Her Secret Dom Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  Loose Id Titles by Samantha Cote

  Samantha Cote

  HER SECRET DOM

  Samantha Cote

  www.loose-id.com

  Her Secret Dom

  Copyright © November 2014 by Samantha Cote

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Image/art disclaimer: Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

  eISBN 9781623000660

  Editor: Kerry Genova

  Cover Artist: Valerie Tibbs

  Published in the United States of America

  Loose Id LLC

  PO Box 806

  San Francisco CA 94104-0806

  www.loose-id.com

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id LLC’s e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  * * * *

  DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in our BDSM/fetish titles without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither Loose Id LLC nor its authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.

  Dedication

  I dedicate this book to all the women who have repressed their desires in order to conform to the expectations of others. May this work and others like it help them explore their inner depths.

  Acknowledgment

  I would like to thank my editor for holding my hand, diagnosing my addiction to purple prose and clichés, and then beating them right out of me. Thanks, Chris, for your dedication and hard work. Same goes, Kerry.

  Chapter One

  While listening to the prattle of the man seated across from her at the upscale restaurant, Pamela Abernathy acknowledged that it was now official: she had lost her mind.

  Brian Shuttleworth was an asshole.

  So why was she on a date with him?

  Because he was a persistent asshole.

  From the day she’d started her shiny new career as a paralegal at Danforth, Dobbs, and Shuttleworth, Brian had been a constant presence. He was always underfoot, scheming to get her attention. His favorite method was holding court outside her tiny office and pontificating upon legal matters as his adoring minions hung on to his every word.

  She watched as Brian buttered a dinner roll, somehow managing to perform the everyday task with easy elegance. Everywhere he went, Brian attracted people. Pam figured his good looks didn’t hurt, but she concluded that his privileged air had more to do with this than his pretty face.

  As if to underscore this insight, their waiter arrived with the hors d’oeuvres, then spent an inordinate amount of time fussing over their plates, glasses, and candles. No doubt he’d caught Brian’s aura of specialness and was determined to impress. After a few minutes of his dithering, Pam was ready to scream. Her date, though, took it all in stride, as if such attentions were his due. To her never-ending relief, Brian soon nodded his thanks to the waiter, effectively dismissing him.

  As the man stepped away, one of the hostesses sauntered by, taking the opportunity to pause at their table.

  “Good evening, sir,” she greeted Brian in a thin, girly voice. As an obvious afterthought, she nodded toward Pam. “And you too, miss.” Turning her attention back to Brian, she asked, “Do you have everything you need? May I assist you in any way?”

  Pam almost rolled her eyes when Brian dimpled up at the well-endowed blonde, whose posture dramatically improved in his presence. “Thank you, but I’m fine.” He looked across the table. “Pam?”

  “Just hunky-dory,” she replied.

  Nodding, the young woman left them to themselves.

  Brian offered Pam an indulgent smile and then launched into a monologue about a recent case. As usual, he’d won, and Pam felt a twinge of annoyance at his smug attitude. Brian certainly liked to win and viewed his rare defeats as unpleasant, temporary conditions that time and perhaps a little money could remedy.

  In short, Brian Shuttleworth always got what he wanted. Even she, who’d held out from dating a coworker for so long, had eventually caved in to him.

  Pamela had often wondered why Brian wanted her so much. She suspected the firm’s resident playboy couldn’t bear being rejected by a nobody, especially when finer specimens of femininity with toned bodies, impeccable manners, and Ivy League degrees fawned all over him.

  He’d let up in the chase somewhat after several attorneys spotted her climbing onto Jared’s Harley a few months earlier. Office gossips spread the word she had a new boyfriend, thus gaining her a bit of reprieve from Brian’s unrelenting pursuit. Even so, he continued to hover in the wings, waiting for her to give up the good fight so he could descend on her like a hungry buzzard.

  Now, after she’d endured fourteen months and five days of soulful eyes, “accidental” meetings in the copy room, and manly posturing, Brian had triumphed and gotten his dearest wish: a date.

  It was mortifying how quickly she’d capitulated after all the effort she put into keeping him at arm’s length.

  Brian had made his move earlier in the week. Pam had been sitting alone at her desk, brooding over another weekend spent pining for Jared. Brian paused to make some passing remark about a new client, but for once Pam had little to say and started fiddling with her stapler.

  Such indifference was out of character for her, and Pam now realized how tired and listless she’d been that day. Brian must have caught on too and knew the fight had gone out of her.

  Never one to pass up an opportunity, he pounced.

  All it took to neutralize her was a sweet compliment, a little joke—and before Pam knew what happened, she agreed to have dinner with him.

