by Maren Smith
Time to find Dominick and see whether he’d done any probing…
Chapter 6
Tasha didn’t think she’d ever been this nervous before a date. If it even was a date. That afternoon’s events kept replaying in her mind as she sat in the Salon, her hair being carefully braided, twisted and pinned by a bubbly young woman who didn’t seem able to stop talking.
Not that Tasha minded. Her thoughts were a jumble and at this rate, she worried she wouldn’t be able to get them sorted before he arrived to pick her up. So she allowed the hairdresser’s inane chatter to wash over her as she sat quietly, trying desperately to decipher all the emotions she was going through.
Lust was definitely one. That brief, brutal fuck—because it couldn’t possibly be called anything else—up against the wall had been, hands down, the most intense and amazing sexual experience of her life. And every touch of Eamon’s was like a brand on her skin… she could still feel him all over her body. Inside her body. Just the memory was enough to make her clench her thighs together around the renewed pulsating in her clit.
Astonishment was another. Because, if she was completely and unabashedly honest with herself, Tasha had derived sexual pleasure from being beaten with a belt. She’d never understood that mindset, never been able to comprehend why or how people could get off on punishment scenarios like the ones which were taking place all the time all over the Castle, but after those first couple of strokes, she had felt a shift in her body, become suddenly all too aware of the heat in her buttocks slowly spreading down to that place between her legs. And when he’d pushed his considerable cock inside her, she’d been forced to realize that she was absolutely soaking wet. A cynic might say that was due to the fact that she was incredibly attracted to him—and that kiss had definitely helped things along—but it wasn’t just those things. Being bent over naked while he was still fully dressed, that tone of voice he used when he was admonishing her, and even the physical sensation of the leather biting into her skin, had all combined to make her heart pound, her breathing grow shallow, her pussy throb with want. She just couldn’t for the life of her figure out why.
There was fear, too. What would happen when he figured out she was just a fraud? If there was one thing she’d noticed about the Castle, it was how well run and tightly organized it was. There was no doubt in her mind they’d figure out she hadn’t applied for the job and throw her out on her ear, and she worried that would happen sooner rather than later. Which also led to…
Guilt. Gut-wrenching guilt over William. If he was still alive, he was in trouble—serious trouble. He might be hurt, he might be locked up somewhere. In any case, he’d be suffering somehow, and instead of hunting down the guy responsible, she was sitting in a hair salon, getting prettied up for a date. What kind of horrible, selfish sister did that make her?
“All done,” the stylist said, holding up a mirror to show Tasha her elegant up-do. She had to admit it looked amazing. Little pearls had been woven into the strands, starkly pale against the darker streaks, and a few wisps had been left free to frame her face.
“It’s gorgeous, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Master Eamon won’t be able to keep his hands off you. Especially once you’ve got the dress on.”
Tasha stared at her reflection. The make-up artist, too, had outdone herself. Her eyes, lined with smudgy black kohl, looked huge, and a delicate rose blush shimmered on her cheeks, matching her perfectly outlined lips. “I wish I could do this at home,” she said.
The stylist giggled. “No need. You live here now, don’t you?”
Tasha forced herself to smile. “You’re right. Of course I do.” For now. Until they do some digging and throw me out.
“You’d better get back to Janice. It’s half past already.”
“Thanks.” Tasha got up from the chair and made her way back to the Wardrobe, where the pretty brunette assistant had already laid out her costume.
“Oh, that’s much better! My gosh, you’re beautiful!” Janice said, picking up a huge, heavy dress in a pale lilac color.
Tasha wondered idly whether the assistants got paid to gush, whether they were as complimentary to all the guests. “Thank you,” she said, fidgeting nervously with her robe.
“Master Eamon was very specific,” Janice went on, “so we just need to get this on and then we’ll be done. Come on, take your dressing gown off. No need to be shy.”
“I’m not wearing any underwear.” Tasha felt herself turn scarlet.
Janice simply rolled her eyes. “Good. You’re not to wear any tonight anyway.”
“I—what?” Tasha squeaked, barely noticing as Janice tugged the flimsy silk robe from her shoulders.
“Master’s orders. To be obeyed at all times.”
Certain she was absolutely crimson, Tasha hurried to step into the elaborate gown as quickly as she could, wondering whether the embroidered bodice would even cover her breasts.
“It’s got a built-in corset,” Janice explained, tugging it up over Tasha’s hips. “Which, as a Little Maid, you’ll be used to by now.” She wrapped the panels around Tasha’s upper body with practiced ease. “Gosh, this color looks good on you. Master Eamon definitely has an eye.”
While she might have grown somewhat accustomed to wearing a corset, Tasha had never had one laced quite so tightly before. “I can’t breathe,” she panted as Janice tugged the laces even harder.
“If you can still complain, you can still breathe,” Janice said matter-of-factly. “Lesson number one in corsetry.”
Tasha was inclined to disagree. “I also have to sit. And eat.”
“Nothing about this will prevent you from sitting, and as for eating… just take small bites.” Janice tied the laces in a huge, complicated-looking bow. “There. Wow, you already have amazing curves but this just takes them to a whole new level.”
