STORY EXCERPT

Harper Cameron peered carefully out of the door at the top of the steps of the federal courthouse before cautiously exiting the building. Dusk had fallen, and it was dark and rather foreboding out on the steps. She had not wanted to leave the building until all of the reporters and television cameras were gone. They had finally given up on getting a statement from her, no doubt thinking she had left through one of the underground exits used to transport prisoners in and out of the courthouse.

It had been the last day of an exhausting and complex antitrust trial. She had won a decision for Court Industries against the federal prosecutors seeking to divest her client of a good portion of their pharmaceutical holdings, including patents on several promising new medications, which were still in the development and testing phases.

When she saw the black stretch limousine pull up to the curb, and a uniformed chauffeur exit the car, she put her handbag over her shoulder and started down the steps with her briefcase in her hand. The chauffeur opened the door and patiently waited as Harper came down the stairs. She glanced inside the car before she gracefully slid in and turned to face the other occupant in the backseat.

“Well, Mr. Court, another victory for the good guys against the forces of a too-controlling government seeking to infringe on free enterprise.”

“Indeed, Ms. Cameron. Good job.” Morgan Court turned toward her and took off his dark-framed glasses with clear lenses, which served to camouflage the burning gaze of his enigmatic coal-black eyes. It always amazed Harper that the mere removal of Morgan’s glasses could change his entire look from nondescript to striking. His wavy black hair fell to the collar of the black cashmere overcoat he wore over a black double-breasted Armani suit. “Can I pour you a glass of champagne? Or do you want to wait until we’re on board to have our first toast?”

Harper smiled at him. “I think I’ll wait until we’re on board the Golden Dolphin.” They were boarding the ship early in order to avoid the scrutiny of the press. Any statements regarding the trial could be left in the capable hands of her firm’s partners and their public relations firm. For some reason, the press had fixed its eye on her and had pursued her relentlessly during the entire trial. They had made it more about what she would wear to court each day than what she had to say in court, which annoyed her to no end. The other hot topic in the trash press was whether her client, Morgan Court, was present and accounted for. Harper knew she would be a virtual prisoner in her Upper East Side brownstone town house for the entire weekend if she returned there. Her bags had been delivered to the ship early that morning. Morgan’s friend, Jamie Devereau, who owned the luxury yacht on which they would cruise the New England coast and St. Lawrence River inland to Montréal and back again, had done them the favor of allowing early boarding so that they could take advantage of the ship’s excellent security team before departure.

Harper laughed to herself. Morgan Court, when he was not shielding his attributes, was truly one good-looking man. He was sleekly tall and muscular with wide shoulders and long legs. She also knew that he was one of the wealthiest men in New York, if not the entire country, although the facts about the extent of his net worth were zealously protected and not generally known. It was rumored that his fortune was in the top one hundred, but he never made the list because he carefully guarded his personal and financial profiles, avoiding interviews and photo ops like the plague. As one of New York’s most eligible bachelors, he was pursued by the legitimate press, as well as the paparazzi, at every opportunity. She also knew that he was a master of disguise and well able to come and go as he chose. She had seen him enter the courthouse and sit in the back row wearing an old trench coat and worn-down sneakers. Only his piercing black eyes would have given him away to a more astute observer. Harper had never had the need or opportunity to change her appearance, but wouldn’t that be a handy skill? Maybe he would be able to give her some tips on that.

As the head of the trial team, Harper had been working virtually seven days a week for months. Several months of intensive trial prep, depositions, and discovery had been followed by four months in trial. It had been grueling, but she had been successful. It was a major feather in her cap at her firm, Godley, Haddonfield & Dunnellon. The vampires in senior management had a tendency to take as much as they could get from their senior associates. If she let them, they would suck her dry. That was why she had accepted Morgan’s “no-strings-attached” offer of a BDSM cruise to Canada aboard the Golden Dolphin, a three-hundred-foot, extremely luxurious mega yacht. She desperately needed a break. She had some decisions to make, such as whether to accept an offer to jump to another high-profile firm as a partner or open her own shop.

Harper and Morgan had originally met at the secret and very luxurious BDSM club known as Le Club Eastside-Manhattan located in a Lower East Side warehouse. The membership was extremely limited and closely held. The club had incredibly tight security. Although they were both members and she had seen Morgan Court at the club, they had never engaged in a scene together. He was a Dom who always wore a mask, and she was a Domme who never had sex with her subs.

ADULT EXCERPT

Morgan was waiting impatiently for Harper in the main dungeon. He was anxious to get started, and he wanted to see how much progress she had actually made since their initial scene together. The room was beautiful and well equipped with the standard BDSM paraphernalia. The walls were lined with an assortment of ornate gilt-framed mirrors to highlight the action in each scene as though it was happening on a movie screen. The effect was elegant and rather surreal.

