Switch

by Desiree Holt

  Maya wiped the crumbs from her mouth, leaving burgundy lipstick stains on the linen napkin, and favoured him with a half grin. “Friendly? You mean like me?”

  “Well… Um… I don’t think… What I meant…”

  “Never mind, Stephen. I want to apologise. I really lit into you last weekend—accusing you of being arrogant, suggesting that you’d disregard our rules.”

  Stephen could hardly believe his ears. “I was arrogant. You had every right.”

  “Yes, I did. But I overreacted. I’ve been thinking about it all week, and I’ve figured something out.” Her emerald eyes shone in the afternoon dimness. Aside from the muffled clink of dishes from the kitchen, a hush had settled on the café. As far as Stephen could tell, they were the only remaining customers.

  He leaned closer, lowering his voice. Could it be that her intuitions matched his? “Yes? What it is, Maya?”

  “I’m jealous of you.”

  Stephen released an involuntary snort. “Jealous? That’s ridiculous. You’re gorgeous. You’re brilliant. You’re the most accomplished Domme I’ve ever met… Subs would kill to get your attention! Sure, I’m pretty good, but you…”

  “I’m not jealous of your skill with the whip, little boy.” Her scorn was a slap in the face. “No, I envy you your freedom—and your certainty.”

  “Huh?” Now Stephen was hopelessly confused.

  “I can tell, watching you, that you haven’t the slightest doubt in your ability. You don’t worry, or plan your next moves. You simply relax. You trust yourself—and your emotions. I suspect you enjoy topping a lot more than I do.”

  “It’s the greatest high I know. The rush of power—there’s nothing like it. But you know that…”

  “Maybe.” His voluptuous companion dabbed her lips with the linen napkin, then drained the last of her coffee. “For me, the thrill comes from the control. I love knowing that I can take my sub exactly where he wants to go—I just have to figure out how. It’s almost like solving a puzzle—or winning a case in court.”

  She paused, giving him a frank once-over. He was glad he’d shaved and worn a sports jacket.

  “For you, I’d guess the experience is more visceral. I’m willing to bet the price of my lunch that you had a hard-on while strapping your little schoolgirl.”

  Stephen felt his cheeks burn. Damn, why do I care so much about her opinion? He leaned closer, deliberately invading her personal space. Her nostrils flared as she caught the scent of his cologne, but she didn’t retreat. “I’d lose that bet. For me, topping’s a peak experience on every level, including physical. But I’m sure you get turned on during a scene. I know you do.” He recalled the way she’d writhed on the bathroom floor, both hands buried between her legs. “You were soaked when you finally allowed James to service you…”

  “Everything about a scene is eroticised. You know that.” She smoothed her skirt over her lap then dipped into her satchel for her wallet. “The simple act of picking up a cane and feeling the smooth length glide between my fingers will make me wet. I’m like Pavlov’s dog. We all are. But I don’t dive into the scene the way you do. I don’t let it take me over.”

  Maya crooked her finger at the waiter, exactly the same gesture she’d used to summon the sub to lick her pussy. The waiter reacted with almost equal alacrity, presenting the bill then scurrying off with her American Express Gold card.

  “Why not?” Stephen lowered his voice. He didn’t quite understand why she was sharing these insights with a virtual stranger, but he wanted her to continue. “You might enjoy it more.”

  “My first concern is for my sub. I don’t want to lose control and forget that—like some dominants.”

  Is she talking about me? He never neglected the well-being of his sub, even in the most intense scenarios. He shook his head. “I don’t buy it. With your experience, Maya—don’t you think you can trust your instincts? It’s like riding a bicycle—when you’ve internalised the moves, you don’t have to think about it anymore.”

  “You can’t damage someone riding a bicycle, Master Shark.” Underneath her poise and her superior air, he sensed something—annoyance, uncertainty, pain—something that clouded her lovely features for a moment before she willed it away. She was a tantalising mystery, one that Stephen itched to solve. She was gathering her things, preparing to leave. He couldn’t let her go without some answers.

  “Do you ever bottom, Maya?”

