Page 2 of For the Sub

Master Damien had not served alcoholic beverages at Ladies’ Night, opting for froufrou, sugar-laced, umbrella-topped drinks that the women seemed to like. But that hadn’t stopped the guest from drinking before he’d arrived.

Even when Brandy had used the Den’s safe word, the asshole had continued on, forcing her to her knees and shoving his dick in her mouth.

Noticing her distress, Niles had stepped in.

“You were my hero, Sir.”

“I don’t know about that.” He’d enjoyed throwing the sonofabitch out the front door. The physical altercation had dissipated some of the angst churning in his gut, emotion he wouldn’t have been able to get rid of otherwise.

If Master Damien or anyone else had witnessed the uppercut Niles had delivered to the guy’s jaw, no one had mentioned it.

Seeing his own bruised knuckles the next day had satisfied Niles deeply, but it wasn’t nearly as rewarding as seeing the current, exquisite expression of gratitude on Brandy’s face.

He rolled the empty glass between his palms, keeping his hands busy so he didn’t yield to the temptation to reach out and touch her.

After all, he didn’t have the right.

Cocking his head to one side, he studied her.

Though he’d seen her around the Den for years, he knew next to nothing about her. She was always unfailingly obedient, but she didn’t stand out. No wonder Damien continued to have her at his events.

She met his eyes, then she shifted.

Very much not like her.

“Something on your mind, Brandy?” he asked.

Gently, she released a breath. “If you’d like to go to one of the private rooms, Sir, I’m available.”

His cock hardened.

Her pretty blue eyes were wide open, and she gave him a quick smile that slammed into his solar plexus.

Fuck it all.

Why had he never appreciated how attractive she was?

Maybe because you’re not the type I usually go for.

Niles stood over six feet tall, and his deceased wife had looked him in the eye when she had donned the heels he liked. She’d been runway-model thin, with deep brown eyes, and raven hair styled in a sleek, no-nonsense bob.

The two women couldn’t have been any more different.

Hopefully in many more ways, as well.

Suddenly, the thought of bending Brandy over, making her scream as she came, stoked every one of his dominant urges.

Still, he didn’t want to scene just because she had a misplaced sense of gratitude. “You owe me nothing.”

“I think you misunderstand, Sir. It’s an invitation.” She linked her hands at her back.

Interesting. If he wasn’t mistaken, she’d tucked her hands out of sight so he couldn’t see the way she was fidgeting.

“I’m afraid I am being too bold,” she said, momentarily casting her gaze at the ground. “Forgive me.”

So she was nervous, and he understood why.

Though she was often summoned to the dungeon to play, he was certain she initiated few, if any, of the scenes, and suddenly he wanted to soothe and reassure her. “I respect a woman who asks for what she wants.”

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