Am I really going to do this?

My heart is thumping, my hands are clammy, and I can’t seem to catch my breath, but I’m here. I told myself if I just drove here, maybe the conviction would melt away. Maybe I’d realize how ridiculous I’m being and just go home--back to waiting for the next handsome tragedy to come walking into my life.

When I close my eyes I can still hear the sound of his shouting last night. I can feel the hot sting of pain on my cheek and the slow afterburn of shame that followed. His words still linger in my mind like poison. Fucking cry. That’s all you’re good at.

My hands clench and my eyes sting, but I hold back the tears. I push them back with the force of my anger alone. I won’t cry over him. I don’t care how much pain he caused me or that my eye is still dark and bruised from when he hit me. He doesn’t get any more of my tears.

I told myself I would stay away after Cade. He called himself a Dom and he called me his submissive. I trusted him to show me the kind of relationship I’ve craved in the deepest corners of my mind. Instead, he took advantage of me and abused me.

So I’m swearing off dominant men. But after one look at my overdrawn bank account, I can’t give up my job at the club. It pays triple what I could get anywhere else. Besides, my brother, Kyle, will be there to keep an eye on me, and if Cade has the nerve to show his face at the club again, I’ll just stay near Kyle until he’s gone.

I let out a slow, shuddering breath.

I can’t think about Cade. I won’t. It only makes me feel stupid and embarrassed. Ashamed, even, that after all this time I still can’t seem to pick the right guy.

I approach the front doors of the building, which is planted between an Italian restaurant and a abandoned movie theater. Two bouncers stand in front of the door in dark suits.

“Is Kyle here tonight?” I ask one of the men, whose name I still haven’t learned.

“Yeah,” says the taller of the two. “He’s working the floor tonight.”

“Thanks,” I say, slipping inside the door they open for me.

The interior of the club has an old speakeasy kind of atmosphere. A huge bar dominates the main room, and several staircases and curtained doorways extend beyond the main entryway. The men and women in the club are dressed in sleek and elegantly classy clothes that make my own outfit feel too simple and bland, but it’s the best I could put together with my budget. Some people wear masquerade style masks, but others make no effort to hide their faces. The club even smells expensive--like fancy liquor and cologne. Music thumps through the air that can only be described as erotic. The beat is driving and moves through everyone in the room, from the way the women move their hips as they cross the room to the way couples gyrate on the dance floor.

I feel so out of place here, but something draws me to this world. It’s like an invisible string that I can’t break free from--the farther I move from it the tighter the pull gets until I end up here again.

I tuck some hair behind my ear and start walking through the crowded club, unable to stop from brushing shoulders with people as I go. I find Kyle leaning against a wall by the bar. He’s wearing a tight black shirt and has a bored look on his face. He smiles when he spots me, but his expression falls when he notices my black eye.

He pushes off the wall and rushes toward me, concern written all over his face. “Where is he?” he asks.

“Stop,” I say softly. “I appreciate it. But I don’t want you to go trying to kick some client’s ass. We both need our jobs.”

“You think I care more about my job than my little sister?” His eyes are hard and piercing, already scanning the crowd for Cade.

“Kyle,” I say, putting my hand on his arm. “I just need you to keep him away from me if he comes back. Okay? Please let me try to fix the rest. Maybe I can convince the owner to ban him or something. But I need to do it myself,” I add more quietly.

He watches me for a long time before letting out a long breath and nodding, jaw clenched tight. “But if he tries to lay a hand on you, I’m going to break his fucking arm off.”

“Fine,” I say with a small smile. “Do you know anything about the owner?” I ask.

“You haven’t met him?”

“You have?” I ask, a little surprised. “I’ve only been allowed to meet the bouncers and the bartender since I started. I’m not even supposed to go into any of the rooms beyond the lobby yet.”

Kyle purses his lips thoughtfully. “Probably for the best. It gets... uh… kind of intense in some of the rooms. I don’t know if I like the idea of my little sister going into those places.”

