To Master and Defend (The Dungeon Fantasy Club Book 2) Read online

  In a weak moment, she spied his black shirt in a puddle on the floor and stuffed it inside her purse as a memento for the night. One that would go in the annals of her record books as the best sex of her life.

  With a single backward glance at his gorgeous, sleeping form, splayed out on the couch, she blew him a kiss he would never see, and left his loft. She took the same route he had used to bring her up here, exiting into the club, which was still going strong even at this late hour.

  Ophelia departed Dungeon Pleasures, sliding into a waiting cab, heading back to her real life in Burbank. It wasn't until the cab lurched away from the curb that she realized she didn't even know his name.

  *****

  Tobias Ford woke to an insistent knock on his door. He sat up, assessing his surroundings. Finding himself alone and half naked on his couch didn't bode well. His brain was foggy from his orgasm hangover. God, his wounded little bird had been a sweet piece, one he wanted another taste of as soon as he sent whoever had chosen to disturb him this time of night away.

  "Just a minute," he grumbled, standing and stuffing himself back inside his pants. He'd never gotten around to taking them off all the way—he'd been in too much of a hurry to slide inside her slick pussy. He rarely ever lost his control during sex. He'd learned through years of training, just like with his military background, how to hold off his own pleasure until he'd brought a sub her release. Tonight had been an amalgam. She'd set his soul on fire with her pouty, trembling lips, large, sad doe eyes, and killer body. She'd surprised him with her boldness, something he didn't think she normally was, and he'd allowed her to set the tone initially. He hadn't counted on her driving him wild with those two little words. Her breath had hitched when she'd asked him fuck her; like she'd been terrified he'd turn away from her. He'd heard the words before, but never had they been uttered by such an innocent, nor brought forth his protective Dom urges in quite that way. He'd needed to possess her then, brand her so that no man would ever quite leave their mark on her the way he did.

  He shuffled to the door. Where was his little visitor, anyway? Bathroom maybe?

  He yanked open the door with a yawn and his club shift manager, Bret, stood there with the deposit bag. Tobias liked Bret. He was a good manager, a patient, gay Dom who was always smartly dressed, and a softy when it came to women in need.

  "We took in a larger haul tonight, boss, and since you were finally free, I wanted to drop it with you," Bret said, grinning with a knowing glance; bro code for, 'Dude, you got some, sweet!'

  "What do you mean since I'm finally free?" Alarm bells sounded in Tobias's brain.

  Bret replied, "Our little damsel in distress, mon enfant, the one you rescued earlier, left the club about fifteen minutes ago."

  She was gone. Why that should bother him, he wasn't sure. Normally he'd be happy he didn't have to make small talk with a woman he never planned on seeing again. He typically avoided spending more than a night with one woman. He preferred variety and, more than that, remaining unattached. That way he didn't have to worry about having one of his episodes and scaring, or worse, physically harming them. His PTSD on bad nights could be brutal, and Tobias hadn't allowed himself to get close to anyone since his ex had walked out on him four years prior.

  "Ah, I see." Tobias ignored the question in Bret's eyes. He was not going to talk about his interlude that evening. He had never even gotten her name, and now his sexy little wounded bird had flown the coop. Son of a bitch. He could still taste her sweetness, a blend of honey and vanilla, on his tongue, and craved more.

  "Thank you, Bret. I'll get it done in the morning." He slammed the door on his sputtering manager. Tonight had been the first night since he had returned from the Middle East on which he had not woken up sweating with images of blood, bombs, and bodies—and he knew, deep down, that his little bird was surely the cause.

  Even if he had to move heaven and earth, he would find her.

  Chapter Two

  Mid-October

  How could it be positive?

  The display on the pregnancy test confirmed Ophelia's worst fear. She was pregnant. As in: she was now a statistic in the unwed mothers category.

  Well, that's what happens to women who have sex without protection.

