“It’s pretty.”
He grinned. That wasn’t generally how he made decisions about BDSM toys, but it worked. Mason signaled to the vendor. “We’ll take it.”
“Sir! This is all so extravagant.”
At home, in his armoire, he had plenty of implements, but it had been a lot of years since he’d had the opportunity to purchase something for a specific woman. He’d missed it.
“Anything else for you this evening?” the craftsman asked.
“No. Thank you.” Then Mason changed his mind. “A smaller flogger, perhaps.”
“Sir,” Hannah protested. “This is all too much.”
“Any specific type?” the vendor asked.
“Something soft. Suede, perhaps.” Something he could use for a prolonged scene.
“You’re in luck.” The man reached below the table and pulled out a velvet-lined tray with six different options. “One of my associates has started making them.”
At the sight of the floggers, Hannah whispered, “Wow.” Rather than the expected red and black, or even purple, these were pastels, pinks and baby blues. One was white, reminding him of the bikini she wore.
He picked it up and made a figure-eight motion with it. She didn’t look away while he tested the grip. It was certainly big enough, maybe ten inches. The fronds were about eighteen inches long, and they were nice and wide. “Do you like it?”
“Yes.”
“Because it’s pretty?”
She smiled. And that was reason enough for him to buy it.
“It looks fun,” she said. “Not too harsh. I used to have one similar.”
“That will do it,” Mason told the vendor. “Unless you have any bags?”
The man nodded. “Anything else? Lube? Condoms?”
Mason had one in his wallet, of course, but they hadn’t discussed having sex. He hadn’t fucked anyone in close to a year. But he couldn’t imagine not having her. He wanted her on his cock, beneath him, in front of him. He wanted to explore every one of her nuances “Hannah?”
“Perhaps Sir might want to be prepared.”
Christ almighty. His cock was ready to burst out of his slacks. “Add a box to the bill.”
The vendor keyed all the information into his electronic pad, then handed over the device for Mason’s credit card.
Gently, Hannah placed her fingers on his wrist. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Even more so now.
Once he had signed the screen and the toys were stowed in the bag, the vendor offered his business card. “Pleasure, sir. Thank you.”
Mason slung the bag over his shoulder. “Would you like to join me at the bar?” At least the glassed-in area would be marginally quieter than the rest of the dungeon.
“Sounds good.”
Near the frosted glass door leading into the dungeon, Hannah hesitated. “Uh, I’m unsure of the protocol you’d like, Sir.”
Meaning, should she precede him, or perhaps trail behind? “Thank you for asking. Walk next to me until we have the chance to talk.”
He opened the door. Thunderous music blasted the dungeon. Couples and moresomes hung around, talking, and there were lines in front of all the equipment. The dancers still writhed in cages, and Xander—a renowned rigger—was artfully suspending a woman on the stage. A hired professional photographer was snapping pictures of her.
Since Hannah’s steps were slow, he reached for her hand and found it fisted at her side. “Relax,” he said against her ear. “I’ve got you.”
She nodded.
He led her to the bar that was decorated with over-the-top Louisiana paraphernalia, an LSU pennant, Mardi Gras beads and masks, a New Orleans Saints football helmet, signed football jerseys, a trumpet, even framed line drawings of buildings in the French Quarter. Unsurprisingly, most of the area was filled with couples like them, getting to know each other. The long bar was occupied with singles watching the happenings on the dungeon floor.
As they passed a small booth, Daveed waved at Hannah.
“A friend of yours?” Mason asked.
“You could say that. He kind of took me under his wing so I wasn’t as nervous. Don’t tell him I said so, but I think he has a crush on you.”
“Is that right?” He raised an eyebrow. “I had no idea.”
Mason found them a table in a corner. A tented card was decorated with carnival masks and featured the evening’s specialties.
Hannah picked up the menu and looked it over. “Oh, heaven in a glass. They have a brandy milk punch. Named the Fister.” She grinned and gave a mock shiver. “Can you believe that?”
“Sounds wicked.” And it gave him ideas.
“Doesn’t it? Okay, and the Golden Gin Fizz. It’s made with heavy cream, lemon juice, simple syrup, and orange flower water. Oh, and egg white.” She showed him the picture. “They call it rich and sinful.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure whether the egg white makes it healthy or not.”
“We can go with that. Health food.”
“Like a smoothie. Only better.”
But they wouldn’t be having alcoholic beverages this evening, unless she wanted one later. Aviana had a strict no-drinking-while-scening rule. Members who imbibed had their hand marked, and dungeon monitors watched closely to be sure no one attempted to skirt her regulations.
Jaxon and Willow entered the area, and they were greeted warmly as they walked through the space.
When Jax saw Mason, he headed toward them.
Mason stood.
“Once she knew you were here, Willow wanted to say hello.”
He reached his hand toward Hannah, and she accepted it. He drew her up and toward him. “Hannah, you’ve met Jaxon.”
She smiled at him. “Thank you for being so kind up there on the stage.”
“Happy to help. Love it when people face their fears and trounce them into the ground.”
Mason then introduced Hannah to Jax’s wife. “This is Willow, a woman of extraordinary patience.”
