In the Den (4 page)

“Lick your fingers when you’re done,” Damien finished.

Without another word, the damnable man hung up.

It wasn’t until a few seconds later that she realized Jeff had parked beneath the hotel’s portico. He opened her door and escorted her to the entrance despite her protests.

“When the boss issues an order,
I
follow it,” he said.

“Are you insinuating I should do likewise?”

“Oh, hell no. It’s much more fun this way.” He waited until she was inside before making a dash back to the sports utility vehicle.

In her room, she dropped her coat on the end of the bed. She sat on a chair to remove the tight-fitting boots. The cursed things might be gorgeous, but they hurt like hell. It felt as if her toes would be cramped for days.

During their time together, Damien had turned her inside out. And if he had his way, they’d continue their exploration tomorrow.

She stripped and folded her clothes then placed them in her suitcase to make packing easier. Afterwards, she headed for the bathroom to scrub off her make-up. No doubt the plain and ordinary Catrina would appeal to him a lot less than the dramatic diva she portrayed.

But she couldn’t help but wonder what he was like away from the Den.

Catrina turned on the shower faucet. As steam billowed in the room, his earlier words haunted her. The damnable man
had
created a conundrum.

She was aroused, and she didn’t want to be.

Gritting her teeth, she entered the stall.

As he’d hoped, her thoughts were filled with images of him. She didn’t want to play with him. And she most certainly had no intention of submitting to him.

But as she closed her eyes, she recalled the stunning shock that had rocked her when his hand had connected with her flesh.

The momentary hiss of pain had been replaced almost immediately with the white-hot heat of desire, making all her protests irrelevant.

Warmth from the water suffused her. Focusing on her shower, she opened her eyes and reached for the bar of soap then made a lather. She slid her slick hands over her chest. Her nipples beaded, and her breasts were swollen.

Damn him.

With her lips pursed, she continued down her belly. She paused for a moment at her pelvis. Her pussy ached from a lack of fulfilment.

No matter how she justified things or what stories she told herself, the truth was, she didn’t have sex as often as she would have liked. All too often she used her trusty vibrator. And the idea of having Damien’s cock inside her made her tremble.

Lightly, she skimmed her fingers across her pussy before continuing on. No doubt she would survive, even without an orgasm.

She finished up then dried off.

Sleep remained elusive. She checked the time every five to ten minutes, until she became so frustrated that she tossed a pillow on top of the offending clock to block out the mocking numbers.

Around eight, three hours later than she usually slept, she finally gave up the battle and threw back the sheets.

A text message from Damien was waiting on her phone.

I hope you didn’t steal an orgasm that belongs to me.

Her heart thundered.
Belonged to him?
How arrogant could the man be? But if she were honest with herself, she’d admit the words sent a little thrill through her.

The words were part of the reason he was such a good Dom. If he behaved this way with everyone, that meant he started the seduction, the alluring mind-fuck, hours before he’d ever touched his submissive. Maybe she could learn a thing or two from him. Not that she’d ever admit that to him.

Still, she hadn’t decided how to respond when a second text followed.

If you’re a good girl, you’ll be rewarded.

Ignoring both messages, she dressed and rode the elevator to the lobby for a much-needed caffeine fix. Unfortunately, the tall, black coffee didn’t help. In fact, it flooded her system with nerves. The combination of that and no sleep caused her to be jittery.

Then her phone vibrated, indicating he’d contacted her again, and that made things worse.

She looked at the screen. An address appeared on the display. If her guess was right, it was in a sprawling north-western Denver suburb, not too far from the foothills. Lots of land to go with the privacy and mountain views.

Catrina slammed the phone on the table, facedown.

Damn him for tempting her.

Preferring carbs over healthy eating, she ordered a waffle and slathered it in butter and maple syrup.

A number of people wandered into the dining room. She recognized some from the Den. Bradley and Master Lawrence strolled in, smiling at each other. They never looked in her direction. It had been a long time since she’d felt so alone.

