MineToBreak Read online

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She laughed softly, a warm secret for his ears only that didn’t make him feel shame or embarrassment. Then her voice hardened. “Look at me, Colby.”

  He braced for disgust, embarrassment, amusement, or worse, pity. God, if she pitied him, he’d probably go home and eat a couple of bullets.

  But when he finally dragged his gaze to hers, he couldn’t breathe for the look in her eyes. Without any hesitation, she smiled, her eyes warm and shining with what he could only call interest. The way a hungry predator might watch its unsuspecting prey right before it pounced.

  “Eat your steak.”

  His eyes flared with surprise, and yeah, disappointment. The last thing he’d expected the Mistress of Dallas to command him to do was eat.

  She leaned toward him, and he could almost feel the heat coming off her body. She burned like the sun, a supernova that would blister his skin and burn him to ash, and he’d love every minute of it. His skin actually prickled, as if he could feel the energy rising off her. “Put that fork in your mouth. Eat it. Eat every fucking bite.”

  His hackles rose, his ego flaring with a sudden declaration of masculine independence. He didn’t take orders from anyone but his commanding officers. Certainly not a woman. A Mistress. He wasn’t the kind of man who’d leap to obey, not like Vicki’s other man. He liked Jesse well enough, but deep down, he’d never understand a man being that… Meek. Whipped. It just wasn’t in him.

  Mal stared at him, not moving a muscle, and he couldn’t look away. If he looked away, he’d lose. He knew that much. And losing even something so small to a woman like Mal would be…

  His dick thudded, a complaint because it was trapped in his pants.

  Before he could change his mind, he put the fork in his mouth and chewed.

  Fork tender, juicy steak. Not tasteless chalk. Stunned, he froze, afraid to lose the moment. Afraid of sliding back into that gray nothingness he’d been living in for so long.

  “Good?”

  He swallowed, hard. Stabbed another bite. Still tasted good. Damned good. He shot a dark glare at her, suddenly suspicious. Was she some kind of witch? Not that he believed in that crap, but seriously. He’d been struggling with this for over a year, and now, a few words from a Domme seemed to be the answer to his prayers. “How the fuck did you do that?”

  With a knowing wink, she continued to eat her risotto. “You’re a hardened soldier who needs something to fight. And I’m always up for a good challenge.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  She licked her spoon again and damned if his eyes didn’t roll back in his head. He sucked in a deep breath, holding back the surge of lust that demanded he toss this table aside and fall on her like a starving man. “I get to be the lucky woman to break you.”

  Chapter Two

  “What did you say?” Whip hard, his voice cracked and he slammed the fork down on the table.

  Mal arched a brow at him but otherwise ignored his display. His pride didn’t like her choice of words. “You heard me.”

  She ate her risotto, slowly and methodically, even though her date quivered on the edge of violence. She didn’t know him that well, but her instincts said he wouldn’t actually lose his temper. He was too well mannered to treat a woman with disrespect, let alone throw a table and toss her over his shoulder.

  Though by the simmering heat in his eyes, that’s exactly what he wanted to do.

  “I saw your show. I saw what you like.”

  So he’d watched VCONN’s latest hit, America’s Next Top sub. Good. That might make her job a little easier, at least as far as exposing him to her world. She had to admit that she was even more impressed that he’d actually showed tonight. She’d been none too gentle with Andy during the last punishment phase of their show, because she’d discovered that he’d been lying to her and selling VCONN secrets to their competitor, while in her bed and wearing her collar. Colby had arguably seen her at her worst, and still come to meet her.

  She pushed the bowl away slightly, leaving the last few bites of risotto so she’d have plenty of room for the cream brûlée. “Then you know I’m in the market for a new pet.”

  “I don’t… I won’t. Not that.”

  She let amusement dance in her eyes with a quirk on her lips. “You might like being house trained. Andy sure did.”

  Colby’s shoulders vibrated, his chin jutting out, his jaws working like he chewed on gravel rather than an expensive steak. “Not. Happening.”

