“Do you think we’ll ever get to test out the Sultan’s Chamber?” Esme asked. “Not that this room isn’t a fantasy come true.”

“How about concentrating on where we are instead of where we aren’t?”

Leave it to Finn, her persistently positive Master to look at it from a glass is half full perspective.

“Yes, sir,” she replied, then after a moment simply had to add her glass is half empty two cents. “It’s just that it’s been four months. You’d think in that time a Dom with part ownership in this place could reserve the room of his choice.”

“Esme?” he asked quietly as he approached, looking devilishly handsome in a black Stetson, faded jeans, cowboy boots, and nothing else. This left his amazing chest bare, with loads of bunching, rippling muscles for her to stare at and drool over when she was supposed to be kneeling without talking while waiting as he prepared for their play session.

Tonight, she hadn’t quite conquered the silently waiting part.

“Yes, Master?” she asked sheepishly,

“Open.”

When he held up a gag, she licked her lips then obediently opened her mouth for him to insert the flexible silicone bit between her teeth and secure the adjustable leather strap snugly behind her head. She wasn’t surprised and didn’t mind in the least; she loved strict bondage. Ropes, cuffs, straps, blindfolds, and gags—as long as she could breathe around them—she’d yet to complain about anything Finn had tied her up with or strapped her into.

“Now, then,” he said as he pulled her hair out from under the strap and smoothed the long thick red strands that he loved so much back behind her shoulders. “Suspension isn’t a skill conducive to distractions, and you, pretty lass, are in a chatty mood tonight.” He moved in front of her to check the fit, his fingers slipping beneath the leather that was snug, prevented her from speaking, but wasn’t too tight. Then he bent and kissed her, his lips gliding along her cheek to her ear. “You focus on sensations, the smell of the hay, how it prickles against your skin, the rope crisscrossing your body, and how the rope binding your breasts has them thrusting out further and swelling beautifully. Imagine what I’ll do to you next, mo chuisle, perhaps I’ll clamp those pink nipples so that when I hoist you in the air I can dangle little weights from them? Or leave them bare and vulnerable for the bite… of… my… whip.”

The last few words said slowly and with pulsing emphasis piqued both her excitement and her apprehension making her tremble and a soft moan drifted up from her throat and past the gag.

“Eager for my lash, baby?”

She nodded vigorously.

“And just a wee bit afraid, perhaps?”

She hesitated, but nodded again as Finn’s expectations, clearly stated on that not so long-ago Saturday night, echoed in her head. Truthful answers, candid responses, and honest emotion. I’ll expect no less and will give the same.

“There’s a good honest answer,” he murmured. “You’re going to love this, darlin’. Trust me.”

She blinked up at him, trying to convey that she did, explicitly. If she didn’t, she’d never allow any of this. But she reveled in surrendering everything to this man, and when she did, soared to unbelievable heights of pleasure, spurred on by the erotic pain he expertly doled out,

Looking down at her, his lips curved into an affectionate smile, he pulled a soft cloth from his back pocket and wiped her chin. “Even gagged and drooling, you’re fucking beautiful, mo chuisle.”

He returned to the task, rigging her first rope suspension that her earlier chattering had pulled him from. And since he no longer blocked the mirror on the far wall, which didn’t belong in a hayloft, except when it was located in a bondage club, she had a clear view of her reflection. Vanity aside, she had to agree with him, she did make a beautifully erotic picture, on her knees, thighs spread, her hands bound behind her back, breasts swollen and standing out between the twisted, knotted rope bra he’d affixed to her body, naked except for the white Stetson atop her head. Oh, and her boots—honey brown with hand stitched flowers and little pinwheels in cream and pink—which she’d begged prettily for her Master to let her keep on.

Though she wasn’t a country girl, when she found them she knew they’d be perfect for tonight. Their rain check scene in the hayloft, the second most popular theme room, had taken three months on the ever-growing reservation schedule.

Construction was underway for eight more rooms. It wouldn’t put a dent in the demand, but it was a start. And there was discussion of opening a third club in San Francisco. Though it was a five-hour drive, many of their membership drove or flew it, and they had to do something to accommodate the hundreds of applicants on their constantly expanding waiting list.

She’d heard Finn talking to Master Eric one night, saying about the same thing she had, that owners or patrons shouldn’t have to wait forever for the playroom of their choice.

As she watched Finn run foot upon foot of natural hemp rope he preferred through his hands, she found it hard to believe they’d been together for three months already, living together nearly six weeks.

