Enamored (3 page)

“Yes.” The words “Yes, sir,” sounded like they almost rolled off her tongue, but were bitten short at the last moment.

Roman had said that every woman had a little bit of a submissive streak in her. But Lauren? If he could only bring it out of her . . .

Marc let go of her arm, and she shook her head as if to clear her thoughts, to psych herself up. She bounced in her stilettos, her breasts rising and falling in a most mesmerizing way.

With that, she brought the flogger up and slammed it on Leather’s back in almost exactly the same place she’d lit up before.

He gasped, but did not scream.

Marc smiled. “My turn.”

Lauren handed him the flogger, her face unreadable. But instead of flogging him again, Marc set the implement aside and looked carefully across the shelf of devices before settling on the one he’d been hoping to have a chance to use all along.

The Violet Wand.

The violet wand was made of purple plastic and had a long electrical cord that Marc plugged in to the wall outlet near the spanking bench. Lauren’s eyebrows shot up with concern.

Probably because she knew that this, if nothing else, would do the trick.

Marc gently attached a glass mushroom-shaped conductor to the wand and turned it on high. A purple neon glow in the dim light radiated from the wand.

“Turn around, Leather, and kneel on the floor.”

The sub did as he was ordered, his body already shivering with anticipation.

“Are you green to go?” Lauren asked him, checking in.

“Yes, Mistress. Yes, sir. I’m scared.”

Marc nodded at him. “Pull down your thong so Mistress Lauren can see how hard you are for this.”

LeatherButt’s hands trembled as he pushed his black thong down his thighs, freeing his naked cock.

“You don’t have to do this, you can safeword,” she reminded him.

Marc let her talk, because he wasn’t about to give someone a shock who wasn’t willing. But LeatherButt’s erect cock, dripping with pre-come, said it all.

“I’m good, sir. You can violet wand me.” His voice was shaky with desire.

Marc kneeled on one knee in front of the sub and grinned. “Let’s watch the sparks fly, then.”

He pressed the conductor tip close to, but not quite touching, the man’s cock and a spray of tiny purple sparks flew between the glass conductor and Leather’s cock. The smell of ozone filled the air, that after-lightning scent that reminded Marc of stormy weather.

And LeatherButt screamed, a high-pitched, unearthly scream, and climaxed, his come shooting straight out and hitting the cement floor with a satisfying splatter.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” he moaned, cupping his cock in his hands. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

Marc turned off the wand and set it aside.

Then LeatherButt looked up at Lauren with fear in eyes. “I’m so sorry, Mistress Lauren. I couldn’t help it.”

“Clean up,” she ordered, and pointed to his come on the floor. “Marc and I have some talking to do.”

She grabbed Marc’s arm and tried to pull him out of the room, but Marc stood still, not letting her budge him. “There’s nothing to talk about, Lauren. I won. And you’re mine.”

Chapter Two

L
auren felt a shiver of desire run through her at his words.
You’re mine.
Whoa. Was this really happening? She followed Marc as if in a daze to a quiet corner of the club.

“Marc,” she whispered, “this could change everything. Our friendship is one of the few things I value most. What if we destroy it over one stupid bet?”

He stared down at her, his warm brown eyes softening. “If you had won, would you have let me back out?”

The mere thought of Marc, gorgeous, perfect Marc, kneeling before her as he kissed her boot had gotten her so wet with desire when he suggested the bet that she hadn’t thought it through as thoroughly as she should have.

Instead, she just assumed she’d win.

“No,” she admitted. “I wouldn’t have let you back out.”

“Well,” Marc said, caressing her cheek. He’d never touched her cheek before, so sweetly, like a lover. They’d always been just friends. What would happen if he made her come live at his penthouse for a week, as his submissive? She didn’t even know if she could be submissive, if it was even possible.

“Please, Marc,” she whispered, but she wasn’t sure what she pleaded for. For more caresses? A kiss? To be let out of the wager, or to be forced to follow through?

Marc smiled. “Please,
sir
. For the next week, if you are my submissive, you call me sir.”

“
If
I am your submissive? Does that mean there’s a chance this won’t happen after all?” Lauren gazed up at him, unable to deny her attraction to him, to his muscular, tattooed body, and to his firm voice.

“Lauren, our friendship means everything to me. But I’m going to make a confession now. I’ve been fantasizing about dominating you ever since we met. I can’t help it . . . when I see a beautiful woman, I want to see how much more beautiful she looks tied up underneath me.”

Her face felt overheated. Marc thought she was beautiful? He’d never told her that before. Then again, she’d never told him how hot he was either. It just wasn’t how they were together. They teased, they joked, they never . . . confessed.

“I’ve fantasized about you too,” she said. “But in my fantasies, I was always on top. I’m a Domme, Marc. How will I submit to you?”

“I’m going to let you out of our wager,” he said, running his hands down her hair, smoothing it, letting his fingers linger for a moment on the top of her ass where her hair ended. “I’d never force you to do something that wasn’t consensual.”

Lauren gasped in surprise. He was letting her go—just like that? “If you’re letting me out of the bet, then why make it in the first place?”

“Anything for you,” he teased. “Even soda.”

“Come on, really.”

“Part of me thinks you have a submissive side, deep down. Maybe not toward most people, but what if you could let me, good ol’ Marc, dominate you? What if this week together opens up something new for us?”

She’d never thought of it like that before, that a person could be dominant to some, submissive to others. It made sense, she supposed. Many of the male submissives she played with were high-powered CEOs who dominated their entire lives, and just wanted the stress-relief of having everything taken out of their hands and placed into hers.