I plant a hand on my hip and glare at him. “Really, Kyle? You’re fine with me getting a job at a BDSM club and even dating one of the clients, but you don’t like the idea of me going into those places?”

“Hey, I never said I liked this, but at least you’re just bartending in the lobby. I can keep the creeps at bay when you’re out here. You start going into the scene rooms and the exhibition areas and you’d be on your own.”

“Is that where the owner is? In one of those rooms?”

“His office is way in the fucking back. And…” Kyle sighs, shifting on his feet and leaning in closer. “Just be careful, okay? I get a vibe from that guy. I don’t know if it’s good or bad, but just be careful.”

I nod, resisting my inner-teenager’s urge for a dramatic eye-roll. I know Kyle is just trying to protect me, so I can’t be too annoyed with him. He has been my shield for as long as I can remember. Back when our dad’s abuse changed from emotional to physical, Kyle was there to be my protector.

I leave the bar area for the first time since I started working here and head in the direction Kyle said--toward the back, where dark red curtains are all that stands between me and the mysterious back of the club.

I push through the curtain into a large room set up like a private theater, with sleek, half-backed couches positioned all around the walls in a semi-circle. A raised section of the room serves as a stage. There is a line of men waiting off to one side of the stage and a woman standing in the center of the stage, her head hidden behind a lace hood. Besides the hood, she’s completely naked and tied to a tall post by several leather straps. She probably couldn’t move a muscle if she tried. The way she’s positioned has her legs spread and her ass tilted up in the air, giving the masked man standing behind her access to slide his fingers inside her. The sounds of her moans fill the room, drowning out the low music. After a few moments the man backs away and another man approaches from the awaiting line.

I take a half-step back, suddenly feeling in way over my head. This is insane. Those people are just waiting in line to have their turn with her like it’s some kind of buffet. I keep backing away from the scene in front of me until I bump into the wall and suck in a startled breath.

I’ve never thought of myself as a prude, I mean, I’ve always felt drawn to the lifestyle, but this is… overwhelming. I feel extremely uncomfortable, a little disgusted, and a whole lot curious. Like crane my neck to look at a train wreck kind of curious.. This curiosity feels dark and lust-filled and has me imagining what it would be like to stand on that stage with lace covering my head, waiting in total anonymity while strangers objectified me and used me.

I shiver.

Maybe in another life.

I turn to leave but stop short when I come face to face with a masked man. He’s tall. God is he tall. I have to crane my neck to look up at him. The parts of his face I can see are strong and angular: a jaw dusted with stubble, defined chin, and eyes as gray as stormclouds watch me from within the mask. My eyes wander down his neck to the broad shoulders beneath his suit.

Nothing good. There’s nothing good that can come from a man like this. I’ve made that mistake enough times in my life, and maybe for once I can actually learn my lesson. Just leave. Walk away before you get tangled up with another asshole. Before you get hurt.

“Excuse me,” I mutter quickly. Even as I speak, I can feel the traitorous flame deep inside me flickering to life, daring me to see what this masked man has to offer. That’s a dangerous, stupid thought, though. I came here to find the owner and talk to him about Cade, not to get myself entangled in another disaster waiting to happen.

I sidestep and try to move past him, but he blocks my path. “I never said you could leave, princess,” he says in a deep, rich voice.

Wrong night to test my patience, asshole. “Yeah?” I say. “It’s good I don’t need your permiss--”

My words are cut short when he actually sticks his arm out, blocking me from passing. “You sure about that?” he asks. “You sure you can get out of here without begging?”

I swallow hard. Fear curdles in my stomach, but I don’t want him to see how he’s affecting me. “What happens if I scream? Won’t those bouncers come drag you out of here?”

He watches me without fear. “We could find out.” He steps closer until his hard body presses against mine, until I can smell his cologne. So close I’m practically enveloped in his big, strong body. “Go ahead,” he whispers. He plants his hand on the wall above me and leans down until his lips are beside my ear. “Scream for me. I’m sure it’ll just be the first of many.”