It was actually a lot longer. She didn’t remember them discussing it, except for the night of the shooting when he sang her cozy little Northridge abode’s praises. But a few items in her bathroom medicine chest—toothbrush, shaving cream, a razor—and a duffle of clean clothes had soon turned into a bottle of his man soap in her shower, two of her drawers filled with his boxers, socks and t-shirts, and his jeans, button up work shirts, and the one jacket which he wore with dark jeans when meeting with clients, hanging in her closet. And each morning, unless he was working an overnight case which wasn’t often, his boots were at the foot of her bed.

The only ripple in their rapidly deepening relationship was when he’d brought in the mail one day and she saw him pocket two envelopes.

“Are you getting mail here now?”

“Not yet. It goes to the office.”

She raised her brows in question.

“Your city and county taxes are due; I’m paying them, as well as the electric bill.”

“What? Finn!”

“Don’t argue, Esme. If you had a mortgage, I’d be taking that over too. I’m here every night, wake in bed with you every morning, eat supper here when we don’t go out, and use the utilities.”

“But you have an apartment to keep up downtown.”

“That’s a perk of ownership, and paid for out of the club profits, which are significant. You’re working for Rossi now, but not raking it in. You’re my woman; I’m taking care of you, end of discussion.”

“I’m earning more working for you than for Gerald. What do I do with my payday then?”

“Buy fuck me shoes and slinky dresses, which is also something that I enjoy, and cat food for Phin, or whatever else. Oh, and I’ve hired a lawn service. Neither of us is spending our limited downtime mowing and weeding.”

“But I enjoy working in my flower garden out back.”

“I’ll let them know to leave it alone, but if weeding and mulching get too much, we can hand it over and you can just sit on the patio and enjoy it.” He wrapped his arm around her and hauled her against his chest. “Trust me, this is nothing compared to what I’m bringing in between the club and Rossi. Basically, your man is loaded. Enjoy it.”

“I get to ride in your Jag with the top down nearly every day, honey. I kind of suspected you were.”

He grinned. “My point is, you like working. You do a good job, but if that gets too much, we hand that over too. As for the house, it’s perfect for us, now, except I’m doubling the garage, so I can park my Jag inside. The SUV can stay in the circle drive. And, before the kids come along, we’re adding on an addition.”

“Kids?” she breathed.

“You said you wanted three, Esme. You’ve only got two bedrooms and they’re next to the master. That won’t do.”

“You’ve got it all planned out.”

“Anything I’ve said not to your liking?”

She shook her head. She wanted his Jag in the garage next to her BMW. It was a lease, and a treat to herself after she started working at Rossi. And she wanted kids, always had. She told him early on she wanted a big family, being an only child herself. What she hadn’t mentioned is she wanted at least one little boy with his daddy’s beautiful dark green eyes and auburn streaked hair.

Adding on to the house came along with a growing family, plus she had a large lot and tons of room. All of it was exactly to her liking and she told him so.

“I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“So why are we arguing, mo chuisle?”

“Uh, Finn, I don’t think that we are. I was just asking.”

“Mmm…” he hummed in his usual sexy way which said he wasn’t buying whatever she was selling, but she smiled, which he erased when he crushed her to him and covered her mouth hungrily.

Not long after, he’d put a ring on her finger. And as he did, seeing the tears filling her eyes, he’d whispered, “You don’t wait when living every day to its fullest.”

And, every day, cocooned in Finn’s love, his nurturing, and his dominance, rather than her own insulating brand of cotton wool she was learning how to do exactly that.

And slowly, she was healing.

Lately, she’d found the strength to open the compartment in the back of her brain and let memories of Andrew out. The good ones, when they were happy, which she’d locked away with the bad. That wasn’t fair to him, or to her. She’d loved him dearly and shouldn’t shut him and the time they’d shared out of her life.

Finn agreed, which gave her the courage to tell him her stories. He was wonderfully gracious and most often would stop what he was doing, pull her into his arms, and encourage her to go on, asking questions or making comments, even laughing along with her. With Andrew, who would always hold a special place in her heart, there had been a lot of laughter.

Every now and then, disturbing thoughts of Carlos’ insane wrath, getting shot at, how she could have been killed in her crazy escape onto Wilshire Blvd popped in her head. Her therapist, recommended by Val and also kink-friendly, had taught her some techniques to redirect the intrusive images of horror and the gore. Most often they worked.

But still, on occasion, she’d see a flash of malevolent ice blue eyes or feel the crushing weight of Gerald on her chest, and she’d shudder at the vivid memories—like now.

