The Exposure (5 page)

Several private rooms were located off the hallway at the top of the stairs. A few of them had closed doors, so they ignored those and peeked into the first room they came to with the door slightly cracked.

Master G was kneeling, facing away from the door. He had removed all his clothes, except for his boxer briefs. Meagan pushed the door open a bit more so Melissa could pass, but she stood frozen in place.

Meagan tried to imagine how off it must feel for her to have their primary roles reversed. “Go stand in front of him,” she whispered, but loud enough for Master G to hear.

Melissa silently nodded and made her way into the room. Meagan closed the door behind them and then joined the couple in the middle of the room.

“Aside from the oddness of it,” Meagan said to Melissa, “how do you feel at this moment?”

Melissa was still staring at the bowed head of her Master. “It's . . . I don't know . . . so many things.” She took a deep breath. “I guess if I had to pick one word, I'd go with humbled. I feel very humbled at the moment.”

“You seem surprised by that,” Meagan said.

“I am.”

“Why?”

“It's crazy, I know. I've always heard Doms say submission is a gift, but it didn't click until right now.” She looked up at Meagan, and her eyes were filled with unshed tears. “It really is, isn't it? He's so vulnerable in that position. And he's staying there for me. For me to do with him what I want. It's . . . wow.”

Meagan wondered if seeing her Master kneel before her would color the way Melissa viewed being a Top. She remembered the first time she experienced the emotional realization Melissa just had. How it had transformed into the need to care for the submissives she scened with. There was an element of control to be sure, but for her, like for Melissa, it was the longing to ensure the trust they gave was cared for and attended to.

As it turned out, she didn't have to wonder for long. Melissa sniffed. “I can't.”

Meagan almost didn't hear, her voice was so low. “What?”

“I can't be a Top.”

Meagan eyed Master G, but he didn't move. “Do you think you could do it with someone who wasn't your Master?” she asked.

Melissa shook her head. “I don't think so. Standing here, seeing Master like that? I don't think it would be different with anyone else. I don't want that much responsibility. It's too much.”

Meagan recalled Master G saying earlier in the evening that he didn't think Melissa was a switch. Looked as if he was right.

“I'm sorry I wasted your time,” Melissa said to Meagan.

Meagan gave her a hug. “Oh, honey, you didn't. My role was to help you see what you needed to see, and you have.”

“Thank you,” Melissa said, but her attention was already off Meagan. She knelt beside her Master, put her arms around him, and whispered, “And thank you for doing this to show me what you already knew.”

Master G pulled his submissive into his arms and whispered something in her ear that made her giggle. Though she really hadn't done anything, Meagan felt a bit more content. And judging by the way the couple on the floor was kissing, they didn't need her any longer.

She turned and started on her way out.

“Meagan,” Master G said from behind her.

“Yes?”

“Thank you. I'm really glad you were here tonight.”

And though she knew she wouldn't feel the blissful peace that followed a scene, she was glad she was in the club, too. She took her time going down the stairs, thinking.

What if she changed clothes so she could submit tonight? The night was young, and the scene with Melissa and Master G had invigorated her a bit. Made her feel more alive. She could take her boots off and walk barefoot. It wasn't optimal, because she hated the feeling of dirt under her feet, but she could do it for a night.

She could keep her skirt on and maybe either go topless or
just wear her bra. Yes, that would work. Moving faster, she hurried to the women's locker room. On her way, she noticed Master C standing by the front desk.

Damn.

She'd told him she was here as a Top tonight. If he saw her, he'd want to play, and if she was with someone else, he'd think she lied to him.

As she stood watching, a couple approached the door. There was really nothing overly noticeable about either of them, but something about the man seemed off. He kept looking around as if he expected someone to be following him.

Very strange.

The woman with the man said something to him, and he grabbed her arm so tightly, she winced. He leaned his head down and whatever he said made the woman shake her head. Meagan disliked the guy on sight. She typically thought herself to be a good judge of character and this man had
bad news
written all over him.

They had made it to the door, and Master C very animatedly refused to let them in. The man argued, but Master C stood his ground, and within seconds, two security guards rushed past her. One look at the rather large and well-built security guards, and the man backed down. He shouted something to Master C, but grabbed the woman and walked back to his car.

Master C and one of the guards stayed where they were. She supposed to ensure he stayed away. But the second guard came back inside.

Meagan couldn't stop herself from asking, “Who was that?” as he went by.

“A troublemaker, Mistress,” he replied. “He's been blackballed
from every club in the area. Don't know why he keeps trying to get in one, and for the life of me, I don't understand why a woman would be with him.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Word is he's not one to follow safe, sane, and consensual rules.”

The woman at the man's side flashed in her mind. Why would she be with him? She didn't like any of the answers that came to mind.

“No need to worry, though.” The man had obviously mistaken her silence. “I'll keep you and everyone else safe. He won't be back anytime soon.”

Suddenly, she felt sick and the elation she felt earlier had disappeared. All she really wanted to do in that second was go home, put on some pajamas, and eat ice cream.

“I know you will,” she assured him. “But I've had a long day and don't feel in the mood anymore. If you know what I mean.”

“Yes, indeed.” He looked over his shoulder. “I'm sure he's long gone, but it'd make me feel a lot better if you'd let me walk you to your car.”

“I'd appreciate it. Thank you.”

*   *   *

S
aturday came with no further word from The Taskmaster, but Meagan still found herself out of sorts. She told herself she was an idiot. All she was doing was posing for Luke. Which, she begrudgingly agreed, she hadn't done in fifteen years.

She pulled up to the driveway of the address he'd given her and gawked at the house. Either photography or building clubs or the combination of both had been good to him. His house
was a grand contemporary wooden structure. Slowly, she proceeded up the drive, taking in as many details as she could of the manicured yard.

