the scent of his cologne mixed with that of the leather he wore. How she ached for him. To be without him would be the only true hell.
He ducked his head and kissed her, long and hard and wet, his tongue thrusting in and out of her mouth. Her arms tightened around him. She pressed against his hard body, aching to be filled by him.
He drew back and the strobes lit up his face. His eyes searched hers, then he leaned in to speak close to her ear. "I want to show you off, are you willing?"
She nodded.
Quickly, he headed for the central podium.
Being led through the crowd by him in this highly charged, sexualized atmosphere was breathtakingly arousing to Naomi. As they passed, people looked at them, assessing their relationship, their fetish. She was proud to be seen as his pet, and the lead created a safe zone for her. It implied she was his and his alone.
When they reached the podium, Lucas stepped up the first of the steps and spoke with the Dungeon Master. He nodded, and then returned his attentions to the current occupants of the podium.
Naomi saw people looking at them with admiration and curiosity. It made her shiver with anticipation. As the lights changed, their faces became indistinct in the decadent arena of club lighting and dry ice, but she could tell they were eager to discover what Lucas would do with his pet.
While they waited, Lucas drew the baton from his inner pocket.
He stared at her, tapped it on his palm then moved and placed at the base of her zippered mini skirt, on her thigh. He drew a line across her bare thigh, then pressed it there. There was a question in his eyes.
Again she wrapped her arms around his neck and brushed herself up against him.
He groaned. "Naomi!"
"I want it all," she whispered.
It was the last thing she remembered doing. From that moment on, everything happened to her. It was out of her control, and it was narcotic in its intensity.
The stage was cleared. The guy in the blacksmith's outfit swept his arm widely, inviting them up. Lucas gave her the full length of the lead and stepped up ahead of her. On shaky legs, she followed him. As they took the stage, the strobes hit them. Glancing about, she saw the lights exposed stark profiles of them both on the far wall. It was an image that burned itself into her memory – Lucas, tall and powerful, awaiting her at the top of the steps, the lead between them both tethering them together.
When she reached the stage she lost her nerve. Instinctively, she sat on the edge of the stage and clung to his muscled thigh through his leather pants.
Lucas shifted. He put his hand on her head and stroked her, soothingly.
Reflex poured through her.
Lucas shifted again. She looked up at him, mesmerized by the way he looked in the strobes. He took off his jacket, threw it down on the stage floor and encouraged her to kneel on it. His chest expanded as he took the jacket off, his biceps flexing. His hair fell forward and he tossed it back with a jerk of his head. He didn't look like a high powered executive now. He looked altogether more dangerous.
He pointed at the jacket and she crawled forward until her knees were on the soft leather. As she took up the position, she discovered how hard the stage was under her hands and keens. His jacket was both a gentlemanly gesture – another old fashioned quirk – and a safe haven.
Her heart raced. She could feel the weight of expectation around them, the multiple pairs of eyes on her as she moved to her master's command. The situation compelled her to act appropriately, moving against Lucas's lower legs while he stood alongside her, the rhythm of the music was undulating and infectious, making her move in time, rocking her hips.
She felt touch of the baton against the back of her neck. Her heart stalled, then beat on frantically. He moved the tip of it along her spine, following the line of her zippers, first on the back of her fitted top and then down the back of the skirt. The tip of
He ducked his head and kissed her, long and hard and wet, his tongue thrusting in and out of her mouth. Her arms tightened around him. She pressed against his hard body, aching to be filled by him.
He drew back and the strobes lit up his face. His eyes searched hers, then he leaned in to speak close to her ear. "I want to show you off, are you willing?"
She nodded.
Quickly, he headed for the central podium.
Being led through the crowd by him in this highly charged, sexualized atmosphere was breathtakingly arousing to Naomi. As they passed, people looked at them, assessing their relationship, their fetish. She was proud to be seen as his pet, and the lead created a safe zone for her. It implied she was his and his alone.
When they reached the podium, Lucas stepped up the first of the steps and spoke with the Dungeon Master. He nodded, and then returned his attentions to the current occupants of the podium.
Naomi saw people looking at them with admiration and curiosity. It made her shiver with anticipation. As the lights changed, their faces became indistinct in the decadent arena of club lighting and dry ice, but she could tell they were eager to discover what Lucas would do with his pet.
While they waited, Lucas drew the baton from his inner pocket.
He stared at her, tapped it on his palm then moved and placed at the base of her zippered mini skirt, on her thigh. He drew a line across her bare thigh, then pressed it there. There was a question in his eyes.
Again she wrapped her arms around his neck and brushed herself up against him.
He groaned. "Naomi!"
"I want it all," she whispered.
It was the last thing she remembered doing. From that moment on, everything happened to her. It was out of her control, and it was narcotic in its intensity.
The stage was cleared. The guy in the blacksmith's outfit swept his arm widely, inviting them up. Lucas gave her the full length of the lead and stepped up ahead of her. On shaky legs, she followed him. As they took the stage, the strobes hit them. Glancing about, she saw the lights exposed stark profiles of them both on the far wall. It was an image that burned itself into her memory – Lucas, tall and powerful, awaiting her at the top of the steps, the lead between them both tethering them together.
When she reached the stage she lost her nerve. Instinctively, she sat on the edge of the stage and clung to his muscled thigh through his leather pants.
Lucas shifted. He put his hand on her head and stroked her, soothingly.
Reflex poured through her.
Lucas shifted again. She looked up at him, mesmerized by the way he looked in the strobes. He took off his jacket, threw it down on the stage floor and encouraged her to kneel on it. His chest expanded as he took the jacket off, his biceps flexing. His hair fell forward and he tossed it back with a jerk of his head. He didn't look like a high powered executive now. He looked altogether more dangerous.
He pointed at the jacket and she crawled forward until her knees were on the soft leather. As she took up the position, she discovered how hard the stage was under her hands and keens. His jacket was both a gentlemanly gesture – another old fashioned quirk – and a safe haven.
Her heart raced. She could feel the weight of expectation around them, the multiple pairs of eyes on her as she moved to her master's command. The situation compelled her to act appropriately, moving against Lucas's lower legs while he stood alongside her, the rhythm of the music was undulating and infectious, making her move in time, rocking her hips.
She felt touch of the baton against the back of her neck. Her heart stalled, then beat on frantically. He moved the tip of it along her spine, following the line of her zippers, first on the back of her fitted top and then down the back of the skirt. The tip of
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