by Maren Smith
“Now,” he commanded. “Bathroom is that way.” He watched her rise stiffly out of her chair—no doubt the tightly cinched corset made maneuvering a little tricky—and hurry in the direction in which he was pointing. Her head was bowed, her face flushed.
And he knew then without a doubt what he had suspected all along: she had no BDSM experience whatsoever. None. Not even book knowledge. Nothing.
Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed his bristly jaw and considered the implications of that little revelation. There was no way Marshall would employ a complete newbie as a Little Maid. Or anyone who was completely vanilla.
Tasha, for all her brash pretense, was apparently both.
Which meant she hadn’t actually been lying when she’d said she’d happened upon the job by accident. Or she had been lying and had done so all the way through her application.
Either way, it was a potential disaster and Marshall needed to be informed immediately.
The trouble was, as well as Eamon knew he should take her by the arm the moment she got back and march her over to the boss, who was sitting just a few feet away, his body had other ideas.
A dark, sadistic part of him wanted to carry out the scene he had planned—all the scenes he had planned, for that matter—and watch her struggle to obey. Not to give herself away. Not to lose control.
Eamon lived for making pretty women lose control.
There was another, deeper reason why he was hesitant to expose her lies. The moment he did, she would be ejected from the Castle grounds and would vanish, never to be seen again… at least, not by him. And even though he was reluctant to delve into the whys and wherefores, that thought bothered him more than he wanted to contemplate.
By the time she reappeared, still flushed, he had reached a decision. He would give her this one evening. Maybe she’d slip up, in which case he’d have to react immediately. But if she didn’t, if she managed to maintain her (albeit cracked) experienced submissive façade, he’d milk the night for all it was worth. If their brief encounter earlier was any indication, the sex, at least, would be off the charts.
And perhaps that was all he needed: to screw her out of his system. Then he might be able to go back to his usual, unsentimental self.
In any case, he’d be escorting her to Marshall’s office first thing in the morning. But for now…
He looked up, bemused to see she was giving no indication of sitting down any time soon. “Everything all right, sweetheart?”
“No,” she all but hissed down at him. “I… I feel ridiculous.”
“Take a seat.”
“I don’t want—”
His fingertip found the button in his pocket and flicked it.
Tasha’s reaction was immediate. With a shocked gasp, she slid bonelessly into her chair.
“There,” he said. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it? I suppose it also answers the question of whether you obeyed my order.”
The music and general chatter surrounding them made the vibrating hum inaudible but Tasha’s whole body was rigid, right down to her knuckles, which were clenched tightly on the table’s edge. “Please… turn… it… off…” she whispered.
“In a moment. If you behave.” He leaned close to her and spoke directly into her ear, a silky strand of her hair tickling his cheek as he did so. “You’re going to wear these for the rest of our dinner together. As you’ve probably noticed, I have the remote control in my pocket. If you’re good and behave yourself, I might turn it off and leave it that way, allowing you to retain some composure. Or I might even be generous and allow you to come.”
She whimpered, her fingertips digging into the pristine white tablecloth.
“If, on the other hand, you break any of the rules, or do anything else to warrant some immediate discipline, we could begin your orgasm denial training immediately.”
He could feel her trembling.
“In case you need me to spell that out for you, it means that you will spend the rest of this multi-course meal on the edge of coming… but never quite getting there. Have I made myself clear?”
He leaned back so as to better read her expression. Her eyes were squeezed shut—as if she could hide herself by doing so—and her pulse was visibly fluttering in her throat. She made no move to answer him.
Eamon slid the dial up a notch.
“Yes!” she moaned, finally opening her eyes and looking at him. “Yes, you have made yourself clear… God, please!”
“You’re forgetting rule number one,” he said. “Honorifics, in case you need a reminder.”
“Please, Sir. Please turn it off.”
“I’m not sure I like your tone,” he growled.
“I’m sorry!”
“That’s better.” He turned the dial back down but didn’t switch the vibe off. Not yet. “And don’t forget rule number four. You don’t come without permission. Don’t think you can slip one past me, either. I will know, believe me.”
Her strangled, breathy sob made his already rock-hard cock twitch in his suit pants.
“Do you need an idea of what might happen if you come without permission?”
She shook her head.
“I’ll tell you anyway.” He leaned in again, close to her ear, and put a hand on her quivering, taut thigh. “I’ll turn the setting on those panties up as high as it will go. Then I’ll bend you over this table, pull up your dress, and take my belt to you again. Properly this time. Hard. In front of everyone. And I won’t stop until you’ve come again.”
One of her hands dropped from the table’s edge to clutch his. Her desperation was palpable. “Please, Sir,” she was shuddering now, “please may I—”
“No,” he said, flicking the switch to off. “Not yet. Maybe not at all.”
He felt her groan of frustrated desire all the way down to his bones.
“Anyway,” he went on casually, “they’re serving the next course. Salmon. Yum.”
Chapter 7
It was heaven. It was hell. Even when the vibrator was switched off, Tasha found herself constantly on edge, constantly waiting for the moment when he would make it come buzzing back to life. Concentrating was impossible. So, for that matter, was enjoying the delectable food.
