“There are private and semiprivate rooms, the themed rooms. The school room. The Victorian boudoir. The medieval torture chamber. The medical room. Do you see the curtained areas off to the sides? Those are aftercare rooms, full of pillows. And in the back there’s the kitchen and an outdoor patio. But I’ll give you the tour another time. I don’t want to break this space inside your head too much. I like where you’re at.”
She turned to him. “Do you?”
He stroked the underside of her chin with his finger. “I do. I think we’re going to play very well together. Come.”
He took her hand and led her across the floor of the main room. The music was a low throb of ambient tones as they passed a row of spanking benches: two floating, padded tables suspended from the ceiling by heavy chains. They moved past an enormous wooden frame in the middle of the room. A woman was bound in heavy leather cuffs, her arms stretched over her head and attached to the frame by carabiners clipped to hooks set into the wood. She wondered vaguely where he might be taking her, but that sinking sensation was beginning to ground her in the moment, in her body, and she was content for now to simply follow him.
They reached the back of the room, where long couches and a few overstuffed chairs made cozy conversation areas. He stopped in front of one of the couches, set his play bag down on a table, nodded at her, a sharp lift of his chin that made her focus on the chiseled edges of his features, all pure masculine man.
“Down on the floor, Allie. On your knees. And wait for me.” He turned away to unzip his bag.
“I . . . what?”
He turned back to her, his gaze narrowing. “This is standard drill, Allie. I thought you were an experienced submissive,” he said, doubt lacing his tone.
“I am.”
“Then what’s going on?”
“I just . . .” She had to pause, catch her breath. “It’s because it’s you. Well, you and me. I guess I thought . . .” She trailed off, shaking her head.
“You thought what? That because it’s us things would happen differently than they would with any other play partners we may have had? That I’d handle you with kid gloves because of our history, despite the things you and Jamie have told me about your experience in the scene? Despite our negotiations?”
There was an edge to his voice she found a little frightening, yet at the same time knowing he was the full-on Dom with her was reassuring—that he wouldn’t cut her any slack he shouldn’t in these circumstances.
Remember who you’re dealing with. Remember this is what you’ve always wanted.
“No. No. I’m just . . . making a mental adjustment, I guess.”
“Well, make it fast, girl, because if you’re not down on your knees in about ten seconds I’m putting you there myself.”
Really love to have him do just that to me.
She almost groaned aloud. But she wasn’t going to give him that. Not yet.
She sank to her knees on the Persian carpet in front of the sofa, her gaze on his as he watched her, trying to assess his response. Was he pleased with her? Or was he still so pissed that she’d forced his hand in the situation that she’d have to really stretch herself to satisfy him? To make him see she could be the perfect submissive for him. That she could be perfect for him.
She sank back on her heels and clasped her hands behind her back. Waited.
“Eyes on the floor,” he said gruffly before turning back to his big black bag as if nothing had happened, as if their little exchange hadn’t left her heart slamming into her ribs.
She tried to breathe as she’d been taught—in, exhaling slowly through her mouth, concentrating on telling her limbs to relax. Soon it was working and she was able to spread her focus to the sounds around her: the dungeon music, the moans and cries of the others being played, a little laughter from somewhere, the lovely sound of a leather flogger hitting flesh.
She’d always loved that sound, the simple knowledge of what it meant. It made her want to feel it herself. To smell the leather. She inhaled, letting the scents of leather and anticipation sit in her lungs—and gasped when his fingers sank into her hair and pulled. Pulled her hair back unto she was forced to meet his gaze.
He bent low over her, brought his mouth almost to hers and whispered, “I thought you could do it, Allie. After we talked I had a pretty good idea that you really could submit. But seeing you down on your knees tells me everything I need to know. For the moment, anyway. We’ll have to see what else you know, what else you can do. But this trick . . . oh, yeah, you have this one down.”
She didn’t dare say anything. He was all Dom right then, and she didn’t want him to be anything else. His hand gripping her hair, his imposing presence, his whispered threats and words of encouragement, were making her shivery all over. Wet between her thighs.
“Arms up while I get you undressed,” he ordered.
She raised her arms high, let him pull the dress over her head, leaving her in her scant black mesh lingerie and her heels.
“Very nice,” he murmured, moving behind her and reaching out to sweep her hair aside. “I’m going to start with your hair.”
“What? My hair?”
“Is this an argument?”
She swallowed. “I . . . no.”
“Then quiet now.”
He swept her hair back from her face with both hands, and began to work some slender rope into it. She’d had this done before—had her hair bound into a sort of ponytail of corset lacing. She didn’t know what had surprised her into speaking out a moment before. In a few minutes he was done. He swung her bound hair over her shoulder, then drew one finger slowly down the back of her neck, sending a trembling warmth down her spine. She tried to curve into his touch, but he stilled her with a palm flat between her shoulder blades, pressing just enough to make her feel it. Strength. Command.
“Oh no you don’t, my girl. You move when I tell you to. Right now you are to be my toy to play with. Mine to move and shift around as I please. And I will please. Know that. Know it’s coming. That you are. Eventually.” He moved around her, tracing the line of her jaw, the side of her neck, over her collarbone, down the side of her breast, making her ache. “But now . . . now I’m going to sit down here on this couch and relax for a few minutes and just watch you. I want you to hold very, very still. Can you do that for me? Don’t speak—nod yes if you think you can without me binding you yet.”
Oh, Jesus! He was going to make her lose her mind. But she found herself nodding her chin.
“Good girl.”
Heat shot through her system.
From the corner of her downturned eye she saw his booted foot as he settled onto the furniture. She swore she could feel him watching her, as if his hand were still on her bare skin.
“I think I’d like it better with your hands clasped behind your neck.”
“Mick . . .” she whispered, her throat going tight, her body resisting being that vulnerable with him.
“Allie, the correct answer is an immediate agreement to do as I ask you by simply doing it. Or the answer is no. I’m not going to play these games, which I believe I’ve already told you.”
She drew in a deep breath. She wanted to comply. And she wanted to fight it. But the part that wanted—needed—to be taken over by him was winning as her muscles went loose at the tone of utterly inarguable dominance in his voice.
“I’m sorry, Mick. I can do it. I will.”
His voice softened, and she understood why he was such a good Dominant—he knew exactly when to be tough, and when to show tenderness. “Take a breath, then. And try it again. Yeah, that’s much better.”
She knew being in that position arched her back, made her breasts stand higher. It made her feel as if she were on display. It made her feel more submissive.
She waited. And waited. Until the waiting itself seemed almost unbearable, even more so because it was him. Hadn’t she already waited for Mick long enough? Tears burned at the back of her eyes, but she swallowed them down. She would please him, damn it. Do as he said. Show him she knew what his game was all about, that she could play it, too.