Page 58 of Mastered By Desire

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Leah

“Yes, Sir.”

He cups the side of my face. “You look lovely, but you also look tired.”

“I am, a little.”

Spending the night in Dmitri’s bed was a mistake. The sheets, the pillows, everything smelled so good. I ended up getting terrible sleep.

His voice is laced with concern. “Would it be better to reschedule our lesson?”

“No, I want this, Sir. I need it.”

“All right. One of the foundations with BDSM, as with any relationship or exchange, is communication. As a Dom, it’s my responsibility to check in with you and also my pleasure to test your limits. But at times, a submissive may have unseen limitations at work, and it is the submissive’s responsibility to convey those limitations and discomforts to her Dom. Do you understand?”

He sounds so stern and smart. Who knew a mini lecture could turn me on?

“Yes, Sir, I understand.”

“Would you like something to drink before we begin?”

“No, thank you.”

“Then let’s go.” He takes my hand and leads me to a hallway.

A part of me wants to stop and ask where we’re going, but another part of me is here for him to take the lead.

Do you let all your boyfriends call the shots?

This is a different situation. And Gage isn’t my boyfriend.

We step into a small office. There’s a desk, two chairs—one on either side of the desk—a bookcase. Some black and white photography. All the wood is stained black.

The desk is bare—no papers, no computer.

Gage closes the door behind us. “Get up on the desk, Miss L.”

I guess my lesson is beginning. No warm-up, no preamble. I go to the desk and hop up on the edge to sit.

“I should have been more specific,” he says. “All the way up. I want you standing on the desk.”

“Oh! Okay.”

It’s an awkward climb in my heels. Gage comes over and holds out a hand to steady me.

“Thank you, Sir,” I say.

“You’re welcome. Now, I have a question for you.”

It’s weird to stare down at him, I’m so much higher up. My heels feel a lot less sturdy than they did when I was on the floor.

“When you were onstage,” he says, “being stared at by all those people, how did you feel?”

“Nervous.” I don’t even have to think about my answer. “Self-conscious.”

“And?”

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