Page 9 of First Time

Master Cooney kept his focus on me and held out his hand. I realized I stared at his face and quickly lowered my gaze like a well-behaved sub ought to do. His wide palm and long fingers beckoned to me, offering me assistance onto the platform.

I slid my hand into his.

A shot of pure adrenaline rushed through my chest, doubling my heart rate in an instant. I inhaled a quick breath, my lungs filling with the spicy citrus cologne that had affected me in the lounge.

Divine. Delicious. Decadent.

All three words flitted through my brain, making my mouth water and my insides melt as I clung to his fingers and stepped up beside him. Regardless of my height, Master Cooney towered over me. Rather than feel intimidated and wishing to curl in on myself, I wanted to press in closer. Feel his warmth wrap around me. Protect me—

“Show Master Cooney what a sweet little sub you are, Becky,” Stephen called out, his voice loud enough in the still room that I cringed.

“Have a seat,” Master Cooney murmured, motioning to the chair sitting sideways on his right.

I perched on the seat’s edge, facing my master for the next however long, my knees together and hands clasped in my lap. A glance over my shoulder revealed Stephen had found a vacant station near the middle of the group and sat on a chair, arms folded over his chest.

His stare promised punishment if I embarrassed him in any way.

Releasing a steady exhale, I lowered my gaze to the floor. My heartbeat refused to slow, and my stomach churned once more. Wishing the floor would open up and swallow me, I closed my eyes. Finding a state of calm would save me from sure humiliation—and angry fists once Stephen and I returned home.

But I was a bundle of nervous energy. Fear of the unknown and dreaded insecurities took me to an edge I didn’t think I would find my way back from.

Chapter 5

Daniel

Needing to keep my focus on the task at hand rather than the alluring, timid woman sitting on my right, I went over some bondage safety basics about circulation problems and mobility issues. I pointed out the need to take care with pressure points to avoid nerve damage and encouraged constant communication between partners.

Since everyone in the room belonged to the club, I didn’t bother with any BDSM basics—communication, safewords, and consent.

Hopefully, my “winging it” proved informative and didn’t sound stilted or boring to those just wanting to explore or learn a new kink.

Once finished with the preliminaries, I knelt on the floor in front of Becky, knowing I had my work cut out for me.

Waves of fear and unease reached through the space between us, but the same as when I’d seen her in the lounge, I got caught up in the woman’s delicious curves. I wanted to tie knots against her flesh and string her up. Her smooth skin would bulge between the loops of my rope, her plump breasts and tightened nipples left free for my tongue and teeth.

Her nubs had grown hard.

Fucking hell.

Swallowing audibly, I attempted to talk my dick into staying flaccid for a change. Fuck knew an arrogant asshole like Stephen would be a raging jealous jerk if my tight leathers revealed what his woman did to me, regardless of how he’d insisted we scene together—that I had his permission to touch his property.

Thinking of the man studying us in my periphery calmed my heating blood and allowed me to glance over at Becky with a more thorough eye to get a read on her body language beyond the obvious unease hitching her shoulders toward her ears.

Faded bruises splotched over parts of her body that I hadn’t noticed out in the dim lounge. A few still showed a darker purple, but most had faded to a dull yellow. I wondered about consent between her and Stephen. Red flags from his treatment of her earlier in the club’s main area made me believe he took what he wanted, when he wanted. How the fuck he’d gotten admittance to Chantelle’s, I had no fucking clue.

The club owner wouldn’t have missed the obvious signs of abuse I couldn’t dismiss considering what I’d seen and heard in the lounge.

Pushing aside all the questions ringing in my head, I focused on my task. I would make the demonstration good for Becky, the best I could considering who sat in the audience keeping watch over us.

“Do I have permission to touch you, Becky?” I asked for her ears alone, my tone low and soothing even though she made my heart race with yearning to fold her in my arms and keep her from harm.

She lifted her focus off the floor to glance over at her asshole partner again.

“This is your choice, Becky,” I told her firmly, and she turned her wary eyes on me. “You hold the power on this stage—over my hands and my rope. Nothing happens that you don’t agree to. Understand?”

Wetness welled over her brown irises even as her pupils swelled. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered, voice inflecting surprise—and thankfulness.

The title she gifted me slid arousal slid through my blood, a worthy adversary to my self-control. “Do you have a safeword?” I asked, my voice still hushed.

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