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“You’re good at this,” she said, impressed by his attitude.
Lance leaned in a few inches and lowered his voice.
“I’ve had a little practice, Mistress.”
The Mistress raised her chin.
“Only a little? You need a lot more practice than that. Wanna go practice?”
“We just met.”
“Are you calling me a slut because I asked you to play?” She batted her eyelashes at him.
“No, ma’am. Never.” His laugh reached all the way to his dark blue eyes. She loved a man who could laugh.
“Am I calling you a slut by asking you to play?”
“You can call me anything you want.”
The Mistress placed a hand on Lance’s thigh and felt the hard muscle under the denim.
“You looked troubled when you came in here. And your entire body is tense. I’d like to flatter myself that you’re hard all over because of me, but you looked uncomfortable before you saw me. What’s up?”
Lance nodded at the bartender who brought him another beer.
“I haven’t played in a long time. I’m not even sure if I should be here.”
“Should you be here? Or did you sneak in?”
“I just got a job working for Kingsley Edge.”
“Never heard of him.” Nora kept a straight face. Kingsley tried to keep employees from fraternizing with each other too much, a hopeless cause where Nora was concerned. Lance must be the new house manager he’d hired. It would take someone with a military background to keep Kingsley’s coterie under control.
“He’s some rich kinky bigwig. Owns this place. Club membership is one of the fringe benefits.”
“You like it here?”
“I feel a little out of place. My first time in a club like this.”
“A club full of rich and famous perverts?”
“Exactly. I’m neither. Well, not the rich and famous part, anyway. Pervert maybe. This is definitely not my usual crowd.”
A congressman on the leash of a Domme crawled on all fours past the bar.
“Don’t worry. They’re not my crowd, either. Don’t be intimidated.” She leaned forward and crossed her legs. “I’ll let you in on a secret. The top Dominant here is a Jesuit priest, and he comes here in his clerical collar all the time. Jesuits take a vow of poverty. Everyone defers to him even though he’s not rich. He earned that respect. No one has ever ratted him out.”
“That’s a comfort, Mistress. Nice to feel safe.”
“You are safe down here. And you’re with me. I’ll protect you from the rich and famous perverts.”
“My hero,” he said, turning toward her so that their lips were only an inch apart.
“Come on, Lance,” she whispered. “Come play with me. Submit to me. You know you want to. I know you want to. You’re not on duty right now, are you?”
“No.” He shook his head. She could see him trying to bite back a smile.
She moved her hand from his thigh to his crotch and felt his erection.
Lance closed his eyes and inhaled sharply.
“What do you want to do, Sailor?”
“Anything you want, Mistress. Anything at all.”
“That’s a dangerous word around here. Let’s go find out what you mean by anything.”
She slipped off the bar stool and patted her thigh. Lance threw a tip down on the bar and followed. The 8th Circle had a two-drink maximum, and booze and tips were included in the price of admittance. He didn’t have to pay a thing, didn’t have to leave a tip. But he did it anyway. Most of the rich sons of bitches who played here were misers. Real men like Lance knew the value of a hard day’s work and left good tips. She liked that. That ten-dollar tip on a seven-dollar tab had just earned him the chance to fuck her. Tonight she’d let him fuck her first then tell him why after. Hmm...she kind of liked that line. She’d put it in a book someday.
He followed her in silence out of the bar and down the stairs to her dungeon in the Hall of the Masters, as it was known. Kingsley had envisioned The 8TH Circle as the BDSM club to end all BDSM clubs. He’d have the world’s most beautiful Dominatrixes and submissives—male and female—on his staff with permanent dungeons. Plus the members could earn the right to their own private quarters. Of course, Kingsley and Søren got the two best suites in the place. Not that she could complain about her dungeon. Kingsley had turned what was once a pit into a palace. She was the queen around here, after all. Nothing less than the best for her.
They passed an open door to one of the dungeons. Inside a young woman lay curled on the floor, her eyes rimmed with tears as she pleaded for mercy. A man twice her size grabbed her by her hair.
