Bound and Branded

Excerpt

Chapter One

Avery

There are two things that I’m certain of. The first is that every morning, no matter how tired I am, the sun is going to rise in the east and I’m going to have to get my ass out of bed to do the chores.

The second is that I hate Caleb Flynn.

I’m not exaggerating. It isn’t mild dislike. It’s the real deal. I burn with it. He’s my nemesis, and has been ever since he bought that big plot of land next to ours. Ever since he built that giant, ostentatious house that stands on top of the mountain looking down on us like we’re peasants and he’s the king.

Though, to him, I suppose that’s the reality.

I don’t like change, and the first strike against him was that he changed my daily view. No longer do I look up and see the unadulterated mountains, I also see his monstrosity of a house.

It’s a beautiful house, but that’s not the point. It’s different. I get to hate it.

The second strike against him was when he bought up one hundred acres of our property. He made my dad an offer he couldn’t refuse and my dad took it. I’m mad at my dad about it, too, don’t worry.

I’m fair with my hatred.

At least, I like to think so.

Since he bought up that hundred acres five years ago, he’s also bought fifty more. I’m struggling to keep things going while Dad refuses to give me total control, and this guy looming about all the time isn’t helping.

So when I come into the house at dinnertime and he’s there, the acid churn in my stomach doesn’t surprise me. Doesn’t even disturb me. It’s all the other feelings.

Because the problem is, even though I hate Caleb Flynn from the top of his cowboy hat down to the soles of his cowboy boots, he’s also as hot as the fires of the hell that I would like to send him to.

It doesn’t make any logical sense. It never has. I blame that night all those years ago. He did something to me. Changed something. Something I didn’t want changed.

As far as my daily life goes, I want to be in charge.

No, I need to be in charge.

For as long as I can remember, control has the most important thing in my life. Mainly because neither of my parents has any. I love my dad, but without me, the ranch would’ve fallen apart a long time ago.

Caleb leases the land he bought back to us, and he thinks that gives him the right to come here when he wants to, to weigh in on our ranching practices and in general be around when I think he has no business being here.

Caleb is… Well, he’s the kind of man who thinks he’s in charge of everything. He’s the kind of man who thinks that the sun rises and sets on his word. No. It’s going to do that regardless. One of those certainties.

Just like I’m going to keep on hating him.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

As soon as the words exit my mouth, my dad comes in from the kitchen with two beers in his hand.

“Avery,” he says. “Mr. Flynn is our guest.”

I make direct eye contact with Mr. Flynn, those blue eyes scorching me. “Is that a fact?”

“It is,” my dad says, sitting heavily in the chair next to Caleb, and handing him a beer. Caleb looks at me meaningfully as he takes a long pull from the bottle.

“I’ll have the papers for you to sign by tomorrow,” Caleb says.

“No!” The word explodes from my mouth. “No. You’re not selling him more of our land.”

“Avery…” My dad sounds exhausted, but how the fuck does he think I feel? I’m the one who runs this place. I’m the one who makes sure that we have a ranch. I manage our ranch hands and I keep up with the business aspects of it. I oversee the birthing, raising, and slaughtering of the cattle, the selling of all the meat. This is mine. My blood, my sweat, my tears—and he’s been parceling the ranch out to Caleb for years.

He might not be a property developer, but as far as I’m concerned, he might as well be. He’s a rhinestone cowboy if anything. Just a rich dickhead who’s doing this because he can. Buying up land and not even working it.

And what’s the point of that?

I’m about to say exactly that when he stands. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

He looks at me, just for a second, and everywhere his gaze touches, I burn. With fury, with something else. But it’s like I can’t move. Like he’s immobilized me with just his glance. I hate that too.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Business. With your father.”

He walks past me like I’m incidental. Like I don’t matter. Like my feelings mean nothing. But I suppose to him my feelings don’t mean a damn thing.

He walks out the front door, and I go after him.

I can hear my father’s voice as I slam the door shut. No. He doesn’t get to tell me what to do, not when I have to do everything. He doesn’t get to exercise authority when he feels like it. Not when he can’t keep the place stable without me.

