Theirs to Cherish

Chapter Four





THORPE couldn’t take his eyes off Callie’s reddening ass . . . just like he’d never been able to in the past. He took a particular pride in knowing she wore his mark, even temporarily.

God, he was a sick f*ck. But that wasn’t going to stop him.

He had to discipline her. More important, he had to give her a reason to stay.

Her body perched over his lap, her every muscle tense. She panted. Her skin flushed. Callie might be angry as hell with him, but one thing was clear and sent a jolt of electric desire to his cock: She hadn’t stopped wanting him in the last two years any more than he’d stopped craving her. And if she was going to rescind Kirkpatrick’s collar, now might be his only chance to touch her. If she still ran, it would hurt like hell—but he couldn’t let this chance slip by.

Dragging in a ragged breath, he brought his hand up and smacked her ass again, repeating the gesture the second the count left her lips. Slowly, her body thawed until she sank into him, her responses turning breathy.

Ten, eleven, twelve . . . He slipped into a rhythm, slow and meaningful, deliberate, measured, strong. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen . . . Why was it so f*cking easy to get into his Dom space with Callie? He never had to try. The moment he touched her, it was there, a boundless pool of it. He felt her needs as if they were his own. With her sprawled across his lap, he could read her utterly, each and every nuance.

She wanted him. Yes, she’d been thinking about that goddamn Scot earlier. She was likely also wondering how she could have feelings for two men at once. As much as he disliked Kirkpatrick, Thorpe wondered that, too. But that bastard was no longer important. This tempo, his punishment, her peace—they both needed it. Then he’d bring her against his chest and care for her, cuddle and shower her with worship, find out what she needed to stay.

Callie might not be his, but he’d do whatever it took to keep her here.

“Twenty,” she whispered, absolutely limp against his thighs.

Thorpe had no doubt her head was floating. Her defiance was gone. Her ass throbbed a fiery red. Her cunt seeped a sweet musk. His hand tingled. His mouth watered.

Just like the last time he’d spanked her, he was dying to f*ck her. Like the last two years of avoiding every opportunity to touch her had never existed.

Letting out a harsh breath, Thorpe dragged his stinging palm over her burning backside, slowly soothing out the ache.

“Time to apologize, pet.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.” Her voice was slurred.

Callie sounded mostly sincere. He smiled, despite the shitty mess he found himself in.

How long could he keep this girl believing that he didn’t want her with every breath he drew?

On the other hand, what else could he do? Melissa had upended his world after she’d promised to love him until death parted them, then suddenly served him with divorce papers. And that just topped the stinking pile of shit. As much as he adored Callie, he couldn’t risk his heart, especially for a woman with one foot out the door.

Minus any easy answers, Thorpe gathered the pliant beauty into his lap. She rested her head on his shoulder. With his chest tight and aching, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head, savoring her nearness.

“What did Sean say to upset you?”

“That he loves me.”

Thorpe winced. He’d known that, but hearing her admit it still jabbed him. He forced himself to smooth his features and lifted her chin with one hand. “Why did that make you cry?”

Slowly, she blinked, opening her eyes, and focusing that dazed blue stare on him. “I shouldn’t love anyone.” Callie lifted her hand and cupped his jaw, smoothing her thumb over his cheek. “But it’s too late. It has been for a long time.”

His heart lurched. Jesus, her feelings weren’t a surprise, not really. The unspoken emotions between them had been the neon billboard in the room for years.

He wrapped her hand in his and drew it away from his face. “You have feelings for Kirkpatrick, too?”

“Yes.” Her eyes clouded over. Tears leaked out. “I’m so confused.”

Of course she was. She didn’t have the life experience to deal with this shit. Hell, he was significantly older and he didn’t feel equipped to handle it, either.

Sean’s words haunted him. She needs tender guidance. Thorpe had guided her, all right. But he’d never been able to do it tenderly. Boundaries and protection he could give her without compromising his heart, but seeing the love in her eyes now as she pressed her fragile body against him . . . Everything about her was killing his resolve to remain aloof.

“Callie, pet. You can’t leave me.” His voice croaked, and an unfamiliar sting prickled his eyes.

He slammed his lids down. Damn it, he could not afford this weakness.

“Better for you if I do.” She sounded so damn sad.

Thorpe shook his head, holding her closer. “You’d ruin me, pet. In fact, I think you already have.”