Despite her discomfort, as she peered at herself in the full-length mirror, Tasha was forced to agree. Her waist looked tiny, whereas her boobs… they were covered, but they looked likely to pop out at any moment.
“Fit for a king,” Janice went on. “Don’t forget these.” She handed Tasha a pair of long white gloves. “Oh, and the shoes. A bit of a heel on these but nothing like what you usually have to wear.”
Tasha was grateful for that small mercy. Still, she wondered whether it was normal for the Wardrobe assistant to be given instructions about underwear—or the lack thereof.
And whether it was normal for her to be so aroused at the thought that he wanted her completely naked under her gown.
“He’s here,” Janice said excitedly. “Come along. Don’t want to keep the king waiting!” She tugged Tasha unceremoniously out of the dressing room.
Rounding the corner, Tasha stopped short when she spotted him. Usually in black leather pants, a tight, muscle-displaying t-shirt, shiny boots and black leather cuffs, Eamon looked so different now. He was wearing black tails and a white shirt, with a pale lilac cravat to match her dress. His astonishing green eyes glittered when he caught sight of her.
“You look like a princess,” he said. Then, to Janice, “Well done.”
“Thank you,” Tasha whispered, still staring at him. The perfectly tailored suit made his broad shoulders seem even bigger. He looked distinguished and slightly older, somehow. Only the tattoo on the side of his neck, curling up out of the starched white collar, was familiar.
“Come here.” There was that tone of voice again, the one that made her weak at the knees. She had no choice but to obey.
Once she reached his side, he crouched down and slipped a hand under her full, floor-length skirt. Wrapping his fingers around her ankle, he gave it a brief squeeze before sliding his hand slowly, deliberately up her bare leg… higher and higher, past her knee, up her thigh—
Tasha let out a moan and clutched his shoulders to steady herself as his broad palm cupped her bare sex, his warm fingers sending sparks of desire skittering up her spine.
“Good gir
l,” he said gruffly. “Just wanted to check.”
Suddenly all too aware that Janice was still there, watching them, Tasha let go of his shoulders and stared at the carpet, willing herself to stop blushing as he removed his hand and stood back up.
Then he held out his arm in a courtly, chivalrous manner completely at odds with what he had just done. “Shall we?”
“Have fun!” Janice called out after them.
Feeling like she was in a dream, Tasha put her arm through Eamon’s and allowed him to lead her down to the Master’s Table restaurant.
“I have a few rules for you this evening,” he said as they walked along. “If you behave yourself and follow them, I promise you’ll have a very nice time. If you don’t, I can pretty much guarantee that your enjoyment will be… curbed, to say the least. And that’s a promise, too.”
Remembering his prior threats about being denied orgasm, Tasha wondered whether he was referring to that. Strangely, the thought of not being allowed to come with him was even more terrifying than the thought of physical chastisement.
“So, will you obey?”
“I will. I promise.”
“Which brings us to rule number one,” he said smoothly, leading her through the ornate, lavish entrance and up to a raised dais directly before the center stage area. “You will address me properly from now on, with either Sir or Master Eamon. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Number two. You will answer all questions honestly. No exceptions.”
“Yes, Sir.” Crap. She could only pray that he wouldn’t ask her the wrong questions; ones she didn’t dare answer.
“Number three. If you have any questions about anything you see here tonight, you will not be too shy to ask me.”
She sank down into the chair he had pulled out for her, trying not to notice their exposed position up on that platform. “All right. I mean… yes, Sir.”
“Number four. No matter what happens, you will not come without my express permission. If you feel yourself getting close, you are to ask me,” he said, dropping smoothly into the chair beside hers at the long, exquisitely laid table.
She closed her eyes, wondering if she’d ever stop blushing around him. “I’ll try, Sir.”
“No. Look at me.”
With extreme reluctance and not a little shame, she forced herself to meet his piercing, unblinking gaze. Her tummy fluttered.
“You will ask me for permission. Every time.”
“Yes, Sir.” It took everything she had not to look away again.
“Good. The fifth, and final rule: I am here as an in-house Master and you are here as my companion. As you’ve no doubt noticed, we’re up on the dais here with Master Marshall himself.” He inclined his head and Tasha looked in the direction he was indicating. An undeniably attractive blond man with ice-blue eyes was sitting a mere couple of feet away. Beside him was a stunning, heavily pregnant brunette in a blue and silver gown.
“Master Marshall?” she whispered, her belly fluttering at the thought that they were so close to the man who would no doubt boot her out within a millisecond if he discovered she was an imposter.
Eamon’s eyes narrowed. “The one and only. So obviously, there will be lots of eyes on us at any given time. You are to behave accordingly.”
“I don’t follow.”
“With decorum. Ladylike. No outbursts.”
A sudden spark of outrage took hold of her. “What are you implying? That I might suddenly decide to tear off my clothes and start dancing naked on the table? Do you really feel it’s necessary to make behaving like an adult an actual rule?” she snapped under her breath.
Eamon was obviously taken aback for a brief second before something dark and dangerous flashed in his eyes. “You’d better watch your tone, missy,” he snarled, also under his breath. “And, if anything, you’ve just proved to me the necessity for that rule, as that was exactly the kind of outburst I was referring to.”
