Author: Delphine Dryden
Date: 2013-05-06 02:49:39+00:00
Keywords: Contemporary Romance; Contemporary; Romance; Erotica; Bdsm; Novella; Erotic Romance; Humor; Adult; erotic; Fiction; Romantic Comedy
Description: Book two of The Science of Temptation(1 Curious Sub + 1 Dom in Denial) - Inhibitions = 4 Naughty NightsWildlife biologist Lindsey thought attending a fan convention with her new boyfriend Ben was a great idea—until their relationship imploded. Lindsey still lusts after her ex—but if he wants her, he’s going to have to prove he can give her what she needs. Ben will do anything to win Lindsey back, and when he sees her in her skimpy black vinyl convention getup, he realizes what she’s been craving all along. And he’s inspired to finally give in to his own dark desire to take complete sexual cont
Publisher: Harlequin

The Seduction Hypothesis
By Delphine Dryden

Book two in the Science of Temptation.

(1 Curious Sub + 1 Dom in Denial)—Inhibitions = 4 Naughty Nights

Wildlife biologist Lindsey thought attending a fan convention with her new boyfriend Ben was a great idea—until their relationship imploded. Lindsey still lusts after her ex—but if he wants her, he’s going to have to prove he can give her what she needs.

Ben will do anything to win Lindsey back, and when he sees her in her skimpy black vinyl convention getup, he realizes what she’s been craving all along. And he’s inspired to finally give in to his own dark desire to take complete sexual control…

Lindsey is surprised by her reaction to Ben’s kinky new seduction techniques, and suddenly sees the brilliant but boring code guru in a different light. After several erotic encounters in hotel rooms and stairwells, she’s falling for him all over again. And wondering if the intimate connection will last once they head home…

Love smart, sexy heroes & heroines? Check out The Theory of Attraction, available now!

38,000 words

Dear Reader,

The month of May always brings, for me, the promise of new beginnings. I realize that it’s actually nearly the end of spring, but for some reason, I love the idea of May and that it means summer is coming and the fun is really about to begin!

This month, very fitting for my excitement about new beginnings, we have three debut authors with stories releasing. Brighton Walsh joins Carina Press with her charming contemporary romance Plus One, where lifelong friends find deep-seated feelings growing into something more than friendship. Meanwhile, debut author Shawna Reppert has crafted a unique and captivating fantasy romance world in her male/male romance The Stolen Luck. Joining these two authors with a debut is S.G. Wong with the first Lola Starke novel, Die on Your Feet. Not only is this an unusual mix of mystery, paranormal and noir, but this book also has a striking cover that captured my imagination from the first look.

Although not a debut author, Tamara Morgan joins Carina Press with the first in a new contemporary romance series. In The Rebound Girl, an outgoing plastic surgeon gets more than she bargained for when she offers to be the rebound girl for a sexy kindergarten teacher getting over his recent breakup.

Along with new beginnings also come bittersweet goodbyes, and this month we wrap up Jax Garren’s fantastic science-fiction trilogy Tales of the Underlight. This series has kept us all on the edges of our seats with both the sexual tension between Hauk and Jolie and the fight to take out the Order of Ananke. Don’t miss the final installment, How Beauty Loved the Beast. Also wrapping up a trilogy this month, though on the opposite end of the romance spectrum, is contemporary romance author Kate Davies, offering the final installment of her high-school reunion trilogy, Girls Most Likely to…, with Life of the Party.

As well, we have exciting offerings from a variety of veteran Carina Press authors this month. Jeffe Kennedy’s Ruby takes us to a contemporary world of BDSM and a sexy Cajun chef during the sensuality of New Orleans’s Mardis Gras. And last month saw the release of Volume 1 of our Love Letters anthologies. This month, discover four hot stories with a military twist in Love Letters Volume 2: Duty to Please.

Sandy James, Shawna Thomas, Cathy Pegau and Stacy Gail all return to previously established worlds in their respective books. In Sandy James’s The Brazen Amazon, the Air Amazon is sent to protect computer wizard Zach from a rogue goddess who wants to use him to destroy the world. Journey of Dominion, book two of The Triune Stones series from Shawna Thomas, continues the story of Sara, trained from birth for one purpose: to reunite three ancient stones to restore balance to the lands.

Female/female romance Deep Deception by Cathy Pegau follows the harrowing story of a beautiful agent and the woman she has no choice but to trust…until the secrets they’re each keeping threaten to get them both killed. And the plan for a demonic apocalypse is at last uncovered by a maimed member of the Nephilim and a scarred young woman who’s been to hell and back in Stacy Gail’s Wounded Angel, book three of The Earth Angels.

Last but certainly not least, Dee J. Adams brings us the next installment in her high-octane Adrenaline Highs series with romantic suspense Living Dangerously. If you’re new to Dee’s books, you can easily start here, or go back to the beginning with Dangerous Race.

This month, start a new series, revisit a favorite world or discover a new-to-you author with our May releases. And don’t forget to check out our catalog for backlist from these and other authors in all your preferred genres.

We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to generalinquiries@carinapress.com. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.

Happy reading!

~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
www.twitter.com/carinapress
www.facebook.com/carinapress

Dedication

For all the geeky nerds and nerdy geeks in my real life…far too many to list by name.

Acknowledgements

At a time when I needed them most, a lot of people helped me pull this book together. My wonderful agent, Courtney Miller-Callihan, who always makes me feel like a rock star. The ever-enthusiastic Angela James at Carina, who was so interested in a series spun off The Theory of Attraction that I decided I would be foolish not to write one. My extraordinary editor Deb Nemeth, whose patience and insight made this book so much more than it was when it started out. Kristi Pewthers for the tireless fieldwork (I know it was tough, reporting from DragonCon, but you suffered through it bravely and have the video to prove it). And always, always, Christine d’Abo and Ruthie Knox for their unflagging support, shameless flattery, cheerleading, salted caramels and unbelievably specific research assistance.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

About the Author

Copyright

Chapter One

The drive from Houston to Phoenix was supposed to take about nineteen hours, and Lindsey could see the handwriting on the wall before she even boarded the RV.

Only six of them were going, and she knew the other five well enough to predict their immediate future. The next nineteen hours would feature a running argument between her friends Ed and Lin that ranged from tabletop gaming rules to the best algorithms for parallel data compilation. She would be willing to bet money on it. There would also be, almost certainly, an in-depth geekout over the latest developments in bioinformatics, and Cami seemed able to talk endlessly about the technical intricacies of decrypting rodent genomes.

At some point Ed would jump ship from the data compilation discussion to join the bioinformatics talk. Lin, who hated to miss out on anything Ed was doing, would try to horn in on that conversation but become frustrated when he exhausted his limited knowledge of the narrow intersection between computing and rat DNA. Then he’d get whiny and start making snippy comments.

Cami’s boyfriend, Ivan, who was driving, would naturally obsess over the rules of the road. He’d probably conduct periodic checks to make sure they all had their seat belts securely fastened. Lindsey knew he’d mapped out each fuel stop and every possible contingency with all the precision and attention to detail he applied to one of his astrophysics projects.

And Ben would spend the whole time glaring at Lindsey whenever she wasn’t looking, and pretending to ignore her whenever she was. He’d probably glare at Ivan then, although Ivan would be oblivious to it. Just as Ivan had always been oblivious to Lindsey, despite Ben’s repeated snarking about how well they seemed to get along.

