by J. Kenner
"Is that bad?"
He tilts his head back and laughs, then seems to realize that he's drawn a bit of an audience now, too. "No," he assures me. "Not at all."
"Then don't apologize." I bite my lower lip, then tell him most of the truth. "It felt incredible." I keep the full truth to myself--that part of my reaction stemmed not from the touch, but by the fact that it was Riley doing the touching.
He tilts his head, and I see a question in his eyes. But I look away, unwilling to admit any more.
After a minute, he tugs on the collar. "We should continue the rounds. See, and be seen."
I nod, then stand and follow him around the room some more, my eyes taking it all in, my body on fire. I've never thought of myself as an exhibitionist, and I've never really considered being dominated. Most of the men I've slept with have been pretty vanilla. But I'm not a prude and I'm not ignorant. I've read my share of articles and books. But until I came here, I never put myself into the picture. Now, I see me in every one of these girls. More than that, starting with last night's dream, I see Riley standing over me.
Even more surprising, I realize that I don't mind his starring role in my fantasies.
My thoughts of him make me realize that he hasn't spoken since we left the bench, and I'm afraid that my unexpected reaction shocked him even more than it surprised me. "Riley?" I'm not sure he's heard me. I'm behind him, so I can't see his face. But then he stops and turns, his gaze skimming over me, making my entire body crackle with desire.
"What else?" he asks. "What else do you see that you like?"
The question makes me feel exposed, and I almost refuse to answer. After all, I've already shared way more with him than I'd planned. And yet I can't deny that this evening is turning into a journey of self-awareness. Including the awareness that for better or for worse, I want Riley Blade's hands on me again. And, yeah, I want a hell of a lot more than that, too.
"Tell me," he urges, coming to stand behind me. Once again, his hands go to my shoulders. He pulls me against him so that I feel his bare abs against my shoulders and the press of his erection against my lower back. His teeth nip the curve of my ear, and his voice slides over me, as sensual as warm honey. "Tell me," he repeats as his fingers move lightly over my breast, coming to a halt just beneath the edge of the bodice. "Tell me, and you'll get a reward."
"Riley--"
"Sir," he corrects. "Or Master. And there are punishments for girls who don't do as they're told."
I tremble in his arms, more aroused than I can ever remember being. "Yes, sir," I say, and feel one of his hands slip around to my lower back.
"Your safe word is pineapple," he tells me. "Now go on. What else in this room turns you on?"
I'm tempted to say simply you. But I know that's not what he means. So instead I tell him the truth. "I don't see them anymore."
"No? Well, that's an honest answer at least." His hand slides into my bodice, his fingertips brushing my nipple.
I bite my lower lip as he continues to speak. "Where were they before?"
"There." I nod toward the far side of the room and a simple straight-back chair.
He tugs on the back zipper of my leather pants, and I whimper. Not in protest, but in need.
"What were they doing?" he asks, rewarding my honestly by taking my nipple between his fingers and tweaking it, just rough enough to hurt. Just intense enough to make my knees go weak. "Tell me, baby. Tell me what you saw that you liked."
"He--he put her over his knee."
"Did he?" The zipper comes down a bit more. The fingers tighten on my nipple. And my breath comes in ragged, wild gasps. "What did he do next?"
Zip.
"He spanked her," I say.
His hand slides into the leather, his palm cupping my ass as his fingers curve beneath my legs to find my core.
I hear his sharp intake of breath as he realizes just how wet I am--how turned on he's making me, this place is making me.
And, yes, how turned on my revelations about my own desires are making me.
"Sir," I beg, and he groans as if in approval, then thrusts two fingers inside me.
"Is that what you want?" he asks, thrusting deeper as I try to surreptitiously grind down on him. And when he withdraws his fingers and starts to tease my clit, I'm pretty sure I'm going to lose my mind. "Do you want me to spank you until your ass is red and tingles, then finger you until you come? Do you want me to take you over my knee right now, your beautiful ass bared for all these people?"
