Silent Night Read online

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  Total-e-bound

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  Copyright ©2009 by Kim Dare

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  Perfect Timing

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  About the Author

  Total-E-Bound Publishing

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  A Total-E-Bound Publication

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  www.total-e-bound.com

  Silent Night

  ISBN # 978-1-907010-26-2

  ©Copyright Kim Dare 2009

  Cover Art by Natalie Winters ©Copyright June 2009

  Edited by Christine Riley

  Total-E-Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author's imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2009 by Total-E-Bound Publishing 1 The Corner, Faldingworth Road, Spridlington, Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, LN8 2DE, UK.

  Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-burning.

  Perfect Timing

  SILENT NIGHT

  Kim Dare

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Dedication

  To everyone who isn't as perfect as they wish they wish they could be,

  and to everyone who loves them regardless.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Coke: Coca-Cola Company

  Diet Coke: Coca-Cola Company

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter One

  "Don't waste your time."

  Vincent Jennings raised an eyebrow at his friend. If his instincts were right, and Vincent had every confidence they were, the woman standing by the bar was just the sort of submissive lover he'd enjoy hooking up with for the night.

  "Trust me. Just pick another girl and save yourself the trouble,” Frank went on, sitting next to Vincent on the low sofa.

  Vincent studied the woman on the other side of the room. She displayed no obvious flaws, but Vincent was well aware the bar was Frank's home territory, not his. He hadn't moved back into the area long enough to know anyone on the local scene and even the most acute observations couldn't compete with prior knowledge. “You know her?"

  "Her name's Hannah,” Frank informed him. “Do I need to repeat the thing about it being pointless to approach her?"

  Vincent's gaze trailed over the smooth curve of her neck. She wasn't wearing a collar, so she couldn't be committed to the pleasure of any competent dominant. “She's not owned?” Vincent checked, watching her take a bottle of Coke from the bartender.

  "No. She's free to play, but it won't be with some idiot who hits on her at the bar. Hannah likes to choose the lucky guy herself."

  She turned around and scanned the room. For a moment, Hannah looked in Vincent's direction. Their eyes met. Images flashed hot and vivid though his mind. A strapless leather dress hugged her curves, but her limbs were bare and begging for restraints to decorate them. In his mind's eye he painted wide strips of black leather around her wrists and ankles. Perfect...

  A chestnut ringlet escaped from the tumble of curls pinned up on top of her head. She tucked the lock of hair behind her ear and turned away from him.

  His eyes narrowed. If she wasn't already claimed, what the hell was the problem? “She's a submissive,” he stated. He had no doubts about that.

  Even more than the way she dressed, the way she held herself advertised her submission. All her movements were small and spare. There were no grand gestures. She didn't look a dominant woman on the hunt for new prey. No, if anything, Hannah looked businesslike. That raised another question.

  "A working girl?"

  Frank shook his head. “She won't take money—and I know enough guys who've offered her serious cash. But, those who kiss and tell say she has a signature."

  "Aren't they reserved for serial killers?” Vincent still didn't look away from Hannah. Everyone had to die sooner or later. She looked one hell of a fun way to go.

  "Do you want to know what it is, or are you going to keep interrupting?"

  Vincent said nothing. He wanted to hear it all.

  "As I was saying, the woman has a signature. She comes to this club—and it is always this club—no one's ever seen her anywhere else. She has a drink. She picks a man. She offers him her submission for the night."

  "She just says ‘Would you like to be my master for the night?’”

  Vincent imagined her kneeling at his feet and saying those exact words—soft and low—for his ears only. His jeans shrunk a fraction, but he forced himself to stay still in his seat and not draw attention to the fact he was slowly hardening in his pants at the very idea.

  Hannah's stroll around the room brought her closer. He caught a better view of her face. Close up she was pretty rather than beautiful, her face dominated by full, pink lips and big blue eyes. If it wasn't for the air of submission about her, Vincent would have walked past her without looking twice—but no dominant in their right mind could walk past Hannah.

  He was still waiting on an answer from Frank. When his friend let the silence draw out for another long minute, Vincent got the point. “Okay, I'll shut up."

  That was the problem with Frank. Vincent might have grown up into an intimidating dominant, but Frank still remembered him as a skinny little schoolboy who couldn't remember his times tables.

  "No,” the other man finally resumed, “she doesn't say that. She doesn't say anything. I've never heard her say a word and apparently she only ever offers completely silent submission. One night—no talking, no repeat performances. That's it, take it or leave it."

  "Has anyone ever left it?"

