My Liege of Dark Haven (10 page)

Even through the flush of delight from the compliments, she stared. Men didn’t use poetical phrases, especially a man who looked like a leaner, deadlier, darker Rhett Butler—an aristocratic pirate.

His smile flickered, undoubtedly at her expression. “I had an excellent private school education.”

What would she bet that his elusive and faint accent originated in a
European
private school?

He gave a very Gallic shrug, and his expression lightened. “I want three adjectives for what your skirt covers. Ah, no, I’ll make it more difficult. Three descriptive words for your hips and ass. Three for your pussy.”

“What?” Her attempt to lean back was defeated when his fingers tightened on her jaw.

“Now, Abigail.” A note of steel entered his tone.

The pit of her stomach dropped. Under his hands, his indomitable gaze, she couldn’t
think
. The words spilled out. “Fat. Ugly. Jiggly.”

His expression didn’t change. “All right. Your pussy?”

She wet her lips. Her ice shield had disappeared. His control of her face was intimate, his gentle stroking of her breast even more so.

What did her pussy look like? She thought of the times she’d used a mirror down there.
Ew
. “Wrinkly. Uneven. Ugly.” As she heard the words come out of her mouth, she wished she could take them back.

“I see. So you hide everything under a skirt and wish you could be tall and slender and tan.”

As her college students would say,
Well, duh.

“Have you ever seen a Christmas tree farm?”

Interesting divergence from the topic, but it worked for her. Trees were a safer subject than intimate body parts. “Sure.”

“Did you find it awe-inspiring? Did you have to stop and catch your breath?”

The sight of acres of straight rows of green triangular trees? “Of course not.”

“What about a regular forest filled with tall and short, old and young trees, snags and all? The first time you saw one, did it feel like a miracle?”

On her first trip to Yosemite, she’d been ten. Her father had died of brain cancer the month before. A few trees had appeared, then more and more. She’d felt tiny, dwarfed by the immensity around them. When Mom had pulled over, Abby had gotten out and simply stared. “Yes.”

“Then understand this, little fluff: diversity is God’s gift to the world.” His lips quirked. “The thought of a planet filled with blonde Barbie dolls could give a man nightmares.”

When a laugh escaped her, he smiled and leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “As for wrinkly, uneven, and ugly, you’ve never seen your cunt when you’re aroused. Then it’s swollen and pink and wet. Puffy and soft and incredibly tempting.”

As her face flamed red, he released her.

“My liege.” Dixon waited off to one side.

“Yes, Dixon.”

“I have a member with some questions. Do you have time to speak to him?”

“Certainly.” Xavier kissed Abby, and even without any tongue or open mouth, the sensation left her shaken. “Check in with me before you leave.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Enjoy your free time, pet.” He walked away. His white shirt fit his broad shoulders perfectly. The fabric tucked into his black slacks, revealing the long muscles on each side of his spine. As usual, he’d worn his thick black hair in a braid down the center of his back, and it directed attention to a truly noteworthy butt.

What would he look like with his clothes off? She shook her head. She wasn’t doing that kind of research—no matter how much fun it might be.
Get back to work, Abby
. Realizing her chest ached, she laughed, releasing the breath she’d held.

“Hard not to stare at Master Xavier, isn’t it?” Simon’s wife stood beside the table, waiting patiently.

Abby rubbed her chin—
good, no drool
—realized her position, and clambered to her feet. “Rona, right?”

“That’s it.” The blonde nodded toward a dozen or so people clustered at various tables in one corner. “Would you like to meet some members?”

Abby glanced over and caught Simon’s disconcertingly keen appraisal. Pulling her gaze away, she looked at the others. The mixture of men and women were in a variety of postures. Some submissives knelt, some sat on their Doms’ laps, and a few had chairs. One kneeling man had a tiny tray-like device attached to his head so his Dom could put his drink on it. Another sub was being hand-fed.

How fun…and exactly what she needed for her paper. “I’d love to meet everyone.”

“Perfect.” Rona led the way. “People, this is Abby, the new receptionist.”

The chorus of welcomes heartened her.

“Thank you. It’s nice to be here.” A little nervous under the assessing gazes from the male and female Doms, she fingered Xavier’s collar—no, the Dark Haven staff collar.

