TangledBound (9 page)

Chapter Eight

December

Her again. Everything came rushing back to him—the
overwhelming need to bend and break her and own her, the unshakable certainty
that he could not succumb, that she wouldn’t be the same person in the end.
That she would decide she didn’t want to submit after all, leaving him with
everything invested in her and nothing to show for it except the ache of loss.

“Ahh, a blonde. So that’s what your problem’s been.”

Sam glanced at the perpetually-thirty-nine-year-old brunette
who’d sidled up to him while he watched the blonde in question. “Do you know
who brought her?”

“I hit traffic and only just got here.” Theresa, his
fifty-percent partner at Bondage, tucked her heavily be-ringed hand in the bend
of his arm. “Why are we interested?”

She’s mine.
“She’s the sister of a friend.”

Sam mentally kicked himself for using Melanie’s brother to
justify his interest and establish his barriers. While David sure as hell
wouldn’t approve of his baby sister’s presence at a munch, Sam knew firsthand
exactly how little say his friend actually had when it came to either Sam’s or
Melanie’s choices. He couldn’t help but wonder where he’d stand with her now if
he’d regarded her as someone to be educated instead of disciplined. Someone to
be eased in instead of driven away.

Not that he regretted one second of spanking her ass. She’d
deserved
that
. Problem was, she’d deserved more than that from him.

Knowing her capacity for passion didn’t change his opinion
though. Melanie belonged at family barbeques and church potlucks, wearing
high-necked dresses and being watched closely by someone with the sense of
self-preservation she lacked. She did not belong at a munch, surrounded by men
and women on the hunt for everything from a casual plaything to a household
slave. He had to get her out of there for her sake as well as his.

“Hmm. Why are we
really
interested?” Theresa pressed.

“
We
aren’t. She’s a brat and
we
will have
nothing to do with her.”

Theresa laughed. “Brats are fun. You never have to
manufacture an excuse to punish them.”

Sam didn’t answer.

“You’re allowed to have somebody, you know,” she said in
response to his silence.

Theresa’s words barely registered. Melanie reclaimed his
attention, a golden light pulling him toward her. Melanie and the man with his
hand at her slender throat, touching her like he already owned her.

“Not a fucking chance.” Leaving his business partner behind,
Sam cut across the ballroom.

Neither Melanie nor her companion spared a glance for his
approach. Invisibility suited Sam. He welcomed the extended opportunity to
shore up his defenses. While he maneuvered through the crowd, he pretended he
was an art aficionado appreciating a fine portrait. Downgrading Melanie from
human being to portrait model helped him reinforce his barriers. Beautiful girl.
For him, a beautiful girl to be admired from afar. Not to be touched. Not to be
wanted. Touching her once did enough damage.

Her companion said something and stroked the side of her
throat with his thumb. Violent urges hummed down Sam’s spine. If
he
couldn’t
touch her, nobody else could either.

Melanie raised her shoulder, a movement so subtle Sam
wondered whether she even realized she’d given the “back off” signal. Her
companion disregarded the warning and leaned closer.

The other man noticed Sam first. He looked up from Melanie
and narrowed his eyes. His loose grip on her throat tightened when she turned
her head to follow his line of sight.

Several details came into focus at once. The nametag Melanie
wore pinned to her plunging neckline read “Emma”. The set of her pink-glossed
lips spoke of uncertainty, not interest. Her cheeks went from pink to white the
instant she registered his approach.

Up close, Sam recognized her companion as someone who’d
recently applied for membership at Bondage. Sam focused on that. “Winston,
right?”

He deliberately extended his left hand instead of his right.
He wanted Winston to stop touching Melanie yesterday. “I don’t think we’ve met.
I’m one of the reviewers of your recent application to Bondage.”

Winston hesitated, obviously reluctant to relinquish his
claim on Melanie. In the end, he must have decided he wanted Bondage more than
he wanted one girl because he finally surrendered his hold.

“Strict review process,” Winston remarked by way of
greeting. He shook Sam’s hand briefly and reached for Melanie again.

Sam noted that she’d taken the opportunity to scoot toward
him, out of Winston’s reach. And she’d attempted to cover her nametag.

