Surrender to Fire: Maison Chronicles, Book 3 (6 page)

Yes, she’d gone over them with Kat, agreed to use the house red/yellow code.

He rubbed his palm up and down her side, barely grazing the edge of her breast, but that was enough. She forgot all about his request and from somewhere she heard him speak again, but his words tasted like candy on her tongue, his fingers burned a path to her most erogenous areas and she couldn’t formulate a reply.

He tugged her head back, fingers in her hair. “I won’t ask again. What are your safe words?”

Prickles worked down from her scalp to her spine, then across her back. The demand in his voice pulled the answer from her. “Yellow and red, Master.”

His hand jerked in her hair and she moaned as the wave of prickles grew to encompass her core. “Good girl.”

She preened under the compliment, pressing her head into his hands. His hand loosened from her hair, but didn’t leave. He stroked her hair as he continued his lecture. “The beauty of temperature play is that it does not require special equipment. If you have ice, hot water and metal utensils, you can play.”

He left her side, then she heard a
snick
and
hiss.
“Candles are also a tool that I’d wager everyone has laying around.”

His boots thumped closer. She tensed. What would come next? The panic high blended with the lingering fingers of confusion and arousal from the first part of his demonstration.

“A couple of things to remember about wax play. First, drape a sheet underneath your partner.” His fingers trailed down her side, sizzling the skin in their wake. “Second, always test the wax on yourself first. If you can’t take it, neither should your sub. Third, start slow. The higher you hold the candle, the cooler the wax will be.” A warm drop hit her back, like summer rain. That wasn’t so bad.

“Watch your partner’s reactions as you bring the candle lower. Finally, using unscented, white paraffin candles is your best bet. I like using a candle in a glass jar, like the novena candles you might find in your local dollar store.” The audience snickered at that. “These candles usually burn at a lower temperature due to their chemical composition, but be careful to only drop a smattering of wax on your partner—these will melt faster than you can use the wax, at the beginning of your play.” A smattering of drops, warmer and larger, fell to her skin, intensifying until they were like hot little flicks, searing but fading away with a single breath.

“If you are worried about the steadiness of your hand, you can use a metal spoon to scoop out some of the melted wax, then drip that small amount onto your submissive.”

She gasped with each one and then let out a low moan when all the new drops pooled together at her lower back. Her skin tightened under the assault, twisting her around and around until she was dizzy.

When a trail of ice streaked down her spine, she shouted and burst from the seams, quivering with need. Hot bits of wax followed the path he’d drawn from her neck to the now-cool puddle at her lower back. Even when he stopped, she couldn’t calm down. Every breath made her needier and the anticipation only built her arousal.

What was he doing to her? Kat said he just needed a warm body to demo and Cam couldn’t say she’d lied—her body was warm, all right. But this was not what she’d envisioned.

This was dangerous.

Fury warred with lust. This sub Kat had found had thrown herself into subspace like they were doing a scene, not a demonstration. Lara not only had much better self-control, but she inspired no desires in him. This girl was too dangerous.

Her submission served as a distraction and he had to slow himself down, breathe deeply, to make sure he didn’t get caught in her snare. If he weren’t in front of an audience, he would have flipped her over, waxed her breasts and nipples until she begged him to come, then set his mouth on her pussy and had her shouting down the room in orgasm. Instead, he gritted his teeth and prayed the hard cock in his jeans wasn’t too evident.

As she twitched under her restraints, he struggled to remember what came next in the lesson. He stroked a hand through her black hair, unable to stop himself from feeling her soft, lush strands. He imagined her kneeling by his side in his office, brushing her head against his knee while he worked, her pale skin glowing in the moonlight after a long day behind his desk.

No. He shut down those thoughts and left her side. Her needy moan made him ache to end the lesson and have his way with her, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t be that weak.

Instead, he went to the table that held his instruments, searching through them to jog his memory. The line of dull knives did it. He grabbed one and a cup of ice. From the edge of the stage, Kat grabbed his attention and then winked.

She knew what this girl was doing to him.

Taking a moment to refocus—he did not want to ruin his chances of working here again by being unprofessional—Damien did a quick run-through of the rest of the demo, given the adjustments he needed in order to make up for lost time. He only had another ten minutes or so—he’d have to cut out the chain and Wartenburg Wheel examples. So be it.

When he returned to her side, she was still breathing shallowly. He set the cup and putty knife on the floor, then knelt next to her. He couldn’t see her face, obscured as it was by the massage table’s headrest, but he did whisper in her ear. “This is the last bit, sweetheart. Tell me your safe words again.”

She carefully curved her plush lips around each syllable. “Yellow and red, Master.”

His cock jerked again. Lara didn’t call him Master during their demonstrations. This would be the last time he worked with an inexperienced assistant. He’d have to find a backup sub for the long run, maybe two, so he was always using someone who knew the score. Still, he couldn’t stop the feelings evoked by that title. He swallowed past his dry throat. “Good girl.”

She sighed and the sound wrapped around his balls and squeezed. Pleasure soared through him at her responsiveness. He’d definitely need an assistant who didn’t get off on temperature play. He glanced at Kat and wondered if she’d known how sensitive this girl would be.

Evan had warned him that Kat had a twisted sense of humor. He normally appreciated that kind of thing, but not today. His call with Kingman had gone so well he was drunk on the success and it was bleeding the edge of his control. He didn’t need anything else working against him.

Abruptly, he stood with the cup of ice, all business now. He gestured to the audience with his tools in hand. “The only problem with wax play is messy removal. It’s another good reason for the sheet underneath. You don’t want to be finding wax shavings in your bed at night.”