  She groaned. They hadn't even used a condom for pity's sake. Who in the twenty-first century didn't use condoms during sex? She did, that's who. She couldn't even wrap her brain around the potential STDs she could have caught with her carelessness, and she'd never even considered the possibility that she could get pregnant. It hadn't even been on her radar. She wasn't on the pill because it didn't tend to agree with her system—and, let's face it, that night had been the first time in roughly two years that she'd had sex. While it had been a bizarre night from start to finish, she'd never done anything so stupid in her life. Ophelia didn't even know his name, and now she was carrying his child.

  For all her bookish brains, when it came to real life outside of eighteenth century literature, Ophelia was lost. How could she have let this happen? All of her well thought out plans, her dreams for her life went up in smoke as she stared at the screen that blared she was pregnant. She'd need an income that wasn't the pitiful stipend she was paid through the university that helped her afford her education. She'd have to find him, tell him that he was going to be a father. Maybe learn his name, see if he wanted to be a part of his child's life.

  Well, it seemed she had made a decision, after all. She was keeping her baby.

  The room spun in dizzying circles. Putting her head down, Ophelia concentrated on breathing air into her lungs slow and deep, just like in her yoga classes. She had no idea what to do. Shouldn't an expectant mother know what to do? Her sister, Zoey, would know. Zoey always knew what the next step should be. That trait was something that Ophelia was sadly lacking in.

  "Sweetie pie? What's going on? Why didn't you answer the door? I'm lucky I still have my spare key—what's the matter? Did something happen to Zoey?" Lucy Martin, her sister's best friend since high school, who treated Ophelia like her kid sister, was standing in the door frame entrance to the bathroom dressed in her latest Hollywood designer clothes. The woman seriously should have been a model. At five nine, with a willowy figure, and natural cherry red hair, her riot of untamed curls spilling mid-way down her back, Lucy looked like she had stepped from the latest fashion magazine. Today she was dressed in her finest hippy-chic-meets-office couture.

  "No, Zoey's fine as far as I know. It's nothing." Ophelia wanted to stand and convince Lucy that everything was fine. Whether she believed it or not, maybe if she acted like it was all right, it would be, eventually.

  Lucy actually squealed when she spied the test on the counter. "You're pregnant?"

  "So it would seem," Ophelia responded with a slight grimace. She hadn't been ready to tell anyone yet other than her sister. Although telling Lucy was almost like telling Zoey, in a way. While Lucy wasn't blood, she was family. Now that someone knew, it made the pregnancy even more real. Baby—her baby! The room swam as moisture filled her eyes. She worried her bottom lip as Lucy knelt in front of her, sitting on the bathroom commode. The normally cheerful canary yellow bathroom felt too bright, too intrusive in the harsh light of Ophelia's discovery.

  "Do you want to talk about it? Does the father know?" Lucy clasped her hands in a sign of solidarity and support.

  "Not really, I'm still in shock. And how could he know, when I only just found out?" Ophelia bit out and then was instantly ashamed. Her fears were no reason to snap Lucy's head off when she was offering support.

  "Sorry, I just thought—" Lucy fumbled.

  "No, I'm sorry, with everything that's going on and with Zoey in Scotland for another two days, I'm glad I have you to talk to. I just need Zoey to return, and a few days to sort this out, is all." Ophelia gave her best half-hearted grin, attempting to pretend like she was okay. Even though they both knew she wasn't well in the slightest.

  "Who's the father anyway, will you
tell him?" Lucy inquired, curiosity blazing in her emerald eyes.

  "I don't want to go into that. I will, but I need a few days. Please, can we change the subject?" The last thing Ophelia wanted to admit to Lucy was that she didn't know the father's name. Granted, she had an idea of where she could find him, although she didn't know where she'd find the gumption to show up on his doorstep. That was a problem for another day… not only was it embarrassing that she had no idea as to the name of her child's father, other than he was the most devilishly attractive man she'd ever encountered, but it made her feel ashamed that she had been so free with herself and put a blight on what she had considered—until five minutes ago—to be one of the best nights of her life. She just hadn't expected the free gift with purchase growing in her uterus. Besides, what if she showed up on his doorstep and he didn't remember her? She wasn't sure what could be worse than that, not even the unexpected pregnancy. Ever since their magical interlude, she'd started wearing his black shirt every night to sleep in. She was pathetic. What woman took a shirt from a man she'd had a one-night stand with, and then proceeded to wear it at night so she could smell him?