Catrina paid her bill then went upstairs to finish packing before heading back to Denver.

With the snow-covered mountain roads, the drive took an hour longer than it usually did. And that gave her far too much time to think.

At her small but cozy Washington Park bungalow, she put away her clean clothing and tossed a load of laundry in the washing machine before going about her weekly chores. Even after she was finished, there were still too many hours left before she could go to bed.

She wandered into her office. She’d finished her monthly newsletter before heading to the Den, but she opened the document on her computer and proofed it a final time. Then she pulled out manila file folders belonging to women she was meeting with the next day. Her first appointment would be with her newest client, Lara. The woman’s husband had stunned her less than a week ago with the news that he was filing for a divorce. In the twenty-eight years the couple had been married, Lara had allowed him to handle the bills and investing. When Catrina had met with her last week, Lara had cried the whole time.

At times, Catrina felt as if her role was one of a counsellor more than a financial advisor, but that was the part of the job, and she treasured it.

It had only been five years since she’d been in similar circumstances…facing the unexpected and unwelcome end of an intimate relationship and staring at the all-too-real possibility of financial ruin. Helping others navigate treacherous waters gave her life meaning.

An hour later, she closed the files and slid them back in the desk drawer.

She was sitting at her desk, staring out of the window at a couple walking past, holding hands, when angst returned in a massive rush.

The rest of the afternoon and evening loomed. She’d worked out before going to the Den, and she hated to overdo the exercise since she had a yoga class tomorrow after work. She didn’t want to sit in front of the television all night, though that was becoming a bigger possibility with each passing minute.

She shoved her chair back from her desk and paced the hardwood floor of her still-to-be renovated home.

No light blinked on her phone, meaning Damien hadn’t contacted her again. He obviously expected her to answer his summons, something she had little intention of doing.

An hour later, she wasn’t as sure.

No matter what she focused on, she couldn’t banish thoughts of him. Despite her resolve, he intrigued her.

Then her great internal debate began.

It couldn’t hurt to see him.

But no good could come of it.

She wasn’t a sub.

But she did like to learn and grow.

Since she hadn’t masturbated, sexual tension crawled through her. She hadn’t deliberately followed his orders, yet she ached to feel his strong hands on her body.

Damn it. She didn’t need his touch. She needed someone’s
.
Anyone’s.

No matter how hard she tried to convince herself she didn’t need the devastating Dom, she couldn’t banish his image from her mind.

Cursing her traitorous thoughts, she set up the coffee pot for the next morning and programmed its timer. It wasn’t even five o’clock in the afternoon.

One thing was certain, she needed an outlet for her turmoil.

She telephoned a couple of friends—no one was available to hang out.

As a desperate measure she called Bradley. He begged off with an apology, saying he had to get ready for work the next day, adding in a sheepish voice that Master Lawrence had exhausted him.

That left only one option.

With confidence, she dialed her mother’s number. Evelyn didn’t answer until the fourth ring. With a gleeful giggle, she said she was going to a movie with a new beau.

Her mother had plans?
Then it hit her. “Wait. What? When did you get a boyfriend?”

“A few weeks ago. Milton. He likes to rock climb at an indoor gym. Can you imagine?”

“I’m having a hard time getting past the fact you’re dating, Mother.”

“Yeah. Isn’t it cool?”

“Cool?” She pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at it. “Sorry, who is this? I thought I was talking to my mom.”

“I’ve got to go. Miltey will be here in a few minutes, and I hate to keep him waiting.”

Miltey?
In the background, Catrina heard the sound of her mother’s doorbell.

“I’m sure you’ll find something to do, dear. Give me a call later this week. Maybe you can meet him.”

Her mother hung up without a formal goodbye.

At times like this, that nasty, nasty internal voice turned up the volume, reminding Catrina she’d made the choice to shut herself off from intimacy and that there were consequences for it. She informed her clients it was okay to trust again, even fall in love, as long as they made savvy financial decisions and didn’t abdicate all their power. But she hadn’t been able to take her own advice.

