Page 53 of Rebellion

“Who is this him, anyway?”

“He said his name was Mr. Smith.”

“Jesus.” I rolled my eyes so hard they practically spun in my head.

“He’s probably some senator or congressman or something and doesn’t want anyone to know his dirty little secrets. But uh, Anonymous Dom said you’re ready to do demonstrations to help bring in even more members. What would it hurt to slap this guy around a little and make him call you Mistress?” He tried to sound the same old suave, but I heard the pleading.

“I have plans. Important ones. I promised I would help you build your business, but it will have to wait one more night.”

“Just meet him. Make arrangements for another night this week. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

I did owe Tate. When no one else believed I could make a go at this Dominatrix, he’d given me a chance. I don’t know what would have become of my life if these plans hadn’t been in the works when Gray left. I’d probably be back at the country club letting Marc get back into my pants. Wouldn’t that be a fate worse than death?

Yes. The answer to that was yes.

“Fine. Fifteen minutes. Then I’m locking myself into the Master suite and not coming out until a whole hell of a lot of orgasms have been had and some serious power has been exchanged. Got it?”

“Absolutely, doll. Thanks.” Tate headed toward the door.

“Make sure he’s gotten orientation and send him a bottle of something nice so he understands we’re not playing tonight.”

Tate saluted and tried really hard to skedaddle out the door.

“Hey, when and where am I meeting this guy?”

“He’s waiting for you now in the Master.” Tate closed the door behind him before I could yell at him for being a dumbass. Que Pendejo. Once I got my Domme persona going in the next few days, his ass was getting a serious spanking.

I had so much more I needed to prepare for the scene with Sir tonight. If I dressed now and got this meeting out of the way, I would still have enough time. Barely.

I grabbed my red zip up corset, long black shredded-tulle skirt, and black fitted trench. Ooh, all the shiny leather. The final touch was a new pair of heels with spikey gold studs on the toe and heel, this time with extra cushioning. Comfy and sexy. About time.

What I didn’t put on was a pair of panties. This Mr. Smith didn’t need to know that, but Sir certainly would.

I click clacked all the way down the stairs, across the club floor and into the Master.

“Mr. Smith, have a seat and we can—”

A man in a black hooded mask stood in the corner of the room, hands clasped behind him with his back to me.

What the W-T-F? “Sir? What are you doing here? We weren’t scheduled to meet until later.”

Sir faced me and stood riveted for a moment. He cleared his throat. “I arranged to be your first paying customer, Angel.”

That craggy broken voice I’d become accustomed to was gone. This one rang true and clear as the first day I’d heard it five years ago.

I marched across the room and gawked at his blue eyes, not green. A tingle started under my ears and along my jaw. It spread across my scalp and forehead and then all the way down my spine.

I reached up with shaking fingers. The edge of the mask was exposed at the base of his neck like he was daring me to grab it and pull it off.

Was it really him under there?

I couldn’t wait to see, but I didn’t want to know at the same time.

He didn’t move except for the expansion of his chest with each breath. How could he breathe? I couldn’t.

“Take it off,” he whispered.

Neither of us moved.

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