“No,” she said more forcefully than she’d meant to. “I told you, I’m a Domme.”

  “Yes, so you said,” Damon replied, his eyes twinkling. “You know what my theory is on that? I think all Doms should experience the whip. The cane. The single lash. Cuffs, chains, piercing, branding, wax play—whatever they intend to inflict on their sub. If you’re willing to do it to someone else, my personal feeling is you should know just what exactly it is you’re demanding.”

  Rowan stared at him, her mouth falling open. Yes, what he said made absolute sense, but her shock came not from the idea you should experience what you mete out, but from the extremity of his description. Before she could stop herself, she blurted, “Caning? Piercing? Branding? Do you guys really do that stuff? Is it even legal?”

  Damon’s laugh was deep and rich. “If by ‘you guys,’ you mean Doms, of which you just finished assuring me you are one, well, yes, we guys really do that. Not everyone, obviously. I was talking in extremes, but it’s certainly out there.”

  “What about with you and Angela?” Rowan forced herself to ask. Better to just get it out there now, before she tumbled head over heels for this guy. “Is she your, uh, 24/7 slave girl?”

  “Angela?” Damon looked confused at first, but then a dawning understanding moved over his face. “Oh, you thought we were together because of the demo.” He shook his head. “No, no way. She’s just a volunteer. We used to scene together, a long time ago, but she belongs to a guy named Frank Channing. He’s a doctor, and he was on call tonight, or he’d have been here, too.”

  Rowan couldn’t help the broad grin that leaped onto her face. Who was she kidding? She’d already tumbled.

  Damon put his hand lightly on her arm, sending a jolt of pure electric lust through her body. “Tell me the truth, Rowan,” he said gently. “How much experience do you actually have in the scene?”

  She opened her mouth to form yet another lie, but then fell into his deep brown eyes.

  “None,” she admitted. “None at all.”

  Chapter 5

  Damon threw back his head and laughed, both surprised and delighted by her sudden and complete capitulation. While watching the demo, she couldn’t have been more obvious she was a newbie to the scene than if she’d painted a big red N on her forehead. How the hell had she snagged a Domme gig at Amanda’s place? Clearly there was more to this cute girl than met the eye.

  When he could catch his breath, he said sincerely, “I have to say, I’m very impressed. You’re definitely taking the bull by the horns—diving right into a Domme job at Amanda’s place. Nothing like hands-on experience to get you up to speed.”

  All at once, the grin fell away from Rowan’s face, and she dropped her head into her hands. “I’m such an idiot,” she moaned between her fingers. “I can’t believe I’ve signed up for this.”

  Concerned, Damon pulled her hands gently away from her face. “Hey, it’s not so terrible. A lot of being a Dom is just getting in touch with human nature—taking the time to understand what makes people tick. I have to guess you have some penchant, some desire, some interest in BDSM, or you wouldn’t have even considered applying for the job in the first place. Am I right?”

  “Yes,” she admitted quietly, flashing him a hopeful look. “At least, I think so.”

  Damon nodded. “And, hopefully, you got a little something out of tonight’s demonstration?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I absolutely did. It was pretty amazing, actually. But…” she trailed off, as if trying to formulate her thoughts.

  Damon looked into her eyes, silently willing her to trust him. She reminded him of Meg Ryan in those romantic comedies from the eighties, with her short, wavy blond hair, dark blue eyes and that slightly lopsided, adorable smile that lit up her face. But his attraction went beyond the merely physical.

  “It’s okay,” he encouraged gently. “You can trust me. Tell me what you’re thinking. There are no right or wrong feelings about this stuff.”

  “Here’s what I don’t get,” she finally blurted. “Obviously the flogging had to hurt, right? I mean, it had to sting like hell, and I could see the way her skin turned red. But she barely moved—like it was nothing at all. So then I figured, maybe she doesn’t feel it the same way I might, or maybe she just zones out or something. Or it hurts, but she’s a masochist, so she’s into the pain. But she didn’t seem to like it too much when that guy was hitting her with the crop. That was different somehow.”

