“Dominant. Submissive,” he said clearly. “Say the words for me, Kari.”

Well, that wasn't asking too much, considering where she was. “Dominant. Submissive,” she said, managing to speak a little louder than a whisper—maybe not much.

His smile was like a reward. “Good. Shall I give you a harder assignment? I am a Dominant.” He tilted his head at her to finish.

“I—I—” But she wasn't. Not really… Was she? It was one thing to be thinking about being, well, controlled in bed, and quite another to apply an actual label to herself. Labels had meaning. And made everything far too real. This was just supposed to be…an experiment.

“Mmmph, that is a hard admission, not one you are ready for. Let's put a limit on it then. For the next hour, until nine o'clock, I am a Dominant.”

She could do an hour. In fact, that's exactly what she wanted to do. “For the next hour, until nine o'clock, I am a submissive,” she said firmly.

And she shivered.

That smile again. “Brave girl.”

Tabitha arrived with their drinks, set them on the table quietly, and departed without a word. “Is she a submissive?”

He handed over her drink, took his. “Yes. In training here.”


Training. You had to train to be ordered around?


The skin around his eyes crinkled with humor. “You're here for three evenings of classes.” He stroked his knuckles along her jaw. “Training is for those wanting to go deeper into the lifestyle, not something you need to worry about.”

“Okay. Good.” She sipped her drink, blinked at the strength, and sipped again. “How many people end up drunk?”

“None.” He drank some of his, clear as water, and set it back on the table. “Master Z limits everyone to two drinks.”

Now how could they enforce that? Then she remembered how Sir's big hand had gripped Buck's shoulder, and she felt a tickle of laughter. Enforcement obviously wasn't a problem. And she should pay for her own drink. She fumbled at the pocket of her dress where she'd tucked her key and some money. “The barmaid didn't say what my rum and Coke cost.”

“No cost. Drinks are included in membership fees, or for you, the price of the class.”

Oh. She put her hands back in her lap. “What happens now?”

“Now we simply talk about what suits your needs.”

She stared down into her drink, watching the bubbles. His silence had her looking up, right into his observant eyes.

“Needs is another word that bothers you,” he said. “Talking about sex isn't something you do, is it?”

What, did he have some sort of view into her head? “It wasn't an acceptable topic of conversation when I was growing up, no.” Her father could expound for hours on purity and innocence without ever saying the sex word.

“Mmmph, in that case, let me run through some options, and we'll take it from there.”

Options sounded good. Were there options that were the equivalent of sticking one toe in the water? She took another sip of her drink. “All right.”

“I have one request first.”

A request in this place might involve just about anything. She eyed him warily. Nodded.

“Can I get you to sit on my lap while we talk?” He ran a finger over her lower lip, slowly, and she grew aware of how soft her own lips were. His mouth curved up in a wicked smile. “I promise not to put my hands anywhere you don't want them.”

“But why would I sit on your lap?”

“Sweetheart, it will make it easier for you; sex isn't something to be discussed at arm's length, now is it?”

Sex. With him. She might consider this evening an experiment, but sex wasn't that way. It was personal. He'd be touching her. Intimately. But she wanted this; she really did. “All right.”

She set her drink on the table and rose to her feet, smoothing her dress down. He slid into her place. Reclining back against the armrest, he put his legs up and pulled her into his lap.

With her feet still on the floor, she sat stiffly until he laughed and pulled her down against his chest, her head in the hollow of his shoulder. Sit on his lap? This was more like snuggling…and pretty nice. After a moment, she let her hand rest on his bare chest where the vest had fallen away. She ruffled the crisp hair, tracing her fingers over the hard contours of his chest. He was so darned big, she actually felt tiny next to him—well, on top of him—like her weight was nothing to him.

His voice rumbled through his chest. “There we go. You fit into my arms very nicely—a nice, soft armful.”

His obvious enjoyment warmed her, made her feel feminine and attractive, something she'd been missing for a while now. For two years, actually, since Curt had left her for some hot, skinny artist.

