“Jordan James!” Robert Fitzwallace bellowed from outside the salon in Baker Street. “Get yer ass out here now or by Christ, woman, I’m coming in after you and you’ll sorely regret it.”
Jordan James, JJ to her friends, wondered how on earth she’d gotten herself into this position again—literally and figuratively. Fitz was pissed, and rightfully so in his opinion. She didn’t necessarily disagree with him that he didn’t have a right to be pissed; she just wished it wasn’t her who had pissed him off… again.
It felt as though all the walls in her very fashionable, very upscale BDSM club were being rattled and in danger of falling down. As she sat in the salon, which was the submissives’ sanctuary, the other subs in the club stared at her—some with envy, some with fear, and some with a combination of both.
“Pfft!” she said dismissively with a wave of her hand.
“Jesus, JJ, Fitzwallace is not a man you dismiss with a wave of your hand. He’ll come barreling in here and drag you out by the roots of your hair if you aren’t careful,” said one of the other submissives, watching her with apprehension.
Jordan finished pulling on her over-the-knee boots, stood, adjusted her black leather corset, and threw a red lace swing jacket over the top. She grabbed her vintage black Coach hobo bag—hell, the thing was older than a lot of the submissives at the club—withdrew an antique skeleton key, slipped out of sight, slid open the secret panel, nipped through, closing it behind her, unlocked the door, and disappeared through the hidden exit and into the night.
If Fitz wanted to beat her ass, he was just going to have to wait and do it until they got back to his place. There was no fucking way he was going to put her over his knee in her club where she was the proprietress and not a submissive. That Fitz was an uber-dominant alpha male was not in question. The ex-SAS commander could be nothing else.
The old row home at 221A Baker Street had been in Jordan’s mother’s family for centuries. When Jordan inherited it some twenty years ago, she’d been very involved in the local BDSM club scene. The problem was that lifestyle clubs in London were either only for the uber-rich or were skanky dumps. There wasn’t a lot in between. She had carefully restored the row home and created her private club.
Her true calling was as an independent international activist, but that didn’t pay the bills. So she opened the club as a source of income, and it had become lucrative in the extreme. Of course, some of her revenue streams weren’t exactly legal, but it made her financially solvent and she loved having her home and office at the top of the building on such a fashionable street.
Jordan turned down the alley and was headed toward Baker Street. She figured by now Fitz would have entered the submissives’ salon and be berating everyone within hearing distance. She rounded the corner and almost jumped out of her skin, when a strong, decidedly masculine hand reached out and grabbed a fistful of her long dark hair.
“You and I are going to come to a meeting of the minds about your inability to take orders,” he said, dragging her back toward the club.
“God damn it, Fitzwallace, let me go.”
“Nay, lass. You disobeyed me and flouted my authority over you in front of everybody and their brother, you’ll bloody well get punished for it the same way.”
Jordan had hold of his muscular forearm with both hands and couldn’t pry it loose. Back down the alley they went until Fitz triggered the lock and opened the hidden entrance.
How the hell did he know about that? No one knew about that! She pulled at his arm and tried to kick at the back of his knees. The latter finally got his attention and he propelled her up to just a bit in front of him and proceeded to land three hard swats across her ass. Shit, the man had hands of steel when he wanted. Those same hands, however, knew more about pleasing a woman than most men would ever know.
Instead of heading to the right of the main staircase toward the submissives’ salon, he headed to the left toward the main scening area.
“Fitz, no!” she wailed.
He stopped. “Are you using your safe word?” he growled.
“No. I’m asking you not to do this to me… at least not publicly.”
“I see,” he snarled. “It’s okay for you to act out in public but feel that being punished publicly is not appropriate.”
“I own the place. I’m not a submissive.”
Fitz barked a laugh. “You’re my submissive and we both know it.”
“You have no claim on me. I have no ring, no collar… not even a damn contract.”
“You’ll have the first two within short order and you don’t need a bloody piece of paper to know you’re mine or to know the rules I expect you to obey.”
“You can’t just decide unilaterally I’m going to marry you or allow you to collar me.”
Fitz pulled her up into his chest, running one hand down her back and cupping her bottom as if weighing it before giving it a good squeeze. “Like to place a wager on that, sweetheart? I’ll deal with that tomorrow. Tonight, however, I’m going to bare your bottom, put you over my knee, and blister your ass.”
