by Lynne, Donya
The reminder of how they’d found each other and how this whole relationship had begun in the first place helped ground her. For over a month, he had been nothing more than a simple, mostly nameless, faceless man with a salaciously seductive voice who had accidentally dialed her number. And he was still that man. He just had a larger bank account.
At least now she knew why he’d shared so few details about himself and had preferred the veil of anonymity. She could see in his eyes that he had feared how she would respond to him once she knew who he was.
But that didn’t mean things wouldn’t change now that she did. How could they not?
“But things will change,” she said, purposefully lifting her gaze to his.
His jaw tensed. “It doesn’t have to.”
“Yes, it does.” She studied what she could see of his expression. “And it should,” she added before he could reply. “Shouldn’t it?” She searched his gaze as it shifted from alarmed to confused. “Shouldn’t everything we learn about each other change us in some way? Our relationship?”
He didn’t look comfortable with where she was taking this, so she quickly added, “It should make things better.” She ran her palms over his chest, still having a hard time believing he was really there and that they were really together. “A month ago, you were just a voice on the phone. And that was okay.” Her fingers glided down the smooth, warm placket of his shirt. “Now you’re Warren Donovan, business tycoon and the president and CEO of Donovan Enterprises.” She smiled softly. “And that’s okay too. It’s more than okay. It’s the truth, and we agreed that first night never to lie to each other. Right?”
“We did.” The words came out confidently, as if he liked where she’d taken her train of thought.
She nodded, like see, this is a good thing. “Everything we learn about each other changes our relationship, but as long as it’s the truth, it’s okay.”
“I just don’t want to scare you.”
“So what if you scare me? I’m a big girl. I’ll get over it.” Her eyes briefly danced skyward before homing back in on his masked face. “I like learning more about you, and I want you to learn more about me. I want to see where all these changes take us.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“What if you don’t like what you learn? Like I said before, I’m not for the faint of heart, Jenna. Not even when I’m vanilla. I’m an intense person to be around even on my good days.”
He could try to scare her all he wanted, but she wasn’t going anywhere. She was right where she was meant to be, right when she was meant to be there.
“Then we’ll deal with it if and when we have to. But I’m not going to anticipate the worst when I think the best is still yet to come.” Her palms slid lower, to his stomach, then deliberately skimmed back up to his shoulders. “And, for the record, I don’t think I’ll ever find you untouchable.” She smoothed her fingers over his neck and down his collar to prove her point, then teased the buttons of his shirt as she swept her palms down to his waist. “Because I think I’m really going to enjoy touching you in all the ways a woman can touch a man.”
What an understatement, because now that she was with him—really with him—she didn’t think she would ever tire of touching him. His body was warm and hard in all the right ways, the muscles of his torso carved like marble.
Heat flared in his eyes. “So . . . I haven’t scared you away yet?”
“Have you been trying to?”
“No, but I’m a lot to take in.” The silent physically, mentally, and financially came through loud and clear.
Feeling bold, she dragged one palm down to his belt, paused briefly, then went lower, flattening her hand over his semi-erect cock. “I think I can manage.”
His eyes dropped to her mouth, then narrowed as they flicked back up to hers. “Are you topping me from the bottom again, Ms. Spencer.”
“Maybe. What are you going to do about it, Mr. Donovan? Punish me?”
She imagined him arching one brow behind his mask. “I hadn’t planned on it. At least, not tonight. But you are pushing your luck.” He placed his much larger hand over hers, holding it against him as he grew even harder and thicker. “One would think you’re intentionally provoking me so that I will punish you.”
She licked her lips and stepped closer, lowering her eyes to his Adam’s apple. It bobbed up and down as she closed her fingers around his girth and gave him a firm rub through his slacks.
“Maybe I do want to be punished.”
“And you will be . . . in time.”
“What if I don’t want to wait?”
As she began slowly stroking him, his palm pressed more firmly against hers as if he were about to stop her. Then he paused, exhaled heavily, and slowly let go, letting his gaze fall to watch her massage him.
“You’re playing with fire, little girl.”
Her hand slithered lower and cupped his balls. He stiffened and rocked forward, but other than a sharp intake of breath, he didn’t make a sound.
“Maybe I don’t mind the heat.” She leaned into him.
He let her play with him a few seconds more, then pulled her hand away. “You have no idea how hot this fire can get.”
“Then show me.”
His gaze searched hers as if he were contemplating doing just that. “What am I going to do with you?” He pushed his fingers into her carefully styled hair as if he couldn’t care less whether he ruined all her hard work. And maybe that was the point of telling her to wear it down, so that he could grip a fistful anytime he wished.
“Whatever you want.”
His fingers curled against her scalp. “Don’t tease me or I just might.”
“Who said I was teasing?”
He grinned, but it was the sort of self-satisfied grin a man wears when he’s holding a royal flush and has poker-faced his opponent into betting everything while holding only a four of a kind. Mysterious. Sexy. Provocative.
