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She didn't wait, clasping the back of his neck in a firm hand and shoving him toward the linoleum. He tried to push back and she just held him down with an admonishing noise. He could have gotten rougher, fought harder, but he didn't, and didn't examine why not. She rose, a click-click of heels across her kitchen, and he heard the clink of a utensil against the granite countertop.
"This will do the trick."
He bit back a snarl as she hit his bare ass with something metallic that felt like it cut skin. She did it to the other side and then held it to his flesh. The metal spatula she'd apparently been using for his breakfast was heated but didn't burn. However, pressing that heat on top of the sting intensified the temperature.
"One more."
He did his best to bristle, not flinch, but Christ, she knew how to deliver a blow. She landed this one smack in the opening between his thighs, so his balls got a glancing blow, a sting through the joining point of his sac to the rest of his more tender regions.
He could handle loads of pain, even more than this, but something was raw inside of him, making it hurt more than usual. Or maybe it was that it hurt in places that had nothing to do with his nerve endings.
There was a clatter as she tossed the spatula in the sink. Grabbing his hair, she jerked him up to his knees, holding him against her thighs as she wrenched his face up, using a grip on his throat and jaw. He was staring up into her face, which was cold and disapproving. A reaction that also hit him in the gut.
"I let you sleep in and made you breakfast. So what do you owe me?"
A million smartass answers fought for supremacy, and she saw it, because she got closer, her eyes boring into his.
"You let me see into your soul," she said in measured tones. "Doesn't matter what you do today, that won't ever change. Your cover is busted, Marius. I know who and what you are. How about you try out a different version of yourself today? One a lot closer to who you wish you could be, the person I believe you actually are. You can be mine today and for this trip, or you can hit the road. I won't put up with the attitude on a work day. So, last chance. Tell me what you owe me."
That grip on his jaw moved slightly. A brush of her fingertip on his chin. A caress, at odds with the freezing temps of her expression, the hardness of her hold on him. Two sides of the coin, and she would give him both or only one. He wanted both.
He put his hands over hers. Not to grip, but to express himself. "I'm sorry, Mistress," he said roughly, adjusting his gaze to her waist. "I owe you...respect. Good manners. I should have helped you more last night, too. Gotten up this morning and made you breakfast instead."
He didn't mean to say all that, but he did. He also had to suppress an urge to press his face into her midriff. She'd likely knee him in the balls. "I do like biscuits and gravy. Thank you for making them."
She sighed, and he thought he heard a half chuckle. "I thought you would, sweet boy. Pull up your pants. Go make yourself a plate for breakfast and stop tempting me to fuck your ass with an open bottle of Tabasco sauce."
He had no doubt she'd do it, and that was something he'd prefer to avoid. Releasing him to do as he'd been told, she returned to the table. He tilted his head to look at her out of his peripheral vision. She went back to her laptop, not a tremor in her hands, but he sensed...disturbance. He'd caused that.
Wrestling with an unfamiliar sense of guilt, he cleared his throat. "Can I make you a plate, Mistress?"
She nodded, her eyes on the laptop screen again. She didn't provide him additional guidance, but he'd gauged the portions she preferred from the last time they'd shared breakfast. He brought her the plate of food and a glass of juice before returning to the counter to make his own. Might be stupid, but it made him feel somewhat better to see her glance at the plate and then pick up her fork to dig in, his choices obviously meeting her approval.
She'd left him a place setting, but he took a seat cross-legged at her feet and began to eat that way. He was aware of her eyes on him. A long few minutes later, her hand fell on his shoulder and stroked him absently as she resumed her work. The straps bit into his cock and balls, which knotted things in his gut. He wanted to slide under the kitchen table, spread her thighs and give her pleasure again. But he hadn't been given permission to do that. He might have, if he hadn't messed it up. He'd denied them both with his bad behavior. And suddenly that mattered to him.
She'd pocketed the item in the velvet bag. No matter how crazy it was, how he told himself he'd never wanted something like what might be inside that pouch, he knew he did want it. But he'd screwed up. Maybe she'd put it on him later. If he could keep himself from screwing up again. Not much chance of that. He'd always known he was hopeless; had never cared if everyone else felt the same about him.
Until now.
Returning to the present at the airport, Marius found he'd started to get hard from his imaginings of her taking such absolute control of him. The response reminded him with sharp clarity of the strap cinched around the base of his cock and circling his balls. He didn't usually give a second thought to a hard-on, since most of his time was spent in places like The Zone or the fight ring. However, being in an airport lounge with people way above his class and station had him feeling more selfconscious. If he didn't keep a lid on it, they'd get an eyeful.
He looked up to see her studying him again. She closed the laptop, put away the phone and gestured to him. As he strode across the lounge toward her, he was aware of a couple women's speculative glances. Rich women, who appeared to be traveling on their own. Yeah, it wasn't the first time he'd run into that kind. Even The Zone had a few of those interested in owning a good-looking sub mainly as their show pony, and he didn't mean for pony play.
Regina had money. But she didn't give him the impression that was what she was seeking. She might like treating him like her boy-toy sometimes, but the way she might want to do that didn't bother him. Far from it.
He had to suppress a strange urge to drop to a knee at her feet, bow his head and wait for her to express her desire, the way he would at The Zone. There was more than one way it was hard for him to act civilized in the mundane world. So instead he sat beside her in a chair, stretching out his legs in his usual sprawled way and laying an arm on the back of her chair. Yeah, it was a less-than-casual possessive gesture, but there were also a few rich guys in the lounge who were too interested in getting a piece of the tall, dark and totally hot action that Regina represented.
She laid a hand on his thigh. "That should take care of work for a little while. Sorry I had to ignore you."
"Not the way it works, Mistress. I'm here for your pleasure."
Her eyes sparked, her mouth tipping up in a little smile. "You said that in such a nice way, I didn't mind hearing it."
She leaned back against his arm and he coiled his hand around her shoulder, playing with the ropes of her hair, winding them around his fingers. She didn't seem to mind that, either.
She stroked his thigh. "This outfit looks really good on you. You're a handsome man, Marius. I expect you know that."
He shrugged. "I clean up good."
