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The smarter-looking one of the two seemed a little too interested in the wad of cash Marius was carrying, and had leaned over to mutter to his companion. Regina was offering her thanks to Jillian, engaging in the kind of conspiratorial female discussion that normally he'd enjoy observing. Any type of shared intimacy between two hot women had the potential to become wishful fantasy material. But he wasn't taking his eyes off these two lowlifes.
He expected Regina would have been savvy enough to mark the two as trouble if her gaze turned in that direction. Her nose for danger was pretty good, probably thanks to the prison guard stuff. Or correctional officer, as she preferred.
The thought gave him a grim smile, but didn't change his focus. Maybe the reason she hadn't noticed these two was because her subconscious knew she was with someone more than capable of protecting her from their type.
Because she damn well was.
As she touched his arm, letting him know it was time to go, he saw she was holding his shirt. When he reached for it, she hugged it to her, refusing to give it back, a little smile playing around her lips. He liked that, but when she would have drawn him toward the door, he squeezed her hand, a mute request to wait a moment as he handled what needed to be handled.
He caught her quizzical expression a flash before he turned and closed the distance between himself and the two men. One had started to rise from his chair, probably preparing to tail them as soon as they left the place.
Marius put him back down with a casual shove and got into the face of the seated male, the smarter-looking one. Though, on closer inspection, that wasn't saying a whole lot.
The deliberate act, as well as his expression and body language, created a sudden lull of conversation in the tattoo parlor.
"I earned that money from fucking up guys far bigger and meaner than you two assholes," he said. "So you want to go to the hospital, you follow me. And if either of you threatens my Mistress to get me to give it up"--his gaze hardened--"You won't need a hospital. The morning street crew can hose what's left of you down the fucking drains."
Straightening, he waited only long enough to confirm the message had been received. Then he rejoined Regina, cordially holding the door for her, his hand resting on the small of her back as she stepped out and he followed.
They'd moved into the awakening energy of a glittering New Orleans night, but his Mistress had other things on her mind. She walked less than two steps with him before pulling him into the lee of the building. Curling her hands in his shirt front, she kissed him hard and deep. He gripped her hips, wanting her to feel the urgency of his body, how much he wanted to serve her whenever, however. She'd said that was a drug to a Mistress. He wanted to be that drug for her.
"I'm not saying the testosterone surge always works on me," she declared as she pulled free. "But occasionally it does."
He grinned, and she sobered. "I like you thinking of me as your home, Duncan. Hearing you wish for that...makes me wish for it, too."
As always, such a gift from her had the ability to simultaneously arouse, thrill and terrify him. She touched his face, seeing all of it, if her words were any indication.
"I know you're still going to be a pain in my ass. I don't need you to be perfect to want you. I just need to know you're trying to be the best person you can be with me, and you're always, always trying to be honest."
He'd never wanted to be what a person wanted him to be. Probably because he'd never thought he could even come close. But as he felt the sunburn ache of the tattoo on his shoulder, and the weight of her fingers in his hand, the desire was there...and it wasn't a bad feeling at all.
He just didn't want to fail.
Chapter Seventeen
Hell, why was he nervous? Why should he be nervous? He looked again at the message in his Zone account, which he'd accessed from the cell phone he carried now, more evidence of how his life had changed in the past month.
Temporary guest pass to The Zone has been approved. Your Mistress orders you to arrive at seven o'clock tonight. Wear what's in locker #23. DM will lock you in jail cage. Your Mistress will know when you're ready for her appearance.
He was surprised, but then he wondered if that was the plan. Regina volunteered to do one orientation a month for new Dommes at The Zone, which would have been tonight. However, last week she'd had to call another Mistress to switch dates. She'd claimed to have a class commitment that would run late. It wasn't even one of Marius's scheduled days to come see her.
He slept at her place three nights a week. She'd given him a protocol to follow. He could come over whenever he wanted on that day, watch TV, sleep, whatever, as long as he kept things neat. But when she texted him a thirty-minute heads up, he stopped whatever he was doing to run through the shower and shave. He would put on a ball gag and cuffs and get on the bed on all fours. He'd attach the cuffs to four chains he pulled out from the mattress at the corners, and hook his collar to the tether fastened to the center of the head board, a restraint screened by the colorful pillows she kept there.
He could do all that one-handed, because the cuffs were Velcro, not intended to keep him from getting out of them if an emergency required it in her absence. Their purpose was to switch gears in his head, become his Mistress's pure boy toy--or man toy, as she liked to call him--helping her defuse after a day at work. And fuck, serving such a functional, purely sexual purpose for her never failed to turn him on.
The schedule had led to the discovery of other, more surprising things that fulfilled him. Sometimes she left things undone, like making her bed or washing her dishes, so he could do those things for her. He liked serving her that way, too.
When he was on the bed and heard the lock turn, his cock would already be straining inside the condom he used to protect her bed linens. She'd put down her laptop case, glance through the mail he'd leave neatly arranged on the kitchen table. She'd hum a little tune when she came down the hall, and he knew she'd be untying her hair, letting it fall soft down her back and over her shoulders.
She'd shrug out of her jacket, slip off her slacks and pick up the lubed strap-on he'd leave sitting on the dresser. Sometimes he left other things for her. A couple chocolates, or a trio of roses he'd put in a vase he'd found in her cabinets. She didn't mind him being familiar with her home. Didn't mind him considering it his home. Or him leaving her little touches like that she didn't expect, so long as they didn't mess with her instructions.
Once she slipped on the strap-on with its clitoral stimulator, she'd put her knee on the bed, positioning herself behind him. He was required to stay quiet and still as she ran her hands over him, purring her pleasure.
Sometimes, if she was in a particularly sadistic mood, she'd have ordered him to wear the cock harness, buckling it tight enough it cut into him as he got harder and harder.
Other times he was required to don the stallion mask and insert the tail butt plug before she arrived, the thick hair sliding along the back of his thighs from his every move. When she got home on those days, she'd replace the plug with the strap-on.
If he'd been a pain in the ass, which still happened more often than he wished, the dildo was thicker on those days. As she fucked his ass like she was a beefy lumberjack, instead of a beautiful woman half that weight, she'd make him strangle out a muffled proper apology.
