Velvet Submission

Velvet Ice

Violet Summers

(c) 2010

ISBN 978-1-59578-661-6

Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of

Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr,
Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2010,
Violet Summers. All rights reserved. No part of this
publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted in any form or by any means,
electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise,
without the prior written permission of the author.

Manufactured in the United States of America

Liquid Silver Books

http://LSbooks.com

Email:

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Editor

Terri Schaefer

Cover Artist

April Martinez

This is a work of fiction. The characters,

incidents and dialogues in this book are of the
author’s imagination and are not to be construed as
real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons,
living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Blurb

Gregori learned all about pain and submission in

Communist Russia, but it wasn't until he came to
America that he was able to make sense of those
lessons. Now he's learned to take the pain and
make it the source of his strength, and he's looking
for the Domme who can command his soul as well
as his body. Megan sees D/s as a power play; for
her it's not about sex, it's all about control. She's not
the Domme for Gregori, she knows it. So why can't
she walk away from the sexy Russian? Because all
she wants is Gregori's Velvet Submission.

Prologue

Friday, October 31st

Gregori Lavinkia stood at the top of the stairs

looking over the semi-private second floor dance
space, and wished the night would end. Normally he
loved his job as security at the very exclusive, very
exotic club, Velvet Ice, but it had been a bitch of a
week, and Halloween brought out the psychos.

He really couldn't complain, though. A long week

in Royal Oak, Michigan was nothing compared to the
long weeks in St. Petersburg, where he'd lived until
his twelfth birthday. And while Velvet Ice's Halloween
psychos were annoying, they weren't dangerous. It
was a distinction he'd learned early to appreciate.

Gregori was pulled from his self-indulgent

musings by the appearance of a goddess.

Tall and voluptuous, the golden-haired vision

was making her way up the spiral staircase as if she
owned the place. Something in her stance, her
confident walk, sent a tingle up Gregori's spine.
Something in her determined expression sent a
warning flag up in his brain.

He swept an assessing gaze over the writhing

dance floor and caught sight of a lone she-devil,
looking more overwhelmed than excited. A quick
glance at the staircase opposite his revealed a sexy
little slip of vampire who looked bent on trouble.

Gregori smiled to himself. He'd been warned

about Jenner's "Terrible Trio." They were legendary
at the club. Led by Celia Jenner, the younger sister

of club regular Dorian Jenner, the three had staged a
two-year siege on the club and sent Brady Ryder, his
boss and part owner of the club, into a homicidal
state of mind that hadn't abated in the entire year
Gregori had worked at Velvet Ice. Ryder had made it
more than clear that these three ladies were not by
any means to be allowed past the front door.
Somehow though, in spite of her under-age status,
the ingenuous Ms. Jenner managed to infiltrate the
first floor on an almost weekly basis, and she and
her cohorts showed up on the second floor far more
often than was acceptable.

The vibe this one sent off didn't feel under-age or

innocent in the least. In fact, golden hair and ivory
skin aside, something in the big blue gaze currently
locked on him like a heat-seeking missile practically
demanded he drop to his knees and beg to serve at
her feet. Those candy-pink lips curved and her brow
arched challengingly, and Gregori couldn't help
wondering if she wanted to master him as much as
he wanted to be mastered.

Unfortunately, he was here to work, not to play,

and even if he weren't, he didn't play with children, no
matter how appealing they might be. Shaking his
head in amusement, Gregori stepped forward to
send his young goddess on her way.

*

"Aphrodite, I presume."

Oh, goodness.

Megan Jamison felt that deep, accented voice

shiver down her spine with a heady thrill that spoke
to something beyond sex. It spoke to something dark
and visceral, something she'd only begun to

recognize since she'd left home and her father's
influence. She heard that voice and wanted to

own

him.

Tipping her head back, Meg took stock of the

stunning specimen of masculine perfection before
her. He was big. Really big. Megan appreciated size
in a man. At five-eleven, she was no dainty blossom,
and she preferred a man who didn't make her feel
like a hulking giant. This man was easily six-four, and
built like a football player: thick and wide and hard.

Executioner's garb, a costume that suited him all

too well, bared a wide bronzed chest. Unlike many of
the men present, he hadn't shaved or waxed his
chest, and the light covering of hair looked silky and
lent him a slightly barbaric appearance.

His black hair was cropped so close to his skull

she could see the skin of his scalp. Not much to grab
onto, but it emphasized the high cheekbones and
almost almond shape of his glinting gray eyes.

"Oh, no, sugar," she replied with a laugh.

"Aphrodite was too easy. Too willing to be controlled
by her emotions." She stepped closer, laying one
hand on his bare chest. Ummm. That chest hair was
just as silky as it looked, the skin beneath hard and
smooth. She could almost swear his breath caught
at the contact, and something flared in those
gorgeous eyes. She had to resist the urge to pet
him. "No, Sug, I'm Athena." She moved in even
closer, pressing her breasts against his arm just to
see his reaction.

He didn't disappoint, going tense and tight

between one breath and the next.

"The goddess of war?" his voice went even

deeper, and gracious she wanted to hear that voice
begging for … something.

"The goddess of war," she agreed, pushing

lightly on his chest. He stood his ground, but she
didn't think he really wanted to. "And wisdom," she
added with a slow smile.

He blinked and took a deep breath, and to

Megan's great disappointment, those mercurial eyes
cooled just a bit. He stepped back and gave her a
bland smile.

"A wise goddess would realize that Mr. Ryder

would not risk his licenses by allowing a woman
under twenty-one, no matter how compelling, into his
establishment, let alone onto the private floors."

"Is that all?" Megan thought about following him

that one step, but decided not to. She already knew
how the encounter would end. He'd shut down
whatever current had been flowing between them,
and she didn't expect he'd allow her to open it up
again. That didn't mean she'd just walk away, though.
"I'm twenty-two, sugar. Well over the age of consent."

"Still, unless you've a gold coin to show me,

you're adventure ends here for tonight." How could
such a bland smile seem so wicked? Megan wanted
to pursue it, wanted to explore the forbidden third
floor, and wanted to explore it with this man.

She gave an exaggerated sigh, one she knew

would cause her generous breasts to swell and
threaten to burst free from the fine gold cord holding
them bound in her gauzy white gown. As she'd
expected, his eyes fixed on the feminine display, and
his smile went from bland to predatory in a blink.

"We could share the adventure, sugar," she

offered with a confidential smile.

"I have no doubt, my goddess." He returned her

smile and gestured for her to precede him down the
stairs. "But, regretfully, that is not to be."

"Ah, well," she murmured philosophically.

"Perhaps another time."

As she made her way down the staircase she

heard his soft rumble, and smiled anew. He'd said,
"One can only hope. Desperately."

Chapter One

January, Two Years Later

"I'm sure you're aware that your background

check and personal information came back clean,
however I've decided against approving your VIP
membership at Velvet Ice." Megan had expected
this response from Brady Ryder, and was prepared
to address it.

"Mr. Ryder, I fail to see why I'm not fit for your

establishment." Her lilting southern accent rolled off
her tongue like molasses. It was her first line of
defense, and Megan usually got what she wanted
when she did her Southern Belle routine.
Unfortunately, Brady Ryder wasn't falling for it, if his
deepening frown was anything to go by.

"It doesn't have anything to do with your not

being

fit

for membership. Frankly, in a club of this

sort, it's necessary that someone have full discretion
on membership decisions. At Velvet Ice, that
someone is me, and I am rejecting your application."
He stood, apparently thinking the conversation was
over. Megan imagined that most people were
intimidated by Brady Ryder, but she wasn't one of
them. She came from a long line of males who
thought they owned the world; consequently, as a
young girl, she mastered all the ways to maneuver
around them.

Now, she crossed her long shapely legs,

exhaling deeply. "Mr. Ryder, Brady, I can assure you
that Celia Jenner will have no knowledge of my

membership." She met his eyes earnestly, not an
easy feat, as they'd narrowed dangerously at the
mention of her friend's name. "And I promise you,
Celia won't have any more access to the second or
third floors of the club than she already does."

Bingo. The man's face turned blood red,

bordering on purple, at subtle mention of how Celia
ran wild in the club. But really, if Ryder's only
objection was her friendship with Celia, he was
being completely irrational. The woman had
practically the entire staff wrapped around her
slender little finger, and he darn well knew it.

"Be that as it may, your application is still

denied. You need to leave now." He bit out every
single word like he was chewing on glass. Megan
certainly wasn't going to be shaken, nor was she
taking no for an answer. She needed this.

"I know who you are, Bradford Ryder." She kept

her voice as soft as possible. "I know all about you.
Ryder International, the scandal…"

He slammed his fist down on his desk and

Megan felt the first stirrings of unease.

"Do you honestly think you can blackmail your

way into my club?"

Oh, dear. She'd really stepped into it this time.

"Darlin', I have no intention of doing anything so
ugly," she began soothingly. "I only meant to
demonstrate that I can keep some things to myself. I
am, among other things, discreet."

The big, bald man sat down in his chair, absently

rubbing his naked scalp. "So, you haven't shared
your knowledge with Celia?"

"No, I have not. It's not in my nature to gossip.

Especially when my best friend is smitten with you."
She could understand why Celia was so attracted to
the man. He was mysterious, dangerous and
promised to give a woman the time of her life. Unlike
Celia, however, she also knew the baggage he
carried around and how it had twisted his soul.

No, there was no way in hell she would ever

burden Celia with what she knew about Brady Ryder.
Better her friend live with the fantasy of the man than
the reality of him.

"Mr. Ryder." She was wearing him down; Megan

could practically see the resignation coming off him
in waves. "I have certain needs I wish to satisfy.
Needs that I don't care to share with even my closest
friends." She gave him a significant look and paused
until he nodded a gruff acknowledgement. "This is
the perfect place for me to explore and play. Here I
know I'm safe, as opposed to some open play party I
might find on the web." He'd closed his eyes and
was pinching the bridge of his nose as though he
were in pain. Megan smiled in satisfaction. The
membership was hers for the taking. "I'll make a deal
with you. Give me three months. If, during that time,
you ever feel I have overstepped my boundaries,
then I will withdraw my application." He gave her a
narrow look, and she quickly erased the smile from
her face before continuing. "But if I behave myself,
then you approve my permanent VIP membership."

The man closed his eyes and shook his head. "I

can't believe I'm saying this, but all right. Three
months probation. During that time you will use
absolute discretion, and Celia Jenner will not have
access to my club."

Megan let her smile bloom. "Celia won't gain

access to your club

through me

. It's up to you to

keep her out the rest of the time, darlin'." She
laughed out loud at the sour look on his face, turned
on her four-inch heels, and sauntered through the
door.

*

Brady sat back and dug the heels of his hands

into his closed eyes as the buxom blonde walked out
his office door. He had to hand it to Rose Red, as
he'd come to think of her. She certainly knew how to
play the game. He'd walked away from Ryder
International nearly ten years ago without a
backward glance, and had thought only his former
partner, Marcus Worthington, knew his history.

Now he realized he should have expected Miss

Megan Jamison to recognize his name. Her father
was a wealthy Virginia business mogul who moved
in the same social circles as his family. It made
sense she'd know who he was … or who he used to
be.

She had him by the balls, but he actually

believed her when she said her intention wasn't to
blackmail him. She'd invaded his club frequently with
Celia, and since he made a career out of watching
that little pain in the ass, he'd done some watching of
Megan as well. A part of him admired her fire, while
another part resented the hell out of it.

Still, he had to admit that she would be a popular

Domme; she was tall and curvy as hell. Large
breasts and long legs and flowing blonde hair…
Yeah, there were going to be a lot of men, and
women too, for that matter, falling all over themselves

to do her bidding. He hoped they knew what the hell
they were getting themselves into with this one.
Because, there was one thing Brady Ryder knew,
and that was when trouble came knocking. Megan
Jamison didn't fool him for one second with her
husky, soft-spoken southern accent. She was trouble
with a capital T.

Chapter Two

May 30th

Megan looked around her newly decorated room

on Velvet Ice's third floor with deep satisfaction.
She'd finally completed her three months of
probation, and all the resources of the club were at
her disposal, including the use of a private and
exclusive room. The walls, a deep twilight blue,
contrasted beautifully with the whitewashed wooden
equipment that filled the space. There were quite a
few bulky pieces set throughout the room; the only
obviously missing item was a bed. Megan didn't
need a bed, though. She wasn't here for sexual
satisfaction. Megan

never

mixed sex and her

Domme life.

For her, being a Domme was a way for her to

take back control. As the pampered and beloved
only daughter of a powerful man, Megan had learned
early that her place was to fall in line with her
Daddy's plans. He knew the best school to gild the
magnolia, the best clubs for her to socialize at, and
the best boys for her to date. Megan trailed her
finger along a beautifully appointed St. Andrew's
cross and smiled. Somehow, she didn't think this
was the kind of club her daddy would approve of.

When she'd finally gotten the nerve to explain

she wanted to become a nurse and that she was
leaving Virginia to attend Madonna University in
Michigan, her daddy had been furious. How dare
she want to leave her family, to have a career

instead of marrying an eligible bachelor handpicked
by him? He had her life all planned out for her, and
for her to try and change the script at this late date
was unacceptable.

Thank God for her Nana Stella. That genteel lady

had enough fire to keep her son, Megan's daddy
Beau, in line, and enough money to give Megan the
freedom from her family she'd so desperately
needed.

She'd never been a passive person, or a

biddable lover, but Megan believed her Domme
persona was born from the last year she'd spent
arguing with her father about her future. Wandering
in to Velvet Ice the first time with Celia and Kendra
had merely put a name to the urges that had been
growing in her for years. Dominating a submissive
gave her a much-needed release from being under
her daddy's command. For Megan, holding a
submissive's very will in her hands was even more
alluring than sex. And it was a natural role for her;
she had a flair when it came to delivering the correct
amount of pain, of pleasure and punishment to her
submissives.

Domination wasn't about sex for Megan, but she

knew it was for most of her subs and, while she
never got off herself, she would, on occasion, allow
her submissive to have an orgasm as a reward for
following her rules perfectly. Of course, perfection
was very, very rare.

Walking to the wall, Megan began to arrange her

numerous baby blue floggers on the appropriate
hooks. She hung them first by length, then by width,
and then moved on to her collection of straps, again

in her favorite color of baby blue. A company in
California made them especially for her. All her
paddles, crops and even butt plugs, were her
signature baby blue.

An armoire along one wall held her play clothes.

The outfits were meant to tantalize her subs, giving
them a hard-on before she ever opened her mouth.
Megan knew her body well, and made sure her
costumes played up her strengths. Her breasts were
large, so her tops were low cut, allowing a generous
view of her cleavage. Her hips and derriere were full
and round, so skin-tight pants and skirts hugged her
ample curves. Megan loved how it felt, walking
through the club, ass swaying. She loved feeling
every eye on her, hypnotized by the swing of her
hips. She loved feeling like she

owned

the room and

everyone in it.

Knee-high boots were another favorite. At five-

eleven barefoot, Megan was used to towering over
everyone around her. In her role as a Domme, that
height gave her another advantage, that of
intimidation. Besides, any sub too greatly cowed by
her height and physical gifts wasn't a sub worth her
time.

She'd even whipped a female sub once or twice,

if their Masters requested it. Since she wasn't having
sex with subs, it didn't bother her in the least, though
she preferred male slaves. The bigger and badder
the male, the better, as far as Megan was
concerned.

All in all, she decided, Velvet Ice was perfect for

her, a perfect sanctuary for her deepest needs.
Within these walls, she was in control of not only her

own destiny, but also of reality for those she allowed
to serve her.

She placed a few favorite toys in a beaded satin

bag, and checked her reflection in the mirror. Her
silky blonde hair fell in soft curls around her
shoulders. Her make-up was expertly applied and
finished off with cotton candy-colored lipstick. Her
nails matched her lips, and she kept them the perfect
length to tease without causing serious damage.

Her costume for the evening was a long pink

dress that hugged her curves, showing them off to
perfection. While it covered her from neck to wrists,
a deep, keyhole neckline bared a generous amount
of cleavage. The tight fit of the skirt made a dramatic
slit necessary, and Megan knew that with every step
she took, an equally dramatic amount of satiny thigh
was revealed. For a final touch, she buckled on her
favorite gold stilettos. They looked like pure,
agonizing sin, but they were actually the most
comfortable footwear she owned.

Megan picked up her bag and slunk toward the

door. It had been a hellacious week. She'd pulled
two doubles at work, and it seemed the whole of the
city was celebrating the country's men and women in
uniform on Memorial Day by drinking themselves
sick and then playing with pyrotechnics, automobiles
or boats. She'd cleaned up more fireworks burns
over the last four days than in the last four months,
and if she saw one more baggie holding a finger or
toe, she thought she just might retch.

Tonight she wanted to

play

, and play hard. And

she knew it would be an especially good night since

he

was working.

He

being Gregori the Hot, head of

Velvet Ice security, and almost irresistible
submissive. There was something about the huge
man that called to Megan. Since the first time she'd
seen him, blocking her way to the fabled third floor,
she'd wanted to pet him, to feel all those large,
sculpted muscles jump under the whisper of her
touch. It was purely an ego thing. He was a big,
powerful man; she was attracted, and she wanted
him on the other end of her flogger.

Checking her lipstick one last time, Megan

scooped up her bag and stepped out the door and
into the fantasy.

*

She was here again. Gregori leaned against the

wall in the third floor public play area, eyes locked on
his golden goddess. He'd tracked her from the
moment she'd come from the private rooms and
claimed her favorite table near the balcony. She'd
ordered her usual red wine and sat watching the
dance floor below her.

Tonight she was wearing pink. An insanely hot

candy-pink dress that clung to her breasts. Her long
shapely legs crossed and her skirt fell to either side,
offering him a tantalizing view of pink garters and
soft white thighs. She trailed one finger lingeringly
around the rim of her wine glass, and his dick
pressed hard against his zipper as he was reminded
once again of the night he'd turned her down, the
night he'd already been committed to serve Master
Dorian and his lovely wife-to-be.

He shivered at the memory. It hadn't been the

first time he'd watched her at the club. It hadn't even
been the first time he'd spoken to her. But it had

been the first time she'd really seen him as a
submissive, as a potential play partner.

She'd approached him slowly, a long, tall cat

moving gracefully through the crowd. She hadn't yet
been a member, but she'd acted liked she owned
the place. Gregori watched her drink, and savored
the memory.

She walked right up

to him, and Gregori

automatically cast his eyes down to the floor. Long
elegant fingers brushed aside his shirt collar just
enough to reveal the plain black collar that marked
him as a submissive.

"So, sugar, you enjoy taking direction from a

woman who knows what you need." It wasn't a
question and her husky southern accent licked
down his spine like fire.

"I do, Mistress."
"Mmm. I thought you might." She trailed her

finger the width of his shoulder, and he didn't even
try to control the shiver that followed in her wake. A
brief, sultry laugh escaped those glossy pink lips,
and he shivered again. "Where are you from, Sug?
That lovely accent certainly isn't from around here."

Gregori was trying desperately to maintain

control in her presence. She'd always affected him,
but now, without his role as security and babysitter
to stand in his way, every instinct he owned
screamed for him to be on his knees at her feet.
He'd never regretted a commitment more than he
did at that moment.

"I am from Russia." His mouth was dry, and he

had to clear his throat before he continued. "From
St. Petersburg."

"You sound as pretty as you look," she

murmured, giving a little hum of pleasure. Damn,
he wanted to raise his eyes and look at her face up
close, see if she was truly as spectacular as he
remembered.

She bent to his ear. "Tell me, Sug, do you like

a bite of leather across your fine ass?"

"Yes, Mistress," he rasped. The tip of her nails

lightly scraped the back of his neck, and he
shuddered in reaction. His balls drew tight as she
continued to torment him.

"Do you get off on a little pain? Strapped down,

spread wide and at the mercy of a woman?"

"Yes, Mistress." The image she described

exploded in his brain and all the blood in his body
went straight to his dick. This woman was a fireball,
beautiful and dangerous at the same time.

"Would you enjoy that with me, sugar?" Her

nails teased the top of his spine, dipping tauntingly
beneath the collar that marked him as hers for the
asking.

"God, yes, Mistress," he hissed, thinking that, if

she didn't stop touching him, stop talking to him,
he'd come in his pants and be useless to Master
Dorian, and the Master's tender little sub.

She held out a hand to him and waited, and

Gregori wanted to howl with frustration.

"To my very deep regret, Mistress, I am

promised elsewhere this evening." The words
tasted like ashes in his mouth.

"Is that so?" He risked a glance up and, yes,

she really was as beautiful as he remembered. She
focused in on Master Dorian, who had his

submissive collared and leashed, and was heading
in their direction with an intent expression on his
face. "Ah, I see," she murmured. "Well, sugar, you
have a good night." Her warm breath tickled his ear
and she turned on her heel and walked away.

That had been two years ago, but the memory

was burned into Gregori's mind forever. He'd played
with other Mistresses, been

strapped down, spread

wide and at their mercy

, but no other had captured

his imagination the way his golden goddess had.
He'd lost count of how many nights he'd lain in bed
getting himself off to the memory of her words, her
nails teasing over the nape of his neck.

It had only gotten worse since Brady'd granted

her club membership.

While at the club she was Mistress M; as head

of security, a position he'd taken with stunned honor
a mere eighteen months after he began working at
the club, he knew she was Megan Jamison, best
friend to Celia Jenner and Kendra Moore, the sweet-
faced fiancee of Velvet Ice's events coordinator,
Sinclair Martin. More, he knew she was trouble, if
only to his peace of mind.

Since her admission to the third floor, Megan

always arrived alone and left alone, which suited
Gregori just fine because he was overwhelmed by
unjustified bouts of jealousy every time the woman
even looked at another man. She had yet to take
anyone to her private room, but every time she led a
submissive to one of the public play areas he
suffered the torments of the damned. He wanted to
rip the fucking flogger from her dainty little hand, and
beat the clueless ass that'd caught her attention into

a bloody mess.

He wanted to feel the sting of her lash on

his

bare skin while she talked to him, taunted him, and
owned him with that sexy southern drawl. It was both
heaven and hell having Megan Jamison on the third
floor.

Gregori was a sexual submissive, true, but he

wasn't a submissive man by nature. Yes, he craved
the pain and ecstasy to be found at the hands of an
experienced Mistress, but he also craved the battle,
the gentle, inexorable bending to his Domme's will.
And, complicating things, he'd come to crave one
particular Domme. And, dammit, spending his
evenings watching the woman he wanted to serve
take another male to play with was the worst kind of
torture.

A tall blond man approached her table, going to

his knees near her chair, carefully not facing her and
Gregori growled. Trey Fucking Langston. Trey was a
popular sub in the club and he'd apparently set his
eyes upon Megan.

The other sub knew his etiquette well. He sat

silently on his heels, head bowed, and waited for
Megan's acknowledgement. Gregori's palms itched
as he watched Megan absently pet Trey's head. He
actually tightened his hands into fists when Trey
slanted a look at her from lowered lashes. He knew
what was going to happen; he had witnessed it a
dozen times already. She was going to take Trey to
the public platform and tease him, whip him and
torment him until he came.

Megan stood and straightened her dress with a

sinful little shimmy, then indicated Trey should follow

her with a negligent flick of her fingertips. She led
him straight back through the glass double doors on
the right. Gregori's mouth watered as she sauntered
by him, breasts bouncing and ass swaying. She
looked at him over her shoulder and winked. The
wink was like a lightning strike to his already aching
cock.

