Velvet Submission (7 page)

"Why?" The question slipped out, Megan hadn't intended to ask. She never asked why a submissive liked certain things; their motivation didn't concern her. But there was something behind those cloudy silver eyes that called to her, and she wanted to know what it was.

"I knew pain when I was growing up in Russia. Everyday there was pain either physical or mental. That didn't stop when my mother brought us here, only changed." He shifted restlessly, unconsciously working the plug against nerves she knew must be screaming, muscles moving smoothly under his velvety skin.

"The memories were eating me up inside. I was already angry, violent, but that anger was growing to be out of my control. So I made the decision to turn the pain around. I used it for pleasure, replaced the ugly memories with memories of beauty." He turned his head meeting Megan's eyes with his own. "I had no control of my pain as a child, and it nearly destroyed me. Now I have that control, and the pain recreates me."

He looked away from her then and Megan stood, too stunned to even move. She'd never have thought, had never considered, that a submissive could seize control of their world by giving over control of their body. In just a few words, Gregori had shown her it was possible. He submitted for the same reason she dominated. Control. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out what he'd just told her.

Her anger returned, redoubled. She refused to acknowledge that beneath the anger was a soul-deep fear. No, she was angry at him because he provoked her, made her lose her self discipline. She should be spanking him, not aching to wrap herself around him and promise him he'd never have to go back to that cold, dark place again.

Dammit, she would not let him get under her skin like this. The familiar stress crawled into her shoulders. She raised the flogger and stuck him across his ass, hard and without warning. He arched in shock, his beautiful body curved in pain as the leather tails painted bright red stripes along his backside. She struck again, and watched that lovely golden skin flush pink, then red. She moved her blows to the back of his thighs, the tails of the flogger slipping between them and tapping at his tight sac.

A string of Russian came out from between his lips in a low hiss. Megan hit her stride with the even slaps of her flogger. Sweat gleamed along his spine and his hips undulated, his thighs spreading wider.

"Stand up," she snapped. "Face me." He immediately stood to his full height and turned. His eyes burned under hooded lids, his breath came in short pants. Megan dragged the nails of one hand down his chest, leaving vivid pink lines and flicking one of his flat nipples on her way to his stomach. His moan vibrated over her skin, wrapping her in a warm cocoon of want and need. She dragged her nails down further still then grasped his cock in her fist. His eyes widened and he fell slightly back to lean against the chair.

He was too big to wrap her fingers around; thick and solid and
hers, weeping
the clear liquid of his pre-cum. She gathered the moisture on her thumb and forefinger and smeared it around the sensitive ridge of his cockhead, tracing her nail around the ring there and smiled as his gut-deep groan went high and breathless. Pausing, she waited until his eyes were on her and then brought her fingers to her lips and licked them clean.

It was a move she'd never made with a sub, but the compulsion to know how he tasted overwhelmed her better judgment. Hot, sweet and salty. He was of the earth; a big, brawny force of nature, and right now he belonged to Megan. His pleasure, his pain, were hers to own.

Megan went back to the table and dropped the flogger. She took up her long crop with hands that shook, and prayed her legs wouldn't give out. She walked back to him, the moisture between her legs slick on her thighs. She squeezed her legs together, determined to ignore her arousal.

She did not mix sex with Domination. She did not. She would not. God, she was getting tired of reminding herself.

Gregori's expression was one of pure ecstasy as he eyed the crop. He immediately moved his legs further apart, begging her with his eyes, with his body language, to continue.

God, his cock was gorgeous. Thick and long, flushed with blood and want and so hard it strafed the skin just below his navel. She traced the thick vein along the underside with her nail, soaking in his shuddered groan. Lowering the crop, she began to tap lightly, then not so lightly, up and down the length. He gasped with each impact, jerking, but not breaking position, willfully staying at her mercy.

Sliding one foot between his legs, she kicked lightly at his ankle, and he obediently spread even further. His eyes were glued to the crop, lips red and soft looking, and for one insane moment Megan was desperate to taste them, to lose herself in his kiss.

