Delicious Pain - a BDSM Collection by Portia Da Costa Page B

remind me vaguely of an actor I rather lusted after on the television, but he didn't seem to be in fancy dress like the rest of us. Unless his shirt, jeans and jacket in unadorned black stood for something of which I wasn't yet aware.
    "Hello, who are you supposed to be?" I enquired, with all the boldness of two sizeable gins inside me as I zeroed in on him across the crowded room.
    "I'm just myself, I'm afraid," he replied, his voice amused and quite distinct despite all the hubbub, "Sebastian Holmwood. At your service." He paused, cocked his head a little on one side, and gave me an appraising look, "Pleased to meet you Miss Peep," he said, holding out a narrow elegant hand towards me. "Would you like me to help you round up your lambs?"
    I felt embarrassed. Not only by my Victorian nursery rhyme costume, but because I didn't have a free hand with which to shake his. I had a glass clutched in one, and my so called "crook" in the other; a sort of cut-down affair made of yellowish rattan with a blue bow tied round the curly end. This object had come with the costume, but looked more like a school mistress's cane to me than anything, and certainly nothing like a shepherding implement.
    Sebastian Holmwood looked at me expectantly, then quirked one fine dark eyebrow. Shaking his head slightly, he first relieved me of the glass, and put it aside, then drew the crook from between my suddenly sweating fingers.
    To my surprise, he didn't abandon it straight away, as he had done the glass, but ran a forefinger slowly along the length of it. There was an odd expression on his face as he handled the long, yellow stick, something I couldn't define. It sent a delicious yet icy shiver down my spinal column. The look in his eyes was far away, almost dreamy. Feeling uneasy, I held out my empty hand.
    "Megan Chambers. How do you do?" I said.
    As if loath to tear his attention away from the crook, Sebastian offered his right hand, his left still curved around the rattan.
    "I do well, Megan," he said, with an oblique playful smile, "And I soon hope to be doing much better." He glanced down at the crook, balanced across his fingers, and then passed it back to me with a hint of reluctance.
    Cheeky sod!
    The fact that I'd been so obvious stung me. He knew I fancied him and he seemed to find that highly entertaining. And what was all that business with the crook too? He was still looking at it as I hung it from my sash and reached for my drink.
    "Nice party," I murmured, resolving to invest only a few further moments of small talk, and then move on to someone a tad less disturbing if not quite as attractive.
    But it didn't happen that way.
    In spite of our prickly beginning, conversation flourished and I soon found myself warming to Sebastian. His manner was wry and charming, with a quick effortless wit, and before long attractive became downright enthralling. Our chat started with jobs, mine as an admin clerk for a retail chain and his as a software development consultant. Then, we moved on to TV, books and films, and effortlessly progressed through hopes, fears and phobias, and right on to life, the universe and everything. The more we talked, the easier it was, and we both agreed that we were like fishes out of water in a frivolous, booze-sodden gathering like this with raucous, seeming atonal music and a lot of people shouting and some falling down. We both admitted we'd only turned up as a favor to our hostess because she'd been nervous about the party being a flop. I soon started to get ridiculously excited at a piece of information Sebastian imparted to me under cover of some ancient disco tune or other. His own flat was only two floors above us, in this large old converted Edwardian building.
    We were trundling along beautifully, with me feeling more relaxed with a man than I had in a long time, even if I was a tiny bit scared of him too, when Sebastian's eyes narrowed at something or somebody he'd obviously just caught sight of right