Sweet and Dirty (4 page)

He wore black jeans, this time, and a snug-fitting black T-shirt that showcased his strong shoulders and taut waist.

“I was just going to grab a bite to eat inside. Join me?”

“I don’t mean to interrupt you…”

“Sure you do. You just told a lie.” His eyes laughed. She sucked in her breath as memories of the night before filled her mind, her skin tingling all over as if he were touching her once more.

He stepped into her personal space as if he had a right to it. She supposed she’d given him the right last night. She sure wasn’t about to revoke it. He towered over her and around her once more and she had to fight the urge to drag him into the club, back to that alcove….

She concentrated. “Yes, thanks. I’d welcome some real food. The dogs ate better than I did today.”

“You train them somewhere nearby?”

“Um…” Tell the truth, that she was a lowly peon? Images of everyone she knew, from Posh to the customers to the dogs themselves, all united in their disregard for her, speared her with anxiety. Ro might stop his unique tutelage if he suspected she was that much of a doormat. “I run a dog day care facility not far from here.” She did run it. When Posh wasn’t around.

“That’s wonderful. You must be great with animals. And, you can relate to the problems a start-up business faces.”

“Yes. It can be a challenge.” Stretching the truth again. But she had owned half the breeding business in Alabama. She shifted on feet sore despite her cushy, thick-soled work shoes. Lizbeth remembered the tall, slim heels Posh wore with such ease. She’d bet Posh didn’t have sore feet.

“I’m all alone for hours and hours. Until doors open tonight.” He offered his arm once more. “Keep me company?”

She doubted a man like him lacked for company. Whenever he wanted it and with whomever he chose. His proximity and his words gave her a familiar breath-stealing pang of delight. She placed her hand on his arm.

She narrowed her eyes with the sensual pleasure of touching him. How nice to feel his bare skin, his lightly haired forearm warmed by the sun and his own body heat. Her hand wanted to move over it, caress it. She made herself keep still. His natural scent—a clean masculine sweat and some faint exotic cologne—intoxicated her.

Her mind leapt ahead, wondering if he’d lead her to the café she remembered from the night before…or to that alcove, which she remembered so much more vividly.

She blushed, appalled at herself. What kind of charisma did he possess that ran such end runs around her second thoughts?

They walked together up the steps into the vast and silent darkness of the empty club.

When the heavy door swung shut behind them the resulting echoes made it feel as if she’d stepped into a cavern rather than a club. But there was the same long bar. Its smoky mirror reflected the fading light from the front stained-glass window. And the clean-scrubbed dark wooden floor was fully revealed. She hadn’t noticed the beautiful matched sets of wooden chairs and tables in the café.

“Do you want it fast, or do you want it good?” Ro asked as she settled into a chair.

She couldn’t help the thoughts that sprang to mind. “Excuse me?”

“The food.”

Lizbeth’s heart slowed down. “Fast. I need your expertise on something, afterward.”

He nodded, noncommittal, and walked past her to the back room. Moments later he returned with a couple of saran-wrapped sandwiches and two sodas. “I keep fresh stuff in the fridge for me and the staff,” he explained as he placed hers on the table.

She tried not to wolf the delicious sandwich.

He did wolf his. Gone in four bites. He grinned, lounged in his chair, his eyes resting easily on hers. His relaxed confidence failed to put her at ease. She could tell those eyes missed very little. And why couldn’t she stop thinking about those dangerous teeth nibbling their way down her body, pausing every so often to bite?

He shifted in his chair and his T-shirt stretched across his chest. She tried and failed to avoid looking at the pectorals it revealed. His arms looked immensely capable, too. Which they were, she remembered.

“It’s not just for the dogs, is it? Your need to learn dominance.”

Lizbeth jerked in her seat. She lowered her food to the plate. How did he know?

“Something’s happened to you to make you want to change. You don’t have to tell me. However, my ‘expertise’ might be better targeted if you do.” He waited.

When she didn’t speak, he nodded. “Let me tell you something then, Lizbeth. Submissive people, just like animals, give off a subliminal vibe. Gestures and posture combine into a wavelength that tells me they’re looking for a dominant. Someone to take control. To make them feel safe and fulfilled. There is absolutely nothing wrong with someone giving this vibe. Submissiveness is as natural as dominance, and subs wield more power than you might suspect. But you. You give off a mixed signal. I wonder why.”

