Only then did he lift his mouth from her slick, orchid-perfect pussy. Groping blindly in the nightstand drawer, he withdrew a condom packet and tore the foil away. He pulled the condom over his cock with lightning speed, his heart pounding in time to the sweet, breathy rhythm of her cries.

  When he entered her, she gripped him like a vise, sucking him in and milking his cock as her body wrapped around his. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” she moaned, and he complied, losing himself in the smells, textures, folds and perfection of her.

  When they finally fell apart in a tangle of limbs and beating hearts, Rowan breathed, “Gosh, Damon. Guys don’t usually do that.”

  “You’ve just been hanging out with the wrong guys,” Damon said with a laugh.

  She turned to him, her sweet face suddenly serious. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I think I have.”

  ~*~

  Rowan left Damon’s place walking on air, buoyed by happiness. Her body felt deep-down bone-satisfied. She tried to think when she had ever had such amazing, passionate sex. The answer was simple. Never.

  It wasn’t just that Damon was a skilled and generous lover, though that in itself was pretty great. It was the overlay of dominance—that taking of control that manifested in everything he did. She wouldn’t have thought she’d want any more the morning after their incredible sex marathon, but then he’d kissed her, and that was that.

  If he hadn’t had to get to work, who knows how long they might have stayed in bed. She was pleasantly sore between her legs, and she smiled to herself as she walked along, the memory of his dark eyes, his sexy smile, his hands, his mouth, his cock more real than the crowded sidewalks or the crisp autumn air around her.

  Before returning to her place, she would head over to the BDSM boutique for a few more Domme outfits before settling down at her computer to do more research for her job. At the rate she was earning, she’d be able to pay her credit cards off in no time, something she’d never quite managed at her old job.

  Still, it was hard to envision turning whatever it was she was doing at the Serpent’s Den into something permanent, but, if nothing else, it was a good—and profitable—stopgap while she figured out what to do next. Assuming she could continue to pull it off.

  And then there was Damon.

  As they’d parted ways that morning, she’d tried to behave as nonchalantly grownup as she could when he’d said he had to go on a two-day assignment out of town. Her first impulse had been to fall to the ground and hug his knees, begging him not to go, but somehow she controlled herself, save for a pout that refused to stay off her face.

  “Believe me, if I hadn’t already committed, I’d never have taken the assignment,” Damon had said as he stroked her cheek. “I’ll be back in town by Thursday. Will you be around? I’d love to pick up where we left off in your training.”

  “Absolutely,” she’d said, a wide grin replacing the pout. “Hopefully I won’t have any clients who require caning before then.”

  “Oh,” he’d said, those dark eyes pinning her to the spot. “I wasn’t thinking about your Domme training, though we can do that, too. I was thinking about your submission, Rowan. That’s what’s really at stake here—that’s what really matters, don’t you agree?”

  A couple of sassy comebacks popped into her head, defenses against the sudden weakening in her knees and moistening in her panties. But when she opened her mouth, all she’d managed to whisper was, “Yes. Yes, please.”

  Somehow Rowan made it through the next two days, during which time she serviced seven more clients. Lucky for her, Jolene’s customers so far had been soft core—more into verbal humiliation, light bondage and spanking than the more intense stuff involving whips and chains. Only one had complained at Jolene’s absence. Unlike the other guys, all eager to obey her, Jared had been difficult to work with, and had twice put his hands on her in a way that made her uncomfortable.

  To top it off, he’d had the nerve to complain to Ben afterward that he needed a real woman, not some girl, to dominate him. That guy hadn’t left her a tip, but she tried to take it in stride. After all, she didn’t yet believe in herself as a true Domme, so why should anyone else? The real shock was how easily the other clients so far had accepted her at face value, eager to take what she offered without question.

  Since being with Damon, Rowan related on a more personal level to the submissive men who entrusted themselves to her. In their brief but astonishing time together, Damon had made it safe for her to explore the secret but unrealized longing Tim Dillon had ignited in her all those years ago. She understood now that the issue hadn’t been her core desires, but Tim’s failure to provide underlying trust or understanding.