Lance took a step toward the door and Nora stopped him with a hand on his chest.
“Whoa there, Sailor. Don’t interrupt.”
“But she’s—”
“Having the time of her life. That’s Alexis. She loves getting treated like a slave. The rougher you are with her, the more she cries, the happier she is.”
“Sorry...” Lance wrenched his gaze from the open door. “I’m sorry, Mistress. It’s hard for me to see women crying or in pain.”
“You’ve never been in a BDSM club with female submissives before?”
“Never. I know it happens. Just never seen with my own eyes.”
“It’s all good fun. Don’t worry. Her husband is one of the most thoughtful, careful Dominants I know. He takes good care of her. And I promise my dungeon is currently free of crying women. Usually it’s the men crying around me.”
“They’re married? Seriously?” Lance asked, nodding toward the door.
“Happily. Can’t you tell?” Nora asked as they reached her dungeon. At her door, Nora pulled the scarf out of Lance’s back pocket and tied it around the doorknob. She didn’t know Lance so she had no plans to lock the door. The scarf would signal that the Mistress was in session and all would do well to leave them the hell alone. Plus, when Søren had finished with Simone, he’d come out, see the scarf on the knob, and know exactly what was happening inside. And there was jack-fucking-nothing he could do about it.
As she tied the scarf on the knob, Lance removed his shoes and socks.
“Undressing already?” she asked, not displeased.
“Just the shoes and socks. This is your private dungeon, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Then it deserves to be shown respect.”
“Lance, I like the way you kink.” She opened the door and stepped inside. She loathed artificial light so she lit her oil lamp. Lance set his shoes right inside the doorway. Everything he did endeared him more and more to her.
“So,” Nora said as she ushered Lance into the room, “welcome to Hell. Like it?”
He gazed around the room with unabashed appreciation. She did have nice digs, very French bordello style. Kingsley told her to decorate however she wanted. He probably regretted that once he saw the place. Bed—four-poster bed, of course—with a gold-and-red brocade bedspread, erotic artwork on the walls, a few oil lamps and candles, and condoms and handcuffs in every drawer.
“If this is Hell, I can’t wait to see Heaven.”
“Heaven’s in this room.” She snapped her fingers and waved her hand. Lance raised an eyebrow before entering the second room of her suite.
He let out an impressed whistle.
“My playroom. Isn’t it pretty? We have twenty different styles and lengths of rope.” She put her hand on her hip, doing her best Vanna White strut around the room. “Floggers of every style. Single-tails. I’m very good at whipping if you like whipping. St. Andrew’s Cross, of course. Medical bed. This little case here has the violet wand. And my cabinet...well, I’ll leave it to your imagination.”
The cabinet housed most of the sex toys, the vibrators and butt plugs and cock rings, that sort of thing. But inside one could also find her edge-play toys—razor blades and other cutting implements.
“This is amazing, Mistress. Not sure I can afford you.”
Nora came up to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
“I’m not planning on charging you. You wanna know why?”
“I’m that handsome, Mistress?”
She gave him a broad grin. Handsome, funny and a little cocky—she liked that combination.
“I’ve seen worse, but no client is so handsome he gets a freebie. No, the reason I’m not charging you is because I don’t fuck my clients. And I fully intend to fuck you tonight.”
“I fully intend to let you, if it pleases you, Mistress.”
“I think it pleases me. Now let’s talk. What would please you?”
She pulled away from him and took a seat on the big wooden bondage throne. It took nothing more than a nod to get Lance to kneel on the floor at her feet.
“Nothing pleases me more than pleasing a powerful woman,” he confessed. “I’d love to make you come over and over again.”
“Good boy. Anything else? Do you like pain?”
“Do you like giving it, Mistress?”
“Yes. Very much.”
“Then I like receiving it. Very much. You do have some beautiful whips.”
