Page 49 of Mastered By Desire

“Does it turn you on, little girl?”

“Mmm.” It’s a noncommittal sound.

“You can answer me,” I say, “or I can check for myself.”

She turns her head away from the scene in Room One so she can look at me from the corner of her eye.

My hand is already on her knee. “What do you choose, little girl? I need an answer.”

“Um. Check, I guess.”

“You guess?” I run my lips and whiskers over her bare shoulder.

“Yeah. I mean, okay. You should check.”

It really is going to be such a delight watching her come into her power as a submissive.

I tug her knee to the side, spreading her legs. Her breaths come faster as I trail my hand up her thigh.

“When I reach your delicious cunt, am I going to find wet panties?” I murmur in her ear.

She squirms. “I don’t know, Sir.”

“I think you do know, and you’re too shy to tell me the answer isyes.” Up I go along her thigh. Her skin is heaven for my fingertips, so soft.

With slow, sure movements, I reach the juncture of her thighs and touch the fabric of her underwear.

Damp. Just as I’d expected. Just as I’d hoped.

“I like touching you so much, I’m going to keep doing it,” I say against her neck. “Your safe word isredif you want me to stop. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” She grips the edge of the table in front of her.

I turn her so she sits less sideways and more facing forward, then I drape her legs on either side of mine.

People amble back and forth in front of us. Some of them watch the trio in Room One. Others are too busy with their own dynamics.

A woman crawls on hands and knees behind her mistress, tugged along by an invisible leash of devotion. In the corner, a man is chaining his androgynous sub to the St. Andrew’s cross.

Two shirtless men kiss and grind by the wall, their hands roving over each other. The picture they make is hot, but not to my taste. The power plays fascinate me most. When I engage in scenes, however, I prefer women.

I whisper in Leah’s ear. “Do you think you can come while surrounded by so many people?” I slide the fabric of her panties to the side.

She lets out a sweet, needful sound. “I don’t know, Sir.”

“We’re going to find out. But I bet you can.”

My hand is hidden beneath her dress, and the table acts as a barrier. It would be difficult for the other patrons to see what I’m doing to her.

But easy for them to guess.

I stroke her skin, gathering the wetness from her entrance to slide it over her clit. Soft brushes at first before I alternate thumbing her clit and plunging my fingers inside.

Her head drops back against my shoulder and her hands fall helplessly to her sides.

“That’s right, let me take care of you,” I say.

Stroke after stroke, I bring her higher. She’s soaked for me. I don’t know if the sexy atmosphere is helping, or the fact thatshe’s getting off in public, or—dare I hope—it has everything to do withme.

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