I clench my teeth, breathe out a frustrated but determined breath, and then stomp down on his foot as hard as I can. He grunts in pain and flinches back with a curse of annoyance.

I shove the curtain aside and head for the exit. The owner will have to wait. Maybe forever. This was a mistake. Coming back here was a mistake. I don’t care how good the money is. I don’t care how much my soul seems to cry out for the kind of intimacy I imagine can only be found in a dominant-submissive relationship. I need to close this chapter of my life and leave it where it belongs. The past.

The sound of my heels stomping across the floor draws a few looks, but no real serious attention. No one even looks close enough to see the tears ruining my mascara. I guess it’s all just hitting me full force tonight--how far I’ve let things get out of my control. How completely lost I am.

I’m storming toward the exit when a firm hand grips my arm, stopping me in my tracks. I see Kyle rushing toward us from my peripheral vision, ready to clock whoever this asshole is.

The masked man sees him coming too. Instead of bracing himself for the punch, he lifts his mask, which stops Kyle’s attack as surely as if he had run into an invisible wall.

“Mr Carlyle…” Kyle mutters. “Ah, sorry, sir. That’s just my sister, and--”

“And she’s perfectly safe with me. You can go back to your post. And you,” he says, turning those stormcloud eyes, intensity radiating from him like heat, on me. “You’re coming with me.” His voice is flat and hard, leaving no room for argument, no room for protest. To my surprise, even Kyle steps back slightly, apparently ready to let me leave with this man.

“There’s a place we can talk more privately.”

I think about stomping on his foot again for the way he talked to me in the other room, but whether it’s a combination of being caught off guard by how disarmingly gorgeous he is or something I can’t comprehend yet, I feel compelled to follow.

I decide to bottle up all the snarky, sassy things I want to say right now and play nice. I need to be calm, maybe I can convince this man to ban Cade and then I might just be able to stay working here. “I didn’t get your name,” I say as politely as I can.

“Jayce,” he says, taking my arm and leading me back the way I came.

He clutches me as we walk, it’s like he’s afraid I might fly away. Like he doesn’t ever plan to let me go. Guilty pleasure swirls in my chest from his touch. Jayce is a total stranger to me, but there’s something comforting in the possessive way he’s holding me. I’ve been with possessive men before, but the way he holds me feels protective instead of restrictive. It makes me want to cling to this moment until he’s erased the pain of my past. The way he holds me makes me feel like a coveted prize. Before now, I’ve only ever been held as if I were a thing--just a prisoner at the mercy of my captors, waiting to be used for their every whim and without any care for my wellbeing.

Just a few words and a few moments with Jayce and I’m already comparing him to past boyfriends. This is exactly why I get into so much trouble. I’m so desperate to be loved and needed that I cling to the first sign of attention any guy gives me, and apparently I attract jerks like flies on shit.

I barely notice where he’s taking me until we’re inside a room lit entirely by blue light. Some kind of fog or smoke rises slowly from the metal grating beneath our feet. A padded table with straps and cuffs sits in the center of the room, and huge blocks of ice are positioned by the walls. I frown in confusion, trying to piece together what the purpose of this room is and failing.

“It’s freezing in here, why…?”

“Sorry,” he says. “It’s busy tonight and this is the only open room right now.”

“You don’t have an office or something?” I ask.

The corner of his mouth twitches up a fraction. “It’s being remodeled.”

I narrow my eyes at him before wandering slowly through the room, trying to compose myself. I find a vent blowing warm air near the large window that takes up an entire wall of the room. I can see a few couples lounging in booths on the other side. They aren’t paying us any particular attention, but I’m sure with the vibrant blue light in here, they could see us clearly enough, except for what little privacy the fog might give.

“I feel like an animal inside a zoo here,” I say.

“Or a piece of art on display,” he suggests. “Something beautiful to be admired and desired, to be lusted after. He folds his arms and regards me. I feel naked beneath those eyes, as if he’s stripping me not just of my clothes but my emotional armor, seeing down to the very core of my being. His gaze settles on my black eye. A change flickers across his face. My brother has always been protective of me, but the look on Jayce’s face seems like he’s ready to kill someone. “Who did this?”