Callie threw her arms around him, her breath warm against his neck. He gripped her tighter. Normally, he’d wish he hadn’t spilled his guts . . . but he would try if any bit of the truth kept her with him.

“You’ll be my biggest regret,” she whispered.

Goddamn it, that hurt.

Maybe he should simply admit that he knew she was a fugitive. Almost as quickly, Thorpe dismissed the idea. If she was insistent on running now, he suspected that divulging what he knew would only make Callie more determined to flee.

He held her tighter, taking in everything that made her uniquely Callie. The firm little curves of her body, those long lashes against her fair cheeks, her fingers digging into his shirtfront as if seeking reassurance. This close, he smelled her citrus shampoo and the remnants of the hair color he knew she used as a disguise. Her signature pink polish colored her petite toes, spritzed with glitter. And the soft little shudders of her body as she cried ripped out his heart.

“I won’t give you a chance to regret me, pet. I sure as hell refuse to wish I’d done something different while I had you with me.” He was already going to regret the last four years. “Lie back.”

She gasped softly, her gaze shooting up to his. She swallowed. Desire mingled with despair and wracked her face. “Thorpe . . . I can’t.”

He tensed. “Because of Kirkpatrick?”

Callie nodded.

“You’ve said you’re rescinding his collar. If you’re leaving here, you’re obviously leaving him, too.”

“I know.” More tears clouded her eyes.

If it wasn’t just about misguided loyalty to the Scot, what else was she hesitating about? The hurt from his desertion two Decembers ago? Christ, that had to be it. Remorse wracked him.

“I won’t walk away from you this time without giving you pleasure. I give you my word.”

Callie stared, breath held, the moment frozen. Thorpe watched her face as a thousand thoughts zipped through her head. And he saw the second she decided that if she was severing her bond with Kirkpatrick and fleeing, then she’d rather have him once than never at all.

With a sad smile, she climbed out of his lap and onto her bed, lying across it. Thorpe turned to watch her as she held out her arms to him, a silent siren call he had no idea how or if he could resist.

On the other hand, he had his answer about her parting gift to him. Tonight, she intended to give all of herself. Her body. Her heart. Her soul.

Her response both touched and infuriated him to the core. The girl was often so damn unpredictable. Right now, he’d have to be the same.

Standing, Thorpe shucked his suit coat. Then he doffed his cuff links, setting them on her nightstand. He draped his shirt over his coat at the head of the bed. Then he checked the pockets of his trousers. What he needed still rested inside. With a bracing breath, he turned to Callie.

“Robe off, pet. Spread your legs.”

Her fingers trembled as she worked the knot around her waist free. With a little lift and an arch of her graceful spine, she pulled it away from her body, gathering the silk in one hand, then letting it puddle on the floor. He would never get over how beautiful she was and the visceral reaction she elicited in him every damn time he came near her.

Callie slowly parted her thighs. His heart chugged. Technically, he should walk away and leave her untouched until she formally severed her relationship with Sean. Putting his hands on another Dom’s sub wasn’t ethical. The fact that he suspected Kirkpatrick of being a deceitful douche bag wasn’t relevant. Thorpe realized it was possible he’d convinced himself that these were extenuating circumstances because he wanted Callie so badly. But he couldn’t make himself care. This was likely his last chance to persuade her to stay. If he had to risk his reputation in the BDSM community to keep her safe from a man who might be trying to snuff her out or lock her in prison, so be it.


Her bare p-ssy splayed out in front of him, pink and swollen and tantalizing. Even if she remained at Dominion, this opportunity would probably never come again. If she wasn’t with Kirkpatrick, she’d be with someone else. Callie wasn’t cut out to spend her life alone, and he shouldn’t punish her because he’d resigned himself to solitude.

Thorpe refused to take from her now, but he would gladly give.

He lowered himself to the bed between her legs. Her stare never wavered from him, but he heard her indrawn breath. As he engulfed her hip with his hand, she shivered. Then, settling himself on his chest, Thorpe took her other hip in hand and dragged her closer, until her p-ssy was a breath away from his lips.

“Thorpe, you said . . .”

“You assumed.” He corrected. “You’re not dictating the terms, Callie.”

“I know.” She thrashed beneath him.

“Problem, pet?”

Callie bent her knees, writhed, lifted her hips restlessly. “You make me ache.”

Thorpe couldn’t help but smile. “You do the same to me. Relax.”

“Hurry.”

“Always topping from the bottom,” he chided. But that was part of her charm.

