Sweet and Dirty (3 page)

“Kaliph? The ‘Call Kaliph and Son and your worries are done’ law firm Kaliph?”

“I no longer practice law. Much to my father’s chagrin. He really should change that commercial. Now, why don’t we get back to bondage and domination.”

She clinked the buckle of her manacles against the hard wall behind her. “Still bound, here. The domination seems to be missing, though.”

Gently, slowly, he cupped the back of her head, cushioning it from the wall. The tender gesture had her expecting a kiss, and she turned her face up to his. But with shocking swiftness and enough force to knock the breath out of her, he pushed his body against hers, pinning her to the wall. His body fit hers perfectly, strong and uncompromising. She felt his cock shoved against her at the juncture of her thighs, and she felt vulnerable. The sensuality of it was unexpected.

As he simply held her immobile, a fiery ache sparked to life inside her. She tried to move against him.

He shook his head. “No.” She could see every shaved whisker on his jaw, and each dark lash ringing his eyes. Surprisingly, it took an effort not to grind her body against his, but she managed. She saw the small smile touch his lips.

“Obedient. And responsive. I thought you would be.” He eased back with a graceful movement, as casual as if he did that sort of thing all the time. It was only when her feet touched the floor again that Lizbeth realized she’d been lifted entirely off the ground. “Now. We need a word. A safe word for you. When a participant utters a safe word, all play stops.”

“That thing you just did.” Michelle wished she could tug down her dress. The latex had bunched up, raising the hemline to a risqué height. “That was okay.”

“I’m glad you approve.” Masculine humor. “But pay attention. I want you to pick a word, any word.”

“Collar?”

“Collar, then.” Ro smiled, a little bemused. “To be ‘collared’ is to be a submissive, or slave, who is owned in an intimate relationship. And ‘collaring’ is a ceremony of commitment. Much like a wedding ceremony. You picked an interesting word.”

“Beginner’s luck.” Ro was giving his attention to a section of the wall next to her. If she turned her head she could just make out previously unnoticed shapes fastened to it, much as she was. Only these were objects. She had a sneaking suspicion she knew what they were.

She wasn’t surprised when he ran his hands over the selection, lifting a whip here, examining a paddle there. So that she could see them, she suspected. Crop, flogger, wooden paddle, a single-tail whip, a two-tasseled whip…Then he paused and lifted off its hook something that looked like an oversized Ping-Pong paddle. It had a hand’s-width of pink fuzz affixed to the back, and the front seemed to be rubber-ridged, black…and very hard looking. He turned to her, eyes narrowed, and smacked the black surface none too gently into his palm.

“That’s not necessary,” she said, remembering the woman being paddled in the breeding rack. She didn’t want a paddling. Probably. “I’m just here to learn.”

“Who am I to discourage the pursuit of knowledge.”

“Am I going to have to say my word?”

“If you like.” Ro waited. When she said nothing, he arched an eyebrow, adult to child. “I’m going to show you what it’s like to give away control.”

Michelle found it hard to swallow.

“I’ll teach you how it feels when your body takes over, pleasurably so, putting your senses at the command of another who has the experience to make them leap to new heights.”

Michelle’s body trembled at just the thought, but she managed a bit of bravado. “You talk big.”

“Wouldn’t you like to find out if it’s justified?”

Yes. Oh yes
. “I don’t usually do bondage on the first date.”

“Does that mean you’re ready?” His gaze torched her wherever he looked.

“Maybe.”
If he only knew how ready
. But, seeing shadows flicker behind him, she was reminded. Despite his blocking the view into their intimate little alcove, it was still quite public.

He seemed to read her thoughts again. “Don’t worry. I won’t take your clothes off. Or mine. No matter how much you beg.” He positioned himself directly in front of her, with an almost military stiffness. But his eyes still glittered with humor. “The name of this game is, Don’t Move.”

The devilish glint in his eyes was the only warning she got before he kissed her.

