Beg For Me by Sierra Cartwright

Chapter Three

In the darkness, broken only by ambient light from outside, she took in the scene. Wearing only a pair of boxer briefs, Torin was thrashing on the bed, the sheet tangled around his ankles. “Commander Carter!” She took a step into the room, then another. “Torin.”

When he didn’t respond, she sat on the edge of the mattress, near him, but far enough away that she could stand get away if he reacted badly. “Torin. Wake up!” She gently shook his shoulder.

He opened his eyes in a wide, unseeing stare.

“It’s okay,” she said, the words instinctive rather than genuine. She had no idea what the hell was going on, other than a nightmare…or closer to a terror. Whatever it was, he was deep in its horrid grips.

Mira reached out again, placing a reassuring hand on his heated skin. “You’re safe.”

Torin balled his hands at his sides.

“You’re in the carriage house. New Orleans.”

After a ragged exhalation, he blinked. Then, after a few steadying breaths, he struggled out of the sheet and worked himself up onto his elbows.

Now that he was awake, she eased her hand back. She’d known he kept secrets, but she’d had no idea they were so destructive.

“Everything’s fine,” he said.

“I…” She shook her head. “Want to talk about it?”

He sat the rest of the way up. His breathing had returned to normal, and his steely eyes were focused. But the sheen was still on his skin, and his hair was wildly mussed.

“Everything’s fine,” he repeated, as if on automatic.

“No. It’s not.” She hated to think about him being alone when this happened, with no one around to anchor him to reality. “Have you seen someone about it?”

“Listen, Araceli…” He captured her wrist, not tightly, but in a loose circle. Then, studying his action, he feathered his thumb across her pulse point. “You never have bad dreams?”

“Of course.” She should pull away from him. Instead, she, too, looked down, mesmerized by his long, gentle strokes, in contrast to his raw strength. After what had just happened, she appreciated the reassurance of their connection.

When he stilled, she glanced up to find him staring at her.

“That was beyond a bad dream.”

“It’s over now. You did your good deed.”

“But—”

“Go back to your own room now, Araceli.”

He was back to being himself, and he’d made it abundantly clear that staying wasn’t an option.

In his place, she wouldn’t want anyone to glimpse her vulnerabilities. She had to respect that, even if she didn’t like it. She had questions that needed answers.

With a sigh, she stood. “Commander…”

“Thank you, Araceli.”

On the threshold, she stopped.

“Close the door on your way out.”

“You can be a total jerk, Carter.” To see if her words stung, she glanced back.

Shocking her, he was smiling. There was nothing charming about it. Rather, it was feral, sending a deep shiver through her.

“Believe me, Araceli, you don’t want me to invite you into my bed.”

Oh God. Jesus. That was exactly what she wanted.

“I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions.”

He’d meant to warn her, no doubt. But her reaction was immediate. Sexual hunger crashed into her. Torin was a flame, and she yearned to touch it.

“I appreciate you coming to my rescue. Sleep well.”

Remembering his torment, all mixed up with her craving to be with him, she was unable to settle.

Eventually she tossed back the covers and climbed out of bed to bend into a long yoga stretch that did nothing to center her.

She headed for the living room and the exercise bike, needing a grueling aerobic workout to exhaust her.

Torin Carter was troubled, far more than she’d realized.

She wanted to know why, even if he didn’t want to tell her.

* * *

Mira’s heelsclicked on the carriage house’s hardwood floor, little stabby points of sexy noise. Torin glanced up from his computer.

His eyes widened.

She wore a long gown, bloodred and stunning.

“What do you think?” Without waiting for his response, she twirled, so slow that he had the opportunity to admire her from every angle.

Her long black hair—alive with flamelike highlights—was pinned back, and a few tendrils had escaped their delicate confines to curl alluringly across her cheeks and at her nape.

Belatedly, he recalled her saying she’d rented a gown. This one was cut fairly low, in a way he was pretty damn sure would have been scandalous when Queen Victoria sat on the British throne. The style of the dress emphasized the alluring swell of Mira’s breasts.

Enticing vixen. “Going somewhere?”

“Don’t wait up.” She checked her phone, presumably to verify the arrival of her ride, then lifted her hand on the way out the door.

The fact that she repeated his words from earlier this week was a barb, and it found its mark.