  "Hell no! What sort of idiot would walk away from no strings sex with a walking wet dream?” Frank asked.

  Vincent frowned. “So she walks in here, takes her pick and that's it?"

  "Yes."

  "But she's definitely a submissive?"

  "Yes."

  "And silent?"

  "Yes."

  Vincent gave a mental shrug. Who was he to judge someone on their kinks? It was strange, though, that every dominant man she took a shine to...

  "She always picks a dominant?” he checked.

  "Always."

  It was strange that all the dominant men she hooked up with accepted being called to heel that way. Vincent knew one thing better than an
yone. True dominants were chasers by nature. They all loved the thrill of the hunt. They all liked to make the choices. And they all liked to be in control—just like him.

  If Hannah could take the chase away and still have every man in the room watching her every move, she had to be pretty special.

  Vincent managed to tear his eyes away from her for a moment. He was right. Every man in the room was staring at her. He ran his eyes over man after man, saw gaze after gaze fixed on Hannah.

  Idiots! They were turning themselves into the prey, playing the submissive for her before she said hello, or smiled at them, or whatever it was a silent submissive did to show a man he was the chosen one for the night.

  As much fun as she looked, Vincent pushed away the idea of making a play for her. He was too much of a control freak to give anyone the satisfaction of reversing the roles of hunter and hunted. Although he never completely lost track of her progress around the room, he did become one of the very few men who managed not to blatantly stare.

  Even so, if she was doing the choosing, the dominant in Vincent insisted he measure himself up against the other men in the room to see where he stood in the pecking order.

  Being tall with a naturally athletic build was an instant advantage for a dominant. A strong profile with a hard jaw and a masculine edge didn't do any harm either. Blond hair cut short at the back and sides coupled with brown eyes—well, that was just the way things were. He was dressed casually—black jeans and a black shirt—nothing designed to attract undue attention. He knew he looked like a dominant—for what that was worth.

  Confidence counted for far more, and Vincent was completely confident in his ability to dominate. Satisfied he stood near the top of the pack, he made a mental note of Hannah as someone interesting, someone he might want to get to know better at a later date, but he put her out of his mind as best he could.

  However, he still failed to look away when he saw someone approach her. He was too curious about Frank's accuracy not to watch the exchange. Time after time, he watched Hannah brush men off with a smile and a shake of the head.

  One of them didn't like that at all.

  Vincent tensed in his seat, ready to sort the situation out if it escalated. The man hitting on Hannah grabbed her arm. She looked from his hand to his eyes and back again, eloquent in her silence. There was no doubt he understood she wanted her arm back. He didn't let go.

  The room held its breath. Every man watched, ready to play Lancelot if the chance arose.

  She tried to extract her arm from his hold one more time, very clearly refusing his advances. He pulled her arm. For a moment it looked like he and her high heels conspired against her sense of balance.

  Hannah couldn't be more than five foot six in those crazy shoes. She probably weighed about the same as a handful of rice. Somehow she was still the one who stayed upright.

  The guy yelped and folded, curling into a ball at her feet. Hannah walked away.

  He smiled—she was definitely a submissive. The knee to the groin might not signal it, but she hadn't looked around the room in challenge to anyone else. She hadn't even raised her eyes to the men and women watching the show. The same comparison flittered through his mind again. Businesslike. There was an unfortunate situation. She dealt with it. That was that. The whole thing was very understated.

  A woman came forward and said something to her. Vincent assumed she was asking if Hannah was okay. Hannah smiled at her and nodded, but she didn't linger and let the woman take her under her wing. She walked on again.

  Vincent tore his attention away from her yet again. He knew he should make the effort and get up from his comfortable seat around the low table. There was no pretence about his reasons for going to the bar. He wanted to get laid, just like everyone else. That wasn't going to happen if he stayed where he was, listening to Frank and his friends argue about the latest football scores.

  He gave a mental shrug. It was early. He wasn't in too much of a rush yet. Not to mention, he knew who he would end up approaching if he got up now. Even after seeing the politely bored looks she bestowed on the men who tried to hit on her, he knew himself too well to think he would resist the challenge.

  No, he would just let Hannah make her selection. Then he would turn his attention, free of her distracting presence, towards the other women in the club.

  Closing his eyes, Vincent slumped in his seat, stretching his long legs out in front of him as he sprawled comfortably against the cushions. He rested his neck on the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. In the last few weeks he'd moved back to town, changed jobs and moved house. Nothing was where it should be, everything was dusty and half-unpacked and uncomfortable.

