Sovereign, p.1
Sovereign, page 1
SOVEREIGN
A DARK COWBOY ROMANCE
RAYA MORRIS EDWARDS
Sovereign
By Raya Morris Edwards
Copyright © 2024 Morris Edwards Publishing
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted without prior permission of the publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
FIRST EDITION
This book is for anyone who ever wanted spanked and called a good girl by a hot cowboy. That’s not too much to ask, right?
Author’s Note: While this is a BDSM romance, for the purposes of storyline and character development, there are instances where BDSM is not practiced properly or safely. As with all fiction, especially dark, please do not look to it for true and and accurate information regarding BDSM.
TRIGGER WARNINGS & TAGS
Parental death—in the past
Discussion/flashback of the aftermath of past rape—not MCs
Discussion/depictions of past abusive relationship
References to DV and grooming
Grief
Discussions & depictions of shooting & murder
Discussion of the past death of a pregnant woman via vehicular homicide
Use of gun during sex
Scratching/hitting during sexual situations
Emotionally charged sexual situations
Stalking
Discussion of alcohol abuse/sobriety
Vasectomy/reversal
Arson
Discussion of animal abuse—brief and non explicit
Discussion of a minor being hit—brief and non explicit
Discussions of cheating—not between MCs
Pregnancy & TTC discussions/depictions at very end
SEXUAL CONTENT TAGS/WARNINGS
CNC/Dubcon—Important note: This book contains a strong overall theme of dubious consent that may range into noncon due to instances of improper BDSM practices, improper safeword practices, a large power/age imbalance, and a forced contract.
Explicit oral, anal & vaginal sex acts
BDSM—this is a fictionalized depiction for a dark work of fiction and should not be taken as educational
Dom/sub based punishment/play
Heavy praise and degradation
Size difference (we’re gonna make it fit trope)
Restraints—belt, cuffs
Collaring
Gun/fear play
Clit/nipple clamps
Impact play – spanking with hand, switch, belt
Slapping, hitting, scratching in sexual situations
Choking/gagging
Breath play
Light spitting
Brief somnophilia
Blood from sex/period
CHAPTER ONE
KEIRA
“Keira!”
I jump and the coffee cups rattle against the counter. It’s late and I’m exhausted after preparing and serving a full meal for everyone at Garrison Ranch. It took me the usual two hours after dinner to clean the kitchen and load all the dishes into the dishwasher. I was about to head upstairs to bed when I heard truck tires come up the drive.
My husband, Clint, told me to go back into the kitchen. Unsurprised, I obeyed, but I lingered just behind the doorway. Listening to the unfamiliar voice of our late night visitor.
It’s deep and smooth with a thick undercurrent of gravel. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up although I’m not sure why. I lift my arm and goosebumps are popping up across my skin.
I lean my head against the wall and close my eyes. Their footsteps fade out as they head upstairs to Clint’s office on the second floor. It doesn’t bother me anymore that my husband shuts me out of everything, including who comes and goes in my own home. I know exactly what I’m good for in his mind and it’s not being his equal.
Clint’s footfalls ring out again and I make a mad dash for the island countertop. It’s empty so I pretend I’m taking forks and knives from the drawer. His boots pause in the doorway and I look up, brushing back my hair.
My husband is a tall man with dusky blonde hair and steel gray eyes. He’s handsome, but I stopped feeling anything when I looked at him a long time ago. Maybe less than a year after our wedding.
“Make up some coffee for our guest,” he says.
I nod and slide the silverware back into the drawer. “Decaf?”
He glances up at the clock over the stove. It was his grandmother’s and then his mother’s. I fucking hate it. I wish I could open the back door and pitch it so hard I never have to look at it again. It’s yellowed and the wooden frame has cracked from hanging above the stove. But the reason I hate it so much has more to do with how badly his late mother treated me after the wedding.
Before the wedding, she’d been nothing but sweet. But as soon as the ring was firmly on my finger, she stopped speaking to me except to hurl insults. It was a relief when she died.
I used to wonder what I did to make his family hate me. But after a while, I came to accept that nothing made sense anymore. Clint had once loved me too. Now he’s disgusted every time I open my mouth.
“Of course,” he says.
“How many cups?”
He shrugs. “Make up a tray. And put something to eat on there as well.”
He leaves before I can ask him what. I wipe my hands on my apron and unwrap the leftover biscuits. Even Clint doesn’t have a bad word to say about my biscuits. They’re fluffy, layered perfectly so they can be split open hot and soaked with butter and raspberry jam. I pop them in the oven for a few minutes as I make coffee.
Then I load everything up and slip my house shoes off to carry them upstairs in my socks. I don’t want to risk falling and spilling everything.
Clint would lose his shit.
I’m wearing a modest, long-sleeved dress that goes to my knees. At least I don’t have to worry about Clint calling me a slut. He likes to do that when I wear anything that shows an inch of skin.
Outside the oak door, I balance the tray in one hand and knock once with the other.
There’s a short silence. Then:
“Come in.”
