Chapter 3
The sheer teal corset hugged and molded her flesh tight enough that with each breath, her breasts swelled over the top, her chest expanding up rather than out.
The boning of the expensive piece of lingerie was covered in glossy satin, while the panels between were sheer tight-weave mesh with no stretch.
Her nipples would have been on display if not for the art deco-inspired appliqués over the breasts.
The ballet-style skirt was also sheer, but the overlap at the front hid her sex.
Her ass cheeks were visible through the translucent black fabric.
Mara felt naked.
In the well-lit Subs’ Garden changing room/lounge, she looked naked.
Confident in her choices when she was at the register tapping her card that morning, she’d now started to doubt herself.
Maybe she should have gone for the classic thick black corset and short ruffled skirt.
But that look made her think of Halloween costumes and Renaissance fairs, though other subs pulled it off without it seeming like a costume.
At least she could have gone for a more classic color—red with black lace, or simply all black. Instead, she’d picked teal, or Moroccan blue according to the tag, because she liked the way that color looked on her.
She spent five minutes trying to decide if she should ask if anyone had a different corset she could borrow, but this one really was pretty, and she felt sexy in it.
Standing in front of the long counter with a mirror above it, she turned and looked back over her shoulder, oddly embarrassed by how her pale butt seemed to glow through the black fabric.
With a sigh, she sat on one of the plush stools and pumped lotion into her hand, smoothing it first over her arms and then her legs, all the way up to her sex.
She was stalling. Mara stood, pulled up the front of the skirt, and checked her pussy in the mirror.
She had laser hair removal several years ago on her forearms, underarms, vulva, and ass, to get rid of the thick black hair, and it had worked well.
Now, only her eyebrows were left her original dark brown, her head hair dyed a golden blonde.
She skimmed her fingers over her bare sex, nearly jumping at the touch. She was almost painfully sensitive due to arousal.
Despite a list of cooly logical reasons why she shouldn’t already be turned on, she was.
That moment last night when he’d grabbed her by the neck lived rent-free in her head, playing on a loop.
She’d spent more hours than she cared to admit, analyzing why there was something so right about that touch.
Her conclusion? Only a Dom would touch her like that.
Grabbing the front of the throat could be sexy, threatening, or threateningly sexy. It was often depicted in even mainstream media as an intense touch between lovers, enemies, and of course enemies about to be lovers.
Grabbing a wrist could replicate the feel and even look of a manacle, but was also a touch used to stop children from touching something dangerous or a coworker from cutting the wrong wire.
Going straight to grabbing someone by the pussy or breasts was crude and juvenile. The act of someone who wanted to be in control but wasn’t and definitely had never made a woman orgasm.
Cole had gripped the back of her neck. It was almost animalistic, a sign of dominance without an overt sexual element. Steeped in the nuance of the power exchange, it was something only an experienced Master would do.
Mara was terrified whatever happened tonight wouldn’t live up to the promise of yesterday’s touch. She needed to moderate her expectations, but no matter how hard she tried, her body was humming with need.
Shivering with anticipation rather than cold as she left the Subs’ Garden, Mara passed through the gate that closed off the submissives-only space from the rest of the club.
The night was cloudless, though not truly dark.
Even here in the Malibu Hills, the light pollution of the sprawling Southland hid the stars.
The elegant, subtle lighting in the landscaping and recessed exterior lighting on the buildings meant she could see where she was going, though there were deep pockets of shadow.
As she walked, she went over the discussion points she wanted to cover when she met with Cole. As wonderful and sexy as “unrestrained” had sounded last night, and despite how aroused she was in anticipation, an unrestrained BDSM scene was wildly dangerous.
Pausing on the path, she clenched her knees together for a moment as if that could stop her from getting further aroused.
The disconnect between brain and body, between prudence and provocation, was disconcerting.
Normally her brain had to be fully engaged before her body lit up with arousal.
It was one of the reasons she liked BDSM—the negotiations, ceremony, and rules were built in mental foreplay.
Right now, her body was playing by its own rules, and needed no help from her brain. She was inching toward that point of sexual need where anything and everything seemed like a good idea. Moments like this were when subs agreed to all manner of dangerous things.
