With This Collar (2 page)

To Julia, the words sounded just as practised as their traditional vows had.

“We’re here in front of our friends and mentors, and I want everyone to hear your assurance that you are willingly agreeing to be my slave.”

The blood chilled in Julia’s veins. As if Marcus sensed it, he tightened his grip on her. Oddly, the touch reassured and grounded her rather than annoyed her.

“I am joyfully agreeing to be your slave, Sir.”

Even from the distance and in the dim lighting, Julia saw Lana’s smile.

“In fact, I’m begging for the honour. Sir, please collar me.”

“Lift your hair,” Ben told Lana.

Lana did. As Ben secured the lock in place, Lana looked up at her husband with an expression of surrendered bliss. Julia wondered what had happened to the woman she used to know. The two of them had sat on their dorm room couch eating popcorn, drinking wine, and making fun of old 1950s television shows where the wife cooked dinner in high heels and a dress. And now a man was placing a collar around Lana’s neck, and she’d asked him to do so.

Without being instructed, Lana knelt again. She cast her gaze at the floor. Then Ben gently placed his hand in her hair and eased her head back. Lana looked up. “Thank you, Master.”

“Master?” Julia whispered, more disturbed than she ever remembered being.

“Not all couples use that term, but they have elected to do so.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Damien said, “May I present Master Ben and his slave wife, Lana.”

“Slave?”

Marcus again tightened his grip on Julia’s shoulders, silently warning her to be quiet.

Ben pulled Lana to her feet and kissed her deeply. It wasn’t a friendly peck, it was a hot French kiss. He had one hand on Lana’s bare bottom, and the fingers of his other hand were spread wide across the middle of her back.

Lana shamelessly rose onto her tiptoes and pressed herself against Ben. Julia had never seen anything so sexy at any other wedding. Her friend was showing pure, unadulterated happiness, and no one seemed to notice she was only half dressed.

Some people applauded, others hollered and gave catcalls, but Julia kept her hands wrapped tightly around her middle.

“A toast!” the man who’d picked up Lana’s discarded gown called out.

On his cue, several servers moved into the room, bearing trays filled with glasses of sparkling wine. Their attire shocked her. Men wore bow ties around their necks, but no shirts. One had on a tight-fitting pair of shorts, the others wore slacks at least one size too small. The women wore aprons with thongs, stockings and garters.

“What the hell is this?” She turned to face her nemesis.

“A toast,” Marcus said drily. He snagged two flutes from a passing server and offered one to her. “And you’re going to continue to behave.”

A sense of self-preservation didn’t allow her to challenge him. Truthfully, looking at him had sucked the oxygen from her lungs. Rugged and broad, he looked at ease against the Rocky Mountain backdrop. His hair was dark, cropped short to emphasise his bright green eyes. He wore black boots and slacks, a crisp, white shirt and a soft, black leather blazer. His scent spoke of raw masculinity.

“They’re half undressed,” she said.

“Are they?”

Was she the only one who had noticed how bizarre the event was? No one else even blinked. She accepted the offered glass and wished it wouldn’t be unladylike to gulp its contents.

“Face the happy couple,” Marcus instructed.

When she opened her mouth, he raised his eyebrows. Having had a look at the size of his hands and their assorted nicks and abrasions, she wouldn’t put it past him to follow through on his earlier threat to turn her over his knee.

His air of authority annoyed her as much as her instinctive response to him. She was a modern woman who ran an entire department at work. Julia didn’t have a problem with a man being in charge. She had definite problems, however, with domineering men—like the one she was looking at.

“Do it now,” he told her. “I will not tolerate your rudeness.”

Rude?
Her manners were impeccable. Or, rather, they had been until this evening.

Bristling, ready to make her escape as soon as possible, Julia faced the front of the room, the impossible Marcus Cavendish standing next to her. She couldn’t help but inhale the sexy scent of his leather blazer and, this close, she noticed other subtle undertones. He smelt crisp, like the Rocky Mountain air. There was a layer of something spicy as well, maybe from his soap.

He was all man, with a capital M.

She tried not to let him overwhelm her. But something elemental in her responded to him.

