On His Terms

A Total-E-Bound Publication

www.total-e-bound.com

On His Terms

ISBN # 978-1-78184-282-9

©Copyright Sierra Cartwright 2013

Cover Art by Oliver Bennett ©Copyright March 2013

Edited by Rebecca Douglas

Total-E-Bound Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2013 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.

Warning:

This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a
heat rating
of
Total-e-melting
and a
sexometer
of
3.

This story contains 159 pages, additionally there is also a
free excerpt
at the end of the book containing 13 pages.

Mastered

ON HIS TERMS

Sierra Cartwright

Book two in the Mastered series

It was business only… Chelsea Barton is terrible at the whole submission thing, and she wants to snare the Dom of her dreams. She seeks out the renowned trainer Master Alexander. Alex has his hands full with Chelsea, especially when he realises he doesn’t want to turn her over to another man…

Damn, damn and double damn. This was so not supposed to happen.

Chelsea Barton always gets what she wants, and she wants the up-and-coming rocker Evan C to accept her as his sub. But her performance always disappoints him. Determined to have her way, she begs Master Alexander Monahan to train her.

Alex has given up training submissives, and no matter what, he would not work with someone as bold, headstrong, and stubborn as Chelsea. But there’s something about her that intrigues and impresses him, an enthusiasm that is missing from his too-dull life. Under very strict guidelines, he agrees. She has to try her best. She has to submit uncomplainingly to his punishments. And there’s a two-week obligation, after which they will part ways. Being a trainer is a very different relationship than a D/s, and despite his intentions to remain aloof, he starts to care deeply for the headstrong Chelsea.

Chelsea unhesitatingly agrees to Master Alexander’s rules—after all, he’s going to give her the skills she needs to get what she wants. But damn it, the longer she trains with him, the more she is attracted to his rugged good looks as well as to his firm, but relentless ways. She reminds herself of her goals, but that becomes more difficult every day.

For Alex, falling for a sub who will belong to another man was never part of the deal.

Chapter One

“There he is.”

“Where?” Chelsea Barton craned her head to get a look at Master Alexander Monahan.

“Near the fireplace,” her friend Sara said.

Chelsea glanced in that direction. Dressed in blue jeans, a long-sleeved, western-style shirt, a black leather vest, a silver bolo tie and a cowboy hat, he didn’t fit her image of a BDSM trainer. His height, though, over six feet tall, was definitely what she’d expected.

“Quit staring!” Sara said in a harsh whisper. “A good sub doesn’t behave that way.”

That didn’t stop Chelsea. Rules were helpful for other people. As for her, she knew what she wanted and she ruthlessly pursued it. And she wanted Master Alexander to make her into the perfect sub—or at least passable enough that no one noticed if she wasn’t really all that into it. That was step one in Project Snag Evan C.

Master Evan C was a rocker whose band was climbing the charts. With the right PR firm—hers, if she could sign him—he could become a household name. As a double bonus, her firm would gain some real credibility by signing Evan C. But first she needed to snare his attention. And so far, her efforts had been a dismal failure.

She’d met him at a party six months ago, and she’d developed a certifiable fangirl crush on him. She masturbated to fantasies of him tying her up and fucking her hard. She wanted him, bad. And not just as a client, but also as a Dom. What could be more fabulous than career success and having a sexy man to boot?

Sara, always the unwelcome pragmatist, had advised Chelsea to forget her ideas. Master Evan C liked well-trained submissives, women who perfectly subjugated their needs to suit his. Which, as Sara pointed out, really wasn’t Chelsea. Chelsea was headstrong and determined, a driven type A-plus personality who chewed antacid for breakfast, had rampant insomnia, and hadn’t taken a vacation in over five years. That Master Evan C discarded women like the scarves he wore while performing made her all the more resolved to be the one to win him.

That was where Master Alexander came in.

According to Sara, he used to be a trainer, and he was still well respected. He didn’t get emotionally involved with subs, and he was one of the best. That he was no longer in the business didn’t deter her.

“He’s looking this way,” Sara said, unnecessarily.

“And he’s alone, finally,” Chelsea replied. When she’d heard that Sara and her Dom had been invited to Master Alexander’s birthday party at the Den, Master Damien’s luxury mountain retreat, Chelsea had begged, pleaded and cajoled for an invitation.

At first, Sara had refused. She hadn’t wanted to be part of any more of Chelsea’s schemes. While Chelsea didn’t blame her friend—after all, their last escapade had earned Sara a punishment beating from her Dom—Chelsea was set on her course. “If you’ll excuse me…”

“Remember, you promised not to use my name. You don’t know me.”

