Velvet Submission

by Violet Summers

  The Velvet Ice contingent was there in force. A surprisingly mellow DJ Wicked kept up a steady stream of danceable tunes and Janie, a club favorite, kept up a steady flow of free booze. Even Brady Ryder put in an appearance, brooding silently at his table until Celia slipped into his lap and dared him to dance with her. The big man stood abruptly, his hands on Celia's arms to keep her from tumbling from his lap to the ground, nodded abruptly to Sin and Kendra, and stalked off toward the parking area.

  Celia flounced back to their table with a pout, looking like nothing so much as a pissed off Pepto-pink fairy. Megan had to laugh. Celia was such a sunny person; even her temper tantrums were cute.

  "Shot down again, darlin'?" She teased. Celia pulled a face and stuck her tongue out at her. "Ce, honey, you're eventually gonna have to stop eating that man up with your eyes and admit he's not…" she thought for a moment, trying to find the right words. "He's damaged, Ce. More than even you can fix."

  Celia gave her a shrewd look, and Megan hoped she hadn't said too much. She honestly didn't have any intention of breaking her agreement with Ryder, but she hated to see her friend pounding her tender heart against a man made of granite.

  "Well," Celia finally drawled in a truly awful southern accent, "I'm not the only one eating someone up with my eyes." She cut her eyes meaningfully toward Gregori, who was guiding a laughing blonde through a spirited swing dance.

  He hadn't been in the wedding party, for which Megan was deeply grateful. With her luck, she'd have been partnered with him, and would have ended up dancing that first, romantic waltz with him. As it was, dressed in a black tux with stark white accoutrements, he was an irresistible delight to the women at the reception.

  He hadn't stopped dancing from the moment he stepped foot on the dance floor.

  "I do declare Miss Megan, I think you have a case of the green-eyed monster."

  Megan turned an arch look on her friend. "I have no idea what you are referring to, Celia." She tipped back her glass. No wine for her this evening, she'd moved onto good ol' Jack Daniels.

  "I am referring to the fact that you've barely taken your eyes off a certain Russian hottie since the dancing began," Celia teased. "You look about ready to rip that poor girl's hair out by the roots, Meg. You need to just dance with the man and get it over with."

  Megan shook her head, eyes still on Gregori's surprisingly graceful form. "He's no more right for me than Brady Ryder is for you, darlin'."

  Celia answered, but Megan didn't hear her because Gregori chose that moment to glance in her direction. From halfway across the tent his eyes met hers, and his face went still, intent. The song ended, and he turned to his partner with a small, courtly bow before escorting her off the floor. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Megan realized he was heading in her direction.

  *

  He'd been sneaking glances at her all afternoon, from the moment she'd swayed down the aisle to the moment she'd planted herself at the wedding party's table and ordered her first shot. Gregori smiled a bit to himself. He shouldn't be surprised that his southern belle drank her whiskey straight. She certainly had the balls for it.

  When he caught her sneaking some glances of her own, he knew it was time to act. Excusing himself from his current dance partner, he began to wind a path in her direction. He knew the moment she realized his intent by the way those big blue eyes widened.

  He quickly reached her table and ignored Celia's choked laugh as he took Megan's hand firmly in his own.

  "You will dance with me now," he told her, not asking because he wasn't about to give her the chance to refuse. Those luscious, candy-pink lips were still parted in surprise when he led her onto the floor.

  Wicked, catching his significant glance, eased into a slow song. Gregori hid another smile when he recognized Simply Red's "If You Don't Know Me By Now". Not only was it slow, it was long, and the lyrics were painfully appropriate. He wasn't surprised in the least how well she fit in his arms. She was tall, over six feet in her spiky heels, and her head fit neatly under his chin. Her curves pressed voluptuously against him, melting into his hard muscles effortlessly. She felt right, like coming home after years of exile.

  "You're awfully pushy all of a sudden, sugar," she murmured against his neck.

  "Tonight we are not at the club," he replied. "Tonight, I'm not constrained to await your every whim. I can satisfy myself." He made his words and expression deliberately provocative, and was rewarded with her soft laughter.