“To a long future filled with happiness,” Damien said. He was standing next to the duo, and all of them were facing their guests.

Damien raised his glass and everyone, including her, followed suit.

The bride and groom clinked their glasses together then sipped.

After she’d taken one drink, Ben took Lana’s glass and placed it on the hearth.

Julia clenched her teeth.

But no matter how much she might want to deny it, the truth was, she’d never seen Lana look more radiant. She didn’t appear concerned by her lack of clothing, and she’d barely taken her adoring gaze from Ben’s face.

For a moment, Julia stared before shaking her head. She’d never have suspected Lana would be such a doormat for any man. When the three of them had met for dinner two weeks ago, Julia would never have suspected Ben would be capable of this kind of behaviour. He’d been solicitous of Lana. Sure, Julia had found it a bit odd that he’d ordered Lana’s meal for her, but he’d consulted her first, and the two had touched constantly. Julia had found their relationship endearing. She’d never suspected what went on when others weren’t around.

She couldn’t make Lana’s choices for her, but Julia was sure of a few things—she’d never allow someone to determine when she’d had enough to drink. She would never kneel for any man. And she would certainly never let anyone put a collar on her.

“Refreshments are available in the dining room,” Damien said. “The bride and groom will join you shortly. In the meantime, please, make full use of the house.” He flicked a glance, she was sure, in Marcus’ direction before adding, “The dungeon is available should anyone need it.”

The crowd began to move away, some people towards the dining room and others towards the stairs, obviously accepting Damien’s offer.

She intended to speak to her friend then make her excuses and leave. Marcus placed a hand on her shoulder, holding her in place. She was reeling from shock. “This house has a dungeon?”

“It does. In BDSM circles, his house is known as the Devil’s Den.”

“Seriously?”

“He didn’t choose it. But since his name is Damien…” He trailed off.

She rolled her eyes.

“But it was easier to agree to meet out at the Den—outside of Denver—than to keep saying Damien’s place. Then somewhere along the line someone added Devil—the press, I believe during an exposé—and it stuck. Some of us long-term guests still call it the Den. The dungeon has a punishment horse, a St Andrew’s cross, stocks…”

“Thumb screws?”

“You could call it fully equipped.”

She was so stunned she was unable to speak.

“Would you like to see it?”

“Good God,
no.”

“Pity. I’d love to see you on the cross.”

“That, Mr Cavendish, will not happen.”

“We’ll see.” He regarded her, and she did her best not to squirm. It was as if he saw through her words and into her darkest fantasies. “As Damien said, Ben and Lana will be back later.” He nodded towards the couple. “They’ll be performing a rose ceremony in private.”

Lana and Ben picked up the roses they’d placed on the mantel. Even from across the room, Julia noticed both roses still had thorns. Ben’s was red, in full bloom. Lana’s was white, and barely beginning to open.

Damien led the two from the room. Lana followed her husband, a couple of feet behind him.

Julia finished the rest of her drink, then placed the empty glass on a server’s tray.

“Another, ma’am?”

“No, thanks.” She needed to get out of there. The entire evening had been too much. From Lana removing her gown and kneeling, to Ben locking a metal contraption around her neck, to servers who were dressed in little to nothing. And the house had a dungeon?

“Be grateful you were invited,” Marcus told her. “Most times collaring ceremonies are closed to the outside world.”

“Are you telling me I’m the only one here who feels as if she’s fallen down a rabbit hole?”

“Probably, yes.”

Behind him, a woman in spiky heels and a short, short skirt put a hand on her companion’s shoulder. Julia stared, wide-eyed, as the tall, broad man knelt. The woman then pulled something from her pocket and affixed it to a collar around the man’s neck.

“Is that…” She trailed off, unable to complete her sentence.

“A leash,” Marcus supplied, looking at the pair. He took another drink and looked at her over the rim of his glass.

The woman walked from the room and the man trailed, on all fours, keeping some slack in his lead.

“I need to go,” Julia said, shocked that she could find her tongue to speak. She’d never imagined something like this was possible.

“Aren’t you in the least bit curious?”

“About what? People behaving this way? I’m more disturbed than anything. Appalled, even.”

“Those are some harsh words.”

