Dominated: A Kinky Adult Fairy Tale (Bedding the Bad Girl Book 4) (2 page)

That was real blood and it sickened her all the way down to the tips of her spiked heels. It was proof of what she feared most, that Eleanor Emily Argent Rella was getting lost inside the Wicked Stepmother role she played four days and five nights a week. The woman she’d been, the woman she wanted to be, both were becoming irrevocably changed and she hated it, more than she hated anything.

Even being poor as a church mouse.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Get up.”

“What?”

“Stand up and leave. Please.” Her voice was thick with emotion and the beginnings of tears. “I’m sorry, but you need to go.”

Shit, she was losing it, really losing it.

Eleanor let the whip slip from her hands and crossed to the window that looked out on a sea of city lights and the castle far in the distance. There, the girl responsible for her misery reigned as the new queen. The unfairness of it washed over Eleanor, a thick wave of bitterness she feared she might eventually drown in.

She covered her face with her hands and struggled to draw long, even breaths, to surface from the despair that threatened to level her where she stood.

“It’s only been ten minutes,” the man said. She heard him rising to his feet and could feel the surge of energy released as he let his powerful presence fill the room.

“Please, you need to leave,” she whispered again, keeping her back to him, not trusting her voice or her face not to give her away. She was ten seconds from an emotional breakdown and she couldn’t allow that to happen in front of a client.

Business was already slow. If word got out that the Wicked Stepmother had broken down and cried like a baby after failing to dominate a submissive…

Well, she could handle being poor, but jail was not an appealing destination, especially not the jail that Cindy would find for her.

The second Eleanor failed to make one of her restitution payments her stepdaughter would throw her in the deepest, darkest dungeon in the kingdom. Eleanor had barely met last month’s deadline and was still five hundred dollars short this month. She had to hold it together and make sure her regular slaves kept coming to visit, bringing their money with them.

“If you stop by the front desk,” she said. “I’ll make sure they refund your donation.”

“You don’t have to do that. We can still—”

“No, we can’t.” She sniffed hard. “It didn’t work out. It’s okay. It happens.”

“I thought you could use the business.”

“I don’t care about the business. I need you to go. Now.” Eleanor tried to make her voice icy and distant, struggling to conceal the panic that was making it increasingly harder to breathe.

She had dropped her persona and now she didn’t know if she could get it back. She felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with her barely there hot pants. She needed this man to leave and give her time alone to rebuild her Wicked Stepmother façade before her midnight appointment.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said stubbornly.

“Please,” she begged, tears sliding down her cheeks. “Just go.”

“Throw me out. Show me what you’re made of,” he said. “Come on, Eleanor, you’ve got a reputation for eating men alive.”

She didn’t respond. She simply squeezed her eyes closed and silently begged for him to leave, or for the floor to open up and swallow her whole. Either would satisfy at this point.

“But maybe you’ve bitten off more than you can chew,” he added, the taunt in his voice finally pushing her over the edge.

“You’re right, I have. Is that what you want to hear?” Eleanor spun to face him, defeated, not even bothering to wipe away the tears that were no doubt making long black trails down her face. “Is that what it will take for you to leave?”

A strangled laugh escaped her lips as she looked at the man in front of her. If she had to lose it in front of someone, at least it was a guy like this. People might cut her a little slack. It would take a hell of a dominatrix to take care of Big Baldy, as she’d dubbed him when he first walked in the door.

She had hoped the nickname would help her take him a little less seriously.

No such luck.

Seeing him standing, she guessed he was at least six-foot-four and weighed in at double her own one hundred and thirty pounds. His head was completely shaved, but his impressively muscled chest and tree trunk legs sported a healthy growth of coarse, reddish-brown hair, a testament to the testosterone no doubt surging through his body. Big Baldy was imposing all the way around, from his huge hands to his ice-blue eyes to the way his bare toes curled into the carpet. Even the cream loincloth the girls at the front desk had given him couldn’t make him look ridiculous.

Instead, the damn thing allowed him to showcase the perfection of his body. He was composed of pure muscle, with a chiseled face as striking as the rest of him. He was a damn attractive man, more attractive than any lover she’d ever had. He probably had a different woman in his bed every night, all more than willing to fulfill his desires free of charge.

But it wasn’t his physical presence or stud factor alone that cowed her. It was the commanding note in his voice and the aura of dominance that radiated in the air around him. It had intimidated and aroused her from the second she had met his eyes. He was the only Dominant in this room, and they both knew it.

What’s worse, she wanted him, and they both knew that too. She was an idiot to have thought she could top him, to even have had the guts to try.

“Listen, I—”

“You’re crying.” Baldy’s gaze softened, but his unexpected compassion only made her want to sob harder.

Damn Baldy, why did he have to play nice? Niceness got to her like nothing else.

Compassion was the one emotion she’d never seen on a client’s face, and it made her want to run to Baldy and fall into his arms, to take comfort in his strength. She would gladly take whatever punishment, sensual or otherwise, he would dish out if only he would hold her afterwards.

In fact, her fantasy of being bent over and fucked from behind only became more attractive when she imagined him cradling her in his lap after they were done, kissing away her tears.

Maybe there, wrapped in his heat, she might finally feel safe for the first time in years.

Fuck, Eleanor.

Get rid of this man before you do something really stupid.

CHAPTER THREE

Eleanor

“You win, okay? You’re right, I’m a fraud.” Tears flowed freely down Eleanor’s face and her nose began to run. “Now will you go?”

