The words were going up in volume, the anxiety taking over.
“You want to run from me?”
He shook his head hard, but everything was spinning behind his eyelids. “No, it’s not—”
“Stay.” The door opened and shut, but he barely heard it over the sound of his beating heart. His muscles twitched, ready to bolt, to fight. Fuck. Don’t do this. Don’t do this.
But every instinct was screaming at him. GO!
He opened his eyes, reaching for the door handle.
But before he could grab it, the door on the other side opened. Warm night air rushed past him and hands gripped him. The guys were back. They dragged him out of the car. And it took everything he had not to throw a punch. They needed to restrain him. Fast. He was going to lose it.
“Put him on his knees,” Sam commanded from somewhere out of his line of sight.
The guys lowered him to the gravel, keeping hold of his arms. The smooth rocks bit into his knees, the pain like electricity through the haze of panic. He closed his eyes. “Please. Hurry. Cuff me. Do something.”
“Let him go.” Sam.
“No!” Gibson couldn’t stop the word from escaping.
The guys released him and his palms hit the gravel.
Firm fingers grasped his chin. “Open your eyes, Gibson.”
He blinked, finding Sam in front of him, the sight of her startling him out of the immediate need to bolt. His gaze raced over her, taking her in like a starved man eyeing a feast. “Sam . . .”
“You. Will. Not. Move.” Sam stepped back, giving him a full view of her outfit. She was in a black full-body catsuit and lace-up boots. Her hair was pulled into a long, curling ponytail. Nothing was exposed, but she’d never looked hotter—like some kind of twisted superhero or villainess. She’d dressed to fight. His entire body took note.
She cocked an eyebrow. “Still want to run from me?”
“It’s not about you, mistress. You’re . . . perfect.” He didn’t dare take his eyes off of her and look at either of his friends. Why weren’t they cuffing him? Doing something to keep him here? “But, Sam, please. I can’t—”
“You asked me to restrain you,” she said.
He nodded, his heart beating too fast, too hard. “I need it.”
“Last I checked, you don’t get to make demands, sugar. That’s my job.” She gave the guys behind her a look and then turned what he guessed was the vibrator remote in her hand, toying with him.
He pressed his lips together, trying not to bark out in frustration. She didn’t get it. Didn’t understand. This fear was bigger than him. His heart felt like it was going to bust through his ribs. This was why he’d asked for this, dammit. He needed the push off the board. Why were they just standing around? Fucking do something!
He finally forced himself to turn his head to send a signal to one of the guys, a plea, but when he looked, they were climbing back into their car. What the hell? No!
Sam noticed what he was doing. “Looking for someone to save you?”
Gibson took quick breaths, trying to fight off the attack. Breathe. Breathe. “Sam, I need—”
“You need to listen, is what you need to do.” She crossed her arms in front of her, locked her gaze on him. “You’re still on your knees. All you need are my words.”
He wagged his head.
“Look at me.”
He forced his gaze up.
“I can’t do this, Gib.” Her neck constricted with a hard swallow. “I won’t.”
“What?”
“Force you.”
The ground seemed to open up beneath him. He closed his eyes. No. Please. Don’t do this.
“I love you,” she said softly.
He sucked in a breath and looked back to her. “Sam.”
“And I think you might love me back.” She didn’t flinch, but he could tell it cost her something to take the risk in saying that without getting confirmation from him.
But he was too tongue-tied to respond.
“In your letter, you told me I’m the strongest woman you’ve ever met. But what you don’t know is how goddamned strong you are, too. Look at you. You’ve survived things that would’ve destroyed most other people. You made a good life anyway. That’s why we get each other, Gib. We got the crap draw growing up, the short stick. And we didn’t let it stop us from being successful or whole or happy. It did not beat us. Fuck those people who didn’t love us like they should’ve, who hurt us. Fuck. Them. We are amazing. They didn’t break us.”