  Lucy yanked Ophelia into a mammoth hug and she leaned into the comfort. "You know I'm here for you, whatever you decide, Lia. Oh god, this means I'm going to be an aunt! What fun!"

  "Yeah, for you," Ophelia snorted, untangling herself from Lucy's hug. "I'm going to get fat! So, did you come by just to intrude on my pity party for one?"

  "Oh, yeah, that. No, I got a weird message from your sister this morning, saying she's staying in Scotland. Have you heard from her?"

  "What?" Zoey couldn't stay in Scotland. Not now when Ophelia needed her more than ever before. She couldn't do this baby thing on her own. What if the father didn't want anything to do with their baby? Or, worse, turned out to be a self-righteous asshole? Who would help her with Lamaze classes, or help her decorate the nursery, or hold her hand in the delivery room?

  "Yeah. That's the message I received from her this morning. She hasn't returned my frantic and over-eager return calls, either. Have you heard from her lately? Did you receive any messages from her, or hear any more than I have about this Declan guy?" Lucy asked.

  "Let me check my phone." Ophelia left the bathroom, almost sprinting toward the kitchen. Skitters of fear raced along her spine, her stomach doing somersaults over this latest development. Entering the kitchen, the cheerful white and blue seaside décor was a reminder of the remodel she and Zoey had done two years ago. They'd laughed and had a bit of a paint war but it had been a nice upgrade from the eighties color scheme. Where the hell had she put her phone? She thought she had laid it on the counter when she came in from the drugstore with her bag. She'd been so caught up in her need to know whether she was pregnant that she hadn't paid any attention to where she'd set the damn thing. Blowing out a pent-up breath, Ophelia located her cell. It lay haphazardly on top of the pile of mail she'd tossed on the counter in her mad dash to prove to herself she wasn't expecting. Oh, how wrong she had been.

  Sure enough, she'd missed a call from Zoey that morning. Pressing the messages, she listened in disbelief.

  "Hey sis, listen, I know I was supposed to be coming home in forty-eight hours or so, but Declan's asked me to stay with him a while longer, and I decided I'm going to. Hope all is well on the home front. Know that I love you and we'll talk soon about things," Zoey's voice said.

  Ophelia's sister was abandoning her. Her knees wobbled and she gripped the countertop. She needed her sister in the worst way, and all of a sudden she had decided to go AWOL.

  "What was the name of the airline Zoey used last minute? And did she tell you where this guy lives; I can't remember the name of the place," Ophelia asked Lucy. She would be on a flight tomorrow if she could find one with an available seat. She had a little inheritance stashed away from her parents. It wouldn't hurt to use a tiny portion for airfare. The rest she'd use for her child when the time came. Who knew what this guy had done to convince her sister to abandon her family? Ophelia was headed on a rescue mission to bring Zoey back stateside. As far as she was concerned, Scotland was hostile territory, and she was certain that once Zoey saw her, she would come to her senses.

  "Mullardoch Manor, and why?" Lucy cocked an eyebrow as she studied Ophelia with concern lacing her voice. Ophelia knew she meant well, but in this case, retrieving her sister was the only course of action in her book.

  "Because I'm flying to Scotland and bringing Zoey home." And that was that as far as she was concerned.

  *****

  A mere seventy-two hours later, after a harrowing forty hours of flights, layovers and delays, where Ophelia discovered some of the joys of impending motherhood, like 'how to have morning sickness at thirty-eight thousand feet', and 'how little turbulence agrees with morning sickness,' she finally stepped off the train at Inverness. At least the train ride had been a pleasant experience that had given her an opportunity to see some of Scotland. So, other than being more bone weary than she'd ever felt before, and a quite bit frazzled wondering how her sister would react to Ophelia appearing at her boyfriend's house with every intention of dragging her back home and away from him, everything was just dandy. It wasn't that she had anything against him per se—other than he'd somehow managed to convince her ultra-responsible sister to abandon her home and the people who loved her.