Shit! She had to figure out a way to stop this. She would lose any and all control she had in the club. The resident dominants, all of whom had wanted to top her for years, already looked to Fitz for direction. From the moment he entered Baker Street the first time a few days ago, there had been no question that Fitz was the ultimate alpha and everyone else would kowtow to him. Everyone except Jordan.
When they entered the main stage area, the house went quiet seeing evidence of the power dynamic between them.
“Nigel, get Harry and Malcolm and join me in the Baskerville room.”
Although they’d had a kind of friends with benefits relationship in the past, Nigel had never been her dom. He had topped her once or twice when she needed stress relief. When he’d insisted on exclusivity—becoming her dom, collaring her, and having her kneel at his feet—Jordan had ended it. Jordan James didn’t kneel for any man.
Well, that was no longer technically true. She knelt for Fitz and most of the time was happy to do so. She heard Nigel calling to the other witnesses. She supposed she should be grateful the sonofabitch wasn’t choosing to strip her and mete out her punishment in the main room. But still, punishing her in front of the three most respected resident doms at her club was not going to be pleasant, especially as Jordan had always been known as stoic and unbreakable. She was neither where Fitz was concerned, and he damn well knew it. In the same way she had quickly learned that unless and until he got the response he wanted, he would continue with whatever he was doing.
Fitz dragged her back out and headed up the main staircase before entering the Baskerville-themed room. Each of the rooms at Baker Street was decorated in the Victorian style with a nod to their famous fictional neighbor’s residence next door. There were five private playrooms: Baskerville, Mulholland Falls, Sign of the Four, Study in Scarlet, and the Valley of Fear. The last one being reserved for true masochists.
Grabbing a pillow, he tossed it on the floor and pressed her down onto her knees. “Stay!” he ordered.
Nigel, Harry, and Malcolm entered the room. When Harry, dear man that he was, went to close the door, Fitz barked again. “It stays open.”
“Bastard,” Jordan hissed.
“Brat!” he countered as he forced her to her knees before turning to the three doms. “I have invited you three to watch your proprietress get her comeuppance for her recent turn of abominable behavior. Said behavior that could have gotten her killed. She was told to stay with one of my men in a safehouse. Instead, the little minx slipped him something and once he was out, flew the coop, making her way back to London, dismissing my orders to return to Corsica immediately. I warned her that if she disobeyed me, she would pay a heavy price. She will pay the piper and I am here to call the tune. Jordan?”
Emotions churned within her. On the one hand, she had never wanted to be anyone’s submissive. On the other, both she and Fitz knew she was his. He had warned her what he’d do if she disobeyed him… again, but she had been unwilling to sit on the sidelines and wait for the great warrior to return. She really didn’t want to be spanked. What she wanted was to go home and have him fuck her into oblivion and reassure her that everything was all right.
She settled into the classic submissive pose on her knees, legs spread with her hands palm up and dropped her head, allowing her hair to fall forward. “Sir?”
“Who do you belong to?”
She looked up, pleading with him not to humble her in this manner in the club. He stared her down, his blue eyes ice cold, except for the small spark of passion she could see smoldering behind them. Well, at least when he got through beating her ass, he’d take her to bed and make sure her pussy was as sore as her bottom. He’d do that here too, but without any witnesses. Robert Fitzwallace was only willing to share so much. He might make her kneel at his feet, let her resident doms see her ass bared, or, if really annoyed, have her suck his cock, but that was the extent of what he would reveal. Typical alpha male that he was, he was territorial as all get out and didn’t share what he considered to be his… she most definitely fell into that category.
“I asked you a question. Who do you belong to?” he growled, making shivers go up and down her spine and then spider-web throughout her entire body.
“Damn straight. Did I or did I not give you clear directions about what I expected you to do at the safehouse?”
“Did you obey me?”
“Was I unclear about how I would deal with your disobedience if you chose to act out?”
He released her hair and walked over to the edge of the large ornate, antique brass bed, confident that she would remain where he put her. “I think that about covers it. Come here.”
She rose to her feet gracefully. Years of ballet as a child had given her that ability. She approached him until she stood directly in front of him. Her dropped gaze rested on the pronounced bulge pressing against the fly of his jeans. She knew all too well what it felt like when he breached her pussy with his engorged staff. It filled her in ways that had nothing to do with his size.
