The Dom's Dungeon

Chapter Four

She'd planned to leave the house early the next morning before Mr. Fontaine—Alex—came down to breakfast. But when she walked into the kitchen, she realized from the smell of coffee and the cup in the dishwasher that he'd already been there and gone. Maybe he felt the same need to escape that she did.

Oh that would be the day. She rolled her eyes. That man wouldn't run from anything. Nope.

As she made a fresh pot of coffee, she breathed in the heady fragrance of the aromatic grounds. No cheap coffee for this household. A few minutes later, she poured herself a nice full cup and walked into the sunny breakfast nook. Skirting the antique table and chairs in the center of the room, she chose the couch under a window with a magnificent view of Puget Sound and the mountains turning pink with the rising sun.

When she sat, her still-tender bottom touched the cushions, making her squeak, then scowl at the unwelcome reminder of yesterday.

What a mess. And she'd created it all by herself. She thudded her head on the back of the couch: dumb, dumb, dumb. How could she have been so lacking in morals? God, she would never, ever open a locked door again.

But how that man had the nerve to spank her, she didn't know. And then he'd pretty much blackmailed her into cooperating with him. Done a good job of it too. She'd spent most of last night going over her predicament and hadn't discovered any way out of it. With his connections, he could help her secure a job—or could sink her just as easily.

It was the submissive stuff that really sent a chill creeping up her spine. She'd spent enough time in the BDSM clubs to know some of what went on. How could she possibly trust this stranger to…to tie her up or to… Then again, he already had, hadn't he?

He'd had her at his mercy on that bench. Frowning, she took a sip of coffee. In her opinion, spanking her had been way over the top, but considering he'd found her exploring his private dungeon, maybe he'd figured she deserved it. Yet despite his fury and all the nasty whips and floggers and canes available on the wall, he'd contented himself with five swats from his bare hand.

“Five swats.” The memory of his voice made a shiver run up her spine. But the man hadn't groped her or done anything remotely sexual, despite her nakedness. Her breath eased out, and her muscles relaxed. Maybe…maybe this would work.

Toenails clicked dully across the marble tile floor of the sunroom, and then Butler trotted over to her, his tail wagging furiously. He put a big head on her knee and gazed at her in adoration.

“Good morning, sweetie.” She sent the dog into ecstasy by scratching his sides. “Did you sleep with the brute last night?”

“Actually, the brute makes him sleep in his dog bed on the floor.” Alex strolled into the room, holding a cup of coffee, and sat down on the other end of the couch.

“I—”Good going, Mac. “I'm sorry. Um. Am I supposed to call you something like 'Master' or something?” Something totally wussy?

He chuckled. “MacKensie, there will be times I expect you to be in a submissive role. Certain private parties, at the club, and occasionally at other times if I have friends over who are in the lifestyle. Otherwise we will operate on a fairly equal footing.”

“Fairly equal?” she asked carefully.

He had a dimple in his cheek when he smiled. “From what I've seen, you probably aren't submissive twenty-four hours of the day, just under certain circumstances. Of course, that may change as you find out more about yourself.” He drank some coffee and stretched an arm across the back of the couch, far enough that he could finger her wavy hair. He didn't touch her exactly, just her hair, and yet there was something intimate, almost possessive, about his action. “Now, aside from this being my house, it happens that I'm a dominant; I like my own way. So we will undoubtedly butt heads now and then.”

Well, knowing he really didn't expect her to play kiss up all the time helped, although the thought of arguing with him made her feel a little weak. Look at the way he'd taken over the couch, occupying not only his space but hers also. Just from that alone, she got a pretty clear idea of what he meant when he said dominant.

She wet her dry lips and regretted it immediately when his gaze dropped to her mouth. Somehow she could almost feel his lips on hers. His lips would be firm and—Stay on task, Mac. Appear businesslike and maybe he'll act the same. She could handle business interactions quite competently. She cleared her throat. “Ah. When does all this start? You'll need to give me an idea of what to wear ahead of time and when you expect me to be available.” And just for sheer contrariness, since he'd said she didn't have to be under his thumb all the time, she pushed his hand away from her hair.

He didn't smile, although she could see laughter in his eyes, and she realized he'd won this round. If they were having a war, she'd just given him information, since he now knew his touch made her uncomfortable. “This isn't going to work, you know,” she blurted out. “I don't like being touched. At all. Everyone will see that and know that we're not together.”

Moving slightly closer, he tugged on her hair, then put his hand on her nape, and his touch felt more intimate than another man's kiss. Why? The heat from his palm penetrated her skin as his fingers closed just enough to remind her of his ruthless grip yesterday when he'd held her down and spanked her. The coffee in her cup rippled as her hand started to shake. She set the cup on her thigh to hide the telltale sign and looked up to meet his knowing gaze.

