Sinners On Tour 03 Hot Ticket (4 page)

Jace felt his ears turn red. That fangirl had nothing he needed, but a black-haired dominatrix dressed in leather did. Thinking about Mistress V and the needs she was about to fulfill forced Jace to adjust his fly behind his bass guitar.

“I know
I
need one,” Sed added.

“I get to watch, right?” Eric asked.

“You know I perform best in front of an audience.” Sed winked, took another bow, and headed offstage.

Jace handed his instrument to Jake, who carefully carried it to the collection of guitars along the side of the stage. Jace dug the black and red business card out of his pocket. Now he just had to find her address. Nothing short of death would prevent him from arriving on her doorstep at precisely ten p.m.

Aggie’s doorbell buzzed at five minutes to ten. She smiled. Lit another candle. Flicked her fingers through the flame. Made him wait.

The bell buzzed again, longer this time. Looking in the mirror that covered one entire wall of her dungeon’s outer room, Aggie smoothed her long, straight hair with both hands. Checked her makeup. Ran her tongue over her teeth. Made him wait.

Buzz. Buzz-buzz. Buzzzz.

She stroked the handle of her favorite whip. Traced the floral design she’d embroidered on her leather corset. Glanced at the clock. Two minutes until ten. Not yet.

He laid on the buzzer.
Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Aggie chuckled.

She left the soundproof room and walked through the foyer to answer the door.

On her doorstep stood the tough angel she couldn’t get out of her thoughts. His name was Jace. Jace Seymour. Jessica, Sed’s ex-fiancée who had privilege to such information, had spilled that sweet tidbit to Aggie earlier that day. Yeah, Aggie had swallowed her tough bitch facade long enough to ask Jessica about a guy. Not her proudest moment. She didn’t think Jess would tell anyone that she was interested in someone she shouldn’t be.

Jace met her eyes and took a deep shuddering breath. “I thought I was late. That you wouldn’t answer.”

Just as cute as she remembered him. If he’d lose the piercings, spiked hair, and tattoos, he could have made a comfortable living as an Abercrombie and Fitch model. How did a guy this fine end up with a pain fetish? None of her business, she decided. She was just trying to make a living here. And hell, she might as well enjoy her work.

“Come in.”

He entered. Glanced around, looking excited and anxious.

She took his hand and led him to the zebra print love seat just outside the open door of her sanctum: the room where men spent most of their time on their knees. Aggie and Jace sat side by side, inches separating their thighs. They needed to talk business so she knew what he wanted. How he wanted it. And for how long. Each customer was different. “What do you want me to call you, sugar?”

“Jace,” he said.

“Is that short for Jason?”

He tensed, and a flash of deep emotional pain stole across his even features. “Never call me Jason. Never.”

“Whatever you prefer. I’ll call you dog, slut, slave, pussy, bastard, Batman, whatever you like.”

He grinned and shifted his gaze to his hand, which rested on his knee. “Jace is fine.”

That brief glimpse of his smile had her belly quivering. She’d never been this stupid over a guy before, especially not one of her submissives. What was wrong with her? She was going to hit him extra hard for making her want him.

She lifted her free hand and stroked the dark, rough beard stubble on his cheek, trying to get him to look at her. His mouth fell open, and he tilted his head in her direction, shuddering with contained desire. Oh fuck, yeah. She needed to get to work.

“Your safe word is
mercy
. Mercy, Mistress V.”

“I don’t need a safe word.”

She bit her lip to hold back her snort of amusement. “I specialize in corporal punishment.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

She decided this guy was into the kind of stuff she was too squeamish to perform. “There’s something you should know before I start. I refuse to break the skin. I don’t do hooks or barbed wire. I won’t nail your nut sac to the floor. If you get off on that kind of thing, I have a couple colleagues I could refer you to, but I won’t go that far, no matter how much you pay me.”

He shook his head. “I just want you to hit me.”

She laughed. “That I do. And do it well.”

“Can we get started now?”

Yeah, they could. “Do you want me to restrain you?”

“No.”

“Gagged, hooded, collared?”

“Just fuckin’ hit me, okay? I don’t want to talk about it.”

She would make him regret that disrespect. “You pay half your tribute now. Half when we’re finished.”

“How much?”

“Two hundred for ten minutes.”

“How much for two hours?”

Her eyes widened. “Two hours?”

He nodded curtly, avoiding her gaze.

“Sugar, I don’t think—”

“How much?”

