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Stop it, he ordered himself. Ellen’s a big girl. She can handle herself just fine.
Turning his attention back to Saskia, he asked, “What’s your safeword?”
“Limp dick.” She flashed a grin. “Nothing puts a damper on a scene faster than those two little words. But don’t worry. I sincerely doubt I’ll need to use it.”
“Duly noted,” Damon said dryly. “How about we make things a little more interesting?” He gave the wheel a slow turn.
“Oooh,” she moaned as he rotated her until she was upside down. “Wild. Now, show me what you’ve got.” She flashed another grin. “Please.”
Pulling his cane from his gear bag, Damon tapped it lightly over her ass to warm the skin.
“Don’t bother with the warmup,” she snapped. “Just give me what I need.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a chuckle. Submissive, this woman was not.
Bringing back his arm, he flicked his wrist, whipping the side of the cane against her flesh.
“Fuck, yeah,” she cried as a white line appeared, quickly darkening to red.
He struck her again, a few inches below the first mark.
“More,” she cried. “Hurt me, baby. Make me squeal.”
In spite of his promise to himself not to think about Ellen, Damon couldn’t help but compare her to this bossy, demanding pain slut. He could almost hear Ellen’s breathless cries and her sexy, tremulous sighs. He could almost see her sweet blush. His lips tingled with the need to close over her perfect gumdrop nipples, soothing away the pain he’d inflicted a moment before. He could almost smell the delicate, sensual scent of her hot, wet cunt.
“Fuck,” he swore under his breath. He’d come to the club to forget, to lose himself. Here was a nearly naked, willing woman, eager for what he had the power to give her. He’d agreed to the scene, and he had an obligation to stay in the moment.
He rotated the wheel so she was upright. Then he flicked his wrist again, the cane whistling as it made impact. Saskia hissed her pain and then begged throatily for more.
Forcing the unwelcome images of his erstwhile slave girl from his mind, Damon obliged, caning the woman’s ass and the backs of her thighs until her skin was mottled with dark red welts.
He settled into a rhythm, his mind finally going blissfully blank as he focused entirely on what he was doing. When the timer dinged, it took him a moment to recall where he was. Dropping the cane onto his nearby gear bag, he moved closer to his scene partner. Stroking her sweat-dampened hair from her face, he said, “You took quite a caning, Saskia. I have to say, I’m impressed. Let me get you down and give you some aftercare. I have salve in my bag.”
“That won’t be necessary, Sir,” said a male voice, his tone polite but firm.
Damon turned to see a slight man of around fifty. He was shirtless, his body covered in tattoos, nipples pierced, a thick leather collar around his neck. “Thank you for your service. You can go now. I’ll handle my Mistress’s aftercare.”
Damon raised a brow, startled by this completely unexpected turn of events.
Saskia was watching them with an amused expression. “Yes,” she said. “My slave boy will handle the aftercare. You’re free to go.”
Damon wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed, affronted or amused. He decided to go with amused. Offering her a smart salute, he grabbed his gear bag and made his escape. If nothing else, she’d provided a distraction for a while. It was getting late. Maybe he was finally exhausted enough to get some sleep.
As he headed for his car, he tried to focus on his upcoming trip. It was good he was leaving the country for the next five days. Traveling would provide an excellent opportunity to completely shift his focus. He’d throw himself into Marty’s project and give it his full attention. He’d put all thoughts of willing, beautiful slave girls firmly out of his mind.
Chapter 27
Ellen lifts her arms in front of her face, admiring the dark leather wrist cuffs against her pale skin. She turns her head to see Master Damon. He is lying on his back, an arm flung carelessly over his forehead, his lips softly parted in sleep.
Relief and joy fill her with equal measure. She had thought he was gone, but here he is. He’s in her bed. He never left her.
Rolling toward him, she leans up and places a light kiss on his shoulder. His skin is warm and smells of wood smoke and cloves. He turns toward her, his beautiful, cool gray-green eyes slowly opening to focus on her.
“Hey,” he says with a sleepy smile. He holds out his arms. “Come give me a proper kiss.”
She moves toward him, an almost painful, desperate need blooming inside her. But he is no longer beside her. He has rolled away, his back to her. She tries to move closer but something is hampering her movements. She thrashes, struggling to get free as he recedes farther from her reach.
“Wait,” she cries as the distance between them inexplicably grows. “Don’t go!” She can’t make him hear her. She can’t stop his disappearing before her eyes. Her words are muffled by something pressing down on her, suffocating her. She is pinned to the bed, unable to move, unable to breathe…
