Claiming Cleo

CHAPTER ONE

     Cleo Chapman entered the Masters Club main dungeon, stopping a moment just inside the doors to catch her breath. The large space was already fairly crowded, it being a Saturday night. As she looked around, she realized she’d forgotten to check her Masters Club phone app to see which Doms would be in attendance that evening.

     She’d been crazy busy that day, having made a trip with Brandon, her fellow house slave, to a specialty BDSM furniture supply place in Long Island to inspect the new punishment benches their owners, Mistress Dominique and Master Grayson, had commissioned.

     Naturally, they both had to try out the equipment to make sure it was up to snuff. Cleo was delighted with the steel cuffs and neck collar, while Brandon had been excited about the fucking rod and enema bag holder. As they’d perused the large warehouse full of wonderful, sexy bondage equipment and erotic torture devices, they’d lost track of time.

     Now, looking around the spacious, well-equipped dungeon, she spied Jess, her best mate, looking beautiful in a sheer black bodysuit, her high breasts perched in demi-cups, her long auburn curls hanging prettily down her back. Jess saw her, too, and gave a wave and a bright smile.

     Cleo started to head toward her friend, but at that moment Master Cameron, Jess’s partner, appeared, a gear bag slung over his shoulder. He placed a proprietary hand on Jess’s shoulder and led her toward a scene station.

     So Cleo instead made her way to the thick floor cushions set against one wall where pleasure subs and slaves waited to be tapped for a scene. She had at least an hour before Master Grayson needed her for the submersion tank demo. She was looking forward to just being a pleasure sub until then.

     She knelt on a cushion between Katrina, a sweet girl with satin-smooth skin and big doe eyes, and Charlie, a male sub who had a striking resemblance to a young Harrison Ford.

     Mistress Olivia appeared in front of Charlie, looking regal in red leather and stilettos. “Ready to suffer, boy?” she asked with an evil grin.

     “Oh, yes, Mistress,” Charlie said, rising at once to his feet.

     Once the pair had drifted away, Katrina and Cleo exchanged murmured small talk. As befitted their status, they kept their heads lowered, backs straight, hands on their thighs, palms up. It wasn’t long before Katrina was tapped and led away by Master Luke, a delightful sadist who enjoyed both men and women.

     Another sub had just taken her place beside Cleo when a pair of long, muscular legs encased in soft black leather appeared in front of her. A large hand settled lightly on her bare shoulder. The sudden, unexpected yet achingly familiar scent of citrus and cedar assailed her senses. She caught her breath, an electric jolt of recognition shooting through her body before her mind could process it.

     “Hello, there, Cleo,” Master Jack said in that soft, deep voice she would know anywhere. “Been a while.”

     For a moment, Cleo forgot how to breathe. Every nerve in her body went on instant high alert. What the hell was he doing there? Surely, she would have known he was coming to the States?

     She recalled again her failure to check the phone app, and had to struggle to bite back a curse. This was the last guy she wanted to see.

     Deep breaths, she reminded herself. You’re not that girl anymore. This man has no control over you. He never did.

     Slowly, Cleo lifted her head, forcing her face into a mask of submissive calm, though her heart continued to beat a mile a minute. He was still as gorgeous as ever, though she detected a lingering sadness in those deep brown, intelligent eyes. Even in the dim light of the dungeon, his blond hair shone as if spun from gold. His black T-shirt stretched alluringly over broad, muscular shoulders and hugged bulging biceps.

     But the ground beneath her didn’t open. The heavens didn’t crack with thunder. Relief moved through her, calming her nerves. She was fine. She was over this guy. He was just another Dom, and she would serve him as she did every Master at the club.

     Cleo shifted her focus from his eyes to his mouth so she could concentrate. “Good evening, Sir,” she said evenly, pleased her voice was steady. “I didn’t realize you were in the States.”

     “I’m here for business,” he said, a small smile playing on his handsome face. The smile broadened, his eyes hooding. “And pleasure.”

     Okay. You can do this. You can totally do this. Remember what Dr. Erdman says. You’re empowered now. You know your mind and heart. You’re ready for anything. This will be a good test for you. It’ll prove you’ve truly moved on.