I enter, allowing myself one glance over the room. I see a pair of steel-toe boots by the chair in the corner. Clint sits at his desk between the two windows on the far wall. There’s a short pile of folders before him, one of them open. I can tell it’s paperwork for cattle.
“Set it down on the desk,” Clint says, without looking up.
Uncomfortable, I cross the room and put the tray down. My eyes flick to the side, locking on the stranger’s boots. They’re bigger than normal and the leather is worn. Whoever he is, he’s a broad man, I can tell from his feet.
Gathering my courage, I let my eyes run higher.
My heart stops.
He has a pair of pale blue eyes beneath dark, lowered brows. His face is broad and masculine, his jawline defined and covered in a short beard. His nose is heavy with a bump on the bridge, like maybe he broke it once. There’s a firmness to his expression and face, but no emotion.
He glances at me and glances away. Then he does a double take.
Our eyes lock and I can barely breathe.
Heat curls in my lower belly. We stare at each other for a second that feels like an eternity. My eyes take in every detail of his face hungrily. The dark, wavy hair, a bit falling over his forehead. The button up that leaves a V of bare skin at his throat exposed. The smattering of hair rising above it that sparks my curiosity.
My gaze flicks down.
He’s got a thick, muscled body that fills out his work pants and shirt perfectly. But it’s not the physical that stops me in my tracks.
He feels like when the winds change to bring in a storm. Maybe it’s because his aura is dark like the cool shadows in the pines. Or clouds rolling over the mountains, soft at first, and then bringing swift destruction.
I shudder. He hasn’t said anything to me, I have no reason to be intimidated. But I am. There’s an edge of darkness to him, like a gravitational pull. It’s overwhelming.
“Can you pour the coffee?” Clint says.
I glance up and he’s scowling the way he does before he pulls me aside to chew me out. Except he won’t do that here because we’re being watched. Obediently, I pour two cups and pass one to my husband and one to the newcomer. He reaches out to take it and my eyes fall on a ring on his smallest finger.
There’s a silver symbol on it. I tilt my head and make out three letters. SMR.
My brows shoot up to my hairline. I know who this man is. No one else would wear that insignia on a ring like that. He’s Gerard Sovereign, the owner of the wealthiest cattle and horse ranch in the state. Sovereign Mountain Ranch borders our land, but I know better than to go there.
I’m not sure why, but we’re not friendly with them. I know that much from Clint.
They say he has everyone in his grip. That all roads lead to Sovereign Mountain at some point.
Clint talks about Gerard Sovereign like he’s the devil. I half expected him to have horns. But he’s handsome, heavily muscled like one of the draft horses we use to pull hay in the winter. His eyes are on me and I get the impression he doesn’t lose control easily. His lack of expression is a testament to his restraint.
Especially because I saw his body tense when he looked me in the eyes.
“Do you want cream?” I whisper.
He shakes his head, once.
Clint doesn’t take cream in his coffee either, so I turn to leave. My husband clears his throat and I freeze, turning.
“Stay,” he says. “We’ve got someone else coming in a few minutes.”
Heat creeps up the back of my neck. He does this to me occasionally and I fucking hate it. It’s humiliating having to stand there like I’m on his payroll and wait for one of them to have some need that needs fulfilling. My lashes feel wet as I back up and sink down in the chair in the corner.
Gerard follows me with his eyes.
“Is that your wife?” he asks, his voice soft and deep.
Clint nods, glancing up. Something sparks between them that puts me on high alert. Their gazes lock, like two wolves squaring off. Then Clint turns his eyes back to the desk like it never happened. He passes Gerard a pen and paper without raising his head. I study Gerard’s impassive face and I think I see a flicker of amusement.
“Why do you want to know?” Clint says, his tone forced. He’s trying to be casual.
“She doesn’t need to stay,” Gerard says.
Clint glances at me and I swallow hard. “She’s fine. It’s not like she has anything better to do.”
My chest aches. Before our wedding, he never spoke to me like this. Now it’s the only way he talks to me and what scares me is that I’m used to it. I get up in the morning with an empty brain and put my hands to work because it’s what he wants. It’s not like I can leave, I have nowhere to go and no money to my name.
So I cook for the entire ranch, I clean the house spotless, and I fuck him when he wants it.
When he’s finally asleep at night, I roll onto my side and take the painted wooden mare from my bedside table. My mother was from Sweden and when she came to America, she brought one of her childhood toys. A red and white wooden mare, beautifully carved. It’s running hard, three feet off the ground.
I never met my mother. She died not long after I was born.
At night, I trace the bridle painted to look like a string of stars. The paint is still crisp. Before my father passed when I was seventeen, he had it repainted and sealed with varnish. It was his farewell gift.
After losing my farm and my freedom to Clint, all I have left is the painted mare.
I look up from my corner and he’s watching me again. Clint is by the file cabinet in the corner with his back to us. Gerard leans back in his chair, spreading his legs. My fingers clench in my lap.
What is he looking at?
“I have the paperwork here,” Clint says, turning and crossing back to the desk.
