Sexy as Hell Box Set (40 page)

“Didn’t I make myself clear?” I asked. “You need to leave.”

“Why, because I wouldn’t pick up the bloody pen?”

“Exactly. I gave you a simple order, and you refused to obey. How do you expect me to teach you to be a sub if you can’t do something as easy as that?”

He opened his mouth, spluttering out a torrent of incoherent words.

“Goodbye, Mr Partridge.” I stood, walked to the door, and opened it wide.

“But—”

“Goodbye.”

He rose, implored me with his gaze, but as far as I was concerned he’d fucked up. I didn’t have the energy for him. Didn’t have the energy to teach anyone. As he brushed past me, I caught his scent, and it brought back a slew of memories. Had he worn the same expensive cologne as Victor on purpose?

I followed him down the corridor and into reception. Fifi raised her eyebrows, and I silenced her with a slight shake of my head.

“Good evening, Mr Dresden,” I said to our doll-lover, then realised my error of using our nickname for him. “Oh, I do apologise, I thought you were someone else. Mr Kennett. Welcome. Not long before you see your Vicky.” I smiled warmly, watching Mr Partridge from the corner of my eye. He was at the main door, hand on the knob. “I just need to see this man out,” I said to Dresden, “then perhaps I could keep you company until Vicky’s show begins, hmm?”

Dresden nodded vigorously.

I left him to join Mr Partridge at the door. Once we were both outside, I said, “Now, if you ever come back here to ask me to be your Mistress again, be under no illusion that I’ll have your bollocks on a platter if you so much as breathe in my direction. Have I made myself clear?”

He smirked. He leered. He treated me to a smile complete with bared teeth. “Crystal.”

“Good.” I turned to go back inside.

“Victor said you wouldn’t take me on, you know. Said I’m too much of a man for you. That there was no way in hell even you could tame me. I hate to admit it, but he was right. You’re not a proper Domme. You’re just a fake, raking in the cash under the guise of being in the lifestyle.” He laughed bitterly.

“Oh, he did, did he?” I said, trying not to show my hurt. “Well, we’ll see about that. I’ve changed my mind, Mr Partridge. Get down on your knees and lick my boots.”

“Lick your boots?” Ollie stared at me, his jaw falling open as though his cheek muscles had been cut loose. I suspected, though, that it was the fact I’d changed my mind that had knocked him sideways, rather than my sharp instruction.

A long puff of cold air billowed from his mouth and flooded the space between us. I was tempted to blow it away so I didn’t have to inhale what had circulated his lying body. Victor wouldn’t have said that about me. He knew full well I could take on better men than Ollie; hell, I’d taught him a thing or two and he was worth ten of this loser, who, in some twist of fate, shared his blood.

Ollie stared at me for another few seconds and then, “You must be kidding?”

“Do I look like a woman bursting with humour?” I stuck out my right foot, tapped my booted toe on the grimy pavement, my high heel grinding into the grit. “Or like someone who enjoys repeating herself?”

This was going to be painful. He was clearly a slow learner, not the sharpest knife in the drawer by any means. Not like Victor. I’d only ever had to tell him something once and he knew, understood. Yes, he’d been on the ball, a great student, nothing lacking in his big brain. In fact, Victor had been too good a learner if I was honest with myself.

I
tutted and rolled my eyes. Went to reach for the door handle. I’d had enough. Sure, I could rise to a challenge and certainly I didn’t like my credibility questioned, but seriously, this was beyond a joke.

“No, no, please, wait, I’m doing it.” As he’d spoken Ollie had folded to his knees. The rustle of his fancy wind-and-
weatherproof jacket was loud in the quiet London backstreet. “Like this?” he asked, tipping forward, much like a starving dog at a bowl.

I couldn’t see, but I’d put money on his tongue hanging out, wet and pink,
spittal foamy on the tip.

