The circular bar loomed in the center of the room like a massive mahogany ship with the bartender, Cullen, at the helm. Scattered around the bar were sitting areas with leather couches and coffee tables, some hidden behind plants and low walls. Beth headed for the area where single subs tended to congregate, a place near the bar where the Dom/mes could look them over and vice versa.
Spotting Beth, a plump blonde sub waved, her long nails sparkling in the light from the chandeliers. Looking down at her own hands, Beth winced. Despite the lotion she continually rubbed into her skin, her hands still had the roughness of a gardener. She rubbed her fingers together, felt the calluses, and sighed. The scent of strawberries and lemon came to her, improving her mood. One of the few things she’d left behind had been the heavy, musky perfume that she’d hated. Now her lotion might make her smell like something good to eat, but it never failed to make her smile.
Beth approached the group of subs and then hesitated. What did Master Nolan expect her to do? Sit and wait for him to find her? Or try to search him out? She knew, with a sinking feeling, whatever she did would be wrong. That’s how it always worked. What kind of punishment would that harsh Dom inflict?
When a painful pang ran up her arm, she realized she was wringing her hands, twisting fingers smashed a couple years ago. The memory of that agony filled her head like an oily black river, dragging her deeper. Helpless.
She turned as sickness rose into her throat. She couldn’t do this. He’d hurt her, and she—
She ran right into him, slamming into his muscular body like a bird hitting a mountain. Master Nolan’s hands closed around her upper arms, steadying her. Unable to breathe, heart pounding, she tried to wrench away. He held her easily, his fingers like metal clamps around her arms, but not tight, not painful.
“Gently, sugar.” His rumbling voice surrounded her, strangely calming.
She managed a deep breath, then another, before looking up. No anger showed in his face or, even tougher to disguise, in his eyes. Patient as a stalking cat, he waited for her to get her act together.
Some act—she’d lost control completely and panicked in the middle of the bar. “Please forgive me, Sir,” she said to her feet. “I…” Her voice trailed off. What could she say?
Releasing her arms, he tilted her chin up with his fingers until she had to meet his gaze. “You lost your nerve for a minute”—his eyes studied her—“and now you are all right.”
Not a question, just a statement, but she nodded anyway.
“You look good in gold,” he said.
She blinked. A compliment? Maybe he wasn’t as inhuman as she’d… She looked down. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” he asked evenly, his scarred fingers slowly unlacing her bustier. Her hands rose, and she forced them back down to her sides, although she couldn’t keep her fingers from curling into fists. He finished, and the front of her bustier flapped open, displaying her breasts.
His hand curled around her arm, holding her in place so he could run his other hand over her exposed skin, right there in the center of the room.
Her chin tilted up as she forced her expression to show nothing. He’d get his jollies, and then they’d get on to business.
“Very pretty breasts,” he murmured, his black gaze on her face. “You’re a little underweight, and we’ll discuss that later, but I like touching your nipples. The pink is the color of your lips. Look, don’t you agree?”
Forced by his understated order, she tipped her face down and saw his hand hold one breast up. He circled the pink nipple with his thumb. His dark skin against her whiteness was startling. Erotic. Suddenly, she felt every little roughness on his thumb, the warmth of his palm under her breast. His thumb rubbed against her peaking nipple, and the sensation zinged right down to her crotch. Her stomach muscles tightened.
She jerked her head up, trying to school her face back into no expression.
Satisfaction flickered in his eyes. “Come, sub.” He curved an arm around her waist and started walking toward the front.
Her hands pulled the bustier front together.
“Leave it open. I will be playing with your breasts off and on this evening.” His words made something inside her tense and curl into itself.
He took her to the food tables and set a thick turkey and ham sandwich in her hand without taking anything for himself. “Eat that.”
At the crowded bar, he pulled her against his hard side and waited silently while she ate. Too nervous to eat supper earlier, she discovered her appetite had returned…as long as she didn’t try to think about anything that might happen tonight. As long as the Dom was quiet. Within a few minutes, she’d actually finished the whole thing and earned herself a “Good girl.”