He moves closer, putting his fingertips to my cheek in such a delicate, concerned way I find myself taken off guard.

“That’s what I was actually here to talk to you about,” I say. “He’s a member of the club. Cade Sims. I wanted to see if you would--”

“He’s done.” His words cut through mine like a knife, silencing any doubt or fear I might have that Jayce wouldn’t do anything about Cade. “He’ll never step foot in my club again.” He rubs his thumb across my lips, sending chills down my neck and making my breath catch. “He’ll never touch you again.”

“I should go,” I say quickly. I try to push away, but he doesn’t budge.

“Why are you always trying to fly away, little bird?” he asks with a wicked grin.

I point to the bruise and give him a dry, unamused look. “Take a wild guess.”

“Let me show you,” he says softly, still not letting me move. “You’re hard on the inside. I can see it.” His palm moves to my chest where he presses his fingertips, eyes never leaving mine. “You’ve been hurt. Scarred. But I can help you heal.”

“You don’t even know me,” I snap with more anger than I intend.

“Do you want it to stay that way? I’ll know if you’re lying,” he adds.

I believe him. I don’t know why or how. But it really does feel like he’s looking straight through me--as if I’m laid bare before him. No secrets.

“I don’t know,” I say. It’s the truth, or as close to the truth as I can manage to get, even in my own head.

“You’re scared.” There’s something soothing in his voice. It’s deep. Rich. And the vibrations settle into me like massaging fingers, easing some of the tension from my muscles. “You’re afraid to trust again.” His hands are moving now, exploring me.

I’m conscious of how we’re standing in front of a window where dozens of people can watch us, but somehow I can’t move that realization from the back of my mind to the front. Jayce is taking up all the space.

“Let me show you how a real man treats a woman. Let me show you what it feels like to be coveted. To be claimed. To be owned.”

His words intoxicate me. He reaches into the very essence of me, pulling out my fears and holding them up to the light, eradicating them with the heat of his breath alone. Every syllable erodes my conviction to fight, my will to struggle.

“This is crazy,” I breathe.

“Crazy would be letting you go,” he says, lips brushing my neck. “I knew I needed to taste you when I saw you. I want to know what it feels like to call you mine. To dominate you.”

“Take me,” I say, shocked by how quickly he was able to batter down my defenses, but maybe I shouldn’t be. My heart feels like a gaping wound after yesterday, and Jayce is offering me a distraction, maybe even a soothing balm to take away some of the pain. “Just this once. Just for tonight. Take me away from it all.”

His body is against mine, lips crashing against my mouth. His weight carries me backwards until I bump against the window, pressed tightly against it and pinned by him. My existence blurs into a tangle of warm lips, strong hands, and the hard pressure of his erection against my stomach. For a few blissful moments, I let go. I stop thinking about Cade. I don’t think about all the others before him. I forget my dad and his abuse. It all fades until there’s only Jayce and his touch, only the places where our bodies collide.

“Jayce,” I say, “People will see us.”

“Let them see. I’ll show them how you belong to me. How sweet your submission is and how jealous they should be that it’s mine.”

I close my eyes, breathing out the tension and last threads of resistance I feel. I want it. It may only be temporary, and it may not mean anything to him beyond a meaningless hookup, but I want what he’s promising, even if it’s just a taste.

“Take your dress off for me, princess. Nice and slow.”

I bite my lip, opening my eyes slowly until I can see him standing there in the blue light and surrounded by the smoke lifting lazily up and swirling around his broad form. Desire is written on every inch of his face, and I can’t help drinking it in. He wants me. He wants to see me naked and he wants to take me. It’s only when I reach down to the hem of my dress and feel the slight tinge of pain from the other places Cade hit me that my self-consciousness takes over. I remember the bruises. I remember what it looked like when I stripped down before my shower this morning and looked in the mirror. No permanent damage. No cuts. No broken bones. Just purple reminders of what a stupid little girl I was for trusting Cade, for thinking I could let him be my dom.

