Page 8 of Long for Me
“You okay?” It was protocol to ask. “Need water?”
“No thank you, sir.” She lifted her head, met my gaze. “I’d appreciate a blanket, though.”
I twisted and grabbed the fluffy pink blanket she’d worn out onto the stage and wrapped it around her shoulders. “You sure you have someone to help you? I can stay.”
Kaila rolled her eyes. “Please. You have other things to do, I can tell. And I’ll be fine, sir.”
“Find someone.”
She gestured to a couple off to the side. Two Doms who I didn’t know but had seen at the club before. One of them was way more intense than anyone I’d ever seen before, his love of electro play scared the hell out of me. He’d be perfect for Kaila. “Don’t worry. I’ve got one in mind.”
I stayed close as she approached the Dom and spoke to him. He looked at me for approval to take her and I nodded, giving it easily.
When they were gone, I cleaned up the St. Andrew’s cross with disinfectant wipes and reset all the implements on the table for the next set of demonstrations.
So much of BDSM was methodical. There were protocols and rules and all of it was meant to ensure that anything that happened between two parties was safe, sane and consensual. My interest in it hadn’t began like other Doms when I discovered some deep urge to tie some woman to a bench and smack her ass and leave my marks on her. My desires weren’t that primal.
I needed order. I needed control. I’d been raised in a life where every minute had been planned and calculated and somehow during my teenage years when I quit trying to fight against the obscene expectations my parents had for me and surrendered to them, that was when I’d truly grown.
A woman giving that control to me, surrendering to herself and to me, feeling free whether she was at my side or at my feet, went beyond anything more beautiful than I could describe.
And knowing there was even the tiniest inkling of a chance that Rebecca Morales was interested in something like that, gave me a new target.
A new mission.
I shoved my hands in my pockets and walked off the stage.
Oh, yeah. Happy New Year to me.
* * *
Rebecca was easy to find in the crowd. My dick, the heat seeking missile he was when it came to her succulent curves and full lips, twitched with interest as soon as I spotted her caramel-colored hair falling in a straight sheet down her back. She was at the bar, her back to me, and speaking to a couple I knew from my years as a member.
I didn’t frequent Luminous as often as other Doms, but Shawn and Miranda Lawson had been married for ten years and were some of the original members when Dylan opened the club. They were impossible to miss considering they came several times a month and had no problems putting on shows in the public rooms for anyone who wanted to watch them. I’d spent time doing much the same, although I didn’t speak to them often. I wasn’t a voyeur, but it was difficult not to become enthralled with Shawn as he flogged Miranda in a way that left no doubt he was completely, one hundred and ten percent, devoted to his wife. They spoke a silent language with looks and gestures and flickers of eyelashes that made me yearn for someone to connect with on that deep, unspoken level.
Someone who knew me down to the marrow of my bones.
Based on her easiness with the couple, I assumed she came with them and that spun a dozen more questions in my mind. Why was she here? How did she know them? Was she interested in their lifestyle?
Would she let me teach her all about it?
As soon as the question came to mind, the answer burned in my brain.Yes.I wasn’t taking no for an answer.
The first time Rebecca stepped foot into my doorway, my dick went so hard, strained against the zipper of my dress pants, I’d clenched my jaw together to keep from groaning. I’d been an ass, but there was no way in hell I could have stood and greeted her properly. An obvious boner when greeting your new assistant was a lawsuit waiting to happen.
Since then, it was easier to be a jerk and keep my distance. Seeing her pissed and glaring at me, feeling her sneer at me while I walked away was much more pleasant than the hard-on I’d rage if she ever smiled at me.
Seeing it now directed at other people was difficult enough. If she ever flashed that unencumbered smile at me, I’d be a goner. Screw her being at my feet in submission, I’d be the one dropping to my knees to worship her.
I approached the group slowly, taking time to drink in Rebecca, see her unhindered by her conservative office attire and even more serious manners. Her dress sparkled as she moved, the light above catching the sequins and as I moved closer, dropped my gaze to the hem of her dress. Short. So fucking short that if she pressed a foot to the rung of the barstool in front of her I’d get a peek of what color underwear she had on. My guess, and there were many, was black.
Or maybe she was bare. Damn...that was a thrilling thought. Did uptight, prissy Rebecca Morales go bare beneath her pencil skirts? I’d always envisioned pink or white satin thongs, something simple to match her professionalism. But perhaps there was a wild side beneath the prim and proper Miss Morales I hadn’t yet seen.
The dress alone told me there was.
The idea of her bare pussy, slick with moisture from watching me use a crop...pretty picture indeed.
“Hello, Rebecca,” I greeted, forcing my gaze to stay on her eyes. Her dress scooped down to just above her breasts, revealing only a hint of delicious cleavage. Leering at my assistant was never a good idea, though, in the office or out of it. “I see you managed to finish your work today after all.”
