Tell Me - Ashe Barker Page 0,10

You can't tell anyone. The club rules say we have to respect privacy. I won't reveal any details, and you mustn’t either.”

“Whoa, hold it. Why all the fuss? Of course I won’t be discussing your—our—private relationship with anyone else. And I certainly hope I will see you again. I hope to see a lot more of you in fact.”

“No. That wouldn’t do, not at all. I need to keep things private and now, now we…”

“Thea, calm down. This is me, remember. Tony. Your Dom. You can trust me, you know that.”

“No, I mean yes. There I do, at the club. But here, I… it won't work. Not at all. I’m sorry. I have to go.”

Anthea leapt to her feet, grabbing her satchel from the floor beside her chair. Tony remained seated, made no attempt to delay her.

If Isabel Barnard was surprised that her meeting with Tony diMarco had been such a brief affair, again she gave no sign of it as Anthea charged through the secretary’s office looking for all the world as though the flames of Hell were at her heels. The door slammed shut behind her as she broke into a run, heading for the door, the outside.

Safety.

Chapter Three

Tony charged across his office in pursuit, then winced at the sound of the outer door shuddering on its hinges. He thought better of chasing Thea through the building and instead strolled as far as Isabel’s room. His loyal secretary turned to her boss, leaning against the frame of his office door.

“Went well, then?” Her dry tone caused his eyebrow to lift. “Would you like me to arrange that meeting with my contact now?

“Could have been worse, I daresay.” He levelled a look at her, his determination solidifying. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not done with Mrs Richmond yet. It just looks like the negotiations are going to be a little more complex than I thought.”

Isabel made a sound which he thought might have been a snort, but he chose not to pursue that now. He needed to think.

Back at his desk Tony poured himself a glass of water and turned over the events of the last few minutes in his mind. So, Stephen Kershaw’s Anthea Richmond and his own beautiful little sub were one and the same woman. Interesting, and unexpected. She was running now, from him and he suspected from herself too. He wasn’t about to let her go, but the situation was fragile to say the least. How best to reel her back in?

He sipped his water and considered the problem, assimilating what he knew about the enigmatic Mrs Richmond.

Mrs? He was as sure as he could be that she wasn’t married, but the lady was turning out to be full of surprises. He would have to check.

He cast his mind back to the first time he spotted the beautiful submissive hovering on the fringes of the action in The Wicked Club dungeon. She had been alone that evening, no collar indicating any prior claim, and that surprised him. It was his first visit to the club as he’d only lived in the city for a few weeks, and he could only conclude that the regular Doms in the area were either blind or stupid. Still, their loss. He made a beeline for her and invited her to join him for a drink.

She was enchanting. Intelligent, soft spoken, her submissive mannerisms had his cock standing to attention within seconds. He hoped she hadn’t noticed, but couldn’t be sure. In the end it didn’t matter, they were both here for the same thing, and when she agreed to scene with him that first night he was determined to impress her.

It was just a spanking, but he knew it brought her right to the edge. She didn’t ask him to stop, but he was experienced enough to know when she’d had enough. Her bottom was glowing in various shades of crimson and red, heat radiating from her buttocks as he caressed them with his palm. He had leaned over her inert, shivering body and asked her if he could touch her. She had nodded, but he wanted, needed more than that in the way of consent.

“Speak to me, Thea. Tell me.”

“Touch me, Sir. Please. I want to come.” Her voice had been breathy, laced with need and arousal. He required no further encouragement.

He had slipped his fingers beneath the scrap of lace which passed as a thong and found her slick folds. He stroked her, opening her as