Starting Over (Blossom Ridge Book 1) Read online

  My face heats. I want to shove him out the door so I can think and breathe. He’s sucking all the oxygen out of the room with his imposing inquisition.

  I also want to submit to him. So badly I’m wringing my hands in front of me.

  He’s waiting for me to respond. Annoying man.

  “I can be submissive if you must know. It’s very personal. I don’t submit to anyone outside of the club. Ever,” I add to make my point. “I’m independent and perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I don’t need a Master or a Daddy. When I choose to go to Surrender and submit to someone for the evening, I do so on my terms.”

  I don’t know why I’m going to such extremes to explain myself to this man. He’s a coworker.

  Is he smiling again? It’s hard to be sure. Maybe the corners of his lips are lifted slightly. More like a cocky smirk. “Hmm.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

  “Nothing. It’s just that you’re a conundrum.”

  “I am not,” I defend, putting my hands on my hips. “I’m a chef. I have a degree in culinary arts. I’m well qualified to run this kitchen, and I intend to do so. I don’t have time for some man to hang around telling me how to do things.”

  Is there a chance Foster was thinking he might be able to dominate me? Because he’s sadly mistaken.

  Oh yes, he’s grinning. “Is that so?” He reaches for a muffin, pulls the wrapper off of it, and takes a huge bite. He moans around the flavor and meets my gaze as he swallows. “Damn. That’s delicious.”

  Before I have a chance to respond, he turns and leaves the kitchen, heading out the back door once again, leaving me staring after him once again, leaving me confused once again.

  What the hell just happened here?

  CHAPTER 2

  Foster

  I run my hand through my hair as I pace my small kitchen. It’s dark out. Usually by now, I like to be situated in my favorite recliner, watching a documentary or reading. Tonight, I’m too restless to do either.

  Amelia Wescott has wiggled her way under my skin, and I don’t like it.

  Does the woman truly not see herself as a Little? Or even a submissive? What was that nonsense about submitting only a few hours a week when she’s at Surrender? She can’t possibly fulfill her every need in such a short time, and now that she’ll be living an hour from the city, she probably won’t be able to go into Seattle as often.

  I shouldn’t give her a single thought. It’s ridiculous. Also ridiculous was me watching her through the glass as she worked this afternoon. Also ridiculous was me noticing how meticulous she is as she cleaned up and put everything away.

  But even worse—I followed her to her cabin to make sure she was safe. I kept to the shadows of course so she wouldn’t think I was a crazy stalker, but I still kept an eye on her.

  My concern is irrational. We’re out in the middle of nowhere. No one is around to bother her. Except me, of course. She doesn’t need an escort from the kitchen to the employee cabins after work. Not when there aren’t even guests staying at the Ridge yet. Hell, most likely not then either.

  Every guest who stays here will be well-vetted by Craig or Roman or Julius. Roman owns the mansion-turned-resort. Julius is his right-hand man. They’ve both known Craig for many years.

  I’ve also known Roman and Julius for many years. Somehow Craig and I never crossed paths until he moved here with Leah to open the resort. Probably because Craig was in the Army and then lying low for several years after his first wife divorced him.

  I, too, have been lying low for a long time. I’ve been maintaining this mansion and the grounds for five years.

  How is it the first woman to cross my path in years has so quickly caught my attention? Not submissive, my ass. The woman is definitely submissive. Not just two hours a week. If she’s been living that way, she must be a ball of stressed-out nerves. She’s also Little. I wonder if she’s ever explored that side of herself.

  She said she goes to the club and plays, but what type of fetish does she prefer?

  I don’t have a clue why I jumped down her throat when I first set eyes on her. I guess I was shocked by my reaction. And frustrated. When I stepped into the kitchen, I didn’t immediately notice the smell I complained about. The first thing I noticed was the fucking cute Little girl who was bustling around taking inventory of the cabinets.

