurried across the lobby of the New Orleans office building. She’d been at lunch too long—the quarterly gathering with her college girlfriends had been too scandalous and delicious to leave. As the waiter had brought a second glass of wine for each of them, they’d shared stories of their sex lives—the thrills and droughts—and now she was in danger of running late for a meeting with a client.

The man pushed the button for the twelfth floor and then fifteen—presumably his—as the compartment closed.

“How’s the book?”

“Umm. This?” Self-consciously she moved the bestselling paperback behind her. “I just borrowed it from a friend.” Borrowed it? Pried it from Kathleen’s unwilling fingers was more like it. Everywhere Emma went, people were talking about the novel, and after some of her friends’ confessions over lunch, Emma had been desperate to read it. Though she had a couple of friends who were into BDSM, she knew little about it. What she did know intrigued her. But where would she find a man into that kind of kink? Her last boyfriend, Aaron, had called her a freak when she’d bought a couple of scarves and asked him to tie her up with them. Later, she found out that was only the beginning of their problems.

“Do you know anything about the novel?”

She took a second look at the man next to her. He was taller than her, by at least a couple of inches, and that said something. In heels, she wasn’t used to looking up at many people.

He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, and his thick dark hair had a hint of gray at the temples, which added to his dangerous and distinguished good looks.

Even though she knew she was staring, she couldn’t look away. His eyes were a startling shade of green, dark and intense. She had an odd, feminine sense that he saw through her tough exterior into her innermost secrets.

“So, do you?”

Stalling for time, she pretended to misunderstand. “Do I what?”

“Do you know anything about the book?”

He captured her gaze. Instinct told her to look away, but she couldn’t. Unnerved, she tightened her grip on her purse strap. “It’s hard not to. It’s being talked about everywhere.” Realizing she was in danger of babbling, something she did not do, she changed the direction of the conversation. “Have you read it?”

“I haven’t read it, no. There’s no need.”

“No need?”

His scent seemed to brand the air—something crisp and outdoorsy, a stamp of primal male power and intrigue.

He reached inside his suit jacket.

Emma made a decent living as a financial adviser, and she recognized quality. The suit that had been exquisitely tailored to fit his toned body cost at least a month of her salary.

“I live the lifestyle.”

“The lifestyle? Meaning?” A bell dinged, indicating that she’d reached her floor.

“I’m a Dominant.” He extracted his wallet, then offered her his business card. “Look me up if you’re curious.”

Without looking at it, she accepted his offering and tucked it into her purse.

The doors slid open. As if hypnotized, she remained rooted in place.

Because she hadn’t moved, he reached out to press a button to prevent the car from closing. As he did, a wink of gold flashed from his cufflink. What kind of man still wore those to work?

“I look forward to hearing from you. Ms.…?”

Automatically, maybe foolishly, she provided it. “Monroe. Emma Monroe.”

He smiled, and something warm passed through her. “Very soon.” This man, tall and broad, had an air of easy command, as if he was accustomed to issuing orders and having others obey. She had an insane urge to treat him with respect he’d yet to earn. Her entire body warmed beneath his attention.

He stepped aside, and she exited the elevator. Wondering what had happened, Emma just stood there.

“Oh my Lord! You were on the elevator with Philip Dettmer? Hello…? Earth to Emma…”

She looked at Lori, the firm’s receptionist. Lori had been with Larson Financial almost as long as Emma had been. “That was Philip Dettmer?” Though it was fruitless, she looked over her shoulder.

“Yeah. The one. The only.” Lori sighed. “The unbearably sexy.”

Emma knew his name—who in Louisiana didn’t? He was legendary when it came to buying businesses, whether or not they wanted to be bought. He owned stakes in the local football team and was rumored to be a billionaire. From his air of confidence, she certainly believed it. Of course she knew the name, but she didn’t follow the local media enough to have recognized him.

Lori was making an elaborate show of fanning herself with a file folder. “Every time I see him, he makes me want to do things that are immoral.”

Tingles still raced through Emma’s body. “Does he come here often?”

“He has a business associate in this building. Gavin McLeod.”

Another name she recognized.

“Anyway, you know Marjorie who works in the lobby? She sends a text to a few of us when Mr. Dettmer walks in. I do my best to catch a glimpse of him. Maybe I should just start riding the elevator when she messages me.”

“He saw my book.” Emma held up the paperback.

“Whoa. Seriously?”

“And, uhm, he asked if I’d read it.”

“Holy shit. You talked about sex with Philip Dettmer?” The manila folder swished to the floor. “Get out!”

“Not about sex exactly.”

“Just about kink?”

She didn’t tell Lori that he’d passed along his business card and invited her to look him up.

“I’d get naked and do the nasty with him in under a second. The jealousy monster has colored me green.”

The phone rang, and Lori moved to answer it, chirruping a professional greeting, even though she gave Emma a wide smile and a big thumbs-up.

Emma continued to her office and shut the door. For a moment, she leaned her shoulders against the wood. Her heart was racing, and she couldn’t seem to banish the scent of him.

Good God, she had this kind of reaction, and he hadn’t even touched her.

She took a deep breath, then smoothed her skirt as she walked to her desk to hide the book. As she closed it in a drawer, she told herself to focus. Her client was due to arrive in less than five minutes. Her voicemail notification was blinking madly, and she still had investments to research before going home. She didn’t have time to think about Philip Dettmer, or having him do delicious, naughty things to her.

Despite her determination, she struggled to keep thoughts of their interaction at bay. Her concentration repeatedly wandered off, and as a result, she had to stay at the office longer than anticipated to finish her projects.

Once she arrived home, she kicked off her pumps, then changed into leggings and an oversize T-shirt bearing a map of the French Quarter. After grabbing a glass of wine, she hurried into her office to power up her computer to learn everything she could about Philip Dettmer.

