title

Tangled & Bound

Friendly, adventurous, sexually submissive…and a complete stranger. She’s exactly

the anonymous, no-consequences diversion fetish-club owner Sam needs to kick off a
few days in Las Vegas. He doesn’t hesitate to take her up against the door of the in-
flight bathroom.

Powerful, dominant Sam could have walked straight out of one of Melanie’s dog-

eared BDSM novels. When he strikes up a conversation on a late-evening flight,
fictional fantasies become knee-weakening, panty-soaking, feminine-core-clenching
reality. And oh-em-gee, does she want another taste of that!

When Sam informs her that his plans don’t include a long-term D/s relationship

with an impulsive young blonde for whom submission is more than likely a passing
whim, Melanie throws herself into convincing him she’s exactly the submissive lover he
wants, needs and can’t live without.

Emily Ryan-Davis

Chapter One

August

Halfway into her nonstop flight from New York to Las Vegas, Melanie Burke

started to squirm. Her restlessness had nothing to do with her tiny middle-of-the-row

seat and everything to do with the muscular, denim-clad thigh touching her bare leg.

The thigh belonged to a man she’d noticed hours earlier while waiting to board. In

a sea of people wearing jeans and t-shirts, he’d stood out, and not because of his scuffed

cowboy boots and oversized belt buckle. Well, not only because of those. While the

whole Texas horse wrangler look was out of place in LaGuardia, he certainly wasn’t the

only man doing the Western thing. He was the only one doing it well, though.

The nice ass and hand-tooled boots weren’t what had her snapping a surreptitious

pic and forwarding it to her BFF, Brooke, who was a self-proclaimed expert in all things

BDSM. Something else was.

Something about him declared, “I’m in charge”. Ever since she’d gotten wet while

reading a BDSM-themed novel earlier in the year, Melanie had become a sneaky

people-watcher, looking for the whole “in charge” vibe Dominant men apparently put

off. When she’d despaired ever finding her Dom, Brooke had advised her to chill and

wait. According to Brooke, Melanie would just know. She was on the verge of giving up

and going back to her normal sex routine of grad students and bar crawlers, but then

she saw him.

During boarding call, she’d covertly watched the way he stood apart from the

crowd even while standing in the middle of it. Her attraction to him was inexplicable.

The cowboy look really wasn’t to her taste. She went for guys with more of a GQ look.

He didn’t exude sophisticated power like the heroes of her dog-eared novels either, but

he did take her breath away. Some part of her she was just discovering wanted to kneel

at his feet and gaze up into his eyes from below.

When she reached her assigned seat on the plane, she was both startled and thrilled

by the coincidence that booked him in the seat next to hers. Now, as she turned the

page of her book, a “mommy porn” title on every national bestseller list, she sneaked a

peek at her in-flight neighbor’s face.

Pale, grass-green eyes met hers. Caught in the act of looking, startled by the fact

she’d caught him in the act too, she quickly shifted her focus back to the book spread

across her fold-down tray.

“Good book?” Her neighbor’s voice wrapped around her, warm in the too-cold

cabin. She pressed her thighs together as her simmering arousal cranked up a notch.

“Most of the world seems to like it.” She glanced up to find him still watching her.

This time she was prepared for the intensity of his examination and managed to

Tangled & Bound

maintain eye contact. She even did a little looking of her own, mostly in the form of a

closer inspection of his dark-blond evening stubble and full lips. Those lips quirked

while she studied them. They would be fantastic between her legs.

As if he had access to her little fantasy, his smile widened.
“I’m not interested in most of the world. Do you like it?” He reached over, closed

the book and turned it so the front cover showed. “Who would’ve thought a simple

neck tie would become so iconic?”

“It’s a very striking cover,” Melanie agreed. But totally disinteresting to her now.

As far as visuals went, he had all her attention. His shoulders dominated the narrow

seat. She seriously wanted to climb astride his lap and put her hands on him. Maybe

rub up against that big belt buckle. And she wanted to beg him to keep talking. The

Midwest meets New York accent was weirdly fascinating.

“The question still remains whether you’re enjoying the read.”
“It’s crazy popular—”
“Yes or no?” he interrupted.
Heat flashed through her. Blinking rapidly at her body’s response to his demanding

inquiry, she managed to say, “I’m not sure.”

“There’s a simple way to tell.” He leaned close and spoke directly into her ear. “If

you’re wet right now, you’re enjoying the book.”

The powerful confidence of his voice stirred something low in her abdomen. She

was wet before his lips brushed her ear. Now she felt soaked.

“Answer me, honey.” He touched her chin and tilted her head at a slight angle.

Calloused fingertips settled on a spot just below her jaw. “Your heart’s racing, but I

don’t think you’re scared. I think that book has you so hot, you’re dying to slip your

hand into your panties.”

“The book isn’t that good.” She summoned the remaining shreds of her self-

possession and managed to teasingly say, “Maybe I’m enjoying you.”

“Not yet, you’re not.” He straightened and flagged a flight attendant.
Melanie raised an eyebrow but kept quiet. It was almost a relief to share his

attention with somebody else and she needed a minute to breathe.

When the flight attendant reached them, her green-eyed man didn’t request a drink

as Melanie expected. Instead, he said, “The lady’s getting cold. Would you bring a

blanket?”

She started to protest but he put his hand on her knee and the simple silencing

gesture sparked such an internal display of fireworks that she forgot what she was

supposed to be objecting to. She couldn’t see where he touched her because the plastic

tray was still pulled down, but she could feel. Oh boy, she could feel. That touch said

things she wasn’t sure it should say, but she didn’t want to contradict it.

“Put the book away, honey.” He stroked her knee with his thumb and lightly

squeezed her inner thigh.

Emily Ryan-Davis

Wanting to obey but certain she should at least try to fight the urge to surrender,

she said, “I’m trying to read it.”

To prove her claim, she stared at her book. Goose bumps spread across her skin.

They had zero to do with the temperature in the cabin or her choice in attire, a

lightweight sundress to combat the August heat. Up until he touched her, she was

perfectly comfortable in the strapless blue dress she’d chosen that afternoon.

Speaking so softly nobody but she could hear, and so close she could smell the

subtle notes of shaving cream used hours and hours ago, he said, “The real thing is

much better than what you’ll read about between those covers. Put it away.”

“The real thing?” She turned toward him to ask the question, and that was a

mistake. His breath mingled with hers. She could practically taste the mint she smelled.

Trying to keep her head on her shoulders, she asked for clarification. “Sex? Because

duh. Or do you mean…”

Not quite sure how to word what she needed to ask, she trailed off and stared at

him expectantly. He quickly supplied what she couldn’t voice.

“Submission. That’s what you’re reading about.” His smile returned, faint at the

corners of his mouth. “Critics are calling that a gateway book. Were you surprised by

your response to it?”

Melanie nibbled at her bottom lip and tried to ground herself by taking stock of her

surroundings. Her other neighbor continued to snore. Very little conversation was

happening in the cabin, nothing more than the occasional murmur of sound between

traveling companions. Most other passengers sat in the dark of a nighttime flight, their

seats reclined and their eyes closed. A few read by the glow of tablets or e-readers, and

tinny whispers of music came from two dozen sets of headphones. An action-heavy

movie flickered on a screen up ahead. Nobody paid a bit of attention to Melanie and her

impending erotic encounter.

“This isn’t my first book. I knew what I was looking for.” Her voice quaked a little,

which only seemed to amuse him. She raised an eyebrow. “Are you laughing at me? I

suppose you have years and years of experience tying women to beds and…whatever

else gets you off.”

“Years and years about covers it, but I’m not laughing. Power exchange doesn’t

amuse me. Are you going to put that book away and let me keep going?”

God. His hand was so hot on her leg, practically between her legs. And she was

seriously wet, partly from the erotic novel but mostly from the promise in his intense

gaze. Making her choice, she stashed her paperback in the pocket on the seat in front of

her and secured the tray. Once she had a clear view of his fingers splayed on her skin,

she knew any semblance of control she had over the situation was completely gone.

She’d given it over to him.

The flight attendant returned with a blanket, which Melanie’s mystery man shook

out and spread across her lap. He reached up to turn off her reading light. In the

sudden dimness, she forgot how to breathe. Some sane part of her brain warned her to

Tangled & Bound

stop things right now. The reckless, thrill-seeking part that she too often obeyed urged

her to part her knees beneath the blanket. In honor of her tiny remaining sense of public

decorum, she closed her eyes. If anybody happened to look her way, she didn’t want to

know.

“Lean your seat back and hold the armrests. Don’t move your hands.”
He spoke so softly, yet with an authoritative quality she couldn’t refuse. As she

angled back into a reclining position and gripped the hard plastic armrests, it occurred

to her that she was doing something foolish. She didn’t even know his name. Instead of

asking, she blew out a slow breath and inched down in the seat, closer to his stroking

fingers.

He didn’t rush to accept her invitation. Instead, he started talking to her again. “Do

you belong to someone, honey?”

Swallowing, she shook her head. Behind her closed eyes, the flickering scenes of the

movie created crazy patterns not much different from the lines and circles and swirls he

drew on her inner thigh with his short fingernails. Just when she thought he was going

to go all the way up her short skirt, he scratched a path back to her knee. The goose

bumps didn’t let up either, and a fresh wave tightened her nipples.

“If you were mine,” he said, “that’s not the answer you’d give a man who asked

that question.”

If she were his, she’d probably melt into a hot puddle of need on the floor. She

squeezed her eyes shut tighter. “What else?”

“What else if you were mine?” His fingers ventured up her thigh again, feather-

light strokes beneath her skirt.

Melanie nodded and tilted her hips, angling toward him. When he touched her

through her panties, she whimpered. He probed gently, testing the material’s give and

tracing a path down the valley between her swollen lips.

“If you were mine, I wouldn’t cover you up with that blanket. I’d make you spread

your knees wide and lift your dress so anybody who looked could see how pretty and

wet you are.” He hooked his finger behind the narrow strip of cloth covering her pussy

and tugged, drawing the sodden fabric away from her skin. “I’d pull your top down

too, and let those hard little nipples go free.”

“Why don’t you do that anyway?” she whispered, half afraid he would, half afraid

he wouldn’t.

“Because you’re not mine,” he said, with what sounded like regret.
Her chest tightened. That wasn’t what she wanted him to say, wasn’t how their

exchange should be going. She mentally revised his words to better fit the fantasy she

wanted to live.

Because you’re mine and I don’t feel like sharing right now. Would you rather I shared?
No Sir. I love being just yours.
That’s good, honey, since you don’t have any other choice.

Emily Ryan-Davis

Her imagination stopped there, unable to fill in what he’d do next, reminding her

that she didn’t know him at all. Swallowing, she asked, “What else would you do?”

“You’re not ready for that either.”
But he touched her, long fingers sinking into her while he cupped her mound and

squeezed, and she didn’t care to argue. The way he flexed his hand, he stimulated her

clit with her own soft, wet folds. The sensation was miles away from what she

associated with manual stimulation, more like being licked than touched, and she

wanted his mouth on her. Until he pumped his fingers, reminding her she could feel in

more than one place at the same time.

Curling his fingers inside her, he compressed her clit from inside and out. Liquid

pleasure flooded all her receptors. Her back arched like a fully drawn bow and she

gasped so loud she didn’t know how the snoring businessman didn’t wake up then and

there.

Horrified by her inability to keep quiet, she started to cover her mouth with her

hands but, at the last minute, remembered his instructions to keep her hands on the arm

rests. Her forearms strained with the effort to obey him. As she bit down on the insides

of her lips and swallowed the moan that threatened to vibrate into the quiet of the

cabin, a barrage of thoughts crashed through her head. Most thoughts were of the

extremely-bad-idea variety, with one notion that she should try to hurry. The sooner

she came, the sooner she could stop worrying about attracting an audience. Or getting

arrested by airport security in Vegas.

“Stop thinking,” he whispered directly into her ear. “Stop worrying. Even if people

can hear, they’re socially conditioned not to look.”

Melanie swallowed and turned toward him. Their lips brushed and her eyes flew

open at the unexpected contact. Surprise flashed across his face too, along with

something else, and his fingers stopped moving. Only for an instant. He wrestled the

surprise out of view and started moving again, vigorous strokes that had her biting

down on his shoulder. When he thumbed her folds apart between thrusts and pressed

directly against her clit, she broke. Her instincts waged a war inside her, half

demanding she hold on to him for safety, the other half demanding she keep her hands

in place because he’d told her to do so. Obedience won—she couldn’t seem to

physically lift her hands from the armrests.

Cotton and muscle muffled her startled cry as he cradled the back of her head and

tucked her face against his chest, keeping her from spinning off without an anchor. She

couldn’t have escaped even if she’d wanted to. He held her to the seat, pinning her with

his still-moving fingers while she jerked with small, deep convulsions.

“Good girl,” he murmured as her orgasm slowed. Eventually he withdrew his hand

from between her legs.

She struggled to find her way out of the fantasy. Eyes half open, she managed a

tentative, “Um. That was different.”

Tangled & Bound

He stared at her for long minutes before saying, “People should do different things

sometimes. Follow me.”

He stood abruptly and headed for the rear of the plane.
Her body obeyed without thought, fingers fumbling at the seatbelt. Melanie shook

her head sharply and forced herself to think independently of her impulses.

Mind racing with possibility, she twisted to watch him until he closed himself in the

bathroom. She settled back into her seat and stared at the top third of her paperback

where it poked out of the pocket in which she’d stashed it. Beside her, the snoring

passenger shifted in his seat. Melanie glanced over automatically—just in time to catch

him adjusting his pants. Her cheeks went up in flames and she quickly looked back to

her book.

Okay. Options. She could remain in her seat, keep her knees firmly together for the

remainder of the flight, and go on with her life without having experienced hot, mid-

flight sex. Or she could go enjoy the sex, which was sure to come with a generous side

of Domination.

After another minute of indecision, in which she kept circling back around to the

whole “enjoy” route, she stood and followed him.

Cheeks burning from equal parts anticipation and nervousness, she tapped on the

bathroom door and hoped nobody was watching her. The door opened immediately.

She took a deep breath and slipped inside.

He reached past her to lock the door before she could turn around. Warm lips

nuzzled her hair away from her nape and caressed the sensitive skin behind her ear.

“I’m going to fuck you. By coming in here, you’re saying yes. Tell me.”

Melanie closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the door, overwhelmed by

the need coiling deep inside. “Yes.”

With her explicit permission ringing between them, he spun her in the tight

confines and pushed her shoulders back against the door. Melanie stared up into his

eyes, unsure what to say to him.

He didn’t share her uncertainty. “Do you know what a St. Andrews Cross is?”
She shook her head.
“It’s two beams mounted together in the shape of an ‘X’. Your arms line up like this

and your legs spread out the same way.” He pulled her hands from his shoulders and

stretched her arms up and out as far as he could in the narrow confines of the tiny

closet. “Your wrists would be secured by padded leather cuffs and you wouldn’t be

able to move from this position. I’m going to let go now. Don’t move.”

“What about my legs?”
“You just close your eyes and worry about keeping your arms in place.”
“Why can’t I look at you?” Her fingers already tingled from the awkward position.

“I want to see.”

“You don’t need to see anything. Your job is to trust and feel.”

Emily Ryan-Davis

She swallowed down a little twinge of uncertainty. “Can I know the name of the

man I’m trusting and feeling?”

He grasped the sides of her stretchy smocked bodice and dragged it to her waist.

Surprised, she dropped her hands to cover her naked skin.

“No,” he said sharply.
She froze. “No?”
“Put your arms back up.”
Melanie slowly returned to the position he’d established and closed her eyes. Before

she could work up the courage to ask for his name again, he spoke.

“My name is Sam. You can call me Sir.”
Sam. Okay. She exhaled a slow breath and balled her hands into fists, trying to

ignore the burn settling into her triceps and forearms. He reached up and pushed her

fists farther apart. She bit her lip to keep from complaining about the position and an

instant later he ran his hands down her arms and sides. His touch was so confident, it

didn’t even tickle where she was most ticklish.

With his palms measuring her ribs, he angled his hands to cup her breasts between

his thumbs and forefingers.

“These are pretty,” he said. “They would be even prettier bound with rope. Do you

know what hemp rope feels like, honey?”

“No Sir,” she whispered.
“It’s soft. It gets softer the more it’s used, as it absorbs your perspiration and the oils

from your skin. It can be dyed in different colors. Dark purple for you, I think.” He

squeezed her breasts and lifted them, forcing her to arch her back in order to avoid

discomfort. “Yeah, dark purple, wrapped around your tits and down between your

legs. Two strands of rope to spread your pussy lips apart and hold your clit between

them. I think I’d tie the knot right at your entrance so every time you twist or twitch,

you feel the smallest pressure of penetration. A nice big knot for your tight little body.”

While he talked, her mind’s eye gave form to his words. She could see herself

spread open, wrists and ankles at cross points, purple rope laced around her body. As if

he’d already tightened the rope around her rib cage, Melanie’s breath started to come in

shallow, panting bursts.

“Ah, you like that idea.” He didn’t speak again for long minutes after that.
Melanie was on the verge of saying something—what, she didn’t know—just to fill

the silence, when he drew the tight peak of one breast into his mouth. Whatever words

she meant to voice took the shape of a startled gasp, pulled past her lips by Sam’s

unexpectedly powerful kiss. He sucked hard enough to sting, his mouth open wide

around the entire areola, and he didn’t just hold her there once he had her. Strong,

rhythmic tugs seemed to inflame lines of sensation running between her nipples and

her core. Things deep down in her body flexed in response.

Tangled & Bound

When he covered her other breast with his free hand, she barely registered the

motion. The ache in her arms faded to nothing at all. She’d never imagined her entire

world could narrow down to one tiny point, but there in the cramped bathroom, that

was exactly what happened. By the time he loosened his hold and released her, she

barely remembered anything existed outside the sensation of his mouth on her

flesh…and when he claimed her other nipple with the same fierce strike, she felt the

beginnings of orgasm trembling in her thighs.

Her wet, abused flesh stung as cold air dried his saliva. Shaking, Melanie opened

her eyes and lifted her head from the door to watch him at her breast. The nipple he’d

abandoned stood long and red, drawn out by the force of his mouth. The lewd display

shocked her. That couldn’t be right, couldn’t—

“Close your eyes,” he ordered against her skin. “You’re not ready to see.”
“What—”
“Close.”
As if connected to a switch he’d flipped, her eyes closed again. Melanie dug her

fingernails into her palms, fighting an overwhelming desire to simply surrender.

Somewhere in her thinking brain she knew this was not smart behavior, that anything

could happen, anything could go wrong. She didn’t know him, shouldn’t trust him, but

her body refused to heed her brain.

“I’m preparing you.” His steady, even voice penetrated the tangle of conflicting

impulses vying for dominance in her head. “Your nipples are too small for clamps, but

they’re so pretty and pink, they deserve to be adorned. If I suck them long enough,

clamps will stay for a little while. Piercings would be a better solution.”

She tried to tell herself he was merely verbalizing a fantasy, but deep down she

didn’t want to believe it. She wanted to believe something else, couldn’t let her mind

dwell on the possibilities. Stainless steel puncturing her delicate flesh—

“Spread your legs,” he said, interrupting her mental detour.
Distracted away from the dark potential, she focused on the reality of the moment.

In that reality, he raised the hem of her dress and tucked it into the bunched-up fabric of

her bodice where it twisted around her waist. Melanie waited until he pushed her

panties over her hips and down her legs, and then she obeyed him by inching her feet

as far apart as she could in the narrow confines. Bare above and below the waist, she

felt more vulnerable than she’d ever been in her life.

“Maybe not hemp for you.” He adjusted the tilt of her hips and drew his fingertip

down the seam of her bare, sensitive pussy. “Maybe bamboo because you’re a wet, wet

girl and we don’t want to have to wash the rope once it’s conditioned.”

Her cheeks flamed in response to his observation and the warm slide of moisture

down the inside of one thigh. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”

“I wouldn’t want you to.” He nudged her slick lips apart and pushed two fingers

into her, so much deeper than he was able to go when restricted by a seat and public

eyes.

Emily Ryan-Davis

She groaned and her thighs quivered, threatening to drop her weight straight onto

his thrusting fingers. Sam hummed a sound of approval and circled his thumb around

her clit.

“Everything about you is soft and pink,” he said, delivering the low compliment

along with the stretching thickness of another finger. “I could do so many things with

you.”

Her breath hitched. “Tell me.”
“I don’t think so. I think this is enough for you for one day.” He withdrew his

fingers, leaving her pussy empty.

“Please tell me.” She pressed her mostly numb fists against the cool walls. Even

though he’d given her one hell of an orgasm already, she wanted more. Needed more.

Needed things she was too afraid to ask for, didn’t know how to verbalize.

The sound of his zipper joined the droning hum of the jet’s air circulation system.

“Can you picture yourself in my dungeon? Your arms spread for the cross, rope cutting

into your skin, little gold hoops piercing your wet red nipples?”

“Yes,” she whispered. She wanted to see more, wanted to know what else awaited

her, but tried to content herself with the scenario he’d already provided.

“Good girl. Keep your eyes closed. I’m going to put on a condom and fuck you now

that you’re wet and hot and ready for me.” Foil crinkled and tore, making his statement

real.

“What does it smell like?” she asked, needing one more element.
“Like leather and sweat and cinnamon oil I use when I’m playing with your ass.

Like you, because I’ve had you there a thousand times and your cunt has soaked

everything in the place.” He moved against her, still wearing all his clothes except

where necessity demanded otherwise. As he slid his hands around her thighs, his cock

rubbed between her legs. Her pussy clenched, empty and needing, and she almost

believed him, almost believed she was born to spread her legs for him and obey every

word he uttered.

“My arms hurt,” she moaned.
“Don’t move them.” Digging his fingertips into her thighs, he lifted her in one

sudden motion.

Her legs wound around his waist, a self-preserving reflex that opened her wide.

Sam shifted and the head of his cock slid against her, right where the knots of the rope

would be. He didn’t tease her though. No, he flexed his hips and tunneled deep all at

once and even though he’d widened her with his fingers, his entry hurt.

“Ow, ow, ow.” She couldn’t keep her inner muscles from contracting to push him

out, which only served to increase the sting of his size.

“Flex your fingers.” His even tone was gone, replaced by a rough edge.

Tangled & Bound

“Not that—have to stop. You’re too big.” But she couldn’t escape. He held her

pinned, one hand at her shoulder, the other at her hip, and the force of his will binding

her arms.

“You can handle it, honey. Take a deep breath and let me in.” Not waiting for her to

catch up, he eased his thick cock out until only the head kept her open, paused a beat,

and shoved deep again. Even as wet as she was, even wanting him inside her as badly

as she did, the second thrust hurt almost as much as the first.

She did as he told her and took a deep breath while trying to open. Her shoulders

ached, but at least his powerful motion between her thighs distracted her from the

painful numbness between her elbows and fingertips. Pain and pleasure quickly

became one and the same as he established a steady pattern, slow and careful out, fast

and rough back in. Once she figured out his pace, she clung to the long-short pulse like

it was a life jacket, the only thing keeping her afloat in the dark behind her tightly

closed eyes.

His breathing changed, a ragged warning that she was about to lose her safety net.

Long-short became short-short, quick and hard stabs deep in her core. In a moment of

panic, she dropped her arms and reached for him. Agonizing fire tore through her

muscles and she screamed. Before the sound gained full power, he covered her mouth

with his and swallowed her pained cry.

The rich flavor of his tongue momentarily distracted her from the hot needles

pricking her palms and fingertips, and just as the sensation started to register again he

did something. Adjusted his stance, shifted his hold, and all her senses focused down to

the point where their bodies joined. Expert fingers slid across her clit, drawing her

attention away from pain and forcing her to acknowledge the erupting pleasure.