The clock on the kitchen wall indicated it was a few minutes past seven. She still had time to make it to Damien’s house.

Catrina raked a handful of hair back from her forehead.

Who was she fooling? A man hadn’t held her interest like this in years, if ever. In fighting herself and him, she was also fighting the inevitable. She could see him again and prove to herself that last night had been an anomaly. And she could collect a fabulous, well-earned orgasm.

* * * *

Damien prided himself on the fact that nothing rattled him.

He owned half a dozen businesses and executed transactions in a handful of different time zones. Others came to him to solve their problems.

So why the hell was he wearing a path in the living room’s hardwood floor?

Annoyed with himself, he checked his watch. Until this moment, he’d had no doubt Catrina would show up.

He’d expected her to be a few minutes late, but twenty?

Half an hour ago, he’d flipped the switch to ignite the fireplace, bumped the house temperature a couple of degrees, turned on the porch and path lights then uncorked a bottle of wine.

Afterwards, instead of staring out of the window, he’d forced himself to return to his study to finish up an email to a potential client in Hong Kong. That had taken all of three minutes.

He’d flipped the lid closed on his notebook computer then tried to settle on the couch.

After Catrina had left the Den last night, he’d been restless. A little after two o’clock, Gregorio had locked up and headed for his own quarters.

For the first time since his divorce a decade before, Damien had noticed how large his suite was, how big and empty his house was.

He’d ached to hold Catrina in his arms. Not just any woman. Catrina, specifically. There was something about her scent, the way she fought him, the way her eyes—the color of crushed emeralds—glittered when she challenged him. And more, it was the way she tried to hide her vulnerabilities.

This morning, Gregorio had joined him for coffee and breakfast, and the two had spent most of the day in meetings. But Damien had been distracted by thoughts of the lovely Domme. Damien knew he was a fortunate man. Over the years, he’d interacted with a number of subs, so many that he’d become jaded, enough that he was rarely tempted to scene anymore. Maybe that was why the attraction to Catrina intrigued him.

At the Den, he’d been aware of her scrutiny as he’d led the demonstration with Susan.

When Catrina had vanished from the room before the presentation had ended, he’d suspected she’d been turned on by what she’d witnessed. The dampness of her pussy had confirmed his suspicions. She’d been aroused, even though she hadn’t wanted to be.

Ever since, he’d been tormented by thoughts of her, recalling her scent and her soft, feminine sounds of pleasure and pain. He wanted to hear more, wanted to feel her pussy clenching his cock, wanted to inhale the scent of her hair when the luxurious strands spilled across his chest.

Damien hadn’t been surprised when she’d ignored his text messages. That she hadn’t told him to fuck off meant she was interested. That she hadn’t replied meant she was conflicted.

He’d figured she’d show up five to ten minutes late, making it clear she wouldn’t willingly fall at his feet. Fifteen had made him question his tactics. Twenty had made him nervous.

Now, as she edged toward twenty-five, anxiousness gnawed at his insides. As a rule, he didn’t let relationship issues bother him. Women wanted to play or they didn’t, and either way, he was fine with it.

Or at least he had been until this dark-haired beauty had ensnared his attention.

Out of the window, he saw the unmistakable beam of headlights as a car turned into his cul-de-sac. He watched, arms folded, as the vehicle pulled to a stop in front of his home.

More relieved than he would ever admit, he exhaled before closing the blinds to insure their privacy.

He opened the front door and leaned against the jamb, comfortable despite the chill that promised snow. With practiced patience, he waited for her even though she took her time turning off the car engine. He wanted her to come to him of her own volition. Nothing else would do.

She exited the sedan then hesitated for a moment when she saw him. He inclined his head in greeting, though he wasn’t sure she would notice his expression across the distance.

She turned up the collar on her coat before grabbing her purse and flicking the car door closed. Purposefully, she walked up the path…toward him.