When Harper entered the room, Morgan caught his breath. Her long, silky black hair cascaded over creamy breasts pushed up into temping mounds atop her black bustier. He wanted nothing more than her mile-long legs wrapped around his waist while he fucked her until she was a boneless puddle in his arms.

He had donned his mask and stood with his arms crossed over his chest while he watched her scan the room looking for him. He knew it was an intimidating stance, but nonetheless, he felt her hot, challenging gaze as soon as her eyes found him. Her demeanor was not in the least submissive. Her icy-blue eyes raked over him in an almost insolent, if not hungry, gaze. He had known she had a deep well of grit, but this insubordination would have to be dealt with. Morgan immediately morphed into Dom mode and stood waiting for her to approach him. He had to get a grip and take control of the scene. He would remind her that he was the Dom and she was the sub, forcefully if necessary. He obviously still had her Domme mentality to deal with. She wasn’t going to give him her submission without a battle, and he was ready to storm her walls and take it. Morgan knew her underlying emotional problems were still there. They had not magically disappeared. He had to firmly rout them from her head and her heart. He knew that Harper would try to take control of the scene, but he couldn’t allow it. She was definitely the most challenging sub he had ever dealt with, and he knew it would take all of his skill to subdue her.

She crossed the room to him, but when she didn’t immediately assume the slave position in front of him, he hardened his voice and his stance and said, “Greet your Master, sub. Strip and assume the position.”

She looked momentarily uncertain and embarrassed by her failure to enter the dungeon in scene, but her gaze still challenged him, and she hadn’t dropped to her knees. She slowly began to unlace the bustier as she looked into his eyes.

“You forget yourself, sub. Lower your eyes and assume the position.” Morgan saw her hesitate for a moment. Good. She realizes her mistake and is attempting to correct it. When her full, round breasts spilled out of the open bustier, he almost lost it. He forced himself to remain in scene while she removed her skirt and shoes. When she was finally naked, she dropped into the slave position at his feet with her head bowed.

“Good evening, Master. I hope I please you.”

“You please me very much, Harper, but you know your insubordination will have to be corrected.” She did, indeed, please him. Her ivory perfection was stunning. He couldn’t bring himself to call her “sub” at this moment. It was too dehumanizing for what he was attempting to accomplish. He needed to subdue her, but he wanted her to feel safe enough to voluntarily give over control to him so that he could lift the burden of her childhood from her shoulders, even if only for a few moments. Hopefully she could then gain the strength to overcome it, to push it aside and go forward.

He spread her thighs, widening her legs until he was satisfied with her position. He stood watching her. “Put on your wrist and ankle cuffs. I’ll fasten them to the chains.” When she had risen and reluctantly complied, he quickly checked the wrist cuffs for fit and secured them to the chains hanging from the ceiling. He adjusted the length until she was standing on her toes and fastened the ankle cuffs to bolts in the floor that kept her legs spread. She was vulnerable and totally open to him. She looked a little nervous, but that was only to be expected. He ran his hands over her arms and legs, gently massaging the muscles while he looked into her eyes. He could see the fear there. “Harper, it’s okay. You’re going to be fine. Just relax and let me take over.”

Morgan walked over to the wall of implements. He was looking for just the right thing. He wanted her to feel the sting of this correction, but he didn’t want it to be too harsh. The point was to help her reach the threshold of submission and to cross over. He wanted to teach her to reach for her own pleasure. He could feel her eyes following him. Then he saw what he was looking for—a soft suede flogger. He picked it up and ran the strands through his hands to test them as her eyes took in every move he made. He walked back to where she was restrained.

“Harper, do you know why you are being punished?”

“Yes, Master, for my insubordination and refusal to submit.”

“That’s right. And why does your Master want you to submit? Why is it important to him?”

“Because he wants to help me overcome my inhibitions.”

“Not only your inhibitions, but the pain of the childhood that continues to haunt you. It’s holding you back.” He walked in front of her so she could see the flogger he held in his hands up close and personal. When her eyes widened, he slowly ran the soft strands over her breasts and belly as he prepared her body and mind for the coming ordeal. Then he walked behind her and ran them over her back and butt. She flinched. Good. I need to ramp up her anxiety level.

“Master….”

“Silence, Sub. You knew you were earning this correction with your attitude when you came into the dungeon. I am the Master, and you are the sub. You will acknowledge that, but first you will reap your punishment. You will receive ten strikes, and you will count for your Master. If you don’t count, we will go back to number one and start again. Understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, Master. Please punish this disobedient sub.”

Morgan brought the flogger down on her butt. The strike was not hard. He put just enough body English behind the stroke to give it a slight sting. He waited for her to count. When she didn’t, he said, “Sub, count for your Master. We will begin again.” He brought the suede strips down across her butt again, this time with a little more force.

“One, Master.” He could see the worry in her eyes.