  "If all it takes is a dance, sugar, then you're far more easily satisfied than I'd guessed." He could hear the smile in her voice and it warmed something deep in his soul.

  Pulling her closer, he stroked one finger along her back, dipping under the edge of her dress teasingly. She shivered and cuddled closer, inspiring him to touch more. He laid his hand over the small of her back, playing his fingers lightly over the satin. He imagined the skin there was even softer, even sleeker to the touch.

  She brushed against him, breasts sliding over his chest with every turn, thighs rubbing over his with each slow revolution to the music. Neither spoke; there was no need for words. Their bodies were speaking for them, and Megan's body was proving that all her protests were lies.

  "You deny us much when you deny our connection, Megan." He'd bent down to whisper the words in her ear, and savored the shiver and rush of chill-bumps that followed in their wake.

  Her voice, when she answered, was breathy and low, but her words were firm. "I don't sleep with my submissives, Gregori. I can Dom you, or I can have sex with you, but I will not do both." She pulled back and studied him with bottomless blue eyes. "Can you be my slave without the sex?"

  His dick was rock-hard, had been since he'd seen her walk down the aisle, and currently digging into the soft swell of her belly, making it difficult for him to deny. Finally, he spoke, choosing his words carefully.

  "I could be so much more to you than merely your slave or your lover." He paused to consider how best to make his point. "By limiting us to one or the other, you cheat us both out of true fulfillment." He cupped her chin, stroking his thumb over the moist, glossy surface of her lower lip. "Megan, lyubimaya , if you would let me, I could fill the empty places in your soul." Her breath caught and her tongue flickered out to taste the rough surface of his thumb.

  Seeming to realize what she was doing, Megan pulled her head back, breaking his hold. She blinked twice, slowly, and shook her head. "Not gonna happen, sugar. It cannot, and I will not." At that moment the music changed, turning hot and techno. Megan offered him a sad smile and pulled out of his arms. He stood on the dance floor and watched her walk away, feeling the absence of her warmth like a bone-deep chill.

  *

  Megan left her private room and entered the public play area. It had been almost ten days since Kendra's wedding. Ten days she'd purposely stayed away from Velvet Ice. She didn't want to chance running into him after the dance they'd shared.

  The conversation echoed in her mind and she could still see his smoldering eyes, hear his deep husky voice, feel his warm breath tickle her neck. He'd gotten to her in a way she'd never allowed a man to get to her before. Her frustration level had reached such a peak that she finally caved.

  Dominating some young, willing male was the easiest way to release her pent-up irritation at herself for being so attracted to Gregori.

  She pushed open the glass doors and entered the play area, and her gaze immediately fell upon the object of her betraying libido. Gregori sat casually with a glass of what she assumed was vodka, dressed in jeans and a simple black button-down partially opened to reveal a tightly honed chest dusted with silky dark hair. Her mouth watered as a hundred fantasies stirred within her mind.

  No. Absolutely not. Megan quickly scanned the rest of the room, looking for someone to take her mind and her body off of Gregori. She was standing on the stairs, looking for distraction when she was bumped, none too gently, from behind. Megan grabbed the railing and turned to see
Mistress Anne, a club regular. The tall, slim blonde was dressed in her usual blood-red vinyl; this time hot pants and a halter set off by gleaming black, thigh-high boots. The top half of her face was covered by a red leather mask, her long hair pulled back in a severe ponytail high on her head.

  "Oh, do excuse me," the other woman murmured. The words were perfectly appropriate, perfectly polite, but something in the tone hinted at the exact opposite.

  God, Megan disliked the woman with a passion, though she couldn't have articulated exactly why. Anne was cold as ice, true. Megan had witnessed her technique on more than one occasion, and was always left disturbed by the scenes the Domme acted out with her subs. She never chose the same sub twice, and to Megan's eye seemed to be a pure Sadist. Like Megan, Anne never sought her own sexual satisfaction, and she allowed her sub's relief almost as infrequently. She was a cruel mistress, toying with her slaves, doling out not only pain, but humiliation. It grated Megan's nerves, but Anne was clearly giving her subs what they craved.