  From that moment on, a nagging guilt had settled in the pit of her stomach and plagued her conscience. She spent the rest of the week trying to drum up the nerve to cancel, telling herself that if it was a harmless dinner date, why hadn’t she mentioned it to Jared? What would he think?

  Pam snapped out of her reverie in that instant. No. She was not thinking of Jared tonight. He’d royally screwed up this time. Their six-month anniversary had come and gone last week without a mention. This, on top of him neglecting her for weeks. Damn him.

  Brian glanced up. Something in her expression must have made him pause, because he stopped talking in the middle of some amusing anecdote. He lifted his water glass and peered at her over the rim. “Everything okay, Pam?” he asked. />
  “I’m great, Brian,” she lied. “The scallops are wonderful, don’t you think?” She offered up a cheerful smile, wanting to set him at ease.

  Now beaming, Brian nodded, returning to his meal and his favorite topics—his work and himself.

  Pam let her thoughts turn inward again. Strange how something as minor as Jared’s forgetting their six-month anniversary had finally tipped her over the edge. Not his secretive nature or reluctance to communicate. Not his emotional and physical withdrawal in recent weeks.

  In other words, not the real issues. Heaven forbid.

  After some thought, she’d concluded that confronting him was too risky. No matter how hard she tried convincing herself otherwise, she couldn’t shake the fear that if she created a fuss, he would walk away.

  Wasn’t that what men did whenever a woman needed them or if things got too complicated?

  So, instead of addressing any of it, she reproached herself for being clingy and overly sensitive. In the end, she figured it was better to endure and hope things improved with time.

  Big mistake.

  After the anniversary date came and went, she wallowed ever deeper in her resentment. Jared continued burying himself in work, seemingly oblivious to her torment. Incensed, she started ignoring his calls or cut their conversations short. Pam knew she was pushing him further away, but resentment spurred her on.

  Despite her anger, part of her yearned to tell all, to have a heart-to-heart. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to ask him for more of his attention, time, caring. To her, it felt too much like begging.

  And she refused to act like some high-maintenance attention whore. She didn’t need him, or any man for that matter. Her mother’s mantra—to never rely on a man for anything—had been instilled in her from birth. And hell, she loved her quiet time and personal space. That was one of the reasons she and Jared got along so well. She had her little apartment. He had his condo. She hadn’t so much as left a toothbrush at his place—not even after they started sleeping together six weeks ago.

  Problem was, he hadn’t left anything at her place either. She kind of wished he had. But he was so controlled and courteous—exactly the kind of upstanding citizen the fancy military school he’d graduated from years ago wanted its cadets to become.

  They never fought—which to her seemed unnatural. Jared deferred to her whims all the time, his teasing smiles making her feel like a bratty kid who required pacifying rather than a mature, twenty-four-year-old woman who craved a challenge.

  Sometimes, she hated it when Jared treated her like a porcelain doll—just because she was a diabetic. Not that she didn’t appreciate his concern, but his overprotective ways were beginning to wear on her nerves.

  As was the lack of communication on both ends. To her, even a knock-down, drag-out fight was preferable to such cool civility. She’d heard a good argument could sometimes end in angry, passionate make-up sex. In other words, the opposite of polite, gentle sex—the boring kind with no sweating. No grunting or moaning. And no orgasms.

  She was not going there.

  Pam continued nodding at Brian, trying to look fascinated with his self-important drivel. She issued a soundless sigh of frustration and shifted.

  Brian paused for the briefest moment and, with a rueful expression, shook his head. “Now listen to me talking shop while we’re on a date.” He gave her another one of those dazzling smiles designed to melt the panties of the firm’s female populace. “Oh, Pam, I almost forgot to tell you. Earlier this week, I told Mr. Danforth how highly I think of your work. Honestly, I don’t know how we ever got along without you. Those errors you caught in the Wilding document last month saved the firm untold aggravation and quite possibly thousands of dollars. Nice catch.”

  “Thanks, Brian. I appreciate the good word.” Yeah, right. When the mistakes were brought to Danforth’s attention, the evil old bastard had an epic meltdown, his roars of fury filtering through the paneled oak door of his office. It was a truly spectacular event, and Pam had remained glued to her chair, riveted by the colorful stream of expletives reaching her ears.

  She’d later found Danforth’s assistant, Stacey, cowering in the ladies’ room. Nothing could convince the woman to leave the sanctuary of the toilet and face him, so Pam retrieved Stacey’s purse and coat and sent her home, assuring her she’d take care of the matter.

  When Pam approached Danforth with offers of assistance and some clever excuse for Stacey, he’d kept her locked in his office until almost midnight, poring over the document. She’d caught a couple of other errors and revamped several sections under his watchful eye. And all she’d gotten from it was a broken date with Jared, a dry turkey sandwich, and a stale cup of coffee.

