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"With pleasure, Mistress."
No more scathing looks were sent toward Marius, though from his expression, Rob vehemently disapproved of Marius's behavior. But he'd picked up on her dismissive cues, proceeding as if the drink had appeared upon her magically, as if Marius didn't exist. As if his act was as insignificant to adult matters as a naughty child's.
Rob retrieved a towel from the bar, speaking a low word to Leonard that she knew would assure the staff member everything was under control. It wasn't a lie, though she didn't exactly know how this was going to go.
M
arius was standing behind her still. As she turned, she saw his fists remained half curled. But he wasn't moving. Was he waiting to see what she would do next, what switch she would flip, what string she'd pull? Or was he uncertain what to do next, caught in some kind of stasis, an internal loop?
The scene with Siren had built into a disaster. This time he'd taken it to DEFCON level with almost no build up at all, which confirmed what she already knew. He'd been on slow burn ever since their pony play scene, and come spoiling for a fight.
Rob returned with two towels and offered one to her. As she patted her face and throat, ignoring the tower of quivering heat that was Marius, Rob dried the throne and the floor around it. He gestured her politely back toward her seat, though she saw the spark as he anticipated getting his mouth between her legs again. And this time there would be a component of fuck you to Marius as he did it. She'd let that pass, since a man had to be a man, after all. Keep a stranglehold on a male sub and he became too much of a pet for her liking.
The important part was that he could follow her direction and take care of her. As she took the throne once more, she lifted her chin. "I have some soda here. On my throat. I'd like you to use your mouth to handle that, Rob."
She had enough multi-tasking ability to anticipate the pleasurable sensation of Rob's mouth and keep Marius on her radar. Rob put his heated lips to her throat, sucking off beads of moisture. As she made a noise of encouragement, he moved down toward the rise of her breasts, a man's literal wet dream under the cling of the soaked T-shirt.
Marius still hadn't moved. It was unsettling, if she allowed herself to feel that way, which she didn't. He put off vibrations like a ticking time bomb, but he'd be reviewing his options in his mind, stewing in the vacuum where she'd left him, because she'd provided him no further direction.
He wasn't a newbie sub. She didn't need to handhold him through the different options to resolve a self-inflicted fuck-up. She projected nothing but indifference to his presence. However, since inside she was far too curious about what he'd attempt next, Rob provided a very pleasant and creative distraction with his lips and tongue.
He'd only reached her cleavage, his tongue sliding in to enjoy the deep valley the damp T-shirt molded, when she heard something very much like a snarl come from the densely-packed zone of heat and muscle to her left.
"I still have some water on my arms," she said casually. "Dry that with the towel, Rob."
As he straightened to do so, Marius at last moved. He muscled in, hauling Rob to his feet and putting a palm on his chest to press him back. One step, two step, taking him out of her personal space and putting Marius squarely before her. He did it with such brutal efficiency, Rob had no time to resist until the second step. He bristled and pushed forward against Marius's straight arm, but he fortunately shot her a glance at the same time. She shook her head, quelling the spike of alarm. Rob was capable enough, but she'd seen firsthand that Marius was a street fighter, a violent brute.
A good club was worth its membership fee. She noticed Leonard was bussing a nearby table, a strategic decision that put him closer to the situation. The Dungeon Master that patrolled the several public spaces of the club also had his eye upon them.
She wasn't going to let this get any further, but she appreciated the backup. She didn't usually bring problems into her chosen clubs, so she'd have some latitude in this situation.
She'd noted something else important. The moves Marius had used were not what he'd employ in the ring, but the quelling, neutralizing moves she'd use as a C.O. Or that he used as Zone security.
Yes, there was violence vibrating off him, which had contributed to her alarm, but his choice of that tactic helped keep her voice steady, her posture relaxed. She rose from the throne.
"Rob," she said. Just one word, the command implied.
The man's jaw flexed hard enough to crack at Marius's transgression, but he inclined his head in a respectful nod and gave way. She really was going to owe him and Thea dinner. An expensive one.
What was vibrating off Marius was a web of anger and confusion, but she wouldn't get snared in it. Instead, she rested on the strands like an alert spider, anticipating what the vibrations through the threads might mean.
As he lifted the towel to press it against her skin, she didn't move, except to lock gazes with him before he made contact. "If you touch me," she said coldly, "You will not touch me again. This will be over."
Not a dare, not a taunt. She meant it. She had to. No matter the clamor of her Domme senses that told her this was the sub who could kneel in the hidden depths behind her heart and stay there indefinitely, she would walk away if he defied her in this key moment. This was a game where every move could be the final move, and she couldn't back away from that. The question was, would he unwisely assume she was bluffing?
If he could get enough space from his emotions, he was smart enough to figure it out. But she knew it was equally possible the demons inside him might say fuck it, make him reach out and rudely tweak her breast like some stupid frat boy playing a prank. Was he stronger than his demons? Could he leash them before they took him past the point of no return? They hadn't the other night with Siren. Had he regretted or learned anything since then?
Don't do it, Marius. Take control. You know you need a Mistress. No matter how fucked up your head is, somewhere in your heart, you know it.
She was in a hard battle of her own, not to betray any tells of anticipation, like a held breath or an increased pulse.
He still had the towel lifted between them, his arrested movement when she'd warned him not to touch her. She'd told him he had no leave to touch her, but she had no such prohibition. She closed her hand over his, clenching the towel with a white-knuckled grip.
She'd had her growth spurt in middle school, her tall, big-boned body suddenly endowed with high, proud breasts and an impressive ass. It had inspired more than one high school boy to think that grabbing the booty just because it was out there looking like it needed palm support was the right way to go. Until she'd laid out one of those horny good Samaritans with a solid blow to the nuts, using the handle of a PE class hockey stick.
She didn't need to be petite or act helpless to feel womanly. Yet she noticed he had a big hand. Long, thick fingers, wide palm, scarred knuckles. He'd have a strong grip, like he had on the towel.
She curled her fingers over his. "Release it," she said quietly. "Kneel at my feet."
