Fearless (Elite Doms of Washington Book 5) Read online

  “Oh, you don’t need—”

  “Oh, yes, she does,” Carson said. “They will look stunning on you. Thanks, Sarah. Always taking care of others.” He winked at her, and her eyes pricked.

  Jesus, she was emotional today. Seemed they all were by the way Carson’s face softened—and the man never softened.

  “Look at the two of us,” he said. “Getting all emotional over shoes.”

  “Well, they are Zapotti’s. Plus, look at where we are.” London raised her gaze to the fairy lights.

  “Agreed.” Sarah downed her champagne and grabbed another from a passing tray carried by a wait staff member she didn’t recognize. Not like her to day-drink, but you know what? Fuck it. She wasn’t someone to swear, but it felt good to say that in her mind.

  A Scottish bagpipe sounded, startling several of the two dozen guests. The piper paraded through the main doors, adopting the traditional gliding slow-step, the tassels on his sporran swinging, the nasal whine of the pipes blotting out any remnants of conversation. Behind him, Alexander walked in time. His black Argyle jacket atop a black kilt set off his salt and pepper hair and closely trimmed beard. Two male attendants closed the doors behind them.

  The crowd parted, allowing the two men to stride up to Master R, also striking in an all-black suit, who stood on a large square of white cloth. He watched the now-closed doors with such intention, she peeped backward herself.

  Alexander stopped next to Richard and began to speak.

  “Welcome friends. And, welcome, Charlotte Braden.”

  All eyes turned to The Library doors. Tony and Amos each grasped a handle and opened the door wide to reveal Charlotte. Her yellow gossamer dress billowed and strands of her red hair, left loose and curled, rose up in the sudden shift of air. She stood between Marcos and Isabella Santos, both in black. The escorts symbolized Master and submissive—both sides of a coin that no one in this room misspent.

  Sarah’s heart swelled with pride at her friends. Marcos had been a friend of Charlotte’s late husband and had stepped in to take care of her after her husband died. It wasn’t a surprise. Shrugging off conventional social norms, her close circle followed their hearts, never leaving one of their own bereft and unfulfilled, stepping in when needed.

  Her eyes threatened tears as Charlotte’s two escorts led her into the room, her pale yellow sharp against so much black. There was no hesitation in her movements, no fear in those eyes. Charlotte had come far, overcome so much. Suddenly, Sarah felt burdened by the passage of time—how much had changed for others and had not changed for her. She forced her shoulders back, her spine to straighten. This was a happy day, not a time to reflect on the past.

  Charlotte proceeded slowly up the make-shift aisle. The other faces blurred into the background, except for a pair of blue eyes from across the room. Steffan nodded at her once. Laurent, in the Tiger of Sweden jacket she’d gifted him, knelt by his side. She inhaled sharply, as if she’d been holding her breath, and shook off her moment of paralysis.

  She quickly glanced away, Charlotte once again the determined sole focus of her attention.

  After reaching Richard, Marcos placed Charlotte’s hand on his arm, then gave him a mock punch in the arm. Richard didn’t notice the gesture, as his eyes locked on the woman before him.

  The bagpipe stopped abruptly, and the piper retreated to stand, chin raised, in the corner.

  “Friends,” Alexander’s voice boomed. “We are gathered here today to witness a collaring, a joining of two souls, a Master and slave, who wish to celebrate their committed relationship to one another. Master R, Richard Randall and Charlotte Braden. Richard will express that commitment by offering this collar to Charlotte to be worn evermore so long as they live.”

  He held up a glittering choker which Sarah immediately recognized as real diamonds. She wouldn’t have expected anything less from Richard. The man hadn’t managed to take his eyes off Charlotte yet.

  “Submissives, you will stand for this ceremony,” Alexander said. “Your witnessing of these events is vital, for you are the blood in our hearts, the energy in our bones, the love in our souls.”

  She sensed movement, people standing. She’d let her eyes go soft, fuzzy, trying not to take in the details of anyone too closely, rather absorbing herself in the energy around her. She refused to look at Steffan and Laurent during this ceremony.

