Declaration to Submit by Jennifer Leeland Page A

say, “Three.”
    The way her body squirmed, her hands clenched and unclenched, and the desperate catch in her throat all settled into his heart and mind until he was insatiable for more. Again, he felt a connection, a link between them as if he experienced the pain with her. The sensation both surprised him and aroused him. It took every ounce of control to remind her she had an out. “Do you want the punishment to stop?”
    She inhaled, a shuddering breath that seemed to travel through her body to his. “No, Sir,” she said in a very quiet, small voice.
    He whacked her ass again. “I can’t hear you,” he demanded.
    “No, Sir,” she shouted.
    “How many is that, Anelda?” he asked her.
    “Four.” Tears streamed down her face, but when he brought his arm back, she arched toward his next blow.
    This one was full strength. She shouted and twisted against the chair. “Five.”
    He placed the flogger on the coffee table in her line of vision where she could see it and know this punishment was over. She sobbed and blinked up at him. “Five,” she whispered.
    With a brutal jerk, he gripped her hair and lifted her head to face him. “And why were you punished?”
    “Because I came without permission, Sir,” she said, her voice husky, and her eyes wet.
    Efficiently, he helped her to stand. “You are so beautiful when you cry, Nell.”
    At the sound of her shortened name, her head snapped up, and she stared at him. “Are you finished?”
    He led her to the couch and pulled her into his lap. “For the moment. What did you think?”
    “I-I…“ She closed her eyes and relaxed in his arms. “I’ve never been like this.”
    No, she never had. He sensed her need for closeness, and for once, he enjoyed the aftercare. She was relaxed and her body was limp as he laid her facedown on the cushions. When he rose from the couch, her hand caressed his thigh, a stolen touch that made him smile. With tender care, his lifted the tight skirt of her dress to reveal her reddened skin. He rubbed ointment over her ass and reveled in the way she leaned into his touch. When he wiped his hands with a towel from his bag, she watched him, a drowsy, seductive stare that made his cock twitch. When he sat beside her, it seemed natural to wrap his arms around her and pull her onto his lap. As he stroked her hair and cuddled her against his chest, he had a moment of sheer panic.
    Women had always been an open book to him, an easy gain for pleasure. This seemed more substantial, more solid. He wanted to shove her away from him and run like hell. A committed relationship, something involving a collar and more, might be for some people, but not him. Yet Nell was everything he’d always wanted for himself. She was a submissive and accepting of his kink. The idea of having everything—a submissive sexual partner and work companion—was terrifying. It meant revealing himself, uncovering his secrets to someone else, and sharing his life. Just the thought made his blood freeze.
    Her hand rested over his heart. “Your heartbeat has gone way up.” She lifted her head to gaze at him. “What did I do wrong?”
    Under the pretext of holding her hand in his, he moved her fingers away from the center of his terror. Fuck . He was a risk taker, a man who understood the rush that came from appropriating companies and playing in the dangerous monetary game of business.
    This kind of fear was alien to him.
    “You didn’t do anything wrong, Nell.”
    Apparently, she had put her own spin on his reaction and his soothing tone. She reared away from him, putting space between them.
    “I’m not stupid, Sir.” She snapped his title, and her eyes narrowed to slits. “It’s not like I’ve never heard the whole ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ speech.” She twisted away from him. “Spare me.”
    “Nell—”
    “The scene is over, right?” She pulled the hem of her skirt down to her knees. “Thank you. I need a moment.” She flipped her hair over her