Rogue (2 page)

“I am
not
a submissive.” 

No.  That wouldn’t do at all.  I was supposed to be calm, collected.  I squared my
shoulders and matched his arrogant pose.  “I’ll admit I’m new to this, but I dressed
this way on purpose.”

He quirked an amused eyebrow at me and folded his arms across his broad chest.  Sizing
up my opponent, I couldn’t help but notice the way his corded arms bulged at the movement.

“It’s not uncommon for new desires to arise once you actually venture onto the scene,”
Carter told me, adopting an even cadence one might use when explaining something to
a small child.  “There’s a difference between internet research and real life experience. 
I’ve been in this business long enough to recognize the signs.  Your wide, innocent
eyes told me everything I need to know.  Watching that Dom paddle his sub intrigued
you.” 

I sucked in a furious breath, shocked and frustrated by his matter-of-fact delivery
of the crass truth.

“There’s no shame in it.”  He spoke more gently this time, but I read condescension
in his reassurance.

“You’re wrong,” I insisted hotly.  I was horrified by the idea that the prime suspect
in my investigation would think me to be a weak submissive.  And I was more than a
little mortified at my acute awareness of the heat of his skin when it touched mine. 
It felt far too nice for my own good.

I corrected myself, finding inner calm and clinging on to it with my fingertips. 
“Well, you’re right.  This is my first time at a club.  But I was just studying the
Dom’s technique.  I want to be a Dominatrix.  I am
not
submissive,” I reiterated.

That cocky light returned to his eyes.  “Whatever you say, Mistress.”  The title was
touched with sarcasm.

It took effort to maintain my confident, cool façade.  Irritation and something hotter
burned just beneath my skin.  It scared the hell out of me.  I never lost composure
around a mark like this.

“If you’re so experienced in this business, I would think you would know that being
rude to customers isn’t a good policy.  Obviously, I chose poorly when deciding on
my first club to attend.  I won’t make that mistake again.”

Shit. 
What was I saying?  I shouldn’t be antagonizing Carter.  I should be cozying up to
him to wheedle out information.  The man’s galling arrogance – and whatever it was
that he was doing to me – was going to make me fuck up an op again.  I wasn’t going
to allow that.  I wouldn’t fail on account of a man who dealt drugs in his kinky club.

“Listen,” I forced my tone to something more deferential, respectful rather than confrontational. 
“I
am
new to this.  I’ve never actually whipped anyone before, and I want to gain some experience. 
I came here to watch and learn.”

There.  Carter couldn’t find fault with that.  I was taking precautions.

Safe, Sane, Consensual. 
That was the creed I had found in my internet research on BDSM.  I obviously couldn’t
hide my naiveté when it came to the more practical aspects of being a Dominatrix. 
If he really was a good Dom, Carter would have to respect that I was putting safety
first.

But if he respected me for that, why had his smirk suddenly dropped into a frown?

“Are you here because you’re trying to learn to be a Pro-Domme?”  His melted caramel
eyes had hardened to something brittle.

What?

“What’s a Pro-Domme?”

His stare turned calculating, assessing my innocent question.  I truly was completely
oblivious as to what he meant by that term.  Whatever it was, he seemed to disapprove
deeply.  I resisted the urge to shift my weight uncomfortably in the wake of that
disapproval.

“A Pro-Domme is a woman who tops men in exchange for money.  It can be quite a lucrative
business.”  He watched me carefully as he delivered the insulting words.

My hand twitched at my side, and it took all my determination to keep my palm from
cracking across his face.  Judging by the sharp planes of it, my hand would crack
before his cheekbones did.

“Are you asking if I’m a whore?”  My entire body practically vibrated with the effort
of suppressing my rage.  The op be damned, I wasn’t going to stand here and mask my
fury at being accused of trading sex for money.

“Pro-Dommes don’t necessarily have sex with their clients.”  His stony expression
told me the sex part didn’t make much difference to him in terms of morality.  I might
have found it funny that he had a sense of moral divides when it came to whipping
someone, but I was far too furious to appreciate the humor in that.

“I won’t stand here and be insulted,” I snapped.  “I came here because I thought this
was a safe place to explore my desires without being judged.  Apparently I was wrong.”

Okay, so maybe they weren’t
my
desires, but from what I had read on the internet, the BDSM community was supposed
to be accepting, so long as you practiced safely.  I suppressed a snort.  I supposed
I shouldn’t have expected a safe environment in a club where safety most definitely
did not come first.

I glared up at Carter.  Even if he wasn’t personally partaking, he was a participant
in what was going on at Decadence.  There was no way he didn’t realize what was happening
at his club.

Is anything really going on here?
  Through my anger, I had to acknowledge that so far, I hadn’t seen anything that
suggested the contrary.  I shouldn’t waste my time with Carter any longer.  I had
a job to do, and he was just distracting me.  I was getting emotional, and that was
never a good thing.  I needed to maintain a clear head.

Derek Carter was
not
going to cause me to fuck up this op.

I turned my back on him, preparing to stalk away.  My body had only half-turned when
his hand closed around my wrist, his long fingers encircling it completely.  This
time, I didn’t jerk away.  I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of deigning to release
me.

When I fixed him with my most glacial stare, I found his expression to be contrite
rather than cocky.

“I’m sorry.  That was out of line.  You caught me on a bad night, and I’m in full
asshole mode.  Of course this is a safe place.  You’re more than welcome here, and
I admire that you want to learn the ropes before practicing as a Dominatrix.  I’m
sure you’ll be an excellent Domme.”

The stiffness in my muscles eased slightly with his sincere apology.  I had no interest
in actually learning the ropes, but it was nice to meet a man who could so easily
admit when he fucked up.  I certainly hadn’t expected it from a Dom.