  I take a deep breath as I remember my first glimpse of her. She has the blondest hair I’ve ever seen, pale skin that would easily burn in the sun, and the biggest green eyes that could easily wrap a Daddy around her pinky. The second time I saw her, she had pulled her hair up into a messy bun on top of her head. I wanted to touch it to see if it is as soft as it looks.

  Her cheeks are rosy and full on her round face. Her eyes carry the innocence of a Little along with the determination of a grown adult who has her shit together.

  She’s petite. There’s no other way to put it. I don’t care much about the size of my women. That’s never what attracts me to them. Curvy or skinny, doesn’t matter to me as long as they’re healthy.

  Amelia—yes, she’s definitely not an Amy—has a stool she scoots around the kitchen so she can reach the higher cabinets throughout the day, though I did notice she was rearranging them, probably so the things she will need most often are within her reach.

  I watched her several times today. I don’t think she saw me. I hovered where I could see into the kitchen, pruning bushes that didn’t need pruning and skimming the pool that didn’t need skimming.

  This mansion has a lot of interesting amenities, but the most ridiculous one of all has been the pool which I’ve maintained all these years even though it was rarely used.

  Master Roman didn’t come to Blossom Ridge—as it has more recently been named—very often before he met its namesake, Lucy. Roman calls Lucy his little cherry blossom, and the name of the resort came from there.

  Lucy went through college after she met Roman and then started working a full-time job, so the two of them rarely had time to come out to the mansion. It’s been in his family for over a hundred years though, so he never wanted to let it go.

  It wasn’t until Craig and Leah visited that they came up with the idea of turning it into some sort of B&B and that plan grew until it will now open as a resort strictly for age play. A safe place for caregivers to bring their Littles for vacation. A place they can either relax without recrimination or spend time exploring their lifestyle if age play is new to them.

  At first, I was leery about this idea for purely selfish reasons. I’ve been living out here taking care of this mansion for five years in nearly constant peace. Now the place is going to be crawling with people soon, and I’m no longer going to be living a hermit life.

  Over the past few months, I’ve accepted this change that’s coming and even begun to embrace it. I’ve spent enough time alone. It’s not good for me to carry on like this. I need to embrace society again.

  I’ve geared myself up for renewed human interaction. I’ve pictured guests who are already in committed relationships. I’ve gotten to know Leah and Craig, a lovely married couple. I’ve spent more time with Roman and Lucy, also married. I’ve met Julius and his three partners a few times—another committed relationship.

  I knew a chef was joining the team. I knew her name was Amelia. I hadn’t expected her to knock me on my ass the first time I set eyes on her.

  It’s been a long time since I’ve fallen for a woman, a Little in particular. I should embrace it, but I’m not ready. Not emotionally prepared. I’m still busy being a curmudgeon. I’ve even used that term to describe myself, even though it made Leah laugh and roll her eyes, insisting I’m not old enough to fit that definition. Nor am I—according to Leah—cantankerous enough.

  Doesn’t matter. The point is I wasn’t prepared to find Amelia so delectable. And certainly not at first sight.

  She’s baffling, too. It’s mind-boggling how she’s been a membe
r of Surrender for so many years without taking any of her fetish home with her. Granted, she might have fibbed about that part. I can’t know for sure she doesn’t have a hidden Little side she prefers not to tell anyone about. It’s possible she lets her Little out in the privacy of her home and keeps it to herself.

  But that’s a lonely existence. No Daddy?

  Any lonelier than your life, big guy?

  I sigh as I leave my cabin. I should stay inside. I should read a book or watch something on TV. I should not wander toward Amelia’s cabin in order to be closer to her or possibly catch a glimpse of her through the window.

  If I do catch a glimpse of her through the window, I’ll end up giving her a long lecture about closing her blinds when she’s home because eventually there will be other people wandering around out here, and I’ll be damned if I want anyone spying on my Little girl.

  I shudder at that thought. She’s not mine. She hasn’t even admitted to being Little, or fully submissive for that matter. She’s going to be a challenge.