Her body jerked against his, and it took her a moment to realize that it was his hand holding the paddle clamped against the small of her back doing the jerking and not her own delirious reflex to jump him. His lips pressed firm and hot against hers, his breath sweet as it mingled with hers. And his body…Her heart thundered in her ears as her knees weakened. She tried not to move against him.

His hard forearm and the paddle, plus her manacles, kept her centered and upright. His lips curved in a smile against hers. Her body seemed to open up, becoming sensitive all over. She heard the sound of a moan, felt the vibration against their lips and knew she’d made the sound.

When his lips opened and his tongue plundered her, the electricity forked through her body. Taking effortless possession of her mouth, he cupped the base of her head with his other hand. He tilted her head here or there as it pleased him. His tongue slid out, then in again to tease and play with hers.

Then he stopped. Air rushed into the small gap between their faces, cooling her enough for her to regain a sense of propriety. The low thud of the nightclub’s music thrummed through her, beating in time with her pulse. She felt her lips quivering with unfulfilled desire. Her eyelids drifted closed to savor it. She tried to shift in a way that gave her better access to him.

The smart slap of rubber against her rump reminded her. Her eyes flew open. Ro’s expression was stern. “You moved. You’ll notice I’m making a clear connection between your offense and my correction.” At the word “correction,” the paddle tapped her again. Hard enough to sting, even through her dress.

“You mentioned your interest in dogs. Swift disciplinary action is good for dogs, and for people too. Rewards also work.” He gave her the briefest of smiles, easing the stern expression as he spoke over her demurral. “Don’t bother trying to deny what you feel.” He rubbed her against him, an obscene jiggle that made her cry out sharply with surprised pleasure. “Now, tell me. Why do you want to learn dominance behavior? Is it for dog training?”

“Training and breeding. It’s what I do.” The training was for herself too. But she didn’t tell him that.

“Thank you for sharing.”

His respectful, gentle voice soothed her.

Aftershocks from his kiss kept hitting her, tingling on her skin and vibrating in slow sensual waves to her stomach. Butterflies on steroids. All she had to do was remember Ro’s tongue in her mouth and she felt an eager warmth between her legs. It was as if he commanded her very emotions to reject all doubt. Well, most of the doubt. She trembled in her bonds, helpless. She felt a distant dismay at the realization that part of her reveled in the helplessness.

The paddle lifted, and he held it there before her for her inspection. He turned it so she could see every groove on the rubber side, every fiber of material on the fuzzy side. Then he extended it so it stroked her hair. The fuzz felt like the softest brush, light and delicately tickling.

He ran it down her body, over her dress, turning it so that the dangerous side faced her. The rubber ridges nudged her breasts, her belly, continuing down, and he turned it again. Fuzz. Down, past the hem of her dress, and back up the inside of her thighs, hidden underneath. Firm against the juncture of her thighs, and she moaned out loud at the shocking intrusion of the rubber pressing against her most sensitive area. The rubber on one side and fuzz on the other created a wicked sensation. It continued down again.

She trembled more violently as he repeated the movement, up one inner thigh to her panties. Her knees buckled, but the leather restraints held her upright, pulling on her wrists.

Down the other side. Then again, with one variation: his hand accompanied the paddle. Her breath came in short pants. The feel of his large warm fingers gliding against the inside of her thighs tore a whimper from her.

He moved in close, giving himself more leverage and allowing his taut body to brush against hers. His breath felt erotic against her throat. His chest burned against her wherever it touched.

The conflagration was happening lower, where his hands worked. Cool air moved under her dress, contrasting with the heat of his skin. His hand hitchhiked on the edge of the paddle, but the paddle moved too slowly. She tried to move against it, but she couldn’t move down; she had to wait for him to move up.

He stopped, began moving it back down again.

No
! She groaned, then gasped in gratitude as he reversed it once again.

Waiting for his touch was making a cinder of her. His fingers felt mobile and deadly under her skirt. But he wouldn’t use his fingers the way she wanted him to.