Gerard drags his cold eyes back to my husband as he holds out his hand and accepts the file folder. Something crackles between them, like they’d much rather be anywhere but in this room together. A tiny shiver moves up my spine. I’m fine-tuned to read my husband’s emotions and it’s very obvious he’s uncomfortable with Gerard.
Downstairs, a car door slams. Clint leans back and glances out the window.
“There’s Jay,” he says. “Keira, go down and bring him up.”
A muscle twitches in Gerard’s jaw. He snaps the folder shut with one hand and sets it down.
“I’ll go,” he says.
Clint frowns. “No, Keira’s fine.”
Gerard clears his throat. “I mistook her for your paid help with the way you treat her, Garrison.”
The room goes deadly silent again. Clint’s steel gaze snaps to me like I had something to do with Gerard’s words. Heart pounding, I curl back into the chair. Am I going to pay for this later when we’re alone?
Clint rises abruptly and crosses the room, yanking open the door.
“I’ll get him myself,” he snaps.
His footfalls echo down the hall and the room goes deadly quiet. Gerard’s lips part and his eyes drag over me. Starting at my feet tucked under the chair. Traveling up my thighs. Lingering on my breasts, throat, and mouth. Then our gazes clash.
The air crackles.
Beneath my dress, my nipples tighten. Heat stirs in my lower belly and curls down until I feel it between my thighs.
It’s quickly followed by shame. I’m married, I shouldn’t be looking at other men this way. And yet…I can’t stop looking at Gerard like I’m starving.
I am starving. Clint gives me crumbs of attention. He fucks me, but he doesn’t bother going down on me. Or even staying up while I use my vibrator. He says it’s not his problem that I can’t come while he’s fucking me. That’s not even the worst thing though. It’s the lack of emotional intimacy that really hurts. No hugs, no late night talks, no comforting me when I cry.
All that neglect means I’m left empty.
And Gerard Sovereign looks like an entire meal and then some.
“You’re going to get me in trouble,” I say, my voice cracking.
“I’m not afraid of your husband,” he says quietly.
Before I can stop myself, my mouth opens and I say the one thing I never admit to anyone else.
“No, but I am.”
His face goes hard. “Is your husband a mad dog?”
Confused, I glanced back at the door. Listening for footsteps. When I drag my attention back, he’s got me in his crosshairs. His eyes aren’t just blue as I previously thought. He’s got a darker ring edging his irises that makes his stare even more piercing.
“What?” I whisper.
“Mad dogs bite,” he says. “There’s no cure for it but a shotgun.”
My jaw goes slack.
“Are you…threatening Clint?” I whisper.
“Does he need to be threatened?”
I’m struggling to find words. No one has ever spoken to me like this while they unabashedly eye-fuck me.
Oh God, I’m blushing.
Flustered, I brush my hair from my hair and straighten my shoulders.
“You should stop,” I say firmly.
He cocks his head. “Stop what? You’re the one who has bedroom eyes.”
I tear my gaze away and fix it at the ground. My complexion is too fair to conceal the heat in my face. It’s making pink splotches down my neck and chest.
“You need to stop it,” I say, more sharply this time. “My husband gets jealous.”
“Again. I’m not afraid of him.”
I study him warily. His face is hard to read, but I can feel that he’s got a vendetta against my husband. Maybe they had a soured business deal once upon a time. But whatever it is, I hear the subtle distaste in his words when he talks about Clint. Like he’s something disgusting that needs to be scraped from his shoe.
“Maybe you should be,” I say.
He leans forward and I peek at him through my lashes. “Mrs. Garrison, I could bend you over this desk and fuck you with your husband watching and he wouldn’t say a goddamn word.”
My jaw drops. The silence rings in my ears. He leans back in his chair like he didn’t just say something shocking. Before I can answer, we both hear footsteps in the hall. I scramble to fold my hands and tuck my feet back under the chair.
The door opens and Clint enters with a wiry, graying man in dress pants and a shirt. I recognize him as Jay Reeds, his lawyer. Automatically, I rise to let him have my chair and go to stand by the door. Hands folded and eyes on the ground.
This time, to conceal my bright red face.
CHAPTER TWO
GERARD
I’ve never hated anyone the way I hate Garrisons, especially Clint. But the moment I lay eyes on his redheaded wife, I’m glad I agreed to meet with him.
Tonight was supposed to be a quick transaction. We’re the two biggest ranchers in the state and having to do business together is inevitable. I anticipated a brief meeting where I scrawled my name on paper and walked out without speaking more than I needed to.
But then she walked in.
Nervous, tired, trying to make herself as small as possible so he doesn’t look her way. I know exactly what kind of man he is, so it doesn’t surprise me that his wife acts like a scared rabbit. But it does surprise me that the moment I lay eyes on her, my body reacts like a live wire.
She’s got an hourglass figure with curvy hips and breasts. When she turns, I get a good look at her round ass, big enough I could get a handful and still have plenty leftover, and my mind goes into overdrive. Imagining what it would be like to sink my teeth into her bare ass hard enough to make her scream.
