Jenna's Consent

Jennifer
Kacey

Members Only, Book Six

Every
night Jenna spends hours preparing submissives for their Doms at The Library.
She encourages them, reassures them as they take a step into the forbidden and
urges them never to settle. But when it comes to her own journey, she’s spent
years hiding, trapped within the steel cage of her corsets. She can’t hide any
longer.

Nick has
wanted her since the moment he laid eyes on her but she’s always told him no.
Until now. She agrees to be his submissive for a night but he wants more…much
more. He unwittingly brings in the one man Jenna never stopped loving and, on
the cusp of everything’s he’s ever wanted, he’s not the only one fighting for
her heart.

Ian
can’t forget her…his Jenna. He walked away years ago but not this time. This
time he’ll settle for nothing but her complete submission.

Three
people unable to let go of the past must learn that love—above all else—is
worth fighting for.

A
Romantica®
BDSM erotic romance
from Ellora’s Cave

Jenna’s Consent

Dedication

Vera—the course of my writing and the journey to find myself
was forever transformed after seeing you self-suspend for the first time. I’ll
never forget that moment, watching you slowly spin upside-down in jute. You
made my world tilt on a different axis and the rest of the people around me
disappeared.

You amaze me with your strength and determination with all
that you are and all that you’ve overcome.

Acknowledgments

To Nina—for giving Ian a chance and boo-hooing through the
outline so I knew I was on the right track.

To DallasKink—for answering question after question and
showing me how to make rope. The yarn I buy will NEVER look the same.

To Kitty Kelly—the scene with the knife and the
corset…yeah…that one’s for you.

Special thanks to the riggers and bottoms from around the
world willing to share so much of themselves with me—EM & Cat, A & B,
Sara & Handrolld & Cupcake, WykD & Clover, Sean & Sterling,
Neptune & Lala, Jack & Zahara and Tatu.

A piece of each of you lies within these pages…

Jenna awakened in her dark bedroom, clutching her comforter
as her heart hammered away in her chest. She blinked rapidly, trying to get her
brown eyes to make out anything in the room but there were nothing but degrees
of varying blackness. She slammed her eyelids closed again and held her
breath—listening.

Someone was in her house.

No noise tipped her off. Not the stomp of a boot or a
barking dog next door.

The feeling of being stalked scrambled up her spine,
chilling her to the bone.

Her fight-or-flight response screamed through her system,
and what did her mind cough up?

Dammit, I just painted my toenails. I’m gonna be so
pissed if I have to repaint them.

She peeled the covers away from her body, thanking whoever
was the patron saint of going to bed with a T-shirt and panties on. True, it
was nothing but a short piece of jersey but it was better than naked. Fighting
some asshole attacker with the girls swinging free just sounded like bad form.

A nervous giggle almost slipped out and she clamped a hand
over her lips.

There was nothing like being punch-drunk at four o’clock in
the morning after not sleeping well for two weeks.

She rounded the bed, making her way silently toward her
bedroom door. A bat stood next to it, straight and true.

It might as well have been a mile away when the door
squeaked open a few inches.

Her inner
this isn’t happening
took a backseat real
quick to,
fuck you, come and get it, dipshit
.

Her fingers grazed the handle of the bat, just as the door
swung open. The handle bashed into the far wall, trapping her only weapon
behind it.

A big guy with spiky hair and dressed all in black stood
framed in the open doorway, his chest heaving. His face remained mostly in
shadow but he didn’t wear a mask.

How odd…

Jenna stumbled back, farther away from her savior, Mr.
Slugger. She sucked in the biggest lungful of air she could manage. Opening her
mouth to scream bloody murder was automatic.

Several things happened simultaneously.

He spun her around and clamped his muscled forearm under her
breasts. He squeezed, trapping one of her arms and her cry for help. He covered
her mouth and nose with his free hand, trapping her head tight to his shoulder.

She elbowed him in the stomach with her free arm, putting
all her weight behind it. He might as well have been made of concrete. He
barely even “oomphed”.

His palm shifted over her nose just enough that she could
suck in a panting breath—she froze.

She inhaled deeper and moaned.

Hugo Boss cologne.

The kind that belonged to someone she would never forget.
Nor forgive. It filled her head, relaxing all her muscles.

Ian.

But the man holding her couldn’t be him. He’d walked away
from her four years prior and she hadn’t heard a word from him since. And he
wouldn’t have been able to find her. Wouldn’t have any need or desire to. She
wasn’t even in the same state any longer.

