by Skylar Kade
Evan had warned him that Kat had a twisted sense of humor. He normally appreciated that kind of thing, but not today. His call with Kingman had gone so well he was drunk on the success and it was bleeding the edge of his control. He didn’t need anything else working against him.
Abruptly, he stood with the cup of ice, all business now. He gestured to the audience with his tools in hand. “The only problem with wax play is messy removal. It’s another good reason for the sheet underneath. You don’t want to be finding wax shavings in your bed at night.”
The audience chuckled, their eager faces locked on the stage. That buoyed his spirits, helped center him. This is why he taught—to capture their attention, share his knowledge, inspire their “kinky fuckery”, as Evan was fond of calling it. He pulled the putty knife from the cup and held it up so the light glinted off the edges. It met with oohs and ahhs.
“A putty knife is a wonderful tool for removing the wax. At your local Dom Depot…” the audience laughed at the scene nickname for their favorite home improvement store, “…test the edges of different putty knives. The cheaper ones are usually duller, which is a good thing. If you think the edge is still too sharp, high-grit sandpaper will blunt it. I also recommend taking that sandpaper to the corners, as they can be a little too sharp. A cake-icing spatula will also work. I’m sure your twisted minds will come up with a dozen other ideas.”
Damien ran his fingers across the edges of his tool. “I like this one because it has several uniquely shaped edges, perfect for getting wax off different body parts.” He turned the handle so the audience could see the pointed end of the blade. “And, for the submissive who likes a little more pain with her temperature play, this edge can provide that bite.”
His sub whimpered in her restraints. He again admired her body, trussed up and waiting for him. Though her legs were clothed, he could appreciate their form. He’d wanted to trace her spine with his tongue, bite the juncture of her neck, make her writhe underneath him. Her dark hair had spilled from its clip, the curls tumbling around her shoulders.
Then it clicked. She’d seemed familiar from the minute he’d hit the stage, but it wasn’t until that moment that he could place her. This was the woman from the parking lot. He almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Not a submissive? Yeah, right. He wondered if she’d still fight him on the issue, floating in subspace as she was, half-naked in front of an audience and getting off on his play.
He trailed the pointed edge of the blade down her side, letting the cold metal do all the talking. She yelped and tried to dodge the knife, but she was well restrained. He settled her with a hand on her shoulder, marveling at the way she calmed at his touch. He replaced the tool in the cup of ice, letting it cool before he continued.
“For this part, feel free to move closer. I’m going to start removing the wax from her skin.” As one, the couples—and one trio—moved to the stage, the voyeurs’ eyes roving over her body. The appreciative perusal of the Doms and Dommes set his teeth on edge. Some showed too much interest in his sub.
Not yours. The reminder flared through his chest. He forged ahead, eager for the distraction. Keeping his hand on her shoulder, he began to lift bits of wax from her spine, the frigid blade on her skin making her jump and twitch. The closer he got to her lower back, the more she panted and groaned, her hips shifting on the sheet in obvious arousal.
He cooled the blade once more, running his fingers across her skin in the meantime, before rubbing away all remnants of the wax. He skimmed his fingers down her side, brushing against the side of her breast. She jumped and leaned into his hand, but he refused her plea.
Her hands opened and closed on empty air. Taken by impulse and needing to see her writhe, he breathed hot air onto her neck, licked the shell of her ear. She sobbed, “Master,” and he couldn’t hold himself back. His teeth sank into her neck and shivers worked down her spine. He warmed her back with his hands, his breath, building her up until no trace of cold lingered on her skin. Only then did he take the putty knife from the ice and press the flat of it against her back. She cried out.
All his pent-up arousal came out as a growl. “Don’t you dare move. We don’t want you to get cut on this edge, do we?”
He knew—the audience knew—that wouldn’t happen, but his sub was too far gone to realize that. Her muscles bunched and her back shook with the effort of keeping in place. With every bit of wax he loosened, her panting got louder and her begging found words, sweet pleas of “stop, Master” and “oh God” and “more”.