“Esme.” Sharp and uncompromising, Finn’s warning bark from beside her penetrated her ruminations and she snapped back to the hayloft on the second floor of the club smack dab in the center of LA. “You aren’t doing as I asked and focusing on sensations and what I have planned. Lean forward.” He ordered, though bound as she was, what choice did she have when with his hand on her shoulder he lowered her upper body to the hay strewn floor. With her butt aimed high in the air, he murmured, “That’s it,” and trailed his hand up her back to her bottom.

She felt something cool drizzle between her cheeks and knew what was coming. Finn had certain non-traditional methods for redirecting her thoughts, which included a few things from his Master’s tool box, which her therapist didn’t have access to.

“Since your mind is wandering to things it should not—especially while you’re safe with me in a place we both enjoy—I’ll give you something to concentrate on.”

Her Master spread her cheeks and slid the tip of a plug through the cool lube. Her thoughts were wiped clear when it ringed her puckered hole, filling and stretching her, the little bite of discomfort giving way to a satisfying fullness.

For her, since she enjoyed it, he never considered it a punishment, most often it was a reward, especially when Finn took her from behind with a plug in her ass. It always did as he intended, taking her mind off everything else except his mastery of her.

“Isn’t that better?” he asked as his big hands massaged her upraised bottom, returning every few caresses to tap the end wedged between her cheeks, or twist it.

She could only respond with a low moan behind her gag.

He pulled the plug out slowly, then slipped it back in, letting her experience the bite and the stretch all over again. She was groaning more loudly when he was ready to move on to what he had planned.

Lifting and turning her, so she sat on a hip, he finished binding her with rope. First checking the rope bra and the knots he’d made earlier, adding an intricate tie around her waist, another rope encircled each thigh. Next, he laid her face down in the hay and frog tied her ankles to the ropes riding just below her ass cheeks.

“You’re doing great, baby,” he murmured, as he ran his hands over her bound body checking for pinched skin and too constraining rope. She heard a squeak, and a small rubber ball was placed in one hand. “What’s your signal for red while you’re gagged, Esme?”

She squeezed it twice.

“Good, lass,” he hummed in approval. “Now, we’re ready.”

After a light, affectionate pat on her ass, he stood and crossed the room. A mechanical whir resonated in the room and her rope bound body started rising from the floor. She whimpered when she left the ground completely. They’d been working up to this for weeks. Finn had started her out with both feet on the ground, then progressed to one leg slightly raised, and next to a bent leg suspension with only the ball of her foot touching the floor.

This was the first time she had floated entirely free.

“Easy, lass, you’re safe with me.”

Of course, she was; she trusted her Master with her life. That didn’t mean this first time her heart didn’t race as she dangled several feet above the floor. Focusing on her breathing, she drew in deeply, then blew it out slowly. By the time she’d repeated the cycle three times, the whirring had stopped, and her Master was crouched in front of her.

“Let’s take this off.”

The bit gag loosened and came free and Finn wiped her face again with a soft cloth—drooling a side effect of every gag they’d tried so far. With a light tug on the ropes he swung her forward, so his face was next to hers. “How are you doing, baby? Anything pinching or too tight?”

“No, sir. It was scary at first, but with you next to me, I’m perfect.”

“You are that, a stór. Ready for more?”

She bit her lip, the more was even more intense than suspension.

Cupping her chin in his big palm, Finn reminded her, “You have a safeword, Esme. Always.”

“I know, but I want to do this. It’s part of my living life to the fullest philosophy you’re always speaking of, and my therapist thinks if I can conquer my fear of the whip, with you, whom I love and trust, you know who will become powerless in my dreams and those nightmares will stop.”

His green eyes searched hers. “Facing your fears head on is an effective technique, darlin’, but it can also trigger a flashback. At the first sign of trouble, I expect you to say red, understood?”

“Yes, sir.” She was determined to do this, to take the lash for herself as much as for Finn, and if it was like everything else he’d done to her, she’d love it and soar.

With the uncanny ability to know her thoughts, as he had from the beginning, his serious expression gave way to an approving smile. “There’s my brave, lass. From me you’ll get the bite of my lash, a stinging butt from a spanking, tears when you need it, and always, fucked long and hard until you can’t see straight. But I’ll never cause you harm or put you in jeopardy, you can count on it.”

“I love everything you do to me—except for those spankings to tears. They hurt, a lot. But it’s like Val said, like it or not, you give me what I need. And I love you for that, Finn, and trust you to always keep me safe.”