Melanie moaned into his mouth and clutched at his shoulders with hands that barely

functioned, desperate for an anchor as he drove her to a sharp, bright peak and shoved

her over.

As if he knew about her fall, he tore his lips from hers and pressed his mouth to her

ear. “I’ve got you. Let go.”

Later, she’d try to figure out why she believed him. Now, she obeyed, just like she’d

followed his every other command. Letting go freed her to feel everything, from the

pain arcing away from her elbows to the spike of hot sensation spiraling out from her

clit. This time when she cried out, he didn’t silence her. Instead, he answered with a low

grunt and a curse muttered into her hair. His cock filled her so deep, she felt his hard

length jump with the force of his release.

Sam stilled after a few more harsh words. He lowered her feet to the floor and

eased from her body. Still clinging to the fantasy, Melanie kept her eyes closed while he

disposed of the condom and raised his zipper. The tingling in her hands slowly brought

her back to reality, along with the voice of the pilot announcing their estimated time

until arrival in Las Vegas. No longer able to pretend she’d just experienced anything

more profound than sex with a stranger on a plane, she flexed her fingers and opened

her eyes.

Emily Ryan-Davis

The green light from the lavatory bulb cast his handsome features in weird shadow.

Overcome by a sudden wave of uncertainty, she looked away and fumbled to cover her

bare body. Sam left her to fumble for a minute before he brushed her hands away and

straightened her dress, pulling the hem down and the bodice up. Her panties were a

challenge she couldn’t handle due to space limitations, so she kicked them aside and

wrote them off as a loss.

“Your hands will work again soon.” He gently massaged her forearms. “Once the

blood returns to your fingers.”

“All passengers must now return to their seats.” The pilot’s voice interrupted

whatever else Sam was going to say.

“We should get back,” Melanie murmured. She could ignore the pain now. It was

dull, little more than discomfort. And her knees were only shaking because she’d come

so hard.

Sam cursed. “I shouldn’t let you go yet.”
“So don’t,” she suggested tentatively. “We’ll both be in Vegas, right? We could

have dinner, try this again….”

His expression closed off as she spoke. She let the words trail off, averting her eyes

so she didn’t have to see his refusal.

“I meant I should get you put back together,” he said.
“Oh. Um. I think this is as presentable as I’m going to get.” She urgently needed to

escape the tight space and the reality of what she’d done—submitted to a stranger who

wanted nothing to do with her after now that the physical stuff was over. Twisting

away, she unlocked the door and hurried back to her seat.

Tangled & Bound

Chapter Two

After she left, Sam Fletcher raked his fingers through his hair, hard enough to

hopefully drive some sense into his head. What the hell had gotten into him?

When the little blonde suggested they follow up with a repeat performance on the

ground, the image of her kneeling at his feet in a casino was so vivid and so right that

he’d almost agreed. She was obviously a new submissive, uncertain of her path and

uneven at the edges, nowhere close to his perfectly behaved preference. For an instant,

her status hadn’t mattered. He’d trained many women to accept and embrace total

ownership. He was confident he could successfully lead her down that road and shape

her into his personal pet, a lovely creature he wouldn’t be giving back to her Master at

the end of their time together.

He’d wanted to agree. Wanted to introduce her to the reality she wouldn’t find

between the covers of a novel. Wanted to put an end to his long search for someone like

her, a fresh soul not yet scarred by the emotional games he so often witnessed in the

fetish club environment that lately ruled his life.

Something held him back. Fear. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that his unexpected

attraction to a stranger on a plane had shaken him down to his boots. He appreciated

beautiful women but beauty didn’t affect him on this level.

Bracing his hands against the narrow bathroom door, he spoke aloud for the

realness of hearing the words. “Boredom. Exhaustion. Too long between lovers, and

you’re getting old. Too old to torture yourself with a sub-curious little girl who will

probably change her mind and decide she’s actually a lesbian instead of a submissive.

You’d get a few months out of her at most. Not worth the effort. Once was all you

wanted when you started this. A responsible Dom doesn’t backtrack on his decisions.”

Sam prided himself on his sense of responsibility and the care he took with

educating and guiding when asked to do those things. Sometimes when not asked.

He’d needed the irresponsibility of a fling with a neophyte, something new and

clean to refresh his increasingly jaded outlook, but he still maintained a measure of

control. He’d used a condom, he hadn’t made any promises he couldn’t keep, he hadn’t

taken her so deep that she couldn’t recover quickly, mostly on her own.

“Time to be responsible again,” he told himself.
A knock sounded on the other side of the door. Sam straightened and opened it,

ignoring an echo of disappointment when he found one of the flight attendants instead

of his blonde.

“On my way,” he said before the attendant could remind him to return to his seat.

Emily Ryan-Davis

She backed up and he stepped out into the aisle. Dread settled into his stomach.

Sam chalked it up to the aftereffect of mistakes. He didn’t make so many, not as far as

treatment of submissives went, that he was overly familiar with the sensation. He never

made mistakes he didn’t immediately attempt to rectify, but as he lowered himself into

the seat beside her, he didn’t have the first clue how to begin.

Melanie sat through the remainder of the flight in silence, not making eye contact

with Sam. He was restless and several times she thought he was about to say

something, but he seemed to understand it was over. The “over” part was exactly what

she didn’t want to deal with, but what other choice did she have? He hadn’t even asked

her name.

When they finally landed, Melanie turned on her phone to a reply from Brooke.

She’d talk to her friend later. For now, she fired off a text to her brother, who responded

with a promise to meet her at the baggage-claim carousel. Despite her dark mood, she

smiled. David was getting married, and she couldn’t wait to call Jovanna her sister.

Sam was busy texting someone too. Probably a girlfriend or something. Melanie

waited anxiously while he finished his exchange and retrieved his carry-on from the

overhead compartment. When he finally stepped out into the aisle, he hesitated. She

deliberately turned her back on him in order to grab her own little suitcase and

dawdled until he had no choice but to move forward at the insistence of other

passengers clambering to debark.

The minute she was free of the plane and Sam’s presence, her mood brightened. She

couldn’t shed the lingering sensations of being recently pleasured, or the strange low

spirits that followed her foray into submission, but she did try to ignore them. Dwelling

wasn’t her style.

After she stopped in the ladies’ room to smooth her hair, wriggle into a pair of clean

panties and make sure she didn’t look like she’d just been fucked, she headed for the

baggage area. She spotted Jovanna’s sleek, dark-plum ’do almost immediately. Jovanna

stood alone, fingering one of her dangly silver earrings and watching the ebb and flow

of people. Jovanna saw Melanie a second later and a smile lightened her focused

expression.

“Where’s David?” Melanie asked, dropping her bag and throwing her arms around

the other woman. “Did you come to your senses and decide to dump him for me?”

Jovanna laughed and returned the embrace. “He’s here somewhere, meeting

another guest. You were both on the same flight so he’ll probably show up down here

soon.”

They parted and Melanie retrieved her carry-on from the floor. “How many more

people are you waiting for?”

“Just you and Sam. Your parents arrived yesterday. That was a weirdly awkward

dinner last night, by the way. Nobody told me your mother’s romantic interest only

speaks Portuguese. Oh there’s David.” Jovanna raised her hand in a wave and Melanie

Tangled & Bound

closed her eyes, filled with a sinking sense of dread. She’d barely heard anything after

his name.

“We got waylaid by the slots,” David said behind her. “Sam made a killing in

nickels. Dinner’s on him.”

He draped his arm across her shoulders and she didn’t have any other choice but to

open her eyes and pretend to be normal. Jovanna gave her a strange, questioning look,

which Melanie ignored. Fingers crossed just in case luck might be with her, she turned

in David’s embrace and prayed for David’s Sam to be someone she’d never seen before.

When she met Sam’s unforgettable green eyes, she finally knew just how much God

hated her. Recognition flared Sam’s nostrils, but he didn’t react otherwise except to

hold out his hand in a polite gesture.

“Sam Fletcher,” he said.
“Melanie Burke.” She accepted his hand for a brief moment that took an eternity to

pass. Her heart skipped a beat, the damn thing, and her body tried to heat and soften

for him.

“Have you seen your luggage yet, Mel?” David asked.
“I haven’t gotten that far.” She retreated from Sam’s hold and focused on her

brother. “Why don’t you go be a manly man and get it for me?”

David snorted and dropped his arm, only to nudge her toward the circling

conveyer belt. “Because I’d lose my manly man status if anybody saw me carrying your

flowery pink suitcase.”

“I’ll get it,” Sam announced unexpectedly. “You three do your family catch-up

thing and I’ll be back.”

Without waiting for anybody to protest, he turned and walked away to join the

crowd of passengers impatiently watching the empty conveyer belt. Melanie exhaled

and dodged Jovanna’s curious stare by focusing on David. “Jo says Mom and Dad are

both here? What happened to ‘secret Elvis wedding’?”

“He convinced me that our union should be witnessed by people who matter,”

Jovanna answered for him.

Ah, there was her chance. “Sam’s somebody who matters? I haven’t met him

before.”

Again, Jovanna answered. “You’re David’s witness and Sam’s mine.”
“For the paperwork,” David added, giving Jovanna a look, the nature of which

Melanie decided was none of her business.

“Oookay. That’s cool.” She’d just work on her poker face and avoidance techniques.

She’d need the blank expression for the gaming tables. “Anyway, I’m starving. I missed

dinner while in the air. Where are we eating?”

“I made reservations for a late dinner at the Eiffel Tower Restaurant,” Sam said,

rejoining them in time to catch the end of her question. “I didn’t realize we would be

four instead of three, but I already put in a call to change the seating.”

Emily Ryan-Davis

“You didn’t have to do that,” Jovanna protested.
Sam shouldered Melanie’s pink garment bag and gestured toward the exit. “This is

an occasion to celebrate. But Melanie and I should probably check in at our hotels and

clean up.”

“We’re all in the same hotel,” David said. “Come on, I’ve rented a car.”
Five minutes later, Jovanna waved Sam into the front seat. She climbed into the

back beside Melanie. While David and Sam settled themselves and talked man-talk,

something about a nightclub opening in Seattle, Jovanna leaned over and said, “Don’t

go down that road until you understand exactly where it will take you.”

Too late. Not quite sure what to say, Melanie bit her lip and turned her attention to

neon scenery outside.

* * * * *

Two hours later, Sam found himself alone at a table with Melanie while David and

Jovanna rode the elevator to the top of the Eiffel Tower. Melanie wore another strapless

dress, this one a slim-fitting black sheath that hugged her curves from knee to sternum.

Despite his earlier claim that he’d bare her to be shared, he now fought a possessive

urge to cover her with something. The tablecloth would do.

The dress zipped up the back, easy to remove for a man standing behind her. As he

waved the maître ’d away, refusing another bottle of wine, Sam worked on thinking

about something—anything—besides all the things he could do to his little submissive

from behind.

The fact was, he couldn’t do anything. Shouldn’t have done what he already did.

Wouldn’t repeat the experience, not knowing who she was. Even if she weren’t Melanie

Burke—Burke, for Christ’s sake, of all the damn coincidences—he wouldn’t be going

down that path again. His actions on the plane were a whim, driven by a desire for

someone and something he wouldn’t be responsible for after it was over. He shouldn’t

have indulged, no matter how hot it was watching her flush and nibble at her bottom

lip while she read erotica beside him.

Melanie twisted her napkin anxiously and broke the silence. “Will you please stop

looking at me like that? I didn’t do anything to deserve anger.”

He hadn’t been looking at her like anything, had been deliberately looking at

everything except her whenever he could politely get away with it. Now he met her

eyes across the table. Her helpless, confused expression twisted his gut.

“I’m not angry with you,” he said, hoping to put her at ease. His error in judgment

wasn’t her fault. “I do wish I’d known who you are.”

She dropped her gaze to the table. “You didn’t ask.”
“I behaved irresponsibly on a number of levels.” He hesitated before adding, “I also

behaved disrespectfully. I apologize.”

Tangled & Bound

“Well, you used a condom and you didn’t leave me hanging, so I figure you

fulfilled your obligations.” She shrugged with studious casualness that didn’t fool Sam

for a minute.

“I’m not talking about STD and pregnancy prevention. I took advantage of your

curiosity about submission.” Her cheeks flushed bright red and Sam cursed beneath his

breath because his body reacted to her response.

“You didn’t take advantage of anything. I wanted to have sex with you so I did. I’m

a big girl. I get to drink and vote and make decisions like whether or not I should follow

a man into an airplane bathroom.” She was back to strangling her napkin and staring so

intently at her lap that Sam couldn’t see her face past a curtain of her shiny blonde hair.

Not quite sure why he couldn’t let it go, he said, “Decisions have consequences.”
“I’m a big girl,” she repeated.
Her phone vibrated and she snatched it off the table like it was a lifeline. Sam

leaned back and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“David,” Melanie said. “He and Jo decided to take off. He says sorry and thanks for

dinner.”

She put her phone back on the table and bent to retrieve her handbag from where

she’d stashed it at her feet. While Sam considered this development, Melanie produced

a Frommer’s pocket guide to the city and flipped it open to a bookmarked page. From

where he sat, he could see part of a map of the Strip.

“I’ll see you back to the hotel.” Sam didn’t bother asking if she was ready to go.

She’d refused dessert earlier and he’d already taken care of the check.

Melanie didn’t look up from the book. “You don’t have to do that. I think I want to

walk anyway. I have a map. You should just take a cab.”

“If you’re walking, I’m walking.” He stood and pulled her chair away from the

table, not giving her room to run. “In this, you don’t get to make the decision.”

She visibly struggled with a desire to accept his authority and a need to regain her

independence. Sam had seen the same array of emotions on countless faces as new subs

battled with their instinct to defer power and the conditioned teaching to take charge of

their own lives. In his experience, the response was prevalent in women.

Melanie would bow to her instincts instead of her conditioning. He patiently waited

for her to come to terms with the situation. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Fine. Do whatever you want.” She stood with an annoyed sigh and started for the

exit.

Sam suppressed an urge to bring her to heel by reminding himself that she didn’t

belong to him. He had no rights even though she’d conferred them upon him by

acknowledging his position. Brooding over the distasteful concept of her unchecked

freedom, he followed her from the restaurant.

Emily Ryan-Davis

Outside, desert heat wrapped around them. Melanie stopped on the sidewalk and

closed her eyes, a small smile playing over her lips. Sam watched her, enthralled by the

unabashed expression of joy displacing her recent irritation.

“It’s amazing,” she said after a minute. “The energy in this city. Excitement and life

and money and sex. And Elvis. Sooo much Elvis.”

He pushed his hands into his pocket to keep them out of her hair. “It’s artificial and

fleeting. Many people will go home broke.”

“Yeah, but they’re having a good time now.” She opened her eyes and her smile

faded. “Most of them, anyway.”

“Are you tired?” he asked abruptly.
“No, not really. I want to see things.”
“Come with me.” Giving in to the need to touch her, Sam took her hand and steered

her in the opposite direction from their hotel. “Every first time in Vegas deserves a

fountain show.”

Melanie laughed, a lighthearted sound that cracked something inside him. Even

though he knew he’d regret it later, Sam decided not to worry about the break in his

armor. It wouldn’t go any further, not now that he knew who she was. The anonymous

woman on the plane had gotten under his skin, but her identity protected him from any

more damage.

He and Melanie fell into an easy silence as he guided her down the Strip and

through the ever-present traffic, both pedestrian and motor vehicle. When they reached

the Bellagio’s man-made lake, Sam carved a path through the crowd in order to secure

an unobstructed view for her.

“The songs change,” he said, standing behind her and bending his head so he could

speak in her ear. “Elvis’s Viva Las Vegas is usually on the playlist. I’m not sure what else

is running right now. I haven’t been here in a couple of years.”

People packed in around them, chatting and snapping photos while they waited for

the next show to begin. When a few minutes passed without action on the lake, Melanie

turned around and leaned against the stone at her back. “Can I ask a question?”

Something in her expression warned Sam to say no. Instead, he nodded.
She fingered a chin-length lock of hair and looked away from him. “Do you do the

whole contract thing? Lists of expectations and forbidden behaviors and all that?”

Shit. His cock stiffened instantly at the thought of sitting down with her to define

her permissions and her limits. He should have listened to his instincts. If he had, he

wouldn’t be wondering how she signed her name. He was tempted to pretend he

hadn’t heard her, but he wasn’t a coward and as a Dominant, he had a responsibility to

educate. Even when he didn’t want to, especially when the information-seeker was a

lovely, naïve submissive-curious getting all her information from storybooks.

He blew out resigned a breath. “It depends.”

Tangled & Bound

“On what?” Melanie had rediscovered her ability to make eye contact. She watched

him expectantly.

“Every pair of people has a different situation.” Knowing that wouldn’t satisfy her,

he continued. “For me, it depends on the circumstances and the person. If dinner leads

to bed, then no. If dinner leads to a power exchange relationship, then yes.”

“Do airline peanuts count as dinner?”
Sam grunted.
Still studying him, she tilted her head. “What if dinner leads to bed more than

once?”

“It isn’t going to.”
“But what if it does? When does something that’s casual become something

requiring a written contract? Is the contract a way of saying ‘let’s be boyfriend and

girlfriend’ or is it more commitment-oriented, like an engagement ring?”

“It depends,” he repeated, and checked his watch, suddenly desperate for the

fountain show to begin.

“How many contracts have you signed?” she asked.
“Nine.”
“Nine!” Her eyes widened. “Is that a lot? It seems like a lot.”
“I’m not new to this.” But he was finished talking about it with her.
Melanie grimaced. “So I would be number ten. Or I guess if you’ve had nine

contracts, you’ve had other non-contracts, so I wouldn’t even be number ten, would I?”

She couldn’t keep her emotions off her face. As she talked, her confidence visibly

faded away to uncertainty. “Thirteen seems kind of insignificant.”

Taking charge of the situation, he said, “Enough, Melanie. You asked your question

and I answered. All you’re doing now is hurting yourself. It’s time to stop.”

Water spouts broke the surface of the water and the energy of the crowd changed.

Thank God. Sam nodded at the lake. “Turn around and watch. The show’s starting.”

Still frowning, she shifted to face the water. Sam let out a relieved sigh, which

became a silent curse when she leaned back against him. If she noticed the erection

straining his pants, she gave no indication. While she turned her head to watch the

progression of the fountains as water erupted, he tried to bring his body under control.

Instead of Elvis’ energetic tune, the PA system crooned an Elton John ballad. Melanie

swayed to the music, and even though he couldn’t hear her voice, he knew she was

singing along because her back vibrated against his chest.

The truth was, he hadn’t kept a count of his one-time encounters. Even though

Melanie wasn’t even close to the thirteenth woman he’d fucked, she was too far from

insignificant for his peace of mind. Every minute he spent with her sharpened his desire

to own her. In that capacity, she wouldn’t be the tenth, she’d be the first.

Emily Ryan-Davis

His past contract-bound relationships were very specific in nature, granting him

slave-training authority for a limited time. While he’d personally trained nine

submissives who had wanted to learn how to be more than bottoms, he’d never entered

into a total power exchange relationship that involved his emotions as well as his body.

At the peak of the show, she half-turned to say something to him. Her hip brushed

his groin and she paused mid-sentence. Surprise widened her eyes and realization

darkened them. She visibly shook herself, licked her lips and started over with

whatever she meant to say. Sam didn’t wait for the words. Driven by an inexplicable

need to claim her, he tunneled his fingers through her hair and twisted, pulling her

head back to a point that strained the tendons in her neck. He saw acceptance in her

gaze, followed by surrender. He swooped to take, plunging his tongue into her mouth

and turning her to fully face him. He felt more than heard her whimper as he backed

her against the stone wall until her stomach cushioned his groin.

Melanie flattened her hands against his ribs and stood on tiptoe, rising to meet him.

Completely unnecessary—he wouldn’t have allowed her to escape even if she’d tried.

The crack she’d started broke open and ran long, destroying the barrier he’d built over

years of watching so-called serious D/s relationships begin and end due to changing

needs. Young women like Melanie flitted from one stage of life to another, and she

wasn’t anywhere near the same page he was on. He’d been looking and waiting for as

long as he could remember, searching for the woman he could claim for a lifetime.

Sam knew he’d have a hell of a time repairing the wall after indulging himself, but

something beyond his control decided the pain was worth it. While he sucked at her

wine-sweet lips, he committed her flavor to memory and counted the reasons why this

had to be the last taste. Her newness headed the list. Ironic that it also headed the list of

things that attracted him.

When he finally lifted his head, she opened her eyes and smiled at him. All her

earlier distress had vanished, replaced by a dangerously self-assured confidence. “You

should tell me more about that dungeon of yours.”

“No.” He released her and backed away. “What I should do is put you in a cab and

send you back to the hotel. And that’s what I’m going to do right now.”

Tangled & Bound

Chapter Three

Melanie spent the next morning doing the spa thing with her mother, stepmother

and Jovanna. Her face tingled from the herbs in the European scrub and her scalp ached

from a vigorous massage. After the night she’d spent tossing and turning, wanting Sam

and trying to figure out why he didn’t want to desire her, the morning’s grooming

activities only exhausted her further.

Snuggled into a fluffy white robe, she wiggled her toes in a basin of hot, perfumed

water. The whirlpool pedicure tub frothed bubbles around her ankles while a small,

silent woman massaged moisturizer into her right hand. Neither the steam nor the

acupressure did anything for her headache, and she couldn’t block out the sound of

maternal advice being pushed upon Jovanna.

By some blessed stroke of luck, the motherly figures finished their mani-pedis first

and left to get started on the hot stone massages they’d both decided upon.

Jovanna groaned out loud once they were gone. “I am so glad they live away from

David. Far, far away.”

Melanie closed her eyes. “Not as glad as I am. I don’t even want to think about the

‘when are you going to get married’ harassment I’d suffer if they were closer than email

and phone calls. Bad enough that my dad thinks I need a financial planner and a

husband, or a financial planner as a husband.”

“What do you think you need?”
“I dunno. An android to manage my bank account and my schedule so I don’t have

to.” She grimaced, reminded of the scheduling mess she had to puzzle through when

she returned to New York. She’d missed her chance to register for a required class, and

somehow had to convince somebody to add her to the overfull roster. Maybe if she

showed up with a photo of the litter of dehydrated kittens that had sidetracked her on

her way to the registrar’s office, she’d win a little sympathy for her situation.

A few minutes later, Jovanna spoke again. “Sorry about dinner last night. David

and I got distracted. Leaving you alone with Sam wasn’t the plan.”

Melanie’s pulse sped up and she tensed. Trying to keep her tone neutral, she said,

“It was fine. Everybody was finished eating anyway.”

“Yeah.” Jovanna paused before asking, “What did you two do after leaving the

restaurant?”

“We walked over to the Bellagio to see the fountain show.” The nail technician

sprayed Melanie’s hands with a drying agent and promised to come back shortly to

check the polish. Once they were alone, Melanie half-turned in her chair to look at

Jovanna. “Do you know him pretty well?”

Emily Ryan-Davis

“Who, Sam?”
Melanie nodded.
Jovanna drummed her crimson-lacquered fingertips on the arms of her chair,

obviously trying to decide what to say in reply.

Before the other woman could deflect or give a vague answer, Melanie spoke again.

“I know he’s, uh, kinky. So if you’re trying to figure out a way around that, you don’t

have to worry about preserving my pristine innocence. I just want to know other stuff

about him.”

“Like what?” Jovanna asked warily.
Melanie took a deep breath. “Like whether he has a contract with anybody right

now.”

Jovanna cringed. “Oh my God. What do you know about contracts? Have you slept

with him?”

“Um. There hasn’t been any sleeping, no.”
At that moment, Jovanna’s phone chimed with an incoming text. While she read

and responded, Melanie slumped in the chair. She wished she hadn’t opened the

subject of Sam up for discussion.