That’s when she noticed how quiet the terrace had become. Looking past his shoulder, she realized they were the only ones left outside.
“Where did everybody go?” she asked.
He blinked out of whatever deeply lascivious thoughts he’d been entertaining and looked behind him, then checked his watch. “They’re probably in the basement.”
“Would that be where your dungeon is?” she asked as he took her hand and led her back inside to the elevator.
He grinned. “Yes.”
“What’s it like?”
“You’ll see.”
As they waited for the elevator, she glanced up at him. “Are you going to let me see your face?”
“Not tonight.”
“Why not?”
His gaze met hers like the strike of a hammer. “Because you disobeyed me. And because you’ve been topping me from the bottom since day one, especially tonight. You have to learn how to behave like a good submissive before you earn the right to see my face.”
Damn her defiance.
The crux of it was that she knew better. And yet she had let her rebellious personality overrule her better judgment, and now he was making her pay the price by withholding the one thing she had hoped for the most as she had prepared for this evening: to see his face.
“Yes, sir. It won’t happen again.” Mentally castigating herself, she began to turn away, bowing her head.
He stopped her, catching her chin with his thumb and index finger. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Lower your head like that. Like you’re ashamed.”
“But . . . I thought . . . aren’t submissives supposed to bow their heads to their masters?”
“Yes and no.”
Jenna sensed he was about to teach her—yet again—something she didn’t know about the lifestyle. It was amazing how all her research had only taught her so much. With Warren filling in the gaps, her next book would be much more interesting. The more Warren taught her, the more ment
al notes she made about new plot points she could add.
“Some Doms expect their submissives to bow their heads at all times,” he said. “I’m not like that. You will learn when I want you to bow to me. But, as a general rule, I expect you to hold your head up high. You are my submissive. I consider you an extension of me. You represent me when you’re in the club, whether you are on my arm or not. As such, I expect you to stand up straight and own your actions—mistakes and all—with a show of strength and confidence.”
The elevator arrived with a quiet ding.
“And remember,” he said, guiding her inside, “I am not admonishing you, I’m reminding you.” He tapped the button for the basement. “That’s my job as your Dominant. To remind you when you make a mistake. It’s not personal.” He searched her eyes, then slowly placed a soft, chaste kiss full of promise on her mouth. His lips came away lightly smudged and shimmering from her glossy lipstick. “It’s all part of the game, Jenna. Remember that. My reminders and your defiance are what will make this more fun for both of us.”
“What are you saying? That you want me to disobey you and make mistakes so you can punish me?” That was certainly how it sounded.
He crowded her against the reflective silver wall, caging her between his arms. “Think of it this way. If you never break my rules”—he rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip, smearing her red lipstick down her chin, then admired his artwork—“I would never get the pleasure of punishing you. And if I never get to punish you, you will never feel the pleasure of being punished. Because, Jenna”—he lightly brushed the backs of his fingers over her breast—“you will find that my punishments are in and of themselves rewards.” His hand disappeared under the asymmetrical hem of her dress and caressed her between the legs. “If you please me, I’ll make you come.” His fingers brushed forward and back, tantalizing her. “If you displease me, I’ll make you come.” His voice deepened, growing almost as soft as a whisper as he cupped her. “It’s only the manner in which I get you there that will change.” He slowly pulled his hand away, dragging his fingers across her tender flesh one last time, then encircled her waist with both arms, pulling her forward as he brought his mouth around to her ear and whispered, “And I enjoy all the ways, Jenna.”
The elevator crawled to a stop, but Warren pressed the button to keep the doors closed, continuing to hold her close, his face tucked against the side of hers.
“I’m looking forward to showing those ways to you.” Breathless anticipation whispered through his words.
“So am I.”
She felt like Warren was her true north. The point on her compass she could always count on to lead her home. Which was crazy since she still hardly knew him. But sometimes you just knew what was right for you and what wasn’t. And with Warren, she felt so very right.
He held her there for several long, simmering, arousing moments, then slowly backed away, hit the button to open the doors, and guided her—weak knees and all—out of the elevator. He pointed to a door at the end of the hall she assumed was a restroom.
“Go fix your lipstick,” he commanded in his Dom voice. “I’ll wait for you here.”
The devil. He’d messed up her lipstick just so he could order her to clean herself up.
She looked him dead in the eye. “Yes, sir.” She briefly held his gaze, then turned and calmly maneuvered past a half-naked woman who’d just exited the bathroom.
As Jenna pushed open the door, she glanced over her shoulder.
Warren remained where she’d left him, a pleased grin on his face, his eyes glued to her even as the barely dressed woman passed. He didn’t even flinch, his gaze never wavering from hers. It was like the other woman wasn’t even there.
That’s when she knew.
Warren might have said he would break her of her defiance, but he had no intention of doing so. He enjoyed her disobedience too much.
Chapter Nine
Stepping into the main room was like stepping into a nightclub. The newest and most glamorous, exclusive, and hedonistic nightclub in the city.
