Bondage Buddies (Masters of Marquis #1) - Golden Angel Page 0,16

were encouraged to avoid each other. Marquis made that easier than Stronghold since everyone was separated by booths, so there was really no reason to interact. Sometimes, people still said things they shouldn’t, but it was frowned upon. Freddy, in particular, was protective of the members, and if it was a member he’d taken under his wing... well, double that.

That Domi was still flushed with guilt and didn’t want to admit what she’d said confirmed how bad it must have been.

Mitch was disappointed to miss out on the fire play scene tonight, so he wasn’t kidding about Domi making it up to him. Since he hadn’t thought he’d get to see her this weekend, in some ways, this was a treat. She looked gorgeous in a black corset and a tight black skirt that left very little to the imagination, eyes dark with both eyeliner and mascara, and lips painted a vivid red. He was looking forward to messing up all that carefully applied makeup.

“So...” She squirmed slightly, peeking up at him, looking like a little girl trying to figure out how much trouble she was in—she’d likely kill him if he voiced the comparison. There was a tiny glint of anticipation in her eyes. “Is missing the show my only punishment?”

Aww... Sweet little subbie. Delusional little masochist. Delightful little newbie. She thought a punishment scene would automatically mean a hard paddling, maybe even the whip, more intense than usual, more painful than usual. While Mitch’s sadistic side would thoroughly enjoy that, he didn’t need to cause her physical pain to feed that part of himself. He could get off on fucking with her… period.

“Oh, no, sweetheart,” he said, smiling wickedly. “We’re just getting started.” Her dark eyes lit up with anticipation, and Mitch nearly laughed aloud. She was going to be a lot unhappier when she realized what he had planned. “This way, little subbie.”

Moving her to the deceptively simple wooden table, Mitch helped her with her corset. Once the laces were loosened, he easily pulled it over her head before running his hands over the red marks it left on her skin, purposefully avoiding her breasts. Domi let out an appreciative hum as he caressed the marks, relaxing under his touch.

Dropping his hands down to the zipper on her skirt, he peeled the fabric away, shimmying it down and raising his eyebrows when he saw her thong. The pause in undressing her made Domi open her eyes and look at him to see what had happened. Seeing his focus, she shrugged.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight, Sir.”

“Fair enough,” he conceded, enjoying the disappointment that flashed across her face. Even though she would have protested, part of her had been hoping he’d punish her for wearing underwear. Which, of course, was why he didn’t.

This was a punishment scene—a real one. Any enjoyment Domi received from it would be after Mitch was thoroughly assured of her remorse.

Hooking his fingers around her thong, he dragged it down with her skirt, leaving her totally naked, a sight he never got tired of. With his face right next to her mound, the sweet, musky scent of her arousal filled his nose, tempting him to lean forward and take a lick between her folds... Mitch controlled the impulse.

Starting with something she’d enjoy would send the wrong message.

“Hands behind your head.” He moved back to a standing position so he could loom over her in an appropriately Domly manner. It didn’t require greater height, necessarily, although that helped. Mostly, he stood too close to her, crowding her space and claiming it as his own.

Eyes focused on the center of his chest, Domi’s breath hitched as she lifted her arms. The position pushed her breasts forward, her brownish-pink nipples begging for punishment.

Mitch was going to enjoy this.

Domi

A little confused why she hadn’t immediately been put on the torture table—Mitch’s name for it, not hers, from previous times they’d been in this room—Domi found her anticipation rising. One of the things she liked so much about scening with Mitch was he was rarely predictable. Keeping her guessing heightened both her anxiety and excitement about a scene.

She was also relieved to find scening with him didn’t feel any different, just because she’d realized she had a crush on him. Part of her even wondered if maybe she was wrong about those feelings, but then she imagined him doing this with someone else—anyone else—and the sick, jealous twist in her stomach made it clear her