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“I’m asking the questions, pet. Who owns this club?”
“You do.”
“You do, what?”
“You do, Master.”
Her derisive drawl and the mulish press of her plump lips made my palms itch.
It had been a long time since she’d displayed such bratty rebellion. I didn’t like it then, and I certainly didn’t like it now. But Julianna wasn’t completely at fault. Sadly, I was partially to blame for her recalcitrant behavior and malevolent mood.
I’d unwittingly let work take precedence over my duty to provide her with the attention and structure she needed. My gut told me she wasn’t acting out on purpose—this time—simply searching for her place. No doubt, I’d help her find it. I’d provide the peace, security, and love she craved, while wielding a fiery reminder there was no room for rebellion in our relationship.
But first, I had to help her find a sliver of submission again.
“Yes, I do. When a problem arises in my club, who handles it?”
“You weren’t there,” she sneered. “You were up here, in your office, working again.”
“Actually, I was observing the dungeon and private rooms,” I replied, nodding toward the bank of monitors across the far wall. “Rather, I was until I saw my stunning slave ball up her fist to hit a Dominant.”
“Trust me. Elliott is no Dominant. He’s an asshole,” Julianna spat.
It wasn’t the first time I’d heard the man termed that.
Three hours ago, while the staff and volunteers prepared the dungeon before opening, Moses, aka Daddy Drake—my best friend and right-hand man—called an impromptu Dominant meeting at the bar.
“Everyone keep an eye on the new guy, Elliott,” Drake muttered. “I’ve gotten tons of complaints from the subs about him. He’s an asshole.”
“What kind of complaints?” I asked.
“Let’s just say he’s less interested in helping the subs fulfill their desire to please and more focused on filling them with his cock.”
“Great. Another player,” drawled the club’s resident shrink and former sadist, Tony Delvaggio.
“Has he broken any rules?” Dalton—my second in command—asked.
“Not yet.”
“He will. It’s only a matter of time,” groused long-time friend, Judge Kellan Graham, aka Sir Justice.
Sadly, experience had taught me His Honor was probably right.
Even so, that didn’t excuse Julianna from confronting Elliott.
“That may be, but it’s the DMs job to deal with assholes in the dungeon. Not. My. Slave!” I growled. “If Sir Ink hadn’t intervened, would you have honestly punched Elliott?”
“You bet your ass. I would have knocked him out, then kicked him in the balls,” she replied, defiantly lifting her chin.
Biting back a curse, I stood and rounded the desk. Since verbally reminding Julianna of her chosen status wasn’t working, I opted to try to visually prompt her. Pausing beside her chair, I squared my shoulders, widened my feet, and tucked my hands behind my back. But instead of acquiescing to my Dominant stance, and lowering her lashes, she obstinately held my gaze.
My little hellcat didn’t want to surrender…she wanted to fight.
“Why did you want to assault a Dominant?”
“He’s not a Dominant, he’s a pig.”
“Why. Did. You. Want. To. Hit. Him?”
