But that moment… out in the hallway. I closed my eyes, the feel of her hair lingering on my fingers like silk. The way we leaned into each other, so close to kissing… so intimate. My gaze fell to where Marly was sitting in front of me, eyeing the flushed pink color of the back of her neck, clashing with her red hair. Her bourbon gathered beads of moisture around the sides which dripped onto her jeans, leaving dark spots of saturated denim. The empty glass of water sat beside her thigh.
I worked my throat, swallowing beyond the dryness and leaned down, pressing my lips to her ear. “Drink slowly,” I cautioned. What had she eaten for dinner? Or was she drinking on an empty stomach? The thought made my chest tighten. If she spent half the day tomorrow sick, it would be partially my fault.
She held my gaze, her glare lowering as she wet her lips. Then, slowly, she brought the glass to her mouth, and in several gulps, finished the bourbon. The muscles in her neck tightened as she swallowed and worked her jaw in a way that I feared she might crack a molar. There was a twitch against my zipper and I groaned inwardly. Upon finishing, she smacked her lips and set the glass down on the floor beside the empty water glass.
What the fuck was that? Did shelikethe punishment? Want more of it? Because if that was the case, I had to adjust my tactics. A punishment that felt too much like pleasure wouldn’t work for either of us. Or was she feeling feisty? Defiant? Fuck if I knew.
My fingers bit into the leather armrests of the chair as I shoved against it to my feet, stepping around Marly and walking over to the bar. “Andrea,” I said quietly, with a quick glance at her nametag. I had never seen her before, but that wasn’t saying much since I hadn’t been here in over a year. “Could I have another martini and a glass of water, please.”
She dipped her chin. “Of course, Mr. Fisher,” she said, lowering her gaze. Bartenders at the club weren’t expected to adhere to submissive rules. Yes, they had to address everyone as Ms. or Mr., but they could look Masters and Mistresses in the eye. This girl was a submissive by nature. Did she know yet? Was that why she was working here?
“Do you have any crackers or cookies or something behind the bar?”
“Um…” she paused, looking around beneath the bar. “I don’t over here, but I can grab you something from the coffee counter. Anything in particular?”
Salted caramels. Her favorites. Not that she deserved a treat. And frankly, those wouldn’t do much to soak up the alcohol in her stomach. “Maybe a biscuit or some scones?”
Andrea nodded. “I’ll check.”
This was a stupid idea… inviting Marly here. Maybe the common room was too much, too soon for her? Everything seemed fine right up until I asked her to trust me to take control. The second I asked her to order water, she rebelled.
The tips of my fingers brushed across the cold marble bar top, the swirling gray lines like veins along an alabaster skin. Marly is a talented actress… but not everyone is cut out for this kind of role.Not everyone is cut out for this kind of life,my brain corrected me. Here, she thought this was the shallow end of a pool she was dipping her toes in, when in reality, it was a whirlpool ready to suck her under its murky depths.
“We have a blueberry muffin, a cranberry scone, or a caramel apple scone. I can also order delivery for you, if you need something more substantial—”
“The caramel apple scone will be perfect. Thank you, Andrea.”
“I’ll bring your drinks over for you.”
I thanked her and took the scone. Marly’s glare seared into me from the other end of the room, the heat between us growing with each step closing in. I sat back down, placing the scone on my thigh and spread my legs wide. “Eat,” I demanded.
Her mouth twisted, horrified as she looked from the scone to my face. “Do you know how much fat is in a scone—”
“Eat the goddamn scone, Marlena.”
She swallowed, her jaw tight, molars grinding across each other like unoiled gears. “Fine,” she snapped, and reached for the scone.
I smacked at her hand and she gasped, recoiling. “What the fuck?” she whispered.
“Eat the scone. Off of my leg.”
She held my gaze, her stunning features cold like the marble countertops. But mine was colder. I could be a scary son-of-a-bitch when I wanted to be. There was something else in the depths of her blue eyes. She didn’t seem frightened by my games. Angry, yes. Which was annoying as hell because she knew why she was here. She knew this was all part of the process to learn. But beyond that anger, curiosity piqued.
“Eat it off your knee likea dog?” she hissed.
Andrea walked over, handing me the martini and setting the glass of water on the floor.
I took a slow sip, then set the glass on the table beside me. “If this is too much, you know what to say, right?” I lifted my brows, my eyes boring into hers. “What are your safe words?”
Her nostrils flared, her expression a swirling tornado of fury and intrigue. And like a tornado, I was sure she could destroy everything in her path. She was wild and beautiful and dangerous. “Planner for stop. Sticker for slow down.”
“Do you want to use them right now?”
I curled my fingers tightly around the leather armchair, my insides twisting.You can do this, Marly,I thought. I didn’t think I was moving too fast for her, but if I was, she needed to learn to speak up. To trust me that I will stop as needed. But only if she uses her words. Leaning down, I whispered, “I need to trust that you will be able to use those words when you need to. If a Dom is constantly stopping, wondering if his or her sub is okay because there’s a concern she isn’t using the words, that’s a problem.” Her marbled expression softened—though barely. Once marble, now soap stone, her eyes tilted, glossy and blue like the sheen of a still lake. “Now… do you have anything you want to say to me right now?”
A shiver oscillated through her body, so strong it was visible in the way her shoulders pulsed. She shook her head no.
“Good. Then eat.”
