Chapter Nineteen
Xia
Thirty minutes later, CDS entertainment cabin, GoldenEye Airbus IV...
“Little Dottie over there is the first potential.” Rex pointed to a brunette at the bar dressed in the tightest rubber suit Xia had ever seen.
Xia sighed, wishing Cheri hadn’t already been in the dungeon when she’d texted.
She really needed that tequila. Studying the woman, her artistic eye catalogued details with ruthless precision.
The red rubber suit hugged every curve like a jealous lover, managing to be both scandalous and somehow elegant.
Little Dottie’s dark hair fell in glossy waves past her shoulders.
Even from this distance, Xia could see the intelligence in those green eyes.
Freaking ferret dung... Damn it.
“You mean the one who looks like she made a pact with a vacuum sealer just to put her perfect little hot body on display?” Xia drawled, trying to mask her growing unease with sarcasm.
“Hmm.” Rex frowned as he perused the woman in question. “Since you added her to the new list, I assumed she either lost weight or her curves are strangled by that red rubber suit.”
Xia nearly choked on her drink. Holy bat dung, he was right.
She had added Little Dottie to the list. After Rex had specifically asked for a new selection focusing on women with curves, she’d gone through the profiles in such a caffeine-fueled rage, she must have missed the obvious.
The woman was exactly Rex’s type—if someone managed to peel her out of that rubber armor.
“Gmphf,” she snorted, mentally kicking herself. This was like handing a lion a steak and hoping it would choose to become vegetarian. Her plan to subtly sabotage the list backfired spectacularly.
“Since she’s hiding her curves, it makes me wonder if she’s overly sensitive about how she looks,” Xia attempted recovery, but her words tumbled out faster than her brain could filter them.
“By squeezing into that tight suit, she’s trying to present someone who she isn’t.
Makes me think she might be too reserved in the sack for you, Master R.
Probably arranges her lingerie by color and says oh my instead of fucking hell. ”
“Says she who can’t even say the word cock,” he drawled dryly. “Reserved isn’t such a bad commodity, Angel. It offers Doms the opportunity to mold their submissive and to coax the real woman out that she hides deep within. That, love, is the kind of challenge Doms love.”
Well, of course it is, her mind growled.
He was still studying the brunette like she was a particularly fascinating puzzle to solve. Xia fought the urge to wave her hand in front of his face and yell, “Hello? Remember me? The woman who just gave you a mind-blowing blowjob during takeoff?”
But no, apparently that little episode had already been filed away in his mental been there, done that folder, while she was still fighting phantom tastes of him on her tongue.
Every time she closed her eyes, she remembered the way he’d come apart under her touch.
The raw power of bringing someone like Rex Oliver to his knees still sizzled through her veins.
Yet, here he was, already moving on to the next phase of Operation Find the Perfect Mrs. Oliver, as if what happened between them was as forgettable as. .. as... as airplane peanuts!
Men. Sometimes I wonder if their emotional memory is inversely proportional to the size of their... er... ego.
“Over there in the corner is potential number two,” Rex said as he turned his gaze sideways. “Sub Peaches.”
“Because she smells like it or...” Xia’s words trailed off as she took in the blonde who seemed to have mistaken sensuality for oxygen—breathing it out with every movement.
Of course, Rex would be drawn to her. The woman didn’t just walk, she prowled, as if she’d taken advanced classes in How to Make Men’s Heads Turn 101—and graduated summa cum laude.
Not classically beautiful, but there was something about her that demanded attention. Like a lightning storm—dangerous but impossible to look away from. Xia found herself staring longer than strictly necessary for her professional assessment.
“Or? Ah, yes. Hmm, now that is something I’m quite keen to find out.”
Xia’s attention snapped to Rex so fast, she nearly gave herself whiplash. “What?”
“Whether her intimate flavor tastes like peaches.”
“Oh, for the love of... This isn’t some adult version of Cinderella!
” Xia spluttered, her face heating up. “She’s a real woman, not a fruit basket.
