Page 10 of Red

"Louder," he commanded.

Her voice rang out loud and clear, like she was in the room with us. "You're going to strap me to the cross and punish me."

And that's what he did, shackling her to the wooden X and turning back to a table filled with devices that I was kind of glad were slightly obscured. But not the whip. The clarity of the black strands were fearsome and...I leaned forward, gripping the edge of the desk.

I glanced over at the man beside me, the man in the black mask, and he was just watching me. Studying me like I was the one on display, not them.

The suspense was killing me, it was...turning me on. My whole body was clenched like a fist, a part of me feeling like I was some twisted voyeur, not only for watching, but because my nipples were so hard, so aching that the thin fabric that covered them was uncomfortable. I was squeezing my knees together so tightly that the fact that I was wet was just intensified.

I didn't want to watch. I almost covered my eyes, just to peek between the cracks. I didn't want to watch because it confirmed my worst fears. This was more than just a curiosity. More than a story that would kickstart my career.

I wanted to be spanked.

When the first blow landed on the woman and she let out a screech of pain-laced ecstasy, I covered my mouth to muffle a moan of my own.

"You're not a submissive." The man in the black mask pulled me from the screen, from the fantasy. "You're full of shit."

I gaped at him, still high off of what we were watching, knowing that I was having some sort of sexual moment or evolution. Something in his voice, in his snarl, shattered that.

And there was something else. His voice sounded familiar. He wasn't from California. There was a roughness, an edge that reminded me of New York. A place where people didn't mince words, didn't put up with crap, and shot first and asked questions later.

He pushed away from the desk, standing in a single, swift, angry move. I knew three things, without a shadow of a doubt.

One: I wanted him, more than I'd wanted any other man in the history of men.

Two: He was a Dominant. Which meant that he was as aroused by the things we'd just seen too.

Three: He was furious.

Chapter Six: Desmond

She wasn't playing fair.

It was more than the fact that she was looking up at me with those blue eyes. Wide, innocent, and utterly guilty. It was the flush in her cheeks that gave her away, the sheer horror that consumed her as she gripped the table like she was on some ride she didn't sign up for.

"I-I-" She tried to turn her chair in my direction but miscalculated the force needed and vaulted herself from her seat—and right into my arms.

Fuck, she felt good in my embrace. Warm, curvy, and...

Don't say it.

Submissive.

She cowered in my arms, nestling against my chest like she was sure she was in big trouble, but she had to push the limits. My own limits were being tested. I wanted my hands on her, all of her, learning every inch of her body. I wanted to trace my fingertips up and down her spine, feel every quiver that rippled through her. I wanted to pick her up, sit her on the edge of the desk, and bury my mouth in her warmth.

And then I wanted to tie her to a St. Andrew's Cross, in a similar room like Dungeon #3. I wanted to watch her eyes bulge like she was about to witness a murder, then show her the meaning, the power of surrendering to me.

When she let out a sound that sounded suspiciously close to a sniffle, I did something that shouldn't have been so difficult. I pulled her away from me, holding her at arm's length.

Yep, it was a sniffle. Her cheeks were that angry red before the sobs came. Those wide blue eyes were filled to the brim and she was trembling like the wrong word, the wrong look from me would break her into a million pieces.

In my professional life, I was a self appointed brute who got in people's faces, threw pans if the occasion called for it, and didn't waste time with niceties, feelings, or holding hands. I wore that title with pride...it meant no one, ever, told me like it was, or had the balls to try and take advantage. When I looked down at her, my scowl softened and I knew that I wouldn't, couldn't be that man with her. I wanted to hold her. Protect her.

When I felt her fingers wrap around my cock, I had a different, darker want.

I wanted to spank her.

Even through the fabric of my slacks I could feel the softness of her touch. She stroked it gently, like she was trying to tame some feral beast.

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