Page after page of information appeared, covering everything from his business dealings to his charitable endeavors. But then she couldn’t resist opening Scandalicious, her favorite online gossip magazine, to read stories about his failed marriage. His ex—Anna Lively—had made a number of vague but awful allegations of marital misconduct. She’d never given any details, saying a gag order prevented her from discussing the proceedings. But she’d painted her husband as the villain among villains.

For the next year or so, there were no mentions of Philip. But then articles about him began to pop up, along with rumors of romances, a few of them with actresses or models, and even an heiress. Emma leaned forward to study the dates on his recent pictures. Since his divorce, it seemed as if none of his relationships had lasted more than a single date.

He looked heart-stoppingly hot in a tuxedo on the red carpet. He was fuck-me gorgeous in jeans and a brown leather bomber jacket. And, oh God, the one of him emerging from the Caribbean-blue surf? As she’d already guessed, Philip Dettmer worked out. The picture was grainy—probably a Scandalicious paparazzi shot—but she noticed a small amount of tantalizing chest hair that arrowed downward, disappearing into the waistband of his swim trunks.

And he wants me to contact him?

Dare she?

She shook her head. What’s wrong with me? She shouldn’t be contemplating a hook-up with a billionaire. A hook-up? More like a scene where he tied her up and spanked her.

He was out of her league, and she knew next to nothing about the kinky lifestyle he professed to live.

Before she could change her mind, she closed her web browser and powered down the computer.

With a sigh, she returned to the living room to pick up the paperback before heading to the master bathroom to turn on the bathwater. Tonight a shower wouldn’t do. She needed a long, leisurely soak with bubbles, wine, and her book.

An hour later, she’d read a hundred scorching pages that had left her feeling restless. She’d finished the glass of wine, and she’d reheated the bathwater twice.

Emma slammed the book closed, dropped it on the floor, leaned back against the bath pillow, and closed her eyes. Part of her wished she’d never started down this path.

Until now, every one of her sexual experiences had been ho-hum and boring. Her last relationship had ended more than six months ago, and clearly the drought was getting to her. How else could she explain the fact she was fantasizing about Philip Dettmer tying her hands behind her back and bending her over the bed? He’d use one of the scarves she’d bought, or maybe handcuffs… He’d tell her, in detail, what he was going to do to her before slapping her ass hard.

She opened her eyes. It was almost as if she could feel the pressure of his open-handed strike on her buttocks.

What the hell was going on? Emma had always been practical and realistic, never given to flights of fancy. She’d studied hard, graduated with honors, and secured a great job. But now…?

She climbed from the bathtub and wrapped herself in a fluffy towel. Maybe it was because she’d read the book, or from the risqué lunch conversation, but she was more turned on than she remembered being. She grabbed a vibrator from the nightstand drawer and lay down on the bed.

After turning on the switch, Emma parted her thighs and placed the egg-shaped toy against her pussy. She finally admitted the truth to herself. Her arousal wasn’t from the novel or from the discussion with her friends. It was the chance meeting with Mr. Dettmer. The scent of him, combined with his aura of authority and bold words, had made it impossible for her to have a single rational thought.

The vibrator’s humming, pulsing sensation pushed her to the edge. Even though she dug her heels into the mattress and continued to move the egg against her swollen clit, the orgasm loomed out of reach.

Frustrated, she turned the toy to its highest setting and pinched her right nipple. The pain was exquisite. Would Mr. Dettmer do the same if she scened with him? Or would he use clamps on her? In her fantasy, he tormented her ruthlessly, showing no mercy even though she begged for it.

Would he be like the hero in the book, using bondage gear to tie her up while he ripped orgasm after orgasm from her poor body?

In her fevered imagination, she submitted to him. Emma had no idea what that really meant, but she wanted to find out. She wanted to kneel for him, to follow his orders, to get rid of her inhibitions with a man who wasn’t afraid of her sexuality. For her, that was what it was really about. Even when she was in a committed relationship, her sex drive was never satiated.

Her pussy got wetter and wetter as she imagined Philip Dettmer’s hands on her body. His touch wouldn’t be gentle, but it would be what she needed.

Enough to actually call him?

Before today, she might have said no.

But the lunch with her friends had been liberating. Talking about the book had allowed Emma and her friends to share their innermost desires.

One of her best friends, Shelby, was in a lifestyle BDSM relationship with her fiancé, Trevor. According to Shelby, he’d helped her get past her awful hang-ups about commitment, and she seemed even more confident now than she ever had. Emma knew her friend occasionally visited a club in the French Quarter with Trevor.

The idea of being with a Dominant in public made Emma tighten her grip on her nipple. As she squirmed, she pictured Mr. Dettmer slapping her pussy hard.

The combination of her thoughts and the slight pain was enough to make her cry out. Then she imagined him naked, his cock erect, digging his hand into her hair before forcing that big dick inside her needy pussy. The thought of him relentlessly fucking her pushed her to the edge.

Wave after wave assailed her. She’d never had an orgasm this sustained. Shock waves of sensation flooded her pussy. This was what she’d always wanted, dreamed of.

Soon the intensity from the vibrator became too much, and she dropped it, leaving it humming on the mattress while she drank in gulps of air.

It took a full minute for her to breathe normally again. Finally, she sat up and switched off the small egg. Her legs were wobbly as she stood to pull on a nightshirt.

The climax had been good, and yet the odd restlessness persisted. She usually fell asleep after an orgasm, but tonight she tossed and turned as scenes from the book teased her. In her imagination, she was the heroine of the story, and Philip Dettmer tied her, spanked her, tormented, and clamped her. He administered the pain she craved, until she screamed her pleasure and begged for the relief that he repeatedly denied her.

