Page 4 of Betrayed

Did she dare?

Informing a dom set on rocking your world that the scene wasn’t doing it for you would accomplish one of two things. He would see it as a challenge, like waving a red flag before a bull, inciting him to step up his game. Or it would be like dousing a single candle with a one-hundred-gallon drum of ice water. As good as calling a safeword, things would come to an immediate halt.

When he moved to her other side, switching the bright-blue flogger to his left hand, she glimpsed his flushed face and the light sheen of sweat covering his bare chest. He apparently was getting a good workout, which was more than she was receiving from this long, unfulfilling exercise in futility.

Biting back a bored sigh, she closed her eyes again. Maybe if she endured long enough, the cumulative thuds of the lash would save her the need to visit Mason tomorrow, not to mention the $200 per hour fee she shelled out for one of his sessions.

As the circling lashes worked on her front, the tails encountered a fresh canvas of untouched flesh. When one stroke landed low on the delta of her mound in an upswing, Mari felt a brief twinge of response. It increased with the next enthusiastic throw that connected a hairsbreadth from her lower lips. Regretfully, he didn’t linger there, moving up her belly instead until the focus became the underside of her breasts.

She wanted to scream in frustration and opened her mouth to do exactly that, but she’d never dared be that bold before. Not with any of the other eight doms she’d scened with in as many months, and especially not with Derek. So how could she start with—

Something occurred to her in that moment, which effectively extinguished what little spark he had created. She didn’t recall his name.

Appalled, Mari racked her brain for the answer.

Colton, perhaps? Or maybe Kelton.

Did she politely call him “sir” and pretend she wasn’t completely appalled by her memory lapse? She didn’t know him at all and to be honest, preferred it that way.

Dear heavens! She blinked, focusing on the handsome jaw set in determination. What kind of slut had she become to allow a random stranger to strip her bare in the middle of a sex club, cuff her with arms and legs spread wide, immobilizing her with unbreakable chains or straps, and then take a lash to her?

Less than an hour ago, he’d approached her, promising a “sensual flogging that would have her rattling the windows with her screams of pleasure.”

She’d eyed the young dom with skepticism. If he succeeded, he’d be the first to deliver on his pledge. Lured by his confident enthusiasm, Mari blamed her poor judgement on sexual deprivation. A starving woman would scale the highest cliffs for sustenance. She should have known better.

He was too young, too inexperienced, too willing to abide by every limit on her list. Still, she’d accepted his proposal, wishing now that she hadn’t.

She’d been to this point with the other doms, and it was about now when she admitted they didn’t have what she needed that it turned awkward, and at times, ugly. No dominant wanted to admit his skill wasn’t up to par, but to be proved lacking in front of an audience. Well, that was a blow to a dom’s already overinflated ego. Some didn’t take it well and blamed her. One had called her frigid.

Mari hadn’t denied it. After all, she hadn’t come once during a scene in the entire eight months she’d been a member. And tonight was shaping up to be no different. In time, Kelton—or was it Colton?—might develop the skill for the command and control she needed, but he didn’t have it tonight and she would leave unfulfilled yet again.

Abruptly, the rhythmic strokes stopped, and he approached. His hand was gentle as he stroked down her warm body, cupping her breasts, tweaking each nipple lightly, before slowly gliding down her belly and exploring between her spread thighs.

She bit the inside of her cheek. Sadly, his grunt of displeasure told her he’d found what she expected he would, a pussy as dry as the surrounding Texas hill country in a midsummer drought.

“This isn’t doing it for you at all, is it, honey? Let me try something else. Something with more of a bite.”

Yes! It’s about damn time! Bring on the whip!

That’s what her body demanded, yearning to feel the searing fire that a single tail could bring, that she desperately needed in order to feel alive again. Unless he took complete control, ignored her wishes, and threw her wretched limit list away, he would never make the windows rattle.

Guilt consumed her next, as it had with all the other scenes that had gone bad. She should have been up front with him and admitted what she was, that she needed a sadist, not the sensual dom that he obviously was. Unintentionally, she’d duped yet another unsuspecting player, in the hopes she could be normal for once and tap into a different side of herself, one that could enjoy a slow seduction, or a fun spanking, or find satisfaction through sex without pain.

But she’d fooled herself as much as him and all the others when she wasn’t forthright and didn’t disclose her struggle to find where she fit in these days.

And she didn’t say that now. Instead, she tried to make him feel better and shoulder the blame for the blown scene.

“It’s not you, sir, it’s me. I have enjoyed your attention, truly, but I can’t seem to keep my focus tonight.” Dropping her gaze demurely, she tried to look and sound as contrite as she genuinely felt. “A personal matter is bothering me. I shouldn’t have come. I’m so very sorry. Please, sir, forgive me.”

He studied her a moment, and Mari anxiously waited to see which response he would take, anger over the rejection, or rising to meet a challenge.

“Let me try the crop. The sting will make you forget about your troubles for a bit and help you relax.”

Even after the extended time Colton-Kelton had spent on her, his determination was untiring. This was rather endearing and made her think he had more dominant qualities than she’d given him credit for. She was done, however, exhausted emotionally and physically. Perhaps she should be done with the club altogether. No sense wasting anyone else’s time and energy.

“Thank you, sir, but I think I should call it a night. I’m not good for either of us, obviously, and I have a long drive home. Surely it’s close to midnight.”

He shot her an irritated glare. “It’s not even ten o’clock.”

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