  “Dominants, your witnessing of these events today also is vital,” he continued. “You are the structure, the control, the direction. You are the North Star. Together, Top and bottom, Dominant and submissive, Master and slave, we balance our world—together. One does not exist without the other.”

  Against her will, her eyes found Steffan’s again. He had continued to stare directly at her—confident but not at all filled with the ice she’d seen so often. Perhaps the ceremony was impacting him as well.

  “A collar is more than this metal I hold,” Alexander’s words rang through the large space.

  “Or diamonds,” she whispered.

  Steffan nodded as if he’d heard her or least read her lips. His features had blurred, and she had to blink to clear her vision. If no one was in this room, she believed she could lie down on this carpet and fall asleep. Even breathing seemed to take effort.

  Alexander’s words rose and fell, nearly hypnotic in their effect. “It is a symbol of how deeply they cherish, respect and serve one another. This is a sacred joining. Do you, my friends, support this union and promise to help provide whatever they need to fulfill these destinies as they have so chosen?”

  “We do.” The mix of male and female voices joined and rang around her. Steffan’s lips had formed the words, but all she could feel was the slide of his mouth over hers as it had in that red light in the dungeon, her back pressed into the cold mirror.

  Charlotte now knelt before her Master. He took the collar from a small pillow, but when she lifted that curtain of red hair, he simply placed it around her neck. He didn’t fasten it. He knelt down so they were face-to-face and tipped up her chin so she would look directly into his eyes. He whispered so low his words blurred into a deep male murmur. A smile spread across her delicate features, and a single word crossed her lips. Forever. He then ran his fingertips around her neck, and the click of the collar rang in Sarah’s mind as loud as any church bell.

  A drop of moisture fell on her hand. She swiped her cheek and came away with wet. The event deserved her emotion. She should be touched by the beauty of what she witnessed. Charlotte and Richard were a couple who were meant to be together. Together. Such an interesting word. If broken apart it read to get her. That’s what Joshua had wanted. He had wanted Sarah to the point where he’d sacrificed everything for her, and then he’d died.

  Laurent was embracing Charlotte. Steffan was congratulating Richard. The ceremony had ended while she’d been lost in her own regrets. Steffan and Laurent backed away, and let others give their congratulations to the couple, now hand-in-hand. By the look of his Master R’s grip, he might never let go. Once the crowd swallowed Steffan and Laurent, she strode over to Master R.

  “Congratulations.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek and then caught the emotion in his eyes. She agreed with the male pride that shone there for he’d also been chosen by Charlotte.

  “Thank you, Sarah. For everything,” Charlotte threw her arms around her.

  “It was so beautiful. You are beautiful.”

  Charlotte let go and then clasped her hands. “It’s what you do.”

  Before she could ask what the girl meant, Charlotte was swallowed up by more well-wishers. Sarah backed up, and a wave of fatigue swamped her so completely she could barely keep her eyes open. She’d give anything to lie down for just a few minutes. Perhaps she’d slip upstairs and take a power nap. No one would notice, and no one would come looking for her.

  23

  Steffan felt Sarah’s absence the second she left the room. The energy flattened, the light dimmed. He’d been stopped by Ryan, congratula
ting him on his recent admittance to Accendos. Laurent was across the room talking to Carrie. His eyes darted in his direction. Ah, so he’d noticed she was gone, as well. He would. The man was in love with Sarah. Well, shit, so was he.

  He didn’t lie to himself. Why would he? Yes, he was in love with a woman who was irritatingly stingy with herself, gracious and giving to others—everyone but him. It made him wonder what the hell was going on. He was going to find out.

  During the ceremony, he hadn’t been about to take his eyes off her. The weariness she wore like those strappy sandals no match for her beauty. They had to hurt, but he understood how someone could get used to pain until it became part of the background noise. So she’d been hurt by someone? Join the club. It was time for them to form their own club, of sorts.