My hands fall to my side and a shiver runs through me, forcing up a well of emotion that makes my eyes prick with the threat of tears. I expect Jayce to be angry, to scold me or yell at me for not obeying, but instead he moves slowly toward me as if I’m a scared animal that might scurry away at any sudden movement.

He tilts my chin up until I have no choice but to look into his eyes. His gaze devours me again and I feel that same sense of being stripped bare again.

I know what the other men I’ve been with would do. They would get defensive at the sight of my bruises and demand to see what was done to me. They’d rage and make a show of protective violence, trying to prove how different they were, all while still planning to fuck me and use me just the same.

I wait for the inevitable, for him to ask to see what I’m hiding and then to somehow make this about him until I feel like I’m the one who messed up.

But he doesn’t speak. He carefully puts his arms around me, then kneels slightly to sweep my legs out from under me and carry me to the table in the center of the room. He sets me down like I’m the most fragile piece of glass.

Any words I could say are trapped uselessly in my throat. I can only watch this powerful man move deliberately to the big window, where he presses a button that brings down a thick black curtain covering the entire window.

He lifts the hem of my dress until it’s just below the line of my panties, where he sees the first bruise. His brow furrows with anger, but he still says nothing. He reaches beneath the table and opens a drawer. When he stands back up, he’s holding a small bottle, which he clicks open and squeezes into his palm. He massages the ointment into my leg. I gasp at the first touch because it’s warmer than I expected, and the heat seems to seep beneath my skin until it’s inside the muscle itself, but it’s soothing, though I think right now I wouldn’t care if he was rubbing mud on my legs with those big, strong hands.

“Lift up, princess,” he says. Making his intentions clear. There’s a commanding tone to his voice, but it’s gentle.

I press my feet down and arch my back, lifting my butt from the table, which allows him to pull my dress up and off, exposing me to his gaze and allowing him to see the biggest bruise from where Cade kicked me when I fought back. I can’t meet Jayce’s eyes. I look away, bringing a hand up to shield my eyes. The shame flows through me too strongly to see his reaction, to watch as he realizes what a weak woman I am to let something like this happen.

He takes my wrist and pulls my hand down by my side again, moving it away from my face. With his other hand, he tilts my face toward him again, locking eyes with me. “This wasn’t your fault. None of this was ever your fault.”

Chills spread through my body like ripples in a pond until they settle behind my eyes, where tears well up. My lips twitch uncontrollably as the emotion tries to flow out of me. It wasn’t my fault. It’s such a simple idea, so obvious, but I needed to hear it, God I needed to hear it.

“I always pick the worst guys,” I say in a voice thick with emotion.

He brushes away a tear with his thumb, grinning down at me like he’s known me his whole life. “Not always.”

I force a little smile. “Somehow I don’t think this counts. Whatever this is.”

“This?” he asks, pouring more lotion into his hand and rubbing it into the bruise on my side. “This is the first time I’ve ever found a woman I would consider taking as a submissive.”

“You can’t be serious?” I ask. “You own a BDSM club… you must’ve had dozens of submissives before.”

“Never,” he says. His hands work a slow, soothing rhythm at my side, never pressing too hard, as if he’s perfectly in tune with my body and my needs. “I’m a very particular man, and I have very particular tastes. I guess the right little bird never came fluttering into my window with a broken wing before. Until tonight.”

I look up at him, trying to decide if he’s telling me the truth or if he’s just trying to string me along with some kind of pickup line. “Well, I hate to disappoint you,” I say sourly. “But I apparently have terrible taste in men. And I’m starting to like you. So chances are you’re an asshole.”

He chuckles. “Don’t you see the difference? You didn’t choose me, princess. I chose you.”

I bite back a smile and give him a side-eyed glance. “Are you always this smooth?”

“I’ll always be exactly what you need,” he says. “Gentle. Strong. Rough. Whatever you need.”