Should she tell him? Lizbeth agonized, picking at the remains of her sandwich. He might despise her. On the other hand, he sounded as if he might actually understand.

She mulled, then decided.

“My dog Sasquatch. He bit me.” Lizbeth took a deep breath. Plunged in. “Long story short. Mom and my older sister always lectured me to stick up for myself, while bossing me around. Dad left her when I was very young—maybe that had something to do with it—but they were real control freaks. Mom was the worst.” Lizbeth shrugged and smiled, but felt the thickness in her throat that presaged tears. She fought them grimly. “When I wanted honest affection and someone to listen to me, I preferred my dogs. Mom didn’t mean anything bad. She just wanted me to grow up capable and strong, so I’d never be a victim. But I wasn’t like Nora, and they never stopped trying to improve me. Pound me down a lot, then build me up a little. You know? Then, Ted. Single-minded, financially well-off, traditional values…and willing to take over from my mom in regard to controlling me.”

She didn’t see Ro change position, but sensed a sudden stillness in him, as an animal coming to cautious attention. “Ted let me start my own dog training and breeding business. It started small, but when I bred some pedigreed champions, my reputation grew. Then one of the local TV channels covered my training routine. Business started to boom, and Ted became a partner to help manage the money.

“Then, disaster. My Akita, Sasquatch. My gentle, humane methods of handling and training—using clickers and treats and lots of patience—seemed to work most of the time, but not always. When Mom and Nora heard from Ted about the hourly rates I charged for training and the premium stud fees I was able to get, they got involved, too. They started micromanaging, and I started doubting myself, just like always. It all went to hell when I got in a difficult bitch to mate. Sasquatch took one sniff and growled at her! I put the bitch in the rack, but Sasquatch still wasn’t interested. He ran away from me and wouldn’t come when I called, even when I tried to lure him with treats. Nora and Mom kept saying I should use a stronger hand, that I wasn’t assertive enough. Ted…he just smirked. They all said I’d never get Sasquatch to obey me unless I showed him who’s boss.” Lizbeth felt the self-disgust that accompanied the memory. “Part of me thought they might be right. I got an animal control loop and dragged Sasquatch toward the bitch. ‘Don’t you let that dog walk all over you,’ Mom was yelling. And so help me, I wasn’t going to. He struggled, so I threw him to the ground four or five times.

“When I let my guard down with Sasquatch, he bit me. Hard enough to draw blood. Then he ran and hid. Mom and Nora flipped out about him biting me. The next day, while I was out, Mom sold Sasquatch.” Lizbeth blinked away tears. “Ted claimed he didn’t know about it. I was finally able to pry the buyer’s information from Mom and drove there within a couple of days, but the family she’d sold him to wouldn’t sell him back. Said their youngest kid had already bonded. They let me say good-bye, though. The hardest thing I ever had to do was leave Sasquatch there. I heard him howl when I drove away.”

“That must have been incredibly difficult.”

Lizbeth managed a small, bitter smile. “Yes. Because it’s all my fault. Oh, my mom shouldn’t have sold him behind my back. But it never would have happened if I hadn’t been such a doormat.” Self-loathing colored her voice. “I should have been the alpha dog with Sasquatch all along. Not to mention standing up to them all along. When I finally did try to be the alpha, I did it wrong. I didn’t know how.”

Ro spoke in a low, encouraging voice. “And that’s when you moved here and started over at the dog day care?”

“Uh-huh. Clean break from the past. Except…”

“Except the past followed you here.”

Lizbeth started, remembering Ted’s arrival. But of course Ro didn’t know about that. He knew nothing but what she told him. She was determined to tell him the truth as best she could. “Yes. I wanted a fresh start. But it’s like Mom and Nora are still in my head whispering that I’m not smart enough, strong enough. I can still see Ted smirking. At work, customers walk all over me. Everywhere, I have trouble sticking up for myself.”

Lizbeth lowered her gaze, feeling her face heat with the shameful admission. Now was when he’d make some excuse and throw her out, if he was going to.

She felt his large, warm fingers gently tilt her chin up. His lips curved slightly in an understanding smile, and his eyes were compassionate. “Thank you for trusting me. It means more to me than you realize.”

Lizbeth felt her insides swirl pleasantly.

“I think I see,” he continued, gazing at her with speculation. “And now, here you are. Where you think you can learn assertiveness. From me.”

The way he was looking at her made her nervous, but it wasn’t the kind of nervous that made her want to pinch her arm for relief. Instead, her heart beat a little faster with anticipation, and she felt warm all over.