“We have a strong reputation for safety,” Sam said. “My
partner and I like to speak with membership applicants personally. Are you
available now?”

He was counting on Winston’s eagerness to access Bondage
overcoming his eagerness to take advantage of Melanie’s ignorance. One gullible
woman or an infinite supply of them. In Sam’s experience, predators could be
swayed to surrender one kill in exchange for a thicker flock. Winston’s short
nod of assent proved him no different from any other man on the hunt.

Sam led Winston to the bar. Along the way, he queued up
Theresa’s number in his phone and sent a brief text message. By the time he
finished with Winston, “Emma” should be long gone. It would be better for both
of them if Sam left the past in the past.

Shit, shit, shit.
Melanie blew out a shaky breath and
swallowed the last of her chardonnay, glad for Sam’s intervention and equally
glad to see him walk away. She was in over her head. Way over. But she didn’t
know how else to proceed. She’d been a wreck ever since she fled Sam’s hotel
room. She didn’t want to think about the experience, but she’d learned
something that night—she was sexually submissive and she wanted a Dom. It
wasn’t just a fantasy thing, it was a compelling need. She needed a Dom. Not
Sam—she didn’t want to see
him
ever again—but definitely
someone
who would show her how to submit. Preferably without making her feel like a
subhuman life form unworthy of affection.

After months of lurking in BDSM chat rooms, reading blogs
written by both Dominants and submissives, and forming tentative cyber
friendships, she’d worked up the courage to put out real feelers. She’d found
Vic Winston—otherwise known as X-actingMaster—via Twitter and a New York BDSM
lifestylers hash tag. The prospect of meeting up with a man she’d found on the
Internet hadn’t appealed to her, but she’d been bordering on desperate. Vic had
expressed interest in training her, but only if they met to speak in person.
She’d resisted until he suggested the party—a munch, he’d called it. The
promise of safety in numbers and meeting in the mostly public eye coaxed her
away from the security of TweetDeck and into the ballroom of the Mintley West
Hotel.

Her skin still crawled from the remembered heat of Vic’s
hand. He was an attractive man but nothing about him appealed to her once
they’d started communicating in more than one hundred forty character
exchanges. Exactly the opposite—instead of a warm, fuzzy feeling, she got a
danger-danger feeling.

Melanie suppressed a shudder and stood to leave before Sam
decided to return. Biting her lip, she scanned the ballroom in search of a
discreet exit. Every avenue of escape required her to pass the bar where Vic
and Sam stood with their backs to her. She wasn’t afraid of getting too close
to Sam but she didn’t want to catch Vic’s attention again, not now that Sam had
given her an out. She didn’t really want to catch anybody’s attention but by
the looks of the striking beauty making eye contact and striding toward her
from across the ballroom, she’d failed in the avoid-notice department.

“You look singularly out of place,” the unknown woman said
by way of greeting. She casually slid an arm around Melanie’s waist and steered
her toward an exit Melanie had missed in her search. “Pretty, but out of place.
Do you belong to someone in attendance?”

Panic spiked in Melanie’s stomach but she forced it down.
She’d done her research. The party was not invitation only. “I’m here by
myself. And on my way out. Excuse me.”

Instead of releasing her, the tall brunette tightened her
hold and drew Melanie closer. The curve of a breast cushioned her shoulder.
“Sam asked me to make sure you leave safely. I’d like to be able to truthfully
tell him I saw you on your way. Can I call a taxi for you?”

Melanie’s brow furrowed. She glanced over her shoulder but
couldn’t see the bar anymore. “He ordered an escort?”

“I believe he needed to ensure his own peace of mind.” The
other woman laughed softly. “Which makes me
very
curious. May I ask how
you know one another?”

“We have a mutual acquaintance,” Melanie replied cautiously.

“Ahhh. An acquaintance, of course.” The tall woman’s tone
said she suspected more, but she didn’t press. Instead, she asked, “What draws
you to the lifestyle, sweetie? The allure of being taken care of by a powerful,
wealthy man? Pain with your sex?”

