Bow to Your Partner (6 page)

Whether it was his tone of voice or his phrasing,
Callan didn't know, but Mason jerked her head around and looked at him thorough
narrowed eyes.

"Why do I wonder what sort of dancing is taught?"
she asked. "Are you going to enlighten me?"

Chapter
Six

If she could bottle his grin, Mason reckoned she'd
make a fortune. It was wicked, sexy, and darn right dominant all rolled into
one. That single smile made her body pulse with arousal, and little stings and
tingles danced over her skin. Her clit clenched so hard and fast, it was a
wonder she didn't come there and then. Or be a heap of drool on the tarmac.
Altogether too much in one man.
She hadn't experienced a
reaction to anyone like this since Michael. In fact, as Callan continued to
look at her, she realized she'd never encountered such an instantaneous reaction
to anyone like that full stop. It didn't scare her, as she thought it might.
Instead she felt like punching the air, shouting hallelujah and then jumping
him.

"What do you think?" Callan asked her as
he folded her jacket over one arm then keyed in a set of numbers on the pad by
the door. "Come on, let me show you. Careful, the lights aren't on high at
the moment. Do you need me to adjust them?"

"
It's
fine," she
said in a low voice. Somehow the subtle lighting demanded it. A shiver of
anticipation rippled over her body. Why was she so excited? Mason would never
have called
herself
anything other than prosaic. She
definitely wasn't given to flights of fancy. So why on earth did she feel
something momentous was about to happen?
Something that might
well shape the rest of her life?
She followed Callan inside and stared.
Talk about a letdown. Her heart plummeted, and she tasted the nasty bile flavor
of disappointment.

Boring, bland, and totally
uninformative.
The entrance hall had cream walls, a parquet floor and wooden stairs with a
functional banister.

"Dancing in your sleep, I reckon, if this is
anything to go by. My goodness, it's not very inspiring, is it?" Mason
said without thinking. She felt her cheeks heat. "Oh lordy, that was rude,
but really. I hope this is what you need painting."

Callan laughed. "It's not meant to be welcoming.
It's just the way in. We go upstairs,
then
you'll see
one of the areas that needs painting." He put his hand at the small of her
back and ushered her toward the staircase.

The heat from his palm had her clit doing the tap
dance. The silly expression popped into her mind, and set a train of thought going.
Mason couldn't get her head around it. Surely she was wrong? But those three
words together, clit, tap and dance teased her memory about something Michael
said before he died.
About the fact that there was dancing,
and then there was
dancing
.
He'd
intended to show her, he said, just how he could make her body dance as well as
sing. Surely this couldn't be what he meant?

Everything began to fall into place. Callan's
dominant attitude, which, she accepted, intrigued her. Marco's reticence about
what the potential job was. The bland
building,
and
the lack of publicity. Somewhere someone mentioned a new very private club was
due to open in the city.
One where you could do your own
dance.
Was this it? Mason cheerfully admitted she hadn't been interested
in anything BDSM since her husband died in a car crash, but she listened to the
local gossip. She'd mourned Michael long and hard, but life did go on, and now
after all those long lonely months, she was ready to move forward.

Her friends had been determined to keep her busy and
active, and up to date with what was happening, and now she was glad. And oh so
interested to see what was behind the next door.

The room that needed decorating.

All the while she'd been thinking about her
revelations, they'd climbed the stairs and walked into the foyer. This room was
like chalk and cheese compared to the one downstairs. Okay, it still had bland
unadorned walls, but the rest of it called to her on so many levels. To one
side was a beautiful mahogany desk, with a comfortable chair behind it and two
in front. Along one wall, were a sofa, coffee table, and some
magazines.
A tall urn was filled with foliage and a mass of
roses that perfumed with their sweet scent. At right angles to them, facing the
entrance were three doors. It had the potential to be a beautiful room.

"Basic, I know," Callan said. His fingers
brushed her neck, and her heart missed more than one beat. She swallowed. Was
she going to be brave and tell him what she thought? What if she was wrong,
he'd think she really was loopy.

"I think this needs to be warmer," he said
as his fingers traced soft whorls over her nape. Mason wanted to sink into the
exquisite sensations they were creating.

"Er?" Mason blinked, and gave
herself
a mental shake.

"Colors.
What do you
think?"

She was sure her mouth dropped open. "Ah, er
yes, I can do that no bother. I'll sort out some color schemes to show you.
But all this building for one day a week?
Surely you're open
on other nights as well?" Now why did she suddenly think she'd asked a
leading question?
One with potential repercussions?

Mason felt like an insect under a microscope. Not a
pleasant feeing. Her skin seemed too tight, and she'd swear her hair follicles
itched. Callan didn't speak as he looked her in the eyes. Those sexy shots of
amber in his irises flared as he stood immobile. She'd never understood the
meaning of 'even the air was silent' before that moment. Now she definitely was
under scrutiny, and she desperately hoped she wasn't judged and found lacking.
The smell of lavender furniture polish vied with the heady scent of the roses
in the tall vase nearby. Under normal circumstances their perfume would delight
her, but in her heightened state, their cloying scent gave her a headache.

"We have other types of dancing in the rest of
the building.
But not on a Tuesday.
Are you
interested?" Again the room was silent. A faint pulse beat in Callan's neck,
and Mason watched him wriggle his fingers. Was he as nervous as she? It seemed
like it.

Go for it, if I'm
wrong, well I'll just have to laugh it off. If I'm right though … am I really
ready to jump back into the lifestyle? What if I can't without Michael, what if—
Ahh, bugger what ifs, just do it already.
However telling oneself to do something,
and then doing it were two different things. Mason took a deep breath and
smelled the faint citrus of his cologne.
 
