His to Own Read online

  His to Own

  Tori Carson

  Book 3 in the Master’s Touch series.

  After escaping a controlling and abusive husband, Angela has vowed never to date or marry again. She joins Cat Tails, a BDSM club that seems like the perfect place to explore her submissive urges in a controlled environment without expectations of a relationship. She’s instantly attracted to a Dom named Brett, but he’s looking for love and marriage. Since she’s sworn off both, she is reluctant to play with him at the club.

  Brett is immediately drawn to Angela but she doesn’t seem to know he exists. When she gets into trouble with an errant Dom, Brett’s protective impulse kicks in. The more he learns about her past, the more he is determined to be her future. He knows it will take time and a masterful touch to break through her barriers and make her his forever.

  Reader Advisory: This story has graphic sexual language and scenes—no closed bedroom doors (or other rooms) here!

  A Romantica® BDSM erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

  His to Own

  Tori Carson

  Chapter One

  Thwack! Pain like Angela had never felt before, shot through her body.

  “Freedom!” She screamed her safeword, knowing she couldn’t take another strike like that.

  Thwack! “Freedom, damn it. Stop!” The pain was too intense. What the hell was the club safeword?

  Thwack! “Crisis. Oh my God. Stop!” Angela begged.

  “Shut up, slut. You asked for this.” Thwack!

  Angela struggled against the manacles holding her bound to a tree inside the kink club, Cat Tails. “Crisis. Freedom. Stoopp!” She tried to keep the sobs at bay. She needed her voice loud and strong, not strangled behind tears. Cringing, knowing another strike was coming, she tried to make herself as small a target as possible.

  Thanks to the blindfold she’d allowed Master Dickhead—what the hell was his name?—to use, her hearing was all the more acute. Sounds of flesh hitting flesh assaulted her ears.

  Then she heard the voice of an angry-sounding man. “She safeworded, you motherfucker.” Groans and a thud came next.

  “What happened here?” It was the voice of Sean, the club’s owner.

  “That piece of trash ignored her safeword,” said the first voice.

  A warm, strong arm wrapped around her waist. With a click, her hands were freed.

  “Angela, it’s Master Brett. You’re safe now, honey,” he whispered in her ear.

  She knew that voice. It belonged to a very sexy, very scary man. But he sure did smell nice. She couldn’t keep from snuggling against him while her heartbeat pounded a tattoo in her chest.

  Gently Brett removed her blindfold.

  Blinking to remove the tears from her eyes, Angela saw Master Dickhead sitting on his ass with blood dripping from his mouth. Master Steven, the manager of Cat Tails, had a flogger in his hand. Shiny metal tips were attached to the ends of the strands.

  Oh God. She knew immediately that’s what Dickhead had hit her with. Her legs threatened to give out as Brett swung her into his arms.

  She tried to hold herself away from him, fearing her tears would muss his immaculate clothing. He was always dressed to perfection in his tailored suits and designer shoes.

  “I’m taking her to the infirmary. If he ever comes near her again, I will end him.” His voice was deadly calm.

  Brett grabbed a blanket from the basket near door and draped it over her. “You’re safe now, honey. He won’t touch you again.” He pressed her head against his chest.

  When he spoke to her, he used soft tones, but there was an edge to his voice this time that she’d never heard before. She realized he planned to carry her through the club. I’m okay—you can put me down, she wanted to say—knew she should say, but instead, she curled into Brett and breathed in his masculine scent. He smelled of a mixture of sandalwood, citrus and pure male.

  Where had her self-preservation instinct gone? Brett Mercer scared her on an elemental level. His dark, sensual eyes had followed her every time she visited Cat Tails. Mr. Drop Dead Sexy was her vision of the perfect man—tall, strong and confident. His dark hair needed trimming but still appealed to her. She had the mad desire to run her fingers through it and see if it really was as soft as it looked.

  Even the quiet “you disappoint me” looks he sent her every time she spoke with another Dom had begun to invade her dreams. She knew he didn’t approve of her, so why was he the first to rescue her? He was the last person she’d expected or wanted help from when she felt so vulnerable.

  “When are you going to stop running from me?” His hold tightened around her.

  Never. You want to clip my wings.

  “You can’t keep putting yourself in these dangerous situations.” He sounded almost desperate as he weaved through the paths inside the club.

  She wanted to argue that she hadn’t done anything wrong, but she’d chosen to scene with an unknown. She’d allowed him to bind and blindfold her even after the hairs on the back of her neck had warned her that something was wrong. But Master Dickhead didn’t want anything from her besides an evening of fun. He wasn’t half as dangerous to her as Brett.

  A sharp laugh escaped her mouth before she could stop it. This was the oddest conversation she’d never actually had—which was another reason Brett scared her to death. He seemed to see inside her, to know what she was thinking without her ever saying a word. They just clicked on a fundamental level.

  When she’d first come to the club about two months ago, she’d been immediately attracted to Brett. She’d asked Liz, the receptionist, for a copy of his interest inventory. They’d matched on every important topic except “seeking”. Angela wanted to keep scening casually and Brett was looking for a committed, happily-ever-after, tie-the-knot, sort of relationship. He had no interest in a casual play partner.

