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Embracing My Submission
 

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Embracing My Submission


  Embracing My Submission

  The Doms of Genesis, Book 1

  Jenna Jacob

  Embracing My Submission

  The Doms of Genesis, Book 1

  Jenna Jacob

  Published by Jenna Jacob

  Copyright 2012 Jenna Jacob

  Edited by Chloe Vale

  ePub ISBN 978-0-9885445-0-5

  If you have purchased a copy of this eBook, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book. This purchase allows you one legal copy for your own personal reading enjoyment on your personal computer or device. You do not have the rights to resell, distribute, print, or transfer this book, in whole or in part, to anyone, in any format, via methods either currently known or yet to be invented, or upload to a file sharing peer to peer program. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. If you no longer want this book, you may not give your copy to someone else. Delete it from your computer. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  For Sean, Amy, Chris, Eric, Jessie, Tyler and Jack: You fill my life with joy and complete me. I love you with all my heart, forever and a day, no matter what.

  For Shelley: I wouldn’t be living my dream, if not for you. Two little words can’t begin to convey what is in my heart, but...Thank You!

  For Pearl: You talk me off the ledges and raise your pom-poms over and again. Thank you for sharing your heart of gold!

  For Mom, Julie, and Cindy: Your unconditional love has made me a better woman.

  For Sophie: Thank you for opening the door that started the wheels turning.

  To Chloe Vale: I’m so glad you have the patience of a Saint. Thank you for your editing magic.

  To my family and friends: Thank you all for your love and encouragement but most of all, for believing in me.

  Take a peek at the end of this story for other Jenna Jacob titles soon to be released.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Coming Soon

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Good evening Master George.” I smiled uncomfortably as the Dom gazed into my eyes. Quickly turning my attention to Dahlia, his submissive, I relaxed. I didn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing or breaching protocol with a fellow submissive. Okay so maybe I’m a bit of a coward, but self-preservation is the key. Besides, the last thing I wanted was a Dominant reprimanding me for an unintentional breech of etiquette.

  “Oh, Dahlia, I love your corset. Is it new?” I cringed inside as she remained silent and lowered her eyes. Oh, hell! I’d failed to ask Master George’s permission to speak to his sub, thus breaching protocol. Open mouth, insert foot...again. Priceless.

  “My apologies Master George.” I swallowed tightly. “May I please have permission to speak to Dahlia, Sir?” My cheeks burned in embarrassment.

  Daddy Drake, my protector and mentor, a muscle-bound, Leather-Daddy Dominant standing next to me, chidingly cleared his throat. I could feel his eyes boring into the side of my head like a frickin’ laser beam while palpable displeasure rolled off his massive, tattooed body in waves.

  A slight smirk curled on Master George’s lips as I cringed and lowered my eyes. Staring down at the marred wooden podium inside the lobby of Genesis, a private BDSM club where I donated my time processing the patrons for a night of wicked pleasures, I hoped Drake wouldn’t chastise me right then and there. I’d die a thousand deaths of embarrassment if he did.

  Humiliation was a trigger for some submissives, but definitely not for me. Being taken to task in front of an audience might plummet some straight to their “submissive place,” but it only served to piss me off. Not a stellar reaction for a submissive, to say the least. Hopefully Drake would wait until the members mingling in the lobby were processed and inside the club before he took me to task. I could hope anyway.

  “Any other time I would grant your wish, Emerald. My girl thanks you for your compliment. And may I say you look quite ravishing as well.”

  I raised my eyes, smiling shyly then softly thanked him for his words of praise.

  “Dahlia treasures your friendship, as do I. However, my girl has atonements to make this evening. If she repents to my satisfaction, perhaps later, before we leave, I will allow her to seek you out so you two may visit.”

  “Thank you, Sir,” I whispered and lowered my eyes.

  Master George issued a stern look at Dahlia. I wondered what she’d done to warrant his punishment. I didn’t dare ask—I simply sent her a quick smile of reassurance, a small show of support to bolster her confidence for whatever reprimand awaited her. When she surreptitiously flashed me a quick smile and a subtle wink, I almost choked. The little vixen wasn’t the least bit rueful. She’d obviously manipulated Master George in some fashion, coerced him into dispensing a punishment for her pleasure. An unacceptable ploy submissives sometimes pulled known as “topping from the bottom.” I hoped she knew what the hell she was doing.

  That type of subterfuge usually came back to bite a sub on the ass. I’d seen it happen time and again. Master George was a strict Dom and smart too. Dahlia’s fate could be anything from a physical punishment to sitting in a corner the rest of the night alone. Being sequestered was a heinous punishment for any sub who ached to be used by their Dom. While some Dominants enjoyed a sub with a bit of sass, trying to force your owner to give you what you want versus asking for it was a dangerous game, indeed. Maybe Dahlia was just trying to keep Master George on his toes. Yeah, good luck with that. I painfully bit my lips together as I tried not to burst out laughing at Dahlia’s manipulation. I’d be hard-pressed to come up with a plausible explanation to Drake or George if I allowed the tiniest giggle to escape.

