my anxiety and uncertainty, and it pleases him immensely. “Like what?” I ask breathlessly, trying in vain to seem confident.
He smiles at me broadly. “Your dress.”
I know he thinks I must be a fucking idiot. How could I be so clueless? What else could he have been talking about? The snow in Antarctica
It’s because he’s so damn hot that I can’t think around him, I tell myself.
I blush furiously, my cheeks flaming. “I do, thank you,” I reply.
“You mean thank you Sir,” he corrects me firmly, an eyebrow arched sternly.
My skin pricks at my mistake, the heat of shame making it feel as if my cheeks might burn off. “Sorry Sir. I thank you so much for the dress, Sir. It’s beautiful.” My words almost trip over themselves to get out. My heart seems to trip in my chest as well.
His eyes roll over my curves and my skin tingles everywhere they seem to go. “Beautiful,” he agrees huskily. I can only stand his hungry gaze for a moment before I’m forced to look away. All I can hear is the thumping of my heart in my chest.
He isn’t having it. He cups my chin, forcing me to look back at him, and pulls me in close, his hot touch burning my flesh. As he gazes into my eyes I can almost feel the possessiveness radiating from him. It should make me want to run away, but it only draws me to him like a moth to a flame. I didn’t think it possible, but I desire him even more than the night before.
“Come, my flower.” His words are not a request, but an order. I must obey. Flower.
He leads me through the club, walking with a confidence that’s undeniable. As we walk through the hall, several men look our way, but each time they do, my Sir looks at them as if daring them to challenge him, and they look away. I thrill at the power he radiates, impressed by how some of these men, who are powerful in their own right, don’t want to fuck with him.
It makes me feel secure. Safe.
Still, I feel eyes on me as we walk past the playrooms. This is different now. Before I was hidden in plain sight, but now that I’m with him, they’re all watching. I pick at the hem on the nightie, realizing how self conscious I feel as we walk down the darkened hallway, past the double bodyguards, and to the stairwell of the dungeons.
There are a few more people here than the night before. I wish it were empty; I want privacy, but that’s not going to happen. All eyes turn on us as we enter the room. Even the couple who obviously had the attention of the crowd before, stops to stare at us. Anxiety twists my stomach and I look away.
“Look at me,” my Sir commands.
I bring my gaze up to his eyes, trying not to shiver. In the background, the couples go back to their sessions and I hear the sing of whips flying through the air and smacking against flesh, followed by pained, but pleasured cry.
“What are you most interested in?” he asks, his deep voice punctuated by another smack. I want to look at the couple, the woman writhing in her rope binds as the man alternates the vibrator and the whip.
I shake my head, trying to keep my gaze focused on him as another pleasured cry echoes off the walls. “I’m not sure. There’s so much…” my voice trails off as I try to find the words. My heart won’t stop racing in this room, especially standing here with him. I don’t want to tell him that I’m partly here for research and that I want to live out the fantasies I’ve read about in my favorite erotic romance novels. He might not like that. It’ll only give him more evidence of my inexperience.
His eyes search my face. “Why do you keep coming down here?” he asks.
Smack. Smack. Smack. Another cry assaults my ears. “The pain,” I whisper almost as if in response to the cracking of the whip and the cries that follow. “I’m curious.” I swallow thickly, “I want to know why they beg for more.”
He arches an inquisitive brow, the trace of a smile on his lips. The thought that I’ve pleased him with that knowledge makes my pussy heat for him. “Have you been whipped before?”
I shake my head vigorously, my breath quickening, my nipples pebbling. “No.”
A