  He and Laurent had talked—more words passed between them over the last two days than they’d spoken to each other in the last two years combined. They’d admitted where they stood and agreed on one thing. It wasn’t going to be an either-or situation where they were concerned. She’d get both of them—if she chose them. It was now their sole mission to force that choice.

  After a few pleasantries, Steffan made his excuses to Ryan without apology.

  He looked down the hallway to see her standing before the elevator. He and Laurent got to it just in time to see her jog down the steps, out the French doors to the garden, and into the pouring rain.

  “She did not …” Laurent said to the glass. “She’s wearing a vintage Diane Von Furstenberg …”

  Steffan was out the door in less time than it took Laurent to finish his sentence. Hard pelts of rain soaked him to the bone before reaching the fountain. The sky had darkened with thunderclouds giving the late afternoon sky the look of twilight. A boom overhead silenced the tell-tale click of heels against wet stones. She’d kill herself running in those sandals.

  After frantically searching down one path, he finally found her under the thick canopy of a tree, water streaming down her cheeks, tendrils of hair plastered to the side of her face. Sopping wet, she was still more glamorous than any woman he’d never laid eyes on.

  “You want to tell me what you’re doing?” He pointed to her dress. “Laurent tells me that’s vintage.”

  She chuffed. “You should be worried about ruining your own suit.”

  “I’m worried about you.” He ducked under the tree boughs to stand before her. At least the placement sheltered them from the hardest rain.

  “Don’t be,” she said.

  “I’d say anyone who runs across wet flagstones in those heels—”

  “Death heels.”

  “Even worse.”

  “I’m fine, Steffan.”

  “No, you’re not.” He raised his hand to stop her protest. “Sometimes the woman who takes care of everyone needs someone to be there for her.”

  “You’re going to miss the party.”

  “I’m not going to miss anything.” He stepped forward and took her face in his hands.

  She didn’t reply, but her eyes held such sadness something broke inside him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said because a man who couldn’t apologize wasn’t a man. “I’m sorry I let so much time pass after London. I’m sorry that I backed away the other night. And, by the way, that’s over.”

  “Which part?”

  “All of it.”

  She grew so still, he could have mistaken her for the statue of Venus that stood feet away.

  “Now I’m going to kiss you. Going to stop me?”

  “No.”

  He took her mouth and knew she would be the last woman he’d ever kiss in his lifetime.

  24

  Steffan pulled her closer just as she sensed herself slipping. He turned her so he leaned against the tree and she was pressed into him, held up by his arms. God, she was tired, the kind of exhaustion that seeps into your bones. She didn’t know why she’d turned to the garden instead of going to her room. Maybe because the gardens had always brought her answers. Maybe because she was going crazy.

  The patter of raindrops on leaves, the taste of his mouth now kissing her, the warmth of his skin seeping through his thin shirt—she clung to each sense. She let him kiss her. She was clear on that. She didn’t feel taken, rather appreciated. He was kissing the woman, not just the Dominant like he had so many years ago.

  Steffan could make it so easy for her to forget all the reasons she kept herself from falling in love. Maybe it was what she’d just witnessed—such beauty between two people as they declared before the world they belonged to one another. Belonging. Isn’t that what Steffan had said Laurent wanted?

  She panted into his mouth now, his cock hardening between her legs. She rubbed up against him, ground herself shamelessly, feeling his length, remembering how he filled her, how time had suspended that weekend. She could use some of that now. She’d grown brittle in recent years. Aloof. It was safer for her, but safer for all around her, too. She had no idea how to reverse that course—and she had no desire to.

  A hand, not Steffan’s, fell onto her back. Another man’s body pressed into her from behind. “I’m here, Mistress.” Laurent’s soft voice soothed that last, tense, part of her.

  She tilted her pelvis forward and then backward, teasing each cock pressed into her—Steffan’s between her legs, as he slouched slightly to even their height difference, and Laurent’s who nestled just above the base of her spine. God, she did love men—their hardness, their unexpected soft places, the stubborn focus.

  Steffan broke his kiss. His glacial blue eyes fixed on her face in question.