But she’d purchased the ticket to BeastCon months earlier, when things were still new and wonderful with Ben, and damned if she’d let the fact that they’d since broken up ruin her well-earned vacation trip. If it ruined his, that was his problem.

“This is light. Is there another one with your costumes or something?” Ed hoisted Lindsey’s wheeled bag easily, sliding it into the cargo compartment with one firm shove.

“Nope. That’s the whole shebang. Costumes and everything. They just don’t weigh that much.”

A lightbulb seemed to go on over Ed’s head—Lindsey could almost see the lewd thoughts forming beneath his rumpled curls. Lightweight costumes are skimpy costumes. Then those big puppy-dog eyes slid down her body, assessing her far too openly.

“Guh. Do I even wanna know?”

“One’s a steampunk fairy sorta thing, but there isn’t much to it yet. Mostly my old steampunk outfit plus wings. I might not end up wearing it. One’s my Slave Leia costume from last year, we’re doing a Slave Leia meet-up on Friday morning. And then, um...”

Ben brushed between them, and Lindsey had to take a step back for him to wrestle his suitcase into the hold.

“Excuse me,” he said, a fraction too late for courtesy.

“The third one,” she went on, irritation lending her confidence, “is Sub Red from Balls ‘n’ Chain. Her dungeon getup.”

It was the hottest new graphic novel series on the market—graphic being the operative word—and as soon as Lindsey had read the first issue she’d known what she would be wearing for the parade and main costume contest at the next BeastCon.

Ed dropped the suitcase he’d picked up after hers, and barely winced as he yanked his toe out from under it. “Ah. Okay. So, I can see where that one wouldn’t weigh a lot. Or anything, really. I guess.”

With a final, unnecessary shove to his bag, Ben straightened and rolled his eyes at them both before stalking off again.

Oh, for God’s sake, does he honestly think I was flirting? Is he gonna be jealous of Ed now, too?

The others were milling around the RV’s door now, doing that final round of “I feel like I left something” over their steaming travel mugs of coffee. Retrieving her own cup of precious caffeine infusion from the curb, Lindsey joined them.

Ivan was ticking off boxes from the checklist he’d pulled up on his tablet, muttering to himself as he ran down the list. His girlfriend Cami had sworn he was anxious beyond belief about the trip, but Lindsey would have never known it to look at him now. He seemed as in charge and confident as a man could get, like a general about to muster the troops. As Lindsey watched, Cami pressed herself to his side, huddling for warmth against the damp March pre-dawn chill. When Ivan slid one arm around her and pulled her closer, not even looking but doing it automatically, Lindsey suffered a pang of envy that clamped her throat tight for a few horrible seconds.

Ben had it all wrong. She didn’t envy Cami, not like he thought. She might have an appreciation for Ivan’s looks, she’d admit that, but what really fascinated her wasn’t exactly Ivan himself. It was them. The way they were together, the way he looked at Cami, touched her. There was something intense there, some undercurrent of connection that got to Lindsey every time she sensed it. She couldn’t figure out why, but she knew she wanted that dynamic for herself. She needed what they had.

But it was hard to explain to your jealous ex-boyfriend that you had a crush on a dynamic.

* * *

Miserable.

It was a good word, Ben thought. Just the right one. A lot of the definitions of miserable used another great word, wretched.

But nothing brought that home quite like the prospect of spending the better part of a full day stuck in a fancy motor home with the object and agent of his wretched misery. Lindsey McKay, ginger pixie of doom.

It was a very, very fancy motor home, he amended to himself as he climbed aboard and looked around in awe. Butter-creamy leather on the front seats and sofa, gleaming dark hardwood and obviously custom tile work in the kitchenette.

“Jesus,” Lin was saying, executing a slow one-eighty before settling his gaze on the kitchenette and his backpack and laptop bag on the sofa. “My first apartment was smaller than this. And it sure as hell didn’t have granite countertops. What did you say your parents do, Ivan?”

Ivan shrugged as he slid into the driver’s seat, which bore more than a passing resemblance to the captain’s chair on the bridge of the Starship Enterprise D. “They own some land, you know. With cattle and stuff.”

Cami mouthed “big oil” at Lin before taking the shotgun seat.

Ben cursed silently. He’d stared too long, gawking at the lush fittings like an awestruck hick, and now most of the seats in the big main area of the RV were occupied. Lin was sprawled over the small sofa, taking up more than his fair share of space with belongings spread to either side of him. Ed had already snagged what appeared to be a navigator’s chair, a third bucket seat behind the two in the RV’s cockpit.

The only thing left was the banquette in the kitchenette area, and there was only one seat left there. The other side was, of course, full of his kryptonite, in the form of a perky redheaded ecology grad student who’d rocked his world in bed then caused him to lose all reason and sense in any other venue.

He looked at Lin and cleared his throat, making a gesture he hoped was universal toward one end of the couch. Move over? Room for one more?

Lin blinked at him a few times, letting his legendary cluelessness serve him as a weapon. “Huh?” He moved one pudgy hand protectively over the backpack on the seat to his side. Move along, buddy. Nothing to see here. No room at the inn.

“Um. Nothing.” Ben liked his friends, but he hated geeks so much sometimes.

He approached the bench seat in the kitchenette with the heavy tread of a prisoner heading toward a gibbet. He knew it was just a matter of time before he said something stupid, probably hurtful, his oldest defense mechanism against pretty girls. It took until his ass hit the plush upholstery of the seat opposite Lindsey.

“You want me to see if Ed will switch with me?” And not in a nice tone of voice, either. Good and jerky.

Jesus, Ben, you asshole.

Lindsey glanced up from her e-reader—he saw she was playing a word game, not reading—and stared at him for a moment. No expression, just that porcelain-perfect jaw set tightly enough to trigger faint dimples bracketing her mouth. Then she returned to her game, tuning him out, and he felt like cursing out loud. Or like lunging across the table and wiping that look off her face by kissing her until she couldn’t breathe. Until her eyes got that foggy, dopey, needy look he’d so recently lived for. Until she begged him for more. Then did that thing where she smiled and the sun came out.

She had always liked doing a crossword or something like that over her first cup of coffee. It suddenly clicked in Ben’s brain that that was part of the problem with the banquette, the kitchen-like setting, which seemed so much worse than sharing an RV or even a couch with Lindsey. He missed seeing her in the mornings, making coffee together, sharing breakfast while he looked at blog posts and she did a crossword. He’d always offered to help with the clues. His history and geography knowledge was a perfect mesh with Lindsey’s fund of information about science and literature. It didn’t matter whose apartment they were at, breakfast together had always seemed so domestic, so...nice. He thought it was strange to miss nice almost as much as he missed kissing her until she couldn’t breathe. Even more, maybe.

“Seat belts,” Ivan reminded everyone, his voice a calm counterpoint to Ben’s turmoil. He managed not to sound like a dad when he said it. No wonder Lindsey had a crush on the guy. He might be weird, but he was always in control. And he did that thing where he could listen to a girl and she suddenly felt like the only person in the world who mattered to him.

Lindsey had mattered to Ben. She still mattered to him, a fact he didn’t always admit to himself but that he couldn’t wholly deny either. He felt like they weren’t through yet.

