Authors: Rynne Raines
The ball gown she’d chosen was deep purple and
wine with a strapless bodice covered in intricate gold embroidery. A sweep of
feathers matching the color of her dress sprouted out from the top of her Venetian
mask fastened beneath a riotous mass of synthetic red curls spilling half way
down her back. She looked nothing at all like the stuffy lawyer she represented
by day. Tonight, she looked like a wild and mysterious woman. A woman who was
still on cloud nine from pulling the wool over Donavan’s eyes.
Eve filtered through the crowd and found a vacant
place to stand at the glossy, black, half-circle bar. Certainly, she deserved a
tall glass of Merlot after such a momentous win. Not to mention for keeping a
straight face when arranging the time she would meet Donavan at the club so he
could pay up on their bet.
Leaning against the shiny brass railing, she
flagged the bartender and placed her order. As far as she could tell, Donavan
hadn’t arrived yet. He soon would. When he did, her performance as a Mistress
would begin.
Graciously, Eve accepted a long stem glass of red
wine from the bartender and indulged in her first sip. Her afternoon consisted
of four demanding hours spent with Caitlyn. After two hours of shopping for the
perfect costume, a visit to the salon, and then a quick lunch filled with
grueling but thorough conversation on how a Mistress conducted herself when
dealing with her slave boy, Eve still wasn’t certain this performance would go off
without a hitch. Although she spent time with Caitlyn at the club and harbored
submissive tendencies, she had never had a BDSM experience before and didn’t
know the general rules on how Dominants dealt with submissives.
Eve pressed a shaky hand to her abdomen as her
nerves played up and took another long swallow of wine. It wasn’t lack of
confidence in her performance that concerned her. She could bluff with the best
of them. Though bluffing against a man as experienced at sniffing out lies as
Donavan wouldn’t be an easy feat.
If it did work, however, maybe he would finally
stop trying to dominate her at every corner. That alone would be well worth the
money she’d forked out for the costume.
“Red hair suits you, Mistress.”
Eve’s lashes fluttered. Warm, sinful breath
teased her ear. The voice was low and rich and unmistakably Donavan’s. As was
the hot groin pressed firmly to her ass and wedging her up against the bar
rail. She took a shaky breath. Even though the thick fabric of her gown she
could feel his rigid cock throbbing in almost the exact rhythm of her thudding
heart. Heaven help her, he was already rock-hard.
Trying to ignore his obvious state of arousal,
Eve slowly turned within the entrapment of his muscular arms. A striking silver
phantom mask concealed half his features. Even so, she could see his gray eyes
clearly. Soulful. Calm. Commanding. Damn, he was a handsome sight.
Swallowing back her sudden arousal, she lifted
her chin and summoned the best haughty Mistress voice she could manage. “If you
sneak up on me like that again, Carver, you may not appreciate the results.”
His sensual smile came quick and easy and Eve couldn’t
help warm to it.
“I’ll make a note of that, counselor.”
“Good,” she replied in a clipped tone, though her
blood was heating from his nearness. Why did he have to look so debonair in his
crisp, white dress shirt and dark slacks? Couldn’t he have come dressed as a
masked bandit like the rest of them? She’d never been a fan of those thin
little mustaches.
“I see you’ve already started in on the merlot
without me,” Donavan commented. “You’re not nervous, are you?”
“Not at all,” she lied, maybe a little too
quickly to be convincing. “You’re late. I was beginning to think you were
backing out.”
He cocked his head and raked her with a gaze so
thorough shivers bolted down her spine. Then he stepped closer. His mouth
hovered within an inch of hers. “Did you honestly think I’d pass up the
opportunity to finally bury my cock between those long, beautiful legs?”
With the promise of his words, Eve’s pussy
clenched hard and violently. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop from
moaning. If he discovered how wet his dirty talk made her, the jig would be up.
So she battled through the unrelenting flames licking and swirling between her
thighs and met his gaze straight on.