Before she could reply, he set his mouth over her p-ssy and began consuming as much of Callie as he could. He’d dreamed of her. Her scent had driven him to obsess about her flavor day after day, seemingly forever. But the moment she hit his tongue, it was like tasting a delicacy he constantly craved. Like Callie herself, her p-ssy was sweet and tart and soft . . . with just a hint of something he hadn’t encountered in any other woman. And doubted he ever would again.

Her soft gasp went straight to his cock, and he raised up on his elbows, his thumbs parting the swollen lips of her sex. He lashed her hardening * with gentle, rhythmic strokes, concentrating on growing her need. Her skin turned a rosy pink. She grabbed at the sheets with restless fingers. Her hips moved in time with his mouth. Her gasps became moans.

Lifting his lips for a moment, he nipped at her thigh and tended to her engorged bundle of nerves with sure fingers. “Does that feel good, pet?”

“Yes.” Callie thrashed under him. “Please . . . More.”

Thorpe smiled, eager to indulge her. He bent to her again, raking his tongue through her sultry sex. This time, he didn’t bother with a slow courting of her flesh. He seized her, sucking at her *, drawing her deeper into pleasure, wordlessly demanding her orgasm. If he had one chance to taste her, he planned to shove her to the brink, take her power, then drive it back into her so she never forgot this night.

Her moans shortened, went up an octave. Under his hands, her thighs clenched. The rest of her body tensed. Her fingers found their way into his hair and pulled. A shudder slammed down his spine. She’d be a hellcat to f*ck, an active, clawing, screaming lover he’d want again and again.

And if he didn’t stop thinking that, he would rip his pants off and find out for himself. Staying on course and making her feel treasured was more important than getting off.

Thorpe slid two fingers inside her. Oh, f*ck, was she ever tight. He gave grudging credit to Kirkpatrick for lasting as long as he had. Being inside Callie’s little sweltering cunt was one of his favorite fantasies. When he was alone and tired of all the women who joined Dominion because they’d read some f*cking book and had no clue what submission actually meant, he escaped to his shower, stroked himself, and imagined her.

Probing Callie gently, it didn’t take him long to learn where she was sensitive. Her bucking body and imploring whimpers gave her away.

He went after her in earnest, eating at her like a juicy piece of fruit, f*cking her thoroughly with his fingers and tongue—and wishing to hell he could mount and claim her.

“Thorpe!”

She was begging for his permission. It was in her voice. In her swollen p-ssy. In her clutching fingers. In her heels as they dug into the mattress beside him.

F*ck, yes. He was going to make Callie splinter into little pieces before him. And he was going to enjoy the hell out of seeing her shatter—this time for him and him alone.

Keeping his fingers tucked tightly inside her, Thorpe worked his way up her body, kissing and nipping her stomach, the underside of her breasts, her nipples, her neck, then her lush bow of a mouth. God, he hadn’t kissed her in forever and he’d missed it so damn much. He wanted to crawl inside her, take her, thrill her, please her.

He wanted to own her.

Imf*ckingpossible.

They had here and now. Tomorrow . . . he had no idea what would happen. He was used to controlling most everything around him. But he couldn’t control Callie or the future. That fact chafed him like nothing else.

Thorpe sank deeper into her mouth, prowling past her plump lips to curl his tongue around hers and capture every bit of her sweet response he could. He moaned, fitting his body against hers and slowly withdrawing his fingers from her p-ssy, letting them hover just over her *, where she needed him to touch her most.

“Hands over your head, pet.”

Callie complied without pausing for even a heartbeat. “Please. I need you . . .”

She did, but not in the way she begged for. She needed the limits he’d once given her. He’d stopped because she’d turned to Kirkpatrick. And he hadn’t fought for her. Now she sought to leave him altogether.

You’re only getting what you deserve.

Shoving aside the mocking voice, he reached into his pocket and withdrew the cuffs he’d secreted there. Before she knew what he was about, he flicked one around her left wrist, poised above her head. The other cuff he tethered to the metal frame of her platform bed with a jangle.

“What are you doing?” she asked, tugging and frowning when the cuffs clattered.

“Look at me.” He demanded, setting his fingers back over her *. “And don’t look away. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Her voice trembled. Her body shook. Her eyes pleaded.

With his cock as hard as iron, Thorpe hissed in a breath and delved deep into her eyes. “Take the pleasure I’m giving you as a vow, pet. If you leave me, I will hunt you to the ends of the earth. There won’t be a place you hide where I can’t find you. I will never stop looking. I will never give up. I will never let you go when I can save you.”