  “No, never.” She answered immediately, without thought, but the blunt question halted her preparations for departure. He held her gaze, silently compelling her honesty. “Well, not for a very long time,” she added at last, returning his bold stare. “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m not sure. I just have this sense—I don’t know, call it intuition—that some part of you wants to submit.”

  “I told you. I like being in control.”

  “That’s obvious. But I wonder… Forgive me if I’m out of line here, but I get the feeling you keep a rigid hold on yourself, and your subs, because you’re worried about what will happen if you let go.”

  He expected aggrieved scorn or angry denial—anything but laughter. Once more he felt himself blush.

  “Oh, my! The young Dom thinks he knows what makes me tick? Because you Doms are all so clever, aren’t you? So insightful, peering into our souls, discerning our deepest desires? The fantasies we hide, even from ourselves? The all-powerful Master Shark knows what I truly need, is that right?”

  Her mockery stung. Especially since it held a germ of truth. He was proud of his discernment, his uncanny ability to figure his subs out. And he knew that was part of his appeal—his Dom persona.

  But this woman wasn’t some hungry bottom eager to open herself for his inspection. Maya was far more complex, a core of passion hemmed round by walls of her own construction—a dominant by choice rather than by nature. Despite the fact that he scarcely knew her, he was oddly confident that he could breach those walls—and that, ultimately, she would thank him.

  “Laugh if you like, Maya.” Amazed by his own daring, he reached out to grasp her hand. “But I think you need to surrender.” He brushed his thumb over the back of her wrist, feeling the silky skin shift over the delicate bones underneath. Her pupils dilated. Otherwise she did not respond. But she didn’t pull away, either.

  “Surrender to you, I assume you mean? Dream on, little Dom.”

  The sarcasm in her voice contrasted sharply with the docile way she accepted his continuing caress. He chose to believe the latter.

  “Give me a chance to try. Give yourself to me, for a single night, and I’ll show you the pleasure you’ve been missing—the pleasure you deserve.”

  “You’re very sure of yourself, boy.” Gently, she extricated her fingers from his. The warmth lingered.

  “Don’t call me ‘boy’!” Maya started at his sudden ferocity. He pressed his advantage. “I’m your equal, Mistress. You’d better treat me that way. I don’t tolerate disrespect.”

  She stared at him. Some mix of emotion played on her face, too complicated and fleeting for him to read. Did his sudden assertiveness arouse her? He couldn’t tell for sure.

  “I respect you, Stephen. Only a very brave man would speak to the Ice Queen in that tone. But I told you, I never bottom. Go find someone else to play with.” She reached for her coat. He pulled her back onto the bench.

  “Maya! I’m not talking about games here! I’m serious. I feel—I don’t know, a kind of connection to you. I want to help you. Switch roles for a night. Submit. Let me do as I wish with you. I guarantee I can melt the Ice Queen and leave a happier, more fulfilled woman in her place.”

  “You guarantee! Oh, such delicious arrogance!” Maya raked him with her imperious gaze. “And what if you fail, Master Shark?”

  “I won’t. I’m sure.” He sought her hand again. She brushed him aside.

  “But if you do? What penance will you pay for your pride?” She was standing now, looming over him, magnificent in
her scorn. “If you fail—will you submit to me?”

  He’d never bottomed in his life. He was a natural dominant, born to exercise power over others. He’d been doing that as long as he could remember—since he’d been a child, lording it over his schoolmates and siblings.

  For her, though—for the chance to open her heart and her senses and free the caged lioness he’d glimpsed in the lavatory—he’d do anything. “Yes. I will.”

  Her predatory grin sent a tiny chill of fear wriggling up his spine. He could imagine the cruelties she’d inflict upon him if he didn’t live up to his boast. “You’ll put yourself in my power, allowing me to do anything I want?”

  “Yes, yes—I told you yes.”

  “In public. At the club. Where everyone can watch the humiliation of Master Shark.”

  “Yes, damn it! Whatever you like. I agree to your terms.”

  “And if you do succeed in breaking me, you’ll not tell a soul. It will be our secret.”