Instead she dipped her hand further and applied the crop briskly to his balls. He lurched, grabbing at the chair behind him, and spit out something in Russian that she bet would have made her blush if she'd understood it.

"What do you want, Sug?" she murmured, keeping up the rhythm of her strikes, only lighter now.

"More, Mistress," his voice was so guttural she could barely make out the words. "I need more."

Unsure anymore if she meant to pleasure him or punish him, Megan let go, flicking the crop hard along the insides of his thighs, his balls, back further to snap against the smooth ridge of his perineum. She wanted to taste him, couldn't resist anymore. She leaned forward and licked a hot line down his arched, straining throat. He tasted of salt and lust. She ran her tongue around his nipple and he cursed. He threw his head back and howled when she bit down, sucking it deeply into her mouth.

Before she could release him, he was on his knees, a tiny streak of blood on his chest where her teeth had clamped before his collapse. His breath was ragged. Raw, almost sobbing sounds ripped from his chest.

His head fell forward; damp heat scalded her through the thin material of her dress. She was on fire and needed to be extinguished fast. Shaking hands dropped the crop, and all coherent thought fled as his breath swept like lava over her already burning pussy.

No more thinking, just feeling. She grabbed Gregori's hair, clutching the best she could at the short, silky spikes and yanked his head back so she could see his eyes. They seethed, molten silver, burning mercury, sending floods of scalding heat through her bloodstream.

"Serve your Mistress," she bit out between her clenched teeth, and jerked at her skirt, ripping along the deep slit to bare herself for his mouth.

Gregori needed no instruction; he dove between her thighs. Biting at her panties, he licked and sucked at the wet satin material, his moan of hunger vibrating over her clit with agonizing pleasure. His large hands grasped her hips, biting painfully into the flesh. His hot breath tore through her like a flame, burning her from the inside out.

With a short, vicious twist of his head, her panties parted, shredded by his teeth. She cupped his skull in both hands and pulled him in tighter. She needed to feel his tongue on her body, had to feel him eating her alive. Had to feel him coming apart in her hands.

"Stroke yourself," she gritted out, and watched as he clumsily wrenched off the cock rings that had kept him from coming. He grunted into her pussy, sending vibrations like a gong through her core, once his shaft was free of its bonds.

His tongue swept over her clit, and she clutched the back of his head, grinding down on his mouth as the storm rose in her. She rubbed over him roughly, marking him with her arousal, and he moaned into her, stabbing into her with his tongue, drawing out her cream. His whole body shuddered under her hands, and she could feel the vibration of his hand working his cock furiously.

Gregori sucked her clit hard into his mouth and the orgasm ripped through her like lightning. She froze, transfixed, and she could swear even her hair stood on end. When the deep, racking spasms hit, he was right there with her, his cum splashing in scalding streams on her thighs, driving her higher still.

She didn't know how long she stood there, fingers speared through his damp, sweaty hair, knees threatening to buckle, but as her senses came back under her control, a chill dread began to fill her.

She stumbled back, unable to meet Gregori's eyes. She didn't know which would be worse; if he were to gloat over his victory, or if he were to watch her with that intent, knowing gaze that reached into her soul and invited her to do the same.

She moved, without speaking, to the sink and used a towel to quickly scrub away his cum, and hers. She stripped her ruined panties off roughly and tossed them in the trash. Then, still not looking at him, she spoke.

"That wasn't supposed to happen."

"Mistress, it was wonderful." His quiet confession threatened to break her resolve.

"It was wrong," she disagreed, reaching for the calm resolve she'd used to set aside countless subs in the past, but not finding it. "I don't do this. I can't do this…" her words drifted off, and she shook herself. She refused to waver at this late date.

"You may bathe before you leave." Megan was ridiculously relieved when her voice stayed level. Then she left the room, never looking back. She knew that if she did, if she saw his grey eyes gleaming with desire, with the need for more, she would have been lost.

He was a submissive, not her lover, and she needed to keep him firmly in his place.

