Tied with Me (With Me in Seattle 6)

It’s beautiful.

“Those two are married. She’s been his submissive for about three years.”

“Submissive?” I ask.

“Are you really that naïve?” Bailey asks with a shake of her head.

“I had no idea that stuff happened in real life. I thought it just made for a fun romance novel.”

“It happens.”

“Are you submissive?”

She smiles at me then shrugs her slim shoulder. “Unfortunately, no. I tried, but my mouth kept getting me in trouble. My ass was sore for a month.”

I swallow hard as we move along to the next demonstration.

I jump when I hear the crack of a whip. “Holy shit!”

Bailey laughs and tucks her arm through mine as we watch another tall, lean, shirtless man wield a bullwhip. A woman is suspended by the wrists to a chain in the ceiling, her arms pulled high over her head. She’s wearing black panties and a bra.

The man circles the whip over his head and cracks it in front of him, leaving just a tiny red mark on the woman’s shoulder blade. She moans, as though it’s the sexiest thing she’s ever felt.

The man circles her, his focus completely on her, and when he gets to her back, he repeats the motion, leaving another, identical mark on the other shoulder blade.

He approaches her, grips her red hair in his fist and pulls her head back so he can whisper in her ear.

“Yes, sir,” she replies breathlessly.

He grins and kisses her deeply before releasing her hair and raising the whip above his head, the leather kissing her skin, leaving one, two, three more red marks on either side of her spine.

“How can he do that and not break the skin?” I ask in awe.

“Lots and lots of practice,” Bailey whispers back. “That’s Master Eric.”

“Is she his submissive?” I ask, proud of myself for understanding the lingo so quickly.

“No, she’s not with anyone that I know of. But she is a masochist, and Master Eric is happy to oblige her.”

“Jesus,” I whisper, but can’t deny the clench in my stomach when Master Eric cups her ass in his hand, pushing his fingers between her legs and pulling them away sopping wet, glistening in the soft light.

“See? She’s happy. Master Eric would stop if she said her safe word.”

Jesus, I think again. Safe words and whips and electrowands. Who would have thought?

When we move along, a woman is pouring ladles of hot wax on eager participants.

“Ah, we’re moving on to the more vanilla demonstrations,” Bailey explains. “Not that hot wax is vanilla, but it’s no bullwhip.”

I smirk and watch in rapture as a shirtless man has wax poured on his chest, down his defined abs, and smiles in pleasure. A hard ridge beneath his blue jeans proves that he is enjoying himself.

“Want to try it?” Bailey asks me.

“No, thanks.” I shake my head but can’t look away as the next woman in line takes a seat and scoops her hair off her neck, giving the woman pouring wax space to drizzle the hot liquid over her collarbones and chest. It cools and hardens almost immediately and is peeled seductively off the skin.

It’s actually kind of…sexy.

“Oh! The bondage area!” Bailey exclaims excitedly and pulls me over where a small line of women are waiting patiently as a handsome man ties long lines of ropes around their torsos, arms, legs, leaving a trail of intricate knots around their bodies.

Wow.

“I had no idea that ropes could look so artistic,” I murmur.

“It’s definitely an art form,” Bailey agrees and eagerly steps forward when the man motions her to join him.

He crosses her hands over her lower back and begins looping and knotting a blue rope over and around her. The color of the rope looks amazing against her little black dress and accentuates her curves.

She’s stunning.

The man plants a kiss on her forehead and grins when she thanks him and bounces over to me.

“You should do it, too.”

“You can’t move your hands,” I respond, pointing to where her arms are restrained behind her.

“You don’t have to have your hands bound,” she replies and nudges me forward. The man is grinning, but then is interrupted by another man.

I stop about a foot away and watch as the second man whispers in the other’s ear. They both nod, and the new guy grins at me, and suddenly, he and I are the only ones in the room.

He has ice-blue eyes. The kind of eyes that pull you in and drown you in their depths. His hair is light brown and cut relatively short.

His face is shaved clean, and his full, sexy lips are pursed in a smirk.

“Are you coming or not, little one?”

Chapter One

Weddings really aren’t my thing. Well, baking the cakes for them, that is. I own a successful little cupcake bakery in downtown Seattle, and cupcakes are what I enjoy most.

But when Brynna Vincent, now Montgomery, asked me to bake a cake for her wedding, I couldn’t refuse her. She rushed into my shop just about two weeks ago, her eyes bright with happiness, and asked me if I could bake a cake for her because my cupcakes are her very favorite.

Yes, it was a nice stroke of my ego.

And when she assured me that she just needed a simple two-tier cake for a small wedding, I was in. It didn’t hurt that she had her adorable six-year-old twin daughters with her, and they bought a dozen chocolate cupcakes to go with them.

But now that I’m in the thick of it, arranging the cake, making sure it’s displayed perfectly, while the last of the vows are said and the large family behind me cheers with delight and joy, I’m reminded why I never ventured into the wedding cake business: It’s too damn stressful.

Brynna has been a dream to work with. No bridezilla here, thank God, and I’d even be willing to say that she and I have become friends in the past few weeks while putting our heads together for her beautiful cake.

But the actual execution the day of the wedding is torture for me. I have to be sure that every tiny rose, the placement of the cake topper, everything is perfect.

Because if I were the bride, that’s how I’d want it to be.

I make a mad dash out to my car to gather the last of my supplies and hustle back to the cake table behind the home where Brynna and her husband were married today.

The house isn’t terribly large. It’s in an average neighborhood and probably boasts three or four bedrooms. But the backyard is something out of a Better Homes and Gardens magazine.

Brynna had mentioned that her new father-in-law is an avid gardener, and she wasn’t kidding. The yard is blooming brightly with fragrant summer flowers. There are ponds and paths scattered throughout the large property, giving it a park-like feel.