Not taking his hand from her neck, he leaned just an inch forward, invading her personal space. “Whether you enjoy being touched or not isn't what this is about. I require your submission and your honesty, nothing more.”

His thumb rubbed up and down in the hollow under her ear. She hadn't realized how sensitive that patch of skin could be. Her tiny movement back made his grip tighten, and she got nowhere. Goose bumps broke out on her arms. “So you still want to do this? Me as your sub?”

“Yes, MacKensie. We will continue, and earlier than I had anticipated. I received a call this morning from Peter. A friend is having a party at the club tonight, and Cynthia, the woman I told you about, plans to attend.”

“Tonight? You must be joking.” Mac's orderly thoughts scattered into the corners of her mind. “But…but…I don't have clothes; I don't know what to do. I—”

“No problem. Do you have any interviews today?”

The thought of lying crossed her mind and disappeared under the slight narrowing of his eyes. “No. I set everything up for Monday.”

“Excellent. Then today we'll go shopping.”

“We?”

“Oh yes, pet. Definitely 'we.'”

Later that day, Alex suppressed a grin as MacKensie wandered past latex corsets and leather bustiers, rubber miniskirts and thigh-high boots. And then he chose clothing for her to suit his preferences. She might as well start learning some of the various forms submission could entail. Lucky for her, he didn't enjoy twenty-four-hour mastery. Unlucky for her, he did occasionally enjoy dominance outside of the bedroom.

Like now.

“MacKensie.”

She turned, and her eyes widened at the garments he held out to her.

“Put these on. I'll wait outside the door to see if they fit.”

Her eyes narrowed, spine straightening until her height increased by almost an inch, which still left her half a foot shorter than he was. “I choose my own clothing, and I judge whether it fits.”

“Not this time, pet.” Alex kept his voice soft.

Not being at all slow, she caught the command. With a glare, she snatched the clothes and stalked into an empty fitting room.

She probably didn't realize the allure of a woman's ass when she's stomping. Or how arousing a sub's defiance could be to a dominant. And this one—he shook his head—could prove to be quite a trial to his control. He'd topped subs before and kept the interaction platonic; not everything had to be about sex, after all. But there was definitely a sexual component in the dynamics between him and MacKensie. She pulled at him—strongly—and he could see the same pull in her. But she didn't want to recognize that.

If she truly felt no attraction to him, he wouldn't think twice about observing her restrictions. But if fear corralled her sexuality? Then that was part of a Dom's mandate—to explore those fears. But only if he had her trust to do so.

So he needed to gauge the attraction, help her see that in herself, and earn her trust. Enjoying the thought of a challenge, he leaned against the door frame to wait.

When she appeared, he knew it had been worth the wait. An embarrassed flush highlighted her cheekbones almost as nicely as the French-maid's corset showcased her round breasts. The white lace and ribbon decorating the black latex gave her a fragile appearance, one that would be accentuated when she had on the garters and G-string that she held in her hand along with the other accessories.

“That will do nicely,” he said.

“You cannot be serious.” Her brown eyes sparked with indignation. “I'm not going to—”

When he lifted his eyebrows, she managed to cut off the rest of her protest.

“Wait in there,” he said. “You'll need at least one more outfit.”

She actually growled as she retreated.

“Surely Nordstroms doesn't have kinky clothing,” MacKensie said. As they entered the fancy department store, she was all too aware of Alex's guiding hand on her lower back. He touched her—often—and always stood just a few inches too close. She knew he did it deliberately. Since he'd done nothing blatantly sexual that she could challenge him on, she tried to pretend his actions didn't unsettle her.

He bent down to murmur in her ear, his warm breath washing across her neck and making the hairs on her arms rise. “We're done with kink. Now we're shopping for formal wear for the party you want to attend.”

“I want to attend? Does that mean you don't?” When she turned to look up at him, he was still so close that her lips grazed his cheek. She froze.

Rather than stepping away, he slowly straightened, his lips brushing against hers, as if accidentally. Only the crinkling of the lines at the corners of his eyes told her he'd done it deliberately. That, and the fact that every move he made was as controlled as the words he used.

“Normally I'd make a short appearance and leave.” He touched her chin lightly with a finger. “But to do a good job of networking for you, we'll need to spend the evening.”