She stepped closer to him, her scent drifting on the night air, and looked down, forcing him to tilt his head upward.
She pressed a finger to his head. “In here are the monsters. Your father’s words, that insecurity he planted in you, all that hurt you didn’t deserve. I have monsters, too. But they’re only strong when you feed them. Stop feeding them, Gib.” She pointed to the building. “Inside those doors are people who care about you. They’re real. Not ghosts of the past.” She kneeled down in front of him, took his hand, and placed it on her chest. “And inside here is my love. And that’s as real as it gets. I love you. Exactly how you are. Because of who you are. Like never felt this way about anyone else in my life, love you.”
Tears climbed up his throat, made it burn.
“And in a few minutes, I’ll be inside with the others. Onstage. Waiting. Leave the monsters out here, Gib.”
His chest constricted.
“I’m not going to tie you up and drag you in there. This is your decision. And you’re strong enough to make it on your own. So you can stay out here with the monsters and let them have you. Let them steal away what you know could be an amazing, spectacular thing. Or you can get up on your own two feet, tell them to fuck off, and walk inside. You can kneel down for me in front of people who accept you and want you to be happy, and you can have me.” She cupped his face, her expression softening, but pain hovering there, too. “We can have this, Gib. Every day. I want you so much it physically hurts me, but I can’t force you. I thought I could. And if it was just sex and fun and for the sake of a kinky night, I’d be able to. But not for this. I need . . .” She took a breath, her eyes flickering with a vulnerability that dug right into him. “I need you to choose me. I’ve been forced on people my whole life, Gib. I need to be chosen this time. I need to be worth the cost to someone.”
He closed his eyes, the words seeping into the cracks of that wall of panic and settling in. Choose me. Sam, the girl who never got a forever family, who bounced from place to place like she was lost luggage, was baring her soul to him. He’d gotten so caught up in his own bullshit that he’d failed to see how selfish he was being. His pride and father’s legacy coming before the heart of the woman he cared most about. He’d been about to run from her. For what? In order to run to what? What would he gain by doing that? Nothing. But he knew what he’d lose. And he couldn’t bear that.
He turned his face into her palm, kissing the tender center, smelling her scent and tasting her skin, letting it calm him. This. This is what he needed. He let that sensation bloom in him, swell, pushing back that insistent voice that always told him to bolt, to protect himself, to never surrender. The tight grip around his chest loosened. “I’m so sorry, Sam.”
He sensed her stiffen. She was bracing. She thought he was saying he couldn’t do it, that it was too much. That he was apologizing for letting her down. She backed away. Her expression smoothed out, the shields going up.
He reached for her hand, capturing it before she could move too far away. “Don’t.”
“Gib, I can’t. I can’t stand here and—”
“I love you, Sam,” he said without fear.
She stopped backing away, frozen.
He climbed to his feet and though his heart was beating faster than it had all night, this time it wasn’t panic. This time it wa
s something very, very different. Instead of picturing the faces of the people who might judge him in submission, worrying about what his father would’ve thought, he only thought of her face. What he could give her. What gift he could offer.
She didn’t want the guy he always thought he should be. She wanted the man he was. Flawed. Real. Hers.
He released her hand, took a step back, and tugged off his T-shirt.
Her gaze followed the shirt as he tossed it onto the hood of the SUV. “What are you doing?”
“I love you,” he repeated. He reached for his shorts and tugged them down and off. Then he got right in front of her and kneeled back down in the gravel, more naked than he’d ever been in his life. He took her hands in his and met her gaze. “I love you, Sam. I choose you. I will always choose you.”
Her eyes were wide and they turned to glass then, sparkles in the moonlight as tears filled them. “Gib . . .”
“Please, mistress, take me inside and make me yours.”
She grasped his shoulders and dropped to her knees in front of him, the tears falling with her. She didn’t say anything, just wrapped her arms around him. He allowed himself to do the same, gathering her to him and sitting back on his calves so he could lift her knees out of the gravel and let her kneel on his thighs instead.