It was well after midnight when she drifted off, and she was awake again before her alarm clock rang. Her heart beat quickly, and her blood hummed as if she’d already had a pot of coffee.

Sometime during the night, she’d reached a decision to get in contact with Mr. Dettmer.

She wanted the experience he offered, at least once. He might be disappointed in her, but she’d have the memory to last a lifetime.

Before she could change her mind, she grabbed his business card from her purse, then picked up her phone. Needing fortification before taking the leap, she shuffled into the kitchen and made a cup of coffee from her single-cup brewer. After a long sip, she opened her email program and typed in his name.

For minutes, she struggled with what to write before settling on something mundane. “It’s Emma Monroe. I met you in the elevator yesterday. I’m curious.”

Her hand shook as she hit Send.

Over the next hour as she got ready for work, she agonized, alternately wishing she’d never sent the email and obsessively checking for a response.

Emma was on the way out of the door when her cell phone signaled an incoming email. Curiosity wouldn’t allow her to leave it unread. What if it was from him?

She juggled her to-go cup of coffee, her purse, and her tote onto the hallway table. Her heart momentarily stopped, then raced on madly when she saw he’d answered.

Call me.

He’d offered a phone number, and nothing else. Emma collapsed against the wall and stared at the screen.

After much internal debate, she took a deep breath and touched the number. The phone gave her the option to confirm her choice. This time she didn’t hesitate. Her mind was made up. She wanted to be with a man—at least once—who didn’t think her sexual desires were abnormal.

The first ring hadn’t even finished when he answered. “Dettmer.”

Oh God. She’d forgotten how rich his voice was, how compelling. With a single word, he’d made her damp. “Hello…” She paused, uncertain how to address him. Sir? Philip? Mr. Dettmer?

He waited. Even through the phone lines, she sensed his patience. “It’s Emma Monroe.” She hesitated. This was more difficult than she’d imagined. “We met yesterday in the elevator.”

“How’s the book?”

“It’s, uhm…”

“Did you masturbate last night?”

Her knees weakened. “You don’t waste time on small talk, do you?”

“Do you want me to?”

Awkwardly, she laughed. “It might make it a bit easier.”

“Is that what you really want, Emma? For me to make things easier for you? Or do you want to confess to me that you played with yourself last night while you thought about me and what I might do to you if you begged prettily enough?”

His words, a whispered, sexy purr, made her gasp.

Before she could formulate an answer, he went on. “How many times did you come, Emma?”

The dialogue in the novel had been one of the things that had turned her on most, but now that Philip Dettmer, the Philip Dettmer, was being so blunt, she found herself flustered. “Just once,” she said.

“Did you use a toy, or just your hand?”

“Uhm… A toy.” The word Sir was on the tip of her tongue, and she almost, almost, used it. She’d never had that kind of inclination with any man before, but then she’d never met a man this powerful, this direct.

“Tell me more. Where were you? What were you thinking of?”

Thank God she hadn’t returned his call from the office. “Last night I took a bath.” She hesitated, but he didn’t fill the silence. She sensed he’d wait her out, no matter how long it took. Nervously she continued. “I had a glass of wine, and I read for about an hour in the tub. You know, the book I had in the elevator.”

Again he said nothing.

“Then I went to bed with my vibrator.”

“Continue.”

With her free hand she pushed hair back from her face. “I was thinking about scenes I’d just read, but my imagination took over.” Admitting all this was embarrassing. Part of her wondered what she was doing. Emma reminded herself that she’d sought him out. “I was tied up.” Before courage completely deserted her, she went on. “I imagined a sharp slap between my legs.”

“On your pussy?”

“Yes.”

“If that’s what you mean, then say it.”

No man had ever demanded she use dirty language. It was unnerving. Liberating. “I imagined being slapped on my pussy.”

“Ah. Was that when you came?”

She whispered her confession. “Yes.”

“Has that ever been done to you?”

“No. Never.”

“Is it merely a fantasy? Or would you like to have your pussy spanked, Emma?”

Oh. God. She could barely breathe. The tone of his voice—seductive and firm—sent a bolt of electricity through her body.

“Answer the question.”

“Yes.”

“Speak a little louder, please.”

This man would never let her hide. It took all her courage to be honest with him. “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “I would like that.”

“Good girl.”

His words were a purr of approval, making her heart race.

“How much experience do you have with BDSM?”

“Actually, to tell the truth? None. And when I suggested it to my boyfriend—”

“Current or prior?”

“Oh! Prior.” She was flustered, and a little offended. “I’m not a cheater, Mr. Dettmer.”

“Glad to hear. Please, go on.”

The fact that they were on the phone made this discussion easier. “Anyway, Aaron called me a freak, and he used that as an excuse to start dating another woman—someone who was less demanding.”

“While he was still seeing you?”

It had been worse than that. “I was living with him.” Admitting this brought back the pain as well as the humiliation. “We’d been looking at rings…” Talking about having babies. “Anyway, he said no self-respecting man would want to be married to a woman who had those kind of perversions.”

“He was a fool, Emma. Complete and total. Everything you want—and more—is perfectly normal. If you want my opinion…?”

She was curious. “Yes.”

“Aaron was a coward who had likely checked out of the relationship long before this. Couples who are committed to one another workout the issues that they have by talking about them, not by walking away.”

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see her.

“You’re as beautiful as you are bold. Any man would be lucky to claim you as his. Something was wrong with him, Emma, not with you. I promise you that.”

His reassurance chased goose bumps up her arms.

“And let me tell you this. Plenty of women love having their pussies spanked.” That husky growl of sexiness was back in his voice. “And frankly, I enjoy doing it.” He waited a moment, allowing the time to stretch while her pulse rocketed into overdrive. “If you’d like to have your gorgeous little cunt tormented, by me, all you have to do is ask.”

Her knees wobbled, and terror tightened her vocal cords.

