Fever Read online

  Fever is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept eBook Original

  Copyright © 2015 by Jamie K. Schmidt

  Excerpt from Surrender by Violetta Rand copyright © 2015 by Violetta Rand

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Random House LLC.

  eBook ISBN 9781101882580

  Cover photograph: © Shutterstock

  www.readloveswept.com

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  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  By Jamie K. Schmidt

  About the Author

  The Editor’s Corner

  Excerpt from Surrender

  Chapter 1

  Colleen Bryant’s shoulder ached from the repeated use of the cane on Senator Clemmons’s back. She was admiring her pattern and judging his pain level when he sighed and release shook through him.

  “You didn’t ask my permission,” she said with a twinge of cold hatred.

  “I’m sorry, Mistress.”

  She strode across the dungeon to put the cane away. Her boots clacked ominously on the lacquered floor. Picking up a leather quirt, Colleen strode back over to him and waited until he shut his eyes and whimpered.

  “Count,” she ordered, and whacked the small whip on his bare buttocks with a snap of her wrist.

  He hissed an indrawn breath of pain and gritted out one through ten.

  Colleen set her jaw, annoyed that his selfishness denied both of them the level of satisfaction they were striving for. If he didn’t pay so well, and turned a blind eye in directions she didn’t want anyone to look, she would have given him over to another Domme.

  “Thank you, Mistress,” he panted.

  Normally, she’d soothe a vitamin A and E salve over her submissive’s marks and fetch him a glass of cold water while he came down from the endorphin high. Today, she snapped her fingers and one of the other dungeon submissives scurried over to assist the senator.

  “Thank you,” Colleen heard him sigh again before she slammed the door.

  Her hands, encased in black leather gloves, clenched into fists. She forced herself to relax one finger at a time. It wasn’t as if she had been planning to orgasm during the session. Hell, the senator wanted just humiliation and someone to beat his ass, not an energetic sex scene. Still, there should be a connection between a Domme and sub—a trust that the senator would never give her. Colleen missed the feeling of being given the gift of absolute obedience.

  But she’d gone in there knowing that Clemmons was a shitty sub. Now it was her turn to sigh. He was trying to learn the concept of letting go in order to achieve a more intense and satisfying orgasm. She’d thought that this time he’d trust her enough to take him the distance so he could fully immerse himself in submission. She shook her head. Not going to happen. The senator always rushed to orgasm, as if he was afraid it would be taken away from him. Biting her lip, Colleen wondered if she could get him to bring his wife to a session.

  “All work and no play makes Colleen a dull girl.” Dante uncoiled himself from the wall he had been leaning on and caught up to her in three easy strides. Colleen had walked right by him without even noticing he was there. She gave him a sneer over her shoulder. Speaking of men who needed some time in her dungeon…

  Dante’s green eyes were his most striking feature and he played them up with subtle dark eyeliner. His short black hair, neatly trimmed beard, and mustache gave him a Mephistophelian air. It didn’t help the image that he sometimes stroked his mustache like a villain in the old black-and-white films.

  “Don’t you have something better to do than hang around outside my dungeon?” Colleen asked as she kept walking. She mentally called up the Doms’ schedules and thought that he had an advanced breath play workshop about to start.

  He stopped her with a gloved hand on her throbbing shoulder. She tried not to wince, but he was good enough to catch the slightest tremor.

  “You should ice that,” he said, all hints of teasing gone. “Then get into the hot tub and let the jets pound out some of that tightness.”

  Colleen turned around to face him as he let his hand drop. Blowing a blond wave out of her eye, she nodded. “If I get to it. Now, what did you want?”

  “You. On your knees.”

  A flare of amusement danced through her, and she felt a real smile stretch across her face. It was an old game between the two of them, two Doms who didn’t like to be topped trying to force the other one into a submissive position.

  “You first,” she countered. “And if I like what I see, I might allow you to lick my boots.”

  A hard flush started up Dante’s collar, and his eyes narrowed. Colleen knew that he didn’t like defiance, didn’t like that she didn’t tremble at his charisma. She deliberately stepped into his personal space and watched him check himself so he didn’t take a step back. His nostrils flared and he stared at her mouth.

  “You can’t get to the next level as a Master if you don’t experience the limits of your submission,” he said.

  “Thanks for mansplainin’ that.” Colleen rolled her eyes. While he was right that if you couldn’t feel empathy for the sub you were a poor Dom, Colleen had a feeling Dante wasn’t chasing her for altruistic reasons, so she could improve her craft. He was also assuming that she hadn’t experienced being a submissive. What he knew about her training could fit in his mouth like a ball gag.

  She had started her career as a sub, but it wasn’t in her nature. She made more money on the other end of the whip and enjoyed it more. She had even married one of the most thrilling Doms she had ever met and gladly submitted to him. But after Alfie’s death, she found comfort in giving the orders. None of that was Dante’s business. Colleen earned her right to Domme the Doms in Club Inferno. It was her leadership that had grown Club Inferno, a secret BDSM club, into one of the hottest dungeons in the Northeast. And it was her bankroll that shielded them from unwanted inquiries by fronting a fashion resort called Couture, which was also one of the premier locations on the East Coast.