  “Yeah,” Damon agreed. “We can talk about that guy and what went wrong there, but I want you to stay with your thoughts when you were watching the flogging. Tell me how it made you feel.”

  A pink flush moved over her cheeks. She pressed her lips together and squinted slightly, as if she was seeing the scene again in her mind’s eye. “Well, I guess I was scared in a way. Scared you were hurting her. But also, like, excited.” The flush darkened, but she pushed on. “What really hit me—what really moved me, was when she faced the audience. There was—I don’t even know how to describe it—an expression of quiet, sublime joy on her face. She not only took what you gave her, she loved it, she embraced it, she became it.”

  She got it. This newbie got it. “I’d say you know exactly how to describe it,” he replied with a warm smile. “And from your description, and the way your eyes sparkled as you spoke, I sense your connection with Angela, with her submissive nature. I think that while you’ve accepted a job as a Domme, that’s not where your true desires lie.”

  Rowan drew in a sharp breath and ducked her head, but she didn’t deny it.

  For the first time in ages, Damon actually considered asking someone he’d only just met if she’d like to do a scene, but even if he gave in to his own impulses, she was nowhere near ready for something like that.

  The chairs had been removed from the floor area, and music was now pumping through the speakers, making it difficult to carry on their conversation without shouting. People had begun to engage in various scenes, mostly clustered around the St. Andrew’s cross and the whipping posts. The bar was crowded now, too, with people pushing in around them as they gestured toward the bartender for a drink.

  “Say,” Damon said. “I know it’s late, but want to get out of here? Grab a cup of coffee or a drink or something?” He held his breath as he waited for her answer. For all he knew, a lovely girl like this had a guy waiting at home. Still, as Caleb was fond of saying, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

  To his delight, she flashed a heart-stopping smile. “Sure. Maybe you can give me a crash course in how to be a pro Domme before I start work on Monday.”

  ~*~

  It took several minutes for them to make their way out of the club, as people stopped Damon along the way to thank him for the talk or to ask advice about a new toy or technique. As Rowan waited, she stared around the room, trying to keep her mouth from hanging open with shock. In two days, she’d be engaging in similar scenes, and getting paid to do it.

  She watched in fascination as a man snapped a bullwhip against the bare ass of a woman dressed only in a black corset and thigh-high stockings, her feet shod in impossibly high heels. She was bound to the St. Andrew’s cross, which had been set on a raised platform, so that Rowan was able to see her above the crowd of onlookers clustered around the pair.

  Each time the whip’s tip snapped against the woman’s flesh, the lash cracked the air and made Rowan flinch. Each stroke was punctuated with the woman’s cry as she jerked and shuddered in her restraints, showing none of the calm poise Angela had demonstrated on the stage.

  As they got closer to the exit, Rowan nearly tripped over a shirtless man dressed in biker shorts. He was crawling on his hands and knees, tugged by a leash held by a woman walking rapidly in front of him.

  Mark Mitchell approached as they got to the door. “Decided to stick around, huh?” he said to Rowan, his eyes sliding to Damon.

  “I convinced her to stay a little longer,” Damon said, smiling at her.

  Mark shrugged philosophically. “Can’t compete with Master King, especially not after one of his demos.” He slipped a duffel bag from his shoulder and held it toward Damon. “Don’t forget your gear bag.” He flashed a knowing grin at Rowan. “You and this Mistress might be needing it.”

  Rowan’s cheeks flamed, but Damon only smiled as he took the bag. “You never know. Thanks for everything.”

  “Thank you, man,” Mark replied. “Don’t be a stranger.” He eyed Rowan again, like she was a lollipop he’d like to lick.

  Damon put his arm around her and steered her around their host. “Catch ya later, Mark. Be good.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” Mark replied as they left the club.

  “He can come on a little strong, huh?” Rowan said.

  “Mark means well.” Damon smiled. “But he can be kind of persistent.” As they walked, he said, “I was on a job until just before I got here, and I’m starving. There’s a coffee shop down the block that’s open late. They have the best banana cream pie I’ve ever had. What do you say?”

