Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Sighing, Tiffany scrutinized her surroundings to make sure everything she’d bought on her shopping trip yesterday had been put away and her bedroom was in perfect order.
Tidiness was one of the things Master Cordell had insisted upon when she’d moved into the small cottage on his property about a month before he’d been shot.
After they’d been in a no-sex D/s relationship for a few weeks, the apartment next to hers had been burglarized.
That had been the third one in the complex.
Instead of letting Tiffany renew her lease, Sir had given her the use of his guest house.
Apparently, it’d been where the mother of one of the former owners had lived.
With a single bedroom, small working kitchen, and living/dining room combo, it was the same size as her former place and all she needed.
At first, she’d been hesitant to accept Sir’s offer, since she’d only known him for a few weeks, but after talking it over with Mitch, Ty, and Tori, Tiffany had relented.
To be honest, she’d been uneasy at the thought of remaining where she’d been with all the break-ins and the noise from the apartment upstairs.
Depending on the night of the week, the couple who lived there had either been fighting or banging the hell out of each other.
More than once, Tiffany had been woken up after midnight by them.
At one time, it’d been a nice complex, but that had slowly changed over the past three years as old tenants had moved out and new ones moved in.
If Sir hadn’t extended his invitation, she probably would’ve looked for another place to live, since there was no way she would ask her mother if she could move back in with her.
No way, no how. Not while her mother’s asshole husband still lived there.
Regina Armstrong had horrible taste in men and was currently on spouse number five.
And those were the ones she’d actually married—there’d been three others whom she’d been engaged to but had never made it down the aisle with.
Tiffany had always wished her mother would one day realize her self-respect was worth more than having a guy on her arm or in her bed.
Huh. Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black, Tiff?
She told her inner conscience to shut up.
So, she also hadn’t had luck with the men in her life.
It was probably because she hadn’t exactly had a good role model growing up.
It amazed her how different her mother was from her sister, Tori’s mom.
Aunt Christine was a sweet, smart, and strong woman who owned a small chain of combination hair salons and beauty supply stores in Florida.
She’d been married only once, to Tori’s father, and had been widowed only a few short years ago.
Had she gone out looking for husband number two before the corpse was cold?
Nope, that was only something Regina would’ve done.
A buzzer in the kitchen sounded a moment before Tiffany heard her name being called through the intercom that was connected to the main house. She hurried into the other room and pressed the button on the device. “Yes, Sir?”
“Report to my office, pet, and present for me.”
Her heart rate speed up, and she felt her pussy grow wet, like it always did when he issued a command in that deep, dark voice of his, which just seemed to rumble right through her.
Too bad Sir wasn’t attracted to her. Well, he didn’t seem to be.
They still had a no-sex contract, and damn it, she wished he would ask to renegotiate it, because she truly craved the man.
The Dom. The one who could make her knees go weak with just a glance and not because it made her afraid.
No, definitely not afraid, at least most of the time.
His intense stares made her want to do anything and everything he ordered her to do.
Unfortunately, sex was never on the list. Yes, he’d gotten her off numerous times, but only during play and while using his mouth, fingers, or toys.
Never with his cock, and she was dying to know what that felt like.
“Yes, Sir.” Sliding her feet into her sandals, she left her keys and phone behind.
With all the security measures the Las Vegas PD lieutenant had on the property, she didn’t need to lock her front door unless she was going out somewhere and Sir wasn’t going to be home.
As for her cell phone, that wasn’t allowed when they were in D/s mode.
At the very beginning of their contract, Sir had gotten aggravated with all the interruptions from Tiffany’s family and friends.
He’d said he wouldn’t have minded if most of them hadn’t been walking all over her.
As much as she hated to admit it, he’d been right.
A majority of the phone calls had to do with her watching her friends’ kids, loaning them gas money, running errands for them, and many other things they’d promised to reimburse her for and never did.
She’d always had a hard time saying no to them and was kind of grateful Sir didn’t have that problem.