Objectively speaking, it was a dumb way to feel. He was the one who’d broken up with her, after all. She’d been hurt, then angry, then resigned, but she’d never been happy with his explanation for leaving. Which made sense, because Ben had never been happy with it either. He hadn’t told the truth, that he’d simply panicked and regretted it shortly thereafter. His regret had sadly coincided with her anger, and a rapprochement had seemed beyond hope.

Now, dismissal rolled off Lindsey like an icy wave every time he got within ten feet of her. Ben tugged his hood up for protection against the chill, closed his eyes and pretended to go to sleep.

BeastCon had fucking better be worth it. It was going to be a long, long drive to Phoenix.

Chapter Two

Bioinformatics: check. Tabletop gaming: check. Lin, petulant and letting everyone know it: right on schedule. Lindsey gazed around the RV, wishing she could have afforded to fly to the convention instead.

Things were more interesting outside. They were somewhere past Kerrville, not yet to Junction, and the landscape had changed dramatically in the past few miles from the lush limestone-based Hill Country to the starker desert geomorph of West Texas. Good snake-spotting country, though not quite as good as the land just to the south, closer to the border. Lindsey wished Ivan’s rigid schedule allowed for stopping to explore the countryside.

Her eyes lit on Ivan, still driving, his hands looking relaxed but strong on the oversized steering wheel. Cami was curled in the bucket seat next to him, resting her head on the armrest. Every so often Ivan reached over and touched her hair, smoothing stray pieces away from her face.

“He probably has ‘affectionate gesture’ programmed into his to-do list, along with seat belt reminders and fluid checks.” Ben had poked his head up while her attention was elsewhere. He’d been napping on his folded arms most of the morning, and now his back and shoulders popped like firecrackers as he stretched. He looked rumpled and sleepy and kind of adorable, even if he was being an ass.

“Better than not programming it in,” she pointed out, tipping her reader back up between them. A tiny wall was better than none.

“Sometimes she kisses his hand, and it looks like somebody kissing the pope’s ring. I wonder what that’s all about?”

“Not like the pope,” Lindsey corrected. “More like a king.”

“Oh, so now you think he’s a king?”

“Hey, you brought it up—I was just sitting here minding my own business. I don’t know how much plainer I can make it to you that I’m not interested in him like that.”

“Could’ve fooled me, the way you were staring at him just now.”

“He interests me. That’s different from me being interested in him romantically. They interest me, okay?”

“Like...a threesome?” Ben sounded equal parts horrified and intrigued.

“Jesus, you’re such a guy. No, not like that. It’s just—”

“Everything okay back there?” Ed called, taking time out from rat genomes. “Do we need to separate you two?”

Yes, everyone in the RV with the exception of Ivan was looking back at the kitchenette to see the unfolding drama. United for a moment by their shame, Lindsey and Ben stared their fellow travelers down until the others turned away, then she went on in a furious whisper.

“What is your problem, Ben? As obsessed as you are with the idea that I’m lusting after Ivan, I’m starting to think you’re the one with the issue about him. You basically broke up with me over him.” It might not be literally true, but over the past few months Lindsey had given a lot of thought to the figurative truths of their breakup.

“What? That’s not...no.” He crossed his arms defensively, averting his eyes.

“Right. And I’m tired of being blamed and treated like I did something wrong, when I didn’t. I didn’t do anything, or say anything. The problem was between you and you. Your insecurity. You’d rather assume I was somehow being dishonest, and flounce off than try to communicate about how to fix things. And you’d still rather sit here and make passive-aggressive cracks than face the fact that you screwed up something really good over nothing.”

She grabbed her backpack, unbuckled her seat belt and stood up, swaying a moment with the motion of the vehicle. “Hey, who wants to trade with me? I need a change of scene.”

Ed shuffled down the aisle, laptop under his arm, and Lindsey gratefully took the seat behind Cami. Ben shot a final glare after her, probably because she was now in prime Ivan-observation position, before turning and slumping back into the banquette seat so she could see only the top of his head.

As a special treat, she’d saved the brand new installment of Balls ‘n’ Chain to read on the trip. Pulling it from her backpack, she slipped off the plastic sleeve and admired the texture of the cover, glossy details on matte stock, black-on-black. Hard to read, maybe, but beautiful and understated. The comic artwork inside was also beautiful, but by contrast it was quite easy to read and much less subtle.

In this issue, a group from another BDSM club had challenged the gang at Balls ‘n’ Chain to a “kink-off.” The details of the competition were as lurid as they were hilarious, and by the middle of the story Lindsey wasn’t sure whether she was more likely to snort coffee out her nose from giggling, or orgasm in front of everybody from squirming in her seat.

Her favorite character, Sub Red, spent most of the issue chained to the St. Andrew’s Cross in the middle of the club. The poses gave Lindsey ample scope to assess her own handiwork in re-creating the skimpy costume, and she confirmed that she’d nailed it. Which was cause for some alarm, as it meant a few days from now she’d be parading in front of the convention-goers in little more than a collection of strategically placed two-inch-wide black satin straps.

She’d seen someone else’s version of the costume in photos from another recent convention, but the wearer had opted for a body stocking as a base for the straps, with handprints and whip marks painted onto the spandex “skin.” Lindsey had decided that didn’t do the artwork justice. The comic was mostly black and white, with very limited use of watercolor tinting to highlight occasional key accessories as well as the bruises, welts, and other markings on the dungeon’s denizens. The contrast between the stark pen-and-ink lines and the almost petal-like, photorealistic delicacy of the coloring was the signature look of the comic. A fake-looking red handprint on a flesh-toned body stocking missed the whole feel of the artwork, in Lindsey’s opinion. She was opting for makeup.

True, she would smear her paddle marks every time she sat down. But standing seemed a small price to pay for a really great costume. And if she’d really been spanked or paddled, wouldn’t she avoid sitting down anyway? Lindsey warmed even more at the thought, shifting uncomfortably in the big leather bucket seat. Lately, her fantasies had veered sharply toward the kinky. She knew it was just a matter of time—and finding the right partner—before she delved into that area in real life. Her curiosity had turned to longing, even need, and reading the comic was a special kind of torture.

“Oh, Balls ‘n’ Chain?” Cami leaned around her seat, eyes on the comic in Lindsey’s hands. “Is that the latest one? Can I borrow it when you’re through? I didn’t have a chance to pick it up before the trip.”

“Oh, sure. You read it too?” Lindsey was surprised. Cami seemed like such a wholesome, clean-cut, nerd girl, the perfect example of what the Balls ‘n’ Chain characters called “vanilla.” Not that Lindsey was exactly Neapolitan herself, but with her multiple piercings, over-dyed hair of a red that nature had never intended, and penchant for indie artist T-shirts, at least she thought she looked more like the type who’d read a dangerously sexy comic like that.

“Oh, I love it. We both do,” Cami confirmed. “It’s hilarious.”

Ivan nodded too, never taking his eyes off the road. “The depiction of BDSM practices is extremely accurate. The plots are silly, of course.”

“I don’t read it for the plot,” said Cami with a wink. “But yeah...accurate, for sure. We’re going as Sir Mansome and Kittycat for the contest night.”

“You’re kidding. I’m doing Sub Red!”

“Oh my God, we have to see if it’s too late to group up!”

A brief flurry of planning occurred, during which it was agreed that an attempt would be made to group up for the costume contest, as groups typically had a better chance of winning than solo entries.