  I don’t even know why I’m entertaining this idea. I don’t need a challenge. I don’t need a Little. I need to mind my own business and stay away from her. That would be the smart thing to do.

  I don’t have a plan. I’m simply wandering around, wobbling back and forth mentally, toying with the idea of pursuing her or not.

  As I approach her cabin, I see there are lights on. Lucky for her, the blinds are closed. This both pleases and disappoints me.

  Now I’m a peeping Tom?

  Suddenly, her front door opens and she emerges into the darkness. Unfortunately, I’ve wandered so close she immediately sees me and gives a little squeak. This is the second time today I’ve scared her unintentionally.

  “Jesus, Foster.” She flattens a hand to her chest.

  “Sorry. I was just coming over to see if you were okay. If you needed anything. Didn’t mean to scare you yet again.” I’m pretty damn proud of myself for coming up with a reason why I would be standing so close to her cabin.

  There are several cabins on this section of the property. They were built a hundred years ago as servants’ quarters. They’ve been updated and modernized throughout the years, but they haven’t had regular tenants for a few decades.

  “I’m fine,” she responds tartly.

  Yikes. I nod. “Good. Except where are you going?”

  “To the main house. I forgot my book. Left it in the kitchen. I wanted to read it tonight.”

  I smile. She’s a reader like me. I like this.

  When she stares at me in confusion, I swipe the grin off my face and frown again. I’m sure I’m confusing her with my mixed signals. Probably for the best since I’m just as confused.

  “Let me walk you,” I say, coming into step beside her.

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  “It’s not safe to wander around in the dark alone.”

  She jerks her gaze to me from the side. “Why? Are there animals I need to be aware of?” Her gaze scans the property as she crosses her arms protectively over her chest.

  “We do have wild animals out here, yes. Bears, coyotes, bobcats, cougars… But they don’t usually come this close to the property. It’s been a long time since I saw one nearby.”

  “Then why am I unsafe?” she challenges.

  “I was thinking about humans, Amelia. Maybe not specifically today, but when the resort fills up with guests, I wouldn’t want you out wandering around at night alone.”

  She stops walking, turns to face me, and sets her hands defiantly on her hips. She has no idea how damn cute she is when she does this. Nor does she realize how badly I want to take her over my knee.

  “Were you listening to me earlier when I told you I don’t need or want a Daddy?”

  “This has nothing to do with me being a Daddy,” I lie. “It has to do with me being a kind man who’s looking out for a woman who’s too small to defend herself.”

  “Uh-huh. You’re sure?”

  No. “Yes.”

  She narrows her gaze. “And why are you still calling me Amelia?” I’m pretty sure she shivers a bit as she says her full name.

  “I told you. It suits you.”

  “And I told you no one calls me that, and it’s high-handed of you to continue to do so.”

  “Hmm. You sure are bratty for someone who insists she’s not Little. If I had to guess, it’s been a while since someone took you over their knee and disciplined you.” I’m pushing this. I know it. I can’t stop myself.

  And her reactions are precious. Her big green eyes bug out. “I’ll have you know I’ve been spanked plenty of times, including three nights ago before I moved out here. I told you I can submit. I also told you I do it in a club setting. Not as a Little. I enjoy spanking as a means to release stress.” She throws her hands up in the air. “Why am I justifying myself to you?”

  Amelia turns and stomps toward the main house. I follow. “You’re so defensive about your lifestyle choices I’m beginning to wonder if you even believe anything you’re trying to sell me.”

  She groans, not looking back at me. It’s not difficult to keep up with her. Her legs are so short that even though she’s speed walking, I’m moving at a slow stroll.

  I should stop this madness. The woman has made it clear more than one time she’s not interested in me.

  I’m not going to stop though. This is the most entertainment I’ve had in years. I’m probably going to regret my actions, but I can’t help myself. I want this woman.

  Amelia Wescott is mine.

