Page 11 of Red

If she was trying to prove to me that she was a submissive, hell, that she was even capable of submitting, she was failing miserably. If she was trying to force my hand and make me forget that I was here as the owner of Hush, not a Dom eager to discipline his submissive, she was passing with flying colors.

One moment. No more than one moment.

She slid closer, those eyes shining like some cloudless sky, surrounded by the lace and intrigue of her mask. Her lips were thick and beckoning, the red curving deliciously as she tightened her hold on my solid length. She let out a purr that shook me from my weakness. My indulgence.

I gripped her wrist, the part of me that craved, needed control roaring to the forefront. "Did I ask you to stroke me?"

She licked her lips coyly and shook her head. "No Sir."

The reasons why we were there became static. I powered off every single reason this was a bad idea: she was a potential employee. She was potentially full of shit and could be the gust of wind to bring this whole house of cards tumbling down.

And then there was something even more troubling. A realization that I'd felt when our eyes met in the main room. There was something different about her, different about the way she made me feel. The Dom in me wanted to spank her until her ass was as red as her lips. There was also this part of me that wished I'd been in the office during her interview, finding out more about her story, her journey as a submissive if she was the kind of sub who thought it was okay to just take what she wanted, instead of asking for permission and accepting that I'd grant it or deny it as I saw fit.

Her grin turned downright sinister as she thrust her chest against mine, those pale mounds like something succulent that I couldn't refuse, and I thought, Screw it.

I roped an arm around her waist, smirking at her squeal of shock and delight. With no warning, I threw her over my shoulder.

"I, uh, what-"

I smacked her ass, pulling my punch slightly, but delivering enough power that she gasped and my palm tingled. "You don't get to talk. You don't get to do anything except what I say." I was ready to get her in a room, get her naked and panting, but I waited at the door, clearing my throat. A little test, so I'm not completely disregarding my responsibilities.

"Yes sir," she whispered.

I smiled, thrill racing through me like a bullet as I drew down the hall, kicking open the first room we came to. If I was a good boss, a good manager, she'd be getting her view of this room on her own two feet, not dangling over my shoulder. I'd tell her about all of the unique statement pieces, from the working iron chandelier in the room, to the vintage tapestry that hung on the wall. I was far more interested in the St. Andrew's Cross that was propped against the ruby red fabric. A steel armed four poster bed was just off center of the room. Personally, I wanted to make the cross the centerpiece of the room, but Mary reminded me that our members had varied interests.

If I was on the clock, I'd show her the equipment rack, filled with everything from Wartenberg wheels to the cat o’ nine tails whips. We'd pause as she marveled at all the devices that lined the wall: spanking benches, a sawhorse, and stools that definitely weren't for sitting. But my desire, her boldness, made me forget all of that. Here, in this moment, I wanted nothing short of her.

All of her.

I released her, gently lowering her feet to the ground, fighting the urge to skim my fingertips up her body. I stood back, expecting to see some pout that would make reining in my desire to bend her over and take her even harder. Instead, she was scrambling to fix her mask.

I could have bent her over for that infraction, since the only thing she was allowed to do without my say was breathe, but I had a few secrets of my own. I wouldn't punish her for hers.

When she raised her eyes back to mine, I knew the answer to the question. I asked it anyway.

"Do you surrender?"

Her beautiful mouth twitched to one side. "What?"

I peeled off my jacket, nice and slow. It was almost ceremonial, switching from Desmond O'Connell to this man. This creature with desires that would send many running for the hills.

"Do you surrender?" I repeated, dropping my cuff links in the jewelry tray near the door. "Will you trust me with your body? With your submission?"

I'd posed that question to more women than seemed right when I looked at the way her face brightened. Like it meant something.

"Yes Sir," she answered serenely, crossing her hands in front like some gothic angel beaming up at me.

I was glad she was so busy glowing, staring at me like Christmas had come early because she missed the tremor of nervousness that rattled through my fingers as I started rolling up my sleeves. This was ridiculous. This wasn't my first time in a playroom. I was far from a newbie. But it was her; her rawness, her roughness around the edges slamming into her delicate beauty that was just...well...it was turning my world upside down because she was off to the races, skipping over to the St. Andrew's Cross like some pigtailed girl skipping to the carousel at the county fair. And I wasn't angry. I was enthralled.

"So where do you want me?" She slid her hand up and down the cherry wood of the cross. "It's so beautiful." Before I could remind her that I hadn't given her permission to move an inch, she shot like a rocket to the wall lined with BDSM equipment, touching everything like she was at some interactive museum.

She wielded the Wartenberg wheel, pressing the sharp edge against her pointer and hissing when it was sharper than she'd expected. She straddled one of the spanking benches, throwing one of her arms up in the air like she was at the rodeo, hanging on for dear life until the bull inevitably knocked her to the ground.

"Sin."

She was off the spanking bench, playing with the lever on the rack.

"Sin." Louder. The crack a whip made when it collided with flesh.

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