Shaking her head as if that would clear it, she started walking once more, passing through the arched entrance of one of the Spanish-style building centered around an open courtyard garden.
A man was waiting for her.
Instinctive fear jolted through her, and Mara halted before she recognized him.
Cole.
He was waiting in the covered hall, one shoulder propped against a wall, his arms folded.
Part of her had been sure he wasn’t as big as she remembered, his tattoos not as numerous.
He was exactly what she’d remembered—large and muscled, looking dangerous and predatory even standing still.
His head came up, his eyes locking on her. Muscles flexed as he straightened, drawing her attention to the tattoos on his upper arms, shoulders, and across his chest, those last ones visible, thanks to the deep vee of the leather vest he once again wore.
Neither of them spoke.
She didn’t move, but Cole did, reaching into his back pocket.
A terrible urge to give in and let him do whatever he wanted curled through her, dangerous, dark, and rooted in the unchecked arousal that burned brighter at the sight of him.
Discussion points. She had discussion points.
Mara started forward as Cole took the black leather gloves he’d pulled from his pocket and tugged them on.
He waited for her, making small adjustments to the gloves as he watched her approach. It should have looked odd—bare arms with leather gloves. Instead, it looked like he was about to do something dangerous.
Mara stopped before him, aware her fingers were trembling slightly.
For a moment, they stared at one another silently.
Then he moved.
It was lightening fast, like a striking snake. Once again, she didn’t flinch but froze, holding perfectly still as he grabbed her.
Cole’s arms came around her in an odd hold—his forearm braced between her shoulders, that hand cupping the back of her head. His other hand gripped high on her bare thigh, his index finger tucked under the curve of one butt cheek.
Fingers dug into her thigh as he lifted her, spinning them.
A second later, her back hit the wall. His hand on the back of her head made sense—he was protecting her.
His hand slid out from between her body and the wall, his chest forcing her back against the cool smooth plaster. His lips brushed her cheek and she felt the smile.
He released her thigh, only to scoop his arm under her knee and plant his hand on the wall by her waist, forcing her knee up and out.
Already balanced on the ball of one foot, now she was up on her toes and would have wobbled if he hadn’t held her pinned with his own body.
She was open. Exposed. His hips tucked against her, not quite but close to touching her bare sex.
The noise that escaped her was a whimper. Even with a gun to her head, she wouldn’t have been able to say if it was a sound born of need or fear.
His other hand kneaded up her thigh, the touch firm and sure. Possessive.
Leather not yet warm from the heat of his hands danced along the crease of her hip.
His stubble scratched against her cheek and jaw as he pulled back enough to meet her gaze.
“Are you wet for me, Brown Eyes?”
Her only reply was a noise low in her throat.
His eyes flashed, his gaze sliding to her lips, then lower to her breasts.
“When I ask you a question, you answer.” He punctuated this with a hard pinch to the sensitive skin of her hip.
She yelped, then stammered out, “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Cole.” She sucked in a breath, instantly realizing her mistake. “I mean yes, Si—”
“Don’t bother. If it wasn’t instinctive, I don’t want to hear it.”
“You…don’t?”
“I’m going to use you until you don’t even have to think about. Until you call me ‘Sir’ or ‘Master’ because it’s the only thing that sounds right.”
Arousal hit her, so intense her stomach muscles tightened into a knot. Her eyes slid closed, and she pressed her head hard into the wall.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
She slitted her eyes open, staring at him through her lashes.
“I’m going to use you until you beg me to stop.” A muscle in his jaw twitched.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” The words popped out.
Shit, no Dom wanted to get sass back when they were issuing dark, sexy threats. She wasn’t normally sassy but cutting and aggressive, so she didn’t even know where the spunk came from.
He was so close, it was hard to scan his expression, but what she could see of his face was lips that were half curved up into a smirk.
“I like that you’re looking forward to it, but watch what you wish for, Brown Eyes.”
She didn’t have a response for that so just nodded.
“Begging won’t stop me, but there’s a word that will.”
It took her a minute to realize what he was saying, or rather asking, though once again, it was a question uttered as a statement.
“Dividends,” she said.
He blinked, but nodded at her odd safeword.