  “I love pie,” Rowan agreed enthusiastically.

  “My kind of woman,” Damon rejoined.

  “A job,” Rowan repeated, imagining Damon decked in black leather in a setting like Serpent’s Den, whipping some beautiful, naked woman who paid him for the privilege. Unbidden, the image shifted to her, Rowan, on the cross. Flustered, she shook it away, glad he couldn’t see inside her head. “So, you said you don’t do this for a living, but you give these seminars in BDSM basics? How does that work?”

  “I’ve been involved in the scene for a number of years, and I’ve seen plenty of people doing stupid—even dangerous—things. Anyone can buy a whip or a cane, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they know how to use them. Most of the folks who don’t know what they’re doing are well meaning but clueless, and I like to share what I’ve learned about proper and safe techniques and protocol, while keeping it sexy and fun.”

  “I learned a lot watching, but I probably could use some hands-on training,” Rowan said, feeling suddenly bold. “If you weren’t busy tomorrow…?” She held her breath, hoping she wasn’t being too pushy, her motives not entirely pure.

  “Ah, man, I’d love to, but I can’t tomorrow,” he replied, looking genuinely crestfallen. “I have to work and it’s a surveillance gig. Could last all day and night.”

  They had arrived at the coffee shop, and Damon opened the door and gestured for Rowan to precede him inside. Though it was nearly midnight, most of the tables were occupied, but they found a free booth toward the back of the room.

  As they slid onto opposite sides, Rowan said, “So what do you do that involves surveillance?”

  “I’m a private investigator.”

  “Wow, I never knew a real detective,” Rowan said, impressed. “Do you track down criminals and solve murder mysteries?”

  Damon shrugged. “Nah, nothing so glamorous. I used to be a cop, but it wasn’t for me. I’m an independent operator. I do a lot of work for insurance companies and lawyers. Mostly I just obtain information on the whereabouts, identity, conduct or credibility of a person or company. I conduct background searches to make sure, for example, a company some guy wants to invest in is on the up-and-up—no fraud issues or hidden litigation or what have you. This gig I’m working now is for a divorce attorney representing the wife in a child custody battle. Tomorrow I have to track this guy to see if he’s really going to a dental conference, as he claims, or is in fact going to gamble, do drugs and meet up with hookers, as his wife claims. Mostly I’ll be tailing the guy, and sitting in my car for hours on end trying to catch him when he’s coming in and out of places. These are my least favorite jobs, but they’re easy money.”

  The waitress, a woman in her fifties with hair dyed an unnatural black appeared at their table with two glasses of ice water and an order pad. “What’ll it be?” she said, sounding exhausted, which she probably was.

  Rowan glanced at the large, plastic-coated menu in front of her, focusing on the side that included twenty-four varieties of homemade pie. Though she wasn’t especially hungry, she never could resist pie. “Um, I’ll have the peach pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream,” she said.

  “I’ll have the banana cream, please,” Damon said. “And an order of fries and a Coke,” he added.

  Rowan grinned approvingly at him. “I was almost going to get the banana cream pie. You’ll have to give me a bite.”

  “Absolutely,” Damon agreed. “And if you’re very, very nice, I might even throw in a fry.”

  Their food came quickly, and while they were eating, Rowan told Damon about her job at the clothing catalog company, and the events that led to her quitting and applying for the job at Serpent’s Den.

  “I hear you about bosses from hell,” Damon said with a sympathetic grimace. “I worked for more than my share of them in the NYPD. That’s one reason I got out. I couldn’t take all the bureaucracy. That, and I don’t do real well obeying orders,” he added with a laugh. “I’m more of a lone wolf.”

  They talked easily about their lives, and Rowan felt comfortable and relaxed around this man, though the underlying sexual tension between them was undeniable, at least on her side.