When her skin was once again bare, pale white with a line of red down her spine, he kissed the skin, soothing her, bringing her down, to the applause of the crowd.
They all backed away, some Doms dragging their subs off with clear intent in their eyes, others making their subs sit and squirm in anticipation while they socialized. Kat stepped up and helped him unbuckle the girl’s wrist and ankle restraints.
“Very impressive, Damien. She was a good partner, no?”
His jaw ached from his grinding teeth. “Thank you for enlisting her aid.” He was thankful to Kat, so he kept mum about his annoyance. Instead, he lifted the girl into his arms and walked backstage. She nestled into his chest and shoved at her blindfold with sleepy hands until it shifted to the top of her head, pulling her curls away from her face.
She looked up at him with those blue eyes and vertigo sucked at him between one heartbeat and the next.
“What’s your name?”
“Cam.” She murmured it against his chest, her little breaths heating his chest.
Damn. “Is that short for something?”
She snorted. It was cute, in an irritable, kittenish way. “I go by Cam.”
He tightened his grip on her and stopped in the doorway. “That’s not what I asked.”
A long-suffering sigh. “Camille.”
“Beautiful name.” He caught a tinge of blush on her cheeks.
In the back room, he settled her onto the couch and tucked a blanket around her. He turned from her side to grab a bottle of water.
“Please don’t leave.” Not whining, not begging, just a low, simple statement that nevertheless hit all his best Dom buttons.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He darted to the minifridge in the corner then returned, twisting the cap off and raising it to her lips.
She stared daggers at him. “I’m capable of drinking by myself, thank you.” She reached for the bottle and he swatted her hand away.
“This is called aftercare, my ‘I’m not a sub’ submissive-for-the-afternoon. So you’ll do what I damn well like.”
Silenced, she sipped from the bottle, but her glare didn’t lessen.
“Thank you.” He kneeled in front of the couch and watched her.
“What?” She yawned, then scrunched up her nose and rolled her eyes. “I shouldn’t be tired. I slept all night.”
He couldn’t help running his thumb across her pouty lips. “Subspace can be exhausting.”
If looks could kill, he’d be dead twice. “I am not a submissive,” she hissed.
“Sure thing, sweetheart.” Damien pantomimed checking off a list. “Not a submissive.”
When she rolled her eyes, he was sorely tempted to put her over his knee. Not punishment, but discipline.
No. He was not her Dom. He’d let someone else deal with her attitude, even if it would be fun to discipline her, see if he could make her roll her eyes at him again.
“I’m going to assume you’re feeling better, if your sass is any indication.”
Camille snorted. “Sass? I didn’t know people still used that word.”
That did it. She wasn’t his, but he could only take so much. He grabbed her chin and made sure she was looking at him. “That’s enough, sweetheart. Don’t snap at me just because you’re out of your element.”
Her eyes narrowed. She tried to look away, but he got in her face until all she could see was him. He watched her anger dissolve—first in her eyes, then he
r tight lips, then her clenched jaw. She yawned again, then sniffled. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Her blue eyes went watery and he waited for the tears to fall. She pulled at his grasp but he didn’t let her run. “Please let me go.”
Ignoring her, he opted to pull her off the couch and onto his lap instead. He cradled her against his body, letting her hide in his shirt. “You’re coming down, is all. It’s not surprising your emotions are all over the place.”
She nodded and swiped at her eyes. “Doesn’t mean I can be rude.” A deep, shuddering sigh shook her body. “I’ve never hit subspace before.”
He tensed. “Kat told me you’d had experience as a submissive.” He rubbed her back, hoping to soothe her. It had been a while since he’d been needed for extensive aftercare. His demo assistants all had their own Doms take care of this and his last girlfriend always wanted to be alone afterwards. This was…pleasant.
“Two years.” Tears tracked down her cheek. He let the silence stretch until she filled it. “Once he realized I was no good as a submissive, he left.”
