Bound to be Tempted: Emergence, Book 4 Read online

  He knew she had skeletons. Her breakup with Lori had been months ago. Nothing about the end of that relationship had warranted months of celibacy. There was more to Maggie than met the eye.

  Hell, there was more to Carlton than met the eye. But she never needed to know the details. Sure, his past had haunted him lately, but the moment Maggie had entered his office and lifted her gaze to his, her eyes filled with submission, he’d known this was the right choice. She was aching to have a Dom show her what it really meant to submit. He could and would put his own issues aside for her. The idea of letting some other asshole Dom for her made him cringe.

  She’d been floundering lately. He’d watched her at the club for weeks. She would absorb various scenes with a longing in her eyes he easily recognized. He hadn’t been sure if she was torturing herself over the loss of Lori or if she needed something else.

  Now he knew. She needed a Dom. A man. He had no idea how long it had been since she’d been with a man, but he was about to erase those memories from her consciousness. If a man was what she wanted to experience, then he would step up to the plate.

  But fuck. Was that even wise? It wasn’t like he could keep her. It wouldn’t be fair to any woman for him to take on a permanent sub. He would never be able to fully give anyone his heart, and that was no way to expect a submissive to live her life.

  Nope. His heart was guarded. And he intended to keep it that way. The pain was too intense. He would never forget it. He wouldn’t survive the loss of another woman like Karen. And he suspected Maggie was way more than Karen. More woman. More submissive. More…everything.

  Still. How could he justify this charade? It was true that she needed a Dom. Not him though. If he were a better man, he would help her find a different Dom. Although he knew she would balk. Half the reason why she’d come to him in the first place was because she trusted him. He knew that about her. They’d been friends for a long time. Maggie had been wandering around aimlessly for months. There was no other man for the job, not in her eyes, and certainly not in his.

  He could do this. Disassociate. Teach her what it was like to submit to a man and still remain friends afterward. He had to. There was no other choice.

  He closed his eyes and let his mind wander back twelve years. More than a decade. Long enough to get over his past. But her face swam into his vision. Karen. It was fading, but it was still there. He could picture her laughing, her head tipped back as she enjoyed life to the fullest. She’d been an adrenaline junky. When they’d first gotten together, Carlton had loved her free spirit, but as the months went by she’d taken risks that made him more and more nervous. She’d given Carlton a near heart attack on so many occasions he couldn’t count them.

  He could still see her in the back of his head, leaping from one railroad tie to the next as she crossed a bridge meant only for trains. She’d been so high off the ground, yelling at him to follow her. He’d relented that time, but had wanted to kill her afterward for causing his heart to beat out of his chest.

  Karen had more energy than any one human needed. Another time they were out hiking, she scaled the side of a rock wall, spontaneously, just to see if she could reach the top without falling.

  Most days Carlton went along with her if for no other reason than to keep her from killing herself. Sometimes he could talk her down from one of her antics. Sometimes he failed. He adored her. She was happy and fun and exciting all at once. And she shaved years off the end of his life every time she was awake.

  He hadn’t been with her when she died. As illogical as it was, and though no one blamed him, he still felt guilty about staying home that night. He’d been sick with the flu. She’d gone out without him. He would live the rest of his life with that guilt…

  He opened his eyes. Glanced around the room. For a moment he’d forgotten where he was and what decade. Maggie. Oh God, that woman was under his skin. She looked like Karen. The resemblance was uncanny. Did she have the same personality? She certainly had taken a risk when she’d agreed to sub for him.

  Eight years he’d lived in this house. It had been years since he’d had someone stay in his home. But Maggie was different. She needed this full-time arrangement. Or maybe he was kidding himself and he was the one who needed it. Either way, it didn’t matter. She didn’t know it yet, but she brought him to his knees. She humbled him.

  He chuckled. How ironic. After all, Carlton was the Dom. He would have Maggie on her knees. Not the other way around. He finished his beer.

  Tired beyond the norm, he pushed himself to standing, headed for the kitchen and dropped the bottle in the trash. When he turned around, he glanced at his space. How would Maggie see his home? He was fairly tidy, and he doubted she would be disappointed, but he realized his space was rather boring. The furniture was bland, uninteresting, beige.

  Few pictures covered the walls. How had he not noticed this before? Who cares? It’s only for two weeks He lowered his gaze and trudged toward his bedroom. Without turning on the lights, he headed for the master bath, stripped his clothes, brushed his teeth and then returned to his bedroom.

  Naked, he slipped between the sheets. He often wore boxers when he was alone, but not tonight. The material of his shorts would draw attention to his rigid cock. Even the sheet annoyed him this time, as though it were made of sandpaper instead of cotton. He kicked it away from his body.

  Carlton stared at the ceiling. He lifted his arms to tuck his hands behind his neck. More deep breaths. It wasn’t going to happen. No arguing with his dick was going to settle the fellow for the night. Giving up the ruse, he lowered his hands to take his shaft in one palm while cupping his balls with the other.

