"I-"

"Chelsea, the mayor of the town is here," Jennifer said, with a quick smile at both of them as an apology. "Can I have Alex for a quick photo op?"

"You're mine, Chelsea," he said, before releasing her.

She watched him walk away, and she clutched the clipboard close as if it were a lifeline on a storm-tossed sea.

Then she couldn't think at all.

She'd planned it so that alcohol would flow before dinner, encouraging people to bid higher on the silent auction items. So far, her strategy seemed to be working.

Master Damien showed up, with Gregorio at his side. As always, the Den's owner looked dapper and debonair as he sipped a glass of wine, while Gregorio drank from a mug of draught beer and surveyed the room while conveying the idea he was someone you didn't want to meet in a dark alley. Jenn looked at Gregorio and gave a thumbs-up before turning to answer a question.

"Everything is all set at the Den for the private escape for you and Master Alex," Master Damien said after she greeted them.

She blinked. She wasn't sure she'd heard him above the band's din. "It is? I mean, it is, Sir?"

"Oh."

Gregorio grinned, but nothing about it softened his features. In fact, he just looked more ferocious. His earring glittered in the light. "Good thing you're wearing boots with the way you just stepped in it, boss."

Master Damien sipped from his wine. "Well, yes, perhaps you two should have a private discussion."

"I think I will, Sir."

"Drink up, boss."

She excused herself, but she was waylaid with a half dozen questions. More guests than their wildest estimates had suggested arrived, and so there were decisions needed about extra food and more beverages.

These were her favourite kinds of problems.

She started negotiating with the catering company, and the band's lead singer interrupted the festivities to say that one of Monahan Capital's owners had an announcement. Across the room, she looked at Jenn. The younger woman shrugged as if to say this surprised her, as well.

Alex took the stage, commanded it, really.

He thanked everyone for coming, commended You're The Star on their excellent work, then he called up a girl who'd been helped by the children's charity the evening was benefiting. He crouched next to the beautiful child, who had long dark hair and big, luminous brown eyes.

Chelsea wasn't sure she would have had the courage to call the girl on stage, but Alex did, and it had clearly been prearranged. He placed his arm around her shoulder as he held the microphone for her.

She spoke in a halting tone, telling her story and expressing her gratitude. She was as articulate as she was gorgeous. And people's eyes began to fill with tears. As she ended, Chelsea applauded, and she knew the evening would be a huge success, due in part to Alex's brilliance.

The band struck up a ballad, and Alex found her.

Words weren't needed, and none were said, as he led her outside, wrapped her in his arms, and held her as they danced.

"Alex..."

"Master Alexander."

"Master Alexander-"

"Later," he interrupted.

He feathered his hands into her hair and drew her against him. She went without protest, laying her head on his chest. For a moment, she wanted to pretend everything was perfect.

An apologetic Jenn interrupted as the last notes faded.

"We need to start announcing the winners of the silent auction."

She checked her watch. Jenn was a master time manager. A silent auction was a delicate thing. It was critical to collect funds before people left, and they needed a process to claim their prizes. And sometimes, help was needed to carry out the bigger items.

"Go," Master Alexander told her when she started to make her apologies.

Master Alexander.

Realising she thought of him that way changed something inside her. Alex was a business associate. Master Alexander was a Dom. Her Dom.

She was aware of both Monahan brothers assisting with various aspects of the evening, congratulating attendees on their winning bid, thanking people for coming, encouraging donations in the numerous fishbowls.

At the end of an evening like this, adrenaline generally receded and dropped her on her ass with exhaustion. She would often sleep for twelve hours. But today all she could think about was him.

Rather than being tired, she seemed to gain energy. It was as if the pent-up hurt of the past six weeks had gathered enough steam to push her to the top of a fourteen-thousand-foot summit.

When the caterers had packed up, easier than usual since there were no leftovers, and the band had loaded their instruments, the landlords showed up to lock the building. After the last goodbyes had been said, Alex appeared by her side. "Jennifer said you rode with her."

She nodded.

"I made your excuses. You'll be going home with me."

"I..."

"Your mouth looks attractive when it's gaping open like that. Makes me want to put a gag in it."

She shut her mouth.

"I've always particularly enjoyed your intelligence," he said. He took hold of her elbow and guided her towards the door. "Say goodnight to Gavin and Jennifer," he instructed her. But he gave her no time to say a word.

Jennifer smiled. Gavin gawked.

"You two concocted this," Master Alexander said. "You two can finalise the details."

He paused long enough for her to gather her belongings from the kitchen and then led her to the parking lot. His car seemed to be parked half a mile away, and the midnight Rocky Mountain air nipped at her exposed skin.

As always, he saw that she was in safely and buckled tight before sliding into the driver's seat.

How predictable was that?

He always intended to be in the driver's seat, literally and figuratively.

Master Alexander flipped a switch to turn on her seat heater. She did like some of the luxuries he took for granted.