He drummed his fingers on the table, wondering where the hell she was going. No wonder she followed him the other night. Because of their personality, no mystery remained unsolved.

Where was she going at nine o’clock on a Wednesday evening?

Doesn’t matter. Or at least that was what he reminded himself. There were no ties between them. Soon enough, they’d go their separate ways. Perhaps their paths would never cross again.

That thought clouded his brain, getting in the way of rational thought.

Araceli meant something to him. Pure male lust, no doubt. But a whole sweet fuck more. She was fearless. That bothered him as much as the glimpses of her sweet, caring nature.

Last night, she should have tried to wake him from the far side of the room, if at all. Instead, she’d sat on the bed, touched him, despite the fact that she hadn’t known what to expect.

Hell, he hadn’t known what to expect.

It’d been over a year since his last episode. He’d thought, believed, they’d gone away.

He’d seen a shrink after Ekaterina had died on his watch. Talking about it had helped, at least enough for him to sleep four hours at a stretch. Still, on rare occasions, something would happen to trigger the memories.

No doubt, it was Araceli herself.

She worried him.

The fearlessness that he admired was the thing that scared him the most, as it had since she stepped foot into his classroom.

Restless, he headed outside for a swim.

When he was worn out, no longer obsessing over her, he headed back inside to shower.

The scent of wildflowers lingered on the air, exceptional because she generally didn’t use anything more than an ordinary soap.

When he exited the shower, he noticed her garment bag, hanging from a hook on the back of the door.

With a towel wrapped around his waist, he read the inscription. Masquerade Costume Shop. Original. Then he plucked the receipt from the small plastic window on the front of the bag.

Victorian dress.Seventy-nine dollars.

More intrigued than ever, he strode back to the living room, powered up his computer, then opened the web browser. He typed in the little information he knew. Date, approximate time, costume, Victorian.

A fraction of a second later, his screen filled with results. At the top was an announcement of the Quarter’s annual theme night.

He pushed the laptop away. Not much surprised him, but this left him shocked.

Mira Araceli, his partner, was on her way to the Quarter?

Fuck.

How the hell had he not known they were members of the same club? Or that she was a submissive?

He shucked water from his still-damp hair. For a moment, he considered the idea she might be a Domme. It took him no time to dismiss that idea. When he kissed her, her response had been sweet. Instead of protesting his aggressiveness, she gave herself over to him.

There was no doubt she was a sub, and if she was going to the Quarter, she was looking for a Dom.

Torin shouldn’t want to be that man.

The primal beast in him said fuck that. If she wanted to scene, she would do it with him.

Driven by urgency, he used an app on his phone to summon a ride. He didn’t have the patience to take his own car, find parking, then walk a couple of blocks, even if the exercise might calm his temper.

Not giving a damn about the club’s theme night, he locked up before jogging down the steps to wait for the driver.

A couple of blocks away from his destination, traffic snarled. Knowing he’d be faster on foot, he paid for the ride, then headed for the unobtrusive door on Toulouse Street.

The closer he got to finding her, the more impatient he became.

“You’re supposed to be in costume, Master Torin,” Trinity, the hostess, said by way of greeting.

“So it seems.” The gentleman in front of him had been wearing an elegant frock coat and a top hat, and he’d been carrying a cane. Torin glanced down at his black jeans and scuffed boots. To complete his attire, he also had on a black bomber jacket. He couldn’t be more inappropriate if he’d tried. “I didn’t get the memo in time.” After signing in, he pushed through the frosted glass door and strode into the main dungeon.

The place was packed, and he didn’t immediately see Mira.

He checked the bar, where he’d spent the last three Monday nights, observing, but not participating. Tonight, though, would be different, from the moment he got his hands on her delectable body to the moment he took her home.

Caging his restless energy, he circled the entire dungeon, annoyed not to find her, but damn happy not to see her strapped to one of the Saint Andrew’s crosses.

He pushed through the door that led to a quieter part of the club and gave cursory glances at the subs—male as well as female—who were attached to the spanking benches.

At the end of the row, he saw a woman kneeling astride one. She had the same long, strong muscles as Araceli, and her hair was a dark, tumultuous mess, with fiery highlights.

He kept moving, but faster.

It was her.