  “What makes you think I need instruction from you?” She gave him a hard shove back, needing to work out some aggression and knowing Dante wouldn’t mind.

  He grabbed her wrists to pull her in for a kiss, but Colleen twisted at the last minute. Breaking his hold, she used his momentum to slam him face-first against the wall. She practiced judo every day with her bodyguard, Istvahn, an ex-Spetsnaz soldier who made sure Colleen could protect herself if he wasn’t around.

  “I don’t have time to play with you.” She pulled back on Dante’s hair and spoke into his ear. He smelled nice; Dior’s new men’s fragrance, if she wasn’t mistaken.

  “Make time.” He pushed away from the wall, quicker than she had been expecting.

  They squared off. The slight fatigue disappeared in a surge of adrenaline. She wouldn’t bottom for him, but if he’d let
her throw him around, Colleen would consider getting sweaty with him. They circled each other. She was pretty sure he’d underestimate her, so they would have to work out a safe word and some parameters. It all seemed like too much work for too little effort, though.

  “I’ll have you begging for release,” he vowed, and then spoiled the wonderful threat by tugging on his facial hair.

  Visions of her being tied to a railroad track in a black-and-white film while a fast Charleston played made her smirk. Still, it was worth one last try to see how serious he wanted to play. Unlike the senator or the other Domme scenes she ran, if they were going to do this, she wanted complete control and at the end would satisfy herself with his body.

  “I have a better idea,” she said, stepping into his personal space again. “I’ll strap you down and push every hard limit you have. Pegging, CBT, and anything else that crosses my evil little mind. If you survive, I’ll ride you until you’re hoarse from screaming.”

  Colleen watched his expression go from interest to horror and back to normal. He was at a loss for words. A small ping of disappointment pulsed through her. Eh, this was rapidly becoming boring. She was his boss. Either he’d hold back for fear of losing his job or he’d try to dominate her into giving him more power. It was one of the reasons she didn’t screw around with the dungeon staff, no matter how tempting it was to teach an overconfident Dom what hardcore meant.

  “You’re the one who could use some punishment time,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.

  It was a lame comeback, more for his pride than for escalating whatever sexual tension she was trying to build.

  Moving quickly, Colleen grasped his chin. Dante’s jaw clenched and his eyes went wide at the affront. “You’re asking to be at the end of my whip.”

  “I dole out the discipline,” he snarled, jerking out of her grip.

  “Teach your class.” She gave him a mild slap on the cheek and turned away from him.

  “The next time, I’m not letting you off so easy.” Colleen knew for a fact Dante didn’t try this shit with any Club Inferno members, so she wasn’t concerned for his professionalism. But lately he had seemed restless and been flirting with her more. As if he didn’t have over twenty subs of his own to play with.

  It wasn’t that she wasn’t tempted to give Dante a run for his money. It was the feeling that he’d be damned near insufferable if she ever submitted to him. He was already a little too full of himself.

  Distracted, she walked into her office.

  “Whoa!” Her administrative assistant, Nefertiti, held out a hand. “You’ve got a meeting with Couture people in fifteen minutes. A couple of models want to pitch a new workshop idea to you. I liked it. It’s more of a business course about saving money and investing, but I think they could pull it off, so it’s not snoresville. You, on the other hand, would make them clutch their pearls and shriek.”

  Colleen glanced down at her fetish wear. It was tame for her. Black thigh-high heeled boots, a spiked leather minidress, and matching gauntlets. “You don’t think they’ll buy that this is Gaultier’s latest line?”

  “I think they won’t get past your tits playing peek-a-boo. Besides”—Nefertiti held her massively pregnant belly to make sure it cleared the desk as she got up from her chair—”you’re seeing Chase Fairwood first.”

  Colleen felt hot and flushed, and then a chill trembled through her. “Oh, for God’s sake, why?”

  “He wants to discuss membership.”

  Shaking her head, she went through the inner door to her office. “I’m sure you told him over my dead body. It’s bad enough he shows up every time we have an open house.”

  Colleen strode into her office’s bathroom and left the door ajar so she could talk to Nefertiti while she changed into a classy red vintage Valentino suit. Her ex-boyfriend—although boyfriend was too tame to describe their relationship—was trying to worm his way back into her life by throwing money around.

  “I put him off the best I could,” Nefertiti said from the other room. “But he says he has some tax questions about Mallory’s shelter and clinic.”

  After wiggling into her beaded Manolos, Colleen stood up, smoothing her hand down the side of the suit. She nodded at her reflection before touching up her makeup.

  “That’s what he has lawyers and accountants for,” Colleen said, coating her lipstick with a shimmer wand.

  “His next excuse was he wanted to talk more in depth with Max about modeling for the activewear line. He thinks it would be easier if he had full access to Couture.”

