Chapter 1 #2
God, she was magnificent. So eager for what I wanted to give her, but so stubbornly defiant in that eagerness.
Like she was daring me to match her intensity.
Like submission was a gift she’d make me earn, even though we both knew she was desperate to place her ultimate surrender in my capable hands.
“You’ve been thinking about me,” I said. Not a question.
“Possibly.” She tilted her head, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Or maybe I’ve just been sitting here, enjoying my drink in peace, until some arrogant man decided to steal it.”
“Arrogant?” I leaned in, catching the scent of her perfume—floral with a hint of vanilla beneath it. “That’s not what you called me last week when you were begging for my cock.”
Her breath hitched. I watched the pulse flutter at the base of her throat, rapid and telling.
“I don’t beg,” she said, but her voice had gone husky.
“No?” I pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, letting my hand slide from her back to her hip, fingers pressing possessively into the curve of her waist. “Because I distinctly remember you saying please, sir so many times I lost count. Should I remind you exactly what you were pleading for?”
The pink in her cheeks deepened to crimson, spreading down her neck and disappearing beneath the neckline of her dress. But she didn’t look away or back down. That defiant spark only burned brighter.
“Maybe your memory isn’t as good as you think it is.” Her chin lifted. “Old age and all that.”
I barked out a laugh, genuinely surprised. “Old age? Sweetheart, I’m only thirty-four.”
“Ancient,” she said solemnly, but her eyes were dancing.
“Despite my age, my memory is excellent.” I traced my thumb along the curve of her lush hip, feeling her shiver beneath my touch.
“For instance, I remember exactly how wet you were when I had you tied to that cross. I remember the sound you made when the flogger hit that perfect spot on your inner thigh. I remember—” I leaned in again, letting my lips graze her ear this time, “—that you came so hard you couldn’t stand afterward, and I had to carry you to the couch.
Your legs were shaking for twenty minutes. ”
“You’re very sure of yourself,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I’m sure of what I saw.” I pulled back to look at her properly, drinking in the sight of her—flushed and wanting, fighting to maintain her composure even as her body betrayed her. “I’m sure of what I felt. And I’m sure that you’ve been counting down the days until tonight, just like I have.”
Something flickered in her expression—surprise, maybe, that I’d admitted to wanting this as much as she did. That I wasn’t playing it cool or pretending indifference. No, being direct was more my style.
“Have you?” she asked softly, the teasing edge gone from her voice. “Been counting?”
“Every goddamn day.” I let the honesty of it show in my voice, in my eyes. “Every night, lying in bed, replaying every second. Wondering if it would be just as good the second time. Wondering if you’d even show up.”
Her lips parted slightly, and she swallowed hard. “I almost didn’t,” she admitted. “I sat in my car for twenty minutes, telling myself this was crazy. That last week was a fluke. That there was no way it could possibly—”
“Be that good again?”
She nodded, a hint of vulnerability flickering across her features.
I cupped her chin in my hand, tilting her face up to mine.
“It’s going to be better,” I promised, my voice low and rough with conviction.
“Because now I know what makes you go soft. I know what makes you moan. I know exactly how much pressure to use, exactly where to touch you, exactly what words make you fall apart.” I let my thumb trace her lower lip and felt her breath catch against my skin.
“And I’ve had a whole week to plan what I want to do to you. ”
“What—” She had to stop and clear her throat. “What do you want to do to me?”
I smiled slowly, letting the anticipation build. “Do you want me to tell you? Or do you want to be surprised?”
She thought for a moment. “I want to be surprised.”
I wanted that as well. “Good girl,” I murmured, and watched her pupils dilate at the praise. “Now let’s go upstairs before I decide I can’t wait any longer and bend you over this bar instead.”
Charlotte laughed—surprised and delighted—and the sound made warmth and affection spread through me.
“The bartender might object,” she said.
“The bartender would get one hell of a show, which I’m sure he’s used to in a place like this. But I don’t share. When I make you scream, the only one I want hearing that sweet sound is me .”
“You’re awfully confident about your ability to make me scream.”
