by Lynda Aicher
“Great.” He held out the soda again. “Drink some more.” As a distraction, it was lame. But it worked.
When the soda was finished, she moved off his lap to curl up to his side and observe the room. He grabbed the towel, wiped the remaining moisture from his face and chest then did a quick rub through his hair.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
She rubbed her lip with a blanket-covered hand then glanced around the room. “So which one’s throwing you?”
He scowled. “No one.” Not cool. He was never that transparent.
She tilted her head and raised her brows in a look that said she wasn’t stupid. “I know you too well. Don’t worry. No one will notice.”
“Shit.” He shook his head and hid behind the pretense of wiping his face again. “It’s just first-night nerves,” he tried to hedge. “It’s different now that I’m an owner.” He wouldn’t admit that to most people, even if it was true.
Her soft laugh was husky from the Scene. “It’s what you wanted. It’ll be fine.” She leaned forward to whisper into his ear, “And I know you’re bluffing. But I won’t push.” She kissed him on the cheek then slowly got up, holding the blanket around her. “I need to shower. Thank you again for the great Scene.”
He nodded then watched her retreat behind the door marked employees only. A shower was what he needed to get his head on straight. Hopefully the little kitten would run away by the time he was done.
He set the towel aside, grabbed the other bottle of water and stood. Immediately, a service sub was there to clean up. He thanked the man and headed out of the Dungeon.
“Master Marcus.”
Two steps. Only two more steps and he’d have made it through the employee door. He contemplated ignoring the low, sultry voice, but there was no legitimate reason to do so. And knowing her, she’d follow him anyway. He turned around to find exactly what he’d expected.
“Mistress V. What can I do for you?” His overly formal words had Vanessa cocking a brow, a smug smile appearing on her lips.
“I’d like to introduce you to a guest,” she said as she laid a hand on the kitten’s shoulder. “This is Quinn.”
He purposely slid his gaze up the length of the little kitten in a controlled move that allowed his annoyance to settle. Her abs contracted when she inhaled, her nipples beaded to tight little points as he passed her breasts. His dick responded to every one of her reactions, interest spiking despite his refusal to acknowledge it.
It was pointless if she was only a spectator.
When he met her eyes, he found a steely intensity that seemed at odds with her exterior. There was a second where she held his gaze, a long moment where a thousand things were said without a word being spoken. Then she looked down, her eyes closing as she sucked in a breath.
Fuck. His sharp suck of air hissed through his nose as his thoughts skidded to a halt. Heaven help him if that little tell of submission was real. But if it was an act, it was a damn good one.
“You’re a few days early, aren’t you, kitten?” His tone was intentionally firm, colder than he’d normally extend to a guest. Her response would tell him more.
She glanced up. Her long lashes provided a shield before she lifted her chin and met his eyes once again. “Yes.”
That was it. No excuses or explanation. But then, he hadn’t asked for any. His appreciation went up another notch, his assumptions solidifying. In a matter of seconds, he ran through multiple ways to play his next move. Each submissive was different. Every one responded to different tactics and approaches.
His next one with her was critical, if his intuition was right.
He deliberately looked her over one more time. “I’ll see you Monday then. Two o’clock.”
Her lips parted, just a touch. Enough to let another slow breath out. They glistened in the light, the shiny, pink gloss tempting men to taste them. A sly smile curled the corner of her mouth. Her voice was soft as silk. “Yes, Master Marcus. Two o’clock will be fine.”
There was just a hint of snark imbedded with her compliance, a small note that triggered a craving to harness it. Own it.
He calmly turned around, opened the door and strode down the hallway until it clanged close behind him. His heart pounded, his skin was damp and crawled with that repressed energy yet again. He was dancing with fire. Whatever this was—and it was something—had the potential to be disastrous. She was a fucking actress who was only there for a week. Most importantly, she wasn’t there to be a real submissive.
But she was perfect. She clicked every one of his buttons and created a few he hadn’t known he had. The little kitten was wading into waters she had no idea how to play in. All that naivety and bravado could be easily manipulated in the hands of the wrong Dom.
Not under his watch. For the next week, she was his, and he’d make damn sure she wasn’t harmed by anyone while she was there—including himself.
Chapter Three
Quinn paced between the oversized window and the kitchen counter then back. The cycle repeated as she whittled away on the thumbnail between her teeth. The patterns of the wood floor gave away to beige carpet that squished under her feet, only to change to the cool hardwood with each return trip to the kitchen.
A gust of wind rattled the large sheet of glass and echoed through the sparse room. It was timed with the insistent chime on her cell phone notifying her of another text, most likely from her mother. She paused, her eyes focusing once again to take in her surroundings. The rental was nice, clean and furnished with the necessary items to make her three-week stay comfortable. It was also sterile and cold in a way that felt like home. She shivered, the chill coming from within.
Her Beverly Hills house was purchased by her mother during the height of Quinn’s fame. Her mother never had a problem spending Quinn’s money, and Quinn never stopped her either. It wasn’t worth the sacrifice lecture she’d have to endure. I gave up so much for you to be a star. Or the whole you don’t appreciate what I’ve done for you conversation that had been repeated so many times she could recite it from memory.
