Author: Roni Loren
She bit her lip and peeked back down the hallway to make sure no one was around. “I thought you would’ve known. Training with Grant is highly coveted. Beyond getting a monthlong immersion with such a skilled dom, Grant also matches up the trainee with a new dom at the end of it. He has an uncanny ability to find the perfect match for his trainees, so everyone wants to be one of his girls. The waiting list is long and the interview process extensive. You jumped all those steps.”
Waiting lists? Interviews? A bitter taste rolled over her tongue. “So he just uses some woman then turns her over to another guy when he’s done with her?”
Kelsey’s head tilted, as if Charli had spoken the question in Japanese. “It’s not using anyone. It’s an agreement. Both know what they’re signing up for and both benefit. Grant’s made it clear that he doesn’t stay with any sub for longer than a month. He’s not looking for more.”
“More.” The word was like a dry chunk of bread in her throat.
Kelsey shrugged. “You know, love, emotion, potential for marriage and kids. Grant’s an amazing dom, but he likes to keep things businesslike. Contracts, clearly defined rules. I’ve heard he doesn’t even let women come to his cabin. Everything happens here and then he goes home.”
“Right,” Charli murmured, trying to absorb it all.
“But, of course, that doesn’t mean he’s in any less demand. God knows most people aren’t coming here for roses and love poems. Plus, who wouldn’t be tempted to let a man like Grant take care of her for a little while?” She gave a rueful smile. “Grant’s talked to so many women, but he hasn’t chosen anyone for training in a while. And no one’s even seen him do a scene in the last few months. I’m still pretty new here, but that apparent celibacy is odd for him. He used to be an active participant, not just the owner. So be prepared, people are going to be curious about you.”
All the new information swam in Charli’s head, not quite lining up. “Me? Why?”
“Because he picked you, silly,” she said and poked her arm. “You’re the chosen one.”
Kelsey said the last two words with mock dramatics and spirit fingers, but Charli’s breakfast had started to churn in her stomach. “This isn’t really full training. I’m just uh, trying things out.”
“Sure. You don’t know until you’ve experienced it. Afterward, you’ll either run like hell to get away from it, or you’ll fall under its spell and never be able to shake it from your system.” Her tone was bright, but there was a haunted look in her eye, as if she were trying to push out a memory she didn’t want in there. “This place has been my saving grace.”
There was a story there and Charli wanted to ask, but Kelsey turned and motioned at her. “Come on. We’re wasting time and we can’t get off schedule. Grant will be expecting you for dinner at seven sharp.”
Charli hurried to catch up. “Seven? That’s hours from now. We have lots of time.”
“We’re going to need every minute.” Kelsey peeked over her shoulder with a sly smile. “Boss man has big plans for you.”
Grant sipped his club soda and lime while relaxing in a corner booth of Vines, the only “proper attire required” dining room at The Ranch. The place was already half full, and groupings of every makeup spoke intimately over the candlelit tables. Soft piano music drifted from the other side of the room where Javier, one of the male submissives, played something mellow.
It could’ve been any high-end restaurant in Dallas at first glance. But if one looked harder, paid more attention, he would see the collars gracing the throats of many of the men and women. He would see that it wasn’t just couples, but triads and foursomes sharing intimate conversations and promising looks. He would see same-sex couples being affectionate and relaxed with each other without fear of getting the side-eye from judgmental diners.
The sight gave Grant a deep sense of satisfaction—the kind of satisfaction that could only come from knowing that, for once, he’d done something right. He didn’t have a lot of those things to add to his résumé. He’d let so many people down in his past, he could pave a hundred-mile sidewalk with those regrets and mistakes. But here—this place—he’d gotten that right. He’d built a haven for those who’d found themselves drifting outside the neat lines society had set up for them. And for that he was proud.
But now he was bringing an outsider into this space, and he was more than a little apprehensive about how Charli was going to react. This wasn’t her world, and despite how well she’d handled the interlude in his kitchen, her mind had fought the submission hard. She may have a kinky streak hiding in there, but she definitely hadn’t slipped into subspace at any point, hadn’t truly let go. When he’d checked in with her afterward, her gaze and tongue had been as sharp as ever. She wasn’t going to break easily, if at all.
Not that it was going to stop him from trying. That was for sure.
And though he was willing to do whatever it took to keep her on the property and safe, he knew agreeing to train her was pure selfishness on his part. He wanted to touch her again, to taste her, to make her let go and lose herself—if even for a few seconds. He could teach her ways to soften her image and approach, to act more feminine, without bringing her to his bed. He knew that. And he suspected she did, too.
But she’d agreed anyway. And once she had, he couldn’t resist the opportunity to have her—even if it was for only two weeks. She was the first woman in as long as he could remember who had drummed up such an urgent need in him. And despite all that stockpiled bravado she carried around, he’d sensed a glimmer of relief in her when he’d held her down and taken her, that fleeting disappearance of will. And it’d been like a drug to his system.
A very dangerous drug.
Because now all he could think of was breaking that part of her open, of being the man to show her exactly who she could be if she gave into it. Of her fully surrendering to him during the next couple of weeks.
