Natalie Acres (13 page)

Mitch was another card altogether. He existed in an entirely different deck. He was a powerful Dom with a reputation in the BDSM community. He’d frequented so many clubs in his early twenties that even her parents knew of his near-legendary reputation, a scary thought when she gave the fact much consideration.

“So this is about Mitch?”

“Yes.” He yanked his fingers through his short hair. “No.” He lifted his chin and looked out over the water. A faraway gaze marked its place in his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Yes you do. Brock Sheldon, you know what you want. You know how to get it. If you’re afraid to ask, what kind of Dom are you? A retired Dom who is ready to come out of hiding or a wannabe who never really knew how to play alongside the big boys in the first place?”

He snarled. “Is that what you believe?”

“Prove me wrong.”

Brock had been out of the scene for years. His reasons for stepping away from Domination and submission didn’t carry any weight now. What mattered was that regardless of his timing, he realized what he needed in order to lead a fulfilling life.

He wanted the lifestyle. He needed Trixie to willingly submit and respect him as her Dominant.

Averting his gaze, he studied the private island where he’d taken Trixie’s virginity. They’d spent a romantic evening under the stars. Her first time, she later told him, was as close to perfect as perfect could’ve been, and while he had fond memories about their first lovemaking experience, he also remembered his share of challenges, too.

He’d longed to train her for submission, right from the start. Sometimes he wondered if he hadn’t made a detrimental error. Would there have been a Mitch again if Trixie had been schooled for submission and eager to please her Dom?

Probably not.

Brock wondered if Mitch felt the same and his mind returned to years past, that summer when everything came together then fell apart. Prior to Trixie’s abduction, Mitch had taken Trixie to a nearby kink club. He had already started the preliminary training, working his way toward the ultimate goal. He wanted Trixie to eagerly accept her role as a passionate submissive woman.

No one knew with absolute certainty why she ran away from him that night, but she ran. Then, the unthinkable happened. Trixie was abducted and no one knew exactly how much abuse she’d endured. She had no recollection of her early hours with Stephen Pratchert.

“To this day, something haunts me,” Brock finally said.

“What?” Trixie returned her toes to the water.

“You have always stood by the fact that you don’t remember what happened between you and Stephen. You refuse to talk about it. Why?” Brock clenched his fists and prepared for the worst. “I’ve asked you a dozen times and you always avoid the question.”

“Because I don’t remember, Brock.”

He shook his head. “You don’t want to remember.”

“Maybe that’s right,” she replied. “But I was checked out and even the physician’s assistant who saw me told you, I wasn’t sexually assaulted.”

“Something happened when you were alone with him,” Brock said. “I understood Mitch better than anyone. He might have had the forethought to bring along a syringe of Ketamine, but he wouldn’t have used it. He wouldn’t have killed Stephen if Stephen hadn’t told him something that made him a believer.”

Trixie kept fluttering her feet. Her shoulders dropped and she stared at the water as if she saw her history there, a past she’d much rather drown in that lake than acknowledge.

“I’m your husband. We don’t have secrets.”

“Apparently we do,” she said, hoisting herself away from the dock. “You’ve sat on your secrets. I’ll closely guard mine.”

“Careful, Trixie,” Brock said, biting back that overwhelming need rising within.

The challenge hung in the air. An emotional tug-of-war had begun.

Without a doubt, Mitch would thrust Trixie into the throes of Domination and submission. He wouldn’t let her tiptoe around the realms of desire. He would push her limits and test her control.

“Careful, Trixie,” she mocked him. “You’re a fraud, Brock. Where Domination and submission are concerned, you may have been one way with some of your other women, but once you married me, you weren’t about to pursue that lifestyle because you were afraid of what my dads might do or say. You wanted approval from my family more than you wanted satisfaction in the bedroom.”

He leapt to his feet and grabbed her arms. “Damn it, Trixie! That’s not what happened! Do you really want to wake a sleeping bear? Do you?” He pursed his lips and studied her wide eyes. Those big blue eyes were frightened and while he didn’t want to scare her, he was bound and determined to show her another part of himself, the side that had been in hibernation for far too long.

“I’m not nineteen anymore. I’m a grown woman with wants and needs just like you.”

“And I’ve met those needs, thank you very much. Don’t cut off the hands that feed you, Trixie.”

“I won’t,” she said, pushing him away. “But I don’t have a problem slapping away the very hands holding me back.”

As if she’d spoken her final words, she stormed off the dock and darted up the small hill leading back to the island huts. Brock watched her rush away and made a decision, one he’d considered several times over the past few years.

“Sub, stop right where you are!”

Trixie kept walking.

“I didn’t ask, Trixie. You will stop right there or so help me when I catch up to you, I’ll punish you for a week and make you so crazy for me you’ll cry for a fuck and beg for one simple touch. And you will not receive anything more than your rightful punishment!”

Trixie came to an abrupt halt. She slowly turned. The expression on her face was absolutely priceless.

Lust marked its place in her hooded eyes. Her lips appeared dry. Her cheeks were in full bloom, rosy and swollen with the hot air she’d quickly inhaled in an effort, no doubt, to still her temper.

Mad or not, she was excited. She was horny all right. And Brock knew precisely how to use her current predicament to better his positional advantage.

Back at the lodge, Rory was pressing his luck. In another minute, Mitch would be dangerously close to telling Rory to go fuck himself.

“You walked away from Trixie because you couldn’t run away from Jordie Anne?” Rory asked, rephrasing his question for the tenth or eleventh time.

