by Joey W. Hill
He remembered what she’d said to him today. “Now I teach.” When he’d put her up on the hood, taken off her shoes, her toes had fallen naturally into a graceful point as she crossed her ankles.
Her face intrigued him. She was a handsome woman, her facial features not delicate enough to be called pretty. Cheekbones and nose cut in sharp planes, brown eyes direct. The way she kept her mouth glossed in that tempting sheen disguised the thinness of her lips, but that thinness fit her face, like the slim, elegant lines of her dark brows. It was the force of her personality beneath that radiated her confident sexuality, the unmistakable aura of a woman who regularly donned the clothes of a Mistress and indulged that side of herself at Club Progeny.
He’d seen her at it a couple times, though not close up, because she tended to choose a corner of the public floor at a distance from that coffee shop she’d mentioned. She’d restrain a man with nothing but commands or nominal restraints, but he’d stay locked in the proscribed position as she took a whip to him, wielding it with skill. He’d noticed she didn’t wear the high break-neck heels a lot of the women did. During a break in her sessions, sometimes she’d sit down, zip open her modestly heeled boots to rub her calves, as if she had cramps there. He’d imagined doing that for her, bringing ease to her expression as he enjoyed the feel of her toned limbs beneath his fingertips. He supposed whatever troubles she had with her legs might be the reason she no longer danced.
Be that as it may, it didn’t explain her attention toward him. She was smart enough to know he wasn’t interested in being dominated by anyone, let alone by a woman. Of course, maybe the reason she was interested was as inexplicable as the fact he returned the favor, in spades. Even before the terrible day with Savannah, he’d thought about her more than he should. She’d been featured in some pretty outstanding fantasies during his early morning post-workout shower. In his mind, he put her up against the wall, thrusting into her from behind. In reality he pressed his forehead hard against his fist, closed against the slick tile, his other hand working himself to jetting climax beneath the pummeling spray.
Despite that, he’d kept his distance, knowing he couldn’t give her what she wanted. She gave him a few appraising glances now and then, but he chalked that up to the fact that women noticed a guy who kept military fit. Didn’t mean they were compatible enough for more than a one-night stand.
That wasn’t something he made a habit of doing, and he sure as hell wouldn’t inflict it on a coworker. Particularly one so close to Matt Kensington. He’d never do anything to cause Matt problems. Beyond that, he couldn’t see Janet as the impulsive, regret-it-like-hell-the-next-day, one-night-stand type. Outside her sessions in Club Progeny, she didn’t seem to date or indulge in any kind of relationships. Inside Club Progeny there were far more stringent, clear-cut rules for those things. Manageable. Maybe that’s why she kept it there.
His impression was that she didn’t offer her body or her heart freely. She took pleasure, offering a fair, intense and often affectionate-in-the-aftermath exchange with her chosen subs, but vulnerability didn’t appear to be part of that offering. Her armor was lovely to experience, to touch, but that was as far as the men got.
Going over all this in his head, he wryly concluded he’d done more intel gathering on her than he’d admitted to himself, and the rate of it had increased since that day in the limo. She’d probably chastised herself for her meltdown in the hospital restroom, but that would have been unjustified. When it counted, she’d been as firmly in control as she was at command central—what the staff called her desk, set smack in the middle of the top floor between all five executive offices. She’d kept Savannah focused, moving them forward toward a common goal. As far as how she’d been with him, they’d clicked together as seamlessly that day as SEAL members who’d trained together. That didn’t happen unless there was a solid connection there.
He recalled her standing in the bathroom, the imprint of the blood on her skin, her bra. When something triggered a memory that took over everything else, he knew what that looked like on a person’s face. She’d been staring in the mirror, but her eyes had been a million memories away, a whimper stuck in her throat, her fingers clutching the sink to keep herself from being whirled down the rabbit hole, back to whatever awful thing all that blood had summoned to her mind.
