Page 24 of Scarlett Thief (Criminal Underground 2)

Mare stood back and arched a brow at me. I could feel the analyzing set of her gaze. “You’re going in as a submissive.” It wasn’t a question and so I didn’t treat it as one; I simply waited for her to finish her thought. “You don’t act like a submissive. This might be a bit difficult for you.”

“I’m not a real submissive,” I pointed out. “We’re here on business.”

She sighed. “Sounds like you’ve got it figured out then.” My brows drew down at that comment, but she merely shrugged. "Well, regardless, let's get you ready for the floor. Even if you're just here to discuss business with the boys, you've got to look the part."

I jogged to catch up with her as she headed off again. For a pregnant woman—even as early as she was—she moved fast. “What did you mean by that,” I asked casually as we walked.

She glanced back at me over her shoulder. “By what?”

“That ‘sounds like I’ve got it figured out’ comment.”

A small smile turned the corners of her mouth up. “Bothered you, hmmm?” She turned away before I could answer. “I meant, it seems like Wolf has got himself a brat. I don’t know him all that well, but I suppose he’s into that.”

I considered her statement. A brat—a submissive who enjoyed misbehaving as a technique to get their Dom’s attention. “I’m not a brat,” I informed her. “I’m not a submissive at all.”

“Oh, I see.” Except when she said it like that—in that laissez faire tone—she didn’t sound convinced. I found myself growing irritated, and it was harder to keep a civil expression.

“What exactly do you see?” I pressed.

Mare chuckled. “You’re just one of those people, that’s all,” she said. “It’s okay. The lifestyle isn’t for everyone.” She paused, and I almost bumped into her. I opened my mouth to say something but promptly shut it when she turned around to face me. “I would keep in mind, however, that while you are here, you are expected to act a certain way—regardless of whether or not you believe you’re a submissive. In this club, you will act as one. You will give your Dom and the other Doms the respect that is expected and they will do the same to you.”

“Respect?” I couldn’t help the small eye roll at that comment.

Mare’s eyes narrowed on me and when she next spoke, her words were cold. “Yes,” she said. “And acting like that is extremely disrespectful. I heard you were good—hell, I saw just how good you were for myself when you were in my club several weeks ago, Scarlett—but if you can’t even master the act of being submissive, then perhaps you should wait in here for your partners to get the information you need.”

My eyes widened and I realized that not only had I insulted her, I’d just put myself in a precarious position. Mare wasn’t just a woman who subscribed to the BDSM lifestyle—whose husband was Wolf’s contact—she was powerful in her own right. If she wanted me to stay here, if she deemed me unworthy of stepping out onto the floor of this club, the fact was, I would be staying right here. She’d see to it. I couldn’t let that happen.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I didn’t intend to be rude.”

“Well, you were,” she snapped. “It’s clear you have little regard for the BDSM lifestyle. That’s common, but not here. The people here come to clubs like this to be themselves. To be free of the constraints of everyday life. If you walk out there with that fucking attitude, then you’re bringing those chains with you, and you’ll be ruining their night. These people—myself included—pay a lot of money to be accepted into clubs like this. This isn’t just a playground—though it is that. This place is a safe haven.”

She placed her hand to her chest. “Take me for example,” she explained. “Outside these walls, I’m in constant danger. Outside of these walls, I control a lot of business—businesses that definitely reside in the gray area of the law. I have to be constantly on guard. It’s easier with my husbands, but that doesn’t make it any less draining. I tried to find normalcy, and it didn’t work. My past came hunting for me and the only way for me to ensure my continued survival was to take the darkness by the horns and force it under my command. It’s fucking exhausting.”

The more she talked the more guilt I felt, but I wasn’t about to stop her. Her words were penetrating. They made me straighten and take notice and really listen. It was as she said, she was a strong woman. The Perelli Empire was formidable.Why, then, would a woman with her power even want to submit to a man—or three?

As if she could sense the direction of my thoughts, she answered me. “I’m here because this is the one place I don’t have to think. I don’t have to worry. I can just give in to my desires and be who I want to be without judgment. No one is staring at me, expecting me to be powerful and strong and in control when I’m wearing a collar. No one expects anything but the respect of the status that they have chosen for themselves.”

“I understand,” I said quietly. “I really do apologize. I didn’t mean to make it sound—well, I suppose I did, but … I don’t understand this lifestyle much. I need to be here—out there on the floor with my partners. I can’t stand being kept out of the loop, and I will do as you say. I’ll showcase my respect as needed.”

Mare pursed her lips as she regarded me, and I was half afraid that she’d say that wasn’t good enough, but then she spoke. “You say you aren’t submissive,” she said. “May I ask why you think that?”

“Because I don’t like getting hit,” I replied easily. In almost all of the BDSM romances I’d come across—and in a lot of the research I’d found, the videos, the articles, the forums, fetish sites, etcetera—there was a lot of talk about different types of impact play. I understood, on a base level, that it was just play, consensual. Everything I’d read confirmed that true BDSM didn’t come from a place of non-consent. The spanking might have been interesting, but the rest … I wouldn’t be the type to conform to someone taking a whip to my back.

“I think you’ve got the wrong idea,” Mare said, making me frown. “The act of Dominance and submission in the lifestyle has nothing to do with ‘being hit.’ It’s a power exchange.”

“I’ll only be exchanging my power tonight for a temporary time,” I said. “I don’t think I need to know more.”

“Oh no?” Mare’s features softened and another smile—this one a bit mischievous—lit up her face. “You might be more interested in knowing the psychology behind it. Everyone enjoys different fetishes. Have you thought about what you might learn from your partners tonight by watching how they handle this lifestyle of theirs?”

The question threw me, shocking me down to my core. No. I hadn’t. And now that she’d placed the thought in my head, it was like a glaring neon sign. Before I could utter a reply, Mare chuckled and turned around once more. She tossed a lock of hair back and laughed lightly.

“Just keep this in mind,” she called back, “you can learn a lot from a Dom by how they treat their submissives. Now, come on, let’s get you dressed.”

I followed her, considering the thoughts she’d placed in my head. “I was told they left me something to wear," I said absently, still considering what she’d just explained in my first real BDSM lesson.

Mare snorted, drawing me back out of my thoughts. "Yeah, they sure did."

I didn’t know what she meant by that snort. A part of me wondered if she was taunting me. It had happened more than once or twice. In the social circles, I had slipped casually in and out of for the last several years, it was common for women of the upper echelon to look down on women regardless of what they looked or acted like. Women were jealous of everything—even if you had nothing but looks or nothing but money or even if you had everything or nothing at all, they would find something to covet.

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