“Don’t cry. We can work through this,” he said in that same commanding tone, but with a softer edge to his words. He reminded her of her high school track coach delivering a pep talk to the relay team.

Just what she needed, a dominatrix pep talk.

The entire situation was so absurd that she started laugh-crying again, making unfeminine snorting noises that should have scared Baldy away if nothing else had already. Not only was she a fraud, she was an un-sexy fraud who snorted when she cried.

Could she be more undesirable?

And why was she concerned with being desirable to a man she wanted out of her presence as soon as possible?

“You need to take a few deep breaths,” he continued, crossing toward her with slow, measured steps that banished her laughter.

Despite his kind words, she suddenly felt hunted. The way he stalked toward her, eyes taking in every inch of her bare skin, should have been a sufficient reminder that this was no track coach. This was a man who looked like he killed for a living and hunted for sport.

The killing part of that was scary, of course, but her traitorous body liked the idea of being Baldy’s prey, liked it far too much.

“Think about a safe, quiet place and imagine yourself there. Now start breathing more slowly, breathe in the air of that safe place.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Baldy.” Eleanor tried to laugh but failed. She could hardly breathe with him this close, let alone laugh. His heat warmed the front of her body and her nipples tightened again as she imagined being pressed flat against him, her breasts smashed against his strong chest.

“Baldy?” His mouth quirked again, but his eyes weren’t amused. They smoldered, boring into hers, telegraphing an invitation that was clearly sexual.

She cocked her head. “You prefer Big Baldy?”

“I prefer Frank.”

“Well okay, but…I…” Eleanor’s breath hitched as Frank reached out, letting one finger trail down the side of her corset.

Idly, casually, he stroked her ribs, moving down toward the curve of her waist. Even with that simple touch, he conveyed a sense of ownership.

“Yes?” His fingers curled possessively around her hip, pulling her closer. A few more inches and they would touch, and she would know if he was as aroused as she was quickly becoming.

“I have a rule,” she said, voice breathy. “If I know your name, I can’t play with you.”

“What about me playing with you?” His fingers tightened, pressing into the flesh of her hip with enough force to make her sex even wetter.

“You have to go,” she whispered, the words sounding like an invitation to stay, even to her own ears.

But she couldn’t indulge whatever madness was making her want this man. She’d never crossed the line with a client and wasn’t about to start now. She didn’t get paid for sex, she wasn’t a prostitute, and that distinction was very important to her.

“You really want me to leave?” He dipped his head, murmuring the words into her ear.

Eleanor’s eyes closed and a soft moan escape from her parted lips. This wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t be able to seduce her so easily. Where was her pride?

“I’m having a hard time believing you. Why are your nipples so hard, Eleanor?”

“It’s cold.”

“Is it?” He laughed; she shivered. “I’m not cold. Maybe I can warm you up.”

“I have to go.” Eleanor turned to leave, determined to prove, at least to herself, that she wasn’t completely at the mercy of her frustrated libido.

This time he snagged her elbow in his powerful hand.

“Let go,” she said, pulling at her arm, not surprised when he didn’t loosen his hold.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“I’m having déjà vu here, Frank.”

“I hate déjà vu.”

“Me too, so let me go.”

“I can’t do that,” he said.

“Who are you?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

“I told you, I’m Frank,” he said, his eyes becoming shuttered, unreadable pools that chilled her all over.

“Oh my god, it’s you,” she whispered, fear tickling at the back of throat.

“Eleanor, Emily—whatever your name is—you need to calm down.”

The shock of hearing her middle name made her inhale sharply. The creep who had been writing her those horrible letters always addressed them to Emily.

Frank could be the creep! And now he would have the chance to do what he had threatened to do in all those letters—those hateful, psychotic letters that had made the last three months of her life a living hell.

And to think she had been attracted to him. To a certifiable psychopath.

She was going to have to get some serious psychiatric help—if she survived the night.

“Help!” she screamed, clawing at his arm. “Security!”

“Stop!” He captured both of her hands in his and spun her into his body.

Soon, her arms were wrapped across her chest and the bulk of him was pressed against her back in one long stretch of unyielding flesh. Eleanor’s body tensed even tighter as his thick shaft pressed between the cheeks of her ass.

Frank was turned on by their struggle, no doubt about it.

Now, however, her fantasy of being forced to take him into her unprepared body didn’t seem nearly as appealing.

Eleanor struggled and stomped her feet, trying to aim a well-placed high heel into the center of his bare foot, but nothing worked. He anticipated every move, breathing heavily in her ear as he continued to hold her, immobilize her, overpower her in every way. In a last-ditch effort, Eleanor dropped her head to his arm, sinking her teeth in deep enough to draw his blood a second time, but the man was obviously not made of mere flesh and bone.

Once again, he didn’t even flinch. He bent his mouth closer to her ear and spoke in the most frightening whisper she had ever heard.

“If you want to live, I highly suggest you stop fighting me, sweetheart. And shut. The hell. Up.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Frank

The woman the entire kingdom knew as the Wicked Stepmother trembled in his arms like a scared little girl, but she didn’t start crying again.

Thank God.

When she had turned from the window with tears in her big brown eyes and black streaks trailing down her cheeks, she’d looked so damned vulnerable. For a second, Frank had actually questioned his ability to complete the mission. He was the Captain of the Queen’s Guard, but he wasn’t equipped for an adversary like this one. He dealt with straightforward things like soldiers and battle strategy, not women.