position gave her access to the front and the back sides of his body.
Dex had been a club member for a few years and hadn’t asked Knox to deliver the pain, but most of Knox’s scenes were at the behest of submissives’ Masters and Mistresses. Since Dex was an unattached sub, Knox wondered who the woman was, because she clearly knew what she was doing. Dex’s cock, bound with a strap, was fully erect.
Knox watched as she cracked the whip and the tip landed on the inside of Dex’s thigh. His entire body jerked and he started to beg her to let him come. But she didn’t respond; she just gave him a matching whip kiss on the inside of his other thigh.
Dex hissed—a sound of pain tinged with pleasure.
When the Domme walked behind Dex and delivered two strikes to the backs of his legs, Knox studied her. Her hair might be real, but he doubted it. And then there was the mask that covered her face.
She grabbed Dex by the hair and pulled his head back so she could speak directly into his ear.
He nodded and squirmed when she coiled the whip around his calf with a flick of her wrist and dragged it up. Then she did the same thing on the other side. She reached between his legs and released the cock restraint.
His relief was short-lived when she snapped two hard strikes on his inner thighs and followed through with two more hard strikes on his balls. He immediately started to come, and the Domme used the handle of the whip like a riding crop, connecting with the marks on his inner thighs as he shot his load into the air.
When he slumped against the chains, the crowd thinned.
But Knox remained in place, watching the Domme bring her sub down to earth with whispered words and gentle touches on his chest and back.
And Dex looked at her adoringly. Dex. The submissive the Dommes always complained about because he tried to top from below.
When the blond Domme circled Dex and came to stand in front of him, Knox had a niggling sense of familiarity. When she stood on tiptoe to release Dex’s arms from the cuffs, her identity hit him with the force of a spinning back fist to the head.
He knew that biteable ass.
He knew she struggled to reach items in the storeroom because she was so short.
When she turned her head, Knox groaned.
He knew those fucking luscious lips too.
In the past eight months he’d fantasized way too many times about taking that sassy mouth in a dozen different ways. And he almost had last night.
Knox watched the rest of the scene unfold. After she freed Dex from his wrist and ankle restraints, she sat him in a chair and draped a blanket around him. She handed him a bottle of water, and when he was too shaky to drink, she helped hold it to his mouth.
This wasn’t her first time dealing with a submissive’s aftercare.
As if her expertise with a whip wasn’t already a sign she was no amateur playing a role.
But fuck him.
Shiori Hirano was a Domme.
A fucking Domme.
He shook his head to clear it and watched as Dex dropped to his knees in front of her. He wrapped one arm around her shin and looked up at her beseechingly.
She petted his hair and spoke so softly Knox couldn’t hear. But whatever she’d said had pleased Dex, and he stood, clutching the blanket around his naked form before he wandered off.
Leaving the two of them alone.
From the shadows he said, “I like you as a platinum blonde, She-Cat.”
She turned around slowly, her gaze zeroing in on him even in the shadows. She said nothing as she sauntered forward, her carriage as purposeful as it was in the dojo, but her hips held an enticing sway he’d never seen before. She kept hold of the whip, flicking it with annoyance like a cat with a twitchy tail.
Too late he realized she’d cornered him completely.
“Well, well, Godan, if this isn’t an unexpected treat, running into you at my new club.”
His eyes narrowed. “Your new club? You’re a member here now?”
“Full-fledged.” She ran her whip up the outside of his thigh to his hip. “Identity verified and dues paid.”
“How long have you been a Domme?”
“How long have you been a member?” she countered.
“As long as I’ve known Ronin. Your turn, She—”
She pressed the whip handle against his lips. “Ah-ah. The name is Mistress B. Understand?”
He nodded.
“I’ve been a Domme for three years. I tried out two other clubs in Denver before this one. Neither worked out for me.”
“Does Ronin know?”
“That I’m a Domme? No. So he’d have no reason to expect he’d see me in this club. And it’s not like he’s been here in months anyway, right? That’s information I learned from his missus, not club secrets. When he gets back, we’ll sort out the details.” She traced the edge of the black band around his biceps. “You’re security. A neutral party, according to Greg.” Those beautiful golden eyes of hers bored into him. “Why?”
“I started out as a security goon. When Merrick changed the membership rules, he needed more proactive security. We all chose something that interested us. I trained for this type of club work with a Master who specialized in punishment. I’d already been working with Ronin on kinbaku and shibari.”