From the distance, he hadn’t seen the color of the gown because of the stupid number of layers of muslin petticoats that were tossed over her waist. But now… Not only were her beautiful round butt cheeks exposed and highlighted by her choice of black stockings and a garter belt, but she was being flogged by Arthur Wilson. Thank God she was wearing a very modern thong. Otherwise Torin’s temper might have unraveled entirely.

He had nothing personal against the man—besides the fact that he was wielding leather that was turning Mira’s ass red.

Arthur caught her full-on with the flogger, and she swayed her hips from side to side, not trying to escape, and instead, asking for more.

Right now Torin Carter was a dangerous man.

“Only a few more, pet,” Arthur said. He drew back his arm again and soundly smacked Mira with the falls.

Mira rose up as much as the restraints allowed and arched her back.

“Next one. Ready?”

She nodded, wiggling, offering him more of her flesh, clearly loving every moment.

Even from a few feet away, Torin had heard the difference in the intensity of Arthur’s next stroke. The man was taking Mira to more extreme pain levels. From her reaction, the blow had clearly stung as it was meant to.

Fury overcame reason.

Through the years, he’d played with dozens of women, many of them at this club. He’d enjoyed showing up and having a new woman kneel at his feet each time. But this was different.

A feeling of possession walloped him, squeezing his lungs as if a weight had been dropped on him. He’d never experienced anything like it before, and he fucking wasn’t enjoying it now.

The woman on the bench was his partner. He’d kissed her. Last night, she’d braved the unknown to drag him from the throes of a night terror.

Despite the Quarter’s rules, despite the fact that his partner was obviously a willing participant, Torin acted.

He grabbed hold of the smaller man. If Torin exerted a bit more downward pressure, the man would be on his knees. Part of Torin wished the other man would give him the excuse. “Playtime’s over, Arthur.”

Mira obviously recognized the sound of his voice. With a fierce scowl, she looked over her shoulder. A dental gag was shoved in her mouth, making it impossible for her to speak, but she was able to make frantic, desperate noises.

Torin glanced at the gathering crowd. There were plenty of Doms and subs captivated by the scene he was creating. Aviana’s most trusted dungeon monitor stopped nearby and folded his arms across his chest.

Torin’s focus was totally on the woman immobilized on the spanking bench. “Move along, boys and girls,” he said to the Doms and the couple of Dommes who were still staring.

“Trouble?” Aviana, legendary owner of the Quarter, strode toward them with her usual willow grace. In keeping with the theme, she was dressed in Victorian wear, with her expected flair. Her gown was startling white with bright diamante accents. While she generally sported pink- or purple-colored hair, this evening the long tresses were silver. No doubt she wore her customary high heels, because she was looking him straight in the eye. Judging by her scowl, she was not pleased.

“Damn Carter interrupted my scene.” Arthur all but sputtered the words as he struggled to pull away. “It’s against club rules.”

Aviana studied Torin. “By ‘Carter,’ I presume you mean Master Torin?” Aviana asked, maintaining decorum. Despite the tension, no matter what kind of situation, Aviana never raised her voice. Trouble in the club was handled professionally, defused by the power of the woman’s mystery and magnetism.

Torin struggled to maintain his own composure. He was accustomed to being in charge, alpha even in a pack of alphas. But here, Aviana’s word was law. Torin met the more controlled woman’s eyes.

Arthur—Torin wasn’t one to extend the courtesy of addressing the man as Master Arthur, no matter what Aviana insisted—had to tip back his head to look at them both.

“The woman Arthur’s flogging—”

“Sub,” Arthur interrupted. “At the Quarter, she’s a submissive.”

“The woman,” Torin corrected, tightening his grip inexorably, “is my partner. As such, she is under my care and protection.” More than anyone, Aviana would understand what that meant. She knew what he did for a living. More than once, he’d provided extra security for the club.

“Well, you’re clearly not giving her what she wants, are you?”

Torin clamped his teeth together and exerted a bit more pressure on Arthur’s wrist. “No one, no one, but me will be touching her.”

Mira struggled against her bonds and made tiny mewing sounds.

With his free hand, Torin flipped the material of her dress back down to preserve her modesty.

“Perhaps we should ask the sub what she wants,” Arthur suggested.

Aviana inclined her head. “Excellent idea.”

