The Art of Redemption (3 page)

“
I’m one lucky son-of-a-bitch to have met you,” he breathed into her parted mouth as he leaned down to kiss the corner of her mouth. “Every training Dom should have a Catalina Angelis in their life.” Her smile radiated from her glistening lips to her sparkling eyes. “Thank you, Cat, for sensing in me what I didn’t have the experience to figure out myself. Thank you for giving me this opportunity...” his words drifted off to a mere whisper, “And for giving yourself to me so freely and accepting what I’m about to do to you.”

She bowed her head in acquiescence and her cheeks turned the most amazing hue of pink he had ever seen.

“It’s been my pleasure, Sir,” she spoke softly.

Sir.
The word stunned him into silence and he momentarily lost his train of thought as goosebumps spread over his arms. No one had called him that before. Not during his brief training and not in life. And suddenly he felt it; the thing Kerian had been speaking of all along; the responsibility that came along with the title of
Sir
; of Dominant; of
Master.
It was a strange sensation he couldn’t quite describe, but felt very much like the first time he felt his cock sheathed by a woman’s pussy. In a sense, he was losing his virginity again.

As he watched Catalina
’s body sway hypnotically, he became entranced in her submission. He could hurt her if he wanted. He could even simply just fuck her, but he wanted more than that. He wanted to command her and to control her. And he would.

Taking
a predatory stance in front of her, he swirled the flogger in circles around and around until her eyes became glassy. Closing his eyes and circling his head around, his neck cracked loudly. This was it. This was really fucking it.

With the first swing of the leather and contact with Cat’s tanned, supple flesh, he knew that what he was doing was
what he was meant to do all along. He had waited his whole life for this feeling and now faced with it, his brain became dizzy with lust.

As he
reddened and welted her flesh, he could feel the physical transfer of power just within his reach. Emotionally intoxicated and power hungry, he dropped the flogger to the floor and knelt before her. With his tongue buried in her wet folds and circling around her swollen clit, she began to plead for her release. The feeling of complete authority saturated every molecule of his being. She had welcomed the pain he gave her and was now begging for his permission to come, and it was up to him to give or deny it. He was this woman’s God, even if only for a brief time, and nothing had ever felt more right.

In a dazzling moment of clarity, he realized what was different about him
now: he was no longer a mere man; he was a Dominant.

Isabel

The smile on the young man’s clean-shaven face and his lusty gray-blue eyes roaming over her body made the blood rise to Isabel’s cheeks. As usual, she felt awkward and didn’t know whether to smile back or run and hide. Instead, she stood staring at him with a look on her face much like a deer in headlights. Denver and its friendly yet eccentric community were still new to her as were her surroundings. She was barely making minimum wage at a book store, but she didn’t need much anyway and even though she was sleeping on the floor of her apartment, it was still better than living under Papa’s thumb. Anyway, she nearly had enough to finally purchase a bed. She hadn’t heard from her father and only recently stopped looking over her shoulder for him. The nightmares were still present, but coming less frequently.

When the man approached her, she reached for a strand of her hair and
began twirling it between her fingers. He was much cuter than any boy who had looked her way back in Atlanta. Not that there were many of those, but… her eyes unintentionally darted toward the obvious bulge in his pants. Again her cheeks burned bright red. Silently she hollered at herself to get a grip. It’s not as if she didn’t know men got erections.
But for her?
She was all of nineteen years old and a virgin. What the hell would she even do with one if she was faced with it? Lick it? Suck it? Flick it? Fuck it? Holy ignorance…she had no idea how to do any of that with any kind of skill. Hell, she had never even been on a date or been kissed. She immediately made a mental note to buy a book on human sexuality and read up on the finer points of fooling around.

After introducing himse
lf, he moved closer and shamelessly flirted with her. It felt nice and she basked in the attention.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful eyes?”

A shy smile surfaced and she forced herself to respond. “No, but thank you.”

“When do you get off work?”

“At six,” she whispered, hopeful that he might actually ask her out.

“Perfect. How about we get a bite to eat?”

She prayed by
bite
he meant more than food. Damn it if her face didn’t heat up again. She really needed to get that annoying quirk under control.