  “Good,” she purred, sipping her wine. “Keep on saying that. I like it. I like it a lot.”

  “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you treat me like a…a…”

  “Dog?” She said helpfully.

  Colby growled, certainly very much like a mad frothing-at-the-mouth dog. “Fuck that shit.”

  “But not you.” She didn’t change her tone or her manner, just kept casually sipping her wine in between sentences. But she couldn’t look away as emotions crashed across his face. Outrage, pride, desperation, hope, determination, lust. This was the war he needed. His pride, battling her will. And I know exactly who’s going to win. “You want me to fuck you, sugar? Then you’ll do exactly as I say, when I say, how I say.”

  He stared at her a moment and then his shoulders drooped. Not into submission, but despair. Not quite what she was going for. “I’ve seen men break before. It’s not pretty. Sobbing, desperate, willing to do anything to save themselves, even sell out a buddy or run from the field. I like you a lot, Mal. God, I can’t even…”

  He dragged a hand over his buzz-cut hair and squeezed his nape, staring at her with such desperate longing that she almost said something to lighten the moment. To lighten her requirements. Though deep down, she knew that’d be a mistake.

  “A lot. But if that’s what you’re looking for, then I’ll have to walk.”

  The waitress set the custard dish before her and started to clear away Colby’s plate, but Mal stopped her. “Leave it. He’s not finished yet.”

  The woman’s eyes widened and she gave him a sideways glance. “I’m sorry. Will you want any dessert?”

  Colby stared back at her, wordless, terrified, she thought, but so desperate for a taste of affection and hope despite the risk to his pride. “He wants blackberry cobbler with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.”

  She nodded and backed away. “Right away, ma’am.”

  He released his neck and dropped his hand on the table. His fingers trembled, touching even her cold Mistress heart. “What are you doing to me?”

  “Ordering you dessert.”

  “I won’t be able to eat it.”

  She tapped the crystallized sugar crust on the brûlée and then broke through to the creamy custard beneath. Very much like she was trying to do with him. “Of course you can. But you have to finish the steak first.”

  He stared down at his plate like it was covered with worms and beetles. Minutes passed while he contemplated her words without touching the fork or his food. Long enough for the waitress to bring back his dessert, set it on the table beside him, and then flee without a word. Smart woman. She felt the tension singing between them.

  Give, and take. Give him some room to run, and then slowly reel him back in before landing him. A beautiful melody, this dance he’d started. One that she intended to finish.

  “You said you watched the show. Evidently we did a piss-poor explanation of the power balance between a dominant and a submissive.”

  He dared a quick look up at her face, eyes narrowed, mouth hard with resolution. “I think it’s pretty clear who has the power when the dog’s mistress holds the leash.”

  “A casual observer may think so,” she agreed, pausing long enough to let the custard melt on her tongue. “But the dog and his mistress know that he could bite her hand any time he chose and simply run away. He comes when she calls because he wants to. He sits at her feet because he wants to. He accepts her collar and leash…”

  “
I get what you’re trying to say.” Disgruntled, he picked up the fork and started on the steak again. By the hesitant way he started to chew, and then more readily, it still tasted good, surprising him. “I’m telling you I don’t want to.” He swallowed, and then flashed her a cocky, challenging grin as he dipped the fork into the blackberry cobbler rather than taking another bite of steak.

  Oh sugar, but you do, so very, very badly. “Tastes good, doesn’t it.”

  His smile slipped but he didn’t throw his guard back up. “Yes, ma’am. It does.”

  She took another bite of her dessert, making sure to let him know how much she enjoyed it. By the time she swallowed another bite, his eyes smoldered hot enough to set the tablecloth on fire. “When it doesn’t taste good, then you walk. Deal?”

  Holding her gaze, he pushed the steak away and dove into the blackberry cobbler like he’d lick it clean or die on the spot. “Deal.”

