Master Key Resort: A Novella Read online

  By the manner in which the man had asked the question, Cordell suspected Mitch already knew what he wanted to ask and had the answer at the ready. “What about Tiffany?”

  Mitch and Ty exchanged a look before the latter grinned and said, “You owe me a hundred bucks. Told you he was falling for her.”

  Well, apparently, Cordell hadn’t been as taciturn as he thought he’d been when it came to his feelings about his current submissive. Not that he cared if anyone else knew, he just didn’t want Tiffany to know yet. When the time was right, he’d make his intentions quite clear to her. He wanted to make sure her feelings for him were mutual, and not just because he was the first long-term Dom she’d had that’d treated her right.

  “If Tiffany wants to relocate with you, we’ll have plenty of jobs at the resort for her to choose from. She can stay in the third cottage—”

  “She’ll stay in mine.” That is, if he could convince her to make the move with him, provided he decided to take the job. The last thing he was willing to do was to start over without her. She’d brightened his world these last few months and had helped nurse him back to health after the shooting—something he’d told her she didn’t have to do.

  Ty chuckled. “Make that two hundred you owe me, babe.”

  “Fine,” Mitch said to Cordell, ignoring his fiancé. “She stays with you. Any other questions?”

  Cordell couldn’t think of any off the top of his head, but he was sure he’d have plenty after reading through the file. “Not at the moment. Just when do you need my answer?”

  “Is a week long enough to think about it?”

  A single week to decide whether he wanted to leave the area he’d lived in since he’d been born to relocate to the Florida Keys, hopefully with Tiffany, to start a new life? Well, there wasn’t much holding him there, except the sweet, little submissive he dreamed about at night.

  “A week is doable.” Lifting his glass, he made a silent toast to the two men, not letting on he was ninety percent sure what his answer would be.

  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 fingers or toys. Never with his mouth or cock, and she was dying to know what both 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 clu
b they’d belonged to, Silk, 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 or public embarrassment at Club Domain, the private lifestyle club they belonged to.

  Technically, Mitch had secured Tiffany’s membership for an entire year because there was no way she could’ve afforded it on her income. Working as a cage cashier at the Golden Nugget Casino paid well enough for her to cover her rent—before she’d moved into the guest house, since Sir didn’t collect rent from her—her car payment and insurance, utilities, and other expenses. But after all that, it wouldn’t have made a dent in the membership fees at an elite BDSM club. In fact, she wasn’t certain what was going to happen in five months when her year was up. Without paying rent, she’d be able to extend her membership by another year, but that would wipe out her savings.

  Sir stood suddenly and rounded the desk to take a seat in the guest chair in front of Tiffany. He crossed one leg over the opposite knee. A shiver ran down her spine as she felt his gaze roam her body. She knew she was imagining it heating her skin, but that didn’t stop her nipples from pebbling and her clit from throbbing in response.

  “Eyes on me, little one.”

  Lifting her gaze, she took in the man before her. Even if she hadn’t been in the lifestyle, she would’ve recognized his commanding presence. Maybe it was because of his police training and experience. Maybe he’d just been born with it. But wherever he’d gotten it, she definitely responded to it.

  Sir stood six feet three and had a lean, muscular body that made most women drool. Tiffany loved when he was shirtless while working in the yard or swimming in his pool. At the club, he usually wore snug T-shirts or just a leather vest, and while they showed off his toned physique, she still preferred him not to cover his chest and shoulders. He was what some people might call ruggedly good-looking. The sharp angles of his jawline and previously broken nose prevented him from being gorgeous by some women’s standards, but his personality and self-confidence made him all the more attractive to Tiffany. His electric blue eyes could go dark with anger, disappointment, or frustration, yet lighten with laughter, calm, and delight. When he was in a good mood, the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement and mischief. The mustache and goatee he’d grown out since being shot were kept neatly trimmed and matched the dark-brown hair on his head. A two-inch scar ran parallel to his right eyebrow, but Tiffany had never had the courage to ask him how he’d gotten it—or the broken nose—because it seemed too personal, and that was something their relationship wasn’t. Non-personal might seem odd for two people in a D/s contract, when one of them was currently kneeling on the floor in her underwear. But Tiffany had known going into this that Sir’s intent was to help her redefine the habits and feelings Bruce had instilled upon her over their two years together.