He wouldn’t be hurried. He continued the rhythmic stroking, the contrasting sensations making her muscles tremble and tense.

“Please,”
she begged finally, the word ripped from her. She thought she felt him grin against her neck, but suddenly her awareness exploded as he worked his fingers underneath her panties. The deliberate invasion jerked a small scream out of her, wordless and primal.

“Hush, love,” he said, his voice a million miles away and bursting inside her mind. “They’ll think I’m killing you.”

He kissed her neck as she tried to remember who “they” were. Ro stepped back to observe her hanging limply, and the direct appraisal made her feel cheap and deliciously violated in her still-hiked-up dress. Others could see her, too, if they looked past him into their alcove.

A flush of shame and pleasure informed her that part of her reveled in the exhibition.

His small smile told her he knew. “That will conclude today’s lesson.”

“Unlock me,” she said in a voice she barely recognized as her own.

He stepped close again. She relished the heat and strength of him as he unshackled her wrists. She wobbled a bit on her feet, then rubbed her wrists. They had faint pink marks.

“Those will be gone in a few minutes.” She saw his sharp eyes on her wrists. She lifted her head, ran a shaky hand through her hair and concentrated on standing without swaying. Movement drew her gaze again. Though Ro’s large form blocked most of the entrance to their alcove, she could see a woman lead a man, leash attached to collar, past them. The collared man flipped an incurious glance in Lizbeth’s direction, then quickly looked back toward his dom when his leash twitched.

The masked dominatrix, Vivian, held the leash. The dark caves of her masked eyes might or might not be watching. Had she seen everything? There probably wasn’t much more to see than Ro’s backside when he was working on her. It was reason enough to stare, even clothed, Lizbeth had to admit, peeking at Ro’s glorious form as he tossed the paddle into a wall-mounted receptacle. “Like a laundry chute,” he explained without turning his head. “Some unlucky sub who needs punishing gets to clean the toys.”

Now that she was calming down, Lizbeth began to feel overwhelmed by what she’d done. “I hope you don’t mind, but I need to get out of here.”

Ro turned to her, unsurprised.

“Thank you?” she added. She fidgeted, tugging at the edge of her dress. What do you say when the most sensual man you’ve ever met ties you up and gives so much pleasure that you can barely stand? What did it mean to him, after all? Probably nothing. Probably did it twenty times a night.

Sudden dismay stabbed at her and she tugged harder, as if getting her dress down to a respectable length would let her reclaim a sense of control. “Thank you very much?”

His lips tilted up in an almost-smile. “You’re welcome?” he said gently, in the same questioning tone.

She liked him. How could she feel such affection for a stranger?

“I hope you’ll…come again.” The devious glint in his eyes made them seem to sparkle.

This time she laughed out loud. Emotions pounced on each other in her head like a writhing puppy-pile. Exhilaration topped by humor, lust trading places with apprehension. At the moment affection took preeminence.

She craved the solitude of her apartment to sort it out.

He seemed to sense it. He stood aside to let her pass. “Until next time, then.”

When Lizbeth exited the club, Vivian was nowhere to be seen.

L
izbeth negotiated the stairs up to her second-floor apartment while fumbling for her house key. Soon her home would envelop her. She could take off the stratospheric heels that made her feet hurt and her back ache. She could peel off her dominatrix dress in favor of comfortable old overwashed sleepwear. And, most anticipated of all, she could sort out her feelings about the crazy thing she’d just done.

Her ex-boyfriend blocked her front door.

“Ted?” She gaped. “What…How…? What a surprise,” she finally managed. “I hadn’t expected visitors from back home.”

“Especially not me, I’ll bet,” he said in a Southern drawl she still found endearing after so many years. But then he smirked at her dress, and she remembered why she’d left him. Once one of his charms, his smug knowledge of her became constricting when they’d dated, and downright painful once she’d determined to change.

Two rectangular suitcases bracketed him. He’d brought luggage? She allowed a chill into her voice. “I gave my address to you so we could keep in touch, not so you could move in. I’m starting a new life. One without well-meaning friends and family who treat me like the runt of the litter.”

