“Hey, I didn’t hear her,” the asshole protested and took a step toward the little trainee, who cringed back. “Listen, Uzuri, I—”
“Stay put, please.” Vance gripped the Dom’s arm hard enough to silence him, then lifted a quizzical brow at Ben. “I didn’t know you provided security in here too.”
Looked as if Buchanan had shit under control. “I don’t.” Ben waved a couple of fingers near his forehead and headed for the back.
Mistress Anne rested on a stone corner bench in the dungeon room, her back against the wall with her left leg outstretched. She’d pulled part of her hair up, spiking it into two horn-like shapes. A black, ankle-length robe covered a my-mouth-went-dry latex catsuit that clung to every one of her sweet curves. A long zipper ran down the front and he wanted to pull it down more than he wanted his next breath.
And his fucking jeans were way too tight.
She watched him walk in, her light eyes unreadable…until her gaze reached his crotch.
He could swear he saw a dimple appear. Yeah, she was sadistic.
After bending her left knee to lean against the wall, she patted the bench between her legs. “Sit here, please.”
Good start. He sat where she indicated, feeling her left leg behind him, a pressure on his ass. To his pleasure, she set her right leg across his lap, close enough that the inside of her knee pressed on his dick.
He stared straight ahead and considered the merits of icy mountain streams, glaciers, and igloos. Didn’t relieve shit.
“Now, Ben, first, this is just a scene for the next hour or so. Nothing more. I don’t know how much you know about BDSM, but I’m not taking you on as a slave. I’m just going to give you a taste and perhaps help you put a curb on that tongue of yours.
In other words, she was warning him not to get his expectations up. They’d play and then she’d toss him back where she found him. He kept his face impassive and nodded. “I understand.”
“Good. Then let’s discuss your limits. What will you absolutely not do? What are you unsure about? And do you have any medical—or emotional—problems I should know about?”
Knowing he wouldn’t be able to think worth shit with her leg rubbing his cock, he turned slightly toward her as if paying attention—which angled him enough to avoid the full-on pressure. Limits. All right.
“No permanent damage. No scarring. And I’d prefer not to talk in a falsetto.” He considered. “I don’t know you well enough for whips or anal shit.”
“Well reasoned. Bondage?”
Oh hell. He could feel his muscles tense.
In the low lighting, her eyes seemed more gray than blue. “That looks like definitely no restraints.”
After a second, he nodded. “I’d probably not do well if you put me in something I couldn’t get loose from.”
“That’s good to know.” She leaned forward and took his hands in hers. Her callused palms were a jarring contrast to her delicate fingers. “How about pain? You seemed rather…interested…in getting your ass whipped.”
“Mistress, if pain pleases you, I’m willing to give it a try.” He heard his words hang in the air. Fuck, had he said that to her? But yeah, he had. And meant it too.
The surprised pleasure in her eyes and the way she squeezed his fingers was as satisfying as the timeless moment of a perfect shot.
“All right, we’ll keep it within those limits and see what happens,” she said.
He had to say, he got off on her quick decisiveness. No waffling back and forth. No “Are you sure you want to?” or expecting him to read her mind and know what she wanted. She told him right up front how she felt and what she expected of him. Fucking relief.
As if to emphasize that, she reached up and removed the elastic band holding his hair back. “If I want your hair tied back,” she said gently, “I’ll do it.” She tucked the band into his jeans pocket. “Now go over to the St. Andrew’s cross”—she pointed to the seven-feet-high X-shaped device—“and remove your clothes. You can leave on your underwear if you’re uncomfortable.”
“That’d be a break…if I wore any.”
Her eyes lit with laughter. “In that case, I get a treat, don’t I?”
The soft grunt of pain she gave when she tried to move her leg from his lap reminded him of her sore ribs. Crazy woman. He put a hand under her calf and eased her foot down.
He straightened and realized she’d braced herself on his shoulder. Her mouth was only an inch from his, and her breath was scented with strawberries. Hell, he’d already won a punishment. What was one more? He closed the distance and brushed his lips against hers. Oh yeah.