“Are you any good with ropes?”
When he took a breath to explain, he caught a lungful of her exotic scent. Damn her and the intimate web she was weaving around him. He wasn’t some green submissive who easily fell under the spell of a Dominant. “Back up, She—Mistress B.”
“Am I making you nervous?”
“No. You’re making me late for my next scene. So why don’t we just agree to avoid each other at the club from here on out?”
She immediately retreated. “Easy enough to find willing men to occupy my time.”
Knox should’ve shut his mouth, but something about this woman just got under his skin. “The male subs won’t play with you if all you’re doing is beating them and getting them off.”
“And you know that . . . how?”
He didn’t. But any man worth his balls would want to get her off—why else would he subject himself to pain and humiliation if he didn’t get to put his hands and mouth all over her?
“Knox?”
“Maybe if you’re really nice someday I’ll tell you.”
Whap. The whip handle landed across his chest. “Or I could make you tell me.”
“You think you can bring me to heel?” He laughed. “Gonna hafta grow a bit, kitty-cat.” He sidestepped her and started down the hallway.
“You can’t stop me from watching your scene.”
He turned and grinned. “Not me, but the Master I’m beating prefers privacy.”
“Maybe I’ll request your services for next weekend.”
His humor fled. “I don’t beat women. Ever. Not even if they get on their knees and beg me. Not even if they piss me the fuck off by insulting me.”
“Knox—”
“Drop it, Mistress. Find another toy to play with.”
He walked away and didn’t look back.
CHAPTER FOUR
THAT night Shiori dreamed that she had Knox strung up.
His gorgeous, big body was spread-eagled in chains, muscular arms straining above his head, his ankles shackled. She’d tortured him with touch, first a feather, then a piece of sandpaper, followed by a Wartenberg wheel, a rubber flogger, and a square of silk. She touched every inch of him, even the bottoms of his feet.
Then she touched him with her hands. Sometimes as soft as raindrops, other times using her nails.
His cock remained erect; his heavy balls were tight in the harness.
She’d had to stand on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “You said no man would want to play with me if I was just beating him and getting him off. So I’ll offer you a choice. I’ll give you ten lashes with the cat and then this She-Cat will give your c
ock ten lashes with my tongue before I jack you off.”
“What’s my other choice?” he gritted out.
Shiori moved to his other ear. One hand gripped his hair while the other clamped onto his ass cheek. “The other choice is you on your knees with that pouty mouth all over my pussy.”
Knox turned his head and his mouth brushed her temple. “I’d rather be on my knees before you, Mistress. Let me serve you.”
She’d dropped the chains on his arms so fast he nearly fell forward from the force of it. “I don’t know who’s more anxious for this—me or you.”
He’d raised his head then, and those blue eyes blazed pure sexual fire. “I’ll prove that I am as many times as you’ll let me.”
Cocky. Shiori unhooked his wrist cuffs from the chains and massaged his arms for a moment before she pulled his arms behind his back. She stepped around him to admire her modern-day Viking—from his muscle-bound body, to his handsome face, to the barely leashed power vibrating from him as he fought against himself and his very nature to obey her.
Shiori let her skirt hit the floor and kicked it away as she moved in closer. Her bare pussy throbbed with her arousal—this man made her so hot that the insides of her thighs were soaked. She reached up and grabbed on to the bar holding the chains.
A low growl rumbled from his throat in response to her pussy mere inches away from his mouth. But he wouldn’t touch her until she gave him the go-ahead.
“Look at me,” she said softly.
His lust-clouded eyes met hers.
“Make me come so hard my knees give out. Then pick me up and do it again.” She held her breath as he dipped his head and his tongue shot out, eager to connect with her hot flesh . . .
That’s when she woke up. Heart pounding, body tight, thighs quivering, panties wet, mouth dry, and need driving out all rational thought.
She punched her pillow with frustration. When that didn’t help, she wrapped her arms around it and screamed into it.
You should’ve known it was a dream. Where else but in fantasyland would he say let me serve you?
She’d never get back to sleep now.
She threw on some old sweatpants and a T-shirt and headed to the room she’d turned into an art studio. She had a table covered with different types of paint, several easels with pictures at various stages of completion, and small finished canvases lined along the walls. She’d always wanted to paint, but her life had been so hectic before she’d resigned her position at Okada that she’d lacked the time.