His dick swelled, and the leather strap around

his balls he'd taken to wearing on the nights he
worked tightened a fraction, forcing Gregori to close
his eyes as the tiny bite of pain shot through him. He
enjoyed the pain; his first Mistress, the Domme
who'd trained him, had taught him how the pleasure
could be infused with the pain to create a whole new
reality, and Gregori had been a quick study. Perhaps
his childhood of fear and deprivation in Russia had
uniquely prepared him for her lessons. Whatever the
reason, he knew he was intense, his tastes a bit
darker than many of the subs who were regulars at
Velvet Ice. Somehow he knew Megan could give him
what he craved.

He pushed himself from the wall and followed

her into the play area, dreading what he was about
to see, yet needing to watch.

*

Megan cinched the last cuff around Trey's wrist

and stepped back to view her work. He lay spread
eagle on his stomach; his tight golden body beautiful
against the black leather of St. Andrews Cross. She
tilted the cross, lowering the front slightly and
exposing his ass to those who enjoyed watching the
show.

Reaching over to the small table that held

common accessories, she retrieved a small wedge
and slid it under Trey's hips. It raised his ass in the
air and there were a few ahhs from the tables
scattered in front of the play cubes.

"I hope you like an audience, darlin', because I

don't close the curtains, ever." Megan gave Trey a
moment to object. Instead he raised his ass a little
higher and bent his knees slightly to open himself up.

She smiled. "Good boy. Now, do you have a

safe word?" She generally preferred to ask her
submissives if they had a preference for their safe
words. If they did, they'd be more likely to remember
it if they needed to. More than once, Megan's subs
had needed to.

"Yes, Mistress." His voice was awash in need.

This was an anxious one for sure. "Tonight my safe
word is Georgia." Megan gave a little laugh, then
laughed even more when he shivered at the sound.

"Now, darlin', you should know that's not where I

come from," she teased.

"Doesn't matter." The sweet thing was almost

panting, and she hadn't even touched him yet. "It's
what I think of when I hear your voice, Mistress. It's
like fucking honey."

Pleased, Megan laughed again, delighted not

only with his compliment, but with the opening he'd
given her.

"You kiss your mama with that mouth?" she

questioned chidingly. "Didn't your daddy teach you to
watch your language in the presence of a lady?" Out
of the corner of her eye Megan caught a glimpse of
Gregori. Her thighs squeezed tight every time she
caught sight of the Russian, even more so on nights

like tonight when his civilized veneer seemed
especially thin.

She'd only approached him once and, thank

God, he'd already been claimed for the evening. He
was trouble on too many levels. He worked at the
Club; not really a problem, but still a complication, as
she intended her membership to be a long and
satisfying one.

No, the problem was that she

wanted

him. He

affected her in a sexual way and the attraction took
her by surprise. She never mixed her Domme
experiences with her sex life. Being in control was
easy when sex was off limits. Sex for Megan
involved emotional ties, and she was rarely in control
when love was involved. Since her whole reason for
coming to Velvet Ice was to be in control, mastering
Gregori was a bad idea on every level.

Besides, he was

so

not her type. While Megan's

preference in submissives was the bigger, the
badder, the better, she preferred her lovers be more
refined. Less formidable. She didn't want to Domme
her lover, but she certainly didn't want her lover to
Dom

her

, either.

She turned her attention back to the man she

could

safely master and ran her hand up his strong

back. He was lovely, built like a swimmer with not an
ounce of extra flesh on him. She picked through her
bag, pulling out her smallest baby blue flogger and
walked to the foot of the cross, completely out of the
sub's line of sight.

She stood silently, deliberating over where to

begin. Gregori's eyes burned on her back, and in
spite of her best intentions, she felt inspired. Finally

deciding on a course of action, she trailed the
tasseled ends of the flogger up the inside of the
sub's thigh. He jerked in surprise, and his body went
tight in anticipation.

"You've a nasty mouth, slave," she murmured,

her voice as gentle as the touch of the flogger she
was now trailing over the sensitive small of his back.
"How shall I punish you for your crudity?"

"However pleases you, Mistress," he gasped.

Really, all the panting and trembling was delicious,
but she couldn't help but crave a struggle. Mastering
a weak sub never felt like true mastery to Megan.

"And what would you say if I told you it pleases

me to leave pretty red marks on your pretty white
skin?"

"Yes, Mistress," he whispered. "I'd say yes,

please, Mistress."

"That's the correct answer," she answered, and

let the flogger fly. Placing her blows carefully,
precisely, she used the leather thongs to create a
diamond pattern along the broad width of his back.
When she reached his thighs, she slowed her pace
still more, varying her timing so he couldn't brace
himself, didn't know when to expect the next blow.

When she'd marked him from nape to knees,

she paused. When he'd quieted, she teased him,
whipping him, but lightly. The leather thongs fell in
barely a whisper against his skin. She knew if she
gave the burn time to die down, the next layer of
marks would be even more intense.

She moved up his body again, put down the

flogger and reached for the bottle of oil waiting in her
bag. Popping the top, she held it up for her audience

to see, then let the clear liquid drip down his back. It
was a common enough lube, one with a mild heating
agent, but his hips rose dramatically as a long thin
line slid down between his butt cheeks.

"Mistress, it's so fucking hot."
Megan frowned and slapped him hard on one

thigh. "I thought we'd established that I don't
appreciate inappropriate language. If you can't
speak respectfully, don't speak at all."

"Sorry, Mistress," he panted. "I'll do better,

Mistress."

Megan nodded in acknowledgement, and began

to rub the oil along his back, massaging it in
thoroughly. She knew his skin would heat up and
tingle slightly, and she was interested to see how this
particularly responsive sub would perform with the
added stimulation. He groaned his approval
continuously, a low stream of profanity, and Megan
caught the hint. Moving back to her bag, she
retrieved a ball gag. This sub was ready to go
further. She brought out the device and pushed the
ball into his mouth before clasping it into place
behind his head. Placing a rather large baby blue
dildo in his clenched fist she deliberately deepened
her drawl as she instructed him, "If you need your
safe word, drop the dildo."

He moaned his understanding, and his skin took

on a rosy color indicating the oil had done its job.
Grabbing her flogger again she began to drag the
leather tails along his spine and the insides of his
thighs. He whimpered behind the gag, and she gave
him the force he was begging for. The cracks
against his flesh grew louder with each strike. His

moans behind the ball increased with every blow.

A rush of power came over Megan, settling into

her bones and releasing the great amount of tension
that was permanently pent up inside of her. Being an
emergency room nurse was a pressure cooker
anywhere. Being one at Detroit Receiving Hospital
was tantamount to torture with all she saw during one
of her shifts. But with every crack of the flogger a little
bit of that pressure was released; here she had
control over what was happening. At her job, she
was often powerless to help her patients. In this
place, as Mistress, she held the promise of pain or
fulfillment for her submissives, and for a little while
she was able to forget the realities of the world.

The sub's hips were bucking up and down,

moving back and forth in a frenzied dance of
agonizing pleasure. He opened his knees wider,
allowing Megan's flogger to snap between his legs.
She halted her blows, savoring the way his thighs
tensed at the loss.

"More?" she asked sweetly, and he groaned his

assent. Megan moved to his head and stroked an
approving hand down his cheek. She walked back
up to the table and slipped her small flogger into her
bag, then palmed the long crop the club provided for
public play. She tested it a few times against her
palm while watching her sub. He jumped with each
strike, his eyes dilating with extreme need and want.

She moved back down his side and stood

behind him. Raising the crop, she brought it down
none to gently to the back of his balls. He moaned,
and she could see his jaw working as he bit down on
the ball gag, writhing in pleasure. She struck again:

once, twice and on the third pass his legs stiffened
and his scream pierced the small cubical.

The rush she felt made her want to run a

marathon. Instead she petted his back through the
spasms. Once he'd calmed, she went about picking
up her things. She motioned one of the third-floor
attendants for water and soap. The girl nodded once
and left to get Megan what she wanted.

She flattened the St. Andrews Cross so Trey

was lying prone and locked it into place. She
removed the bonds at his feet, then his wrists. Finally
she removed the ball gag. She reached under and
took out the wedge. "Lay still and we'll get you
cleaned up."

He grabbed her wrist gently. "Mistress, please…

Please can I stay with you for the rest of this
evening?"

Megan gently removed his hand and touched his

shoulder. She bent over for his ears only, and
whispered, "I don't spend the evening with anyone."
He made a small sound of protest, and she met his
eyes, giving him a level, implacable look. "You did
well, don't ruin it." She ran her fingers through his
damp hair and moved back, speaking in a normal
tone. "Now just lay there and relax and we'll get you
cleaned up."

The attendant returned with a hot bowl of soapy

water. Megan took the cloth from the bowl, wrung it
out and washed the oil from his body.

Chapter Three

Gregori wanted the floor to open and for Trey

Lancaster to fall through on his ass. He wanted to
slam his fist into the pretty-boy's dazed face and
beat him to a bloody pulp. He wanted his Mistress to
take him in hand and punish him for his presumption.

His body was strung tighter than he'd ever

experienced before. Every flick of her wrist, every
crack of her flogger was like a caress across his
cock. At one point he'd bitten the inside of his cheek
so hard he was bleeding.

Mistress Megan was gasoline to a fire,

specifically the fire in his pants. He rolled his eyes at
the poor metaphor, but he was no poet. He was
simply a man who'd found the woman he wanted to
belong to, and was suffering her absence. He gritted
his teeth and kept his gaze upon her as she cleaned
and petted her sub for the evening. She always
brought her partners down gently, respectfully. Then
she would collect her playthings and retreat to either
the public changing rooms or, now, her private room.
Within the quarter hour, she'd be at the first-floor bar,
serenely sipping a glass of wine.

She'd be dressed completely differently, her

Mistress persona long gone and replaced by a
"normal" looking woman. Though to Gregori, even in
a pair of artfully faded jeans and a plain t-shirt,
Megan was exceptional. He brushed his hands down
his thighs; what he itched to touch was the valley
between her breasts. He absently pushed his tongue
against the roof of his mouth—what he wanted was

to taste her. His fantasies always started with his
mouth on her, worshipping her body from head to
toe. She smelled like honeysuckle and he'd bet his
paycheck she tasted sweeter than honey fresh from
the comb.

Gregori was losing control of his wayward body,

a first for him. He'd been trained to go without
pleasure, without release, and in the past it was
never a problem. The denial only made the ultimate
pleasure more intense.

Wanting, but never having Megan's touch, her

taste, wasn't a denial he could enjoy. Perhaps it was
because of his unacceptable possessiveness;
perhaps it was the probability that his thirst for her
would never be satisfied. Whatever the reason, his
craving for her had long passed anticipation and
was well into the territory of sheer torment. Standing
in the dark watching Megan stroke a soapy cloth
over Trey's red-striped legs, Gregori wanted to
launch himself at her and beg to be taken.

He groaned as he rubbed his eyes with the

palms of his hands. Watching her with her hands all
over another man took him forcefully back in time, to
his school days in Soviet Russia. He remembered
going hungry, wanting but never having. He
remembered the day United Nations relief supplies
had been delivered to his school.

He'd stood, hypnotized, staring in mute wonder

at the crates of fruit and vegetables. Wanting, but
forbidden to touch. Once the photo op had ended
and the world press had gone, he and his
classmates had been sent on their way, each
clutching a single apple or orange like a precious

treasure. They'd never seen the rest of the supplies
again; the school officials had taken them, glutted
themselves with pleasure.

That

was what watching Megan touch another

man was like: like having everything in the world he
wanted or needed right in front of him, but not being
able to reach out and take it. He released a rough
sigh. The night was still young, and his cold shower
was still hours away. Time to pull himself together.

"Enjoy the show, sugar?" Her sultry voice rode

him hard. He didn't move though, and managed to
keep himself from falling to her feet.

"Entertaining as always, Mistress." He kept his

reply short, professional, though he didn't feel
professional in the least.

"Hmmm," her southern drawl, always

languorous, was lazy with satisfaction. "Well, good
night, then." She smiled and wiggled her perfectly
manicured fingernails in a haphazard gesture of
goodbye.

He waited until he was sure she was out of

earshot to mutter, "Not particularly, Mistress."

* * * *

June

Megan sat at the bar and shot irritated glances

at the table, her table, where John and Susan Scott
had cornered some poor sap and were attempting
to lure him into a menage. From what Megan
understood, the couple, who'd earned the nicknames
of BDSM Barbie and Ken at the club, were a great

time, but didn't know when to say goodbye.
Currently, she thought sourly, they couldn't seem to
say goodbye to her favorite table, darn it.

She sighed into her glass of wine. It had been an

irritating day all around. She'd taken the early shift at
the hospital in order to free up her evening for
Kendra's wedding rehearsal and dinner. That meant
she'd had the pleasure of all the waking winos, and
the joy of cleaning up from the midnight shift's
traumas. Megan knew she should be grateful to even
have a job, but it was hard not to resent the fact that
hospital staffing across the state was at an all-time
low. She gave an un-ladylike snort as she thought of
the recent rash of parties and financial shenanigans
at Detroit's Manoogian Mansion. The former Mayor
would have done better to fund the city's hospitals
and schools.

At any rate, Kennie's rehearsal had been lovely.

She and Sinclair still positively radiated love and lust
at each other, even after two years of living in sin. It
had taken the poor man the entire time to convince
Kendra to marry him. While her friend had whole-
heartedly surrendered to her Dom lover literally
overnight, she'd insisted on taking marriage slowly.

Megan loved her friend, and was over the moon

for her, thrilled with her happiness. But something
about watching Kendra and Sin together, the
tenderness and affection underscored by subtle
reminders that Kendra was Sin's … possession …
rubbed gratingly against nerves that were far too
sensitive.

Megan didn't participate in the lifestyle for sexual

satisfaction. So why did the intimate bliss of a

couple who did disturb her so?

She'd retreated to the club hoping to enjoy a

glass or two of wine and perhaps let go of a bit of
her frustration. If she'd been hoping for a glimpse of
a certain gray-eyed security specialist, she wasn't
admitting that even to herself.

But, instead of releasing her tension with the

snap of leather on pale, silky flesh, she found herself
staring morosely into her glass, uninterested in any
of the available free agents trolling the room.

She'd almost decided to call it a night when she

caught sight of Gregori, winding his way toward the
bar from the private rooms. A petite, flame-haired
Domme walked with him, and Megan felt her eyes
narrow as the woman paused by the stairs to allow
Gregori to bend and kiss her knuckles before gliding
toward the exit.

Okay, she'd known Gregori was a submissive,

but he rarely played at Velvet Ice. In fact, when she
considered it, she hadn't seen him here except for
when he was on duty since she'd gained her
probationary membership. She finished her drink
and gestured for another, all the while reminding
herself that it shouldn't matter who he played with or
how often. He was not the sub for her, and it was
none of her darned business what he did during his
free time.

She didn't know whether to be amused or even

more irritated by the startled look on his face when
he spotted her from across the room. The man
looked positively guilty for a blink of time, and for that
same heartbeat Megan felt like he

should

feel guilty.

Then the moment passed, and he tipped his head in

acknowledgement before heading toward the bar.

He looked delicious. He looked debauched. He

was wearing jeans, not designer, faded from actual
wear, rather than some stylist's vision. His shirt was
linen, pale gray worn wrinkled and open over his
bare chest. Faint, red stripes decorated his chest
and ribs, artfully placed and beautifully framed by his
open shirt.

He sat next to her without waiting for an

invitation, and she had to throttle down the urge to
scold him. Harshly. His voice, when he ordered
vodka, was rough, a little strained, and his accent
was more evident than usual.

He smelled fresh, minty, and she knew his

Mistress had bathed him, or allowed him to bathe
himself, when their session had ended. His wide lips
were redder than usual, faintly swollen, and dammit,
there was a bite-mark on his collarbone. Not a
hickey. No, actual inflamed teeth marks.

Megan glanced toward the bartender, busy at

the other end of the bar, and wished he'd hurry up
with her drink so she could just leave.

*

What the hell was she doing here?

Megan was not supposed to be at the club.

Gregori had verified that tonight was Kendra and
Sinclair's wedding rehearsal and, as one of the
bridesmaids, Megan should be safely tucked away
with her friends.

Instead, she was sitting at the bar next to him,

saying nothing, drinking her wine, and somehow
managing to heap enough guilt on his head to crush
him.

It was stupid, really. She had no claim on him,

had clearly shown she didn't want a claim on him, yet
Gregori found himself planning his visits to the club
around her schedule. He knew she wouldn't play with
him—not that

playing

was what he wanted to do with

her—but he couldn't bring himself to be with anyone
else in her presence.

She seemed agitated tonight, not her usual cool

and confident self. She fiddled with her wine and
gazed pensively around the room, not settling her
attention on anyone or anything for more than a
moment.

She didn't speak when he sat down, didn't even

look at him directly, but he felt her attention like a
physical touch. He sipped his vodka and let the
silence spin out until it became painful, until the
tension between them was almost visible.

Finally, she idly murmured, "You're wasted on

her."

Gregori's eyebrow rose in surprise. She'd

carefully avoided this sort of personal comment for
the last two years. He certainly hadn't expected her
to change the dynamic between them now. Reining
in his curiosity—and hope—he kept his tone bland
when he replied.

"Do you think so?"
She shot a pointed glance at his erection, which

had risen once again to painful proportions at the
sight of her. "Clearly."

"Oh," he demurred, "Mistress S took care of that

well enough. It isn't her fault he wants something
more."

Finally she looked at him directly. "Like I said,

sugar, you're wasted on a Mistress who can't give
you everything you need."

Gregori met her eyes, an act that felt

unacceptably bold for a submissive, and all the more
titillating for it. He wanted to drown in the pools of her
Caribbean blue eyes, to get lost and lose his breath
and breathe only her. That, he knew, was the
difference between simply playing and having a true
Mistress. A true Mistress wasn't as necessary to her
sub as breath; she

was

his breath. "Perhaps you

could do better?"

"Oh, Gregori, sugar, I'm not the Mistress for you."

He loved the way she said his name; not with its
Russian pronunciation of Greg-

or

-ee, but not with the

more American Gregory, either. No, that luscious
southern accent made it a fusion, as unique as
Megan herself. What he didn't love was the look in
those bottomless blue eyes, as if longing, regret and
denial had so intermixed they couldn't be separated
ever again.

"I disagree," he argued, filled with a strange

desperation. What was it about this woman that
compelled him so? Yes, she was beautiful, witty and
smart. But there were other women who frequented
the club who fit that description. Hell, Mistress S,
whom he'd hoped would relieve some of the
unbearable tension building in him, fit that
description to a tee.

No, with Megan there was something more.

Something indefinable that commanded him on
every level.

"Everything I've observed," he continued,

"argues most convincingly that you would be a most

effective Mistress."

"Sugar, I don't mix my activities at Velvet Ice with

my sex life." Her gaze was level, implacable. "Not
ever."

Gregori blinked in surprise. He'd seen her get

her subs off. Not every time, but often. Then he
thought for a long moment. He'd been so eaten up
with jealousy he'd never consciously processed it,
but he'd never once seen her take satisfaction from
her subs. At least not sexually.

"Now

that

," he murmured, "is the true waste."

She shrugged. Her shoulders, bared by the

halter style of her lavender dress, gleamed like pearl
in the pulsing multi-colored light filtering from the
dance floor.

"That's not what it's about for me, sugar. And,"

she cast another glance at his cock, which was
diligently trying to burrow its way past the buttons of
his fly and get to her, "I suspect that's exactly what it's
about for you."

*

Gregori was silent for a long time. He didn't have

to speak, his eyes asked for him. Finally he tilted his
head and gave voice to his confusion.

"Why?"
She didn't imagine it would make sense to him.

Not only was he, by nature, a submissive; but he was
also a formidable, imposing male. She was quite
certain he'd never felt powerless and controlled,
completely denied any say in his own destiny, and
she was equally certain he'd never understand her
motivations. But for some reason she felt compelled
to try.

"Domination and submission," she began

slowly, "is a power exchange. For me, the
satisfaction comes from exercising that power over
my partner."

He was shaking his head in disagreement

before she even finished.

"Domination and submission," he argued, "is an

exchange of

trust

." He leaned forward, resting one

forearm on the bar as he angled his body into hers.
"This is where the power comes from." His voice
was low and intense, his accent more pronounced
as his emotions surged. "The only power my
Domme has is that which I grant her through my
trust." His mercurial gray eyes burned into hers. "It
should be a sharing of souls," he finished. "How then
could it not involve a sharing of bodies as well?"

Megan nodded, filled with an odd mix of regret

and longing. What he was describing sounded lovely
but was not, she was certain, for her. It was one thing
to control her submissives, to dole out their pleasure
and pain at her own whim. It was another thing
entirely to be responsible for their trust, their souls.
That sort of exchange would require an offering of
trust on her part, as well, and that would necessitate
handing over the true source of power to her sub,
which was unacceptable. "And that is why I'm not the
Domme for you, Gregori. What you need in a
Mistress is not something I'm providing."

His eyes probed hers, hot and gray and, she

was certain, stripping away her evasions to see
straight into her soul. When he spoke at last his
voice was soft and musing.

"I think, Megan that we could provide each other

with something we

both

need." He tossed down the

shot of vodka the bartender had dropped off without
her being aware, and she was briefly unnerved that
she'd been so caught up in their conversation that
she'd missed the interruption.

Standing, he offered her a brief, courtly bow.

"Until next time," he murmured, and backed
respectfully away. The contrast was disorienting; one
minute he'd been meeting her eyes, intense and
commanding, the next he was the consummate
submissive, deferential and respectful.

Megan didn't bother to finish her drink. She was

tired, frustrated, and had a busy weekend ahead of
her. Kendra was marrying Sin tomorrow, and Megan
had a feeling she'd need plenty of sleep in order to
have her wits about her in the face of their happily
ever after.

Chapter Four

The dress wasn't really

that

bad. The strapless,

heart-shaped bodice definitely made the most of
Megan's generous curves, while it emphasized
Celia's more modest endowments. It was just the
color: Pepto-Bismol pink. Megan could not believe
Kendra had picked such an intolerable color. Her
friend insisted the nauseating pink satin was the
perfect foil for both Megan's blonde hair and Celia's
dark looks, and had even pointed out that at least
fifty percent of Megan's wardrobe consisted of
various shades of the color. No matter how Celia
argued and Megan attempted to explain, their little
Professor was determined. Pepto-pink she wanted
and, dammit, Pepto-pink she would have.

Megan just prayed her boobs would stay inside

the darn thing. She glanced down thoughtfully.
Maybe she needed to get some of that wardrobe
tape to help in that area.

"Okay, that's just completely unfair," Celia

grumbled from the other side of the room. "Not even
a Wonder Bra can compete with what God gave
you." The dark-haired pixie was busily trying to
create the illusion of cleavage by fiddling with the
underwire of her strapless bra.

"Darlin', I'd gladly share, if only to guarantee I

won't have a wardrobe malfunction before the night
is through," Megan laughed back at her. "I was just
getting ready to look for the duct tape!" Celia's
musical laughter rang out just as Kendra bustled in
from the adjoining bedroom where her mother had

been helping her into her gown.

Megan and Celia both paused, gaping at their

friend. Her burnished mahogany hair was caught in a
low ponytail behind one ear, and cascaded to cover
one breast in a froth of ringlets. A strapless ivory
satin gown hugged her curves, belling out just
enough at the bottom to give her an elegant
silhouette. Around her neck she wore a choker of
lustrous pearls and crystals clustered in the shape of
flowers. It was a beautiful piece of jewelry, but
Megan knew it was far more than a decoration.
Kendra was wearing Sin's collar proudly, for the
entire world to see.