“I don’t know him well enough to have any details about his personal life,” Jovanna

said several minutes later. “I don’t think anybody does. I’ve heard vague rumors that

he’s kind of hardcore, but people make up stories to fill in the blanks they can’t fill with

facts. He owns Bondage but he doesn’t actively engage with anybody while he’s in the

building, that I’ve ever noticed. Whatever he does when he’s not in the building, he

keeps it to himself. Hence the rumors.”

“I am so not going to ask what you do at Bondage,” Melanie said. She was familiar

with the fetish club—everybody was—but she’d never been inside. Not only was

Bondage a membership-only establishment except for one night a month, but it was

also a little bit scary. Even Brooke, who’d had three Masters, steered clear. Melanie

probably wouldn’t ever visit now, not knowing if she might encounter David among

the crowd. Ew. She shuddered. Extra ew.

“Thank God for the little things,” Jovanna muttered. Louder, she said, “He’s very

experienced. He’s respected. He’s straight. He’s…whether the rumors have any basis or

not, he might be too serious for you, Mel. I don’t think he’s the right man for

experimenting or having a little fun.”

“He seems like he could use some more fun in his life.”
“Don’t play with him,” Jovanna warned, giving the exact opposite advice she’d

received from Brooke early that morning. Brooke suggested some serious playing-with

and insisted men like Sam thrived on being provoked.

“But he’s fun to play with. I don’t think he knows what to do with me.” Her lips

curved and she closed her eyes. She’d rather follow Brooke’s approach, since she

suspected provoking Sam was the only way she’d get him to look her way.

Tangled & Bound

Jovanna sighed and continued texting.

* * * * *

Sam sat at a poker table with David, David’s father Howard and another man

named Joaquin, who David introduced as his stepfather. Four hands into the game, the

two Burkes began to discuss Melanie. Since the day was so early and the casino crowd

slim, the dealer didn’t comment on the amount of conversation.

Sam requested a beer from a passing server and glowered at his cards while he

waited for the cocktail waitress to return.

“I’ve decided to cut her off,” Howard Burke said. “She has to learn she can’t keep

throwing away money on stray cats. She calls me every month asking me to send her

deposit through early. How can she have nothing left for her actual needs?”

David flipped a plastic chip into the pot to up his bid. “Leave her alone, Dad. The

cats make her happy.”

Joaquin chewed on the end of his cigar and placed his own bid, nothing to add to

the conversation. Nothing in English, anyway. He muttered to himself in a language

that didn’t filter through Sam’s rudimentary background in French.

Howard grunted. “You’re going to be taking a new wife home with you. Your

sister’s happiness shouldn’t be your concern, not if you want your marriage to last.

What does Jovanna think about having eight or nine flea-ridden felines in the garage?”

“Jovanna likes animals.” David glanced at his phone and, frowning, started tapping

out a text with one hand.

“She won’t like them once she’s wearing a wedding ring.” Howard folded and

leaned back in his chair. “Trust me, son. You want to worry about your wife’s

happiness, not your sister’s. When Melanie has a man of her own, she can have her

fleabags again. Even better, the man will take her in hand and put a permanent stop to

it. For God’s sake, she could get rabies from one of the little mongrels.”

Sam stared at his cards until the cocktail waitress finally returned. When he looked

up, he found David watching him with an inscrutable expression.

Sam steeled himself to maintain eye contact and asked, “Your sister likes cats?”
“She’s been having a love affair with them since she was seven,” Howard

answered. “The skinnier and closer to death, the better. Now she wants to go into

veterinary medicine and it’s gotten out of hand. This is the third time she’s changed

majors. At this rate, she’ll never finish college.”

“I suppose she figures starving kittens won’t divorce each other and send her to live

with her brother.” David glanced away from Sam to glower at his father.

Howard ignored David’s accusation. “She needs a man to keep her in line and give

her direction. She can love him and a few babies instead of an endless parade of

animals.”

David refocused on Sam. “I don’t disagree.”

Emily Ryan-Davis

Joaquin pulled a royal straight, ending the hand and saving Sam from having to

respond to the knowledge and permission in his friend’s stare.

* * * * *

That evening, Sam leaned against the hotel’s poolside bar with a bottle of beer in his

hand and a hard-on in his pants. Public erections weren’t part of his life anymore. Years

of forty-hour weeks first working in, then managing, the fetish club he now held fifty

percent share in, had desensitized him. Visual displays were standard procedure. Yet

there he stood, undeniably stiff.

A few yards away, Melanie lounged naked by the kidney-shaped pool. Practically

naked. The tiny green triangle of cloth that made up her bikini bottom bunched toward

the crease of her shapely ass, giving him a big eyeful of her tanned cheeks, and her top’s

ties dangled toward the ground. She rested her head on folded arms, her face turned

away from the hotel. Sam took a long pull from his beer while studying the pale hollow

under her arm and the bare, full curve of her breast.

That’s where he’d start. He’d start right there, running his tongue over the swell of

flesh compressed between her chest and the lounger. He wouldn’t be able to reach her

nipple, but that would come later. He could taste the suntan oil and salt just fine by

dragging his open mouth across her shoulder and down her back.

A skimpy bow secured her bikini bottom at her hips. One quick tug and the bow

would give, leaving her ass bare to his view. Her slim, curvy legs were already

spread—nothing lewd, but enough that he’d be able to admire her slit and maybe get a

taste of her cream while he was down there.

Once he woke her up with his tongue, he’d turn her over onto her back and get

down to the real business of slaking the need that had kept him awake most of the night

after leaving her, untouched, at the door of her hotel room. The long, thin cord hanging

from her ear buds would fit nicely around her slender wrists. He could stretch her arms

taut above her head, secure her to the lounger’s frame and feast on her pussy until she

begged him for relief.

Cock aching, Sam straightened and left the bar behind. Melanie didn’t stir as he

walked around her lounger and sat on the chair beside her. He rested his forearms on

his spread thighs, relishing the discomfort as his fly constricted the painful thickness of

his erection.

Her lips, shiny with gloss, were slightly parted in her sleep. She didn’t wear any

sunglasses. This close, he could hear the music coming from her ear buds—not enough

to make out the songs, but enough to know she wouldn’t hear anything coming at her.

Sam frowned and swallowed another mouthful of his still-cold beer. The sun blazed

high in the sky and beat down relentlessly. Stupid. No, that was wrong. At dinner last

night, while David and Jovanna provided a buffer, she’d proven herself well-versed in

everything from world events to art, able to hold her own in conversation. He couldn’t

call her stupid. The nubile young blonde occupying his fantasy was reckless.

Tangled & Bound

He should leave her alone. If he was smart, he’d walk away—but he wasn’t smart.

He was the stupid one, thinking he could enjoy something noncommittal with a

stranger, thinking he’d feel differently about responsibility if he didn’t know the

woman. Years of watching casual encounters at his club should have kept him from the

mistake he’d made during their flight. Casual Dominants could play for the sake of

playing and walk away without more than surface obligation to the submissives they

topped. He wasn’t a Dom who could shed his obligations, and stupid man who he was,

he’d decided to take responsibility for her. Worse, that kiss outside the Bellagio had

made him want it. Irritated with his situation and her lack of self-preservation, Sam

leaned over and pulled out her ear bud. “Wake up.”

Melanie opened her pretty blue-gray eyes immediately and started to sit up. Sam

stopped her with the base of his beer bottle, holding the cold glass between her bare

shoulders.

“I wouldn’t,” he said. “Unless you’re interested in giving me an eyeful.”
“It’s nothing you haven’t already seen.” She licked her lips and curled her hands

around the edges of the lounger but she didn’t raise her shoulders any higher. “You

could just look away.”

“I could. I’m not going to.” Sam took his bottle back and sat it on a nearby table.

“Ever heard of skin cancer?”

Melanie held his gaze a long minute. Sam could’ve sworn he saw the instant she

decided to ignore instinct in favor of attitude. He braced himself for what was to come.

Pushing up off the lounger, untied bikini top and all, she swung her feet around to

land between his. She flashed a sly, knowing smile. “Did you see any discolored spots

while you were checking me out?”

Sam gritted his teeth, smothering his desire to rid her of the attitude and fortifying

his determination not to look down. “I wasn’t checking you out.”

“Hmm.” Her smile grew. She leaned forward and reached past him to snag his

beer. As she tipped the bottle to her mouth and tilted her head back, a drop of

condensation rolled off the bottom.

He lost the battle with his eyeballs. The droplet of water landed between her breasts

and slid south. Her bikini top had landed fortuitously, mostly covering her breasts.

Mostly, not completely. He could see the curve of a pink nipple, the same color as her

lips.

“Tie me up?” she asked. She sat the bottle on the ground between them and

twisted, presenting her bare back.

Sam blew out the breath he was holding. He shouldn’t touch her. Despite the

unspoken approval he’d picked up on that afternoon, David was a good friend and a

man he respected. Bad enough that his imagination wanted to fuck David’s little sister,

without crossing the line into actual physical contact. More physical contact. But

Melanie stared at him expectantly over her shoulder and Sam desperately wanted to

test the silk of her skin one more time. Against his better judgment he picked up the

Emily Ryan-Davis

ties, drew them across her narrow back and permitted himself to linger while securing

the flimsy strings in a square knot.

“Thanks. That was very gentlemanly of you.” Melanie pushed up off the lounger,

grabbed her mp3 player and towel, and sauntered off toward the hotel.

Empty bottle dangling from his fingers, Sam settled in to watch her retreat and

mourn the unfairness of it all. In a perfect world, he would have finished his beer in the

sun and emptied his balls in her hot, tight little pussy.

He was starting to lose sight of the reasons why he couldn’t do exactly that.

Tangled & Bound

Chapter Four

Sam was still beside the pool when Melanie returned forty minutes later, freshly

showered and ready to explore the Strip. She smiled when she saw him and decided

not to let it bother her that he scowled in return.

“Everybody went to dinner without me,” she said, coming to a stop beside his

lounge chair. “Looks like they went without you too.”

Sam wasn’t listening. Gaze glued to her thighs, he asked, “Don’t you own pants?
“I don’t like them. The crotch rubs up against everything and they make my legs

look shorter than they are. Anyway, we’re in the middle of the desert. Too hot for

pants.” The cotton sarong she’d knotted between her breasts was much more suitable

for the hundred-plus-degree heat.

“Spread your legs,” Sam ordered.
Melanie blinked. “What?”
“Take a big step out until your feet are wide apart.”
Heart suddenly racing, Melanie stood still for a moment, weighing her options. She

could refuse him, obviously. Free country, he wasn’t her father, grown woman, blah

blah blah. Intellectually, she knew all the reasons why she could say no and he couldn’t

do a thing about it. Instinct was a different matter. Instinct told her to do as she was

told. At least by this man.

Pussy already damp for him—pretty much a constant state now—she obediently

moved one foot to the right.

Sam’s scowl darkened. “If I can see your underwear, everybody else can too.”
Flushing, she readjusted her stance and pressed her thighs together, self-defense

against his black look and the interest pulsing between her legs. The edges of her sarong

fluttered back into place, covering everything from mid-thigh up. “I don’t plan on

walking around with my legs spread, so I’m pretty sure I won’t be scandalizing

anybody.”

Instead of responding, he directed his attention to the pool. Hotel guests still

splashed in the water but most of the kids were gone, leaving behind a more subdued

adult crowd. The sun hung low in the sky, its reflection coloring the water gold and

orange. Pretty, but Melanie wasn’t interested in any scenery except the man half-

reclined in front of her.

Jovanna’s warning not to play nagged at her, but Melanie ignored it. Sam’s foul

mood could be directly traced to sexual frustration, a problem she was only trying to

remedy. Since she knew an invitation wouldn’t be forthcoming, she helped herself to

the edge of his lounger. His body heat practically reached for her.

Emily Ryan-Davis

“Would you tie me up?” she asked after a moment, partly to break the silence and

partly because she was dying to know.

Sam cursed beneath his breath.
Melanie rushed to clarify. “I mean, hypothetically speaking. You created such a

vivid fantasy for me on the plane, but I’ve been wondering whether it was only fantasy

or whether you’re actually interested in bondage. Um, tying me up. Well, tying

someone up. Would it be a line item in your contract? Like, ‘submissive must be willing

to be tied to the bed’?”

He sat silent for so long, she began to wonder whether he’d decided to pretend she

wasn’t there. Melanie was scrambling for a new tactic when he finally answered.

“An agreement doesn’t read like that,” he said. “It’s not a document that dictates

what one party must do. The goal is to establish needs and boundaries and goals for the

purpose of fulfillment, respect and achievement.”

“How would we start negotiations?”
“We wouldn’t,” he said flatly.
Melanie rolled her eyes. “Fine, how would Dominant man S and submissive

woman M start negotiations?”

Sam leaned his head back against the lounger, a pained expression crinkling the

corners of his closed eyes. “S wouldn’t even talk about contract negotiations until he got

to know M.”

“Got to know her how?” She twisted to better face him and placed her hand on his

thigh. Sam flinched and she jerked her hand back. Melanie winced. “Sorry, I—”

“Interests,” he bit off, aborting her apology. “S would find out what M is interested

in. Hobbies, charities, what she wants to do with her life. What she’s currently doing

with her life. He’d find out what she sees as obstacles to achieving her goals, and if he

thought he could help her become the person she wants to be—the person he believes

she can be—and then he might start talking about entering into an arrangement.”

“That sounds very…businesslike.” Melanie laced her fingers together to keep

herself from touching him again. “S doesn’t sound like he sees M as anything except a

student. Isn’t he attracted to her?”

“Not every power exchange relationship has sex as its foundation. Successful long-

term arrangements take into consideration every aspect of a person. Of both people.”

He lifted his head and opened his eyes to frown at her. “You know damn well I’m

attracted to you. You also know neither of us knows a single thing about each other

beyond our names.”

“We could find out more,” she ventured. “I mean, we’re both right here. Why not

be right here together? We could have dinner and try to get into a Cirque du Soleil

show. Er…I guess unless you just don’t want to know more about me.”

Mortified that the possibility hadn’t occurred to her, she stood abruptly. “Oh God.

You really don’t and now I’m harassing you. I’m so sorry. You should just pretend I—”

Tangled & Bound

“Stop,” he interrupted. He swung his feet off the lounger and planted them on the

damp concrete pool deck. “Just stop talking. I’m in Vegas partly on business and I have

a dinner meeting tonight. Do you want to go with me?”

“Yes,” she whispered. Louder, she said, “But if you don’t want me—”
“Believe me, honey, want isn’t the problem.” Standing, he cupped her elbow and

urged her toward the hotel.

* * * * *

“We’re early,” Sam said half an hour later as he held the door for her at the Ceasar

Palace mall entrance.

During the cab ride, they’d both avoided any conversation remotely related to sex.

Sam had directed her attention to different landmarks while Melanie had perused the

Ceasar’s Palace section of her Las Vegas guidebook.

Now she stopped several feet inside, her attention caught by the cream and gold

architecture. When Sam’s fingertips brushed her bare shoulder blade, she flushed. He

stood really, really close, his body heat beckoning her even closer. If she wanted to keep

with the no-sex-talk streak she was on, she had to step away.

Moving away from him? Sucked. But she did, walking deeper into the mall to stare

at a directory of shops. “Do we have time for chocolate?”

“Do you want truffles or pastries?” Sam came up behind her again, so close his

deep voice tickled the back of her neck.

“I was thinking of Vosges Haut Chocolate,” she said, pointing at a spot on the

directory. “It’s not too far from where we are.”

“So, truffles.” He slid his hand over the bend of her waist and steered her away

from the directory. “Do you prefer milk or dark?”

“If it melts in my mouth, I prefer it.” When she spotted the small boutique store

front ahead, she grabbed Sam’s hand and pulled him along. The rich aroma of melted

chocolate warmed her as soon as she entered the shop.

Sam immediately headed over to the glass-enclosed array of truffles, where the

clerk engaged him in conversation. Melanie listened to them while she explored the

offerings displayed on the glass shelves that lined the shop’s walls.

“This is one of our newest collections, perfect for a bourbon connoisseur,” the clerk

said.

Sam rejected the suggestion. “No, that’s too masculine. I’m looking for something

cheerful and delicate.”

Melanie glanced over her shoulder to find him looking at her. The clerk was

speaking again but Sam didn’t break eye contact. When he beckoned her to join him,

Melanie didn’t even think of refusing.

Emily Ryan-Davis

“We have a selection of floral flavors. This one is a combination of dark chocolate

and champagne, dusted with rose powder.” The clerk scooped a pink-powdered truffle

from the case and placed it on the counter. “If she enjoys rose water, the limited edition

Persia Truffle is another to consider.”

“Do you like roses, honey?” he asked, still holding her gaze.
Melanie nodded. Sam finally looked away long enough to acknowledge the clerk.

“She’ll try both.”

While the clerk presented the second suggested candy, Sam picked up the first.
“Close your eyes,” he said as he lifted the morsel to her lips. “Some experiences are

best had one sense at a time.”

Swallowing, Melanie decided not to tell him about how her various senses were

functioning at peak performance in that moment. With her eyes closed, some of those

senses became acute. For example, as Sam brushed rosebud dust across her upper lip,

she was acutely aware of the salesgirl’s stare.

“You’re supposed to inhale first,” the Vosges employee offered helpfully. “The

same way you’d taste wine.”

Sam didn’t say anything, for which Melanie was glad. She wasn’t sure she could

handle the low timbre of his voice, not while battling the memory of the last time he

bade her close her eyes. If he’d rubbed cinnamon on her lips instead of rose dust, she

would have been a useless mess of shivering arousal. Bad enough that she was already

well on her way, and she wouldn’t be able to smell a velvety red rose ever again

without associating the crimson petals with Sam.

While the clerk stood by, he nudged her lips with the chocolate. Self-consciousness

heated her face but she couldn’t exactly ask for privacy in the middle of the Forum

Shops even if eating from Sam’s fingers felt as intimate a thing as sex. Hoping to hurry

through this, she opened her mouth wider. His fingertips touched her tongue, salty and

masculine beside the drugging flavor of the rose powder. When she bit into the truffle,

the rich, berry-toned champagne filling blended with the more bitter chocolate. Melanie

moaned out loud.

“It’s a very sophisticated combination,” the clerk explained.
“Do you want to try another?” Sam’s voice held a rough edge.
“I don’t think so.” Melanie licked a trace of rose powder from the corner of her

mouth. “This is the one. Definitely the one.”

“Try one more.” He pressed another cool piece of chocolate to her lips.
She shook her head, rejecting the herbal fragrance of the second truffle, and opened

her eyes to look at him. “I don’t need to try any others. I know which one I want.”

Sam’s nostrils flared but he held her gaze. “You’re not making an informed

decision.”

“Information’s for the head. Choices like this should be made with the heart.” She

dropped her eyes and picked up the truffle she’d bitten into. Scooping the remains of

Tangled & Bound

the filling onto her fingertip, she reached up to paint Sam’s bottom lip with the sticky,

shiny stuff. Before he could lick it off, she rose on tiptoe to kiss him.

He made a low, strangled sound but didn’t push her away or deny her access.

Instead, the wet heat of his mouth welcomed her in. Not expecting such easy passage,

she froze. Sam didn’t suffer from the same brand of performance anxiety. He cupped

her nape and applied pressure at either side of her neck, urging her to tilt her head back

as he claimed the sugar lingering on her tongue.

“So…the rose chocolate,” the clerk said, a slight pitch of desperation in her tone.
Sam squeezed her nape briefly before breaking their kiss. He didn’t physically let

her go, but his words…

“She can’t have the rose chocolate. Wrap up a dozen each of the others.”
She turned away from his words before the stinging sensation behind her eyes

became tears.

Sam handed his credit card to the saleswoman, ignoring whatever she said about

price and storage and product expiration dates. Melanie had his complete attention and

too much of his gut as she stood just outside the shop. She kept her back to him but he

hadn’t missed the hurt written on her face. Even if he’d been too slow to notice before

she turned away, he’d see it now in the way she leaned against the glass hugging

herself.

Her upset pained him, not only because he was the cause of it but also because

every instinct he possessed demanded he draw her back and heal the hurt. Angry with

his inability to resist the temptation she presented and keep his hands to himself, he

slashed his signature across the credit card receipt without seeing the numbers. The

price printed on the paper was irrelevant. He hadn’t refused the chocolate of choice as a

matter of cost—at least not monetary cost. He’d refused because Melanie had assigned a

much higher value to the bit of sugar and fat, and as much as he enjoyed the idea of

possibility with her, she clearly wanted more than the idea.

Praying he’d done enough to push her away, he collected the shopping bag and

receipt. Dinner would be torturous but at least he had business to hold his focus and

stand as a buffer between him and the vulnerable woman he couldn’t seem to keep

himself from touching. He tried to recount the reasons why he had to stay away from

her but couldn’t remember most of them anymore.

A strange weariness settled in his bones as he joined her outside the store and

offered the Vosges package. “This is for you.”

She glanced at the purple shopping bag and shook her head. “No thank you.”
“Melanie—”
“Please keep it. I’ve decided I don’t really like chocolate after all and I’d rather you

didn’t buy me gifts.”

Emily Ryan-Davis

The few times Sam had found himself face-to-face with a woman’s sullen

stubbornness, he’d known exactly how to deal with the problem. Since he couldn’t

command her to communicate with him or suffer discipline for withholding her words,

he stood beside her silently, mentally working through his remaining options.

“We need to go if we’re going to make dinner on time,” Melanie said with a

particularly frustrating neutrality, staring at something in the middle of the corridor.

“Dinner will wait.” Consciously controlling his urge to touch her and force her gaze

to his, Sam moved to stand in front of her. She didn’t look up, but she didn’t turn her

head either. Thin victory, bitter to swallow, but what choice did he have, given the

limits he’d placed on their relationship?

Marshaling his thoughts—and his willpower—he did what he would’ve made her

do if the situation were different. He talked. “I understand you’re hurt. I realize my

failure to remain consistent is the reason you’re hurt, and I apologize. I’m attracted to

you. I want you. I want you under me, submitting to me, and begging me to fulfill you. I

also want you turning to me for comfort when you’re upset, looking to me for guidance

when you’re lost and relying upon me for strength when you’re weak. Wanting you

isn’t the problem. Trusting you is.”

She jerked her head up, shock in her eyes. “You don’t trust me? Me? What does you

trusting me have to do with anything? I’m the one offering to let you do…do…”

With a vague, all-encompassing gesture of her hands, she said, “Everything.

Anything. I trust you.”

“Christ. I could shake you.” As his carefully won willpower weakened, he lowered

his voice in an effort to control his hands. “Melanie, listen to me. Listen. When two

people enter into a power-exchange relationship, there’s an exchange. I don’t trust you.

You’re young and your interest in submission is new. How many times have you

become passionate about something new, only to lose interest once the newness wore

off or a challenge came along? I’m not going to be an impulse fuck, nor am I going to be

the next thing you drop when you figure out BDSM relationships are harder to manage

than you expected.”

The color faded from her cheeks. “I guess you’d know about impulse fucks,

wouldn’t you?”

Sam swore and closed his eyes. “Melanie—”
“It’s all right,” she interrupted. “I get it. You’re afraid of being used once and

dropped when I’m finished with you. Why didn’t you just say so in the first place? I can

deal with a man who’s afraid of me. Whatever. Moving on. Who are we meeting for

dinner?”

He blew out a loud breath and tried to exorcise his overwhelming desire to turn her

over his knee and beat the attitude out of her pretty ass. Before he could convince

himself the right to discipline her was worth the other trouble he’d be taking on, he

said, “A prospective seller.”

“What are you buying?”

Tangled & Bound

“My partner and I are looking at expanding to the West Coast, but instead of

building from the ground up we’re considering existing venues.” Relieved to have a

neutral topic to discuss, Sam started in the direction of the restaurants. “Buying an

established club will mean we have to work within the existing reputation, but will also

mean we don’t have to start at ground zero with a community that doesn’t know

Bondage.”