“I know we didn’t part on the best of terms…”

Lizbeth snorted.

“…but you have to face it. The way you left, right after Sasquatch bit you. It made lots of people worry about your state of mind. Your loved ones just don’t want you getting hurt, Michelle.”

“It’s Lizbeth now,” she said, the new name still feeling odd in her mouth.

He shook his head. “You’ve been a Michelle for your whole life, you can’t just up and change it and expect it to mean anything.” He shifted. She saw how tired he looked. “Can I come in?”

Lizbeth watched the man she’d once thought she loved pick up his suitcases. Expectant. She felt the old frustration, and wished she had the strength of will to send him away.

He lowered his suitcases again. He gave her a self-effacing shrug. “Please?”

Lizbeth ground her teeth. So much for the time and space to sort things out. But what could she do? It was Ted, and he was a thousand miles from home. Just like she was.

“Fine.” She edged by him, poked her key into the lock.

As she opened her door and stepped inside, she felt her dress ride up her thighs.

He whistled. “Wow. You went out like that, huh?” Disapproval laced his voice. She felt a flush of irritation though she’d expected it.

What she didn’t expect was his next comment. “It looks good on you.” She felt him following her so closely that she could feel his body heat.

Lizbeth turned to stare at him. Ted stood in the middle of her living room, arms folded over blinding white T-shirt, legs positioned enough apart to stake his territory. Which he still seemed to think included her.

He frowned at her expression. “Not that you should be wearing it. It could be dangerous.” He looked at her more closely. “You look flushed. Have you been exerting yourself? You didn’t say where you’ve been.”

His accusing tone pried at her like fingernails. It made her cranky. “No, I didn’t say. How long will you be staying?”

“Just long enough to talk you into coming back home with me. Where we both belong.”

He said it with such a loud, certain voice. Almost too certain, as if he wasn’t really sure at all. Did he really think she belonged with him? Or belonged back home? She felt the beginnings of a headache. “Sorry you wasted your trip.”

She noticed the way his gaze leapt from her dress, to her arm, to the red lace that covered her nipples, and back to her face. Baffled. Concerned. She sighed. He cared about her wellbeing. They had all cared in their own ways. And maybe he had a point. Her behavior just lately had been anything but normal. Guilt surged hotly in her, and she had to press her lips together to keep from apologizing.

“You can have that room,” she said in lieu of an apology, indicating the spare. “There’s a futon. Blankets are in the hall closet, as many as you need. I’m going to bed. Got to be at work in six hours.”

Ted’s voice became grave. “Yes. The dog day care. Michelle, your family misses you. And your clients. Your business is on hold until you get back.”

“It’s Lizbeth. I’m not going back. I can’t.” She waved her arm violently at whatever he was about to say. “Please. Not now. I’ve got to haul myself out of bed at the crack of dawn.” She remembered the way the telltale blue glow of his laptop’s screen used to emanate from underneath the office door in his old apartment. She supposed he’d set up in her spare bedroom, and she’d soon see the glow in her home, too. She ground her teeth. Why couldn’t she throw him out?

“You love working with dogs.”

“I used to.” Then, seeing the way he blanched, she added, “I still do, I guess. Well, help yourself to whatever you find in the kitchen. Good night.” She escaped to her room and shut the door before he could answer.

She could finally take her leisure. She could remember all the titillating details of her evening with Ro, and relive the way he’d made her nerve endings jump to life. He’d transformed her body into a throbbing instrument of lust.

Lizbeth peeled off her dress, enjoying the cool air hitting her bare skin. She let herself fall backward onto her bed.

A total stranger!

Part of her savored the memory regardless. But another part, larger and more familiar, was convinced she’d made a crazy mistake.

“You think I’m crazy?” Lizbeth stared at Posh cuddling a Chihuahua.