"Oh, Kennie," Celia gasped, running to embrace

their friend. Megan wanted to join them, but her feet
felt frozen to the floor. Kendra looked so radiant, so
joyfully in love, and it set off a hollow yearning in
Megan's own heart. Gregori's words echoed in her
mind.

Domination

should be a sharing of souls.

How then could it not involve a sharing of bodies as
well?

That wasn't what she wanted, Megan told

herself. But, if it wasn't what she wanted, then why
did she feel so empty?

Pulling herself together, Megan waved her hands

briskly in front of her eyes to fend of sentimental
tears, and hurried to embrace her two best friends.

* * * *

The wedding went off without a hitch. Sin and

Kendra faced each other in front of the crystal blue
fountain at the Meadowbrook Music Festival and

pledged themselves to each other forever with vows
both personal and profound. After the ceremony
each guest was given a golden coin and invited to
make a wish for the couple before tossing it into the
fountain. Megan didn't think there was a dry eye left
in the audience by the time they were through. She
certainly had to take a make-up break to repair her
melting eyeliner before the seemingly endless round
of pictures.

The Velvet Ice contingent was there in force. A

surprisingly mellow DJ Wicked kept up a steady
stream of danceable tunes and Janie, a club
favorite, kept up a steady flow of free booze. Even
Brady Ryder put in an appearance, brooding silently
at his table until Celia slipped into his lap and dared
him to dance with her. The big man stood abruptly,
his hands on Celia's arms to keep her from tumbling
from his lap to the ground, nodded abruptly to Sin
and Kendra, and stalked off toward the parking area.

Celia flounced back to their table with a pout,

looking like nothing so much as a pissed off Pepto-
pink fairy. Megan had to laugh. Celia was such a
sunny person; even her temper tantrums were cute.

"Shot down again, darlin'?" She teased. Celia

pulled a face and stuck her tongue out at her. "Ce,
honey, you're eventually gonna have to stop eating
that man up with your eyes and admit he's not…" she
thought for a moment, trying to find the right words.
"He's damaged, Ce. More than even you can fix."

Celia gave her a shrewd look, and Megan

hoped she hadn't said too much. She honestly didn't
have any intention of breaking her agreement with
Ryder, but she hated to see her friend pounding her

tender heart against a man made of granite.

"Well," Celia finally drawled in a truly awful

southern accent, "I'm not the only one eating
someone up with my eyes." She cut her eyes
meaningfully toward Gregori, who was guiding a
laughing blonde through a spirited swing dance.

He hadn't been in the wedding party, for which

Megan was deeply grateful. With her luck, she'd
have been partnered with him, and would have
ended up dancing that first, romantic waltz with him.
As it was, dressed in a black tux with stark white
accoutrements, he was an irresistible delight to the
women at the reception.

He hadn't stopped dancing from the moment he

stepped foot on the dance floor.

"I do declare Miss Megan, I think you have a

case of the green-eyed monster."

Megan turned an arch look on her friend. "I have

no idea what you are referring to, Celia." She tipped
back her glass. No wine for her this evening, she'd
moved onto good ol' Jack Daniels.

"I am referring to the fact that you've barely taken

your eyes off a certain Russian hottie since the
dancing began," Celia teased. "You look about
ready to rip that poor girl's hair out by the roots, Meg.
You need to just dance with the man and get it over
with."

Megan shook her head, eyes still on Gregori's

surprisingly graceful form. "He's no more right for me
than Brady Ryder is for you, darlin'."

Celia answered, but Megan didn't hear her

because Gregori chose that moment to glance in her
direction. From halfway across the tent his eyes met

hers, and his face went still, intent. The song ended,
and he turned to his partner with a small, courtly bow
before escorting her off the floor. With a sinking
feeling in the pit of her stomach, Megan realized he
was heading in her direction.

*

He'd been sneaking glances at her all afternoon,

from the moment she'd swayed down the aisle to the
moment she'd planted herself at the wedding party's
table and ordered her first shot. Gregori smiled a bit
to himself. He shouldn't be surprised that his
southern belle drank her whiskey straight. She
certainly had the balls for it.

When he caught her sneaking some glances of

her own, he knew it was time to act. Excusing
himself from his current dance partner, he began to
wind a path in her direction. He knew the moment
she realized his intent by the way those big blue
eyes widened.

He quickly reached her table and ignored

Celia's choked laugh as he took Megan's hand firmly
in his own.

"You will dance with me now," he told her, not

asking because he wasn't about to give her the
chance to refuse. Those luscious, candy-pink lips
were still parted in surprise when he led her onto the
floor.

Wicked, catching his significant glance, eased

into a slow song. Gregori hid another smile when he
recognized Simply Red's "If You Don't Know Me By
Now". Not only was it slow, it was long, and the lyrics
were painfully appropriate. He wasn't surprised in
the least how well she fit in his arms. She was tall,

over six feet in her spiky heels, and her head fit
neatly under his chin. Her curves pressed
voluptuously against him, melting into his hard
muscles effortlessly. She felt

right

, like coming home

after years of exile.

"You're awfully pushy all of a sudden, sugar," she

murmured against his neck.

"Tonight we are not at the club," he replied.

"Tonight, I'm not constrained to await your every
whim. I can satisfy myself." He made his words and
expression deliberately provocative, and was
rewarded with her soft laughter.

"If all it takes is a dance, sugar, then you're far

more easily satisfied than I'd guessed." He could
hear the smile in her voice and it warmed something
deep in his soul.

Pulling her closer, he stroked one finger along

her back, dipping under the edge of her dress
teasingly. She shivered and cuddled closer, inspiring
him to touch more. He laid his hand over the small of
her back, playing his fingers lightly over the satin. He
imagined the skin there was even softer, even
sleeker to the touch.

She brushed against him, breasts sliding over

his chest with every turn, thighs rubbing over his with
each slow revolution to the music. Neither spoke;
there was no need for words. Their bodies were
speaking for them, and Megan's body was proving
that all her protests were lies.

"You deny us much when you deny our

connection, Megan." He'd bent down to whisper the
words in her ear, and savored the shiver and rush of
chill-bumps that followed in their wake.

Her voice, when she answered, was breathy and

low, but her words were firm. "I don't sleep with my
submissives, Gregori. I can Dom you, or I can have
sex with you, but I will not do both." She pulled back
and studied him with bottomless blue eyes. "Can you
be my slave without the sex?"

His dick was rock-hard, had been since he'd

seen her walk down the aisle, and currently digging
into the soft swell of her belly, making it difficult for
him to deny. Finally, he spoke, choosing his words
carefully.

"I could be so much more to you than merely

your slave or your lover." He paused to consider how
best to make his point. "By limiting us to one or the
other, you cheat us both out of true fulfillment." He
cupped her chin, stroking his thumb over the moist,
glossy surface of her lower lip. "Megan,

lyubimaya

,

if you would let me, I could fill the empty places in
your soul." Her breath caught and her tongue
flickered out to taste the rough surface of his thumb.

Seeming to realize what she was doing, Megan

pulled her head back, breaking his hold. She blinked
twice, slowly, and shook her head. "Not gonna
happen, sugar. It cannot, and I will not." At that
moment the music changed, turning hot and techno.
Megan offered him a sad smile and pulled out of his
arms. He stood on the dance floor and watched her
walk away, feeling the absence of her warmth like a
bone-deep chill.

*

Megan left her private room and entered the

public play area. It had been almost ten days since
Kendra's wedding. Ten days she'd purposely stayed

away from Velvet Ice. She didn't want to chance
running into

him

after the dance they'd shared.

The conversation echoed in her mind and she

could still see his smoldering eyes, hear his deep
husky voice, feel his warm breath tickle her neck.
He'd gotten to her in a way she'd never allowed a
man to get to her before. Her frustration level had
reached such a peak that she finally caved.

Dominating some young, willing male was the

easiest way to release her pent-up irritation at
herself for being so attracted to Gregori.

She pushed open the glass doors and entered

the play area, and her gaze immediately fell upon the
object of her betraying libido. Gregori sat casually
with a glass of what she assumed was vodka,
dressed in jeans and a simple black button-down
partially opened to reveal a tightly honed chest
dusted with silky dark hair. Her mouth watered as a
hundred fantasies stirred within her mind.

No. Absolutely not.

Megan quickly scanned the

rest of the room, looking for someone to take her
mind and her body off of Gregori. She was standing
on the stairs, looking for distraction when she was
bumped, none too gently, from behind. Megan
grabbed the railing and turned to see Mistress Anne,
a club regular. The tall, slim blonde was dressed in
her usual blood-red vinyl; this time hot pants and a
halter set off by gleaming black, thigh-high boots.
The top half of her face was covered by a red leather
mask, her long hair pulled back in a severe ponytail
high on her head.

"Oh, do excuse me," the other woman

murmured. The words were perfectly appropriate,

perfectly polite, but something in the tone hinted at
the exact opposite.

God, Megan disliked the woman with a passion,

though she couldn't have articulated exactly why.
Anne was cold as ice, true. Megan had witnessed
her technique on more than one occasion, and was
always left disturbed by the scenes the Domme
acted out with her subs. She never chose the same
sub twice, and to Megan's eye seemed to be a pure
Sadist. Like Megan, Anne never sought her own
sexual satisfaction, and she allowed her sub's relief
almost as infrequently. She was a cruel mistress,
toying with her slaves, doling out not only pain, but
humiliation. It grated Megan's nerves, but Anne was
clearly giving her subs what they craved.

"So sorry, Anne, I didn't see you,"

since you

came up behind me, you big old skank.

Megan

gave the other woman her best Miss America smile
and sauntered down the stairs, reminding herself
that she was a lady, and a lady wouldn't grab Anne
by her over-processed ponytail and hurl her down the
stairs.

She was making her way to the bar, determined

to get a glass of wine and a candidate for tonight's
play when the hair on the back of her neck rose. She
turned slowly back toward the tables, and felt her
eyes narrow in disbelief.

Mistress Anne had her long scarlet fingernails

running along Gregori's neck, as he sat absolutely
still, hands on his knees. Fury, hot and venomous,
slammed into Megan's chest.

Maybe if it was that insipid little redhead,

Mistress S, maybe if it was any other of the

Domme's eagerly prowling the bar, Megan could
have turned away. Or maybe not, judging from the
way the word

mine

was resounding through her

brain. With a low, definitely un-ladylike grown, Megan
spun on her heels and approached Gregori and the
she-devil currently working her fingers along his
scalp.

Sidling up to the table, she stopped next to a

smirking Anne and a slightly startled Gregori. "I
thought I told you to be on your knees when I entered
the room, sugar."

Gregori immediately slid from the chair and went

to his knees in front of her, bowing his head. "I'm
sorry, Mistress. I did not wish to be rude to Mistress
Anne."

Megan trailed her fingers through the short, thick

hair at his nape, smiling a little when he shivered in
reaction. She refused to acknowledge her need to
wipe the other woman's touch out of his mind.

"He's beautifully trained," she shot the other

woman a level look, "isn't he?" Anne opened her
mouth to speak, closed it, and narrowed her cold
blue eyes, lips pressed tightly together. Fighting over
a submissive was absolutely forbidden, and since
Gregori was on his knees as Megan commanded, it
was obvious to the other woman that he was
committed to Megan for the evening. Megan felt her
expression turn just a tiny bit triumphant when the
other woman gave her a tight smile and turned to
stalk away.

Without another word Megan held out her hand.

Gregori raised those silver-flamed eyes to her and
clasped her hand in his much larger, rougher grasp.

He stood and she led him from the public area.

*

Gregori followed Megan silently through the club,

relieved to have a moment to collect his thoughts. It
was obvious Megan disliked Anne, obvious that the
dislike was mutual. Gregori would have liked to
believe Megan's actions were motivated by jealousy,
but he was afraid it was more a matter of
competition. Still, Megan had "rescued" him from the
other woman, and Gregori was secure enough to
admit he wasn't sorry.

He'd considered accepting the other woman's

offer for all of a minute. After all, she gave what he
craved, the bite of pain with his pleasure. Maybe her
curves were too slight, her lips not quite full enough;
her hair was blonde, her eyes were blue, and she
knew how to wield a crop or a flogger expertly.

In the end, though, Gregori knew he'd have

turned her down. Something in Anne's eyes
reminded him too much of St. Petersburg, right after
the government's fall from power. There were men,
soldiers and civilians alike, vying for power in the
vacuum left by the government's collapse. Men who
looked at the world through eyes with no souls, who
had no compunction at taking what they wanted
when they wanted it, never mind the cost. Men so
damaged by life under Yeltsin that they hadn't
blinked an eye at crushing anyone in their path, be it
man, woman or child.

Gregori knew he'd been well on his way down

that same path in 1991 when his mother had all but
whored herself to get them out of Russia. He'd hated
her for it at the time: hated everything new and shiny

and terrifying first in Canada, and then in America.
Hated what she'd been willing to do to escape when,
in his sixteen-year-old mind, there'd been no reason
to run.

The sound of Megan opening the door to her

room snapped Gregori out of his painful memories.
A light in the corner was turned on, bathing the room
in bright white light. It was a harsh surprise after the
dim club atmosphere. He quickly took in the familiar
surroundings. Megan's room was furnished pretty
much like every other private room on the third floor,
with one exception: there was no bed. The room
looked unfinished somehow, without a bed.
Somewhat, he mused, like Megan's idea of
Domination. She pointed to a small bench and
Gregori sat quietly, watching her.

"Would you like something to drink?" Her voice

brought goose bumps to his flesh and the sensory
memory of her body pressed to his as they danced.

"No, thank you, Mistress. I am not thirsty." No,

what he wanted couldn't be found in the small wet-
bar by the door. What he wanted was the stroke of
her hand on his bare skin. The taste of her on his
tongue.

She sat in on a soft suede couch, crossing her

long legs with a soft whisper of silk hose. She was
wearing pink again tonight, a pale, icy shade that
made her look like a porcelain doll. Perched on that
white suede couch, golden hair tumbling around her
shoulders, eyes blue and mysterious, she was once
again his goddess. And he was desperate to serve
her.

She picked up a timer from the small occasional

table next to the couch, and arched her brow
meaningfully at him. Gregori drew in a breath and
lowered his eyes. He heard a soft clicking sound,
then the quiet tick of the timer.

"I do believe twenty minutes should do," she

murmured in that slow, sweet drawl.

Gregori sat silently awaiting her pleasure as the

minutes ticked away. He dared a glance at her and
ground his teeth in frustration. She was reading a
freaking magazine, cool as ice. As the timer ticked
down, a dread began to grow in his chest. He'd
wondered at her sudden change of heart, but had
wanted her too badly to question her actions. Hope
slowly bled into anger as he finally accepted the
truth. She'd snagged him from the clutches of
Mistress Anne, but had no intention of using him in
any manner herself.

"Megan." She folded down one side of the

magazine and gave him a level look.

"I don't recall giving you permission to speak."

For once the honeyed accent didn't send the blood
flooding to his dick. This time the blood pounded in
his temples as his temper flared. Still, he kept his
voice calm.

"Why am I here, Megan?"
Those big blue eyes flickered, and she hesitated

for a long moment before lowering her magazine.

"I couldn't let her hurt you," she finally muttered,

refusing to meet his eyes.

He knew his brows practically hit his hairline at

her answer. Shaking his head slowly, he responded.
"I am here to be hurt, Megan. That is one of the
things I look for in a Domme."

"No," her eyes touched his, then began to roam

the room. "I couldn't let her hurt you. She causes pain
beyond the physical. I couldn't let her do that to you."

"I am not a toy to be fought over by two spoiled

children," he finally said, grimly satisfied when her
eyelids flinched in reaction. "If you truly do not want
me, you may not interfere with someone who does."
He rose from the small bench, every atom of his
being screaming for him to stay, to fight for what he
wanted.

What was wrong with the woman? He was hers,

hers to do with as she would. And she wanted him,
too. That had been clear from their very first
encounter. Hell, she had admitted it. Yet, out of some
twisted determination to stay in control, she denied
them both.

The timer dinged, shattering the silence that had

once more fallen between them.

"Time's up," he said slowly. Her eyes met his

again and this time she didn't break their gaze. "You
have no other use for me, so I will bid you good
night."

"Sit down, Sugar." The sudden command went

straight to Gregori's dick. He liked it.

"No." He kept his voice polite, almost

deferential, and he could tell it took a moment for his
blunt denial to register. When her eyes widened in
comprehension, he added, "I have no wish to spend
my night off sitting on a bench and watching you
read. You have no other use for me," he let his voice
go hard, let his anger show through the polite tone.
"So I will bid you good night."

An eyebrow arched as she put the magazine on

the table and rose to her full height. She sauntered
over to where he stood. "I don't have sex with my
submissives, sugar."

"So you've said, Megan." He let the eye contact

spin out, looking down at her with deliberate
insolence. "Many, many times."

She drew a finger down his chest, bared by his

open shirt. "So

this

is your choice?" She gestured to

the room and its apparatus.

"I choose you, Megan. However you will have

me."

Those blue, blue eyes flared, lit like a flame from

within.

Chapter Five

"In that case, sugar, I haven't given you

permission to use my name." She stepped closer,
crowding him with her body. His reacted blindly,
stupidly, his dick going hard in a rush. "And," she
continued, letting her nail scrape perilously close to
his nipple, "I haven't given you permission to stand."
She took the final step that pressed her body against
his, chest to thighs, and a full body shiver of relief slid
from his scalp to his toes. She tapped her index
finger against his chest, harder with each word until
the nail pressed painfully against his skin, driving
him backwards. "So. Sit. Down. Now."

He sat but didn't take his eyes from her face. It

was a direct show of defiance, one that he was
hoping would pay off.

Her luscious ass swayed as she walked across

the room. She stood in front of a large cabinet for a
long time, deliberating over the contents before
removing several items. Gregori was dying to know
what she had planned for him; his dick throbbed
relentlessly along with the beat of his heart.
Sauntering back, she laid her toys on the bench next
to him.

Two cock rings that looked far too small. A baby

blue butt plug that looked far too big. A flogger. A
crop.

"Stand up and remove your clothes, sugar." Her

words snapped his attention firmly back where it
belonged: on her. Gregori stood slowly and
shrugged his shirt over his shoulders. He couldn't

entirely hide his smile when her breath caught at the
sight of his chest, and her narrowed eyes showed
that she wasn't happy he'd seen her reaction. He
dropped his hands to his fly and popped each button
open with deliberate slowness. Pulling the sides of
his jeans away from his body, he slid his fingers
inside and leisurely pushed the worn denim down his
legs.

Her eyes widened a fraction as they roamed

over his naked form, zeroing in on his rigid cock. Her
audible swallow only added to his pleasure.

"Spread you legs." That slow, lazy drawl had

gone husky with want. He moved his feet wide.
"Arms up and behind your head, Sug." He laced his
hands behind his head willingly. Her eyes coasted
over him like a caress. In their depths, he found the
knowledge that she liked what she saw. He was
hers, displayed before her, his dick hard, his body
ready for whatever she had in store for him.

Her delicate hand grabbed an item off the

bench. Gregori moaned when she brought up the
cock rings. She took each one into her mouth,
wetting the tight rubber circles with her pink tongue.
Fuck, but he wanted to feel that mouth on him.
Pulling one ring from between her pink lips she
grasped his cock with one hand, wrapping her
fingers tightly around his girth. With the other she
rolled the ring down his length, Gregori knew he was
larger than average and the ring was made for a
smaller member. The fit was painfully tight, and it
sent shivers of heat down his spine. Her nails slowly
moved back up the length of his shaft. They were
natural and not overly long but felt exquisitely sharp

against his violently sensitive dick. Gregori closed
his eyes against the sight and gave in to the bliss of
her nails dragging lightly along his hard flesh.

When she reached the tip she placed the other

ring under his crown; the fit was tighter still. It
dragged a groan from him, the combination of
pleasure and pain. Megan's eyes, Megan's hands,
the cold, unyielding rubber of the rings. He opened
his eyes and looked down. The ring dug dramatically
into the ruddy skin of his cock, the pale blue color a
striking contrast to the nearly purple crown, which
was weeping pre-cum.

"Very good, Sug. Now stand behind the chair

and bend over."

*

Megan licked her lips as Gregori followed her

instructions and bent over the low-backed chair
she'd indicated. He presented himself like an
experienced sub would, bent at the waist, his thighs
spread, his wide back arched. He was a living art
exhibit of the beauty of the male form, and Megan
wanted him. She took a deep breath to steady
herself. She was going to teach him a lesson for his
breach in manners, and damned if she wasn't going
to punish him for making her want something she
couldn't have.

She picked up the crop and moved in front of

him, resting one knee on the seat of the chair. He
kept his eyes down now, finally, but that gorgeous
back flexed as he took a deep breath. She
wondered if he was scenting her, drinking in her
arousal. The thought sent a surge of heat through
her, and that just pissed her off even more. Placing

the tip of the crop under his chin, she raised his face.

"You're much too experienced, Sug, to have so

blatantly broken the rules and attempted to leave me
before I dismissed you."

"If you do not intend to use me, I am not required

to stay." His words were bold, but his breathing was
labored. He couldn't hide his excitement from Megan
if he tried.

"That may be true, but you also didn't say your

safe word. That is the only way to free yourself from
my company."

"You did not give me one."
That was true, she realized. She hadn't given

him one because she'd had no intention of using
him.

"All right, then, Sugar. What is you safe word?"
His lips crooked up in a slight smile, and she felt

her anger flare. "I leave that up to you, my Mistress."
Gregori was taking pleasure in disrespecting her, in
pushing her. The big, gorgeous Russian bastard
was trying to top her from the bottom.

"Fine," she snapped. "Your safe word is

no

."

Simple enough and before this night was through he
would be screaming it to the rafters. Megan was
furious, with Gregori, but more so with herself. She
did not mix sex and her activities as a Domme, and
she was beyond pissed that Gregori was forcing her
in that direction. But she was even angrier with
herself because she was letting him.

She thought, again, of the way Gregori

described being Dommed, of trust and surrender.
For her, that's what lovemaking was; a complete
surrender of control, losing yourself in another

person. The exact opposite of what she wanted
when in her Mistress Megan persona.

The iron control her father had wielded over her

for the first half of her life had been almost more than
she could bear. Megan loved her daddy with all her
heart, and she knew all his demands on her had
been out of love. That hadn't kept her from feeling
suffocated by his expectations. Beauregard Jamison
had seen his actions as protecting his baby girl.
Megan never had seen it as anything more than
Daddy controlling her.

Shaking her head, she moved back to the bench

to retrieve the plug and a bottle of lube. Facing him
again she held up the device, "Can you take this,
Sug?"

His silver eyes took in the plug, closed, and then

opened again. "Baby blue. You expect to fuck me
with a

baby blue

plug."

"I wasn't asking about the color, darlin'. I was

asking about the size. It's not for a beginner. Can you
take it?" She had no doubt he could, but she needed
to make sure. Gregori might have craved pain at her
hands, but she doubted he craved actual damage.

Those burning silver eyes narrowed, but all he

said was, "It's blue."

"I don't hear you saying no, Sug." She waited,

but his lips remained clamped together. Megan
smiled and moved behind him.