  What had seemed like such a great idea when she and Lucy had booked the last minute travel arrangements, felt a bit overdone now that Ophelia was standing on Scottish soil. She didn't know what was wrong with her lately, only that the choices she was making were indeed questionable. Maybe she could chalk it up to being hormonal, not that she could blame the one-night stand on that, but she was too spent to precisely care about blurred lines of blame.

  Ophelia dragged her wheeled luggage out to the curb, after a brief stop in the ladies' room to freshen up, where she'd even broken out her make-up kit so she could hide the dark circles that had formed under her eyes. It made her feel better than she no longer looked like something a cat had dragged in from the garden. At least this way, with the upcoming confrontation she was certain would happen, Ophelia would at least appear like she had her stuff together. She found a cab that would take her on the hour-long drive all the way to Mullardoch Manor. She wasn't going to think about the cost of the taxi, not right now. The money didn't matter if it meant seeing her sister and convincing her to come home with her.

  Scotland was breathtaking. Ophelia had never had a hankering for wanting to visit the country the way her sister had, even with her love of literature, but she immediately understood why Zoey was so taken by the country. Rolling green hills abutted snowcapped mountains. Fields of heather and wild flowers abounded. Soaring stone architecture dating back to Robert the Bruce stood interspersed with modern housing along cobbled streets. It fit her sister; the wild, untamed beauty of the place. Ophelia stiffened with each passing mile to her destination as the dichotomy of what she was about to attempt settled in her bones. She tried to convince herself that she had nothing to worry about; that Zoey would see the light of day with her appearance here and come home. Her plane ticket was open-ended standby for the return flights, which meant she could leave whenever she needed to. Lucy was set to book a flight for next week, just in case Ophelia needed reinforcements.

  Another graduate student would oversee Ophelia's workload at the university this week. While she didn't love Mary Masterson, and on more than one occasion had wondered how she had made it as far as she had in the collegiate system, she was willing to step in on a moment's notice, which made her an invaluable asset.

  One that Ophelia would likely have to rely on toward the end of the spring semester, if her baby came early. She prayed it would be an easy, no fuss pregnancy. Her gynecologist had squeezed her in for a last minute appointment before she had left Los Angeles. Having her doctor confirm her condition, scheduling her for an ultrasound in a few weeks, and prescribing prenatal vitamins had made her anxiety
rise more than was probably good for the baby. Ophelia was seven weeks along, confirming what she'd already known, that her incredible one-night stand had left a far greater and more long lasting mark upon her than she'd originally believed. The doctor had given her a late May due date.

  That was something, at least. Hopefully, as long as she didn't go into labor prematurely, Ophelia could finish the school year with only her thesis to finish the following year. She didn't know how she'd accomplish it, but knew she wasn't the only woman to give birth and go to college. If others could do it, she could, too. Once she had her master's she could get hired on as a full-time adjunct professor while she worked on her PhD. It would be tough and would take her much longer to write her dissertation than she'd originally planned, but she would adjust as needed.

  She had no choice but to discuss the situation with her advisor when she returned from Scotland. She and Zoey would have to talk over the living arrangements at home, as well. When their parents had died six years ago, both sisters had been too raw to even consider one of them using their parents' bedroom. Instead, they had quietly agreed and had kept the same bedrooms they had grown up in. Granted, the boy band posters and dolls had given way to much more grown up décor over the years, but not much else had changed in the house. They had redone the kitchen, but much of it had been out of necessity when both the refrigerator and ancient stove quit working the same week. Zoey had been dating that contractor, what's his face, at the time, and he had helped them rip out the old cabinets and flooring, giving it a thorough redo. But everything else, even the paint choices, had stayed the same. Maybe they had become too stagnant in their refusal to use that room. Thinking back on it, they had turned the house into more of a shrine to their parents' lives than done anything to make it theirs, but with Ophelia's impending motherhood on the horizon, maybe it was time they moved out of the past and overhauled their system a bit. Of course, there wasn't a day that passed when she didn't miss her mom and dad, but she had to consider how that would affect her child.