Page 1 of Until I Own You

1

BRIDGET

The leather riding crop swipes through the air, a blurry cloud of black, and lands squarely against his open palm.

I wish I could hear the slap of the leather on his skin, but the window through which I watch the scene is soundproof.

It’s erotic in its own right, the silence.

And yet, I still wish I could have the real thing, the full surround sound experience.

I tighten my thighs together as the Dom paces back and forth.

He’s a specimen in his long-sleeved mesh shirt and tight leather pants. His dark, olive features are delicious to behold, and his stern countenance exudes control beyond measure. Doesn’t need to bare his teeth or look angry.

He exudes the fact he’s a Dom.

He keeps thwacking his palm with the riding crop.

My heart throbs in my chest.

How I would kill to be the sub before him on her hands and knees with a ball gag in her mouth, waiting with breathless anticipation.

In one fell swoop, he cracks the crop against her bare backside.

She launches forward, her eyes rolling back, and I can only imagine both the pleasure and pain she is experiencing at once.

I suck in a breath. Thank god, I’m the only one in the viewing gallery today. I’m definitely enjoying the show, but I don’t need that little info getting back to my dad, thank you very much.

The Dom pummels her backside, resulting in a peppering of welts across her skin. The strikes are masterfully spread, making the whole area evenly red, each welt clearly visible as if he were painter and each hit was a strike of the paintbrush.

Pain shouldn’t look so pleasurable, yet here I sit, every inch of me begging for an opportunity for that to be me. Just once.

He steps away and hangs the crop on the wall with all the other toys.

The sub turns her head toward me. She’s a member here.

Membership in the Lyons Club is a birth right for some, like me. For others, it’s an earned honor. And considering I know her face from somewhere but not her name, I’d say she’s earned the honor quite recently.

Her blonde hair, with lots of curls, and Botox job puts her somewhere between the ages of forty and sixty. She smiles around her gag at me, eyes wobbling with unshed tears.

Of pain? Of pleasure?

Probably both.

My stomach flips. That could be me. I want it to be me.

And as I yearn to be her, I don’t think I could be as exposed. But truth is, no one chooses to scene in a room with a viewing gallery if they don’t like being watched. The invitation is implicit to anyone who might be interested in getting a show.

The Dom grabs her by the jaw, pulls her face toward his, and seems to admonish her close yet calm.

The door to the gallery opens.

Oh crap!

My eyes fly to the door as I sit up straighter, only relaxing when I notice Sonia walking through the door. I settle back into my seat.

My best friend and member satisfaction manager of the entire Lyons Club, which, of course, also includes the underground.

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