“What’s going on? I have a right to know. My dad’s name might be on this land, but I’m the one running it.”

He stops then and I keep going, bringing me almost toe to toe with him, and I can barely breathe. He’s stunning, that’s the problem. So tall and broad, his hair dark, and though I’ve rarely seen him without a hat, I know it curls just a bit at the top and around his collar. His eyes are a piercing blue I can feel all the way through my body.

He’s not quick with a smile, his mouth is grim, and dark stubble covers his square jaw. He’s more than classically handsome. It’s almost enraging. Why should one man get wealth, strength, height and looks so fine they could topple mountains?

I’m short and poor with hard won strength in my bony arms and deeply average breasts, which as far as I’m aware is the main feature men look at – unless they’re into asses. As far as your face goes, if you’re competent with makeup the glitter and flash seems to read as ‘beautiful’ to them no matter how your features are actually arranged.

I’m bad with makeup.

And I had one man who seemed totally fine with all that and I tanked that relationship.

Caleb Flynn remains tall, gorgeous, and in my grill.

“I’m aware,” he says, his gaze assessing. “Avery, you might not know anything about me, but I know everything about you. Everything about this ranch. I know what financial state you’re in.”

“I know that we burn through a lot of money –”

“No, you burn through money you don’t have. I don’t think you know how bad it is. Do you know how much your dad gambles?”

The words are like a slap. “Some.”

“He’s an addict.”

“He’s not an addict. He just… Likes to blow off a little steam.”

“Avery, you’re in danger of not ever having a shred of this ranch without my intervention. Luckily, I’m stepping in.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your dad is borrowing money from me, but he’s using the ranch as collateral.”

“Are you… Are you kidding me?”

“No. I’m not.”

“This is our land. You… You’re a predatory son of a bitch. You’ve been buying off chunks of this property ever since you moved in, and this is what you’ve been waiting for.”

“What the fuck do you think will happen if I don’t intervene?” he asks, moving toward me, and I’m reminded of just how big he is. Broad, like the side of a mountain. Well over six feet.

“I don’t…”

“Of course not, because you still trust him.”

I scowl. “He’s my father. I know he’s not good with money, but I do a good job of managing this place, and we have enough.”

“You don’t,” he says. “You, Avery Carmichael, are fucked.”

The words are hard, crude and unforgiving and I find myself having to tamp down my physical reaction to them.

“Explain,” I say.

“He owes people a lot of money and he hasn’t been paying your mortgage. You’re one more bad bet away from losing this place entirely. And not to me, to people who will put you out on the street.”

I feel the blood drain from my face. “That’s not true.”

“It is.” He laughs. “You like to think of me as a villain, but have you forgotten that I let you off the hook when you tried to burn my barn down?”

The one bad thing I ever did and he has to throw it back in my face and try to make me grateful for it.

“I haven’t forgotten that you deserved it,” I say.

“I could’ve called the police on you.”

“You’re welcome to do it now. I’ll confess.”

“No thanks. I don’t have the appetite for it.”

“Are you trying to act like you’re being a hero?”

“No,” he says. “I’m not being a hero. Though, whether you believe it or not, I actually like your father. And I don’t have any desire to see the two of you out on the street. Even though you’ve been a pain in my ass ever since I moved up here.”

“Then why are you doing this?” I ask.

“It’s a good goddamned question, Avery. Maybe because you’re my neighbors, and have been for five years, and it’s about the longest I’ve ever had neighbors.” He looks at me, and my whole body feels warm. “Come over tomorrow morning. We’ll have a talk.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“The fact that you’re standing out here running your mouth seems to suggest otherwise.”

“I don’t—”

“Quiet,” he says. “I’m done with it. I’m done with your attitude, I’m done with you. Go inside. Come up to my place tomorrow, and we’ll talk.”

Something in me goes quiet, and I want to resist it. All of it. I feel myself pushing back against the need rising up inside of me to obey him.

I have to keep this sexual psychosis contained.