Nora stroked her bottom lip as she studied him. Time for the little dance she did with the male submissives. They were so desperate to please their Mistress that it took a full-blown interrogation to get them to admit to her what their own desires were. Some male submissives who hated pain would agree to take it if they thought the Mistress wanted to give it. But Lance had mentioned the whips and called them beautiful. Masochistic streak in him. Good. She might have to keep him.
Keep him? Where had that thought come from? She’d never collared a sub before, never kept one as her personal property. It was too much like having a boyfriend or, God forbid, a husband. But...she got a very good feeling from Lance. The man must have been six feet tall in shoes, solidly built and muscular. He looked like he could break her in half if he had a mind to, but she felt safe around him. Wouldn’t be any sort of torture to have this guy in her dungeon as often as possible.
“You like whips. See anything else you like?” she asked.
“Nice cross. Very nice.”
“The wrist cuffs on it are adjustable. I’ve had tiny little girls on there and men even taller than you. Anything else you like?”
“You have an amazing crop collection, looks like.” He nodded toward a wall where at least twenty different riding crops hung.
“I do. Go get one for me. Any crop you like. I’ll show you a trick.”
He rose and went to the wall of riding crops. Nora watched him as he scanned the options.
“Do you mind if I...?”
“Be my guest.”
He pulled a crop down and held it in one hand flat on his palm. Then with both hands he gripped either end and bent it. He hung it back on the wall and did the same thing to the next crop. Interesting. He was testing them for their give. The looser the crop, the less it hurt when struck with it. The tighter the crop, the less yield to it, the more it hurt. She had some crops that were a step up from a wet noodle and others that were barely a step down from a rattan cane, a toy that could split the skin and put a sub in the hospital if used incorrectly. Not that she would ever do that. Not unless someone prepaid for it.
“That black one with the white braiding has a steel spine under the leather,” she said. “Hurts like fuck. So does that solid red one. Both of them are vicious.”
“I like vicious.” He pulled down the solid red one and tried to bend it. It had almost no give to it.
He brought it back to the throne and sat again at Nora’s feet.
“My lady,” he said and handed her the crop.
“Lady? In here? No ladies allowed in my dungeon.”
She took the crop in her right hand.
“I would never argue with the Mistress,” Lance said, watching her twirl the crop like a baton over the right arm of the throne. It had taken her three solid months of practice before she mastered the twirl. “But I do see a lady in this room, the most beautiful lady I’ve seen in a long time. She’s strong, smart and completely comfortable with who and what she is. She also understands the men who want to serve at her feet.”
“I’m going to beat the shit out of you tonight and fuck you. And then probably fuck you again, and you call me a lady?”
“Yes, Mistress. Nothing unladylike about any of that. Not in my eyes.”
Nora caught her crop and let it slide down between her fingers until she caught it by the handle.
She leaned forward and put the end of the crop handle under Lance’s chin, forcing his mouth to meet her mouth. Their lips hovered only an inch apart.
“You know what, Lance? I think I like your eyes.”
Just to be sadistic, Nora stayed there for a few unnecessary seconds, letting Lance feel her breath against his lips before she moved forward, closed the gap between them and kissed him. The kiss started soft and careful but quickly turned passionate. She slipped her tongue into his mouth and bit his top lip. Even as the kiss deepened, grew hungrier, Lance stayed on his knees and kept his hands to himself. He wouldn’t touch her without permission. Someone had trained this man and trained him well.
With reluctance she pulled back from Lance. She’d almost forgotten how much she loved kissing a man. She had sex mostly with women lately, a nice break from the male clients she dealt with all day long. When was the last time she’d even kissed a man on the mouth? A month ago? Two? It would have been Kingsley, right? The last man she’d kissed? And he hadn’t had a session with her in weeks. Kissing Lance, she realized how much she missed the feel of soft stubble on her skin, missed the sense of power restrained. If she didn’t stop kissing him now, they’d end up making out all night instead of doing what she really wanted to do.
“Take your shirt off,” she ordered. Lance hesitated. “Shy?” she asked.