  CHAPTER 3

  Amelia

  I can’t believe this is happening. He’s still following me. Badgering me for no reason. When I arrive at the kitchen, he reaches around me at the last second and opens the door for me.

  Infuriating.

  I shoot him a glare before rushing across the room to grab my book where I left it in a side drawer, out of sight. I’m so unnerved I don’t know what to do.

  I can’t read Foster well. He’s hot and cold at the same time. He’s so incredibly dominant I melt around him, making it difficult to argue my case. I wish my hands weren’t trembling. I wish my cheeks weren’t as heated as they are. I wish my pussy wasn’t so wet and needy.

  I can’t shake the image of him taking me over his knee and spanking me until I cry. It’s been a while since anyone has given me that. I don’t let my guard down for every Dom I submit to at the club. Most of the time I simply book a thirty-minute time slot with an available Dom, bend over a spanking bench, close my eyes, and try to blow off steam through getting my ass spanked.

  It works. Being spanked, or more often flogged, takes the edge off my stress. I try to do it twice a month. I like to be struck pretty hard. The deeper the sting the more relaxed I get.

  Occasionally it’s nice to have someone I trust enough to spank or paddle or flog me long enough and hard enough to make me cry. This involves planning and negotiating a few days prior though, so neither of us is taken unaware.

  When was the last time I felt comfortable enough with a Dom to request that sort of release? I can’t remember. It’s been a while.

  I shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts around Foster. He seems to have the extremely cocky impression I’m a Little. He has pigeonholed me into a role I’ve only marginally considered, and never in front of other people.

  The most unnerving part is he’s making me question myself.

  I grip my book and press it against my chest as I take a deep breath. Until this moment, I hadn’t considered someone might see what I’m reading. I don’t read many paperbacks. Most of my reading material is on my e-reader, but this book is one of my favorites. I’ve read it many times. My favorite pages are turned down at the corner. It’s in rough shape from carrying it in my purse and lugging it around wherever I go.

  When I left my cabin, I hadn’t expected Foster to be standing outside, stalking me. How convenient he happened to be on his way to check on me. Should I believe that?


  I spin around, covering the book with as much of my small hand as I can. I don’t want to show it to Foster, so I choose to distract him. “You weren’t really on your way to my door when I stepped outside, were you?” I presume, hoping to rattle him.

  “No.” At least he has the decency to cringe slightly.

  I sigh and rush past him. At least he was honest, but I hadn’t expected him to be so forthcoming, so that conversation was abrupt. I don’t want to jog, but I do walk incredibly fast to get back to my cabin.

  I’m not scared of Foster. I’m scared of myself. I’m scared of how he makes me feel.

  I can sense him right behind me all the way to my cabin, but he says nothing. My hand is shaking as I reach for the doorknob.

  “Amelia…” The way he says my name makes me stop and lean my forehead against the door. I can’t turn around to look at him.

  I take a deep breath. He’s so close to my back I can feel his heat, but he’s not touching me.

  “You have no idea how badly I want to take you over my knee and spank you right now.”

  My breath hitches and I press my thighs together.

  “You want the same thing,” he whispers, his lips close to my ear.

  I swallow.

  “I’m not going to touch you, sweet girl. Not now. Not until you ask me to. But I want you to think about us. I know you feel the same magnetic pull I do. You wouldn’t be so flustered if you weren’t attracted to me.”

  I bite my bottom lip, not moving an inch. I can’t. I’ll fall apart if I do. I need to stay strong here. Foster has me tied in a knot. Ten knots. I can’t process what’s happening between us, and I’m not ready to.

  “Go inside. Lock the door. Get some sleep. Don’t read that book tonight. Don’t touch yourself either. I don’t want you to come. I want your next orgasm to belong to me. Can you do that, sweet girl?”

  His voice has me panting. The intensity. The gentle tone. The pleading request.

  “Yes, Sir,” I whisper before I can stop myself. Why am I agreeing to this?