  The bar was hardly church-yard quiet, but the hum of voices in the background was soothing to a man who hadn't enjoyed a full night's sleep in weeks. He was tempted to doze for a while. If he couldn't get anything productive done, he might as well.

  "Vincent."

  Of course, he'd have to get Frank to shut up first. He ignored him.

  "Vincent,” Frank repeated more urgently. He nudged his shoulder.

  Vincent rocked with the motion but didn't bother to open his eyes. He had no idea who won what by how many. He hadn't found time to see a game in weeks.

  "Vincent."

  He sighed. “I have no idea what the football scores are, leave me be."

  Braced for another harder nudge to his shoulder, Vincent didn't expect a touch elsewhere. Heat from a hand made its way through his fly.

  "Frank, if that's you, we need to have to have a very serious conversation."

  "Not me,” Frank said.

  Good. Frank was a great friend, but he didn't want Frank's hand stroking his cock through his jeans. Nor did he want to have to explain to his friend just why the touch coaxed him hard so easily.

  Vincent opened his eyes and raised his head. Hannah knelt at his feet. It was very reassuring to find it was her hand gently massaging him to erection rather than Frank's. The small pale fingers worked over his crotch without any hesitation.

  "I think she got bored waiting for you to wake up,” Frank whispered, as if a louder noise might make her take flight.

  "How long have you been there?” he asked Hannah.

  She shrugged.

  Her hand didn't stop its careful ministrations. It made it singularly difficult to think clearly. Covering her hand with his, giving the fingers a gentle squeeze to soothe any perceived rejection, he moved her hand off his cock.

  She didn't appear offended.

  "About five minutes,” Frank offered in her place.

  Of course, silent submission. Vincent hadn't really considered the practical implications. “You don't speak at all?"

  She shook her head.

  Without knowing what pleasure her silence gave her, he couldn't work out what she wanted from the game.

  "You're offering to submit to me?” It seemed obvious but still important enough to spend a moment on clarification.

  Hannah nodded. Having no task to occupy them, her hands lay folded neatly in her lap, until she reached out and touched him again. Her hand pressed gently against the centre of his chest. Her eyes travelled around the men he sat with.

  "Just me?” he hazarded.

  She nodded again.

  Vincent nodded in return before making a conscious effort to keep one of them verbal. “I understand."

  She wanted to make it clear she wasn't offering herself to all of the men at the table, just him. Well, that suited him just fine. He'd shared lovers with other men and women in the past only to find it didn't suit him. His temperament was too possessive to enjoy seeing another lover please a woman who belonged to him.

  Vincent wasn't used to being the one who could only accept or refuse. For a moment, he was so off balance all he did was study her downcast eyes. He pulled himself together.

  Tucking his fingers under her chin, he encouraged her to lift her face so he could see her more clearly. She did so slowly, keeping he
r eyes lowered in submission until he said, “Look at me, Hannah,” and nudged her chin back more firmly.

  She lifted her eyes and considered him in return. Vincent saw peace. It was an expression he'd only ever seen in submissives—the utter calm of knowing you'd made all the decisions required of you—all you had to do from then on was obey.

  He watched Hannah's world contract to the point where all she needed to do was please one person. Apparently it made life very simple if you knew how to get off on it. He could only guess at the attraction of submission, but as a confirmed dominant he was incredibly pleased that some people enjoyed it.

  Hannah lowered her eyes again, leaving him sitting above her and wondering how the hell a man was supposed to negotiate a scene with a woman who wouldn't speak to him. Seeing a very confusing game of charades in his future, he wasn't inclined to have his friends sitting around helping or hindering him as the mood took them.

  Your place or mine became irrelevant when his was still full of half empty boxes.

  "Your place?” he suggested.

  Hannah shook her head.

  "Mine?” he guessed.

  Hannah nodded and offered him a half smile. In spite of the mess in his house, Vincent nodded. At least she was attempting to negotiate within her limits. It was the women who said anything was okay who always scared the hell out of him. It waved a bright red flag saying they didn't have a clue what they were doing.

  Standing up and helping Hannah to her feet he picked up his leather jacket off the back of the sofa.

  "Do you have a coat?"

  She shook her head. Guessing how cold it must have grown since the last of the sun set, Vincent wrapped his jacket around her shoulders. She smiled up at him for a moment. He assumed it was a thank you.

  "You're welcome."

  He led her out of the club with his hand on the small of her back. A glance around the room and he saw the way the other dominant men looked at him. He'd won a game of dominance by almost falling asleep. His lips twitched into a satisfied smile.

  "My car is just down here,” he told her as he led her away from the club.