by His Slave
Pieces were outwardly balanced with both sides of an argument or position being given equal weight. What probably wasn’t obvious to someone who didn’t make their living fashioning the written word was that whatever side Robert and Atwood were on came across as the more polished, clear, and direct, while the other was somewhat muddied or defensive.
“I appreciate hearing that my anal tendencies are considered pluses,” she said, “especially coming from you. Both of you have earned every award you’ve received.”
Atwood smiled one of his half smiles. “It’s just the three of us here, Cheyenne, so you can be honest. Is that your goal, to garner some of those awards for yourself?”
Taken aback by the unexpected question, she retreated behind silence. She’d become a reporter because she was a stickler for accuracy, and the written word intrigued her, but trophies and plaques were hardly her life’s goal. The thing was, she wasn’t sure she had one.
“You’ve embarrassed her,” Atwood told Robert. “Besides, maybe she’s secretly gunning for our positions.”
The men chuckled, and although she joined in, she wished she could think of a way to change the subject. Not for the first time, she sensed they were trying to dig deep into her and uncover layers she had no intention of revealing.
“Ah,” Atwood said, “there he is.”
Swiveling toward the door, Cheyenne found herself looking up at the last person she expected to see in here today, Mace. As he’d done enough times that she should be used to it, he’d entered the room soundlessly. Granted, silence had to play a vital role in security, but she couldn’t help but wonder if skill had nothing to do with his career and everything to do with the man himself.
After scanning the room and briefly settling his gaze on Robert, Atwood, and her in turn, he lowered his athletic body in the chair to her right. Granted, that’s where the paperwork was, but did he have to sit so close that his body heat flicked out and ran over her arm and side?
“Dispensing with the preliminaries,” Atwood said, “let’s get to the reason for this meeting. For some time now we”—he nodded at Robert—“have been entertaining a feature article concept with what we believe has tremendous built-in reader appeal, but we needed to have the right personnel in place in order to carry it off.”
“I’m not a writer or reporter,” Mace said. His posture made her wonder if he’d been in the military. Did the man ever relax? Between his black slacks and body-hugging dark brown turtleneck, he struck her as a creature of the night.
“No, you’re not,” Atwood said. “But among your accomplishments is a certain expertise that has nothing to do with pounding a keyboard, yet is key to the article.” Folding his arms, Atwood fixed his full attention on Mace. “We could play twenty questions, but I believe you know what I’m talking about.”
Mace remained expressionless. Just the same, she sensed a tension that hadn’t been part of him before.
“Why don’t you spell it out?” Mace said, and for a moment she wanted nothing more than to jump to her feet and run. Then, maybe because no one was paying her any attention, she forced herself to relax.
“When we hire someone,” Robert said, “we conduct background checks on them, or rather we assign you that responsibility. We did the same when we were looking for someone to fill your position.”
“I understand.”
An insane thought distracted Cheyenne. Was it possible for Mace to pass a lie detector test even if he was lying through his teeth? If he felt no emotion, maybe so.
“It doesn’t bother you knowing we were certain to uncover particular interests of yours?”
“I figured if that was a problem, you wouldn’t have hired me.
“That’s one cool customer,” Atwood said to Robert. “Nerves of steel. So, Mace, you aren’t embarrassed knowing—”
“What I do on my own time doesn’t impact my job. If it embarrassed me, as you call it, I wouldn’t do it.”
“Hmm. No emotional quandary? No asking yourself if there’s something sick or unnatural about what you do?”
The conversation swirled around her, shadows confusing and angering her at the same time. Obviously she was the only one who didn’t know what they were talking about. Why, then, was she in the room?
“No emotional quandary,” Mace said. “As for whether it’s unnatural, that’s not something I concern myself with.”
“Amazing.” Atwood shook his head, his fine hair springing free of whatever he’d plastered it in place with. “Has it always been this way? Maybe, when you first ventured into BDSM, you at least had to work at looking yourself in the mirror?”
BDSM! The giving and receiving of physical pain wrapped in a sexual blanket. Suddenly flushed and her mind stuttering, Cheyenne gripped her chair arms. She couldn’t have spoken if someone had held a gun to her head.
Much as she would have given anything to fade into the woodwork, it was too late as witnessed by the way Robert and Atwood had turned their attention to her. Mouth numb, she struggled to relax her fingers.
“I’ve always been able to face myself in the mirror,” Mace said. If he was aware of her reaction to what had just been revealed, he showed no sign. “I understand BDSM’s parameters, its protocol, if you will. If you’re wondering if my activities as a dom might jeopardize my ability to do my job here, they won’t. I allow no crossover.”
“In other words, no playing with the staff?”
With every second, Cheyenne grew more convinced she knew where the conversation was taking them. Mace was a dom, a dominant, someone who understood the rights and responsibilities that came from being a master in a sexual-based relationship.
“Where is this going?” Mace asked. “You’re asking questions you already have the answer to.”
“And you have ice water in your veins.” Atwood made it sound like a compliment. “Is there anything that rattles you?”