  “Drake. A pleasure as always.” Master George smiled and shook my mentor’s hand. “Where is your boy tonight?”

  Drake issued a heavy sigh. “Trevor’s inside the club. Sammie’s keeping an eye on him for me. I’ve leashed him to the bar naked. Seems we both have some discipline to dispense this evening. I have every intention of firing his insolent ass up proper.” A sadistic sparkle flashed across Drake’s eyes.

  I smiled tightly, envious of what awaited Dahlia and Trevor and longed to experience anything close to what they would receive. Unfortunately, I was missing one vital key...a Dominant. I would definitely need one to experience pleasure or pain. Knowing my fellow subs would be handing over their power to their Doms only served to reinforce the abysmal fear that I would never find the “yin” to my “yang,” never get to experience the joys of submitting to my “one.”

  It didn’t stop me from yearning. No, I was relentless when it came to envisioning a strong man
to take my power, coalesce it with his own, and forge me on a fantastic submissive journey. My fixation to find a Dominant was a steady, all-consuming desire that seemed to morph into an edgy, where-the-fuck-is-he demand burning inside me. I fantasized—constantly—about being collared and living happily ever after in a Dom/sub relationship, always wondering when that day, if ever, would come. Maybe I wasn’t meant to find an owner? Maybe I was destined to blow smoke up my own ass the rest of my life. Maybe there was no hope of assuaging the frustration plaguing my soul. Or maybe he was right around the corner.

  You would think after pouring myself into the lifestyle, absorbing everything humanly possible about the dynamics of a Dom/sub power exchange, I would find one. Nope. Nada. I was still un-owned, still searching for that elusive “one.” Kind of like a needle in a haystack. With my luck, I could probably plop my unfulfilled ass in a needle factory and still not find him. Yet I couldn’t give up hope. It was all I had. And I was learning volumes about submission and the lifestyle as a whole, but it wasn’t doing me a damn bit of good.

  Scanning the group of members assembled in the lobby, I realized every submissive waiting to be checked in had a Master or Mistress. How utterly depressing. There were times, like now, that the overwhelming hopelessness of being un-owned stirred ugly, jealous feelings toward Dahlia, Trevor, and all the other owned subs. I felt shameful, as if I wore a scarlet letter.

  Shaking my head to chase the negative thoughts from my brain, I focused instead on my blessings. I wasn’t adrift in an ocean, flailing without a safety line. Drake had taken me under his wing as my protector and mentor. He was good to me and for me. He was held in high esteem in the community, but sometimes he was far too strict. I often wondered if his imposing size and reputation kept the available Dominants at bay. Were they unwilling to cross Drake’s path? Or was it all me? Was I lacking in some basic submissive way? Like a quart low on submissive pixie dust or something? I had no clue. Exhaling softly, I knew I needed to steer my negative thoughts in a more positive direction. Start a mental gratitude list. That usually worked.

  Drake did his best to see that my needs were met. Over the years, we had formed a close bond, both in and out of the club. I loved him like a brother, and he knew me better than I knew myself. He always tenaciously forced me to analyze my motives and actions, even when I didn’t want to, and he never once gave up on me. I had to look at the big picture. Being protected by Drake made me a very lucky woman, even if I could still feel his eyes burning into my skull. Watching and waiting as George and Dahlia parted the heavy velvet curtains and entered the club, I turned and faced Drake. Arching my brow, I held up my palms to stave off his lecture.

  “I know. I know.”

  “If you knew, then why did you?”

  Dissuading him with a look of innocence, I shrugged. “I always talk to Dahlia and Master George. It’s part of my job to be friendly and welcoming. It’s what I do.” Batting my lashes at him in feigned innocence, I grinned.

  Obviously seeing through my veil of finely crafted bullshit, he shook his head, sighing in disgust. “If I owned you, I’d whip your ass.”

  “You still can!” I smiled, winking mischievously.

  “No, sweetheart. You’d enjoy that way too much. Where would the lesson be?” His lips curled in a tight condescending smirk as more members filtered through the door.

  The lobby filled quickly, but that was normal for a Friday night. Drake and I hastily checked them in at the podium. I smiled at the familiar faces as they laughed and talked. It warmed my heart that so many had grown to be valued friends over the years. We were like a family of sorts. An extremely kinky family, but a family all the same.

  Scanning the crowd, my eyes leveled upon...him. Tall and handsome, with rugged features. A broad frame with scrumptiously wide shoulders, like a football player. The man had a thick neck and a narrow waist. My heart thundered in my chest as my mouth began to water. Sandy-blond hair carelessly framed the most incredible ocean-blue eyes I’d ever seen. A shiver ran down my spine and my nipples pebbled.

  The stranger was dressed in black slacks with a tight-fitting black T-shirt that molded and outlined his rippling biceps and pecs. I swallowed the lump in my throat as he smiled, chatting with the people around him. His dazzling smile could light the sun. My stomach flip-flopped as a needful throb centered between my legs. I nervously licked my lips and stared like a doe in the headlights at the gorgeous man.