“I love you too, Esme lass.” Leaning forward, he moved his mouth over hers, his tongue dipping inside and hungrily tangling with her own. When he pulled away, his green eyes were burning hot with desire. He reached forward and caressed a dangling swollen breast. “That little slip, earned you a few lashes across these pretty pink tips, or did you forget where we are?”

How could she with the smell of straw tickling her nose and while she wasn’t touching it any longer, it left her itchy and with her unable to scratch. Still, she replied with a little white lie and in keeping with the theme, a teasing western drawl, “Well, I reckon I did, Master Finn. Whatever can I do to make it up to you?”

She followed it up by aiming a saucy grin up at him, to which he laughed low and throaty.

“You can make it up by taking what I give you, darlin’, which means my cock while suspended in my ropes after I make your skin tingle with the fire of my short tail. But I’m not sure it’s wise to tease before you’ve tasted my leather.”

Oh, fuck!

“Um, can I take that back?”

“Nope, as they say in the West,” he said while coming to his feet. “The horse is done outta the barn, pardner.”

She groaned. “First Bogey, now John Wayne. Best not give up your day job and pursue celebrity impersonations. Frankly, sir, they suck.”

He smacked her ass sharply while he crossed to the table where he’d left his Master’s bag. “No one likes a smart-ass critic, Esme lass. Do you need that bit gag back?”

“Oh no, sir. Sorry, sir. I’ll be good, sir.”

“Let’s hope so for my sake. I have deviant plans for that mouth.”

And she looked forward to it; Finn’s imagination was limitless.

When his boots sounded with a dull thud on the straw-strewn floor, she got serious. A few moments passed and a swish and crack rent the air. Unable to help it, she jumped.

“Easy, lass. We’ll start slow.”

Another swish and the ten-inch leather tail at the end with its soft unwoven threads—which Finn called the cracker—brushed her butt. She knew this because he’d sat her down and let her hold and examine it weeks ago, taught her the proper names for every part, and even let her throw it, with his hand guiding hers. It made her feel more comfortable, but seeing the tightly braided strips of leather, and feeling the weight of it in her hand, had also freaked her out a little.

Finn didn’t push though they visited the club, playing downstairs and up, twice a week, sometimes three, and were eagerly exploring each room and every flat and vertical surface in her house. But her growing fascination with the whip and her need to conquer her fear of it, made her push him. He hadn’t set the scene, however, until she told him, and he agreed, she was ready.

More swishes and light whisks swept over her bottom. His aim was dead on what with the ropes binding her, her feet by her bottom and her hands crossed and tied at her lower back, there wasn’t much target left. But Finn found it, and repeated it on the other side, landing two more one after the other. The sensation was more than a flogger and less than the sharp thwap from a crop.

Esme relaxed, feeling silly she fretted for nothing.

The whir of the hoist sounded again, and her body angled, instead of horizontal, it was at a forty-five-degree angle to the floor, her head upright and well above her knees.

A crack preceded the three strokes he applied in descending order down her belly. She heard Finn move, and felt the sting of leather on her inner thighs. Then he alternated blows in no pattern at all, Esme never knowing where he’d strike next, whether soft, or with a loud dramatic crack, and with an intense, though targeted sting.

Her brain shut down as her body hummed to life, no longer trying to predict where and when, only living in the moment and enjoying how.

Soon, she was flying, both in his ropes, as each blow made her swing and revolve, and in subspace as the pleasure chemicals soared through her body making her drunk on her Master’s control of every aspect of her and the scene.

Another whish and heat bloomed in a line across her right breast. Her lips parted, as the sting lingered long and melded with the next stroke that landed directly on her nipple. She cried out, as the tip peaked in reaction and a flood of wetness surged to her pussy.

“Use your safeword if you need to, lass,” Finn reminded her.

She didn’t need to, nor did she want to, her body was alive with sensation and enough erotic pain to make her clit pulse with pleasure and her insides to clench with a desire to be filled.

“Esme,” Finn called. “Are you with me?”

“Yes,” she choked out. “Please…”

“Please what, mo chuisle? Ask for what you want.”

“More…” she groaned.

He didn’t hesitate, moving around the room and repeating the hot licks of leather and fire on her left breast.

Esme jerked reflexively, arching her back as much as the binding and suspension would allow, offering her breasts for more. He gave it to her, but not where she wanted or expected. It landed, repeatedly. Sometimes soft, other times with more intensity, tickling, and biting, burning and surprisingly soothing until the endorphins released and surged through her body. Three feet off the ground as she was, her soaring went to a whole other level.