  “I know you can speak. You were using your voice quite clearly a few minutes ago.” He sounded like a grumpy bear as he nudged open the door to the infirmary.

  “Thank you for stopping him,” she mumbled into his wide, muscular chest.

  Brett set her on the examination table then boxed her in with his arms on either side of her as he leaned down and looked her squarely in the eyes. “Don’t do that again.”

  She smiled. She knew she shouldn’t. It was equivalent to baiting a tiger, but he was so angry for her that it took away a bit of her fear of him.

  “What’s so funny? You need to take this seriously. Next time, you might not escape with just a few cuts.”

  The word “cuts” ripped the smile from her face. Cuts implied she was bleeding. Shit, she really had been careless this time. At least she’d insisted on remaining clothed for the flogging. But her short, backless, leather halter dress was probably ruined. Damn it. She didn’t have money for clothes right now and blood didn’t come out of leather easily. “It’s just that of all the Doms here at the club, you were the last one I expected to come to my rescue.”

  Brett pushed away from the table as if she’d physically struck him. His facial expression was one of shock and hurt. “Why would you say that?” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her, demanding an answer.

  She shrugged and instantly winced. The skin along her back complained loudly at the action. “You don’t even like me. Ever since I joined, all you’ve done is scowl at me.”

  Brett continued to stare at her, but if he thought he could force her to back down, he was sadly mistaken.

  “See, just like that! You’ve proven my point exactly.”

  Slowly, he unfolded his arms and resumed his nose to nose glaring at her with his hands resting beside her thighs on the table. “I like you just fine, but you make me angry with your foolish behavior. Every time I try to speak
with you, you run like a scared rabbit.”

  “You’re an intimidating man. Anyone with a brain would run from you.” Why was she lashing out at him? He had saved her from enduring a painful beating at the hands of a real sadist.

  He held her gaze captive. Though she wanted very much to look away, she couldn’t.

  “You do not believe I would hurt you like that wannabe Dom out there.”

  She stared at the floor, wishing she could disappear. How had she gotten herself into this mess? “No, you’re far more dangerous than he is.”

  “I would never hurt you or disrespect you by ignoring your safeword. You need a lesson in enemy recognition.” A smoldering anger was evident in his voice.

  “I’m not having this conversation with you.” She jumped off the table and immediately regretted it. Her legs were shaky and the adrenaline coursing through her body made her lightheaded. “Thank you for rescuing me. I’m going to call it a night and head home.”

  At her sudden move, he’d stepped back giving her a bit of space, but watched her carefully. “Like hell you are. Get back up on the table and lie down on your stomach. Someone has to take care of the wounds on your back.”

  “I’ll be fine. I can take care of it at home.” She sounded like a petulant child, which further annoyed her.

  He let out a long sigh. “You can’t clean and disinfect cuts on your back without help. Stop being stubborn and get back on the table.” He was clearly frustrated and getting more angry by the minute.

  “Mr. Mercer, do not tell me what to do. I appreciate your assistance, but that does not give you the right to dictate to me.” His presence was affecting her more than she liked. His broad shoulders blocked the doorway from her view. She knew if she chose to push past him, he would yield to her. How exactly she knew she wasn’t sure and that made her more leery.

  He ran his hand down his face and Angela noticed for the first time he was injured. Instinctively, she reached out to him. “You’re hurt.” His knuckles were scuffed and bleeding because he protected her. “Let me take care of that for you.” She looked into his eyes and noticed they were a dark blue, almost black with golden flecks. And sad.

  Shaking his head no, he told her, “You first. Up on the table, on your stomach. If you’d be more comfortable, I can get one of the ladies to do it, but I don’t want you to leave here until your wounds have been cleaned.” With his hands on her hips, he lifted her back onto the table.

  Feeling contrite, she acknowledged, at least to herself all he’d done was help her while she was acting bitchy and childish.

  Her bratty snipes had obviously hurt his feelings this evening. She didn’t want to add to it. “No, that’s not necessary.” Truth be told, she’d rather not have anyone else know how stupid she’d been.

  As she lay on the table, feeling foolish, she watched Brett slide sterile nitrile gloves over his hands. He set several items on a tray and pulled it beside her. He drew back the blanket and she started to shake. Brett was too compelling, too potent. Every cell in her body reacted to him. It was downright scary.

  “Are you cold?” he asked, wrapping the blanket tighter around her legs.

  “No. I’m fine. Thank you.” She hated that she couldn’t keep her tone civil around him. Polite and distant was how she needed to handle Brett, but every word came out sounding like a sulking teenager.

  “You’re not fine. You’re shivering and bleeding from several nasty cuts on your back.” His voice was tight.

  She knew he was trying to be gentle, but the astringent he was using felt like acid carving new holes into her back. She turned away from him and clutched the sides of the bed.

  “I’m sorry, I know this must hurt,” Brett murmured softly.

  Angela closed her eyes as Brett tenderly pushed her bangs from her face. He laid a warm, soothing hand near the nape of her neck and it took every ounce of self-control she possessed not to moan.

  Two sharp knocks on the door sent her jumping. “Angela, Brett, it’s Sean.”