“Too bad we don’t have The Master to go along with your costume,” Cami lamented. “We’d kill it.”

Lindsey instantly thought of Ben in snug black jeans and black cowboy boots, an open white dress shirt with the studs and necktie dangling and the sleeves turned up at the cuffs. Just as quickly, she shoved the image back into its sealed compartment deep within her brain.

“So, I’m about halfway done with this.” She lifted the comic from her lap. “I should be finished in like half an hour.”

“Cool. Oh, and by the way, if you need any accessories for the contest, we’ve got plenty of extra stuff. Don’t be shy about asking, okay? And it’s all...well, you know, it’s good stuff, not the cheap costume kind. That junk’s not worth the money, and it wears out way too fast. And the real stuff just has a better look and feel to it. Especially feel.”

Ivan coughed into his hand, looking nonplussed, and Cami chuckled at him as she settled back into her chair.

Lindsey stared at the headrest in astonishment as the penny dropped so loudly she thought it must be audible all over the state.

They actually do this stuff.

* * *

Ed was a clackety-keyboard person. His typing was loud enough to wake the dead, and after a few minutes Ben gave up on resuming his nap and let himself contemplate the drama with Lindsey, and the state things had come to.

To be fair, she’d accepted partial blame up until now. In the breakup, as in the relationship, she had been kinder and more generous than he’d deserved. It was mutual, they told everyone—things just hadn’t worked out. She told Ben she felt she hadn’t communicated what she wanted clearly enough, because she wasn’t sure what she wanted, which was her own fault, blah blah blah.

It was bullshit. She’d been right today for the first time. It wasn’t her fault, and it had taken her being brutally honest for Ben to get that. While they might have both needed to work on communication, their breakup was almost entirely his own fault.

It wasn’t even just that he was jealous of Ivan, but that he felt he could never provide whatever magical quality Lindsey seemed to admire in the guy. That he, Ben, could never be good enough for her. Since he’d always been amazed that Lindsey went out with a guy like him anyway, it hadn’t taken much to convince himself she would figure that out too, in time. The thing with Ivan had just been Ben’s excuse to leave her before she got wise and dumped him.

So yeah, the guy had hypnotic cobra-eyes and had lured her under his spell during one party for a few minutes, pulled some things out of her that she’d never admitted to Ben. A few confessions about not always enjoying fieldwork, stuff she’d obviously been stressing over because it impacted her career choices as an ecologist. But in Ben’s mind, Ivan had become some sort of emotional wizard, able to coax truths from Lindsey’s soul. And yes, Ben had resented it.

Honi sois qui mal y pense. The shame was with him, for thinking ill of his girlfriend and his friend, who’d done nothing more than talk about Costa Rica and feelings. So what would King Edward the Third, creator of the Order of the Garter, do? Aside from start the Hundred Years’ War, of course. Despite his choice to leave the field, Ben still often turned to history for answers when troubled by events in the present. This time, however, medieval chivalry offered him no solutions.

Medieval torture equipment, however...he risked a peek at Lindsey and confirmed she was still buried in the latest issue of what he called “that porn comic.” Jesus. And she was planning to spend at least one day at the con dressed as her favorite character. He could only imagine what that would look like. In the single issue he’d read, the girl called Sub Red had worn a shiny black sleeveless catsuit thing unzipped almost to her navel, with suicidally high-heeled boots. Halfway through the comic, the pants had been replaced with short shorts for some reason he couldn’t recall.

He’d read that entire issue with a painful hard-on, put the comic aside and never touched another one for fear he’d explode. It was actually more potent than porn in its effect on him, but he felt horribly guilty for getting turned on by the stuff. He wasn’t supposed to be aroused by the idea of hitting girls on the ass with whips. Or his hand. Or any of the rest. He couldn’t understand why Lindsey, who seemed as progressively feminist as all the other girls of their circle, wanted to read something so misogynistic. True, there were as many women giving the beatings in Balls ‘n’ Chain as receiving them. But shouldn’t that be beside the point? Even the Dominatrices were objectified into sex objects. Hell, everyone was objectivized into a sex object.

He’d told her as much, maybe even scolded her a little, the next time she’d tried to show him a panel from the comic. It had been the last time. They’d broken up not too long after that. Right after Christmas. He’d been a jerk, and a few days later when he saw her at a friend’s New Year’s Eve party, he realized how dumb he’d been. He kicked himself for pushing her away. But it was too late.

Ben’s mind circled back to the comic, to one of the rare full-color panels in that first fateful issue. Sub Red, in the shorts, was strapped across something he’d learned was called a “spanking horse.” The character called The Master, who owned the club and “owned” Sub Red, was swinging a paddle at her already cherry-red butt. The art was fantastic, Ben had to admit. You could practically smell the leather and sex, hear the swish and anticipate the crack of the implement against soft flesh. Sub Red’s hair was in motion, the color exactly the shade of Lindsey’s latest ‘do. The tiny shorts had pulled askew in a previous panel, so a flash of wet pink cunt showed between Red’s restrained legs. That and the marks on her ass were the only color in the black-and-white panels surrounding the glossy color page. But even on those pages you knew that pussy was wet, you knew she was ready, even before the next panel in which she begged The Master to fuck her. He had been happy to oblige.

And now, a boner.

Great.

That was exactly what Ben needed. A perfect metaphor, somehow, for the mess of his former relationship and his life. Riding in an RV that the guy he’d been unreasonably jealous of was driving. Sporting wood that he had to hide under the table from Ed, who was sitting opposite him because Ben had driven off the woman he most wanted to apply the boner to. Ed, who was probably happily working on his actual work, which was also his passion, while Ben had left his code-monkey day job behind for the week without a thought because it didn’t even make the bottom of the list of things he was passionate about. He’d wussed out on going for his PhD in history, he’d started a soul-crushingly boring career whose only worth to him was monetary, and he’d driven away a woman he was crazy about because he didn’t feel confident he could keep her.

Great.

“Dude, you’re creeping me out. Read a book or do something over there.” Ed’s fingers never stopped moving on his keyboard as he spoke.

“Nothing to do.” He’d brought a book and a computer, but couldn’t read or play computer games in a moving vehicle.

“Then take a nap or whatever. You’re just staring. It’s weird.”

“Are you gonna ask Lindsey out?”

Ed’s face popped up fully over the screen, his fuzzy overgrowth of stubble making him resemble a startled woodland creature. “What?”

“I saw you guys talking earlier, and...forget it. Whatever. Never mind.” Was he reduced to this, now?

“Wow.” His friend closed the laptop, running his hands over the smooth brushed aluminum thoughtfully. “You’re really clueless. I mean, I thought I was dense, but you’re like, really out there, aren’t you?”

Lending credence to Ed’s supposition, Ben replied, “Huh?”

“Yeah. So. Lindsey isn’t really my type, I’m not into redheads. But more importantly she’s totally not into me. If I asked, she would turn me down. She was only telling me all about her smexy costume because you were standing there, you asshole. But then, as now, you were being too big an asshole to notice that she is still into you. Why, I don’t know. But apparently that’s everybody’s take on things. And I wish you would work your shit out so I wouldn’t keep having to hear about this whenever you’re not in the room.”

With that, he reopened his computer and resumed his noisy typing, leaving Ben to ponder his message.

