Submitting to the Cattleman (Cowboy Doms 6)

Leslie’s friends were already inside by the time she entered the foyer and stowed her shoes in a cubby. The two-stepping beat of a country western tune seeped through the door leading into the social hall. She’d watched members skilled in line dancing move in sync on the dance floor numerous times but never got up the nerve to join in. Her blood warmed as she entered the cavernous space and took in the activity already taking place, the two hours spent with the girls having helped put away her misplaced envy over their good fortune.

She paused a moment to get her bearings and reacclimate to seeing everyone again. Delightful ripples of excitement tingled under her skin as faint echoes of slapping flesh and soft cries emanating from the loft reached her ears while she caught sight of the arousal-stirring play going on around the tables. Spotting Sue Ellen already draped over her husband’s lap, his hand resting on her bare butt, sent a wave of heat straight down between Leslie’s legs. Clenching her own buttocks in response to the remembered pain of a hard spanking that always led to a more intense orgasm, she now questioned how she’d gone so long without getting those needs met. Padding across the wood floor trying to figure out who was who behind the disguises and enjoying the probing, scrutinizing looks from Doms who couldn’t pinpoint her identity, one thing became abundantly clear – wallowing in self-pity for close to two months had been a colossal waste of time.

Stopping at the bar, she held her breath as Caden, Sydney’s husband came strolling over, waiting to see if he recognized her. Nudging his Stetson back, he subjected her to a detailed scrutiny while holding a hand out for her drink card.

“Nice getup and you look familiar, so I know you’re a regular. What can I get you?”

“A beer, please.” Handing him the card, Leslie relaxed until his blue eyes lit with recognition.

Snapping his fingers, Caden smiled, saying, “Leslie, how the hell are you, darlin’?”

She returned his smile, warmed by his welcome. “I’m good, Sir. Was it my voice, or something else?”

Popping off the bottle cap, he squeezed the brew into a koozie, handed it over and then flicked the end of her wig. “Your voice and those baby blues. If you hadn’t stayed away from us for so long I might have recognized you sooner. It’s good to see you here again.”

“It’s good to be back, Sir,” she returned, surprised at how quickly that true statement had come about. “Thanks for the drink.”

“You’re welcome. We have a good turnout. Have fun tonight, and don’t be a stranger.” Winking, he left to serve someone else.

That was the plan, Leslie thought, sliding off the stool. Before joining the unattached subs in the sitting area waiting to catch the eye of a Master, she veered toward the dance floor to watch for a few minutes. Standing off to the side with the other onlookers, she wasn’t the only one who found it amusing to see women dressed in costumes doing the two-step alongside men wearing the usual attire for country-western dancing of tight jeans and boots, a few still wearing their Stetsons. Her gaze swept from the back row to the front and she recognized all the Doms until her eyes landed on the taut, denim-covered buttocks and broad shoulders of the man with his back to her in the front row. Even if she couldn’t see his face, she would’ve remembered any Dom who could gyrate and swivel his hips with such eye-catching, pussy-dampening talent. God, could he move, and she wondered if he was one of the new members.

Leslie damn near drooled as he two-stepped into giving her a side view of his sexy hip action that drew her nipples into stiff peaks. Dragging her eyes away from his pelvis, she caught her first glimpse of his face and stiffened at the familiarity of his dark, rugged profile. And then he executed another shuffle of his feet with knees bent, his pelvis circling in a way that pulled her gaze back down. The rhythmic rolls of his crotch conjured up an image of down and dirty fucking that prompted her to tighten her thighs to contain her response before she dared to look up again. When she did, she went cold with a shockwave of instant, face-to-face recognition. There was no mistaking the sexy Dom standing just yards in front of her, even with his black Stetson shielding his eyes, was the same Kurt as her one-night stand all those weeks ago.

What were the odds? she bemoaned as she gathered her frayed nerves and spun around before he recognized her. Leslie was halfway to the door before she slowed her hasty retreat and dared to peek around a small group of people and back at the dance floor. Her taut muscles slowly relaxed as she saw he hadn’t skipped a beat in dancing and wasn’t coming after her. He didn’t recognize me as Cleopatra. With the relief came a sudden, titillating idea. Could she work him out of her system and put an end to the plaguing dreams of their one time together by indulging in another night of anonymous sex? From the uncomfortable dampness coating her thong, she couldn’t deny watching him had stirred her up. She already knew she would respond to him, how good a Dom he was. If she concentrated on getting her needs met, of submitting to his dominance and relieving the ache that had been building since she’d seen Kurt last, she believed she could keep from revealing her identity.

With her heart pounding from the risk but still unable to walk away from this second chance, Leslie pivoted and had only taken four steps back toward the dance floor when she spotted Master Kurt walking toward her. Now holding his hat, the midnight eyes she remembered so well showed interest but not a hint of surprised recognition, bolstering her courage.

Seeing a sexy Cleopatra look-alike eying him with a wide gaze, bare toes curled against the wood floor and taut nipples had drawn Kurt’s interest in a sub for the first time that night. The white toga-style dress draped over her curves emphasized the fullness of her breasts, every bump of her rigid nubs outlined against the soft material. When she’d executed an abrupt turnaround and walked away, he’d made the snap decision to snatch her up before another Dom beat him to her.

Now, standing close enough to see her eyes were as blue as the Montana sky in summer and the shape of her face tugging at his memory banks, he wondered if she was someone he’d played with here before.

“You’re staring, Sir.”

The hint of accusation in her pert tone amused him. Kurt didn’t mind when his habit of silently sizing up a potential partner for the evening rubbed a sub the wrong way. He didn’t want someone who would let him walk all over her; just who would not only bow to his dominance, but relish whatever he tormented her with.

“Yes, I am. I’m Master Kurt. You make a lovely Cleopatra.”

“Thank you.” A small smile curved her soft lips. ?

?I enjoyed watching you dance.”

Even her voice rang bells and prompted him to look closer at her features below the mask. Wanting to know more about her, he replied, “And I would enjoy getting to know you better. Are you free to join me upstairs?” A cock-stirring spark lit her eyes and his quick, uncharacteristic infatuation grew. Holding out his hand, he said, “Let’s sit while you finish your beer. I could be wrong, but you look familiar. Have we paired up before tonight?”

She tugged on his hand, halting him before he took a step toward the nearest empty table. “I’d rather go straight up, if it’s all the same with you.”

The flash of need that wiped away the spark and was, he suspected, the cause of her rash decision struck another chord of familiarity in him. “Do we know each other, sweetheart?”

Her palm turned clammy under his, and her entire arm went rigid at his simple inquiry. She shifted her gaze off to the side, a telltale sign of evasiveness that triggered more suspicions.

“No, Sir.” She looked back at him with a crooked smile. “I haven’t been here in a few weeks, but to be honest, a few of the other girls mentioned you in a very good way.”

“I’m flattered, but it would help if you’d tell me your name.” Kurt cupped her elbow and led her toward the stairs, adding, “Your real name.”

“But that will ruin the fun of remaining anonymous. Isn’t that part of the lure that prompted the Masters to plan this masquerade night?”

She had a point, he conceded, but he was ninety-nine percent sure he knew her from somewhere and was starting to suspect she didn’t want him to know that. Why, he couldn’t fathom. As they reached the loft with its dimmer lighting, reverberating soft cries and straining moans accompanying snaps against bare flesh, several ideas ran through his head on how to pull the truth from her.

Facing her, he asked, “Any hard limits or an apparatus you want me to stay away from?”