Branded Sanctuary (40 page)

“You think they‟re meant to be together.”

Marguerite‟s lips curved in one of her serious smiles as she tipped her head back, let him see the shadows in her eyes receding. “Absolutely. But sometimes people can involve their heads too much in their decisions, and the right ships will sail right past each other.”

“It‟s a good thing we didn‟t.”

“It might have something to do with the fact you intercepted my ship, blasted a shot across the bow, and then tried to ram me when I was going to sail away.”

“Well, whatever works.” Tyler drew her close, unrepentant. “It will be okay, angel.

She has us, and Gen.”

“And Brendan.” Her lips pressed into the hollow of his throat. “He‟s only begun to love her as much as he will, if she lets him. I know it.”
Chapter Nineteen

Dear Brendan,

I was wrong, you know. About a lot of things. I told Marguerite it was okay to tell you what
was happening with me right now, my visits with Komal, but Komal and I agreed this letter is a
really good idea. I’m not reading it to her, though. I want it to be between you and me.

Here it is. I hope you haven’t given up on me, on us, because I don’t want to give up on you.

Whatever we’re going to be deserves a real chance, and that’s part of why I’m seeing Komal. You
helped steer me the right way, helped me find the courage to finally admit I needed help. I want
to be the person you met at the wedding, not just for you, but for me. Every time you kiss me, or
touch my body, or say something that makes butterflies tumble around in my stomach, I want to
feel the joy of that, of all those tiny steps toward falling completely, irrevocably in love with you.

I can’t see you right now. I know I don’t have to be perfect to be with you, but I don’t want
what happened at the carnival to happen again. You feel like taking care of me is part of the
whole love and relationship thing. Well, I feel the same thing about you. There’s something you
and I need to get straight between us, and I want my head screwed on right when I have that
discussion with you.

So I hope you’ll be okay with seeing me soon, and know that I’m thinking about you every
day. Oh, and Prince sleeps with me every night. That’s the name of the dog you gave me. And
before you accuse me of being unoriginal, not naming him something quirky and precocious, like
Basil, Rupert or Bill, did you know that your name comes from Brendanus, a Latin form of the
Irish name Bréanainn? That’s Welsh, and it means—you guessed it—Prince.

* * * * *

For a few days, she stayed at Marguerite and Tyler‟s home in Tampa and worked with Komal almost daily. The day after she sent the letter, she received a basket of chocolates, the bite-sized Dove Promises. That and a set of red roses, twined around the wicker. Once she started working at Tea Leaves again, each morning a new paper rose was left inside the screen door. New things to add to her happiness book. A poem, a quote, a picture of something that delighted her, whether it was an elderly man with a kitten on his shoulder, or a field of lavender in a Midwest town.

Gen teased her, said her admirer had walked right out of the pages of a sappy romance novel, but Chloe knew her cynical co-worker was as touched by it as any woman would be. Marguerite gave the paper rose a pursed lip look, told her if Brendan was harassing her to let her know. She‟d put out a restraining order. It made Chloe chuckle, as she was sure their austere boss intended, though Marguerite gave nothing away except possibly a quick twinkle through her pale blue eyes.

It made her happy, but also anxious to be with him. So it was, after three weeks, she‟d had enough and knew it was time. When she hesitated, Komal had given her a smile and pressed her hand.

“Chloe, you don‟t have to finish therapy and be completely healed for you to embrace love again. All you had to do was be willing to be helped, and feel like you have taken control of your life again. You have.” The comfortably sixty-something Indian woman had shifted on her oversized sofa and offered Chloe another lemon drop.

“So when you want to see Brendan is entirely up to you.” Yesterday wouldn‟t be soon enough. But she wanted to do it right, so she spent time talking about it with Marguerite, discussing her approach, what she wanted to do, just as they‟d talked about that fateful day in the garden. Therefore she asked Marguerite to draft the next letter she would send to Brendan.