"Open yourself up for me." Megan bit back a

moan of appreciation as his large hands grasped
his muscled cheeks and pulled them apart. She
tipped the bottle of lube, and let a slow stream out to
pool in the tempting little dent right at the top of his

cheeks. He stayed perfectly still, but his skin
prickled, the tiny, silky hair standing on end.

She placed her finger in the lube and drew it

down to his tight hole. The muscles of his thighs went
tight as she skimmed over the tightly furled entrance,
skimming along his crack to gather up more lube
and tease sensitive nerve endings. Moving back
down, she rimmed the tight ring with her finger,
applying more lube and slowly working the tip just
inside of him. His knuckles went white as his fingers
dug into his muscular cheeks. He shifted back,
toward her hand, and she probed the tiniest bit
deeper. She didn't breach the tight muscle there,
instead she pulled out and slowly lubed up the plug.

Waiting was just as much a punishment as any

taste of the whip, and Megan was determined to
punish Gregori. So she took her time, wiping her
hands on a soft cloth, watching the shift and flex of
his muscles under all that gorgeous pale golden
skin, drinking in his tension and anticipation.

Finally, the desire to see him arching that broad

back in an agony of pleasure was too much for her to
resist. She placed the well-lubricated tip of the plug
against his opening, and settled it firmly in place.

"Breathe into it, Sug, and push back for me." He

made a low sound and pressed back, taking the tip
past the tough ring of muscles guarding his entrance.
Taking her time to draw out the burn, Megan twisted
the plug in a circle then pushed more. Gregori let out
a long guttural moan as she forced him to stretch
and open, finally seating it fully home.

She stepped back and wiped her hands again.

He made a beautiful sight, bent over and filled up,

awaiting her pleasure. His thighs were tight, his back
expanded roughly with his ragged breaths and she
knew he was waiting for her next move. She'd seen it
before with many of her subs. A man could find great
pleasure in being filled; it didn't matter if he was gay
or straight. The sensitive nerve endings and that
special spot deep inside of him guaranteed an
orgasm that would rock his world. It was the rare and
confident man who would admit he wanted, needed
that kind of pleasure without thinking it meant there
was something defective about him.

Megan seized her flogger. She trailed the ends

over the small of his back, and goose bumps rose
on his flesh.

"Tell me how it feels," she murmured, trailing the

tails of the flogger lightly up the line of his spine. He
shivered in response.

"It burns." His voice was deeper, almost guttural;

his accent more pronounced than she'd ever heard
it.

"You enjoy the pain." It wasn't a question.
"Yes Mistress, I like the pain." Megan shivered.

Every time he said Mistress in his deep, slightly
accented voice she felt it deep between her thighs,
deep in her core.

"Why?" The question slipped out, Megan hadn't

intended to ask. She never asked why a submissive
liked certain things; their motivation didn't concern
her. But there was something behind those cloudy
silver eyes that called to her, and she wanted to
know what it was.

"I knew pain when I was growing up in Russia.

Everyday there was pain either physical or mental.

That didn't stop when my mother brought us here,
only changed." He shifted restlessly, unconsciously
working the plug against nerves she knew must be
screaming, muscles moving smoothly under his
velvety skin.

"The memories were eating me up inside. I was

already angry, violent, but that anger was growing to
be out of my control. So I made the decision to turn
the pain around. I used it for pleasure, replaced the
ugly memories with memories of beauty." He turned
his head meeting Megan's eyes with his own. "I had
no control of my pain as a child, and it nearly
destroyed me. Now I have that control, and the pain
recreates me."

He looked away from her then and Megan stood,

too stunned to even move. She'd never have thought,
had never considered, that a submissive could seize
control of their world by giving over control of their
body. In just a few words, Gregori had shown her it
was possible. He submitted for the same reason she
dominated. Control. She squeezed her eyes shut,
trying to block out what he'd just told her.

Her anger returned, redoubled. She refused to

acknowledge that beneath the anger was a soul-
deep fear. No, she was angry at him because he
provoked her, made her lose her self discipline. She
should be spanking him, not aching to wrap herself
around him and promise him he'd never have to go
back to that cold, dark place again.

Dammit, she would not let him get under her skin

like this. The familiar stress crawled into her
shoulders. She raised the flogger and stuck him
across his ass, hard and without warning. He arched

in shock, his beautiful body curved in pain as the
leather tails painted bright red stripes along his
backside. She struck again, and watched that lovely
golden skin flush pink, then red. She moved her
blows to the back of his thighs, the tails of the flogger
slipping between them and tapping at his tight sac.

A string of Russian came out from between his

lips in a low hiss. Megan hit her stride with the even
slaps of her flogger. Sweat gleamed along his spine
and his hips undulated, his thighs spreading wider.

"Stand up," she snapped. "Face me." He

immediately stood to his full height and turned. His
eyes burned under hooded lids, his breath came in
short pants. Megan dragged the nails of one hand
down his chest, leaving vivid pink lines and flicking
one of his flat nipples on her way to his stomach. His
moan vibrated over her skin, wrapping her in a warm
cocoon of want and need. She dragged her nails
down further still then grasped his cock in her fist.
His eyes widened and he fell slightly back to lean
against the chair.

He was too big to wrap her fingers around; thick

and solid and

hers, weeping

the clear liquid of his

pre-cum. She gathered the moisture on her thumb
and forefinger and smeared it around the sensitive
ridge of his cockhead, tracing her nail around the
ring there and smiled as his gut-deep groan went
high and breathless. Pausing, she waited until his
eyes were on her and then brought her fingers to her
lips and licked them clean.

It was a move she'd never made with a sub, but

the compulsion to know how he tasted overwhelmed
her better judgment. Hot, sweet and salty. He was of

the earth; a big, brawny force of nature, and right
now he belonged to Megan. His pleasure, his pain,
were hers to own.

Megan went back to the table and dropped the

flogger. She took up her long crop with hands that
shook, and prayed her legs wouldn't give out. She
walked back to him, the moisture between her legs
slick on her thighs. She squeezed her legs together,
determined to ignore her arousal.

She did not mix sex with Domination. She did

not. She would not. God, she was getting tired of
reminding herself.

Gregori's expression was one of pure ecstasy

as he eyed the crop. He immediately moved his legs
further apart, begging her with his eyes, with his
body language, to continue.

God, his cock was gorgeous. Thick and long,

flushed with blood and want and so hard it strafed
the skin just below his navel. She traced the thick
vein along the underside with her nail, soaking in his
shuddered groan. Lowering the crop, she began to
tap lightly, then not so lightly, up and down the length.
He gasped with each impact, jerking, but not
breaking position, willfully staying at her mercy.

Sliding one foot between his legs, she kicked

lightly at his ankle, and he obediently spread even
further. His eyes were glued to the crop, lips red and
soft looking, and for one insane moment Megan was
desperate to taste them, to lose herself in his kiss.

Instead she dipped her hand further and applied

the crop briskly to his balls. He lurched, grabbing at
the chair behind him, and spit out something in
Russian that she bet would have made her blush if

she'd understood it.

"What do you want, Sug?" she murmured,

keeping up the rhythm of her strikes, only lighter now.

"More, Mistress," his voice was so guttural she

could barely make out the words. "I need more."

Unsure anymore if she meant to pleasure him or

punish him, Megan let go, flicking the crop hard
along the insides of his thighs, his balls, back further
to snap against the smooth ridge of his perineum.
She wanted to taste him, couldn't resist anymore.
She leaned forward and licked a hot line down his
arched, straining throat. He tasted of salt and lust.
She ran her tongue around his nipple and he cursed.
He threw his head back and howled when she bit
down, sucking it deeply into her mouth.

Before she could release him, he was on his

knees, a tiny streak of blood on his chest where her
teeth had clamped before his collapse. His breath
was ragged. Raw, almost sobbing sounds ripped
from his chest.

His head fell forward; damp heat scalded her

through the thin material of her dress. She was on
fire and needed to be extinguished fast. Shaking
hands dropped the crop, and all coherent thought
fled as his breath swept like lava over her already
burning pussy.

No more thinking, just feeling. She grabbed

Gregori's hair, clutching the best she could at the
short, silky spikes and yanked his head back so she
could see his eyes. They seethed, molten silver,
burning mercury, sending floods of scalding heat
through her bloodstream.

"Serve your Mistress," she bit out between her

clenched teeth, and jerked at her skirt, ripping along
the deep slit to bare herself for his mouth.

Gregori needed no instruction; he dove between

her thighs. Biting at her panties, he licked and
sucked at the wet satin material, his moan of hunger
vibrating over her clit with agonizing pleasure. His
large hands grasped her hips, biting painfully into the
flesh. His hot breath tore through her like a flame,
burning her from the inside out.

With a short, vicious twist of his head, her

panties parted, shredded by his teeth. She cupped
his skull in both hands and pulled him in tighter. She
needed to feel his tongue on her body, had to feel
him eating her alive. Had to feel him coming apart in
her hands.

"Stroke yourself," she gritted out, and watched

as he clumsily wrenched off the cock rings that had
kept him from coming. He grunted into her pussy,
sending vibrations like a gong through her core,
once his shaft was free of its bonds.

His tongue swept over her clit, and she clutched

the back of his head, grinding down on his mouth as
the storm rose in her. She rubbed over him roughly,
marking him with her arousal, and he moaned into
her, stabbing into her with his tongue, drawing out
her cream. His whole body shuddered under her
hands, and she could feel the vibration of his hand
working his cock furiously.

Gregori sucked her clit hard into his mouth and

the orgasm ripped through her like lightning. She
froze, transfixed, and she could swear even her hair
stood on end. When the deep, racking spasms hit,
he was right there with her, his cum splashing in

scalding streams on her thighs, driving her higher
still.

She didn't know how long she stood there,

fingers speared through his damp, sweaty hair,
knees threatening to buckle, but as her senses came
back under her control, a chill dread began to fill her.

She stumbled back, unable to meet Gregori's

eyes. She didn't know which would be worse; if he
were to gloat over his victory, or if he were to watch
her with that intent, knowing gaze that reached into
her soul and invited her to do the same.

She moved, without speaking, to the sink and

used a towel to quickly scrub away his cum, and
hers. She stripped her ruined panties off roughly and
tossed them in the trash. Then, still not looking at
him, she spoke.

"That wasn't supposed to happen."
"Mistress, it was wonderful." His quiet

confession threatened to break her resolve.

"It was wrong," she disagreed, reaching for the

calm resolve she'd used to set aside countless subs
in the past, but not finding it. "I don't do this. I can't do
this…" her words drifted off, and she shook herself.
She refused to waver at this late date.

"You may bathe before you leave." Megan was

ridiculously relieved when her voice stayed level.
Then she left the room, never looking back. She
knew that if she did, if she saw his grey eyes
gleaming with desire, with the need for more, she
would have been lost.

He was a submissive, not her lover, and she

needed to keep him firmly in his place.

She walked quickly down the hall and to the

steps, ignoring those she usually chatted with. Janie
smiled when Megan entered the bar area but she
waved the bartender off; there was no after-drink
tonight. Tears welled in her eyes as she finally made
it to the door. God, she'd never realized how truly
weak she was.

She could imagine her daddy laughing at her;

hear that deep rolling voice telling her that a woman
was always weak in the presence of a man,
especially a man she wanted. Well, whether he
believed it or not, her daddy hadn't raised a weak
daughter, and Megan knew all she needed was to
get home, get a shower and get a new perspective
on what had just happened.

*

Gregori stayed on his knees until they ached,

unable to move. His stomach cramped and his chest
felt tight, and dammit, he'd sworn never to feel this
way again. He … hurt.

Finally, he rose from the floor. His legs were

numb from kneeling so long, his skin burned violently
with every shift. He stumbled into the small bathroom
area, and stopped in front of the mirror.

The light was dimmer in here, but still bright

enough to see the long red stripes that lined his
chest, the smear of blood over his nipple. Marks,

her

marks. They decorated is body, but they were
engraved on his soul.

Moving slowly, he worked the plug free. He

winced as it tugged raw, overworked muscles, then
winced again at the baby blue color. His Mistress
certainly knew how to knock a man down a peg, he
reflected as he washed it clean. At least the damned

thing hadn't been lavender. Or fucking pink.

Gregori shook his head. He knew what he was

doing. He was avoiding. Refusing to acknowledge
the pain, because he didn't know if he could handle
it. He knew his attraction to Megan went beyond the
normal lust between two adults. It even went beyond
the normal dynamic between a Dom or Domme and
their sub. Her eyes haunted his dreams, the sunlight
making him yearn for her warmth; the shadows
making him ache to comfort her.

He inhaled deeply, and her scent filled his head.

The small bathroom was filled with it; magnolia,
Southern and sweet. But more, her essence clung to
him. His face was sticky with her cum; her taste
coated his lips, like cinnamon, spicy and dark. He
ran his tongue along his bottom lip, tasting her,
feeling the smooth satin of her pussy against his
tongue. She'd been so damn wet, her body pushing
greedily against his mouth.

She hadn't cleaned him, hadn't cared for him in

the aftermath, and that sliced at his soul. He'd been
watching her forever, and never once had she left the
after-care of her submissive to someone else.

She wanted him, dammit. He'd already known it,

but now he had proof that his southern belle was just
as needy for him as he was for her. Tonight had
proven to him, beyond any argument or doubt, that
she was the one; not just

a

Mistress, but

his

Mistress. It had also proven that she was afraid;
afraid of losing control, afraid of losing herself. He
didn't understand why; she hadn't let him in enough
to understand. But he didn't have to know the why to
understand that his Mistress was terrified.

Well, he was a patient man.
Megan was a Domme. She needed the give and

take with a submissive every bit as much as he did.
She would be back, and he would be ready to
worship at her feet and allow her to use him to seek
her pleasure.

Gregori was going to seduce her. There was no

hurry. No rush. It was inconceivable to him that she
could resist mastering him again, and he knew that
each time she did it would just stoke the fire in her
belly higher. With each stroke of her whip, he would
show her that he was exactly what she was looking
for. She could deny her feelings all she wanted but
Gregori would win in the end. He already belonged
to her, and he'd get her to accept it no matter how
long it took.

Chapter Six

This time Megan didn't even try to stay away

from the club. It wouldn't do any good. She'd still
spend her time thinking about

him

, the awful tension

would still build, so why bother?

No, better to climb back on the horse, so to

speak, and prove to both of them that her little melt-
down during their session had been an aberration. It
hadn't meant anything.

So two nights after the Gregori Disaster, as she

had come to think of it, Megan perched on a stool at
the third-floor bar sipping a glass of Cotes du
Luberon Cuvee Noe, and chatting with the bartender
in between orders.

"I swear," the redhead grinned as she whipped

up two Screaming Orgasms, "you are the only
member of this club who'd know the Cotes even
exists, let alone how to pronounce it."

Megan smiled, but her attention was on the open

floor. "It does seem like Velvet Ice has an awfully
refined wine list, for a club," she agreed as she
swept her gaze over the open lounge areas and
dance floor.

Janie moved off to deliver her orgasms to the far

end of the bar, and to accept what looked like a
sizable tip with a slow smile from under her lashes.
When she moved back to Megan's side she wrinkled
her nose before picking up the thread of their
conversation.

"Well, it's certainly more refined in the last two

years than it ever was before."

Megan looked at her friend with a raised

eyebrow.

"After the first couple times you looked down that

oh-so-refined nose at the wine list, big bad Brady let
me do some research and pick out a few new
vintages to try out on the third floor."

In spite of her restlessness, Megan couldn't

contain a big smile.

"That is so sweet. I just knew Mr. Ryder cared."

Janie sputtered out a laugh at Megan's wide-eyed
innocent look.

DJ Wicked slid onto the stool next to Megan.

She roved an appreciative eye over the man. He
was definitely a sight to behold. Long, thick black
hair, pulled back in an intricate braid, drew attention
to the sensual line of his spine, visible through the
tight white tank he wore. His golden skin and
exotically slanted eyes proclaimed his Asian
heritage, while his above average height and
muscularity hinted at an Asian-American mix.

Whatever his origins, the man moved like

flowing water. And he was a wizard with music and
lights, creating such intensely sensual moods on the
second and third floors that many club members
deliberately timed their visits to the nights he was
working.

"Mistress Megan." His voice was a soft tenor, so

completely different from Gregori's bass rumble that
it only highlighted what Megan was missing. Still, the
slow smile he gave her, coupled with that naughty
sideways look from amber eyes did provide the
tiniest distraction.

"Master Wicked," she replied, giving him her

best Miss America smile.

"Only

DJ

Wicked tonight, koishii."

Janie cleared her throat, and Megan looked up

in surprise. The usually relentlessly cheerful
bartender was looking less than cheerful and friendly
at the moment.

"Can I get you something, DJ?" Janie's voice

was cool, clipped, and more businesslike than
Megan had ever heard it.

Hmmm. What was up with

that

?

"You know what I like, aikouka," he replied,

turning that naughty smile on the fuming bartender.

"We don't serve chai or chamomile," she

snapped back.

Curiouser and curiouser

, Megan mused.

"That is a tragedy," Wicked murmured, leaning

against the bar with an almost boneless grace.
"Then I'll have to settle for mango nectar and soda."

"Ice?" Megan thought that if the man wanted ice,

there was enough of it in Janie's tone to supply the
whole darn bar.

"Of course, aikouka," he agreed.
Janie put his drink together quickly, and visibly

deflated when he left the bar to flow back to the DJ
booth.

"My goodness, darlin'. What was that?" Megan

leaned in, thrilled to let someone else's drama take
front and center.

"That was a man who doesn't know when to

quit," Janie muttered, and then moved down the bar
to focus on other customers.

Deprived of company, Megan recommenced

checking out the options wandering the third floor

tonight. She quickly passed over Trey. He'd been
fine for a single night of play, but he lacked the
intensity Megan was craving tonight. Besides, she
made it a practice not to give her subs any repeats.

She'd almost given up when she saw him. The

perfect distraction. He was tall, though not quite as
tall as Gregori, and shared the Russian's dark hair
and pale golden complexion. His eyes, from a
distance, looked dark. Maybe the thick, studded
dog-collar he wore was a trifle overdone, but the
man was nasty enough looking to carry it off.

Without moving, Megan caught his eye, pointed,

then beckoned. He lifted a brow, but moved
obediently to stand before her.

"Is that how you greet a Mistress?" Megan let the

magnolia slip into her voice, while keeping her tone
cool. She knew the contrast made most men wild to
either heat her up or cool her down.

The big bruiser lowered his eyes immediately,

but his voice was insolent. "It's how I greet a woman
who's made a move on me."

Megan's eyes narrowed.
"Oh, really?" The poor fool didn't know her, or

he'd have recognized the doom in her voice.

"Yeah," he said. "Really."
His last word ended in a squeak, as Megan

caught his balls in a grip that would turn coal to
diamonds.

"You need to learn some manners, darlin'." He

made a garbled sound, his eyes nearly crossing in
pain. "Would you like for me to be the one to teach
them to you?" She relaxed her grip enough that he
could answer.

"If it pleases you, Mistress."
Megan smiled to herself. Now that answer was

all she could have hoped for.

"Over there," she flipped her hand to indicate

what looked like a sinuous bit of sculpture, but was
actually a device with shallow indentations for the
submissives knees that rose into a gently rounded
chest support.

Mr. Attitude moved quickly to the device and

dropped into a kneeling position. At Megan's nod,
one of the club employees fastened him down,
efficiently attaching Velcro cuffs to his wrists, ankles
and neck so he was pressed tightly along every inch
of the sculpture.

Then she sat back and watched him. For five

minutes. Ten. He began to squirm, and Megan
waited for the rush. For the sense of power and
control.

It didn't come.
Finally, with a sigh, she finished her wine and

wandered over to her mouthy submissive.

"Whatever shall I do about you?" she murmured.

She walked slowly around him, trailing a nail over the
bare length of his spine. He was well built, but he
lacked Gregori's thick slabs of muscles. And it
pissed her off beyond all words that she noticed.

"Whatever pleases you, Mistress," he hurried to

reply.

"What's your name?" Megan turned to the club

employee who was standing at the ready with a tray
that held a short crop, a flogger and a butt plug.

"Snake, Mistress." A fraction of arrogance had

crept back into the man's voice.

That spun Megan around with a choked laugh.
"Oh, dear Lord, you must be joking." Because if

he wasn't, she just might laugh herself silly.

"No joke, Mistress. It's what everyone calls me."

The arrogance was edging to belligerence, which
Megan wouldn't allow.

"Well, darlin', I've never liked to run with the

crowd, so I'm not gonna call you

Snake

." He gave

her a resentful look as she continued. "

Snake

is your

safe word. I'll be calling you

slave

." He looked ready

to protest and Megan set her hands on her hips and
looked down her nose at him. "Do you have a
problem with that, slave?"

"No, ma'am," he finally muttered.
Megan bit back a sigh and picked up the crop.

This was turning into much more work than it was
worth.

*

Gregori spat out a curse in Russian and headed

for the office door. He'd been watching her,

his

Mistress, for the last half hour or more, torn between
irritation and longing. Longing had given way to pure
irritation when she'd beckoned some meathead sub
to her side. Irritation had given way to rage when
she'd had him secured to the blossom sculpture.

He might have taken some satisfaction from the

fact she'd chosen a sub that resembled him if he
hadn't been so fucking pissed she'd chosen any man
other than him in the first place.

She was just picking up a crop when he arrived

at the public staging area. She must have seen him,
or felt him, because she looked up immediately.
Standing tall and proud, golden hair in an elegant up-

sweep, she was his goddess.

His heart thumped hard before seeming to sink

into his gut. Her eyes were clear and focused, the
rich Caribbean blue cool and emotionless. He
couldn't stop her, not in his role as Head of Security.
Couldn't force the words past the boulder lodged in
his chest in his role as her submissive. He couldn't
do anything but watch and burn.

She tapped the crop lightly against her palm, still

holding Gregori's gaze, then very deliberately turned
her attention to the sub bound for her use.

The first strike of the crop whistled through the

air, and the submissive choked out a high-pitched
cry with the impact.

"Too much, slave?" Her voice dripped mimosa,

and Gregori swore she sounded detached in a way
he'd never heard before.

"No, Mistress," the slave responded, but he had

a little waver in his voice.

The crop sang again, and again; and with each

strike, the slave shrieked. Gregori felt each impact
as if on his own flesh, or more accurately, as if on his
soul. Each slice of the crop felt like a betrayal, and
Gregori couldn't stop the low growl of rage he felt
building in his chest.

With every second the submissive looked and

sounded more frantic, and Megan looked more
frustrated. On the fifth blow, she turned in disgust and
dropped the crop on the waiting tray.

"Give me a cold cloth," she instructed the

assistant on duty shortly, and the girl nodded and
hurried off.

Gregori caught her arm as she rushed by.

"You'll be tending to him," he murmured. The girl

nodded again with a small smile as Gregori stepped
in front of Megan, blocking her retreat.

"I am so not in the mood for this, Sugar," she

sighed tiredly.

"In the mood for what, Megan?" He knew there

was a taunt in his voice, and he didn't even care. He
owed no deference to a Mistress who would not
claim him.

"In the mood for more of your games." She side-

stepped, attempting to move past, but he wasn't
letting her go that easily.

"This is so much more than a game,

milaya

," he

insisted. "You'd realize that if you'd just stop running
from what we could have together."

"

That

is the problem," she snapped, eyes

flashing. "All we could ever have is a purely physical
relationship." She glared pointedly at his hand on her
arm. "How many times do I have to tell you that
before you'll believe it?"