The drive home was filled with discussion about the event. He'd yet to admit it had been a great idea, but he commented on all the things that had gone right.

He ignored her when she gave him her address and instead, he turned into his familiar neighbourhood. "You need to get accustomed to it," he said.

"What? You bossing me around?" she said, turning to face him as he parked the car in the garage.

"That. And living here."

She started to protest, but he opened the vehicle door.

"Didn't you hear me earlier?" she asked when they were inside his house. She'd followed him into the kitchen, and her nerves were stretched like a high wire.

The silence echoed around them. He folded his arms as he towered over her.

Boldly, she pressed on. This was too important to ignore. "I won't give my submission to a man unless I love him and he loves me in return. The rest is just BDSM games."

"I heard you," he said quietly. "Present yourself to me, sub."

She heard the intentional inflection on the term.

"Now."

With the last word, there was a subtle change in his voice. Commanding undercurrents laced his tone. His words had been neither a game nor a request.

Her fingers shaking, she stripped. As she folded her clothes, she wondered if this could mean what she hoped it did.

She could hardly think, and had to trust her memory to help her perform the right actions. There was something soothing and comfortable about being here, with him, in this circumstance. Homecoming.

He inspected her, but more gently than he ever had before, cupping her breasts and squeezing with the most arousing of touches. He tweaked her nipples and pulled on them.

She moaned. Even her fantasies as she'd masturbated hadn't compared to this.

"Smooth and silky," he observed, looking at her mound. "And did you also do an excellent job of shaving your labia?" Rather than waiting for an answer, he ran his fingers up the inside of her pussy lips. He continued to rub her clit.

She jerked in helpless response.

"One might think you were hoping this happened tonight," he said.

Since that was the absolute truth, she saw no point in lying. "I was," she confessed.

He rubbed her clit harder, then he inserted a finger inside her. "You're perfect for me, Chelsea."

Before she could respond, he resumed his Dom mode and dropped his hand, leaving her frustratingly on the edge. "Crawl into the living room like a good pet. Kneel up near the fireplace, and wait for me there."

He remained where he was, implacable and Dominant as she lowered herself to the cold tile floor and crawled past him. She realised she didn't find this at all humiliating. Somehow she'd moved past that to the point that she responded because he said so, and because she wanted to follow his instructions.

She only had to wait a few minutes until he joined her. Two lengths of rope dangled from his hands. "In keeping with the evening's theme, I'm going to use rope to bind you while I give you the thrashing you've earned."

Her pussy moistened at his brutal words.

From his back pocket, he pulled the bandana she'd had around her neck. "This," he said, "will serve as a much-needed gag. Open up."

With a scowl, she did so.

He wadded the cotton kerchief and shoved it in her mouth "Spit it out and deal with my wrath."

She shook her head.

"Smart girl. We'll use a safe signal for the next few minutes," he told her. "Keep in mind you'll be over my knee getting your hide tanned. Your hands and feet will both be bound. Give me your wrists."

She extended her hands. God, he looked so intimidating in his jeans and boots, like a Western lawman out to bring in a criminal whose picture was on a wanted sign.

"Now stand," he told her.

He had to know how difficult that was for her, with her hands all but useless. Somehow she managed it, not at all gracefully.

He bent to tie her ankles. The rope abraded her skin, adding a whole new sensation. Wryly she thought they should have had a satin and lace theme for the evening.

With great intent, he pulled off his belt. "Cowhide for your skin," he said. He doubled over the leather and snapped it together in front of her face. Then he snared her chin with his thumb and forefinger. "I'm going to punish you, Chelsea. But it's more than that. You're going to be beaten until you can admit the truth to both of us. This will hurt."

The bandana made it impossible to swallow properly, so she nodded.

"Do you accept my punishment?"

She sought reassurance in the depths of his rich brown eyes. Again she nodded.

"Do you freely give your submission?"

Nothing had ever mattered more to her than this moment. He knew what he was asking from her, and also what he was offering. A third time, she gave her assent.

With strong and perfunctory movements, he scooped her up, sat on the couch, then deposited her across his lap. She desperately wriggled around, trying to find a position that wouldn't end with her being dumped on the hardwood flooring.

Beneath her, she felt the scratch of denim and the pure power of his legs. This would no doubt hurt, as he'd promised. But she craved it.

"Show me a safe signal."

As best as she could, she rolled onto her right side.

"Not what I expected," he said. "But it will work." He spoke as he rubbed her skin. "You will feel eight of the hardest hits you've ever experienced. You will take them."

She shuddered.

"You can think whatever you want," he continued. "I don't care if you cry enough to fill a horse trough, in fact, I might like that. You've made me suffer, sub, and you will pay."

She wanted to see his face. They'd talked about that, so she knew his behaviour was intentional. And she had to trust him. He'd never asked for it. But he'd earned it.

He increased the speed of his rubs, until her breasts jiggled.