When the woman was done with it, she brought it to Chloe. They were in the Tea Leaves kitchen, Chloe preparing a lemon cake for the afternoon visitors. When Marguerite laid the heavy stationery on the butcher block, Chloe looked down, then raised a brow. “It‟s pretty brief. That‟s all you need to do?” Marguerite nodded. “Yes. Only one more thing is needed.” Chloe looked back down at the note.

Brendan. West wing. Holograph room. Friday 9 p.m. Staff member will give you further
instruction. Wait upon my pleasure.

“So what‟s missing? Other than full sentences, a greeting of some kind…” Marguerite handed her the calligraphy pen. “Your signature.” Chloe nodded. Took it in hand. She signed with a flourish, then included a smiley face and a couple Xs and Os, for hugs and kisses. When she glanced up at Marguerite, mischief dancing in her eyes, Marguerite leaned in, kissed her forehead.

“There‟s my girl,” she said, satisfaction in her voice.

* * * * *

The Zone was the Florida area‟s most exclusive fetish club, and it showed. Chloe had been to an opera house when she was young, and been overwhelmed by the jewel toned carpets, huge chandeliers and winding staircases. This place had the same odd mixture of macabre and beauty as a Phantom of the Opera set. Marguerite circumvented the dance floor areas and public play area, however, which Chloe knew might have made her far more nervous than she was. Instead, Marguerite took her to a lower level where the changing areas and rented private rooms were.

She felt okay about being here. It was like being at a masquerade, because everyone was wearing different things. She saw people in Goth wear, full bondage, even a couple people completely nude except for collars and leashes, which was like the carnival. She also saw masks of all shapes and descriptions, from full head masks to Mardi Gras masks with sparkles and feathers. She herself blended in well, and felt as mysterious and dangerous as her outfit suggested.

It had been all her idea, the setting, the costume. In truth, it was a private fantasy of hers she‟d never had the resources to try…or a lover she trusted enough to try it out. At first she hadn‟t been sure she should tell Marguerite about it, thinking Brendan might decide it meant more than it did, but Marguerite had been reassuring on that score.

Chloe, a lot of women have Domination or submission fantasies. It doesn’t mean that they
are in fact Dominants or submissives. We are very sexually imaginative creatures, and we like a
variety of situations to explore that. Brendan has a fairly good grasp of who you are. Trust in
that.

Some of the playrooms had windows, and Marguerite explained they could allow two way, one way or no viewing, depending on the Master or Mistress‟s preference. As they walked past the ones that allowed viewing, at least from their side, Chloe digested the various scenarios. Pony play, sensory deprivation and pain, pure psychological Domination. She stopped at the Victorian drawing room, where apparently a male butler was being severely chastised by a Master for spilling his brandy. The “butler” had been pushed over the arm of a wingbacked chair and forced to suck his Master‟s cock while his trousers were dropped and he was enthusiastically caned by another Master.

Chloe blinked, somewhat mesmerized by the action, as all three men were handsome males, and the butler had a superior ass, but then Marguerite was tugging at her elbow, drawing her onward. Chloe‟s brow creased, though, as she passed a window with a mother and child scenario. The male was cradled in a woman‟s arms, suckling her breast as if he were a nursing infant, though he was wearing a cock harness. She was swatting his organ with what looked like a wooden spoon, making him flinch. His toes curled at every strike, however, and he was leaking from the tip of his very erect cock.

“It‟s kind of strange, but as different as all these are, there‟s something similar about a lot of it. Isn‟t there?”

“Yes. You‟re picking up the undercurrent. It‟s all about letting go. Surrender and trust. It‟s as different for each person as any personal need is.” Chloe looked toward her. Marguerite wasn‟t here to be part of a scene or the upstairs nightclub atmosphere, but she wore a snug skirt and soft blouse thin enough to outline a feminine camisole beneath. Her hair was pulled back, showing the pearl and silver necklace she often wore, that Tyler had given her at their wedding. A gift Chloe had finally realized was Marguerite‟s collar.

Thinking how that had dumbfounded her, she had that momentary sense of despair again, that she would never understand any of this, but she reminded herself that she didn‟t have to. This was about Brendan and her.