Jax shrugged. “Still can’t believe she puts up with me.”
“I would never have your kind of courage,” Willow gushed, hugging Hannah. “I’d have passed out for sure.”
“Remember,” Jaxon went on, “you’ve earned a consultation with me because of your contribution.”
“Stuck in the typical conundrum.” Mason shrugged. “We’re turning down business right now because we don’t have enough help. If I hire more help, I’m not sure I can grow the business fast enough to afford the additional overhead.”
“Worth having a look at.”
“I’ll give you a call.” Mason nodded. “Would you like to join us?”
Jaxon opened his mouth to reply, but Willow squeezed his arm. “I think they might want some time alone.”
“Your wife is correct.” Mason grinned. “I was being polite.”
“I can take a hint,” Jax said, straightening his bowtie as he glanced at Hannah. “You’re a lucky man, Mason.” Then he covered Willow’s hand with his own. “I wish you as much happiness as I’ve found.”
“So down to earth,” Hannah said when they returned to their seats. “He wasn’t what I expected. Compassionate.”
“Don’t let that get out.” Mason grinned.
“They seem so much in love.”
He’d seen them enough to know it wasn’t an act. Jax was genuine when he said marrying Willow had been good for him.
When the server arrived, Hannah ordered a diet soda while he opted for a sweet tea. He added a bottled water to the tab, so that he’d have it for her when the scene ended.
Once their drinks were in front of them, he propped an ankle on his opposite knee and regarded her. “What are you hoping to get out of this weekend?”
“Fun,” she admitted, stirring her straw absently. “It’s been…” She hesitated. “A really long time since I’ve scened. I stayed away…”
“Go on. You’re safe with me. I won’t repeat anything you say.”
Still, she hesitated before speaking again. “I wanted to be sure I was over him, you know?”
“Him?”
She scooted back in her chair, putting a little more distance between them. “A Dom. We were…” She seemed to choose, then reject certain words. “Involved. The relationship lasted a little more than a year. And I didn’t want to just jump into something else. I took some time to figure out who I was and what I wanted.”
He frowned. “And you’ve done that?”
“Enough to know that I’m not looking for anything permanent. So a weekend appealed to me.”
“In his introduction, Jax said you’re from Austin. As in you live there?”
“Yes. I travel to New Orleans a few times a year. My best friend lives here. Fiona.” She released her straw, but it continued to make a slow circle. “You might know her?”
“I do.”
“Anyway, she talked me in to doing this.”
“Look, Hannah—”
She reached across the table to put her hand on top of his. “Don’t get me wrong, please. I’m consenting, and I want to do this. Very much.”
Her silence lasted so long, Mason wondered if there was something else she wanted to say.
“There’s no real risk, right? We are going to enjoy a couple of days together, then I travel back to Austin and return to my regular life. You get to do the same.”
Why the hell did that idea make him so damn uncomfortable? It should be the perfect arrangement.
“About the condoms?” She moved her hand away. “Sex.”
“I have no expectations.” Desires, yes. Rampant. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
“I’m not looking for it.” She shifted her weight. “But if it happens, I’m fine with it. I mean, as long as we’re safe.”
“Agreed.”
She pushed aside her drink. “You didn’t pay thirty thousand dollars to talk to me.”
“On the contrary. I’m enjoying this very much.” The admission surprised him. He hadn’t dated since Deborah, which meant he hadn’t indulged in much casual conversation. Business lunches were plenty, but getting to know a woman was unusual.
“So maybe it’s me who is impatient,” she admitted.
He stood and offered his hand. “I never like to keep a lady waiting.”
Mason guided her from the bar and toward the door that led into the private area, built in a horseshoe shape around the main dungeon. Tonight, it was much more crowded than usual, and the main difference between it and the dungeon was that the music wasn’t as loud.
He continued to the stairs, and when they reached the landing, he asked her to join him at the wrought-iron railing. “I have your list of limits. Now I’m interested in learning what you want so that I can ensure you have fun this weekend.”
From here, there was an unobstructed view of the main dungeon, and the U-shaped area that framed it. To one side was Rue Sensuelle, or as members called it, Kinky Avenue. There, Mistress Aviana had devoted an entire section of the club to partitioned-off areas that appealed to various role-play fantasies. There was a schoolroom, a pair of stocks, a Victorian bedchamber, even a corporate boardroom. This evening, by way of something new, there was also a police interrogation room. But his temporary submissive was fixated on the doctor’s office. As they watched, one of the slaves who’d been auctioned off was having her right foot placed into a stirrup.
Hannah shivered.
“Was that a good shiver? Or did you bump up against a limit?”
“It’s more…” With her free hand, she played with the knot of her sarong. “I don’t know. So intimate.”
“Like having your Dom insert a butt plug, for example?”
Mouth wide, she looked at him. But she didn’t say no.
“Ass play is okay with you, Hannah?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Fuck.
Until now, he’d never considered attaching a submissive to a table. Now he was contemplating making one just for her.
The Dom slid back a piece of the table, leaving the woman’s buttocks suspended with nothing beneath it.