There’s a place for it, and it’s not here, not with him.

“Go inside. Be a good girl.”

It’s like an arrow straight between my legs. Right where I feel myself starting to ache when I look at him. I tell myself that I’m only obeying him because that’s the actual surprise. That I’d do what he said instead of arguing, and I’d rather surprise him.

Then I go upstairs without speaking to my father and slam the door shut behind me.

I spend the whole rest of the night going over every problematic interaction I’ve ever had with him.

Caleb Flynn.

He’s from here, originally. Though, I don’t remember him from before. Probably because he’s somewhere around fifteen years older than me, so I have no reason to. A foster kid, who went off and got rich doing something with luxury resort development. He’s a billionaire. Came back and bought land looking over the town to make a point, I would think.

He moved into that big house on the hill. Then my dad sold him half our ranch. He put Dad under a lot of pressure and my mom had just left for the third and final time so it was a rough run of luck for us.

I was livid. More than that I felt reckless – something I never was. Something I could never afford to be. But my life was falling apart and he felt like a good target for my anger.

He caught me, grabbed hold of me and slammed me up against the side of that barn, hands tight around my wrists. It had felt like a fight.

And it had felt like sex, for all an eighteen-year-old virgin could know what sex felt like.

All that rage directed against me, the fierce control of his strength. The way his large hands had directed my movements. I felt powerless.

He could have done anything he wanted to me in that moment, and instead of fear I’d felt…

Turned on.

You get the hell out of here, he’d said. And give thanks that nobody got hurt, and that I’m not calling the police on you. You fucking brat.

His words stuck with me. And even now, they meld into my fantasies, twisting themselves up in my head and turning into something else.

Fucking brat.  He said that to me while he moved his hand from my wrist to my throat…

And I get off on that memory. Every time. Every time I see him I feel an explosion of heat that’s not solely about hatred.

It fills me with shame. Then a deep sense of fear. It’s what’s been driving me the last few months. As pressure on the ranch has been building, it’s been pushing me toward the thing I’ve been avoiding figuring out about myself.

Instead of sleeping I open up The Club app, which has become the dirtiest of my dirty secrets. I’ve been going over and over my desires for a while now. Why every interaction I have with men leaves me so unsatisfied. I blame Caleb, actually. That interaction that we had when I was young. The way he held me, the way he used his strength against me. It’s like it broke something in me. Like it turned me into a monster that I don’t even recognize.

And it’s finally driven me to this.

There aren’t very many experienced Dominants in rural Oregon.

I’ve been considering actually experimenting with BDSM for a while. There’s no one I can talk to about it. Not here. All of my friends would be utterly and completely scandalized, and then they’d be afraid.

For me, for my sanity. Afraid I’m like my mom because obviously she’s a slut and therefore I must be drawn toward slut behavior because of her.

I’d be lying if I said that didn’t get twisted up inside me sometimes. As far as I know, my mom’s thing isn’t kink—God, I never want to know what her thing is—but it seemed like it had more to do with just wanting to get away from my dad.

But I can’t deny that it puts me in a weird shame place. I tried. I tried to want a nice, normal guy who gave the potential of a nice, normal life and nice, normal sex and I blew that up three months ago.

After he proposed.

I panicked. Like a spooked horse trying to escape a barn.

I had felt like I loved John but then it just felt like more responsibility piled on top of everything I was already dealing with and I couldn’t bear it. I wanted to feel like someone could take care of me, which is a simultaneously terrifying thought since I’d have to trust them in order to do that, and I don’t trust anyone like that.

How can I?

Which is why this is a fantasy, though one I’ve been edging closer to making real. If I can pull the trigger.

My research has led me down a whole lot of rabbit holes and I’ve nearly leapt into a few really sketchy choices. I looked into physical sex clubs, but I don’t like the idea of doing anything in front of anyone. Plus, I would have to travel to a bigger city and that already feels scary given that I’ve so rarely been outside my hometown.

I want a little secret trouble. I don’t want big bad trouble where your body ends up floating in the Columbia River because you went for an orgasm and got serial killed instead. No thanks.