The place was busy, not that the bartender moved any faster. Master Cullen worked at his own pace. By the time he strolled over to take their order, Beth had grown comfortable with Master Nolan’s arm around her waist, with the feel of his solid body against hers, the sound of his deep voice as he talked with other Doms.
“Evening, Nolan. Got yourself a redhead tonight?” Cullen leaned an elbow on the bar and grinned.
“Pretty, isn’t she,” Sir answered.
Her? Pretty? Beth closed her eyes for a second to savor the compliment. This pitiless Dom wouldn’t bother trying to butter her up, wouldn’t bother to lie. He meant it.
“I’d have to agree.” As the bartender’s gaze traveled over her, she grew way too conscious of her exposed breasts. Why did that bother her? She’d been fully nude in front of people before. But she’d never felt so…naked.
Nolan watched the color rise and fall in the sub’s cheeks, her lips no longer tight but soft. Vulnerable. Her fragility worried him, not just her mental state but the physical too. She was only skin and bones. He preferred pillowy women with ample mass to cushion his big body, with soft hips to grip. Beth had no padding, and he’d need to be careful.
Nice breasts, though. What he’d call perky. Keeping her trapped against his side, he ran his hand over her nipples again and smiled as they came to little points. She’d left her hair loose, and the dark red strands danced over lightly freckled shoulders left bare by the bustier. The freckles ran down past her collarbone then faded away, leaving her breasts a creamy white.
He’d thought of her often over the past week, trying to figure out the best way to deal with her. And he’d decided he needed more information before anything else could happen.
Cullen set a Corona down for him, and glanced at the sub. “Beth?”
Nolan looked at her in surprise. If Cullen didn’t know what she drank, then she’d never ordered anything in here. Interesting. “Tell Master Cullen what you would like.”
“I don’t need a drink,” she said and added a belated, “Thank you, Sir.”
“Do you have a problem with alcohol?”
“No, Sir.” She was back to staring at the floor. “I just prefer to have all my senses.”
“I prefer you have a few less. One drink only and you will finish it all.” He grinned when her little fists clenched and released for the second time tonight. So there was still a fire burning down there. The asshole who’d damaged her hadn’t wiped that out. “Cullen, bring her a screwdriver.”
When the drink came, Nolan handed it to Beth and led her to a couch. He took a position at one end. She started to kneel, and he stopped her. “Sit beside me. We’ll leave high protocol for another time.” To be clear, he added, “I will tell you when I want it observed. You won’t have to guess.”
Her mouth relaxed slightly, just enough to tell him she’d been disciplined before for guessing incorrectly about…probably everything. Some Doms kept their requirements impossible to meet so they had an excuse to mete out punishment. He might say he didn’t work that way, but he could see she didn’t believe a Dom’s words. Her trust would have to be earned. His gaze ran over the scars on her breasts; she had good reason for fear. He patted the cushion beside him and, as she sat down, slid her closer until her thigh touched his. Her fragrance drifted to him, a hint of strawberry and lemon, pleasingly light compared to the heavy scents of the club.
He nudged the drink toward her lips, watched her take a sip before pleasing himself and taking her breast into his hand again. Odd how satisfying her little breast was, perching like a dove in his palm. And like a captured dove, she froze in his grip. Under his fingers, the tiny thud of her heartbeat accelerated. He ran his thumb over one of the shiny burn marks. “You were with the bas—person who did this to you for two years, right?”
She stiffened, her mouth flattened into a line, so he waited. She didn’t seem to know how to deal with patience or silence. The asshole must have been both impatient and a shouter.
Her tongue wet her lips. “Yes, sir.”
“Long time.” Bet it seemed like a lifetime. And from the way her muscles tensed, she wouldn’t willingly discuss that period. Another item they’d work on later. Hell. Topping her was like walking blindfolded through a minefield. “Drink,” he growled, and she started.
She took a sip.
“How often do you masturbate?” he asked.