Lauren had never experienced that—she was always in charge. No husband to answer to, no boss to tell her what to do. Her money came from tributes paid to her on a strictly voluntary basis by some of her wealthier playmates. They had her PayPal address and her Amazon wish list, so she had everything she could ever want.

Even her one-bedroom apartment, small but sufficient—and still wickedly expensive, as were all apartments in Manhattan—was paid for by an Arab sheik who only came to visit once a year on business, at which point he paid her landlord up front for the year. He’d been doing it since he first visited the club and found her years ago, before she’d even met Marc or the BAD Boys.

Her Arab sheik didn’t even want sex. His only request was to be bound and beaten until he bled; it was cathartic for a man with that much power, she supposed.

Marc knew of the arrangement, and while he used to tease her about it, he never seemed jealous. He had his subs, she had hers. Being a Domme for a living gave her as much time as she needed to indulge in meeting playmates at WhipperSnapper or hanging out with Marc and the guys.

Lately she’d been spending a lot of time with Elisabeth, Trevor’s fiancée, as well. Her first female friend. It was nice, having a girlfriend to chat with or play tennis with, especially since Elisabeth really needed to practice her game. Apparently she had never even picked up a racquet before she met Trevor.

Could she do what Elisabeth did for Trevor? Could she submit to Marc? “I could try,” she finally said. “I could try to submit, to let you take the reins. I’ve never . . . I’ve never not been in control before.”

Marc kissed her forehead, a warm, protective gesture that seemed so much more intimate than the friendly pecks on the cheek they usually gave each other. “Are you scared?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. I am scared.”

He smiled. “You called me sir. Thank you.”

Did she? “I suppose it just slipped out,” she laughed. “But you’re welcome. Might not happen again.”

Marc pulled her tightly against him, and through the thin vinyl costume she wore, she could feel every rippling muscle in his torso as he wrapped his hands around her waist, gently tugging her hair until she looked up at him.

“I’m serious,” he said. “Thank you for the gift of your submission, even if it will only be for one week.”

Kiss me
, she thought. But if a sub gave her a direct order, she’d scoff. So she tried to be the ideal submissive and let Marc take control.

He leaned his shaved head down, nuzzling her neck, bringing goose bumps up all along her arms. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he said.

And then his mouth was on hers, kissing her, and she fought the urge to pull him tighter, closer, so they could kiss even more deeply.

Let him run the show
, she reminded herself. The kiss seemed to drown out the music, to make the club around them disappear. They could have been kissing for a minute or for an hour, she had no idea.

All Lauren knew was Marc was an amazing kisser. His hands stayed tangled in her hair, his strong arms imprisoning her against his body. She could stay like this forever, in this moment.

Kissing Marc was better than she’d ever imagined.

He whispered in her ear, biting the lobe gently. “You’re coming home with me tonight. I’m going to put you in bondage. I’m going to whip you. And then I’m going to fuck you. Do you consent?”

Oh my God. This was happening.

“I consent. I’ll try. But I feel weird calling you ‘sir’ if we’re not scening. And when we’re scening, I can’t promise I won’t be a really crappy sub,” she said, laughing a little as if it were a joke, even though it was completely true. “A tiger can’t change its stripes so easily.”

“I don’t want to change you. No matter what happens, you’ll always be one of my best friends.”

“So, after this week . . . things just go back to normal?”

“It all depends on whether we make better friends than lovers, I suppose,” he said.

Marc paused, as if pondering the possibility. “Let’s go say good-bye to Roman.” He took her hand and she followed him, weaving their way through the throng of kinksters.

It seemed everyone stared at them, or maybe it was just her imagination. But she was well known at WhipperSnapper, and the Mistress Lauren that everyone knew had never been seen being led by anyone.

Roman wasn’t at their booth. Instead, he was sitting on a chair near the bar, with a woman bent over his knee. He was paddling her with one of the WhipperSnapper custom paddles.

“Don’t move,” he ordered the woman as he stopped paddling long enough to look up at them. To Marc, he said, “What? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Who’s that?” Marc asked, pointing to the woman over his knee. She looked older than Roman’s usual type, perhaps in her midforties, with a very round, beautifully red ass.

“She’s the first woman who volunteered to let me take out my frustrations on her ass. There is a line. I might be here awhile.”

Lauren laughed when she looked over and saw that there was indeed a line of woman of all ages, shapes, and sizes lined up to get paddled by one the infamous BAD Boys.

“Just wanted to give you this,” Marc said, and handed Roman what looked like a folded check. “Ten grand.”

“You guys had a bet too?” she asked Roman.

Roman shrugged and picked up the paddle again. “I knew you’d take a bet where the end result would be you two fucking. I’ve been telling Marc for years that you guys needed to just do it and get it over with.” To punctuate his words, he slammed the paddle down on the woman’s ass one last time and then helped her up, looking over at the next woman with a hint of a smile.

Lauren’s cheeks were hot with embarrassment. Really? She supposed it made sense, her own mother had asked her when she and Marc were going to start dating, since Lauren often talked about him. Not the kinky stuff, of course, but if they did something cool together, like last month when he gave her a flying lesson, she mentioned it.

She’d always replied with, “Marc and I are just friends. We’re simply not attracted to each other that way.”

What a lie. Lauren had always been attracted to Marc. And now, they were going to his penthouse to spend the night together.

And suddenly, Big Bad Mistress Lauren felt like a virgin all over again.

T
he long ride up in the elevator that led directly to his penthouse suite had never been this quiet. Marc looked over at Lauren and smiled, hoping to reassure her, but she only nodded.

“Come on, Lauren. We’ve taken this ride so many times. You know my place as well as your own. Why be shy now?”

“I don’t know the rules,” she said.

He’d never seen her like this . . . quiet, demure. Where was his boisterous friend? Maybe this had been a mistake after all.