Ben chanced another peek at Lindsey, who was still engrossed in Balls ‘n’ Chain. As he watched, her eyes widened at what must have been a particularly salacious scene. Then they narrowed in speculation, and she eyed Ivan with a calculating sidelong gaze. To Ben’s surprise, she tilted her head and watched Cami longer still, as if she were trying to work something out. When she turned back to her comic, she wore a secretive smile that curved the corners of her mouth in a particularly delicious fashion. He wanted to lick her there, taste that secret on her lips.

He was still contemplating that lost possibility when Lindsey raised her head again and met his gaze, as startled by the sudden eye contact as he was but seemingly unable to look away. Her eyes were sultry, speculative, full of the lascivious images she’d been steeping herself in. Her lips parted briefly and she licked them. She might as well have swiped her tongue down the length of his cock. He glared back, angry and horny, feeling his own gaze hit her like a laser beam of concentrated lust.

They kept it up longer than was wise, neither willing to back down first. Too long to ignore. Then too long to pretend they weren’t going to have to talk about it later.

The spell was broken only when Ivan called out that the scheduled lunch stop would take place in fifteen minutes.

Chapter Three

The hotel was bedlam, even at the advanced hour of 10 p.m., and the group members took their own time unpacking their things from the RV. They were all separated from one another by the time they’d navigated from the roof of the parking garage to the long check-in counter. Inebriated conference attendees washed in and out of the lobby bar like the tide, and the babble of happy voices echoed so loudly in the colorful space that Ben had to raise his voice to give his name to the cheerful, well-groomed woman at the front desk. No sign of his roommates, but the lady assured him he was not the first of his party to check in.

One cardkey and a short elevator ride later, he swiped himself into his room, surprised that Ed and Lin hadn’t beaten him there. His plan to make straight for the overpriced minibar was thwarted when he recognized the wheeled bag blocking the refrigerator.

“Hey, it’s just me,” he called out. “Not breaking in here or anything. Sorry, I think there was a mixup with the registration.”

“Fuck.” Lindsey, swinging open the bathroom door, confronted him with her hands on her hips.

“They must have left me on the original room,” he explained. “I did call to make sure it was changed. Twice. Damn, I wondered why I didn’t run into the other guys on the way up.”

“They’re in the adjoining room,” she told him, wrestling her bag onto a luggage rack by the king bed. “Lin’s already been over here to steal my freebie shampoo, since he figured I brought my own.”

“Oh, nice.”

“Yeah.”

He caught a waft of her perfume when she opened her suitcase, flowers and spices, so familiar. It used to cling to his pillows and sheets after she slept over. It smelled like red hair to him, the natural dark auburn that her hair was when she didn’t tint it. Now it was vivid cartoon red, with sharp-edged bangs framing her pixie face. It made her eyes look huge and insanely blue. Different. But he knew if he buried his nose in that hollow below her ear, he’d still smell the same thing he used to, and still wish she were some sort of food so he could take a bite.

The lull in conversation had run into awkward territory, much like their unintentional eye-fuck in the RV earlier. Thinking about eye-fucking threw Ben even further off track. He dug through his few functioning brain cells, and came up with the best thing he could.

“I’m sorry I was a jackass before.”

“I’m sorry I called you passive-aggressive,” she offered in return.

“No, you were right. I totally was. I need to learn how to be whatever the thing is you’re supposed to be instead.”

“Assertive?”

“That. Assertive.”

She cocked her head and gave him a look. Not quite rolling her eyes, but almost. Definitely skeptical. “That’d be an interesting development for you.”

“What? I can be assertive.”

“It’s okay, Ben, not all the wolves in the pack need to be the alpha.”

Ouch.

But that was what she wanted. She didn’t have to say it—he just knew. An alpha wolf, a representative manly male. How to square that with her infatuation, or whatever it was, with Ivan? Dr. Reynolds was hardly a quintessential leader of the pack. Even the pack of nerds. Ben couldn’t figure it out.

But he’d been assertive earlier, sort of, with that stare back in the camper. Or maybe just plain aggressive. Holding Lindsey’s eyes, thinking about every time they’d ever done it, willing her to remember every time he’d made her scream. And unless he was very much mistaken, it had turned her crank hard and fast. If he tried it again, would it work the same way?

Hoping he didn’t look like a psycho killer, Ben leveled his gaze at Lindsey as she straightened from her suitcase with her Slave Leia costume in hand. Ignoring that distraction with superhuman effort, he raised one eyebrow at her and repeated himself slowly and deliberately.

“I can be assertive.”

Whoa. She blushed.

“O-okay.”

She blushed and stammered. And had the same rabbit-in-the-cobra’s-thrall stare she’d had at that barbecue so many months ago, when she talked to Ivan about her godawful trip to the jungle. Now she was in Ben’s thrall. Could he keep her there?

This definitely required further research. He decided to try being more assertive right then and there. Before Lindsey could raise her guard again, he closed the distance between them and kissed her, harder than he’d planned to.

* * *

Unfinished business. She’d known it the moment she heard Ben’s voice in the room, realized he was there due to some administrative error and not because he’d sought her out on purpose.

Or rather, she’d known it from her own reaction to that realization, which was a flash of keen disappointment. She’d wanted to be sought out.

If he’d walked in and done this right away, planted one on her, held her too tight for her to even consider getting away, she’d have let him. Even without the fumbling, awkward explanations and doublespeak to soften the approach. She’d wanted his body against hers since that moment in the RV, because she’d never really stopped wanting that, even when he left her. Even though she’d wanted additional things from him, she’d never stopped craving what they already had. She craved more of the same, even when it was occurring. Hell, right now she’d probably be humping his damn thigh if she could move enough to get one leg around it.

So good, so sweet and right, the way their bodies and mouths meshed. They had always fit perfectly. Holding hands, kissing, sex, just sitting and talking, it didn’t matter. It had that meant-to-be feel to it, and when Ben had walked out it took Lindsey a month or more to believe it was really over for good. How could he leave, when she had been so sure they were made for each other?

Ben held her by the nape of her neck as he kissed her now, his fingers half collaring her. His other hand pressed firmly on her ass, securing her hips in place against him so she couldn’t possibly mistake how turned on he was. He was hard as a rock, as steel, as that stuff Wolverine’s bones had been replaced with. And his mouth took and took, lips and tongue stealing her breath and her good sense with every suck and swipe and nip. He felt too good. She knew she was stupid to do this, to allow this, but she would worry about that later. His fingers pinched into the crease at the bottom of her butt, and she groaned at the pain and bucked against his adamantium erection.

He raised his head and stared at her, body still sealed to hers, breathing fast and thready against her face. Lindsey swallowed and gasped for air, trying to think something like a coherent thought. Nothing came, only the sounds of their breathing and the rustle of fabric as their clothing rubbed together.

Then he stepped back, without saying a word, lifted that eyebrow at her again—when had he learned to do that?—and grabbed his suitcase. He was out the door before she could think up a snappy comeback.

Really, though, what was there to say to that?

“Way to assert yourself...in your pants.”

“Hey, sexy, wanna make use of my connecting door?”

More like, “Worst. Idea. Ever.”

That would have been the smart comeback. That or a resounding slap, like a heroine in an old movie. Or a good hard bite, like a wolf bitch who had no interest in mating with a young upstart, a pretender to the leader’s place.