Now she had time, but as she studied the paint lines on the closest canvas, she realized that old adage “practice makes perfect” wasn’t true for everything because she was a shitty artist. She hadn’t improved at all in the last few months. While that bothered her on one level, on another level, she loved the freedom of wasting time.
She cranked up the volume on the MP3 dock and indulged in her other guilty pleasure—Japanese boy bands. So she sang along as loudly as she wanted as she painted pictures of posies and wondered what the hell a therapist would make of her.
* * *
ALTHOUGH most of the accounting for Black Arts was done off-site, Shiori still had loose ends to tie up before the week started and she got sidetracked by her own projects.
While she was no longer working full-time in the Okada corporate offices in Tokyo, she hadn’t walked away completely. Several of their big food suppliers refused to deal with anyone at Okada besides her—she’d tried to transition them to another account specialist, but they’d threatened to pull their business. The amounts were significant, so she’d sucked it up and stayed on.
No one had asked her how long she planned to stay in the United States. The only reason she was allowed to remain here was because of her work visa. For the first time ever, being on Okada’s payroll gave her more freedom instead of less.
After getting everything in order for the accountant, she cut to the training room for cardio. Teaching meant she had to stay in better shape than ever, so she worked out in the weight room four days a week.
She’d just finished a brutal punching combination and was taking a moment to catch her breath when she heard, “There’s a rule against training in the workout room alone.”
Her stomach flipped at the sound of his voice, but she ignored Knox and hit the heavy bag three more times. Finished with that, she moved to the next station and added kicks to her strikes against the training dummy. She felt Knox’s gaze studying her every move, but she knew he’d find no error in her technique. She didn’t let his intense scrutiny rattle her. Now, if Ronin stood behind her, silently critiquing her, she’d make a misstep or ten. When he was in Sensei Black mode, he was intimidating as fuck.
She finished the sequence with a couple of practice sweeps and an uppercut and a jab from the ground. She stayed on the mat, her wrists resting on her knees, and tried to even out her labored breathing.
“Looks like you’ve been going to Deacon’s Muay Thai classes.”
“It’s free and I’m not teaching during that time, so why not? Every discipline offers different techniques to keep opponents off guard.”
Knox knelt down and handed over her water bottle. “Opponents? You plan on joining the underground fighting scene?”
“Maybe.” She swigged her water. “Maybe I’ll ask Blue to schedule me for the next Black and Blue promotional smoker.”
“I’d advise against it.”
Her eyes met his. “Why?”
Those piercing blue eyes roamed over her face with such intensity she suppressed a shiver. “Because you don’t have anything to prove, Shiori.”
WTF? Knox rarely called her by her name. She waited to see what he’d say next.
“You tired?”
“Winded. Why?”
“You held back in class last week with the overwrap to back move. I sensed your frustration that I’d done something wrong, and I appreciate you not calling me out on it in front of the class.”
She took another swig of water and realized this was one of the few no-bullshit moments between them. What she said next would determine their future interactions. “I respect you, Knox. You are in charge of the dojo while my brother is gone. And I’m sorry about how the first meeting between us played out months ago, because it set the way we deal with each other. That’s not what I wanted.”
He grinned—not the arrogant twist of his lips she was used to seeing, but that heart-stopping genuine smile. “Bull. You wanted to make a point with me. You made it. And I deserved to get my face shoved into the mat when I thought I could best you and recoup my pride.”
She smiled back. “Okay. I’ll admit there is something very appealing about throwing a big man like you on his ass.”
“I’ll bet. So can you show me what I’m doing wrong with the overwrap?”
“Sure.”
He stood and held out his hand to help her up.
Knox’s gigantic hand engulfed hers. For the thousandth time she cursed her small stature, which would always put her at a disadvantage, regardless of how much martial-arts training she had. “Are you warmed up?”
“I ran four miles on the treadmill.”
“Then let’s go. Hands and knees.”
A strange look crossed his face before he dropped to all fours on the mat.
Shiori positioned herself beside him, one arm curled under his neck, the other banded across his back. “Now, the first instinct is to put the power into your shoulders and use that force to get the body flipped around.” She lifted and pushed, but his torso didn’t move off the mat, just his arm. “See? I’ve got no leverage. If you drop your elbow, you can roll me over, flat on the mat. Try it.”
Knox shifted his weight, and she had two-hundred-plus pounds of male muscle crushing her. If he’d moved sideways, he could’ve
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