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When she was a meter away, Benson straightened, his arms crossing over his chest.
The torchlight stripped his tattoos of some of their color, but they also seemed alive. The waves under the sailboat that rode high on one arm seemed to roll like the Pacific Ocean that—though not visible from where they were high in the Malibu canyons—was less than four miles away.
He wore a leather vest that did more to highlight the muscles of his chest than hide them. A quick glance showed he wasn’t wearing the belt he sometimes added for functionality, as the belt, along with belt hooks, gave him somewhere to hang a flogger, a crop, or something even better.
“We negotiate first,” he said when she was closer.
Mal stopped. “The game means we already know what we’ll be doing, doesn’t it?”
“I want to make something clear, Mal. The game may be the impetus behind this—” He gestured to her and then back to himself. “—but the game and the checklist aren’t the scene tops.”
“Of course not—”
“I wasn’t done.” He took a step toward her, seeming to loom as tall as one of the statues. “The letter P items will be a jumping off point for scene negotiation, but they don’t dictate what I’ll do to you.”
What I’ll do to you.
The words shivered through her, and Mal dropped her gaze to his heavy leather boots. “Of course, Master.”
She flinched when she realized what she’d said, and quickly added, “Benson. Master Benson.”
“There was a time you called me master, but you don’t have that right anymore.” His voice was low and stern, but not mean.
Mal’s stomach clenched and her face felt hot with embarrassment, though she knew she had no reason to be embarrassed. “We were never bonded.” The words were a defense, or perhaps they were just defensive.
“Bonded, collared, whatever term you want to use… Never quite got that far, didn’t we?” There was a tiredness to his words that made Mal soften.
“No, we didn’t.”
Benson was silent for a beat, before holding out his hand. “Time to negotiate.”
She knew from experience that he didn’t want her to put her hand in his. No, he wasn’t offering to hold her hand like a lover would, but beckoning her closer. Once she was in touching distance, he raised that hand, sliding it under her hair to cup the back of her neck.
Benson was absolutely the reason that she not only enjoyed, but actually needed, anyone who topped her to choke her, collar her—touch or apply pressure to her neck.
He guided her through the statues to a room on the far side of the court. After entering his code and unlocking the door, Benson ushered her in.
Referring to it as a playroom would have been a misnomer, because nothing about this was playful.
The lighting here might not have been as elegant or dramatic as the lighting in the Constellation Court, but the single spotlight shining down on a large stone table was enough to make her catch her breath.
After a moment, her eyes adjusted. Other pieces of equipment and chests containing smaller items were shoved against the walls. The walls themselves were stone—faux stone, she knew, but realistic enough looking that once the door closed behind them, it was very easy to pretend she was now locked away in the dungeon of a castle.
His hand still on her neck, Benson turned her to the right, guiding her over to what looked like a set of heavy wood chests. She took a seat, only after she had done so realizing that the top was padded like a bench.
Benson turned on a light—a heavy iron sconce on the wall just above her flickered to life. It had one of those bulbs that looked like a candle flame. It was enough to illuminate a small half circle area around her.
Benson sat on a trunk that was the twin of hers. Then he reached in to the narrow space between the edge of the trunk and the wall and pulled out a document-sized envelope.
Mal stared at the rather incongruous sight, her lips twitching.
“Something funny?” Benson’s brows rose.
“It would be more appropriate if that were a scroll.”
Benson’s lips picked up in a half-smile. He was incredibly attractive. This time, when Mal’s stomach muscles fluttered, it had nothing to do with the anticipation of physical stimuli.
And that was a huge part of what had gone wrong for them. Even if he didn’t know.