  She wanted to give her clients that same safe place in which to explore and enjoy their submissive fantasies. She no longer judged or disdained them on any level. How could she? Though she didn’t yet know to what degree, she was one of them.

  When she’d agreed to let Damon spank her, she’d known it would hurt. What she hadn’t known was how powerful that pain could be. Though she’d watched and read about it ad nauseam in her desperate attempts to ready herself for her new job, she hadn’t understood on a gut level just what the concept of erotic pain truly was, or how it could transport you to such a powerful, altered state of being. And, while she was nervous about Damon’s sexy promise to continue their exploration into her submissive nature, she was thrilled, too, and couldn’t wait to see him again—to submit to him again, in whatever way pleased him.

  It was two o’clock Thursday afternoon, and when she returned to the break room to clean up and get ready to leave for the day, the first thing she did was pull out her phone, checking for messages or missed calls.

  There it was. “I’ll be back in town by six at the latest. Let’s meet at my place as soon as you can get away.”

  Rowan’s heart skittered with excitement, and she actually whooped softly into the empty room. Four hours was plenty of time to go back to her place to get ready. She’d purchased a sexy new bra and panty set she couldn’t wait for Damon to remove. Excited, she sat on the sofa to remove her high-heeled boots, eager to replace them with sneakers.

  She heard the doorbell ring, but since she wasn’t expecting a client, she didn’t even glance at the monitor, her mind already racing with nervous excitement and anticipation. How was she going to make it through four long hours?

  Ben stuck his head in the doorway. “Oh, thank god you’re still here,” he said breathlessly, wringing his hands dramatically. “Donna’s client just showed up. Her daughter went into labor this morning—three weeks early—but she didn’t have anything on the schedule with me. She must have forgotten to cancel him.”

  Donna was Mistress Pain to her clients, and she was known for taking the hardcore masochists.

  When Rowan didn’t respond immediately, Ben continued, “I’d do it myself, but this guy is totally het. Amanda has a strict policy that we never turn anyone away who has a scheduled appointment. You can totally do this for me, right, Mistress Marlena? Please, please say you’ll do this. I’ll owe you big time. So will Mistress Pain.”

  Rowan did a quick calculation in her head. She’d still have enough time to get home and get ready with time to spare. Actually, another client would be a good thing, as it would keep her distracted. She might not be able to deliver quite the intensity he would expect from Mistress Pain, but she’d do her level best. Ben and Amanda were still under the impression she knew what she was doing, and she didn’t want to disabuse them.

  “Sure,” she said, hoping her smile hid the nerves just beneath. “No problem.”

  “Bless you. I’ll be right back.” Ben disappeared from the doorway and returned a moment later, thrusting a folder at her. “This guy likes knife play. Remember the rules—no blood. Be careful with him, because he’ll go as far as you take him and press for more. I’ll take him up to the black room and have him waiting for you. Come up as soon as you can.”

  As Ben ran out of the room, Rowan flipped open the folder. His name was Hank, with scene names of dirty boy and blood slave. He’d checked off just about every box on the BDSM checklist. In the Fetish Need section, he’d written: Verbal humiliation, tight bondage, face slapping, intense knife play, especially at the throat and genitals. I am a dirty, nasty little boy who needs to be taught a lesson. Hurt me, cut me, make me bleed.

  A lump of fear rose in Rowan’s throat. What the hell had she just gotten herself into?

  Stay calm, she told herself. Those are his fantasies, that’s all. You can totally give him at least some of what he wants for the next sixty minutes. You’re Mistress Marlena, badass Domme.

  She took a last glance at herself in the bathroom mirror. With her short hair slicked back with gel, along with the heavy makeup and her sexy new crimson bustier over black leather pants and stiletto boots, she definitely looked the part, if nothing else.

  As she climbed the stairs to the second floor, Ben came down the hallway toward her. “He’s waiting for you. He was a little pissed off at first, but I spun it for him, telling him it pleased Mistress Pain to give him to someone else to play with, and that gave him an instant hard-on. He’s as much into the humiliation as the knives. I put out the knife set by the bondage table. I can’t thank you enough for stepping in. You’re a doll.”

