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Smiling like the cat who ate the canary, he took back the box, opening it wide to give her a better look at the thick gold choker. Tiny embedded diamonds caught the light, bringing a sparkle to the piece. Her gaze shifted to the gold and diamond pendant hanging below the choker. The letters MLM were engraved on it in a bold font. Tiff admired the piece before asking. “MLM?”
“Master Lukus Mitchell. Tiffany, will you please wear my collar tonight? I’m not asking for a forever commitment here, but—”
“Yes. Double yes. Triple yes.”
Lukus chuckled. “Well, all right then. That was easy.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t want to wear it?”
“Tiff, we talked about so much this week. I already feel like we know a lot about each other, but we haven’t hit many big topics yet. We have a few hurdles to jump through. I’m not entirely sure where this is headed, but I know this: I can’t wait to put this collar on you, and take you out there to show you off. I’m going to be the envy of every Dom here tonight with you at my side.”
Running her fingers across the cool gold, she wondered if she should tell Lukus the real reason she was thrilled to have his collar. To not tell him would feel like she was lying. “Well, I know you want me to wear it so the other Doms know who I belong with, but I confess, I have an ulterior motive. I want all of the subs to see it on me, and know you’re off the market, too. I really am trying to stay calm, but I’m not looking forward to meeting a bunch of women you’ve had sex with, and who are most likely hoping I take a tumble down the nearest flight of stairs.”
He smiled at her as he took the choker out of the box, unhooking the clasp with care. “I think you might be a bit paranoid.” He took her hand, his voice serious. “Kneel for me, baby.”
His request was part invitation, part command. Her butterflies were back as she sunk to her knees before him. She’d dreamed about this moment in her wildest fantasies—dreams fueled by erotic romance novels and voyeuristic visits to BDSM clubs years before. She’d almost given up on the fantasy, certain those men who seemed perfect on paper could never exist in real life. It was an illusion. Yet, here she was, kneeling at this man’s feet, about to accept the most personal symbol in a BDSM relationship—his collar. The moment felt important; it was important.
Lukus worked the clasp, wrapping the collar around her neck. When it was closed, it fit as though Tiffany had sat for a fitting. It was snug, but not tight. Snug enough to be a constant reminder of… of what? He hadn’t said, “love.” He did say it was temporary.
Don’t go there, Tiff. One day at a time. Just enjoy the night. Enjoy his possessiveness, if only for tonight.
When she started to stand, his fingers brushed her shoulder to keep her on her knees. “Hold still for me a bit longer. I need to add more to your outfit.”
He moved to the cabinets that she hadn’t noticed along the far wall. After opening several doors and rummaging around for a minute, he headed back towards her with what looked like wrist and ankle cuffs, similar to those in his bathroom. She’d absolutely loved how his devious mind had used them last weekend. She shivered, titillated at the thought of a repeat tonight.
“Hands.” Lukus fastened the fleece-lined cuffs on her wrists before moving behind her to attach two to her ankles. Once done, he helped her stand. Even though she was dressed in a risque outfit, the collar and cuffs helped her feel adorned with Lukus’s mark and his protection. It was a foreign feeling, but she liked it. A lot. He dropped a quick kiss on her forehead before grasping her hand and moved them towards the door leading to backstage. The carabiners attached to her cuffs tinkled as she walked, making her feel like she was wearing a bell announcing her arrival.
Lost in thought, they were both standing behind the bar when Tiff became aware of the sights and sounds of the club surrounding her. The bartender, a hefty older man who looked like he had recently retired from a biker gang, was busy serving members and waitresses. His leathery skin looked as tough as the leather pants and vest he wore.
Lukus settled her in the far corner—out of the way, but nearby. His eyes commanded her to stay put. She couldn’t help but smile and was relieved when he grinned back.
Tiff observed silently as Lukus stepped up to greet some of the members, taking a few minutes to amicably shoot the shit with them, while jumping in to assist the bartender. She didn’t hear anyone ordering, yet Lukus seemed to know what everyone wanted, proving his intimate knowledge of the club members.
She took the voyeuristic opportunity to admire the total package that was Master Lukus Mitchell. Of course, he was handsome, with his thick, dark, near collar-length hair that was just long enough to add to his dangerous, I don’t give a fuck look. His scruffy facial hair screamed bad boy. The perfectly tight jeans paired with a fitted black T-shirt showcased his tall, toned body in all the right ways. He moved with the grace and power of a professional athlete. When he glanced over at her, his face lit up with a sexier smile than any A-list model could flash.
I’m the luckiest damn woman in the whole city tonight.
It took only a couple of minutes of working in concert to get the line down. Once done, Lukus had a private word with the bartender. She suspected they were talking about her because she caught Biker Dude glancing her direction. Lukus grabbed a bottle of import beer and poured a glass of white wine before heading back to her.
“Ready?”
“Yes, Sir. I think so,” she replied.
“Good girl. Let’s go find a seat before the show starts. We have a pretty big crowd for a Thursday night. I think word got out we’d be in for a treat tonight.”
“A treat?”
“Let’s get a seat, and then you’ll see.”
They made their way around the end of the bar and moved towards the audience pit. When Lukus stopped to shake hands with a small circle of Doms, Tiff found she was unsure of what to do with herself. The other subs knelt at their Master’s feet, or, in the case of one unfortunate sub, was perched across the back of a plush chair, naked ass in the air as if it were waiting to be the bullseye of her Dom’s target practice. Tiff felt sorry for her until she noticed the sly smile on her face as she flaunted her privates as she awaited her punishment. An exhibitionist at her finest.
With each passing moment, Tiff became more uncomfortable. In a clash of emotions, she felt both over and under dressed. She was just about to sit down in a nearby chair when Lukus pulled her forward, wrapping his arm around her waist to pull her close.
“Against my better judgment I’m going to introduce you all to my sub and…” He stopped ever so briefly to glance her way with a knowing smile before turning back to his Dom friends to finish his thought. “… and girlfriend. This is Tiffany O’Sullivan.”
Tiff’s brain tried to process his public use of the “g” word, when her hand was scooped up and brought to the lips of a Dom whom Lukus introduced as Master Grey. When their eyes met, she could see both lust and humor swirling in his. Tiff stumbled through the introduction. “Nice to meet you, Master Grey. I guess you don’t get your name from your blue eyes.”
A round of hearty laughs startled her. Thankfully, Lukus was laughing too, although she had no clue what she had said that was so funny.