What the hell? “He’s either an idiot or an ass,” he said. The way she’d submitted to him had been mind-blowing. She made it look as easy and natural as breathing.
Her chuckle lifted his dark mood.
“You might be right. I’m just not sure on which count.” Another yawn, and this time her jaw popped. “Ow.” Camille rubbed her right cheek.
“Let’s get you back to your room, okay? You can take a nap.” He didn’t want to let her go.
“Maybe in a bit. This is kind of nice, actually. Different.”
He wasn’t going to like her answer, but he asked anyway. “Different, how?”
A shrug. “Oh you know. Warm. Cozy.”
If you’d sliced open his vein, steam would have billowed out. “I take it you didn’t get much aftercare with your Dom.” She cringed. He stroked up and down her arm, soothing the sting of his voice.
“I didn’t really need it after chores.” She reached for the water bottle next to the couch and he grabbed it for her. Holding it up to her lips, he waited while she rolled her eyes, then deigned to drink. “Is this what it’s supposed to be like?” She shivered. He held her tighter against him.
“Do you find this comforting?”
She nodded and sighed, her warm breath blowing across his arm.
“Then, yes. This is how it’s supposed to be.”
“Well shit.” She tilted her head up until their eyes met. “I think there’s a distinct possibility that I’ve been doing this all wrong.”
Her flushed cheeks and reddened lips tempted him. What Dominant wouldn’t treasure her? He brushed aside a lock of dark hair strewn across her cheek. She bit her lip, demolishing his control. Cupping her cheek in one hand, his lips found hers. He only wanted a taste, but she gasped and her lips parted, inviting him deeper.
He groaned, nipping her bottom lip and tipping her head back so he could kiss her more thoroughly. His tongue slipped against hers, searing her taste onto his memory, richer than honey and heady as bourbon.
Her hands clawed into his T-shirt. She shivered in his arms. “Oh God.”
“Been doing that wrong too?”
Her forehead pressed against his chest. “I’m thinking so.”
Their deep, ragged breaths filled the room. He tried to recall all the reasons this was a bad idea, but with her sweet body cradled against his, he couldn’t remember a single one.
She shifted, brushing her ass against his cock, which was still achingly hard, and he hissed. She froze and winced. “Sorry.”
He kissed her again in reply, one deep, long, wet liplock before breaking apart. “Not your fault… Actually, yes it is.” He’d have to do something about that. And the fact that she’d obviously been with a shitty Dom. Maybe one night together would be good for them both.
A blush crept up across her cheeks. He’d never found the demure bit sexy until now, but, damn, did it pack a wallop. She moved, away this time, until she stood over him. “So…thanks. I think. I mean, this was very informative.” She folded the blanket and draped it over the couch. He watched in amusement as she tried to act normal while still half-naked.
Two steps away from the door it hit her. Camille froze, snapped her arms across her body and turned back to him. “Where’s my shirt?” Her voice was higher than normal. He struggled not to laugh.
“I don’t know, sweetheart, where’d you put it?” She huffed in annoyance. “More sass? If you were my sub, you’d be over my knee.”
She came back and jabbed her finger in his chest. “Well I’m not your sub, am I?”
Or that’s what he thought she said. He was a little distracted by her now-exposed breasts, which he’d not seen earlier. Damn. Full, tipped with pale, rosy nipples, they’d overflow his hands. He envisioned her on her knees, her breasts swaying as she sucked him—riding him, tits bouncing as he fucked her deep and she came around him—wax puddles on her nipples, pale skin reddened from a crop, begging to please him.
“Damien, are you even listening? Shit!” Her arms once again covered her chest. She stalked across the room, snatched the blanket from the couch and draped it over her shoulders. “Look, you’re a great instructor,” she said, backing towards the door.
He’d let her think she was leaving, knowing she wouldn’t go anywhere in just a blanket. Now, he rose and headed for the door, cutting off her escape. “So quick to leave?”
