The Collar (The Submissive 6)

From her place on the floor, she looked up and met his gaze. As she took him, he reached out and stroked her cheek. His touch was soft and gentle. Nothing like the harshness he’d shown minutes before.

She moved up and down on his cock, taking him deep, swirling her tongue around his underside. The entire time he kept his eyes locked on hers, with his fingers lightly brushing her cheek.

He could hold off his climax for damn near forever, but it seemed he wasn’t in the mood to delay anything tonight. Though it’d been years since she’d had him in her mouth, she recognized his imminent release by the way he twitched. Because she knew how much he liked it, she relaxed and took his final thrust deep in

her throat.

“Fuck,” he said, slipping his hand behind her head and holding her in place as he came.

Her eyes filled with tears at the effort it took to swallow everything. It’d been a long time since she’d deep throated, and she hadn’t realized how out of practice she was.

After calming her breathing, she kissed the tip of his cock, tucked him back inside his pants, zipped them up, and waited.

“Dena?”

She was no longer his Angel. She squeezed her eyes closed for the briefest of seconds before answering. “Yes?”

He stood and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m going to go get you some juice, and after you rest, we’re going to talk about this note and the phone calls. Wait here for me.”

She nodded and watched him leave the room. Suddenly, the day’s events caught up with her and she curled up on the couch. She didn’t even try to keep her heavy eyelids from shutting.

“Wake up, Dena,” Jeff said softly sometime later. “I need you to drink some before you rest.”

“Don’t want any.”

“Don’t care.”

He knelt beside her head and held up a glass with a straw. She lifted herself enough to take a few sips so he’d be satisfied but discovered she was thirstier than she’d thought. He chuckled when she drained the glass.

Feeling sated, she closed her eyes and snuggled into the warm blanket he placed over her.

A callused finger brushed her forehead. “Rest well. I’ll keep you safe.”

Chapter Four

Seven years ago

Dena drummed her fingers on the table. She was at Master Covington’s house, waiting for the monthly group meeting to start. Normally, she looked forward to group meetings. But normally, they weren’t round-table discussions led by Jeff Parks.

It’d been a month since their disastrous first—and last—date. In that month, Jeff had ignored her when possible. If circumstance required him to speak to her, he was short though always polite.

It shouldn’t bother her. She knew she should just tell him to fuck off and go on about her life. Yet for some reason she couldn’t. She wanted him. So much so¸ she’d been unable to work up the excitement to play with anyone else. Several Dominants had approached her, but so far she’d turned them all down.

The room around her quieted as the man in question entered. He had on worn jeans and a black T-shirt and looked deliciously scruffy, almost as if he’d forgotten to shave. He glanced around the room and didn’t acknowledge her existence when his gaze passed her.

Forget him. He’s not interested.

Except he had been, and she couldn’t believe that desire had changed simply because he found out she was a senator’s daughter. She vowed to herself to find out what his real problem was.

“I thought we’d spend some time today discussing common stereotypes within the community,” Jeff said, starting the meeting.

Dena swallowed a snort, but couldn’t stop the “Seriously?” that slipped out under her breath. Oh, yeah. This should be fun. How did he get picked to lead this discussion?

Fortunately, her snide comment went unnoticed by Jeff because he continued. “Someone name a common misconception people have.”

The bald switch who’d worked the door the night of her first party replied, saying, “If you’re a man, you’re a Dominant, and if you’re female, you’re a sub.”

Jeff nodded. “Good one. And how often do we make judgments on someone’s role before we get to know them?” No one said anything. “Come on, you know you do it. You see a woman like Kelly, dressed as she is now, and what do you think?”

He motioned toward the group’s lone Domme, who was wearing a pink sweater and winter-white wool pants. With her red hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders, it would be hard to picture her as she’d be dressed tomorrow: skintight leather dress, knee-high black boots, and fishnet stockings.

Kelly was an officer at the Wilmington Police Department, and Dena had worked with her on a professional basis. They’d had lunch a few times, and Dena was looking forward to getting to know her better.

“I know what I’d think,” Evan Martin said. “I’d think ‘Redheads shouldn’t wear pink.’”

Jeff shot him a look, but Evan ignored him. “Isn’t that in the Redhead Rulebook? Don’t wear pink. It’ll clash with your hair.”

Kelly pressed her lips together and didn’t say anything. Knowing her the way she did, Dena guessed she really wanted to rip Evan a new one.

“That’s quite enough,” Jeff said. “But since you’re so interested in talking, you can give us another stereotype.”

Evan seemed completely caught off guard and started and stopped several times before finally blurting out, “All kink players are deviants.”

Mumbled agreements came from around the table. Obviously, a lot of people had felt they would be looked down upon or thought less of if they admitted their sexual needs. Hell, Dena understood that one. No way did she want the general public knowing about her private life, even though in a perfect world it wouldn’t matter.

Daniel asked if Jeff thought there was anything to do to overcome the perception, and for the next ten minutes there was a heated discussion surrounding what one could to. The room was divided between those who didn’t care who knew and those who kept it private.

During a lull in the conversation, she raised her hand. Jeff ignored her. She waved her arm. He narrowed his eyes.

“Yes, Dena.”

“We’ve touched on the typical stereotypes, but what about the less common ones?”

“Such as?” He raised an eyebrow. Watch it, he seemed to say.

“Such as ethnicity or class distinction.” She met his eyebrow raise with one of her own. Yes, I went there. “For example, do you think there’s a higher number of interracial couples in the community as opposed to society as a whole? Do you think, Sir, that those of us in the lifestyle are more prepared to say to society, ‘Screw you. I know what I want and I’m taking it’?”

His face didn’t give her a clue that he recognized his own words from that night or if he was angry she brought them up. All he said was, “I wouldn’t know. I’m not an expert in such things.” He turned away from her. “Any more questions?” he asked the group at large.

If he knew her at all, he would have known it took more than that to shut her down. “I wasn’t asking for your expert opinion, Sir. I was asking you personally, as a Dominant with a good number of years of experience.”

“Let me be clearer: I don’t know.”

“Guess.”

“No.”

The silence in the room hit her then. Not that people had been talking among themselves, but at the moment no one was moving. It was as if the entire room was holding its breath, watching their exchange.

Master Covington coughed and stood up. “I think that’s a good place to end the discussion. Thank you, Master Parks.”

Jeff nodded in reply and little by little the room came to life. Side conversations were started, and around her people made plans for the next night’s play party.

That hadn’t gone well.

Jeff spoke quietly to Master Covington and left. Fury rose in her, and she decided to get to the bottom of Jeff’s problem once and for all. Ignoring the pointed stares and whispers that followed, she shoved her chair back and went after him.

She found him in the house’s kitchen. His back was to her as he stood looking out a window.

“What exactly is your problem?”

He turned slowly. “You.”

“I kinda figured that part out.”