The longest she’d ever gone was forty minutes. He must not know what he was in for. Some dommes spent the majority of the session teasing, but she liked to get right down to business. Her theory was spare the whip and spoil the slave. She didn’t tie guys up and leave them in the middle of the floor for two hours while she painted her fingernails, and then spanked them for three minutes before sending them home. She spanked first. Whipped second. If they made it that far. But if Jace wanted to pay her for two hours, she was more than happy to take his money. “Two grand.” Hot guy discount.

He opened his wallet and retrieved ten crisp one-hundred- dollar bills.

She folded the cash and slid it into her leather bodice. “No refunds.”

“Fine.” He stood. “Where?”

A man of few words. She was really starting to like this guy.

“I want to make it clear that I’m not a prostitute. You aren’t buying sex. I don’t have sex with clients.”

“I know how this works.”

“Good.” She climbed to her feet and took his hand. “Follow me.”

She led him to the sanctum and slid the heavy door closed behind them. It clanged shut. She bolted it and checked the panic button to make sure it was functional. She’d never had to use it and doubted she would now, but even a girl who was an expert in self-defense and knew how to use a whip
might
need assistance from the police or a paramedic at some point.

Jace glanced around with interest. The room was perfectly square, with padding on three walls to muffle sound. The mirror on the fourth wall was for clients who liked to observe while she inflicted pain. If they didn’t want to watch themselves cry and beg, she could slide the heavy, velvet curtain across it. There was a second room where she stored extra instruments and cleaned and sanitized the tools of her trade after each session.

Jace examined the implements on a table against one wall.

“Something there catch your fancy?” she asked.

“I’d like to try them all.” He glanced at her over his shoulder, his brown eyes meeting hers unflinchingly. “Repeatedly, and in excess.”

Aggie covered her surprise with a laugh. “You’re going to regret giving me complete freedom, Jace. I’m known for my viciousness.”

“I look forward to it.”

He smiled, and her heart skipped a beat. My God, he was probably the cutest guy she’d ever encountered anyway, but when he smiled… She swallowed and gave herself a mental shake. She couldn’t afford to be attracted to a client. Not even one who made her wet on sight.

“You ready to start?”

“Yes.”

She stepped close to him, her nose inches from his. “Yes, Mistress V.” Her voice was hard.

He shuddered, watching her through half-lowered lids. “Yes, Mistress V.”

“Take your clothes off.”

“All of them?”

She gritted her teeth and poked him in the center of his chest with one finger. “Don’t question me. Never fucking question me. Understand?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

He removed his leather coat, T-shirt, boots, and socks. Nice body. Lean with sculpted muscles. Decorated here and there with tattoos. She wished she had time to examine them more closely, but she had to pretend she held no regard for him. That he was insignificant. That he was privileged to get
any
attention from her. Even her abuse.
Especially
her abuse. It was one of the most important components of the game they played.

Jace hesitated, clutching the waistband of his jeans. “I don’t wear underwear.”

“What? You think I care about seeing your cock? Do you think it’s special? That it might hold my interest?”

He trained his gaze on the floor. “No, Mistress.”

“Then strip.”

He took off his jeans. It turned out his cock was something special. Enormous. Beautiful. Thick. And hard as granite. Her pussy throbbed at the sight of it. Okay, so she
was
interested, but she couldn’t let him know that.

“Do I excite you, Jace?” she asked with a sardonic grin. It had been a long time since she’d wanted to fuck a man. Any man. And she’d never wanted to fuck a client.

Until now.

“Yes, Mistress.” He gasped. “You make me hard. Punish me.”

“Down on your knees.”

He hesitated. He didn’t look at her when he said, “No.”

“No?”

So he wanted to play. She did like a challenge. She rarely got one.

“I just want you to hurt me. I don’t want to grovel or be humiliated.” When he tilted his head to look at her, there was defiance in his eyes. Defiance? He wasn’t a submissive? Then why was he here? What in the hell did he need her for?

She watched him struggle to repress his defiance and decided that he
did
want to submit. He just needed more encouragement than most. Her typical clients would already be crawling around on their hands and knees, begging for pain, and then crying for mercy.

“If you want me to hurt you, you’ll do as I say,” she said in a dangerous growl. She slid her hand over his lower back, and he tensed. She tried to ignore the thrill of excitement that trembled in her belly when she touched him. “And if you think you can talk to me without addressing me properly, I’m going to fucking gag you. You will
always
address me with respect. As Mistress V.” She grabbed his nipple and twisted. What she really wanted to do was knock him off his feet and drive his massive cock into her pussy for about an hour. It was the look in his eye. The strength. So unlike what she was used to. It made it difficult for her to stay in her dominant character. Made her want to submit to him. And that was entirely unacceptable. Without even trying, he had managed to throw her off her game, and she didn’t appreciate it. It pissed her off.

