Mistress's Master: Men in Blue, Book 3 (12 page)

Turning squeamish could result in a slave seeking relief elsewhere—somewhere outside the safe harbor of their Master’s domain—with someone who wouldn’t treasure their supplication as their caretaker would. When deep-rooted need drove a true submissive, they could so easily fall in to hands that would abuse their pure faith, placing them in grave danger. She’d seen ghosts of that knowledge in Jeremy’s stare when it had landed on her tattoo in honor of Malcolm.

Could they be any more alike? And yet, so very different.

How could two equal and opposite forces mingle without destroying one another?

They were about to find out. Before they could seek out Morselli or finalize their game plan, someone shoved them both toward the curtain. Matt and Clint stepped forward. Furious gestures, pointing and puffed up chests followed.

“It’s okay, guys.” Jeremy called off his friends. “Keep your eyes open and stay on the sidelines unless we need you.”

They grumbled but followed his curt instructions, crossing thick arms over their chests as they took posts on the outskirts of the space. Lily couldn’t quite distinguish the shadows lurking in the recesses. She thought they might be on a stage. Racks of undefined equipment occupied the far reaches of her vision in the dim area. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she picked out details.

An impressive selection of whips, paddles, floggers, canes and other spanking implements lined one wall. The other held more unusual fare. Shock sticks, a cattle prod, low voltage TASERs and electrostimulation units completed the spark section. Candles, needles and clamps gleamed ominously below them. Lily had never enjoyed inflicting excessive pain though she’d accepted some clients who required it. Her hands were steady as she satisfied their urges. They trusted her to take them to their limits and a tiny bit beyond.

She’d become an excellent judge of human reactions. Hell, she’d hurt plenty of times. Enough to know that sometimes the ache of her flesh could distract from gaping wounds in her heart and soul.

A welcome balm.

Intense stimulation forced adrenaline to rush through a slave’s system, replacing agony with elation, driving them to a zone where they were reduced to the fundamentals of survival—living every instant to the fullest as they became aware of each heartbeat, breath or blink.

“Is that what you want?” Jeremy studied her as she recalled history. He traced her stare to the wicked implements.

“No.” She answered honestly. Though there might have been a period in her life where she had needed it, the point had long since passed.

“I’m glad.”

She bit her lip when his thumb brushed the back of her hand.

“I could give it to you.” He lifted their hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “But I’d rather please you. I think bondage would better suit. Drive you insane with your willingness to submit to me. Steal your ability to do anything except soak up every morsel of attention I’d pay your gorgeous body. Show you to accept the cravings, revel in the luxury of trust and honest affection.”

“Not going to happen.”

“It will. Tonight.”

Lily refused to be dragged into a juvenile display of will-not-will-so. Totally unbecoming of her station. Though damn him, now she imagined what it would be like to grant someone privileges and never have them abuse their rights.

She barely contained a snort. It was a fairy-tale less believable than the prophecy of the man beside her. They shared the silence, breathing in and out in unison. Until a wedge of light appeared in the center of the velvety fabric before them. It expanded as the two panels of the curtain were raised.

Lily shook her hand, attempting to escape Jeremy’s grasp. He clung as long as possible until she slipped her fingers from between his knuckles before the congregation could catch a glimpse of their connection.

She ignored his glare, studying the gathering instead. Counting the individuals she could distinguish in the glow spilling from the chandeliers overhead, she estimated over fifty people mingled in the ballroom. Sparkles danced over the guests wolfing lavish
hors d’oeuvres
and the slaves stationed throughout the room on pedestals like the one she’d been imprisoned on, if somewhat less elaborate.

Men and women clustered around the pieces, admiring them. Some touched, poked and prodded as if they were testing a melon in the grocery store. Lily tensed when Jeremy growled beside her.

She followed his line of sight to one woman, imprisoned on her back inside a wooden restraint, her legs captured in some kind of stockade that left her completely exposed, vulnerable. The woman stared at the ceiling, her eyes glazed, as a man dipped his fingers in her pussy, taunting her for not responding. When he slapped her mound and shook his head, seeming bored before abandoning her, Jeremy took a giant step in that direction.