“Always?” I ask. “Until you’ve had your fun with me tonight and we go our separate ways, you mean?” I hate that I’m unable to just enjoy this, to let this be an experience and leave my baggage at the door, but every time I think I can forget, it comes washing back into the present, poisoning my thoughts.

“And if tonight doesn’t satisfy my needs with you?” he asks. “What do you think will happen then?”

I half-smile. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m not trying to say anything,” he says, smoothly unhooking my bra and pulling it away with a cocky smirk.

I itch to cover myself, but something in his movements and his eyes tells me I’m not supposed to. So I hold my hands still against my self-conscious impulse, letting my breasts feel the cold, open air until my nipples harden into points.

He takes his time admiring my breasts, not touching them, just looking with those breathtaking eyes of his.

“What I am saying is that I don’t see why I would ever let you go. You’re too special. The perfect catch.”

A hint of mischief trickles through me at his words, like we’re playing some kind of complex game of words that is a precursor to foreplay--or maybe it is the foreplay. “Who says you caught me?” I ask.

He’s so quick I can’t even react before he’s fastening one of the restraints on the table around my wrist.

“Hey!” I say in surprise, reaching for the restraint, but he takes my other hand, pinning it while he straps me down.

“Sorry,” he says with no hint of remorse in his tone. “I don’t want you to get skittish and fly away on me.”

“Am I your prisoner now?” I ask. The question makes heat flow between my legs in the dirtiest way imaginable. I would normally think the idea of being held captive, against my will, terrifying or wrong, but I don’t. In such a short time I already find myself wanting to trust Jayce, so much that to do anything else is like swimming against the current. Everything about him makes trusting him feel right, like he’s the man I’ve been trying and failing to find.

“I guess that’s a matter of interpretation,” he says, reaching for his belt and pulling it free in a smooth motion.

“Interpretation of what?” I ask, unable to take my eyes from the bulge in his pants as he strips his jacket and reaches for the top buttons of his shirt.

“Of what it means to be a prisoner, because no, I don’t plan to let you leave. But you are going to love every moment of your captivity with me.” His expression changes just slightly and he leans down until his face is close to mine. “Whoever did this to you,” he says, softly touching the skin above the bruise at my side. “They were a fucking animal. They don’t deserve to have a submissive or call themselves a dom. I’m going to show you a real experience--the kind you deserve. So let me make this absolutely clear, princess. Only two words have power from this moment onward. Say ‘yellow,’ and I’ll know you’re nearing your limits. Say ‘red,’ and everything stops. No questions. No guilt. I need to know that you understand me.”

“I understand,” I whisper. My heart is thudding against my ribcage and my throat feels so tight I can barely breathe. Being in here with Jayce feels as if I’m walking along when the ground suddenly opens up beneath me and swallows me into a rush of pure darkness, where I’m falling away from the world so fast I can’t stop--but right now I’m not sure I want it to stop.

He waits for a time, eyes roaming my body like he doesn’t have the slightest bit of shame over enjoying the sight of me, and wow, I’ve never felt as sexy as I do under his gaze, bruises, imperfections, and all. He looks at me like I’m a goddess laid out on display for him, like there couldn’t be a more perfectly crafted body in all of the world and he’s just barely containing his hunger to take me.

When he finally moves, it’s to begin stripping his tie and undoing his shirt methodically. When he pulls the fabric away, I suck in air at the sight of him. Every muscle is carved into him, like there’s not an ounce of fat on his body. He’s made entirely of hard lines and smooth, tan skin. He tosses his shirt to the floor and moves to his pants next. His every movement seems calculated, even the way his eyes flick up to meet mine teasingly just before he reveals even more of his exquisite body. He flicks open the button of his pants and lets them fall until he’s standing before me in nothing but his tight-fitting boxer briefs, which are doing a poor job of hiding the size of his huge cock.

My eyes trace its length with more than a little trepidation. I’ve never had something that big inside me, and I’m not sure it’ll fit, but the thought of trying already has me wet and throbbing.