Fitz reached out and removed the red lace jacket, unfastened the front of her leather pants, peeling them down past her thighs until they rested at the top of her boots.
“You don’t have on panties,” he said calmly.
“No, Sir.” She knew what he wanted her to say and that she’d either do so or he’d make this a whole lot worse for her. “You have forbidden me to wear them.”
“Yes, I have. That’s the first sensible thing you’ve done today. Now, put yourself in position over my knee.”
Fitz wanted her over his knee, but in his way as opposed to the classic over-the-knee. She bit back the sigh that threatened to escape and straddled his hard thigh, lying down so that it and the bed supported her upper body. This put her ass at the end of his thigh by his knee, splayed her legs so that not only was her rump available for him to beat, but her pussy, vulva, clit, and dark rosette were all exposed and easily accessed.
“Fitz, you don’t have to do this. I screwed up, I get it. I won’t do it again.”
“Yes, you will and therein lies the issue. When I’ve finished your spanking, you will go to the corner and stand like the naughty little sub you are. Are we clear about what I expect?”
Fitz slipped his hand between her legs, stroking her sex for a moment and making her greedy pussy come alive with want and need. She might not want a spanking; she might not want to submit to him; but she damn sure wanted to fuck him and needed all three… desperately.
She gasped as his fingers spread her labia, ensuring that the three doms could actually see very little but were witness to the fact that she was wet and ripe for the taking. Every fiber of her being was on high alert, every nerve and synapse firing. There was a wealth of pleasure and passion to be had as Fitz’s woman, but he could be a ruthless, nasty sonofabitch.
Jordan took a deep breath, vowing to be stoic. That vow was short-lived as his hand caressed the swell of her ass, making her moan. Oh, Christ, the doms would never respect her again. Oh, they’d stay in line; they were all terrified of Fitz. She reminded herself to breathe and tried to force herself to relax. She knew exactly what was coming and no matter how much she dreaded it, she stayed in place. As much as she didn’t want it, she knew she deserved it and knew Fitz had no intention of letting her get away with her bullshit. Already she had come to depend on him for that.
She heard the crack of his swat before she felt pain bloom across her backside. So much for any kind of warm-up. She bit back the string of curse words she wanted to lob at him because she knew it would only make things worse. As it was, she figured she was in for a soaped mouth when they got home.
Smack! Smack! Smack! His hand landed repeatedly on her ass, spreading fire in its wake. Each strike was aimed precisely so as to only overlap the tiniest bit, compounding the sting. She knew if she used one of her safe words—Watson to indicate she was fine and he could proceed; Holmes for caution or she needed a breather; and Moriarty for stop—he would comply, but she had no intention of giving him the satisfaction and the opportunity to call her a coward.
It hurt, it burned, but still there was a rightness about it that was new and at the same time familiar and comforting. He smacked her ass over and over again, agony spreading over her willing flesh as he turned it from ivory to pink to red. Smack! Smack! Smack! She gulped for air, trying to stem the tears, but they welled in her eyes and started to leak down her cheeks. She bit her lip to keep from crying out.
“Ye may as well cry, Jordan. I’ll nay think of stopping until you show me I’ve gotten through that defensive façade and you’ve surrendered yourself to me,” he scolded, his Scottish accent coming to the fore when he was aroused, really pissed, or both—as he was now.
Jordan endured. In the short time she had known him, Fitz had taught her to embrace who she was and that she needed his strong and steadying hand; that for her, true peace and security lay in trusting his dominance. The room was quiet—the only sounds being Fitz’s steady tattoo of his displeasure across her backside and the exaggerated breathing of the three doms who were witness to her punishment and capitulation to his will.
Smack! Smack! Smack! His hand connected over and over not only with her now heated flesh, but with the fire that burned within her. Knowing that until she did so, he wouldn’t stop, Jordan finally surrendered to his dominance and discipline and began to cry. He swatted her several more times, but finally spanked each of her sit spots plus two more on each thigh until she was sobbing.
Fitz let her remain where she was, crying softly while he rubbed her bruised and battered backside.
“That’s my good girl,” he crooned, making her cry that much harder.
He let her get it out of her system, all the while rubbing the small of her back and her heated globes. He stroked the inside of her thighs from about the mid-point to just inside the soaked and swollen petals of her sex.