Not that she wanted an alpha all the time. But she couldn’t deny she’d enjoyed Ben’s attempt to play that part, even for a few seconds. Dangerously tempting, especially when she knew what he’d do if he found out just how far she’d once wanted him to take that role in the bedroom. Still wanted, frankly.

But no, she’d shown the guy a simple amusing scene about an over-the-knee paddling and he’d lectured about feminism for ten minutes solid. Lindsey had no desire to repeat that experience, either the lecture itself or the burning humiliation at Ben’s response to her questionable choice in reading material. She hadn’t even gotten to the part where she wanted him to do that stuff to her. Overwhelmed by his political correctness, she’d put the comic aside and never raised the subject again.

His nebulous jealousy about Ivan had resolved into an official issue around that time, but she’d since decided that was only the excuse he’d been looking for. She’d been too nonstandard for him, too comfortable at the fringes with her Cthulhu hip tattoo, her kinky comic books, her talk of piercing things below the neck, and her ever-evolving hairstyle. It had intrigued him at first, but ultimately it had all scared him off.

She’d changed her hair again and finally gotten one of those nonstandard piercings after the breakup, but it hadn’t helped her feel any better. Lindsey made herself remember that as she unpacked the rest of her things, arranging her costumes carefully in the tiny closet. She’d been in love with Ben, and he’d said he felt the same. She thought they were each other’s One. Then he left her, and it had hurt more than she’d imagined possible. If he was sniffing around again, she’d have to decide whether it was worth the risk to let him have another chance. No matter how much she wanted to fall back into his arms and let bygones be bygones, she had to be smart this time. Things needed to be different.

And if they weren’t, she’d have to be strong and forget all about the way Ben’s kisses made her tingle in her...special piercing.

Chapter Four

The inspiration came to Ben, as inspiration often does, unexpectedly. But as soon as he thought of it, he knew it was the right thing to do.

It happened when Ben watched Ivan stand up in a conference session that first full day and gracefully acknowledge a science fiction writer’s thanks for consulting help on his astrophysics backstory. It was a cool moment, unexpected accolades for Ivan, borrowed glory for the rest of the group of friends sitting there. But the moment was more than cool for Ben. He listened to his not-quite-friend go into professor mode for about thirty seconds while he described his recent research into laser brooms, saw the expression on Cami’s face, and suddenly knew he had been thinking about things all wrong.

Because somehow, in that few seconds, Ivan had transformed into an alpha wolf. He owned that conference room. He owned Cami, who’d looked ready to swoon or possibly jump Ivan’s bones. For a few minutes after he sat down, people all over the room kept shooting glances at the row where they sat. There was a definite buzz. And Ivan took it all in without seeming to skip a beat. Not like he was vain, but like it was simply a matter of course to be recognized in this way.

Weird, socially awkward, compulsive-schedule-loving Ivan was the man. Ben had somehow missed that fact, but there it was. Plain as day. Cami hadn’t missed it. Lindsey hadn’t missed it. And now that Ben was clued in, his mission was clear. Ivan wasn’t the enemy, he was a resource. Ben needed to suck it up, swallow his pride and previous jealousy, and ask the man for some advice on how to win his girl back. How to do that thing Ivan did. Or at least how to fake it with passing competence, not just by accident as he’d done a few times the day before, but on purpose and regularly.

Step One: get Ivan alone. Easier said than done, when Cami was his constant companion and Ivan seemed reluctant to part with her. He was the man in the fan session, but out in the crowded corridors between exhibits in the main convention room, Ivan held on to his girlfriend like a kid with a blankie.

“One-thirty is the next session,” he recited for at least the fourth time. “Room 126B. Closest escalators to the one hundred level are in the southwest corner.”

“And we need to get there by one-ten to get good seats,” Cami finished for him. “We got it, sweetie. Ben, are you coming with us? It’s the one on budget costuming.”

Ivan frowned down at his tablet, swiping over a color-coded floor plan. “We should have waited and gone to the repeat on Saturday. Today was supposed to be all fiction and literature. But it’s too late to change the schedule now.”

The schedule. Ivan’s Achilles heel. “No, I’m heading to the alternate history panel. But hey, do you have a free block of time later, man? I wanted to ask you about something. Something kind of personal,” Ben added, smiling apologetically at Cami.

“No blocks of time without Camilla. But you can have two-thirty to three-thirty with both of us at the bar back at the hotel. I left that free,” Ivan said with a note of pride, “for relaxing over a drink.”

“And I appreciate it.” Cami patted his arm fondly but cast a curious glance Ben’s way. “I can only take in so much information before I need to process. And by process, I mean drink margaritas. So I’ll be busy doing that, Ben. Whatever it is you want to discuss with Ivan, I’ll do my best to ignore you and promptly forget whatever I accidentally overhear.”

“Gotcha. Two-thirty it is, then.”

* * *

Lindsey had planned to attend a steampunk and alternate history costuming session on the first afternoon. Months earlier, at least. Now she was killing time by wandering the aisles between booths instead. She wasn’t a fan of the dense crowd, but was convinced that venturing anywhere near those sessions meant a risk of running into Ben. And it was entertaining to see all the minor celebrities and scope out the costumes, although after an hour and a half her interest was flagging.

Her mind was running an endless loop of last night’s kiss, with her body supplying helpful reminders of all the responses involved. She felt taut, overstimulated, sultry with unsatisfied need. When she saw him again, as she knew she must, she wasn’t sure how she’d react. It had been months, after all, and she hadn’t been seeing anyone else. Standards and values aside, she had to consider the potential benefits of...was it a convention hookup when you’d already been with the person for such a long time? Lindsey decided it would still qualify. And she wasn’t really a hookup sort of girl. She’d never had a friend with benefits, and wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep Ben at that kind of emotional distance if she went to bed with him again.

On the other hand, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to resist much if he made a concerted effort. Last night had thrown her, reminding her all too clearly that she wasn’t over him.

A cracking noise drew Lindsey’s attention, and she rounded a corner booth to see a huge banner bearing a blow-up of a Balls ‘n’ Chain panel. Black and white and red all over, though only hints of red. But the real draw was directly in front of that, where a masked hunk in black leather pants was just pulling back his whip arm to strike another blow on the rounded, semi-clad ass in front of him. Lindsey recognized them immediately as two of the Balls ‘n’ Chain characters, Rick and Sadie.

The victim was bound to a spanking horse, though she was making no effort to escape. When the flogger landed, in fact, she merely giggled and wagged her tush at the whip-wielder. There wasn’t much of a crowd in front of them. All the onlookers were lined up for signatures from the cartoonist who sat at a table just beyond the velvet rope that cordoned off the demonstration.

“Ooh, harder,” she taunted her tormentor, “if you have the stones for it, naughty boy.”

“Dammit, Sadie, you’re making me lose count. Now I have to start all over again.”

“Arm getting tired, cream puff? I’ll trade places any time you like—ow!”

This one had landed hard and fast, with a cruel flick at the end that seemed to dig into the tender flesh. The man rained five or six more down in rapid successions, his arm moving so quickly the flogger was a blur. The girl’s blond spiral curls bobbed with each impact. Lindsey stared, entranced, and throbbing between the legs with sudden need.

“Smart-ass masochist earns...?” Rick asked.

“An ass that smarts,” Sadie responded ruefully. The pouting was for show, though, and only lasted about five seconds.

Lindsey hadn’t realized she’d drawn so close, but the masked man addressed his next remark directly to her.