The lights were dim, and bass-heavy, downtempo music played at a low volume through speakers mounted in the corners. Music to make out to. Strip to. Fuck to. She listened to the same type of music when she was writing sex scenes or masturbating.
Gothic gold-and-crystal chandeliers dangled from the ceilings, and portraits of nude men, women, and couples engaged in a variety of sex acts hung on the crimson walls.
From across the room—which was filled with people in various states of undress unlike how they’d been dressed upstairs—a shirtless man wearing black military-style pants and built like a wide receiver caught Warren’s eye.
“Master Donovan.” The man nodded in greeting.
“Master Conrad,” Warren replied, stopping. “Will we be seeing you and Nadine performing tonight?”
A slender blonde wearing a black, see-through catsuit stood beside him. Nadine, no doubt. She kept her eyes downcast and had a thick silver choker around her neck, which was attached to a leather leash draped over Master Conrad’s hand.
Master Conrad smoothed his palm over Nadine’s platinum blond hair as if he were petting a dog. “Oh, yes, Nadine has been very obstinate this week, haven’t you, Nadine?”
She nodded without looking up. “Yes, Master.”
“She needs to be reminded of her place, don’t you, my pet.”
“Yes, Master.”
Given the flush of color in her cheeks and the way the corners of her mouth lifted ever so slightly, Nadine appeared to want the punishment as much as Jenna did.
Warren brushed his palm over the small of Jenna’s back. “This is Jenna.”
Master Conrad looked her over. “New submissive?”
Warren smiled down at her. “Something like that.”
One brow quirked above Master Conrad’s mask. “So will the two of you be playing later, as well?”
Warren wrapped his hand around hers. “Not tonight. She’s in training.”
Conrad’s gaze returned to hers with a deferential tilt of his head. “Then I look forward to seeing her progress in the future.”
“Perhaps.” Warren squeezed her hand, then began to pull her away. “Enjoy your evening.”
“Pleasure to have met you,” Jenna said.
Conrad’s eyebrows shot up, and Nadine flung her a surprised glance. It was the first time she had looked at Jenna, and she immediately dropped her gaze to the floor again a moment later.
Warren continued leading her to the bar.
“Why did they look at me like that?” she said.
“Because it’s against the rules for submissives to speak in the club unless they are either speaking directly to their Master or have the permission of their Master to do so,” Warren said, bobbing his chin toward the scantily clad bartender as if that was enough to let her know what he wanted to drink. “I sent the rules to you. I thought you’d read them.”
“I did.” She had read the rules, honest she had, but there had been so many of them, and some hadn’t made sense, which had confused her, and it had felt only natural to be polite. But she had messed up. Again. Except this time, she hadn’t intended to.
“Then why did you speak without permission?”
She bit her bottom lip and started to look down before she remembered what he’d told her in the elevator and stiffened her resolve, lifting her chin. She would not wilt in defeat. She was new to all this. In time, and with his training, she would get better.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disobey. I guess I don’t understand, because when you were introducing me to people upstairs earlier, it was okay for me to talk. Nobody looked at me funny, and you didn’t say—”
“That was different.” He took the two crystal tumblers the bartender handed him and extended one toward her. “That was when we were upstairs. Now we’re in the dungeon. The rules are different here.”
She looked around at all the semi-naked bodies and medieval accoutrements
placed strategically around the room. “So, this is the club, but upstairs isn’t?”
He tilted his head like that’s one way of putting it. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”
She bit her lip, cataloging this new information into her quickly burgeoning submissive-in-training memory banks. “I didn’t know that.”
He took her hand and led her away from the bar. “That’s why you’re in training, so I can remind you.”
“You mean, punish me?”
“Not this early in your training, but, yes, eventually my reminders will be punishment.”
“And you’re just itching for that day to come, aren’t you?” she said with an air of flirtatious defiance.
He leaned down as they continued casually strolling among the guests and curious equipment. “You’re one to talk.” He let out a soft, amused chuff. “You’re as eager for it as I am.”
She grinned and looked away, sipping her drink. Rum and Coke. Not her usual poison, but it would get her through the night as things heated up.
But he had her dead to rights. She most certainly was looking forward to her first punishment. Very much so. And while Warren wouldn’t spank her with the back of a hairbrush, she was sure his spankings would get her just as hot or even hotter than the hairbrush did.
“So, why aren’t subs allowed to speak without permission?” she asked, genuinely curious.
Given all the research she had done, she assumed the reasoning had to do with control, but since she was here, she might as well ask, if only to see if she’d been wrong about that too. And Warren had a way of explaining things that awakened her imagination to all sorts of possibilities, so why not hear what he had to say on the subject?
He drank a swallow from his own crystal tumbler, which from the looks of it was scotch on the rocks. “Because we Doms have to have our rules, don’t we?” He gave her a wry, sidelong glance as he took another drink, then lowered his glass and leaned closer. “After all, we have to have some kind of code in place for our submissives to violate so we can all have our fun.”