Page 64 of The Fighter

I’m so mortified I can’t even look up. Tomas takes it with a murmur of thanks. “Focus,” he says when she’s gone. “It’s not your job to worry about what other people are thinking. I’m in charge. Tonight, you only have two responsibilities. You can obey, or you can use your safe word. Now, look at the toys on this table and tell me what you’d like to try.”

Okay, I can do this. I take a deep breath, lean forward, and pick up the black flogger. “Can I test it on myself?”

“Go ahead.” He leans back, stretching his legs out. He looks calm, but his eyes are hot and intent, and the look in them makes me shiver.

I swing the flogger on the inside of my forearm. The tails snap on my skin, hot and tight.

“What does it feel like?” Tomas asks. “Does it hurt?”

I don’t know how to describe the sensation. It felt more ticklish than painful. “Not really. But I didn’t swing very hard.”

“No, you didn’t,” he says. He takes it from me. I half-expect him to swing it on my arm, but instead, he trails the falls through his fingers, an expression of appreciation on his face. “It’s all in the wrist. I can make it hurt, or I can make it pleasurable.” He gives me a closed-mouth smile. “Or both.”

I shift in my seat, hot and restless and squirmy. “I want to try it.” I pick up the crop and swing it on my arm. This time, the pain is sharp and immediate. “I’m a maybe on this.”

“There’s no maybe. Commit to it. Yes or no only.”

I try everything and sort them into two piles, the ones that I want to try and the ones I don’t. Tomas looks them over thoughtfully, and then his gaze moves back to me. “Are you wearing panties, Ali?”

What kind of question is that? “Yes.”

“Take them off.”

I start to get up to go to the bathroom, but he stops me by putting a firm hand on my thigh. “Perhaps I wasn’t specific enough,” he says. “Take them off here.”

Oh God oh God oh God. I thought the toys were embarrassing enough, but this? I can’t do this. “But there are people watching—” I start to say but make myself stop. My heart is racing, and butterflies are fluttering madly in my stomach. Tomas has me feeling dangerously off-balance, and I like it. “May I ask questions?”

“You may.”

“Do I have to stand up to take them off, or can I do it sitting down?” We’re in a booth. I bet I can wriggle out of them without drawing attention to myself. Sure, if someone’s staring right at me, they can probably figure out what I’m doing, but nobody is doing that.

“You can do it any way you want.”

“Okay.” I lift my butt off the seat, reach under my dress, and pull my panties down to my knees. I slide them off and ball them up in my hand.

“Give them to me, please.”

I slide them to him under the table. He takes them from me without comment, and then he sets them down on top of the table, right next to his drink.

I swallow hard. They’re right there. My black lace panties are right there on the table, and anyone passing by can see them.

Tomas rings for the server again. “Could you put these toys in a private room, please?” he says, indicating my ‘Yes’ pile.

“Of course, Signor.” She starts to pick up the tray, hesitates when she sees my panties, and then continues her task, a small smile dancing about her lips. I keep my eyes downcast, my face red, unable to look her directly in the eyes.

Tomas waits for her to leave. “Are you turned on, Ali?” he asks, his long fingers absently stroking my panties.

God, yes. My face might feel like it’s on fire, but I’m wildly aroused. My insides are clenched tight with anticipation. He’s going to take me to a private room, he’s going to run the tails of the flogger contemplatively through his fingers, and then he’s going to bring them down on my bare ass, sharp and hard. I feel hot and cold and shivery all at once.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Show me.” I should have guessed that was coming. “Push a finger into your cunt and hold it up so I can see. And Ali,” he warns. “No touching your clit. Tonight, your orgasms belong to me.”

I shoot a glance around the room. Nobody seems to be watching us. The couple who propositioned us are having an intent conversation. Two women are on the dance floor, their hands roaming blatantly all over each other. At the bar, a man passionately kisses a woman, sticking his hand down the front of her dress at the same time. Everyone here is absorbed in their own private world. At least, I hope they are.

As unobtrusively as I can, I shove a finger into my pussy and hold up the evidence of my arousal, the wetness gleaming in the dim golden light.

“Good girl.” He captures my wrist and sucks my finger into his mouth. “Delicious,” he murmurs. “Do you want to come tonight, Ali?”

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