“Isn’t that right?” He waited for her to nod. “Then, let’s practice taking what you want. Come with me.”

“Now? Here?”

“Now. Here.” He smiled at her reluctance, unfazed. “Trust me.”

She felt a smile tug at her lips. The odd thing was, she did trust him. Her instincts informed her he wasn’t a sadistic killer. Sadistic, perhaps. He might torture her. Just not to death.

She stood. “Lead on.”

He did. When he reached a thick wooden door, he stopped. It was the Cage Room she remembered seeing last time.

Ro made a long, old-fashioned bronze skeleton key appear in his hand. “This room—this key—is special. It’s awarded as a judgment during The Dungeon’s Saturday night Crime and Punishment Party.” He handed her the key.

Feeling a return of the sensual exhilaration that he brought out in her, she inserted the key into the lock.

R
o watched Lizbeth push open the thick wooden door.

When she saw what lay inside, her sweet little mouth parted with astonishment. She stood as if rooted.

He smiled at her reaction, savoring the avaricious look that stole over her face. It was a special look he’d come to recognize, one that reflected the desire any submissive felt upon gazing at BDSM tools and furniture.

And Lizbeth was a submissive. She didn’t know it yet, and wouldn’t like it when she found out, considering her stated goal to be dominant. But there was no doubt in Ro’s mind, not after the way she’d responded to him.

She slowly circled the room.

Compared to the main nightclub, this more private room contained a larger ratio of imaginatively designed equipment. He gazed with pride at his enormous St. Andrew’s Cross against the opposite wall, the enormous X of sturdy, solid wood with D-rings bolted at each corner. Would she stop at that one? No, she kept going after only one curious touch. The padded wall rack barely won a glance. She lingered over the altar-style bondage bed, the hardwood centerpiece to the room with its leather straps and steel rings. Supported by four thick legs and varnished to a warm satin glow, it would have made a delightful choice, to him. But aside from testing its upholstered surface and trailing fingertips over its attachment points, she gave it no more attention than the rest.

She stroked a wooden wheel, taller than she was, and fondled the four restraints jutting out. He couldn’t help being charmed by the tentative way she touched the assorted sizes of Ben Wa balls, then picked them up to squeeze them, clearly baffled as to their purpose, before moving on to examine a black alloy spreader bar with adjustable cotter pins.

He watched, increasingly aroused, as Lizbeth gazed a long time at his pride and joy, a functionally modified iron maiden, set tall and imposing in the far corner. What sublime heights he could take her to, if he could strap her inside that monster, helplessly waiting to be pierced.

Lizbeth reached the rocking horse with its pleasure saddle. As she ran her hands over the saddle’s erect and waiting double dildos a small surprised sound jerked out of her. Ro felt a twinge of desire that narrowed his eyes. Lizbeth impaled and begging, but forced to keep the horse rocking: the erotic fantasy made him rock hard.

He couldn’t help it. Part of him thrilled to a woman being tied up, straining at the bonds while he teased and pleasured her. Flesh pinkening under his ministrations. Gasps of pain, tears of frustration, screams of ecstasy. He adored it. It was reason enough to open a place like his Dungeon, he supposed, but of course not the only reason.

It was time to teach Lizbeth her true nature. His voice came out rough. “We’re going to play a small game. The name of this game is Take What You Want. Pick a toy, a piece of furniture, a bondage tool. Use what you wish, as you wish.”

She flashed him a playful smile that surprised him. “Anything? You mean I have to choose?” She stroked one of the dildos. It set his cock on fire.

“You want to learn dominance. If that’s truly what you want, then be dominant. Be aggressive.” Ro held out his arms, offering his bare wrists. “I won’t resist. My safe word is…‘butterfly.’”

“‘Butterfly’?”

He saw her skepticism. He hid his smile. He’d picked the gentlest, most innocuous little safe word he could think of. He wanted to be totally unthreatening to her. “I don’t plan on saying it,” he taunted her. Deliberately goading, he added, “You couldn’t get me to say it, believe me.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “A challenge. But, I thought you said I had to learn to ‘bottom’ before I could ‘top.’”

Was that a note of longing in her voice? Ro hid another smile.

“Originally, yes. But now I understand your desperate desire to become dominant. Dominate me.”

“Okay. Um…would you please go to the back corner, by that tall sarcophagus thing?”