Melanie asked a few other polite questions but when they reached the traffic-

congested dining area of the hotel, conversation became impossible. Sam held her arm

to avoid losing her in the flow of people. As they neared the Italian restaurant

suggested by Liam Douglass, who’d inherited a nightclub in Seattle and was eager to

sell, Sam released Melanie and stepped away to put physical space between him and

temptation.

The restaurant’s hostess informed Sam that Douglass was already seated and led

the way to their table. Douglass, a tall, raw-boned man in his early thirties with close-

cropped red hair, stood at the sight of Melanie.

Sam made introductions. While he talked, Melanie repositioned herself to

Douglass’ side of the table.

Holding her chair for her, Douglass said, “I didn’t realize we’d be a table of three or

I’d have asked for better seating.”

“This is fine,” Melanie replied with a sunny smile, one that she hadn’t turned on

Sam in too long.She scooted her chair closer to Douglass. “It’s cozy. A perfect romantic

spot under different conditions.”

As Sam narrowed his eyes and took his own seat, their server came along with a

bottle of wine and two glasses. Douglass immediately signaled for a third glass and slid

one in front of Melanie.

“I took the liberty of ordering champagne because I’m confident we’ll all have

something worth celebrating before the evening’s over,” Douglass informed her. “Have

you had champagne before?”

Melanie shook her head and, without looking at Sam, leaned so close to Douglass

the man could probably smell her hair. “I’ve recently been advised that I make

uninformed decisions because I don’t try new things. What better way to begin

exploring than with champagne?”

Emily Ryan-Davis

Chapter Five

“And then what happened?”
“Nothing, really. Dinner, Sam did his business-talk thing. When dinner was over, I

asked Liam to sneak me into the Ceasar’s Palace pool, which I’ve heard is gorgeous.”

Melanie transferred the phone to her other hand so she could pass a wad of crumpled

bills to the cab driver and climb from the car. “Sam looked furious.”

“Yeah, I bet he did,” Brooke said. “Did he say anything?”
“Not a word. Except for looking pissed, he acted like it was totally acceptable for

me to leave with someone else.”

“Um, no. It wasn’t acceptable to him. He just couldn’t do anything about it without

backtracking on the whole ‘not going to get involved with you’ issue. What are you

going to do now?”

Melanie shrugged and walked into the hotel. “I don’t know. Look for someone else,

I guess, since Sam’s not going to budge. He was dead pleasant to me during the

wedding and dinner after. Please and thank you and nothing else. No dirty looks,

nothing.”

“You’re just going to give up?”
“He’s obviously not interested. Well, he’s interested, but he’s not going to follow up

on his interest.” After Sam left the restaurant the night before, Melanie had backed out

of going anywhere with Liam Douglass. Instead, she’d wandered from hotel to hotel,

giving herself a casino tour of the strip and resigning herself to Sam’s refusal of her.

Brooke’s scoffing question grated on her nerves. There was no “just” about it—Melanie

couldn’t force Sam to do something he didn’t want to do.

“You can’t give up,” Brooke insisted. “Some men have to be pushed into action. Get

him to lose his control, and you’ll have him.”

“I’ll have him through manipulation, which is cheating.” Stopping just inside the

hotel doors, she balanced on one foot and then the other to remove the strappy heels

she’d worn for David and Jovanna’s wedding. Nearby, the elevator doors whooshed

open. Melanie started toward the elevator but out in the casino, somebody cheered at

the clink of coins pouring from a slot machine.

“Hey,” Melanie said, interrupting Brooke’s lecture on the topic of women deciding

their own fate. “I’m going to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Before Brooke could object, she ended the call and turned off her phone with a sigh.

The casino beckoned, promising an opportunity to wander aimlessly, too stimulated by

lights and sound to have mental space for thinking about Sam. Swinging her strappy

Tangled & Bound

heels in one hand, she ducked into the hotel lounge for a drink and caught sight of the

very same person she wanted to avoid.

Sam was so many things she hadn’t found with her high school and college

romances. Intrigued by the possibilities, intrigued by him, she wanted him like she’d

never wanted anybody else. She wanted to know him.

Even though she knew Brooke’s suggestion was a bad one, Melanie paid for her

margarita and circled around to approach Sam from behind. He sat at a poker table

with a pair of jacks, a pair of sevens and an ace in one hand and a drink in the other

hand. When she reached him, she dropped her shoes on the floor and slid her arm

around his waist. Sam tensed and turned his head to see her but he didn’t move away.

Instead, he looked back to his cards.

“That’s impressive,” she said, resting her chin on his shoulder and her hand on his

fly. His cock started to thicken and swell, which she encouraged with a little squeeze.

Her pussy softened in response to the memory of him taking her, big and deliberate

between her legs.

Melanie rubbed her face against the side of his neck and breathed in his spicy scent.

“Your pile of chips, I mean. What’re you going to do with it if you win?”

“Hire a nanny to keep you out of trouble.” He repositioned her fingers to his belt

and pushed a stack of plastic chips to the center of the table. “Douglass can’t keep you

in line either?”

“I didn’t offer him any authority over me. Why aren’t you married?” She ignored

his belt and drew her fingernails along the line of his growing erection, enjoying his

obvious discomfort and equally obvious physical response to her undisguised flirtation.

And just because she enjoyed poking the tiger with a stick, she added, “You’re getting

up there in years.”

He discarded his ace and collected another card from the dealer. “Are you calling

me old, little girl?”

She shrugged and wiggled her hand deeper between his legs to cup his testicles.

“I’m not a little girl. And you, well. You’re on David’s guest list. He’s not exactly college

frat boy age anymore.”

The dealer cleared his throat.
“Quiet,” Sam said to her. But he didn’t move her hand this time.
Quiet meant quieter, right? While Sam did what he needed to do with his hand of

cards, she gathered all her courage and whispered in his ear, “I want you to dominate

me again. Tell me more about your dungeon. Let me see it when we get back to New

York.”

His abs tensed hard beneath her arm and his cock jumped against her palm.
“You don’t know what you want,” he replied, too low for anybody but her to hear.

“You prove that to me over and over again.”

Emily Ryan-Davis

“I do know. I want you. I want to submit to you. You’re the one who devalues my

decision by refusing to acknowledge it as legitimate.”

“Fold.” Sam put his cards down on the table, pocketed his remaining chips and

pulled her off him. Turning on the stool, he met her eyes. “I’m thirty-six. You’re what,

seven? You’re a little girl.”

“Hmm. Well, you were checking out my tits down by the pool yesterday. And the

day before that you had your dick in my—”

“Melanie,” he warned.
“Well, you did. Does that make you a pedophile?” Flashing another smile, she tilted

her head in the direction of the crowded bar. “And does that mean you’re going to call

the cops on the guy who made my margarita a double?”

“No cops,” Sam said after a minute. He picked up her drink and sniffed it before

handing it to a passing waitress. “But I am going to make him wish he’d chosen a

different career path. Right after I get you locked away in your room. Come on. You’re

drunk.”

He stood and they weren’t eye level anymore. Sam had half a dozen inches on her

even when she was wearing heels. Standing in front of him barefoot, she had direct

access to his muscular chest. The neck of his shirt was unbuttoned. The glimpse of dark

hair enticed her. Melanie fingered a button on his shirt, wondering about the texture

and pattern over the rest of his body.

“I’m not drunk.” She wasn’t, but she stooped to retrieve her shoes anyway. A little

buzzed, sure, but her judgment was as clear as her vision, and she had Sam squarely in

her sights. If she were drunk, she wouldn’t have recognized the opportunity he’d just

handed her—an opportunity to have him all to herself in her fancy Vegas hotel room.

The tequila did give her an excuse to let her shoulder strap slide down her arm as she

straightened, hooked her hand around Sam’s elbow and allowed him to lead her away

from the poker table.

At that time of night, the hotel corridors were practically empty. Melanie and Sam

had the elevator to themselves. He chose her floor and retreated to scowl at her from the

corner.

Smiling mischievously, she put her hands behind her back and crossed to stand in

front of him, so close the hem of her dress clung to his pants and her breasts rose

against his shirt when she inhaled. “You could look again if you wanted. I wouldn’t

mind.”

He narrowed his eyes but didn’t drop his focus from her face to her cleavage.

“What you would or wouldn’t mind isn’t my concern. I’m not interested. Back off and

stop being a brat.”

She swayed forward until she could feel him against her belly, fully erect and the

definition of interested. “Liar, liar. Hmm. Maybe you want to submit to me. Should I

turn you over my knee and spank you for not telling the truth?”

Tangled & Bound

Sam snorted. “If anybody’s getting a red ass out of this, it’s not going to be me. Step

away, Melanie.”

“Or…what? Else?” Another fraction of an inch closer and she felt his strength from

breast to thigh. He radiated heat in the air-conditioned climate of the elevator. She

closed her eyes and clutched his shirt, humming appreciatively. “You feel good. I’ve

been freezing all day in the casinos and theaters. The only other time I was warm, you

chased me back inside.”

“The next time you come to Vegas, you’ll know to pack a sweater.” He finally

touched her, but only to wrap his hands around her upper arms and push her away.

Before she could make another bid for contact, the elevator door slid open. Sam turned

her around and marched her out into the corridor.

Melanie sighed and moved away, breaking his loose hold. He hadn’t cracked a

single smile. His disinterest in playing dragged at her good spirits. “Never mind. Good

night, Sam.”

As much as she wanted him in her bed—or in her shower or on the bureau or

against the ice cooler in the alcove around the corner—she refused to beg. His loss.

Shoulders straight and head high, she left him in front of the elevator and headed for

her room, which was at the end of the extremely long corridor. He watched her the

whole way, if the itch between her shoulders was any indication, and Melanie

alternately cursed him and wished he’d change his mind.

When she reached her room, she took her time looking for the key. From the corner

of her eye, she could see him still standing by the elevator. Still looking like exactly

what she wanted.

Maybe she wasn’t ready to give up yet. After unlocking her door, she bent to place

her shoes and bag just inside so the door wouldn’t close and lock again. When she

straightened, she turned to face him and reached back to unzip her dress.

“I want somebody to fuck me,” she called down the hall. Shimmying out of the

dress, she kicked it into the room, pushed her shoes and bag out of the way and pulled

the door shut. Locked out, wearing nothing but a silky pink thong and a fabulous

pedicure, she turned to face Sam. “You’re top on my list of choices but if you’re not

interested, I’m sure somebody will be.”

He stood by the elevator for a long minute without saying anything. When he

finally did speak, his voice was even and controlled. “Come here, Melanie.”

She suppressed a triumphant smile and obeyed.
If she thought the walk away from him took forever, the walk to him was endless.

She wasn’t lying about being cold in the hotel. Her feet felt like icicles and her nipples

peaked to hard, uncomfortable points by the time she reached the halfway mark. By

contrast, her cheeks were so hot they felt like they were on fire. Sam wasn’t looking at

her face or her breasts though. His eyes were hooded by thick, dark lashes and focused

on the narrow triangle of her panties, which felt clingy and damp against her smooth

skin.

Emily Ryan-Davis

At the elevator, she stopped and watched him, not quite sure what to do about her

predicament. She kind of hoped Sam had a plan that involved getting equally naked.

“You’ve been trying to provoke me into dominating you because you’ve discovered

a new fantasy and decided I’m the right person to play with.” The elevator opened. Sam

pointed a finger, directing her inside. “So we’ll play, but I’m not some boy all wrapped

around your pretty fingers. If you want something from me, you’ll ask for it. You’ll say

please and Sir and thank you. And if I say no, you’ll abide by the decision or you’ll be

punished as befits the behavior of a willfully disrespectful brat.”

Sam held the elevator door and raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Is there

something you don’t understand?”

There was a hell of a lot she didn’t understand, starting with the hot flood of cream

between her legs, but this was what she wanted so she shook her head. “No Sir.”

“Then what are you waiting for? In.”
In. Right. In way over her head. But oh-em-gee. Barely able to breathe around her

crazy racing pulse, Melanie stepped into the elevator.

Fifty shades of Fletcher, here I come.

Tangled & Bound

Chapter Six

She was so turned-on, he could smell her arousal. Sam glared at the elevator doors

and cursed himself for being a fool. She’d manipulated him and he’d succumbed

despite his better judgment. Because he wanted her. Because he didn’t want her

surrendering to anybody else. Watching her with Douglass, he’d realized that single

truth. He might not trust that she knew what she wanted, but he knew himself well

enough to accept when his wants outweighed his good sense. When the elevator

reached his floor, he was relieved to find the corridor empty. He wanted Melanie to

suffer the embarrassment of walking around stripped bare, since it was her idea, but he

didn’t want to share the view with anybody else. Stepping aside, he waved her out of

the elevator ahead of him.

“We’re going to room 703,” he said. “It’ll be on your left.”
“Could I have your shirt?” Melanie bit her lip before adding, “Sir?”
“No.” He fixed her with an expectant stare and gestured toward the hall.
To her credit, she didn’t fuss over his refusal. She stood in the corner for a minute,

arms across her chest, before she squared her shoulders, lowered her hands and walked

out ahead of him.

When he caught up to her, he pulled his key card out of his wallet. Melanie stood

silent beside the door, her hands balled into fists at her hips.

Instead of immediately opening the door, he frowned at the key card. “When’s the

last time you were spanked?”

Her breath hitched. “My parents didn’t use corporal punishment.”
“How did they correct you when you were disobedient or reckless?”
“Time-outs, essays. Sometimes I lost things like Internet or phone privileges.”
He slid the card through the reader and opened the door. “Did any of that stuff

actually work?”

Melanie shifted beside him. “I learned right from wrong.”
Sam paused with his hand on the doorknob and glanced at her with a raised

eyebrow. “Did you really?”

Her flush grew darker and spread to her upper chest. “I…maybe this hasn’t been

my finest decision-making hour.”

“Maybe not.” He smiled sardonically. “Go on in and we’ll deal with your decision.”
She hesitated. A variety of emotions crossed her features while she worked out his

meaning and came to whatever decision prompted her to step across the threshold into

his hotel room. When Sam let the door swing shut, she jumped—and finally realized

Emily Ryan-Davis

her vulnerability, if the tense set of her shoulders and arms crossed over her breasts

were any indication.

He walked around her and pulled his suitcase off the room’s second double bed. He

found a clean t-shirt and a pair of running shorts and tossed them on the foot of the

unused bed.

Sam pulled a straight-back chair away from a small desk and sat, facing her. Her

bare, flat belly was a damn distraction that he had to work hard to ignore. Worse than

the dip of her navel, though, was what he couldn’t see…or what he would be able to see

if her panties had even a centimeter less fabric.

Sam forced himself to focus on her face. “Here are your options. You can get

dressed, call the concierge and arrange for a replacement key to be brought here

immediately, and go back to your room where you’ll go to sleep. Or you can put

yourself across my knee, accept the ass-beating you very much deserve, sleep here and

get your replacement key in the morning. Do you have any questions about your

options?”

She licked her lips and averted her eyes, looking over the room. His rational half

prayed she’d choose to get dressed and go. His primal half desperately wanted the

chance to redden her ass with the flat of his hand…and then bury his cock in her wet

heat. He tried not to dwell on the possibilities of the latter scenario.

“I do have a question,” she finally said. “Is it always this way with you?”
“What way?”
“Please and Sir…and spankings…and all-or-nothing options.” She swallowed and

met his gaze. “I’m not complaining. I just want to know.”

Her question caught him off guard. Sam looked down at his hands, considering

what answer to give her. The short answer would probably scare her away. The long

answer would definitely scare her away.

Because some weak part of him wanted her to choose him, he went with the short

answer. “Yeah. It’s always this way.”

She stood silent for a minute, breathing shallow and quick like someone fighting

panic. Sam left her to her decision and didn’t look up even when her pink-polished toes

appeared in his line of sight.

“I’ve never done it this way before,” she said, the words slow and careful around

the shaky quality of her voice. “I mean, except that once with you. I won’t know if I do

something wrong until I’ve done it because I don’t know your rules. You’ll have to tell

me. I want to stay but I don’t know what you want me to do.”

Fuck. Sam closed his eyes. “Melanie—”
“You’ll have to straighten up so I can lie down across your lap,” she said,

interrupting his attempt to change her mind.

He nodded and lifted his head, settling back in the chair. Melanie wasn’t covering

her breasts anymore. She stood with her hands behind her back and her chin tucked to

Tangled & Bound

her chest, a posture so inherently submissive that Sam couldn’t contain the sense of

possessiveness surging through him.

Not mine.
Except he was lying to himself. Still, he said the words out loud. “I’m not giving

you any rules because you don’t belong to me. This isn’t a permanent arrangement.”

Her breath hitched. “I need you to tell me what you want from me. Please tell me.”
“I want you to make careful decisions about your safety. What you did on the

plane—what you did tonight was dangerous. You have no idea what kind of man I am,

what kind of things I could be doing to you right now. What kind of things I could still

do, with you powerless to stop me.”

“I know what kind of man you are,” she said.
“Yeah? So when you took off your dress, you knew I would respond by putting you

across my knee?” He finally touched her, hands on her hips to pull her forward. Her

scent hit him full-force, powerful like a drug. He wanted to run his tongue along her

panties and taste the wetness soaking through. Instead, he maneuvered her across his

lap. “Face down, Melly. Both hands on the floor.”

She stiffened and resisted, a physical response Sam quickly overpowered with the

advantages of strength and practice. The bare curve of her ass, bisected by the skinny

pink thong, shattered his barriers. He didn’t ask to be responsible for her but he

couldn’t deny the rightness of the role.

He spread his fingers across her ass, enjoying the tension beneath his hand, and

said, “Tell me how you’ve done it before.”

Melanie lifted her head.
Sam pushed her back down and held her in place with a handful of her silky hair.

“You don’t have to look at me to answer. How do you fuck, Melly? Do you sit on top

and bounce on your boyfriend’s dick? Do you do it doggy style? Missionary?

Bareback?”

He pressed on her flesh and spread her cheeks, revealing the pucker only half

hidden behind her thong. “What about in the ass? Have you ever accepted a man in

your ass?”

She squirmed against him. Her hip nuzzled his cock so Sam didn’t correct her by

demanding she hold still. He did demand an answer though. “Which one? Tell me. And

call me Sir.”

“I don’t know what bareback is, Sir.”
“Without a condom.”
Understanding and fear shuddered through her at the same time. So. She did know

right from wrong—and he knew what her answer would be. His anger at her self-

endangering behavior flared anew.

Melanie locked up tight, every muscle tense.

Emily Ryan-Davis

He picked the point of his first strike, low where her thigh met her left cheek. “Be

honest. I’ll know if you’re not.”

“I’ve done all those,” she whispered.
“I can’t hear you. Tell me specifically what you’ve done. And call me Sir. Don’t

make me tell you to do it again.”

“I’ve been on top. I’ve done it doggy style and missionary and…” Her voice

wavered before she trailed off.

Sam gave her ten seconds. By the time his count reached four, she spoke again.
“I’ve never had anal sex. And I’ve skipped the condom a couple of times, Sir.”
Fury rippled through him. He struggled to bring it under control, but he did

manage. What was done, was done. After tonight, she wouldn’t do it again. “No reason

is a good reason for unprotected sex. Tonight, I’m punishing you for what you did

tonight and for not using condoms every time. Do you disagree with my decision?”

“No Sir.”
He released her hair and placed his free hand between on the middle of her back.

Her heart raced behind her rib cage. Sam counted the beats for a minute, grounding

himself in the rhythm of her heart, and then he delivered the first blow. The crack of

flesh on flesh was loud in the room and her yelp was even louder. Anybody listening

on the other side of the wall would hear everything. He slapped her ass again, targeting

the same spot and monitoring her heartbeat as close as he could with her surprised gasp

filling his ears and her rich, aroused scent distracting him.

Melanie tried to crawl away from his fifth strike. Sam slapped her thigh and

repositioned, dragging her backward until her hands no longer touched the floor.

She clutched his leg and the edge of his seat and tried to rear up with the seventh

smack. “You’re hurting me!”

“It’s punishment. It’s not supposed to feel good…yet.” In her new position, he had

no trouble wrenching her panties down to her thighs and baring her completely.

Stripping her didn’t affect his access to her ass but he wanted to take away her last

defense. And later he wanted full access to her pussy.

Careful with the intensity of her response but not so careful with her golden skin,

he landed another half dozen blows on her left cheek before the angry red palm prints

satisfied him. He didn’t miss a beat in shifting his attention to her other cheek. Melanie

shrieked and dug her nails into his ankle.

Sam smiled slightly. “I take it back. I’m feeling pretty good where I sit.”
“I want you to stop,” she gasped. “Sir!”
“Really?” He paused and plunged his hand between her legs. Her pussy was so wet

she soaked his fingers and her clit slid right out of his pinching grasp. The fleeting

contact was enough. Her back arched and she moaned, most definitely not in pain. Sam

teased her opening and gave her a single shallow thrust before pulling back and

slapping her ass again. “Tell me the truth. Do you deserve more?”

Tangled & Bound

She didn’t immediately answer. Sam raked his fingernails across her previously

reddened cheek, sending a new wave of pain to her abused nerve endings. Melanie

whimpered but she didn’t ask him to stop. Instead, she lifted her ass a little higher.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He accepted her unspoken permission to continue

and hit her again, relishing the way his palm smarted with each new blow. If he felt it,

she certainly did.

Soon her shallow breaths deepened. She started squirming again, but now she

rocked her pussy against his thigh. Her little whimpers signaled pleasure instead of

pain. They also signaled the end of effectiveness. He could continue to spank her, but

pain was no longer a useful tool. Sam slowed his pace and gradually backed off until

his smacks were more like love taps, each one ending with a stroke down the back of

her leg. Melanie didn’t move, even after several minutes passed without a slap, except

to rub against him.

Closing his eyes, he crossed a line and slid his fingers back into her slit. Dripping

wet, she didn’t put up a single bit of resistance. Her heat wrapped around him as he

delved inside, three fingers sinking in deep. Her tight pussy clutched at him,

contracting hard and drawing him deeper.

In the new silence of the room, her breathing took shape and became words, a

whispered chant of “Please, please, please”.

Sam gritted his teeth against an overwhelming desire to turn her over, spread her

out on one of the beds and replace his hand with his cock. Determined to hold at least

that line, he angled his wrist to catch her clit and blocked her plea from his mind. Her

physical response—he couldn’t wall himself off from that, no matter how hard he tried.

Her heat scalded him, cream sliding into his palm as he caught her clit and twisted,

triggering the first climax.

“Please” became “oh God” and she arched hard. Sam caught her before she

tumbled off his lap. One arm locked around her ribs, he lifted her against his chest and

pushed in deeper, finger-fucking her through the second orgasm. She hid her face in his

throat. A sob racked her body right before the third peak, which was short and fast.

Sam buried his nose in her hair. Ignoring her jerky shudders, he went after her G-spot

with an aggressive determination to make her beg. Beg him to stop before he lost his

last shred of good sense.

Melanie’s voice rose in a high wail and she twisted in his hold, her mouth searching

for his. Desperately trying to hold the last of his self-control, Sam turned his face away

from her seeking kiss. If he tasted her, he would be finished, unable to stop anywhere

short of complete satisfaction deep inside her.

She, damn her, persisted. Her teeth scored his bottom lip. Shocked by the electric

sensation of the small pain, Sam froze. Melanie took advantage of the opening, her kiss

hot and wet. She tasted like watermelon liqueur and tequila. He wanted to drink her

down.

Instead, he tore away from the kiss. “Don’t.”

Emily Ryan-Davis

“Sam—”
“No.” Needing her silent and distracted, he dumped her on the floor and followed

her down. Pinning her on her stomach, he dragged his fingers from her pussy to her

ass.

She froze. “Wait—”
“Push against me, Melly. It’ll be easier.” He worked against her pucker, wetting the

tight entrance and coaxing her to let him in. Finally she took his meaning and with a

short, ragged breath, she opened enough that his fingertip slid inside.

