Frisky Business

by Michele Bardsley

  He was magnificent. He was muscled—oh heavens, was he! His washboard stomach begged for her fingers, for her mouth. A light sprinkling of dark hair covered his pectorals, arrowing down his six-pack abs to his pants.

  “Finally, you deprived me of your striptease. I very much wanted to see you slid out of that dress. I wanted to see you reveal yourself to me inch by inch.” He looked at her. “I’m disappointed, Belle.”

  Damn. She didn’t want to disappoint him. She just wanted to up the ante. “I’m sorry, Master.”

  His smile was whip-thin. “I accept your apology, Belle. But I expect you to take all of your punishment.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Do you remember what I told you about the safe words?”

  “Yes, Master. I must say yellow if I feel things are getting too intense. I must say red if I feel I’m in danger.”

  “Very good,” he said. He smiled approvingly. “You turn me on, ma fleur. I like it when you’re good. And I love it when you’re bad.”

  She resisted the urge to grin. Instead, she tried to look penitent, but she suspected he saw the humor flash in her eyes.

  He stepped closer and raised his hand. She saw something sharp and silver flash in his grip. Oh, my God!

  “Yellow!” she cried.

  Stunned, he looked at her; the scissors hovered above the vee of her dress. He immediately stepped away and dropped his arms.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “N-no blades,” she said. “Please.”

  “I don’t use knives and I don’t do blood play. It’s dangerous and quite frankly, I abhor the idea of cutting my subs.”

  Tears pricked her eyes. Shit. She didn’t want to end the game, but he had reminded her of her last night with Phillip. That rat bastard had told her then she wasn’t what he needed, that she was too afraid to make a good submissive. That she was worthless.

  And she had told him to fuck off.

  But deep inside, she had believed his words. She knew how to be a good employee. She knew how to be a decent human being. But when it came to expressing her own sexuality—to getting what she needed from a lover—she believed he’d been right. Phillip’s ugly words echoed in her mind: Maybe you’re frigid, Claire. Did you ever think of that? God, you’re pathetic.

  “Our game is suspended. I’ll take you down.”

  “No,” she said. “Please.”

  He studied her for a moment, probably trying to determine her mental and emotional capacity. That he even took a moment to consider her needs made him a hundred times better than Phillip. Her Master deserved more from her than this display of cowardice.

  He showed her the scissors. “I planned to cut off your dress. I only wanted access to your luscious body.” He tossed the scissors away; they landed with a clunk somewhere on the floor behind him.

  “Thank you, Master,” she managed.

  To her disappointment, he reached up and released her from the cuffs. He rubbed her tingling wrists then he massaged her arms. “Relax, ma fleur.”

  He rubbed her shoulders, easing the tension knotted on either side of her neck. His gentleness was nearly her undoing.

  Was their evening over? Had her fears driven him away? She looked at him. The mask barred his expression, but she was close enough to see the wariness in his gaze.

  “Master, are you … done with me?”

  Chapter 7

  “NOT BY A long shot,” he reassured Claire.

  Her heart turned over in her chest as relief flooded her.

  She watched him step back. “Turn around,” he commanded.

  She did. He unzipped her dress and pushed the material off her shoulders. It pooled at her feet. He kneeled behind her and helped her disentangle her heels from the cloth.

  “Walk to the table where the candles are lit.”

  It was on the opposite side of the dungeon. She walked to the table and stood next to it, her gaze on the floor as she waited for him to join her.

  To her shock, he kneeled at her feet, his fingers stroking her belly and ribs. She realized then he was touching her scars. Three lines on her belly, each one about two inches long.

  “Who did this?”

  He sounded furious, but she knew his anger wasn’t directed at her. She had told no one of her true relationship with Phillip. She had broken up with him three months before she’d gotten the promotion to executive assistant. Her thoughts drifted to Lucius. He was kind and laughed easily, but underneath that slick playboy exterior was a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it. She had liked him because he knew when to ask her … and when to command her.