"Perhaps I need for you to prove it," he

murmured, allowing his hand to trail down her arm,
lingering at her fingertips before dropping to his
side. "Prove to me that you can Domme me without
emotion, Megan, and I'll walk away forever." Her
eyes narrowed dangerously, sending a delicious
little thrill directly to his dick.

"Fine," she gritted out. He had to smile at the

sound of her irritation. Somehow that slow magnolia
drawl and gritty anger just didn't seem to go
together. "When is your next night off?"

Gregori couldn't believe she was giving in so

easily. But then, his goddess had a will of iron under

that satin exterior, so maybe she didn't think she was
giving in at all.

"I'm off Friday night," he answered, wondering if

she'd follow through.

"All right, Sug." She nodded decisively. "Be here

Friday night. Ten o'clock." She stepped to the side
again, and this time he allowed her to pass.

"I'll be counting the hours," he said softly to her

back as she quickly swayed out of sight.

*

Friday Night

Megan could never turn down a challenge and

that is exactly what Gregori had proposed: an out
and out dare to Domme him without giving in to the
desire that flared between them like fireworks. There
was danger in calling his bluff; she knew herself well
enough to know Gregori Lavinkia could easily
become an addiction. But that only made it more
tempting.

Megan wanted Gregori, but she'd been

completely sincere when she'd told him any
relationship between them would be an either/or
proposition. As a Domme she needed to call the
shots. She didn't want to give over control, and that's
exactly what happened when she made love. So, to
protect herself, Megan had compartmentalized. She
kept sex tame and vanilla—and infrequent—and
saved her passion for Velvet Ice. She couldn't,
wouldn't let the two merge. Keeping Gregori firmly in
the cubbyhole of "submissive" was the only way she
could think of to protect her heart.

Unfortunately, her body and mind were at war.

Gregori tempted her like no one else ever had. The
promise of fantasy of him fulfilling his duty as a
submissive while in the bedroom ate at her. He had
a reputation at the club as being orally gifted, and
she could now testify that he'd earned it. Each stroke
of his tongue between her thighs had sent her flying,
short circuiting her brain. She'd wanted to see just
how tight a fit it would be for that gorgeous, brutal
cock when she took it into her aching pussy. She
wanted to ride him into the ground, take him deeper
and harder until they both collapsed in a sweaty
heap on the floor. She wanted things that made her
feel wild and out of control, and that scared her.

Scared or not, though, she was going to take

Gregori up on his offer and prove to

both

of them

she could handle him without losing control. If she
kept it simple, nothing too fancy or complicated, she
should be able to keep her focus where it belonged:
on Gregori's complete surrender of power.

A shadow fell over her shoulder and moved

down her side as Gregori knelt beside her. He wore
nothing but a pair of black leather pants and a plain
black collar. Megan fought to keep her breath even
as she gazed at his naked torso. Damn, but he was
a fine man. His body was large, bulky and his tight
muscles were covered with the most velvety pale
golden skin. The dark hair that decorated his chest
looked silky. The most mouth-watering trail led the
eye to the straining bulge his cock made in the soft
black leather.

"Are you ready for me, Sug?"
He nodded. "More than ready, Mistress."
The implication in his words and tone was that

he'd been waiting on her. Megan raised a
disbelieving brow. He was doing it again. Trying to
top her. Trying to manipulate her into giving him the
treatment

he

thought he needed and deserved. For

all that she was struggling with her emotions when
dealing with him, it appeared Gregori was struggling
with something, too.

She rose and produced a chain from the small

purse she wore over her shoulder. She clipped the
chain to his collar, then tipped his head up to meet
his eyes.

"You may walk, but only if you keep your eyes

down." He nodded quickly and she clicked her
tongue against her teeth. "If you look up, I will know it,
and then I'll make you crawl, Sugar." His eyes
narrowed a bit. She guessed that, while pain was on
the menu, humiliation was not. She felt her smile turn
predatory. "Get up and follow me."

She turned and felt the chain loosen, an

indication he was on his feet. She sauntered around
the perimeter of the dance floor and then cut through
the public area.

They passed the bar, and a flash of red brought

her attention to Mistress Anne. Megan recognized it
was a spiteful and childish thing to do, but she gave
the woman a deliberately sweet and vacuous smile.
Anne returned the smile with an equally sugary and
false expression. A low huff of laughter brought her
attention to her rebellious sub.

"Just what do you find so amusing about my

shoes, sugar?"

"It is just that you so clearly hate her," he

responded, deep voice warm with amusement.

"And you know this

how

?" Megan stopped and

turned to face him. Gregori's eyes were firmly back
on the floor, but he couldn't quite hide his little flinch
when he realized she'd caught him disobeying.

"I apologize, Mistress," he murmured contritely.

"I will do better."

The big, Russian idiot actually thought she would

let it go!

"I know you will, Sug. Starting now." She

watched him expectantly, and he stood staring at her
toes, all innocence. When it became clear he wasn't
going to move on his own, she wrapped the leash
around her fist, shortening the length until he was
forced to move to his knees or choke.

"Now that's much better," she praised, and

turned to continue her walk.

She may have put him in a humbling position,

but damn he looked good there. With each
movement across the floor, muscles in his back
flexed under gleaming skin. And, oh, my, but those
black leathers showcased a perfect round ass you
could bounce a quarter off of.

Megan paraded them around the public rooms

and then back to her own. She kept the door to her
private room open, a move which brought Gregori's
head up in a questioning look. She shook a scolding
finger at him, and his eyes immediately dropped.
With a smile she suspected would have terrified him
had he been allowed to see it, she hooked the chain
to the wall and strolled over to her wall of toys.

"It's your lucky day, Sug. What device would you

like for me to use?"

"The crop and the long flogger."

His answer intrigued her. Everything she'd seen,

and everything he'd said hinted that his craving for
pain was nearly endless. For a split second Megan
imagined him as a lover. Was he even capable of
sex that was long and slow and full of passion, or
would he need pain then, too? And if he did, would
that be a problem for her? The welling moisture
between her thighs said no, no problem at all. She
cut the thought off abruptly. It wouldn't help her keep
her control and prove her point if she allowed herself
to get caught up in that sort of fantasy. She grabbed
the crop and flogger and moved to his side.

"You are certainly a sight in those pants, sugar,

but I think they need to go." She wandered lazily
around him, drawing the tails of the flogger along the
small of his back and smiling at his slight shudder.
"Strip," she ordered.

He peeled the tight leathers off in a slow, smooth

movement. His cock, half hard and growing by the
second, sprang free, and she licked her lips,
wondering how good he would taste against her
tongue.

His small, rough laugh brought her eyes to his

face. The dim lights couldn't hide the glint of triumph
in his gray eyes, nor, she was sure, did they hide the
hint of arrogant irritation in hers.

"Tell me what you're thinking, Gregori." She had

a good idea what that was, and the man needed to
be reminded—again—of his place.

"I am thinking that I like how you look at me,

Mistress." His lips curved in satisfaction. "I am
thinking that I like how much you want me."

Now it was Megan's turn to laugh.

"Oh, sugar, of course I'm gonna look. For tonight

all this," she raked her nails lightly down his chest, let
her fingers tangle in the mat of silky hair above his
cock and tugged sharply, "all of this is mine. Why
wouldn't I look at my property?"

She picked up a small bottle of Indian tobacco

oil, a recommendation from Kennie, who would
never have guessed the uses Megan would have for
the stuff, and tipped the bottle over the top of his
chest. The slick substance slid down the formidable
muscles, glittering in the low light as it traced the
ridges of his abdomen. She walked behind him and
repeated the process, her eyes locked in fascination
on the sight of the oil disappearing between his ass
cheeks.

"Since you are so sure about how I feel about

Domming you, then I have a challenge of my own."
She unclipped the leash from his collar and directed
him to stand in the center of the room. "I won't be
tying your hands. You will stand with them laced
behind your head and take every little thing I'm gonna
dish out without breaking position."

The cocky smile on his lips pissed Megan off.

He'd dared her, and he really thought he was going
to win. He was in for a rude awakening.

She massaged the oil deeply into his back to

allow it to penetrate into his skin. She dug her
fingertips into hard slabs of muscle, and allowed her
hands to glide around his ribcage and over his tight
abs.

She stroked the hard planes of his chest,

pausing at his nipples to scrape with her nails and
twist hard. He grunted and leaned into her touch.

Megan slid around him, suddenly craving the

sight of the velvety flesh she was stroking. She
allowed her fingers to trail down his flat stomach,
then moved around the tops of his thighs, avoiding
touching his bobbing penis and tight sac. Instead,
she dribbled more of the oil along the ridge of his
cock. He sucked in his bottom lip with a sharp gasp
as the heat penetrated his sensitive skin.

*

Megan stood back and just watched him, letting

her eyes coast over his body as one by one his
muscles tightened in response. He'd thought,
mistakenly it seemed, and that she'd been devouring
his dick with her eyes earlier because she couldn't
resist him. Now he was coming to realize that she'd
been appraising him as one would a prime piece of
horse-flesh. As if he were an object, a slave in truth.

"You've been very insistent that I'm denying us

the entirety of what we could experience together,"
she mused, petting him with oil-slick hands. "But it
seems to me, sugar, that I'm not the only one holding
back."

Gregori's eyes whipped to hers before he could

control it. "Mistress?"

She gave him an almost gentle smile and

pointedly looked at the ground. He followed her
gaze, adjusting his posture and keeping his position.

"You've been trying to run the show from the very

beginning, sugar. You've challenged and pushed and
pursued and ignored me every time I've said no."
She reached up to stroke her fingers through his
sweat-damp hair, scratching her nails lightly over his
scalp.

"My only wish is to serve you, Mistress," he

swore, and he meant it, but…

"Sugar, it seems to me that what you want is for

me to serve you. You've mapped out in your head
exactly how I should Domme you, how I should
respond to your surrender, and what that should
mean for us outside the club."

Was she right? He hadn't intended it, but

everything she said felt true.

"You want to serve me? You want me to Domme

you? If you want the full experience, Sug, you're
gonna have to give me some of that surrender you
keep talking about."

She waited him out in silence for several long

minutes while he processed her words. Finally he
shifted, and she seemed to understand he was
ready to speak because she murmured, "Tell me
what's on your mind."

"It was unintentional, Mistress." His voice was

low, almost inaudible, but he couldn't manage any
more force. "I want you, not only as my Mistress, but
as my lover," he admitted—like it had been a secret.
"I've never felt so strongly connected to someone. It
has colored my actions."

"Are you ready to give up control?"
Gregori risked another look up, needing to

drown in those ocean-blue eyes. There was only one
answer to give her.

"I'm yours, Megan. Use me as you will."
"All right, then." Her eyes warmed, as did her

smile. She leaned in and pressed her cheek to his,
giving him the moment of affection he suddenly
desperately needed. Then she stepped back,

grasping the crop, and began to circle him slowly,
reminding him of a hungry shark, and he felt
uncomfortably like bait.

Just when his tension was at its most painful,

she raised the crop and tapped lightly along his
upper chest. The skin pinkened vividly under her
ministrations and the effects of the oil. He was in hell,
he was in heaven, and he was going to kill Sin if he
was the one who'd given her this magic potion.
Gregori had tried it once before, when he was alone,
and the sensations it had produced had been mind
numbing. This batch seemed even more potent, and
having her spread it on his body with her soft fingers
had his skin so fucking sensitive a puff of air from
between her lips would send him over the edge.

"Hmmmm," she stepped back and laid down the

crop and tucked the handle of the flogger in the back
of her tight white jeans. Then she grasped his cock
with firm fingers and began to play her nails along
the length. "You seem inordinately proud of this. So I
think it deserves some special attention."

She released him, and he hissed a breath of

relief and despair. Her hand felt too fucking good.
She moved back to the toy cupboard against the
wall, and returned with a hand full of slim rubber
straps.

Oh, God

. He realized what her plan was, and

realized he was going to have to bear it. Bear it
without breaking position. He wanted to reach down
and grab her hand, pull it back to his aching dick and
beg for relief. Instead he gritted his teeth, closed his
eyes and waited to be carried away.

She took her time, winding the stretchy straps

around and around the length of his shaft. They were
just tight enough to sting, but he knew that once she
started working him his dick would surge larger and
the straps would tighten to the point of pain. Just the
thought of it had his dick jerking in her grasp,
causing her to laugh a little as she tied off the strap
just beneath the head.

She paused a minute, examining her handiwork

and letting him catch his breath, then wrapped
another strap snugly around his scrotum. She
hooked a small weight to the strap, and the resulting
tug mingled pain and pleasure until Gregori wasn't
sure which he was feeling.

His chest was working like a bellows, his breath

ragged and loud in the quiet room. He heard an
admiring murmur, and he snapped open his eyes to
see two club regulars watching through the open
door.

He'd done scenes in public before, though not at

Velvet Ice since he'd come to work there, but
something about having others watch him with
Megan felt so fucking wrong. He was glaring at the
voyeurs when she snapped her fingers in front of his
face.

"Who do you belong to, Sug?" That honey and

magnolia voice was hard.

"You, Mistress."
"Then where should your attention be?"
"On you, Mistress."
"Then keep it there."
Her command helped. He was able to shut out

the observers, to focus solely on her.

Once she had his cock and balls firmly trussed,

she pulled the flogger free of her waistband and
flicked it lightly, letting the leather tails patter softly
against his chest and abdomen. Slowly the intensity
of her blows increased, until his skin was on fire, his
cock was like a flaming brand, and his head was
about to explode. She paused, drawing out the
moment, and he couldn't hold back a low moan of
anticipation.

Her next blow came much harder across the top

of his thigh and he didn't bother trying to suppress
his cry as the sting of the crop nipped the tip of his
dick. God, how he wanted this woman, in every way
possible.

Watching over her for the better part of a year,

he'd gotten to know her better than she realized. He
knew her job was a difficult one where she
witnessed life and death and bloody tragedy on a
daily basis. She worked hard, she played hard. She
was loyal to her friends, of which there were many.
She was fearless and mischievous and had a core
of kindness and strength that he yearned to tap.

No, she wasn't a stranger to him, nor was he to

her. He felt connected to her, drawn to not only her
Domme skills—which were perfect—but also to her
beauty, her sweet southern charm. There was such a
softness shining behind her eyes. Gregori wanted to
wallow in all that she was, bathe himself in her scent
and her body. He would worship her forever; he
would protect her and make sure that she received
all she desired from life if she would only let him.

"Don't break your position." The flogger was no

longer kissing his body. Her voice rang out in the
room, drawing him out of his reverie. He laced his

hands more tightly behind his head. The pain in his
shoulders set in and he drew strength from it.

At his back, the sudden smack of the crop sent

lightning flashing over his body. She started at his
shoulders, just below his clasped hands, and worked
her way methodically down the length of his back.
Gregori felt himself sway with the blows. He kept his
position, but it was a struggle. Not that he wanted to
protect himself, or stop her. The struggle was in not
turning and falling to his knees; in not wrapping his
arms around her waist and burying his face against
her body.

The crop moved lower, pausing to pay loving

attention to his ass before biting its way down one
thigh and up the other. Gregori was close, so close
to that moment when excruciating pain and
unbearable pleasure fused. Just a few strikes more,
he knew, and he'd go flying. He'd taken the long, lazy
tumble into what was known as "sub space" only a
few times in his life. As intense as the experience
was, it was almost scary to him. He preferred the
pain, the struggle between mind and body and will.
Somehow, though, with Megan he knew sub space
would be different, and he craved it like an addict
craved his fix.

"Too much, Sug?" Her voice licked over his skin

as violently as the crop, and he shuddered under the
lash.

"No, Mistress." Did he say the words out loud?

He must have, because her low, husky laugh stroked
over each stinging triangular mark from the crop.

"Want more?"
"Yes," he gasped. He was shaking

uncontrollably, one long shudder of sensation.
"Please, yes, Mistress."

"You are so beautiful, Gregori." Her voice came

soft and sweet. Her touch was just as gentle. She
stroked lovingly over the marks on his back,
pressing lightly and causing the heat to flare with
each touch. He swore he could feel her lips on the
marks, the light dart of her tongue followed by a soft
breath of air that ignited the Indian tobacco oil and
her marks on his back into a conflagration of
agonizing ecstasy.

All too soon she abandoned him, leaving him

standing bereft and alone. His muscles twitched
under skin that felt too tight. He needed her touch,
her taste. He needed her.

The flogger licked across his ass with sudden,

shocking power. His dick swelled in its restraints, the
straps biting painfully into the engorged flesh. He
spread his legs and the long leather tails slipped
between his thighs, streaking over his balls harder
than she'd ever hit him before. His cockhead bled
pre cum; with each blow more flowed out. She
expertly worked him, wrapping the tails around one
thigh, then the other, letting the tips whip over his
straining dick with each flick of her wrist. The snap
and crackle of the flogger was like the voice of fire,
and it only added to the goose bumps springing from
his skin.

She was the most beautiful being in this world,

his golden goddess, and he felt each smack of the
flogger like a caress of her fingers and her lips over
his body.

"Let go, sugar," she murmured in that low drawl

that never failed to tighten things up low in his belly,
and her voice combined with the oil and the pain,
and he felt himself tip over the edge, into a place
beyond pain, a euphoric state of sexual being where
there was nothing but pleasure rising up to his head
and down to his toes, lifting him up like a heated air
current, sending him soaring.

His cock tightened and realized he was pumping

his hips, fucking the empty air. It was all pleasure, all
pure sensation. The flogger fell to the floor with a
gentle thump, and suddenly the tremendous
pressure on his balls released, his dick sprang up
against his stomach, and with it the pleasure
crested, flowing out of him in an orgasm so intense,
so shattering that his knees gave out. He hit the floor
still coming, the cum streaking his abdomen and
chest. He came for hours, for an eternity, but finally
the air in the room changed as she moved to kneel
in front of him.

Her face was serene, her breathing slow and

even. How in the hell was it even possible for her to
not be as affected as he? There was no indication
on her face or in her body language that she was
moved in any way by their shared experience.
Gregori swallowed as dread settled somewhere
deep within him. Had he been so very mistaken?
Was their connection all in his imagination? Did she
always produce these feelings in her submissives?

She began to run a warm cloth over his chest

and belly, cleaning away the proof of his submission.
He couldn't tear his eyes off her face as she worked.
She was so calm, as calm as she'd been with any
other sub he'd seen her with.

She cleansed him with brisk efficiency. Not

rough, but not tender, either. When she'd finished,
she glanced into his eyes, then stood. "You're
welcome to use the shower," she said as she took
crop and flogger over to the chair where she'd read
her magazine before their first session. Without
another word, she began to clean the leather of her
tools.

Gregori watched in disbelief. "How can you be

so cold, Megan?" He was totally breaching
Domme/sub etiquette but, dammit, he needed a
reaction from her. "You despise Anne because she
feels nothing for her submissives, but you're no
different, are you?"

Her eyes were sad as she met his gaze, and his

heart squeezed a little at the flash of hurt he saw
when he compared her to her nemesis. "You're
doing it again, Gregori," she scolded gently. "I'm not
your lover. I'm not even your friend." She gave a soft
sigh. "I don't have relationships with my subs. I've
told you this until I'm sick of the words myself." She
rose and returned the crop and flogger to their
places in the cabinet, then moved to stand in front of
him. She cupped his face in her hands and looked
almost tenderly into his eyes.

"I gave you what you asked for. I have nothing

else to give you."

"You're wrong, Megan. We have so much to give

each other." He couldn't believe she felt nothing, not
when he was feeling so much.

"Believe me, Gregori, when I say I will not take a

submissive as a lover. It won't work for me, and I will
not do it. I can be your Domme or your lover. I won't

be both." She let her hands drop to her sides. "This
conversation is over." Without another word she
turned her back on him, leaving him raw and aching.

Chapter Seven

Megan's legs shook as she made her way to the

bar. She thought she should feel some sort of
triumph. After all, she'd Dommed him. She'd fucking
Mastered his fine ass, and kept her composure the
whole time, proving once and for all that for her, D/s
wasn't about the sex.

The throbbing between her thighs said she was

a liar.

Janie was still at the bar. Somehow that

surprised Megan. It seemed like she'd been with
Gregori for hours; certainly long enough for the
bartender's shift to have ended. She remembered
why the petite brunette was her favorite bartender
when Janie took one look at her and slapped down a
double shot of Jack, neat, in front of her.

Megan was horrified to see her hands were

shaking as she picked up the glass, and she quickly
downed the shot, breathing deep through the burn,
hoping it would give her at least the illusion of being
steady.

"Girlfriend," the bartender mused as she poured

a refill, "you do not look like a Domme who's just had
a successful scene."

Megan sipped this drink more slowly, feeling the

liquor start a warm glow in her belly that almost was
enough to make her forget the void yawning empty
there.

"Oh, no, darlin'. It was very successful." She

couldn't help casting her gaze toward the private
rooms, wondering how long she had before Gregori

made his way back to the public areas. Shaking her
head in self-disgust she muttered, "Maybe it was too
successful."

Janie shook her head in commiseration. "Is our

fiery Russian melting that hard-candy and spun-
sugar facade you wear so well?"

Megan shot her a sharp glance. "What

are

you

talking about, Janie-belle?"

"I'm talking about the fact that it's common

knowledge that you come here to play, but you're the
club ice princess." The other woman moved to fill a
drink order for a portly man in deep blue leather, but
she gave Megan an amused look over her shoulder
and added, "And there's no 'Belle' in my name,
princess."

"I thought that title went to our Mistress Anne,"

Megan pressed once Janie had returned to her area
of the bar.

"Oh, no," Janie laughed. "Anne's the Snow

Queen, like in Narnia. You might frost your subs, but
she puts them in deep freeze."

"So," Megan began hesitantly, "everyone here

thinks I'm cold?" The bartender's comments came
too close on the heels of Gregori's accusations for
comfort.

Janie looked mildly remorseful as she clearly

picked up on Megan's agitation.

"Not cold, exactly," she mused. "More like

emotionally unavailable. It's clear you're here for one
thing only, and it doesn't really matter who gives it to
you."

"Is that so wrong?" Megan demanded. Dammit,

she came to Velvet Ice to scratch an itch that couldn't

be scratched anywhere else. She was allowed to be
emotionally unavailable. Heck that was the whole
point of her membership. She didn't do emotional
involvement, not with her subs, and not with anyone
in longer than she cared to remember.

"Not at all," Janie assured her. "There are plenty

of subs who come here for the exact same thing."
She gave Megan a level look. "Just not our Gregori.
He's looking for a soul mate. For the Mistress who
can command his heart just as easily as she
commands his body."

"I told him he wouldn't get that from me," Megan

replied, hating the defensive tone in her voice. "He
only sees what he wants to see."

"Maybe he sees more clearly than you do," the

other woman said softly.

Megan shook her head sadly. "After tonight he

should definitely be seeing more clearly than he was
before."

* * * *

Megan sat in bed, her fluffy down comforter

wrapped snugly around her. A pint of Starbucks
Caramel Macchiato ice-cream nested in her lap and
she found herself glaring at it morosely. The creamy
golden hue of the frozen treat was a little too similar
to the creamy golden hue of Gregori's skin. And,
unfortunately, Megan knew she'd much rather be
licking the big Russian than her spoon.

She had slipped over the edge and blurred the

lines she'd drawn so strictly between being a
Domme and her emotions. She might not admit it to

anyone else, but she had to be honest with herself.
She was involved with Gregori. She wanted more
than to whip his very gorgeous body and see his
eyes go hazy as he made the climb to Nirvana.