As he’d washed it off her, he’d noticed the softness of her skin, how firm her body was beneath it. Not too firm though. The woman was in good shape, but her ass had a nice roundness to it. He liked that about women in their forties, when only the most fanatical workouts in the gym could keep the curves at bay. She was a few years older than him, but not enough to be a cause for concern for either of them. Women were more worried about that than men, anyhow.
When he’d lifted her up onto the hood, he’d wanted to keep his hands on her. He’d wanted to see if she closed her eyes when she kissed, if the sharpness of her face softened, if the rigid, straight line of her body would become more curved, melt into his. She hadn’t closed her eyes, and her body hadn’t softened, but the lips had, and he’d felt her quiver under his touch. The day he’d held her in the bathroom, she hadn’t relaxed either, but today he’d felt the hint of what it would be like if she fitted herself to a man’s angles and curves, let him palm that sweet ass and pull her closer, against a cock that was more than eager to show her pleasure.
Was he ready for such a step? It’d been awhile for him. Yeah, he’d indulged the occasional sexual release with the right woman in the right moment, all fun and games, no harm, no foul, but this wouldn’t be in the same realm, he was sure of that.
What he was contemplating might go so bad, the mission should be aborted before it even started. It seemed like they were both interested enough to give it a try though, so he’d take responsibility. If it went sour, he’d be the one who’d leave. It was clear she had a family here. Max viewed them that way as well, but he could maintain that without the work itself, whereas he perceived she needed that structure to stay connected. He’d back off, move on, if needed. He wouldn’t shit where she lived, so to speak. Or if he did, he’d clean it up by clearing out.
He had a weird urge to seek Matt’s permission to court his secretary, but he saw no graceful way to do that. Plus, Janet would likely jam her stapler up his ass if he tried. Wondering if K&A’s generous benefit package covered such an injury, he grinned.
* * * * *
Friday night. There was no doubt in Janet’s mind about going to Club Progeny. Her body had been on turbocharge since her visit with Max in the garage earlier in the week. That faint brush of lips across her mouth had stuck with her, as powerful as if he’d lifted her up against a wall and fucked her brainless, so she needed some perspective, some balance. It was like they were engaging in a rumba, everything powerfully suggestive, filled with overwhelming potential, but still confined within the careful boundaries of the dance.
He was being just as cautious as she was, which meant they both understood the consequences of taking it into uncharted territory. She hadn’t realized a man who evaluated things so thoroughly beforehand could be so damn sexy. She guessed it was because of the barely restrained passion behind it. A powerful warrior more than ready for the heat and passion of the battle, but he was going to make damn sure he had it won before he even stepped on to that ground. Brawn and intelligence—how could a woman resist?
Tonight would be helpful to clear her mind, figure out a counter strategy that would be an adventure for both of them. She had no doubt the ballet class would provide an intriguing neutral ground for them, full of more pleasurable innuendo. So far her interactions with him had been like the slow consumption of a flawless chocolate mousse, made perfect by the defined, precisely spaced experience of its taste and texture.
Pulling into the club parking lot in her red classic Mustang, she was intrigued to see Max’s truck. She could hardly mistake it, because there were very few older Ford Rangers maintained in such pristine condition. As s
he circled closer to it, her lower extremities coiled up in anticipation.
Maybe I’ll come in sometime…Just see if you’re there.
Getting out of her car, she locked it, shouldering her garment bag and makeup case. Once inside the club, she didn’t look around. She showed her membership card and went straight to the women’s changing area. She had a different goal tonight. If Max was in the coffee shop and happened to see her, that was fine, but it was too soon to engage. In fact, maybe she should use a private room tonight. She needed to focus, balance. But that was weak. Finding her focus in a public arena was a challenge, requiring discipline, and she liked to stay sharp.
