Joseph told her it was to demonstrate to the other Doms that she was claimed and not available for play that night. A safety measure. But that thought hadn’t been very comforting, and she reached up to stroke the collar, a thin iridescent band buckled to its loosest possible setting. What if someone grabbed it?
His words had played over and over in her mind. She wasn’t available for play tonight. On other nights, would he expect her to just go with any Dom he approved of? The thought created a painful ache in her chest.
As if he was a mind reader, Joseph halted her at the stairs leading down to his private entry to the west wing and tipped her chin up. “Honesty, fiammetta. Always?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Tell me why your face has gone pale and your hands, which were warm before, are now cold. It’s not just nerves, is it?”
“No, Sir. I mean, yes, I am nervous. But I don’t want to play with other Doms. I’m doing my best to submit to you as much as I can, but if you want me to just go off and submit to whoever you tell me to, I can tell you right now, Sir, it won’t happen. I can’t.”
“Why?”
She licked her lower lip, resolving she’d be honest. Better to tell him now and potentially ruin everything than to get herself into a tough spot in the club. “Because I don’t want to. If you think I’m letting any of those other Doms, even the nice ones I already know, touch me intimately, we’re done right now. I’m either yours, or I’m gone—Sir.”
Joseph looked down at her hand clutching his, and then his eyes, dark and so full of secrets, gazed into hers. “I keep forgetting we haven’t known each other that long, fiammetta. I don’t share subs I’m involved with. But what about the situation the other night with Samson? He touched you, and it was all right.”
She gulped again, wondering if she’d feel the same if it’d happened when she was practically nude tonight. “I was wearing a bra and panties. He strapped my ass once, and then he hugged me. He didn’t try to fuck me.”
He brushed her lip with his thumb, and a dark frown flickered on his brow. “Such language from such a sweet mouth. A clarification is in order then. You owed Samson an apology the other night, and I thought the last lick of your punishment was proper recompense for your sassiness toward him. That wasn’t me sending you off to play with him. Trust me, you’d know the difference if you’d ever done a scene with him. I’d never let another Dom touch you in a manner that was a hard limit for you. Hell, if you want the truth, you could’ve refused to take the paddle to him the other night and there would’ve been no repercussions.”
She nodded, believing him. She’d gone willingly and knew he wouldn’t have mistreated her if she’d refused. “I only want you touching me intimately.” Subs probably didn’t get this pushy with their Doms, but she needed him to understand. Only him.
Joseph nodded. “Any Dom in the club would ask permission before touching you—”
“Sir, Master Hunter didn’t.”
He set his jaw and drilled her with those eyes. “And he is gone. Interrupt me again and I will put you over my knee and we can get your spanking from last night caught up right here and now.”
“But earlier—”
“That was a warmup, not a spanking. You’ll know when I’m spanking you.”
“Shoot. I should’ve known. Fudgesicles. But they have to ask you before touching me?”
“Yes. I think you’re prolonging your worry with all these questions. You’re safe with me.”
That might be what he said, but she wondered if she could stay out of trouble for a whole night.
She was relieved to find that the club wasn’t very busy when they walked through the entrance. Joseph stroked the small of her back when she jumped at the sound of a whip cracking and the subsequent moan of a sub at the hands of Samson Cutter.
“Come,” he said softly as he tugged her in Samson’s direction. She pulled back, and he raised an eyebrow at her and then leaned close. “I want you to observe the sub, fiammetta, not volunteer you for a whipping. No one can touch you without my leave.”
“Okay, sorry, Sir.”
The sub was shackled to what Joseph had told her earlier was a St. Andrew’s cross in the corner, with a wide space roped off for Samson to wield the whip he was using. It was shorter than she would’ve expected, and as she watched, he applied another stroke to the sub’s back, which was marked with heated red lines. There was no blood, just rows of stripes and curves ranging from her shoulder blades, skipping over her lower back, and then continuing down her buttocks and thighs.