As I relaxed in his grip, he brushed his thumb along the inside of my wrist, where
my veins were only thinly protected by a delicate stretch of skin.  His attentive
touch to the vulnerable area should have set off alarm bells in my head.  Physical
vulnerability wasn’t an option in my line of work.

The corners of his lips tugged upwards, and he repeated the motion, more slowly this
time.  My pulse jumped under his thumb, the uptick in tempo sending blood pumping
more forcefully into other areas of my body.

“You know,” he continued, his tone smooth and controlled.  The deeper pitch made his
words sink into me like the thrum of a double bass.  “Some Dominants learn by submitting
themselves at first.  You can better appreciate the pain you’re delivering if you
know what it feels like yourself.  I’d be happy to help you with that.”

Wait. 
What?
  It took a few more of those fluttering heartbeats for the meaning of his words to
sink in.  I stiffened again, and my glare returned.

“I’m beginning to suspect that ‘asshole mode’ is your only mode.  I don’t think Decadence
is a good fit for me.”  I stared pointedly at the hand that still ensnared my wrist. 
His fingers tightened briefly as his muscles flexed, but a moment later they reluctantly
unfurled, releasing me.

When I looked up at him again, his brows were drawn in frustration, but his inward
gaze told me it was directed at himself rather than me.

“I’m out of line again.  I understand if you want to leave.  I really am sorry…” 
He looked at me questioningly, and I realized he wanted to know my name.

“Sharon.”  The two short syllables were clipped.

“I’d like to show you around, Sharon.  I promise I really can be hospitable.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

I blew out a little sigh.  I couldn’t leave now.  If I did, it would give Miller complete
control of the op.  If we were going to make a bust, I was going to be the one to
take the lead.  “But it’s too late to go to a different club tonight.  I’ll look around
by myself.”

He frowned at me and took a step back, finally clearing my personal space.  “Of course. 
Let me know if you have any questions.”

“Sure.”  My nonplussed expression communicated that I would do nothing of the sort. 
I wasn’t going to waste any more time talking to Carter.  Or being insulted by him,
rather.  I stared up at him coolly.  His muscular arms flexed in response to my defiant
stance, and his own eyes turned hard.  The force of his challenge bore down on me
like a physical thing.  But I was accustomed to engaging in staring contests with
alpha males, and I resolutely held my ground.

After a few seconds, he managed to swallow his pride and break contact.  I was a customer,
after all, and he had already all but ruined his reputation with me through his blatantly
rude behavior.

So he was worried about damaging his reputation in my eyes? 
Just wait until I bring your whole world crumbling down, Carter. 
If I so much as spotted a few specks of white powder, I would shut this place down.

I turned my attention back to the people in the dungeon, my gaze automatically searching
for the grey-haired Dom and his blissful submissive.  When I found him, he winked
at me again.  I shifted and dropped my eyes, embarrassed.

“So I see Carter has you figured out.”  The low voice at my ear was different this
time, but not unfamiliar.  It had that same ring of arrogance that grated on my nerves. 
I whirled, and my glare intensified when I identified Miller.

“God damn it!  Do all Doms have spatial awareness deficiencies?  Have you ever heard
the term ‘personal space’?”

Miller appeared unfazed.  “I’ve heard of it.  But social conventions flew out the
window as soon as you crossed the threshold of this club.”

I gave him a bland smile to cover the fact that I was spitting mad at my “friend.” 
Between my confusion at the effect of Carter’s touch, his insults, and my interest
in the older man paddling his sub, my emotions were a tangled mess.  I didn’t know
what to make of what was happening to my body.  Taking a deep breath, I masked my
disconcerting vulnerability.

I lowered my voice to ensure that I couldn’t be heard by the other patrons over the
pulsing music.  “Carter didn’t make me.  Our conversation wasn’t exactly friendly,
but there’s no way he figured out I’m FBI.”

“No,” Miller agreed easily, that infuriatingly knowing smile transforming his handsome
features into something wholly distasteful.  “He’s figured out you’re submissive.”

My smile slipped so that it more closely resembled a grimace.  “You might think you’ve
got all the power here because we’re in ‘your’ territory, but I
will
burn you with the department if you don’t show me some respect, rookie.  I might be
a woman, but that doesn’t mean I’m any less capable of doing my job.  And it definitely
doesn’t mean I’m incapable of kicking your ass.”

Miller instantly backed off.  “That’s not what I meant at all.  Of course I respect
you.”  His eyes might be nearly black in the dimmed lighting of the club, but sincerity
shone in their dark depths.

Then he had to go and ruin it.  “There’s no shame in being a sub.  Being sexually
submissive doesn’t mean you’re weak or somehow less than anyone else.  Claiming your
sexual identity is a very empowering thing.”

Disbelief caused me to fumble for a moment.  Was this near-stranger seriously discussing
my sexuality so casually?  How was this in any way professional conversation?  The
atmosphere in Decadence and the women silently fawning all over him must have been
going to his head.

“Empowering?  That’s easy for you to say when you’re the one who holds all the power.”

He shook his head.  “It’s not like that.  Didn’t you talk to anyone about the dynamics
of D/s before you took on this op?”

“I did my research.”

Miller studied me for a moment, weighing up his next move.  He was obviously torn
between a desire to lecture me on the finer points of BDSM and pushing me to a point
where I screwed him at the office.  Proving he wasn’t a complete idiot, he finally
shrugged and let the subject drop.

“Have you found anything?”  He asked, his expression appropriately professional. 
“I saw some pills being handed off at the bar and a guy doing a line of coke in the
bathroom.  They’re barely even trying to be discreet here.  Using at Decadence has
obviously become the norm.”  His eyes turned impossibly darker as he scowled in distaste.