  "So sorry, Anne, I didn't see you," since you came up behind me, you big old skank. Megan gave the other woman her best Miss America smile and sauntered down the stairs, reminding herself that she was a lady, and a lady wouldn't grab Anne by her over-processed ponytail and hurl her down the stairs.

  She was making her way to the bar, determined to get a glass of wine and a candidate for tonight's play when the hair on the back of her neck rose. She turned slowly back toward the tables, and felt her eyes narrow in disbelief.

  Mistress Anne had her long scarlet fingernails running along Gregori's neck, as he sat absolutely still, hands on his knees. Fury, hot and venomous, slammed into Megan's chest.

  Maybe if it was that insipid little redhead, Mistress S, maybe if it was any other of the Domme's eagerly prowling the bar, Megan could have turned away. Or maybe not, judging from the way the word mine was resounding through her brain. With a low, definitely un-ladylike grown, Megan spun on her heels and approached Gregori and the she-devil currently working her fingers along his scalp.

  Sidling up to the table, she stopped next to a smirking Anne and a slightly startled Gregori. "I thought I told you to be on your knees when I entered the room, sugar."

  Gregori immediately slid from the chair and went to his knees in front of her, bowing his head. "I'm sorry, Mistress. I did not wish to be rude to Mistress Anne."

  Megan trailed her fingers through the short, thick hair at his nape, smiling a little when he shivered in reaction. She refused to acknowledge her need to wipe the other woman's touch out of his mind.

  "He's beautifully trained," she shot the other woman a level look, "isn't he?" Anne opened her mouth to speak, closed it, and narrowed her cold blue eyes, lips pressed tightly together. Fighting over a submissive was absolutely forbidden, and since Gregori was on his knees as Megan commanded, it was obvious to the other woman that he was committed to Megan for the evening. Megan felt her expression turn just a tiny bit triumphant when the other woman gave her a tight smile and turned to stalk away.

  Without another word Megan held out her hand. Gregori raised those silver-flamed eyes to her and clasped her hand in his much larger, rougher grasp. He stood and she led him from the public area.

  *

  Gregori followed Megan silently through the club, relieved to have a moment to collect his thoughts. It was obvious Megan disliked Anne, obvious that the dislike was mutual. Gregori would have liked to believe Megan's actions were motivated by jealousy, but he was afraid it was more a matter of competition. Still, Megan had "rescued" him from the other woman, and Gregori was secure enough to admit he wasn't sorry.

  He'd considered accepting the other woman's offer for all of a minute. After all, she gave what he craved, the bite of pain with his pleasure. Maybe her curves were too slight, her lips not quite full enough; her hair was blonde, her eyes were blue, and she knew how to wield a crop or a flogger expertly.

  In the end, though, Gregori knew he'd have turned her down. Something in Anne's eyes reminded him too much of St. Petersburg, right after the government's fall from power. There were men, soldiers and civilians alike, vying for power in the vacuum left by the government's collapse. Men who looked at the world through eyes with no souls, who had no compunction at taking what they wanted when they wanted it, never mind the cost. Men so damaged by life under Yeltsin that they hadn't blinked an eye at crushing anyone in their path, be it man, woman or child.

  Gregori knew he'd been well on his way down that same path in 1991 when his mother had all but whored herself to get them out of Russia. He'd hated her for it at the time: hated everything new and shiny and terrifying first in Canada, and then in America. Hated what she'd been willing to do to escape when, in his sixteen-year-old mind, there'd been no reason to run.

  The sound of Megan opening the door to her room snapped Gregori out of his painful memories. A light in the corner was turned on, bathing the room in bright white light. It was a harsh surprise after the dim club atmosphere. He quickly took in the familiar surroundings. Megan's room was furnished pretty much like every other private room on the third floor, with one exception: there was no bed. The room looked unfinished somehow, without a bed. Somewhat, he mused, like Megan's idea of Domination. She pointed to a small bench and Gregori sat quietly, watching her.

  "Would you like something to drink?" Her voice brought goose bumps to his flesh and the sensory memory of her body pressed to his as they danced.