“I would never allow myself to be treated like that!”

“Like what? Someone who is deeply cared for?”

“If that’s how someone is treated when they’re being deeply cared for, count me out.”

“Just a moment before you go issuing uneducated proclamations,” Marcus said, his tone unrelenting.

This was a man accustomed to issuing orders and having them followed. She bristled, but she was also feeling seduced by his authority. The insinuation that she was judgemental rankled.

“Did you see him protesting?” he asked. “Do you see anyone here being forced to do anything against their will?”

“Did you see what just happened?” she countered. “That man was just put on a leash.”

“He’s a big man. Do you suppose the woman with him, at least a hundred pounds lighter and six inches shorter, could have done that to him if he didn’t want to be leashed?”

Julia scowled.

“And, furthermore, you’d look beautiful leashed.”

“I’m not ever—”

“Don’t say things you may have to take back,” he interrupted smoothly.

“That’s a pretty arrogant statement.”

“Tell me your name,” he said, sidestepping her comment and defusing her indignation.

They were having this kind of conversation, and they’d never been introduced. Could this event be any more surreal? “Julia Lyle,” she said finally.

“Ms Lyle, the pleasure is mine.” He placed his drink on a nearby end table and extended his hand in greeting.

Mindful of what he’d said about rudeness, she accepted. Shaking hands seemed so…normal, a polite societal construct that she could embrace and understand. It momentarily grounded her.

He held her too long, though, and when she would have pulled away, he raised her hand and kissed it. He looked at her, imprisoning her gaze.

Electricity lit up her nerve endings. Despite her reservations, she was attracted to this man. She’d dated her fair share of men, and she’d been in a couple of long-term relationships. Unfortunately, the last man she’d been involved with—Jason—had been rather domineering. At first, he’d been charming and wonderful. Over time, after she’d allowed him to move in, he’d tried to control her, choose her friends, isolate her from her family.

The experience had left her determined not to let any man make decisions for her ever again.

So why was she so attracted to Marcus Cavendish? Untamed energy beat in her when he touched her. Power exuded from him, and it was slightly intoxicating. He was dark and dangerous. In short, he was everything she shouldn’t want, everything she’d vowed to avoid. Yet she wanted to continue talking, despite the fact that her instinct urged her to run.

“I’ve been a friend of Ben’s since college,” he said.

“Has he always been this way?”

“A Dominant? I suppose, yes. He was a natural leader, even in school. So that he would behave that way in a relationship makes perfect sense.”

She extricated her hand. “I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

“Has Lana told you nothing about her lifestyle?”

Julia shook her head. “I knew she and Ben were doing things she labelled as kinky, but I think she probably should have told me more, or else not invited me this evening.”

“Everyone has heard about BDSM.”

She nodded. “Of course. But it’s a bit different seeing it in person. I thought it was all about toy handcuffs, maybe a paddle.”

“Let’s go somewhere a bit quieter.”

She thought about it for a moment. If she were as smart as she liked to think she was, she’d go outside and get in her car, drive back to her normal life and normal job as a statistician in Denver, forget this event had ever happened, pretend she had never met the overwhelming Marcus Cavendish, and ignore the adrenaline urging her to follow wherever he led.

But she wasn’t sure what had happened to the logical and linear part of her brain that made her such a good statistician. She was behaving like a female to his larger, commanding male. Biology. Her attraction was nothing more than basic biology.

Without waiting for her response, Marcus took hold of her elbow and guided her into the sunroom. She knew she should have protested, but she didn’t—couldn’t.

There were no other people in the room, and he continued to hold on to her until they stood in front of a floor-to-ceiling window. Since it was dark, she could only make out vague shadows. Being here, with him, felt intimate.

Because she needed to for her sanity, she pulled away from him. She turned to face him, arms folded.

He propped one foot on a window sill, obviously unconcerned by her hostile body language.

“Some people do use handcuffs in the bedroom, like you said. Maybe a scarf as a blindfold. All that is well and good, if it works for the couple. Some of us prefer something more complex, something that’s as emotional as it is physical. To many people here, BDSM is a much more serious construct, not just an occasional playtime in the bedroom. Some of us indulge twenty-four seven.”