Willing Sacrifice (Knights of the Board Room) (7 page)

Tonight would be helpful to clear her mind, figure out a counter strategy that would be an adventure for both of them. She had no doubt the ballet class would provide an intriguing neutral ground for them, full of more pleasurable innuendo. So far her interactions with him had been like the slow consumption of a flawless chocolate mousse, made perfect by the defined, precisely spaced experience of its taste and texture.

Pulling into the club parking lot in her red classic Mustang, she was intrigued to see Max’s truck. She could hardly mistake it, because there were very few older Ford Rangers maintained in such pristine condition. As she circled closer to it, her lower extremities coiled up in anticipation.

Maybe I’ll come in sometime…Just see if you’re there.

Getting out of her car, she locked it, shouldering her garment bag and makeup case. Once inside the club, she didn’t look around. She showed her membership card and went straight to the women’s changing area. She had a different goal tonight. If Max was in the coffee shop and happened to see her, that was fine, but it was too soon to engage. In fact, maybe she should use a private room tonight. She needed to focus, balance. But that was weak. Finding her focus in a public arena was a challenge, requiring discipline, and she liked to stay sharp.

Slicking her hair back with sculpting clay, she made sure her topknot was secure. She’d chosen a pencil skirt that zipped up the side, the zipper starting at the top of the high slit. A tight black blouse went over the skirt, the blouse sheer enough to show the black bra beneath it. She pulled on tight boots that etched out her calves like a second skin, as well as a pair of elbow-length gloves that had the same supple fit. She took a look at herself from all angles before locking up her personal belongings. Carrying the bag of items she might desire to use on her chosen sub, she headed out to the public floor.

She remembered the first time Matt had brought her to this type of club. After what she’d been through, she thought he was insane for thinking such a place would intrigue her. She’d been tense, only her trust and respect for him keeping her sitting on the bar stool rather than heading back out to the parking lot. Then he’d told her to close her eyes.

Listen, Janet. Really listen.

She knew what it sounded like, the thud of objects hitting flesh. Fists, belt…baseball bat. It made the bones in her face ache.
I broke my doll, but see…I have the power and money to put her back together, make her beautiful again. That’s why I know you’re mine,
querida
, my sweet ballerina.

Matt had brought her back from that with another touch, repeating his gentle admonishment. “Hear the differences.”

And finally, she had. With a Dom and sub, there was a rhythm to it, one that was wholly absent when the striking was done in violence. That kind of beating was more chaotic, like white noise. This was like a mesmerizing piano concerto, the rise and fall of emotion, of action and reaction. It made her open her eyes. She’d rested her attention on a Mistress flogging a male who was on his elbows and knees before her. When she bent to lay a kiss on the reddened expanse of one quivering buttock, he’d begged her to let him press his lips to her shoe.

What seemed an act of humiliation on its face had been anything but. Janet had registered the absorbed look on the Domme’s face, the adoration on the sub’s. She felt a sudden desire to be standing in that Domme’s shoes, to prove…what wielding power should be. To feel what it could be like to wield such power. She hadn’t had much luck in getting close to men since Jorge, but maybe this way, she could. Within prescribed boundaries, holding the reins, she could find something her body still ached to have. The arousing, respectful touch of a man. Maybe she wasn’t ready for passion—it was too close to violence—but this she could have.

That feeling brought her back again and again to this environment. A sense of being safe, of being at home. Max or no Max, she could anticipate what the night would bring like a kid at a carnival, no worries that any of the monsters would follow her home.

She saw several of her regulars here, occasional playmates. Harris came to her with a smile, dropping to a knee before looking up at her with pleased affection. “May I serve you tonight, Mistress?”

“I’m in the mood to be harsh, Harris. Over your limits. Maybe another night. Who would you suggest?”

He covered his disappointment with a respectful nod, glanced toward the floor. “Thor.”

“A sub with the name Thor?” She shook her head. “Does he know how that sounds?”

Harris gave her a grin. “Like a slave needing punishment for getting above his station. You said you were in the mood to be harsh.”

“Good point.” She touched his hair in fond acknowledgment. “Send him to me, and I’ll look forward to taking you in hand another night.”

“I’m always eager to serve you, Mistress.”

As Thor came toward her, she studied him critically. She’d seen the brawny male before. He was pleasing to the eye, well-muscled and clean shaven, with dirty-blond hair trimmed in a military cut. She hadn’t played with him directly, but had seen he straddled a good balance. Not too willing to please, because he sought a Mistress with a firm hand, but once he found one, he accommodated what both Mistress and sub were seeking. That level of subtle cooperation was something she enjoyed. His powerful form, height and breadth reminded her just enough of someone else. Yet he was different enough she wouldn’t get confused, depriving him of his just due by getting lost in her head. The sessions were about an equal give and take, and she was a fair Mistress.

Of course, fair or not, no matter who she chose tonight, a great deal of her energy was going to be driven by the memory of another man’s hands, his mouth. Well, if the sub got a pleasurable ride from her frustrated desire, she expected he wouldn’t complain. Such was the nature of her restricted interactions in the club. They knew what they could expect from her—and what they couldn’t. Until a few days ago in a garage parking deck, she would have said that was enough for her.

That was when she looked up and saw Max. He was sitting by the rail in the coffee area, and he had his eyes on her, his face in that expressionless mode that fascinated her, because of all she sensed behind it.

In that moment, she changed her mind about the private room. “Thor, please secure Room Six for us. I don’t think anyone is using it. Wait for me there.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

As she crossed the floor to the narrow catwalk that passed directly beneath the coffee area, Max’s eyes never left her. She felt like he noticed everything, how the snug clothes fit over her breasts and thighs, hips and legs, how she moved in them. That regard made her stride become more pendulous and provocative. When his gaze sharpened on her, she wet her lips.