  “No problem,” Rowan reassured him, praying it wouldn’t be.

  She entered the dungeon. The windows were covered with black shades, and the lighting was dim. The man was waiting in the upright cage, its door open. His head was bowed and he had his hands behind his back. He was naked as a jaybird, his erect cock jutting straight out from his groin above a middle-aged paunch.

  He lifted his head as she entered, and a jolt of familiarity ripped through Rowan, though it took her brain a moment to catch up.

  Holy.

  Fucking.

  Crap.

  As they stared at each other, time seemed to stop. His mouth worked like a fish’s out of water, though no sound came from it, and his eyes bugged with disbelief, his cock wilting to half-mast.

  Someone had replaced Rowan’s blood with ice, and she stood frozen in place, her mouth hanging open with shock. So, this was where he disappeared to during those afternoons when everyone else was working. A bubble of hysteria rose in her throat and threatened to emerge either as a laugh or a scream.

  What should she do? What should she do? What should she do?

  “I-I-I,” he stuttered, clearly as stunned as she was.

  Was this cosmic justice? After all those months of lording it over her—insulting her, belittling her efforts, stealing her work—had the gods decided it was time to exact revenge?

  It was so tempting to laugh in his face—to make him feel as small and worthless as he’d made her feel—but even as these unworthy thoughts assailed her, she shunted them aside. In this room, for this hour that he’d paid for, he was just Hank, a dirty boy, who had paid good money to have his needs met. Their bond right now was sacred, in a strange but real way. Serpent’s Den was a secret haven from the outside world, where confidentiality was assured and no judgments were passed. If she was really going to be a pro, she needed to uphold those standards, no matter her personal feelings.

  She would give him the choice—make him decide if he wanted to scene with her. But if he made that choice, she would be Mistress Marlena, all the way.

  So far he hadn’t run screaming from the room, so, drawing in a breath, she pointed to the ground at her feet. “Come over here and get on your knees, dirty boy,” she said, channeling full bitch mode. “I am Mistress Marlena. Mistress Pain told me you’re a very naughty boy who needs to be punished, severely. You can start by licking my boots.”

  Hank, aka Henry Franklin, her hated ex-boss, didn’t move. He continued to gape at her, his mouth slack, but his cock, she couldn’t help but notice, was rising again.

  Operating on pure instinct now, Rowan moved toward the counter by the bondage table and selected the largest knife in the open case. She returned to stand in front of her naked nemesis. “I said, get out here and worship my boots, blood slave. Now.”

  Pleased to note her hand wasn’t shaking, she ran the knife lightly down her own skin, moving the point from her throat to her cleavage, made quite prominent by the tight, low cut of her bustier. “I’m going to count. I get to three and you still haven’t obeyed, I’ll leave. Mistress Pain will receive a full report on your disobedience. You aren’t worth the dirt on the bottom of her boots.”

  She held the knife toward him.

  “One… Two…”

  He came out of the cage and dropped to his knees. “Mistress Marlena,” he breathed, as if trying on the name, none of the bark he employed at the office in evidence. Apparently, he’d made a decision, because his voice grew firmer. “Yes, Mistress. Excuse me, Mistress. I-I thought for a second you were someone else.” His eyes slid away, and she knew he was lying. He had recognized her just as surely as she had recognized him. But she appreciated the fiction, as it would make things easier for them both.

  “I don’t forgive you, dirty boy. You will be punished for your insolence.”

  “Yes, Mistress. Thank you Mistress,” he said rapidly. He lowered himself to his hands and knees and crouched before her. It was surreal in the extreme to watch Franklin lick the tops of her shiny leather boots. She had thought she would feel more vindictive satisfaction than she did. Instead, something almost like compassion moved through her.

  Pushing it away, she lifted the toe of her boot and tapped him on the top of his balding head. “Crawl over to the bondage table, blood slave. I’m going to tie you down and make you bleed.”

  Of course, she wasn’t allowed to actually make him bleed, thank god, but she’d learned enough over the past two weeks to understand the power her words could have, even if they were only playing out a scene.