She nodded warily. “As I said, very informative, you rock as a teacher, but I’ve got stuff to do…” Her words trailed off, likely because he’d cornered her away from the exit.
“Aren’t you just a little curious?” He was. His imagination was going wild. His self-control melted like the ice he’d used during the demo.
“About?” Her breathy reply and dilated pupils told him he was on the right track.
“Submission.” Her eyes fluttered closed. “Subspace.” Her tongue sneaked out to wet her lips. He leaned closer, smelling her light, fresh scent. “Us.”
Her hands pushed at his chest, but he didn’t move back. Instead, he nudged her with his hips, making his arousal more than clear. “One night. Let me play you, for real.”
“Why?” Her hands slid higher, linking around his neck. Yeah, she was interested.
“Call it professional curiosity. I want to see if today’s lesson was an anomaly, or if you are as responsive as I suspect.” He rubbed her lip with his thumb. Her tongue stroked against his skin and his breath caught. “What do you say?”
Chapter Six
This was such a bad idea, but when he touched her Cam couldn’t think. Seeing him up close, sandy hair falling over his forehead and those intense hazel eyes locked on hers, only made it harder to approach the situation with any sort of objectivity. Her hormones had cast their vote with a cheer and a race through her bloodstream, waking parts of her that, before today, had been resigned to grinning and bearing it.
She closed her eyes, hoping that blocking him out would help her evaluate his offer rationally. Instead, it only made her think of the demo earlier. She smelled him again, fresh grass and leather, comforting and arousing. Her body swayed forward, brushing against his erection.
“I’m a big baby when it comes to pain.”
“Did I hurt you earlier?”
“No, but I’m just warning you so you don’t get frustrated when I safe-word.”
He crossed his muscled arms. She missed their strength around her waist. “That’s ridiculous. They’re called limits for a reason—every sub has them.”
She shrugged and the blanket shifted to expose her elbow. She gathered it back around herself as anticipation beat aside her cautions. “One night?”
He nodded, never breaking eye contact.
One night. Kat seemed to trust him, and she trusted Kat. She’d get more insight into her so-called submission—and wasn’t that the whole reason she was here? And if it was just going to be more of w
hat she’d felt earlier… “Okay,” she whispered, afraid that saying it louder would make it more real.
His hands locked around her wrists, a firm demand to pay attention. Cam opened her eyes and started to speak.
“Not yet.” He cut her off. “You’re going to agree to my rules before we make one move. Nod if you understand.”
She nodded, not taking her gaze from him.
“For this one night, you will obey me. You have your safe words—yellow and red—and we won’t do anything you haven’t already experienced so far today. We both agree this is purely educational.” Another nod. “From what you’ve told me, you’re getting over a relationship, and I certainly don’t want one.”
That would have stung if she didn’t feel the same way.
His hands loosened. Tugging her along by one wrist, he headed back onto the stage, then pointed at the massage table. “Sit.”
“I’m not a dog.”
He turned, slowly, and she knew that was not the right thing to say. She cringed, waiting for a smack in reprimand. That’s how Shawn punished her. Instead, she just got an arched eyebrow and a silent command to obey. She did, throwing in an “I’m sorry”.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” he corrected her. She repeated it back, but the honorific felt foreign on her tongue. It had been Master for so long.
She sat as he gathered up his instruments, disinfecting everything that had made contact with her skin. She appreciated his attention to detail, almost as much as the uninhibited view she got of him. He moved with animal grace, an economy of movement that only came from being supremely self-assured.
It turned her on, like everything he’d done or said so far.
His black shirt stretched across his muscled back, from broad shoulders to narrow hips, where it settled over his jeans. They cupped his ass and showed off his solid thigh muscles. She wanted to feel his legs twined with hers while he thrust into her. His erection, even through his pants, had been impressive. Cam squirmed in her seat, which did nothing to alleviate her growing feeling of emptiness. Instead, the movement stroked her clit across the seam of her pants. She swallowed a moan, not wanting Damien to know how needy she was.