     Master Jack held out his hand. Cleo took it, allowing him to hoist her to her feet. But instead of leading her away, he pulled her suddenly into his arms. She held herself stiffly for a moment, but as his intoxicating scent and warm embrace cocooned her, she melted against his broad chest. Closing her eyes, she let herself believe, for that one instant, that she was his.

     “I’ve missed you, Cleo,” Master Jack murmured softly into her hair.

     Her brain finally clicked back on, ordering her protective shields back into place. How dare this man just assume he could pull her into his arms? And why had she allowed it?

     She pulled abruptly away, the sexy leather and chain body harness she’d chosen for the evening clinking lightly as she moved.

     Calm down, she ordered herself. You’re a trained service slave, not some squealy, excitable sub girl. You are courageous and calm, no matter the circumstance. You have nothing to be nervous about. You owe this man nothing.

     Deciding to ignore his over familiarity, she said with controlled deference, “I’m glad to see you’re doing well, Sir.”

     He furrowed his dark blond eyebrows as he regarded her, a bemused expression on his handsome face. If he’d expected a different reception, he had another think coming. Cleo was no longer that eager pleasure sub, pining for a man who saw her as little more than a distraction. That girl no longer existed.

     She held his gaze, silently daring him to challenge her. She wasn’t behaving as a properly trained slave, but at that moment, she didn’t care. If he wanted to complain to her owners about her behavior, she would deal with the consequences.

     After a moment, his expression relaxed. He smiled. “How are you, Cleo?” he asked. “This is quite a change, serving as a full-time slave. Are you happy here?”

     “Very happy,” she replied, trying not to snap, not sure she’d succeeded. “Thank you for asking,” she added stiffly.

    “I’m glad to hear it,” he said, though his tone belied his words.

     What had he expected? That she would be sitting in some dark room somewhere, crying her eyes out? So sorry, Master Jack. Cleo Chapman had moved on. If he asked her to scene, she would, of course, be compelled to acquiesce, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

      She remained quiet, glad her status as a sub made it acceptable for her not to have to engage in small talk. She would not give this man the satisfaction of drawing her into casual conversation. Yet, her body was thrumming with nervous excitement. Her treacherous nipples had leaped to attention just at his familiar scent, and the crotch of her thong was damp, her clit pulsing softly at the memory of his sensual, masterful touch.

     With a glance toward the back of the dungeon, he pressed on. “My good friend, Hayden, was telling me about the new bondage wheel. I’ve got it reserved for the next half hour. I’d love to give it a spin.” He flashed a smile.

     She didn’t smile back.

     His smile fell away, a touch of steel entering his tone. “Let’s see how it compares to the one in the London club, shall we?”

     “As you wish, Sir.”

     In spite of herself, she was excited for the opportunity. It would be her first chance to truly experience the wheel, which they’d only had for a week or so. Naturally, she and Brandon had tried it out while doing their daily dungeon cleaning. They’d strapped each other in and given the wheel a slow turn. But she had yet to scene with an actual Master.

     As they stepped onto the large mat in front of the bondage wheel, Cleo nodded toward Brandon, who was on duty that night as a spotter and assistant as needed. Brandon grinned back, white teeth flashing against dark skin, his green eyes telegraphing his good-natured jealousy that she was getting to play on the wheel before he did.

     “As hot as that outfit is,” Master Jack said, looking Cleo over, “I want you naked for this.” He lifted a small, wicked-looking single-tail whip from his gear bag. “I don’t want those chains in the way when I whip you.”

     “Yes, Sir,” Cleo replied, her gaze drawn to the sexy single tail.

     As she removed the chain-link harness and leather thong, Brandon and Master Jack adjusted the cuffs along the perimeter of the wheel to accommodate her five-foot-nothing frame.

     “I’ll want you facing forward,” Master Jack instructed. “Those breasts are as perfect as I remembered, and just begging for some fresh marks.”

     In spite of her firm intention to remain impervious to this man’s charms, a surge of warmth coursed through her at his compliment. While the rest of her was petite, Cleo’s size D breasts were incongruous with her small frame. She’d learned to accept them as part of who she was, and had long ago stopped being shy about it.