The audience chuckled, their eager faces locked on the stage. That buoyed his spirits, helped center him. This is why he taught—to capture their attention, share his knowledge, inspire their “kinky fuckery”, as Evan was fond of calling it. He pulled the putty knife from the cup and held it up so the light glinted off the edges. It met with oohs and ahhs.

“A putty knife is a wonderful tool for removing the wax. At your local Dom Depot…” the audience laughed at the scene nickname for their favorite home improvement store, “…test the edges of different putty knives. The cheaper ones are usually duller, which is a good thing. If you think the edge is still too sharp, high-grit sandpaper will blunt it. I also recommend taking that sandpaper to the corners, as they can be a little too sharp. A cake-icing spatula will also work. I’m sure your twisted minds will come up with a dozen other ideas.”

Damien ran his fingers across the edges of his tool. “I like this one because it has several uniquely shaped edges, perfect for getting wax off different body parts.” He turned the handle so the audience could see the pointed end of the blade. “And, for the submissive who likes a little more pain with her temperature play, this edge can provide that bite.”

His sub whimpered in her restraints. He again admired her body, trussed up and waiting for him. Though her legs were clothed, he could appreciate their form. He’d wanted to trace her spine with his tongue, bite the juncture of her neck, make her writhe underneath him. Her dark hair had spilled from its clip, the curls tumbling around her shoulders.

Then it clicked. She’d seemed familiar from the minute he’d hit the stage, but it wasn’t until that moment that he could place her. This was the woman from the parking lot. He almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Not a submissive? Yeah, right. He wondered if she’d still fight him on the issue, floating in subspace as she was, half-naked in front of an audience and getting off on his play.

He trailed the pointed edge of the blade down her side, letting the cold metal do all the talking. She yelped and tried to dodge the knife, but she was well restrained. He settled her with a hand on her shoulder, marveling at the way she calmed at his touch. He replaced the tool in the cup of ice, letting it cool before he continued.

“For this part, feel free to move closer. I’m going to start removing the wax from her skin.” As one, the couples—and one trio—moved to the stage, the voyeurs’ eyes roving over her body. The appreciative perusal of the Doms and Dommes set his teeth on edge. Some showed too much interest in his sub.

Not yours.
The reminder flared through his chest. He forged ahead, eager for the distraction. Keeping his hand on her shoulder, he began to lift bits of wax from her spine, the frigid blade on her skin making her jump and twitch. The closer he got to her lower back, the more she panted and groaned, her hips shifting on the sheet in obvious arousal.

He cooled the blade once more, running his fingers across her skin in the meantime, before rubbing away all remnants of the wax. He skimmed his fingers down her side, brushing against the side of her breast. She jumped and leaned into his hand, but he refused her plea.

Her hands opened and closed on empty air. Taken by impulse and needing to see her writhe, he breathed hot air onto her neck, licked the shell of her ear. She sobbed, “Master,” and he couldn’t hold himself back. His teeth sank into her neck and shivers worked down her spine. He warmed her back with his hands, his breath, building her up until no trace of cold lingered on her skin. Only then did he take the putty knife from the ice and press the flat of it against her back. She cried out.

All his pent-up arousal came out as a growl. “Don’t you dare move. We don’t want you to get cut on this edge, do we?”

He knew—the audience knew—that wouldn’t happen, but his sub was too far gone to realize that. Her muscles bunched and her back shook with the effort of keeping in place. With every bit of wax he loosened, her panting got louder and her begging found words, sweet pleas of “stop, Master” and “oh God” and “more”.

When her skin was once again bare, pale white with a line of red down her spine, he kissed the skin, soothing her, bringing her down, to the applause of the crowd.

They all backed away, some Doms dragging their subs off with clear intent in their eyes, others making their subs sit and squirm in anticipation while they socialized. Kat stepped up and helped him unbuckle the girl’s wrist and ankle restraints.

“Very impressive, Damien. She was a good partner, no?”

His jaw ached from his grinding teeth. “Thank you for enlisting her aid.” He
was
thankful to Kat, so he kept mum about his annoyance. Instead, he lifted the girl into his arms and walked backstage. She nestled into his chest and shoved at her blindfold with sleepy hands until it shifted to the top of her head, pulling her curls away from her face.

She looked up at him with those blue eyes and vertigo sucked at him between one heartbeat and the next.

“What’s your name?”

“Cam.” She murmured it against his chest, her little breaths heating his chest.

Damn. “Is that short for something?”

She snorted. It was cute, in an irritable, kittenish way. “I go by Cam.”

He tightened his grip on her and stopped in the doorway. “That’s not what I asked.”

A long-suffering sigh. “Camille.”

“Beautiful name.” He caught a tinge of blush on her cheeks.

In the back room, he settled her onto the couch and tucked a blanket around her. He turned from her side to grab a bottle of water.

“Please don’t leave.” Not whining, not begging, just a low, simple statement that nevertheless hit all his best Dom buttons.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He darted to the minifridge in the corner then returned, twisting the cap off and raising it to her lips.

She stared daggers at him. “I’m capable of drinking by myself, thank you.” She reached for the bottle and he swatted her hand away.

“This is called aftercare, my ‘I’m not a sub’ submissive-for-the-afternoon. So you’ll do what I damn well like.”

Silenced, she sipped from the bottle, but her glare didn’t lessen.

“Thank you.” He kneeled in front of the couch and watched her.

“What?” She yawned, then scrunched up her nose and rolled her eyes. “I shouldn’t be tired. I slept all night.”

He couldn’t help running his thumb across her pouty lips. “Subspace can be exhausting.”

If looks could kill, he’d be dead twice. “I am not a submissive,” she hissed.

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” Damien pantomimed checking off a list. “Not a submissive.”

When she rolled her eyes, he was sorely tempted to put her over his knee. Not punishment, but discipline.