Lily snagged the harness decorating his back. His forward momentum nearly ripped her arm off before he realized what caused the pressure on his lean yet powerful chest.
Christ.
She’d seen a shit-ton of naked men in her life. None of them had seemed as fine to her as this one.

The jolt of pain radiating through her shoulder surprised her. She refused to make a sound. Jeremy stopped on a dime. He pivoted slowly, giving her time to release him so he didn’t tug her limb further out of joint.

“Shit.” He cursed when he examined her pupils, which were probably dilated. She would have used the same gauge on a slave who enjoyed pain to decide when their body had taken enough despite their willingness to proceed. Some things couldn’t be controlled. Certain reactions didn’t lie.

“You can’t save her.”

When lines marred the corners of his mouth, she could no longer stand still. Lily banded her arms around his waist and laid her cheek on his sternum. She ignored the prick of the metal studs decorating his gear. “I’m sorry, Jeremy. It’ll be hard, but—”

She would have whispered reassurance if his hand hadn’t trapped her confession about her league and the benefactors who’d arranged to attend. The funds she’d provided should cover the hostages she’d scanned.

He nuzzled the hair at her temples then murmured. “I know. Thank God. No more risks. Don’t mention it here.”

“Well, isn’t this sweet? It seems my new friends are getting along just fine.” The crowd clapped as Morselli climbed a set of stairs to join Jeremy and Lily on the elevated stage. He snaked between them, slinging a flabby arm—concealed by a designer suit—around each of their shoulders. “Dear guests, welcome to tonight’s event. Thank you for all the lovely compliments on our offerings. I realize you’re eager to commence the examinations and bid on our fine prizes. Perhaps find some
magic
in the meantime. However, I have a special treat for you all.”

The low-level drone of the attendees diminished as they halted their sidebar conversations.

“Many of you will recognize the illustrious Mistress Lily. As promised, tonight she joins our fine establishment.”

A quick nod bobbed her head when she acknowledged the whistles and cheers from both the legitimate submissives and their owners, ignoring the gleam of others in the crowd. Several men near the stage exhibited the odd, excessive blinking she’d come to associate with users of Sex Offender. No doubt they played Morselli’s games to secure more of the drug. Black magic.

“However,” he continued, “this man is not one of her slaves.”

Jeremy outright laughed. Several of her plants in the audience joined him. Damn them. Just because the man emitted pride and control from every pore didn’t mean she couldn’t tame him tonight.

She tried to visualize him kneeling for her, begging. The fantasy refused to coalesce.

“No, friends, this is truly a rare occasion.” Morselli continued to drag out the anticipation. “It’s my pleasure to present to you a long-lost pillar of our community. Please welcome, Master Jeremy Radisson.”

A smattering of gasps fractured the dead silence of the room. Then a cheer raced through the hall. Men turned to their neighbors, filling in the few who hadn’t heard the rumors.

“Yes, yes.” Morselli held his hands, palms down and quieted the throng. “So you’re in for an amazing show. To prove their dedication to our causes, they’ve agreed…well, what have you decided?”

Tony looked from Jeremy to her and back. “Who will broaden their horizons tonight? Which of you will bow to the other?”

The audible turbulence of speculation bubbled through the crowd.

“Neither.” Jeremy turned inward. “If you respect us, you’ll withdraw your request. We’d be glad to team up and demonstrate on someone who will appreciate our skills.”

No less than a dozen hands were immediately thrust high into the air.

“I’m afraid not.” Tony turned a bit purple. “One of you will break the other. I thought you understood when we parted earlier.”

Lily faced Jeremy. Neither backed down. The force of his compelling stare nearly melted her knees yet she resisted the urge to bend.

“Since our deliberation ended much sooner than anticipated, we had not yet reached an agreement,” Jeremy stalled again.

“Then, by all means, continue to convince each other. Don’t let us bother you.” Morselli strode toward the edge of the stage. “Maybe this will help.”