     She took her place, leaning against the sturdy, padded red X at the center of the wheel. At Master Jack’s direction, she extended her arms and legs toward the perimeter, slipping her wrists into the soft leather cuffs as he Velcroed the upper arm straps into place.

     Brandon crouched at her feet, locking her ankles and thighs into position as Master Jack brought the leather restraints across her waist and chest. His hand brushed her skin as he worked, sending a frisson of raw desire she couldn’t deny straight to her core. Just the act of being bound in leather and steel centered her. She closed her eyes, opening her body and mind to the yummy whipping to come.

     Brandon stepped respectfully aside as Master Jack assumed his position in front of her, the single tail gripped lightly in his hand. “Are you ready to feel the sting of my whip, sub girl?” he asked softly, his deep voice sending another lovely shiver of anticipation through her.

     “Yes, Sir,” she replied a little breathlessly.

     He gave the large wheel a gentle push. It rotated in a slow circle until she was upside down, her long hair brushing the mat, her legs spread wide. The blood rushed to her head, her entire body tingling with expectation.

     Cleo mentally prepared herself for the sting of the lash. But instead of the flick of leather, warm, strong hands moved lightly along her inner thighs, pulling an involuntary shudder of lust from her.

     As Master Jack stroked her skin, he said, “I remember how well you can take a whipping, Cleo.”

      Her body had loosened and relaxed at his touch, her spirit thrilling to his innate dominance. Whatever else he was or wasn’t, Master Jack had always been a brilliant scene partner.

     His fingers glided tantalizingly over her hips. Cleo held her breath, both wanting and not wanting him to touch her. But then his hands fell away, leaving her vibrating with lust. Her skin tingled with expectation as he took a step back.

     The first flick of the whip landed across the front of her right thigh. The stinging pain morphed almost instantly into dark, sensual pleasure. He painted a second stroke on her left thigh and then added several more on each inner thigh until her skin was on fire, along with her throbbing cunt.

     She shuddered with involuntary pleasure as his long, blunt fingers moved lightly over the welts. His touch was both soothing and electrifying, and she had to bite her lip to keep from moaning. When his fingers strayed closer and closer to her spread, bared cunt, she forgot how to breathe.

     What was it about this man that instantly penetrated her defenses? Just about every Dom at the Masters Club was skilled at pushing all the right sub buttons. But with Master Jack, there was a layer of emotional intensity and even vulnerability that had always left Cleo slightly off-balance and yearning for more.

     But all that was in the past. Maybe Jack Hartford really had moved on from his loss. But that was his affair.

     He’s just another Dom, she reminded herself. This means nothing more than what it is. A Master taking his pleasure with a sub. He made that abundantly clear back in London.

     Instead of placing his palm over her sex, as she had anticipated, he again took a step back. He gave the wheel another push, rotating it until she was upright once more.

     Cleo blinked as she adapted to her position, waiting for the dizziness to pass. She shook the hair from her face as Master Jack regarded her, his expression difficult to read.

     “I’m going to whip your breasts, Cleo,” he informed her. “Would you like that?”

     Keeping her tone neutral, Cleo replied, “If it pleases you, Sir.”

     All at once, his hand darted out, large fingers circling her throat. Eyes flashing with power, he said in a soft, dangerous voice, “That’s not what I asked.”

     A long sigh of raw, uncensored lust escaped her lips as a moan. A hand around her throat had always been a powerful positive trigger for Cleo. All her emotional defenses came tumbling down as she slipped effortlessly into subspace. Her heart slowed, a lovely peace filling her.

     “Yes,” she breathed. “I would like that, Sir.”

     I would bloody love that, Sir. And afterward, you can suckle away the sting.

     His eyes flashed with power. “Good girl,” he purred. His masterful approval warmed her to her bones.

     He snapped the lash sharply across the top of her left breast, leaving a line of fire in its wake.

     Cleo gasped as pain and pleasure crackled and popped along her nerve endings like fire in a grate. Again and again, he flicked the whip against her tender flesh, each stroke taking her deeper into subspace until she was trembling from head to toe, the word, “More” balanced on her tongue.