  As he positioned himself on his back on the bondage table, Rowan placed the knife carefully down in its slot and set the timer. She cuffed his wrists and ankles to the table and then draped the thick leather restraint belt over his waist, buckling it into place.

  “You belong to me now, dirty boy,” she said, lifting her chin as she stared scornfully into his face. “You are nothing but a filthy little pain slut who needs to be taught a lesson. Isn’t that right, slave boy?”

  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. Rowan had a sudden, evil desire to whip out her phone and take a picture of her ex-boss lying there, naked and bound, but she pushed down the unworthy thought. He was already taking a big risk, putting his trust in a woman he’d wronged. She was better than he was, and she wouldn’t betray that trust. She would maintain the bastard’s confidentiality.

  “Yes, Mistress,” he croaked.

  “Yes, what?” she snapped. “What are you? Repeat it back to me, word for word.”

  “I’m a-a filthy little pain slut who-who needs to be taught a lesson,” he managed in a quavery voice, though his cock had sprung back to full erection.

  “That’s right, dirty boy.” She slapped his jowly cheek with her open palm. Hank’s eyes widened, his eyes glowing with what she’d come to think of over the past week as sub-shine. He stared at her with puppy dog adoration mingled with raw lust. He needed what she was giving him.

  She slapped him again, harder.

  “Thank you, Mistress,” he breathed, his cock bobbing.

  Power surged through Rowan’s veins, and she shifted, finally, fully into Mistress Marlena mode. “You are naked, bound and completely at my mercy. Are you prepared to suffer?”

  “Yes, Mistress. Please, Mistress.”

  Rowan slapped at his bobbing cock.

  He gasped.

  She slapped it again, as hard as she dared.

  If anything, it got harder.

  Foam support cushions were stacked on the ground beneath the bondage table. Rowan selected one and wedged it beneath Hank’s head and shoulders so he would have a good view. She turned to the knife tray and selected a knife with a long, thin blade. Hank shuddered as she placed the tip just under his chin. “You like it rough, huh, blood slave? You’d like me to press this knife just a little harder, wouldn’t you, you little whore?”

  He gulped but said nothing, his gaze fixated on the knife.

  “I could do it, you know, and you couldn’t do a thing to stop me. I could press the point into that soft spot just beneath your jaw. Your hot, red blood would spurt and roll down your chest. I’d run my finger through it and make you lick it off. That’s what you deserve, isn’t it, nasty boy?”

  “Yes, Mistress,” he whispered, his breath catching. “Oh, god, yes. Do it, do it, do it.”

  “Stay still,” she barked. She drew the knife’s tip down the side of his neck, hard enough to leave a pink line, though she was careful not to puncture the skin. She ran it along his shoulder and over his nipple, which elicited a small yelp of pain.

  She drew it down his stomach. When she touched the point to the head of his cock, Hank jerked suddenly and cried out, his hands clenching into fists above their cuffs.

  A drop of blood appeared on the tip of his penis. Fuck! She hadn’t meant to do that. But it was his fault. “Damn it, boy,” she barked. “I told you not to move.”

  He lifted his head and stared at the tiny bead of red, his face going slack as he groaned. “Oh, god, oh please, oh yes, oh yes. Do it. I don’t care about the stupid law. Just do it. Cut me. I need it. I need it. Please, Mistress, give me what I need!”

  His voice had risen almost to a shout, and he was trembling from head to toe.

  Taken aback, Rowan stepped away, shaken. He was so loud—so demanding, just like the Mr. Franklin she knew back at the office, though this situation was surreal in the extreme.

  No matter who he was, she wasn’t allowed to draw blood, nor did she wish to, however much he claimed to need it.

  Regrouping, she reached for the toy shelf above the counter and grabbed a ball gag. “Who told you to speak, you dirty little worm? Mistress Pain will receive a full report of your very bad behavior.” She shoved the ball gag into his mouth, forcing his tongue back. She didn’t bother buckling it on, directing instead, “You better keep that ball in place, boy, or else I’ll put you in the cage for the rest of the session.”

 

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