Scorching Desire by Mari Carr Page A

too late that the mask would hide his expression. Tasha nodded once as if he’d given her some signal and then said, “Yes, Master,” and added a second hundred dollar bill. She passed them to the bartender.
    “Thank you, sir.” He nodded once to Damon.
    Taking one of the drinks, he kept his other hand on Tasha. He liked touching her, and some primal part of him liked this feeling of ownership over her. He knew it wasn’t real, but still, it was fun playing the silent man who communicated only through his lovely servant girl.
    They found Marco, who raised his brow when he saw how Damon was holding Tasha. Damon took a seat as Tasha handed Marco his glass.
    “I feel like a Bond villain,” Damon muttered.
    Marco snorted out a laugh, and Tasha’s lips twitched. It was good to see her smile. Damon was rapidly coming to understand Marco’s attitude towards the blonde.
    “You aren’t taking this very seriously.” She shifted the table back, clearing floor space between their chairs.
    “I’m sorry,” Damon said, feeling guilty. “I assure you we haven’t forgotten the gravity of the situation.”
    Tasha bit her lip and met his gaze. “Don’t stop. It’s…nice.” Her brows drew together in confusion, as if she hadn’t understood what she was saying.
    Before he could say anything else Tasha dropped to her knees between their chairs. She spread her hands on her thighs and bowed her head.
    Holding his glass in front of his mouth so no one could read his lips—and feeling like a secret agent as he did it—Damon asked, “What do we do now?”
    “Wait and watch,” Tasha breathed.
    Damon raised his glass.
    Marco did the same. “To watching.”
    Damon rolled his eyes but then went back to scanning the club, hoping that they’d find the girl who took the video and this would all end tonight.
    *****
    Tasha’s knees hurt. The bruises from earlier were making themselves known, but she couldn’t exactly get up and take a seat in a chair. Tasha had gone through submissive training at a club in Istanbul when she was seventeen, studied with a professional dominatrix, a famous porn star and a sex therapist. She’d been sold at auction in Beruit, played the little girl to a man who wanted to be called Daddy, and been the Mistress of a whorehouse in Albania. She knew how to make a man lick her shoes clean and how to take a whipping.
    Compared to those places, this club was Disneyland. It was open to the public and had no house rules for submissives, no formal gameplay. There were people of all shapes and sizes, and she saw at least seven distinct sub-kinks represented. Still, she didn’t get up, didn’t rise from her submissive position. Right now, she didn’t want to blend in, she wanted to stand out, to be the submissive everyone was talking about.
    The longer they sat there the closer the crowd inched in. A quick look out of the corner of her eye explained why no one had actually come to talk to them. Damon looked like he would break the arm of anyone who dared disturb him. The vest had fallen open, and the key to her collar was clearly visible against his chest. He’d wrapped the chain leash around his fist, as if he were preparing for a fight.
    Marco was more relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, but he radiated control. They were sitting in shadow, and the masks hid most of their faces. Tasha wouldn’t be surprised if people thought they were the owners of the club, or in some other way figures of authority.
    After an hour and a half, Tasha’s patience wore out. The club closed at two, and it was nearly one now. She didn’t want to come back tomorrow—it was unlikely she was a step ahead of whomever was pulling the strings of this situation, but the faster she moved, the more likely she was to catch up with them before they could cover their tracks.
    Kneeling up, she faced Damon and winked. His eyes were burnt gold in the shadows of the mask.
    “Yes, Master,” she said, just loud enough to be heard.