  No good deed goes unpunished, she mused.

  As Brian resumed his chatter, this time about the crappy weather, a headache blossomed. She rubbed her temples, trying to determine the cause. Her blood sugar was good, and she had only a tiny sip of wine, so that couldn’t be it.

  After a few minutes, she realized she couldn’t lie to herself any longer. Most likely, the headache was her body’s way of telling her this dinner date was a terrible mistake.

  She’d done nothing remotely sexual with Brian and had no plans to. She just wanted to be around someone who wanted her. Someone who’d give her a little attention and didn’t ignore her needs. A person who would stop working so damn hard with his new security company and remember he had a girlfriend who got lonely sometimes.

  The internal rant came to an abrupt halt when a sudden chill passed over her and her scalp tightened. Strange. Pamela rubbed her nape as discreetly as possible, but it did nothing to ease the building tension creeping over her shoulders and upper back.

  She was gripped by an overwhelming need to survey her surroundings. No reason. Just an urge that was almost impossible to resist. She waited out the compulsion, not wishing to cave in to another one of her flights of fancy.

  Soon, the need to check became torturous. No longer able to fight the irresistible pull, Pamela looked up.

  Jared.

  He stood thirty feet away, violent emotions emanating from him in powerful waves. His usually neat dark chestnut hair stood on end, and the black T-shirt and jeans he wore were his only protection against the bitter cold temperatures.

  He’d left somewhere in a hurry.

  For a sickening moment, the room spun and her vision blurred. Shaking her head, she struggled to regain some clarity.

  It came all too soon. Jared’s piercing gaze locked on her face and then lowered to take in her plunging neckline. Glancing up, he regarded her with a cold intensity she had never, ever before seen.

  No. That was a big fat lie. Jared had looked something like that two months before, when she’d been hospitalized with diabetic complications after catching a nasty case of the flu. He’d walked into her room right in the middle of an intern’s unjustified lecture about better managing her diabetes. Taking in her tearstained face, Jared stopped in the doorway and actually growled. That and a glance at Jared’s stony face convinced the young doctor to be somewhere else.

  And that other time, when her lecherous super had knocked on her apartment door at nine o’clock at night, insisting he needed to check her kitchen sink for a leak she’d never reported. When Pam let him in, she thought the man would climb out of his skin when he spotted Jared in all his six-foot-four, muscled glory sprawled over her sofa, looking pissed. It was hard not to feel sorry for Mr. Peters as he performed what must have been a nerve-racking check on the perfectly functioning kitchen sink—while a seething Jared glared at him from the kitchen doorway.

  So, yes, she had seen that daunting look before, but it had never been directed at her.

  Pamela searched his face for any trace of softness. Nowhere in those granite features could she detect the faintest hint of the gentleness or teasing humor that had made her insides turn to mush for the past six months. No Bambi eyes. No bedroom eyes. And definitely no puppy eyes.


  Instead, he had the hooded, unblinking glare of a predator. A hawk, she decided as she felt her heart trip and sputter. She took a cleansing breath, but rather than regaining its smooth, sure beat, her heart began hammering. Her hands started trembling and her palms dampened. She swallowed down the growing lump in her throat; instead of disappearing, it morphed into a knot and settled in her chest.

  Sweet baby Jesus, she was going to die of heart failure. Right here, in this fancy-pants restaurant.

  Her mind raced. How the hell had he found her? She’d suggested this place to Brian because it was way uptown!

  Pamela scoured her brain for a way out of this nightmare. Maybe she could brazen it out if she plastered a smile on her face and introduced them. After all, Brian was a coworker. It could work.

  Except her boobs were on display in what must be the lowest-cut dress she had ever worn in her blighted existence. Not to mention she wore a pair of red four-inch fuck-me shoes. Not the attire for a business dinner.

  Besides, she sucked at lying. Always had.

  As the candles cast a romantic glow over the twin glasses of ruby-red wine, Brian lifted her hand to his slobbery lips and pressed a kiss to the sweaty palm. At that point, Pamela would have sworn on a stack of Bibles she could see the veins in Jared’s forehead throb.

  What did Jared say when everything went wrong all at once?

  Oh, yes. Clusterfuck.

  Apparently, Jared had seen enough. He brushed past the hostess and headed toward Pamela’s table. The statuesque beauty watched him stride by with raised brows, although to her credit, her smile remained firmly in place.

  Help, thought Pamela in desperation. Stop him, sister. Please.

  At that moment, a distinguished-looking gent with graying temples touched the hostess’s arm and gave a small shake of his head. She nodded with studied grace and turned her attention to a couple walking up to her station.

  Brian had released her lifeless hand and picked up his wineglass when Jared reached their table.