“Have you already forgotten the terms of our
agreement?” she whispered back in a snooty voice. “The only way you’ll be
burying your cock anywhere is if I command it and don’t hold your breath on
that happening. Maybe I’ll chain you up the entire weekend. Or maybe…” she
leaned forward and lightly brushed his ear with her mouth, “…just maybe instead
of you peeling me grapes all weekend, I’ll chain you up and torment you with my
mouth and my hands. Then just when you’re about to come, I’ll stop as
punishment for your arrogant assumptions. What do you think of that?”
“I think,” he murmured in a rough tone, “you’ll
need some very, very strong chains.”
Quicker than she could react, Donavan’s arm
snaked around her waist and he jerked her against him. His rigid cock prodded
hard against her lower abdomen. A few inches lower and his shaft would be at
the apex of her legs and a single thrust away from grinding her swollen clit
through her dress.
A burst of excitement rippled all the way to Eve’s
toes. Her panties flooded and her legs wobbled. How quickly he could take
control of the situation and of her body. This was not part of their agreement.
She was not supposed to be the one squirming in her high heels. But she was.
“Excuse me,” a feminine voice piped up and Eve
welcomed the interruption. The woman it came from was so petite, Eve hardly saw
her standing behind Donavan.
“Yes?” he acknowledged without letting up on his
grip of Eve.
“I’ve been instructed to notify you that studio seven
has been prepared for your pleasure. Both of your bags will be waiting in the
room. This is the only key.” She handed it to Donavan and then as stealthy as
she appeared, vanished back into the crowd.
He dangled the key between them. The jagged metal
glistened in a pale stream of neon light reflecting from the bar and a lump formed
in Eve’s throat. Before Donavan arrived she’d thought this would be the perfect
chance to put his doubts about her being a Mistress to rest and at the same
time maybe have a little fun at his expense. Now, she wasn’t sure.
Her reaction to him was far more intense than she’d
anticipated and from what she could tell, he didn’t plan on playing the good
slave. If he insisted on trying to dominate her for the remainder of the
weekend, she would end up crumbling and her secret would come out. Steeling
herself against his charm and advances at the office or the courthouse was one
thing but face off with him behind closed doors?
No. Spending the weekend with him was too
dangerous.
Fortunately, Caitlyn had predicted a problem like
this arising. After lunch, her blonde bombshell of a best friend had stuffed a
kinky article inside Eve’s purse as a fail-safe.
“If things get too hot, use
this. When Donavan sees it, I guarantee he’ll back out of the bet. This way,
you’ll come off still looking like the proper Mistress and him, the welcher. It’s
win-win.”
Eve hoped to hell Caitlyn was right.
“Care to check out the room?” asked Donavan in a
low drawl.
“No. No I am
not
ready to check out the
room,” Eve answered quickly in the coolest tone she could muster. “You are the
slave, remember? I will be the one deciding when we’ll go to the room. Now,
that girl obviously gave you the key because she assumed you were my master.
Considering the death hold you have me in I can understand why, but I don’t
want that mistake made again…so,” she dug deep inside her small handbag and
yanked out the secret weapon, “put this on.”
Between them, Eve held up a thick leather collar
attached to a shiny silver leash.
“You can’t be serious,” he scoffed.
“Can’t I be?” she challenged. “I’m dead serious.
I like my slaves wearing a collar, I find it unbelievably,” she searched her
brain for a convincing word, “sexy.”
His eyes weren’t calm anymore. They were wild and
daunting and Eve could have sworn there was steam rising from the lapels of his
shirt. Just the reaction she was counting on.
“Every minute you delay will be one more minute I
parade you around here as my new toy,” she added.
Silence fell between them. Unnerving silence.
As Donavan stared at the collar, his scowl
deepened and Eve’s heart thundered in her head. He’s not seriously considering
wearing it? Is he?