He liked that she’d picked the iron maiden. But he didn’t move. “Really? That polite little request is your idea of dominance?”

“Should I just grab a whip and start hitting you?”

She was becoming frustrated.

Good.

“Is that the best you can do?” he chided. He sauntered, slow enough to show his disregard. Away from the iron maiden.

A loud crack in the enclosed room halted him. He turned in time to see her holding a bullwhip away from her with a look of shock on her face. “It’s louder than I thought.” She flicked it again, cracking it closer to him. The sound was like a pistol shot.

He took a hasty step back. “Maybe you should—”

Crack
. Her intent look of concentration would have seemed pained, if it weren’t for the sadistic glint that suddenly flashed in her eyes. That was as he’d expected. She felt the sense of power, but didn’t inhabit the role naturally. It was work.

He played along. “What if you slowed it down a bit—”

“Quiet, worm!” Another crack of the whip. “Get over there.”

Ro complied. Very soon now, she’d remember how much she’d enjoyed being bound and dominated. She’d accept her nature. Any minute.

She pointed the whip. “Get inside.”

Ro inched into the iron maiden, the vertical casket with its chains and restraints, and its forest of spikes. The spikes were made of pointed rubber. Far gentler than the rusty metal spikes in authentic iron maidens, designed to impale the victim when the casket closed. But the rubber ones gave an attention-getting poking if one weren’t careful.

Anticipation about what she’d do next zinged through him. How long had it been since he’d let someone dominate him? Even with Lizbeth a raw novice, he couldn’t deny it was exciting. Not nearly as exciting as mastering her body again, but fun.

How long would it take her to figure out that only submitting to him could truly delight her? He settled in, determined to wait her out.

From his position inside the iron maiden he watched her peruse his Cage Room. She approached the wall where the accessories were kept. Slapper bats on their hooks with the other tools: leather and fleece rods, braided and knotted riding crops, even metal-studded paddles and gloves. She glanced at the other, less-common accessories. He doubted she’d use the balls, bars, gags, clamps, cages, or spreaders. But that blindfold…ah, she lifted it off its hook. She stroked the softness of its leather. Contoured, with an elastic back.

She approached, letting the blindfold dangle between two fingers. “Put this on.”

Ro eased it over his head. He could feel the leather dent his hair. His vision departed, replaced by blackness.

Doubt suddenly assailed him. What if he was wrong about Lizbeth?

Pressing his lips tightly together, his hands by his side, he made a granite block of his chin, holding himself as immobile as he could.

She touched one of his arms, and it took all his control not to react. Next to his hip there was a padded leather manacle. She closed it around his wrist. The delicate, warm touch of her fingers threading the buckle stirred him. She did the same to his other wrist. Interesting sensation of vulnerability, being blindfolded and buckled.

Then, nothing. No sound of her movement. Possibly she was stumped. Perhaps she was wondering why she didn’t feel the same titillation about locking him up as she did about being manacled. It was the nature of the beast.

He was about to tell her so, when she kissed him.

Silent, hot, and ravenous, her lips met his. Startled, he jerked, then hissed as the rubber spikes poked him in the back. Every one of his nerves seemed to be extra receptive, and though pain-pricks didn’t pierce flesh, it did get his full attention. Very interesting.

“Steady there, big fella,” Lizbeth said, her own voice mirroring his earlier mocking tone. “I’d hate for you to damage this body.” She ran her hand over his chest, up to his chin, and over his lips. She replaced her fingers with lips again, and he could feel her heat radiating from her mouth. Her chest pressed against his. Very bold.

She wouldn’t get any more reactions out of him, he determined.

He heard her rummaging. “Hmm, what’s this?” From the buzzing, she’d discovered some of the battery-operated toys. Then, rattle of metal.
Handcuffs
. Clinking.
Anal beads
. Clicks and clanks and snips and thuds.
Metal-studded cat-o’-nine tails, chain sets, nipple clamps, ball gags
.

Was she trying to intimidate him with their various sounds? He smiled even as his breath sped up. She was so cute.

When he could feel her in front of him again, he slowly arched one eyebrow over his blindfold. He gave a small, mocking smile. He’d bet anything she was blushing like an embarrassed schoolgirl caught playing dress up.

Suddenly, he felt her small warm hands moving over his chest in little circles, as if savoring the feel of the broad expanse of his chest through his shirt. He tried not to enjoy her surprisingly aggressive touch, especially when she grazed his nipples. He noticed the way her breath quickened.