  She gasped. For the last two years, she had been in a Dominant/submissive relationship and hadn’t even realized it. That’s why she responded to Lucius the way she did; that’s why she thought she was in love with him. She really was a damned coward. Instead of facing Lucius and telling him the truth about her feelings, she had run away.

  A sob caught in her throat. God! What the hell was wrong with her? Phillip had taken what she’d fantasized about since she was a teenager and turned it into something dirty and wrong. Then she’d followed Lucius around like an obedient puppy, never admitting to herself, much less to him, that she wanted him more than her next breath. And now, here she was, giving in to her sexual wants, facing her fears, with the wrong man.

  “Red.”

  Her Master rose swiftly. “Are you all right?”

  “I’ve made a terrible mistake.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

  “Are you leaving because I asked about the scars? Or because you don’t want to be punished?”

  “I can take the punishment,” she said softly. “But I’m in love with someone else. It’s wrong to be here with you, without at least telling him how I feel.”

  She leaned forward and kissed his jaw. “Thank you.”

  Claire turned away, but he enchained her wrist. “Wait a minute.”

  She was feeling more and more foolish by the second. She was standing naked in high heels with a shirtless masked man. She didn’t know what she wanted anymore. But at least she still knew who she wanted.

  Lucius.

  “I have a confession,” he said. “But before I tell you my secret, will you please tell me about your scars? Who hurt you, ma Belle?”

  What was the harm in telling him about Phillip? And she was curious about his confession. What could he possibly tell her that would merit the worry in his voice?

  “Three years ago, I graduated college with my journalism degree and managed to nab a low-level position with Bad Boy Magazine. That same year, I met Phillip Rose at the coffee shop in the building where I worked. He was an advertising exec for another magazine.

  “Anyway, after Phillip and I had gone out for a while, I told him about some of my … fantasies. He said that he was a Dom and he had only been waiting for me to realize I was a submissive. But everything we did felt wrong. I kept trying because I wanted it to match how I felt when I fantasized about domination.”

  Claire shook her head and sighed. “One night, Phillip took me to a public dungeon. He collared me and dragged me around on a leash. Then he hooked up with another Dom and took me into a private room. Things didn’t feel right to me, but I trusted Phillip. I thought I was being a good submissive. After tying me up, the other Dom held a knife over a candle flame then applied it to my stomach.

  “I screamed bloody murder and scared Phillip so badly, he made the guy stop. I told him I had to go the ladies room so he untied me. Instead, I went home and packed all the stuff he kept at my apartment.”

  “What happened next?”

  “Phillip showed up a couple hours later. He was furious to find his things outside the door and that I had already changed the locks. He said a lot of shitty things, calling me a frigid bitch among other insults. But I’d had enough. I figured I wasn’t a submissive. That I just liked thinking about it and not doing it.”

  “You are what you want
to be,” he said. “A good Dom always puts the needs of his sub above his own needs. A Dom and a sub are two halves that fit together. His pleasure is always derived from his sub’s pleasure. It can be a wonderful journey to take with the right person.”

  “I know that now,” admitted Claire.

  “I’m glad.” He looked at her. “I promised to tell you my secret if you would share your past with me.”

  Claire looked at him, her heart thumping. His hand went to the mask and suddenly, she didn’t want to know who wore it.

  Then it was too late.

  The cloth lifted away and she was looking into the eyes of Lucius Devereaux.

  Claire stared at him, caught between the urge to throw herself into his arms and to punch him in the jaw.

  “I should’ve known,” she whispered. “It’s always been this way with you. With us. God, I’m a fool.”

  She hurried out of his reach and found her dress. She’d barely picked it up when Lucius plucked it out of her hand.

  “Tell me who you’re in love with.”

  Anger churned her guts. “The game is over.” She grabbed for the dress, but he snatched it out of her reach. “Goddamn it!”