He reached out and snagged a wicked, braided cat-o’-nine. He tossed the implement in their direction. Lily had the advantage as Jeremy’s stare remained glued to her face. She gave no outward indication of the object’s impending arrival, maintaining her mask.

At the last second, she launched herself toward the whip, snagging the handle out of midair. The crowd cheered for her though their approval was short-lived.

Jeremy may have missed the implement, but he grabbed her. His hands spanned her waist, preventing her from escaping his grasp.

“Put me down,” she commanded.

With his back to the rest of the room he whispered, “Yes.”

She blinked. When he didn’t move, she realized he’d initiated their code.

Yes is no and no is yes.

“Don’t make me do this.” She offered one last chance. “Surrender now and I’ll go easy on you.”

He only grinned.

Lily pulled back her arm and swung the whip. Knots tied in the ends of the leather stung his back, their impact enhanced as the tips gained speed when they folded over the curve of his shoulder.

He shook his head like a wet dog and his grin spread wider. “You swing like a girl.”

Oh, fuck him.

All consideration for his lack of recent conditioning flew out the window. If she came out strong, they could finish quickly—move on. She landed a second blow, this one several times harder. When he still didn’t budge, she continued to build the intensity, working in an uneven rhythm designed to throw him off balance.

Jeremy held her still, never dropping her, never flinching. His pain endurance impressed her jaded sensibilities. He waited until she reached a little too far before attempting a grab for the implement.

Lily twisted out of his reach.

The cheers of the assembly broke through her concentration when Jeremy put his back to her, heading for the stash of tools on the wall. She couldn’t allow him to reach them. She took advantage of the wide-open target. She flailed his shoulders, ass and thighs, careful to avoid his spine and kidneys.

A well-placed blow would drop him, without doubt.

She would never stoop so low and risk injuring him permanently.

Lily chased him in slow motion, since he didn’t actually run. She lashed him over and over. He strode across the stage as though he hadn’t noticed the crimson lines latticing his exposed hide. Matt edged toward her as they neared his side of the stage.

“Stay out of it.” Jeremy called him off. “This is between Lily and me.”

Damn him, his voice didn’t hold a hint of strain. Clear command halted his friend.

She landed several more strikes, the warmed leather snapping against his skin. This time she layered the knots over the brightest of his rising welts. He flinched but didn’t utter a peep.

“Enough.” He growled as he looked over his shoulder. Instead of the anger, pain or disgust she feared, desire loosed his features. Delicious heat colored his cheeks between the scruff of his beard.

God damn, did he have to be so fucking sexy?

“If you stop now, I’ll pretend this didn’t happen. I’ll go gentle on you. I’ll make sure you enjoy your subjugation.”

She stuck out her tongue at him then placed a harder strike on his ass. The leather absorbed some of the impact. It seemed a shame to ruin a garment that fit to perfection, cupping his tight butt as though it’d molded to the solid muscle. A frayed rip slashed diagonally across his left cheek.

“Have it your way.” He selected a long bullwhip from the pegboard. He tested the grip in his right hand as she continued to pepper him with a barrage of short, light, unrelenting blows. When she paused, expecting him to turn, cautious over striking him in an unsafe location, he surprised her by plucking a soft, doeskin flogger from the rack.

The thick mass of wide strips would have almost no sting yet tons of thud. She lost her balance as she considered the contrast he could paint with both implements.

“Good news.” He smiled. “I’m a righty by nature, but I practiced until I could use my left hand even more accurately. It took years to be comfortable double fisting.”

Her eyebrows rose.

Jeremy took advantage of her temporary distraction. He led with the bullwhip, not granting her any quarter. The tip sliced across the upper swell of her right breast, where it plumped above the line of her corset.

Fire spread through her chest, igniting her instincts. She traded impacts with him, feeling less like a boxer counteracting a punch than a lover alternating caresses. The same desire infusing her with raging arousal radiated from his hungry stare.

He’d sacrificed for so long. She accepted the force of the flogger over the more severe marks he’d left, dulling the sting, replacing it with soothing pressure. The longer she held out the more she could allow him to indulge his lost pleasure before making him hers for the night.

She owed him that at least.