The fresh scent dispelled her headache, and
her body responded with devastating awareness. It sent a spiral of need from
her nipples to her channel.

Go on, say it,
show
what you want.

"I can see your thoughts going at fifty to the
dozen, love. Are you going to share them?" Callan slipped her jacket off his
arm and hung it over the back of the chair. He didn't take his eyes of her.

She made her mind up.

"Show me the rest. Or can't you? If
it's
private and all, then can I go in without being a
member?" Still she didn't say what was uppermost in her mind. She could
tell he waited for more. Mason decided to go for gold. She took a deep breath
and swallowed twice. Goose bumps covered her skin, and she was sure
a sheen
of sweat did as well. She was scared, but not
frightened.
If that's not a contradiction
in terms, I don’t know what is.

"Sir?"

His eyes widened for such a brief second, she wasn't
sure she'd really seen the relief that flashed over them.

"Yes, love?"

Surely he doesn't mean
that as love?
 
It's just a word, like
honey or babe … surely?

"Um, well I was once told, there's dancing and
there's dancing. That making love is a dance, and so is BDSM." She spoke
so fast, Mason was sure her words tumbled over each other. She bit her lip and
took a deep breath. "Am I right in thinking this is a set up? That you and
Marco are moving me on faster than I'd started? And why not just tell me?
Because I might want to try, but I'm not sure if I can and even though we've
only just met, why am I thinking this could be important, and what if you—"

"Whoa, slow down." Callan stopped her
speaking by putting his finger over her lips. Mason clamped down on her urge to
pull it inside her mouth and suck.

Like
I want to do to his cock.
She nearly fell over. Where on earth did that
thought come from? It was one thing she'd never really enjoyed. Michael
understood, and so it hadn't much been in their life. Now, all she could think
of was how good Callan should taste. She was certainly moving fast. Mason
gulped and bit her lip. She couldn't say that on such a short acquaintance.
Yes, Marco vouched for Callan, but really, how did he know? He only saw one
side of him, being a sub was something else totally.

"Mason, talk to me," Callan said in a no
messing, dominant tone. "Vocalize, not internalize. To be honest, I think
we've both been set up, but this for me is a bonus. I've been jaded and showing
little or no interest in my true self and desires, and Marco knows it. I was
chatting to him one evening, and I mentioned that and the fact this foyer needs
painting to him. He suggested you, and said you needed to get out and live
again, so he sussed us both out, eh? I for one am not sorry."

Neither was she. Mason realized he still waited for
her to answer. Now she was going to be honest. "
Er,
and I think, nor am I but maybe I need to go slowly you know? Remember how to
walk before
I run—or
dance?" She cocked her head
to one side to look at him. His expression was thoughtful.

"Maybe.
You're correct in
your surmise. This area is for people who want to dance.
As
in rumba, waltz or jive.
I don't know if you
noticed,
the other doors when we came in? One of those is for the club. If you're
serious about looking round, I can take you through my office and into the
general play area." He held his hand in the air as if he thought she was
about to speak.
 
"One minute. Remember,
it's a play night, and you'll have to sign up and join. Are you ready for it?
If you are and we go in, there's no messing. I'll be there with you as your
Dom, and I'll expect the obedience and deferment that I'd get from my sub. No
half measures even if we do only observe and not play. We go by the rules of
the club, and the rules we negotiate now."

She bit her lip. "Which are?"

"Which, if you agree, we'll talk about,"
Callan said in an even tone.
"Because if you don't,
there's no need."

Now or never.
Mason squashed the
tap dancing spiders inside her tummy, and ignored the salsa-wriggling warnings
on her skin.
 
Go on S, S, and C.
 
I won't know
until I try it.

"If I do," she said, and could have kicked
herself for sounding so defensive. "Then won't I have to wait until you've
done all the checks on me
?" Damn it,
now I sound disappointed and needy.

"It seems you applied to join when we opened."

His smile reminded her of the old saying 'walk into
my parlor said the spider to the fly'—damn him.

"Everything was okay, and you signed up, but
never visited."

"I did? And I didn't? How on earth could that
happen then? I don't remem— Michael. He got me to sign some insurance forms, or
so he said. Underhand, conniving … oh,
bless
him."

She recalled the occasion. It had been a few days
before the accident. A secret grin had flickered over Michael’s face, and he’d distracted
her by playing with her nipples as she scribbled her name.

"He told me it was boring stuff that we needed
to sign, and if I was a good girl he had a nice surprise for me coming up. I
was somewhat preoccupied at the time, and just scrawled my name. I know,"
she said before Callan interrupted.
"Stupid or what?
But he was my husband, and I trusted him. I think I'm rather glad I did. He
knew it was something we both wanted to do." A surge of sadness filled
her. For what might have been, and for a good man and Master, taken before his
time. Then she heard his voice as clearly as if he'd been standing next to her.
Forward not back, embrace life not push
it away.

"I am glad," she said in a clear voice. A shadow
lifted from her, and she realized she hadn't been so happy since Michael died. The
dark cloud hovering over her head disappeared, and she wanted to shout and
dance. She hadn't even known how she felt until the sensations vanished.

"I'm free," she said. "Sir, I'm free,
and I didn't even know I wasn't." The salutation felt right, and natural.
Callan gave her a long, considered look, and slowly smiled. As his lips
stretched, Mason was aware of her juices coating her cunt and the way her finger
ends tingled.