Being away from her mother was only one of the reasons she’d agreed to do her research in Minneapolis.
The room was shadowed with the gray light from outside. It might’ve been noon, but the coming storm had darkened the sky with large, thick clouds she only partially remembered from her childhood.
She stopped in front of the window, enjoying the buildup. The air was charged with a sense of expectation that reminded her too much of the exact feeling she was trying to forget. The one that hadn’t really left since her encounter with Master Marcus.
She hugged her arms around her waist and laid her forehead on the cool glass. How was she going to survive the next week? Her so-called demand for another “tutor” had gotten her nowhere. Vanessa had informed her it was Marcus or no one. When pushed, the woman had held firm.
Quinn had been stewing all weekend on the choice before her. The clock was ticking, and she still didn’t know what she was going to do. Martin, her manager, and Jewels, her publicist, both said she had to do this training. And after what she’d seen Friday, she knew she needed to do it.
But with Master Marcus? How?
Even the thought of the Dom had her squeezing her eyes closed against the wave of heat that rushed through her. She wasn’t a virgin or very innocent, despite her image. Hollywood had a way of sucking that quality out of a person. Her first sexual encounter had occurred at the ripe and hormonal age of sixteen. The quick tango in a trailer with another teen star hadn’t produced fireworks and professions of love. But the act had served its purpose and put an end to her virgin status.
To her embarrassment, her mother had been almost proud of Quinn’s conquest. The smirk that had greeted Quinn as she’d left the guy’s trailer, followed by a curt, “Did you use a condom?” was still humiliating to remember. What mother wanted her teenage daughter to get laid? Then again, what kind of a mother tore a fa
mily apart in the name of fame? Yeah, no point in going there.
The reminder chime of the waiting text message didn’t motivate her to check her phone. She’d already talked to her mother, Martin and Jewels that morning, and the energy required to deal with any of them wasn’t in her right now.
This was just another role, she reminded herself. She’d been trying to hammer that into to her brain, yet it wasn’t sinking in. Something about this was different, and she didn’t want to acknowledge what it was. Not aloud.
The cooling effects of the glass wore off and she pushed away from the window. Lightning flashed across the sky, the jagged line cutting a bright path through the clouds. She automatically started counting, only to stop and smile. It’d been years since she’d seen a good lightning storm. They were a rarity in California. The rumble of thunder rolled through the air like a coming train.
She used to watch the storms with her older brother, Lance. They’d curl up in the small window seat, her brother hugging her close to keep her safe. She’d jump with every crack of thunder, then giggle at her own foolishness as they waited for the next flash of light. That was before they’d been separated.
It was hard to believe it’d been twelve years since she’d seen Lance. When they were younger, they’d been victims of circumstance and their parents, but that didn’t excuse the distance now that they were adults. That was all on them and something she was hoping to change while she was here.
The ring of her cell cut through the silent room. It was an intrusion, but ignoring it like she had the text wouldn’t solve anything. Whoever it was would only call back until she did answer. There were very few who called her just to talk.
Tucking her hair behind her ear, she grabbed her cell off the counter and checked the screen. Her brow furrowed at the caller-unknown display. Curious, she answered anyway, since there weren’t a lot of people who had her private number.
“Hello.”
“Quinn?” The deep timber of the voice reached through the air to chase a warm wave of chills down her neck. “This is Master Marcus.”
Like she didn’t know that the second she heard his voice. The role, she had to remember her role. “Yes,” she breezed as she sunk into the chair at the dining table. “Is there something I can do for you?”
His low chuckle had the deep tone of anticipation more than amusement. “There is a lot that you can do for me, Quinn. However, I don’t think you’re ready for that. Yet.” The last word hung on the line in a taunt meant to provoke.
She closed her eyes and tried to breathe normally. The bait was laid, and she was way too experienced to take something so blatantly played. “If this is a game to you, then I’ll go someplace else.” Where, she had no idea. Jewels would throw a fit. Filming started in less than a month and finding a new club that was safe, discreet and would take Quinn would be a huge hassle.
“This, as you refer to it, is never a game.” All joking had been stripped from the Dom’s voice.
“Of course not.” She maintained the crisp tone she was aiming for. This was a business deal. “Just like my job isn’t. I was promised The Den would treat my request for knowledge with respect and professionalism.”
The laughter returned. A deep, husky rumble that did nothing to calm her. “I’m looking forward to our week, Miss Andrews.” His voice flattened out, but when he continued, there was a lighter lift to it than before. “You’ll be here at two then?”
“Yes.” Her answer shot out faster than she’d intended. She held a breath for a second before blowing it out. “I’ll be there as planned. Is there anything I should know before I arrive? Anything I should bring?” Vanessa had given her some information, but she wasn’t who Quinn would be working with.
“We’ll talk more when you get here. But wear something appropriate.”