“A gun in my face, if I’m unarmed.”
“But not having your employers tell you they know you’re a fixture at Indulgences.”
Still impassive, Mace fixed his gray eyes on Atwood. She knew about Indulgences. Touted as the most comprehensive BDSM club in the city, it prided itself on offering a full range of experiences for both doms and submissives. According to the subtle promotion, prospective members were carefully screened and activities monitored, which gave the club a clinical feel, at least for those on the outside. Instead of being left alone to engage in whatever turned them on, doms and subs were given a checklist of approved and allowed activities—not that she knew what those activities were because she hadn’t worked up the courage to walk in the door.
“What is this about?” Mace asked, emotionless as always.
A moment ago, Cheyenne couldn’t have known whether she was hot or cold. Now she felt as if someone had struck a match to her neck. Heat charged through her veins, compelling her to concentrate on her breathing. Her cheeks had become flushed. Thank goodness no one could check between her legs, because they’d encounter a telltale dampness.
Mace was a dom!
“What is this about?” Robert repeated. “Mace, again I have to hand it to you. You’ve cut through the BS. Bottom line, the lifestyle you’ve embraced gives us the in we need.”
“How long have you known?”
“Since before we hired you.”
“Then why has it taken this long to—”
“You’re only one leg of the operation. You provide the expertise. What we lacked was the journalist to—”
“Wait a minute,” Cheyenne blurted. “You’re considering assigning me to—”
“Not considering,” Atwood interrupted. “The decision has been made. We have every faith in your ability to provide an accurate account of the experience.”
“Let me get this straight.” For the first time since he’d sat down, Mace angled his body toward her. Damn but the man was big! Big and powerful, a master. “You want her to interview me?”
“That’s part of
it,” Atwood said. “But if we were content to hinge the entire piece on your experience, we could simply ask you to write down what you’ve observed and participated in. But the dom’s role is only part of the scene.”
“And the rest is?”
“The sub, of course. Her—I use that pronoun because the majority of submissives are female—experiences both within Indulgences and elsewhere is key. For the article to succeed, it must be comprehensive.”
“Wait. You want Cheyenne to go to Indulgences?”
“We want you to take her there.”
“What?” If she jumped to her feet, would her legs hold her? “Look, I’m sitting right here. I don’t appreciate being talked about as if I’m not. What in hell makes you think I have any interest in—”
“That’s exactly the point.” Atwood’s lips curled. “You are interested. In spades.”
3
Interest flickered in Mace. Trusting experience to keep his features neutral, he studied Cheyenne. Her eyes had gone wide, and fresh color painted her cheekbones. She needed to learn how to keep her emotions under wrap; otherwise, people would get past her defenses. Maybe he’d offer to give her a few lessons.
Watching her lips thin, he acknowledged that the lessons he’d like to give her had nothing to do with locking up what she felt and too damn much with unpeeling her submissive layers.
“Let me explain.” Robert’s gentle smile would have done a kindergarten teacher proud. “The Internet is an amazing tool. What too many people don’t fully comprehend is how easy it is to break through the so-called security features. I would suggest you upgrade the security on your home computer.”
“You’re saying what?” Cheyenne spoke through clenched teeth.
“That these two know what’s on your computer,” Mace supplied. “My guess, they used the same technology I have to protect the integrity of Edge’s system, right?”
“Correct you are,” Atwood said. “No need to reinvent the wheel when we’re already paying for the system, right?” He gave an impatient wave. “Neither Robert nor I have the time or inclination to go into an explanation, Cheyenne. Suffice to say, we know a great deal about your interest in BDSM. Unfortunately, your interest has been limited to observation, not participation.”
Mace expected Cheyenne to jump to her feet and stalk out of the room while threatening lawsuit. He wanted to warn her that her checkbook didn’t stand a chance against Edge’s deep pockets. Warn? Why should he care what she did?
“Tell me.” Cheyenne’s tone could form lifecycles. “What do you know?”
“That’s beyond the point,” Robert said. “I’d like to know why you’re only an observer. Could it be fear?”
“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”
“Believe. Cheyenne, you’re anxious to do more than what you’ve been allowed to at Edge. In your previous position, you proved yourself a competent reporter. If you accept the assignment we’re offering, the article will be yours to run with, written from a firsthand perspective.”
Robert was playing her. Trading on her ambition. Interesting.
“What do you expect from the article?” she asked, surprising Mace because he’d expected her to go off on their unauthorized look into her computer.
“The truth. From your perspective and based on your experience.” Robert smiled one of his “no eyes involved” smiles. “We don’t know what your experience will reveal both from a personal and reporter perspective, which is why we haven’t drawn any conclusions about the finished product. All we ask is that it be authentic and honest.”
“Why?”
“I thought we made that clear. Readership. Revenue. Even the most conservative reader harbors a secret interest in shall we call it fringe sexual practices. Feed that interest and people will be looking for your byline. That one article, done as we know you’re capable of, will springboard you to the top here. Maybe put you in line for writing some of the Hunted features.”