Slender, real bones from some exotic animal pierced the knot of the taller woman’s elaborate coif. Posh cooed to the dog as if it were a baby, or possibly a plush toy. She held it too tightly. The dog raised its pointed muzzle toward Lizbeth, clearly miserable.

She felt her lips tighten, but didn’t tell Posh that a “toy dog” wasn’t a literal toy. She waited patiently for her boss to explain her outrageous comment.

Posh rotated her head toward Lizbeth, her eyeballs the last part of her to turn in Lizbeth’s direction. Her warm tone and clear good humor was all the worse while displaying such effortless contempt. “I didn’t say you’re crazy. I doubt very much you’re crazy. I asked, do you think you have a split personality?”

“Because I want to change my name to Lizbeth?”

“Not exactly.” Posh smiled, and her eyes glinted with mischief.

Lizbeth shifted from one foot to the other, nervous as always under Posh’s regard. Posh found humor in the strangest things. “Have I done something to lead you to the conclusion that I have a split personality?”

Posh laughed. “No one leads me anywhere. I found myself wondering if everyone’s got a secret side. Or two.” She released the squirming lapdog into the enclosure for the smaller dogs. It immediately ran to the low pallet of real grass, hopped onto it, and defecated.

Posh shuddered. “Look at me, for example. Dogs bore me. But just because I brushed and braided some cuter examples of the species, word got out and rich people started paying to leave their purebreds with me. No one knows I loathe the beasts. Except you, now. I’ve told you my little secret. Do you have a secret?” Posh flashed even white teeth in a smile. With her shining ebony hair tamed to perfection, and her muscular, confident body language, she intimidated Lizbeth utterly.

“I knew you weren’t a huge fan of dogs,” Lizbeth said. She flipped through the Dog Day Care and Cage-Free Boarding Application, making sure the Chihuahua’s owners had attached copies of vaccination dates, spay/neuter certificate, and the pet’s personality profile. It didn’t surprise her to see the small dog described as “nervous.”

Lizbeth could relate. Especially with Posh’s speculative, hungry gaze on her, like some she-wolf waiting for a rabbit to poke its head out of a burrow.

“I never did thank you for picking up those collars yesterday,” Posh said suddenly. “I half-expected you to bring back some cheap, ugly Petwise collars instead. But you didn’t. How did you like Fantasy Dresser?”

“I think we paid too much for dog collars.”

Posh waved this off. “People of extravagant means in LA demand originality with a bit of ostentation. They don’t trust bargains, so they expect to be gouged. I know my Richie-riches.” Posh grinned, looking particularly feral. She approached Lizbeth, scanning her from head to toe. “Michelle, people don’t surprise me much. But you, my decidedly unbleached-blonde”—she pinched a lock of Lizbeth’s light brunette hair between two fingers, examining—“and thoroughly Midwestern dog whisperer…I am surprised you brought back those collars.” Posh strolled, her five-inch heels clicking against the slick floor. She clearly assumed Lizbeth would follow.

Lizbeth followed. “It’s Lizbeth,” she reminded Posh.

Posh didn’t seem to hear. She trailed a long, polished nail over the top of the taller plastic fence enclosing the large dog area. She tossed handfuls of treats as if throwing grain for chickens. The wink of leather and metal from the four new collars appeared among a pack of dogs racing toward her. They scrabbled for the bright red, donut-shaped treats. When Lizbeth saw the treat colors she groaned to herself. A junk brand. Diarrhea would strike half the dogs before 3:00. Lizbeth would have to clean it.

Lizbeth opened her mouth to protest.

Posh wheeled, spoke first. “You say you’ve worked with dogs all your life. But you avoid them here, unless I give instructions otherwise. Why?”

Lizbeth closed her mouth.

“Don’t look so worried. You’re doing a great job, feeding them and cleaning up, taking care of the paperwork and errands and things. It’s just strange. You told me you loved dogs in the interview, but you don’t spend much time with them.” Posh upended the treat bag, emptying it. The dogs boiled around the food, but Posh barely glanced down. “So what’s the deal?”

