Dominant Persuasions Anthology: 12 Tales of D/s, Where Mastery Meets Passion Read online

  “Mistress, or Sir, if you prefer, would you like for me to be your servant for the night?”

  “No. But thank you for asking,” She never made eye contact as she kept her eyes on Lars. She seemed to be studying his reaction.

  “Perhaps Sir or Mistress would like a plaything for the night? May I present myself?”

  He would never understand this D/s thing, but it was obvious by her answer she did. And the persistence seemed to get her attention as she tore her gaze from Lars and looked directly at the little cockroach sitting next to her.

  “No,” she said more firmly. “Thank you. I’m fine.”

  Was this some kind of game they were playing? He’d seen a lot of weird shit in this club, and he couldn’t judge if they were just fucking with each other or if she really wanted to be left alone. A picture of her caressing Lars’ face as he knelt in front of her flashed into his head. He ached for the soft touches he’d given up on long ago and the ones he knew would be perfect with her. His vision intensified. He’d kneel; he’d kiss her feet and do all the shit he watched at the club nightly and swore he’d never do.

  “With all due respect, Mistress—”

  His fantasy quickly vaporized with her sudden movement. Lars’ eyes widened and his body tensed in alarm as he watched her swift reaction when the cockroach spoke again. She grabbed the collar the man was wearing and violently jerked it, bringing him nose to nose with her.

  “Listen here, tiger, unless you want to be some sadistic bastard’s pussy for the rest of the night, back the fuck up, and leave me alone. Am I clear?”

  The man nodded.

  “Say it!” she growled at him.

  “Yes, Sir, I’m clear.”

  She let go of the collar with a violent shove, and the man backed away quickly. Lars poured her another glass of wine. She was indeed a dominant, with a capital “D”, but he’d snap her fucking neck the first time she tried that shit with him. He removed the old glass in front of her and replaced it with a fresh one.

  “Everything okay?”

  “It is now.” This time her voice was softer, kinder. “Thank you.”

  She exhaled and looked down at her drink. Something in her expression struck him as odd. She suddenly looked sad and lost.

  “Look, uh, it’s none of my business but if you didn’t come here to partake, why are you here?”

  * * *

  Marianna studied the bartender before answering. She had to understand why, the second she saw him, he affected her in ways she thought had died with Luc. She recalled how butterflies seemed to start swarming in her belly when he looked at her and did a double take while he worked. The fact that he’d been staring at her the whole time didn’t go unnoticed by her, either. While she waited for Mac and Dessie, she’d been watching him, too.

  As she observed him, she noticed his crystalline eyes seemed to reflect every thought and mood that struck him as he worked, and it was scary how he had affected her with just a glance. In fact, he was just the sort of man who attracted her, strong, alpha, and probably with an iron will that would be hard to reign in, much like her late beloved husband. The feelings she thought had died with her husband came to the surface and simmered. This man made her realize it had been some time since she’d had sex.

  The intensity of her physical attraction to someone other than Luc shocked her as she found herself studying this man’s body. Watching him work could easily become a distraction for her. In the light, she couldn’t tell if his hair was dirty blond, light brown or reddish brown, but she could tell it was tied back and shoulder length. His beard was streaked with a little gray and needed trimming. She didn’t normally like longer hair and a full beard, but on this man, it fit and gave him an aura of something primitive. He was tall, maybe six two or three. She watched the well-defined muscles in his arms flex as he cleaned the glasses and lifted boxes. The sleeves of his denim shirt were rolled up and gave her a hint of the tats on his left arm. Big as he was, he wasn’t bulky. In fact, he was a little on the thin side. As she watched him, she noticed for the first time how blue his eyes were and how the lines around them did something for him she couldn’t quite classify. It gave him an edgy, almost barbarous air reminding her of some of the characters on a TV series Vikings. For some reason, she sensed a challenge in this man, and it excited her.

  He shifted his stance, stopped cleaning the bar, cocked his head, and gave her his full attention. Clearly he was expecting her to answer.

  “I’m waiting for Mac,” Marianna said picking up the fresh glass of wine and taking a drink.

  “I see,” he picked up her discarded glass and poured the swallow of wine left in the bar sink.

  She carefully watched him and wondered if she was reading feelings that weren’t really there. He genuinely seemed disappointed, but before he could turn away, she spoke again, “We’re family; Dessie and I are cousins,” What the hell made her feel as if she had to explain herself to the hired help in Mac’s club? She watched a frown creased his brow as he looked toward the play area. For some reason, his opinion of her mattered, and she didn’t want him to believe she was uncommitted and available.

  “Oh.” He put down the towel he was cleaning the bar with and wiped his hand against his jeans then stuck it out to her, “Lars Nielsen,”

  When she shook his hand, his warm, firm grasp made her breath catch. In that moment, as they touched, the look in his eyes made her believe something wonderful could happen between them. She found her voice tinged with emotion, “It’s nice to meet you, Lars. I’m Marianna.”