No one naturally tastes like peaches. If she does, she’s using flavored oils, which, by the way.
..” She paused for dramatic effect, jabbing a finger toward his crotch.
“Could give you a nasty rash on your lips and your... your...”
“My cock.” Rex supplied helpfully, looking far too amused. “Well, hex on you, Angel, for putting a damper on my excitement.”
Xia’s spirit soared like a laser-powered rocket. Finally! She’d managed to scratch one name off his list. She could almost taste victory... and it definitely didn’t taste like peaches.
“Either way. I’ll be slacking if I don’t explore the possibilities. Peaches definitely has potential, I would say.”
And just like that, her victory balloon deflated.
The man was impossible. She’d just warned him about potential chemical burns in very sensitive places, and he was still ready to dive in tongue-first. At this rate, she would have better luck teaching a shark to juggle than getting Rex to cross names off his list.
“So, who’s lucky number three on tonight’s parade of potential Mrs. Olivers?” Xia asked, not even trying to hide the sarcasm dripping from her words.
“Sub Amy.” Rex nodded toward a statuesque woman with red hair who practically radiated with ‘dominate me, whip me, and fuck me to kingdom come’ energy from across the room.
Xia’s stomach did an uncomfortable flip as she watched the woman throw her head back in laughter. The sound carried across the room like wind chimes in a summer breeze.
Perfect. Even her laugh was sexy.
“Ah, yes, the one whose curves are practically sending out engraved invitations for a spanking.” Xia crossed her arms. “Though I have to point out, her posture suggests she’s had professional dance training.”
Rex raised an eyebrow. “And that’s a problem because...?”
“Because dancers are notoriously controlling about their bodies. They spend years perfecting every movement. Makes them terrible at truly letting go in a scene. They’re always,” Xia demonstrated by striking an exaggerated pose, “thinking about how they look rather than how they feel.”
“Interesting theory. Though I’ve known quite a few dancers who—”
“Plus,” Xia interrupted, warming to her subject, “she’s wearing Jimmy Choos with that outfit. Nobody with any sense wears five-hundred-dollar shoes to a play party. That’s not a sub who’s ready to get down and dirty; that’s a sub who’s auditioning for ‘Real Housewives of BDSM’.”
Rex’s lips twitched. “You got all that from her shoes?”
“I’m thorough in my evaluations. It’s what you pay me for, isn’t it?”
“Speaking of evaluations...” Rex straightened, a broad smile spreading across his face. Xia’s internal warning systems flashed red. “I’ve taken all your initial assessments to heart, Angel, but now it’s time for the real test. Seeing how each sub reacts during a scene.”
Xia’s throat suddenly felt dry. “And you require me to watch and evaluate that, as per usual.”
“Of course. How else will you determine if they deserve the golden ticket to my private suite?” His eyes sparkled with mischief. “Consider yourself the Willie Wonka of BDSM—except instead of chocolate, you’re quality testing submission.”
“Wonderful,” Xia muttered under her breath as she followed him. “Just what I always wanted to be when I grew up.”
Here she’d thought to cull the list during pre-evaluation. Turns out, that was just the appetizer, and she had no choice but to see it through. The universe had a twisted sense of humor sometimes.
“Are you open to some play in the dungeon with me, Little Dottie?” Rex asked in dulcet tones as he stroked the pretty woman’s hair.
Xia spotted the calculating gleam in Little Dottie’s eyes as she leaned into his touch. So much for the timid submissive act. Time for Plan B—or was she on Plan M by now? She’d lost count.
“So, about impact play,” Xia jumped in before Rex could continue his smooth introduction. “You’re comfortable with single-tail whips, right? Heavy wooden paddles? Oh, and barbed floggers since those are Master R’s specialty.”
Little Dottie’s eyes widened like a startled deer in headlights. “I... um...”
“Angel...” Rex’s voice carried a warning edge. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Just being helpful,” Xia chirped with manufactured innocence. “Saving time. You know, efficiency expert and all that. So, Dottie, what’s your threshold for bruising? And how do you feel about a little blood play?”