Just because he owned one of the topnotch security agencies
in the U.S. shouldn’t make her question her sanity. Not that she’d checked up
on him or anything.

Her brain sparked back online again and she remembered she
was supposed to fight. The guy behind her ran his stubbled cheek up the side of
her throat, nipping her neck below her ear. Hard.

She gasped behind his hand, cursing her traitorous sex, as
it went slick and needy from one well-placed bite.

“No screaming, gorgeous. At least not until I give you
permission.” The rough cadence of Ian’s voice tickled her ear.

A moan fit for a porn star drifted from between her lips,
wrapping them in intimacy she hadn’t felt since he’d left her so long ago.

The arm across her middle drifted down until he palmed her
flat abdomen. The tips of his fingers pressed against the top of her mound,
drawing her lower body flush against his groin. He groaned when she tilted her
backside toward him, grinding against him with her
Care Bear
finest
panties.

Sunshine Bear covered her ass, but she wasn’t feeling all
that sunny.
Fuck Me
Bear would be appropriate or maybe
Take Me Please
Bear but apparently those panties were in the laundry.

“I can smell your pussy. Have you missed me? Ached for me?

She dug her short nails into the hand covering her mouth to
tell him exactly where he could shove it.

He didn’t just walk away from her years before, he
disappeared. After awakening the submissive inside her he’d done nothing but
throw her to the wolves with no one to guide her.

She hated him.

Despised him.

He finally loosened his grip on her jaw enough to allow her
to yell at him. Instead emotion almost suffocated her words. “Yes, Sir. Every
day. Every night.”

“Good,” he stated, nipping her earlobe as he pumped against
her ass. Too many layers of clothing separated her from him. The patron saint
of pajamas needed to take a hike.

He forced her mouth open, stuffing two fingers inside. “Get
them good and wet.”

She sucked on them. She drowned in need while licking his
thick digits. Tasting his flesh she moaned low in her chest. He tasted just as
good as she remembered.

He held tight to her hipbone, guiding them both in their
dry-humping marathon. His hips stuttered as she tried distracting him with her
mouth. She’d learned a lot from the last several years without him.

He trailed light kisses down her neck, causing her knees to
weaken. He bit down sharply on the sensitive skin on her shoulder, nearly
buckling her resolve to stay standing.

Before she was satisfied he withdrew her treat, trailing his
wet fingers down to the bottom of her shirt. He yanked it off, exposing the
large mounds of her breasts to the slightly chilly air. She ached for his
touch, for his tongue. He cupped the heavy globes, rolling her nipples between
his thumb and fingers. Pinching them hard made her moan until she bit her
bottom lip to keep from begging for him to take her. To own her.

He wouldn’t and she knew it. If she asked for something he’d
take twice as long giving it to her. It was always like that. Somehow too much
and not enough, all in the same touch.

He moved them closer to her nightstand, knowing exactly
where she still kept her rope. Shibari lengths, natural dye, 6mm. He taught her
to keep it close.

No matter how much time had passed, certain things he’d
taught her couldn’t be erased. Almost as if the desires he stirred inside her,
the love of rope, the practice and the dedication it took to be great were so
integral inside her that they couldn’t be separated.

Pictures could be burned and clothing could be tossed in the
trash, thrown out and hauled away to be buried in a landfill miles and miles
away.

But the landfill in her mind?

Truckloads of dirt and cement to bury her feelings couldn’t
eradicate what she became with him. Even a nuke couldn’t erase her needs.
Emotions rose to the surface over and over, no matter how many times she tried
to bury them.

He lived in her cells, in the muscles and tendons that
stretched and moved as she wrapped the jute tightly around her rib cage each
day. He poured from her body in each rivulet of sweat from her brow as she
hoisted herself into the air attached to the steel suspension ring hanging from
the ceiling in the open space in her kitchen.

She held her breath as he uncoiled the rope, staring at him
in the near darkness, yet somehow able to see each move he made. The rope was a
long-lost lover as he wrapped it around her wrists. He tied a double rope cuff
around both her wrists, leaving loops on both sides. They made her girly parts
tingle since they could be used for all sorts of deliciously dirty things.

His movements seduced her, pulling her down into subspace
she’d only ever found with him.

Her eyelids fluttered until she could fight them no longer
and allowed them to close, increasing her ability to feel and hear and taste
him.

“It’s been four years, Jenna.”

“No, it hasn’t,” she disagreed with a slow shake of her
head. Her hair whispered across her shoulders and she nearly giggled again.
“It’s been four years, two months and eighteen days.”