  “Did you have a good time with Tori yesterday?”

  Sir often asked her how her day had gone or other questions that made her feel like they were a couple, but then she had to remind herself they weren’t. “Yes, Sir, I did. I wish I got to see her more often. She’s my favorite cousin.”

  He smiled. “I kind of guessed that, since you’re on the phone with her a few times a week and you were thrilled to find out they were coming to visit.” There was a pause before he asked, “Did Tori tell you why they came to Vegas?”

  Tiffany blinked several times, uncertain what Sir was alluding to. “Um, I thought they just decided to take a mini-vacation.”

  “Well, that’s part of the reason they’re here. The other reason is to offer me a job as manager and resident Dom of a new lifestyle resort in the Florida Keys.”

  What? Why hadn’t Tori told me that? Sir was going to leave her, and Tiffany wasn’t ready for that to happen. She needed him. There were still times she fell back on old habits, and she was terrified she would never find a Dom who treated her like she should be treated. The way Ty and Mitch treated Tori. How Mistress Rayanna treated her submissive, Teagan. How Sir treated Tiffany. What would happen when he left her all alone? Would she fall for another abusive Dom like Bruce, who didn’t show her his evil side until she was too invested in the relationship to leave?

  “Tiffany!”

  She gasped at the bark, and her startled gaze met his. He didn’t seem mad, more like exasperated. She licked her dry lips before answering. “Yes, Sir?”

  “I asked you a question and received no response. Where did you just go in that pretty little head of yours?”

  Her breath caught in her throat. She felt like she was always disappointing him, although he rarely used that word with her. Frustrating—now that was a word he’d used quite often over the past seven months when she fell short of his expectations. “I’m—I’m sorry, Sir. I-I—”

  When he uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, reaching out, Tiffany flinched, and Sir froze, his hand in midair just an inch away from her face. “Little one, I thought we were past this. You should know by now I’ll never hit you in anger or displeasure—and neither of those apply to what I’m feeling at the moment. I only wanted to wipe away your tears. Why are you crying?”

  She hadn’t realized her eyes were watery and her cheeks wet until he’d mentioned it. “I—You’re leaving Vegas, Sir?”

  This time, when his fingers moved to touch her face, she didn’t shy away, letting him dry her cheeks and jaw. “I’m considering it, yes. But that doesn’t explain your tears. Tell me why you’re crying.”

  His tone told her he expected a truthful answer this time and would not accept anything less. “Will—will you find me anoth
er Dom be-before you leave?”

  Sir’s lips pursed together as he sat back in his chair. “So, you don’t want to move to Florida with me and take a job at the resort?”

  “What?” Her eyelids blinked rapidly again. What is he talking about?

  He sighed, then shook his head. “We need to work on your listening skills some more, pet. While you were zoned out on me, I said that Mitch is offering you any job you want at the resort, if you’d like to relocate there. If you do, we’ll maintain our contract until you’re ready to move on. If you don’t want to go to Florida, then, yes, I’ll start looking for a Dom I can entrust with you.”

  Move to Florida? With Sir? Work in a new resort? So close to Tori?

  “I told Mitch and Ty I’d have an answer for them by the end of the week, after I go through the very large file they gave me with all the plans for the resort. You have until then to tell me your choice. I don’t want you to make a rash decision— think about it carefully. If you have any questions, ask me. If I don’t know the answer, I’ll speak to Mitch and Ty and get one for you.”

  Tiffany swallowed hard. She wondered if Sir wanted her response to be yes, she wanted to go with him, or, no, she wanted to stay in Vegas and let him find her a new Dom. She had less than a week to figure it out. If she knew what he wanted, it would make it so much easier to decide. Her heart said to take the offer and move to Florida with Sir. Her mind told her it might be the biggest mistake she ever made.