  “Fine,” he said. “I’ll tell you who I’m in love with.”

  Claire snorted. “Yourself. Give me that dress!”

  “I’m in love with you.”

  She quit trying to grab her clothes. Lucius must really want her if he was willing to say what he had never said to another woman. The “L” word dangled just out of reach of every female he’d ever dated. He never lied to them, but they often lied to themselves. She’d seen the starry-eyed beauties who couldn’t accept his good-bye. They were devastated. She didn’t want to end up like one his cast-offs.

  “Nobody can have you,” she said, shucking off her shoes. She’d walk to her room buck-ass naked. In this hotel, nobody would bat an eyelash. “You don’t love, Lucius. You possess. No … you rent. You don’t want me—at least not forever.”

  “Don’t tell me what I want.” He used his Dom voice and she stopped in her tracks. “I love you, Claire. Why would I say that just so I could have sex with you? This isn’t about sex!”

  Claire looked at him. He was fucking serious. He loved her? She wouldn’t have believed it possible. “Why did you buy me?”

  “To save you.” He tossed the dress to the furthest corner of the room. “Why did you allow yourself to be bought?”

  She couldn’t justify why she’d stayed on that stage. She could’ve left at any point—not even Lady Pink’s vicious whip could’ve stopped her exit. Nobody had forced her to participate in the slave auction. Phillip might have been her first and admittedly worst foray into the BDSM world, but he hadn’t driven away her urges—just like he hadn’t satisfied them.

  “I wanted someone to think I was worthwhile. I wanted to serve someone who would cherish me and honor me and give me what I crave.” She looked at him, tears filling her eyes again. “I never thought it would be you. You. The one I’ve wanted the most.”

  “Claire, I love you.” He stepped close to her and tilted her chin. “Tell me who you’re in love with.”

  “You,” she said, crying harder. “I’m in love with you.”

  “Good. Then you won’t be opposed to marrying me.”

  She blinked up at him. “What?”

  “Marriage,” he said. “It involves rings and vows and people eating cake afterward.”

  “Okay,” she said, stunned. Happiness chased away her anger, her confusion, and her doubts. “But I’m still quitting my job.”

  “You can do anything you want,” he said. “What we do in the privacy of our home is our business and ours alone. You are mine, and I am yours.”

  Lucius embraced her, holding her tightly as she wept. After a while, her tears dried, but he held her close, stroking her back and whispering sweet nothings.

  “C’mon,” he said. “I want to draw a bath for you. I’ll wash your hair, too.”

  “What about my punishments?”

  “We’re starting over,” he said. “Clean slate. No more secrets, Claire. And no more lies.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  LUCIOUS WOKE UP, feeling discombobulated. Next to him on the nightstand, the digital clock blinked a few minutes after three a.m. The king-sized bed with its oversized pillows and soft sheets felt empty.

  Claire.

  Panic shot through him as he rolled onto his side and checked the other half of the bed. She was gone. Had she changed her mind? No. He was confident that she wasn’t going to leave him. And she certainly wouldn’t sneak away in the middle of the night.

  Even so, he shoved off the covers and sat up. That’s when he saw the note next to the clock. Written on hotel stationary, the neatly printed word brought him instant arousal:

  Dungeon.

  He smiled. Reassured by Claire’s note, he took his time getting out of bed. How long had she’d been waiting for him? Was she checking out the floggers or caressing that spanking table?

  It excited him to think she was already splayed on that table, her firm, round ass ready for the whip. He wanted to run from the first-story bedroom to the spiral staircase, but he paced himself. Waiting would titillate her … and him.

  Earlier, after he washed every inch of Claire’s gorgeous body and shampooed her lovely hair, he had dried her thoroughly with a big, fluffy towel. Then he’d carried her to the bed and tucked her in, ordering room service and feeding her every bite of her fruit snack.