  Excitement flooded him. She was going to agree! His neglected cock twitched into hardness under her relentless stare. He struggled to disguise the triumph he felt.

  “I don’t want to ‘break’ you. I just want to make you let go—to prove to you that you can safely release your iron control. I want to guide you to that place where you’ve taken so many subs—but never visited yourself.”

  “What do you know of where I’ve been?”

  The catch in Maya’s low voice generated sudden, uneasy doubts. Could he really do what he claimed?

  Acting on impulse, he gathered her to his chest. To his astonishment, she didn’t resist. “Trust me, Maya. I won’t hurt you.”

  The swell of her ripe flesh pressed against him set him ablaze. The apricot scent of her hair made him dizzy. He ran his fingers through that tangled mane, feeling her shudder with delight at his touch. When he pulled her closer, she ground her hips against the rigid bulk in his groin. Bolts of sensation careened through his body. He struggled to maintain control, knowing he’d lose the moment’s advantage if he came in his trousers like a horny schoolboy.

  Maya pushed him away, holding him at arm’s length. A wicked grin twisted her lush mouth. “The question, Master Shark, is whether I’ll hurt you.”

  Chapter Four

  Wasn’t it seven yet? Maya looked up from her book to the antique brass chronometer on the mantel. Still ten minutes to go. She rather hoped Stephen would be late. It would give her something to hold over him, the fact that he couldn’t keep to his own rules. Something to punish him for, if he loses the wager.

  When he loses the wager, she corrected herself. She was going to teach the swaggering, self-important young upstart a lesson he’d never forget.

  For the twentieth time, she checked the snacks she’d arranged on the sideboard—smoked salmon and Swedish flatbread, half a round of Gouda and a pot of creamy chèvre, three kinds of olives, all arrayed on a bed of sliced ripe tomatoes and fresh arugula that had cost her a fortune at Savenor’s. For drinks, she’d decided on sparkling white grape juice. She desperately wanted a glass of wine—or maybe a gin and tonic—but she knew she had to keep her wits about her.

  What had possessed her to agree to Stephen’s proposal? The young man needs correction, she reminded herself with a bit of a grin. And she was just the person to provide that. All she had to do was maintain control of herself for a single night, and she’d win the right to do as she pleased with the arrogant newcomer.

  That’s not the whole story. Don’t lie to yourself. Why did the voice of reason always adopt Roger’s measured tones? You’re tempted. You’re curious. You wonder whether you’re still susceptible. You miss the peace that used to come with letting go…

  All right, it was true. It had been ten years. She was Mistress Maya now, powerful and self-assured. She needed to know whether she’d really vanquished the needy little sub Roger had recognised in his torts class.

  Obviously, though, this inexperienced upstart could never match Roger’s insight and finesse. Her first Master—her only Master—hadn’t belonged to the ‘scene’, but he’d known exactly what she craved, before she knew herself. She remembered kneeling under his desk, sucking him while he conversed with another student, overwhelmed by the heady mixture of lust and shame. He’d reached down absently to tug at her hair, knowing the pain only made her wetter and hungrier. Or that terrifying, electrifying evening when he’d roped her to one of the ancient elms in the Quad and whipped her with his belt, in full view of any passers-by…

  The doorbell started her from her lascivious memories. Maya glanced at the clock. Seven on the dot. With a sigh, she smoothed her embroidered velvet caftan over her hips and ran her fingers through her hair. The bell came again, more insistent. Taking a deep breath, she crossed the hall to admit the snake she’d invited into her Eden.

  She’d expected leather, a motorcycle jacket and chaps, perhaps, or well-worn denim. Instead he wore a tuxedo, which fit his lean, muscular body like it had been custom tailored. His dark hair was slicked back from his brow and there was no sign of the bad-boy stubble he’d been sporting the night they’d met. Despite the cutting autumn wind, he was coatless.

  “Mistress Maya.” Her name, her title, in that deep, rough voice, melted her resistance. “May I come in?”