     “You need this,” he murmured, running his fingers lightly over the welts that crisscrossed her breasts. He drew a sensual circle around one distended nipple, pulling another moan of raw lust from Cleo’s lips before she could clamp them shut.

     Master Jack’s laugh was low and sexy, his eyes sparkling with lust. “And still you want more, don’t you, Cleo? You want me to whip your cunt.”

     “Yes,” she breathed, caught in the thrall of his power, too far gone in the moment to resist this charismatic man in any way.

     He gave the wheel another slow spin, causing her to rotate once more from an upright position. Master Jack crouched low beside her so their faces were level. Gently, he cupped her cheek. Looking into her eyes, he commanded, “Beg me. Beg me for what you need.”

     “Please, Sir,” Cleo begged, unable to help herself. “Whip my cunt, Sir. Please.”

     “As you wish,” he said, another cruel, sexy smile curving his lips. Rising to his feet, he positioned himself in front of her. But instead of the wicked bite of the whip, he moved his fingers over her spread sex. She was so aroused by the man and the circumstance that she nearly came on the spot.

     His fingers danced over her swollen, slick flesh. Effortlessly, he brought her quickly to the edge of a climax. Cleo was filled with a yearning, slippery ache. Blood pounded in her ears. Her skin burned. Every fiber of her being was focused on those perfect fingers teasing her spread cunt.

     Sadist that he was, he left her teetering on the brink. His hand fell away. A moment later, the whip whistled in the air. It snapped against her sex in a blinding flash of pain that instantly transmuted into dark desire. Then the fingers were back, easing away the sting with a perfect, sensual touch. She was pure sensation now, pure animal lust, grunting and begging, barely aware of what she was doing or saying.

     When he finally spun her back into an upright position, Cleo was both spent and exhilarated. Her heart was pounding, her chest heaving, tears in her eyes—not from sadness, but from the surfeit of emotion that a truly intense scene always engendered.

     “Wow,” she breathed as she came slowly down from her high.

     Master Jack smiled. “You’re still very responsive, Cleo. It’s good to scene with you again.”

     At his words, the world clicked suddenly back on.

     The walls he’d effortlessly toppled rose again around her, keeping her safe. She was not going to let this man destroy all her hard work with one thirty-minute scene. No way was she going to fall into that trap—not this time.

     He moved closer, lifting a hand to touch her cheek, a sudden dark pain flashing in his eyes. “Cleo. I—”

     Cleo turned her head sharply away, relieved when he dropped his hand. “Thank you for the scene,” she said stiffly. “With your permission, I’d like to be let down from the wheel.”

     Brandon came to stand beside Master Jack. “Shall I see to her aftercare, Sir?”

     Just as Master Jack opened his mouth to reply, Master Thomas appeared on the edge of the mat. Also a transplant from Great Britain, he had been a regular at the London Masters Club. “There you are, old friend. I heard from Hayden you were in town. I’m delighted to see you back in circulation. I’ve got a terrific scenario going in the medical fetish playroom and I need a second Dom. You up for it?”

     Master Jack glanced from Cleo to Master Thomas. “No, sorry. This sub girl needs aftercare.”

      Cleo could almost feel his fingers stroking soothing balm over her welts as he stared lovingly into her eyes…

     Keep those walls in place. Don’t let him get to you.

      “It’s fine, Sir,” Cleo said quickly. “Brandon can see to me.” She kept her eyes on Master Thomas. “I would prefer that, actually.” She could hear the coldness in her tone, but she didn’t care. “Please, don’t let us keep you from your pleasure.”

     “But—“ Master Jack began.

     At the same time, Master Thomas clapped his hand on Master Jack’s shoulder. “That’s great, Cleo. Thanks for being flexible.”

     “Of course, Sir,” she replied, studiously avoiding Master Jack’s gaze.

     As Master Thomas led Master Jack away, Brandon gave Cleo a quizzical look. “Hey, is that the guy from London? The one you—”

     “Just someone I once knew,” Cleo interrupted. “Ancient history.”