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He turned to face her, well aware the right kind of anger was good for an impressive hard-on. “The usual position to start, Mistress?”
She pointed to it, confirming the location but then pantomimed lacing hands behind his head. She wanted his ass on his heels. Eyes forward. She was going a little more edgy on him. He was fucking fine with that. If the Florida prick couldn’t test her skills, he sure as hell knew how to do it.
He was perfect. Over the next nineteen minutes and twenty-four seconds, he did everything exactly as she ordered it, mirroring her behavior, letting nothing through, but giving her nothing to complain about. And with every minute that passed, the atmosphere in the room became toxic enough to choke them.
They were both too stubborn to break. She pointed him toward the spanking bench. When he braced his hands on the seat, she shook her head and gestured. All the way down, chest to the bench, arms out to the sides.
She yanked a collar from the wall and put it on him, attaching a chain to it she clipped to a ring on the bench. It kept him bent over as she cuffed his hands to either side of the equipment. She used an insistent foot to spread his legs out wider. Blood was pounding in his cock like a hammer. He wanted to use it, wanted to fuck her back into being his Mistress, the Mistress she was holding out of reach.
She was pissed, but she never forgot his limits. He could reach the cuff attachment points, free himself if needed. He wanted to circumvent that civilized shit, bust them free with a shriek of wrenching metal.
Picking up a dragontail, she tested it with a sharp snap in the air. Hell. She and Abby both liked that damn thing. He could tolerate the stinging type of pain, especially if the Mistress got into it, and Skye sometimes did. Apparently, this was one of those times.
She held onto the dragontail, but also picked up a flogger. She started with it, warming him up with easier strokes. As they gained in force, he suspected she was trying to break out of thewrong feeling gripping her by immersing them in things that had brought them pleasure in the past.
It worked, somewhat. She’d always been able to get into his head and take him there with her. She’d said it, hadn’t she? They might have some awkward starts, but they’d walk it back to where she wanted it.
Except he didn’t think that was where she wanted it at all. He knew he sure as hell didn’t.
She dumped the flogger and brought the dragontail into it. If done right, bringing him gradually up to a more intense pain level could take him to the edge of climax. In the past, she’d rubbed his ass between the stinging strikes, sometimes with that sexy satin gloved hand. She’d lean over his back, her grip on his testicles, her breath whispering over his neck and spine, letting him know she was there. That they were together.
That was the only way pain worked for him, combining it with the more intimate shit, the sense she was rightthere, standing in his heart and head.
He unsnapped the right cuff and used that hand to do the same to the chain attached to the collar, then turned. He’d done it so fast, she couldn’t pull the dragontail back in time. It didn’t matter. He caught it over his forearm, took the sting with a grimace and yanked her to him.
“Stop this shit,” he told her. “Just stop it.”
Before she could say anything, he’d freed himself from the left cuff and was kissing her. It was a dumb move, he knew it was, but he couldn’t stand her remoteness, and he gave her what he was feeling in the anger of the kiss, the need of it. The plea in it. Yeah, he wasn’t going to deny it. He could fight anyone, tear down walls, but this was a door only she could open. He’d lay himself down on the threshold like her fucking dog, guarding the entry way, even as he’d wait there until the end of time to be let in.
She shoved back from him, though it was a good, hot, wet and angry twenty seconds before she did. She slapped him, her eyes fiery. Keeping his gaze on her, the handprint throbbing against his jaw, he dropped to his knees.
“Be my Mistress, Skye. The way I know you know how.”
She stared at him. The moments ticked away, an eternity before her hand went to his shoulder. It settled there as tentatively as a wild bird. Then she moved her touch to his shoulder, his hair at his nape. She gave it a brief tug. This was a touch he knew, the Mistress he knew.
That blank paper expression was curling away, burned away by emotions, but what he saw in that turmoil made hope falter. She wouldn’t open the door.
She shook her head and made a motion that said they were done. She was done. She couldn’t do this.
She backed away and strode for the door. Before she reached it, he was there, his hand on it, his body against hers, his arm sliding around her waist. “I know. I know you couldn’t do it. I needed you to know it, to prove it to yourself, because you’re a damn Mistress, and you won’t be told what’s right or wrong for you. I was a bastard about it, but I have faith in what’s inside you, that it’s more and stronger than what you’re acting like is possible.”
She trembled, and his arm tightened, his mouth against the back of her neck. “You’re so in control, Mistress. So compassionate. You’re the level one, the one who talks without talking. But underneath, you keep it here, at this club. You think about outfitting that sex room at your new place, but you don’t. Why risk it? Guys never reach far enough past the silence to find you.”
She hit his arm with a weak fist and moved against his grip, shaking her head, but he couldn’t let her go. Not yet.
“Trust only within the boundaries of this room isn’t trust,” he told her. “Trust is walking outside those lines and still knowing you have my devotion. My desire to serve. And that it will grow stronger every fucking day."
He loosened his grip, enough to let her face him. The bleakness pierced him, an emotion he’d never seen in her face before. She was letting the façade drop, letting him see all of it. The pain, the loneliness, the past and present, how she had to envision her future. She put her hand on his face and held it there a long moment. Then she dipped her head and typed. She didn’t use any voices, so he had to look at the screen. But she leaned against him in that way he liked. It made his heart under the press of her body ache harder as he read the words.
You are perfect. You always have been. But we’re done. I’m sorry.
She turned and slipped out of the room.
She should have left, but Skye needed to be sure he was okay. She wouldn’t leave that to someone else. She put herself in the booth with Vera, Cyn and Ros. Abby was home with Neil tonight.
When Skye switched places with her boss so Ros was on the outside, she refused to be ashamed of welcoming the fortification. Ros’s gaze was on her. All of them were looking at her. She shook her head. She didn’t want to talk, just needed to be here. Understanding, they resumed their conversation.
A few minutes later, Sy joined them, sliding into the opposite side of the booth, next to Vera. Relaxed conversation, banter, and more drinks. A normal night. She picked up that Lawrence wasn’t here because he had a field trip with kids at the center where he worked as a coach and counselor. Ros was expectinghim back tonight, though, so she’d leave soon, bringing the sexual energy she’d collected here home to him. No matter how demanding his day had been, it would help Lawrence to decompress, having his Mistress demand his service before they ended the day in bed together.
