the side of Wanda’s desk. Then he sits back in it, props his ankle on a knee, and waits for me to strip.
I bite the side of my cheek to keep from screaming curses at him. Then I try to remain calm as his eyes feast on me while I unbutton my blouse, though I can’t rid my fingers of a slight shake.
An artificial breeze from the air exchange system skims over my skin, raising tiny bumps. My instinct is to cross my arms over my breasts, which spill over the top of my lacy bra cups, but from what I know of the BDSM lifestyle I don’t think an experienced sub would do that. So I resist the temptation to cover up and avoid his scrutiny. To make matters worse, Wanda regards me like I’m an oil painting hanging in a museum. To say I’m embarrassed is putting it mildly.
“Turn for me,” he commands, twirling one finger.
I bite my bottom lip when I’m not facing them, vowing I’ll get revenge on that smug jerk for this humiliation. One day.
Once I’m facing them again, Damien unfolds his long body from the chair and saunters toward me. His eyes never leave mine as he does so, and my nostrils flare as I fight my temper and to breathe evenly.
He walks around me and his blazer grazes my bare skin, sending shockwaves of sensation through my hyper aware nerves. Primal instinct screams at me to wrap my hands around his corded neck and squeeze, but I fight that wrath. I grit my teeth, waiting for him to touch me, knowing that he will. My treacherous libido carves it, my practical brain dreads it.
His hot breath fans my neck as he leans in and inhales the perfume I wear. He moves closer and his lips almost brush my ear. I can smell his cologne now--a clean scent that reminds me of the sea. I lick my lips and realize my sex is growing damp. My whole damn body is declaring mutiny on me!
When his wide, warm palm touches my wrist, I jump, hoping Wanda doesn’t notice my flinch. His fingers sweep up my arm, and the higher they climb the harder my heart beats.
Then he does the unexpected. He gives my nearly bare ass a sharp smack as he circles me like the predator he is.
I want again to slap his face, maybe grind the spiked heel of my stiletto into the toe of his Gucci, but for my sister I hold back. I keep an image of her face at the forefront of my mind to strength my resolve and lessen my reaction to him.
“Very nice, sweetheart,” he whispers close to my other ear before he stops in front of me once more. “I can’t wait to see you naked.”
I bite my tongue hard and look away from his chiseled face.
Asshole!
“Mistress O, I think you’ll make the perfect sub.” He brushes some red curls from my shoulder and I try not to shiver.
“I’m glad I please you,” I say, using the same tone I use on difficult professors at school.
“Wonderful,” Wanda says, opening a drawer in her desk to remove two keycards. “After you’ve signed the papers, I’ll have Emile show you to your room.”
Our room, I think, and it hits me. Of course, to keep up our ruse, we’ll have to share a room. Just great. I’ll be trapped in a lavish bedroom in a sex resort with Damien.
Emile arrives in his tight shorts and little else. He wears a bow tie that reminds me of male strippers I once went to see with Sasha. He gives us both a knowing grin before he turns and leads us from the room.
“I’m not going out there like this,” I whisper to Damien, holding him back when the doors open.
“Darling, you’re supposed to be my submissive,” he drawls in my ear. “Doms often parade their scantily clad playmates through a Surrender resort. Hell, they’re usually naked. You’re getting off lucky. And you want to act the part so we can get your sister back, right?”
I grit my teeth. “Yes.”
“Then walk.” To add further insult, he slaps my ass again as I inch forward.
Inside I’m fuming, and I want to whirl on him and spew curses, but instead I focus on Emile’s muscled, oiled back and follow him and Damien out of the
I bite the side of my cheek to keep from screaming curses at him. Then I try to remain calm as his eyes feast on me while I unbutton my blouse, though I can’t rid my fingers of a slight shake.
An artificial breeze from the air exchange system skims over my skin, raising tiny bumps. My instinct is to cross my arms over my breasts, which spill over the top of my lacy bra cups, but from what I know of the BDSM lifestyle I don’t think an experienced sub would do that. So I resist the temptation to cover up and avoid his scrutiny. To make matters worse, Wanda regards me like I’m an oil painting hanging in a museum. To say I’m embarrassed is putting it mildly.
“Turn for me,” he commands, twirling one finger.
I bite my bottom lip when I’m not facing them, vowing I’ll get revenge on that smug jerk for this humiliation. One day.
Once I’m facing them again, Damien unfolds his long body from the chair and saunters toward me. His eyes never leave mine as he does so, and my nostrils flare as I fight my temper and to breathe evenly.
He walks around me and his blazer grazes my bare skin, sending shockwaves of sensation through my hyper aware nerves. Primal instinct screams at me to wrap my hands around his corded neck and squeeze, but I fight that wrath. I grit my teeth, waiting for him to touch me, knowing that he will. My treacherous libido carves it, my practical brain dreads it.
His hot breath fans my neck as he leans in and inhales the perfume I wear. He moves closer and his lips almost brush my ear. I can smell his cologne now--a clean scent that reminds me of the sea. I lick my lips and realize my sex is growing damp. My whole damn body is declaring mutiny on me!
When his wide, warm palm touches my wrist, I jump, hoping Wanda doesn’t notice my flinch. His fingers sweep up my arm, and the higher they climb the harder my heart beats.
Then he does the unexpected. He gives my nearly bare ass a sharp smack as he circles me like the predator he is.
I want again to slap his face, maybe grind the spiked heel of my stiletto into the toe of his Gucci, but for my sister I hold back. I keep an image of her face at the forefront of my mind to strength my resolve and lessen my reaction to him.
“Very nice, sweetheart,” he whispers close to my other ear before he stops in front of me once more. “I can’t wait to see you naked.”
I bite my tongue hard and look away from his chiseled face.
Asshole!
“Mistress O, I think you’ll make the perfect sub.” He brushes some red curls from my shoulder and I try not to shiver.
“I’m glad I please you,” I say, using the same tone I use on difficult professors at school.
“Wonderful,” Wanda says, opening a drawer in her desk to remove two keycards. “After you’ve signed the papers, I’ll have Emile show you to your room.”
Our room, I think, and it hits me. Of course, to keep up our ruse, we’ll have to share a room. Just great. I’ll be trapped in a lavish bedroom in a sex resort with Damien.
Emile arrives in his tight shorts and little else. He wears a bow tie that reminds me of male strippers I once went to see with Sasha. He gives us both a knowing grin before he turns and leads us from the room.
“I’m not going out there like this,” I whisper to Damien, holding him back when the doors open.
“Darling, you’re supposed to be my submissive,” he drawls in my ear. “Doms often parade their scantily clad playmates through a Surrender resort. Hell, they’re usually naked. You’re getting off lucky. And you want to act the part so we can get your sister back, right?”
I grit my teeth. “Yes.”
“Then walk.” To add further insult, he slaps my ass again as I inch forward.
Inside I’m fuming, and I want to whirl on him and spew curses, but instead I focus on Emile’s muscled, oiled back and follow him and Damien out of the
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