They stayed like that for a few long moments and he couldn’t remember ever being happier in his life than right now. Cars came in and out of the lot and he barely noticed. The switch had been flipped. Flinching, being embarrassed, now meant hurting the woman he loved. Unacceptable.
He’d finally figured out whose opinion mattered. His. And hers. The rest of ’em could, just as she’d said, fuck off.
When Sam climbed off of him a few minutes later, she gathered herself back together and wiped away her tears. But a smile played around the edges of her mouth, belying the stern mistress face she was trying to pull off. She leaned into the car and pulled something out of her bag. A collar.
She put her hand out to him. “Ready to show everyone you’re mine, sub?”
He took her hand and pushed to his feet. “It would be an honor, mistress.”
She snapped the collar around his neck, the feel of the leather a thrill he hadn’t expected, and then she handed him a pair of tight black boxer briefs that had a zipper up the front. She cupped his growing erection. “Some things are meant only for my eyes, gorgeous. Cover what’s mine.”
He smiled and tugged on the shorts. He would’ve walked in naked if that’s what she wanted, but it did something to him to know that she didn’t want to share that view with anyone else. “All yours, Sam.”
“Mmm.” She gave the zipper a playful tug. “Boy, am I looking forward to undoing this later.”
“Man lingerie does it for you, mistress?”
She pressed up on her toes and brushed a kiss over his lips. “You do it for me, Gibson Andrews.” She laced her hand with his. “Now come on and show me what a good man whore you can be.”
He laughed and stole one more kiss. Then they walked into the big cedar-and-stone building hand in hand, both smiling like idiots.
Gibson thought the anxiety would return, that he’d feel the eyes on him and want to hide. But when they strolled past other members in the hallway and got raised-eyebrow looks—not at his state, because lots of people walked around in fetish wear here, but that it was him, Gibson the dom, wearing a collar—he only had to look at Sam’s face. The pride there, the pure pleasure she showed at having him with her like this, was all he needed. If he showed shame, it’d be shaming her. Screw that. He had the hottest woman in the place about to do depraved things to him. He was finally the lucky son of a bitch.
By the time they reached the demonstration room, he’d gone into role, finding the quiet in his head that he’d never been able to access before. He kept his head down and his focus on Sam, falling a step behind her on purpose. Onstage were coils of rope, a wall of floggers and canes, and a large Saint Andrew’s Cross at the center, a bare spotlight shining down on it. His stomach gave a kick—not of worry but of anticipation.
He didn’t even notice the audience in that moment. He couldn’t. Sam was going to use those things on him. All the fantasies he’d woven about her were now at his fingertips. Somehow, without forcing him, she’d moved him past the seemingly impossible hurdle anyway. He was out. Exposed. It was done. The people he was walking past saw what he was. No going back. Now he could simply enjoy the after. Finally, there was an after.
An after with Sam.
Only when he got to the front of the room and kneeled onstage did he catch sight of familiar faces in the crowd. Pike. Foster and his girlfriend, Cela. Grant and Charli. A few other friends and acquaintances. Low murmurs moved through the group as Sam got things set up behind him. He scanned the faces and one after another only showed one thing—smiles. They were happy to see him up there. Happy someone else had found what they needed in this crazy world. Because that’s what friends did. They loved you because, not in spite of.
Those were the only people who mattered.
And right as Pike was giving him a ridiculous devil-horns/rock-on sign with his hand, Sam stepped behind him on the stage and wrapped a coil of rope around his chest. “Everyone, I’d like you to meet sub Gibson. The man I’m going to tie up, whip ’til he begs, and screw ’til the sun comes up.”
Claps, catcalls, and wolf whistles came in response.
She pressed her hands to his shoulders and whispered into his ear. “The man I’m going to love as long as he lets me.”
He smiled and turned his head to look up at her. “I’m thinking forever sounds good.”