“I won’t keep doing this, Rory,” Mitch stated flatly. “Trixie and I understand the situation better than anyone. I discussed my reasons with Trixie at the time.”

“I know all about those
excuses
.” Rory leaned forward. They were practically nose-to-nose. “Let me tell you what I don’t appreciate.”

“Why don’t you?”

Rory stood and went to the fireplace where he relaxed his arm against the mantel. “You rush back into our lives and pretend you never left. You act as if we’ve been sharing Trixie with you for the better part of over half a decade.”

“Whether you realize it or not, you have been,” Mitch said. “I own a piece of her heart. You can’t change that, Rory. If you could’ve, I believe you would’ve.”

“Trust me when I tell you this. Brock and I haven’t spent every waking hour worrying about you, Mitch. While we assumed you would eventually reappear, we didn’t focus on that possibility.”

“You didn’t think about it at all until Jordie Anne made the Cartwell women her targets.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Rory said. “When you talked to Brock and told him you were marrying Jordie, we saw your proposal for what it was. You had to marry her.”

“I what?”

“Matrimony was your only option,” Rory said. “You didn’t have a choice. You married her so she couldn’t testify against you. If she had been called as a witness, there would’ve been so many lawsuits brought against the Colony family and Cow Camp in general that we wouldn’t be standing here now.”

“What I did back then was wrong, Rory.”

“You’re damn straight.”

“Brock wasn’t innocent.”

“Brock isn’t who I’m talking to now,” Rory said, just as stubborn and as righteous as ever. “Brock and I have discussed this many times. You and Brock took advantage of the Colony name and your position by seducing those girls and introducing them to drugs.”

“We were kids ourselves! We didn’t enter adulthood on drugs. We were experimenting, partying and—”

“And that makes it all right?” Rory asked. “No. I don’t think so.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“I don’t need to understand. I don’t want to hear your excuses. I don’t care about your reasons. The lesson learned is on the table. You can’t run from it. You can’t sweep it under the rug and hope no one comes along with another broom bound and determined to show you what a mess you’ve left behind.”

“What do you want from me?” Mitch bellowed.

“I want you to leave,” Rory deadpanned.

“That’s not going to happen.” Mitch sniffed. “Besides, this is my place, buddy.”

“You know what I mean. I want you to leave Trixie alone.”

“I just bet you do,” Mitch muttered. “We both know I’m not backing off there.”

“Then you give me your word you’re here for the right reasons. I need to know you won’t hurt her.”

“I’d take my own life before I would bring her the first moment of pain.”

Rory sneered. “You don’t have to worry about that. If you so much as make her cry, Brock will make you wish for your last breath.”

They played a round of stare down before Mitch finally said, “Rory, we were friends. All of us were the best of friends. Can’t we get back to that place again?”

“I don’t know. We can try, but that’s as far as I’ll go in terms of a commitment.” He walked to the window and pointed at a man walking their way. “Who is that guy?”

Mitch glanced over his shoulder. “Shit. I forgot about him. Cash Whitehead is the friend I was telling you about. He needs a place to stay.”

“Terrific—another convict.”

“He’s all right, Rory. He was serving time for petty crimes. Most of them were drug related. He comes from a nice family and has a good head on his shoulders. You’ll like him.”

“What’s he doing here?”

“He wants to stay on a while.”

“Are you thinking of reopening Cow Camp?” Rory asked.

“I don’t know. I guess it will depend on you, Trixie, and Brock.”

“We have all we can take care of in Fletcher. Our place is pretty busy.”

“Yeah, I know,” Mitch teased. “I had a blast standing back and watching the two of you work. Who would’ve thought you could swing so much hay in a day?”

“It’s honest work,” Rory said. “We like our lives. We raise Saddlebreds and Arabians. Have a few beef cattle, too.”

“Just regular Farmer Joe, huh?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“What do you do for a living?” Mitch asked.

“Day trade mostly. We have a lot of real estate in the downtown Asheville area. It’s a full-time job being a landlord.”

About that time, the door buzzer resounded. Someone had entered the lodge. Mitch grinned. “Odd, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Sounds, fragrances, views, all of it—nothing ever changes at Cow Camp.”

Rory laughed. “You used the Colony money and paid a high price in order to keep this place forever locked in time.”

“The Colony
cash well
isn’t quite as deep as it used to be,” Mitch said, opening the door. “Come on. Let’s kiss and make up so you can meet my cellmate.”

“I’ll forego the kiss but settle on a handshake,” Rory said, extending his hand.

“That’s better than good enough for me.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Trixie said, blinking. Who was this man standing in front of her and what had he done with the man she’d married?

“You don’t ‘say’ anything,” Brock told her, inching closer. “I asked you to present yourself and I want your eyes downcast, your chest forward, your hands clasped behind your back, and your feet about eight inches apart.”

“Brock, I…”

“Sir,” he snapped. “You’ll refer to me as Sir from now on, Trixie.”

“Everywhere?” she asked quietly.

Brock circled her. He deliberately taunted her, inching closer to observe her from behind then placing more distance between them when he returned to her front.

Trixie held her head high. “I won’t do this out here in the open.”

“You will, sub,” Brock said, his lips mere inches from her own. “And you will enjoy it.”

“I won’t,” she quickly told him, shaking her head.

“We’ll see.” He yanked her body against his.

Before she could anticipate what was next, he slipped his free hand under her shirt. His fingers traveled up and down, tracing her torso as if he were counting her ribs one by one. “I have plans for us, sugar. Adventuresome ideas designed to make you more than willing.”

“Brock—”