With that seemingly infinite patience, he waited.

Finally she cleared her throat. Hoping she was using the correct words, she asked, “Will you please spank my pussy?”

“I’d be honored to, as hard as you want. When?”

She almost repeated the question before realizing how inane that would sound. “Whenever you’re available.”

“We have a few options. You can come to my home. We can go to my club. Or I can come to you.”

Emma hadn’t thought through the practicalities. If she went to him, she had the option of leaving if things spiraled out of control. At her place, she would feel more secure. She wasn’t sure about the idea of playing in public, but that was probably the safest option, at least until she knew him better. “Maybe a club would be best.” Absently she wondered if it was the same one that Shelby went to. If so, maybe she knew Mr. Dettmer.

“Agreed. I’ll be traveling extensively in the next ten days. How about we meet two weeks from now? Are Tuesdays good for you?”

She wasn’t sure if the time was too long or far, far too short for her to work up the nerve to go through with this.

“Emma?”

Determinedly she shook herself out of her reverie. “That will be fine, Mr. Dettmer.”

“My club is in the French Quarter.”

Parking was notoriously difficult there, and she didn’t like to go alone.

“I’m happy to send a car so you don’t have to worry about anything.”

There were constant reminders of who she was dealing with. She was pretty sure he didn’t mean he’d send a taxi or rideshare service.

“I will always ensure your safety and comfort, Emma.”

“Thank you. That would be nice.”

“Wear a skirt and heels. Your shirt should be button-down. I’ll leave the choice of undergarments up to you. If things go the way I hope, they won’t stay on long. In the meantime, I’ll be in touch with a list of reading materials. Of course I’ll be available to answer any questions.” He paused. “I look forward to getting to know you much, much better. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll have no secrets to hide.”

Her hand was shaking as he ended the call. She pressed the device nervously against her chest. What have I agreed to?

“My God, Emma. You’re so very stunning when you suffer for me.”

Although he was in San Francisco, and they hadn’t yet played together in person, Philip Dettmer’s approval slid through her, feeding her determination. She could do this.

Right now, they were connected via video conference call, and she was lying naked on her back, with her legs spread and her nipples clamped with terrible Japanese clovers.

“Now, place the chain between your teeth.”

Which would make the pressure even more unbearable. Why had she admitted she wanted to play with these little monsters to begin with?

Ever since that fateful elevator ride more than a week prior, he’d stayed in contact with her. In addition to calling her each evening, he sent her articles to read, and he’d even sent her a few BDSM instruction manuals. Additionally, he’d recommended she join an online group where she could network with other submissives and learn more about the lifestyle.

After a few conversations, he’d begun to give her instructions. The first—and most important one—was the most difficult. Not to orgasm without permission.

Last weekend, he’d had fancy Bonds electronic equipment—a camera, new computer, monitor, microphone—delivered and set up, and it hadn’t taken her long to realize that he enjoyed watching her play with herself.

“You’re hesitating.”

She sighed. Because of the way the camera and computer monitor were positioned, she couldn’t see him, but he could see every part of her exposed body.

“Emma?”

His voice was both calm and patient, as she’d come to expect. “It will hurt.”

“I imagine it will.” Humor laced his words. “By not doing as you’re told, you’re adding more time to the clock.”

Her nipples were already a little sore, but she knew he wouldn’t relent. Nor did she want him to.

They talked every day, and he wanted to know everything about her. He’d shared plenty in return, including the fact his divorce had left him determined to avoid committed relationships. Since she wasn’t looking for that either, this temporary arrangement suited her fine.

As part of their ongoing discussions, they’d agreed on a safe word that was easy to remember. She decided on transfer since it was a term she used often at work. If she uttered it, whatever they were doing would immediately stop. And he’d given her the option of saying yellow to slow down or talk about things.

After she’d read the books he’d sent over and done a lot of research, she’d sent him a limits list—toys or scenarios that were hard nos. He’d also insisted on her sharing things she wanted to explore. Stupidly, she’d said she was curious about clamps. Since she didn’t have any of her own, he’d sent her several different choices. Neither the lightweight tweezers nor the mandible-style ones had provided her with enough pleasure, which was how she found herself in her current predicament.

“You’re at two minutes.”

Damn him. He was relentless, and this was awful. Paradoxically, she loved both.

“You’re welcome to use a safe word. Or I can just add another fifteen seconds.”

“Let’s just stay at the two minutes. Sir.”

“I’m not sure where you got the idea that this was a negotiation, my delightful submissive. You’re now at two minutes and thirty seconds.”

She closed her eyes.

“And heading to forty-five.”

This was never going to get any easier. On the other hand, the sooner she got on with it, the sooner it would be done. Maybe if she didn’t stall, he’d allow her to play with her vibrator for ten minutes before bed. “Yes, Sir.” Her voice trembled with misery, and he chuckled softly. Sadist.

With a sigh, she grabbed the chain and placed it between her teeth, which elongated her nipples.

“Now tip your head back.”

That was impossible. No way she could endure that kind of agony.

“It wasn’t a request, Emma. Please do as you’re told.”

Whimpering as each excruciating moment passed, she complied with his order.

“Fuck.” His whisper wrapped around the room, giving her strength. “I wish you could see yourself, the way your face expresses your pain, the way your body vibrates from the tension.”

As he’d previously instructed, she concentrated on his words and on her breathing.

“I’m watching the timer. I’ll let you know when you’re getting close. For now, surrender to the moment.”

Emma did her best to relax, not that it was easy. But imagining the way she looked to him made this more bearable.

During their numerous conversations, he’d been clear about the need for honest discussion, and he’d been transparent in return. He’d expressed that he’d always had an interest in BDSM and that he wasn’t involved in a relationship. He fulfilled his need to Dominate with a willing submissive at the club. After a scene or two, he returned to his regular life, free of entanglements.