Megan wanted to stroke him with tenderness. To

feel those strong, rough hands on her body. To
explore all the possibilities offered by his very
talented mouth, and show him a few talents of her
own. She wanted to Master him, and care for him
and make love with him. And she wanted him to
make love to her, too.

She took another sullen bite of ice cream. This

was a disaster. The shrill ring of the phone tore her
away from her thoughts.

Stabbing her spoon viciously into the icy treat,

Megan grabbed the phone and checked out the
caller id. She grimaced at the number displayed,
and forced a smile to her face, knowing her caller
would hear her scowl in her voice.

"Hello."
"Meggie, baby, what's wrong?" Her mother's

sweet voice sounded.

"Nothing is wrong, Mama. I just had a long night."

Megan closed her eyes to shut out the vision of just
what had made the night so long. She absolutely
couldn't think about Gregori's gloriously naked body
while she was talking to her mother. The woman had
a downright scary ability to read her children's
voices.

Still, she wanted nothing more than to go home

and cry in her mother's lap. But she couldn't. It was
exactly what her father would have expected her to
do.

"Oh, baby girl, I recognize that tone in your

voice." Her mother paused dramatically. "What's his
name and what has he done to my girl?"

Megan couldn't help but laugh. "His name is

Gregori and the only thing he's done is treat me like
a goddess."

"Then why are you cryin', honey? Most women

would be thrilled to be put on a pedestal by her
man."

"Oh, Mama, they might do that for a while, but it

always ends. Look at you and Daddy, he walks
around like a randy rooster barking at everyone

including

you."

Her mother laughed, a deep, full belly laugh that

was totally at odds with her demure manners and
appearance. That laugh always made Megan want
to smile and join in, even when it was being used at
her expense.

"Megan my girl, the day your father thinks he can

boss me around will be his last day on this earth."

Megan shook her head, as if her mother could

see the gesture.

"Mama, I've seen you give into Daddy my whole

life. Even when you knew how hard he was on me."
Frustration and remembered pain knotted Megan's
belly. How could her mother excuse her father's
overbearing behavior?

"Baby, I think you didn't pay attention. Beau has

never disrespected me, nor has he ever forbidden
me to do something I felt strongly about. Do I let him
have his way? Of course I do, with his business and
other such matters I don't want to be involved in. But,
sweetie, he lets me have my way just as often."

Megan shook her head again, trying to reconcile

her mother's words with her own memories.

Her mother sighed. "Sweetie you forget the long

line of strong women you come from. I know you
resented how strict your daddy was…"

"Mama, he spent my whole life telling me a

woman should bend over backward for the man she
loves. He preached to me over and over again how
my job as his daughter was to go from his home to
my husband's, and how once I was there, my job was
to be a dutiful wife and produce him lots of
grandbabies."

Her mother's trilling laughter just flat out pissed

her off.

"What is so funny?"
"Megan, your daddy said what all Southern

fathers say to their daughters. He has never liked the
idea of you being a grownup. It was his duty and
pleasure to protect you as a child, but when you
became a teenager, he panicked. He couldn't face
the fact you were growing up and might leave him.
Or, even worse, that you might not need him
anymore. So he responded by clamping down even
tighter on you. When you matured into the strong,
stunning woman you are today, he was too set in his
thinking to see it."

Megan set the ice cream aside, as frustrated

tears threatened to form in her eyes.

"Mama, why didn't you ever tell me this before?

Please don't tell me I've been carrying around this
resentment all these years for no reason."

"Oh, baby, you never asked." Her mother's voice

was compassionate. "Loving someone isn't about

controlling them," her mother added. "It's about
compromising."

Megan shook as her world tilted on its axis. She

needed to think, and think hard, about her mother's
revelations. She had to figure out what they changed,
if anything.

A brisk knock at the door broke her train of

thought.

"Mama, I've gotta go. There's someone at the

door." She kissed at the phone and hung up. All
these years, she'd taken everything her father said
as gospel. Climbing out of her nest of pillows,
Megan made her way to the door of her condo,
flicking on lights along the way.

Somehow she knew who she'd find even before

she opened the door. She could feel the current
arcing between them even through the solid oak.

Gregori stood, one arm braced on the top of the

door frame. His eyes looked almost haunted, and his
features were taut with strain.

"You win,

milaya

." He stood up straight and

reached to run a finger down her cheek. "If the only
way for me to be in your life is as a bland, vanilla
lover, then that is what I shall be. Because I need to
be in your life more than I need to be mastered."

Megan bit her lip in indecision for all of five

seconds before moving back to let him in.

*

Gregori glanced curiously around as he followed

Megan into her condo. The space was small, but
she'd created a haven of soft colors and rich textures
that suited her to a tee. Megan herself was a bit of a
surprise.

Gone was the powerful Domme. There was no

sign of the slick, sugar-coated steel magnolia. No
make-up, a ratty Madonna College t-shirt, and her
hair in a scraped up ponytail, and she was still the
most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

There was something in her eyes now, as she

watched him. Not her usual reserve, but something
else, something almost confused in her azure gaze.

"Gregori, I…"
He didn't dare trust what he thought he saw in

her eyes, so Gregori silenced her in the quickest
way he could think of. He kissed her.

The first taste of her hit him like a pure, iced shot

of vodka. He swayed against her, suddenly light-
headed and almost giddy. Sweet. She tasted so
sweet, creamy and tempting like dessert, but
underneath was a spice that was all woman.

Her breath hitched in a low gasp, and Gregori

drank it down, greedy for her response. Her mouth
opened under his, lips soft and damp and so fucking
hot he felt singed.

He stepped in closer, pressed up against her,

and shuddered as he felt her curves melt against
him. She moaned and flattened her hands on his
chest, and a great cloud of rage and denial billowed
up inside him until he realized she wasn't trying to
push him away. She was just looking for something
to cling to for balance.

Satisfied for the moment, he lifted his hands to

cup her face. She wasn't a small woman. There was
nothing fragile about her. Yet in his grasp, she
appeared delicate, breakable. It made him crazy.

She

made him crazy. He spread his fingers,

speared them into her hair, and simply devoured her
mouth.

*

Gregori Lavinkia did not kiss like a sexual

submissive.

No, he kissed like a man staking a claim. He

kissed like a man starving for her. He kissed like a
man obsessed.

He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, then let

it slide out between his teeth, nipping lightly before
releasing it to crush his lips over hers again, and
Megan went dizzy with desire. She'd never been so
consumed; consumed by him, and consumed by her
own reaction. The closest she'd ever come was
when Dominating a particularly susceptible
submissive, but even that fell far short of this.

His fingers speared into her hair, dislodging her

messy ponytail with a sharp tug. Then it was all
honey as he combed through her tangled tresses,
pulling just enough to make her scalp tingle, and her
purr with appreciation.

They kissed for what felt like hours, until her lips

were bruised and tender, and only stopped when the
need to breathe outweighed the need to devour.

Gregori ducked his head, his lips landing on her

collarbone like a brand. He muttered against her
skin, soft words in Russian that sounded sacred and
profane all at once.

"Let me have you," he finally whispered into the

curve of her neck, and she was helpless to deny him.

No sooner had her ragged "Yes," passed her

lips, and he was pulling at her t-shirt, dragging it over
her head to toss carelessly behind him. She'd been

prepared for bed, and wore no bra. Her breasts
were free, and he groaned and buried his face
between them.

"

Lyubimaya

." The words vibrated against her

skin, and she shivered in response. When he
cupped each globe in his large, rough hands, the
shiver became a shudder, and her moan echoed his.

"Let me taste," he rasped, and dropped to his

knees before she could respond. Not that she would
have said no. No had been completely erased from
her vocabulary.

On his knees, Gregori paused. The air turned

static around them. He tipped his head back and
met her gaze, his heart in his own. It was such a
submissive posture, Megan had to call on every bit
of discipline she possessed not to wind her fingers
through his hair and roughly order him to service her.

But, no. That wasn't what this was about. She

wasn't becoming his Domme. She was about to
become his lover.

After a pause that seemed to stretch into

eternity, Gregori lowered his eyes, fastening his
gaze, instead, on the bounty that filled his hands.

"

Ebat'

," he muttered, catching her nipples in the

vee of his fingers. "So beautiful…" He squeezed
lightly, and she gasped, arching into the touch. "My
Megan," he breathed against the painfully stimulated
buds of her nipples. "My goddess."

She cried out when he stretched up to scrape

his teeth over her nipple, stunning herself with the
rawness of the sound. Hell, she was stunned with the
rawness of the sensation; the rawness of his touch.

He moved one hand to her hip, holding her

steady as she writhed against his mouth. His other
hand cupped the breast he wasn't tormenting with
teeth and tongue. He captured that nipple firmly
between thumb and forefinger, compressing in time
with his suction, and driving Megan straight out of
her mind.

Just when she almost had absorbed the

sensation, he switched sides, loving the second
nipple with lips and tongue. He gave a sharp,
startling nip, then sucked the bud deeply into his
mouth, only to almost immediately release it with a
pop.

"Can you come like this?" An hour ago the

answer would have been no. The thought would have
been ridiculous. But an hour ago, Megan hadn't
experienced Gregori's oral genius on her breasts.

"I don't know," she managed to force out.

"Maybe. I don't want to." She was panting, and she
hardly recognized her own voice. "I want to come
with you inside me."

He groaned and cursed foully, pulling away from

her breasts.

"Then you'd best get naked,

milaya

, because I

am very, very close."

His words and the look in his eyes sent liquid fire

through her veins to pool between her thighs. He slid
his hands under the waistband of her sloppy sweats,
and eased them down her legs almost reverently,
leaning in to plant soft, wet kissed along her inner
thighs.

"So sweet," he murmured into her soft flesh.
"You, too," Megan gasped. "You need to be

naked, too."

Gregori sent her a wicked smile through his

lashes, and dipped his head until he could slide his
tongue between the swollen folds of her pussy. Just
as she would have groaned and clasped his head to
her for a deeper taste, he fell back on his haunches
and yanked his black t-shirt over his head, baring all
that pale golden flesh and silken black hair to her
famished gaze.

Megan stepped out of the fleece pooled at her

feet, and offered Gregori both hands. He took them
gently, and rose to his feet. Releasing his hands,
Megan dropped hers to the button fly of his jeans.

His cock was an iron bar behind the denim, so

swollen it made maneuvering the buttons a
challenge. When she finally managed to pry one free,
his cock would surge toward the hint of freedom,
teasing her fingers with the promise of hot, silky skin.

When she'd finally unfastened most of the

buttons, Megan slid her hand inside, under soft, worn
denim; under the soft cotton of his briefs to the even
softer skin of his shaft. He groaned and his hips
heaved against her, forcing her into closer contact
with his throbbing cock.

She groaned, too, caught up in the feel of him in

her hand at last.

Now Megan dropped to her knees, peeling the

jeans and briefs down his thick thighs, and guiding
him to step out of them. He toed off his shoes and
socks in the same movement, and then he stood
over her, bare and beautiful. And hers.

Drawn to him like iron to a magnet, Megan

leaned in and rubbed her face against his belly. The
skin was like velvet, the silky trail of hair made her

cheek tingle deliciously. She looked up and smiled
at his absorbed expression.

Nuzzling at the groove where his thigh met his

torso, she became absorbed herself. His scent was
wild, musk and pine and all man. It filled her head
and made her almost dizzy. She snaked out her
tongue, teasing at the delicate skin there, and
grinned in satisfaction when he groaned and his
thighs went hard as marble.

She might not be Domming him, but he

belonged to her.

*

She was killing him, one breath at a time.
She rubbed her cheek over his belly, and

Gregori saw stars. She rubbed her face in his groin,
and Gregori wanted to cry. He wanted more. He
wanted everything.

When she wrapped her strong, silky fingers

around his dick, Gregori knew he couldn't take any
more. Digging his fingers into her hair, he guided her
upward, drawing her to her feet.

"Bedroom," he commanded. "I don't want to take

you on the floor." She blinked and gave him a sleepy
smile, and he found himself smiling back. "Not this
first time, anyway." He combed his fingers through
her hair, smoothing the golden strands. "Maybe next
time," he added devilishly, and was rewarded with
her oh-so-ladylike snort of amusement.

Still smiling, Megan took his hand and led him

down a short hallway and into her bedroom. Like the
rest of the condo, it was a reflection of the complex
woman he was coming to know. The textures were
soft and inviting; the colors vibrant jewel tones that

made her fair beauty glow luminously.

She climbed onto the bed, impatiently shoving

the twisted-up comforter to the floor, and knelt before
him. Gregori stepped closer and lifted a hand to cup
her cheek. She mirrored the move and then leaned
in to kiss him.

He didn't think he'd ever get enough of her

kisses. The sweetness of her taste. The succulent
teasing of her tongue. He let himself drown in the
sensation.

All too soon, she was pulling away, drawing him

with her to join her on the bed. Wrapping one hand
around her waist, he gently tumbled her down, then
followed her, catching himself on his forearms so he
was braced over her.

Her thighs slid open easily, inviting him into the

cradle of her body, and he eagerly accepted. As he
settled his hips against her, she opened even more,
so that his aching dick rubbed along the folds of her
pussy.

Elba

, she was so hot, so wet. She

surrounded him in slick liquid fire.

He contented himself for a while with rubbing his

cock along her slit, bumping the sensitive head
against her swollen little clit and feeling intense
satisfaction every time she moaned in response.

"I want you inside me," she finally panted, her

hips surging against him. "I need you in me now."

Gregori was only too happy to comply.

Ebat

, she

was tight. He had to work his way in, shifting and
delving with short pulses of his hips.

"How long?" he gasped, feeling as if his head

would explode at her fiery clasp.

"Too long," she moaned, arching so that he slid

a fraction deeper. "I don't remember."

That was good. He didn't want her to remember.

He wanted to wipe the memory of any man but
himself from her mind forever.

*

There was nothing, Megan realized, nothing that

could truly take the place of a man's cock. The heat,
the silken skin, the tensile strength as it delved, inch
by inch, into her grasping, desperate body put her
entire collection of toys to shame. Of course, maybe
it wasn't "a man's cock," in general. Maybe it was
just Gregori.

He surrounded her completely, leaving her

feeling vulnerable and overwhelmed. Braced on his
forearms as he was, Megan had a prime view of
bulging muscles. Damn, the man was so well built
that he made her feel almost petite—an unusual
sensation for a woman built along Megan's generous
lines.

His thighs forced hers wide, his belly dragged

against hers, and when he finally bottomed out
inside her, his pubic bone rasped suggestively over
her clit.

Oh, God

. Nothing had ever felt so good.

She drew her legs up, wrapping them high and

tight around his rib cage. The movement allowed him
to slide one impossible inch deeper, and they both
groaned.

"Look at me," he rumbled, and Megan realized

her eyes had closed against the sensation. She
forced her lids up, and found herself the sole focus of
Gregori's molten gray gaze.

Once he was assured of her attention, he began

to move. The fit was so tight she could feel herself

clinging to him on the outstroke, her body begging
with silent eloquence for him to stay, to possess her
forever. He groaned, low and guttural at the
sensation, and paused at the apex, the wide knob of
his dick stretching the tender mouth of her sheath.

"Please," she whimpered, and she didn't even

care that her voice was breathless and pleading.
She needed him inside her, cock so deep it touched
her heart, and she needed it now.

A garbled curse burst from his lips, even deeper

and more guttural, if that were possible, and he
exploded into motion.

Each inch was hard fought. She'd been celibate

for a long time, and he was huge. But he ground
against her clit with every thrust, and before she
expected it, before she was even remotely ready,
orgasm rolled over her like a bulldozer.

Gregori roared as her pussy clamped violently

down on him, capturing his rampant cock deep
inside and clutching his welcome invasion. When her
brain came back on-line, she devoured him with her
eyes. His arms trembled in her peripheral vision, and
a bead of sweat wound its lazy way down his temple
and over the tense line of his jaw.

He was so beautiful, rock hard and shaking with

need for her. Then she met his gaze again with her
own, and the bottom dropped out of her stomach.
His heart was in his seething mercury gaze. Hell, she
could see all the way into his soul.

He began to move again, slow and precise. It

was easier now; she was softer after her climax,
wetter. He felt so good against her, inside her, and
now that a hint of the urgency had passed—for her at

least—she could enjoy him.

She arched voluptuously against him, stroking

his flanks with her thighs. Each scissoring movement
shifted his cock inside her, allowing it to rub over
different pleasure points. She thought it must be the
same for him, because with each undulation of her
body, his moans grew louder, more frantic.

"Megan," he panted. "

Chort Poberi

." His face

filled her vision, his breath washed hot over her
mouth. "I need to be deeper." Her body tightened at
his words, her breath hitched. Stunningly, she was
already beginning the climb again, orgasm just
outside her grasp.

Gregori grunted, planted a knee and in one

amazingly smooth move rose to his knees, scooping
her up until she was straddling him. Oh, God.
Deeper, indeed. He was touching her fucking throat
this way!

He grasped her hips, lifting and guiding her.

Megan loved the position, loved how deeply it
lodged him inside of her, and loved looking down
into his tense face as she rode him with slow
deliberation.

He shifted his grip, cupping her ass in his huge,

hot hands. The motion pulled her cheeks wide, a tiny
stretch of unexpected sensation that sent a host of
shivers through her pussy. And all at once Megan
knew she needed

more

.

She braced her hands on his shoulders and took

over the rhythm of their lovemaking, rising above him
like the goddess he named her. He gasped, mouth
parting for his rough breaths. It was too much to
resist, his lips red and plump from kissing, and

Megan leaned down to run her tongue over the full
curves.

Even that wasn't enough, and she found herself

nipping, sucking, devouring him as she rose and fell
on his cock as though her pussy had been oiled.
Each stroke rubbed her body over his, and the satiny
strength of his muscular torso combined with the
silken rasp of the light mat of hair on his chest to
drive her even wilder.

She interrupted her rhythm, pausing to cup his

face in her hands. She let herself get lost in his
mercurial eyes, let herself be surrounded by his soul,
and all at once things became glitteringly clear. He
was hers; hers in every sense of the word, and
suddenly she needed to make sure he knew it as
profoundly as she did.

His breath caught as she threaded her fingers

through the damp strands of his hair. She ground her
pelvis against his, laying claim to every inch of his
body before rising deliberately until she nearly lost
him. She held his gaze for one endless moment,
then slammed down with all her might, with the
weight of her body and the weight of her will. And he
got it. It was in his eyes. He understood just what
claim she'd staked.

His great strength seemed to fail him. His hands

left her ass, his arms jerked back to stop his fall. He
was helpless beneath her; balanced on his knees,
propped on his hands in an abbreviated back bend.
Beautiful, and vulnerable and hers.

Cupping his cheeks, Megan leaned in and

kissed him. She kissed him with intent; with all the
love of a woman and all the power of a Domme. And

for the first time, that melding of all the parts of her
personality didn't scare her.

He responded with such obvious relief and joy,

that it jacked her even higher. His body became, if
possible, even tauter, and even more tightly strung;
but the line of his mouth and the glow in his eyes was
infinitely soft and tender.

"

Ya tebya lyublyu

.," he whispered, gaze glued

to hers.

"What does that mean?" she responded

breathlessly, never ceasing the rise and fall of her
body over his.

"I love you," he moaned. "My Mistress. My

goddess." She covered his mouth with hers; she
couldn't help it. She had to taste the words, to
breathe them in.

"You belong to me, Gregori." As if the words

needed to be said out loud. But then, perhaps they
did, because as she did he gave a keening cry and
arched against her, almost unseating her with the
strength of his thrust.

Sudden panic filled his eyes. "Fuck," he gasped.

"Condom."

Automatically Megan passed a soothing hand

down his cheek as she did some frantic calculations
in a brain so fogged with love and lust that she barely
knew what day it was, let alone where she was in her
cycle.

It took him several tries, and finally Megan had to

stop moving entirely before he managed to force out
any words.

She rubbed against him in reward, and savored

the little jerks his body gave beneath her. "I haven't

been with anyone without a condom, ever," he
added then, like the cherry on top of a sundae he
finished, "and I haven't penetrated any of my play
partners in over a year." She had no fear, it wasn't
the right time to make a baby and all members and
staff at Velvet Ice were tested several times a year.

Hers. He was hers in every possible way.
"Oh, Gregori," she breathed against his mouth.

"You please me so much."

He cried out at the words, the verbal cue of his

Mistress. Megan laughed out loud, not mocking him,
but out of pure joy. She reestablished her rhythm,
speeding it, hurtling them both toward the inevitable
conclusion.

When climax was imminent, when she knew she

couldn't hold it off one second more, she gasped out,
"Come for me, Gregori! Come for your Mistress!"

Oh, and he did.
As her pussy clenched violently around him,

Gregori let loose a roar that all but shook the walls.
He came as grandly, as extravagantly as he did
everything else, filling her with scalding, pulsing
bursts of cum.

Lost in her own explosion, Megan might not even

have noticed, except that each wild shot of liquid fire
sent her higher, set off a new round of inner
detonations until her entire body, her entire existence
was one never-ending orgasm.

Chapter Eight

"So what do you think?" Kendra asked as she

stepped from the dressing room. Megan raised an
eyebrow. Her friend's teddy, if the lace scraps of
cloth could be considered a teddy, was a gorgeous
emerald green.

"I think Sin's going to eat you alive." Megan was

so happy for her newly married friend. Kendra's face
was alight with love for her new husband.

"Okay, I'm going to try on the red one next."

Kendra giggled and moved back behind the curtain.
Megan grinned. She loved to see how happy Kendra
was, but what she really loved was seeing the other
woman's new sense of confidence. Being with
Sinclair had freed something in Kendra, something
Megan was beginning to recognize in herself in the
wake of her soul-shaking lovemaking with Gregori.

The women, joined by Celia, the third in their

"terrible trio", were presently shopping in Megan's
favorite adult store, Mystic. It was set up like a trendy
boutique. Sexy clothing and costumes in every size
and for every taste took up the left side of the brightly
lit store. The right side was filled with toys, games
and even some small equipment. In the middle of the
store glass shelves were filled with gels, lotions
potions and oils. Megan approached the display
cases surrounding the register, anticipation zinging
through her.

Goosebumps rose as she perused the various

collars and bits of bondage-themed jewelry. Gregori
deserved something exceptional, something that

would truly symbolize what she felt for him but had
never dared admit to herself.

She was admitting it now, she realized.

Admitting it to herself, and to him. In spite of all her
protests, in spite of all her resistance, Megan was
going to collar Gregori. And not just a play collar for
a scene. She was claiming him forever. He'd chased
her until she caught him, and she'd be damned if she
was ever going to let him go.

A small blonde girl approached her from behind

the counter, barely looking old enough to know what
some of the things on the glass shelf were, let alone
to work there.

"Is there something I can help you with?"
"I'm in need of a very special collar," Megan

returned the smile. She adored the employees here;
they weren't coy about what they sold. Not only were
they incredibly well informed about all the
merchandise, they seemed as excited as their
customers when someone found just the right aid to
the more extreme aspects of sexual fulfillment.

"I have a nice selection over here for a man or

woman, which ever you're looking for." Megan
followed her down to the end of the display case. It
was true, the collars were indeed nice, but they
weren't for her. More, they weren't for Gregori. He
needed something much more than

nice

.

She leaned in a little closer, and lowered her

voice. She wasn't ashamed of what she was doing,
but she thought it might be nice for Gregori to know
her plans before Kendra or Celia. "These are lovely,
but I was looking for something more elegant and
manly. Price is not an issue," she added with a small

smile, "so I'd like to see the best you have."

