Dominated: A Kinky Adult Fairy Tale (Bedding the Bad Girl Book 4) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  About the Book

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  About the Author

  DOMINATED

  A Kinky Adult Fairy Tale

  Bedding the Bad Girl Book Four

  By Callie Wild

  About the Book

  DOMINATED: A Kinky Adult Fairy Tale

  Bedding the Bad Girl Book Four

  She has the whip, but he’ll be doing the spanking…

  Eleanor is the mistress of a swanky BDSM parlor in Kingdom City, but secretly prefers love from the submissive side of the fence. When Frank, a member of the Royal Guard, calls her bluff, she can’t help but melt in his big, Dominant arms.

  Frank is under cover to protect Eleanor from a stalker terrorizing the city, but soon finds himself wishing that one night of pretend could become a lifetime of Kinky Ever After. Can he keep her safe long enough to claim her as his own?

  A sexy, BDSM-flavored, stand-alone continuation of the Cinderella story. No Cliffhanger.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  DOMINATED c. 2015 Callie Wild

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. This erotic romance is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. This ebook is licensed for your personal use only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with, especially if you enjoy hot, sexy, emotional novels featuring Dominant alpha males. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work. This book was previously published as Wickedly Ever After by Anna J. Evans. It has been extensively revised and reworked before being re-released. Cover design by Bootstrap Designs.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Eleanor

  “Down on your belly!” Eleanor demanded, snapping her whip with a practiced flick of the wrist and doing her best to pretend she wasn’t way out of her league.

  “Make me.” The man who knelt before her whispered the words, but that didn’t make them any less menacing. Even at a low volume his voice was daunting. It smoothed over her skin and made her shiver.

  The voice alone would have been enough to make Eleanor sweat this job, even if the rest of this guy weren’t completely intimidating. Which it was, every enormous inch, from his bald head to the tips of his toes. Sweat rolled off his bare shoulders—his broad, muscled, dominant-looking shoulders. His were deltoids that never should have seen the inside of a BDSM club, at least not from the submissive side of the fence.

  He looked powerful enough to pick her up and snap her spine like a twig, and mean enough to enjoy it.

  Eleanor swallowed and tried to remember that domination was at least seventy-five percent mental. Too bad something about this man made her mind feel about as wimpy as her decidedly un-buff biceps.

  Pull yourself together, woman, and give the man what he came for. You’re The Wicked Stepmother. Start acting like it.

  “Don’t cross me, slave.” Each word was a warning to her submissive: he would abandon control now, or spend eternity suffering her wrath.

  Or at least the next fifty minutes. He had paid for the hour, and Eleanor didn’t believe in cheating her customers. She might be The Wicked Stepmother, but she had a business to run, and a business didn’t thrive on unsatisfied clients.

  Still, she wished she could let this one go, simply send him on his merry way without a spanking or nipple torture or a hot wax treatment or whatever else he’d had in mind.

  God, she was sick of all of it, every last bit of kink, and even sicker of the whiny, clingy men who made use of her unique services. Still, the man in front of her had her wishing for the usual obedient, boot-licking client. She was a dominatrix by necessity, not by calling, and had never felt like more of a fraud than she did tonight.

  “I’d rather not,” Baldy said in that voice that dared her to show him what she was made of.

  “Less back talk, more groveling!” There, that had sounded intimidating.

  “Groveling?” He grunted then, just once, and a smile quirked at the edges of his full mouth.

  What was that grunt supposed to mean? And the smile?

  What was she going to do with this man, this giant who seemed to see through her façade like a pair of see-through panties? From the second he’d entered the room he had assessed her and found her lacking. It was as if he could sense her fear.

  Even worse, those blue eyes that roved brazenly over her body seemed to recognize that he affected her in other, more…primal ways.

  Her nipples tightened under his gaze, and her breath grew shallow.

  She bit her lip. She wasn’t aroused by this man, she couldn’t be, wouldn’t be. She did not feel a tightening low in her belly, and her panties weren’t suspiciously damp.

  “So what happens when you don’t get your way?” His gaze flicked from her breasts to her eyes and back to her breasts with an air of careless entitlement.

  Damn.

  Who was she kidding? She hadn’t been this hot for a man in longer than she could remember. Her sex-starved body was screaming for satisfaction, preferably from this man’s thick cock.

  “On your belly. Last chance,” Eleanor said, willing her voice to stop quivering, and her thighs as well.

  She wasn’t a trembling virgin, for God’s sake. Her thighs hadn’t quivered for over a decade. It was embarrassing.

  And completely exciting.

