Punishing Petra [Locks and Chains 3] (11 page)

“I don’t know. Yes, no, maybe. Look, it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does, Caleb. I think you need to open yourself up to new possibilities and be open-minded as well.”

“God, you sound like my sister.”

“Well, she must be an amazing woman, too.”

He laughed at that. He really should introduce her to Sara. They would get on like a house on fire with accelerants. Maybe he shouldn’t introduce them. It could be like napalm to his life if those two got together.

“I’m going out to the living room to put Craig out of his misery.”

“Fair enough.”

He stood and walked to the door, and just as his hand was on the knob, he turned back as Sophie spoke.

“You know, Caleb, they say lightning never strikes the same place twice. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life hating yourself for walking away from your once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

“Are you following that advice with Craig?”

“We are different.”

She could dish it out, but taking it was another matter.

“Are you?” He didn’t wait for the answer. He opened the door and walked toward the pacing man. As soon as Craig sensed movement in the room, he stopped his pacing and stared over at him.

“Is everything okay? Is she hurt? Is she?”

He watched him blow out a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Caleb settled his hand on Craig’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. “Everything is good.”

“You sure?”

It ruffled him to be questioned again, but he understood that Craig wasn’t thinking clearly right now.

“Yes, Craig, she’s healthy.” He watched the relief wash over his face. “But she’s bratty. Man, you need to teach her some discipline.”

“Is that the doctor’s orders?” Craig replied with an ironic smile.

“You know I couldn’t order such a thing.” As much as he wanted to. “Any other serious issues, give me a call. I’ll let myself out.”

He chuckled again as he watched Craig storm toward the bedroom with a gleam in his eye. Oh, to be a fly on the wall in there. Walking through the club, he realized how different it looked in the light of day. Even though just last night he’d been there with Petra strapped to that very cross still in place on the stage. It all seemed like it was an eon ago. So much had changed is so little time. But had anything really changed? Was it really that much different than it had been before? He needed to get to the gym. He needed to work all this out. Whatever it was.

* * * *

Petra parked her car and then walked up the path and opened the front door, a smile still on her face from her conversation with Kyle. The muscles in her back screamed in protest as she bent to pick up the keys she’d just dropped on the carpet. She needed to get in a nice hot Epsom-salts bath as soon as possible and soak the rigidness away. As she stripped off her clothes, she turned and saw for the first time the marks marring her back. Each stripe sent a shiver of pride through her. Her Master’s marks looked good on her. She slipped into the bath, flinching as the heat bit into her body and the salty mixture seeped into the welts on her back, making them bite with pain. She gritted her teeth, reminding herself that this would greatly speed up the healing process. As the steam in the bathroom floated through the air, she lay back and let her muscles relax and unknot, and she let herself slip into a fantasy of her own creation.

She stood before the throne of the conquering king. She was now just another spoil of war.

“Kneel before me, my conquered princess.”

“Never,” she seethed through clenched teeth. She was a princess, and royal blood flowed through her veins. She would die with honor.

“Still you try to defy me, little witch. Well, let’s see how strong you remain after you feel the lash of my whip.”

He thought he could frighten her, but he was so wrong. She wouldn’t scream, she would not plead for mercy. The king stood up from his throne and marched toward her.

“You will grace my bed as my whore until I tire of you. If you do not please me, then you will become the whore to each and every one of my men,” he said, grabbing her face and kissing her brutally. “You are nothing but my slave to do with whatever I please.” He then grabbed the front of her dress and ripped it from top to toe, baring her breasts for all to see as his hand took hold of one and crushed it just to the point of pain.

“Sorry to interrupt you, brother.”

The king turned toward the man who had just spoken. “Ah, my brother comes to taste my latest slave. The fallen princess.” He released her breast, only to grab her hair at the back of her head, arching her back and pushing her breasts forward in offering.

“This is our new royal slave, is it, brother dear?” the king’s brother drawled as he walked toward her. He bent and took a nipple into his mouth, sucking deeply. His hand grabbed her crotch and squeezed, showing her there were no choices to be made. They would use her however they wanted. She tried to stop the heat of desire burning deep inside her. She cursed herself for the wetness forming between her woman’s lips. She could not desire these two brutes, she could not want to be pillaged. The king laughed as his fingers dove into the wetness she was so determined to hide.

“The slave is dripping with desire. The princess slave will beg for our cocks.”

Petra’s hand increased the speed at which she was rubbing her clit, so lost in her fantasy she hadn’t realized that she’d started to pleasure herself. As the pleasure crested and she fell over into the depths of her orgasm, her pussy clenched over and over again. Her body then relaxed, its tension finally sated. Her mind came back to its senses.
Damn, I have to write that one down. That would make one hot book.
Though the king couldn’t look like Caleb and the king’s brother couldn’t look like Kyle.

Chapter Eleven

Petra’s fingers flew over the keyboard, another story pouring from her fingertips. As with most of her books, she liked to write the beginning and the ending at the start. The book ended once again with the knight in shining armor, though with modern clothing and modern technology, riding into the sunset with his princess. If only that could be true in real life, but then again she couldn’t live her life being anybody’s prized princess. No, her darker side needed to feel the burn of the lash, and that was definitely not the act of a princess. Her cell phone buzzed, announcing a text message, and she picked up the phone to read the display.

“Are you free for dinner tonight?” Cursing at the on-screen keyboard, she struggled to type her response.

“Yes.”

“Great, I’ll pick you up at eight.” Her phone buzzed in reply.