With lightning-strike suddenness a dogfight broke out. Snarling from a half-dozen canine throats, yips of pain, and one mournful howl that sounded so familiar to Lizbeth it rooted her to the spot.

Posh cursed, ran to her office, and returned. Before Lizbeth could protest, her boss cracked a bullwhip over the heads of the fighting dogs. “Stop that!” she commanded.

The fight stopped as if by magic. Wrestling dogs separated. Winners and losers both looked shamefaced. A greyhound favored his leg for a moment, but the limp disappeared after a few elegant steps. His new collar seemed bulky on his graceful neck. Lizbeth could have sworn he licked the air in Posh’s direction with something like adoration.

Posh glared at one dog in particular. “The Labrador started it. I saw him bite the Australian shepherd.”

Lizbeth stared at the perpetrator. “Charlie started it? But he’s…”

“The overly friendly one. Drools on your khakis. Wags his tail and follows you around when you scoop poop. Yes, him. Put him in solitary to cool off.”

“Do you have to call it solitary?” As if the single-occupancy rooms were jail cells. It smacked of cruelty. Yet Lizbeth found herself unhooking a leash at the gate. She didn’t have to call Charlie to her, since he was right there wagging his tail and smiling his distinctive Labrador smile. His long, white teeth sparkled more brightly than she remembered.

“Time-out room, then. Rest room. Pick whatever euphemism suits you. God, why did I ever start this business? Are you having some kind of trouble?”

Lizbeth tried to control her shaking hands, but they trembled despite her mind’s commands. She managed to clip Charlie’s leash to the collar, though he lunged away with an excess of enthusiasm. He wagged his tail furiously. “No trouble at all.”

“Good. I’m taking the rest of the day off. Lock up when you leave.”

“But I leave at 3:00. The dogs’ owners get here at 5:00.”

“Would you please stay until 5:30, just for today? I’d really appreciate it. Thanks, Michelle.”

At that moment, Charlie pulled forward. Lizbeth stumbled and almost fell on her chin.

As she hauled the dog back, his leash pinching the tender flesh of her palm, she noticed one of the other big dogs squat. The first of her afternoon chores streamed out.

The front door clicked shut.

“Great!” she shouted mutinously.

But Lizbeth stayed late, cleaned up, and matched the dogs with their owners when they arrived, some of whom she thought she recognized from television. She stayed past 7:00. Who else would care for the dogs, if not her?

The Hollywood types were nice enough people, but many carried an air of demanding impatience—as if they’d pigeonholed Lizbeth on first glance as a submissive and therefore didn’t need to treat her with respect.

Then again, maybe she was oversensitive about dominance and submission issues, Lizbeth thought wryly as she drove the long way home, squinting at the lingering Los Angeles sunshine.

She had no business driving to The Dungeon.

An orange quality to the light, flashing off building windows and car paint jobs and sidewalks, soothed her. The smog and heat made her somnolent, and the memory of Ro’s face appeared in her mind, handsome and stern and knowing. Her flesh felt heavy and tingly with desire as she thought of Ro’s touch.

She had to see him again.

Her heart began to hammer in her chest. It was wrong, it was perverse, it was dangerous. She should drive straight home.

The lure of Ro directed her steering.

She parked in front of the club.

He was outside.

Ro worked on the sidewalk, cleaning glass and staring critically up at his nightclub sign. The sight of him outside, laboring in the fading daylight like an ordinary mortal, made him less intimidating. He worked for a living, just like her.

Then he looked up and their eyes locked. No, he was anything but ordinary. He was more attractive, more graceful, more
there
than other men. His torso twisted as he set down a sponge, and his graceful stride toward her exuded power and confidence. She felt a momentary clash of desires: she wanted him, badly, but she also desperately needed to possess some of that power and confidence.

She laughed, a bit bewildered, as she climbed out of her car. Amazing how he had the ability to turn her mind into a twisted mass of contradictions, and make her body eager for his touch, just with one look.