And one Chelsea had just said was obviously something called a skank-ho and was likely a criminal who should be shoved off the boat. Chelsea had offered to do it herself. Penny discounted contestant number ten because she’d seen her put her hand on Simon’s ass as he instructed her on how to do the rumba. Chelsea had a bit of a vindictive streak.
She’d read everything she could on Bennett, had tried to memorize his face, but he could have undergone plastic surgery. She looked over the crowd, wondering which of these men were waiting to take Bennett’s place.
Damon’s hand traced her curves and ran back up to her breasts that seemed barely encased in a too-tight corset. His words whispered against her ear. “I discovered that Tiffani Hall enjoys large anal plugs and apparently likes very much to play the pony to her Master’s rider. There was absolutely nothing there past sex toys and an inordinate amount of cherry flavored lube. I stole a tube. She won’t miss it. Do you like cherry? God knows I do. You still have one, you know. I’m going to take that cherry. You’re almost ready for me.”
His hand ran down to her backside, cupping her cheek and reminding her that he’d been prepping her for that bit of play. Anal sex. He seemed a bit obsessed with it.
“That sounds like fun, Master. Can you be serious for a minute?”
“I am serious. I’m seriously thinking about fucking your tight arse. I’m trying not to be serious about the rest of it because it’s likely to end in violent death. Both of ours, most probably. So I would like to spend my last days with my cock in your arse.”
He was making her insane. He’d taken the tactic of shutting her out of the professional part of their relationship. She’d returned from a class he’d sent her to only to discover the entire crew had gotten together to discuss logistics without her. When she’d confronted him about it, he’d just kissed her and tossed her on the bed and explained that it had been “organic,” and then she hadn’t been able to think about anything but the way he was devouring her pussy.
“Damon, please, you can’t shut me out of this.”
“I’m not shutting you out.” He licked the shell of her ear. “This is your job, love. You’re here to give me cover. That’s all. We could break up, you know. You could stomp off and throw that collar you’re wearing in my face and everyone would believe it. The way you frown at me all the time has given me a bad reputation. Charlotte heard someone talking about the sweet-faced sub and her mean Master. I’m the mean Master.”
“I’m not taking off my collar, Damon.”
“Then you have to put up with this.” He gripped her hips, rubbing his erection against her bum.
Yes, she’d rapidly learned that being Master Damon’s submissive meant taking Master Damon’s cock at least three times a day. The man was utterly insatiable, and he didn’t seem to care that they might not be alone when he got it in his head to have her. On the long drive from London to Dover, he’d hiked up her skirt and screwed her in the backseat while the Taggarts argued about whether or not they should bring someone named Phoebe back a Harry Potter souvenir.
“Who are our targets?” There was no point in arguing with him. At least he’d shoved aside the arctic treatment she’d gotten before. She preferred perpetually horny, pessimistic Damon to the cold, distant Dom.
“I told you. I’m targeting that pretty hole of yours.”
“Damon, please.”
He smacked her left cheek hard, his brows furrowing. “What did you say?”
There were certain things he insisted on. He would let her get away with a lot, but he had his own protocol. “Master.”
“Better.” He sighed and drew her back into his arms. “You’re turning into a workaholic.”
“How can I since you never let me work?”
“Fine.” He swept her hair aside and went back to nibbling on her ear. “Do you see the girl in the black corset?”
“Seriously?” That described almost everyone.
“The one with dark hair and the blue stiletto boots that she can’t bloody well walk in.”
Ah, yes. She’d noted the woman as well. She seemed a bit out of place. “The reporter, right?”
“Yes.” He let his hands delve into her corset, pulling on her breasts so he could play with her nipples. “The Dom is her boyfriend. He hasn’t got a clue. If that bastard’s ever wielded a flogger, I’ll eat my own shorts.”
“You don’t wear shorts.”
He chuckled a little. “That’s because I want to be able to fuck you at any given moment, love.” He sighed. “Fine. You seemed determined to take something fun and make it into a drudgery.”
How had he ever gotten his double 0 status? “We do have a job to do. What’s the Dom’s name again?”
“Robert Tilman. Chelsea can’t find a connection with anyone in The Collective or Nature’s Core for him. As far as we can tell, they’ve been living together for over a year. They fight a lot if their e-mail and text conversations are any indication. They’ve only just joined a club in London. The Cave. It’s a touristy piece of shite. I wouldn’t even call it a starter club.”
She stared at Robert for a moment and had to admit, Damon was right. He looked uncomfortable. Most of the couples around them seemed deeply at ease with their roles, while Robert and his sub kept switching positions and trying to find where they should be. The reporter, whose name was Candice Jones, kept tugging at her knickers, which were oddly conservative given that many of the subs were naked.
As she stood and watched with Damon, Candice reached up and tugged on her Dom’s hand, pulling him down and frowning his way.
If she did that to Damon in a dungeon, he would put her over his knee before she could take another breath, but Robert just shook his head at whatever she was saying. She’d seen the expression on Robert’s face a million times. It was the same slightly constipated look that her sister’s husband had when he was trying to please her and couldn’t figure out how.
It was not an expression she would expect to see on a Dom.
“They’re pretending.”
“Very good, love.” His fingers twisted her nipples to that sweet spot just before pain, the exact amount of pressure it took to get her pussy nice and wet, and her blood flowing through her veins with a pulsing rhythm. She was rapidly becoming addicted to Damon’s brand of dominance. It was a sweet combination of discipline and indulgence.
What would she do if he followed through with his threats to give her up at the end of their operation? She’d become suspicious that his constant desire had something to do with having her as many times as he could before he let her go.
Or died. Her Master wasn’t a “glass is half full” sort of man.
“Why are they here if they aren’t a real D/s couple?” She felt like she could safely ask the question since she’d been in an actual D/s relationship for a week. It hadn’t been long, but it had been immersive. She really was Damon Knight’s submissive. She’d surrendered utterly to him.
“That’s a very good question. I think we should find out. Unless you would rather play. There’s an empty spanking bench.”
She knew exactly what he would do. He would spank her senseless, fuck her until she couldn’t breathe, and carry her upstairs and tuck her in. Then he would put a guard on her door and come right back here and do the damn job himself. “Tempting, but I think we should figure out if they’re our targets. We dock in Helsinki tomorrow. The switch could happen at any port.”