“Come in.”
He entered. Glanced around, looking excited and anxious.
She took his hand and led him to the zebra print love seat just outside the open door of her sanctum: the room where men spent most of their time on their knees. Aggie and Jace sat side by side, inches separating their thighs. They needed to talk business so she knew what he wanted. How he wanted it. And for how long. Each customer was different. “What do you want me to call you, sugar?”
“Jace,” he said.
“Is that short for Jason?”
He tensed, and a flash of deep emotional pain stole across his even features. “Never call me Jason. Never.”
“Whatever you prefer. I’ll call you dog, slut, slave, pu**y, bastard, Batman, whatever you like.”
He grinned and shifted his gaze to his hand, which rested on his knee. “Jace is fine.”
That brief glimpse of his smile had her belly quivering. She’d never been this stupid over a guy before, especially not one of her submissives. What was wrong with her? She was going to hit him extra hard for making her want him.
She lifted her free hand and stroked the dark, rough beard stubble on his cheek, trying to get him to look at her. His mouth fell open, and he tilted his head in her direction, shuddering with contained desire. Oh f**k, yeah. She needed to get to work.
“Your safe word is mercy. Mercy, Mistress V.”
“I don’t need a safe word.”
She bit her lip to hold back her snort of amusement. “I specialize in corporal punishment.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
She decided this guy was into the kind of stuff she was too squeamish to perform. “There’s something you should know before I start. I refuse to break the skin. I don’t do hooks or barbed wire. I won’t nail your nut sac to the floor. If you get off on that kind of thing, I have a couple colleagues I could refer you to, but I won’t go that far, no matter how much you pay me.”
He shook his head. “I just want you to hit me.”
She laughed. “That I do. And do it well.”
“Can we get started now?”
Yeah, they could. “Do you want me to restrain you?”
“No.”
“Gagged, hooded, collared?”
“Just f**kin’ hit me, okay? I don’t want to talk about it.”
She would make him regret that disrespect. “You pay half your tribute now. Half when we’re finished.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred for ten minutes.”
“How much for two hours?”
Her eyes widened. “Two hours?”
He nodded curtly, avoiding her gaze.
“Sugar, I don’t think—”
“How much?”
The longest she’d ever gone was forty minutes. He must not know what he was in for. Some dommes spent the majority of the session teasing, but she liked to get right down to business. Her theory was spare the whip and spoil the slave. She didn’t tie guys up and leave them in the middle of the floor for two hours while she painted her fingernails, and then spanked them for three minutes before sending them home. She spanked first. Whipped second. If they made it that far. But if Jace wanted to pay her for two hours, she was more than happy to take his money. “Two grand.” Hot guy discount.
He opened his wallet and retrieved ten crisp one-hundred- dollar bills.
She folded the cash and slid it into her leather bodice. “No refunds.”
“Fine.” He stood. “Where?”
A man of few words. She was really starting to like this guy.
“I want to make it clear that I’m not a prostitute. You aren’t buying sex. I don’t have sex with clients.”
“I know how this works.”
“Good.” She climbed to her feet and took his hand. “Follow me.”
She led him to the sanctum and slid the heavy door closed behind them. It clanged shut. She bolted it and checked the panic button to make sure it was functional. She’d never had to use it and doubted she would now, but even a girl who was an expert in self-defense and knew how to use a whip might need assistance from the police or a paramedic at some point.
Jace glanced around with interest. The room was perfectly square, with padding on three walls to muffle sound. The mirror on the fourth wall was for clients who liked to observe while she inflicted pain. If they didn’t want to watch themselves cry and beg, she could slide the heavy, velvet curtain across it. There was a second room where she stored extra instruments and cleaned and sanitized the tools of her trade after each session.
Jace examined the implements on a table against one wall.
“Something there catch your fancy?” she asked.
“I’d like to try them all.” He glanced at her over his shoulder, his brown eyes meeting hers unflinchingly. “Repeatedly, and in excess.”
Aggie covered her surprise with a laugh. “You’re going to regret giving me complete freedom, Jace. I’m known for my viciousness.”
“I look forward to it.”
He smiled, and her heart skipped a beat. My God, he was probably the cutest guy she’d ever encountered anyway, but when he smiled… She swallowed and gave herself a mental shake. She couldn’t afford to be attracted to a client. Not even one who made her wet on sight.
“You ready to start?”
“Yes.”
She stepped close to him, her nose inches from his. “Yes, Mistress V.” Her voice was hard.
He shuddered, watching her through half-lowered lids. “Yes, Mistress V.”
“Take your clothes off.”
“All of them?”
She gritted her teeth and poked him in the center of his chest with one finger. “Don’t question me. Never f**king question me. Understand?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
He removed his leather coat, T-shirt, boots, and socks. Nice body. Lean with sculpted muscles. Decorated here and there with tattoos. She wished she had time to examine them more closely, but she had to pretend she held no regard for him. That he was insignificant. That he was privileged to get any attention from her. Even her abuse. Especially her abuse. It was one of the most important components of the game they played.
Jace hesitated, clutching the waistband of his jeans. “I don’t wear underwear.”
“What? You think I care about seeing your cock? Do you think it’s special? That it might hold my interest?”
He trained his gaze on the floor. “No, Mistress.”