  4

  Jimena, screamed in frustration as she flung the paper across the room. This damn reporter had to be stopped. Now, according to the article, the US Government was on to her. All of the years of carefully laid plans were crumbling around her and all because of a pot-stirring gossip columnist. Already there were calls from her sources in Houston and Chicago that full-scale raids were being conducted on some of the top members in her organization. Her accountants, bankers, lawyers, and the other associates and trade partners she depended on to launder the millions she made were being systematically removed from her financial pipeline. These raids were proving a severe impediment to her business.

  “Goddamn Marianna Banta!” she screamed at one of her men.

  “Who?”

  She closed her eyes in frustration and took a deep breath. She did not need to deal with a stupid question from this idiota despistado.

  “I’ve got to find her and shut her up! Where is that stupid asshole I paid to kill her?”

  “Doesn’t she live in Austin? I could do it,”

  “You think so? Pinche baboso!” She paced furiously, and the men in the room with her shrank back. They knew how unpredictable she could be, and when she was angry, she was unpredictably violent. She walked up to the man who had last answered one of her questions and yanked the front of his shirt, bringing him nose to nose with her. “Stay low. I can’t afford for any of you to get caught right now.”

  No one dared speak this time. She released him and went back to pacing.

  “Get out! Get the fuck out, all of you!” she shouted.

  She needed to think. And while her soldiers were loyal and willing to lay down their lives for her, she didn't pay them to think. She paid them to execute, to carry out orders and get the job done. She had carefully mapped out her organization here in the United States. How the hell did this reporter find out her real name? Being an expert counterfeiter, there was no way this woman accidentally found her out; someone had talked. But who? It was either someone who’d known her in Mexico or someone close to her now. Only those she trusted with a high degree of certainty in her network knew her real identity, so how did this reporter find out?

  The paranoia that had kept her safe all these years took hold with a vengeance. Someone she trusted had talked, and ICE and the DEA were on her trail. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. All of her life’s work would crumble if she didn’t do something fast. Sh
e took a deep breath and regrouped. Her logical mind started ticking off a list of things she needed to do to put a stop to Marianna Banta.

  She couldn’t afford any mistakes, so she’d contacted one of her business associates in New York. It’d taken almost a week for her associate to get back to her, but when he did, he had the name and contact information for a professional assassin that they would only call the Ghost. It was the first time she’d ordered a hit that would be executed by someone outside her organization. The money she’d spent on this hit man also marked a change, a more sophisticated way of doing business. It was clean, and once it was done, this Ghost would disappear.

  Catching a glance of the newspaper she’d thrown in her rage, she realized the first thing she had to do was leave a very comfortable and quiet Kyle, Texas. The small town had become a suburb to the ever sprawling Austin, and the paper had information regarding her living in Texas, specifically the area surrounding Austin. Until she resolved this problem, she would need to keep moving. She needed to get to a larger base of operation and surround herself with people who knew how to deal with her on a more cerebral level. Guns and violence wouldn’t get her anywhere and would attract attention she didn’t need right now. Traveling would give her the opportunity to reorganize, and come up with some sort of a plan of attack and give her hired assassin time to strike.

  “Jose, Rafael! Get in here!” Their expressions were solemn and unusually quiet. They were scared. That was just the way she needed them. Early on she’d made murderous outbursts her trademark. If someone pissed her off or she was having a bad day, she was unpredictable. Sometimes she would kill because she felt like it. “I’m leaving for few weeks. Jose,” she said to her son, “Go to San Marcos or Seguin and stay there until I come back. All I need you to do is keep the business running. Don’t get creative, just maintain day-to-day operations here. Whenever you make your runs, use a different auto and don’t drive that stupid shit that draws attention to you. Use plain trucks or cars, nothing that will make the cops suspicious to stop you. Whatever you do, don’t come back here until I tell you to, do you understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I understand.”

  Leaving them, she went to her bedroom and checked for available flights to Miami, her original base of operation when she’d arrived in the US almost eighteen years ago. There was a flight for Florida at six in the next morning. She dug through her passports and ID cards and found one she hadn’t used in many years. She tapped the card on her finger as she considered where to start her search for the woman who could bring her down with words instead of guns.

  Something wasn’t right. She’d always had a sixth sense about pending events, but she didn’t understand why her instincts were leading her to Miami. She was tired of this cloak and dagger game. She’d paid this professional some serious money, and she needed results.

  * * *

  Lars was making his rounds for an event the club was hosting for a group involved in pony and puppy play. As he surveyed the different scenes unfolding around him, he knew for damn sure this wasn’t something for him. As he approached the bar, he noticed Marianna had come in while he’d been walking around. His heart skipped when he noticed her. She was sitting in the same spot she’d been sitting in a week earlier.

  After she and Dessie had left, Mac stayed and went over a few things before he sat on the couch in the office and threw back a beer.

  “So did anyone bother her while she was waiting?” Mac asked.

  “It wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle.”

  “What happened?”

  “Some guy came up to her who wanted play, and she said no.”

  Mac smiled knowingly, “Did she now?”

  “Pretty damn decisively,” Lars said, and Mac chuckled. “Look man, to each his own, live and let live. I just work here.”

  “So in the couple of weeks you’ve been here, nothing interests you about this lifestyle?”