Fitzwallace reached down and tugged off her boots and then her pants, smiling at the garters attached to the black silk stockings. The black leather corset, garters, and silk stockings framed her magnificent, well-spanked ass beautifully. The vivid red of her backside contrasted in the best way with the black of her clothing and ivory of the remainder of her skin.
“Do you think you can stand and go to the corner for me?”
“Yes, Sir,” she sniffed.
“Then you be a good girl and do that.” She could feel him watching her as she went to the corner to stand. “You get in position, Jordan—palms on the wall, legs spread, and bottom pushed out.”
She did so and managed to get a peek at him as he stood and turned to address the three doms in the room, shielding her naked bottom and displayed pussy from their eyes.
“Make sure everyone in this establishment understands that Jordan belongs to and answers to me. She is officially out of the blackmailing business and I will personally see that any and all files she had on anyone are destroyed. Malcolm?”
Jordan could hear him snap to attention. The only issue was that Malcolm had never served. Fitz had that effect on men. They all wanted to be around him and follow his command and women wanted to lie at his feet. Well, that wasn’t true. Women wanted to lie on their backs, spread their legs, and get him to have at them with the battering ram he kept between his.
“You’re an architect, right?”
“An engineer, Sir, but I’m sure I can do whatever you need done.”
“Good. Dismantle Jordan’s home and office up on the top floor. Reconfigure the space to include a private office with space for two, a large conference room, kitchen area, and a general bullpen. I’ll have one of my guys come up in the next few days to give you the specs needed for our electrical, phones, and data. From now on, Mrs. Fitzwallace will live with me. Find a temporary place to store any of her things not needed for the new space. Keep the antique partners’ desk in the private office, find me a good office chair, and have a sign put over the address.”
“Sir?” Malcolm asked.
“The Cerberus Group. From here on out, my firm will work out of the top floor. That’ll mean this place is secure and I can keep a loving eye and a firm hand on my wife. Am I clear, gentlemen?”
All three doms ‘yes, sirred’ him in unison. It might have been humorous, only it wasn’t.
“Dismissed,” Fitz said and ushered them through the door, but left it ajar.
“I don’t know how to tell you this, but there’s a problem with your grand plan… I’m not Mrs. Fitzwallace,” Jordan said.
“Yet,” he rumbled at her in a voice that was as full of arousal as it was anger. “A mere technicality—one which I mean to see put right within the next few days. As for tonight, my sweet sub, wife, partner, love of my life, I mean to have my way with you here and then repeatedly at the Savoy until your pussy is as sore as your pretty backside.”
Fitz embraced her from behind, the rough texture of his jeans pressing against her painful backside, his cock throbbing against his fly and nestled in the crack of her ass. Jordan closed her eyes and tried to remind herself that she was angry at him for spanking her in her club and in front of three doms. Tucking her tail, she tried to pull away but was prevented from doing so when he ran his hand down the front of her leather corset onto her naked lower belly. From there, he trailed his fingers through her soft curls to seek and find her swollen nub. He wrapped his other arm around her waist, drawing her close.
“Fitz, don’t. Can’t we just go back to your hotel or upstairs?” she asked quietly.
“No. You decided to play this out here at Baker Street, so this is where I’ll finish it.”
Jordan twisted, trying to squirm her way out of his embrace. Fitz tightened his hold, circling her clit, tugging and rubbing until she softened and allowed him easier access to the petals of her sex. Gently he penetrated her core first with one finger and then with a second. Her pussy clamped down on him, quivering in response not only to his physical possession, but also his emotional claim. When he chuckled, she knew that he could feel that she wasn’t just aroused… not just wet… she was soaked, and she could feel her pussy pulsing with need. Jordan was having trouble controlling her breathing. It was shallow, almost bordering on panting.
She shook her head. “Please?” she mewled, not knowing which she hated more—the fact that she sounded weak or being so concerned about things other than focusing on pleasing him.
“Please what, Jordan? Please don’t? Or please mount you?” he rumbled. “Isn’t that what you really want? For me to breach you with my cock and stroke you long and hard, making you come repeatedly?”
“Yes,” she whispered, turning the last of the word into a quiet, devastatingly sensual plea.
“Then say it.”
“Fitz,” she pleaded.