She walked quickly down the hall and to the steps, ignoring those she usually chatted with. Janie smiled when Megan entered the bar area but she waved the bartender off; there was no after-drink tonight. Tears welled in her eyes as she finally made it to the door. God, she'd never realized how truly weak she was.

She could imagine her daddy laughing at her; hear that deep rolling voice telling her that a woman was always weak in the presence of a man, especially a man she wanted. Well, whether he believed it or not, her daddy hadn't raised a weak daughter, and Megan knew all she needed was to get home, get a shower and get a new perspective on what had just happened.

*

Gregori stayed on his knees until they ached, unable to move. His stomach cramped and his chest felt tight, and dammit, he'd sworn never to feel this way again. He … hurt.

Finally, he rose from the floor. His legs were numb from kneeling so long, his skin burned violently with every shift. He stumbled into the small bathroom area, and stopped in front of the mirror.

The light was dimmer in here, but still bright enough to see the long red stripes that lined his chest, the smear of blood over his nipple. Marks,
her
marks. They decorated is body, but they were engraved on his soul.

Moving slowly, he worked the plug free. He winced as it tugged raw, overworked muscles, then winced again at the baby blue color. His Mistress certainly knew how to knock a man down a peg, he reflected as he washed it clean. At least the damned thing hadn't been lavender. Or fucking pink.

Gregori shook his head. He knew what he was doing. He was avoiding. Refusing to acknowledge the pain, because he didn't know if he could handle it. He knew his attraction to Megan went beyond the normal lust between two adults. It even went beyond the normal dynamic between a Dom or Domme and their sub. Her eyes haunted his dreams, the sunlight making him yearn for her warmth; the shadows making him ache to comfort her.

He inhaled deeply, and her scent filled his head. The small bathroom was filled with it; magnolia, Southern and sweet. But more, her essence clung to him. His face was sticky with her cum; her taste coated his lips, like cinnamon, spicy and dark. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip, tasting her, feeling the smooth satin of her pussy against his tongue. She'd been so damn wet, her body pushing greedily against his mouth.

She hadn't cleaned him, hadn't cared for him in the aftermath, and that sliced at his soul. He'd been watching her forever, and never once had she left the after-care of her submissive to someone else.

She wanted him, dammit. He'd already known it, but now he had proof that his southern belle was just as needy for him as he was for her. Tonight had proven to him, beyond any argument or doubt, that she was the one; not just
a
Mistress, but
his
Mistress. It had also proven that she was afraid; afraid of losing control, afraid of losing herself. He didn't understand why; she hadn't let him in enough to understand. But he didn't have to know the why to understand that his Mistress was terrified.

Well, he was a patient man.

Megan was a Domme. She needed the give and take with a submissive every bit as much as he did. She would be back, and he would be ready to worship at her feet and allow her to use him to seek her pleasure.

Gregori was going to seduce her. There was no hurry. No rush. It was inconceivable to him that she could resist mastering him again, and he knew that each time she did it would just stoke the fire in her belly higher. With each stroke of her whip, he would show her that he was exactly what she was looking for. She could deny her feelings all she wanted but Gregori would win in the end. He already belonged to her, and he'd get her to accept it no matter how long it took.

Chapter Six

This time Megan didn't even try to stay away from the club. It wouldn't do any good. She'd still spend her time thinking about
him
, the awful tension would still build, so why bother?

No, better to climb back on the horse, so to speak, and prove to both of them that her little melt-down during their session had been an aberration. It hadn't meant anything.

So two nights after the Gregori Disaster, as she had come to think of it, Megan perched on a stool at the third-floor bar sipping a glass of Cotes du Luberon Cuvee Noe, and chatting with the bartender in between orders.

"I swear," the redhead grinned as she whipped up two Screaming Orgasms, "you are the only member of this club who'd know the Cotes even exists, let alone how to pronounce it."

Megan smiled, but her attention was on the open floor. "It does seem like Velvet Ice has an awfully refined wine list, for a club," she agreed as she swept her gaze over the open lounge areas and dance floor.