Hannah clenched his hand tight.
The man leaned over his sub, kissed her, and tucked a finger inside her bikini bottom.
“Oh, God,” Hannah whispered.
“Do you like that? The way he’s exploring her? And she’s helpless? She can’t get away, can she? No matter how far he might split her apart, with his fingers, maybe a toy.”
Hannah’s gaze never left the scene, but her breaths shortened.
The Dom picked up a roll of purple tape, then reached inside the bikini top to cover her nipples, in accordance with club rules. Then, he handcuffed her wrists above her head. Only then did he pull out a pair of safety scissors to cut off the virginal-looking white material.
Her large breasts spilled free, and he cupped them, teased them, seeming to measure them.
“Would you like that, Hannah? Having me manhandle you? Exploring all your body’s secrets?”
“I…” She swallowed hard, then looked at him.
It was tantamount to a confession, and he savored it.
Before they left, they watched a naughty schoolgirl climb up onto a chair and lean against the chalkboard to get her calves smacked with a ruler.
Though she was intrigued, his patience neared an end. He was greedy to be alone with Hannah. “Shall we?”
After a final look over her shoulder at the doctor’s office scene, she nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
So compliant. “What intrigued you most?” he asked as they climbed the stairs.
“Honestly? Everything.”
Maybe she wasn’t as innocent as he’d believed, and that captivated him all the more.
They checked in with the monitor for the private rooms. Once they were sealed inside, all the noises from the club vanished.
He was alone with his sexy, nervous sub. Was there anything more appealing than the thrill of being with someone brand-new? “Please stand in the center of the room and remove your shoes.” While the heels did lewd things to his libido, he wanted her aware of her submissiveness. And the fact that she’d found the examination table intriguing gave him some insights as to how he should proceed.
He carried the bag to the metal table against one wall. “Tell me about your limits around humiliation.”
“Mostly, I don’t want other people witnessing things that might be embarrassing.”
She bent to remove her first shoe.
“Scening in general?”
“It’s a little complicated for me. I do like going to a club, but things that are outside my comfort zone are really difficult. If we’re alone, I’m okay.”
“Give me some examples.”
“Tethering.” She spoke softly. “Being caged. Things where I’m ignored, left alone.” She paused. “Abandoned.”
His breath constricted.
“And I’m not comfortable wearing a collar.”
He frowned. Honestly, this was the first sub he’d heard that from. In his past, his submissives had been upset when he’d denied them a collar. “You don’t like the one you have on?” It was club-issued, with a fleur-de-lis stamped into the soft leather.
“I hate it.”
Immediately, he crossed to her to unfasten it. “Lift your hair.” Because she still wore one shoe, her angle was slightly awkward, but he removed the collar in a matter of seconds. The metal buckle hit the wooden floor with a clatter.
“Thank you.” She exhaled.
Perplexed, he frowned. “Why did you allow the Quarter to place it on you if it’s a limit?”
“How would it have looked if all the other participants had one on, and I didn’t?” She shrugged, a delicate little move. “And it didn’t really mean anything. It was part of the show, Tore leading us all in together. There was no commitment. More like a prop in a play.”
“It’s the commitment that bothers you? The symbol of a Dom’s possession?”
�
��Yes.” She stroked her neck where the leather had snuggled her skin. “Once was enough for me.”
Until now, her voice had been soft, but her confession was roughened by emotion and conviction.
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
“No.” She blinked. “I mean, no, Sir. I’d rather not.”
He continued to study her, the layer of emotion in her eyes. He wanted to push, learn more about her.
“That’s why I’m here.”
“Anonymity? Lack of commitment?”
“That sounds…” She worried her lower lip. “I guess I wouldn’t put it that way.”
“But?”
“Maybe you’re right. It sounds harsh, though.”
“It wasn’t a judgment call. Especially from me.”
“You have demons of your own, Sir? Scars, maybe?”
“You could say that.”
They only had the weekend together, and she owed him nothing, no deep confessions, not even transparency.
“I gave away some of my power to someone who didn’t deserve it. I’m not interested in doing that again.”
He nodded. She’d admitted a lot more than he had, and yet it only made him want to dig deeper until he uncovered all her secrets. Respecting the boundary she’d erected, he asked, “Is there anything specific I need to know?”
“No. I’ll be honest with you if I’m uncomfortable about something.”
“What is your safe word?”
“I’ll stick with the same one as the club. Red. Yellow for slow.”
Mason nodded. “Please remove your other shoe.” He offered his arm for support, and the way she delicately placed fingers on him gave him a distinct thrill.
When she was barefoot, she straightened her body.
She was so small that an unanticipated urge to wrap her in his arms and protect her from the world’s evils slammed into him. What the fuck? He wasn’t a knight in shining armor. He shook his head. Not ever again, and he was annoyed as hell at himself for even entertaining the notion.
“Sir?”
Aware that he was grinding his back teeth, he shoved his thoughts away. “Help me off with my jacket, Hannah.” Dominance was natural for him, and he moved toward its familiarity.
As competent as any man’s valet, she held the material while he shrugged it off. “Good. Now hang it on the back of the chair.”
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