  Damon was the first to bring up relationships, and Rowan told him a little about her last boyfriend—a medical resident at a community hospital who was a sweet guy, if a little boring. The relationship had died with more of a whimper than a bang, mainly because he spent twenty out of twenty-four hours at the hospital, or so it had seemed to Rowan, and he really didn’t have the time or energy for a relationship. Since the breakup six months before, she had dated casually from time to time, but had yet to make any kind of real connection—until tonight.

  “It’s been about a year since I was in a serious relationship,” Damon confided. “We met through a mutual friend in the scene. We broke up because we wanted different things from the relationship. Things were good at first, but over time, she decided she wanted to be a 24/7 sex and service slave, and that’s just not my thing.”

  “So what does that entail?”

  “Well, it’s different for every couple, depending on what you negotiate, but she claimed to want complete abdication of everything, including the right to sit on the furniture or sleep in the bed, or have any say in all aspects of her life, even her finances. She wanted to be kept in chains in a cage when I wasn’t using her, and she even talked about being branded.”

  “Branded,” Rowan repeated, appalled.

  “So she said. I’m not sure how much she really wanted all that stuff—it was primarily fantasy. And please don’t think I judge her negatively for it, because I don’t. It just wasn’t my scene, you know? I do love the D/s exchange of power, and I get off on giving erotic pain to a woman who understands and craves what it can give her, but I’m not a hardcore sadist like she needed. After we broke up, I heard she’d hooked up with a guy who’s into blood and fire play, and keeps a stable of slaves.”

  Damon shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat, right? I’m an SSC guy, and she was a RACK girl.”

  Rowan shook her head. “I’m sorry, what? You lost me.”

  “Safe, sane and consensual versus risk-aware consensual kink,” Damon replied with a grin. “You gotta learn the lingo, Mistress.”

  “Yeah,” Rowan said with a laugh. “Among a lot of other things.”

  The waitress appeared and slapped the check down on the table. Damon put his hand over it as Rowan reached for her bag. “My treat.” He placed some bills on top of the check and slid out of the booth. “I hate to call it a night, but I have to be in front of this dude’s apartment building in six hours.” He hoisted his gear bag onto his shoulder.

  Rowan, too, got to her feet. What she really wanted to do was throw herself in Damon’s arms and say, “Sleep is for the meek. Let’s go to my place and keep getting to know each other, preferably naked.” Forcing her new Domme side to hush, Rowan said instead, “Yeah, I should be getting home, too. Tomorrow I’m going to watch some more how-to videos on YouTube so I can hopefully wing it on Monday well enough to pass.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Damon said reassuringly as they made their way out of the diner. “You don’t have to start with whips and chains. You can give them what they need with some bondage and a good spanking.”

  Rowan tried to imagine herself spanking some naked old guy, but the image refused to come. Well, she’d signed up for this. Worst came to worst, she would totally crash and burn. At least she’d met a super sexy, super nice guy in the process, so it wouldn’t be a total loss.

  As they walked toward the subway station, Damon said, “I should be free by Monday evening if you want to reconnect. I can’t wait to hear how your first day goes, and I’d be happy to give you some one-on-one training.”

  Rowan’s heart skipped several beats. His voice had been warm, but it was hard to see the expression on his face in the flicker of the streetlamps. Was he talking about more than just professional training?

  “Oh,” she managed, glad it hadn’t come out as a girly squeal. “Yes. That would be really great, thank you.”

  As they stopped at an intersection to wait for the light, he reached for her chin and gently titled her face up to his. “Most subs—most people—crave touch and sensation.” His voice was low and sexy, and he trailed his fingers lightly along her cheek.

  Rowan’s heart kicked into gear, her lips parting of their own accord for his kiss.

  Then the light changed, and as the people surged around them, pushing forward across the street, the moment was lost. As they walked down the subway stairs, Damon said, “You’ll do fine on Monday. Remember, it’s really about paying attention to cues. They’ll usually tell you what they want up front. Your job is to test their limits. Respect any negotiated hard limits, but take them just a little further than they think they want to go. You’re the one in the position of power, but you’re also the one serving them. You’ll get into your own rhythm, I’m sure of it.”

 

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