  “Better,” she said and reached back to cradle the back of Laurent’s head with one hand. She bowed backward, and Steffan took the opportunity to place his lips to her neck. Power surged through her as these two men touched her, grew hard because of her.

  “What may I do for you, Mistress?” Laurent whispered, ever the submissive who wishes permission at every turn.

  “Take me to my room.” When she lifted her head, that glacial blue in Steffan’s eyes turned to a dark storm.

  He dropped his arms and let her right herself. She hooked her arm into Laurent’s and held the other hand out to Steffan in invitation. He took it, and they walked, joined, to her room, past guests, guards, and assistants, and she didn’t care.

  As soon as her bedroom door clicked shut, Steffan twirled her around, but this time, she rose up and took possession of his mouth. His hands dove under her dress and found her ass. He hiked her up so she got yet another connection with his cock trapped inside his ruined trousers. She wrestled with his jacket until together they managed to get him out of it.

  Rushing water—not too far and not too close—signaled her shower had been turned on.

  “We need to warm you up,” Steffan said and led her to the bathroom. Laurent stood by the shower door, fully nude, his cock beckoning her forward. She wanted to taste him. Before the night was over, she would.

  Ripping sounded behind her, as Steffan shed himself of his clothes.

  “Mistress, may I?” Laurent touched the tie around her wrap dress.

  “You may.” The fabric stubbornly stuck to her skin, but together they managed to get her dress, panties, and bra off.

  The three of them stepped into the shower, all four shower heads hitting their skin, caressing their muscles, with blessedly hot water. Laurent kneaded her shoulders, while Steffan resumed his welcomed assault on her mouth. The man could kiss. Her bare breasts rubbed up against his firm chest, while Laurent’s cock pressed into the small of her back. When all the fatigue had been worked out by Laurent’s magic fingers, she broke herself free from both of them.

  Taking a wide stance, she leaned into the corner of the shower. She stood there for a glorious second, feeling every bit of her femaleness. She trailed her hand up her belly to the underside of her left breast and circled her nipple with her fingertip.

  Laurent swallowed, while Steffan’s eyes grew fierce, the blue filling with a d
ark lust. She’d always known her power over men like she’d told them at that dinner—though she’d made sure to use it more wisely in her later years than when she was young. Tonight, she was going to let it all go—the past and the future—and just … feel.

  “Laurent. Taste me.”

  He dropped to his knees and buried his face, his tongue finding her center. She kept her eyes on Steffan as Laurent trailed his hot tongue between her inner folds, up one side and down the other. Steffan reached for himself and stroked, that slightly haughty tilt of his chin never dipping as his friend serviced her. Laurent flicked her clit and made her gasp. He lapped up the sides, only to return to nip and suck on her most sensitive part.

  “You’ve got a wicked tongue, Laurent,” she breathed into the steam. As his mouth did its dance on her pussy, Stefan continued to stroke himself, a lazy smile on his face contradicting his tense jaw.

  “I want inside you,” Steffan said.

  She wanted that, too, but didn’t respond. Instead, her breath now came in rapid gulps as Laurent ate her, hard and greedily. She grasped the back of his head, her fingers threading through dark curls, as she pressed him harder against her. She then did what she’d wanted to the other night, but hadn’t. She closed her eyes and shattered against his mouth. When she came back to herself, she raised her lids and found Steffan.

  “I didn’t think it was possible for you to be more beautiful than you are.” Steffan stroked harder, the purple head of his cock, swollen and shiny. “But, right then, watching you come undone? A goddess. Tonight, I am going to see more of that pleasure on your face.”

  Once she let go of his head, Laurent eased back and scooted backward as if making room for Steffan.

  “Yes,” she said. A simple word, but all he needed to break through the water spray to reach for her. He hitched her up against the warming tiles. She wrapped her legs around him, and he drove forward, finding what he wanted. God, that first thrust filled and stretched her to the maximum. Her pussy registered every millimeter of his cock, the head so close to her cervix a dull ache began. “I want more.”