Torin wanted to loosen Mira’s bonds. Perhaps reading his intent, Aviana held her hand up, her palm toward him. “Stay where you are.” She flicked a glance between the two men. “Both of you. Understand?”

He didn’t nod until after Arthur did.

“Tore?” Aviana signaled to the massive, bearded dungeon monitor.

With a nod to acknowledge the order, the man closed the distance to Mira, then crouched next to her.

“Unfasten Ember,” Aviana instructed.

Ember? It took him a moment to realize Mira must have used a scene name. But he liked it. A play on fire, for the highlights in her hair?

Tore unbuckled her first bond, and she flexed her wrist. Torin struggled against the instinctive caveman act. He wanted to be the one to detach her, and ensure she was okay. Then he wanted to toss her over his shoulder, drag her up to one of the private rooms, and give her exactly what she wanted. Talking could come afterward.

Having no choice but to follow the club’s protocol, he watched as the dungeon monitor unhooked the clips.

“Drop your flogger,” Torin instructed Arthur.

“I—”

“If you don’t,” he said with a quick smile, “you’ll be giving me a reason to break your fucking wrist.”

“Master Torin!” Aviana rebuked. “That’s quite enough. And Master Arthur, give that flogger to our DM.”

Glaring, Arthur did as he was told, then Torin slowly released his grip.

Now that all of Mira’s bonds were loosened, the dungeon monitor helped Mira from the bench and held on to her arm for a few seconds, obviously giving her time to catch her bearings and get her circulation back. Torin scowled. He’d meant it when he said he didn’t want anyone touching her.

For a second she looked at Torin. Her brown eyes were wide, focused on him. She blinked, and then, seeming to recognize her error in staring at him, she dropped her gaze.

Jesus God.

How could he not have really seen her before now, not known what she wanted?

Tore secured her hands behind her back and then exerted pressure on her shoulders so that she knelt before them.

“Take out the gag,” Aviana ordered.

The dungeon monitor unbuckled the dental dam and slowly drew it away and handed it back to Arthur. Mira swallowed several times, and Torin couldn’t take his gaze off her.

On her knees, her head bowed, she was exquisite. And he was nearly undone.

“Quite the commotion you’ve caused, Ember.”

“My apologies, Milady. That was never my intent.”

Aviana’s lips twitched. “Well, it seems you have two of our Doms very much interested in you.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“I take it, Ember, that you were willingly engaged in a scene with Master Arthur?”

Torin snapped his back teeth together. The Quarter might be Aviana’s club, but Mira was Torin’s partner. “Aviana—”

Mira interrupted Torin’s protest, saying, “I was. Yes, Milady.”

Fuck it to hell, Mira had just given Torin another reason to punish her.

“Go on.”

“I approached Master Arthur when I arrived.” She looked at Torin, then back at Mistress Aviana. Then, she went on, either not noticing or, more likely, ignoring Torin’s clenched jaw, and he attempted to ignore the fact that Aviana cleared her throat to hide her smile. “He asked if I was alone.”

“Goddamn it!”

“Last warning, Master Torin.”

“Throw him out,” Arthur encouraged.

“Stop goading him,” Aviana snapped back. She returned her attention to Mira. “Master Torin states you’re under his protection.”

He figured he had another, oh, forty-five seconds of patience left. A minute, tops.

“Ember?” Aviana prompted.

“Well…”

“A yes or no will suffice.”

Torin silently counted to ten, waiting for Mira’s answer.

“I—” She looked at Torin. She swallowed. “We—”

“Choose wisely,” Torin warned. He had no claim on her, and they both knew it.

But after that kiss, he had no doubt he wanted her as much as she wanted him. The question was, how much emotional risk she was willing to take. Scening together would bond them as nothing else could.

Despite his earlier demand that people move away, several couples had gathered closer to better hear what was being said.

Finally, after swallowing, she reached the right choice and said, “Yes, Milady. We’re partners.”

“Then the decision to engage in a scene with Master Arthur was not yours to make?”

Any other time he might have acknowledged Aviana’s skill at defusing the volatile situation. As it was, with Arthur standing there, onlookers greedily drinking in the scene, and Mira on her knees, Torin wanted the drama to be finished and wanted her alone.

“Ember?” Aviana prompted.

“Technically he—”

“Damn it!” Torin snapped. “Answer the question.”