Her low moan snapped another thin line of resolve. Unable to look at her still-red

ass and maintain control, he closed his eyes. A powerful flood of sensation washed over

him and he knew he was screwed. He could drown in her scent, which was bright and

sunny and brought her playful eyes to mind.

The mental image acted like a pitcher of ice water down his pants. Shocked back to

sanity, Sam jerked away from her before he succumbed to weakness and tasted her.

Melanie rolled to her side and reached for him.

He shook his head and looked away. “No. This has to stop now.”
Shocked silence answered him.
Fully aware of how badly he’d fucked up, he gathered her in his arms and stood.

Not even permitting himself a glance at the bed he’d been sleeping in, he carried her

into the bathroom, kicked the toilet seat cover down and sat on the lid. She clutched

fistfuls of his shirt while he got the water going. The bathroom quickly filled with

steam.

“Sam,” she whispered. “Why?”
“Because we’re not lovers and that wasn’t supposed to be foreplay,” he bit out.
More silence and she started to shake. The water level in the tub rose with

excruciating slowness.

Sam manhandled his head into a responsible place, separating the part of his brain

that desperately wanted her—couldn’t have her—from the part that knew he had an

obligation to repairing her mental and emotional states. He stroked her hair and thigh

until she stopped trembling and he had enough self-control that he could look at her

without imagining her spread wide beneath him.

He pushed her hair off her forehead and tilted her face toward him. The glassy

sheen of need in her eyes made him forget what he was going to say. His search for

words came up nearly empty but he did manage to ask, “All right?”

She swallowed hard. “I…sure. Fine.”
He nodded. “The water’s hot. It’ll help.”
A small frown furrowed her brow. She looked away from him and blinked at the

bath. Once he was satisfied she’d oriented with her surroundings, Sam carefully

lowered her into the deep water. The big spa-style tub nearly overwhelmed her petite

frame. He kept his arm behind her shoulders to prevent her from sinking under the

Tangled & Bound

water and guided her hand to one of the safety rails. “Hold on to this for me. I’m going

to wash your hair.”

She nodded and wrapped her fingers around the rail but didn’t say anything or

make eye contact. Sam grabbed a plastic cup off the sink and used it to wet her hair.

Melanie sat quietly while he shampooed and rinsed. By the time he finished, she sat

upright on her own, knees drawn to her chest and arms around her legs.

He reached for a hand towel to dry her hair.
She shook her head and shifted away. “I can do it.”
The small quality of her voice chilled the back of his neck. He held the towel

another minute. “I know you can but you don’t have to.”

“I want to. Could you, um…will you wait in the other room?” She cleared her

throat. “I’d like you to wait in the other room.”

Sam left a bath towel on the toilet lid and gave her privacy. When would he learn

that real, three-dimensional women weren’t for him? Not for years, now.

He should stick with trained subs when his resolve weakened to this point. One of

the thrill seekers who frequented the club. They didn’t want him for who he was, but at

least he wouldn’t break any of them. Or he wouldn’t give a damn if he did.

Emily Ryan-Davis

Chapter Seven

Melanie lingered in the bath until the water grew cold and cleared her head. Doing

her best to ignore the physical craving that raged through her, she tried to solve the

puzzle of the day’s events.

Sam wanted her. She knew he did, no matter what he claimed. His body responded

to hers, his eyes were hot when he looked at her, and that line about foreplay was a big

fat load of bullshit that he probably didn’t even believe himself. He wanted her. So why

wouldn’t he accept what she offered?

Maybe she was better off being turned away. The intensity of his way…her whole

body heated and her pussy softened all over again. Closing her eyes, she leaned back

against the tub wall and slid her hands between her legs.

Recalling the sensation of Sam holding her down and demanding she divulge

details of her sexual past made her blood pound in her ears. She circled her clit, afraid

to get too close to the hypersensitive spot, afraid she wouldn’t be able to handle

physical contact after lingering so long in this overly aroused state. Just as she worked

up the courage to touch that tender place, a knock on the hotel room door stayed her

hand.

Melanie suppressed a frustrated growl and gave up. While Sam answered the door,

she climbed from the bath and wrapped herself in the fluffy white robe provided by the

hotel…which was a horrible mistake. The robe smelled like Sam’s aftershave. Her core

clenched and the fire of need drove her out into the hotel room just as Sam closed the

door on the visitor. When he turned, their eyes locked.

For a brief moment, she could read his unguarded expression. Sexual hunger

etched harsh lines at either side of his lips. He dropped his gaze to a spot below her

chin and his nostrils flared, the uncontrolled response so feral that her inner muscles

contracted hard enough to push cream from her pussy. Her response to him was so

powerful, she took a step back.

Sam countered the move, and before she knew quite how it happened, she stood

with her back flat against the wall. Barely daring to breathe, she balled her hands into

fists and waited.

He fingered the edges of her robe for a minute before abruptly yanking them

together across her chest. As if the action liberated him from some invisible chain, he

finally looked up from her chest and met her eyes. His gaze bored into her, pinning her

to the wall, and he said, “You have to put that look away.”

Melanie frowned. Not what she expected him to say. “What look?”
His focus dropped to her mouth. “The one that says you still want me to fuck you.”

Tangled & Bound

She licked her suddenly dry lips and whispered, “I do still want you.”
Sam shuddered visibly. Still holding the edges of her robe, his fist at the base of her

throat, he planted his other hand on the wall beside her head and leaned in close. His

breath warmed her cheek and he spoke directly into her ear. “What do I have to do to

get you to stop?”

This close, she didn’t need the trace of aftershave lingering in his bathrobe. Sam’s

masculine scent drowned her senses. Her head sagged against the wall, too heavy for

her neck. When his lips grazed her jaw, she feared her legs would give out.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to think past her body’s maddening demand for

his touch. Tried to come up with something clever and blithe, but the only words she

found were, “You want me. Why won’t you take me?”

He raised his head and released her robe. Melanie swallowed, both relieved and

disappointed at once. His proximity overwhelmed her but some part of her loved the

residual helplessness. She released a slow breath…and choked on the next one as she

felt Sam’s warm hand engulf her bare breast. Her nipple responded instantly, hard

before she could make her lungs work again.

“You’re too young,” he muttered. Anger fueled his words and guided his fingers on

the sensitive peak. “Too eager. Too responsive. Too damn innocent. Untrained.

Breakable.”

She opened her eyes and started to counter his complaints but Sam chose that

moment to shove her robe aside, plump her breast high and lean down to suck her

nipple into his mouth. Her argument fled, replaced by a wordless gasp. She reached for

him but Sam caught her before she made more than fleeting contact. Bracketing her

wrists with his free hand, he pinned her hands against the wall above her head. His

teeth scored her flesh, a painful sharpness that made her whimper and jerk, but she had

nowhere to go.

Sam raked his blunt fingernails down her side, turning her whimper into a low cry

of surprise. She tried to squirm away but he trapped her hips by jamming his thigh

between her legs. His cock bulged against her hipbone, hard and prominent, and if she

had any doubt about his physical response to her, his thick length divested her of it.

He let go of her nipple, leaving a stinging ache in the wake of his brutal kiss. “I

don’t want you.”

But he untied the belt of her robe and shifted away far enough to push his hand

between her legs. He cupped her pussy, separated the folds as if they were no stronger

a barrier than tissue paper, and held her like that—spread open, naked to his view. And

he was looking. Melanie couldn’t tear her gaze from his face. Hunger carved grooves at

the corners of his eyes, left the outline of his lips white. She knew the moment his

restraint buckled, had only a heartbeat to prepare before he gave her clit a savage little

twist.

White hot, release pierced to her core. She stopped breathing as her muscles

convulsed and her inner walls clamped down hard, searching for something to ground

Emily Ryan-Davis

her. Sam pressed the pad of his thumb against her abused nub, forcing another wave of

pleasure-pain, and worked a single finger into her desperately grasping pussy. Her

body acted against her, the fast, hard contractions coming counter-time to Sam’s deep,

slow thrusts. What he did to her—

“Beg me to stop,” Sam rasped, his voice thick and deep.
What he did to her bypassed every one of her personal control centers. She tried to

command her body to calm but he demanded more of her, dragged more from her.

She closed her eyes and let her knees go limp, trying to break his hold by force of

gravity. He couldn’t hold her weight with his fingers between her legs and his hand at

her wrists. He’d have to release her.

Except he didn’t. Sam followed her to the floor, straddling one of her thighs and

pinning the other. With her hands free, she should have lashed out, tried to force him

away, and she did reach for him—she did—but instead of pushing, she pulled. Her

fingernails bit into his forearm and she pulled him harder against her wet, swollen

flesh.

He got down close, his lips against hers, and said it again. “Beg me.”
Melanie lifted her head, reaching for his mouth. “Please. Please!”
“Beg.” He evaded her attempt to kiss him and spoke against her jaw. “Beg, Melanie.

Tell me exactly what you want me to do. Tell me to stop.”

Between his actions, his words and her body’s response to his relentless touch, she

hit a breaking point. Pleasure became something terrifying and she started to cry,

heaving sobs that shook her body and burned her throat. Sam kissed her then. He

changed in an instant, gently holding the back of her head and cradling the flesh

between her legs. He caught her trembling lips in a slow, deep kiss, invading with his

tongue and swallowing her broken gasps.

Too late. She didn’t want him to kiss her anymore. She wanted him to let her go. As

soon as she found an opening, she turned her face away. Sam stayed close, crouched

above her and caging her with his bigger body. The heat that had earlier lured her now

made her feel like she was suffocating.

“Need to go,” she managed to whisper, squirming until she could roll onto her

hands and knees.

Sam’s weight pressed against her back and she froze, an image of him mounting

her sliding unbidden through her mind. Her traitorous pussy clenched, physically

responding without her conscious permission.

“I do want you.” His tone was calm, such a contrast to her frantic emotions. “I do

want you, but I won’t take you. You’ll break and even if you do rebound, I’ll want to

break you again. Find a nice boy. You deserve a nice boy.”

A riot of conflicting emotions drove her into action. Humiliation, fear, regret—

want, because she still wanted him, still, and that desire terrified her—fueled her as she

scrambled from beneath him and lunged for the clothes he’d thrown on the spare bed.

Tangled & Bound

Shaking, taking pains to keep as much skin covered as possible, she dressed with

lightning speed.

She could hear Sam moving behind her—running water in the bathroom, exhaling a

loud breath that she didn’t even try to interpret. Her skin tingled painfully where his

clothes touched her, which was in all the worst places for her sanity. He still had the

water running when she finished dressing. Good. Maybe he wouldn’t notice her leaving

if she crept quietly toward the door and closed it gently—

“Wait,” Sam said, interrupting her attempt at a stealthy exit. He emerged from the

bathroom.

Melanie’s stomach dropped. She did wait—couldn’t seem to stop herself from

obeying him—but she didn’t look up from her white-knuckled grip on the doorknob.

“I added a second room to my account. This is the key. You should stay there

instead of roaming the halls by yourself at this time of night. Visit the concierge in the

morning when you’ll encounter more families and fewer drunk gamblers.” He pushed

an envelope at her. “Both keys are there. I won’t have access to the room.”

In the interest of getting out of his room as soon as possible, she accepted the

envelope. Sam didn’t stop her as she opened the door and slipped into the hall. With

the door between them, she dropped the envelope in front of his door before heading

for the elevator. After that experience, she’d take her chances with intoxicated hotel

guests. She needed her own clothes, her phone, her credit card and an immediate flight

home.

Nearly twelve hours later, Melanie dragged her exhausted body through a crowd of

New York businessmen to retrieve her luggage from the baggage claims area. While she

waited for the carousel to bring her suitcase around, she powered on her phone.

Between texts and voicemail, she had a dozen messages. David and Jovanna had

both tried to get in touch while she was in the air. She sent a quick response to David

letting him know she was back in New York, and deleted everything else. There were

messages from an unfamiliar New York number that she couldn’t bring herself to read,

deep down knowing they were from Sam.

During her flight, she’d decided she wouldn’t ask for anything else for the rest of

her entire life if God would just make sure she didn’t have to see Sam Fletcher ever

again.

Emily Ryan-Davis

Chapter Eight

December

Her again. Everything came rushing back to him—the overwhelming need to bend

and break her and own her, the unshakable certainty that he could not succumb, that

she wouldn’t be the same person in the end. That she would decide she didn’t want to

submit after all, leaving him with everything invested in her and nothing to show for it

except the ache of loss.

“Ahh, a blonde. So that’s what your problem’s been.”
Sam glanced at the perpetually-thirty-nine-year-old brunette who’d sidled up to

him while he watched the blonde in question. “Do you know who brought her?”

“I hit traffic and only just got here.” Theresa, his fifty-percent partner at Bondage,

tucked her heavily be-ringed hand in the bend of his arm. “Why are we interested?”

She’s mine. “She’s the sister of a friend.”
Sam mentally kicked himself for using Melanie’s brother to justify his interest and

establish his barriers. While David sure as hell wouldn’t approve of his baby sister’s

presence at a munch, Sam knew firsthand exactly how little say his friend actually had

when it came to either Sam’s or Melanie’s choices. He couldn’t help but wonder where

he’d stand with her now if he’d regarded her as someone to be educated instead of

disciplined. Someone to be eased in instead of driven away.

Not that he regretted one second of spanking her ass. She’d deserved that. Problem

was, she’d deserved more than that from him.

Knowing her capacity for passion didn’t change his opinion though. Melanie

belonged at family barbeques and church potlucks, wearing high-necked dresses and

being watched closely by someone with the sense of self-preservation she lacked. She

did not belong at a munch, surrounded by men and women on the hunt for everything

from a casual plaything to a household slave. He had to get her out of there for her sake

as well as his.

“Hmm. Why are we really interested?” Theresa pressed.
“We aren’t. She’s a brat and we will have nothing to do with her.”
Theresa laughed. “Brats are fun. You never have to manufacture an excuse to

punish them.”

Sam didn’t answer.
“You’re allowed to have somebody, you know,” she said in response to his silence.
Theresa’s words barely registered. Melanie reclaimed his attention, a golden light

pulling him toward her. Melanie and the man with his hand at her slender throat,

touching her like he already owned her.

Tangled & Bound

“Not a fucking chance.” Leaving his business partner behind, Sam cut across the

ballroom.

Neither Melanie nor her companion spared a glance for his approach. Invisibility

suited Sam. He welcomed the extended opportunity to shore up his defenses. While he

maneuvered through the crowd, he pretended he was an art aficionado appreciating a

fine portrait. Downgrading Melanie from human being to portrait model helped him

reinforce his barriers. Beautiful girl. For him, a beautiful girl to be admired from afar.

Not to be touched. Not to be wanted. Touching her once did enough damage.

Her companion said something and stroked the side of her throat with his thumb.

Violent urges hummed down Sam’s spine. If he couldn’t touch her, nobody else could

either.

Melanie raised her shoulder, a movement so subtle Sam wondered whether she

even realized she’d given the “back off” signal. Her companion disregarded the

warning and leaned closer.

The other man noticed Sam first. He looked up from Melanie and narrowed his

eyes. His loose grip on her throat tightened when she turned her head to follow his line

of sight.

Several details came into focus at once. The nametag Melanie wore pinned to her

plunging neckline read “Emma”. The set of her pink-glossed lips spoke of uncertainty,

not interest. Her cheeks went from pink to white the instant she registered his

approach.

Up close, Sam recognized her companion as someone who’d recently applied for

membership at Bondage. Sam focused on that. “Winston, right?”

He deliberately extended his left hand instead of his right. He wanted Winston to

stop touching Melanie yesterday. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m one of the reviewers of

your recent application to Bondage.”

Winston hesitated, obviously reluctant to relinquish his claim on Melanie. In the

end, he must have decided he wanted Bondage more than he wanted one girl because

he finally surrendered his hold.

“Strict review process,” Winston remarked by way of greeting. He shook Sam’s

hand briefly and reached for Melanie again.

Sam noted that she’d taken the opportunity to scoot toward him, out of Winston’s

reach. And she’d attempted to cover her nametag.

“We have a strong reputation for safety,” Sam said. “My partner and I like to speak

with membership applicants personally. Are you available now?”

He was counting on Winston’s eagerness to access Bondage overcoming his

eagerness to take advantage of Melanie’s ignorance. One gullible woman or an infinite

supply of them. In Sam’s experience, predators could be swayed to surrender one kill in

exchange for a thicker flock. Winston’s short nod of assent proved him no different

from any other man on the hunt.

Emily Ryan-Davis

Sam led Winston to the bar. Along the way, he queued up Theresa’s number in his

phone and sent a brief text message. By the time he finished with Winston, “Emma”

should be long gone. It would be better for both of them if Sam left the past in the past.

Shit, shit, shit. Melanie blew out a shaky breath and swallowed the last of her

chardonnay, glad for Sam’s intervention and equally glad to see him walk away. She

was in over her head. Way over. But she didn’t know how else to proceed. She’d been a

wreck ever since she fled Sam’s hotel room. She didn’t want to think about the

experience, but she’d learned something that night—she was sexually submissive and

she wanted a Dom. It wasn’t just a fantasy thing, it was a compelling need. She needed

a Dom. Not Sam—she didn’t want to see him ever again—but definitely someone who

would show her how to submit. Preferably without making her feel like a subhuman

life form unworthy of affection.

After months of lurking in BDSM chat rooms, reading blogs written by both

Dominants and submissives, and forming tentative cyber friendships, she’d worked up

the courage to put out real feelers. She’d found Vic Winston—otherwise known as X-

actingMaster—via Twitter and a New York BDSM lifestylers hash tag. The prospect of

meeting up with a man she’d found on the Internet hadn’t appealed to her, but she’d

been bordering on desperate. Vic had expressed interest in training her, but only if they

met to speak in person. She’d resisted until he suggested the party—a munch, he’d

called it. The promise of safety in numbers and meeting in the mostly public eye coaxed

her away from the security of TweetDeck and into the ballroom of the Mintley West

Hotel.

Her skin still crawled from the remembered heat of Vic’s hand. He was an attractive

man but nothing about him appealed to her once they’d started communicating in more

than one hundred forty character exchanges. Exactly the opposite—instead of a warm,

fuzzy feeling, she got a danger-danger feeling.

Melanie suppressed a shudder and stood to leave before Sam decided to return.

Biting her lip, she scanned the ballroom in search of a discreet exit. Every avenue of

escape required her to pass the bar where Vic and Sam stood with their backs to her.

She wasn’t afraid of getting too close to Sam but she didn’t want to catch Vic’s attention

again, not now that Sam had given her an out. She didn’t really want to catch anybody’s

attention but by the looks of the striking beauty making eye contact and striding toward

her from across the ballroom, she’d failed in the avoid-notice department.

“You look singularly out of place,” the unknown woman said by way of greeting.

She casually slid an arm around Melanie’s waist and steered her toward an exit Melanie

had missed in her search. “Pretty, but out of place. Do you belong to someone in

attendance?”

Panic spiked in Melanie’s stomach but she forced it down. She’d done her research.

The party was not invitation only. “I’m here by myself. And on my way out. Excuse

me.”

Tangled & Bound

Instead of releasing her, the tall brunette tightened her hold and drew Melanie

closer. The curve of a breast cushioned her shoulder. “Sam asked me to make sure you

leave safely. I’d like to be able to truthfully tell him I saw you on your way. Can I call a

taxi for you?”

Melanie’s brow furrowed. She glanced over her shoulder but couldn’t see the bar

anymore. “He ordered an escort?”

“I believe he needed to ensure his own peace of mind.” The other woman laughed

softly. “Which makes me very curious. May I ask how you know one another?”

“We have a mutual acquaintance,” Melanie replied cautiously.
“Ahhh. An acquaintance, of course.” The tall woman’s tone said she suspected

more, but she didn’t press. Instead, she asked, “What draws you to the lifestyle,

sweetie? The allure of being taken care of by a powerful, wealthy man? Pain with your

sex?”

“I just want—” Melanie stopped herself before she could say it. She did not want

Sam. He was merely her first. A sudden thought made her stomach twist though. “Are

you Sam’s, um, sub?”

“Am I his what?” Sam’s friend laughed.
“Never mind.” She didn’t really want to know. Melanie shook her head and dug

her valet ticket from the bottom of her purse as they stepped out into the blustery

December wind. A shiver immediately rocked her. She’d forgotten her coat.

Handing the claim ticket to the valet waiting just outside, she finally disengaged

and backed away from Sam’s maybe lover, whom Melanie didn’t care about one bit.

She immediately reached for the twenty-first-century evasion tactic of pressing her cell

phone to her ear and half turning away from the other woman. “Thank you for seeing

me out.”

Melanie carried on a fake conversation with her voice mail until the valet returned

with her car and her Sam-appointed babysitter retreated. The valet agreed to wait while

Melanie went back in for her coat. She loved that coat. No way was she leaving it

behind.

The warmth of the hotel lobby slid around her like a snug embrace. She retrieved

her coat from the concierge without incident, but on the way back to her car, she

spotted Sam. He saw her at the same time and set a course for her. All her instincts

screamed at her to just run, but her feet refused to cooperate. Despite the deep-seated

hatred she felt for him, heat unfurled low in her abdomen and her nipples responded to

his predatory pace.

Jaw in a hard line, he lengthened his stride until he reached her. “Emma?”
The ripple of heat chilled. Melanie drew back from his obvious displeasure and

covered the upper curve of her left breast with one hand, forgetting she’d already

removed the falsified name tag. Her heart thudded beneath her palm. Mouth dry, she

lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I’m not stupid enough to use my real name.”

Emily Ryan-Davis

Sam’s calm, tightly controlled tone belied his flashing eyes. “Dishonesty is not the

approach you want to take with this community. Come on. I’ll walk you to your car.”

Melanie’s cheeks burned at his reprimand. She fumbled for something to say but

Sam didn’t stand around waiting for her to string her thoughts together. Nor did he

grab her the way Vic Winston, and afterward the brunette, had done. Instead, Sam left

her to follow in his determined wake. Like an obedient puppy, she fell into step behind

him.

By the time they reached her car, she’d decided to just keep her mouth shut. She

didn’t want Sam to think she was an idiot. She wanted him to think she was smoking

hot, totally over him, and on her way to becoming New York’s most-desired sex slave.

“Keys.” Sam held out his hand.
Hoping to make their encounter as brief as possible, Melanie silently placed her key

ring on his upturned palm.

Sam unlocked the driver’s side door and held it open. He stood with the door

between them and frowned at her. “What are you doing?”

She furrowed her brow. “Uh…getting ready to go home?”
“Here, Melanie. What are you doing here? With people like these? People you

found on…what? Facebook? Winston said he met you online.”

“Twitter,” she muttered. She squared her shoulders and mustered her flagging self-

confidence enough to step closer to him. With her hands atop the door between his, she

tilted her chin and met his eyes. “I’m kind of wondering what you’re doing here. I get

the ‘call me Sir and lick my shoes’ thing, but why are you messing with me?”

As soon as the words were out, she regretted them. Melanie bit her lip. Respectful

dialogue was something she could manage online, but she couldn’t seem to curb her

naturally sassy personality when she didn’t have the advantage of a backspace key.

And Sam…damn it. Something about him compelled her to push his buttons.

He glowered. “Because I’m here and somebody has to run interference with your

foolish choices. David should be watching you more carefully.”

“I’m an adult,” she said after a moment, trying to compose a thoughtful response

worthy of a well-behaved and educated sub. “Well past the age of consent and

experienced enough to reliably make sound choices on my own. I don’t need anybody

to protect me. I don’t need anybody to give me permission. I need somebody to respect

me, which is something you very clearly don’t want to do. I need somebody to educate

me, which is again something else you obviously don’t want to do, and I need

somebody to dominate me. Again, not you.”

Sam relaxed his grip on the door and dropped his hands to his sides. Melanie

exhaled a slow breath, hoping he would drop the issue now that she’d taken her stand.