The moment he was gone,
she made a beeline to the health section and found a book on sexual positions. Maybe she was planning too far ahead, but she wanted to be prepared just in case. No boy had ever shown her attention or spoken so kindly to her. No one had ever asked her out before either, and she wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass her by. She no sooner cracked the spine of the book when her father’s voice boomed in her head.

You’re nothing but a little whore like your mother.
No one will ever want you.

Her eyes darted downward as she scanned herself. Of course, he was right. Look at her.
With the wind knocked out of her sails and what little confidence she had, gone, she slammed the book closed. Yes, she was definitely getting ahead of herself. It was only dinner, after all. If he even showed up.

To her surprise, he did show up and he did keep his wor
d on taking her out to dinner. Too stunned to speak, she sat quietly and let him do all the talking, only adding an occasional remark. Her eyes drifted from his face to the window behind him as lightening tore open the sky while rain lashed against the pane. The windows shuddered violently from the gale force winds and she hugged herself as his soothing voice carried on. The storm that was raging outside didn’t compare to the one within her. She may have looked meek and quiet, but she felt anything but. Yes, her spirit may have been broken, but it was on the mend, and she was so proud of herself for having broken free from her cruel maker.

M
ore than anything, she wanted this young man to see who she really was
inside
. Actually, she wanted
anyone
to see who she truly was. In her eyes, she wasn’t just some abused and shy thing, but a girl, who despite having never been loved, had managed to get away from her psychotic father; and a person who ultimately just wanted a tiny piece of control over her own life and body. She wanted to open up to him like he was so comfortable doing with her. Not about the things she had been through because God knows she would never tell anyone about the things her father had put her through or that her mother didn’t love her enough to stick around. Who would want to hear about that horrible stuff anyway? She simply wanted to talk about what she was into, like art. Although, she didn’t feel particularly keen on sharing the images that were in her head with anyone either.

She listened with great interest while the dark-blonde haired
boy named Alex talked about what it was like growing up in nearby Colorado Springs. He spoke of his family with great affection and Isabel felt a twinge of jealousy. She would never know what it felt like to be loved by a parent or to grow up in a happy household. All of her memories were of nothing but pain and misery. Although her mother had always been kind to her, Isabel barely remembered her and the memories she did have weren’t very pleasant ones. She stared at her knotted hands and tried to concentrate on the sound of Alex’s voice, instead of the loss of her mother and childhood. There was no point in dwelling on it. All that ugliness was in the past and things could only get better for her.
They just had to.

***

Dylan

Five months of training to be a Dom and Dylan was
only now beginning to feel in his element. Work was keeping him busy, but the stress of the job was ever present. The Dark Asylum and the bevy of women who were eager to pleasure him were a welcome diversion. It wouldn’t be long until he would be assisting in training submissives and he looked forward to the day when Kerian would allow him to do so. He was still earning the club members’ respect, but he valued their opinions. Not having been part of a family in so long, he was struggling to accept their open arms without feeling overwhelmed with guilt over what had happened to his parents.

As his thoughts drifted to the hideousness of what he had caused, the cargo plane he was riding on shuddered from turbulence, breaking his entrancement. This was only his second actual field assignment and the unwelcome feeling of tension buzzed through his veins. Clutching at the seatbelt over his chest, he caught the gaze of the man in charge of
the mission, Sawyer Morrison. His reputation of being a hard-ass, cold-blooded killer preceded him and Dylan watched as the man’s dark eyes appraised him and a muscle in his jaw twitched.

He
was warned not to piss off the legendary mercenary Sawyer Morrison, but Dylan stared at him defiantly anyway, not letting onto his unease. When he continued to stare unflinchingly at him, Sawyer tilted his head to one side and gave him a wry, barely noticeable smirk.

“You’re a cocky little shit, aren’t you?” his deep voice carried over the noisy jet engine.

Dylan narrowed his eyes in response. “You got a fuckin’ problem with me?”

“No, just your agency,” he countered casually and without emotion. “But I’m not the one making the ultimate decisions so it looks like we’re stuck with each other. I hope you’re as smart as everyone says you are. If not, it’s our asses on the line.”