“From the toe to my ankle,” I said, placing my hands on my hips. “Centre and then left and right, and don’t rush, you have to learn to enjoy this. It will become something you long for if you can be true to your submissive self.” Who was I trying to convince? The guy was a prick. He’d never get in tune with anything other than his cocky self. I suspected it was ingrained right to the marrow of his bones, to the core of his DNA.

“I will, Mistress. I know I will.”

Dickhead. I had the urge to shove that pointy tip of my boot into his face but I didn’t. I couldn’t blame him for the cold wind shivering around my body, or the nip on my nose caused by the encroaching frost. He was on the floor, in his posh suit trousers, licking my boots and making fake yum-yum noises like he was enjoying it. A start, I supposed, even if he was a bad actor.

“And the other,” I said, even though he hadn’t really finished. “And quickly.” I switched feet. Glanced at the door and thought of the warmth of my lair. Of Fifi watching this spectacle with an amused expression, possibly laughing so hard Mr Dresden looked up to see what she was finding so funny.

He gripped my ankle, pulled my left foot closer.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” I shouted, reflexively jerking my knee. I caught him on the cheek with the wicked point of my boot. Hard. I hadn’t meant to. It had just been such a surprise. Carlos wouldn’t dream of wrapping his hand around my leg unless I gave him express permission to, and then the treat would have had to be earned. Dangled before him like a carrot.

“Ah, fucking hell. You bitch.” Ollie reeled backwards, clutching his face. He landed on his arse with a thud and glared up at me. Shock raged in his eyes, and a hiss of pain left his mouth through gritted teeth. “Why did you do that?”

“You shouldn’t have touched me.” I’d let the bitch word pass—for now. I’d caught him with quite some force. It had been completely unintentional. Really.

“Jesus, you could have given me a warning, it’s not like you’ve told me the damn rules.” He pulled his hand away, examined his palm as though checking for blood or grizzly bits of flesh and sinew. “You nearly had my eye out.”

Told him the rules? He’d acted as if he knew them all, talking of contracts. Inwardly I winced. Already a big, bloated bruise was growing beneath his right eye. There was a small slit of open skin at the centre of the swelling, a droplet of blood growing fat and ripe.

“Well, you won’t forget that rule again, will you?” I crossed my arms, watched as he gripped a rusting drainpipe and hauled himself to his feet, still gingerly dabbing at his facial wound with the pad of his index finger.

“I’m bleeding, you know.”

“Works for some people.” I shrugged.

“Well not for me, okay? What happened to consent, safe play and all that crap?”

I pointed my finger at him. “Listen, you, as far as I’m concerned you got what you deserved. You touched your Mistress without permission, and for your disobedience you will wear a black eye for the next week.”

“Ah, shit. I work in the bloody city, you know. Doesn’t look good for clients.”

“So say you were mountaineering or something. Raising money for charity and a goddamn rock hit you.” I paused. “Whatever, I don’t care, use your brain cell and think of something.” A spine-chilling shiver attacked me. A cold sting of rain was beginning to fall. Soon my mascara would run. Not a good look. “Shit, I’m going in.”

“So when will I see you again…Mistress?”

That halted me. He wanted to see me again? After I’d just disfigured him for the next week? He was more of a masochist than I’d first suspected.

“Tomorrow. At the coffee shop. You know the one.”

He went to shake his head but then nodded quickly. “Yes…Mistress. I do.”

“Good. Be there at six and I’ll tell you the rules you clearly
don’t
know.”

It was seven o’clock when I finally arrived at the coffee shop. I hadn’t intended it to be so late, but I’d been caught up with contractors who were working on the last few rooms on my premises. They were creating what would officially be known as meeting rooms, but would actually be a place for clients to spend time together and basically do whatever the hell they wanted.

Instead of chintzy
Home and Garden
magazines there would be graphic porn on the low coffee tables. In place of delicate pot-pourri, there would be bowls of condoms. The large, soft sofas were double-bed sized and made of wipeable material. I wanted some ring-hooks on the walls too—I had no aversion to them playing—and large TVs so what was going on in the showroom could be fed through, as a bit of a bonus for paying for the room by the hour.