Right. It was her turn to chuckle. “I’m sure I have something in my closet that will work. I live in Beverly Hills. Standard street clothes are almost prohibited.” Even the jeans she currently wore were five-hundred-dollar designer-approved.
“I’m certain you will.” He paused, the silence stretching until she thought maybe he’d disconnected. She started to pull her phone back to check when he spoke again. “How far do you want your education to go?”
The unease that had hounded her all weekend charged back to party in her stomach. “Meaning?”
“You can only learn so much from observing. If you really want to understand, you need to experience it.”
And that was what she feared. And knew. Her one night of exposure to the BDSM world had made that blatantly clear. But was she capable of going that deep for a part? That extreme? Her manager, mother and publicist said she was. Even the director of the new series told her she was.
“We’ll see.” It was just a role, she reminded herself for the thousandth time. “I guess that depends on your tutoring skills.”
Another chuckle. “And your learning skills. I’ll see you in two hours.”
The call ended, and she dropped her head on the table, the dull thumps of the repeated motion sounding louder than the actual impact of the wood against her forehead. She might not be innocent, but this was worse than diving into a shark-infested pool. Hollywood had nothing on the control freaks she’d seen the other night.
And she wasn’t the one in control. Never had been. It was unlikely she ever would be. So was this really any different? She just had to do as she was told, and the week would be over before she knew it. Then she’d spend the rest of her time in Minneapolis, rebuilding her relationship with her brother.
That was the plan. Now to execute.
A quick check confirmed her earlier assumption. The text was from her mother, reminding her to eat something healthy for lunch. Like Quinn would lapse into a binge of bad eating after being away for less than a week.
She stood and purposely left her phone on the table. She needed to become the character of a submissive, and that didn’t allow for distractions. All the rules and protocols that she’d read about began to cycle through her mind.
It was time to become Q—the obedient submissive to a strict, controlling Dom.
Chapter Four
The hallway was unnaturally quiet. The Den didn’t officially open for another hour and the staff had only started to trickle in. But Marcus liked this time. It was as if the air hung in suspended animation, the excitement building until it was once again filled with the cries and whines of their world.
He stood outside the door, eyes closed, hands fisted, thoughts descending until he found his zone. Irritation at how long it took slowed the process even more. It wasn’t a good sign. A smile creased his lips. Or it could be a fucking awesome one.
The weekend had passed in a rush of work, Scenes and clients. And through it all, thoughts of Quinn had stayed in the back of his mind. He’d done some additional research on her, and the new knowledge only left him more intrigued.
He glanced at clock down the hall—it was ten after two. He’d purposely had another Dom show Quinn to this room when she’d arrived ten minutes early.
He turned the knob and entered the room in one quick motion. Reaction was everything, but he wasn’t anticipating his own. His abs clenched and the air stuck in his lungs at the sight that greeted him.
Instead of the nervous fidgets of the unsuspecting, or the bold glare of the annoyed princess, he found a submissive kneeling in textbook form for her master. His dick responded instantly, the blood pooling in his shaft and draining the possibility of logical thought from his mind.
Perfection. That was his only impression. She was better than perfect. And she claimed she wasn’t a submissive. Yeah, right.
She didn’t look up or even flinch in her pose. It was the submissive rest position as documented in most books and forum posts. Bottom resting on her heels, knees spread wide, shoulders back, wrists crossed behind her back with her eyes focused on the ground.
Thin straps of black leather wound between her legs to cover her
crotch and crisscrossed over her abdomen before merging with the cups that shielded and pushed her small breasts up to their maximum potential. She was covered and exposed. The outfit showed nothing explicitly, yet made it seem as if everything was on display. It also emphasized her tiny build and left no mistake that she was a woman, not a child.
Definitely not street clothes. She’d been toying with him on the phone, a fact that reminded him she wasn’t a normal submissive-in-training. Not even close to normal.
He composed himself and shut the door before making a slow circle around her. Each thump of his boots on the floor was set down with a purposeful stride, yet she still didn’t move. The back view revealed two flawless round globes of flesh separated by the thin strip that ran up the crack of her ass. Her hair had been twisted into a tight knot at her nape. The severity of the style displayed the graceful length of her neck and spine.
She was thin but not skinny. He liked that. It was more that her body fit her size, unlike the gaunt models that forced their bodies to be three sizes smaller than was healthy. Her skin was a light golden brown that appeared naturally achieved, not sprayed on, and was just dark enough to highlight the paler areas that were normally hidden beneath her bikini.
He’d anticipated many different scenarios for this meeting, but this had never been one of them. He hated being unprepared. She’d accused him of playing a game then dared to show up here like this.
Following his urge, he stepped around, grabbed her under the arms and lifted her up. She was as light as he expected, probably topping out under a hundred pounds.
She squeaked, her eyes going wide and her legs clasping around his hips in search of purchase. In three steps he had her back pressed against the wall, his mouth inches from hers. Her hands tightened on his shoulders, but she didn’t struggle or push away.
“What are you doing?” Her breath floated over his lips, weak and airy like her words.
Damn, her lips were too close. Tempting. “The same as you.”
