Chapter 3 Steele
THREE
STEELE
“This place is a fucking maze,” I grumble, trying my key card again.
I took several wrong turns downstairs, finally locating a very confusing bank of elevators at the end of a long hallway.
Three rides later, I made it to the seventh floor, where all the doors have goddamn Roman numerals above them.
Since I’m not a fucking genius, I had to Google it, but now that I’m at the right place, my card isn’t working.
The light blinks red for the fifth time, causing me to huff a resigned sigh.
“Unreal,” I say, knocking because I’m not going all the way back downstairs for another key.
I just want to get inside, meet my submissive, and have some fun.
After the shit this city has put me through since the moment my plane touched down, I can’t think of a better way to ground myself. I need some fucking control.
Just as I go to knock again, the door swings open, and immediately, I’m the dumbest human being on planet Earth. I practically swallow my own tongue, eyes widening in shock because holy shit. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful woman in my entire life.
I drag my stunned gaze from her platform heels upward, cataloguing the defined muscles in her legs.
She’s somehow tiny and curvy all at once, and my hands itch to reach out and touch every part of her.
Golden blonde hair falls in large curls over her shoulders, covering what I can already tell are the most perfect tits.
Her ocean blue eyes are rimmed in thick, smoky liner, and my cock twitches at the mental image of her staring up at me from her knees as she awaits my next order.
Although with the red lips and pleather, she looks like she may have a bit of a defiant side, too.
Guess I’ll just have to spank her, then.
Adrenaline runs through my veins like scorching hot lava, and I swallow the lump in my throat.
I’ve been a dom since college, and I’ve never lost my cool like this—especially not at a club.
I need to get my act together, or she definitely won’t take me seriously.
This isn’t her room. It’s mine. I’m in charge.
“Are you going to stand in the hallway all night, or do you want to come in?” she says, one hip popping out.
My head rears back as though I’ve been slapped, because if there’s one thing I’m not used to doing, it’s taming brats.
I like my subs to be agreeable, ready to bend to my will at the snap of a finger.
But she’s so fucking hot, I’m not sure I could walk away even if I wanted to.
Assuming that her demeanor will change after we’ve discussed our limits, I wordlessly enter the room as she closes the door and twists the lock to let outsiders know that the room is occupied.
It’s much bigger than the ones at the club in Miami, equipped with everything a seasoned dom could possibly want.
The walls are covered in gray and black damask paper, giving the space a rich, yet dangerous look.
The dark, hardwood floors are covered with a purple faux fur rug, which matches the satin sheets that are stretched across the luxurious king-sized bed.
A black St. Andrews cross stands in one of the far corners, balanced out by a black velvet throne in the other.
The back wall is covered in various restraints, whips, paddles, and other items, which have me throbbing against the material of my boxer briefs as I think of all the ways I want to use them on her.
I get lost for a few seconds, flashes of her cuffed to the cross as I punish her for greeting me with such a sassy attitude playing like a slideshow in my head.
Will she put up a fight at first, giving me no other choice but to turn her ass red?
Or will she submit the moment we enter the scene?
As accustomed as I am to good girls and princesses, I’m sure I can figure out a way to control her bratty side.
I hear shuffling behind me, turning just in time to see her approach the armoire that stands near the bed. She opens it, her plump, round ass making me glitch for a beat before I realize that she’s digging through the top drawer in search of something.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I scold. In all the time I’ve been into kink, I’ve never had a partner who was this nonchalant. Normally, they’re already on their knees when I arrive, or at the very least, ready for me to direct them. But this…is goddamn weird.
“Looking for a cock ring,” she replies, throwing a look over her shoulder. “I assume you’re okay with that. I’d like this to last more than ten minutes.”
Ex-motherfucking-cuse me? Is she for real right now?
I stand there completely speechless, my mouth gaping like a fish because I’m so caught off guard by her brazenness. My brain tries to comprehend her words—and her disrespectful tone—but I can’t come up with anything to say as she turns to me with a double cock ring and a small remote in her hand.
“Limits,” she says. “I’m pretty much good with everything, except kissing on the mouth—at least not until we’ve played together a few times. And no names or personal information. It just”—she gestures vaguely—“ruins things.” Her brow lifts. “What about you?”
Eventually finding my nutsack, I manage to croak out a reply. “I’m, uhh…good with that.”
She stares at me for several seconds, as though she’s awaiting more information, but I’m too busy gawking at the contraption she’s holding to give her anything else.
I’ve worn simple cock rings on occasion during marathon sessions to prolong my erection, but this one is unlike any of those.
It has two separate silicone bands—one for the base of the shaft, and one for the balls—with a vibrating bullet on top.
They’re generally used to enhance the woman’s pleasure, or for male orgasm torture, which obviously isn’t happening here.
She’s about to be really disappointed when I tell her I’ll be the one deciding whether or not she gets to feel good at all.
I bet she’ll be rethinking the attitude she’s given me since the moment I knocked on the door when she’s begging to come.
“Alright then,” she says, setting the ring and its remote down and sauntering my way.
I notice our size difference—which would be about a foot if she took off the heels—as soon as she stops in front of me, her delicate fingers reaching out and running from my chest to my abs and stopping at the hem of my shirt.
“So, you’re okay with all the stuff on the wall?
” she asks, slowly dragging the fabric up in an attempt to undress me.
I should tell her no—that she’s way out of line right now as my submissive—but instead, I lift my arms so she can pull the garment over my head.
It’s like I’ve been body snatched, unable to regain control as I answer her question.
“Yes,” I say, my voice barely even sounding like my own.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” I meant it when I said I was good with her limits.
If she’s cool with me using a flogger or cane on her, I’m happy to do it.
In fact, maybe it’ll correct her smart mouth when I do, and it’ll put me back into my own damn head.
She shrugs, dropping my shirt to the floor and reaching for the button of my jeans before popping it free.
I lock onto the motion, realizing that I’m about to be completely naked in front of her if I don’t do something, but still, I allow it.
“Some people have certain preferences. I was just making sure, so we don’t cross any lines. ”
My brain continues to short-circuit as she lowers my zipper, her fingertips igniting a million sparks along my heated skin when she slides my pants and boxers down my thighs in one go.
Her blue eyes widen as she takes in my erect cock, which shouldn’t even be hard right now because we haven’t done anything.
I’ve barely been touched. But she’s so fucking sexy that my body is reacting whether I want it to or not.
“Oh,” she gasps, her gaze dragging along my shaft and studying the five metal barbells that run up its length. “You have a Jacob’s ladder.”
“Is that a problem?” I ask, knowing damn well it isn’t with the way her sweet little tongue darts out to wet her lips.
The look that falls across her face as she exhales a quiet, shaky breath has me feeling like I may be able to regain my hold on the situation.
But just like everything else since I stepped into this room, normalcy flies right out the window with her next words.
“Nope, not at all. Now, be a good boy and get on your knees.”