"Ahh, I see." The sales woman said. She looked

over at the other female employee. "Monica, I'm
going to the back for a few minutes."

The other woman nodded and Megan's sales

lady crooked her finger, "Follow me into the back. I
think we may have something a little more special
there."

Megan followed the woman through a door

marked "Employees Only". They moved down a
short hallway that ended at a large steel door. There
was a control panel on the wall and the sales girl
pushed a code into a keypad. Megan heard a lock
click and the door slid open.

"My name is Jasmine," the young woman said,

"and I own Mystic." She stepped aside and allowed
Megan to go through the door. Jasmine pulled the
door shut behind them and pointed to a table. "If
you'd like to take a seat, I will be back in a few
moments." Jasmine walked over to yet another door
with another keypad and pressed more buttons.
Before stepping through, she looked over her
shoulder. "Are you buying for a male or female?"

"Male." Megan whispered. Heat flushed her

cheeks causing the other woman to smile and wink
at her before entering the other door.

Jasmine was back in a flash, carrying two wide,

flat velvet boxes. She lay in on the table, and stroked
the rich fabric of the lid of one box absently. "We
keep this put away for obvious reasons," she
explained as she removed the top of the box.
Nestled inside were three of the most expensive
collars Megan had ever laid eyes on.

The first was made of braided gold, thick with a

large gold ring that hung from the front. The next was
encrusted with diamonds and sapphires. It too was a
wide collar. As beautiful as it was Megan knew deep
down that it wasn't for Gregori. The last one was a
simple design. The silver band was wide; it had four
smaller rings attached to it. She touched the metal
with one finger. Close, but still not exactly right.

Jasmine seemed to sense her frustration, for

she smiled and replaced the lid. "Not everyone is a
traditionalist," she commented, and opened the
second box.

The contents of this box were, to the untrained

eye, mere jewelry. There was a set of gold ID
bracelets that had one wide link each, perfect to clip
to a hook or leash. There was a set of silver nipple
rings, connected by a fine silver chain. But what
caught Megan's eye and stole her breath was a
beautiful necklace of pure platinum. It was made up
of thick, heavy links in varying sizes that created an
arresting pattern. As she examined the piece,
Megan realized that the pattern repeated so that at
four points the links were larger and thicker than the
others—perfect for attaching a leash or for clipping
to an eye-hook. Hmmm.

Her decision was made when she looked at the

closure. Instead of a normal jewelry clasp, this
necklace closed with a small, solid lock.

She tapped the necklace decisively. "I want this

one."

Jasmine drew the collar out of the box and laid it

across Megan's hand. It was heavier than it looked,
and the metal felt almost warm and inviting against

her skin, which thrilled her. She looked at the smooth
surface of the lock-clasp, then carefully handed the
chain back to Jasmine. "Can I have this engraved?"

"Would you like to know the price before you

purchase?" the woman answered with a raised
brow. "These pieces don't come cheap." Megan
knew the other woman was trying to be discreet with
what was obviously an expensive item.

Reaching into her purse she pulled out her

American Express Black card. Jasmine smiled.

"How soon do you need it?"
"How soon can I have it?" Megan replied,

tapping the edge of her credit card against the table.
Jasmine's smile widened.

"As fast as you can afford," she returned, and

the women shared a knowing laugh.

"I trust you," Megan grinned. "Just put it on here,"

she handed over the plastic.

Jasmine was no fool, and quickly took the card

from Megan, handed her a personalization form to fill
out, and then went about gleefully processing the
order.

Megan made a swift consultation on her

Blackberry, and completed the paperwork just as
Jasmine brought her the charge slip to sign.

"I should get out front to meet my friends before

they think I disappeared on her," Megan said as she
slipped her copy of the charge slip into her purse.

"Of course," Jasmine replied, quickly punching

in the code that would allow them to exit the vault.
"You can pick this up at the end of business today,"
she added as she closed the door firmly behind
them.

"That soon?" Megan marveled.
"With what you're paying," Jasmine grinned, "I'd

almost be willing to have it done by lunch!"

Megan smiled. "The end of business is perfect."
She walked out of the back room refusing to

think about tonight, the night she planned to collar
Gregori. In her soul, she knew he was hers, just as
she was his. In her heart, she couldn't erase the last
flicker of fear that she'd waited too long, that Gregori
might refuse her.

Glancing at her watch, Megan realized she only

had a few hours before her night out with the girls
started.

Celia was engrossed by a rack of DVD's and

didn't seem to have noticed Megan's absence.
Kendra came out from the dressing room with two
new teddies in hand, looking like she had trouble on
her mind for a certain whip-wielding Dom.

Megan only smiled as she browsed the wall of

toys. Her gaze caught on the various strap-on
devices. Her hand gravitated toward a pale blue set.
It wasn't baby blue, or even powder blue, but it had a
specially made prostate tickler, and a textured clit
stimulator. She felt a tremor run down her spine as
she placed the toy into her basket.

She joined Kendra in the oil and lotion section.

Kendra raised an eyebrow as she looked at what
Megan was carrying. Celia joined them, and slapped
a hand over her laughing mouth as she viewed
Megan's purchase.

"Don't even go there," Megan warned her,

wagging a perfectly manicured finger in Celia's face.
Her friends would know her preferences soon

enough, if Gregori accepted her as his Mistress.

For now, Megan gave them a beaming white

smile and both women erupted in laughter. Megan
joined them, and even reached out to gather them
into a sloppy group hug. She was so incredibly lucky
to have such amazing women as friends. An hour
later Megan dropped Kennie off at home. They were
all going to meet at Velvet Ice later for a girl's night
out. Neither Celia nor Megan had been able to
spend enough time with their newly married friend.
Kendra had promised to get Celia and Megan onto
the second floor—having no idea Megan could get
herself practically anywhere in the club she wanted—
and tonight all three of them were going to have
some well-deserved fun.

* * * *

"Kendra, you are sooo bad," Celia snorted as

Kennie threw back a Jell-o shot. Twice tonight
Megan noticed Kendra's husband, Sin, sneaking
looks at the girls. Brady and Gregori had managed
to find reasons to come into the first-floor bar area,
too. Every time Brady's scowling face appeared
behind the bar, Celia would blow kisses and wave.
This, of course, sent the big, bad-assed Brady out of
the bar faster than the Road Runner.

"Ce, you've got to quit teasing that man," Megan

giggled. "He may have money, but have you looked
into those eyes, girl? He's got the devil in him."

"All I see when I look into his eyes is my future,"

Celia whispered on a sigh, her expression suddenly
serious.

"The hell you do, Celia Lynn." All three girls

jumped at the rough voice, and three heads turned in
well-practiced unison.

"Dorian, I'm a grown woman and you can't tell

me what I can or can't do." Celia snapped, facing her
bad-ass Dom of a brother. "You've got your own life
to worry about. Besides if you keep bugging me, I'm
going to tell Cassidy."

"Tell me what?" Cassidy Anderson-Lassiter,

soon to be Jenner, asked, as she linked her arm with
Dorian's.

"Tell you that my

brother

is interfering with my

life,

yet again

," Celia said smugly. Megan laughed

when Dorian turned a sour look on Celia. Most
people would run and hide the moment he gave
them the cop stare down. Not Celia. She wasn't
afraid of anything. Megan admired her so much.
Ce's ability to live in the moment without fear and to
always know what she wanted out of life had
seemed almost unbelievable to Megan until Gregori
entered her life.

"She's sniffing after Ryder again," Dorian gave

the lovely Cassidy an almost pleading look.

Cassidy laughed and caressed his cheek. "It's

hell to see them grow up," she agreed
sympathetically, and wove her fingers through his,
tugging him gently away from the table.

"You heard me, Celia," he barked and clasped

Cassidy's hand tighter as he let her lead him toward
the stairs to the third floor. It didn't take a genius to
figure out what they had planned for the evening.
Megan felt a twinge of envy. As much as she was
enjoying the time with her friends, she wanted to take

Gregori to her room and have her way with his
wickedly beautiful body.

The girls giggled as Celia signaled the waitress

for another round. Megan was too excited to drink
much. Tonight she was embarking on the biggest
risk of her life. To collar the man who'd broken
through every defense she ever had. Gregori had
proved to her that she could have everything she
wanted, everything she needed. A lover and
submissive, a partner in a reciprocal exchange of
trust that truly was a sharing of souls.

"I don't understand why your Mama sent me

here. You certainly look like your havin' fun, Megan
Elizabeth." The deep southern voice boomed loud
enough to silence conversation at the surrounding
tables.

Megan turned her head in complete disbelief,

not sure whether to be thrilled or horrified.

"Daddy? What are you doing here?"

Beauregard Jamison stood behind her chair, glaring
down at her. His five-thousand-dollar suit and fedora
made him look more like a gangster than the
successful businessman he actually was.

He opened his arms with an impatient gesture.

"So you're too grown up to give your daddy a hug, I
suppose," he grumbled. Megan let the smile break
loose and stood to accept his embrace. He
harrumphed irritably as he released her and looked
her over.

Megan experienced a moment of extreme

embarrassment as he took in her faded jeans and
sheer, lace printed peasant top, before she
reminded herself that nothing was the way she'd

always believed. That newfound confidence allowed
her to arch her brows in amusement as he crossed
his arms and looked down his nose at her. "Your
mother thought you needed to be looked in on. Good
thing too." His eyebrows drew down as he looked
around the area. "Now get your things. It's time to
go."

A few days ago, Megan would have obediently

followed her father out of the bar. Not now.

"Now, Daddy, I know good and well Mama didn't

send you to check up on me." She wouldn't have, not
after their last conversation. Though she very well
may have mentioned her concern… "I'm not going
anywhere. I'm perfectly fine."

Beauregard's face turned a awful shade of red

and Megan was sure he was going to have a stroke.
She softened her voice. "Daddy, go to my house,
and I'll be along later."

"The hell you will, young lady. It seems living up

here among these Yankees you've forgotten your
manners." Megan wanted to roll her eyes. She loved
her father very much but his whole chauvinistic
attitude was one of the reasons she left Georgia in
the first place. Still, she felt like she was seeing him
through new, clearer eyes. Behind his bluster, she
saw the fear and worry that had doubtless brought
him racing to her side at the first hint she might not
be happy. It was an insight that allowed her, for the
first time in her adult life, to keep her temper in the
face of his unreasonable demands.

"I have manners, thank you very much.

I'm

not

the one making a scene." He sputtered as she
continued. "Now, Daddy, you seem to have forgotten

that I'm well over the age of eighteen. You don't get
to drag me home if I break curfew." Inside she was
smiling, while on the outside she kept her expression
neutral. Her father would only be pushed so far
before he lost his temper.

Beauregard wrapped a firm hand around her

arm and leaned in to speak in a low, intense voice in
her ear. "I know what goes on in here, Megan
Elizabeth, and this is no place for

my

daughter."

"Megan," Gregori's accented voice rolled over

her like warm honey. "Do you need assistance?" His
large hand cupped the nape of her neck and
squeezed gently. "Is there something you wish for
me to do?"

His eyes took on a silvery glow and Megan knew

his question had a double meaning. She smiled at
the little glow it kindled low in her belly, and shifted
so the two most important men in her life faced each
other.

"I'm fine, sugar," she assured her lover. "Daddy,

this is Gregori Lavinkia." Her father scowled even
harder by way of greeting. "Sugar, this is my father.
He's just leaving," she added with a pointed look
toward the older man.

"The hell I am. Your mother and I didn't raise you

to sass back." His hand tightened on her arm and he
added, "And we certainly didn't raise you to pass
your time in a place like this!"

Megan felt Gregori stiffen behind her, and she

deliberately reached down to remove her father's
hand.

"You're wrong. Mama raised me to be an

independent woman." Beauregard waved off her

statement, and for the first time true anger began to
prickle along Megan's nerves. "Daddy, this is not the
time or the place for this discussion."

The older man had opened his mouth, no doubt

to begin a harangue of disagreement that would
keep the entire population of the first-floor bar
entertained, when an unmistakable, deep voice cut
him off.

"Jamison," Brady Ryder's deep, slightly gravely

voice cut through the conversation like a knife. "It's
… surprising to see you here."

"Bradford Ryder," Beauregard offered his hand

and Brady shook it with obvious reluctance. "Your
daddy mentioned you were living in Michigan. I
wouldn't have expected to find you in a place like
this." Megan's father surveyed the first-floor dance
space. While no one here played, there were plenty
of young, toned bodies in various forms of scanty
club gear, including a good amount of leather and
latex.

Brady offered a thin smile. "Then you'll really be

disappointed to know I own the place."

"Well," Beauregard cleared his throat, obviously

ruffled by Brady's words, "I've just come to gather
Megan and take her home. She has no business
being here. I would have thought you knew that,
Brady."

She cringed as Brady's normally tense body

tightened even further. "Mr. Jamison, your daughter
is over the age of consent and capable of making
her own decisions. I can't keep her out of here as
long as no rules are broken." Brady shot her a dry
look and added in a low voice, "Believe me, I tried."

Gregori's breath warmed the side of her throat.

"Maybe you should go and calm your father down."

She spun on him, ready to give him a good

tongue lashing, but his subtle glance at the security
logo on his t-shirt reminded her that he was
speaking as Velvet Ice's head of security, not her
submissive. Still, she couldn't just let her daddy drag
her home like a naughty child.

Brady raised a questioning eyebrow at Megan.
"I'm not leaving, Brady."
He threw his hands in the air. "Fine. I'll let you

borrow my office and you can work out your
disagreement there."

"Thank you, Brady." She smiled but he'd already

turned and headed for the employee doors.

Gregori waited until Megan moved to follow

Brady but kept near her shoulder. She was thankful
for the heat his presence gave her.

Brady stopped in front of his door and held it

open as she, her father, and Gregori filed through.

Beau rounded Brady's worn out desk and sat in

the battered leather chair. He was used to being at
the head of the table or behind a desk. It was her
father's power position, and no one ever came close
to the intimidating figure her father made. It was why
he was so wealthy; he could charm, manipulate or
even scare his opponents. What her father failed to
understand was that Megan had watched every
move he made, everything he said, and she'd quickly
learned exactly how to play him.

Around Beau she was the perfect southern belle,

but out in the real world, in her job at the hospital, she
used the skills gleaned from her father. It allowed her

to strap down drug-crazed overdoses or hold the
hand of an innocent kid who'd been shot by merely
being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Megan's
mother had given her the compassion and all the
love in the world. Her father gave her integrity and
strong will.

"I'd like a word alone with my daughter." Beau

stated, looking past Megan to Brady, Gregori and
his driver. Brady opened the door and walked out.
Gregori turned, prepared to leave, but Megan
grabbed his hand. He turned, his grey eyes smoky.
He understood the significance of Megan's silent
order.

"I said I wanted to talk to you alone." Her father's

voice rose considerably now that they were tucked
away in Brady's office. He didn't address Megan but
Gregori. "Are you deaf, son? I want to talk to Megan
alone."

"I'm sorry Mr. Jamison, but I can't leave her."

Megan heart burst wide open; she gathered strength
from Gregori's statement to her father.

Beau was not used to people disobeying him

and he turned his frustration and anger back to
Megan. "I see what's going on. You let this one
paddle your ass?"

Megan sucked in a deep breath. To hear her

father mention anything about sex in front of her
stopped her for a moment. Knowing Beau, he'd
probably been spying on her since her call to her
mother. It wouldn't have taken much detective work
to understand the workings of Velvet Ice. She wished
she could have been a fly on the wall when the news
of her frequenting a BDSM club was relayed to her

father.

"Daddy

no one

paddles my behind. I do the

paddling." Her voice took on her Domme tone and
she felt Gregori shiver at her back.

Beau wiped his hand over his face. "Megan, let's

be reasonable about this."

"Daddy, there is no reason for me to even be

having this conversation with you. My private life is
mine alone. As you can see, I'm fine, beyond that is
none of your concern."

"Not as long as you're living off my money. You

stay and I'll cut you off." Beau smiled in his triumph.
"No more monthly allowance. How would you like
that, girl?"

Megan smiled as she prepared to burst her

father's balloon, "Go ahead, Daddy. I've been
donating my allowance every month since I moved
here. I still have my trust fund money from Grandma
Stella and I am damn good at investing. In fact, you'd
be proud if you saw just how much I

don't

need your

money. The only ones to suffer would be those
places I give your money to." Megan grabbed
Gregori's much larger hand and laced their fingers
together. "I love you daddy, but I'm a grown woman.
You have no right telling me who I should love or how
I should love them. Give Mama a hug for me."

She blew him a kiss, then walked out on her

father with Gregori holding tightly to her hand.

Chapter Nine

Gregori followed Megan bemusedly through the

crowd around Velvet Ice's dance floor. Sinclair
Martin caught his eye with a smile, and waved him
toward the door. Gregori, assured he was off-duty for
the night, obediently trailed along in Megan's wake,
shrugging good naturedly. His Mistress had claimed
him. He had no complaints.

He maintained his silence through the club, into

the parking lot, and even into Megan's misleadingly
sedate Ford Fusion, where he had to jack the
passenger seat back to its farthest extreme in order
to fit his legs into the cramped space. He might have
spoken as Megan glowered at the traffic on
Livernois, but she held up one imperious hand with
clear command.

By the time they stopped in front of her condo,

he was starting to worry. She had claimed him. In
front of her father, for God's sake. Still, he couldn't
quite shake the memory of the night she'd stolen him
from Anne. He followed her into the condo and
paused in the tiny foyer, breathing in the scent of
Megan that hung in the air. He loved her, loved her
sweetness and her fire; he wanted to trust her, but
that last sliver of icy fear remained.

Megan had continued on to the living room and

flung her purse on the couch. Turning, she seemed to
realize he wasn't close behind her any more, and
walked slowly back to the foyer.

"Gregori," she drawled, and her slow husky

voice just crawled right down his spine and sent his

dick to full attention.

"Yes, Megan?" Her lips pressed tight at his

informal reply, and hope flickered a bit brighter and
his dick rose a bit higher at the sight.

"Yes,

what

?" She'd placed one hand on her hip

and drawn her shoulders back, a posture that
highlighted her curving hips and bounteous breasts.
Gregori answered with a suddenly dry mouth.

"Yes…

Mistress

?"

Now her eyes narrowed, and the second hand

rose to join the first, so that she faced him like a
pissed-off Valkyrie dressed in denim and lace.

"Is there some question, Gregori?" Her voice

was hard, which was wicked sexy; her eyes were
cautious, which was … promising.

"I do not wish for there to be … Mistress," he

replied. He was frustrated with the verbal fencing,
exhausted from the tightrope he felt like he was
walking, and done with the games. He'd hoped she
was, too, but her cautious words and contradictory
body language were keeping him on tenter-hooks.

She watched him for a long moment, her eyes

narrowed and a thoughtful look on her beautiful face.
Finally she let out a long, slow breath and stepped
up to stand in front of him, getting right into his
personal space. His breath caught, and his dick
started singing the Hallelujah chorus as she brushed
against him.

"Who do you belong to, Gregori?" she purred

softly against his lips.

"I belong to you, Mistress," he returned in a

whisper. About this, there was no question. Never
had been. Never would be. He let his lips brush over

hers as he spoke, meaning the words from the very
depths of his soul. "Mistress, goddess…" he
groaned as her tongue slipped out to steal his very
breath. "I belong to

you

, Megan."

She stepped back with a feral smile, and he

clenched his fists to keep from grabbing her and
pulling her back. He devoured her with his eyes,
loving what he saw. Her smile was wicked, but her
eyes were soft.

"If you belong to me, sugar," she mused softly,

trailing a finger down the line of his chest, digging
her short, sharp nail through the soft cotton. "Then
why aren't you naked and on your knees in my
presence?" She paused to twist his nipple sharply
through his t-shirt, and he gasped aloud at the
sensation and the sheer pleasure of seeing her eyes
kindle at his reaction.

Such a torrent of joy filled Gregori at her words; it

was as if the sun had suddenly taken up residence in
his chest. He jerked the offending shirt over his head
in one smooth motion and dropped to one knee to
begin yanking at the laces of his boots. Megan
stayed the action by laying her hand gently on his
shoulder.

"I've really put you through the wringer, haven't I,

Sug?" She reached down and touched his chin,
tilting his face up to meet her gaze. He didn't bother
to answer. What could he say? Yes, she had, but to
have her truly claim him, he'd go through it a
thousand times more.

"Stand up," she commanded softly. "Let your

Mistress care for you, for a moment." He thought to
protest. All he wanted—

all

he wanted—was to serve

her, but she stopped him with a gentle finger on his
lips. "It pleases me to do so," she said, and that was
all he needed to hear.

Once he was standing, Megan dropped

gracefully to her knees. Her fingers, so slender and
delicate looking, made swift work of his tangled
laces, and she quickly had his boots and socks
tucked neatly under a small occasional table near
the front door. When she looked up at him, she did it
with what he knew was deliberate slowness. She let
her azure gaze brush over every inch of his body and
his body responded, growing taut as a violin string,
waiting only for her expert touch to play him.

She stayed in her calculatedly submissive pose

long enough for the alpha male in him to respond, to
imagine those plush pink lips wrapped around his
dick as he fucked her mouth into Nirvana. Then she
met his eyes with a look so Dominant, so

knowing

, it

scorched him clear to his soul.

Moving so slowly each tiny nuance was torture,

she reached up and worked open the button on his
leather pants. It was his standard work uniform—
leathers and a Velvet Ice Security t-shirt,
occasionally topped by a black jacket if he needed
to be "dressy" but with her eyes crawling all over
him, he felt as if he'd been commanded to wear the
leather for her pleasure. And from the lazy, kittenish
smile on her face, she was definitely pleased.

In a few seconds that lasted an eternity, she

dealt with his button and zipper, and peeled the snug
leather down until it pooled at his feet. Then she
stood with one lithe movement and strolled to the
living room. Tossing a coy look over her shoulder

she murmured, "You may join me once you've
cleaned up your belongings," then disappeared
through the doorway.

*

Megan was nearly vibrating with excitement.

She'd had a bad moment when she realized Gregori
had stopped just inside the front door, and another
when she understood that he'd done so because he
was afraid to trust her. She'd deserved that caution
but, dammit, it had maddened her. It made her all the
more desperate to put her mark on him in every way
possible; his complicated mind, his beautiful body
and his bruised heart. She wanted to brand him so
thoroughly he'd never have cause to doubt her
feelings again.

She forced herself to sit on the couch as she

waited for him. She allowed herself a small smile as
she imagined him neatly folding his clothing before
presenting himself to her. It was a mere two minutes
later that he entered the room, and Megan's smile
widened even as her mouth went dry.

So incredibly beautiful

, she thought. His fair skin

a creamy gold, his eyes dark and intense with
emotion. God, she wanted to eat him up one slow
bite at a time.

"I'd like a drink, Sug," she murmured. She was

inordinately proud of herself when the words came
out steady. Lord knew she was trembling inside.
"You may bring me a glass of wine from the kitchen,"
she added with a languid gesture to the doorway on
the opposite side of the room.

Those expressive eyes grew turbulent, but he

ducked his head and obediently moved through the

room and into the kitchen.

Oh, damn but the man had a fine, hard ass.
She listened with growing amusement to the

sound of cupboards opening and closing as he
searched out a wine glass. Then the sound of the
refrigerator opening and closing. Her eyebrows lifted
at the clatter of ice-cubes from the dispenser, then
lowered in understanding and appreciation when he
returned to the room holding a large plastic pitcher
filled with ice and cradling the bottle of Pouilly Fuisse
that had waited in the refrigerator.