If he were around when someone wanted her to do them a favor, 99% of the time he’d say no for her.
At first, her family and friends had been taken aback by the man they’d thought was her boyfriend—it’d just been easier to tell them that, and Sir had agreed—but it wasn’t long before he’d won almost all of them over.
The ones he hadn’t seemed to impress were those who’d used her the most. When they’d realized the immovable, brick wall blocking their way wouldn’t bend or cave, they’d dropped Tiffany flat and moved on to someone else they could use.
Tiffany had been surprised when she’d realized she didn’t miss a single one of them.
Mitch had told her he’d carefully vetted Cordell Roberts before asking him to take her under his wing.
She’d been in such a bad place after breaking her contract with Master—no, she wasn’t allowed to call him Master anymore.
Bruce Whitlow had been her first full-time Dom, and he’d insisted on a Master/slave relationship.
In the beginning, he’d charmed her, and she’d fallen for it.
What Tiffany hadn’t realized at the time was that there were many people out there who called themselves Doms or Dommes, yet they didn’t have a clue what that really meant.
Some people used the lifestyle as an excuse to treat others poorly and abuse them—mentally, physically, and/or emotionally.
While Bruce’s physical abuse never amounted to anything serious—he’d never broken any of her bones—he’d done a number on her psyche to go with the bruises he’d left on her skin.
By the time she’d figured out the relationship hadn’t been healthy for her, she’d been too scared to try to leave him.
Thankfully, a Domme at the club they’d belonged to, Indigo, had seen what was happening and how depressed Tiffany had grown.
Mistress Rayanna had furtively stepped in and helped Tiffany move out of Bruce’s house when he’d been out of town on a business trip.
The Domme hadn’t wanted to get in trouble for interfering with another club Dominant and his submissive, since that was frowned upon in many lifestyle circles, and Tiffany had gladly kept her secret.
After letting herself in the back door to the main house, she sidestepped Eastwood who was splayed out on the kitchen floor.
Sir had rescued the gray cat on the side of Las Vegas Boulevard one night while investigating a fatal accident three years ago.
When no one had claimed the four-month-old kitten, he’d apparently claimed the lieutenant as his forever human, who’d named him after his favorite actor, Clint Eastwood.
Tiffany removed her sandals, shirt, and capris, folding the garments neatly and setting them on a stool at the kitchen island.
That was her routine every time Sir called her into the house, unless he stated otherwise.
Clad only in her blue, lacy bra and matching thong, she padded down the hall toward his office, with Eastwood hot on her heels.
When she reached the closed door, she knocked and waited for Sir to respond.
“Enter.”
Tiffany turned the doorknob and pushed before stepping inside and shutting the door behind her again.
As usual, Eastwood was quick and scooted in with her, so he could take his favorite spot in a bay window overlooking the side yard.
Without a word, Tiffany moved to the center of the room, in front of Sir’s desk, and gracefully sank to her knees onto a pillow that was always there.
Her eyes were downcast as she presented herself to her Dom.
Back straight. Head bowed. Hands on her thighs, palms up.
Ass resting on her heels. She mentally inspected her positioning to make certain it was perfect and would please her Sir.
Again, she waited. Long ago, she’d learned that Sir took his time whenever they were in D/s mode, which was more often than not.
He would not be rushed. As he tapped away on his computer keyboard, Tiffany took a deep breath and let it out slowly, calming her nerves.
She still got antsy whenever he summoned her.
With Bruce, she’d never known when he would fly off the handle because of something she’d done, hadn’t done, or said.
Even after all these months, she worried that Sir would start yelling and use a cane on her ass and thighs because she’d screwed up.
However, Sir never yelled. At least not at Tiffany.
That didn’t mean she hadn’t earned her fair share of punishments from him.
But any transgressions on her part always resulted in spankings or non-physical discipline like standing in a corner for twenty or thirty minutes or public embarrassment at Club Domain, the private lifestyle club they belonged to.