He admitted that giving women what they wanted sexually was the ultimate aphrodisiac for him. She absolutely believed him. His rare smiles were reserved for when she sighed with satisfaction after an orgasm.

Philip lapsed into silence, and the only sounds were of her tiny moans and her breathing.

As the seconds ticked on, her experience began to transform.

She allowed her shoulders to soften, using a technique she’d learned in an introductory yoga class.

“That’s it, Emma.” His words were as soft as they were approving. “That’s it.”

Then she decided not to think about how much longer she had to get through, and instead surrendered to the moment.

Shockingly, she began to get aroused. Then, desperate for an orgasm, she moved one hand between her legs.

“I know you’re needy, but please keep your arms at your sides. And spread your thighs farther apart. I want a good view of your pussy.”

His demands were impossible.

“You can do it.”

“Oomph.” Her temporary Dominant had no interest in her protests. In fact, he seemed to thrive on her misery.

Her torment went on forever. Now that he wouldn’t let her touch herself, she was ready to climb the walls. Everything was too much. The pain, the longing, the sexual frustration.

“Time. You may remove one of the clamps.”

One?

“And you may thank me for my generosity.”

Of course she should have thought about that right away. He’d repeatedly prompted her to express her gratitude when he was kind or thoughtful.

Since she was still holding the chain in her mouth, her words of thanks were garbled. She released one nipple and cried out when the blood surged into it, creating a fresh wave of agony as well as a greater demand for an orgasm.

“You’ll be more than ready to meet me at the Quarter on Tuesday evening.”

“I’m ready now.”

Somehow he must have understood her garbled words, because he chuckled, and it wrapped around her with diabolical amusement.

When her nipple returned to its regular size and shape, he allowed her to release the second from its constraint.

Trying to escape all the sensations rushing through her body, she arched her back.

“The way you’re feeling? The endorphins? They can be addictive.”

No doubt he was right. The more she played with him, the more she wanted.

“Would you like to say something to me now that I’ve allowed you to remove both?”

“Thank you.” And she meant it. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Please get dressed.”

She blinked as she sat up. Was he serious? “You’re really not going to let me come?”

“Did I say anything confusing to you?”

“But—” Emma stopped herself from saying anything else.

“Smart girl.”

“Call me back on the telephone.” With that, he signed off.

As she slipped into a silk robe, she was so very tempted to touch herself. After all, he would never know. But she would.

From the research she’d done, she knew that a power exchange—and turning over control—was part of having a Dominant. Most of it was a wild thrill, but the way he withheld climaxes was frustrating as hell. She sighed. And if he let her do as she wished, he wouldn’t be what she wanted at all. God. The contradiction was so confusing.

Emma poured herself a glass of wine, then went outside onto the patio. The fall air was unbelievably warm and heavy with humidity. This evening, that suited her. After what she’d just gone through, her muscles were tight, and being outside soothed them.

Once she was seated on a comfortable chair, she pressed Philip’s speed dial number.

It hadn’t taken her long to be accustomed to spending her evenings with him, no matter where he was in the country.

She looked forward to talking about her explorations as well as catching tidbits of information about his life. It was intimate, reminding her of what she was missing by not being in a relationship.

When he answered, he skipped the normal greetings. “That was very good, Emma. You pleased me.”

She would endure a lot just to hear the warm note of approval in his voice. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Perfect response as well. You’re learning.”

“Sir is an excellent instructor.”

“Tell me about the experience.”

Emma enjoyed the way he deconstructed everything they shared. “The reality wasn’t as bad as I’d expected.”

He remained silent while she looked for the right words. She took a sip of her white zinfandel before continuing. “It hurt, but not like I thought it would. And the pain vanished almost immediately.” But the urge to masturbate remained, and it was every bit as powerful as it had been ten minutes ago.

“I’m looking forward to being the one to put clamps on your nipples.”

The idea of his powerful hands cupping her breasts rocked a blast of pleasure down her spine. “Are we allowed to do that at the club?” A couple of days ago, she’d talked to her friend Shelby, who—as Emma had guessed—was also a member of the same club that he was. Evidently, the owner, Mistress Aviana, had rules to protect submissives and others to ensure privacy. In all the years that she’d been in business, there’d never been a single scandal.

“Yes and no.”

“Oh?” Shelby hadn’t told Emma very many details about the place, and even her searches had revealed frustratingly little information about the building, and there were no pictures online. There were occasional Explore days, where the space was open to nonmembers, but details were only revealed to people who signed up and signed a nondisclosure agreement. Otherwise, it was impossible to get an invitation.

“There are no exposed nipples allowed in the club, so you’ll see a lot of pasties and tape to cover up. But there are private rooms available, and if we’re in one of them, then we can do anything we want. Mistress Aviana’s Safe, Sane, and Consensual policy reigns, and scenes are checked on by her dungeon monitors.”

“Are you saying that’s what you want to do? Be alone, I mean.”

“Not at all. What happens is entirely your call. We decided to meet at a club for safety concerns.”

Back then she hadn’t known him as well as she did now. Last week, Mr. Dettmer had spoken to Shelby and Trevor. Philip had given them permission to talk about him, and he gave her the name of a submissive to contact for a recommendation.

All the things Emma heard contained a similar thread. He was honorable. Even though he attended the club’s special events and often dined there, he rarely scened. And he wasn’t looking for a relationship.

“You don’t need to make a decision now. I can always clamp you through your clothing.”

Which wouldn’t be the same. On the other hand, she wasn’t sure she wanted others watching her BDSM introduction. “I’m willing to consider it.” That her friends spoke highly of him, combined with their hours of deep conversation, had helped her to develop a level of trust.

“When we’re at the Quarter, would you like to use a scene name?”

“I’m not sure what that means or why I’d need one.”

