“Please,
Mistress!” The naked man trembled at her feet, every inch of his creamy mocha
skin glistening with sweat. His shoulders flexed and strained, as he tugged at
the jute restraints at the base of his back. She loved the contrast of the
off-white material and his dark arms. His head, shaved bare at her request, hung
down with his chin on his chest. In between his splayed thighs, rose his cock,
long and hard. A shiny trail of moisture on the thickly veined shaft tempted
her to taste. Everything, from his submissive pose to his arousal and subsequent
plea, sent a fresh jolt of desire down her spine.
Her submissive,
the man who’d placed his trust in her, inhaled sharply when the flogger hit her
leg with a loud crack. In the past, he’d begged to feel her favorite toy
against his back, or any other part of him she chose. Tapping the flogger, she
moved around him, drawing his attention with her studied movements. Dragging the
strands over his shoulder as she circled around his back, she hid her smile.
The mirrors showed her every moment, if he
dared to peek. And he’d dare, if only to get caught.
“What
do you want, slave?” With a flick of her wrist, the she released him.
“Anything
you’ll give me, Mistress.”
She
frowned at the standard but routine reply. She wouldn’t accept generic from her
submissive. He would reveal his secrets, his desires, and entrust them to her
without reservation. She would settle for nothing less.
“That
is not what I asked, slave.” She circled back around his kneeling form, then came
to a stop in front of him.
“It’s
all I have to give, Mistress.” His voice was rough as his chest rose and fell
erratically.
Her
hand went to her hip. A low hiss passed her lips. His frustration should be sexual
and despite his obvious erection, she hadn’t pushed him that far yet. Using the
handle of the flogger, she lifted his chin to chastise him, to demand he give
her the answers she wanted. The words died on the tip of her tongue as the dark
honeyed eyes of Chadwyk “Wyk” Havas pinned her in
place. The lust, anger, and desperation in her boss’s gaze took her breath
away, even as it stroked her need to dominate higher. Her empty sheath clenched
hard, a trickle of cream escaped her, and her nipples hardened against her
corset. Wyk would give her what she
wanted. Here in her playroom he had no authority. She was the one in charge....
The strident blast of Venus
Spinazzola-Navarro’s alarm tore her from her torrid dream to start her day. She jerked upright in bed, the sun streaming
through her window. Pushing the silk
sheets away from her overheated body, she cradled her head. She fought for the
hard won control she’d learned at Master Wong’s side. Nothing more than a dream. Mr. Havas didn’t belong to her. He didn’t
sleep at her side, nor would he ever. As his executive assistant, she would
never mix business and pleasure, even if she thought the man willing. Which he isn’t. His vocal distain for the
lifestyle had cut her to the core, when it came
up during some after-work drinks. So why was she still dreaming about the unattainable?
©Dakota Trace All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.