“What was that thought?” Dan asked. She could feel his fingers in her hair, unpinning the French braid.

“Noth—”

“Kari.”

She could hear the warning in his voice, and somehow she didn't want to disappoint him. “I was thinking about my ex-fiancé.”

“And?”

“And how fat and frigid he made me feel, okay?” she snapped and tried to sit up, but he tucked an arm across her waist and held her in place. Easily.

“Stay here, little one.” He laughed, a low, growling sound. “You have a temper buried under all that politeness. I wonder what else is buried down there.”

“I'm sorry.” He'd only been nice to her, and she'd lashed out.

“I'm not. You know, with both the temper and the worries about your size, you remind me of Z's sub. Personally I like women with some padding. I like lush.” He stroked up to just under her breasts, and she froze.

“And curvy.” He ran his hand across her hip, squeezed her bottom, continued down her thigh. Everywhere his hand touched, her skin wakened like spring after a hard winter, and warmth washed through her.

“You have the loveliest fair skin,” he murmured, trailing his fingers down her arm. “Soft and creamy, and those pillowy lips of yours would tempt an angel to sin. I'm no angel.” His hand tangled in her loose hair, tipping her head back, and his mouth settled on hers. His lips were firm, demanding, opening hers and taking possession without mercy.

When he pulled back, she was breathing hard, her hand fisted in his vest. God, the man could kiss.

“And only an idiot would call you cold,” he murmured. “Now, back to business. First of all, I need to find out what kind of a submissive you might be. I think I know, but let's be sure.”

“Submissives come in different types?” How could she know so little? When she got home, she was going to take a hammer to that stupid dead computer. “I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. Can we try multiple choice?”

He laughed. “All right. A: You want to serve a master, making him meals, doing whatever he wants, around the house or in bed. B: You want to play a role for a short time, be a schoolgirl or a secretary, but you'd set up your own rules with your top—ah, the person in charge. C: You want to give up control for sex but not especially for anything else. D: You like pain and want someone to deal it out.”

That was quite a list. “People really want all those different things?”

“Oh, definitely. That was just the short list.” He tugged on her hair. “Give me a letter, sweetheart.”

Well, she knew what she wanted. Why the heck couldn't she be as blasé about sex as her friends were? She wet her lips. “C. We—I came here—” She sighed. “C.”

“Good enough,” he said easily. “Choice C for sex.”

At least he hadn't jumped up and yelled, You want what? in horror. She realized her fingernails were digging into his side and made her hand relax.

Taking hold of her hips, he moved her lower on his lap and slid his arm tighter around her until his hand settled under her breasts. His other hand stroked her neck, her collarbone. She sighed in pleasure, squirming a little to get even closer, and froze when she realized what she was squirming on. He was not only hard; he was huge.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“Don't be sorry about giving someone pleasure, sweetling.” His fingers played with her hair that spilled down her front. Somehow several buttons on her dress had come undone, and his hand dropped to rest on the beginning swell of her breast with his other hand just below. One above, one below, like he was holding her breasts captive between the two. Why did that seem erotic?

“How do you feel about being told what to do in bed?”

She caught her breath as the image sent a wave of heat through her. “Um.”

But he didn't wait for her answer, just murmured, “That's a go.”

A second later, he moved his hand from below her breasts and slid it into her dress where more buttons had come undone. His hand settled back to where it had been before, only now his warm palm lay directly on her naked skin, grazing the lower edge of her breasts. She stiffened and then forced herself to relax. She was here for sex, right?

“Some people like being tied down, kept from moving while their partner pleasures them.”

She managed not to squeak.

“Your body likes that idea.”

Another pause and she realized she was rubbing her thighs together and stopped immediately. Tied up for sex. Being ordered around was one thing, but restrained with ropes or handcuffs? Too much. She hadn't liked the idea at all when Buck had tried it. “No,” she said shakily. “I think you're wrong.”

“Let's see.” He touched his lips to hers, kissed her sweetly, thoroughly, his tongue tangling with hers. When he drew back, she smiled with pleasure.