  She’d never felt the urge to play the submissive role before, but she couldn’t deny the thought of this stranger overpowering her aroused as much as it alarmed. What would it be like to have those large, calloused hands on her body, demanding that she bend to his will or suffer the erotic consequences?

  Would he kiss her? Stroke her? Or simply bend her over the side of the couch and ram into her from behind?

  If he were as well endowed as he looked in his slave’s loincloth, it would hurt to be penetrated without any foreplay, make her pussy sting and burn as she climaxed. She had no doubt she would be drunk with satisfaction by the time he finished his relentless assault, her body weeping for more sweet, sensual pain.

  Who the hell are you, and what have you done with Eleanor?

  Eleanor struggled to listen to her outraged inner voice and remember that she didn’t like pain with her pleasure. She ignored both the rush of heat between her legs and the way her sensitized nipples tightened until it was torture to feel them brush against the leather of
her corset.

  “You’re shaking,” her client said, his voice soft and husky, almost as if he knew where her thoughts had been headed a moment before. “Are you all right?”

  Was she all right?

  God no, she wasn’t all right. She wasn’t going to be all right until she was naked and pinned beneath him. His voice seemed to offer that relief, if only she would break and show him the real woman behind The Wicked Stepmother.

  Never, not in a million years.

  The real Eleanor never showed her face at work, and she wasn’t about to start now, not for a cocky man without the sense to play by the rules. He should never have come in here, not with his obvious contempt for a female Domme.

  She would give him one last chance to play nice, and then she was finished with him. This was her place of business and she called the shots.

  “Silence. Now.”

  His brows lifted. “I’ll say it again—make me.”

  She threw up her hands. “That’s it. We’re finished. It’s obvious you’re not taking this seriously.” She turned to leave—a part of her relieved to have an easy out—but was stopped by an impossibly large hand closing around her wrist.

  “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “Get your hands off of me,” she demanded. Her arm looked absurdly tiny when engulfed by his fist, but his touch didn’t frighten her.

  No, it didn’t scare her; it sent a sharp bolt of desire sweeping over her skin and zinging straight to her clit.

  Hell, yes. This was what she wanted.

  She wanted him to grab her, take her, force her to succumb to the need that filled her. She wanted her clothes ripped from her body until she was laid bare and completely exposed to the man who would conquer her. A mental image of herself, tied to her four-poster bed, her legs spread wide, flew through Eleanor’s mind.

  She fought to suppress a moan and wrenched at her wrist again. She couldn’t stay in the same room with this man for another minute. He was making her crave things that she had never imagined she would enjoy, and it was starting to seriously mess with her mind.

  “You have to stay,” he said.

  “I d-don’t have to do anything,” she stammered. “I’m the Mistress here, and—”

  “Then show me. Show me, Eleanor.”

  Eleanor’s jaw dropped open, the shock of hearing him use her real name finally bringing her to her senses. He wasn’t even pretending to play by the rules anymore. In light of current events, it was madness to stay a second longer.

  She had to get him out of here, before it was too late.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Eleanor

  “Let me go, now!” She brought her whip down on his arm—hard—but the damn man didn’t even blink.

  Fear conquering all other emotion, Eleanor brought the whip down again and again, finally landing a blow to the giant’s shoulder that made him hiss and release her wrist.

  She stumbled back, teetering on her heels. She was free, and she knew she should make a run for it, but she was paralyzed by the sight of blood welling in the cut she’d made. She had never drawn blood before—ever—and the sight sent a wave of self-loathing washing through her.

  It only made it worse that he hadn’t fought back. Sure, he’d held onto her arm, but he hadn’t hurt her or even tried to block her blows.

  “Are you finished?” His words were tight and controlled. He hadn’t flinched when she’d struck him and now, as the cut on the top of his shoulder began to ooze, he remained calm, in total possession of himself.

  Eleanor, however, was suddenly feeling sick, her stomach roiling inside her leather corset. She watched with mounting panic as a drop of red hit the floor. “You’re bleeding.”

  “I am.”

  “I hurt you.” Her throat went tight and her stupid thighs began to shake in earnest as another droplet joined the first on the white carpet.

  “You didn’t intend to bleed me?”

  “No.”

  “You lost control.” The words were soft and compassionate, making her feel even guiltier for what she’d done.

  “No, I…” She let her words trail off, unable to think of the right thing to say.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen; she wasn’t really supposed to hurt people. It was a game, a farce, an elaborate way to capitalize on the bad reputation she hated.