“I just want—” Melanie stopped herself before she could say
it. She did not want Sam. He was merely her first. A sudden thought made her
stomach twist though. “Are you Sam’s, um, sub?”

“Am I his
what
?” Sam’s friend laughed.

“Never mind.” She didn’t really want to know. Melanie shook
her head and dug her valet ticket from the bottom of her purse as they stepped
out into the blustery December wind. A shiver immediately rocked her. She’d
forgotten her coat.

Handing the claim ticket to the valet waiting just outside,
she finally disengaged and backed away from Sam’s maybe lover, whom Melanie
didn’t care about one bit. She immediately reached for the twenty-first-century
evasion tactic of pressing her cell phone to her ear and half turning away from
the other woman. “Thank you for seeing me out.”

Melanie carried on a fake conversation with her voice mail
until the valet returned with her car and her Sam-appointed babysitter
retreated. The valet agreed to wait while Melanie went back in for her coat.
She loved that coat. No way was she leaving it behind.

The warmth of the hotel lobby slid around her like a snug
embrace. She retrieved her coat from the concierge without incident, but on the
way back to her car, she spotted Sam. He saw her at the same time and set a
course for her. All her instincts screamed at her to just run, but her feet
refused to cooperate. Despite the deep-seated hatred she felt for him, heat
unfurled low in her abdomen and her nipples responded to his predatory pace.

Jaw in a hard line, he lengthened his stride until he
reached her. “Emma?”

The ripple of heat chilled. Melanie drew back from his
obvious displeasure and covered the upper curve of her left breast with one
hand, forgetting she’d already removed the falsified name tag. Her heart
thudded beneath her palm. Mouth dry, she lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I’m
not stupid enough to use my real name.”

Sam’s calm, tightly controlled tone belied his flashing
eyes. “Dishonesty is not the approach you want to take with this community.
Come on. I’ll walk you to your car.”

Melanie’s cheeks burned at his reprimand. She fumbled for
something to say but Sam didn’t stand around waiting for her to string her
thoughts together. Nor did he grab her the way Vic Winston, and afterward the
brunette, had done. Instead, Sam left her to follow in his determined wake.
Like an obedient puppy, she fell into step behind him.

By the time they reached her car, she’d decided to just keep
her mouth shut. She didn’t want Sam to think she was an idiot. She wanted him
to think she was smoking hot, totally over him, and on her way to becoming New
York’s most-desired sex slave.

“Keys.” Sam held out his hand.

Hoping to make their encounter as brief as possible, Melanie
silently placed her key ring on his upturned palm.

Sam unlocked the driver’s side door and held it open. He
stood with the door between them and frowned at her. “What are you doing?”

She furrowed her brow. “Uh…getting ready to go home?”

“Here, Melanie. What are you doing here? With people like
these? People you found on…what? Facebook? Winston said he met you online.”

“Twitter,” she muttered. She squared her shoulders and
mustered her flagging self-confidence enough to step closer to him. With her
hands atop the door between his, she tilted her chin and met his eyes. “I’m
kind of wondering what
you’re
doing here. I get the ‘call me Sir and
lick my shoes’ thing, but why are you messing with me?”

As soon as the words were out, she regretted them. Melanie
bit her lip. Respectful dialogue was something she could manage online, but she
couldn’t seem to curb her naturally sassy personality when she didn’t have the
advantage of a backspace key. And Sam…damn it. Something about him compelled
her to push his buttons.

He glowered. “Because I’m here and somebody has to run
interference with your foolish choices. David should be watching you more
carefully.”

“I’m an adult,” she said after a moment, trying to compose a
thoughtful response worthy of a well-behaved and educated sub. “Well past the
age of consent and experienced enough to reliably make sound choices on my own.
I don’t need anybody to protect me. I don’t need anybody to give me permission.
I need somebody to respect me, which is something you very clearly don’t want
to do. I need somebody to educate me, which is again something else you
obviously don’t want to do, and I need somebody to dominate me. Again, not
you.”

Sam relaxed his grip on the door and dropped his hands to
his sides. Melanie exhaled a slow breath, hoping he would drop the issue now
that she’d taken her stand. When he stepped back, she allowed herself to relax
further. His next words made her blink. Twice.