Bondage Anniversary (Desired Discipline) Page 14
Lana cast her gaze at the floor and gracefully turned her back to her new husband.
Ben undid the row of tiny buttons that held her gown closed.
What the hell?
Ben drew the material from Lana’s shoulders and let the dress fall to the floor.
Lana, wearing stacked heels, a merry widow and stockings, stepped out of the dress, and another man scooped it up and laid it across a chair.
Like Damien, this man was also ridiculously tall. That was where the resemblance ended. This man had an olive complexion that hinted at a Mediterranean background. His head was shaved. He wore black jeans and a black T-shirt that revealed a number of tattoos. A thick, knotted silver bracelet adorned his left wrist, and a silver stud pierced his right earlobe. He could have been a pirate in a former life.
Suddenly unconventional took on a whole new meaning. Julia had never been more distressed. Part of her wanted to make an escape, and a bigger part of her wanted to shake some sense into her friend. But she was riveted in place by her promise to remain silent.
With a grace that spoke of practice, Lana knelt.
Jesus. All through college, they’d each vowed to keep their independence. They’d pushed against the glass ceiling, and they’d fought for their positions in corporate America. And now her friend was kneeling in front of her husband, almost naked, for their guests to see?
Julia wondered if she was the only one who was frozen in shock.
Lana spread her legs a bit farther apart, and she leaned forward to kiss one of Ben’s shoes.
Julia gasped.
From the front of the room, Damien looked over his shoulder at her, his eyebrows raised.
Firm, relentless hands landed on her shoulders. Her heart rate increased with her panic.
“Be quiet,” a man whispered harshly into her ear.
“I—”
“I said be quiet.”
She gritted her teeth. The man’s tone was commanding.
He pulled her back a bit, and she inhaled the unmistakable—and sexy—scent of leather.
In that same rich and rough, for-her-ears-only voice, he added, “Or else I’ll haul your sweet ass out of here and turn you over my knee.”
For the first time in her life, she was rendered speechless.
“Lana’s doing this of her own choice,” he continued.
She struggled against his grip, but he dug his fingers deeper into her flesh.
“Surely she told you to expect some unconventional things.”
“But—”
“Trust her,” he urged. “Like she trusted you.”
When Julia had given her promise, she’d had no idea what that had meant or how difficult it would be to keep her word. Julia spent her entire life in control, and she hung out with women like herself. And now a powerful man had her imprisoned while her friend was on her knees in front of a roomful of people. The experience was surreal.
With unshakable force, the man pulled her back a few steps so they were several feet away from the rest of the guests. He held her firmly against his body.
She still hadn’t caught a glimpse of her assailant.
“Do you really want to make a scene and embarrass yourself as well as your friend?” he asked softly. “Nothing you do or say will stop tonight’s proceedings. So I recommend you behave yourself.”
“Damn you.”
“Last warning,” he said.
His tone rang with an authority she didn’t dare question. He was speaking quietly, but that made his words all the more terrifying. He’d threatened to turn her over his knee, and in that instant she believed he’d do it. She stopped fighting. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded in a whisper.
“Marcus Cavendish. A Dominant, and friend of the groom’s. I met Lana about six months ago. She’s come a long way in the lifestyle. Ben’s a lucky man to have earned the submission of such a lovely woman.”
Julia felt as if Marcus were speaking a foreign language.
“If you promise to behave yourself, I’ll explain what’s happening.”
She nodded.
At the front of the room, Lana stood and faced Ben.
“Would you like to offer your submission?” Ben asked.
Lana tipped back her head. “Yes, Sir, I would.”
Damien picked up something from the mantel and offered it to Ben. Julia stood on her toes, trying to get a better look.
“To the vanilla world it looks like a silver necklace with a lock on it,” Marcus said. “But those of us in the lifestyle recognize it for what it is. A collar.”
“Collar?” Julia repeated. The word startled her so much that she didn’t think to ask what he meant by lifestyle.
“Some people use dog collars from the pet store,” he said.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Deadly.”
She wrapped her arms around her middle. “In this case, it appears to be an ordinary piece of jewelry, but it likely has a hex screw so that she can’t remove it.”
Ben accepted the necklace from Damien and passed the chain through the flame of an enormous candle.
“He’s purifying the metal,” Marcus explained. “And then he’ll ask her again if her submission is given of her own free will.”
Ben looked down at Lana and captured her chin before saying, “I offer you this collar as a symbol of my love, and as a promise to be a kind, consistent and honorable Master. In return, I will demand your servitude. I will enforce the rules we have agreed to, and I will never touch you in anger.”
Lana linked her hands at the small of her back, while she continued to meet her new husband’s gaze. Firmly she said, “I accept your gift. In return, I offer my humble devotion and a promise of my servitude.”
To Julia, the words sounded just as practiced 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 honor. 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 emphasize 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.
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About the Author
Tori lives in the beautiful Sonoran Desert with her loving husband of almost thirty years. She wakes up each morning to the howls of coyotes and the barking of her family dogs wanting to join the fray.
When Tori isn’t writing, she’s either spending time with her two, wonderful adult children, or creating stained glass art.
She likes her love stories scorching hot. She tries to infuse a fire and passion between her characters that rivals the blazing summer sun that Arizona is known for. Tori encourages you to bask in the heat between the covers of a Dominant/submissive, happily-ever-after, bondage romance.
Email: tori@toricarson.com
Tori loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.totallybound.com.
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