She swallowed and then licked her lower lip. She tipped back her head and looked directly at Mistress Aviana, avoiding all contact with Torin. “No, Milady. As you said, the decision to give myself to Master Arthur was not mine to make.” She bowed her head. “I’m sorry, Ma’am.” She then looked at Arthur. “I apologize, Master Arthur.”

Apologizing to the whiny bastard who’d been beating her? Torin closed the distance between them and dug his hand in her hair. Pins scattered across the ceramic-tiled floor.

Always the professional, no matter how much it pissed off Torin, Aviana crouched in front of Mira. Only the three of them could hear what was being said. Beneath his hand, Mira trembled.

“I’m going to give you a choice. I can turn you over to Master Torin, or I can call for a ride.”

Torin tightened his fist in her hair and she rose up a little, as if to ease the pressure.

“Thank you, Milady.” She drew in a shaky breath. “I was disobedient to Master Torin.”

Master Torin. Goddamn, her words made his cock throb.

“I imagine he’ll want to punish you.”

She shivered. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“You’re fortunate I don’t do so myself. I don’t care for this kind of upset at the Quarter.”

“I’ll deal with her privately,” Torin said.

“In that case, I believe it’s settled?” With grace, Aviana stood.

“I’d like a private room. If you’ll excuse us?”

“Of course. We’ll ensure one is ready.” She signaled to Tore. “Give us about ten minutes.”

“Thank you.” He nodded toward Aviana, then Arthur. Torin kept his fist in Mira’s hair and exerted a small amount of pressure, ensuring her continued contrition. “I’d like a collar and a leash, also. Add it to my tab.”

Mira gasped. He tightened his grip, silently warning her to keep quiet.

“It can most certainly be arranged.”

Tore called over another DM while Aviana swept her arm wide and gave a smile befitting a monarch. “Please, everyone. Enjoy your evening!”

Loud, thumping music suddenly rocked the entire area. Tension eased and conversation around them resumed as people went about their business.

“No hard feelings,” Torin said to Arthur.

“Fuck off.” Arthur snarled. “How the hell was anyone supposed to know she was yours?”

How indeed?

Arthur rubbed his wrist. “Next time, claim your subs.” He looked at the kneeling Mira. “And when you’re done with this asshole, look me up.”

Torin took a step forward.

Arthur glared at Torin before moving away.

“He’s right,” Aviana said. “Claim her. If this happens again, I will back whoever she is scening with. I did you a favor, out of respect for our relationship, but I consider us even. Don’t cross me again.”

With a tight nod, Torin acknowledged Aviana’s order.

Within seconds the blond dungeon monitor returned with a collar and leash. “I’ll take it from here,” Torin said.

“Yes, sir,” the man said, handing over the leather pieces.

Then it was just the two of them. She was still on her knees, and he liked that. “After tonight, we will still be partners, unless you request a transfer.”

She nodded.

“Let’s get a few things straight. I’m here now, and I sure as hell intend to beat you.”

“Yes.” The much, much softer, she added, “Sir.”

His cock throbbed with need. Whatever it was between the two of them, it was real and potent. “Whatever you need, I’ll make sure you get it.” Torin captured her chin firmly between his thumb and forefinger. He forced her to look at him. “Beating, flogging, spanking, punishment, humiliation, bondage…” He trailed off. “I promise you. But there are rules.”

“Such as?”

She was right, and smart, to ask.

“Until we mutually agree to end this relationship, you will not go to Arthur—or anyone else. Furthermore, you are not permitted to flash your bare ass at anyone without my permission.”

“Let’s just have this.”

“Is that what you want?” He looked deep into her eyes. “Really? Or do you want to see where it goes?”

“A few hours. Then, afterward, we can reevaluate.”

Unsatisfied, he scowled.

As if sensing his restlessness and unwillingness to compromise, she relented, just a little. “For the duration of our assignment, I won’t visit the Quarter without telling you.”

It was as much as he could hope for. “We will debrief after this.” Words they both understood, a meaning that was clear to them. A discussion, pros, cons, what worked, what didn’t, and what would be different in future.

“Of course, Commander.” She nodded. “Give me what I crave, Commander Carter.”

“Master Torin,” he corrected.

“Give me what I crave, Master Torin.”