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Chapter 1
"It's your first night flying solo. Stay in your comfort zone."
Violet heard Tyler's parting words clearly in her head, but no other part of her was listening as she watched the most beautiful man she'd ever seen make his way through The Zone's Tuesday night crowd.
She chose the adjective deliberately. Handsome or sexy conveyed surface appeal. Beautiful addressed the whole package, inside and out.
This man was big. Over six feet, the broadness in his shoulders was enough to accelerate her heart rate. He was pure male animal. No matter what soap, deodorant or cologne he used, he wouldn't be able to obliterate the scent. He was powerful, a predator, but what made him absolutely irresistible to her, overriding her common sense, was that he was a sexual submissive. An alpha wolf who chose the role of beta in the bedroom, but only for the right woman.
The more seasoned Doms hadn't seen him yet. Thank God that Marguerite, a Mistress who never had a regular partner, preferring to pick up her choice of sub for the night from the available subs on the floor, had already paired off and was playing in the rentable rooms visible through the club's glass floor. It was one of the perks of The Zone, being able to see down into all the playrooms, unless a darkening screen had been engaged by a particular group of occupants.
Violet preferred smooth, clean-shaven men. Usually. This man had coarse, dark hair on his forearms and soft curls on his head, in a style cut short at the nape. He was mid-forties gray, but his hair had refused to blend, so his mane of white, black and silver invited her touch. She wanted to grip it, tug that firm mouth down to her lips, or better, hold his head between her thighs and see how clever those lips could be.
Violet crossed her legs, took a sip of her drink. Though every instinct screamed at her to go stake out her territory before some other Dom saw him, she held her seat. Patience was often rewarded, and she'd rather suffer disappointment in anonymity if he was there to meet someone.
He had a straight blade of a nose, and a rugged face. His beard and moustache again upset her familiar preferences, but they were well-groomed, the beard off his cheek bones, low on his jaw, just a line of gray and black that followed that strong line to meet the clipped sideburn in front of his ear. She couldn't tell the color of his irises, but if they were gray, she was a goner. The dark length of his eyebrows were straight slashes, perfectly following the top shallow almond curve of his eyes, giving an impression of conscious strength, someone dangerous to push.
A lot of subs used the locker rooms to change into role playing clothing before taking the floor, a clear advertisement of their availability for play, but he wore street clothes, well-fitted jeans and a crisp white shirt tucked into them. The rolled up sleeves revealed those furred strong forearms and a pair of beautifully tooled silver cuffs on his wrists. The onyx inlay and scrollwork made them pass as an attractive accessory, but she knew what they were, had zoomed in on them like a hawk from a thousand feet in the sky locating a well-anticipated meal. They broadcast his status as a submissive here in The Zone, one of Tampa's most upscale and private fetish clubs for practitioners of the Dom/sub lifestyle.
Two hundred plus pounds of powerful male desiring to be at the beck and call of a Mistress. Or a Master. She forced herself to consider that, to squelch the scream of denial and disappointment in the possibility. To her, he seemed a little too rugged for the sleek beefed-up types the male Doms might prefer. Those muscles were put to some type of active use, versus being sculpted in a gym just for show.
Fuck it. She was going to go for it. She could imagine Tyler shaking his head at her, nursing her singed ego when her male fantasy set her back on her heels, but her pulse was pounding and her hands were damp. This was the one.
She rose from her seat and went hunting.
*
Mac Nighthorse intended to stake out a good place to do some observation of The Zone's evening crowd, but the scenario under his feet caught his attention. Through the glass floor, in a room appointed like a medieval torture chamber, a girl stripped down to nothing but a silver chain mesh chastity belt had been tied to a rack. Her Dom flogged her, snapping the end of a short braided whip across her stiffened nipples and leaving red marks on the inside of her thighs with pinpoint accuracy. The chastity belt prevented stimulation of the area it covered, but of course that meant that the build to orgasm had been slow and excruciating. Mac had lucked out on timing and got to see the Master's work rewarded.
