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Tara
Unlike the rest of the girls at the club, Regan didn’t sell her body. Typically, we rotated between the jobs, since two gorgeous women put us at an advantage over the men when negotiating. She was exclusively a sales assistant, which meant she didn’t pull in the kind of money I did. But she also had a day job as an accountant for some stuffy firm in the heart of downtown, so her apartment was nice.
She was waiting for me at the front door after buzzing me up, a glass of white wine in each hand. She still had on the silk blouse and the short, high-waisted skirt she wore at the club. Her legs looked long and smooth, ending in a pair of strappy heels.
I took the glass she offered and glanced around the large, open living area. “Where’s Silas?”
“Still at his gallery, but he should be here soon. He’s been working on that piece for forever.”
Regan’s boyfriend had gotten his start with tattoos, but he used anything and everything to make his art. Paint. Photographs. Sculpture. He was successful enough to own his own gallery, and nearly every wall of this apartment was decorated by something he’d created. Even Regan and I—we both had his ink embedded in our skin.
“Have you seen it?” I asked. “How’s it coming?”
Her blue eyes were the same color as steel. “I don’t want to talk about his work right now. I want you to finish your wine and get on your knees.”
She’d already started her shift into domme, and as I followed her order, I fell into my role. A calm flooded along my body when I set the glass to my lips and drank. There was freedom in being in someone else’s control. I didn’t have to worry about my safety, my actions, or my enjoyment. That responsibility became hers.
It was almost identical to when I danced someone else’s choreography. I was moving under their direction, performing how they wanted, and the better I did, the more pleasure it brought both of us.
The skirt of my red dress rode up on my thighs when I set my empty glass down on the coffee table and knelt beside it, my knees spread and head tipped down. Regan drew in a deep, audible breath, as if the sight of me in my submissive pose gave her power.
For a long moment, there was no sound. She was either drinking her wine, or simply watching me. I grew damp and achy between my legs.
Her shadow fell on me as she finally sauntered my direction, and I stared at the nail polish on my hands splayed out on the tops of my thighs, waiting with tight lungs for her to either touch me or issue a new command.
“The man tonight. How was he?” Her voice was casual.
“He was fine.”
She stopped moving, and although I could only see her feet, I knew I’d given the wrong answer. “Hands on the ground,” she barked. “Ass up.”
I did as told, and once I was on all fours, she walked behind me and yanked up the back of my dress. Cool air seeped through the thin lace of my panties, but only for a second. It was instantly followed by the sharp slap of her palm.
“Don’t lie to me, Tara. You fucking liked it.”
“Yes,” I breathed.
She spanked me again, but this one didn’t have the same bite as the first one. “He almost made you come, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
She swatted at me a third time and left her hand flat against my backside. “But you didn’t. He left you there, hanging.”
“Yes, Mistress.” My voice was thick with desire.
“You poor thing. Let me help you.” Her fingers slid down, caressing the crotch of my panties, rubbing me gently through the damp lace. “There. Isn’t that better?”
Heat pooled low in my belly, and I rocked my hips, grinding against her featherlight touch that felt good, but only made me want more. I stretched my back and hung my head, my blonde hair spilling onto the carpet below me.
Maybe she had an advantage because she was a woman, but Regan knew her way around my body. She jerked my underwear down and out of her way as she knelt beside me, strumming her fingers over my clit. She used her other hand to push my hair off the back of my neck and leaned over, setting her lips on the newly exposed skin.
Her kisses and soft bites trailed down my spine and up again as she worked two of her fingers inside my greedy body. Yes, I sighed, although I wasn’t sure if it was out loud. I swallowed thickly to regain some composure, because the sensation of her moving in me felt so good. “Thank you, Mistress.”
“Hmm,” she murmured at the side of my neck. “You’re very welcome.”
She pushed and pulled her fingers, moving faster and more deliberately until I was a gasping, quivering mess, balancing right on the edge of orgasm. We hadn’t played together that often, but she must have known, or perhaps I had a very loud signal that I was close. She slapped her fingertips against my throbbing, neglected clit, then abruptly drew away and climbed to her feet.
“The bedroom.” Her voice was taut with need. “Everything you’re wearing stays here. You’ll be ready for him when he gets home.”
I wanted to smile as I pushed up to stand and seized the bottom hem of my dress. I knew the lingerie wouldn’t stay on long.
She didn’t take any of her clothes off. Regan grabbed her unfinished glass of wine from the kitchen table and followed me as I practically galloped down the hall and dove into her big bed.
Her wine was deposited on the nightstand, and steady feet carried her back to the front of the bed where she could loom over me. I was kind of glad she hadn’t changed out of her clothes. She looked so good like this, all prim and proper, just a bit too sexy to fulfill a school teacher fantasy. Although, if I asked her to punish me with a ruler, I was sure she’d be happy to.
Maybe next time.
I lay on my back and bent my legs, drawing my knees up, and bared everything to her. There wasn’t shame here in her apartment, or at the club, and I’d grown so comfortable in who I was these days, I doubted I’d feel it anyway. She gave me an eager smile as she placed her hands on my knees.
Had she wanted this as badly as I did? Did she need it?
I hoped doing a scene tonight would satisfy our cravings, but was it like a mosquito bite? Where once you scratched, it only itched more?
Down her hands went as she smoothed them along the insides of my thighs, and she put a knee on the mattress, lowering in. My heart skipped along faster, thumping a quick rhythm.
Her soft lips pressed to the spot where my leg joined my body, teasing me, and a quiet whine bubbled out of my mouth. I’d done enough waiting. I’d been a good girl, hadn’t I? I deserved to get my reward. A wicked chuckle drifted from her like she was a mind reader, and then she finally closed in.
“Oh, thank you,” I gasped.
Her tongue swirled over my clit, shooting sparks of pleasure down my legs. It felt so impossibly great, but at the same time, my body hesitated as I lurched toward release. I’d been fooled twice now with stalled orgasms, so she was going to have to work for it.
I slipped a hand into her fire-colored locks, holding her mouth to me and not caring if she was going to slap my directing hand away. She almost always straightened her hair with a flat iron, but it looked nice when she left it naturally curly too. I was a little obsessed with her hair, and a lot obsessed with my relationship with her and Silas.
But . . .
Not in an emotional way. They had each other for that, and honestly, I had very little in common with either of them. Regan and I worked at the club and were both bisexual, but that was it. I was a free-spirited dancer, who wore provocative clothes, never fit in, and stopped trying to years ago. She hid behind the buttoned-down accountant lifestyle, unless she was at the club. While Silas was a creative type, our similarities ended there.
I was submissive down to my bones, and she and Silas couldn’t stand the idea of giving up control. So, our “relationship” was about sexual enjoyment and power exchange. And that worked great for both of us.
The relationship was open on my end. I could date if I wanted, but I had better odds of Ryan Reynolds leaving Blake Lively for me—or her doing the same—than finding a man in Chicago who was totally cool dating a girl who fucked strangers for a living.
It was fine. I’d accepted it and could always go cry into my stacks of money if I got lonely. But I never did.
Well, I rarely did.
Her tongue was frantic, whipping at me, and the full, intense sensation of my orgasm barreled at me. I sucked in a breath, writhing beneath her sinful mouth as I clutched at the sheets. Any second now, she’d make good on her promise and deliver a toe-curling orgasm.
“Regan,” a male voice rang out from the bedroom doorway. “What the fuck?”