“I... I thought that wasn’t allowed in this club,” she stuttered. Her earlier confidence crumbled. “I actually don’t... I mean, I can’t... No impact tools at all. It’s a hard limit.” Which was exactly why Xia had added her to the list, knowing it was one of Rex’s must-have items for Mrs. Perfect.
“There you have it, Master R.” Xia’s triumph blazed like a supernova. “You do with that what you wish.”
Rex’s glacial stare promised retribution, but she chose to ignore it.
“I apologize, Little Dottie, but if impact play is a hard limit, we’re somewhat of a mismatch,” he explained with gentle consideration, but his iron grip on Xia’s arm told a different story as he dragged her along with him.
The moment they reached a secluded corner, he spun her to face him. His eyes had gone from glacier to volcanic obsidian.
“You were warned, Angel. Your role as my wife whisperer doesn’t put you above club protocol. What you just did wasn’t just disrespectful to a potential play partner, it was publicly insolent and humiliating to me.”
“That wasn’t my intention.” The words tumbled out in panic. Too late, she recognized the trap she’d walked into. No, scratch that, sprinted into with bells on.
“Be that as it may, that’s exactly how everyone who witnessed that shit show will interpret it.
” His voice dropped to a dangerous purr.
“As did I. Therefore, you will bear the consequences. Since this means foregoing my other two potential evaluations for this flight, you’ve earned yourself additional punishment for blatant interference and annoyance. ”
“Those aren’t even punishable things,” she protested weakly.
“I decide what’s punishable, little sub. Not you.”
“But... punishing me doesn’t mean you can’t scene with the others.
Surely it won’t take more than thirty minutes?
” Even as she said it, Xia felt tremors starting in her legs.
The rumors about Master R’s punishments when truly angry were legendary.
And now she’d painted a target on herself with fluorescent paint.
His smile was pure demonic. “You clearly have no concept of how creative I can be with punishment. No, my dear wife whisperer, your public actions against me call for proper retaliation... which will likely last until our descent.”
A violent shiver racked Xia’s body as the full implications of ‘until our descent’ sank in. Her knees threatened to buckle, and she found herself grateful for Rex’s iron grip on her arm. It was probably the only thing keeping her vertical.
The blood drained from her face only to rush back with a vengeance, setting her cheeks on fire.
Her heart became a chaotic drumroll, and her breath turned into short, uneven gasps.
This wasn’t the good kind of anticipation that usually accompanied thoughts of playing with Rex.
This was pure, unadulterated fear mixed with an unwelcome dose of arousal that confused her even more.
She tried to step back instinctively, but his grip held her firmly in place.
Her stomach performed a series of complicated gymnastics as she watched his expression darken further.
The confident, snarky woman who’d been throwing verbal grenades at potential subs minutes ago seemed to have taken an emergency exit, leaving behind a trembling mess who couldn’t even form a coherent sentence.
“I... you... we...” She swallowed hard, her throat clicking audibly in the tense silence between them.
Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, a nervous tell she thought she’d conquered years ago.
The room suddenly felt too hot, too small, and far too focused on their corner, even though logically she knew most people weren’t even looking their way.
She shivered as a drop of sweat trickled down her spine.
She’d seen that look in his eyes before, during opening night, directed at a manipulative sub.
Now she understood why the sub had looked both terrified and thrilled.
She was about to receive a firsthand lesson in why Rex Oliver’s punishment sessions were legendary.
Her body couldn’t decide whether to run away screaming or beg for more.
“Well, fuck a row of ducks, why doncha!?” The words escaped before she could stop them.
“I’ll add that to the list of punishments,” he said smoothly. “As well as additional time for cursing during punishment negotiations. You’re not helping your case, Angel.”
Xia’s stomach dropped to somewhere around her ankles.
She’d just wanted to sabotage his scene, not sign up for a marathon session of creative punishment with the Dom whose reputation made experienced submissives weak in the knees.
Talk about your plans backfiring, except this wasn’t just a backfire—this was a nuclear meltdown.