  He certainly wasn’t the one I was expecting. He was nothing like the man I hoped would someday walk through the door. But then only a fool would continue searching faces in the crowd for some vaporous apparition from a reoccurring dream. No sane person would waste their time looking for a ghost. Especially not the hunky ghost that haunted me nightly, or the equally mysterious she-ghost who always appeared first, begging me to “find him.” I had no idea who the two specters were or what they wanted, but without fail, they tandemly invaded my dreams nearly every damn night. Over time, I’d grown to expect them before I drifted off to sleep. I’d even given them names. He was “Sir Drool.” The dude was drop-dead gorgeous and had an aura of Dominance that nearly brought me to my knees. And I’d dubbed her “Fanny-Frustration.” The woman persistently pestered me to find the elusive Sir Drool. Most mornings I woke up exhausted from running down endless halls brimming with closed doors in an attempt to locate the phantom Dom. Obviously there was more symbolism in my stupid dream than I cared to dissect. Hell, I’d given my nightly visitors names, thus proving I was a few French fries short of a kid’s meal.

  Fanny-Frustration always appeared first. The woman bore an uncanny resemblance to me, but for reasons I couldn’t explain, I knew she wasn’t me. Fanny was an elegant gossamer apparition with a voice like an angel. She was soft and sure, continually drilling me to “find him—find my ‘one.’”

  Was she on crack? Didn’t she know I’d spent the better part of four years trying to find any Dom, let alone the mouthwatering hunk she summoned night after night? As if that weren’t torture enough, she had to ratchet my frustration level by conjuring images of the melt-your-panties-in-a-puddle Dom over and again.

  Sir Drool was so decadently captivating, I would often wake to find my covers tangled around my feet and my fingers plunged deep inside my slick, quivering sex. Broad shoulders with thick, roped muscles bulging beneath his milk-chocolate flesh alone was incentive for my fingers to dance beneath the covers. But it was his liquid amber eyes that fueled powerful sleeping orgasms. Sir Drool always appeared with an obscure, mischievous twinkle in his shimmering butterscotch eyes. A girl could get lost in those eyes. Lost and never want to find her way home.

  Oh, but it didn’t stop there. His one stunning feature that drew me like a moth to a flame was his lips, or rather his bottom lip. It was thick and full and so damn inviting. A deep, ripe, sensual peach color so enticing I longed to reach out and skim my finger over the full brim. I wanted to slide my tongue across its plumpness and capture it between my teeth.

  As far as dreams went, I couldn’t complain with such toe-curling eye candy. But the unsettling part was Fanny’s crushing, frantic, stubborn demand that I find him, amplifying my dissatisfaction with being un-owned.

  In all my days at the club, I’d never glimpsed anyone who looked remotely close to Sir Drool. Every bald, light-skinned African American male that walked through the door caused my neck to snap and my belly to tighten in anticipation. Yet none turned out to be him. As ludicrous as it seemed, I found myself falling a little in love with the dream man. Yeah, there had to be a straightjacket out there with my name on it somewhere.

  The striking blond man standing in the lobby wasn’t remotely close to Sir Drool, yet I felt particularly drawn toward him with an unsettling chemistry of sorts. I felt like a vapid sophomore drooling over the star quarterback. I couldn’t look away. Was there such a thing as lust at first sight? Maybe. Or maybe I was just too horny for my own damn good.

  There was no denying the man ma
de my blood pump, my knees weak, and my needy pussy shamelessly respond. My palms were sweaty, and butterflies were having a free-for-all in my belly. Not to mention I was dripping wet. I stood staring at the man silently praying he was a Dominant...an un-attached Dominant. Not that I was desperate or anything. Yeah. Right.

  I leaned to whisper to Drake, asking if he knew the man. He shrugged his beefy shoulders and shook his head no. That was odd. Drake knew every member of the club. Evidently, the sexy mystery man was new. I focused, well somewhat focused, on checking in the members while trying not to blatantly stare.

  I jerked, gasping as Drake tugged my hair. “It’s not polite to stare, girl,” he whispered tersely in my ear.

  “I’m trying not to,” I murmured as tiny contractions rippled through my drenched core.

  “Try harder,” he growled.

  “Yes, Sir,” I whispered then closed my eyes for a moment, willing my sensitive nipples to cease throbbing. That didn’t work either. As the stranger made his way to the podium, anxiety blossomed like a spring flower. My body lit up like a Christmas tree.

  “Good evening.” His deep voice reverberated in my chest, and a flurry of goose bumps peppered my arms. His stunning smile sent my blood pressure to near stroke level while my knees shook like baby saplings in a hurricane. I wanted to groan as my nipples pebbled painfully beneath my corset.

  Unable to resist, I stared at the tiny lines gathered at the corners of his hypnotic blue eyes.

  “This is my first visit to Genesis. My name is Sir Jordon, and you are?”

  That voice. Oh sweet mercy! He was pulling me under in a swirling, churning ocean of debauchery. Images of him thrusting deep inside, driving me into sexual oblivion, or gazing up at me between splayed thighs while he feasted on my slick and ungodly swollen folds filled my mind. I swallowed tightly, trying to chase away the vivid imagery. Protocol dictated I lower my gaze...but beat my ass crimson, there was no way in hell I could look away.

 
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