Eleanor is the mistress of a swanky BDSM parlor in Kingdom City, but secretly prefers love from the submissive side of the fence. When Frank, a member of the Royal Guard, calls her bluff, she can’t help but melt in his big, Dominant arms.

Frank is under cover to protect Eleanor from a stalker terrorizing the city, but soon finds himself wishing that one night of pretend could become a lifetime of Kinky Ever After. Can he keep her safe long enough to claim her as his own?

A sexy, BDSM-flavored, stand-alone continuation of the Cinderella story. No Cliffhanger.

DOMINATED c. 2015 Callie Wild

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. This erotic romance is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. This ebook is licensed for your personal use only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with, especially if you enjoy hot, sexy, emotional novels featuring Dominant alpha males. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work. This book was previously published as Wickedly Ever After by Anna J. Evans. It has been extensively revised and reworked before being re-released. Cover design by Bootstrap Designs.

CHAPTER ONE

Eleanor

“Down on your belly!” Eleanor demanded, snapping her whip with a practiced flick of the wrist and doing her best to pretend she wasn’t way out of her league.

“Make me.” The man who knelt before her whispered the words, but that didn’t make them any less menacing. Even at a low volume his voice was daunting. It smoothed over her skin and made her shiver.

The voice alone would have been enough to make Eleanor sweat this job, even if the rest of this guy weren’t completely intimidating. Which it was, every enormous inch, from his bald head to the tips of his toes. Sweat rolled off his bare shoulders—his broad, muscled, dominant-looking shoulders. His were deltoids that never should have seen the inside of a BDSM club, at least not from the submissive side of the fence.

He looked powerful enough to pick her up and snap her spine like a twig, and mean enough to enjoy it.

Eleanor swallowed and tried to remember that domination was at least seventy-five percent mental. Too bad something about this man made her mind feel about as wimpy as her decidedly un-buff biceps.

Pull yourself together, woman, and give the man what he came for. You’re The Wicked Stepmother. Start acting like it.

“Don’t cross me, slave.” Each word was a warning to her submissive: he would abandon control now, or spend eternity suffering her wrath.

Or at least the next fifty minutes. He had paid for the hour, and Eleanor didn’t believe in cheating her customers. She might be The Wicked Stepmother, but she had a business to run, and a business didn’t thrive on unsatisfied clients.

Still, she wished she could let this one go, simply send him on his merry way without a spanking or nipple torture or a hot wax treatment or whatever else he’d had in mind.

God, she was sick of all of it, every last bit of kink, and even sicker of the whiny, clingy men who made use of her unique services. Still, the man in front of her had her wishing for the usual obedient, boot-licking client. She was a dominatrix by necessity, not by calling, and had never felt like more of a fraud than she did tonight.

“I’d rather not,” Baldy said in that voice that dared her to show him what she was made of.

“Less back talk, more groveling!” There,
that
had sounded intimidating.

“Groveling?” He grunted then, just once, and a smile quirked at the edges of his full mouth.

What was that grunt supposed to mean? And the smile?

What was she going to do with this man, this giant who seemed to see through her façade like a pair of see-through panties? From the second he’d entered the room he had assessed her and found her lacking. It was as if he could sense her fear.

Even worse, those blue eyes that roved brazenly over her body seemed to recognize that he affected her in other, more…primal ways.

Her nipples tightened under his gaze, and her breath grew shallow.

She bit her lip. She
wasn’t
aroused by this man, she couldn’t be,
wouldn’t
be. She did not feel a tightening low in her belly, and her panties weren’t suspiciously damp.

“So what happens when you don’t get your way?” His gaze flicked from her breasts to her eyes and back to her breasts with an air of careless entitlement.

Damn.

Who was she kidding? She hadn’t been this hot for a man in longer than she could remember. Her sex-starved body was screaming for satisfaction, preferably from this man’s thick cock.

“On your belly. Last chance,” Eleanor said, willing her voice to stop quivering, and her thighs as well.

She wasn’t a trembling virgin, for God’s sake. Her thighs hadn’t quivered for over a decade. It was embarrassing.

And completely exciting.

She’d never felt the urge to play the submissive role before, but she couldn’t deny the thought of this stranger overpowering her aroused as much as it alarmed. What would it be like to have those large, calloused hands on her body, demanding that she bend to his will or suffer the erotic consequences?

