Poker Posse 1: Looking at Rose (14 page)

Vladamir searched his face for several long quiet moments. “Do you want this woman?”

Ibraham didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Are you willing to take your time with her? Introduce her slowly to the lifestyle?”

The question brought him pause. Made him think. He didn’t count the time he’d already spent with Rose as lessons in the lifestyle, but more like an awakening of her to the beauty of her body. “I’ve never worked with a beginner.”

Vladamir moved his hand as if slicing through Ibraham’s words. “That is not my question. I know you have only dealt with experienced submissives. What I am asking is if you are willing to train this one? Is she important enough that you will lead her through things?”

In Ibraham’s mind that was a given, but he told his uncle, “Yes.”

Vladamir’s look probed deeper. “And if she cannot accept your lifestyle? If she will not allow herself to be placed on display? Can you turn your back on the world you enjoy for her?”

Trust Vladamir to cut through the smokescreen to the true heart of the issue plaguing Ibraham. Was he willing to give up exhibitionism to have Rose?

Before Ibraham could respond, his uncle added, “Or are you willing to let another man have her?”

A low growl rumbled in Ibraham’s chest, and his stomach knotted. “No.” He gritted the word out between his teeth, fighting the urge to pound his desk and yell at his uncle for even suggesting another man touch his Rose. “She is mine. With or without the kink, Rose belongs with me.”

A flash of Boudreaux’s determined features only strengthened Ibraham’s resolve. If Rose never let him have her in front of an audience, if she wanted to only play in private, he would be satisfied. As long as he had her.

Vladamir nodded and leaned back in his chair, a self-satisfied grin on his lips. “Then you have your answer.”

Ibraham shook his head, his own amusement surfacing in a low chuckle. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”

Vladamir shrugged. “Not according to my mother. Now, when do I get to meet this Rose of yours?”

“Tomorrow.” Ibraham had no intention of allowing his uncle to interfere in his plans for the evening. Rose was his, and he had every intention of claiming her, thoroughly, tonight.

Dinner sat like a lead ball in the pit of Rose’s stomach as Ibraham closed the door. The noise from the club didn’t follow them inside, but the mirrored walls and the wide, inviting bed were enough to make her wonder if she was insane for agreeing to this and even more crazy for being excited about it.

Ibraham seemed to know a bit of what she was thinking as he flipped the red switch beside the door and assured her, “You only have to use the safe words, Rose. Nothing happens that you don’t want to happen.”

Three other switches, two standard toggles, one yellow, the other green, and the third, a round dimmer device, were on the wall. Rose motioned to the switches. “Are those a signal of some sort?”

Ibraham nodded, toeing off his boots and stripping the socks from his feet. “They’re similar to the safe words. Red light means no one but club monitors are allowed near. Yellow only the doms Master Damien trusts to demonstrate in the club are allowed to watch. Green, open to all members’ viewing pleasure.”

When he held his hand out to her, Rose grabbed on to it like a lifeline. She was sure he could feel how cold her hands were as he pulled her into his arms. “All members?”

Ibraham caressed her shoulders and smoothed the silk of her dress over her back. “Yes. This room is used on members’-only nights. Master Damien keeps it locked and off-limits during the public evenings.”

Rose wished she’d forgone underwear in order to move things along more quickly. Unfortunately propriety had reared its head, but she’d selected her sexiest black lace for him. Having made her decision that afternoon, she’d expected Ibraham to take full advantage of her submission tonight. He hadn’t. At least not yet or in the way she’d expected.

A low chuckle vibrated against her cheek as she snuggled in his arms. “Disappointed, pet?”

She leaned back and looked up at him. “About what?”

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “You were expecting me to pounce on you all through dinner, weren’t you?”

Heat crept into her cheeks as Rose laughed. “A girl can dream,” she teased.

A wicked grin lifted his lips as Ibraham lowered his mouth to hers and whispered against her lips. “As can a man, my love.”

The first kiss was soft, gentle. The caress of a lover reacquainting himself with the taste and texture of his woman. His tongue tickled her lips, tempting them to part before he burrowed inside and began to feed. Again and again, he stroked over and around her tongue, explored the moist confines of her mouth before pulling away, then coming back.