  Chapter Three

  Following Mal’s black Lexus, Colby almost turned off and went home several times. He had plenty of opportunities to change his mind. He could have left without eating the steak, let alone the cobbler. He could have left the parking lot and headed south, not north. He could have missed the turn off the freeway. But here he was, pulling up behind her car in the driveway. Somehow he’d pictured the formidable Mistress living in a contemporary condo downtown, not a sweet little bungalow painted Caribbean blue.

  Engine still running, he watched her shut her car door and pause, waiting for him with a knowing smile on her luscious lips. One last chance to escape the Mistress’s leash. All he had to do was throw the truck in reverse and drive off. His palms were sweaty, his heart rate up like he’d run all the way here at top speed, and the erection still hadn’t faded.

  He hadn’t had an erection this long in over a year.

  I ate the steak. I ate the cobbler. I’m damned well going to eat her too.

  He turned off the ignition and stepped down out of the cab. Luckily she didn’t tease him. Hanging back while she unlocked the front door with an electronic keypad, he scanned the street. Nice neighborhood. Quiet. No one seemed to have followed them, not that he’d expected it. Still, one could never be too careful.

  “Colby?” He jerked his attention to her. She waited, door open, light turned on. “What are you doing?”

  He shrugged sheepishly and stepped through the open door. “Sorry, habit. I’d feel pretty bad if some perp drove up and shot into your house trying to nail a cop.”

  “I suppose you want to check my house too and make sure no perps are hiding out in the closet.”

  She’d probably meant it as a joke, but he immediately scanned the front room, making sure to look behind the couch and curtains. “You’re a single woman. Can’t be too careful. May I?”

  She frowned at him, and a sudden wash of alarm flooded him. What if she changed her mind about him? “Are you carrying a gun?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m off duty so I deliberately left my service weapon at home.”

  Her frown softened, some of her teasing amusement coming back to glow in her eyes. “I suppose you left the handcuffs at home too.”

  He gave her a look that hopefully said I’m no fool. “Absolutely. No way I’m letting you get around my handcuffs. I’d never hear the end of it.”

  She gave him a look back that said baby, I don’t need no handcuffs to turn you into putty in the palm of my hand and went toward the kitchen. “Make yourself at home. Two bedrooms, but I’m sure you’ll be able to tell which is mine. I’ll get us a drink.”

  Curiosity piqued, he made himself scan through her house slowly rather than race to the Mistress’s dungeon, or bedroom. Looking at her furniture, he couldn’t find anything that pointed to her kink or said she was anything but a single professional woman making a good living in Dallas. Not even a black leather couch—just a tasteful brown-and-turquoise living room set. So what would he find in her bedroom?

  He stuck his head in the first door on the left. Office, with a full-sized bed. Had to be a guest room. Door on the right was a small bathroom. He’d only dabbled in construction work in the past, but the black-and-white hexagon tiles looked original. The last door wasn’t shut. He eased inside, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. Opening his senses, he listened, feeling for anything amiss, before flipping on the lights. Smallish room, dominated by a king sized bed with a comforter the color of sunflowers. Combined with the gold dress, he had to be a dummy not to realize yellow was her favorite color. The bed frame was a heavy, antique four-poster bed with black iron details, but no manacles hung from the corners. Certainly no ropes dangled from the ceiling. Hard wood floors creaked beneath his boots as he eased deeper into the room, looking for any other doors. He banged his shins on something hard and metal that clanged.

  A large dog crate.

  “Fuck.”

  She held out a hard cider but he only glared at her. “If you think I’m going to cram myself into that crate, you’re crazy. Christ, I can’t believe I actually let you talk me into coming home with you. I ought to be committed.”

  Coolly, she arched a brow at him. “I don’t recall talking you into anything, sugar. There’s the door. Leave now. No one’s keeping you here against your will.”

  Ignoring the bottle she offered, he paced back and forth at the foot of her bed. Luckily he was too busy muttering under his breath to hear the soft sigh that escaped at the sight.

  He prowled like an angry caged bear. No, a rangy wolf, lean and mean and fast. Such explosive power in his body. Such anger and need and frustration. She could almost taste it.