I glanced down at her, letting my smile turn wicked. “Sweetheart, by the time I’m done with you, screaming will be the least of it. You’ll forget how to form words entirely. Are you ready to take this somewhere more private?” I asked.
Charlotte nodded, her throat moving as she swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
We hadn’t technically started yet. We were still in the public area, no scene established, but I wasn’t going to complain about her calling me sir. Not ever. The word in her mouth, with that slightly breathy quality, made my cock ache.
“All right then.” I offered her my arm and she took it, her small hand curling into the crook of my elbow as she slid off the barstool.
I could feel the faint tremor running through her, the anticipation that vibrated just beneath her skin and matched my own.
Every point where her body touched mine felt electric, charged with promise, and I had to resist the urge to pull her into a dark corner and take her right there against the wall.
We left the lounge and I led her toward the staircase, the one that swept up to the private rooms on the second floor. I’d reserved one for the night—paid extra for one of the more exclusive suites, in fact, because I wanted to give Charlotte something special tonight.
We passed by some of the themed rooms on the way, their doors propped open to allow viewing.
The club encouraged that sort of exhibitionism for those who wanted it, and plenty of members did.
Through one doorway, I glimpsed an elaborate medieval dungeon scene, complete with stone walls, iron manacles, and a woman in a peasant dress being “interrogated” by a man in leather.
Through another, a sleek modern setup where a woman was bound to a medical examination table while two doms in white coats “examined” her with various implements.
The sounds drifting from the open rooms were...evocative. Moans, the crack of a whip, the rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh. Some people got off on being watched, on putting their pleasure on display.
I wasn’t one of them.
Call it possessiveness, call it jealousy, call it whatever you wanted, but when I had a woman in my hands, especially this one, I didn’t want anyone else seeing her.
I didn’t want to share a single gasp, a single whimper, a single desperate cry.
Everything she gave me was mine to savor, and I didn’t play well with others when it came to what was mine.
Reaching our room, I opened the door and ushered her inside, watching her eyes widen as her gaze swept the room.
The space was generous, easily the size of a luxury hotel suite, but the similarity ended there.
The walls were a deep, rich burgundy, adorned with gold-framed mirrors positioned strategically to catch every angle.
The lighting was adjustable, already set to a warm, intimate glow that made her skin look like creamy silk.
Against one wall was an imposing four-poster bed, its dark wood frame fitted with anchor points that could accommodate any number of restraint configurations.
The mattress was covered in black satin sheets, the pillows plush and inviting.
Opposite the bed sat a leather-padded bench, perfect for bending someone over it for a spanking, or a hard fucking.
But the centerpiece of the room was the suspension rig in the ceiling—a professional-grade system of hooks and pulleys that I’d specifically requested. Thick steel rings were set into the overhead beam at various points, capable of supporting significant weight.
A tall armoire was situated against the far wall, its doors closed but not locked.
Inside, I knew, was an extensive collection of toys, restraints, and implements—everything from blindfolds to floggers to vibrators in every conceivable size and shape.
The club stocked the basics, but I’d made a request for more specialty items when I’d booked the room.
Things I’d chosen specifically with Charlotte in mind, and what I intended to do with her tonight.
A plush seating area occupied one corner with a velvet chaise lounge and matching armchair, positioned near a small refrigerator stocked with water, juice, and light snacks.
Aftercare essentials. Any dom worth his salt knew that what happened after the scene was just as important as the scene itself.
Charlotte’s gaze found the suspension rig, and I heard her breath catch.
I came up to her, sliding a hand around her waist to bring her body flush to mine while sliding my other palm around to the back of her neck, my fingers threading into the base of her updo.
She melted into me, and I used my grip in her hair to tilt her head back, exposing the elegant line of her throat.
“I’ve been fantasizing about this all week,” I murmured against her skin, then pressed my lips just below her ear, feeling her shiver as I trailed my mouth down along her jawline. “About having you here. About what I’m going to do to you.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” she asked, her voice filled with breathless anticipation.
“This first,” I replied, and claimed her mouth with mine.