Dylan gritted his teeth and looked away. It had always been about
that.
His
smarts
as the NSA called them. Or that big fucking brain of his, as his dad used to call it. It was the reason
his agency
had hired him in the first place. He had pleaded for years to be allowed to move from behind the desk to field work, and now here he was, getting the same shit from the CIA that he had been getting for years from his coworkers at the NSA. What did he expect being the youngest of his peers?
What the fuck ever.

“I hope that training of yours is still fresh in your mind, Young.
Young.
How appropriate.”

Morrison was relentless and Dylan glared at him once again. It always came down to his age, and, yes, probably his attitude, too, but it was all he had. What was he supposed to do? Back down and let people walk all over him? Allow them
to see the fearfulness of being found out about everything that had gone down with his parents?
To hell with that.
If they didn’t like who he was or his attitude, they could go fuck themselves.

“Listen, Old Man, my training isn’t in question here. If the agency didn’t think I could get the job done, then I wouldn’t be here.”

“Who are you calling Old Man?” Morrison’s eyes widened in mock astonishment. “I’m not even thirty yet.”

“Oh, yeah? You could’
ve fooled me,” he shot back.

“Yeah, you’re a cocky little asshole, all right. We’ll see how big your balls are when the bullets start flying, Baby Blue Eyes.”

Dylan puckered his mouth but held his tongue when the men around him began to laugh at their verbal sparring match and it became apparent that Morrison was just trying to goad him.

*

Sixteen horrific, bloody hours later, Dylan had nothing but respect for Morrison. Back on the military plane, he peered out the small window as they ascended. Just above the horizon, dusk filled the hills with purple mist. The scene was beautifully deceiving of the hell they had just been through. Sinking low into the seat, his body ached with fatigue and he was glad the mission was finally over. Holy hell, he couldn’t wait to be back inside the Dark Asylum with a woman under his command and feeling the effects of his sweet torture from the cat o’nine tails. The sound of the leather against flesh was more relaxing and arousing than anything he had ever experienced in his short lifespan. Then to be thanked and sucked off after welting her flesh? Christ, what a powerful feeling. It was only behind the doors of Kerian’s club that he felt truly in control. If only he had known of such things years ago…

His eyes shifted focus onto Morrison’s stressed and worn face before glancing downward at his duty boots. A ray of sunlight filtered in and glinted off the terrorist’s blood that was still splattered on them. Wiping the dampness of the Guam humidity off his brow with the back of his hand, he let out a deep sigh of irritation at how inexperienced he had acted during their outing. He had damn near shit his pants when he saw the lethal look in Morrison’s brown eyes as he shot a man point blank in the face without so much as flinching at the backsplash. But his actions, however harsh they may have seemed at the time, had saved the lives of not only himself, but the men accompanying them and probably h
undreds more considering what the outlaw had planned. He watched as Morrison spotted the specks of blood, bent down and rubbed his boots clean with the cuff of his jacket as it was just a speck of dirt and not another man’s brain matter or DNA.

Dylan couldn’t help but wonder: could he ever be that cold and calculating? When push came to shove, when people depended on him… would he be able to deliver the final blow to someone with as much detachment as Morrison? That’s what he was trained to do yet there was a seed of doubt within him
that he could actually go through with it.

He had been trained in all sorts of ways, it seemed, including being a Dom. More doubts seeped into his subconscious. Could he ever be the kind of man that a submissive required? He
knew that being given that honor was more than just about sex. Kerian had driven that into his head over and over again. Was he even man enough to have his own submissive? He wanted one.
Or did he really?
It was such a tremendous responsibility – like his job. The thought of letting down Kerian and the BDSM community was more than he could fathom. No, he didn’t want his own submissive. Not now or any time soon. He would just have to be content in helping to train them. His mind was too cluttered with other things, the greatest of which was guilt, to truly focus on any one woman anyway.

He had failed tonight. His immaturity had shown and he was disgusted with himself.
God, how he hated failure.
All he ever wanted was to be the best at everything he did. To somehow make his parents proud and make up for what he had caused, despite the shitty actions he had perpetrated on them. His gaze drifted to some far off place and his mom and dad’s face flashed before his eyes.
God damn it, why couldn’t he just let it go?

Morrison’s voice sliced through his self-loathing and answered his unspoken question. “We’ve all been where you’re at. If it comes down
to doing what needs to be done,
when
it comes down to that, you’ll find the strength, Young. We all do.”