“Did Brendan find those things with you? Surrender and trust?” Chloe dared the question. She no longer felt angry about them, but she had to admit there was a tingle of jealousy she was trying to accept and defuse.

“He found a Mistress in me. But he didn‟t find his heart. Chloe, there are people who come to the club and go home to wives or husbands, children, none of whom know a thing about this part of their lives, and never will, because they come here to satisfy their craving.”

“But this is part of Brendan,” Chloe responded. “It‟s part of how he acts, how he makes love, how he speaks and thinks.”

“Yes, it is. Which means, as I told you, if he‟s chosen you to serve, whether or not you‟re a Mistress doesn‟t matter. “

“I don‟t want him to serve me. I want him to love me.”

“In Brendan‟s mind, they are the same thing.” Marguerite grasped Chloe‟s hand. “I will always have his respect, his devotion. But you are well on the way to having his heart. He has to trust you enough to admit that, to acknowledge he wants something for himself. A Mistress breaks a submissive down to his deepest needs. As unusual as it sounds, if you can be his Mistress this one time, compel him to admit what he wants for himself, then ever after it will be far less important that you are not a natural Domme.

The reason I think you have run into troubles, from his side of things, is that he is avoiding that admission and therefore falling back on serving you as a Mistress in ways that you are not comfortable accepting.”

“So I have to get him to admit he wants me more than the moon, the stars and the universe combined.” Chloe cleared her throat. “Piece of cake.” Marguerite adjusted her glance to the next viewing pane, and the amusement in her eyes curved her lips. “Do you remember him?”

Chloe glanced to the right and recognized Marius, her waiter. She winced, noting that he was stretched out on a cross naked while a Mistress worked on him with a paddle, leaving large rectangular blocks of reddened skin on his ass with her liberal swats. His fine set of shoulder and ass muscles were tight, his fists clenched. She noticed his cock was in some form of electronic sleeve that appeared to be rippling like… Her eyes widened as Marguerite nodded.

“It simulates the feel of a woman clenched around him. Mistress Allison has probably told him he‟s not allowed to come until she finishes her punishment. And if you know what to look for, you can tell Marius is loving it. He‟s a pure slut. He loves to play, to be bad, to be punished. But it‟s never casual, even if the submissive himself tries to pass it off as a playful bit of kink. He wouldn‟t keep coming back if it was. There is far more to Marius, something that needs a regular Mistress, rather than his constant trolling.”

As they strolled onward, Chloe asked, “What does Brendan need?”

“I expect you will be the first, and perhaps the last, to fully answer that question.” The answer gave Chloe a flutter of butterflies, a mix of anxiety and anticipation.

“But if I had to guess, based on what I know of him, I‟d say it‟s the need to assure the woman in his life he is there for her in all ways. He‟s constantly testing himself, making himself worthy the way all knights do, feeling that they can‟t lay their heads in the lap of their chosen lady until they‟ve absolutely proven their devotion.” Chloe bit down on her lip. “Brendan doesn‟t take anything for himself. I want him to do that, Marguerite. God, at times I was vicious to him, and he wouldn‟t strike back.”

“No, he wouldn‟t. He felt like he had to rescue you from the clutches of the memories that were holding you captive. Every time you struck at him, he didn‟t interpret it as you striking at him, but the enemy beyond your reach. Only you can convince him the battle is won.” Marguerite gave her a shrewd look. “Or convince him that‟s not the battle you need him to fight, that what you need from him is far different.

“It is as essential for him to understand that, as it is for you to accept you deserve his unconditional love.” Marguerite‟s expression turned upon her, hawk fierce now.

“None of us are perfect, none of us do everything we should in this world. But that doesn‟t mean we aren‟t worthy of love, and accepting every bit of it offered to us.” Chloe nodded. “I‟m learning to believe that, M. I promise.” Marguerite gave her another tight smile. “Then I have no doubt you will get Brendan to admit he wants you more than the moon, the stars, and the universe combined. Do you want him, Chloe?”