Yes. Oh, please, yes. But I can't say the words. Instead I shake my head.
"Don't lie to me, baby," he murmurs. "Is it me? Do you want someone else's hand on your ass?"
"No."
"Good." His finger strokes my clit again and I shift my hips, wanting to increase the sensation. I look around, trying to see if anyone is watching us, but no one seems to notice us at all. As far as anyone in this room is concerned, we're standing close together watching the scenes unfolding in front of us. Riley, I realize, doesn't seem out of place at all.
"Do you come to places like this often?"
"Would that bother you?"
I shake my head. "You know what to do. That makes me feel safe. I was just...curious," I say, the word true on so many different levels.
He brushes a kiss over the top of my head. "I'm glad. And yes, I come to places like this often, but I come mostly for work."
I note the mostly. "What do you mean?"
"I've been undercover at several clubs, and I've spent a lot of time at Sanctum."
I don't know what Sanctum is, but I assume it's another club. "So you're not, um, a real Dom."
He chuckles, and the sound ripples through me, setting off a flurry of sensual sparks.
"Today I am. Today, I'm your Dom."
"Oh." I lick my lips. "You mean because we're here pretending. Looking." I know I'm pushing the limit here. That I'm playing with fire. But that's okay. After all, I've already decided that I want to get burned.
There's a pause, then I feel his breath tickle the back of my neck. "No, baby. That's not what I mean."
I close my eyes and draw in a breath, his answer turning me on more than I anticipated it would. "What do you mean?"
"I think that's enough questions from you," he says, the hard edge to his voice letting me know that he's done talking about being a Dom. Now, he's just going to show me. "Tell me, baby. Have you ever been spanked?"
I consider not answering, but the time for game playing has passed. "No."
"Why do you want it now?"
I don't know what to say. Part of me wants to be punished for liking this more than I should. Part of me is simply curious.
But it's more than that. I like knowing that I'd be submitting to him even as I'm giving him a gift. Because I heard the arousal in his voice, and I know that the idea of spanking me turns him on, too.
"Maybe I don't know how to tell you," I admit. Then I add boldly, "Maybe you should punish me."
For an instant, his finger stills on my pussy, the hesitation so small that it would be imperceptible were I not so attuned to this man.
"Pineapple," he reminds me, then pulls his hands free of my clothes.
He takes the leash again and leads me to the chair, the leather clinging to my hips, but my bare ass exposed by the still-open zipper.
He sits, then nods and tells me to stand in front of him. "Unzip your bustier."
I widen my eyes at this unexpected turn of events. His mouth curves up, just a little smug. "I want what I want, too. Trust me. You'll like it."
I hesitate, but comply, pulling the zipper down to just above my navel. He reaches forward, then spreads the leather, revealing both my breasts. He shocks me then by reaching into his vest and pulling something out of an interior pocket. A chain with two small clamps on the ends.
Nipple clamps.
"Come closer," he orders, and though I move hesitantly, I comply.
"Will they hurt?" I ask, surprised t
o see him smile in response to the question.
"Good girl," he says. "You didn't try to avoid. You just asked a question. And the answer is a little. But then it will get better. And then, I promise, it will feel incredible. Okay?"
I nod, but he doesn't wait for my acquiescence. My nipples are hard as rocks, so it's easy enough for him to attach them. The clamps are adjustable, too, and I'm grateful that he doesn't have them on the tightest setting. Still, the initial pain is sharp, cutting down like a knife through me, and then settling into a fiery need that pools between my thighs.
"Dear God, Natasha," he says once the chain is attached to both my nipples. "Do you have any idea how hard I am just from looking at you?"
I lick my lips, my eyes dropping to his crotch. And yes, considering what I see, I really do have some idea. His erection is pressing so hard against the leather I know it must be painful, and I sigh as a wash of feminine power floods through me. I'm standing here with my nipples clamped, my breasts exposed, and my whole body leashed. I'm completely at his mercy--and yet in that moment I know that I'm the one with the power. The realization is heady, and I'm suddenly even more aware of the clamps on my sensitive nipples, not to mention the throbbing heat between my thighs.