“Thorpe, don’t . . . You can’t—”

He cut her off by working her * expertly with two fingers devastating either side of the little bud, then alternately rubbing extra friction on top.

“Yes, I can. I told you to look at me. Now,” he demanded. “Come!”

Her eyes turned a dizzying blue, widening with every breath she hitched in, emphasized by the red flush of her cheeks. He didn’t give Callie permission, but she screamed anyway. The sound rang in his ears, echoed off the walls, and no doubt drifted down the hall. It went on and on as her body convulsed and her * turned to stone under his touch, then pulsed brilliantly again and again.

Callie tumbled into his eyes as the world fell away. Only she existed.

God, she was stunning. When she surrendered, she did it absolutely.

And the knowledge that he had to leave her now because he couldn’t trust himself not to strip off and f*ck her was killing him.

Closing his eyes, gathering his will, he kissed Callie on each hot cheek, brushed his lips over her damp forehead, then took her mouth in one last lingering press. He stayed there, struggling to drag in air. A moment, then another. He cherished each precious, irreplaceable second. Callie sobbed, and his chest shattered.

Thorpe broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers, nuzzling her.

“You promised you wouldn’t walk away,” she said through tears.

“I said I wouldn’t before I gave you pleasure. You’re not getting away from me, pet. Don’t make me show you my ruthless side.” He thumbed the wells of her eyes dry with a soft touch. Then he draped the comforter over her, found her purse, and rifled through it until he located her car keys. Pocketing them, he shrugged on his shirt, attached his cuff links, then grabbed his coat and her packed bags.

“Damn it, Thorpe. You can’t undo me like that, then get up and leave.”

He headed for the door. “I’ll be back.”

***

THE second Thorpe let himself out, Kirkpatrick came stomping down the hall, barreling toward him like a man ready for a fight. How the hell had he gotten past Axel?

“What the bloody hell are you doing to Callie? I can hear her screaming all over the club.”

“Do you think I hurt her?”

Sean’s face turned red. “I think you put your f*cking hands all over her.”

“Ding, ding, ding. Someone get the man a prize.” He edged away from Sean, intent on reaching his office.

Kirkpatrick jabbed him in the jaw, then followed up with a mean left hook to the gut. Thorpe hadn’t seen it coming . . . but he should have.

He doubled over, and Sean took the opportunity to slam him against the wall. “How dare you touch my collared submissive? I’m bloody in love with Callie. I know you overheard me tell her. I made certain of it.”

Thorpe stared at his unwanted rival, trying to shove him off. Kirkpatrick wasn’t budging. Well, the guy had some game. Interesting note for future reference . . . But he wasn’t going to tell Sean that Callie might not be his collared submissive for long. Saying so was her place—even if he’d love to shove it in the bastard’s face.


“For some reason I can’t comprehend, she has feelings for you, too.”

Sean snorted. “Not too many, I guess, if she decided to go straight from f*cking me to you.”

As much as Thorpe would love to let Kirkpatrick believe the worst, he refused to give Sean a reason to punish Callie for his own actions. “I didn’t f*ck her.”

“You wanted to,” Sean accused.

“That goes without saying. Callie is a beautiful woman. As you’ve previously noted, I care for her. Why are we covering this well trampled ground again?”

“Because it’s my right to know exactly what you did with her.” He bounced Thorpe against the wall again.

The f*cker had punched him so hard, he almost felt queasy. But he refused to show weakness.

“Get off me or I’ll have you arrested for assault.” To make his point, Thorpe bent and shoved his shoulder into the Scot’s and, using the wall as leverage, heaved the other man off him. Then he whipped out his phone to text Axel and tapped out their code for “problem.”

“I don’t have time for you,” Thorpe said. “Let’s just say that Callie has feelings for us both, and she offered us the same good-bye. I got her attention, made a few things clear, and left her cuffed to her bed alone, all safe and sound. I even swiped her car keys.” He withdrew them from his pocket and dangled them in front of Sean’s face.

The Scot’s expression turned somewhere between sour and disbelieving. “I want to see her.”

“I’m sorry. I’m still not convinced that you’re in her best interest.”

“And you are?” Kirkpatrick scoffed.

“No. Which is the only reason she wasn’t wearing a collar when you came sniffing around. If and when I decide you can see her, I’ll let you know.”