Luke met her at the door.

“Your place is beautiful,” she said, instead of saying hello.

“And you're surprised about that?” he asked, a hint of amusement tickling his lips.

“No, well, yes, I mean . . .” She took a deep breath. “It's just not how I pictured a bachelor who builds BDSM clubs to live.”

“Then come on inside.” The amusement wasn't even a hint anymore; a grin covered his entire face. “I have the living room set up as a harem and a padded table and St. Andrew's Cross where the kitchen should go. But in order to get there, we'll have to step over all the mattresses I put out along the hallway to accommodate the many orgies I host.”

“You are such an ass.” She pushed his chest to move him out of the way and stepped into the foyer.

He captured her wrist. “You're on my turf now, sweetheart.”

She didn't want him to see how the veiled warning made her knees weak and her heart race. “I'm here for you to photograph, nothing else, so drop the Dom attitude.”

He looked as though he wanted to say something else, but instead he nodded his head. “Let me show you where you can put your things. Then we can go ahead and I'll take you to the studio.”

From the way he sounded, he wanted to get this over and done with as quickly as possible. Fine. That was fine by her, too. She followed him down a hall that didn't have any mattresses, but rather pottery pieces and paintings that gave the impression of an art gallery. With the number of windows the house had,
the natural lighting was stunning. She sort of wished he'd walk slower so she could take it all in.

But he was a man on a mission and didn't stop until he came to the end of the hallway. “I have the clothes I want you to wear in the bedroom.” He pointed to the door on his right. “There's a bathroom in there you can use to get ready. When you're dressed, come out this door and go across the patio, and I'll be waiting in the studio.”

With that said, he headed outside. Meagan put a hand to her stomach in a useless attempt to calm the butterflies. Holy shit, she was really going to do this. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the bedroom and hurried to the bed to see what he'd selected for her to wear.

She stood, staring at it for several long seconds. Then, with a sweep of her hand, she picked it up and carried it outside and into Luke's studio.

“What the hell is this?” she asked, lifting the scrappy material up to his face.

“It's what I want you to wear.”

“You said clothes. This isn't clothing.”

He walked toward her with long strides, never moving his eyes from hers, and when he stood before her, he took hold of her wrist. “Let's agree on some ground rules, why don't we?”

She was afraid to speak. If she didn't say anything, maybe he wouldn't know what the tone of his voice did to her. To counteract the delicious shivers running through her body, she lifted her chin. “Depends on what they are.”

“We both agree you're not here as my submissive; however, I
am
the one in charge of these photography sessions and because of that, you're going to listen and follow my directions.”

“That doesn't sound so much like ground rules. Maybe more like you spouting things off and me blindly following.”

“Whatever you want to call it, sweetheart.” He nodded back toward the house. “Go change.”

She didn't move. “You are such a pigheaded ass.”

“Turns you on, doesn't it?”

Damn him for knowing the truth. “You'll never know.”

“I already do.”

She didn't know how to respond to that, so instead of goading him anymore, she went back into the bedroom to change. Once there, she unfurled the skimpy lingerie from the tiny ball she'd shoved it into, and was shocked at what she found when she held it up in front of her.

It was a high-end brand, known for their delicate handmade lacework. Its subtle sensuality hit her. It was really a gorgeous piece. But did he have it here, or had he bought it for her?

She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Moving quickly, she splashed water on her face and then applied light makeup, doing her best to ignore the way her hands trembled. Stupid nerves. She decided to leave her hair down, but brushed it until it snapped with electricity and fell softly around her shoulders. Something about the process of getting ready for Luke to photograph her reminded her of getting ready for a scene with a Dom, and the ritual of it eased her anxiety, leaving only excitement behind. By the time she slipped the short lacy gown over her head and stepped into the tiny panties, she felt calmer.

In fact, she was so calm, so prepared, and so ready, she had to stop herself from kneeling in front of Luke when she made it back to the studio. As it was, it felt as if he'd turned the heat up fifteen degrees.

She was certain he noticed, but he simply nodded. “You look perfect, Meagan.” He pointed to a wrought iron bench. “Go have a seat and we'll get started.”

The cool metal soothed her heated flesh and she had only a moment to take a deep breath before she heard his footsteps. He didn't give her instructions on how he wanted her to pose; he simply moved her himself. Within a few minutes, she was sitting straight on the bench, her hands folded in her lap, and her head bowed.

“Close your eyes.” His whisper was rough, but his hands were gentle as he swept her hair to one side so it fell across her right shoulder. “That color looks magnificent on you. Just like I thought it would.”

Her heart jumped up to her throat. Did that mean he'd bought it for her?

“So many people think of black when they think of lingerie and I agree, it has its place.” He trailed a finger along the lace skimming her breasts. “But I like this hue. The palest pink. Just a shade different from your skin. An alluring combination of innocence and seduction.”

He stepped away from her and she wondered if he was picking up his camera.

“It's not the gown itself, of course,” he spoke, and she couldn't hear anything from the camera. “That color could wash some women out or make others look too young. But on you, it's almost regal.”

Surely he was taking pictures; she couldn't imagine him standing there just
talking
. Not when he had photos to take. But damn it all, she didn't recall him talking when he'd photographed her before. Back then, he'd been like your standard photographer—directing and shooting. The man he was now . . .

She'd vastly underestimated both him and his ability to affect her. And she had a feeling that was a big mistake on her part.

“I'm going to print these in both color and black and white.” He kept on talking as though he was having an everyday conversation. “I bet in black and white you'll have to look really close to see what's skin and what's silk.”