She stepped in front of him and gave him the full impact of her smile. “I believe I can work with that.” She cinched the rope tight. “Now shut up and be a good boy.”
He closed his eyes and forgot anyone else was watching.
She was his.
And he, hers.
She’d broken him without even lifting a finger.
Epilogue
“You know, I did hire an entire crew to do this stuff for you.”
Sam rocked in the new white chair on the porch and sipped her tea as Gibson sanded the wood frame of the front door. “Yes, and I’m very grateful for the plumbing and electrical work they did. But none of them look as hot as you when they’re shirtless and sweaty. Can you stretch a little for me? Maybe drop something and bend over real slow.”
“You’re shameless,” he said, flashing her that sexy smile over his shoulder and raking her over with a slow, hot look. “I love it.”
A shiver went through her, that raw desire in his eyes like a stroke along her skin. She grinned back, admiring the fading marks on his back, wanting to lick them. She’d taken him to the Ranch a week ago, tied him up, and performed a whip demo. The people watching had been awed at how much he could take, what it did to him, how turned on he got. Even Grant had seemed impressed.
Her Gibson, man of steel.
But like that first night she’d put him on display at the Ranch—Gib’s coming-out party—after the whipping, she hadn’t shared the rest. Her exhibitionist streak was strong, but she found that her possessive streak was even stronger. She didn’t want to share Gib with an audience when things got intimate. The sex was for them alone. So when they played at the Ranch, they did the pain stuff in public and then moved to a private room or cabin. It worked for both of them.
But it’d been a week since she’d touched him. He’d been on a business trip for the last few days and the time apart had seemed like an eternity. When he’d headed here from his flight this afternoon, she knew he’d expected it was for immediate, urgent, oh-my-god-we-haven’t-seen-each-other-in-a-week sex. And, man, had she wanted to jump him when he’d strolled up the walk. But she’d wanted to play more. And she had a plan. So she’d made him strip down to his jeans and had put the boy to work, gi
ving herself a view and prolonging her own slow-building pleasure.
She carefully adjusted herself in the chair to fully face him. “Ah, that breeze feels nice.”
“Mmm,” he said, focusing on his task.
“So glad I decided to forgo panties. Nice air flow, you know.”
His head whipped around, his gaze zeroing in on her thin sundress. But she had her legs tucked beneath her, concealing all her secrets.
He groaned. “You’re killing me, Sam.”
She took a long sip of her tea. “Show me. Unzip your pants.”
He licked his lips and set the sander aside. Then dusted off his hands before unfastening his jeans, opening his fly, and displaying his own commando state.
Mmph. Desire was a sharp kick between her legs. Flat belly, dark hair, heavy, thick cock presenting itself proudly. If she weren’t wet already, she’d have soaked through her dress. She set her tea aside and tipped her chin at him. “Come stand in front of me and let me look at you.”
His mouth hitched up at the corner, male smugness. No matter how submissive he was, the cocky streak ran deep. She loved that. He wiped his hands off on a rag and walked her way, stopping an arm’s length away from her, his cock displayed like the most decadent temptation.
“Hands behind your head.” She waited until he followed the instruction. “How many times did you fuck your hand while you were out of town?”
“How many times did you?”
Her gaze flicked to his, finding him with a smirk. Oh. He wanted to play that game. Bratty sub. Bring it on. She reached over to her glass, grabbed an ice cube, and promptly touched it to the head of his cock.
Breath hissed from between his teeth.
“I asked you a question.”
“Only when you gave me permission on the phone. I didn’t break the rules.” He grimaced. “Okay, that’s not true. Once. I broke the rule once.”
She hid her smile. “Tell me.”
“I was getting ready for a meeting and I forgot to wear loose boxers. The boxer briefs kept rubbing against the whip marks, reminding me of our night together. I wasn’t going to be able to give the presentation I needed to with a hard-on. So I went into the restroom and handled it.”