On cue, Axel charged down the hall with a couple of his staff in tow. Sean came out swinging, but the guards each grabbed one of his arms.

Axel just shoved a hand in Kirkpatrick’s hair and yanked. “You had to pee, huh? Let’s go, motherf*cker.”

Thorpe smiled. No one had ever accused Axel of playing nice.

“Don’t call me; I’ll call you.” Thorpe shouted as the men forcibly carried Sean, shouting and belligerent, from the club.

“This isn’t over,” Sean yelled over his shoulder, still fighting them. “She’s mine!”

“F*ck off,” he muttered under his breath, then extracted his phone again, making strides to his office.

Once inside, he paused, then chose a course of action. Lance had been in the dungeon earlier. Perfect. Callie needed care, and she’d do her best to outsmart or wheedle another sub to get away right now. Thorpe had hoped that merely kindling the sexual fire between them might persuade her to stay, but . . . wishful thinking. It would have been smarter if he’d just f*cked her since that had likely been his only opportunity. Damn it. Now he had to tear his thoughts from her p-ssy and act strategically. Lance wouldn’t take a lick of crap from her. He was a strong, clever Dom—and didn’t have a heterosexual bone in his body. Even better.

Axel returned a few minutes later, winded and looking like he might have a shiner tomorrow. “Can I press assault charges?”

Thorpe slanted the other Dom a glare. “We don’t need trouble here. Wouldn’t you rather meet him in a dark alley?”

“F*ck, yeah. Is that option on the table, boss?”

He shrugged. “Have fun. Don’t get caught. But before you go, would you ask Lance if he’d take care of Callie?”

With a nod, Axel left. Minutes later, he escorted Lance down the hallway.

Lance paused at Thorpe’s door. “Expecting trouble from our little vixen?”

“Just constantly.” Thorpe smiled faintly. “I have an urgent phone call to make, so I appreciate your assistance.”

“Always happy to help.”

When Lance disappeared, and Axel headed back to the dungeon, Thorpe indulged in one thing he never did during the club’s business hours. But in this case, he figured he was entitled. He poured himself a stiff scotch, plopped into his chair, and downed it. Then he broke his own rules again and called a client to beg.

Logan Edgington answered his phone on the third ring, the noise from a television cluttering the background until he killed it. “Thorpe. ’Sup, man? It’s getting late.”

“I have a situation. I need some information. I’d like to speak with your wife, if that’s all right.”

The former SEAL hesitated for a moment. “Yeah. We were just watching a movie. Tara’s due in about two months and is having some problems with insomnia. If I don’t keep her occupied, she’ll be up ‘nesting’ half the night, which is code for moving furniture without consulting me or asking for help.”

“Hey,” he heard Tara protest in the background. “The twins are active at night. I can’t sleep when I’m being constantly kicked. I said I was sorry.”

“Yeah, after I added another infraction to your quickly growing list for after these babies are born. You’re racking them up, Cherry.” When his wife sighed noisily, Logan just laughed. “My brother’s wife, Kata, is five months behind her and still in the tired-all-the-time phase, so she conked out for the night. If you can occupy Tara’s brain right now, you’ll be my hero.”

“I’ve definitely got a winner,” Thorpe promised. “Are you sure she’s up to it?”

Logan scoffed. “Her ankles may be swollen, but there’s nothing wrong with her mind. Here you go.”

After a quick scuffle, Tara’s voice sounded over the line. “Hi, Thorpe.”

“Hello, sweet girl. I’m sorry it’s so late, but I need your help.”

“Anything. Name it.”

“Do you still have contacts at the FBI from your analyst days?”

“Absolutely.” She shuffled in bed again. “Can’t find a comfortable position. Sorry. One second . . . There. What do you need?”

“Background on someone new here at Dominion. He’s a potential problem.”

“So are you looking for his arrest record, criminal background . . . that kind of thing?”

“Precisely,” Thorpe confirmed. “Anything you can find out, really. I’ve thought for some weeks that there’s something about him that seems off. His story checks out on the surface, but it feels awfully pat. I suspect he’s not who he claims.” He hesitated. “He’s fixated on Callie.”

Tara grunted. “You’re calling me about her?”

“I know she isn’t your favorite person.”

“Um, not exactly. She wanted my husband.”

“No.” He didn’t want to divulge Callie’s secrets, but he needed to set Tara at ease so she’d provide answers. “Actually, I believe she was trying to get my attention with her brattiness and misbehavior.”

