No Refusal

Previously titled: The Master

No Safeword is a BDSM Club Series novel. Where erotic submission is not only accepted, but demanded.

Excerpt from book

Jordan hoisted herself onto the stool one down from Donovan. Without seeming to notice him, she leaned forward, placing her elbows on the bar. “Sure. That sounds great. Thanks.”

Annette took a clean glass and scooped some crushed ice into it. She poured the lemonade over the ice and dropped in a maraschino cherry. While she was preparing the drink, Donovan turned to Jordan, extending his hand over the empty stool between them. “I’m Donovan Cartwright. Welcome aboard.”

“Jordan Heller.” Her grip was cool and firm, almost masculine in its assurance, which surprised Donovan. He realized he was expecting something softer and more demure and it threw him off balance.

Annette handed the drink to Jordan and Donovan noticed the girl’s fingernails were short though nicely manicured and painted a pearly pink. As she lifted the glass, Donovan found himself watching her drink. Something about it was supremely erotic—the way her lips closed over the edge of the glass as she tilted her head back, her eyes closing, the long lashes brushing her cheeks, and the small, satisfied sigh after she’d drained the glass.

Donovan experienced a sudden nearly overwhelming urge to place his hand on her throat, thumb and forefinger tightening just beneath her jaw line, forcing her head back as he gripped a handful of her hair and lowered his mouth to hers. The image was so startlingly real that for a horrible moment he thought he’d actually done it. He must be more tired than he thought. He shook his head, shaking away the fantasy as if it were a physical presence in his brain.

Annette stepped out from behind the bar. She nodded toward Jordan and Donovan. “See you tomorrow.” Turning to Gene, she added, “I’m going to change. See you in a minute?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Gene said quietly, and Donovan noted the sudden lift of Jordan’s eyebrows, though she gave no other outward sign she had heard him.

As Annette headed through the dungeon door, Gene stood and walked around Donovan to Jordan. “Annette’s pleased with your work, Jordan. We’ll see you tomorrow at eight?”

“You will.” Jordan smiled, and Donovan noticed the deep dimple in her left cheek. Her skin looked satiny soft. His fingers, rough and calloused from years of working with his hands, itched to stroke her cheek.

Bending over, Jordan pulled off one of her high heels. “But these have got to go. I think I crippled myself tonight.” She laughed, a full-throated laugh that made Donovan wonder if she was as vocal in bed.

“No problem,” Gene agreed. “Flats are fine.” He turned to Donovan. “Front door’s locked and everyone’s gone for the night. Will you set the alarm and see Jordan out to her car?”

“Of course,” Donovan agreed, watching Gene leave. He looked at the clock behind the bar. It was 2:20 and normally at this hour he was done, but for some reason the fatigue he’d felt a moment before had lifted. A kind of nervous energy moved in his blood, as if he’d just had a double shot of espresso. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize it was the sexy little sprite sitting one stool over that was the cause.

Though he had no particular plans to take it further, there was no harm in a little casual flirtation. He’d just push a few of her buttons—test the submissive waters, as it were.

He slid to the stool next to hers. “I saw you watching me tonight during the bondage wheel scene. You looked like a little girl in a candy store. Ever been on a wheel?”

“You saw me in that crowd?”

He grinned at her diversion tactic and ratcheted the flirtation up a notch. “I saw the longing in your face even from a distance. You were imagining the snug grip of those cuffs around your wrists, your thighs, your ankles and waist. Your body was aching to be stretched taut, at the mercy of my dominance. Your skin was tingling with the need to feel the stroke of my cane.”

He paused to see if he was getting to her, looking for the flush on her cheeks, the dilation of her pupils, the parting of her lips in startled but aroused surprise.

Instead, to his chagrin, she tossed her head and snorted. “Ha! Are you ever off the mark. I eat boys like you for dinner and spit out the bones. I’m as dominant as you are. If I looked like a kid in a candy shop, it was only because I wanted to be the one with the cane in my hand, a boy toy strapped to the wheel as he begged me sweetly for another lick of fire. In fact, I bet you would fit up there quite nicely.”

For a moment Donovan was speechless. Admittedly he’d laid it on a little thick in an effort to get a rise out of her. But when he’d seen Jordan in the crowd clutching her water glass to her chest as if in prayer, her eyes shining, her expression rapt, he’d pegged her for a sub, no question about it.

Now he just shrugged, only the lift of his eyebrows suggesting his disbelief. “My mistake,” he said, standing and bowing slightly in her direction. “I’ll wait for you by the changing room, Mistress.”

“Glad we cleared that up,” Jordan replied with another saucy flounce of her head.

But then he saw it, and he knew what he was seeing, no matter how much she protested to the contrary. She couldn’t hide the telltale flush that was indeed rising along her chest and throat and pinkening her cheeks, even as her green eyes flashed with defiance.

Donovan followed her through the dungeon, stopping to spin the bondage wheel as they passed it. They locked eyes. Jordan was the first to turn away.

Donovan just smiled. He always did love a challenge.