Master Eamon, looking for all the world like the most dangerous, gorgeous Duke in history, watched her like a hawk. He seemed to know her body better than she did. How was that even possible? She’d known him, what, two days? If that? She’d been in her body for twenty-seven years and had never been so aroused. Or so wet.
And it wasn’t even just the vibrator. It was his eyes. His tone of voice. The way he delivered commands—matter-of-factly, like he expected to be obeyed without question.
Not to mention those threats he whispered directly in her ear, describing fantasies Tasha hadn’t even known she had in his sexy, gravelly voice.
She was going to break rule number four before the night was done. She just knew it.
Almost as if on cue, the panties began to buzz again, the strategic bump within them pressing against her clit, the vibrations spreading through her entire being. She shifted, trying to move it even just the tiniest bit—anything to lower the risk, anything to prevent herself from coming in public up on this platform in front of this brooding sex god, not to mention the Master of this resort—who also happened to be her boss—and some hundred-odd onlookers.
Anything to avoid the consequences.
Unfortunately, just thinking about the consequences made it even harder for her to hold off. What the hell was up with that?
It must be the place, she decided, still squirming in her seat. Hard not to get caught up in it all when you were constantly surrounded by sex. Just a few tables down, a plump, pretty brunette was on her knees, obviously giving her dinner companion a blow job. Right there, in the restaurant!
Over in the far corner, an older woman was chatting animatedly to a group of friends, her breasts bare, nasty looking metal clamps affixed to her nipples. The sight alone was
enough to make Tasha want to rub her own nipples in sympathy. Infuriatingly hard all evening, they were beginning to chafe uncomfortably against the front of her corset.
The panties began to vibrate more insistently, a thumping hum which caused goosebumps to break out all over Tasha’s arms. She glared at Eamon, who gave an unrepentant smile. “Thought that would get your attention.”
“Please,” she whined for what felt like the umpteenth time that evening. She wasn’t even sure what she was begging for anymore. For him to stop? For him to let her come?
She wondered idly whether she’d have to pay for the dry cleaning of her gown out of her own pocket. After all, it had to be ruined with all the dripping she was doing.
“Please, what?” He raised a black eyebrow, his piercing eyes on her like a lion’s on its prey.
I don’t know. I just want this to stop! “Please turn it off, Sir,” she managed at length. “I’ll be good, I promise!” She didn’t even know why she’d said that. After all, as far as she was aware, she hadn’t said or done anything recently to even warrant a punishment.
“Maybe this is because you’ve been so good,” he countered. “Maybe this is when you’ll finally get your release.”
“I don’t want—”
“Don’t want what?” Those pale green eyes narrowed immediately, his lips set in a hard line. God, she wanted him to kiss her again.
“I can’t do it… here. Not in front of everyone.”
“Oh, but you can, sweetheart. Let me prove it.” Without waiting for a response, before she could even process his words, he had slid his chair right up to hers and slung a huge, powerful arm around her shoulders.
She was acutely aware of his heat, of his strength. His spicy, masculine scent assailed her nostrils, immediately returning her to that afternoon in the Dungeon. The way his mouth had crushed hers. The way his cock—
“Lean against me and close your eyes,” he said softly. “Now.”
“But—”
“Now,” he said again, the command inherent in his voice.
Tasha had no choice but to do as he said.
“Spread your thighs a little more. More. Like that. God, you’re beautiful. You should see yourself. Does it feel good?”
She nodded, suddenly unable to speak. She felt surrounded by him, and the vibrations against her swollen, aching clit seemed to be growing in intensity. Her whole body was alight.
“If you’re a good girl and come nice and hard for me, I will take you upstairs, strip that gorgeous gown off you, and fuck you until you see stars,” he whispered, his deep voice reverberating right down into her very soul.
The buzzing increased yet again, and she felt her entire pussy spasm at the insistent, inescapable stimulation. She was absolutely drenched and so very close. She wanted to obey him, she really did, but they were in public, for Christ’s sake! She couldn’t possibly come right there at the table, on what was basically a stage.
“If you don’t do as you’re told, on the other hand, I will tie you to my bed. I will lick your hot, swollen little clit until you’re writhing, begging, until you don’t know up from down, and then I will flip you over and take a paddle to your bare ass until you can’t sit comfortably for a week. But I won’t fuck you. No, I’ll leave you like that all night, with a hot, sore bottom and a throbbing, aching—”
It was too much. With a strangled cry, she felt the climax which had been building all evening take hold.
“Don’t move,” he growled. “Don’t make a fucking sound. Just feel.”
Wave after wave of pleasure washed over her, starting at her throbbing clit and spreading right down to her toes. Somehow, not being able to move, or moan, having to pretend she wasn’t coming undone, made it all even more intense.
Her pussy was contracting uncontrollably.
“Good girl,” he coaxed. His voice was raw. “Come hard for me… that’s it, don’t stop. Let it all out.”
The vibrations changed, then, coming in long crescendos, matching the pleasure, drawing it out.