He moved to stand in front of her, then dropped

to his knees with no prompting on her part. He
placed his impromptu ice bucket on the floor and
poured a glass of wine, which he offered her with
surprising elegance. Megan thought the smile might
never leave her face.

"Everything about you pleases me, sugar," she

told him, reaching out to sift her fingers through his
hair. "I am going to take such good care of you," she
added as his eyes kindled with a joy so intense it
looked almost painful.

She took a small sip of wine and let the complex

flavor roll over her tongue. Lovely. She could only
think of one thing lovelier.

"Would you like a sip, Sug?" He tilted his head

slightly but, well-trained sub that he was, he didn't
raise his eyes when he answered.

"If it pleases you, Mistress, I would."
Megan tipped his head back with a finger under

his chin, and let him watch as she took a deeper
draught of the wine. His eyes widened in
appreciative understanding as she lowered her

mouth to his, allowing him to drink from her lips. His
throat worked convulsively as he swallowed the
vintage, and she savored his slight jump of reaction
when she darted out her tongue to steal a drop from
the corner of his mouth.

"You may undress me," she murmured against

his mouth.

*

Gregori eagerly reached up to undo the buttons

of her lace-patterned blouse. She caught his hands
in hers and gave him that wicked smile that had first
turned him inside out two long years before. "With
your teeth, Sug," she added, and he groaned.

He locked his hands behind his back because

he didn't trust himself not to cheat, and leaned in to
nuzzle the fragrant valley between her breasts. He
caught fabric between his teeth, hissed in frustration
when he couldn't work the button loose, and finally
yanked it loose and spit it on the floor.

Megan gave a low laugh. "Naughty boy," she

scolded, threading her fingers through his hair. "Do it
again so I can punish you."

Gregori was thrilled to comply. One by one he bit

free her buttons, revealing her creamy skin and a
deep amethyst demi-bra.

Chort

poberi

. She'd faced

down her father with her succulent pink nipples all but
naked under her nearly sheer blouse.

Once all the buttons were disposed of in a

satisfactory manner, he raised himself higher on his
knees. When he reached eye level, he moved in and
buried his nose in the seductive hollow of her
collarbone, inhaling deeply of her sweet scent before
using his nose and cheek to nudge the blouse over

her shoulder and down her arm. The process was
repeated on the other side, and he reveled in the
shiver of sensation that sent chill-bumps over her
skin at the hot caress of his breath.

Satisfied with her blouse for the moment, he

moved to the button of her jeans. It took some
finessing, and a great deal of rubbing his cheek over
her silky belly, but he finally worked the diabolical
little brass rivet loose. It was simple then to catch the
tab of the zipper between his teeth and work it down.

He caught a glimpse of more purple lace. A whiff

of magnolias and musk. He moaned, famished for
her.

She rose, towering above him like an Amazon

warrior. His goddess. He set his teeth into the
waistband of her jeans and worked them down over
her hips, over the roundness of her thighs, until they
fell without resistance to pool at her feet. He'd closed
his eyes halfway through the process, not willing to
trust himself with the sight of her beautiful, lace-
covered pussy hovering before his eyes.

Of course, she wouldn't allow that.
"Open your eyes, sugar," she instructed him in a

gentle, inexorable voice. "Look at your Mistress."
She stroked her fingers through his hair again. He
was beginning to crave the gesture, to equate it with
his Mistress's affection. "See how wet I am," she
continued relentlessly as he resisted, refusing to
open his eyes. He wanted the soft lash of her words.
"See how the sight of your beautiful body affects me.
See how much I want you."

Finally he could resist no longer. His eyes

opened, and he nearly came at the sight that met his

avid gaze. She was as wet as she'd claimed. Her
honey had stained the lace of her panties almost
black, a soaking testament that he affected her as
much as she did him.

"Mistress," he begged unashamedly, "please let

me taste you."

She gave a low hum of enjoyment and shook her

head. "Not yet, sugar. You're not done undressing
me." She turned gracefully and presented the long,
elegant sweep of her back. Gregori couldn't resist
dragging his tongue up the line of her spine before
setting to work with teeth and tongue on her bra
clasp. He was growling in frustration by the time he
worked all three of the diabolical little hooks loose,
but it was worth the wait when Megan faced him
once again, holding the loosened purple lace over
her breasts while the straps trailed down her arms.

"Would you like more wine?" She was teasing

him, denying him, deliberately taunting him, and he
loved it.

"I'd like the wine of your sweet pussy," he

muttered. If she was taunting him, he was provoking
her, and he knew they'd both enjoy the results.

"All I'm offering now is the delightful beverage

you served me," she told him. "Eyes on mine," she
suddenly commanded, and he instantly locked his
gaze on hers. The faint rustle that followed, along
with the slight shimmy of her head, told him she'd
dropped the bra and the panties, too. His eyes
narrowed with the struggle to keep them on hers
when all he wanted in that second was to drink her in
with his eyes.

"Stay put," she suddenly murmured, pointing one

slender finger at him. Without any thought at all he
growled and snapped, nipping the tip of her finger
gently, then sucking the abused digit into his mouth.

"So naughty," she chuckled, and he knew he

was in for it.

Yes,

he thought,

punish me. I'm yours;

discipline me to please you.

"Now don't move," she

reiterated, before leaving him alone, naked on his
knees.

*

Megan was shaking with reaction as she walked

from the room, but she was careful not to let Gregori
see it. It would shoot her image of powerful and in-
control Domme all to hell if he could tell she was
practically falling off her three-inch heels with desire
for him.

Otherwise gloriously naked, she decided to

keep the heels in question on. They were deep
crimson, and screamed

fuck me

. She liked the

message they were sending.

Once she was out of sight of the living room

doorway, Megan put on some speed. She hurried
first to her bedroom, where she retrieved her goody
bag from Mystic and zipped into the master bath.
She quickly stripped her new purchases from their
protective wrappers. Nipple clamps the same
titanium gray of Gregori's eyes were swiped with
alcohol swabs, just in case. A leather cock-and-ball
strap with snaps set to vary the tightness was
lovingly stroked with one finger. The big surprise she
set on the counter and gazed at for a long moment
before grabbing a baby wipe and thoroughly
cleaning it.

Pausing to grab a thick, voluminous bath sheet,

she gathered up her purchases, including a bottle of
lube she'd dosed with peppermint essential oil, and
moved swiftly back through the bedroom. She
paused to look at the heavy velvet box on her
nightstand. Gregori's collar. She added it to her
bundle with a small, private smile.

Tonight

, she

thought.

Definitely tonight

.

Gregori was right where she'd left him, though

he'd taken the initiative to present himself properly.
He was a sight to behold, kneeling proudly, legs
spread wide to offer a mouthwatering view of his
impressive cock and the heavy swing of his balls.
The rigid muscles of his abdomen rippled with
tension under her regard, and the way he'd clasped
his hands behind his back emphasized the width
and strength of his chest.

She slowed her movements and added a

deliberate sway as she moved to the couch. The
bath sheet was long enough to drape the seat of the
couch and still spread nearly a foot out onto the floor.
That was good, because she planned on getting
messy.

Once she'd protected the couch and surrounding

area, Megan laid out her toys. Gregori was too well
trained to look directly at the display, but she knew
he'd stolen a glimpse when his shoulders tightened.

Toys arranged to her satisfaction, she set about

arranging her submissive, too. "Lean back," she
instructed, "balance on your hands, and make a
bridge for me." He immediately obeyed, and the
view was breathtaking. His cock strained up,
painting his abdomen with a softly gleaming trail of
pre-cum. Delicious.

Bracing her hands on his straining shoulders,

Megan leaned in and licked a path down his neck,
testing the corded muscles with her teeth before
dropping to her knees between his thighs. Lips
pursed, she blew a hot breath over each of his
nipples, smiling when they drew up tight in reaction.
She gently stroked him with her tongue, savoring the
salty, pebbled flesh before finally catching each point
between her teeth and pulling.

Gregori moaned, his mighty muscles flexed, but

he didn't break his position.

"Oh, sugar, you please me," Megan murmured

against his skin. Before he had time to process what
she was doing, she'd scooped up the nipple clamps,
and had tugged one copper nipple taut, closing the
clamp over it with erotic efficiency.

Megan had a theory about clamping the various

tender places on a submissive's body. She could
spend her time preparing them, but that took away
from the exquisite pain. Instead, Megan preferred
minimal preparation. She liked to slowly clamp the
tender, unsuspecting flesh and watch the flush rise to
the surrounding skin as her submissive became
aware of the erotic pain in slow degrees.

She watched Gregori now, catching the flinch of

his eyelids, the jerk of his cock, and the long hiss of
painful pleasure that finally escaped him as his body
adjusted. She gave him a moment to settle, then
repeated the process on his other nipple, drawing an
even more dramatic response from him and kindling
an even more violent fire in herself.

Beautiful man

, she thought, watching his chest

heave. Sitting back on her heels, Megan lifted the

cock-and-ball strap and trailed the supple leather
down the center of his body. He jerked under the
caress, and she gave a little laugh.

"I guess it's a good thing I came prepared, isn't

it, Sug?" She wrapped the strap snugly around his
balls, laughing again in pure pleasure when they
drew up tight at her touch, then wrapped the rest of
the length around the base of his cock. "Without this
little bit of help, you wouldn't last, would you?"

"I would try, Mistress," he replied, his voice more

a groan than actual words.

Megan shifted back and lifted the final apparatus

from the couch to show him. His eyes flared, but that
was the only reaction he gave as she ran one finger
down the realistic looking cock attached to a very
special strap-on harness.

"I'm going to fuck you, Gregori," she whispered.

His eyes blazed. "I'm going to own every inch of that
beautiful body." She slid the tip of her finger over the
tip of Gregori's erection, smearing a drop of pre-cum
over the head before lifting it to her lips to lick off. He
groaned, a low, guttural cry. "And you. Will. Not.
Come," she added with finality.

*

He was going to die. His heart was going to

explode. His brain was going to liquefy and shoot out
his dick. He would not survive her ownership, he
knew that now.

His chest was burning, his nipples on fire from

the bite of the clamps. His dick was in agony, his
balls so full and hard they felt as if they were trying to
crawl up inside his body. He was primed and ready
and, at some visceral level, terrified. He'd been

whipped, flogged and even caned. He was a
sensation player, always had considered himself
more than a bit of a pain whore. But somehow,
though he'd been penetrated and plugged, he'd
never been fucked anally. And clearly Megan had
taken him at his word on the night she'd plugged
him, because the strap-on she was currently buckling
around her lush hips was

not

beginner-sized. It was

fucking huge, at least to his mind.

Once she was buckled up and ready to go,

Megan moved to stand in front of him again. The
giant dildo bounced gently in front of him, a threat
and a promise all rolled into one. A slight smile
creased his lips. She'd managed to find an extra
large strap-on in her signature baby blue. Only his
Megan…

She must have caught a hint of the apprehension

in his eyes, because Megan cupped his face
tenderly before speaking.

"Are you mine, Gregori?"
"Completely." He didn't even have to think about

it.

"Then you must trust me." There was no

compromise in her voice, or in her eyes. Gregori felt
his smile grow full.

"Of course I trust you," he agreed. "But where

would the fun be if you couldn't scare me a little?"

Megan's laughter rang out, delighting him. It all

twisted together inside of him; the pinch and burn of
the clamps, the howling in his balls, the joy
expanding in his chest like a star gone supernova.
She cupped his chin as her laughter softened.

"Gregori," she said, stroking her thumb over his

mouth. "I want you to suck my dick." His breath
caught, and his eyes immediately dropped to the
dick in question.

"Lick it," she told him, and he did. She'd lubed it

lightly, and a tingle of peppermint teased his tongue,
almost disguising the flavor of the gel-like rubber. He
traced the simulated vein that wound up the dense
underside of the cock, played with the closed slit,
then swooped down to mouth the base. His nose
brushed against her silky folds, parted and firmly
compressed by the base of the dildo. He let his
tongue sneak out to tease her labia, and fierce
satisfaction filled him when the long muscles in her
thighs grew tight.

She wrapped her fist in his hair and tugged his

head up roughly. "Suck it, sugar." She guided his
mouth to hover over the tip, then paused to smack
lightly against his cheek with the phallus. "Make me
wet for you." She rubbed the tip against the seam of
his lips, and as if in a trance, he took her in. "Make
me so wet I'll just slide right inside that gorgeous
ass."

There was an odd comfort in the motion; hands

behind his back, strong suction on the rigid gel shaft
almost soothing. Her hands in his hair, guiding him in
an ever-increasing rhythm, added to the madness
overtaking him.

"I'm gonna take you now, sugar," she told him,

tugging his head back until he was gazing helplessly
into her eyes. "Bend over the seat of the couch.
Stretch your arms up and hold onto the back."
Moving like one hypnotized he obeyed, spreading
himself as a willing sacrifice to her lust and his own

love.

Her hands slid over his shoulders, slick with lube

and cool with peppermint oil, and he moaned and
pushed back into the contact. Her fingers were
surprisingly strong, though he knew he shouldn't be
surprised. She was a nurse, strong and competent;
efficient and commanding.

She shaped his muscles firmly, dragging her

fingers down the groove of his spine, sending tingles
along his nerve endings with each movement. He
forced himself to relax when she used her thumbs to
part his cheeks, slicking slippery fingers along the
sensitive crease.

"Reach back." She sounded every bit as

mesmerized as he felt. "Hold yourself open for me."

He reached back, tensing his core muscles to

maintain his position hovering over the seat of the
couch as he held his ass cheeks open for Megan's
pleasure.

A cool rush of sensation, a wash of lube tingled

over his anus, causing the muscles to twitch in
reaction. Then her fingers, rubbing, probing, playing
with the tough ring of his sphincter until it gave in and
she sank first one, then two fingers deep into his
clenching depths. Those long, strong fingers
scissored relentlessly, relaxing him and opening him
until he was unconsciously pushing back into the
thrust.

"Fuck me, Mistress." He heard himself as if from

a distance, mumbling, begging. She picked up the
pace, fucking him with three fingers now, glancing
little blows over his prostate and sending ecstasy
jolting up his spine and down his bound dick.

She stopped all at once, and he cried out in

denial, a hoarse, guttural sound he barely
recognized as human, let alone as his own voice.

"Are you ready for me, Gregori?" Her fingers slid

free, and he felt the nudging of something wider,
cooler, and foreign at his opening.

"Yes, Mistress," he panted. She nudged harder.

He could feel the flex of her body in the grip she took
on his shoulder and waist. "Please," he groaned,
shifting back into the burn. Harder she pushed, until
the broad head of the dildo breached him with a
burning pop.

"Take it, sugar," she panted right along with him,

impaling him deeper, with short surging thrusts.
"Take every bit of it until you're so full of me you'll
never be empty again."

And then he was filled with her, the dildo merely

an extension of his Mistress' will. Her hips pressed
tight against his ass, her breasts squashed soft
against his back while her nipples dragged like hard
little berries with each shift of her weight. She
surrounded him, enveloped him, and he had never
felt so safe and so threatened all at once in his life.

"Grab the back of the couch," she ground out,

moving with him so the gel-cock stayed lodged
deep. "Hold tight, sugar," was the only warning he
had before the damned thing began to vibrate.

He howled like a wolf denied his prey, screamed

like an eagle plummeting from the heavens, shrieked
like the souls of the damned. Somehow, with some
magical ability, Megan had managed to place the
soft bump on the underside of the dildo square
against his prostate, and when she flicked on the

vibrating function, it nearly blasted off the top of his
skull.

He lurched forward, catching himself on his

elbows on the seat of the couch, his dick pressed
painfully between his body and the edge of the seat.
He welcomed the pain; it, and the cock-and-ball
strap were all that kept him from spraying what felt
like gallons of cum over the towel she'd thoughtfully
draped over the couch.

After an endless time in which the world went

black shot with silver stars, he realized that she'd slid
one arm under his, wrapping her hand up and over
his shoulder to pull him back into an upright position.
Slowly, having to concentrate on every movement, he
planted his hands on the back of the couch again.
Then he had to stop and breathe through the
fireworks the shift in position caused along his
spasming chute.

She waited for him, waited until he was

breathing again, even though it was ragged and
uneven. Then his Mistress fucked him. She rolled
over him like a tidal wave, worked him with a rhythm
that pressed past pain and into a dark ecstasy he'd
only come close to under the bloody lash of the whip.
He spat curses, profanity and praise with each
stroke, and she was right there with him, crooning
encouragement and promises until he was sure that,
cock ring or no, he was going to come explosively,
now, endlessly.

Once again she seemed to read his mind,

stopping at the deepest point of her thrust. One
rounded thigh climbed his hip, wrapping around his
waist until she was plastered against him. A flick of

her fingers and the vibration ramped up. He was
bellowing, and she was screaming, jerking against
him and the knowledge she was coming was enough
for him to drag himself back from the edge. He didn't
want to miss a second of her climax.

*

The orgasm crashed through her, leaving her

wrecked against the only solid thing in the universe,
Gregori's body.

He trembled beneath her. His cheeks flexed

visibly around the dildo that still impaled him. His
breath came in low grunts of effort. Still, he
supported them both on one strong arm, having
pressed the other over her arm, clutching her hand
over his heart.

He was such a gift, Megan thought.
Slowly and carefully she withdrew from his

shuddering body. His low moans were like music to
her Dominant soul. With gentle hands she guided
him to his back on the floor. She thought to flick the
nipple clamps, but his anguished expression tore at
her heart.

"How would you like to come, sugar?"
His eyes met hers, his mouth worked

soundlessly for a moment, before he managed to
rasp, "Inside you, Mistress."

"Can you hold it if I remove the strap?" She

indicated the strap confining his cock, which was
swollen to painful looking proportions and wept great
pearls of pre-cum.

"No," he gasped. She knew then that he was

truly at the end of his control.

"Okay, sugar," she whispered. "It's all right. I'll

take care of you." It was her right. Her responsibility.
Her privilege. Moving swiftly, she pressed his
shoulders to the floor and moved to straddle him.
She had no plans to make him wait any longer, but
she still had to pause a moment and savor the feel of
him solid and strong between her thighs.

Using the lightest of touches, she positioned

him, setting the angry head of his cock just at her
entrance. Reaching out to him she said, "Give me
your hands," and then wove their fingers together,
using his strength to provide the leverage she
needed to take him in one smooth stroke.

The instant he slid home, Megan knew it would

take only a few strokes to rocket her back into
orgasm. The feel of him inside her, filling her with his
living heat, had her more than halfway there already.
The strap pressed against her, digging into soft flesh
and sending her spiral still higher.

Keeping her grip on his hands, she began to

move. She didn't bother with fancy moves or exotic
technique. Neither of them needed it. Instead, she
pushed against his hands and found a slow, steady
rhythm that quickly had her pussy clenching along his
length.

His head dropped back, neck arched. His skin

flushed red, streaked with sweat. His breath heaved,
hitched, and shuddered out of him. "Please," he all
but sobbed. "Mistress,

please

…"

And then the crisis was upon her, upon them

both as she pulled one hand free and reached back
to jerk loose the straps holding his pleasure at bay. It
consumed her, first her own pleasure, then his. He
was magnificent, overwhelming.

His hands fastened on her hips, digging in hard

enough to leave bruises, and she loved it. His grip
tightened, slamming her against him as he rose to
meet her, until he froze buried heart-deep inside of
her. His face twisted in such lines of agony and
ecstasy he was almost too beautiful to look at. And
then he was coming, scalding, powerful pulses of
semen branding her as his, marking her as surely as
she planned to mark him.

*

Much later Megan propped herself up on

Gregori's chest and looked down into his lazy, sated
eyes.

"I love you, Gregori," she said softly. "I didn't

mean to say it to my father first," she added with a
wry smile. Then her face went quiet and adorably
serious and she continued, "I was wrong. For so long
I believed that to love someone, to give them that
power over me, would make me weak. You showed
me it was hiding from my feelings that made me
weak." She smiled down at him. "With you, I'm
strong enough to move mountains." She laughed
and added, "And obstinate southern businessmen."
Gregori couldn't choke back his snort of amusement
at the memory of Beauregard's face when Megan
informed him she was the one doing the ass-
paddling.

Slipping to the side, Megan reached for a heavy

velvet box that had fallen to the floor next to the
couch. He vaguely remembered seeing it as she'd
begun her preparations, but the sudden vulnerability
in her expression gave it added significance.

"I've never done this," she began hesitantly. "I'm

not even really sure how to go about it…" Gregori
pushed himself to a seated position, facing Megan.
Her eyes glowed with love, and he knew his must be
blazing with hope because she suddenly laughed
and flipped back the lid of the box.

"Gregori Lavinkia, I love you," she stated baldly.

"I've claimed you in public, and in private, and I have
no intention of ever letting you go." She lifted a heavy
platinum chain from the box and offered it to him. "I
want you to wear this."

He took the necklace, savoring the weight of the

metal.

"My collar," she continued. "My mark." She

reached over and directed his eyes to the clasp, a
small, solid lock. The inscription was small, but he
could read it: "

Tni prinadlezhish' mne

".

You belong

to me.

He lifted his eyes to meet her gaze. It was clear

and blue and as serene as heaven. "Only I will have
the key to remove it," she told him. "If the day ever
comes that you wish to be free, you'll have to tell me
so."

"That day will never come," he vowed fervently,

lifting her hand to his lips for a heated kiss. "I will
never wish to leave you, and I will never wish to be
free." He laughed brokenly, and handed her the
chain, turning to offer her his neck. "Hell,

goluba

, I

was never truly free until you claimed me.

Ya

prinadlezh tebe

, Megan. I belong to you." The heavy

platinum links settled against his throat, weighty with
meaning. The click of the lock set something loose in
his soul. He turned and crushed her lips with his.
"Never let me go, my goddess."

Her lips clung to his. "Never," she agreed.

Never

.

The End

About the Author:

Violet Summers is a married mother of three

beautiful children, including one set of twins, one
rambunctious puppy, and one husband, except when
she’s a single mom of one spoiled teenaged God-
child and three spoiled kitties. Both of Violet’s
personalities are very busy!

No, Violet has not suffered a psychotic break yet

(though she may after dealing with creating web
pages and MySpace accounts). Violet is actually the
writing team of Sierra Summers and Violet Johnson.

Both women read voraciously, and in a multitude

of genres. Sierra classifies them as “readers, as
opposed to readers of romance. This means when
we write, we’re as concerned with the story as we
are with the sex.” That said, Sierra has been known
to boycott books where the characters haven’t “done
the deed,” by page 125.

Sierra and VeeJay live in Southeast Michigan,

and the spice of the Metro-Detroit area often flavors
their work. “Why look for a more glamorous setting,”
VeeJay asks, “when we’ve got the beautiful, re-
vitalized Downtown area to draw from?”

Violet Summers writes in a variety of genres,

from contemporary to paranormal; from soft BDSM
to fantasy. The two things all her stories have in

to fantasy. The two things all her stories have in
common is their deep emotional and their scorching
erotic love scenes.

Sierra and VeeJay love to hear from their

readers. You can contact them at
[e-mail]

Meet Lsb Authors At The House Of Sin

Lsbooks.Net

We invite you to visit Liquid Silver Books

LSbooks.com

for other exciting erotic romances.

2007: Terran Realm

Urban fantasy world: TerranRealm.com

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