Slicking her hair back with sculpting clay, she made sure her topknot was secure. She’d chosen a pencil skirt that zipped up the side, the zipper starting at the top of the high slit. A tight black blouse went over the skirt, the blouse sheer enough to show the black bra beneath it. She pulled on tight boots that etched out her calves like a second skin, as well as a pair of elbow-length gloves that had the same supple fit. She took a look at herself from all angles before locking up her personal belongings. Carrying the bag of items she might desire to use on her chosen sub, she headed out to the public floor.
She remembered the first time Matt had brought her to this type of club. After what she’d been through, she thought he was insane for thinking such a place would intrigue her. She’d been tense, only her trust and respect for him keeping her sitting on the bar stool rather than heading back out to the parking lot. Then he’d told her to close her eyes.
Listen, Janet. Really listen.
She knew what it sounded like, the thud of objects hitting flesh. Fists, belt…baseball bat. It made the bones in her face ache. I broke my doll, but see…I have the power and money to put her back together, make her beautiful again. That’s why I know you’re mine, querida, my sweet ballerina.
Matt had brought her back from that with another touch, repeating his gentle admonishment. “Hear the differences.”
And finally, she had. With a Dom and sub, there was a rhythm to it, one that was wholly absent when the striking was done in violence. That kind of beating was more chaotic, like white noise. This was like a mesmerizing piano concerto, the rise and fall of emotion, of action and reaction. It made her open her eyes. She’d rested her attention on a Mistress flogging a male who was on his elbows and knees before her. When she bent to lay a kiss on the reddened expanse of one quivering buttock, he’d begged her to let him press his lips to her shoe.
What seemed an act of humiliation on its face had been anything but. Janet had registered the absorbed look on the Domme’s face, the adoration on the sub’s. She felt a sudden desire to be standing in that Domme’s shoes, to prove…what wielding power should be. To feel what it could be like to wield such power. She hadn’t had much luck in getting close to men since Jorge, but maybe this way, she could. Within prescribed boundaries, holding the reins, she could find something her body still ached to have. The arousing, respectful touch of a man. Maybe she wasn’t ready for passion—it was too close to violence—but this she could have.
That feeling brought her back again and again to this environment. A sense of being safe, of being at home. Max or no Max, she could anticipate what the night would bring like a kid at a carnival, no worries that any of the monsters would follow her home.
She saw several of her regulars here, occasional playmates. Harris came to her with a smile, dropping to a knee before looking up at her with pleased affection. “May I serve you tonight, Mistress?”
“I’m in the mood to be harsh, Harris. Over your limits. Maybe another night. Who would you suggest?”
He covered his disappointment with a respectful nod, glanced toward the floor. “Thor.”
“A sub with the name Thor?” She shook her head. “Does he know how that sounds?”
Harris gave her a grin. “Like a slave needing punishment for getting above his station. You said you were in the mood to be harsh.”
“Good point.” She touched his hair in fond acknowledgment. “Send him to me, and I’ll look forward to taking you in hand another night.”
“I’m always eager to serve you, Mistress.”
As Thor came toward her, she studied him critically. She’d seen the brawny male before. He was pleasing to the eye, well-muscled and clean shaven, with dirty-blond hair trimmed in a military cut. She hadn’t played with him directly, but had seen he straddled a good balance. Not too willing to please, because he sought a Mistress with a firm hand, but once he found one, he accommodated what both Mistress and sub were seeking. That level of subtle cooperation was something she enjoyed. His powerful form, height and breadth reminded her just enough of someone else. Yet he was different enough she wouldn’t get confused, depriving him of his just due by getting lost in her head. The sessions were about an equal give and take, and she was a fair Mistress.
Of course, fair or not, no matter who she chose tonight, a great deal of her energy was going to be driven by the memory of another man’s hands, his mouth. Well, if the sub got a pleasurable ride from her frustrated desire, she expected he wouldn’t complain. Such was the nature of her restricted interactions in the club. They knew what they could expect from her—and what they couldn’t. Until a few days ago in a garage parking deck, she would have said that was enough for her.