“I’m so fucking hard right now,” he growled. “Just thinking about the way your tight, wet cunt feels around my cock…”
“Stop,” she begged him. “Please—”
He dialed the panties up to the highest setting and she was unable to bite back a scream as her orgasm reached a new, almost painful peak before it finally began to subside. She would have slumped in his arms had the corset not been forcing her to remain ramrod straight.
Her pussy was still fluttering when she realized she was facing a new dilemma. The ceaseless pounding vibrations on her raw, overstimulated clit. “Off,” she gasped, jerking her hips in a vain attempt to get away from the instrument of torture. “Please, Sir, please turn it off.”
He hesitated for a long, deliberate moment before finally flipping the switch. “A little sensitive, are we?”
Tasha couldn’t speak. Her chest was heaving as much as possible in that constrictive garment, and little aftershocks kept thumping through her sex. She was so wet, it was a wonder she hadn’t made the panties short-circuit. His arm was still around her, his face still close to her ear. Without thinking, acting on sheer instinct, she turned her head and pressed her lips to his.
To her incredulous delight, he kissed her back, his tongue probing, demanding, his deft fingers finding the back of her neck and gripping it as if to prevent her from pulling away.
As if she’d ever want to do that.
She was lost in his scent, his taste, his intoxicating embrace. And even though she’d just had probably the longest orgasm of her life, he had only to kiss her and she was ready to burst again, her aching clit pulsating anew, her belly twisting in a way it never had before.
Breathless, he pulled back just far enough to speak, his lips almost moving against hers. “One more course,” he said gruffly. “The moment we’ve finished dessert—”
She interrupted him with her mouth, her tongue, wanting to taste him again. She was never usually forward like this but there was just something about Master Eamon which brought out a wanton, slutty side she hadn’t even known she possessed.
Again, he was the one to pull away. “No.” It was almost a groan. “I swear to God, Tasha, if you kiss me one more time, I will be forced to bend you over this table and fuck you right here.”
Unable to speak, she gazed and gazed at him, trying to etch every detail of his face on her memory. The tiny scar on the bridge of his straight, Roman nose. The dark stubble just beginning to show on his jaw. His generous mouth, still glistening. And those piercing eyes which could melt her with a single glance. Usually pale green, they were currently a glittering emerald and heavy-lidded with lust.
“Did you understand me?” he said, breaking her trance.
“Yes, Sir.” She considered for a moment whether she was brave enough to tempt him further, to actually have sex in public, in full view of the dinner guests.
He let go of her neck and leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his head. She wondered idly whether he used to have long hair and had retained the habit of pushing it back even after shaving it all off. “Good,” he said, visibly pulling himself together. “Because believe me, I will do it.”
Yet another tingle went through her and she wondered whether it was possible to faint from pleasure. Perhaps it was the tight corset but she certainly felt about ready to swoon.
As if on cue, the server set two plates of delicious looking cake on the table in front of them.
“Molten chocolate lava cake,” Eamon said, picking up his fork. “With vanilla bean ice-cream and raspberries. It’s almost as sweet and moreish as you.”
Blushing furiously, Tasha stared at a glistening berry. “It looks amazing, Sir, but I’m so stuffed.”
He flashed her a devious wink. “Not yet, but you will be.”
She was unable to stop the burble of laughter from escaping. Then she realized his gaze had grown serious and he was watching her intently. “What?” she whis
pered.
“Nothing,” he muttered. Slicing off a corner of the cake with his fork, he swept it through the ice-cream, stabbed a raspberry on one of the tines, and held it to her lips. “Open.”
Tasha opened and let him feed her. He was right about the dessert being delectable, but it was the way he was looking at her, the way he had gone from stern and dangerous to loving and almost paternal that made her skin prickle.
“Good?” he asked.
She nodded, still trying to make sense of all the new emotions flooding through her at that simple act. No man had ever fed her before—well, not since she was an infant.
“Then eat up. Believe me, you could do with the calories. We’ll be burning them all off before you know it.”
Tasha picked up her fork, trying to ignore the little voice inside her that was telling her she’d just met the man of her dreams. And that she was doing nothing but lie to him.
In all his time working at the Castle, Eamon had never brought a woman back to his private apartment on the third floor. Ever.
It was his sanctuary, his personal space, the only place where he could get a bit of privacy and desperately required solitude when he needed to get away from the crowds forever milling about downstairs.
Besides, there had never been a need to invite any of his play partners to what was essentially his home. They had the Dungeon and a million other places to scene in, and if his dates wanted to be alone with him, they always had their own rooms. Another reason to only get involved with guests.
Tasha was the exception. She shared a dorm with some thirty-odd other women, and for reasons he didn’t want to explore right now, Eamon was desperate to be alone with her.
Which was why she was now wandering around his bedroom, staring wide-eyed at his vast four-poster, her creamy tits almost bursting out of that tight corset.
He ached to clamp his teeth around her nipples.
Actually, he ached to do a whole lot of other things—and had done since he’d first cupped her naked pussy in Wardrobe. Fuck, but that girl drove him crazy.