He hooks a thumb tauntingly in his waistband and waits with a knowing look on his face. He yanks them down in one motion, and his cock springs free. I let my eyes wander the entire package, from his length, to the sharp “V” shaped cuts of his abs, all the way up every inch of hard muscle until I find his face and gray eyes. I expect him to climb on top of me, but instead, he strides back toward the window where he pressed the button to lower the blinds and lets his finger hover there. He turns his head to me, waiting. I realize he is giving me a chance to safe word him, and when a moment turns into several, the faintest hint of a grin touches his lips.

He presses the button, retracting the curtains again.

There are at least six couples and one large group of five or so people standing and sitting just outside the glass. My heart immediately pounds harder, blood rushing to my cheeks. But the embarrassment doesn’t come without a white-hot thrill that feels like molten lava just beneath my skin, setting me on fire with both need and desire.

All my worries, doubts, and fears from my past are dulled until they don’t seem as important, and for the first time in a long time, I feel free. I feel like myself, just stripped of all the extra baggage and weight I carry around with me every day.

Jayce stops at a small box spewing smoke before he comes back. He plucks out a handful of ice cubes and brings them to a small rollaway table beside the table where I’m strapped in tight. He sets the ice down and brushes his hands off before reaching for the restraints near my ankles. He ties them tight and gives a good hard tug until they are so snug I can barely wiggle my legs. For the first time, I feel truly trapped. Before, I could at least entertain the idea that with some creative work, I could use my toes to free my hands, but now? I’m at his mercy.

My fate lies in my trust of him--my trust that he won’t give me a reason to want to escape, and that he’ll listen when I used the safe words. Unlike Cade…

“Jayce” I say.

“No,” he says. “You will call me Sir until told otherwise, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

His eyebrow raises in a mixture of amusement and scorn. “Naughty little princess.”

“Sir,” I say quickly.

“Too late.” His lips curl into a smirk. “It’s time I teach you how pain and pleasure are really just two sides of the same coin.”

He picks up an ice-cube between his thumb and forefinger. I watch the way his warmth immediately makes the ice start to melt down his arm and how the water traces a path across his skin, where it drips from his elbow into the blue mist curling up from the floor.

I’m reminded that we have an audience when I notice movement on the other side of the glass--another couple realizing a show has begun and deciding to stop to watch. I can’t say why being watched sends such a jolt of excitement and dirty pleasure through me, but I feel more more sexually alive than I ever have in my life right now. I feel objectified and owned, but with none of the negative context I’ve come to expect those words to carry. It feels tender and scorching hot at the same time. Everything I ever imagined being a submissive could be made real.

He brings the ice cube just above my erect nipple, waiting with patience as a drop of cold water forms and drips down to my areola. I flinch, momentarily shocked by the cold water but my skin quickly warms it. I think he’s going to put the ice to my skin, but he seems to be in no rush. He’s watching my face instead, studying me.

“Pain is often misinterpreted,” he says. “Some do enjoy true agony, but for most, pain is only a tool. Like any tool, it can have horrible results when used wrong.” His eyes trail down to the bruise at my side, sending a fresh wave of shame through me.

He notices, and turns my cheek when I try to look away so I’m still facing him eye-to-eye. “I won’t ever pretend to know how that must have hurt, princess. Never. I won’t pretend I understand the physical or emotional pain of being betrayed by someone you trust. But I will promise you this. I will never take your trust for granted. I will cherish it. I’ll treat it like the precious gift it is, and a day will never pass that you don’t thank God you gave it to me. I swear it.”

“And what if I don’t trust you enough to believe that?” I ask.

“Sir,” he growls. “Don’t forget where you are.”

“Sir,” I add, though not without a defiant bite to my voice.

“Then it’s up to me to change your mind, kiss by kiss and inch by inch.” He pops the ice cube in his mouth and leans down to kiss me.