  “Come in,” she called out eagerly, needing someone else in the room with them. His touch was too intimate, too electric for her to be alone with him.

  “Chicken,” he whispered.

  She turned to face him. “Corn fed and free range.”

  They both laughed as Sean and Steven stepped into the small room.

  “Sorry to interrupt you two.” Sean was watching them closely.

  Angela felt a blush steal over her face.

  “Are you all right, Angela?” Sean sounded truly concerned.

  “Yes, sir.” She liked Sean. He was the owner and one of the main reasons she’d felt comfortable enough to become a member. He seemed very down to earth and caring. Michelle, his submissive, was a very lucky lady. They’d both made her feel welcome.

  “Can you tell me what happened tonight?” He was leaning against the wall a few feet away from her.

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I was chatting with Michelle at the bar when he came and sat beside me.”

  “Lou?” Sean asked.

  “Yeah.” Thank God, she didn’t have to admit she didn’t even remember his name. That would have surely earned her another scowl from Brett.

  “We started talking.” And Brett was sitting there looking handsome as sin and getting under my skin. “One thing led to another and we decided to play.” She shrugged, wishing she could just disappear.

  “Had you discussed safewords?” Sean’s voice was filled with compassion.

  “Yes.” Brett’s hands had moved to her shoulders. He started a slow gentle massage causing her bones to melt.

  “Did you discuss the type of flogger he intended to use or what level of pain was acceptable?”

  She shrugged again. “I told him I preferred thud to sting, but no, we didn’t discuss a specific type of flogger. Honestly, I wouldn’t know one from another.” Angela expected a lecture. Sean had gone over safety issues during all the new member events. Both he and Steven were always stressing safety.

  “I’m very sorry this happened, Angela. He was a new member and new to the lifestyle. From what I understand, you used your personal safeword first and when that didn’t stop him you used the club safeword. Is that right?”

  Angela nodded, then chuckled, “I was shouting just about everything I could think of after the first strike. I don’t even know how many times he hit me. At least three, after I used my safeword. I thought maybe he’d forgotten what it was, so I used ‘crisis’. When he kept hitting me, I panicked and tried to get away, but like an idiot I’d allowed him to blindfold and bind me to the tree.”

  “Sometimes in the excitement, we want to disregard the safety protocols, but you can’t do that. It’s too dangerous,” Sean reminded her.

  “You’re right.” She had to figure out what she was going to do about Brett. If she hadn’t been tempted to go put a big, wet smooch on Brett’s grouchy face, she might not have rushed off with Dickhead.

  “You should consider pressing charges. As soon as he ignored your safeword, it ceased to be consensual and became abuse.” Brett’s voice moved over her, easing some of the tension in her tight muscles.

  “He’s right, Angela. You should think about it,” Sean said.

  “I suggest you have a photo or two taken of your injuries, just in case,” Steven added, speaking for the first time.

  She shook her head. “I just want to forget this happened.”

  “You need to listen to Steven, honey. I’m assuming his membership has been rescinded.” Brett looked to Sean for confirmation.

  Angela noticed the tension in the three men. Sean’s jaw was clenched. Steven’s hands were in fists. At first glance, they appeared calm, but they were all furious something like this had happened to a submissive at their club.

  “He won’t be back,” Sean said with utter conviction.

  “Lou may try to force Sean to reinstate him. Proof of what occurred may be necessary. I could take the photo using your cell ph
one that way no one would have access to it but you and yet you would have it, if it was needed,” Brett said.

  “I’m not worried about him coming after me or the club. Angela has a right to her privacy. If you both give me a written statement detailing what happened, it will be fine,” Sean assured them.

  “Brett can take the photo.” She’d meant to say “you can” so why had she specified Brett?

  More looks were exchanged between the three men. She was beginning to wonder if they had some secret form of Dom communication that she wasn’t privy to.

  “Before you leave this evening, if you could stop by my office I’d appreciate it,” Sean told them as he and Steven left the infirmary.

  She was alone with Brett…again. Fuck!

  “Thank you for changing your mind about the photo. I think it’ll be safer for everyone in the long run.” He pulled back the blanket and looked at her legs. “Were you struck anywhere else?”

  Angela shrugged and winced again. She really needed to stop doing that.

  Brett crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at her. “Tell me.”

  She debated for a moment whether or not to answer. “When I tried to get away he hit my front. My dress should have kept it from breaking my skin though.”

  “We should see if any of the marks need attended to.” Brett was the voice of reason.

  “I can do that at home.”

  Brett continued to glare at her. “Why are you insisting on fighting me every step of the way? Cuts and bruises don’t arouse me, Angela, if that’s what concerns you.” He was getting irritated with her again, but she heard the undertone of hurt behind his statement.

  She shook her head. “I’m tired of being a victim.” She turned away from him, horrified that she’d voiced that thought out loud.

  “Then next time you want to play, come to me and this won’t happen again.” He sounded gruff and angry.

  She wondered if his emotions were as conflicted as hers were. “I can’t do that.”

  “Why the hell not?” He’d taken a step away from her and she knew without even looking his arms were crossed over his chest again.