Rose melted against him, the feel of his chest rubbing over her breasts, the press of his erection hot against her belly, the firm grip of his hands on her waist, in her hair stirring her excitement ever higher. When he’d suggested making love to her for the first time at the Omen in a special room designed to accommodate exhibitionists and voyeurs alike, Rose had expected to be terrified.

She wasn’t.

Somehow over the last five days with the direction and tutelage of Ibraham, Rose had begun to see the beauty in the womanly curves she’d been graced with. She still had moments of doubt when he wasn’t with her, but they weren’t as persistent as before she’d met Ibraham. It excited her that Ibraham found her pretty, but it aroused her even more to imagine him showing that appreciation in front of others. With a low, breathy moan, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed closer, rubbing along his body, loving the fact that the heels she wore left her only two inches shorter than him.

A shiver rippled through her as the sound of their breathing filled the room. “Can they hear us?”

“No. Not unless we use the yellow or green switches.” He held her away from him, his gaze searching hers. “Afraid, my Rose?”

Rose shook her head and released a long soft sigh. “No.” It wasn’t fear that had the butterflies on red alert in her belly. It was the thought of being watched anonymously when she was at her most vulnerable that made her hesitate. She glanced over her shoulder at the mirrored walls and ceiling, wondering how it all worked, but even more interested in one thing. “Can we see them?”

A slow satisfied smile began to lift Ibraham’s lips as he stared down at her. “If you want to.”

Odd as it might sound, Rose wasn’t sure if being able to see the audience made her feel better or worse. On one hand she’d prefer the anonymity of not knowing who was seeing everything she was doing; on the other, she knew if she could see the audience, she’d be alert to any cues that would indicate an attack or insult coming her way. “I would like to watch them. Please.” She played her fingers along the hem of the black T-shirt he wore.

He let his hands slide from her shoulders and took a step back. “Flip either the yellow or green switch, then turn the dimmer to the left.”

Rose’s knees were like jelly as she turned toward the door. The words he’d whispered to her the first night she’d been to the club filtered through her mind.
“I like knowing that others’ eyes are on me when I touch my woman. I enjoy knowing that when I strip away her clothes she finds pleasure in the attentions of those around us. That the idea of being on exhibit arouses her as much as the act of sex itself.”
It was the last part she was wavering on. Could she really find pleasure knowing others were watching her? That her body was on display for anyone and everyone to see and judge? More importantly, was her decision to go along with what he requested based on her own desire or some desperate need to do anything to keep Ibraham’s interest and attention?

With each step, she took the time to examine her thoughts and everything she’d learned in the last few days. Rose knew her actions weren’t based on a desperate need to gain Ibraham’s affections. Every lesson he’d taught her illustrated his expectation of mutual trust and respect in their relationship. The tiny part of her brain that screamed at her to stop was easily stifled by the Siren Ibraham’s guidance had brought to life inside her. Pleasing him pleased her. It was as simple and complicated as that.

She took the last few steps necessary, and her fingers hovered over the switches. Yellow or green? In the mirror’s reflection, she could see Ibraham watching her, his arms crossed over his chest, the tension in his broad shoulders and slight flex of his biceps the only indication that he had any concern with her decision. In his eyes though, she spotted something she’d never recognized until that very moment—pride. Not just pride in the control she gave him, but pride in her and her body.

One deep breath, and Rose did it. The red switch went down, and the green up. She spun the dimmer until the light no longer seemed to come from only inside the room, but from outside as well, illuminating the crowd milling around the club.

A sting of disappointment ran through her at the absence of others watching. Here she’d gone and taken the step to acknowledge her pleasure in displaying herself to others, and no one could even be bothered to look. Did they somehow sense the power she could derive from their attention? Did they know that by allowing them to see her body, she was actually in control rather than not? She could punish or reward an audience by removing things or making sure her pleasure was well vocalized. As the concept finally seemed to solidify, Ibraham called her back to his side.

“Here, Rose.”

She looked up at him when she stood before him again. Amusement glittered in his eyes. “Don’t worry; they’ll come.”