“And hellooooo, Sub Red.”

She waved her fingertips, feeling a blush rise on her cheeks as some of the queued crowd shot her curious glances.

“Dang. Please tell me you have a costume at this con. A skimpy, kinky, passably believable Red costume.”

Sadie turned her head to get a better look, and let out a low whistle. “Oh my God. She really is Red. She’s a better Red than Amy. Hey, Andy, did you see this? Look at her!”

The cartoonist half stood, craning his neck to see, then did a double take worthy of a cartoon. “Holy crap!”

“Um...thanks?” Lindsey was starting to doubt either her own sanity or that of the assembled personnel at the Balls ‘n’ Chain booth.

“Don’t freak out, honey,” Sadie reassured her, “you may be the answer to our prayers. Our usual Red had to cancel at the last minute, to—ugh. Mitch, lemme up so I can talk like a normal person, okay? And maybe without the audience. Hi, audience!”

She beamed at the folks in the line, waving her hands within the limits set by the wide leather cuffs on her wrists. Most of them smiled or laughed, and several waved back. The masked man—Rick or Mitch?—already had her ankles freed, and had her hands loose in another few seconds.

“Clear!” He swatted her on the butt. “We’ll be back in fifteen, folks.”

“Put the sign up,” Andy the cartoonist called from the other side of the next fan in line.

Rick dutifully leaned a board with a “Back at...” clock on the horse, and turned the clock hands to reflect a time closer to thirty minutes away than fifteen. Winking at Lindsey, he straightened and clipped his flogger to his belt, then held the rope up for Sadie to pass under it.

“We have just time to make it to the hotel bar and back. Red, can we buy you a beer and proposition you?”

* * *

Tapping his rolled-up handouts nervously against his thigh, Ben scanned the bar and spotted Ivan and Cami at a booth. Ivan looked wrung out and was drinking a beer, which Ben had rarely seen him do. Cami, sipping a frozen margarita through a straw, seemed a bit more chipper as she waved Ben over.

“They make these with fresh lime juice here,” she told him happily. “So good.”

Ben opted for a beer instead, then sat dabbling his fingers in the water beading on the outside, trying to figure out how to broach his incredibly awkward subject to the man opposite him.

“Right,” Cami said after a painful minute or so of silence. “I’m going to put my earbuds in, listen to some music and read my email or something while you guys talk. Is that okay with everyone?”

She said “everyone” but she looked at Ivan, who took a deep breath and nodded. A few seconds later, she was tucked into the corner of the booth, feet in Ivan’s lap, absorbed in her tablet. Ben and Ivan were as alone as they were likely to get.

“Okay. So.” Ben sighed, unsure how to proceed. “So.”

After another pause, Ivan leaned forward. “Camilla said I should warn you that you need to be blunt, because if you try to use implication I’ll never get it. She actually said ‘don’t let him beat around the bush.’ And she’s correct, I won’t get it if you do that. So since we only have—” he consulted his phone for the time. “Since we only have fifty-one minutes left, I suggest you tell me what this is about now, so we’ll have more time to discuss whatever it is.”

Oh my God, he’s weird. But Lindsey seemed to like him, and Ben needed to know why, so he took Ivan’s advice and forged ahead. “Fine, here’s the deal. My girlfr...no, not my girlfriend right now. Lindsey. She likes you. Not like a crush, but there’s some thing about you that she’s really drawn to. You have this quality, and I can’t figure out what it is, but it really gets to her when you pay attention to her. You’re like a snake charmer. And I want to learn how to charm snakes. Or charm Lindsey. Or...fuck. If it were anybody else on the planet I wouldn’t ask about it, but I figured you wouldn’t be offended or weirded out because you’re never offended or weirded out. I want her back, man. I need her back. I’ll do anything. What is your damn secret?”

He stared at Ivan, who stared back for a second or two then focused suddenly on his beer. “Subs at the club,” he muttered. “She was right, but I don’t think I can start with that.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just a minute.” Sighing, still not meeting his eyes, Ivan reached into his pocket and pulled out his smartphone, pushing a few buttons. He studied it a bit, nodded, then looked back at Ben. “Camilla said if the subject of your relationship with Lindsey came up, I should ask you if you were aware of Lindsey’s interest in exploring—no, wait, she said not to summarize. I should ask if you’re aware of her interest in Balls ‘n’ Chain.”

“What were you gonna say before?” Ben was mildly horrified, because he thought he knew. But only mildly. Not as horrified as he thought he should be.

“Her interest in BDSM.”

“Beedee...wait. What?”

Ivan’s phone buzzed, and he tapped on it some more. “Camilla believes Lindsey is interested in BDSM. I happen to agree. Is this something she’s discussed with you?”

“BDSM. Like...dungeons, and dudes in leather masks, shit like that?”

“Most of us don’t wear leather masks,” Ivan said, not batting an eye. “And most BDSM doesn’t take place in dungeons.”

“Okay.” Ben’s mind flew back to that fateful barbecue, the expression on Lindsey’s face, the way Ivan had leaned in and given her all his attention. The hypnotic cobra-stare. Then he thought of the comic, that stupid fucking comic Lindsey had shown him after he’d been trying so hard to forget about it, and the way he’d scolded her to prove what a great, sensitive, modern guy he was. To prove it to himself. And apparently the whole time, she was trying to tell him she was interested in doing that stuff? But how did Ivan know that’s what she... “Oh, you fucking asshole. You were coming on to her. I should beat the shit outta y—”

“No,” Cami said, yanking her earbuds out and lurching across the table to grab Ben’s clenched fist. “No, no. That isn’t it, Ben. Just stop. Time out.”

“Was I coming on to Lindsey?” Ivan asked Cami. He seemed curious, like he really wanted to know, and Ben’s temper cooled down a notch. Cami continued to press her hand over his fist, soothing him.

“No, honey. But I think she liked the subs-at-the-club thing. She really responded to that. You even noticed it.”

“What the fuck is the subs-at-the-club thing?” They’d both said it now, and Ben felt like they were speaking another language that only happened to sound like English.

Cami rolled her eyes and let go of his fist. “I’m just going to tell you myself, because this whole Cyrano de Bergerac thing is really stupid.”

“Cyrano de Bergerac? Wait, you’ve been listening!” he accused. “You weren’t reading, you’ve been feeding him lines. What the fuck, Cami?”

“Oh, of course I have. You can’t expect Ivan to have these kinds of conversations, Ben. Come on, now.”

“Are we done with that now?” Ivan asked her. “Because we weren’t very good at it.”

Ben let another curse fly, then pressed his head back hard against the padded booth, his mind overloaded with what he’d just heard. Never mind that he’d really been hearing it from Cami, not Ivan, a shame he wasn’t sure he could ever live down. But if what she was saying was true, if Lindsey really had been trying to tell him something...

Oh, God. Of course she was.

“I’ve been such an idiot.”

He opened his eyes to find Cami watching him intently, her eyes on his face and her lips curled around her straw. She was flushed, like she’d probably been drinking too fast and was already feeling it. Ivan, on the other hand, was back to staring into his barely touched beer, then tapping furiously away on his smartphone.

“Do you want me to tell you what subs at the club means?” Cami asked.

Ben nodded. “Sure. Shoot.”