He was wearing a white dress shirt and black slacks. Ben had had an afternoon meeting that required more formal attire from his driver, but she was surprised Max hadn’t changed before coming here. He’d shed coat and tie though.

She stopped below where he was sitting. He’d scraped back the chair as she approached, and amused her now by sitting down on the floor by the chair, letting his legs dangle over the wall. She pressed her upper body against his calf, gripping his knee to stretch up and be heard over the club’s boisterous noise. Accommodating her, he leaned down, his fingers settling high on her rib cage, the other hand braced on the rail by his head. His ear was now close to her lips and she indulged herself, nuzzling the short dark-blond hair behind it, smelling that sea salt smell.

“Waiting on one of the guys?” she asked.

He shook his head, gestured at the table. “Coffee’s good here. Just got off work. Dinner deal with Ben and the Michigan steel plant folks. He got them hammered, had them agreeing to all sorts of things that’ll put their company in Matt’s portfolio before Christmas.”

“No doubt,” she said, already imagining the research workload on her and Alice’s desks on Monday.

Max tangled his fingers with hers, lifting her hand to examine the sleek fit of the glove, his thumb rubbing the thin fabric over her palm. “I dropped them off at their hotel. Figured I’d stop here before I went home.”

So there were no restrictions to dictate his reasons for being here tonight. She was tempted to drop Thor, try to coax Max to take his place, but she had a code of conduct when it came to her subs. Plus she knew Max wouldn’t do it. But he was here, wasn’t he?

“I’m taking a private room tonight, but you’re welcome to come watch. Thor’s a public player. He won’t mind. Room Six.”

He shrugged. “I’ll be here with my coffee. Why don’t you come join me when you’re finished?”

A standoff. She withdrew her fingers and stepped back. “If you get done before I return, don’t stay up past your bedtime on my account. My invitation stands.”

He nodded, rising to his feet and taking his seat again. When she reached the archway that led to the private rooms, she glanced back to see him sipping his coffee, still watching her. Being the center of his focus could unsettle a woman, for certain. In a lovely way.

Room Six had mirrors on one wall, a bench and steel frame in the center of the room that provided various restraint options, and several comfortable chairs along the non-mirrored wall. Those were for a Master or Mistress to rest or view their sub from a detached position during a session, or to hold that same sub during aftercare to ground them with a soothing touch. A small closet bathroom ensured that comfort breaks or hygiene needs wouldn’t disturb the flow of the scene with a trip back to the public restroom or locker area. There were erotic photographs on the wall, stark black-and-whites against dark-red paint.

The room was functional yet atmospheric in a direct, unpretentious way she liked. Thor was kneeling by the bench. He still wore his clothes, a white T-shirt and jeans. He hadn’t assumed she wanted him naked, but he had set out lubricants, restraint options and other tools to save her time. She appreciated a man who anticipated without second-guessing her. Picking up a riding crop, she tapped him on the shoulder. “Take off the shirt.”

He complied, revealing a tattoo of a mermaid in the embrace of a dragon on his back, though it looked like the mermaid had the dragon fully under her control. She traced it with the whip. “Beautiful work.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

She stepped to the wall, entered her membership number in the panel there, and called up his profile to be sure she knew everything she needed to know. “Your safe word is Zeus.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

A mythology fan, for certain. She liked him though. He was confident, strong, accepting of his craving for submission, yet he didn’t seem like the type to follow a Mistress around like a puppy, pouting if he didn’t get enough attention. She was somewhat surprised he wasn’t already taken tonight, but there were always far more unattached subs on the floor than Dommes. It was a powerful woman’s paradise, unless she was looking for something in particular. Or someone.

“Stand up. Keep your eyes down.”

When he complied, she circled him, trailing her gloved hand over his shoulders, then his chest. She wondered if she’d told him to keep his eyes down to test his manners, or if she’d known not seeing gray eyes focused on her might disrupt her concentration.

Getting into a scene was a process, requiring the right energy. She stopped herself, thinking it through. If she couldn’t give a hundred percent tonight, the best thing was to cut Thor loose with a straightforward apology, not give him half-assed attention. He deserved better than that.

Before she could make that decision, there was a light rap on the door.

Her fingertips stopped on Thor’s pectoral. His back was to the door, and with him between her and the entrance, she was mostly screened by him. “Enter,” she ordered.

Max stepped inside, his attention touching on the half-naked man not more than a few feet in front of him. She shifted, met his gaze. He held on to that enigmatic expression but looked pointedly toward the wall that had the three chairs lined up along it. She nodded.

“Thor, your profile says you enjoy being watched, by men or women. A friend of mine is going to observe tonight.”

“Yes, Mistress.” When Max moved into Thor’s line of sight, Janet noted the visible hitch in her submissive’s gaze as he registered just how virile and appealing a man had joined them. Her twinge of possessive irritation surprised her, but she kept it out of her voice. She hoped.

“Eyes back down. He’s here to look at you. You don’t have my permission to look at him.”

Max’s expression, and the direction of his gaze, said he had no interest in looking at Thor at all. There was only one person in the room holding his attention. It made her far more intrigued by the scene that would play out here than she’d been a moment ago, charging the energy in the room tenfold. From the increased tension in Thor’s body, the arousal swelling against the fit of his jeans, he’d picked up on her increased response as well. He was well-tuned to a Mistress’s desires.

Max seemed capable of stoking those desires by doing nothing more than taking a seat in one of the chairs, stretching one arm out along the top of the other two. He crossed his ankle over his opposite knee, settling back.

Janet put her back to him, but she wasn’t ignoring him. Everything inside her steadied, helping her find the center that had eluded her before he’d come into the room. “Thor, remove all your clothes. Take your time with it. Make me notice your ass.”