to her, she removed her hand.
“They must have taken a long time, especially with injections of Evan’s blood to hold the design. Was it painful?”
He gave her a short nod. Christ above, yes. He tapped the one on his chest.
“Evan did this one in front of an audience. I was performance art.”
It was far more than that, Alanna.
Niall bit back a deprecation. He should have known Evan wasn’t asleep as he should be.
I didn’t realize I had a bedtime. Do you want to come spank me, Niall?
If you’d fight fair, I’d break a two-by-four over your narrow ass.
Alanna’s eyes widened, telling Niall that Evan had let her hear that.
Keep rubbing the ice on him, Alanna. He’s still rather heated. Niall, tell her more about that day.
You’re the “Master” storyteller here.
He didn’t know why he was being petty about it. Hadn’t Alanna made it clear that wasn’t a luxury a servant had?
You are not the same as Alanna, neshama.
God, he hated how it made him feel, when Evan changed tracks like that. Niall caught Alanna’s wrist as she started to rub the ice on him again. “If he told ye to do something to me, and I refused, that’d be a pickle for ye, no?”
If Evan could reach him, he’d probably be physically hurled off the mountain. Maybe. What was goaded by irritation was tempered into curiosity for them both, as they watched her struggle with the question, Evan through Niall’s eyes.
“I can only serve my Master’s will to the full extent of my ability to do so. If you resist his will, and push me away, then I must see if his will is for me to force you to do his bidding.”
Niall gave her far slighter form a dubious look, but she shook her head. “My size is not the question. Just how far I am willing to go to do my Master’s will.”
How far are you willing to go to oppose it, neshama?
Evan hadn’t shared that one with Alanna, because her expression didn’t change. Niall answered that by answering her.
“As much as I’d enjoy a wrestling match,” he noted, gaze sweeping appreciatively over her, “we’ll call this a draw, lass. But I’ll ask Evan to tell the tale. I’m nae much of a storyteller, and he’ll include the bits you’ll like best. But be warned, he’s like looking for Walter Scott tae tell a true story about Scotland. Far more romance and legend than the sad reality.”
She touched the male dragon, her fingers resting on the third mark within the design. “This appears to be both,” she said quietly. “Legend and reality.”
He made a noncommittal sound at that, but lay back fully, lacing his fingers behind his head while she plucked another piece of ice out of his glass. As it made contact with his skin, sliding with sensual purpose over the tattoo, making the dragon’s scales gleam anew with the moisture, Niall tried to keep all his blood from draining into his cock. Given the story that Evan was about to tell, he didn’t hold out much hope for success.
Neither do I. Evan’s dry voice filled Niall’s head. Despite his disparaging analysis of my storytelling abilities, Alanna, I intend to tell it as it truly happened, and in great detail. Master Storyteller, indeed.
It was a private fund-raising event, a carnival for well-heeled individuals who preferred the pleasures of bondage and submission. The sizeable price to attend was donated to a domestic violence cause. Evan had offered his work for a silent auction, as well as agreed to do a special performance art demonstration at the request of the host.
Tiki torches and strung lights illuminated the grounds where the carnival was being held. There was no moon that night, but the sky was full of stars, given that the host, Tyler Winterman, held the carnival on his historic plantation property in the Florida marshlands off of the Gulf, far from any of the larger cities. Evan’s stage was an outdoor area set a little ways from the main carnival activities. The space had been cordoned off with black silk rope, but outside its boundary, chairs had been provided for those Masters and Mistresses who wished to watch. It was on the lawn, so there was enough soft grassy area for their slaves to kneel at their sides. At this event, the lines between Dominant and submissives were clearly drawn.
An elegant St. Andrew’s cross dominated the performance area. It was a piece of art itself, a dark polished wood,