Would he kiss her? Stroke her? Or simply bend her over the side of the couch and ram into her from behind?

If he were as well endowed as he looked in his slave’s loincloth, it would hurt to be penetrated without any foreplay, make her pussy sting and burn as she climaxed. She had no doubt she would be drunk with satisfaction by the time he finished his relentless assault, her body weeping for more sweet, sensual pain.

Who the hell are you, and what have you done with Eleanor?

Eleanor struggled to listen to her outraged inner voice and remember that she didn’t like pain with her pleasure. She ignored both the rush of heat between her legs and the way her sensitized nipples tightened until it was torture to feel them brush against the leather of her corset.

“You’re shaking,” her client said, his voice soft and husky, almost as if he knew where her thoughts had been headed a moment before. “Are you all right?”

Was she all right?

God no, she wasn’t all right. She wasn’t going to be all right until she was naked and pinned beneath him. His voice seemed to offer that relief, if only she would break and show him the real woman behind The Wicked Stepmother.

Never, not in a million years.

The real Eleanor never showed her face at work, and she wasn’t about to start now, not for a cocky man without the sense to play by the rules. He should never have come in here, not with his obvious contempt for a female Domme.

She would give him one last chance to play nice, and then she was finished with him. This was her place of business and she called the shots.

“Silence. Now.”

His brows lifted. “I’ll say it again—make me.”

She threw up her hands. “That’s it. We’re finished. It’s obvious you’re not taking this seriously.” She turned to leave—a part of her relieved to have an easy out—but was stopped by an impossibly large hand closing around her wrist.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“Get your hands off of me,” she demanded. Her arm looked absurdly tiny when engulfed by his fist, but his touch didn’t frighten her.

No, it didn’t scare her; it sent a sharp bolt of desire sweeping over her skin and zinging straight to her clit.

Hell, yes.
This
was what she wanted.

She wanted him to grab her, take her, force her to succumb to the need that filled her. She wanted her clothes ripped from her body until she was laid bare and completely exposed to the man who would conquer her. A mental image of herself, tied to her four-poster bed, her legs spread wide, flew through Eleanor’s mind.

She fought to suppress a moan and wrenched at her wrist again. She couldn’t stay in the same room with this man for another minute. He was making her crave things that she had never imagined she would enjoy, and it was starting to seriously mess with her mind.

“You have to stay,” he said.

“I d-don’t have to do anything,” she stammered. “I’m the Mistress here, and—”

“Then show me. Show me, Eleanor.”

Eleanor’s jaw dropped open, the shock of hearing him use her real name finally bringing her to her senses. He wasn’t even pretending to play by the rules anymore. In light of current events, it was madness to stay a second longer.

She had to get him out of here, before it was too late.

CHAPTER TWO

Eleanor

“Let me go, now!” She brought her whip down on his arm—hard—but the damn man didn’t even blink.

Fear conquering all other emotion, Eleanor brought the whip down again and again, finally landing a blow to the giant’s shoulder that made him hiss and release her wrist.

She stumbled back, teetering on her heels. She was free, and she knew she should make a run for it, but she was paralyzed by the sight of blood welling in the cut she’d made. She had never drawn blood before—ever—and the sight sent a wave of self-loathing washing through her.

It only made it worse that he hadn’t fought back. Sure, he’d held onto her arm, but he hadn’t hurt her or even tried to block her blows.

“Are you finished?” His words were tight and controlled. He hadn’t flinched when she’d struck him and now, as the cut on the top of his shoulder began to ooze, he remained calm, in total possession of himself.

Eleanor, however, was suddenly feeling sick, her stomach roiling inside her leather corset. She watched with mounting panic as a drop of red hit the floor. “You’re bleeding.”

“I am.”

“I hurt you.” Her throat went tight and her stupid thighs began to shake in earnest as another droplet joined the first on the white carpet.

“You didn’t intend to bleed me?”

“No.”

“You lost control.” The words were soft and compassionate, making her feel even guiltier for what she’d done.

“No, I…” She let her words trail off, unable to think of the right thing to say.

This wasn’t supposed to happen; she wasn’t really supposed to hurt people. It was a game, a farce, an elaborate way to capitalize on the bad reputation she hated.

But there on the carpet…

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