“Sounds like she got it.”

And then some. “She used Logan to reach me because she knew he wouldn’t be quiet about her antics. He was a big target.”

“He still is.” Tara sighed. “All right, who is this guy?”

“He uses the name Sean Kirkpatrick. I’ll send you a picture when we hang up. It’s not fabulous since it’s security footage. I don’t know much about him. Early thirties, says he’s from Scotland. Supposedly, he’s a freelance project manager who travels for a living.” But he sure as hell had a mean left hook for a desk jockey.

“Know where he went to school? When he came to the U.S.?”

“Sorry.”

“Send over the picture. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you. Call me with anything, day or night. My time is short. I don’t trust this a*shole.”

Tara hesitated. “Do you think he’d hurt her?”

His gut said no. For all of Kirkpatrick’s faults, he seemed as fiercely protective of Callie as Thorpe himself. But would Sean separate her from him and steal her away from Dominion? Absolutely.

“Let’s say I’m not taking any possibility off the table yet.”

“All right. Give me a few hours. I’ll see what I can dig up.”

“Thanks.” Thorpe smiled into the phone. Taking action felt good.

Facts would help him decide how to proceed with Kirkpatrick. Personally, Thorpe hoped the Scot had something dirty and blackmail-worthy in his past so he could hang it over Sean’s head to make him disappear from Callie’s life.

Then . . . he’d set about figuring what to do once he had her all to himself again.

***

SEAN paced the sterile corporate apartment he’d been forced to hang his hat in for the last eight months. The bland beige walls were closing in like a trash compactor about to squeeze the life out of him. He had unreturned messages and a boss who wanted to know what the f*ck was going on.

Getting screwed by the competition. How’s that for a goddamn update?

Sighing, he stared at his phone, willing Callie to call him. He had a million questions for her, needed to hear what was in her head. Mostly, he wanted to know if she was all right. And what that son of a bitch, Mitchell Thorpe, had done to her.

After stalking to the little desk that sat beside his bed, he sorted through a pile of file folders and came to the one he sought. Pulling it open, he scanned the information he already knew backward and forward. His nemesis was thirty-nine. His wife had divorced him and was now remarried with two kids. He came from a thoroughly upper-middle-class background. Good schools in Connecticut. Yacht club parents. Yale University graduate, then a stint as a stockbroker in New York City in his early twenties. Owner of Dominion for the last dozen years, with an interest in BDSM for even longer. But Sean read nothing in the paperwork that would tell him how to get the upper hand again.


He’d miscalculated tonight, ranking his desire for Callie above everything else. He had a feeling that by f*cking her, he’d roused the competitor in Thorpe. The man didn’t intend to lose.

“Too bad, a*shole. That goes double for me,” he mumbled.

Tossing the folder back on the desk, he paced to the front door and back again. It only took eight steps.

Shoving his hand into his pocket, he yanked his phone out and dialed Callie. Immediately, her voicemail greeting chimed in his ear. Sean cursed. Either his lovely hadn’t remembered to charge her phone again . . . or she wasn’t speaking to him.

Whatever the reason, he couldn’t afford to let this silence between them fester or grow. But he also couldn’t go back to Dominion tonight. After the right cross to Axel’s eye, he figured that not only was he off the club’s membership roster for a while, but he’d better watch his back. Normally, Sean would break into the club. Though challenging, it wouldn’t be impossible. But if he got caught, Thorpe would throw him out for good and everything he’d worked eight months to build would swirl down the toilet. Things weren’t dire enough to risk that yet.

Still, he had to find some way to reassure himself that Callie was all right.

The one silver lining was that Thorpe had prevented her from fleeing Dominion—at least so far. She intended to. Of that, Sean had no doubt. He really hated to give Thorpe any credit, but he had to since the man had cuffed her to her own bed and taken her car keys. Sean knew he would probably have opted to reason with her and shower her with affection first.

He wondered now if that tactic would have backfired.

She requires a firm hand.

Thorpe’s assertion echoed through his head. Damn, but the sly bastard might be onto something.

Now that Sean had taken note, he wouldn’t let Thorpe undermine him again. He was here for Callie. He intended to stay for her. And no man, not even the Dungeon Master himself, was going to get in his way.

Armed with an idea to outfox the fox, he scooped up his car keys and headed out the door. In less than an hour, he’d have Callie all to himself once more.