  Lars shook his head and exhaled. “No, this is your thing not mine. You asked me to run the place, which is cool, but nothing about this shit will ever interest me.”

  It was a lie. Since his brief conversation with Marianna, he’d pictured all kinds of scenarios. Each one of them involved him kneeling, awaiting her command. She was his queen and he, her knight. Her delicious reward for him made his mouth water at the thought of her kiss.

  “Never say never, Val.” He spoke as if he could read Lars’ dirty mind. “This lifestyle probably saved my life. Dessie and I had played around the edges for a while, but when I got out, I had nothing to do but think about my past and all the shit that I had done. It almost killed me. This lifestyle is what enabled me to finally start trusting and talking to my wife. When you start talking about what you want in a BDSM scene, talking about bills, the kids, and even your PTSD gets real easy.”

  Lars was astounded at the simple way Mac applied his BDSM practice to everyday life. Lars would give anything to be able to trust someone so completely that he could let go of his demons and know he’d been accepted and forgiven. He was almost jealous of the serenity Mac had found in his life and that he’d become whole again. A picture of him holding Marianna in the middle of the night while they slept quiet and content clouded his vision. If only…

  “I’m glad you found peace, Mac.”

  After that conversation, Mac never brought it up again, and as the days slipped by in a blur, Lars began to worry that he’d never see Marianna again. Until almost two weeks later when she surprised him.

  Not wanting to seem too eager, he went around and grabbed a couple of empty glasses and tossed some trash that he’d picked up as he walked around to check on the patrons. As he approached her, his new bartender pushed a glass of red wine in front of her.

  “Hi.” He picked up a bar towel and started wiping down the bar.

  “Hello Lars.”

  For some reason, he was at a loss as to what to say or do. He had to think of something. If he wiped that spot any more, the lacquer would start peeling. “So what’s going on? Are Mac and Des coming by again?”

  “Not that I know of. I needed to get out of the house for a while.”

  “So you came here?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Why?”

  “You.”

  Lars knew he was staring at trouble, but he couldn’t help it. Something in her voice made him stop and listen, hanging on every word and wanting to please her. The fact that she’d come here to see him and the way her words flowed left him speechless. Her low, sensual tone drew him closer to her. For the first time in a very long time, he wanted to touch someone and had to curl his fingers around the towel he held to keep from giving into the impulse of taking her hand. Many times over the long days, he’d pictured getting close to her, skin to skin, and after a serious fuck, he just wanted to listen to her talk in her quiet, sultry tone. Even his dick wanted to hear her because it was straining in his jeans. He shifted and cleared his throat.

  “Want go to go somewhere else so we can talk?” Lars asked.

  “We could, but I like it here.” She looked toward the main area where the guests were conducting a very erotic horse auction. At the moment, one of the cowboys was feeding his cock to one of the mares. “Does that make you uncomfortable?”

  “It’s not my thing.”

  “I’m confused. Why do you work here?”

  “It’s a paycheck.”

  “Well, in case you haven’t guessed, it’s my thing. So do you still want to go someplace to just talk? Or would you like to rethink that offer?”

  Conscious of Marianna’s intense stare, he swallowed hard and found feeling awkward and unsure of what to say or do next. In the few relationships he’d had in his life, he always wished the women he’d chosen would come out with what they wanted instead of making him jump through hoops to guess. Here was a woman who had no problem communicating, and suddenly, he was uncomfortable and downright scared. There was no doubt in his mind the role she expected him to pl
ay. Now he had to make the decision to play it or walk away from the most exciting and enticing woman he’d ever met.

  The images he’d conjured of being her lover had consumed him since the first time he’d seen her. Unnerved at the rush of sensations and the erratic beating of his heart, he tried to shove away the sexual awareness that she forced him to…feel. The temptation of exploring a side of himself that could possibly heal him gave him hope that he could shed his nightmares and move on from his bloody warrior past. She seductively tugged at him. It was a heady sensation for a man who thought he’d long ago lost the ability to feel anything. Now realized this woman could draw things from him with just a glance and a simple hello.

  Marianna made him feel human again.

  Lars cleared his throat, “No—”

  “Sorry to interrupt, but I need to talk with you a second, boss,” Cade Weston, his bouncer and former teammate said urgently.

  “I’ll be right back,” Lars said.

  “Do you want me to wait?” Marianna picked up her glass and hid a knowing smile as she took a drink.

  “Uh, yeah. If-if you want to…”

  Lars came out from behind the bar kicking himself for sounding so damn lame. He caught up with Cade and walked with him toward the Saint Andrew’s Cross.

  “What’s going on?” Lars asked.

  “I’ve been watching these two for about ten minutes. Something isn’t right.”

  “What clued you in?”

  “I don’t know just my gut instinct.”

  They closed in while they looked busy, stacking glasses and cleaning up tables. Lars watched the couple and noticed her shallow breathing. She seemed to be in distress, but he couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. The longer he watched the more he sensed Cade was right and something was amiss with them. Lars made his way to the table where the man was putting down his glass. Catching the man’s eye he asked, “How’s it going?”

  “Get me another seven and seven, waiter. And be quick about it.”