  He closed his eyes, imagining Maggie’s small hand around his length, stroking him from the base to the tip. Her pale skin would contrast with his tanned body. Soft against hard. Delicate against rugged. He pictured her mouth open, shallow breaths coming from between her lips as she stared at the precome leaking from the tip of his cock.

  He held his breath as her imaginary mouth lowered over his shaft. How long had it been since she’d sucked a man’s cock? Would she swallow him deep into her throat or would she be more timid, licking and tasting him with her tongue?

  It didn’t matter, because he would teach her how he liked to be sucked off.

  Carlton pumped harder, his grip tightening as he let the head rub against his palm. He released his hold on his balls when he was no longer able to remain gentle and gripped the sheets at his side. It only took moments for him to reach his peak, and he tipped his head back, letting his mouth fall open as he gave a final thrust and came, pulsing onto his stomach.

  For long moments, he continued to stroke himself, not opening his eyes so he didn’t break the illusion of Maggie’s face between his legs. He didn’t want to shatter the spell.

  When he finally released his cock and reached for a tissue next to the bed to wipe himself off, he let his gaze fall on his torso. No Maggie. Of course. But he could almost scent her in the room. He’d been close enough to her tonight to know what her shampoo smelled like, her body soap, her personal scent that would drive him crazier every day. It was embedded in his memory already and he hadn’t even brought her to the house yet.

  He tried to relax into the mattress and let sleep take him under. It was going to be a long week.

  When Margaret awoke Saturday morning, she moaned into the pillow as she turned to see the clock. Nine. She hadn’t slept that soundly in months. Nor that late.

  As she pulled herself to sitting, everything from last night slammed back into her mind. The sheet fell away, leaving her exposed. She glanced down as she remembered why she was naked. Her nipples pebbled beneath her gaze, already protesting their nudity, or pleading for attention.

  Lifting her gaze, she eased from the bed and padded over to her dresser. Without thinking, she opened the top drawer like she would any day of the week and pu
lled out a pair of panties. And then she stopped, still holding them in the air as she remembered Carlton’s instructions. Remove your clothes and spend the weekend meditating on this decision in the nude.

  Margaret released the lingerie and let it fall back into the drawer. She glanced down at her body. Am I really going to lie around naked all weekend? How would he know?

  He’d know. She didn’t know how, but he’d know. He’d read it on her expression.

  She pushed the drawer closed and headed for the bathroom. Think of all the time you’ll save not having to pull your pants down…

  After using the toilet, she took a quick shower and headed for the kitchen. It felt odd, disconcerting, to roam around her apartment naked. She didn’t want to spend the day in darkness, so she managed to tip the blinds so light still filtered in, but anyone walking by outside couldn’t see her. At least she hoped.

  Coffee was first on the agenda. As soon as she had her first steaming cup in hand, she flopped onto the cool leather couch. The smooth surface felt refreshing against her bare skin as she settled back against the armrest, swinging her legs up and planting her feet on the cushion. I look ridiculous.

  Margaret had been with a few other partners before Lori. She’d even had a few experiences with other Dommes since Lori. However, none of them had ever requested she remain naked, especially not alone in her home.

  Trying to ignore that aspect of her obedience, she took a fortifying drink of coffee and set the mug on the coffee table.

  She’d been aware she was submissive for almost as long as she’d known she was bisexual. In her teenage years she’d read everything she could get her hands on concerning sexuality, dominance and submission.

  Once she graduated from high school and moved out of her parents’ home to attend college, she’d been free to explore more than her sexuality. She’d joined GSA clubs and dated several women over the next four years. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been attracted to men. She noticed them, some more than others. But it was simply easier to date women, less complicated.

  As for submission, the girlfriend she’d had her sophomore year had taken her to her first club. Margaret shouldn’t have been shocked. But in those days, she hadn’t had the availability of rampant Internet articles to explore.

  It turned out her girlfriend was also submissive, so their relationship didn’t last long. But in those first few visits to a BDSM club, Margaret’s eyes had been opened wide. Another woman she’d met at the club had flirted with Margaret mercilessly. As soon as Margaret had broken up with her girlfriend, she began her first experience with submission.

  It was easy. For the first time in her life, Margaret felt like she was being true to herself. By day, she attended class and worked hard to earn her accounting degree. She was an excellent student and had a good rapport with her professors. Anyone she spoke to touted her good business sense and believed she would make an excellent employee for any company willing to hire her after graduation.

  By night, Margaret preferred to let the stress of the day’s events slough off her skin by turning herself over to the will of her Domme.

  Why was she submissive? She wondered if she was wired differently from other people. What made a woman want to be controlled by another? There was probably some dark, hidden reason for her fetish that lay in the fucked-up events of her childhood, but she’d never bothered to seek a counselor to explore the possibility.

  Undoubtedly her father had caused her to become submissive. The man was domineering toward both Margaret and her mother. He ruled a tight ship and didn’t take any lip from the women. Hell, the fucked-up church her family attended was so patriarchal it had made her want to retch growing up. She’d never fit in.

  Had her father’s insistence on her subservience caused her to be submissive to others?