Well, it was a bit presumptuous of Kyle, but what the hell, she may as well go out with him. They’d had a great night the night before, and he was good-looking and delicious in bed. What on earth was she going to wear? She looked again at her cell, expecting it to suddenly give the answers to the questions roaming around inside her head. Like where was he taking her? Was it formal, casual, or fetish wear? Would she need a jacket? What was he going to wear? She cursed Kyle for not giving her more of an explanation and then considered calling him and asking. But she didn’t want to look like a fool, although wouldn’t it be worse turning up dressed incorrectly? Hell, she didn’t know what to do, so she let her fingers decide for her. She quickly typed a text and pressed send before she could second-guess herself.

“What’s the dress code?” She held her phone like it was going to bite her while she waited for the reply. Finally after what felt like an eon, it buzzed.

“Dinner dress, no panties.”

Typical Dom. At least she now knew what to wear. What woman in her thirties didn’t have a little black dress? Hell, she had four of them. Granted, one was nearly a decade old, but it still fit, kind of. So what if she had to suck in her stomach and wiggle a whole lot to get into it and then crossing her arms in front of her might not be possible. The zipper did up, and that’s all that counted. She really needed to consider giving it to Goodwill, but it was her favorite, and it made her look pretty goddamn hot, she thought. She hadn’t worn it in at least two years, okay, maybe four.

Shit! Where had the time gone? She shook her head and looked back at the story she was working on. Okay, the sexy, handsome alpha male looked like? Umm…She ran all the good-looking men she knew through her head and matched them to the characters of her books, but came up short. Now she began to catalog the hunks from her favorite TV shows. Damn, why the hell was this always the hardest part? Well, actually the names were always the biggest fly in the ointment and coming a short-priced second was hair and eye color. Okay, so she’d used black too many times, and well, red, how many redheaded men were attractive without the Scottish thing? Okay, hero, blond, heroine—damn why did that always remind her of drugs? Women had gotten such a bad rap in history. Well, if Dan Brown wanted to write another conspiracy theory, he should work on that one.

Hours later she saved all her work and a backup, and it was time to start the chore of getting dressed. Time to shave, pluck, wax, scrub, buff, preen, and then start the war paint. “God, it sucks to be a woman.” After an hour and a half she was ready. Bubbling with an equal amount of nerves and excitement, she patiently waited for the clock to strike eight. At the knock on the door, she jumped off the couch, nearly tripping over her own feet. She felt as silly as a school girl. She took a deep breath before she opened the front door. Kyle stood there in black dress pants, a matching black jacket, and a blue collared shirt with the collar open. Never before had she thought of a throat as being attractive, but right now there was nothing more she wanted to do than lick his neck and collar bone. He smelled fresh and woodsy, but yet the scent reminded her of water somehow. Whatever the cologne he was wearing, she wanted to buy it so she could just sniff it all day long.

* * * *

Kyle stood at her door smirking. There was nothing like an ego boost. Petra looked as dazed as a kitten who had just smelled her first catnip. “So are you going to ask me in?” He felt like a god. So many women didn’t realize how much men needed approval and to be made to feel attractive and desired, too. Just like when a woman would say her inner goddess comes out when she feels sexy, desired, and safe, a man’s inner god comes out when he feels sexy, desired, and strong. His god was preening and wanting to play. He hadn’t thought of doing anything but taking her to dinner and drinks, but now he wanted to play. She was an experienced sub, and she wouldn’t be upset if he took her to the club on their first official date, although you never knew. But right now he wanted to take everything further. He wanted her tied up and dependent on him, he wanted her begging him. He wanted her. He looked around her house. Everything had its place, and it was amazingly clean. The beige leather couch dominated the living room which looked comfortable and inviting. He could see through into the kitchen which was small and completely white. He could see the commercial mixer on the bench and few other kitchen appliances. One looked surprisingly like a pasta maker. It looked heavy, which in his mind equated to being expensive. No wonder she’d made such a big deal about his kitchen. She liked to cook much more than she’d let on.

“So you never did tell me your pen name. Are you going to tell me? What type of romance do you write?” he asked as he took a seat on the couch.

“Umm, yeah, well, I, umm, am a, well, I’m an author but not really of romance. Well it is a kind of romance.”

Okay, there was something going on there. He looked around the area again. There was no secondhand furniture and this was a nice neighborhood, so she must make a decent living. Why would she be hesitant?

“So, what do you write?”

“Umm, well, let’s call it hot romance,” she replied, looking worried.

“Petra, I’m not going to judge you. I just want to get to know you.” He tried to soothe her with his words.

“Okay, look, I’m going to be honest. When I tell dates what I do for a living, they commonly fall into two categories. Ones that think I’m a slut and easy and think I would be a good quick fuck but no future. Or the second category, the ones that get intimidated and don’t want a future either. Hell, they don’t even give me a chance.”

“Shit, now I really need to know what you write.”

“I’m an erotica author,” she replied sheepishly.

Obviously it really had been a serious problem in the past. “Seriously, that’s fantastic. Have you written anything I might know?” He ran through the books he’d read recently in his head searching for her name but couldn’t find it. He was sure she used a pen name, which was common.

“I’m…” she mumbled. He could hardly hear her but pieced the name together.

“Holy shit, you’re her?” he shouted. Damn, things just got better. Here he was about to go on a date with one of the best-selling BDSM writers of the past five years. Not only that, but she was a submissive who liked it rough.

“Yes, well, anyway, maybe we should be going,” she said as she paced in front of him, rubbing her hands against each other, obviously not dealing with the situation well.