Being a Dom, Donavan should have loathed the very
idea of the leather strap fastened around his neck. Only a submissive would
feel privileged to be on the end of her leash and showcased as her possession.
So what the hell was taking him so long to call the bet off?
Eve lifted the collar to his throat. “Here, let
me help you.”
His hand shot up and closed around her wrist. Eve’s
breath caught as her pulse beat wildly under his strong fingers.
“Let go of me,” she whispered in a harsh tone.
The muscle in his jaw flexed and his eyes turned
a darker, more dangerous shade of gray than she’d ever seem them before. “You
don’t
want to do this, Eve.”
Refusing to be intimidated, she jerked her hand
free. “I
do
want to do this. Now, either you call of the bet or you put
the damn thing on.”
Please call off the bet.
Please.
The air became so thick with tension Eve could
barely breathe it in. Just when she thought he was about to tell her to shove
the collar where the sun don’t shine, he snatched it from her hand, swore, and
fastened it around his thick neck.
Shocked, Eve stared. This couldn’t be happening.
He was supposed to call off the bet, not go along with it! Caitlyn’s secret
weapon had failed miserably. Her only options now were either to call off the
bet herself or spend the weekend with him.
Still scowling, Donavan released her wrist and
dramatically waved an arm. “Lead the way, oh mighty Mistress of Eden.”
Eve hesitated. Although she had seen plenty of
femme Dommes lead their slaves around on a chain she never anticipated being
one of them. How hard could it be?
“Well?” Donavan bit out.
I don’t want to be
wearing this fucking thing longer than necessary.
“You going to just stand
there?”
“Um…” Eve swept a shaky gaze around the club and
then finally pointed. “That way. We’ll go that way. Onward, slave.”
Onward, slave?
Oh, the woman had nerve. If
there weren’t a greater goal at risk—one he’d yearned for since first seeing
her at the college library, gnawing on the end of her pencil while perusing a
legal text through a pair of mousey, yet somehow unbelievably attractive,
reading glasses—he would have torn the collar from his neck, locked it on hers,
and then dragged her kicking and screaming to their private room. Unfortunately,
he didn’t want to take the chance of her somehow slipping away and darting for
the doors. He needed to get her to the room.
As Eve paraded him in three full circles around
the club, nausea gurgled in Donavan’s stomach. He could feel the appraising
eyes of other Mistresses as they scanned him from head to toe like he were a
piece of meat. For a submissive, the hungry stares of every femme Domme in the
room would be considered the highest form of compliment. As a Dom, it made his
gut churn.
In need of a distraction, Donavan focused his eyes
on the gentle curve of Eve’s exposed shoulder blades, her tightly cinched
waist, and the seductive bow of her hips. The skirt of her elegant ballroom
gown swayed side to side like a church bell. The generous cascade of fabric
concealed her long legs but he knew they were under there and the thought of
them wrapped around his waist as he drove his cock into her sweet pussy made
his blood boil.
Enough was enough.
With the little slack there was, Donavan wrapped
the chain around his palm and yanked. The leash snapped taut. In front of him,
Eve stumbled with the sudden resistance and gracelessly lurched backward. Her
back slammed into his mid-section and he barely caught her before she fell flat
on the floor.
“Damn it! What are you doing?” she demanded.
“We’ve circled this place over three times; a
groove is beginning to form in the floor.”
Fuming, she shoved his arm away and turned to
face him.
“Maybe I like to…exercise my slaves,” she replied
pointedly, tilting her nose in the air as if she were the heiress to the crown
jewels.
“Or maybe you’re afraid to go to the room with
me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. Her tone was
sharp but through the holes of her golden mask, those cat-like green eyes
clouded with apprehension.
“Fine,” she continued. “I think we should go to
the room. Those grapes aren’t going to peel themselves.”
“No, I imagine they won’t,” he agreed, with no
intention of peeling any grapes whatsoever. He gestured a hand when she looked
uncertain of where to go next. “Studio seven is that way.”