There's another chain that comes off the middle of the steel links that connects my breasts, and I realize that its purpose is the same as my collar. A master could attach a leash, then lead his sub around by the tits.
The idea is wildly arousing, and once again I wonder what's come over me.
Riley.
I tell myself this is all about Riley, because it is. But not in a way that suggests recrimination. More like celebration. Being in this room--hell, even being exposed--is teaching me more about myself and my desires than I've been able to figure out in years of dating men who had no more allure to me than the first guy to take me to a high school football game. Sweet enough, but entirely lacking in chemistry.
What I've missed--what I've craved--is a man willing to truly acknowledge my sexuality. To challenge me. And to hold up a mirror to my own hidden desires.
A man like Riley, who is even now ordering me to tug down my pants. "Then I want you over my knees," he adds.
I hesitate, only now fully realizing that a spanking means I have to bare my ass. I glance around and see that there are a few people standing a respectful distance away. They're watching our scene play out, and while my reasonable side insists that I should want to melt into the floor with mortification, the real me is actually turned on by the existence of the audience.
I comply and tug the pants down enough to expose my ass.
What I don't do is tug down my thong, too. Which means that the audience sees my bare cheeks, but not my waxed pussy. I catch Riley's eye, swallow, and position myself over his knee.
For a moment, he doesn't move, and I hold my breath, afraid he's going to make me stand up and pull down the thong, even though my ass is completely bared to him and anyone else who cares to look.
But he takes pity on me, gently cupping his hand over the curve of my rear and then stroking in gentle circles as he murmurs, "So lovely."
I close my eyes, relaxing under his ministrations. The chair is low enough that I'm comfortable in this position, and I moan slightly in anticipation and longing when he says, "You were naughty not to remove your thong. For that, you'll need to be punished."
He rubs my ass, and then I feel the first sting of his palm on my tender skin. I gasp, the hot prickles of pain like tiny electric shocks. I feel drunk. On submission. On exhibition. On this wild new sensuality that is coursing through me, the explosion of flowers from a garden I didn't even realize I'd planted during my walk through this place with Lyle and Matthew.
A garden that only Riley could make bloom.
His hand comes down on my ass again, and I draw a tremulous breath, imagining the red rising on my ass. A garden, all right, I think. A rose garden.
He spanks me eight more times, rubbing my tender skin gently with each stroke. And when he's done, he opens a small bottle that is sitting in a square storage area in the arm of the chair, then spreads a soothing oil over my sore flesh before sliding his hand down over the curve of my ass to find my core.
I'm so wet and slick I'm dripping, and I whimper as his hand brushes my core, my pussy clenching with the desire to be fucked. His fingertip teases my clit, and though my mind says that I don't want to explode in front of these people, I can't stop myself. I writhe against his hand, seeking pleasure--seeking Riley. Harder and faster until, oh, dear God, I can't hold back any more. The orgasm barrels down over me, ripping me into a million pieces until, finally, I come back to myself, limp and sated over the legs of this man who's shown me more in one night than I could ever have dreamed.
"Come on," he says gently, carefully adjusting my pants and zipping me back up. "We need to go."
"Go? Why?" My entire body is on fire. I don't want to go. I want more.
"Because I need to be inside you, and you're not ready for me to fuck you in public."
"Oh." I swallow, desperately wanting to be home now, but at the same time remembering why we came in the first place. "Do--do you think he noticed us? My stalker, I mean."
One of his brows lifts. "Why don't we make sure of it? Why don't I show off my beautiful sub?"
I meet his eyes, then realize what he means. I swallow, but I don't protest. And I manage to hold my head up high as he leads me toward the exit on my leash, my bodice still wide open, my breasts completely exposed and dressed up in the fancy nipple clamps with the thin silvery chain.
Riley pauses when we reach the door that leads to the first room. The one that is really just a bar with snacks and virgin drinks. "I'm going to take you through like this," he says.