  Literally, she was tempted to just stand here and breathe deeply with her mouth open, drawing in the scent of his presence in her space. It’d been a long time since she’d had such an uncontrolled and potentially destructive force loose in her bedroom.

  She’d kicked Andy out months ago. During their relationship, she’d cared for him, even loved him, at least a little. Maybe not the one-in-a-million kind of love that she’d dreamed about, but she had cared for him. Only after she’d learned about his betrayal and done some serious soul-searching had she realized how one-sided their relationship had always been. She’d taken care of him.

  But what had he done to take care of her?

  Oh, the sex had been fine. Great, actually, because she took what she wanted and expected nothing less than ultimate pleasure from her partner. But Andy had always wanted to be used and humiliated. That had been his kink. He’d wanted to sleep on the floor. He’d wanted her to treat him more like a dog than a sub. And like a good dominant who cared about her submissive, she’d adjusted to make sure his needs were met. That was her job.

  Job.

  Not love. Certainly not marriage.

  She watched the cop whirl hard on his heel to stomp in the other direction and she couldn’t help but feel selfish. If she’d dreamed up the perfect challenge for herself, the kind of sub she’d never thought to meet in her life, it was him. Wild, uncontrolled, not submissive in the traditional sense, Colby managed to hit every single one of her buttons and leave her panting for more.

  And she hadn’t even played with him yet. Not really.

  Even more, he needed help. Help only she could give. Unfortunately, that meant he’d probably walk as soon as she’d helped him through his sexual issues, but she’d sure have a grand time helping him find as much satisfaction as he could stand. Because she had no doubts whatsoever that she could satisfy him over, and over, and over. If she’d dared touch him beneath the table tonight, he would have spurted all over the white linen tablecloth.

  He whirled again and strode straight toward her, hands clenched, lips drawn back from his teeth in a vicious snarl. She didn’t move or react, holding her ground and willing him to settle down for her.

  Breathing hard, he stood before her. “What is that crate for? Tell me, damn it.”

  Gently, gently, she reminded herself. When she wanted to seize his lapels and drag him down to drink all
that glorious fury from his lips. “That kennel is Pumpkin’s. He wouldn’t take too kindly to anyone else using it.”

  His eyes blazed, his nostrils flaring as he shifted from outraged male ego to straight-up jealousy. “Who the fuck is Pumpkin?”

  Tipping the bottle, she took several long swallows of hard cider, making him wait. Stewing a little would be good for him.

  “Mal…” he growled warningly.

  Which only made her purr. She stepped closer to him, ignoring the hard look in his eyes, the threat of his clenched hands. She leaned up like she wanted to whisper something into his ear, and he automatically leaned down toward her. Such a good boy, though she didn’t say that aloud for fear of riling him up again. “Pumpkin is Mama’s Pomeranian.”

  Chapter Four

  Standing there like a damned fool with a size thirteen boot shoved in his mouth, Colby squeezed his eyes shut and hoped the hardwood floor would open up and swallow him whole. He felt off balance, off kilter, tipped wildly off his axis. If she put a finger on his chest and pushed, he’d just topple to the ground. He wasn’t normally a man who jumped to ridiculous conclusions. Not that she’d believe him now.

  “Mama travels a lot now that she’s retired, and I usually keep her dog. Though Pumpkin really doesn’t like me much.”

  He didn’t know what to say, afraid to say something else stupid. He couldn’t imagine anyone not liking her, even a dog. “Maybe he doesn’t like the crate either.”

  Laughing softly, she turned away a moment and set the bottles down on top of a dresser, and then her hands were on his chest, his shoulders, like she was measuring him to see if he’d fit in that little crate. He barely heard the sound of a zipper. “Let’s go ahead and get this out of the way first.”

  It didn’t dawn on him that had been his zipper until her hand slid down the front of his boxers. Her fingers wrapped around his dick and every muscle in his body tensed, vibrating with intensity. His brain short circuited. He heard someone babbling but couldn’t shut himself up to save his life.