When he stepped back, she allowed herself to relax further. His next words made her

blink. Twice.

Tangled & Bound

“You still want to submit, even after Vegas.” He didn’t pose it as a question. And he

wasn’t at a safe distance anymore. Sam now stood inches away from her, cornering her

between his body and her car door.

Melanie moistened her lips and stared at the hollow of his throat. Dark-blond hair

curled above the crew neck of the t-shirt visible past the open collar of his button-down.

She hated him. She hated him, with big bold capital letters and a double underline and

twelve exclamation points. But she also wanted to touch him, to pull the tails of his shirt

out of his pants and test the heat of his stomach, to press her lips against that silky patch

of hair below his pulse.

“And you? What do you want?” she heard herself ask.
Sam stiffened. “I’m not looking for a playmate, Melly.”
“Then why come to a party like this?” She forced her focus up to his eyes, made

herself concentrate on asking questions even though his casual slip into the nickname

only he had ever used melted her a little inside. “Is it part of your job? I thought it was a

private party.”

“Knowing my clientele is part of my job, yeah. So is networking and advertising my

business. So is reading intent in body language and interactions between people.” His

fingertip skimmed the bare line of her collar bone as he spoke. “I have years of

experience watching people, interpreting their signs. Do you know when Winston

touched you, you shrank away from him? Your muscles were tense. Your lips pressed

tight.”

He kept touching her, drawing a line up the sensitive ridge of a tendon in her neck.

The pad of his thumb stroked her bottom lip. Melanie’s eyelids grew heavy. She fought

an urge to close her eyes. H.A.T.E.

“You weren’t giving off the signals of a woman who didn’t want to be touched,”

Sam said. “You were giving off the signals of a woman who didn’t want to be touched

by the person touching her.”

Melanie struggled to swallow past the knot of excitement in her throat. She tried to

focus on hating him but instead of a rush of humiliation like she’d felt slinking from his

hotel room, the rush she experienced now was one hundred percent eagerness for more.

She tipped her head back and raised her chin. Exposed her neck, closed her eyes and

surrendered.

Sam’s free hand slid into her hair. He pulled her head back at a sharper angle and

drew a line from her pulse to the valley between her breasts. Hooking a finger in the

keyhole notch above the center point of her bra, he made an inarticulate sound.

Her questioning murmur came out more like a moan. Sam cursed beneath his

breath. “You have no idea how to protect yourself, do you?”

The rough edge of his tone abraded her spine.
“I have pepper spray.” She refused to open her eyes. The heel of his palm rested

between her breasts, a warm weight she didn’t want to frighten away.

Emily Ryan-Davis

“I’m not talking about protection from being mugged. Hell.” Sam flexed his fingers

in her hair and on her skin. “You need somebody to keep you safe from yourself.”

“Sir—”
“Not me.” He released her abruptly and backed away. She hadn’t realized how

close he was until the heat of his body left and the winter cold blew across her

unprotected stomach.

Back to shivering, Melanie reluctantly opened her eyes. Sam stood in arm’s reach

but only barely, raking one hand through his hair and not looking at her. In a single

sweeping glance, she picked up on the evidence of his arousal, prominent behind the fly

of his pants.

“Sam,” she said, trying again. Tentatively, she added, “Sir.”
He shook his head and pointed at her car. “Get in and go home. Stay off the damn

Internet.”

Her back stiffened. “You have no right to do this. My personal life is mine. You

didn’t want it, remember?”

His refusal of her made no sense, not given his obvious interest and her obvious

response, but it was a good thing. Humiliation and embarrassment buffeted her like the

icy wind, reminding her of the hate. Ignoring the curious eyes of the valet, she slid

behind the wheel and tried to close the door. Sam blocked her.

With one hand on the roof of the car and the other on the door, he leaned down

until they were eye to eye. “Do you really think you’re ready for what I want from

you?”

She couldn’t look at him. Turning away, she stared straight ahead and mustered her

courage. “I really think you owe me an apology, and then I think you owe me the right

to make an informed decision about what you want and whether I’m capable of giving

it.”

He straightened. Melanie clenched her fists on the steering wheel, disappointed.

Mad at herself for being disappointed. What happened to the hate that had fueled her

since August?

“Move over,” Sam said. “I’ll drive.”

Tangled & Bound

Chapter Nine

She turned off the radio. “Where are we going?”
“I haven’t gotten that far in the plan.” He navigated her small car out of the hotel

parking lot and merged with traffic. He quickly glanced at her, only to find her staring

out the window. Sam looked back to the road. “I’m sorry about the way I treated you in

Vegas. Right from the beginning, I undervalued your feelings and dismissed your sense

of self-awareness. When you turned to me with your questions, I should have referred

you to somebody who could answer them with a neutral attitude.”

“You confused me.” She sighed and shifted in her seat, as if she had something else

to say, but she didn’t continue.

Sam prompted her with, “What else? We’re talking right now. That means you have

to keep talking.”

“And you scared me, that last night.”
“I didn’t know of any other way to stop myself, except making you want me to

stop.”

“I didn’t—don’t—want you to stop yourself.” She frowned at a little hula girl

bobble-head figure mounted on her dashboard. “I want you to trust me to be able to

handle you, without pushing to extremes that you know will scare me.”

“I need somebody who will be able to cope with extremes.” Sam tried to ignore the

doll. He didn’t need the cheerful plastic reminder of Melanie’s lightness, so sunny that

it made him feel like the cruelest troll for even entertaining the idea of bringing her into

his darker world of deviance and excess.

“Then show me how to welcome them instead of how to fear them. I might be

younger than you’re used to, but I’m not some emotional infant.”

Silence fell between them as he chewed on her words. This wasn’t the first time

she’d shown him how he underestimated her, but he decided it had to be the last.

Wherever their relationship would go in the future, he couldn’t keep assigning flaws

that didn’t exist. He couldn’t keep hiding behind them.

Determined to move forward, he asked, “Is there somewhere you’d like to go?”
She fingered the hem of her skirt and spoke to her knees. “I’d like to see your

dungeon for real.”

Sam’s fists clenched on the steering wheel. “That would be a very bad idea right

now. Pick somewhere else.”

“I want to be where you feel like you have the right to Dominate. Where you won’t

feel like you have to hold back. If you won’t take me to your dungeon, will you take me

to your club? I’ve never seen anything like that before, not in person.”

Emily Ryan-Davis

Choosing his words carefully, he said, “Honey, my right to Dominate has nothing

to do with location. If you think a submissive who’d given me authority over her would

be safer in a grocery store than a bedroom, you’re wrong.”

“Will you please stop talking about me as if I’m a hypothetical?” Distress weighed

on her voice. “I’m giving you control. Whether you choose to take it or not, it’s real. Not

an ‘if’.”

“We’ll go to Bondage,” he said tightly. “But if you’re looking for a scene with me,

that’s not where it will happen. I work at Bondage. I don’t conduct personal affairs

there.”

The prospect of granting her access to his territory left Sam with a bad feeling in his

gut. The club was no place for her but if he took her home, he wouldn’t have the safety

net of witnesses to keep his instincts in check.

She fidgeted for a minute before saying, “Thank you, Sir.”
“Melanie.” He infused the word with all the warning he could muster.
She was quiet so long he started to relax, but when she spoke again, one of his few

remaining threads of willpower snapped.

“You’re my Sir. I can’t help it. I’ve tried to replace you with somebody else. I was

trying tonight, but you stopped me.”

Possessiveness surged in his chest. He kept his focus on the road. If he looked at

her, he’d have to pull the car over. “Winston isn’t for you.”

“No, he isn’t. But if you’re not either, then I don’t know what else to do.”
Since he didn’t know what to do either, they made a perfectly matched pair.

* * * * *

At Bondage, Sam parked at the rear of the club. Floodlights illuminated the lot and

the vehicles that filled every space. Someone had generously scattered rock salt across

the ground, but some spots still bore shiny coats of ice. In the time it took Melanie to

unfasten her seatbelt and retrieve her clutch purse from the backseat, Sam exited the car

and walked around to open her door.

“Careful,” he said, taking her hand when she reached for the top of the door frame

for balance.

Touching him supercharged her nervous system. Heart racing, a little lightheaded

from his unexpected reaction, she stood unsteadily on her heeled ankle boots. Sam

didn’t help matters by taking her other hand to warm in his grasp.

“You need gloves,” he said. “Do you have a pair in the car?”
She shook her head. “I can’t get a good grip on the wheel when I’m wearing

gloves.”

“The right kind of gloves will solve that problem. For now, inside before you freeze.

Watch the ice.” He stepped back and drew her forward, reaching around her to close

Tangled & Bound

the passenger door. Melanie closed her eyes, just for a minute pretending she had a

right to his heat and scent.

It was a really great minute, stretching on so long Melanie started to shiver. She

opened her eyes to find Sam studying her intently.

Still holding both her hands against his chest, he asked, “What draws you to D/s?

The kink?”

Part of her started searching for the answer he would want to hear. Another part of

her realized she didn’t know him well enough to guess at what that might be. Stuck

with truth, she cautiously asked, “Is it weird and daddy’s-girl of me to want somebody

to be in charge? To say ‘no, that’s a bad idea’ when I come up with a bad idea, before I

act on it?”

“It’s not unusual,” he said, nothing in his tone to give away what he actually

thought of her response. “Many people find the kink is just a gateway to something

else.”

“Well, the kink isn’t exactly a turn-off. Will you…I’d like to learn more about

yours.”

“Head and heart first, body second,” he said. “When did your parents divorce?”
Melanie shrugged. “Officially, not that long ago. Three years. Unofficially, they’ve

been separated for ages.” She bit her lip and added, “I don’t have daddy issues. I have

personal-faith issues.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Clarify.”
“I’m never sure whether I’m making a good decision or a bad one. I second-guess. I

second-guessed a lot with you, and I got bad advice, which made things worse, but the

problem isn’t that I got bad advice, it’s that I didn’t recognize it as bad advice. Or I did,

but I acted on it anyway.” She averted her eyes. “I’m sorry for that. For pushing you

and disrespecting your right to say no and mean it.”

“It’s important to acknowledge and accept ‘no’.” He released her hands, but

grasped her chin and tilted her head until they were eye to eye. “Don’t submit to

anybody you don’t trust to accept your ‘no’. Do you understand?”

She did understand—from what she’d read and absorbed, BDSM participants were

fanatics for consent. Even though she couldn’t imagine a scenario in which she’d refuse

something Sam wanted from her, and she had a hard time envisioning herself

submitting to anybody else, she said, “Yes Sir.”

He nodded and ran his thumb across her bottom lip before releasing her. “Come on.

I’ve frozen you long enough.”

She was cold, and her thighs were going to burn like crazy when they entered the

club and her flesh thawed, but she had no complaints about standing outside talking

with Sam. She could’ve gone on all night.

Sam had other plans. He linked their hands, a gesture she wasn’t sure he was even

aware of, and led the way across the lot. Melanie paid careful attention to avoiding

Emily Ryan-Davis

patches of ice. As she side-stepped a frozen-over puddle, movement between two cars

caught her eye. A weak, thready mewl reached her ears. She stopped walking.

“Did you hear that?” Pulling her hand from Sam’s, she took a few steps toward the

vehicles.

“I didn’t hear anything.” He caught up to her and reclaimed her hand, preventing

her from advancing. “Whatever you heard, you shouldn’t be investigating it at night in

an empty parking lot. I’ll send somebody out to take a look around.”

She strained at the limits of his reach, trying to see into the shadows between the

cars. “Do you have cats out here?”

“The staff probably feeds a stray. Melanie—”
“Strays should be collected and placed in homes or shelters, not fed scraps of

buffalo wings or whatever.” She escaped him and darted over to crouch between the

cars, slipping on a patch of ice in her haste. Even though she caught herself with a hand

on the fender of one of the cars, Sam’s jaw clenched.

While David’s veiled permission to proceed with Melanie was never far from Sam’s

thoughts, he’d forgotten the rest of that poker table conversation. Her father’s tirade

about stray animals and babies came back to him along with the sound of Melanie’s

voice lowered in soft, tender reassurance. Sam scrubbed both hands over his face, one

step closer to defeat, before he hunkered down to join her beside a tangle of scrawny,

dirty fluff.

“I need a box,” she said, tucking one tiny, squirming body into her coat. As she

gingerly rescued a second kitten from behind a tire, she yelped.

Sam caught her wrist and shifted to bring her fingers into the light. A long scratch

bisected the back of her hand. Small dots of blood beaded on her skin.

“Enough,” he said. Standing, he pulled her to her feet, ignoring her protests. “Bring

the one you’ve got and come inside. I’ll send somebody out to round up the rest, but

this isn’t a job for you.”

“But—”
“No ‘buts’. You’re not equipped to handle them and you’re not qualified to care for

them. We’re going inside, where I’ll disinfect that scratch and you can contact the

shelter of your choice to come get them.”

Melanie opened her mouth to say something but closed it after a moment. The

animal inside her coat squirmed, a lump scrabbling up her chest, if her wince was any

indication. “I just don’t want them to freeze to death out here.”

“I understand, honey, but the best thing you can do is ask for help from a qualified,

prepared organization.”

She sighed and turned toward the building. “You must think I’m the biggest pain in

the ass.”

Sometimes, but he didn’t tell her that. Instead, he said, “I think you have a very soft

heart.”

Tangled & Bound

“You probably think that’s a bad thing.”
“Stop trying to read my mind before you get yourself in trouble.” At the employees’

entrance, Sam withdrew his work keys and unlocked the door. As soon as he opened it,

muted music rolled over him. He ushered a wide-eyed Melanie inside and re-set the

security code before pocketing his keys.

Turning to her, he said, “I enjoy your soft heart, but you’re going to have to harden

it a little while you’re here. You’ll probably see some things that scare you, on behalf of

yourself or the submissive, but it’s not your place to interfere with anything. If you have

questions or concerns, talk them out with me.”

“Yes Sir.” She pulled the thin kitten from inside her coat.
With a frown, Sam led her to the employee break room. A newer member of his

staff, one of the hospitality crew responsible for ensuring clean-up after private rooms

were used, sat at a round table with a paperback and a bag of M&Ms in front of her.

“Hey, Carrie,” he said as he and Melanie walked into the room. He made a personal

policy of knowing his employees by name.

Carrie flipped her cell phone over, quickly checking the time—to make sure she

hadn’t overrun her break time, Sam assumed. Once she satisfied herself regarding the

time, she smiled at him.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight,” she said.
“I wasn’t but my plans changed. How are you with cats?”
She looked confused, but realization quickly dawned when Melanie’s kitten

mewled. “Oh wow. Ginger had her litter.”

“I found them outside,” Melanie said.
Carrie stood and rounded the table to admire the animal. While the women cooed,

he rummaged through the first-aid kit mounted to the wall and grabbed a couple

alcohol pads.

“I want you to clock back in and round up someone to help you get them in a box

and bring them inside where it’s warm.” He glanced at Melanie. “Which organization

should Carrie contact?”

Melanie reluctantly surrendered the shivering cat to Carrie. “Cat Rescue

Association is on call 24/7. They’d be able to send someone out tonight.”

“I’ll put in a call,” Carrie promised.
“Thank you,” Sam said. He tore open an alcohol packet. “Let me see the scratch,

honey.”

Melanie balled her hand into a fist and drew back a step. “That’s going to hurt.”
“An infection will hurt worse. Give me your hand.”
She bit her lip uncertainly. Sam held her gaze and said, “Now.”

Emily Ryan-Davis

The little word pulled her back to him. She was still anxious but she straightened

her fingers and held out her hand. Sam encircled her wrist with his thumb and

forefinger. Their palms lined up, hers much smaller than his.

“Trust is important,” he said. “Trust is what you give even though you know it’s

going to hurt, because you have faith that your Master won’t intentionally prolong pain

that isn’t asked for or earned.”

He swiped the alcohol pad down the long line of the scratch. Melanie’s breath

caught, but she didn’t make any other sound. Sam tossed the used pad and nodded at

her coat. “Did it scratch your chest?”

“Maybe a little.” She unbuttoned her coat without prompting from him and shifted

the neckline of her sweater to reveal the upper curve of her breast. A couple of pink

lines marked the creamy softness, but the cat hadn’t drawn blood.

Sam tamped down his desire to trace the marks with his tongue. He pocketed the

second alcohol pad and nodded at the door. “Out with you.”

That was five minutes ago. Sam led her through a maze of hallways. The music

grew louder and the lights dimmer, the deeper they moved into the club. He opened

one last door and she came face-to-face with a sea of people. Fetish costumes, some

complete with masks, captivated her. Beyond the dance floor, the glimpses of low-lit

rooms roused her nervous curiosity. Sam cupped her elbow and guided her into the

crowd. Assaulted by the close-up scents of perfume, hair product and what she would

have sworn was lust, Melanie inched as close as she could and followed Sam’s lead. She

tried to ignore her strung-thin nerves. This was a triumphant moment. She was inside

the club and about to collect all the first-hand experience she could put her hands on.

Nothing she’d seen on the Internet compared to this. Bonus, she was with Sam, a

pleasure in itself, even if she didn’t know where they were going from here.

Melanie reached for a handful of his shirt to anchor herself to him. Now that she

was in the middle of the crowd, the mass of people intimidated her. She was glad for

Sam’s confident stride as he steered their course toward the far right section of the club.

Left to her own, she wasn’t one hundred percent sure she would have worked up the

courage to venture into a fetish club. As it was, part of her wanted to run.

Sam led her into a large chamber off the central floor and some of her sensory

overload backed off. Couples and threesomes sat together on low, leather-upholstered

benches, some talking and others pursuing more carnal activities. One particular trio of

people caught her attention and she couldn’t help but stare.

A man and a woman sat side by side, angled toward one another as they talked. At

their feet, another woman knelt between them, completely naked except for a pair of

tall, slim white bunny ears mounted atop her head and a fluffy white pouf peeping

from between the cheeks of her bottom. While Melanie watched, the fully clothed man

pulled a baby carrot from his pocket and offered it to the girl on the floor, who visibly

Tangled & Bound

quivered at the sight of the treat. The bunny-girl leaned in to eat the carrot from her

Master’s palm.

“That’s an interesting blush you’re wearing,” Sam said in her ear.
Blinking, Melanie averted her eyes as her face flushed hotter. “It’s, um.”
“Pet play. I don’t see it often here. I think most people reserve that for private

situations.” He brushed his knuckles across the pulse point at the base of her throat. “It

excites you.”

“The tail’s pretty,” she said defensively, unable to even imagine what was going

through his head.

“Yeah, it is.” He placed a fingertip beneath her chin and tipped her head back.

Melanie closed her eyes but Sam denied her that retreat with a sternly spoken, “Look at

me.”

She reluctantly met his gaze. The heat in his eyes seared straight to her core,

alternately melting her body and confusing her head. She suddenly had trouble

breathing.

“Something that genuinely excites you is not a turn-off to me. You have no reason

to hide or deny.” Sam lowered his head as if he were about to kiss her, but he stopped

himself with a low curse and released her. “Come on. We’ll sit for a little while.”

The big room seemed to be a hub of some sort, with several exits into other rooms

and halls. Melanie followed on trembling legs as Sam led her into an intimate area that

resembled an old-fashioned theater. When she drew abreast of him, he bent his head to

speak into her ear. “This is a showcase. The Dominant partners are presenting their

submissives for display. Think of it as a classic car show, where collectors go to have

their efforts seen by other collectors.”

Melanie nodded to indicate she’d heard but she didn’t look away from the couples

doing their thing in the room. One pair in particular caught and held her attention. The

fully clothed man crouched behind his nude, kneeling female partner. While Melanie

watched, he put his hand on top of her head and pushed her facedown to the floor. The

woman folded over at her guide’s urging and Melanie could see her wrists tied together

at the base of her spine. The man released her head and stroked her flanks, an upward

caress that coaxed the woman’s buttocks into the air.

Sam touched her elbow, breaking the thrall. She glanced up to find him still close,

his breath steady at her temple.

“Do you want to spend some time in here watching?” he asked. “Or do you want to

move on?”

“I’d like to stay.” She licked her bottom lip. “If that’s all right?”
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug and tugged her toward him. “My time is yours

tonight. Come out of the way of the door.”

For the first time since entering the room, she noticed the club’s designer had

provided for audience seating. She and Sam weren’t the only audience in the room

Emily Ryan-Davis

either. Both men and women occupied the plush upholstered chairs arranged in

semicircles to the right and left of what she now realized was an un-elevated stage. The

other observers sat both together and apart, some with their heads together,

whispering. Others seemed content to enjoy the show as solo entities.

Sam dropped onto a loveseat and gestured for her to claim the cushion beside him.

She carefully smoothed her too-short skirt before sitting. The precaution didn’t help.

Her hem persisted in climbing her thigh of its own volition, leaving a thin strip of bare

skin between the slinky material of her skirt and the lacy band of her stocking. Absurd

that she felt exposed with that bit of skin showing, considering she and Sam were

seated facing full-on nudity. And considering exactly how much of her skin he’d

already seen and touched.

While she fussed with her skirt, another cluster of people caught her eye. Two men

stood facing one another, their erect penises touching, their postures perfectly straight

and their eyes locked. Melanie slanted a questioning glance at Sam, who tipped his

head to the right of the two men. A woman sat within arm’s reach of the men and Sam’s

car show analogy finally struck her as appropriate.

She leaned into Sam to say, “They really are displaying their possessions, aren’t

they? What about the…possessions?”

Her shoulder touched his chest. Heat coursed down her arm, along with a bone-

deep awareness of him. Sam shifted his weight and stretched one forearm along the

loveseat behind her back as he ducked his head for a quiet response. “If you’re

wondering how they feel about being on display, you’d have to ask one. Generally,

though, they might be excited by the prospect of being watched. Or the act of giving up

control and being posed.”

She frowned at his chin, recalling what he’d once said about baring her to others’

view. “Is this something you’d want to do? Display me?”

“Displays for the sake of showing off aren’t my thing,” he answered. “I might not

conceal you from view but I wouldn’t model you either.”

Melanie turned back to the scene, unsure how to handle the fact that he’d dropped

the hypothetical submissive “if” and directly laid claim to her twice now. The first time

could’ve been a simple slip of the tongue. If the second time was a slip too, she didn’t

want to know.

Sam’s fingertips grazed her shoulder and his voice rumbled close behind her,

drawing her back from her thoughts. “Bored already?”

She turned abruptly, found Sam too close as her lips bumped his chin. His light

touch tightened, the breadth of his palm closing on her shoulder in a secure grip.

Melanie froze. She expected him to recoil but he didn’t. His breath warmed her cheek

and his fingers flexed once before sliding down her arm to her biceps. When he did

retreat, he did so slowly and did not relinquish his hold.

Swallowing, she said, “It feels rude to watch.”

Tangled & Bound

“You’re in an awkward position as an observer instead of a participant, but they

want to be watched.” He finally released her and stood but offered his hand

immediately. “Come on. There’s more to see.”

Finding she welcomed the opportunity to touch him, she placed her hand in his and

stood. Sam steadied her with a hand on one hip as he steered her forward, urging her to

lead the way from the room. Sam took the lead and guided her down a short, narrow

corridor. They weren’t alone in the hall. A petite woman held a nearly naked man on

his knees at her feet and a cell phone pressed to her ear. The man’s head was bowed, his

hands on his knees and his spine straight. Melanie looked back as she and Sam walked

by, surprised to see an expression of calm patience on the man’s face.

She squeezed Sam’s hand to get his attention and he paused, turning back to her

with a question in the arch of his eyebrow.

“I don’t understand the interactions,” she said. “Some of them aren’t behaving

sexually at all.”

“Sex can be a very small part of the BDSM relationship. Did you not learn about

that on the Internet?”

Bristling, she said, “I’m sure there’s plenty I didn’t learn about. I did learn that I

need to be in a real relationship.”