  "No, thank you, Mistress. I am not thirsty." No, what he wanted couldn't be found in the small wet-bar by the door. What he wanted was the stroke of her hand on his bare skin. The taste of her on his tongue.

  She sat in on a soft suede couch, crossing her long legs with a soft whisper of silk hose. She was wearing pink again tonight, a pale, icy shade that made her look like a porcelain doll. Perched on that white suede couch, golden hair tumbling around her shoulders, eyes blue and mysterious, she was once again his goddess. And he was desperate to serve her.

  She picked up a timer from the small occasional table next to the couch, and arched her brow meaningfully at him. Gregori drew in a breath and lowered his eyes. He heard a soft clicking sound, then the quiet tick of the timer.

  "I do believe twenty minutes should do," she murmured in that slow, sweet drawl.

  Gregori sat silently awaiting her pleasure as the minutes ticked away. He dared a glance at her and ground his teeth in frustration. She was reading a freaking magazine, cool as ice. As the timer ticked down, a dread began to grow in his chest. He'd wondered at her sudden change of heart, but had wanted her too badly to question her actions. Hope slowly bled into anger as he finally accepted the truth. She'd snagged him from the clutches of Mistress Anne, but had no intention of using him in any manner herself.

  "Megan." She folded down one side of the magazine and gave him a level look.

  "I don't recall giving you permission to speak." For once the honeyed accent didn't send the blood flooding to his dick. This time the blood pounded in his temples as his temper flared. Still, he kept his voice calm.

  "Why am I here, Megan?"

  Those big blue eyes flickered, and she hesitated for a long moment before lowering her magazine.

  "I couldn't let her hurt you," she finally muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

  He knew his brows practically hit his hairline at her answer. Shaking his head slowly, he responded. "I am here to be hurt, Megan. That is one of the things I look for in a Domme."

  "No," her eyes touched his, then began to roam the room. "I couldn't let her hurt you. She causes pain beyond the physical. I couldn't let her do that to you."

  "I am not a toy to be fought over by two spoiled children," he finally said, grimly satisfied when her eyelids flinched in reaction. "If you truly do not want me, you may not interfere with someone who does." He rose from the small bench, every atom of his being screaming for him to stay, to fight for what he wanted.

  What was wrong with the woman? He was hers, hers to
do with as she would. And she wanted him, too. That had been clear from their very first encounter. Hell, she had admitted it. Yet, out of some twisted determination to stay in control, she denied them both.

  The timer dinged, shattering the silence that had once more fallen between them.

  "Time's up," he said slowly. Her eyes met his again and this time she didn't break their gaze. "You have no other use for me, so I will bid you good night."

  "Sit down, Sugar." The sudden command went straight to Gregori's dick. He liked it.

  "No." He kept his voice polite, almost deferential, and he could tell it took a moment for his blunt denial to register. When her eyes widened in comprehension, he added, "I have no wish to spend my night off sitting on a bench and watching you read. You have no other use for me," he let his voice go hard, let his anger show through the polite tone. "So I will bid you good night."

  An eyebrow arched as she put the magazine on the table and rose to her full height. She sauntered over to where he stood. "I don't have sex with my submissives, sugar."

  "So you've said, Megan." He let the eye contact spin out, looking down at her with deliberate insolence. "Many, many times."

  She drew a finger down his chest, bared by his open shirt. "So this is your choice?" She gestured to the room and its apparatus.

  "I choose you, Megan. However you will have me."

  Those blue, blue eyes flared, lit like a flame from within.

  Chapter Five

  "In that case, sugar, I haven't given you permission to use my name." She stepped closer, crowding him with her body. His reacted blindly, stupidly, his dick going hard in a rush. "And," she continued, letting her nail scrape perilously close to his nipple, "I haven't given you permission to stand." She took the final step that pressed her body against his, chest to thighs, and a full body shiver of relief slid from his scalp to his toes. She tapped her index finger against his chest, harder with each word until the nail pressed painfully against his skin, driving him backwards. "So. Sit. Down. Now."