  He held her as she drifted to sleep. He loved the feel of her in his arms; she felt so right tucked next to him. For a long time, he believed that he would never find love. He found plenty of female submissives to dominate, but not one that he wanted to spend his life with … not until Claire.

  For the last couple of years, they’d managed a complex and subtle dance of domination and submission, but now that she was truly his, he could explore the depths of their relationship. His heart squeezed. God, he loved her. The sensation was so new, so beautiful, he couldn’t quite believe it was his to cherish.

  He couldn’t wait to begin her training.

  And apparently, neither could she.

  He climbed the stairs, anticipation thrumming through him.

  Chapter 8

  CLAIRE LAID FLAT against the spanking table. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been in the dungeon, but she was prepared to wait all night.

  Earlier, she spent a few minutes examining some of the furniture and devices. On one wall were several floggers and whips. She touched them in awe. The leather straps felt soft against her fingertips—and she wondered how they would feel against her flesh.

  Then she’d lit the candles, shut off the light and crawled onto the table.

  She didn’t look in any drawers or in the mysterious trunk that Lucius had rummaged through earlier. She figured looking at what was within sight wouldn’t break any rules, but opening what was closed might get her punished.

  She shuddered in fearful delight.

  The supple leather next to her skin felt wonderful. She could only cuff her ankles, but she knelt on the slat and flattened the rest of her body against the slanted table. She laid there, thinking about Lucius and all the yummy things he could do to her on this table.

  “Claire.”

  Her pulse skittered. Oh, God. He was using his Dom voice—that sexy rasp that demanded everything from her. Her pussy clenched, already wet with anticipation.

  “Hmm. You have a beautiful ass.”

  “Thank you, Master.”

  She felt him tighten the cuffs around her ankles. Then he rounded the table and squatted in front of her. Lovingly, he manacled each of her wrists.

  He leaned forward and brushed his knuckles against her temple. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  He nodded then he stood up. He was gloriously naked, his cock already at half-mast. He strode away, probably to decide which implement to apply to her bottom.

&n
bsp; She pressed her cheek against the table and closed her eyes.

  A couple minutes later, she felt the tickle of many tiny “fingers” coast across her buttocks.

  “This is a deer flogger,” he said, dragging the falls along her buttocks again. “It gives your flesh a nice thud, but it won’t sting. It’s for low intensity sensation play.”

  The straps suddenly disappeared.

  Wham! She felt the smack of the tails against the middle of her left buttock. She sucked in a startled breath. He smacked her right buttock. He snapped the flogger expertly on each buttock twice more.

  Oh, God. It felt so good.

  She bit her lower lip and pressed her aching pussy against the leather table.

  The falls drifted across her ass and down her thighs. The light touches felt nearly as good as the sudden thuds.

  Wham! Wham! The flogger landed on each of her thighs. Claire moaned, pressing harder against the table. Her nipples stiffened and her entire body tingled.

  The flogger kissed her back, trailing her spine to tickle her shoulders. The tails wiggled down her skin again and the nearly unbearable sensations crawled over her flesh, making her even hotter.

  Wham! He hit one buttock.

  She tightened for the next hit, but it didn’t come. Seconds ticked by. Just as she relaxed—wham! Another thud hit her ass. Lucius didn’t stop. He flogged her faster and harder until she lost her breath and her body quaked at the rapturous assault.

  Claire moaned. Her hips pumped against the table, the leather wet from her primed pussy. Her body hummed with desire, with aching need.

  Lucius flogged her ass again, using the same quick, hard thuds and she felt almost apart from herself, detaching into a place of pleasure so intense, she nearly drowned in it.

  As she floated in this lovely space, Lucius fumbled with her ankle cuffs. She barely felt him rubbed her feet and calves. Her ass felt marvelously sore.

  “Claire.”

  Her eyes flickered open. Lucius unbound her wrists, massaging them. He looked at her with such love, such longing, she felt herself return to Earth.