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Despite her nervousness, she batted her lashes. “Will that turn you on if you see me at work? Knowing I’m feeling that sunburn under my clothes?”
Even before her decision to explore her sub side, they’d been on-and-off friends-with-benefits, no hold on each other. So he took the flirting in the spirit it was intended. “I’ll be hard as my name, baby. How’re you doing?”
“Wondering if I’m nuts. But wanting this.” A breathless half-laugh, her hand flexing in his. “I’m crazy hot right now.”
Thanks to the dividers set up around this space, the main play area noise was muted. Mick, the building’s owner, held monthly dungeon parties here for their private group. Tish hadn’t wanted to do this in front of a big audience, so Brick chose a form of fireplay he could do indoors, and reserved this spot.
It was still open to viewing, but there was limited access. People could filter in to watch, but only the quantity that could hug two sides of the dividers one row deep, staying behind the tape that maintained a fifteen-foot-wide perimeter around the table and Brick’s staging area.
Tish could block them out of her field of vision by turning her head toward him, or looking up at the high ceiling. But once they got started, Brick knew it wouldn’t be an issue. The shudder of her breath, the quiver in her breasts and long thighs, held sensual anticipation.
He pried opened her fingers, patting her palm and giving her a reproving glance. He bent down, capturing her attention. “Do you trust me?”
Her expression steadied, eyes full of affection and personal need. “You know I do.”
“Then don’t be scared. Not in the wrong way.” He shot her a wicked look that made her chuckle. She had a rusty laugh that could stiffen a man’s cock with only a few notes.
Brick put his hand under her elbow and guided her arm so it was stretched out above her head, knuckles resting on the table. At his nod, she did the same with the other.
He’d laid out everything he might need as the scene progressed, and he checked that over one more time. Fire suppression blanket, wet towels, his jump medical bag with a few items added specifically for burns. He’d rarely had to make use of those items, but he’d mentored under an experienced fireplay Dom. That, plus Brick’s knowledge of what fire could do, and just how fast it could do it, meant he never cut corners.
However, because he liked fireplay and experimenting with it, he was always ready for it to go south. The woman under his care was his top priority.
“No restraints?” she asked.
“Is that disappointment I hear?” he teased her. Initially, she’d stayed with psychological forms of submission and easy-to-slip restraint scenarios. But true to a submissive getting more confident with her desires, her interests were expanding. She’d asked him to do the fireplay with her, because his reputed skill with it intrigued her. But he suspected the more restrictive bondage situations, where she had to relinquish all physical control, connected to her deeper cravings.
It was part of why he was using Richard as a spotter tonight. Richard was a firefighter, too, and routinely offered Brick the back-up, so Brick trusted him to do his job. However, since ropes and restraints were Richard’s thing, Brick was also using this as an introduction between him and Tish. When she laughed, he noted the flicker in Richard’s blue eyes. Yeah, she had his attention.
Brick liked bondage plenty, but not with fireplay. “No restraints,” he told her. “If something goes wrong, you have the ability to help douse the flames, the way you and I went over together.”
That said, he always made sure his spotter was someone strong enough to hold the sub down, if she forgot all that and panicked. Richard could do that.
The reminder that things could go wrong increased Tish’s apprehension again, but Brick knew how to dispel that. He braced a palm at her side, putting a firm hand to her face. “I don’t need any fucking restraints, do I?” he asked silkily. “You’ll keep your hands where I tell you to.”
She pressed her lips together, that little aroused gesture he loved from subs. “Yes.”
He softened his touch, a light tap to her cheek. “You can get lost in this. It’s okay. I know what I’m doing. On this table, everything you are rests in my hands. While this is happening, you’re the most important thing in the world to me.”
Banter was the way they maintained the boundaries of their day-to-day relationship. But for this, he used a tone that reminded her he was in charge, and she was giving him that control.
He preferred his fire bottom to be naked. Sometimes he stripped down to nothing but shorts or jeans himself, but it was chilly outside. It made the building cooler, especially in their cordoned off area. The dividers helped to control air currents from the ceiling fans, but it also blocked the warmer air they were circulating from the various free-standing heat lamps. As well as the body heat from the hundred people engaging in multiple scenes.
He'd take the trade-off. He’d witnessed at least one fireplay scene where an audience member, feeling stuffy, had taken a cardboard fan out of her purse, the kind used in a church revival. The resulting gust of wind had passed over the sub and the fire flared higher than expected, a flame jumping to her hair. Quick use of wet towels had doused the fire and avoided injury, but the top and bottom’s immersion in the experience was decidedly disrupted.
To keep her warm, he’d put Tish under a blanket until it was time to get started. Now he removed and folded it, tucking it out of the way.
“You won’t be cold long,” he promised her.
That tremor passed through her again. He also loved watching what happened to a woman when a Dom and her own submission gave her the safe space not just to take off her clothes, but to become naked.
His gut tightened, his thoughts again taking him elsewhere. He imagined serious hazel eyes watching him the way Tish was watching him. Trusting him.
He dipped the wand’s rolled cotton tip into the alcohol solution, then set the handle in the horizontal rack above the cup, letting the excess drip back into the container. He treated every movement like a tea ceremony, precise and significant. All of it was sensory input that would intensify the experience for her.
When he was satisfied the tip had the right saturation, no drips, he picked it up and turned to Tish. He gripped her wrist, brought one arm back down so she could watch him run the wand over her palm, spreading the alcohol, which he’d dyed purple. If any excess liquid ran to other places, he or Richard would see it. With the deftness of long practice, he shifted his grip to trigger the long-necked lighter he held in the same hand.
Her breath drew in as flame bloomed in her palm. The blue line between the flesh and the flame was the alcohol barrier. He ticked off the seconds for her to register the heat, then his hand clasped hers, dousing the fire and sealing in the warmth. A first demonstration, proving to her what he meant about trust.