  As she relaxed farther into the couch, she wondered if she was making the right choice. Carlton? She’d never considered submitting to him. No, that wasn’t entirely true. She’d watched him perform many scenes from the sidelines, her body quivering with want, wishing she were the submissive under his control.

  She pictured him now, completely in his dominant mode. Easing her eyes closed, she visualized him circling his submissive, a flogger in his hand, stroking the strands of leather through his fingers. Her nipples pebbled. Without thinking she reached with her free hand to fondle one. She pinched down, hard, as though she could somehow prepare her mind for what was to come.

  She clamped her thighs tighter as she pinched, a growing need developing low in her belly. When she slid her right hand down her body to reach between her legs, she froze.

  Oh God. Her eyes flew open.

  “You won’t masturbate or touch yourself in any way sexual except under my strict instructions.”

  Margaret swallowed. Her mouth was dry. Her thighs quivered with the need that had grown between them. Her arousal picked that moment to run between her clenched ass cheeks, making her moan with frustration.

  She released her nipple suddenly, as though it had burned her fingers. Her breaths came out in long pants. Her heart pounded.

  Holy hell. She was in trouble. Carlton Fisher had a firm grip on her obedience without being in her home. She couldn’t bring herself to finish off what her pussy begged for. Her fingers still shook, itching to stroke between the folds of her pussy. Her legs fell open farther, exposing her lower lips to the air.

  She gasped and then held her breath. If she didn’t concentrate on getting herself together, she was going to come without touching herself. And surely that would count as masturbation. As though there were cameras in every corner of her private apartment, she glanced around. She willed her pussy to keep from contracting.

  It was irrational. Carlton couldn’t see her right then. He would never have any way of knowing what happened on a Saturday afternoon alone in her apartment.

  But he would. She knew he would. Somehow. If nothing else, he would question her and she would be unable to do anything but be honest. First of all, it wasn’t in her nature to lie. And second of all, Carlton could draw truth from a rock if necessary.

  Margaret slowly twisted until she could lie back on the sofa. She left her legs separated, knowing the friction of bringing them together wouldn’t help her cause.

  Deep breaths.

  A noise outside made her flinch. She jerked her gaze toward the living room window. She couldn’t see out with the blinds tipped in the position she’d left them. But adrenaline raced through her body just the same.

  Probably a bird or some other small animal. Geez. Relax.

  She closed her eyes. It was only Saturday. She had six more days of this to endure before she saw Carlton again and officially turned herself over to his care. Six long days…

  Her cell phone picked that particular moment to ring.

  She tried to catch her breath, staring at the ceiling and concentrating on anything but Carlton and his rugged looks. She had plenty of work she could do on her computer this afternoon instead of lying on the couch naked, masturbating.

  She moaned as she pulled herself to standing and padded on wobbly legs to the kitchen table, where she’d dropped her purse the night before. She fished her cell out of the side pocket.

  Two texts. The first one had been from her mother way too early this morning for her to have heard it. She ignored it in favor of the second. Carlton’s. How are you?

  Her fingers quivered as she typed a response. Fine. Good. She hit Send.

  Second thoughts?

  Margaret stared at the screen for several moments. She pondered that question. It wasn’t that she had second thoughts. On the contrary, she’d never been more sure of anything. And that was what bothered her. She should be more leery of Carlton’s intentions. She should be concerned about his level of dominance. She should be a lot of things. She knew this because society deemed it so.

 
She smirked. Fuck society. Then she smiled. She really had to curb her four-letter thoughts. If they started leaking out of her mouth, she’d find herself unable to sit for a month.

  None, she typed in response.

  You had me worried for a second.

  No worries, Sir.

  Margaret set the phone down on the table and wandered back to the living room. She didn’t have the energy for her mother right then. She would read that message later. It made her stomach clench to combine thoughts of her mother with thoughts of Carlton. The two were like oil and water. And she had no intention of mixing them. It was her parents’ own fault. Their unwillingness to accept Margaret for who she was dampened their relationship.

  Twelve years she’d lived in a vacuum, avoiding anything that reminded her of the fateful night that irrevocably changed her life forever. She’d lived a good enough life since then, finished high school, went to college, entered polite society—finally detaching herself from the parental strings.

  And still, every time her mother or father called or texted, she was reminded all over again. Mostly she avoided them. Occasionally she faced them long enough to keep the peace. But everything between them was stiff and fake.

  Of course, if she really analyzed the situation, she knew their relationship had been awkward even before the events of that horrific night.

  Her parents had always been fundamentalist Christians, a life she had never fit into. Her father, the domineering patriarch, ruled the home and demanded that everyone under his roof submit to his whims.

  When the man found out his daughter was an abomination to the world, catching her in a compromising position with her best friend, Leslie, he’d gone ballistic. She’d heard everything in the book about how she chose her lifestyle and how the church would cure her of her sins if she just gave it a chance.

  And hell, to this day her parents only knew the half of it. They thought she had chosen to be a lesbian to spite them. Imagine if they knew she was actually bisexual and a submissive? Well, forget submissive. Her mother was a domestic submissive if she stopped to think about it. Margaret knew the woman would argue otherwise, but it was all semantics as far as Margaret was concerned.