“With a stranger you met online,” he countered, his tone suddenly hard.
“I don’t want some stranger.” She drew a deep breath for courage. “I want you.”
Sam’s Adam’s apple rose and fell. “Why? You don’t even know me.”
She tilted her head, perplexed by the question. “Because I do.”
“No. That’s not good enough. Give me reasons why.”
His demand broke her strained attempt at keeping her emotions in check. Voice

rising with frustration, she asked, “Haven’t you ever been drawn to somebody with no

reason? Overcome with curiosity to discover what kind of person they are? To explore

the way they kiss? Be surprised by what they’re like in bed, be humbled by the kinds of

things they whisper about before sleep and smile about in the morning?”

The answer made her heart hurt and she didn’t wait for him to reply. “Of course

not. You prefer to know exactly what you’re getting out of a sexual submissive, to draw

up a contract outlining precisely what she will and won’t be for you, and probably even

make her sleep in a separate bed or separate room because you don’t care to hear what

she has to say after being with you. You’ll never know what she loves about a new day

because she’ll never have the emotional energy to start the day with you.”

“Melanie.” He tugged on her wrist.
Shaking her head, she pulled out of his grasp and turned away, looking for an exit.

“Forget it. I can’t do this. Trying to make you see me…it drains me. Love should

energize the soul, not suck the joy out of it.”

“Melanie.” Her name fell between them like a whip-crack.

Emily Ryan-Davis

Fundamentally unable to disobey that tone, she froze. Sam appeared in front of her

and touched her chin, guiding her head back until their eyes met.

“First, contracts serve a very important purpose. At the very least of their

usefulness, they protect you and they assure your limits will be acknowledged and

honored. Second.” Frowning, he rubbed his thumb across her bottom lip. Something

shifted in his eyes, mysterious to her but clarifying to him. He lowered his head and

kissed her, little more than a fleeting touch.

“Second,” he continued, speaking against her lips, “my dungeon and my bed are

reserved for my submissive. When she surrenders her trust to me, I surrender my trust

to her.”

“Give it to me,” she whispered, aching at the thought of him with anybody else.
He pushed his fingers through her hair and cradled her face against his chest. “I

don’t think I have any other choice.”

Desperation wound her arms around his waist. After months without touching

him, she’d begun to forget the way her body fit against his. Melanie tilted her head and

opened her mouth at the base of his throat, frantic for a taste of him. Sam’s groan

vibrated against her tongue. He shifted and suddenly she was sandwiched between the

unyielding wall and his equally hard body.

Behind Sam, people moved past them. In an instant, she went from observer to

exhibit and the change in roles affected her on a primal level. Sam grabbed a fistful of

her skirt and hauled it over her hip before sliding his hands over her bare ass and lifting

her off her feet. Melanie scrambled to hold on to him as he pushed her up the wall and

shoved between her legs, forcing her thighs to part. She crossed her ankles behind his

back and moaned as his erection settled squarely against her, hard and big and so

amazingly good even through his pants and the front panel of her thong.

The club’s music throbbed through her, dragging her racing pulse into an

electronica rhythm that Sam encouraged by grinding into her softness. He released one

of her cheeks and crammed his hand between them to wrench her panties aside.

Robbed of that barrier, her folds parted and he rubbed right up against her clit.

“Omigod, you feel good,” she breathed in his ear, just before letting her head fall

against the wall behind her. “Don’t stop.”

He shoved her top up beneath her breasts, baring her stomach to the buttons

marching down the front of his shirt. One broad hand curved around the dip of her

waist and he dug his fingertips into her flesh, aggression and desperation and painful

pressure in his hold.

“Don’t stop,” she said again, craving everything, anything he would give.
“Not against a wall again. Not here. You deserve better than this.” But he raked his

teeth down her arched throat and forced his fingers into the crease of her bottom,

behind her thong’s skinny string, over the tender pucker he found there.

Tangled & Bound

“I don’t want better. I want you.” She clutched at his shoulders and twisted her hips

frantically, terrified he would stop and leave her empty, that he’d leave her to another

four months of dying for the fullness of his cock inside her.

“I’m not taking you against another wall.” Breathing raggedly against her neck, he

adjusted his stance and slid his hand lower between her legs. “Christ, you’re wet. Every

time I touch you—”

He bit off the rest on a low curse and pressed, two long fingers curling into her

pussy, so deep a twinge of pain made her cry out. The front of his pants soaked up the

moisture between her labia and his grinding motion started to hurt, the friction rough

on her sensitive clit.

“Ow—Sam—”
“Come for me,” he muttered, so low she wouldn’t have heard him if he weren’t

speaking right against her ear. “Melly, come for me.”

“You’re hurting me,” she gasped, an edge of panic creeping into her field of

awareness. Panic because even though the rough scrape of his zipper nudged her from

pleasure into pain, she didn’t want him to stop.

“You want me.” He dragged his open mouth from her ear to her lips, spoke

between hungry, kissing bites.

“Yes.” Behind her tightly closed eyes, the club’s lights sparkled in crazy patterns.

Her pussy started to pulse all on its own, erratic jumps that seemed to mimic the lights.

Sam stroked faster, encouraging the deep spasms. “This is me. I want to hurt you,

push you through pleasure and into pain until it’s all pleasure again. You want me, you

come for me. Hurting and all.”

“Sam, please.” She squeezed her eyes shut so hard her temples started to ache.

“Please—”

“You. Wanted. This.” He cut her off with hard words, accusing words, and he bit

her bottom lip with punishing force.

“Please—”
“Damn you for not leaving me alone—”
Desperate to be heard, she opened her eyes to meet his and leaned forward to bite

him back. “Please more! I need more. Do something.”

Sam froze for half a heartbeat before slanting his lips across hers. He speared into

her mouth and robbed her breath just as he pulled his fingers from her pussy and

shoved them into her ass instead.

Melanie shrieked into his mouth, responding to the sudden pain and the equally

unexpected release, which broke over her like a storm. She shuddered violently in his

arms, unable to breathe. The club’s lights danced wildly in the black behind her skull,

multicolored lightning in the dark. It seemed to go on forever, so long she scratched at

Sam’s neck in an urgent grab for reality.

Emily Ryan-Davis

He scratched back, a smaller pain that helped ground her, and forced her legs from

his waist. When she stumbled, he held her up.

“Lock your knees, honey,” he instructed, speaking in her ear. “Get the floor under

your feet.”

Melanie shook. “Sam?”
His arms slid around her waist and he pulled her away from the wall. “Right here.

Let me see your pretty eyes.”

“I don’t want to.”
“The sooner you open up, the sooner you’ll have your balance back.” He brushed a

soft kiss across her temple. “Come on, Melly. Come back for me.”

“I don’t want to,” she repeated. Opening her eyes would mean letting go of their

few minutes in the dark.

He sighed and ran his hands down her back, smoothing her shirt into place. “The

speakers on my laptop are dead, so the text-to-speech software is useless. You’ll need to

open your eyes so you can read the contract and decide if you want to make any

changes before we sign it.”

That got through her muddled emotions. Tilting her head back, she blinked up at

him. “You’re not pushing me out again.”

“No, I’m not.” He gave her a wry smile. “But some day you might wish I had.”

Tangled & Bound

Chapter Ten

They didn’t reach Sam’s office. Before they emerged from the corridor, a member of

his staff strode up to them.

Eric, one of Bondage’s VIP-level supervisors, conspicuously avoided looking at

Melanie. Soon the entire staff would know Sam had finally broken his personal rule of

keeping his affairs outside the club. Since he had no reason to hide, he drew Melanie

closer and asked, “What’s the problem, Eric?”

The other man grimaced. “I know you’re not officially here, but we might have a

situation upstairs. Theresa left awhile ago and Donnie is caught up in a big scene that’s

been going on for at least an hour.”

Sam nodded, accepting the explanation. “It’s fine. Give me details.”
Eric hesitated. He finally looked at Melanie, an apologetic expression on his face,

and said, “Jennifer Dane and her Master went up to a room earlier tonight. Several

guests came to me with suspicions that the scene has become non-consensual.”

Hell. Nothing about this was going to go well. He looked down at Melanie. “I have

to deal with this. I’d like you to wait for me in my office.”

“Who’s Jennifer Dane?” She asked exactly the question he didn’t want to answer,

with some strange element of feminine knowledge in her eyes.

“A submissive I trained.” No way around the truth, except to lie, and he wouldn’t

do that.

Melanie paled. She started to pull her hand from his but he tightened his grip and

held her in place. Regretting that he didn’t have time to talk to her about the jealousy

and fear obvious in her eyes, he said, “I have to go now, honey. My office—”

“I’d like to stay with you,” she interrupted. “Please.”
“If at any point I tell you to leave the room, you obey me instantly and without

question.”

“Yes Sir,” she said without hesitating.
Sam nodded and Eric led the way through the thick crowd downstairs. Upstairs,

they entered a wholly different environment. A few people leaned against the rail of the

balcony that overlooked the dance floor below. Doors to private rooms lined the

balcony, some open, some closed. Blue light spilled from the open doors and outlined

the closed doors.

Eric stopped at a closed room and opened the unlocked door. The sound of leather

cracking across flesh greeted them.

Emily Ryan-Davis

When Sam caught sight of the whip Jennifer’s Dom was using, he released

Melanie’s hand and pointed at a spot beside the door, outside the room. “Wait there.”

He waited long enough for her to nod and then he entered the room. The blue

rooms were all appointed similarly—a bed, a cabinet filled with assorted toys, a

straight-backed chair. This one was no different but the furniture had been put to use in

a way Sam would have never sanctioned. Jennifer, a tall brunette with short hair, hung

from the ceiling by her wrists. Her toes touched the bed’s mattress, but only barely, not

enough for her legs to bear her weight. The muscles of her arms stood out, straining

with the effort to keep her weight off her wrists, which were manacled to mounts

drilled into the ceiling. The straps of a ball gag bit into the back of her head, preventing

her from using her safeword.

Ugly red welts swelled across her back and the backs of her legs. Her Master, a man

Sam had never met before—not the Dom who’d hired Sam to train Jennifer for

slavery—drew his arm back in preparation of delivering another lash of his whip. Fury

spiked through Sam.

Before the Dom could land his next blow, Sam spoke loudly and clearly over

Jennifer’s pained whimpers. “Dragonfruit.”

The Dom faltered at the sound of Jennifer’s safeword. He swung around to face

Sam, shock crossing his features. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m the man revoking your privileges in this club. Eric, relieve him of that whip

and his membership card and send someone up from the bar with water and some

clean rags.” Sam didn’t wait to watch. While Eric moved forward, Sam climbed up onto

the bed and, supporting Jennifer’s weight with an arm around her ribs, used his master

key to release the manacles holding her upright. She sagged against him with a low cry

of pain.

He lowered her to the bed on her stomach and pulled the gag from her mouth.

Panic vibrated in her rapid, shallow breath. Sam stroked her hair, a gesture he’d

employed during her training, a signal that she was safe. For good measure, he said,

“Easy, Jen, I’ve got you.”

Eric directed her silently fuming Dom from the room. As soon as they’d left,

Melanie peeked around the door frame. Pale-cheeked and stricken, she looked from

Jennifer to Sam. Stomach tight, Sam beckoned her to him.

“I don’t…is she all right?” Hugging herself, Melanie edged into the room.
“She’ll be okay.” Sam continued to pet the woman beside him but Melanie had the

bulk of his attention. “Come here, honey. It’s all right.”

As soon as he could reach her, Sam pulled Melanie between his knees and drew her

down to sit on his thigh. Before he could say anything, Jennifer moved, bunching her

knees beneath her body and turning her face toward him.

“Sir?” Jen’s question came out ragged and hoarse.

Tangled & Bound

Melanie flinched. Sam wasn’t sure whether the rough sound of Jen’s voice got to

her or whether she objected to Jennifer’s submissive deference, but he wrapped his arm

tightly around her waist to reassure her.

With his other hand, he tucked Jennifer’s hair behind her ear. “What do you need,

Jen?”

Jennifer squeezed her eyes shut so hard, the vein in her temple throbbed. “He

wouldn’t let me come. I need to come. Please, Sir.”

Sam braced himself for his body’s reaction to her plea, but nothing happened. He

blew out a breath and patted her head. “All right, Jen. I’m going to take care of you and

you’ll be just fine.”

In the circle of his embrace, Melanie stiffened. Jealousy flashed across her face,

quickly hidden. Wishing he had time to explain, knowing he didn’t after what Jen had

endured, he caught one of Melanie’s hands and placed it over his fly. At her touch, his

cock did stir, but one look at Jen’s abused, needy state quelled the physical response.

“Don’t move your hand, honey.” He met her eyes, confirming she understood the

command as just that, before turning his attention to the woman whimpering on the

bed.

Acutely aware of Melanie’s misery in the situation, he moved quickly. Sam took

care to avoid the visibly marked areas of Jen’s body and eased his fingers between her

tense thighs. Jen’s time in his service had ended more than two years ago, but her body

still responded the way he remembered. When he parted her folds, she moaned.

Melanie breathed a small, pained sound that wrenched at something in his chest. To

distract her while he thumbed Jen’s clit, he slanted his mouth across hers in a claiming

kiss. Melanie’s lips parted for him seconds before Jen found release.

With Jen moaning her gratitude, he withdrew his fingers and grasped Melanie’s

knee. Her fingers flexed around his cock, which had begun to harden in earnest the

instant her tongue slid against his.

At the door, someone cleared her throat. Sam reluctantly broke away from Melanie.

Eric stood behind a female member of his staff, who held a first-aid kit and loose,

gender-neutral clothes over her arm.

He reached over and touched Jen’s shoulder. Deliberately removing himself from

the equation, he said, “Eric and Carmen are going to help you get cleaned up and

dressed, Jen. They’ll call whoever you want to come get you, or an ambulance if you’d

like to be seen by a doctor.”

Jen nodded her understanding and his employees entered the room. Sam stood,

taking Melanie with him.

To Eric, he said, “I’m not leaving but I’m unavailable until closing time, at which

point I expect everyone on shift tonight to report to the bar. This incident shouldn’t

have happened.”

Emily Ryan-Davis

Taking a silent Melanie’s arm, Sam exited the room. He quickly located a clean,

vacant room and drew Melanie into it. She turned to him as he closed the door, a

question furrowing her brow.

Sam grabbed the alcohol pad he’d stashed in his pocket earlier in the night. After

cleaning Jennifer’s scent from his fingers, he started unbuttoning his shirt.

Her throat worked. “What are you doing?”
“Nine contracts,” he said, pulling the shirttails from his pants. “Jennifer was one of

them. A submissive who wanted to go further and present herself as a slave to her

master. I trained her. I didn’t fuck her. I sure as hell didn’t make love to her.”

Melanie retreated, backing up until the backs of her legs came in contact with the

bed. Despite her actions, her gaze was fixed on his bare chest. Sam shrugged free of the

shirt and threw it at the straight-backed chair beside the door.

“The other eight were similar circumstances, arrangements made between me,

other Doms and their subs. Obedience training, third-party assistance with tricky

scenes, a surrogate authority figure for a sub whose Dom was stationed overseas for

several months. Some of those, I did fuck.” He unfastened his belt, released the button

of his fly and advanced to take her face between his hands. Holding her gaze, he said, “I

didn’t make love to any of them.”

Tears suddenly appeared, threatening to spill over onto her cheeks. Sam froze.

“Melly?”

“You said you want to h-hurt me.” She scrubbed frantically at her eyes, which only

served to set her tears loose. “I don’t want to be hurt like Jen was. I don’t—I can’t—”

“Shhhh, stop.” He pulled her hands away from her face and held them at her sides,

fighting her straining efforts to escape him. Melanie’s breath hitched on a sob and he

swore. Releasing her hands, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her up against

his chest. Speaking against her ear, he said, “Never. I will never do anything like that to

you. I’ll never take away your voice or your right to object and I’ll never push you past

the point where pleasure becomes real pain.”

She rubbed her face in his chest hair, shaking through every word of his vow. He

didn’t hear anything besides sniffles, though, so he angled for a look at her red-rimmed

eyes.

Melanie swiped at a fresh wave of tears. “I asked if it’s always this way with you,

and you said yes.”

“I said that months ago.” Sam rested his chin on top of her head and tried to ignore

the stab of pain that marked her slipping away from him.

“I can’t…I don’t…” She stopped, a low cry of frustration on her lips. “I want to be

more than somebody who jumps when you say jump. I want to be more than somebody

you train to sit at your feet and eat carrots out of your hand and beg for your touch

and—”

Tangled & Bound

Sam ended her gasping speech by plunging his tongue into her mouth, so

thoroughly telling her what he wanted that she had no need to question him even if she

could find the air to do so. Holding her hair with one hand, he used the other to drag

the hem of her sweater up over her breasts. He locked his urgency up in the back of his

mind and touched her with great care, gently stroking her ribs and back until she

started to soften.

Melanie started to kiss him back and some of his fear eased off. He loosened his

grip on her hair and broke contact long enough to pull her sweater over her head. She

wore a tiny, half-cup bra beneath, a scrap of cloth and wire he didn’t bother removing.

One tug exposed both soft mounds, the skin pale from months without sun.

As he bent to roll one stiff peak into his mouth, she tentatively touched his hair.

Sam encouraged her with a wordless sound of approval and her fingers smoothed

across his shoulders. The light touch reached him somewhere deep, reminding him of

all the things he missed out on when his partner’s only motions were motions he

commanded.

With a groan, he sought out the zipper on her skirt. Melanie leaned against him, her

nipples stabbing against his chest, and shifted her weight from one foot to the other as

Sam divested her of her skirt and panties. He had no patience for the stockings and lacy

garter belt she wore around her hips. After months of wanting her, remembering the

few brief minutes he’d spent buried in her pussy, he couldn’t be bothered with the rest.

Melanie drew a surprised breath when he lifted her and spread her out on the bed,

little heeled boots and all. She rose up on her elbows but Sam came over her quickly,

settling between her splayed legs.

“Months ago,” he repeated, holding her gaze. He reached between them and freed

his cock, which responded to her wet heat like a divining rod. “Do you have any idea

how much you changed me, months ago?”

She shook her head and looked down her body, fixing on the length of his erection

jutting from his pants. “I don’t…can we talk about this later?”

“Completely.” He stretched across the bed to grab a condom from a drawer full of

them. “Completely changed. I never wanted somebody like you.”

“Obnoxious and overly aggressive?” She helped him open the package.
“Playful and endlessly optimistic.” Bowing his head, he ran his tongue across her

stomach, tasting her sweet warmth and making her muscles jump. His cock strained in

his hand as he unrolled the condom. Ignoring the insistent ache that persisted from

their earlier show in the hall downstairs, he moved farther down her body and parted

her slick folds with a kiss.

Whimpering, Melanie drew her knees up to frame his head. Sam hooked his arms

behind her thighs and lifted her to his mouth. Her hot, creamy flavor hit him with the

force of a fast-acting drug. His balls tightened as he licked down to her entrance and

dipped inside. Her pussy fluttered for him, hidden muscles flexing to grasp at his

tongue.

Emily Ryan-Davis

“Sam,” she moaned, arching against his face. “Can we do this later? I’m dying for

you to be inside me.”

“Sunny and honest,” he said, reluctantly leaving her taste behind. “Curious and

intelligent. Impulsive and maddeningly provocative.”

She took his cock in hand and drew him against her tight hollow. “Please.”
“Adorable.” He hung his head to watch as he pushed into her, hating the latex

barrier between his cock and her pink, wet pussy. She stopped breathing and he drove

deep, fueled by his all-consuming need for her. Her head fell back. She lifted for him,

digging her heels into the mattress so she could follow him as he pulled back and meet

him as he shoved in again. Over and over again.

Bracing himself over her, he bore her down and pinned her hands beneath his.
“Mine,” he muttered, angling to catch her clit on his downstroke. “I knew you were

mine. Changed me. Fighting it changed—”

She whispered his name. Sam looked up from their joined bodies and met her eyes,

which were glassy with need.

“Later,” he promised.
Melanie nodded and dropped her head back. Her throat worked over some

swallowed emotion and she rolled her hips beneath him, encouraging him to move. He

hardly needed it. Shutting down his thinking brain, he threw himself into feeling and

didn’t stop until her high cries faded and his muscles quivered from the force of long-

denied release.

* * * * *

At the ungodly hour of four a.m., after dealing with his staff and making love to

Melanie a second time, Sam sat beside his bed watching her sleep. She was a bed hog,

draping herself across the mattress at an all-encompassing angle. After he’d eased

himself from beneath her sprawled limbs, she’d rolled over to claim his pillow.

He couldn’t sleep though. For several minutes, he passed his phone from one hand

to the other, rolling half a dozen thoughts around in his mind. When he finally made

the call, he still had no idea what he was going to say, but the sooner he got it over with,

the sooner he could rejoin her in bed.

David answered on the fourth ring, his voice rough with sleep. “Burke Security.”
“David, it’s Sam. Sorry to wake you.” A woman spoke in the background. Sam

winced. “Give my apologies to Jovanna.”

“Is my sister with you?” David asked, no longer sleep-slow.
“Listen, I—”
“It’s fucking four o’clock in the morning, Sam. Is she with you?”
Sam ground his back teeth together. “Yes.”
“Christ,” David said. “Finally.”

Tangled & Bound

“Thank God,” Jovanna said in the background. “I couldn’t take it anymore.”
Frowning, Sam started to launch into his explanation and statement of intent, but

David cut him off.

“Going back to sleep. Let Mel know a package showed up for her today.” David

ended the call, leaving Sam to stare at his phone.

So much for his unwillingness to violate the friendship code. Shaking his head, Sam

folded his big body into the small space Melanie didn’t occupy and drew her back

against him.

She stretched and cuddled into his heat. “Sam?”
“Go back to sleep, honey.” He kissed her shoulder.
“Can I ask a question?”
“Always…but preferably during daylight hours.”
She nudged him with her elbow before saying, “What’s going to be in our

contract?”

“I figured your part would state that you agree to turn to me when you’re

struggling with something, confide in me when you’re afraid of something and tell me

to stop when you feel like I’m doing something to you that you can’t handle.” He slid

his palm over her hip, drawn to her heat the way snow is drawn to the ground. “Sound

like a commitment you could make?”

She shifted, granting him access, and asked, “What’s your part going to say?”
“That I promise to love and cherish you, and do everything in my power to help

you realize your dreams.”

Melanie tensed and Sam did too, wondering whether he’d said something wrong.
“Does that sound like a commitment you could make?” she asked quietly.
“Could, can, already did.”
She rolled onto her back. “Will I still get spankings?”
Sam chuckled. “Probably on a daily basis.”

Emily Ryan-Davis

Chapter Eleven

The image of his bold signature beside her flowery scrawl was burned into her

brain. Melanie could barely remember the details of the contract but she’d suggested

amendments, and he’d agreed, and as of three days ago, she belonged to Sam Fletcher.

Sam insisted on a three-day separation period so she could have time to review the

contract and back out of it if she had second thoughts. The only thoughts she’d had

were of being with him again.

“You’re not eating,” Sam said.
She glanced up from her plate to find him watching her with a much different

expression than the last time they found themselves seated across the table from one

another. Now, instead of anger, his eyes gleamed with hunger—and not for food. While

she’d barely touched her meal, he’d finished his.

“I’m nervous,” she confessed. The few bites of salmon she’d eaten were perfect but

her stomach churned with anxiety. “Would you be offended if I pass?”

“No.” He pushed away from the table and offered his hand, which Melanie grasped

gratefully. Sam pulled her up from the chair and drew her close, into the warmth of his

body. He pressed their linked hands against the small of her back, forcing her breasts

against him. “Tell me what you’re afraid of.”

She moistened her lips. “I’m not exactly afraid. I missed you—it’s been days and

days, and the months before that, and I—um.”

