Joe straightened, his heart sledgehammering so hard in his chest he could barely hear the music anymore. He waited for her to spot him. Had she come here looking for him?
Finally her eyes came to rest on him. Their eyes met in a collision he felt viscerally. Her lips parted. She hesitated. Then she started toward him on long bare legs, her feet clad in strappy white sandals that revealed pink polished toenails. He wasn’t a foot fetish kind of guy, but he had an urge to pay some attention to those pretty toes.
She stopped in front of him. Nerves shimmered in her eyes and her bottom lip trembled ever so slightly.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi, Tara.”
A pause thickened around them.
She curled her fingers around the small purse she carried—no flogger tonight—and her breasts lifted on a long inhalation. “I was hoping you would be here.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“About?”
She lowered her chin and looked at him through her eyelashes. “Could we maybe go somewhere else?”
“Where do you want to go?”
Her eyes darted around. “It doesn’t matter. Just somewhere…oh, never mind.”
And she went to her knees in front of him.
He stared at her, unmoving. What the fuck? His heart almost burst out of his chest.
Her head bent, her long golden hair curtaining her face, she set her little purse on the floor beside the chair and clasped her hands together in front of her.
“Tara.” He reached out a hand and lifted her chin. She met his gaze and the submission shining there sucked the breath right out of him.
“You were right,” she whispered, her shiny pink lips barely moving. “About me. I do want to submit, but…but only to you.”
Her trembling admission stopped his heart. For a second he was lightheaded, out of breath. Then his heart lurched back into a crazy rhythm.
A long, low groan tore out of him. “Oh Tara.”
“I’ll do anything you want,” she said. “Anything. Just tell me.”
Satisfaction and hot desire swelled in him.
“You’ll let me tie you up?”
“Yes.”
“Flog you?”
“Yes.” Her voice was a whisper. “Please.”
His cock surged painfully.
“Fuck you anywhere I want? Your mouth? Your ass?”
“Yes.”
“While other people watch us?”
Her eyes went huge, her hesitation barely there. “Yes.”
“So they know you’re mine.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Suck my cock,” he ordered. “Right here. Right now.”
Her hands immediately went to the fly of his pants, her slender fingers trembling as she tugged the zipper down over his straining cock. She bit her lip, but she didn’t even glance around to see if anyone else was watching as she drew his hard, throbbing length out.
Truthfully, he didn’t care if someone watched. He wasn’t an exhibitionist, but on the other hand, he did want her to submit to him in public. And she had no hesitation in doing so.
She bent her head to him, kissed the sensitive tip of his cock, wet with pre-come, then opened her mouth and took him in. Fuck! His hands clenched into fists, then he reached for her head, pulled her hair back from her face and held it clasped loosely at the nape of her neck. Hot wet velvet surrounded him, the hungry suction of her mouth pulling at him, sending fire racing through his veins. He slowly expelled his pent-up breath. Pleasure assaulted him, every nerve ending sharply aware of the drag of her hot, nimble tongue over him.
When she lifted off him, he started to bark an order, but when he saw her dribble a thin line of saliva from her mouth over his cock, he set his jaw and shut up. She spread the wet heat over him with her tongue, slick and slippery, easing the way for her clinging mouth again when she took him in. His thighs tensed, heat cascaded over his skin and he let out a long, low groan. He tightened his hands in her hair and helped her find her rhythm, her mouth pulling at him, her teeth scraping over the ridge of his cock in a blindingly sublime pain. His head spun as she sucked and licked him and he lifted his hips to fuck her mouth.
She made greedy little noises of pleasure as she sucked him, worshiped him with her mouth and her hands, her moans vibrating right through his balls. His body craved more of her, need whipping through him, blistering pleasure and ferocious hunger.
“Gonna come in your mouth, Tara,” he muttered, darkness shrouding his vision. “Oh Jesus, oh yeah…there it is.” And his climax roared over him like a California earthquake, a seven-point-oh on the Richter scale, pleasure racing up his spine, down his legs, tightening his balls and out through his cock into her mouth. She sucked and swallowed and murmured her appreciation, one hand around his shaft at the bottom, the other curled into his pubic hair and tugging with an exquisite sharp pain that intensified his orgasm.
“Jesus!” He held her head until he’d finished, his cock pulsing in her wet mouth, and then she drew back and lifted her eyes to his.
“Was that good?” she whispered, mouth swollen and wet.
He groaned again. “Oh Christ.” His hands slid to her shoulders, pulling her up and toward him, and then she was on his lap and they were kissing, mouth to mouth, his own taste sharp on her tongue.
He wrapped his arms around her so tightly she probably couldn’t breathe, but she didn’t complain, just kept kissing him back with that sweet sinful mouth. He slid a hand down her back and pulled one thigh up and over him, her short dress riding up so high her ass might be exposed to the rest of the room.
He cracked an eyelid open to see if anyone was watching.
Oh, yeah. They’d attracted quite an audience. Heat slid over him, but mingled with pride and ownership and …something more.
“People are watching,” he murmured to Tara. She tensed, but only a little.
“I don’t care,” she muttered, burying her face in the side of his neck. “I don’t care.”
“Me either. That was amazing. God, Tara.”
Her body, curled up on his lap, still quivered, her breathing irregular.
“Now you need to come.”
“Yes, please,” she whispered.
He smiled.
He led her to a room at the end of the hall—the Dungeon. She trembled as he opened the door and let her enter before him.
“It’s the only room available,” he said, closing the door. “Are you nervous?”
Blue lights gleamed off extreme equipment and toys—an imposing black St. Andrews cross, a black leather bench, paddles, canes and cuffs. A row of candles in glass flickered along one wall.
“Yes.” She faced him.
“Good. You should be.”
Her stomach gave a jump of excitement and fear.
“You know the safe word.”
“Yes.”
“Are you ready?” He walked toward her, full of purpose and strength and masterful authority. “Are you ready to submit to me? Completely?”
“Yes.” Her gaze hung on his. What was he planning to do her? Curiosity burned along with the ache of desire between her legs, the thrill of fear that shivered over her skin.
He stood in front of her, close enough to feel his heat but not touching. “Are you afraid, Tara?”
“Terrified.” The honest admission fell from her lips. Her hands trembled. “I’m so terrified, Joe.”
Not of what he could do to her. She had a safe word and she recognized she trusted him totally. He would never hurt her. He’d never humiliated her other than by forcing her to look inside herself and realize …she was lying. To him. And to herself.
But she was filled with terror at the thought of letting go of control.
“I want to do it,” she whispered, eyes still fastened on his, begging for his understanding. “But I’m afraid I can’t.”