My staff wouldn’t have sex in these rooms. That wasn’t the type of place I ran. No, Sexy as Hell was for clients to enjoy a raunchy, rude, often shocking show from the safety of their private viewing room, or, and this was what trumped Eden Street, my previous place of work, if they got together they could enjoy the safety and privacy of my meeting rooms to burn off their lusty desires. God knew I’d caught people banging each other in the alley and car park around Eden Street. I reckoned they’d pay for the use of this comfortable, specially adapted room. Nothing like a kinky sex show to get men ready for action and ladies opening their legs.

I ordered an espresso and a slice of carrot cake before I even bothered to look for Ollie. I didn’t really care if he was there or not. If he was I’d deal with him, if not, then I could have my food in peace.

Turning, I spotted him instantly. Irritation nibbled at me. Why did he have to choose
that
table? The one I’d last sat at with Victor? It was like he instinctively knew how to wind me up. He didn’t even have to goddamn try.

I
tutted and strode across to him, being careful not to slip—the rain had travelled in on customers shoes and the hard tiles were shiny with moisture.

Setting my cup and plate down, I went through a ritual of undoing my fluffy coat, shaking off the drips and then resting it over the back of my chair.

It wasn’t until I sat that I even acknowledged his presence. All I did was stare at him as I took a sip of my strong black coffee. I was silently daring him to mention how late I was. If he did it was a line drawn for him. No more. I couldn’t teach someone who was so unteachable.

He worried on his bottom lip, stretching his chin that was peppered with black stubble. I wondered if he was subconsciously eating words he knew would get him into trouble.

I stabbed my fork into my cake, popped a chunk into my mouth and studied the damage my boot had done to his face the night before. Not a pretty sight, mauve spreading to purple, and a deep, dark grey spreading under the skin beneath his eye. The cut had scabbed, a hard crusting lump protruding and in the shape of a knocked-sideways tear.

The carrot cake was good. I took another bite.

“Good evening, Mistress,” he said quietly.

I caught his gaze, held it, gave him a small nod of acknowledgment then carried on eating.

When I was done with the cake, I finished my espresso then reached for both our cups. “Do you drink decaff shit or full throttle?”

“
Er, no, I mean yes, caffeine.”

I went to the counter, ordered us both another espresso each then returned to the table.

“I take it you haven’t got a dodgy ticker then, like your cousin.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m fine. And so is Victor—”

“Don’t say his name, this isn’t about him, its about you.” I held up my hand to silence him. “Anything else I should know about? Diabetes, epilepsy, infectious diseases?”

“No, I’m fit and well.” He pointed to his face. “Apart from this.”

“And what lesson did you learn from that?”

“Not to touch you unless I have permission.” He glanced around, to see if anyone was listening.

They weren’t, the place was busy, bubbling with noisy conversation.  Everyone was engrossed in their own worlds.

“Absolutely, and that rule will never ever change, okay?”

“Does that mean I will
never
get to touch you?”

“Probably.” Definitely.

“Oh.” He sighed, and it was an odd gesture for Ollie—he was usually so self-assured, cocky to the ridiculous.

“But that’s not to say you won’t have plenty of orgasms,” I said, not lowering my voice.

He glanced at a couple sitting to our right, who were sharing a giant wedge of Black Forest gateau. Funny that he should be prudish about words, yet raring to go when it came to action.

The thought gave me an idea.

I pushed my coffee to the side, leaned my elbows on the table and gestured for him to do the same.

He gnawed the inside of his cheek but rested nearer to me. That damn cologne he wore, the one the same as Victor’s, wafted up my nostrils. It irritated the hell out of me that Ollie had stolen Victor’s smell and made me all the more determined to go through with my plan.

“In fact,” I said, “you’re going to have one right here, right now.”