He reached out his hand and tugged at the tie holding her dress closed. “Show me that pretty body of yours.”

Rose slipped the sash open and shrugged out of her dress, enjoying the slide of silk over her skin before she handed the dress to Ibraham. Next she passed him her bra, then her panties. Over his shoulder and in her peripheral vision she noticed the movement outside the walls. The excitement returned, slowly building the heat inside her.

“Kneel.”

With more grace than she’d ever felt in the past, Rose lowered herself to her knees and assumed the presentation pose Ibraham had taught her. Her hands were clasped behind her head, her gaze down, but chin parallel to the floor. She spread her thighs slightly and kept her back straight.

Ibraham slowly walked around her, stopping to squat and touch her shoulder, her back, to push her hair out of the way so her breasts weren’t obscured. “What do you want?”

The caress of his hand over her breast and the pinch of his fingers on first one nipple, then the other, distracted her, but she found enough sense to answer, speaking from her heart as well as from the lessons she’d learned. “I want to please you. Master.” A peek up through her lashes, and she saw the flare of his nostrils and the heat in his eyes at her use of the title.

Warm breath brushed her cheek as Ibraham whispered in her ear. “I like that word on your lips, my Rose. Say it again.”

Rose tilted her head slightly and watched his eyes as she said, “Master.”

THE SOUND OF her calling him master came close to shattering his control. Until he heard the word from her lips, Ibraham hadn’t realized how much he wanted to hear it. He thrust one hand into her hair, gripping the black silk tight as he turned her face up to his. “Show me how much you want to please me.” The command was growled against her lips moments before he kissed her, hard, needing the flavor of her and the smell of her skin to settle the dominant within him.

It didn’t work.

Rose slid her hands from behind her head to grip his shoulders and hold him close to her even as her bottom came up off her heels. Breaking the kiss, he pulled back and stood up so she swayed before him, a sexy flush to her cheeks, and her breasts rising and falling with each breath, the tight pink nipples taunting him to take a bite.

Rose didn’t hesitate; attention focused on him, she reached out to fumble with the button and zipper of his leather pants. Once she had his pants open, she moaned with pleasure at the heat of his thick cock in her hands. Rising up, she caressed his shaft with her lips, pressing tiny kisses along its length from the nest of black curls at its base to the rounded head. Each drop of precum that welled up was licked away. Her fingers explored the ridges and veins, sliding slow and sure, first up, then down.

With a low hum of appreciation, Rose finally opened her mouth and took him inside. He watched her play, sliding up and back, her cheeks hollowing out with every suctioning pull of her mouth as her tongue teased and tormented him. The more she worked at bringing him pleasure, the more excited she seemed to get.

The sensation of being watched was like electricity on his skin, building with every passing moment. Attention from the members of the Omen who relaxed in the seats surrounding the playroom registered, but the energy and power flowing through his body came directly from Rose’s soft, steady gaze. She seemed oblivious to their audience, her passion focused on making him come, or doing just as she’d said, pleasing him.

Too bad he had other plans.

Arousal built, the heat and tension wrapping around his balls, drawing them up toward his body, made fire zing along his spine, but he didn’t want it to end. Not yet. Threading his fingers through her hair, he forced her mouth off his cock. It exited her mouth with a sexy little
pop
, and he used his thumbs to wipe the saliva from her chin. Her fingers tightened on his shaft, tempting him to let her finish. Swallowing a groan, he moved her hands away and helped her to her feet.

For a moment, Rose swayed, her eyes unfocused and the pupils wide, surrounded by a thin ring of cobalt. As her breathing slowed, Ibraham smiled down at her. “Help me with my clothes.”

Rose didn’t hesitate. She pushed the leather off his hips and down his thighs until it pooled around his ankles and he stepped free of it. Her lips caressed his cock as she lowered his pants and then again as she rose to stand in front of him. The dimple in her cheek and her mischievous grin begged for admonishment. The shirt came off and was tossed toward her dress and undergarments, but Rose’s gaze was intent on him. She traced her fingers through the hair on his chest. Her body brushed against his, rubbing up, then down, her hips rolling along his, the upright length of his erection sandwiched between their bellies.