It’s like no kiss I’ve ever experienced--like being embraced by some ice king on a distant planet or taken to a cold, dark cave by a barbarian who just came in from a blizzard. It’s all my childhood fantasies wrapped into a single, startling sensation. His tongue flicks across my lips, already cold and biting from the cube of ice, and his lips leave chilly memories of his touch everywhere they press against me. The movement of our tongues sends the ice cube from his mouth to mine, where it chills my mouth until the numbness makes the comparative warmth of his mouth a new shock all over again. When the cube eventually melts down between the passion of our mouths, he pulls back, dragging his hand along my jawline as he does.

“Pain doesn’t have to be unpleasant. Served up with pleasure, it can have the same effect without any of the discomfort. Or,” he says, picking up a another cube and pressing it gently against my nipple. “It can be uncomfortable.”

I squirm against the cold after only a few seconds. The mild discomfort starts to transition to a dull, biting kind of pain. I take a deep breath, which only pushes my breast harder against the cube and drives the spear of cold farther into me. Just when I’m about to ask him for mercy, he pulls the ice away and sinks his head down to the spot, where his warm lips feel like fire after the cold of the ice.

I gasp, arching my back and bucking against my restraints. He runs his hot tongue along the edge of my nipple and then sucks the hardened nub into his mouth before lifting his head to smirk at me. “But the discomfort only makes the relief that much sweeter. Doesn’t it, princess?”

“Yes,” I say breathlessly. “Sir,” I add.

He chuckles. “That’s good. You’re learning.” He caresses my cheek, holding his hand there as he leans down to kiss me on the lips just as tenderly. The way he’s able to shift from fiery passion to smoldering tenderness is a shock to my system--and not a bad one. It might be easy to get used to his tender touches or even his reckless, passionate touch, but not when I don’t know what to expect. It keeps my nerves alive and ready for everything as if they are truly drinking in the world for the first time.

He picks up a fresh ice cube and takes it between his front teeth. I think he’s going to kiss me again, but he moves by my feet and starts to--

Oh God.

He climbs on the table and grips my panties in both hands, yanking so the fabric splits down the middle and splays open, lying uselessly beneath me and dangling over the edges of the chair. He lowers his head dragging the ice cube along my inner thigh in a way that makes me jump, but only as much as I can while pinned down.

I’ve never been as wet as I am now, never felt more blinding need to be filled and fucked. He’s not going to give me the relief I want, yet. I don’t know how I know, except that he seems so supernaturally in tune with my body and my needs that I think he must know exactly how bad I want him inside me right now--how bad I want to cum for him. And I think he’s enjoying dragging it out.

He gently sets the ice down just above my clit where it starts to melt against the warmth of my skin, cold rivulets of water trickle down the creases of my inner thighs.

“Pain isn’t just about enhancing pleasure,” he says.

I squirm, but I’m careful not to move so much that the ice falls from me. Though he didn’t say so, I suspect Jayce won’t be pleased if I let the ice fall. So even as the cold starts to feel more like a numb, burning sensation, I stay still, looking into his eyes--using them as an anchor to push past the discomfort.

“It’s also about establishing lines of trust. Learn to trust that I know your limits better than you do, and only then can you truly let go. Only then can you truly submit.”

I close my eyes, biting my lip against the mounting discomfort. He brings his mouth down over the ice, giving me just the barest tease of warmth before he draws a trail from my mound to my clit with the tip of his tongue. He attacks my pussy with his mouth like he’s been dying to taste me for his entire life. I struggle to spread my thighs more for him, but can only do so much with the restraints. I don’t even notice the people watching us anymore beyond the vague awareness in the back of my mind that we’re putting on a show and the dirty undertone that it adds to situation.

His touch is fire one second and ice the next, with the heat of his tongue lapping at me only to be replaced by the icy sting of the cube. When the first ice cube melts down to nothing, he lifts his head and I can see the glimmer of my juices on his mouth. The sight of it is so hot I wouldn’t be able to stop from tackling him to the ground and taking that cock of his myself if I wasn’t tied down.

He picks up another ice cube and gives me a look that makes me nervous, like he’s excited about something dirty he’s going to do, and if what he has already done wasn’t dirty and exciting enough for him, I can only begin to imagine what he’s planning.