Rona patted an empty seat beside Simon. “Unless you’re more comfortable on your knees, it’s all right to sit in a chair. You don’t have a Dom to tell you no, and the club doesn’t require high protocol unless Xavier dictates otherwise.” She sat down on the other side of her Dom.

“What’s—”

“High protocol?” interrupted the buzz-cut, blond Dom lounging at the adjacent table. Dressed in ripped-up leathers, he gave her a slow once-over. His jaw was big with a cleft chin, and he looked like a movie drill sergeant—the one who always bellowed at some timid private. “High protocol is a certain set of behaviors and rituals—it’s the D/s version of bringing out the fancy silverware. Submissives kneel, eyes down, never speak unless permitted. That sort of thing.”

His gaze said that he enjoyed that sort of thing, and Abby wanted to scoot her chair back from the table.

“Relax, pet.” Simon squeezed her shoulder in such a comforting way that she didn’t even worry about being half-naked. “Wearing Xavier’s collar means you can’t do a scene without his permission. And he wouldn’t let deVries play with you.” He gave the hard-faced man an easy smile that was both a compliment to the Dom and reassuring to Abby.

A female submissive farther away sighed noisily. “I saw Master Xavier play with you last week.”

Great
. Had everyone seen her spread-eagled on a table? “Uh. Yeah.”

“He doesn’t do full scenes often. I wish he would pick me for one.” The freckle-faced redhead sighed again.

A stunning brunette tossed her hair back over her chain-mail dress that left nothing to the imagination. “I wish he’d take me as his slave and do the twenty-four/seven deal.”

“But he never brings any slave from home to the club,” the redhead said. “What good is that?”

Lindsey stepped behind the redhead and patted her head. “Mandy, my child, if he’s fucking you at home, who cares about coming here?”

“Oh. Right.”

Lindsey dropped into the chair next to Abby.

“Who’s minding the reception area?” Abby asked.

“Another sub can’t afford the dues, so she volunteered. Which is good—they can’t count on you and me every single weekend, right?” Lindsey’s PVC bustier was short enough to expose a slender abdomen. She tugged at the top, then rose and openly adjusted her vinyl hot pants. “You’d think they could make these clothes more comfortable.”

“Undoubtedly men design them,” Abby said, hearing a huff of laughter from Rona. “So are you going home or—”

“Not a chance.” Lindsey rubbed her hands together. “I’m fixin’ to find myself a big ol’ Dom to play with.”

Abby snorted. She’d always heard Texans were bigger than life. Well, Lindsey stood only an inch taller than Abby, maybe five feet seven, but her attitude definitely qualified. She wasn’t scared of BDSM—she was revved. Like Grace, she’d dive right into the ocean while Abby would stand on the beach calculating temperature, depth, and salinity. “Do you have someone in mind?”

“No.” But Lindsey’s glance at the very big blond Dom gave her away.

DeVries’s return gaze held more assessment than appreciation. “You’re not up to my speed, little girl. Find yourself a baby Dom.”

The red in Lindsey’s face drowned out her few freckles. She sat up taller. “Ah don’t recall asking you. Sir.” She turned to Abby. “I need some water.”

As Lindsey walked away, Abby gave deVries a glare that made him grin.

“Abby.” Simon patted her arm.

“Yes, sir?”

“Xavier asked me to answer any questions you had. Now that you’ve had a couple of nights to get acclimated, does anything come to mind?”

She bit her lip. “Actually. Kind of. Can you show me what that cane with leather on the end feels like?”

* * * *

Abby curled into an oversize leather chair in the dungeon and tried to force her brain into alertness. If she didn’t get a good night’s sleep, she might turn into a zombie. She glanced at the clock near the stairs. Already two hours past her normal bedtime.

Even the sore spots on her back weren’t keeping her awake, although—at the time—they’d been quite the wake-up call. Especially the crop. When Simon had given her the sampling she’d requested, the innocent-looking cane with leather on the end had hurt worse than his giant-sized flogger.

Concentrate
. Blinking gritty eyes, she took mental notes as she watched a middle-aged Dom use various toys on a pretty brunette. A paddle, a leather strap, a cane. She now understood the variations in how one person might dominate another. The genders displayed different styles as well. The Dommes often did more sensual play but also seemed to like the psychological. Although some were even rougher than the men. And the—

Long legs in black slacks blotted out her view and didn’t move.