  Colleen snorted as she finger-combed her hair. Chase had been a pro football player for several years until a vicious tackle bent his knee at an angle knees weren’t meant to go in. He didn’t need a modeling gig any more than she did. But Max, on the other hand, was married to her sister, Mallory. The same Mallory whose clinic Chase helped bankroll. Max was just starting out as a clothing designer, and Chase had decided to give Mallory’s husband’s clothing line a boost by adding the Chase Fairwood seal of approval. All because he wanted to get back into Colleen’s life and most likely into her bed.

  Not going to happen.

  “He can’t handle full access,” Colleen said, wishing she could meet Chase in her bondage wear. She’d feel a little more in control. Or would she? A traitorous dampening in her panties made her think she’d cross a few lines with the man who had broken her heart. Colleen fiddled with the Club Inferno pin she’d placed on her lapel. She imagined Chase spread-eagled on the St. Andrew’s cross, his chiseled ass red from a good spanking.

  “Well, he keeps blowing up my phone, so I gave him the appointment to shut him up. It’s up to you to shut him down.”

  Nefertiti’s voice snapped Colleen out of the punishment fantasies, but not before they had heated up her imagination and distracted her with a slight ache between her legs. Damn Senator Clemmons. If he had just behaved, she’d at least have the calm centering that a successful scene gave her.

  “Not a problem,” Colleen said, both to her reflection and in answer to Nefertiti. Walking back into her office, Colleen got herself a diet cola out of the fridge and handed a vitamin-enhanced water to Nefertiti.

  “No thanks.” Nefertiti waved her off. “I’m going to barf.”

  Colleen checked the clock on the wall. “You’re due for one.”

  “Morning sickness, my ass. Only the first trimester, my fat ass.” Nefertiti hurried into Colleen’s bathroom.

  Colleen shut the door to give Nefertiti some privacy and to shut out the sound of her retching. As Colleen cracked open the soda, she fired up her computer to see if she could catch TMZ’s latest report on her ex. She came up empty, but she did find one on herself.

  “Don’t these assholes ever get tired of the gold digger crap?” she muttered, and scanned the article. This time, it said, she had her sights on shipping mogul Bartholomew Kiryakius, whoever the hell that was. He made Alfie look like a spring chicken. At least the picture they posted of her was a good one. She had been coming out of Añejo, a tequila bar one of her Doms had opened. For once the camera didn’t add ten pounds.

  Because she still missed him every day, Colleen did a Google search for her husband, the late Alfred Granger, who had passed away four years ago at the age of eighty-one. A pang of sadness hit when his blue eyes twinkled back at her. Yes, he had been old enough to be her grandfather. Yes, he had been a billionaire. Yes, they’d met when she was working several jobs in Las Vegas. But she had loved him. He’d taught her everything she knew about being a Domme. He’d also saved her from loneliness, near poverty, and heartache.

  The cause of that heartache was scheduled to walk into her office any minute now. Colleen got up and put an ear to her bathroom door. It sounded like Nefertiti was washing up. Walking over to the cabinet by the fridge, Colleen pulled out some crackers and spread peanut butter on them. She put them on a tray with grapes and small nibbles of cheese, placing the tray on Nefertiti’s desk along with the flavore
d water, which she poured over ice.

  “Thanks,” Nefertiti said, coming out. She looked miserable, and she rubbed her stomach as if to soothe the savage beast inside.

  Colleen frowned. “Why don’t you—”

  “Get back to work?” Nefertiti plopped down behind her desk. “What a good idea.”

  “I was going to say you should take a few hours off. Maybe get some rest?”

  Nefertiti put her headset back on. “I’m good. Thanks for the grub.” She popped a peanut butter cracker in her mouth and waved Colleen off.

  Closing the door behind her, Colleen paced her office while she texted Istvahn, the father of Nefertiti’s baby. In addition to being her bodyguard, he was also her chief of security.

  She’s eating. Still puking. Stubborn. Won’t rest.

  Colleen didn’t expect him to answer, but she knew he liked to be kept in the loop. When he didn’t buzz her back, she tossed the phone on her desk. If only Chase were content with text updates.

  You’re still a jerk. Die in a fire. Please.

  The jealousy and pain still burned as fresh today as when she’d walked into his hotel room to find him covered with half-naked cheerleaders. Chase had been passed out drunk and didn’t even wake up when she tossed the ice cubes from the bucket over all of them. The girls had taken one look at her and ran out of there as fast as their pom-poms would bounce.

  Colleen had handled the rest of the breakup with aplomb, if not maturity. She’d taken her lipstick and written Fuck you, asshole on the mirror. Then she cut up all his credit cards and flushed them down the toilet. Chase had started to come around when she was stuffing his championship ring up his nose. So she gathered up all his clothes and threw them out the balcony window, and still managed to crack him one across the face before slamming out of the hotel room. That had been ten years ago. She’d married Alfie shortly after, and they’d had a good run. Alfie’s health hadn’t always allowed him to actively participate in sex, but he’d never given her a reason to feel neglected or worried that he would cheat on her.