Ian paused.

She opened her eyes, knowing she would find him staring down
at her. He trapped her wrists between his large hands.

“I stand corrected.”

He looked so sad and her heart—it struggled to beat inside
her chest but remained silent. As if his touch alone could bring her back from
the dead. She knew better.

Frankenstein had nothing on what she’d been through.

His intense stare never wavered from the laser sharp focus
he had on her face.

Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes and she looked away
unwilling to give him her emotion, her sadness or her love.

Not ever again.

He ruined her so many years ago.

She played but that was it.

Everything stayed on the surface. Sex gave her the ability
to orgasm. It gave her time to find her center for a tiny fraction of a moment.
Then the suit she wore to keep her heart safe slammed shut again, leaving her
even more hollow than when she’d started.

“No.” He pulled her chin around and his warm breath tickled
her face as he stared down at her.

The charged silence drew her to him, calling to her,
whispering promises of things she hadn’t known since he left.

Dark. Intense.

She held her breath and finally opened her eyes.

He took exactly what he taught her to love—

Her control.

He grabbed her shoulder-length black hair, shoving her onto
her stomach on the mattress and hooking the loops he’d left on her wrist cuffs
over posts on her headboard. He trapped her, preparing her to own her reactions
as if they’d never been apart.

The rustle of clothing behind her triggered shivers that ran
up her spine and she bit her lip to keep from moaning. He climbed on the bed,
sitting naked on the backs of her thighs and she could hardly move a muscle.
The unmistakable
snap
of a pocket knife opening made her whimper.

No one was better at knife play than Ian.

No one.

The blade and handle were extensions of his arm, of his
mind, his lust and his dark dominance. He wielded them against her as if he
still had the right to.

The warmth of his skin, the chill of the blade…something
deep inside her woke up. Her heart came to life for the first time in
years—since she’d been with him the last time. It thudded against her rib cage
like the first heavy drops of a rain storm smacking the windshield of a car,
signaling something huge was about to happen. The rhythm stumbled once, trying
to catch up for the years it had been still, and then ramped up into a frantic
pulse thumping against her rib cage.

Damn. She was going to come so hard her clit already tingled
with the first vestiges of release.

The tip of the knife blade met her skin at the top of her
exposed spine. He danced it around her shoulders, digging the point in to the
precipice of making her bleed.

An unbidden tremor raced up her back and he growled, raising
the blade so she didn’t hurt herself. He clamped a hand in her hair,
restraining her head and shoulders, and sat heavier on her legs, trapping
everything in between exactly where he wanted it.

He tugged on her hair and she groaned, sensing the end of
the metal right before it touched the base of her neck. “Fuck…”

“You kept your hair short. For me. Good girl.”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

Four years she’d waited to hear him call her that again.

He’d given the words to her when they were together. She’d
become addicted to hearing them, knowing he thought she was good enough. His
girl.

And then when he left—nothing.

Emotions swamped her.

Words were too complicated for her—and not complicated
enough. And she knew he didn’t need an answer.

He had loved her hair when it was long but when she’d cut
it, he’d fucked her so hard, suspended in rope, that she’d worn his marks for
weeks.

“You don’t have to braid it or wrap it up like you’re hiding
one of my favorite toys. I can still grab it.”

He fisted it harder and she curled her fingers and toes,
trying desperately to keep some part of herself aloof from him.

“So damn sexy.”

Ian was a sadistic bastard. He liked to bring pain. He
wanted to see his girl suffer for him. Not because she liked it but because she
didn’t and she still did it—for him.

Knowing that made his charming side so much harder to take.

Compliments and sweet gestures offered in his same
no-nonsense style, but were that much more effective in their sincere
simplicity.

“Keep still.”

Her mental discipline for following his commands was
sluggish but the rest of her sure as hell remembered what to do. Jenna crossed
her ankles and clasped her hands together, tightening her body as best she
could.

He whipped the knife blade back and forth across her skin.
Slow—quick, quick, slow—quick, quick, as if it were a waltz.

The blade danced over her flesh, light as a dream. Then he
flipped it over, drawing the back of the edge down her spine and across her
ribs. He traced each bump and ridge, knowing her body better than she did.

The blade followed the curve of her waist, peeking over her
hip bone, slicing through the side of her yellow panties.

His fingers trailed down her other side, gripping the outer
edge of her panties and his knife sliced right through them.

He pulled them up through her crotch, dragging them across
her clit.

She humped the material as he withdrew it and he put a bit
more weight on her thighs, holding her in place even more.