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Once he had Tiff in the same vulnerable position, Markus leaned in and spoke softly in her ear. “You only have a few minutes before he gets here. It’s time for you to decide if this lifestyle really is for you, because if you agree you want to stay, the rubber is gonna hit the road tonight. Your training time is over. The taking-it-slow games are finished. Tonight will be as real as it’s gonna get with Lukus. Use this corner time to decide once and for all what you want. If you choose to leave, I’ll back you up, but know that that’ll be the end of your relationship. If you stay, you’re agreeing to submit to your Dom. I don’t need to tell you what that means.”
Tiffany knew Markus was trying to help, but his words settled over her like a blanket of dread. She already suspected tonight would be her most severe punishment to date, but Markus’s words shocked her.
Was he trying to convince her to leave? Did he think she didn’t have what it took to live a BDSM lifestyle? If so, he was not the only one. She’d asked herself that same question every day since meeting Lukus. Never had it been harder to answer than tonight. She wished she could call a time-out. Take time to think things through. Time to talk with Brianna. Time for Lukus to cool down.
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway announced that her time was up.
Oh God, please help me. I know without a doubt I love him. I just don’t know if that’s enough.
Chapter Eight
Lukus
Lukus pulled his BMW into the Lamberts’ driveway, next to Tiffany’s sedan. After making the hair-raising drive from the city in record time, he took a few seconds to calm himself before going inside. The few hours he’d thought Tiffany might have been in danger—the target of a sadistic asshole—were the worst hours of his life. Derek would call it ‘losing his shit.’ Lukus preferred to call it ‘weak.’
It’s not right that another person should have this kind of power over me. I should be in control. If not of her, at least of my own fucking emotions.
Being brought to his knees by a submissive woman made it worse. If that were all Tiffany was to him, it’d be easy. He’d walk away in a heartbeat. Knowing he could no more walk away than cut off his right arm told him just how deep his emotions were running.
He felt like a coward sitting in his car after midnight in his best friend’s driveway, but he was scared shitless to go inside and face the woman at the center of the internal tornado he was fighting to control. He took a deep, calming breath and sorted through the shower of fears raining down on him.
Were she any other sub he used to see with any regularity, he’d load her into the car, drive to The Punishment Pit, and drag her center stage to make sure she understood, painfully and clearly, how displeased he was. He rejected the idea immediately. The thought of publicly punishing Tiffany was abhorrent to him. What they had together was special—intimate. Any punishment she’d earned would be delivered in private. Still, he knew he’d have to steel his heart to do what needed to be done.
Now that Tiff was safe, his fear was transferring from her personal safety to their future as a couple. With regret, he acknowledged there was more than a small chance he’d leave this house as alone as he’d arrived tonight. He was about to solidify their relationship—or hammer a nail in it. He’d change it if he could, but he was a Dom at his core. He’d proven he could bend, but there were some lines he wouldn’t cross.
I can’t put up with blatant disobedience. She put herself in danger. There’s no sweeping her poor decisions under the rug. I can’t be a pussy. I have to make this a punishment she’ll never forget.
He ran a security company and had acquired many enemies. He wasn’t always going to have time to explain his orders. He needed to know he could trust Tiffany to obey him. Knowing that punishing her was the right thing to do didn’t make it easier. There was a real possibility she could tell him to fuck off.
A truth most people didn’t understand was that strong D/s relationships always came down to consent. In the end, Lukus knew he was powerless. He knew what he needed to do, so their fate was now in Tiffany’s hands. Without her consent, it was game over. He wasn’t a big gambler, but knowing how new she was to the BDSM lifestyle, he put their odds of making it through the next few intense hours as a couple at 50/50.
Taking another deep breath, he exited the car, taking long, determined strides up the walk. Markus opened the door before he got there. Lukus hesitated as the two men communicated silently their joint relief at how the situation had played out since separating at the airport. He moved past Markus, desperate to see Tiffany. He could think of only one thing: he needed to hold her.
“Tiffany!” He was almost running by the time he hit the great room.
The sight of her pressed into the corner like a naughty sub stirred confusing feelings. When she turned to peek at him, her vulnerability cut him. His breath caught at the sight of her tear-stained face and mussed hair. Her lips quivered, and all Lukus could think of was kissing them until they were tender. Her name escaped in a groan as he rushed towards her. “Aw, Tiff.”
She broke her pose to rush into his arms. He squeezed her so tight she groaned under the pressure. She reciprocated, holding onto him as if her life depended on never letting go. Through her sobs, he heard words that turned him cold.
“Please, Lukus, don’t hate me. I know I disappointed you, but I won’t be able to take it if you tell me you hate me. I can take anything but that. I’m so sorry. I promise you, I didn’t know it was that big of a deal.”
His mind reeled. How could she not have known how he felt about her?
Maybe because you’ve never told her, sport. Not clearly. Fix it, asshole.
She launched into a new wave of apologies before he stifled her, capturing her trembling lips in a passionate kiss. He’d taken her by surprise, forcing his tongue deep to tangle with her own. She tasted like mint and vodka. He crushed her body against his own as he let their shared passion run wild, and felt her legs failing to support her. By the time he ended the kiss, she was lying boneless in his arms. She didn’t know it, but she’d just subconsciously demonstrated her surrender to his authority over her body.
He weaved his fingers through her long, blonde hair, yanking her head back, forcing her to look up into his eyes. He was relieved to see the fear gone from her gaze.
“Are you listening to me, Tiffany?”
Her voice was small. “Yes, Sir.”
“That’s good, because I have something important to say, and I’d hate for you to miss it. Although, I do plan on saying it often.” He saw her confusion and couldn’t stop his grin. “Don’t youeverask me again if I hate you. That insults me, and it insults what we have together. People who hate each other don’t share kisses like we just shared. Got it?”
She managed to nod slowly. It looked like she was trying to make sense of his cryptic words. He decided to help her.
“I thought something bad had happened to you, baby. I’ve spent hours in hell, beating myself up for not keeping you safe—for not leading you better, so you knew how important it was for you to obey me today. My brain has run amok with a million what-ifs, and you know what? Not once did I think about hating you. On the contrary, you know what I realized today?”