  “Please do, Master Shark.” She stood aside so that he could enter, but he paused, drinking her in with his eyes. When he raised his hand to her throat, Maya cringed despite herself. He laid a single chilly finger on the pulse point below her jaw, reading her unwilling excitement in its race. For a dozen breaths, he held her there, transfixed, as warmth seeped from her skin to his. Then he traced a line down her neck to where the caftan revealed her cleavage—but no further. Her nipples peaked into aching knots nevertheless.

  “You look lovely, as always.”

  “Thank you.” His formality confused her. The emails they’d exchanged since the Friday munch had been casual and arch, filled with sarcasm and double entendres. Stephen had suggested they handle negotiations in advance, in order to avoid breaking the mood of their encounter. Now he knew the few limits she’d been willing to identify—no gags, no choking, no unprotected penetration—and the safe word she’d chosen.

  Maya led the way to her parlour, with her visitor trailing behind. His eyes wandered down her back, over the swell of her buttocks—she felt the weight of his gaze, though he never touched her. Lubrication welled from her pussy and trickled down the insides of her thighs. She wore nothing under the caftan, as he had instructed.

  “Stop.” She halted as suddenly as if he’d tugged on a leash. Behind her, he gathered her heavy tresses in one hand, drawing them aside to bare her neck. Chill air touched the normally protected skin, then warmth and wetness. The kiss he planted at her nape sent shivers of pleasure racing to her pussy. His other hand gripped her upper arm—the strength of that grip making her gasp—while he licked along the curve running from her hairline to her shoulder. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to bask in the sensation of liquid heat.

  He pushed her loose garment off her shoulder. Was he starting so soon? Then she yelped as he sank his teeth into her deltoid.

  “What the fuck?” She whirled to face him. “That hurt!”

  “BDSM often involves some pain.” His mildness infuriated her. “But, of course, you know that. You agreed I could do as I wish, didn’t you?”

  The bite throbbed in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Her clit seemed to pulse in time. “Yes, yes. I’m sorry, you startled me.” In her flats, she was six inches shorter than he. She gazed up at his face, trying to read him. The dangerous gleam she saw in his eyes sent new shivers dancing through her.

  “And have you changed your mind?”

  “Um—uh, no.”

  “No…?” He waited, clearly expectant, leaving her momentarily disoriented.

  “No, I haven’t changed my mind.” She tried to move into the parlour, but he held her fast.

  “No, what?”


  “Huh? What?” Light dawned. He was waiting for her to acknowledge his dominance. Could she do it? It had been so very long. She could barely choke out the words.

  “No, Sir.”

  A torrent of long-denied emotion came rushing back—the delicious helplessness that came with accepting a Master. She fought against the flood, but it was too powerful, too deep. She squeezed her eyes shut to hold back the tears. He mustn’t see—mustn’t know how much that one word had cost her.

  He cupped her cheek with his palm. “Are you all right, Maya? Do you want to call this off?”

  “No, no, I’m sorry… It’s just…”

  He stroked her hair back from her forehead. “It’s okay. I understand, pet.”

  Pet? Who did he think he was? He didn’t know her! She tried to focus her anger, to generate some cutting retort, but now his mouth claimed hers, and it was so marvellous she couldn’t muster the energy to fight.

  Stephen sealed his firm, mobile lips to hers. His tongue poked and probed, testing her willingness to fulfil her promise of submission. She opened to his determined assault, not because she’d agreed to but because she wanted more of his sweet heat. He tasted like fresh mint, clean and sharp. His aftershave—the same scent she’d noticed in the café—somehow reminded her of summer afternoons, sun-baked grass with a hint of honey.

  The kiss deepened. He snaked his arms around her, tight as the bonds he’d promised and impossibly strong. He gripped her ass, digging his fingers through the velvet and forcing her body against his. His cock was a lump of stone pressing into her belly. A hungry gulf ached between her thighs, dripping with need. The satin of his tuxedo jacket was smooth and cool under her palms as she held on to him for dear life.

  He wasn’t rough, brutal or even demanding, but the ravishing kiss made his point clear. He was the one in charge.

  When he finally released her, Maya found herself panting for breath. He stepped away from her and she almost cried out at the vanishing warmth. Pull yourself together, she scolded herself. Don’t make it so easy for him.