“Someone should serve a woman like you every single day, or as often as you desire, of course.”
She took her top hat off and set it on the bar. Without pretense or shame she perused his body. One good thing about being a Dominatrix—she got to have as much fun as the men of this world did. Dominatrixes weren’t just allowed to treat men like sexual objects, they were expected to. Hell, they were even paid to. Down here the Dominatrixes were treated like queens. Even the male Dominants usually gave them wide berth. Every male Dominant except for a certain arrogant six foot four blond she’d like to see on her cross one of these days. Kink or crucifixion, either one worked for her.
“You’re good at this,” she said, impressed by his attitude.
Lance leaned in a few inches and lowered his voice.
“I’ve had a little practice, Mistress.”
The Mistress raised her chin.
“Only a little? You need a lot more practice than that. Wanna go practice?”
“We just met.”
“Are you calling me a slut because I asked you to play?” She batted her eyelashes at him.
“No, ma’am. Never.” His laugh reached all the way to his dark blue eyes. She loved a man who could laugh.
“Am I calling you a slut by asking you to play?”
“You can call me anything you want.”
The Mistress placed a hand on Lance’s thigh and felt the hard muscle under the denim.
“You looked troubled when you came in here. And your entire body is tense. I’d like to flatter myself that you’re hard all over because of me, but you looked uncomfortable before you saw me. What’s up?”
Lance nodded at the bartender who brought him another beer.
“I haven’t played in a long time. I’m not even sure if I should be here.”
“Should you be here? Or did you sneak in?”
“I just got a job working for Kingsley Edge.”
“Never heard of him.” Nora kept a straight face. Kingsley tried to keep employees from fraternizing with each other too much, a hopeless cause where Nora was concerned. Lance must be the new house manager he’d hired. It would take someone with a military background to keep Kingsley’s coterie under control.
“He’s some rich kinky bigwig. Owns this place. Club membership is one of the fringe benefits.”
“You like it here?”
“I feel a little out of place. My first time in a club like this.”
“A club full of rich and famous perverts?”
“Exactly. I’m neither. Well, not the rich and famous part, anyway. Pervert maybe. This is definitely not my usual crowd.”
A congressman on the leash of a Domme crawled on all fours past the bar.
“Don’t worry. They’re not my crowd, either. Don’t be intimidated.” She leaned forward and crossed her legs. “I’ll let you in on a secret. The top Dominant here is a Jesuit priest, and he comes here in his clerical collar all the time. Jesuits take a vow of poverty. Everyone defers to him even though he’s not rich. He earned that respect. No one has ever ratted him out.”
“That’s a comfort, Mistress. Nice to feel safe.”
“You are safe down here. And you’re with me. I’ll protect you from the rich and famous perverts.”
“My hero,” he said, turning toward her so that their lips were only an inch apart.
“Come on, Lance,” she whispered. “Come play with me. Submit to me. You know you want to. I know you want to. You’re not on duty right now, are you?”
“No.” He shook his head. She could see him trying to bite back a smile.
She moved her hand from his thigh to his crotch and felt his erection.
Lance closed his eyes and inhaled sharply.
“What do you want to do, Sailor?”
“Anything you want, Mistress. Anything at all.”
“That’s a dangerous word around here. Let’s go find out what you mean by anything.”
She slipped off the bar stool and patted her thigh. Lance threw a tip down on the bar and followed. The 8th Circle had a two-drink maximum, and booze and tips were included in the price of admittance. He didn’t have to pay a thing, didn’t have to leave a tip. But he did it anyway. Most of the rich sons of bitches who played here were misers. Real men like Lance knew the value of a hard day’s work and left good tips. She liked that. That ten-dollar tip on a seven-dollar tab had just earned him the chance to fuck her. Tonight she’d let him fuck her first then tell him why after. Hmm...she kind of liked that line. She’d put it in a book someday.
He followed her in silence out of the bar and down the stairs to her dungeon in the Hall of the Masters, as it was known. Kingsley had envisioned The 8TH Circle as the BDSM club to end all BDSM clubs. He’d have the world’s most beautiful Dominatrixes and submissives—male and female—on his staff with permanent dungeons. Plus the members could earn the right to their own private quarters. Of course, Kingsley and Søren got the two best suites in the place. Not that she could complain about her dungeon. Kingsley had turned what was once a pit into a palace. She was the queen around here, after all. Nothing less than the best for her.