Tasha looked away and folded her arms, trying—and failing—to come up with a biting response.
“So, have I made myself clear?”
“Perfectly, Sir,” she muttered. His big hand settled on her thigh and a wave of longing rushed through her.
“Excellent.”
She nodded mutely, still angry, wishing he’d remove his hand. It was hard to think clearly around him—when he touched her, it was impossible. She jumped when she felt his lips at her ear, his whisper vibrating through her very being.
“You know, naughty little girls who don’t stop sulking are likely to get thrown over their Daddy’s knee for a good, sound spanking on their bare bottom until they’re very, very sorry and promising to behave.”
It was as though his voice had a direct line to her clit, and every syllable was like a physical touch. She let out a gasp and closed her eyes, the vivid image playing like a live film in her head.
“And don’t think I won’t do it right here, in front of everyone.”
“You wouldn’t,” she panted helplessly.
“Try me.” He leaned back and folded his arms. She could feel his eyes on her and forced herself to look at him. Brooding. Dangerous. Absolutely no shame. And she knew without a doubt that he would make good on his threat. That, and any other.
“So, are you going to stop sulking?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good girl.”
Unwilling to contemplate the instant effect his words had had on her—after all, it wasn’t like she had Daddy issues, for Christ’s sake—she forced herself to smile. “I’d quite like something to drink now, please.”
Eamon didn’t think his hard-on would ever subside. Usually he didn’t really go for the bejeweled, begowned, prim lady look, preferring his women—if not naked, then as scantily clad as possible.
But somehow, seeing Tasha fully clothed in that sumptuous, demure floor-length dress made him want to tear it off her and expose her creamy skin inch by inch until every single part of her was laid bare to his hungry gaze.
Sap, a small voice told him. You’re starting to sound like a lovesick schoolboy. You’re a fucking Master of the Castle. Act like it.
He watched her pick at her food, her lovely eyes flicking every now and then to the scene taking place in center stage before looking away again. A beautiful young woman was cuffed to a bar. The redhead was blindfolded and gagged, and the man behind her was fucking her ass with an anal plug. It was a sexy scene, but nothing Eamon hadn’t seen a hundred times before—although the gag was a rare occurrence. He glanced at Marshall, who was watching calmly. As gags weren’t permitted without written permission, it was likely that the Master of Masters had consented to its use. Eamon shrugged. None of his business. His gaze returned to Tasha, who was once again surreptitiously watching the show. He wasn’t sure whether she’d seen a public display like this before but if she hadn’t, she was definitely disobeying rule number three by not asking him about it.
“Are you enjoying the show?” he asked her casually, spearing a piece of asparagus with his fork.
“Very much.”
“Could you picture yourself doing one?”
“What?” Her chocolate velvet gaze was wide.
“All the Masters perform here occasionally. Would you be up for it?”
She gaped at him for a moment before closing her eyes. “No. God, no. Never.”
“Why not?”
“Are you kidding? To do something so… intimate with a bunch of people watching? Seeing me naked? I’d rather chew off my own arm.”
He leaned forward, breathing in her fruity, slightly musky scent. “What if I ordered you to?” He kept his voice deliberate and low. Dominant.
“I-I couldn’t,” she whispered, obviously flustered now. “I’m sorry.”
“How is it any different from any other public scene? Surely you’ve played in public before.”
“No. I… I haven’t.”
He caught a flash of something—reproach? Guilt? Shame?—in her e
yes before she looked away and busied herself by taking a long swallow of water.
“I think you’d enjoy it,” he went on. “I think you’d get a kick out of serving me for everyone to see. Your body’s amazing, it’s not like you have anything to hide there.”
She gave a little snort. “That’s your opinion.”
“It is. And mine is the only opinion that counts.”
“Isn’t that a bit sexist?”
Christ. That was a word you didn’t hear bandied about the Castle often. “Are you serious?”
“No, of course not,” she said, far too quickly. “I was just kidding.”
Still staring at her, hoping he was successfully hiding his astonishment, Eamon once again cursed Dominick for not being around when he’d gone looking for him earlier. He’d really hoped to have some answers by now but, failing that, he would just have to keep digging himself. No experienced submissive he knew would ever accuse him of being sexist. They would enjoy the flirtatious banter, knowing it would invariably lead to a play session.
“I see,” he said quietly. Deciding it was time to push further, he waited until their course had been cleared away before addressing her again.
In the meantime, he watched her fidget, wishing he could read her mind as easily as he could read her body.
As soon as the waitress left, he took the vibrating panties out of his pocket and slid them onto her lap. “Go to the ladies’ room and put these on,” he said.
She glanced down, blushed bright pink and hastily snatched them up, trying unsuccessfully to contain the whole garment in her little fist. “Sir,” she said breathily, “I don’t think I can—”
“You can,” he interrupted her smoothly. “And you will. Unless you want to find yourself face down and bare ass up over my lap in about three seconds’ time?”
“No, Sir.” She had shoved her fist half under her skirt to hide the panties, glancing fearfully out over the packed restaurant from their spot up on the dais.