The wheels were spinning in Cheyenne’s mind, he could see that in the way the veins at the sides of her slim neck pulsed, the rise and fall of her full breasts under the damn green jacket.
“You’re pressuring me,” she said.
“Please don’t put it that way. We’re offering you an opportunity we wouldn’t to Edge’s other reporters.”
“Because you think I’m interested in what goes on at Indulgences.”
“Because we know you are. Don’t insult our intelligence.”
She leaned forward. “I see through your smokescreen. Bottom line is you had no right doing what you did. My private life is that, private.”
“You’re not interested in a bonus in exchange for exploring your personal kink? You’ve written articles, like the one on the emotional damage to children, that demonstrate your courage. Is this so different?”
She shook her hair, the short strands dancing. “You want me to work with him?” She indicated Mace.
Atwood’s sigh flared his nostrils. “Frankly, this is getting tiresome. Call our investigation into your potential what you want. We needed assurance that we were right in tapping you for the assignment. Either you’re interested or we’ll choose someone else.”
Robert nodded agreement. “I’m getting the impression that you aren’t able to separate the personal from the professional. Quite frankly, we couldn’t care less what either of you do in your private time. Cheyenne, we would be remiss to send you alone into Indulgences. Not only isn’t it the most sanitary and safe of environments, you might be tagged as a reporter if you suddenly showed up. Mace, as a regular, can provide the perfect, how should we call it, cover. He’s your in.”
“Interested?” Atwood asked.
“Because if you’re not, I’m afraid we’ll have to take another look at you in terms of you being a fit at Edge.”
Cheyenne’s jaw ached from clenching it. Her legs felt wooden, and panic nibbled at her nerve endings.
Thank goodness she was no longer in Robert’s over-the-top office.
“What’s your decision?”
She’d known Mace was behind her; her entire system had been aware of his presence. Drawing on lessons learned as a child, she slowly turned and faced him. Having to look up while responding to the heat radiating from him didn’t help. “Do you care?”
He cocked his head, that longish mass of dark as sin hair going with the effort.
“You probably thought it was funny, don’t you?” she asked, not giving him time to respond. “They backed me into a corner while ignoring you, but it makes sense. They knew you’d like nothing better than being handed a reason for spending the night at Indulgences.”
“That’s what you thought? Your privacy wasn’t the only one that was breached.”
Planting a hand over her mouth, she spoke through the gag her fingers provided. “I didn’t think about that. I’m sorry. They had no right.”
Instead of agreeing, he latched on to her elbow and dragged her away from the closed door to Robert’s office. Yes, oh yes, having his hand on her was a kick in the nether regions, but he was right. Neither of them wanted Robert or Atwood overhearing.
Instead of releasing her once she gave notice that she understood what he was doing, he continued to hold on to her while leading the way to the elevator. Instead of hitting the button to summon the elevator, he tugged on the metal fireproof door leading to the stairs. Her throat closing down, she followed him onto the small landing, waited as the door swung closed.
They were alone in the claustrophobic space, the narrow stairs ahead of her, metal behind, Mace at her side.
“They fed into your ambition,” he said. “Are you going to bite?”
Mace took up too much of the space. He was the only spot of life and warmth in here. Most unnerving perhaps was the elephant in the living room in the form of the job assignment that had been offered or maybe forced on them. Wrapping her mind around everything would be easier if he’d release her, but she’d be damned if she’d
exude anything except confidence.
Be damned if she’d let him know much he turned her on.
“I’m not a submissive,” she said. “Okay, so I’m intrigued by the lifestyle, but if they think I’m dying to have some man put a collar around my neck, they’re crazy.”
“What do you have against collars? And doms.”
Damn him! She’d been played enough for one day. Not caring what he thought, she pulled free. Unfortunately, freedom didn’t come close to extinguishing the lingering impact on her elbow, let alone the grinding hunger between her legs. Damn but she needed to get laid!
“Nothing,” she said. “As long as it involves other people.”
“I don’t think so.”
What was with Mace? Didn’t his eyes ever reveal anything? “What are you talking about?”
“I’m a dom, just like our bosses said. I’ve been playing with the lifestyle long enough that I know when I see a submissive.” He held up a warning hand. “Okay, someone with submissive tendencies. That politically correct enough for you?”
She’d never slapped a man, but for two cents she’d leave her handprints on Mace’s lightly shaded jaw. Of course, then she’d be tempted to wrap her limbs around him and press her breasts to his chest.
Shocked by the far from politically correct thought, she willed her hands to remain at her sides. “Playing with the lifestyle? Not ballsy enough for the real thing?” Shut up. Just shut up.
There it was, the faintest glimmer of something in his deep eyes. Too bad she didn’t know what that something was. “What do you care?”
The words of a man on the defensive? “You’re right, it’s none of my business, just as what I decide is none of yours.”
“Isn’t it? If I’m expected to show up with floggers and ropes, I need advance warning.”