  But there on the carpet…

  That was real blood and it sickened her all the way down to the tips of her spiked heels. It was proof of what she feared most, that Eleanor Emily Argent Rella was getting lost inside the Wicked Stepmother role she played four days and five nights a week. The woman she’d been, the woman she wanted to be, both were becoming irrevocably changed and she hated it, more than she hated anything.

  Even being poor as a church mouse.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Get up.”

  “What?”

  “Stand up and leave. Please.” Her voice was thick with emotion and the beginnings of tears. “I’m sorry, but you need to go.”

  Shit, she was losing it, really losing it.

  Eleanor let the whip slip from her hands and crossed to the window that looked out on a sea of city lights and the castle far in the distance. There, the girl responsible for her misery reigned as the new queen. The unfairness of it washed over Eleanor, a thick wave of bitterness she feared she might eventually drown in.

  She covered her face with her hands and struggled to draw long, even breaths, to surface from the despair that threatened to level her where she stood.

  “It’s only been ten minutes,” the man said. She heard him rising to his feet and could feel the surge of energy released as he let his powerful presence fill the room.

  “Please, you need to leave,” she whispered again, keeping her back to him, not trusting her voice or her face not to give her away. She was ten seconds from an emotional breakdown and she couldn’t allow that to happen in front of a client.

  Business was already slow. If word got out that the Wicked Stepmother had broken down and cried like a baby after failing to dominate a submissive…

  Well, she could handle being poor, but jail was not an appealing destination, especially not the jail that Cindy would find for her.

  The second Eleanor failed to make one of her restitution payments her stepdaughter would throw her in the deepest, darkest dungeon in the kingdom. Eleanor had barely met last month’s deadline and was still five hundred dollars short this month. She had to hold it together and make sure her regular slaves kept coming to visit, bringing their money with them.

  “If you stop by the front desk,” she said. “I’ll make sure they refund your donation.”

  “You don’t have to do that. We can still—”

  “No, we can’t.” She sniffed hard. “It didn’t work out. It’s okay. It happens.”

  “I thought you could use the business.”

  “I don’t care about the business. I need you to go. Now.” Eleanor tried to make her voice icy and distant, struggling to conceal the panic that was making it increasingly harder to breathe.

  She had dropped her persona and now she didn’t know if she could get it back. She felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with her barely there hot pants. She needed this man to leave and give her time alone to rebuild her Wicked Stepmother façade before her midnight appointment.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he said stubbornly.

  “Please,” she begged, tears sliding down her cheeks. “Just go.”

  “Throw me out. Show me what you’re made of,” he said. “Come on, Eleanor, you’ve got a reputation for eating men alive.”

  She didn’t respond. She simply squeezed her eyes closed and silently begged for him to leave, or for the floor to open up and swallow her whole. Either would satisfy at this point.

  “But maybe you’ve bitten off more than you can chew,” he added, the taunt in his voice finally pushing her over the edge.

  “You’re right, I have. Is that what you want
to hear?” Eleanor spun to face him, defeated, not even bothering to wipe away the tears that were no doubt making long black trails down her face. “Is that what it will take for you to leave?”

  A strangled laugh escaped her lips as she looked at the man in front of her. If she had to lose it in front of someone, at least it was a guy like this. People might cut her a little slack. It would take a hell of a dominatrix to take care of Big Baldy, as she’d dubbed him when he first walked in the door.

  She had hoped the nickname would help her take him a little less seriously.

  No such luck.

  Seeing him standing, she guessed he was at least six-foot-four and weighed in at double her own one hundred and thirty pounds. His head was completely shaved, but his impressively muscled chest and tree trunk legs sported a healthy growth of coarse, reddish-brown hair, a testament to the testosterone no doubt surging through his body. Big Baldy was imposing all the way around, from his huge hands to his ice-blue eyes to the way his bare toes curled into the carpet. Even the cream loincloth the girls at the front desk had given him couldn’t make him look ridiculous.

  Instead, the damn thing allowed him to showcase the perfection of his body. He was composed of pure muscle, with a chiseled face as striking as the rest of him. He was a damn attractive man, more attractive than any lover she’d ever had. He probably had a different woman in his bed every night, all more than willing to fulfill his desires free of charge.

  But it wasn’t his physical presence or stud factor alone that cowed her. It was the commanding note in his voice and the aura of dominance that radiated in the air around him. It had intimidated and aroused her from the second she had met his eyes. He was the only Dominant in this room, and they both knew it.

  What’s worse, she wanted him, and they both knew that too. She was an idiot to have thought she could top him, to even have had the guts to try.

  “Listen, I—”

  “You’re crying.” Baldy’s gaze softened, but his unexpected compassion only made her want to sob harder.