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Whoa, hold on, girl. This might be just a one-night flirtation for him. She knew subs who played 100% in the dungeon, but once they walked out, they didn't look back. They had no plans to pick out curtains with their Mistresses. Ever.
"Well, I'm giving you a safe word. Water. You ask for water, I ease off."
"I'll die of thirst first."
This time he met her gaze square on, and she felt the impact of it to her toes. He didn't just look at her; he ravished her. She'd always thought it was a cheesy word, but the way his attention moved over her, dragging her into him, making her weak, made her picture Victorian heroines swooning in a lover's eager arms. Ravished was exactly the right term for it.
"You've been a sub for a lot of women, haven't you, Mackenzie? No, I don't want an answer to that." She placed a finger on his mouth, held it firm there for only a moment, so he'd get the message, but she wouldn't be putting her sensitive knuckles within prolonged proximity of those clever lips. "But I don't think you've ever had a true Mistress. You're still setting the rules, holding up the shields. Let's start by removing some. The rest of your clothes first."
That surprised him, she could tell. He hadn't expected her to move that quickly, and truth be told, she had not intended to do so.
"Your shoes," she said coolly. "Toe them off. You don't expect me to remove your shoes."
"No, Mistress." He awkwardly managed it, using the leverage of the tethers binding him, grunting a little at the increased pain on straining tendons.
"And the socks."
He stepped on the toes of his thin dress socks, worked them off his feet. More bare skin. She was eager for all of it, but she kept the pace slow, teasing, as she approached him. As she stepped directly in front of him, she saw the angle would give him an excellent view of her cleavage. There was an incentive to keep his eyes lowered, she thought with satisfaction.
Violet forced her fingers not to tremble as she reached for the button of his jeans. She deliberately let her touch slide over the hard length of him, nearly groaned at the steel heat she felt. "I hope you're not one of those who can't hold back," she observed. "You're pretty hard now. I'm not sure you've got the stamina for what I have in mind."
Mac brushed a smoldering glance over the top of her breasts. "You're hard to resist, Mistress, but I think I can please you."
The taunt was there. Oh, he had pride. She delighted in it. She firmed her lips. "We'll see," she said indifferently.
She slipped the button, took the zipper down. Slow. She was hyper-cognizant of his breath on her neck, the tight tension of his body, the muscles pulled back to restrain his movements. She reached in, slid her hand beneath the waist of his dark underwear, leaving the jeans open in front but otherwise unadjusted, and closed her hand around him.
He made a noise, a catching of his breath, but she had closed her eyes, inhaling him through all her senses. The powerful organ in her hand, pulsing against her palm, the wetness at the tip like a tiny kiss against her wrist. She was aware, even if he was not, that he had moved impossibly further against his restraints, straining toward her, toward her grip.
She had small fingers, and she used them to good advantage now, sliding them down his length, finding the base where the curve of his testicles began, her fingers tangling in the soft hair on them. Then back up, caressing him, stroking him, easing her grip, tightening it.
"Violet..." he said. Her head lifted, tilting at an angle because they were so close now, her thigh pressed against his, her lips no more than a finger span apart from his just above her. He had cut himself shaving this morning, she noticed, just a tiny nick on his neck.
"Don't move," she said. "Not an inch." She rose up on her toes, placed her lips there, sucking on the closed cut gently, kissing him. Her grip on his cock tightened as she did, and his body quivered against hers, holding back, when she could tell all he wanted to do was disobey.
Violet took her lips away.
"Don't hurt yourself like that again. I'll have to shave you," she warned. "I expect you to take care of what's mine." She dug her nails into him
, just a bit, and he flinched, but did not twitch under her tight grasp.
"What do you want, Mac?"
"Whatever my Mistress wants."
She tightened her grip. "Don't patronize me. Tell me what you want."
"To make you come."
"Try again." She worked her hands beneath his waistband, took the jeans and underwear down to his thighs, freeing his cock and giving her an unimpeded view of his bare, muscular ass. She ran her nails over it, scoring him lightly, then reclaimed his cock, starting a slow rub, up and down his thick, long length.
"Mackenzie," she measured her tones, matching them to her strokes. "I'm going to make you come in my hand, and it's going to be very messy and displeasing to me, if you don't stop the bullshit and tell the truth."
He shifted. She might not have caught it, except her knee was pressed against his leg and she felt it, that subtle attempt to change the effectiveness of her strokes with the angle of his body so he would sustain himself, resist her pressure.
She made the same minor adjustment, followed him, and brought her thumb into action, stroking the tight vein beneath the base of the head.
"Violet, stop."