She gritted her teeth. “Don’t look at me like that, Jace.”

The defiance never left his eyes, but he lowered his gaze. To hide it. When she released his nipple, he took several deep breaths. “I apologize, Mistress V.”

His unusual mix of strength and weakness drove her crazy.

“If you want to feel the bite of my whip, Jace, you’ll get down on your knees.”

Struggling with his pride, he dropped to his knees at her feet. He didn’t look at her. Kept his eyes downcast. No doubt he was still hiding his defiance from her. She’d relieve him of it soon enough. She lifted her foot and pressed her spiked heel into his chest. “Kiss it.”

Again he hesitated. This one would be so fun to break. She couldn’t wait to get started.

She waited patiently. The minutes ticked by slowly. Her leg was getting tired by the time he pecked the sole of her boot. “Forgive me, Mistress V.”

“Stand, Jace.”

He stood. No hesitation there.

She grabbed a thick, red rope that was hooked to a ring in the wall. She pulled it out straight and handed it to him. He wrapped it around his left wrist and gripped the taut rope with a bruised left hand. She handed him a second rope affixed to the opposite wall. He wrapped that one around the black leather cuff on his right wrist and gripped the rope with his right hand. With his arms extended to the sides, it left his back exposed for her work, and gave her a wonderful view of his hot body. He wasn’t tall, but had a perfect physique. Especially that tight little ass of his. Damn, her one major weakness when it came to men. A perfect ass. And it couldn’t get any better than his. A gentle curve. Tender cheek. Slight indentation on the lateral sides. She could write sonnets about that ass, but he hadn’t paid her to ogle his gorgeous naked body. She had work to do.

Aggie would start light and increase the intensity until she found his happy place. She didn’t know his tolerance for pain and had to seek his threshold before she could do her real work. Finding his edge and driving him just beyond it. Not too far. Never too far. But taking him exactly where he wanted to be. Beyond pain. Where euphoria ruled.

Selecting a smooth, round, wooden paddle from her table, she moved to stand beside him. Their eyes met in the mirror.

“Have you been naughty, Jace? Do you need a spanking?” The musky scent of his excitement engulfed her, and her nipples tightened.

“Yes, Mistress V,” he said breathlessly.

She dropped the Mistress V act for a moment to whisper to him. “Yell all you want, Jace. The room is soundproof. No one will hear you. I will hit you until you say, ‘Mercy, Mistress V.’ Do you understand?” She slapped his ass with the paddle, careful to make it sting, but not leave a bruise.

He didn’t even flinch, much less yell.

“What do you say to get me to stop?” she prompted.

When he didn’t respond, she rubbed her hand over his ass, his hip, his thigh. The firm muscle of his flank quivered beneath her touch. “Tell me, Jace, or I’m finished.”

“I don’t need a safe word.”

She dropped her hand and stepped away. “Then I’m done. Put your clothes on.”

“Mercy, Mistress V,” he said.

She smiled to herself. She was starting to understand how this one ticked. She touched her paddle to his ass. “That’s good. Say it again so you don’t forget.”

“Mercy, Mistress V,” he whispered.

“Now don’t say it unless you mean it. The second you say it, I promise to stop no matter how much I’m enjoying your agony.”

He swallowed hard and nodded.

She struck his ass with her paddle, watching his reaction to determine when he was near his limit. Harder. In the same place. Again. Again. She knew the sweet spot. That tender place on the buttocks that stung like the dickens when swatted. He glanced at her as if to ask her when she was going to start.

“You’ve been very naughty, haven’t you?” she said, rubbing his ass with her bare hand. She usually did that to ease the sting so her client could take more pain, but in his case, she just really wanted to touch him.

“Hurt me, Mistress V. Please, hurt me.”

She moved to something more vicious. She skipped the riding crop and selected the three short whips attached to a handle. She struck his back with a loud crack. Most guys would have cried out. Jace didn’t even twitch. In the mirror, she saw his eyes were glazed with pain. Not physical pain. Emotional pain. Deep and scarring. Why did she have the sudden, ridiculous urge to hug him? She struck him harder. Harder. Harder than she normally would, watching the welts rise in threes on his skin. She didn’t usually take a man this close to bloodletting. Why did he refuse to cry out or beg for mercy? Could he even feel pain?