Beg: Not Until You, Part 5. Roni Loren

I couldn’t stop now that the fear was spilling out. “I mean, Papá has always wanted to rule my life and I hate that—God, do I hate that. So why would I like it if some guy took control? Why would I want that?”

      “Hey,” he said gently as he walked around the front of the car. “Look at me. Do you think I’m weak or screwed up? Do you think Evan is?”

      “No. Well, you’re a little screwed up, but not in any padded-room kind of way,” I glanced up with a small smile. “You and Evan are both submissive?”

      “Evan is, yes. I’m a switch, so I can enjoy both sides. What you like in this arena doesn’t necessarily translate to who you are outside of it. And it takes just as much personal strength to submit, maybe more, as it does to be the dominant one.”

      I nodded, his words giving me more reassurance than I expected. If someone as tough, bossy, and hardheaded as my brother could be submissive even some of the time, then it sure as hell couldn’t be a sign of weakness. “Thanks, Dre.”

      He smiled but then pointed a firm finger toward me. “But that doesn’t mean you should jump into this without examining everything closely. It can take a while to figure out if this kind of thing is really for you. And while you’re exploring, you need to make sure you’re with someone who is well-trained and trustworthy, a guy who isn’t going to take advantage of your inexperience.”

      “You couldn’t resist one more warning, could you?” I asked, poking his shoulder. “And don’t worry. I have just the guy in mind.”

      He grunted, obviously still not sold on this whole idea, but kept his comments about Foster to himself.

      I hitched my purse higher on my shoulder. “All right, big brother, I’m ready. Time to get your baby sister into the den of iniquity.”

      “Ay, dios mío.” He tilted his face to the heavens as he threw an arm over my shoulders. “I’m so going straight to hell.”

      ***

      Foster paced along the deadly quiet hallway, the dark red walls seeming to pulse around him in time with his thumping heartbeat. He turned up the volume on his earbuds, trying to drown out the oppressive silence with the indie rock playlist Pike had put together on the iPod. The sconces along the walls had been dimmed low, but even the subtle light seemed too much for Foster’s edgy senses. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the grinding beat of the music, on getting into the headspace he needed to be in for his role.

      Last time he’d come to The Ranch he’d totally blown it. A submissive he’d played with before had requested to scene with him, and he’d agreed, hoping to chase away the vision of Cela in her paint-spattered clothes, wearing hurt in her eyes. But as soon as he’d gotten the girl restrained, he’d lost all desire to continue. He’d bailed and had to call over another dom he knew she’d played with before to give her the whipping he had planned.

      But tonight he was determined to move forward, to stop hanging onto something that couldn’t be. Cela would be gone soon. He’d steered clear of her since she’d left his apartment. Hanging out with her would only lead to him trying to talk her into staying, asking her to change a future she’d worked hard for to be with him—something that would’ve been entirely self-serving.

      No, things had to end the way they did. He knew the difference between a sexual, we’re-good-together-in-bed connection and one that had the potential to ignite that all-encompassing, be-mine dominant side of himself. Cela wasn’t the kind a girl to play with, she was the kind he wanted to own—a submissive to train, cherish, and spoil. He’d felt the beginning of the fall the second he’d kissed her on that dance floor, knew that the plunge wouldn’t have been far behind.

      He groaned and rubbed his hand over his jaw as he leaned against the wall. Focus, Foster. Stop thinking about her. Grant, The Ranch’s owner, had come to him half an hour earlier, asking him if he was up for scening with a submissive who had a stranger fantasy. Foster usually liked a good role-play, and Grant knew he could be trusted with an inexperienced sub. But the excitement that usually came with such an idea hadn’t materialized. Even so, Foster had downed the rest of his club soda and agreed. Something needed to snap him out of this ruminating.

      So here he stood, trying to psych himself up as he waited for one of the dungeon monitors to help the sub get set up on the other side of the door. Grant had told him that the woman didn’t want to know his identity. She’d be blindfolded and bound and was open to him being a little rough. Fine by him. He could stand to get some frustration out. If he could get his brain in order and stay in role that is.

      Colby, one of The Ranch’s trainers, stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him, and Foster pulled the earbuds out. Colby nodded at Foster. “She’s ready for you and has been informed of the safe words.”

      “Thanks,” he said, rolling his shoulders, trying to push the unease from his system.

      “Gotcha a pretty one in there, Foster,” Colby said, his Houston twang filling up the quiet hallway. “But nervous.”

      Foster tucked his iPod into the outside pocket of his toy bag. “Nervous good or nervous freaked out?”

      “A little of both,” he said, giving a pleased smile that only a fellow dominant could appreciate.

      “Beautiful. Thanks, man.”

      Colby headed back down the hallway, leaving Foster standing in front of the thick soundproof door. There were discreet cameras inside that would allow the staff to monitor things for safety, but he knew that the sub in there would feel totally isolated and alone nonetheless. He took a deep breath, channeling his dominance, bringing everything into focus. A submissive deserved nothing less than his full attention. She didn’t deserve a dominant who was thinking of someone else.

      After one more cleansing breath, he turned the knob and opened the door. It was warmer inside than in the hallway, candles throwing flickering light around the lush space. He’d chosen the playroom that most resembled a high-end hotel suite over one of the dungeons or themed rooms. Most women who wanted the stranger fantasy usually liked the idea of meeting said stranger in a real-life type of setting.

      He shut the door behind him slowly, giving his eyes time to adjust to the change in lighting, and enjoyed the sharp little breath he heard from across the room when the door clicked shut. Yes, she was nervous all right. He could almost smell her anticipation mixing with the soft vanilla scent of the candles. Vanilla. He always thought it amusing that Grant only stocked The Ranch with that particular scent. The guy had a sense of humor. Foster blinked, waiting for his vision to sharpen, and then drew in his own sharp breath.

      At the base of a large, four-poster bed was the outline of a woman on her knees, back exposed. Her arms were stretched up and out, cuffed to the bed’s posts, and her dark hair was loose down her back, the ends brushing the top of a gorgeous, heart-shaped ass. A hard, trembling ache went through him. Of all the women he could’ve played with tonight, the universe was going to torture him with one who looked like the very one he couldn’t have. He set his toy bag on nearby table, his hand shaking more than he liked.

      “I’m here,” he said, the words harsh in the thick silence.

      Her arms sagged in the chains, her head dipping forward—in relief or surrender, he wasn’t sure. “Thank you, I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

      The softness of her voice, the way her consonants rolled over each other, went straight to his cock and nudged at something in his brain. He wet his lips, a weird electric feeling crackling over his skin. He stepped closer, letting her hear his heavy footsteps, feel his presence. “Tell me why you’re here.”

      Her fingers twisted around the chains, her body rocking with that edge of nerves. “Because I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

      The response hit him like a swift blow to his sternum, her voice morphing in his ears into Cela’s. He rubbed his forehead, a sick feeling knotting his insides. Now he was going to turn every woman into a version of her?

      He