Something that was highly unlikely. Some women thrived on letting it all go, on being taken care of, on putting themselves into the hands of someone they trusted. But a woman like Charli, who prided herself on doing everything herself and in her own way, was going to rebel in the kind of arrangement he enjoyed. Even with the training being her idea in the first place, he knew she wasn’t going to submit quietly.
But despite all his concerns, he relished the challenge ahead. Harnessing and redirecting that rebellion in Charli could prove to be a helluva good time. He’d get to enjoy her feisty, albeit reluctant, submission, and she’d get to learn how to be a lady. Win-win. Prizes for everyone.
He took another long drag from his soda, wishing it were some of his vineyard’s Chardonnay instead but playing it safe in case he decided to initiate Charli tonight. He had no idea how pliant or pissed she’d be after all the treatments he’d set up for her today. He chuckled to himself, wondering what kind of hell she’d given the waxing technician. He doubted Charli had held back her opinion.
“Are you meeting someone?” The hostess’s voice drifted across the room, pulling Grant’s attention toward the main door.
His glass thunked onto the table as the muscles in his forearm forgot to work. He stared at the redheaded beauty murmuring to the hostess. Well, I’ll be damned.
Charli peered into the dining room, her fingers worrying whatever she was holding in her hands. She looked lost. And unsure. And completely, jaw-hit-the-table gorgeous.
Grant rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling hot all over. Damn. He’d known without a doubt that Charli would clean up well. Not many women could still look beautiful in relaxed-fit jeans and a ponytail like she did. But he hadn’t expected her to channel a Hollywood starlet or something.
The hostess leaned over and pointed to Grant’s booth. Somehow he managed to raise his hand in greeting and not smile like some goofy teenager who’s realized he’s landed a date with the prom queen. He straightened his shoulders, trying to regain his mental balance. He was supposed to be the cool and in control one here. Since when did he get like this over a pretty woman? He had beautiful subs offering themselves to him on a regular basis and it barely registered on his radar. This should be no different. She should be no different.
As Charli got closer, Grant saw what she was holding in her hands. Shoes. A pair of sexy black heels he’d picked out for her earlier today. A perfect complement, Kelsey had assured him, to the dark green strapless dress he’d chosen for Charli. His gaze went to her stocking feet, then slid up her long legs, to the hem of her short dress, and not stopping until he reached the column of her bare neck.
Not bare for long. The collar tucked into the inner pocket of his suit coat seemed to warm against his ribs at the thought. Soon.
He stood as Charli walked over to the booth. She set the shoes on the seat, put her hands on her hips, and arched a newly manicured brow at him. “Broken ankles or bare feet. Those are your choices.”
He smiled down at her. “Already giving me orders, freckles? That’s not how this works.”
She released a breath and then leaned in, keeping her voice low. “Look, it’s been a long day. I’ve been through what I think may be considered cruel and unusual under my constitutional rights as an American citizen. I’ve been waxed and plucked and exfoliated and…ironed, I think. Some woman whose name I can’t pronounce has now seen more of me than my gynecologist ever has. And this dress is…drafty. You gotta give me something here.”
He stared at her for a moment, a bit stunned by her rapid-fire speech, then laughed, loud and open, not caring that it drew the attention of the other guests. He raised his palms. “Fine. Point taken. Sit down. We’ll save the shoes for later.”
“Thank you.” She took his offered hand and stepped up into the raised booth, obviously forgetting she had a dress on as she climbed in. He got a delicious glimpse of the bottom curve of her ass.
He palmed her waist and moved behind her to block anyone else’s view. “Lesson one, freckles. When wearing a dress, you need to be more aware of yourself. Giving half the restaurant a Basic Instincts moment is not that big a deal here. But back in town that may be a bit embarrassing.”
“Shit.” She grabbed her hem, clamped her thighs together and hurriedly sat. “You shouldn’t have made me wear such a short dress. I feel naked.”
“You look beautiful,” he corrected, then slid into the spot across from her. “And be thankful. As my sub, I could’ve requested you to come to dinner only wearing those shoes.”
Panic flitted over her expression. “Seriously?”
He laced his fingers and leaned forward. “Yes. That’s how it works, Charli. I need you to understand that before we go any further. This is a power exchange, it isn’t ‘let’s play sexy times and get some plastic handcuffs and whipped cream so we feel kinky.’”
“I know that,” she said in a huff. “I guess I’m just having a hard time grasping how…involved this all is.”
“For some people, it’s not that complicated. They may be perfectly happy with those plastic cuffs, and that’s great. But this is a lifestyle for me, my way of being. It’s not something I can punch in and out of. When I’m involved with a woman, even in a temporary capacity, the need to dominate is like a living, breathing thing.”
She held his gaze for a moment, then looked down at her water glass as if needing a second to process what he’d said. “Right.”
“Hey”—he reached across the table and laid a hand over hers—“no one said you have to do this. You can back out now or at any point. I’m not trying to scare you. I just need you to know what this is about, what I’m about.”