That was when she looked up and saw Max. He was sitting by the rail in the coffee area, and he had his eyes on her, his face in that expressionless mode that fascinated her, because of all she sensed behind it.
In that moment, she changed her mind about the private room. “Thor, please secure Room Six for us. I don’t think anyone is using it. Wait for me there.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
As she crossed the floor to the narrow catwalk that passed directly beneath the coffee area, Max’s eyes never left her. She felt like he noticed everything, how the snug clothes fit over her breasts and thighs, hips and legs, how she moved in them. That regard made her stride become more pendulous and provocative. When his gaze sharpened on her, she wet her lips.
He was wearing a white dress shirt and black slacks. Ben had had an afternoon meeting that required more formal attire from his driver, but she was surprised Max hadn’t changed before coming here. He’d shed coat and tie though.
She stopped below where he was sitting. He’d scraped back the chair as she approached, and amused her now by sitting down on the floor by the chair, letting his legs dangle over the wall. She pressed her upper body against his calf, gripping his knee to stretch up and be heard over the club’s boisterous noise. Accommodating her, he leaned down, his fingers settling high on her rib cage, the other hand braced on the rail by his head. His ear was now close to her lips and she indulged herself, nuzzling the short dark-blond hair behind it, smelling that sea salt smell.
“Waiting on one of the guys?” she asked.
He shook his head, gestured at the table. “Coffee’s good here. Just got off work. Dinner deal with Ben and the Michigan steel plant folks. He got them hammered, had them agreeing to all sorts of things that’ll put their company in Matt’s portfolio before Christmas.”
“No doubt,” she said, already imagining the research workload on her and Alice’s desks on Monday.
Max tangled his fingers with hers, lifting her hand to examine the sleek fit of the glove, his thumb rubbing the thin fabric over her palm. “I dropped them off at their hotel. Figured I’d stop here before I went home.”
So there were no restrictions to dictate his reasons for being here tonight. She was tempted to drop Thor, try to coax Max to take his place, but she had a code of conduct when it came to her subs. Plus she knew Max wouldn’t do it. But he was here, wasn’t he?
“I’m taking a private room tonight, but you’re welcome to come watch. Thor’s a public player. He won’t mind. Room Six.”
He shrugged. “I’ll be here with my coffee. Why don’t you come join me when you’re finished?”
; A standoff. She withdrew her fingers and stepped back. “If you get done before I return, don’t stay up past your bedtime on my account. My invitation stands.”
He nodded, rising to his feet and taking his seat again. When she reached the archway that led to the private rooms, she glanced back to see him sipping his coffee, still watching her. Being the center of his focus could unsettle a woman, for certain. In a lovely way.
Room Six had mirrors on one wall, a bench and steel frame in the center of the room that provided various restraint options, and several comfortable chairs along the non-mirrored wall. Those were for a Master or Mistress to rest or view their sub from a detached position during a session, or to hold that same sub during aftercare to ground them with a soothing touch. A small closet bathroom ensured that comfort breaks or hygiene needs wouldn’t disturb the flow of the scene with a trip back to the public restroom or locker area. There were erotic photographs on the wall, stark black-and-whites against dark-red paint.
The room was functional yet atmospheric in a direct, unpretentious way she liked. Thor was kneeling by the bench. He still wore his clothes, a white T-shirt and jeans. He hadn’t assumed she wanted him naked, but he had set out lubricants, restraint options and other tools to save her time. She appreciated a man who anticipated without second-guessing her. Picking up a riding crop, she tapped him on the shoulder. “Take off the shirt.”
He complied, revealing a tattoo of a mermaid in the embrace of a dragon on his back, though it looked like the mermaid had the dragon fully under her control. She traced it with the whip. “Beautiful work.”
“Thank you, Mistress.”
She stepped to the wall, entered her membership number in the panel there, and called up his profile to be sure she knew everything she needed to know. “Your safe word is Zeus.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