She looked at Sara. “Have we been introduced?”

“Bitch,” Sara said.

“Love you, too, girlfriend.” After setting her shoulders, Chelsea headed straight for Master Alexander.

A couple stopped to talk to him. With a sigh, she paused to grab a glass of wine from a passing server. She was woman enough to appreciate the hottie. He wore a bow tie, but no shirt. He could have been poured into that pair of dress slacks. The material revealed his muscular thighs as well as his hot rear. And she supposed it was possible he had oil rubbed on his bare chest.

He bowed and said, “Enjoy your evening, madam.”

Maybe she’d hire this crew for her next event. It would certainly be a shocker, get her some much-appreciated press.

Rather than taking a drink, she rolled the glass between her palms and waited. Finally the couple moved off.

She put down the drink, pulled back her shoulders, and began to move towards him. Damn, the cowboy hat just made him look like an outlaw.

He rested his forearm on the mantelpiece as she approached. Even from several feet away, he exuded power. Chelsea was weaned on bravado, and she had to call on that to keep moving forwards when she became aware of the way he watched her. His focus was intent and purposeful, and he casually glanced from the toes of her pumps to the top of the shiny clips she’d placed in her short hair.

He didn’t greet her. Instead, he waited. That didn’t surprise her. She’d done plenty of research on him. He hadn’t got to where he was in the financial world by rushing to judgement. “Mr Monahan, I’m Chelsea Barton.” She extended her hand and gave him her most dazzling, dentist-whitened smile. The look was practised. She could charm anyone with it. “I wanted to wish you a very happy birthday.”

“Thank you.” Finally, he dropped his arm and accepted her hand.

His grip was warm, firm, reassuring. Electricity all but danced up her spine. This close, he was gorgeous. Small lines were etched next to his eyes, and his lips were firm and full. The crazy notion of kissing him skipped through her mind before she ruthlessly shoved it away. She had a business proposition for him, nothing more.

He released her. “Who are you here with?”

“I came with a friend,” she hedged.

“Are you always evasive?”

“Are you always so direct?”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Save us both some time, Ms Barton. Let’s cut through the bullshit. It’s my birthday, my party and I approved the guest list. I saw you speaking with Sara. And I’ve met everyone else whose date I didn’t know, so I assume Sara invited you. And since she didn’t introduce you and is pretending not to see you talking to me, I assume you wanted to meet me for a specific reason.”

“A lot of people want to meet you, I take it?”

“I don’t play games. You’ve got thirty seconds.”

Suddenly she wished she’d taken a drink of that wine. “You’re right,” she confessed. This wasn’t going how she’d envisioned. “I wanted to meet you. But it’s not what you think. I own a company named You’re The Star. We do PR.”

“Monahan Capital has a PR firm.”

“That could have done a better job of spinning the Bartholomew deal initially, but they’ve done a good job of managing the conversation since then. If you did a couple of events in the community, such as a fundraiser, your positive press would shove the other headlines off the first page of the search engines. But that’s not my point.” Since he was still listening, she kept talking. “I looked you up because I want you to train me as a submissive.” Her research had indicated he was inflexible, a formidable foe in the business arena despite his recent setbacks.

She was tall, especially in her spiked ‘fuck-me’ heels, but he still towered over her by a number of inches. Since she was accustomed to looking men in the eye as they spoke, looking up at him was a little disconcerting. For one of the first times in her life, she felt small, overpowered. “Word in the community is that you’re the best.”

“At one time that was true.”

From his mouth, that didn’t sound arrogant.

“But I’m quite sure you’ve heard I don’t train anymore.”

She pushed back the trepidation that had started doing the backstroke in her veins. The years had taught her a valuable lesson—when she wasn’t getting what she wanted, she needed to turn up the charm. She placed her hand lightly on his arm. When he didn’t react, she continued, “I’m sure a man as discerning as you has high expectations and demands excellence. I understand that a price tag is attached to that. I will write you a cheque tonight, Mr Monahan. Name your price.”

He didn’t respond to her tactics. In fact, his jawline could have been chiselled from granite. “I’m not for sale, Ms Barton.”

She gave up on charm and dropped her hand. She noticed that Master Evan C and a woman were heading down the stairs. Although she hadn’t seen it, she understood Master Damien had a dungeon with some private playrooms. She angled her chin, vowing not to fail. “You’re a businessman. You, better than anyone, knows everyone has a price.”

“What’s yours?” he countered. “Would you sell your soul for success?”

“That’s harsh. You don’t know anything about me.”