It was sublime.

Vaguely, she heard a thump, another whir, then she tasted salt on her lips.

“Open,” he commanded for a second time in an hour. But instead of a synthetic gag, warm, male, flesh filled her mouth as his cock slid inside. Instinctively, her lips closed around him and she sucked, her tongue swirling along his smooth satiny skin. She rejoiced in the husky groans coming from above her and relaxed her jaw, taking more of his considerable length, drawing hard, hoping to give him as much pleasure as he’d given her.

Suddenly, he pulled out.

Esme’s cries of disappointment filled the air.

But he didn’t leave her for long. Spinning her in a half circle, he fit his hips between her bound thighs and drove into her. Being filled with Finn’s generous cock while still plugged was nearly too much and sent jolts of sensation through her body from her head, hanging limply toward the floor, to her breasts dangling and swaying with each hard thrust, the peaks tightening with more pain than his black snack had come close to providing, and to her toes which curled up at the intense pleasure.

Attuned to her needs, Finn’s hands came around and cupped her breasts, massaging gently and then pinching the already aching tips. She sobbed at all the sensations bombarding her at once, and he mercifully released her, but he was far from done. Using the ropes to guide her body, he pulled her to him as his cock drove inside. Again, and again, he pumped into her, setting up a hard, fast rhythm, nudging the plug at certain angles, her breasts bouncing with every thrust. Then, his hand came around in front, slipped between her spread thighs and with impeccable instincts, on the first try, his thumb and forefinger found her clit, rolling and pinching it firmly. This final added bit of sensual torment sent her hurtling toward climax.

“Master,” she groaned. “May I?”

“Fuck yeah, darlin’, I’m right there with you. Come.”

She didn’t know if she cried out first or if Finn did, or if the rare thing happened and they both came at once, but her body surrendered to wave after wave of scorching hot bliss.

Neither said much in the aftermath as he lowered her to the hay. Then he both unknotted and cut through the ropes to set her free. Once she was unbound, he eased the plug from her backside, then scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed with an old-fashioned metal frame and a quilt in keeping with the western theme. It was surprisingly comfortable, but with Finn’s arms around her she wouldn’t have cared if it wasn’t.

Usually after such an intense session, she napped. Tonight, she wasn’t sleepy at all though she rested against his side, her cheek on his chest, upper leg bent and hitched over his, enjoying the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear and the leisurely combing of his fingers through her hair.

With her body still, but her mind unusually alert, a distant, haunting melody started to play.

She turned her face into his chest, and kissed him, before she whispered softly, “Thank you, Finn.”

His hand in her hair stilled, his fingers flexing and bringing her face up to his until their eyes met, “You don’t have to thank me for a mutually enjoyable experience, Esme. Surely you could tell I got as much out of it as you did.”

“I didn’t… that’s not…” she stammered, her cheeks flooding with heat at his misinterpretation of her gratitude. Wanting to make sure he fully understood she twisted onto her belly, and with her upper body lying on his chest, propped on her forearms, she stared down at him. “I didn’t mean thanks for a mind-blowing orgasm or sending me into subspace, though both were thank you worthy. I meant for not giving up on me when I ran, and stood you up, and tried to push you away. I’d still be lost and going through the motions if you hadn’t. You brought me back to life.”

His free hand came up and framed her face, his beautiful eyes gleaming with intensity. “For that, you are very welcome, baby, but I benefited from it as well. Some would call it selfishness on my part, considering I saw what I wanted and refused to give up until I had it in my grasp.”

“Then how about accepting my gratitude for being a stubborn, selfish, wonderful man who dared me to be brave enough to love again.”

“Darlin’,” he growled, his mouth lowering to hers for a kiss.

“I love you so much, Master,” she said against his lips.

“A chuisle mo chroi, mo grá thú.”

“My pulse…” she echoed not trying to imitate his Irish Gaelic, but she recognized the familiar endearment and grá, which meant love. The rest was lost on her. “That’s beautiful. What does it mean?”

“Pulse of my heart, I love you too.” Tears misted her eyes as she beamed up at him. “But the scene is over, and while in bed, snuggled up together, just the two of us—without even Phineas around to hear—it’s Finn, and his sweet lass Esme.”

His gorgeous watery image wavered, and she whispered, “Okay, Finn.”

“Now get up here and kiss me.”

Issued as a growly order, no matter his insistence they were just Finn and Esme, his dominance prevailed, and she was only too happy to submit.