Free In the Custody of the Dom (Hideaway Book 1) by Elyse Scott

 
     
     
    Sam Reilly lay in the dark, her mind racing out of control. Although her suite was large, tastefully decorated, and luxuriously appointed with every comfort, there was no way she was going to relax.
     
    Exhausted physically and mentally from several months’ reporting under fire from Iraq, she was nursing a splitting headache and beginning to regret her impetuous decision on landing at San Diego, to phone ahead and book a therapeutic scene with a dom. He’d listened with an attention she was unused to receiving, sounded every inch the professional, questioned her in excruciating detail, and didn’t appear fazed in the least by her requests. She’d felt very brave making the call, but of course he was over a hundred miles away at the time.
     
    When she’d been escorted to her suite, she’d found it rivalled any of the most exclusive hotels she’d stayed in, but with the thrilling and terrifying addition of a very well-appointed, rubber-covered examination table in the middle of the room. This was something she’d dreamed of doing for years, and never had the courage. Jet lag, loneliness, and the sustained stress and horrors of reporting from a war zone had finally cracked that barrier, and here she was.
     
    A light blue paper gown was neatly folded on the comfortable, king-sized bed, along with instructions to remove all clothing including underpants and bra, and put it on with the ties at the front. With increasing trepidation, she’d showered, slipped into the gown, and got into bed to wait. The light hurt her head, and she turned it off. Some time passed, and she began to doze, thinking perhaps they’d forgotten her request, and deciding not to remind them.
     
    A knock on the door made her jump, and she considered pretending she wasn’t there.
     
    Another knock on the door; louder this time.
     
    “Ms Reilly? I’m coming in.”
     
    The dom’s voice, even more calm, sonorous, and utterly authoritative than it had been on the phone, made her shiver with anticipation.
     
    The door opened, and he was silhouetted against the light in the hallway. He gave her an appraising look, and quietly shut the door behind him. He hit the light switch by the door, and pain lanced through her head. She winced, and shaded her eyes. The dom was tall and strong, filling the black leather jeans and white collar shirt with rolled-up sleeves like something out of a romance novel. In his hand she could just make out a large black doctor’s bag.
     
    “Ms Reilly?” His voice held a touch of concern.
     
    “Uh... yes.” Oh, good start, that sounded confident and sexy.
     
    He smiled. “My name is Master Dan. We spoke on the phone. You may address me as Master Dan, or you may address me as Sir. What may I call you?”
     
    She swallowed. He sounded kind; not like some of the doms she’d read about in novels. She began to say her name, but exhaustion and nervousness made the words stick in her throat.
     
    Master Dan held up a hand and went to a cupboard that concealed a small built-in fridge. He took out a bottle of mineral water, broke the seal on the cap, and brought it over to her. “Try that again.”
     
    She took a few sips, and smiled to show she was exasperated with herself. “Sam.”
     
    He smiled understandingly, and extended a hand. “Nice to meet you, Sam. How are you today?”
     
    Really, she should have an answer for that. Unfortunately, she didn’t.
     
    “It wasn’t a trick question,” he said, and she could hear the questions below the surface, the ones she hoped he wouldn’t ask. Tonight, she just wanted to forget.
     
    “You’re an investigative journalist?”
     
    “Yes.”
     
    “Sounds like a tough job.”
     
    She nodded tightly. “Sometimes.”
     
    “I’m guessing it has been recently.”
     
    She swallowed, unused to being the object of such scrutiny. “Yes.”
     
    “Are you uncomfortable with me asking these questions?”
     
    “Yes, Sir. I’d rather not think about