“We have members you might recognize. Politicians, movie stars.”

“Billionaires?”

“One or two of them as well.” Even though she couldn’t see him, the smile in his voice reached her. “For obvious reasons, some may want to protect their identities, so they use a nom de plume at lifestyle events. A lot of people use their initials or a nickname. You can even select the same handle as you use in the online group you’re in.”

Emma grinned. She wasn’t sure she ever wanted to be called Miss Kitty out loud. “What name do you use?”

“I go by Master Philip.”

The honorific was delicious enough to make her toes curl. “That’s sexy.”

“Hmm. Glad you approve.”

“And is that what you want me to call you?” After reading a few books, she’d automatically added a Sir on to most things she said, and he’d never corrected her.

“The way you say Mr. Dettmer is charming. The right amount of deference.”

That was the way she meant it. She had tremendous respect for his business accomplishments, and he deserved respect as a Dominant.

“I’ll leave it to you. Either Mr. Dettmer or Master Philip is fine.”

Enjoying the suburban night sounds—children playing amid the high-pitched background of a cicada’s song—she took another sip of wine as she contemplated an alternate identity. The idea was liberating. At work, she could be Emma, the account executive. Then at night she could be someone else entirely. “Is it okay if I think about the scene name?”

“Of course.”

“Is there anything else I need to know?”

“You’ll be perfectly safe at the Quarter. Mistress Aviana will ensure it.”

“She’s the owner, right?”

“Yes. I’m confident you’ll meet her on Tuesday. She approves all memberships and guest passes. I’ll send over some forms in advance for you to fill out.” She found it fascinating how his tone was now a little more brusque, businesslike. “But you’ll need to sign them in front of her.”

“That makes sense.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing you.”

Right now, if he suggested meeting tomorrow, she’d be there. As it was, she still had time to talk to Shelby, maybe go shopping together, ahead of her trip to the Quarter.

“Have you read more of the book from that first day?”

“I finished it.”

“You enjoyed it?”

“It was enlightening.”

“Have you started another?”

“Of course.” She grinned. In this one, a swashbuckling pirate abducted the sleeping heroine from her bed, spiriting her away in the middle of the night while she was wearing nothing more than a thin cotton shift. After taking her to his ship, he’d locked her in his cabin and demanded marriage in addition to her sexual obedience. Each time, the heroine refused her enemy’s demands, even though her internal resistance to him was crumbling around her. The way he tied her up and relentlessly tormented her—bending her to his will—lived in every one of Emma’s dreams. Emma couldn’t wait to devour the next chapter in an hour or so.

“Is there anything in particular you want to discuss? About the new story?”

“Right now? No.” Even after what they’d shared, she wasn’t prepared to invite him that deep into her psyche.

“I’ll be ready to listen when you’re ready to share.”

Which might be never.

“In the meantime…”

Emma’s breath caught. That tone, sharp yet sexy, made her sit up. He’d slipped into Dominant mode, and she’d responded instantly, from her submissive instincts.

“You were very good this evening. I’ll allow you to masturbate, as long as you clamp your nipples.”

“They’re so sore, though.” She swallowed. “I’m not sure how much more I can take.”

“Well, you certainly are not required to get yourself off.”

His sexy words made the night air even hotter.

“But it’s the last chance you’ll have before I see you.”

“Wait… You mean…?” He wasn’t going to let her come at all until they were at the club?

“You understand perfectly.” His words were final, with no room for compromise. “How much are you willing to endure to receive pleasure?” He allowed his question to hang, unanswered. “Send me a text message letting me know what you decided.” With that, he ended the call.

Damn you, Sir. Glass of wine clutched in her hand, she stood to pace the patio. He’d trapped her, well and truly. If she wanted the climax that her body demanded, she’d have to pay for it.

How much am I willing to endure?

Emma shivered. No doubt she hadn’t even begun to figure out the answer to that question.

* * * * *

Philip exited his office building on Common Street, strode past the ornate clock out front, then continued to the curb where a sedan awaited him. Cressida, his driver for the day, stood ready, her hat perfectly perched and her tailored suit as crisp as it had been when she first picked him up at five this morning. As she opened the back door, a light breeze ruffled the blonde hair that hung halfway down her back. “Mr. Dettmer.”

“Thanks for waiting.”

“Anything for one of my favorite clients.” With a professional nod, she closed him inside.

Even though he owned two vehicles, he sometimes preferred to use a service. He enjoyed the luxury of being able to make calls and work instead of dealing with the stress of rush hour traffic.

But today was special, and Cressida was doing him a personal favor. She was the owner of the car company. Instead of working from the office, she’d agreed to act as his personal chauffeur. When he considered the logistics of attending the Quarter this evening, he’d decided he’d pay anything to have Cressida on duty to care for his lovely submissive. When he promised Emma he would always ensure her comfort and security, he meant it. “Shaughnessy Community Law Offices, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

He settled back, forcing himself to concentrate on the business at hand rather than what would happen after hours. As always, since the day he met Emma, harnessing his thoughts hadn’t been easy.

For years, he’d been wrapped up in his divorce, fighting through countless ugly details and untold lies, and he wasn’t anxious to embroil himself in that type of quagmire ever again. At one time, he’d believed in the almighty power of love, and he’d been obsessed with having a child of his own. Now he was resolved to pass along his estate to his nephews. The current count stood at three, but that was assuming his sister didn’t add any more to the brood.

He’d been perfectly content to leave happily ever after to others, and his actions had reinforced that determination. He rarely dated, and he never took out the same woman more than twice. Not only was life less complicated that way, but he preferred being alone to the messiness of an actual relationship.

Or so he believed until the wide-eyed and innocent Emma had awkwardly attempted to hide that bestseller behind her back.

Now?

