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She brought a bar of soap and a bowl of warm water to the table. Putting the knife to the far side of them, she cleaned her hands, adding a froth of bubbles to the water, then dried her fingers on a towel. When she moved in front of him, everything inside went on alert, gravitating toward her. Her breasts, the nipples barely contained by the translucent fabric, were before his face. Her fingertips caressed his stubbled jaw, his chest. When he reached for her, this time she evaded his touch. "Just sit there, or I'll cuff you to the chair. Once I start this, don't talk or move unless I say so. Don't want to cut you by accident."
"How about on purpose?"
She pulled his face up with enough force to spark things in his lower belly and cock. "Maybe. We'll see."
He closed his eyes as her thigh brushed his. Moving behind him, she put a knee on the chair, against the seam of his ass and leaned into him. Gripping his throat anew, she tilted his head back. Her nearly bare body was brushing his, her breasts against his shoulder blades. But she hadn't started yet, and he wanted to ask a question.
"How did you figure out the Domme thing? That you liked being a Mistress, that is."
"Ah. I knew you'd eventually be curious about how I discovered my super power."
The dry quip surprised him into smiling. She saw it, her fingertips brushing the curve of his mouth before she started lathering the right side of his face with the soap. "High school. I was dating a football player. I was into sports myself. Basketball, track. Wanted to join the wrestling team and they didn't have one for girls, so I created my own and learned from watching the boys do it. The boys started coming to the matches because, well, girls wrestling."
Marius chuckled and she clucked. "Remember not to do that when I pick up the knife."
"Believe me, I won't be laughing then."
"Don't be a wimp. You'll be fine. I've only had a couple people bleed out when I did this, and it was before I learned how to properly sharpen a knife. That's the key to doing it right. Having a knife sharp enough for the job."
"Well, if it's only been a couple people..."
She tugged his hair. "Anyhow, the football player, Clarence, came to one of my matches. We started talking after it and then started dating. He was in line for full scholarships to major schools because he was a tank on the field. Unstoppable. But in the bedroom, it was a different story. He'd do all the right things, show me a good time, but I kept having this feeling something wasn't quite right. He didn't hook up with many girls, despite there always being a million after him. I'd heard that the rest of his teammates were getting nonstop pussy, and they teased him about saving himself for marriage, even though he wasn't a virgin. But he liked me, liked what he saw when I wrestled, the way I talked to him.
"So one night, just following an instinct I didn't yet fully understand, I told him to get on his knees, put his arms behind his back like they were tied, and go down on me. He turned into a freaking sexual beast." She paused, fondness in her voice. "It was like I'd unlocked something deep inside him. Taking away his control, making him subject to my commands, we both discovered a drug we couldn't get enough of. Didn't know shit about what we were doing, and so of course we had some near misses as we got deeper and deeper into it with each other."
Her lathering fingertips were a firm stroke that made his cock harder, but also had him closing his eyes just to enjoy the sensation. He didn't like the warm affection in her voice as she talked about the previous lover, though. Which was stupid. He tried to ignore it.
"He got his scholarship and I had other college plans, so the relationship went the way most relationships do between high school to college. But we've stayed in touch over the years. He went pro, did several years in the NFL and then became an assistant coach. He married a Domme he met out in a dungeon in California and they have two kids."
"All thanks to you."
"Not hardly, but I played a part. Don't be an ass because it bugs you that I'm talking about another man."
"I'm not," he said reflexively. She picked up the knife and gazed down at him, a faint smile on her mouth, though her eyes were serious.
"Yeah, you are. Possessive isn't a bad look for you, but keep the sarcasm on a leash. Now be still."
She gripped his jaw and he saw the blade in his peripheral vision as she brought it to his cheek. Her gaze was intent, her hold on his face firm and steady.
His eyes closed again, and not because he feared the blade. It did something to him, her holding him still and running that lethal blade so close to his jugular. He could
hear his heart pounding in his ears, a slow thud. He realized her leg was pressed against his knee and he curved his hand around her thigh, needing more contact. He stroked her warm, firm skin, and thought about her pussy beneath the sheer panties, only a few inches above his touch.
He wouldn't go there, because it would be idiotic to try and arouse her when she had a knife to his throat. She also hadn't said he could touch her like that. She hadn't given him permission to touch her at all, but she hadn't rejected him sucking on her fingers or kissing her neck, and she wasn't objecting to how he was touching her now. She wasn't that kind of Mistress.
He'd studied her as hard as he'd studied any of them, but he'd done that to figure out advantages, weaknesses. Now he thought about it in terms of the things she liked. When out of scene, she didn't discourage physical affection from her subs, and seemed to enjoy it as much as they did. She was an unexpected combination of hardass Mistress and a softer Domme side.
She tipped his head up, holding his chin as she worked the blade over his jaw and upper neck, following it with her thumb to ensure she'd left it smooth. Then she turned to rinse off the clippings in the bowl of water. As she continued the cycle, he slid his arm farther around her thigh. When she finished and patted his face with a towel, he circled both her thighs, and pressed his mouth to her abdomen.
She threaded her hand through his hair, and he sighed, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He didn't want to go forward or backward, think about his mistakes or missteps, how fucked up he was or what he needed to do to stay on guard against the whole world, and especially against all the flammable shit inside himself. He just wanted to be held in her arms.
He couldn't ask, because he had no right to do so, and he wouldn't know how to ask anyway. But she kept stroking his hair, and let him put his head there on her abdomen, her soft breasts brushing his crown. He had his arms coiled around her hips and upper thighs, the thin panties and her excellent ass.
She eased him back, but her hands moved to his forearms to maintain the connection between them. "Come," she said quietly. As she tugged him to his feet, she caressed his now smooth jaw critically. "Good. No missed spots."
Interlacing their fingers, she led him out of the kitchen and down the hall. They passed the guest bathroom. At the end of the corridor there were two doors, one closed and one open. The open one was the playroom. This time, he noted the mirrored hallway tree had a dried flower arrangement and some knickknacks on the two raised flat surfaces that framed it like miniature tables.
Regina drew him to the closed door and turned the knob. As she pushed it inward, uneasiness spiked in him. It was her bedroom. Through the doorway, he could view the clothes she'd worn last night, draped on an easy chair. A set of notebooks and a closed laptop were on the seat. The bed was unmade and inviting, lots of blue and green linens and pillows.