I’ve always been good. Because I have to be. Because if I’m not good, then the ranch is going to fall apart. My parents were dissolute and irresponsible – though to give my dad his due, he’s still here.

The one time I ever misbehaved was when I sneaked onto Caleb’s land and nearly burned his barn to the ground. As misbehavior went, it was relatively spectacular.

It wasn’t BDSM club spectacular.

That’s how I ended up finding The Club app, during a desperate Google search that went something like How Do I Find a Dom Who Won’t Kill Me If I Also Don’t Want to Get Railed In Front of a Room Full of Strangers.

They really do have apps for everything.

It’s dedicated to helping kinky people find a partner in their area who matches their personal needs.

Everyone is vetted, their identities verified, and there’s a lot of built-in protection in that. People have STD tests on file and their actual government names, even though you don’t see them when you’re chatting in the app.

The people running it know and if something was going to happen to you, they would know where you were and who you met with. There’s just a whole lot of security built-in, and I like that.

I think.

Of course, I am also still terrified. I’ve only been with the one man and I assumed I’d marry him because part of me wanted to slip into an easy partnership that had some security.

The truth is, in action, I’ve always been the one in charge during sex too. I can’t get out of my own head and I like directing things because it feels easier, safer.

The really weird thing about my BDSM fixation, my fantasies about being powerless, about being forced…is that it’s nothing I’ve even come close to doing in real life. It’s nothing I would say fits my personality at all.

BDSM is not a quick fuck. And I’m aware of that. There’s something about it that terrifies me. The idea of giving my control away.

It’s a particular kind of fear. One that attracts me more than it repulses me.

But the truth is, none of the sex that I’ve had has sparked the kind of need in me that the one angry encounter I had with Caleb has. The way he held me, his hands around my wrists like manacles. I’m intrigued by it.

I swallow hard, and open up the two Dom profiles that I’ve been eyeing on the app.

There’s one guy who lives local who’s into pain. Pain and rough sex, which intrigues me, I’m not going to lie. But it’s not quite what I’m after.

That very thought makes me laugh at myself. What am I after? Who can say. It’s not like I know.

I swipe away from that profile and look at the next. He goes by The Duke and I’m not sure if that’s a John Wayne reference – which I wouldn’t know if my grandma hadn’t been obsessed with him – or if he’s trying to get the girls who are into Bridgerton. I can’t work that one out. I’m not sure I need to.

 He’s into bondage. Elaborate knots and a total surrender of control. Dubious consent role-play.

Every time I read those words I start getting hot.

And I am intrigued in spite of myself. Mainly because nothing scares me more than the idea of losing control, and there’s something that’s so attractive to me about the idea that I could flirt with a loss of control while also having all these firm agreements in place.

It feels like something I could keep control over in a way. Something that I could maintain a grip on.

Just looking at the words in his profile starts to ramp up my libido. I’ve messaged him twice. He knows that I live in the area and that I’m an inexperienced submissive.

He told me that he likes to train subs who are trying to get into the lifestyle.

Just that word, training, that should make me mad. But it doesn’t.

I think about messaging him, but instead I just read over our previous interactions.

I like to train submissives. Teach them to take everything I can give. Show them their limits.

I put my hand between my legs and start to touch myself. Everything is terrible, honestly. But this fantasy, this fantasy that I will probably never act on, fuels me now. It makes me feel like everything isn’t terrible.

I put my fist in my mouth as I bring myself to the peak with record speed.

God. Just thinking about him, this man that I’ve never seen…

It pushes me right over the edge. But I would be lying if I didn’t say that I was imagining those cool blue eyes looking at me as I shudder out my orgasm.

I grit my teeth and throw my arm over my face. As long as I don’t think about that tomorrow when I have to face him, I’ll be fine.

Lucky, I’m practiced at that. Lucky that when I’m actually around him, the hatred usually takes over.

But for tonight, I’m just going to let myself relax into my sexual satisfaction.

I don’t have anything else for me. Nothing else but this.

So I’m going to hold it close while I can.

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