He was captivated. The more they talked and played on video, the hungrier he became, and he looked forward to talking with her in the evenings. He loved her confessions, about what she wanted and the things she was learning. Introducing her to BDSM was its own reward, one he couldn’t get enough of.

His phone signaled an incoming message. He smiled when the notification icon showed it was from Emma.

I sent my paperwork to the Quarter.

She was perfect for him in every way. Well done, Emma. Did you decide on a scene name?

Rose.

Nice. It was a beautiful choice for her. And of course, because its stem had thorns, the blooms needed to be treated with care. Like the woman herself. Innocent, yet self-protective. Seemed perfect. Your driver will pick you up at six o’clock. I’ll be waiting for you at the reception area.

Minutes passed without a response. Finally he sent her another text, one that she couldn’t respond to with a simple yes or no.

Tell me how you’re feeling and what you’re thinking.

She’d admitted to being nervous. Excited too. But no doubt her emotions were tumultuous. It was one thing to explore their relationship over the phone and video, perhaps another to walk into an unfamiliar place and face him in person.

Determined.

Which was about as noncommittal as possible.

Is there anything I can do to make this easier for you?

Can you figure out how to slow time down for a little while?

Was she having second thoughts? Call me if you need to talk.

For a moment he considered offering her a way out. Maybe a more honorable man would, but he was afraid she’d seize it.

She replied with a smiley face emoji.

He took that as an encouraging sign.

Cressida eased to a stop at the curb in front of the building his friend and business associate, Mason Sullivan, was rehabbing. “I’ll be less than an hour.” Though he didn’t have any idea why he’d been invited to the meeting, nothing should take longer than that.

“That’ll give me time to put out some fires at the office.”

She was every bit as busy as he was, and he knew the demands on her time. “I’ll let myself out.”

Even the massive double doors in front of him had been polished, lovingly restored to their nineteenth century beauty.

Everything about the interior spoke of refinement.

After checking the list of occupants in the marble lobby, he took the stairs to the second floor.

As he reached the landing, Philip extended his hand toward Mason. “Hell of a job. The place is stunning.”

“She’s a work in progress. Hoping to finish the third floor in the coming weeks.”

Sullivan had made a name for himself renovating New Orleans. He and his beautiful wife-to-be even had their own television show on a home improvement network. This project, fixing up the once derelict home of the Shaughnessy Community Law Offices, was worthy of celebration.

“I want to have a discussion with you about the 1212 Building.”

Philip was certainly open to that. He’d gotten so pissed off by the constant rent increases and unaddressed issues that he’d bought out the landlord, which left him as the new owner. And he’d discovered there were always a million complaints from the tenants. The property management service he’d hired was doing a less than stellar job. Every time he entered the historic building, someone stopped him to discuss their unhappiness. “Something needs to happen.”

Suddenly the door in front of them opened. “You should sell the monstrosity and move in here.” The voice of John Thoroughgood boomed off the walls of the entire second floor. “Get rid of the albatross around your neck. Dealing with complaints all day isn’t your strong suit, man.”

“I’m guessing that’s the point of this meeting?” Philip was swept into the former football player’s bear hug.

“You’re nobody’s fool.”

This time, Philip got off lucky. Thoroughgood only broke one of his ribs.

Greetings exchanged, they followed Thoroughgood into the remarkably expansive anteroom.

Mounds of paperwork and dozens of files littered the top of an unoccupied desk. Drawers of a nearby file cabinet stood open. No doubt it would tip over if it hadn’t been wedged between the wall and a stack of boxes. “Excuse the mess. I need an assistant.”

“What happened to the last one?”

“Quit.” He shrugged his massive shoulders, straining the seams of his rumpled and battered blazer. “I don’t know why I can’t keep anyone employed.”

Philip cleared his throat while Mason murmured something as polite as it was noncommittal.

Thoroughgood swept his arm wide when they reached his office. “Have a seat.”

At least in his private office, there was a semblance of organization. Flanking the massive window were signed football jerseys, one bearing his name and number from the years he played at LSU, the other from his short NFL career.

The back wall contained a built-in shelving unit, and it was filled with photos of Thoroughgood meeting stars and dignitaries. In addition to numerous trophies and awards, there were team pictures and moments of his glory framed for everyone to see. A football—obviously from a winning season—was protected in a glass case.

As he sat, Philip nodded toward the memorabilia. “Impressive.”

“You could have your own museum,” Mason added as he took a chair.

“Where I was is nothing compared to where I’m going.”

Philip knew Thoroughgood meant it. His charitable efforts kept his name in the news. He was a legend who used his fame for the good of the community.

“Which brings me to the reason I invited you both here today.”

Intrigued, Philip sat back and steepled his fingers. “Go on.”

“I’m planning to put together an investment consortium. But all of us together are better than any of us alone.”

Mason nodded. “I’m listening.”

“We all have different strengths.” Thoroughgood glanced at Mason. “You have an eye toward renovation. The work you did with Lawton on this building has renewed interest in the area. So I suggest we form a group. We invest money locally. Buildings.” He shot Philip a cold stare. “Businesses. Revitalization. Expanding the arts. And we give fifteen percent of all our profits to charitable organizations. Hoping we can paint and repair homes for seniors or folks who are struggling. Maybe do yard clean-up. That sort of thing. The companies we work with all have to have a similar mission as ours, and because we’ll be so big, we’ll have leverage.”

Winning the same types of favorable deals that international firms enjoyed. And if things were managed well, their individual portfolios would thrive as well. Philip nodded. So far, he was interested.

“I’m hoping you’ll bring the cash.”

“Of course.” Philip’s words were dry. “I was hoping for once you’d invited me for my exquisite taste in decorating or innovative approaches to hiring and bid procurement.”

The other two men looked at each other, and Thoroughgood cleared his throat. “All very valuable skills.”