“Excuse me, please.” Annoyed, Abby tilted her head back, her gaze moving up. A black belt around a flat waist. A muscular chest under a placket-style white shirt. The sleeves were full, the cuffs set with ornate silver cuff links. Xavier’s attire didn’t belong in this century. No wonder he reminded her of a pirate.

His neck was corded, his jaw razor sharp, his mouth firm and beginning to smile.

Am I supposed to stand up?
“Good evening, my liege.”

He set his leather bag down beside her chair. “You have an interesting way of viewing a scene. No…not viewing. Studying. You focus completely. Do you feel anything when you’re watching?”

A touch of anxiety ran through her. Surely he couldn’t hear the mental notes she took. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t think you and your body talk. Communication is important.”

“I—”
Communicate with my body?
“We talk. When it says it’s hungry, I feed it.”

He tugged on a lock of her hair. “When your body says it’s aroused by watching a scene, do you listen?”

Aroused? To her shock she realized she was damp between the legs. Her gaze shifted. “Have you noticed the way that Dom over there is—”

“Now you’re verbally evading.” He didn’t smile, but creases appeared in his cheeks. With his boot he nudged a high footstool closer to her chair and sat down on it in front of her. He leaned forward, forearms on his thighs, deliberately invading her personal space.
Again
. “Abigail, your ‘pay,’ like most of the staff in Dark Haven, comes in two parts: First, membership in the club. Second, learning about the lifestyle. The questions I ask help me understand what you need to learn.”

Did his teaching methods have to be so personal? Still, he was being logical. “You’re right.” She frowned. “You have a lot of staff, though. Don’t you get tired of”—
terrifying? intimidating?
—“instructing each person?”

“I don’t teach everyone, but I enjoy helping out now and then.” He ran his fingers through her hair, fingering the strands. “Especially with pretty blonde fluffs.”

Fluff
. Didn’t that make her sound as if she hadn’t had an original thought in her whole lifetime? She gave him her professorial hell-will-freeze-over-before-you-get-an-A frown.

And received back a tap on her lips. “Have you heard the term
impact play
?”

That was what the Dom in the nearby scene was doing—using lots of painful toys that made nasty red marks on the skin. “Yes. Sir.”

“Frown at me again, and you’ll get a personal acquaintance with the definition.”

Her mouth dropped open, and he slid his finger inside. “Suck on me, Abigail. I want to feel your tongue.”

Why the dark command sent a wave of heat straight to her genitalia made no sense. She closed her lips and sucked, running her tongue over his fingertip. Then his heavy knuckles. Calluses added rough spots. He pulled his finger back, pushed in again, and the movement was so similar to…something else…that she could almost feel him inside her.

He straightened, then set his hands on the chair arms to cage her. His kiss was long, wet, and deep, and even his tongue dominated hers. When he withdrew a few inches, his black eyes were level and controlled despite the heat radiating from his body. “Can you think of a reason I shouldn’t fuck you when I play with you tonight?”

Lots!
Only her brain couldn’t provide even one. He wasn’t a guy-slut. Women threw themselves at his feet, but he hadn’t accepted any that she’d seen. He wanted
her
. And she and her body apparently communicated just fine, because she knew she really wanted him.

What would being with Xavier be like?

His eyes never wavered.

She swallowed. “I can’t think of a reason.” Except anxiety. Fear. Worry. Embarrassment.

“Honesty becomes you, pet.” His gaze showed his approval. “I have a couple of scenes to oversee before I can get free. Are you doing all right on your own? Is anyone bothering you?”

“No, sir.” The formality slid out without her thinking about it. “A few have asked me to play, but—” She touched her collar.

His hand cupped her cheek. “The collar is for protection, not ownership. Unless I think the Dom would go too far past your comfort level, I’ll give you permission to play.”

“I understand.” His words sent a trickle of hurt through her. Didn’t any man ever want to keep her for his own? Pretending to look for her drink, she shifted in the chair and turned away from him.

“Stop.” Xavier stood and gripped her shoulder, forcing her to lean forward. His fingers ran down her back, and she flinched when he touched a sore spot. “Explain these marks.” The steel in his voice was icy cold.