“Say it. Tell me you want me to fuck you in the corner like the naughty sub you are.”
She stomped her foot in frustration and anger; he swatted her reddened backside.
“Do you want to finish this here or do I take you into the main room and show them how a good submissive sucks her master’s cock?”
“Ask me to fuck you,” he said calmly. “Your degree of stubbornness is going to determine how this goes.”
She sighed. “No, you win. Fitz, please fuck me here in the corner because I disobeyed you.”
“Brace your hands on the wall, Jordan.”
Fitz kept her body pressed against his and steadied her in order to unfasten his fly, freeing his cock. She could feel his strength as well as the power and size of it—the plum-shaped head having been revealed when the foreskin drew back. He delved between her legs, grasping her hips to steady her. The smooth head probed between her legs, leaking bits of pre-cum as it did.
Jordan shook her head; she knew to yield would be to give him her tacit agreement. She could stop him. All she had to do was speak Moriarty’s name. But she couldn’t do that because doing so would mean she was too weak to accept what they both knew was the truth. She tried to dance away but ended up pushing her mons into his hand.
“God, yes,” she said, spreading her legs for him and bracing to allow him to easily claim her pussy as his.
Jordan had always enjoyed sex but had preferred to be on top. Fitz never allowed that, but the intensity with which he always fucked her was addictive and far more satisfying than anything she had ever experienced. As he drove himself balls deep into her, she had to brace herself to keep from collapsing beneath him. Fitz stilled himself and just allowed her to be consumed by his possession.
“Good girl,” he crooned.
Fitz held her tight as he began to thrust deeply into her. His size stretched her, and while not uncomfortable, she was certain she could feel every ridge, every vein and inch of him as he laid claim to her again. He groaned in both pleasure and with effort and passion. Jordan’s pussy trembled all along his length with the strength of her response. She tried to move with him, but the tightening of his hand quickly squashed any hope she had of this ever being anything other than what it was—his taking dominant possession of her body and her surrendering to his right to do so.
She tried to remain quiet, not wanting those who might be listening to have further evidence as to her surrender to him. Jordan was certain there would be plenty of her patrons—dominant and submissive alike—who would gladly witness her submission to him. Fitz continued to fuck her in the corner. Try as she might, she didn’t have the will to deny him his due. The fact was that she wanted to submit, because somehow, inexplicably, she had fallen deeply in love with the bastard.
He wrapped his hand around her throat, his thumb pressing against the pulse that beat wildly out of control.
“Come for me, Jordan. I want to hear you call my name.”
He plunged into her harder and harder, pummeling her pussy, battering at the emotional barriers she had so carefully erected around her in the same way he plundered her depths. She had been safe, hiding within a fortress of her own making… the walls of which Fitz had stormed and breached as easily as he had breached her cunt when he’d mounted her.
“No,” she wailed.
“Yes, Jordan. You are mine. Say it!” he commanded, thrusting to her depth with each word.
“Who do you belong to?” he roared.
“You! I belong to you!”
Finally, the pace of his thrusting became faster and more powerful, but he was always in control. She raced toward the pinnacle of pleasure she had only ever found in Fitz’s arms. Jordan’s entire body convulsed as she orgasmed, and her inner walls clamped down on his rampaging cock as it ravaged her cunt. He groaned loudly as he unleashed a torrent of cum into her. She cried out in ecstasy as again and again she felt him pump his seed, filling her with its warmth.
He had once again laid claim to her body and soul. Her ass hurt and her emotions were ragged and swirled around her in the maelstrom she had come to accept as part of being possessed by him. But she found a deep and profound peace within his embrace.
Fitz didn’t immediately uncouple from her even when he was finished. He only did so once his cock began to lose some of its rigidity. Regretfully she felt him withdraw and her emotions threatened to spin out of control. Somehow, he knew. He knew she needed his comfort and his strength. He turned her around and gently drew her into his arms, rocking her quietly and stroking her hair while she tried to gather herself as he rubbed her back.
“I’m sorry, Fitz.”
“Jesus, Jordan, you could have been killed. Ye damn well better mind me from here on out. Ye had no way of knowing if there was anyone after you and ye left poor Sully vulnerable. If ye ever pull a stunt that stupid or disregard my orders again, I’ll take my razor strap and welt your ass.”