She let her hands wander up to his shoulders and down one arm, lingering on his bicep—he felt a moment’s vain satisfaction that he’d never stopped working out—and down farther, caressing cord and sinew on his lower arm before the leather of the manacle interrupted her exploration. Fingertips trailed sensuously against his half-open palm on the other side. He couldn’t completely keep his hand from twitching slightly, which irritated him.

He wished she would step against him to feel the length of his body pressed against the length of hers. He would have done that.

She did ease closer. He could smell her heat, and the scent of fabric softener under the musk of the dogs she’d worked with all day. Good, earthy smells.

He thought rapidly, trying to distract himself. He wondered at her experience training dogs, at her need to dominate them. To become a more dominant person. She failed to realize she didn’t need force and intimidation to control dogs, or to stand up for herself with people. She didn’t need to become an aggressive, leader-of-the-pack type. She simply needed to sense her own gentle authority.

He hoped their play session helped her sense it. Soon.

Ro felt the air warm as the space between them shrank. All thoughts of pack dynamics evaporated. Her body met his like a homecoming, her heat mingling with his own. She turned her head, rubbing her cheek sensuously against the soft material of his shirt. Her low sound of satisfaction had him twitching again, with increasing discomfort from the ache in his cock.

He felt little tugs as she nipped at the material of his shirt. “Good enough to eat,” she said.

Ro cleared his throat. “Okay. I think we might want to switch things around….”

Her only response was to nibble at his chest and then his belly, causing a warm flurry of desire to cascade through his body. He tried desperately to remain impervious.

When she exchanged nipping for licking, he knew he was in trouble. Warm moist heat followed the point of her tongue. A sudden gust of cool wind told him she’d lifted up his shirt. He flinched at the sensual assault of her hand sliding underneath to caress his stomach. She followed the trail with her lips. Around, up, down his taut belly. She stuffed his shirt up under his pinned arms.

Pleasure spiked through him as she ran her hands down over his waistline, then traced the juncture of pants and flesh. He noticed his mouth had fallen slightly open only when he shut it so hard his teeth clicked together. She wouldn’t dare. Would she?

“You don’t think I’ll do it, do you?” She didn’t need to explain what “it” was, not while her fingers investigated just under the rim of his pants.

Ro was worried. One could only withstand so much.

When he felt her kneel, his breath caught in his throat. There were her hands again. Stroking his legs, exploring slowly up the back, as if she enjoyed discovering him inch by inch. Her hand brushed across the front of his crotch. His entire body vibrated. He felt a twinge of pain and realized his wrists had strained against his bonds to the point of pinching. “Let me out.”

“What’s the magic word?” Her voice was a singsong. She was enjoying this? When he had her at his mercy, he was going to take diabolic revenge.

He determined anew to reveal nothing further. Made his voice bored. “I thought you’d finished playing. When you’re ready to learn how it’s done, let me know.”

“You’ll know when I’m done.”

The sensual promise made his stomach sink pleasurably with sudden fierce desire.

He heard something that made his blood stop, then surge hotly. The whisper of material as she pulled her clothes off. He imagined her lifting her shirt over her head, and the mental image teased him like a feather tickling the inside of his brain. He could almost see it. He could feel it and smell it: Lizbeth held the shirt to his cheek, rubbing it against the rough shadow-growth on his jaw, gliding it under his nose before letting it drop down next to their feet. There was a muted snap; her bra being unhooked. Confirmation came when she treated him to a face rub with those lacy cups, as well. He felt it slither from her fingers to join her shirt at their feet.

He swallowed audibly.

The peaks of her breasts were pebble hard when she stepped against him. “Nice,” she crooned in a breathless voice, rubbing herself against him. Shameless and teasing. A bitch in heat. He certainly felt like a stud ready to mount her, rut with her. He could think of little else.

She slid her hands around his body, to rest on his back. Just when he started to relax, she raked her nails forward, modifying the pressure so that it didn’t break the skin. At the same time she kissed one of his exposed nipples, swirling her tongue around the edges where the thinnest hair grew.

He hissed with surprise. It made her tilt her nails up and reverse direction so that her fingertips caressed the path she’d taken around his side, soothing him, then reversed again until she could run her fingers up his front with gentleness. “Sure you don’t want to say your word?” she asked. He could only press his lips together as she kissed the nipple, and then just below it. And then lower. His stomach again. Flicking her tongue.