Sam kissed the corner of her mouth. “You’re ready.”
Melanie nodded.
“Come with me.” Still holding her hand, he picked her plate off the table and

carried it into his galley kitchen. Sam slid her barely touched dinner into the refrigerator

and passed her a bottle of water after opening it. “I won’t push the eating issue, but you

need to drink this while I clean up.”

He left her in the kitchen and went back out to the small dining room. Melanie

sipped at the water while listening to the clink of silverware and glasses. Leaning

against the refrigerator, she closed her eyes and tried to calm the butterflies in her

stomach. She wasn’t afraid of him, didn’t have second thoughts about her choice, but

she was in a huge sea of the unknown. Unfortunately she’d probably continue to drift

along on that sea for a while, at least until she knew for certain that she could actually

survive a night of submission.

Sam returned and quickly loaded the dishwasher.

Tangled & Bound

Watching him perform the domestic chore should have eased her anxiety. Instead,

she worried she’d messed up by not offering to do it for him. Housekeeping wasn’t part

of their contract, but still.

He started the wash and faced her from the other side of the narrow kitchen. He

studied her for long minutes, examining her face and lower, lingering on the curves of

her breasts where they rounded above her square-necked sweater. Her nipples pebbled

under his scrutiny.

His eyes darkened and he pushed away from the counter. “Finish up now so we

can go upstairs.”

“Yes Sir.” Those two little words changed things. Melanie sucked a surprised

breath as heat settled between her thighs, overtaking the anxiety that had plagued her

all evening.

Sam nodded but didn’t say anything else. Eager to be with him, she finished the

bottle of water and dropped it in the recycling bin.

He once again took her hand and led, this time back to the foyer, where the stairs

were. Her heels tapped the hardwood floors in the wake of his quieter footfalls. She felt

conspicuous but when she’d tried to slip her shoes off earlier, Sam told her to leave

them on until otherwise instructed. He’d claimed the privilege of undressing her at his

whim.

Halfway up the stairs, he spoke. “Melanie, what are you afraid of?”
“I’m…what happens if I can’t handle you?”
“We stop and decide on something else,” he answered patiently, not pointing out

that he’d already addressed these very same concerns through email exchanges during

their separation period. “When I gave you the key to the front door, I gave you access to

everything. There’s nothing you can do or refuse to do, as long as we both agree to

change our relationship, that will make me revoke it.”

“Okay. All right.” Giving herself a mental shake, she managed to smile at him.
His frown remained. “You’ll tell me if you’re having second thoughts about

anything, and you’ll use your safeword if you need it.”

“Yes Sir.” She hesitated and her smile disappeared. “In Vegas, you said you’d break

me. Did you mean it?”

“Yes. You wrecked my self-control. If I’d kept you that night, I would have pushed

you to places you weren’t ready to go.”

“What about now?”
“You’ve given me back my control.”
“I…all right.” She looked up the stairs. “We should go. Just go. Because the longer I

think about this, the more scared I get.”

“Simple solution, honey.” Sam pulled her away from the wall and directed her up

the stairs ahead of him, one hand resting possessively on her hip. “You stop thinking

about anything except how much I want you.”

Emily Ryan-Davis

“A lot?”
“More than that.”
The second flight of stairs stopped at a heavy, dark-wood door, which Sam

unlocked with a key he produced from his pocket. Melanie tensed as the door swung

open, then released her breath in a rush. The scent of cinnamon wrapped around her,

warming her from the inside out and taking her right back to the tiny in-flight

bathroom with Sam’s mouth on her skin.

She expected something dark and gloomy, iron accents and leather restraints

hanging from the walls. Instead, light from an enormous winter moon flooded the

space, coming in through a huge skylight built into the angled roof. Very few

furnishings interrupted the caramel-stained wood floors—a high-backed chair, a

padded bench, glass-fronted cabinets against the walls. A little bit of her confidence

returned and she walked into the big, open space before Sam prompted her to move.

She spotted the St. Andrews Cross immediately and the last of her reluctance fled,

replaced by a wet rush. Her fingertips tingled with phantom needles of pain. She took

half a dozen steps toward the big X-beam before Sam stopped her.

“That’s not what we’re doing tonight,” he said.
When she turned back to him, the rest of the room finally registered. Sam closed the

door while she nibbled the pad of her thumb and stared at a fixture that resembled a

sawhorse, except with a padded and leather-upholstered body. Other shapes lurked in

the far shadows, furniture she had no doubt she’d become familiar with over time.

“Nerves again?” He circled behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.
“Different nerves. Outside nerves.” Trusting Sam’s experience, she forced her

spinning thoughts to stop and emptied her mind of everything except him.

“We’ll do something about those in a minute.” He kissed the spot where her

shoulder met her neck. Melanie shivered. When he lowered the zipper hidden at her

hip and pushed her skirt to the floor, the shiver settled down deep.

He stripped her efficiently, removing everything except her sheer white stockings

and black patent leather heels, and he held her hand for balance while she stepped

away from the puddle of clothes at her feet. After moving her clothes to the chair, he

walked around to stand in front of her. Desire darkened his eyes and her nervousness

crept back into the room.

“I haven’t seen you naked,” she said into the silence.
Sam didn’t look detour from his rapt examination of her breasts. “You haven’t,

have you?”

She shook her head. “You made me keep my eyes closed on the plane, and every

other time, you still had at least half your clothes on. You wake up and get dressed

before me. If I hadn’t felt you inside me and seen you that night at Bondage, I might be

wondering whether you actually have the right equipment.”

Tangled & Bound

He jerked his head up and stared at her. “Are you telling me I have something to

prove?”

Melanie flushed. “I mean—”
“Don’t take it back,” he said, cutting her off. “Elaborate.”
“Well, I, um.” She fidgeted. “It’s just that I had a thought.”
He raised an expectant eyebrow.
Since he wasn’t going to let her off the hook, she charged ahead. “I’m naked again

and you’re not. I was wondering if it was a power thing. Whether you feel more in

control if you’re fully clothed.”

Without responding, Sam moved out of her line of sight to open one of the cabinets.

Melanie started to turn toward him but he stopped her.

“Bend over and put your hands on the bench. There are little leather loops for your

fingers. See them?”

“I…yes Sir.” Because she did, and a picture of herself obeying him filled her head,

and suddenly her tongue forgot how to form any other words.

The squat bench wouldn’t have reached her knees even if she weren’t wearing four-

inch-tall heels. In order to follow Sam’s directions, she had to spread her feet apart and

lean forward in an awkward sort of pose yoga enthusiasts would call downward

dog…if she were in an extremely naked kind of yoga class. The posture didn’t leave her

with any sense of modesty whatsoever. As she spread her fingers and pushed them into

the loops, which fit like supple rings sized for her small hands, Sam returned.

He presented a shallow, felt-lined drawer adorned with an array of oblong, tapered

instruments. Melanie recognized them immediately as anal plugs and her pussy

squeezed in on itself, a helpless muscle response to her sudden uncertainty and

excitement.

“Choose one,” he said.
She tried to look up at him but the combination of low bench and high heels

severely limited her range of motion and she was unable to see higher than his thighs.

He palmed the back of her head and nudged her back down. “Don’t look at me.

You’re the one who will be wearing it. Which would you like?”

Melanie licked her lips and wondered if he could tell how hot her cheeks were. The

plugs ranged in colors and materials, from what appeared to be clear blue glass to a hot

pink toy that had a silicone look to it. Two of the plugs sported adornments, one a fluffy

pink feathered concoction that, when positioned correctly, would resemble a tail. The

other one was a tail outright, all white and poufy and long, like something that

belonged on a long-haired cat. It was attached to a simple plastic body. She could

totally picture herself arching and rubbing up against him in a plea for attention.

When she hesitated, Sam crouched until he was on eye level with her. “I wouldn’t

offer anything I’m not interested in seeing. Nothing you choose is the wrong choice.”

She flexed her hands against the leather beneath them. “Can’t you choose?”

Emily Ryan-Davis

“I could but I want to know your head as well as I’m about to know your body.”
“I should just do it, shouldn’t I? Quick like a Band-Aid. Or something.”
Sam chuckled and tucked her hair behind her ear, only for gravity to pull it back

down. “You could keep agonizing over the decision all night if you want. I’m patient

enough to wait and I know you’ll choose eventually.”

“This is cruel,” she moaned.
True to his word, Sam settled in and rested his forearms on his thighs. She risked a

glance at his face and sighed. “Please don’t laugh at me.”

His expression sobered. “Your submission isn’t amusing to me, Melanie.”
He didn’t raise his voice or lift a finger in her direction, but his displeasure struck

her as unmistakably as a physical blow. Closing her eyes, she said, “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“I accept your apology. I’d like you to choose now. While I’m willing to wait you

out, I’d rather move on to preparing your ass to accept me.”

Her mouth went dry while her pussy creamed, responding to the mere thought of

him filling her. A touch of uncertainty floated through the back of her mind as she

recalled how much his size stretched her. Struggling to control her doubt that he’d fit in

her tighter passage, she swallowed hard and managed to say, “I think the white tail is

pretty.”

“You’re pretty. That just serves a purpose, a little coverage so the whole world can’t

see your cunt if I decide to make use of you in a play setting.” He stood and removed

the array from view.

He wanted her to accompany him to private gatherings, where he might display

her—but not share her. That was something she’d agreed to when they worked out

their contract, but she hadn’t considered the reality of it. Being exposed to Sam was

overwhelming enough. To a crowd—she couldn’t think about it right now.

Melanie hung her head between her arms and tried to remember how to take real

breaths again. Her calves had begun to ache from the unnatural strain created by her

heels and her weight distribution over the bench. Behind her, Sam’s footfalls moved

away. When they came back toward her, she tensed.

He stopped immediately behind her. She could see his legs between hers, faded

denim framed by her white stockings. He did something and the sweet, rich scent of

cinnamon burst into the air. Before she mustered words, she felt the warm slide of thick

fluid between her cheeks.

“Remember how I told you to push out a little?” He stroked her bare cheek before

working his fingers into her crease. The cinnamon-scented oil brought a flare of heat to

her delicate flesh.

“I remember.” Melanie inhaled through her nose, trying to breathe through the

low-grade burn.

Something round and hard nudged her pucker. “You’ll want to do that now.”

Tangled & Bound

“I don’t think I’m rea—ahh!” Goose bumps spread over her skin, fast like fire as

Sam pressed the plug’s narrow tip past her protesting entrance.

“Don’t squirm, honey.” His hand fell heavily against the small of her back, holding

her in place. While her nipples tightened to painful peaks, he worked the plug deeper

and deeper until her natural resistance gave and the toy slid into place. The tail’s silky

fringe swung against her thigh, light and tickling, an enormous contrast to the hot

fullness lodged in her ass.

“Sir?” She shook so hard, she feared her knees would give out.
“That was the hard part. Kneel up on the bench.” He stroked her thigh before

urging her to position her knees between her restrained hands.

She hadn’t realized exactly how much pressure the initial pose put on her legs.

Intense relief ran down her thighs as the pressure eased. Breathing hard, she threw her

senses out in search of a distraction from her body.

Sam didn’t let her be distracted for long. He flipped the tail over her hip and

pushed her knees even closer together. Sure fingers slid between her folds. He took her

outer labia between his thumbs and forefingers and opened her to the room’s cool air.

“You have the sweetest little clit,” he said, running his knuckle over the exposed

nub. Melanie gasped out loud and tilted her hips higher, trying to find his touch again.

He evaded her and drew the tail back, positioning it so it swung against the backs

of her thighs. “Very sweet. I could spend all night licking and sucking at you. All night,

some other night. Do you know why I’m stretching out your ass, honey?”

She had to force her voice past her need-constricted throat and it still came out as a

whisper. “Because you’re going to fuck me there?”

“Over and over again.” He kissed the base of her spine. “Nobody else and nothing

else, Melanie. Your submission’s mine and so is your ass. I’m not sharing either, not

with anything I don’t put inside you with my own hands. You understand?”

Her voice was completely gone. She managed a raspy squeak, which seemed to

satisfy him because he didn’t demand more from her. A moment later, the sound of his

zipper hissing open stopped her heart. The rustle of his jeans hitting the floor kick-

started her pulse into overdrive.

Instead of taking her hips in hand and pushing his cock into her, Sam walked away.

She didn’t have a chance to be confused. He dragged the straight-backed chair across

the loft, positioned it in front of her face, and sat.

“I have complete control over you right now,” he said.
Melanie stared at the thick, purple cock standing inches away from her face.

Muscular thighs framed Sam’s erection, which glistened with pre-cum at the head. She

licked her lips, dying of thirst for him.

“Clothing might be an element of your power or lack of, but it has nothing to do

with mine.” He threaded his fingers through her hair and drew her forward, tipping

her balance off until her lips brushed his smooth crown. “Open your mouth, Melanie.”

Emily Ryan-Davis

She didn’t even think to disobey. When Sam urged her head down, her lips parted

around his cock and she took him deep, moaning into the salty flavor of his semen. Her

physical concerns became a low-grade throbbing nothing as the world narrowed down

to his heat and scent and taste.

He wrapped her even more tightly around his fingers, not allowing her any

movement of her own, by drawing her mouth down his shaft. She tried to retain some

control by tensing her shoulders but Sam had calculated well in the way he positioned

her. She couldn’t resist him while also keeping herself stable on the bench.

“You’ll want to take a deep breath,” he warned seconds before flexing his hands

and forcing her all the way to his root. As his wide head reached for the back of her

throat, wetness slid down her inner thigh.

She didn’t get the deep breath fast enough or deep enough, but breathing didn’t

matter. Nothing mattered except trusting him to push her as far as she could go before

she broke, giving him everything she could find in herself and then some things she

didn’t know she possessed.

Sam took and took, holding her in place by her nape and her hair. As blackness

hedged the outskirts of her awareness and he still seemed so far from coming, she

started to panic. His touch changed almost instantaneously. He relaxed his hands and

pulled her off his cock, the length red and glistening from her mouth. Still hard,

quivering for release. Melanie whimpered an objection and strained toward him, frantic

for a second chance at bringing him over the edge.

“No,” he rasped, hoarse and deep. The pitch of that single syllable sent waves of

pleasure into her, gave her something to act on, something to obey.

She drew a shuddering breath and turned her head to rest it on his muscle-corded

thigh. His pulse jumped near her temple and his wiry hair tickled her ear. Rubbing her

cheek against him, she pleaded, “Let me try again, Sir.”

“Tonight’s not going to end with me in your mouth.” He shifted beneath her and

eased her back, returning her to a balanced position on the bench.

As she settled back to sit on her calves, the silky tip of the tail skimmed her legs and

the hard toy shifted inside. Melanie gasped as tingling fingers of sensation covered her

with goose bumps all over again.

“Pretty.” Sam rubbed the pad of his thumb across one of her tight, aching nipples, a

soft caress that didn’t prepare her for his sharp pinch. She jerked in surprise. Sam

smiled. “Sometime soon we’re going to pierce these, aren’t we?”

His question rocketed her back to the airplane bathroom, shoving her past a fear of

pain and into a memory of excitement. Swallowing, recalling the first surprising slide of

his cock inside her, eager to accept him again—and again—she only managed to nod.

Sam leaned close to kiss her parted lips, a quick caress before he stood and circled

around behind her. “Present your ass, Melanie. As much as I enjoy decorating you, I

want the rest of what’s mine.”

Tangled & Bound

Her pulse kicked to a new level. After a brief moment of hesitation, she

redistributed her weight and offered her bottom. Sam worked his hand beneath the tail

and drew a single finger along her slick crease, close enough to her clit that she

shuddered, so far away that orgasm seemed like a finish line she’d never cross. She

whimpered and tried to follow his receding hand, but he was faster and without the

constraints of bondage.

He did touch her again though, one hand at her hip to steady her, the other firmly

grasping the base of the tail. Melanie stiffened.

“Breathe out,” Sam instructed. “Relax. Don’t fight, Melanie. I don’t want to hurt

you…this way.”

Don’t fight. Relax. Commands she couldn’t possibly obey, not when she was this

raw and exposed.

“I said breathe.” He slapped the outer slope of her thigh, a light crack that

succeeded at drawing her back from an encroaching edge of panic.

As her pulse slowed to a slightly more reasonable pace, she closed her eyes and

focused on releasing a long, slow breath. Sam tugged, and the toy eased from her body

along with the breath. She missed the fullness immediately. A sob of protest rose in her

throat but turned into a groan of surprised pleasure as he lightly circled her opening

with his fingers. Heat melted into her sensitive skin and the scent of cinnamon revived,

gaining in power.

“Christ,” Sam muttered, the word rough. He dipped his fingers into her body,

spreading the lubricant deeper with slow strokes in and out. “You’re so welcoming,

honey. A perfect little hostess. You deserve a kiss.”

His fingers slipped free. Melanie didn’t have time to protest. Something warm and

wet followed his fingers, so soft on her stretched, heated flesh. The damp softness

stiffened, dipped into her passage, and the realization of what he was doing—tasting

her there, kissing there, combined with the sensation to wrench a long moan from her

chest.

Her clit throbbed, aching to be touched, and her pussy contracted so hard her

whole body shook. “Sir, please. Pleasepleaseplease touch me.”

He licked up to the top of her crease and nipped the sensitive flesh there. “I am

touching you.”

“It’s not enough,” she cried.
“Tell me what would be enough, honey.”
Nothing. She didn’t think anything would be enough, but said, “I need you to

touch my clit. I—”

He did, responding before she finished talking. Reaching beneath her, he thumbed

through her soaked folds to find the throbbing, distended bud. Melanie’s breath caught

in her lungs, brought up short by the high crest of orgasm that rose over her. She

tensed, fighting the sensation, but Sam persisted with a firm, quick massage that led her

Emily Ryan-Davis

body to override her mind. Sam drew back as soon as she peaked, leaving her poised on

an edge.

“More,” she moaned as she swayed on the bench, trembling.
“Not yet, honey. Soon.” His hands left her, but foil crinkled and the scent of latex

invaded the drugging perfume of cinnamon and musk. Seconds later, Sam notched his

broad head against her slick, prepared opening and advanced.

His cock stretched and filled her, excruciatingly slow, the sensation so different

from any other penetration she’d experienced. Gasping, needy, she tried to angle back

to hurry him.

Sam grasped her hips and held her still, claiming the pace as his right. “Stop. I want

to watch your body welcome me. The show’s too good to rush.”

He moved again, sinking into her in incremental stages. Dizzy with want, she

closed her eyes and searched for a calm place, somewhere she could ignore her body’s

demands for relief. She found it just as he hilted himself in her dark sheath—and then

he retreated, dragging her right back to him with relentless pleasure.

“Give me your hands,” he said, going still behind her.
Melanie shook herself, trying to shed her mental fog. Thinking was difficult. She’d

become a being of pure feeling. He repeated himself and she flexed her fingers against

the leather holding her hands to the bench.

“I don’t know if I can.” Her thighs quivered, weakened by the strain of her position.
He bent over her and wrapped his arm around her upper chest, anchoring her

against his torso. “I won’t let you fall.”

She believed him. No hesitation, no second guesses, no questioning—she believed

him. Awed by the realization, she dropped into his care, removing her weight from her

arms so she could free her hands.

Sam straightened and took her with him, not breaking the hot line of contact that

spanned from her shoulders to her ass, which he cradled securely against his groin. He

arranged her arms to loop up and back around his neck and kissed the side of her

throat, his mouth hot and hungry.

The new position gave him total access. He gripped her breast and used the soft

mound to anchor her against his chest. His free hand skimmed down her stomach and

burrowed between her thighs. Tunneling through her wetness, between her folds, he

pressed the heel of his palm against her clit and curled the tips of two fingers into her

pussy.

That was all it took. Her entire body stiffened, rocking with deep, powerful

contractions. She stopped breathing and clenched her hands in his hair as orgasm

overcame her, hurtling her into some crazy free-fall space. Sam cursed behind her,

surprise in the explosive word, and his deep-seated cock jerked in response. He

stiffened and bucked as one spasm followed another, his release chasing hers.

Tangled & Bound

Sam held her locked against him and they descended together, both breathing hard

and riding aftershocks that seemed like they would never end. Melanie turned her

head, searching for his mouth. A small part of her feared he would reject the kiss the

way he had in his hotel room but fear was unnecessary. Sam seized her lips and didn’t

let up, devouring her as he caressed one last small shock from her spent body. He

withdrew from her before she stopped shuddering, leaving an emptiness that made her

ache.

“More,” she moaned plaintively after he raised his head. “I need you back.”
“I know what you need, honey.” He gathered her in his arms and lifted her against

his chest, only to deposit her atop a thick rug. Braced on one hand, he rose over her and

kissed each of her closed eyelids. “I’m going away for just a minute. I’ll be back for you

before you even know I’m gone.”

“I already know you’re gone.” She stretched, spreading her arms out to her sides,

luxuriating in the softness beneath her. “Please hurry, Sir.”

He didn’t waist time responding. Cool air skimmed her flushed skin as he rose and

left. Melanie sighed in the silence and opened her eyes. A bit of purple ribbon caught

her attention. She rolled onto her side, but the Vosges Haut Chocolat box was just out of

reach. Appetite returning with a vengeance, she sat and grabbed the box, ignoring the

fact that the candy inside had probably expired months ago.

The ribbon came free with a tug and she carefully lifted the top off the box, only to

stop in confused surprise. Rose-pink powder dusted each carefully packed truffle.

“You were supposed to wait for those,” Sam said from the door. “Don’t you know

what kind of trouble your curiosity could get you into?”

Melanie’s head jerked up and her gaze locked on him. Every naked inch of him,

well-muscled and, she noted with a hum of approval, ready to begin anew.

Meeting his eyes, she repositioned herself to sit cross-legged and hugged the box to

her stomach. “These aren’t the ones you bought before.”

Sam shook his head and advanced on her without closing the door. “It occurred to

me that I did a pretty stupid thing, insisting I knew what was in your heart better than

you did.”

“It was a little stupid,” she agreed. “Um, well, kind of a lot stupid. Colossally

stupid. Epic—”

He plucked one of the truffles from the box and shoved it in her mouth. “Be quiet

and eat, you brat. You need calories so you’ll be able to keep up with me.”

“Mmmmm.” She closed her eyes and bit into the chocolate, deciding not to push

her luck by pointing out that she had the advantage of youth to tip the rest of the night

in her favor.

About Emily Ryan-Davis

Emily Ryan-Davis lives in Maryland with her loving husband and hateful guinea

pig. On any given day, you can find her shopping (online or in stores), chatting/writing

(the pair go hand in hand, can’t have one without the other), knitting (or buying yarn)

or mocking her husband’s comic collection (while parenthetically wondering why

comics haven’t upgraded to the ebook age; imagine all the extra space she’d have).

Occasionally she picks up her mandolin, but mostly she just ignores it. You won’t find

her paying attention to current events or the latest celebrity gossip because writing

stories is her way of pretending it doesn’t matter that she doesn’t know how to use the

television remote.

Emily’s favorite authors are Megan Hart, Terry Pratchett, JR Ward and Orson Scott

Card. She loves sexy, magical, funny and intense stories, but especially enjoys

immersing herself in the breathless intensity of a “with feeling” love scene. She can’t

pick a genre (decision-making issues!) so writes in whatever setting calls to her at any

given time: contemporary paranormal, historical western, medieval Europe, Gothic

France—if she can imagine a strong emotional attraction existing in a particular place or

time, chances are she’ll write the story.

Emily welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email

address on her

author bio page

www.ellorascave.com

Tell Us What You Think

We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You can email

the author

directly or you can email us at

Service@ellorascave.com

(when contacting Customer

Service, be sure to state the book title and author).

Ellora’s Cave Publishing

www.ellorascave.com

Tangled & Bound

ISBN 9781419936852

Edited by Briana St. James

Cover design by Syneca

Photo: Christian Boeving

Electronic book publication September 2012

The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

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