I press my lips tight together. Not in silent protest of what he's told me, but because I'm afraid that otherwise I'll say pineapple. And the truth is, I really don't want to. I want to do this. I want to feel it.
He's taken me this far. I want all of it.
He hesitates long enough to allow me to protest, and when I don't, he takes me the rest of the way through. Heads turn as I walk behind him, and while part of me trembles with the excitement of being on display, another part of me wonders if my stalker is in the crowd. If, perhaps, this will push him to move again. And if, just maybe, that by taking this risk I've paved the way to catching him.
When we reach the door to the reception area, Riley pulls me close, then takes my mouth in his. It's a long, deep, bone-melting kiss, and I press against him, realizing that this is what I've been wanting. Craving. And, yes, what I've been needing. Not the kiss, but the man. A man I tried to push away, but who was stubborn and pushy enough to--thank God--slide back into my life.
When he finally breaks the kiss, we're both breathing hard, and I see my desire reflected back at me. He gently zips up the bodice over the clamps, chuckling at my look of confusion.
"I meant to take them off of you earlier," he said. "To be honest, I was so damn turned on by how responsive you were to my hand on your ass, I completely forgot."
I bite my lower lip. "Why not just take them off now?" It's not hurting anymore--more like a pleasurable, intense sensation--but it's also somewhat awkward under the tight leather bustier.
But he just shakes his head. "Trust me," he says. And since I do, I remain quiet.
When we reach the car, he tells the driver to return to my house, then raises the privacy screen. "You liked that," he says, and I know he's talking about the whole experience. The entire night.
I don't pretend to misunderstand. "Yes," I admit.
"Tell me why."
I consider the question. "Because it felt naughty, and I've never really been naughty. And it felt safe, because I knew you were protecting me."
He gently cups my face. "That's why I'm here. To protect you."
I lick my lips, not sure I should say what's on my mind.
He seems to read my thoughts, though, because all he
says is, "Tell me."
"It's just that I didn't mean that you were protecting me from my stalker. I know that's why we came, but to be honest, I forgot about him most of the time." I draw in a breath for courage. "I meant that it felt like you were protecting me from the world."
I look at him from under my lashes, afraid I've admitted too much. But I see only pleasure reflected on his face.
"That's all I've ever wanted, Natasha. And it kills me to know that most of the time when you look at me, you don't feel protected. You feel sad or afraid. I don't like that seeing me reminds you of all the horrible things that are out there in the world."
"Riley..." I choke on the emotion that clogs my throat. He's talking about the night my father died, and he's right. That's the burden I've forced on him all these years.
But maybe--just maybe--tonight has helped me move past that.
"I'm sorry for that," I say honestly. "But I know you understand how I feel. I know, because you do the same thing."
His brows rise. "I don't think so."
"Yes," I insist. "You do. You see this city and you think only of the bad things. You run from it because it's stained with all the memories you want to leave behind."
His eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and I realize he gets it. And knowing that I've given him a new perspective makes me feel powerful. More than that, I want to show him that my perspective on him has changed, too. Not just in the club, but out here in the world. Yes, he reminds me of my father. Yes, he reminds me of that night. But that's not all there is to Riley Blade, and I see a lot more of him now than just those memories that I'd attached to him in my mind.
With a playful little smile, I move onto the wide floorboard, then kneel in front of him.
His brows rise, but he doesn't say anything.
I put my hands on his knees. "I like being your submissive," I say.
His lips twitch. "Do you?"
I nod. "But now it's my turn to take charge."
"Is that so?"
I nod. "You need good memories of this town, Riley." I glance pointedly at his cock. "I think it's time I gave you some."
Chapter Seven
Riley was pretty damn sure that he'd never seen anything more erotic than Tasha's pink tongue licking his rock-hard cock. Good God, the woman surprised him. First in the club, when her combination of open trust and radiant curiosity had almost pushed him over the edge so many times. And now this, when she'd gathered the courage to turn the tables on him in the most delicious way possible--and still managed to be submissive even in the act of taking control.