Then Mason grinned. “How about you just stick to the money?”

“I’m wounded.” Philip placed a hand over his heart. “Fatally perhaps.”

“When we hire a director and lease an office, go ahead and submit ideas for artwork or furniture. I’m sure your opinions will be welcome.”

Aware of his own shortcomings, Philip tapped his index fingers together and responded to Thoroughgood. “Smart-ass.”

“Who else are you considering?” Mason asked.

“I figured the three of us could make those decisions together. Thinking about Gavin McLeod.”

The tycoon was known for his almost scarily accurate ways of predicting market trends. Not in terms of actual numbers, but the things that would impact each index’s performance. More than once, he’d been called a clairvoyant. He insisted he just looked at all available information and drew natural conclusions. Other mere mortals scoffed at that idea.

“Linc Murdoch is also on my short list. He’s been thinking about doing some real estate investing. Hoping to sell him some real estate in the next six months.”

Another good suggestion. The man could be an ass, but he was a smart one. “Agreed. Who else?”

Thoroughgood took a breath and drew out the moment. “Aidan Holcomb.”

Philip arched an eyebrow in surprise. “The Cutthroat?”

Thoroughgood linked his fingers on top of his desk and leaned forward. “Rather have him with us than against us.”

“Or nowhere within a three-state region.”

Mason shifted in his seat, scraping the legs against the floor. “And you’re supposing he’s ever done anything with an interest other than increasing the Holcomb holdings?”

“He can always refuse.” Thoroughgood’s tone was easy, a bit of a contradiction to his much sterner body language.

And if truth be known, there were some unsavory allegations floating around about the man’s company. “You sure we want to be associated with him?”

“There’s a shitpile of legal work to be done to be sure the consortium is protected.” Thoroughgood’s response was more of a dodge than an answer.

“How about talking to David Shaughnessy?” Mason’s suggestion proved that he was at least considering Thoroughgood’s suggestion. “He recently joined Barney and Scheck. We can lean on them for a reduced rate. Or free, if they want to join the consortium.”

Ten minutes later, Philip gave a tentative yes to the plan. Getting things organized and turned into reality would take months, if not a year.

“Until we have an official meeting, let’s keep this confidential.” Thoroughgood pushed a piece of paper toward each of them.

A nondisclosure agreement. Made sense.

When they were both done signing, Mason suggested dinner. “Hannah is out setting up the baby registry with Fiona.”

Philip and Thoroughgood exchanged glances and shrugs.

“Baby registry?”

“Meaning she’s selecting the gifts she’d like to receive at the upcoming shower that you’ll be attending.”

Philip tucked his pen in his jacket pocket. “Uh…”

“I’d prefer to face a defensive line.” Thoroughgood made a show of pushing the paperwork into a drawer. “We are available for a bachelor party.”

“Not getting an invite if you don’t show solidarity with this whole putting a diaper on a doll thing.”

As if weighing something, Philip held up his palms. “Bachelor party.” He lifted his right hand. “Baby shower.”

“Vegas.” Mason responded so quickly that he must have been prepared for the argument. “Atlantic City. Lake Charles. The Bahamas. Monte Carlo.”

Now Philip was intrigued. “Monte Carlo?”

“Haven’t decided yet.”

“She’s registered at Nixie’s.” Mason looked at Philip. “Tell your admin to send a gift. A nice one.” Then he addressed Thoroughgood. “You’ll have to go shopping yourself since you can’t keep anyone employed.”

“Cheap shot. I’m throwing a penalty flag on that play.”

The two men grinned.

“Back to my original question. How about dinner?”

Thoroughgood pushed back his chair a few inches to pat his belly. “I’m in.”

“Dettmer?” Mason asked.

Philip checked his watch. Right on time. “Otherwise engaged.”

“Oh?”

“Meeting someone at the Quarter.”

“Danielle?”

She was one of his favorite submissives. After she’d sworn off dating two years ago, she started spending more time at the club. She only played with Tops who were not looking for attachment. Despite her rule, at least two men had offered their hearts, only to have them broken.

“No.” Philip kept his private life to himself, so why he answered, he wasn’t sure. “Someone else.”

Neither of his colleagues immediately responded. Too shocked, he supposed.

After a second or two, Thoroughgood smiled. “Enjoy yourself.”

No doubt he would.

“The baby shower is a couples event. You’re welcome to bring a date.”

“Fishing for information, Sullivan?”

Mason shook his head.

Tonight was a one-time happening to help Emma’s fantasies come true.

But is it?

At first he told himself that it was because he wanted to educate her about the various aspects of the lifestyle. If he sent her interesting materials, he could guide her. If they talked, she could ask questions, and he would learn which things turned her on, ensuring he was a better Top.

But that didn’t explain why he’d rearranged his schedule so he was available every night. And it sure as fuck didn’t explain the amount of money he’d spent on Bonds technology equipment so he could watch her torture herself at his behest.

Fuck, she was sexy. So responsive, eager to learn.

“Dettmer?”

He shook his head, realizing Thoroughgood had said his name. From the frown on the man’s face, it may have been more than once.

“Asking if you’re going to be at the Quarter for Aviana’s fifth anniversary party.”

The owner was planning ahead. Her Putting on the Ritz bash would be held in January, just after the New Year. “Received the invite today. I plan to attend.” For a moment Philip pictured himself attending the upscale event with a lovely submissive on his arm—Emma specifically.

Then he shoved the notion aside.

After tonight, she would go back to her regular orderly life, and he’d return to the chaos of his. Funny, until now, he hadn’t realized how closed off he’d become. His interactions with Emma had shown him how much he’d isolated himself, sidestepping all emotional entanglements. And now that he saw Sullivan’s ridiculous smile every time he talked about Hannah, Philip wondered if he wasn’t paying too high a price to protect his heart.