He'd do that for her? An odd uneasiness lodged in the pit of her stomach, one having nothing to do with his teasing games. Jim and Mary had shown her a selfless generosity, but they'd thought of her as a daughter. Her sorority sisters in college had befriended her and given her etiquette lessons, thinking of her as a challenge. But men…men didn't help women. Not unless they wanted something, and Fontaine already had her under his thumb. He didn't need to do this.

Head tilted, he studied her face. “I've rarely seen that amount of disbelief when I ask a woman to a dance,” he murmured. “But this isn't the place to discuss it.” He guided her forward through the aisles of clothing.

If he thought she'd talk about her reaction or why, he was sadly mistaken. Not a chance.

A minute later, she planted her feet as something else occurred to her. “I didn't mind your paying for the…the kinky clothing since it's more for your problem than mine, but you can't buy me formal wear. That's not right.”

He turned, his piercing blue eyes as focused as a laser from a science-fiction novel. Then he smiled and ran his hands up and down her arms, less a sexual than a comforting gesture. “MacKensie, I doubt you could afford what you need. It's my pleasure to get it for you.”

She knew better. Gifts came first, followed by demands. She wasn't that kind of person anymore. “I can't accept, but thank you.”

When she tried to step back, his hands tightened on her arms, holding her firmly in place. “I see. Well then, how about a trade? A lifetime of free care for Butler in exchange for my purchasing everything I think you'll need while you remain under my care.”

“Under your care?”

“Yes, pet,” he said, deliberately emphasizing the word. “I believe that is the bargain we made yesterday. This just adds a codicil to it.”

“What are you, a lawyer?”

When he grinned, the sternness left his face. “I have a law degree, yes, but I'm mostly a boring businessman.”

“You couldn't be boring if you tried,” she muttered, then realized he still held her arms, apparently oblivious to the people having to detour around them. He'd probably wait there forever for his damned answer, wouldn't he? Considering the exorbitant price tags for the T-shirts on the rack beside them, the fancy clothing must be horrendously expensive. Even a lifetime of vet care might not cover it. But he obviously wasn't lacking for money, and he'd made an effort to salvage her pride. “All right. We have a deal.”

“Good girl.” He released her and headed toward the elevator.

Despite the fact that he wore jeans, he obviously exuded the scent of money, for the saleswoman in the formal-wear department upstairs pounced on him like a cat discovering a mouse. With an effort, Mac concealed the fact she was shaking in her sneakers and tried to emulate his polite reserve.

Arm around Mac, Alex instructed the woman about what he had in mind, consulting Mac only to get her shoe size. Mac couldn't decide if she felt insulted or coddled. Coddled won out since she had no clue how to buy a formal gown; she'd never bought one in her life. Her college finances sure hadn't extended that far. She'd only been in the sorority because of the influence and funds provided by an alumnus friend of Mary's.

The saleswoman returned with an armload of gowns that she held up for Alex's approval. Not Mac's.

“If you like them so much, maybe you should try them on,” Mac muttered.

Alex laughed and then shocked her stupid by kissing the top of her head.

She pulled on gown after gown, with the saleswoman helping her lace and tie and button and zip. Gold, blue, black. With each one, Alex made noncommittal noises. The final hanger held a long, full-skirted gown in pink, and Mac sneered at it. The color of cheerleaders. “I never wear pink.”

“Pink would be lovely on you,” the saleswoman said. “Your man has a good eye for color.” She whisked the gown over Mac's head.

Mac had barely a glimpse before the woman pushed her gently out of the room to where Alex waited on a plush couch. Legs outstretched, one arm resting along the back, he looked thoroughly at home. His eyebrows rose when he saw her this time. “That's lovely on you, MacKensie.”

As warmth bloomed inside her, she tried not to reveal how much the compliment meant.

He twirled a finger in the air, a silent command to turn.

She did and—to hell with it—enjoyed the feel of the luxurious fabric swirling around her bare legs. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrors and stopped dead. Whoa, look at that, Miss Elegance. She turned one way, then the other, admiring herself, before remembering who watched.

“But pink?” she said, making a token protest.

“Pink looks good on you,” he said mildly. “We'll take this one,” he told the saleslady. “Please select the appropriate undergarments, hose, and shoes.” He tapped his fingers on the arm of the couch, thinking. “A purse and a cape also. The evening will be chilly.”

Mac's mouth dropped open. As the saleslady scurried away, beaming like a woman whose commission had just gone through the roof, Mac realized she should have put a limit on how much Fontaine could spend. “That's too much.” Maybe most women would gloat over the windfall, but it made her feel obligated.

“We have a deal.” Alex rose to stand beside her. With a faint smile, he ran a finger down her cheek, his touch somehow more intimate that any john who'd pounded into her.