“Okay. You’ve probably figured out by now that Ivan and I are into some maybe less than absolutely orthodox—”

“Yeah, I get it,” he interrupted. “You’re kinky. Let’s not dwell on that too much, okay? TMI. Just...get to the Lindsey part.”

To his relief, Cami chuckled. “Okay. Fair enough. So what Ivan was doing at the barbecue that time, when he talked to Linds about Costa Rica, was treating her like he would treat a new sub. A submissive. It’s a BDSM term for somebody who likes to submit to a partner, a Dominant partner, when they’re—”

“You’re dwelling. I’ve read the comic, Cami. Moving along now.”

“Right, right. He wasn’t doing it to pick her up or anything, he was just trying to learn ways to talk to strangers, so he could feel more comfortable at this fundraising party he had to go to. At the time, I really didn’t think that much about how quickly and thoroughly Lindsey responded to Ivan. I didn’t know her very well yet. But in retrospect, now that I know a lot more, I think there was something to it. Especially given that she’s very interested in the comic, and that she’s actually going as a submissive character for the conference...”

“And you said you thought she’d figured out we were into it,” Ivan supplied.

“Yeah. That’s true. I caught her looking at us a few times yesterday after we’d been talking about Balls ‘n’ Chain, and the fact that Ivan and I are going as Sir Mansome and Kittycat for the costume contest. I swear I could see the lightbulb go on over her head. Which happens, no biggie, people do figure it out sometimes. But in Lindsey’s case, she looked so envious. Wistful. Not jealous, not like she wanted Ivan. I want you to know that. I didn’t get that at all from her. It was just like she wanted something she wasn’t getting, and she saw that when she looked at us.”

“You kiss his hand like he’s the king,” Ben said. Not an accusation, just an observation. He wanted to ask questions, but he didn’t even know what those would be yet. His brain was reeling.

Cami stared him down boldly. More confidently than he would have expected from somebody who had just told him she liked to submit to her boyfriend in bed. “And sometimes he kisses my hand. Not like I’m the queen, I’ll admit. But it’s best to keep a very open mind about some things, especially when you’re talking about what goes on behind other people’s closed doors. Different strokes, you know?”

Ben considered that, then nodded. “So you think Lindsey’s...she showed me this thing from the comic once, where the guy, The Master? He had the Sub Red girl on his lap.”

“The over-the-knee spanking scene?” Cami’s eyes lit up. It was clearly a favorite. “Yes, I’m familiar with that. Go on, go on.”

“Ah.” He squirmed, unable to ignore the growing pressure in his pants as he thought about Lindsey, and spanking, and what her ass might feel like if he did that to her, and a million other random, unhelpful things. “Yeah. She showed me that. And I kind of blew it off. And told her I’d never do that, because of feminism and exploiting women, and blah blah blah. Stuff I thought she’d want to hear.”

“You thought it was some kind of test?”

“I’m not sure what I thought. I’m no prude, it just never occurred to me she might be trying to tell me something else.”

“Sounds to me like you thought she was testing you.” Cami’s margarita was almost gone. She slurped at the dimple in the bottom of the glass, chasing around the last few drops with her straw.

Ben shrugged, then slugged back a huge swallow of beer. Too large. He tried to restrain the belch that followed, but it came out anyway. Classy. “Maybe. But I obviously read the test question wrong. And failed.”

“Maybe,” she agreed. She’d inched closer and closer to Ivan as she spoke, and now Ben was startled to realize they were practically snuggling. His hand was at her neck, moving in a slow pulse under her hair, and she was arching into the pressure like a cat. “But maybe you get to resubmit your answer after feedback.”

“I don’t think I’m all that dominant. I don’t know if I can do that stuff, like in the strip. Wh-whipping, and flogging. Paddling...spanking...” He thought about Lindsey’s ass again, and about how even a firm grip could leave impressions on her pale redhead skin. His cock tried to climb out of his waistband. He was going to have to stay at this booth forever. “I wouldn’t even know where to get leather cuffs. Or a flogger.”

He realized he was going into a damning amount of detail, protesting far too much, but it didn’t seem to faze his tablemates.

“I have three floggers in my suitcase,” Ivan commented.

“Three?” Cami was on the alert suddenly, counting on her fingers.

“A surprise flogger,” Ivan confirmed. “For the costume.”

Then he smirked at her, and Ben wanted to be at any other table in the universe. Cami had suddenly fallen under the snake-charmer’s spell.

“Ben, I just sent you an email,” Ivan said, never taking his eyes off Cami. “A list of books you should read and some links to websites and videos. We’re going now. Have a nice afternoon.”

The hint of tacked-on courtesy at the end didn’t ameliorate the fact that Ivan pulled Cami out of the booth and out of the bar without a backward glance, heading straight for the elevators. No attempt to be subtle. No attempt to pretend they were about to do anything other than head up to their room for kinky sex.

Which left Ben sitting at the table alone, with only one thought left on his mind. How could he convince Lindsey that they needed to do that exact same thing?

Chapter Five

It was after three, and there must have been a session break because the crowd thickened rapidly as Lindsey and her two companions wove between the xenomorphs, Darth Vaders and Captain Americas to get across the street to the hotel bar.

As they waited at the crosswalk, Sadie suddenly turned, slapping her palm to her forehead.

“I’m so sorry, I forgot to introduce us. We can’t buy you a drink and talk business at you if you don’t know our names. I’m Samantha Weiss, this big oaf is my husband Mitch, and we’re—”

“The Sassy Switches,” Lindsey interjected, grinning. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fangurl, it’s just you’re really good. Amazing, in fact. Like you walked off the page. I’m Lindsey, by the way.”

“No, you are amazing. Seriously. You look more like Sub Red than Amy, and she’s who Sub Red is based on. Which is why we need you desperately, if you think you might be interested,” Samantha said, wringing her hands. “Amy had to go to a funeral, so she had to skip the con. Which means we don’t have our other booth babe, no offense. I know you’re not supposed to say booth babe anymore, but whatever. She and I usually take turns handing out promo and getting coffee or snacks, and helping turn the line when it gets too long.”

“And take turns doing the demonstration with me,” added Mitch. “But obviously we wouldn’t ask you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“I’d do that, too,” Lindsey blurted. “All of that.”

She wasn’t sure why, because she’d never done anything remotely like participating in a public display of BDSM. Or a private display of BDSM, for that matter. But it suddenly seemed like a great idea, the best idea. A no-brainer.

Because I’ve obviously lost my mind.

“Squee!” Samantha jumped up and down all the way across the street between the convention center and the hotel.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard somebody say that out loud before.”

“If you’re doing this, you should get used to it. She says it a lot.” Despite his dry tone, affection was clear in Mitch’s smile and the gaze he sent after his bouncy wife. He’d peeled off his mask, revealing a handsome, conventional face and short-cropped brown hair. It was stuck close to his scalp now, because he’d been sweating inside the leather headgear. Much like the character he portrayed, he looked more like an accountant when unmasked than a scary Dominant. “So, you think you can do it? It would really help us out. We’d compensate you, of course. Reimburse you for your conference ticket, buy you some meals and drinks. By which I mean when one of us goes for food you’ll be counted in automatically. Oh, and we’d get you an upgraded pass.”

“You can go in all the secret vendor and exhibitor-only areas.” Samantha nodded as they headed across the lobby toward the bar. “Very exciting, very hush-hush. Big boxes of comics and promo as far as the eye can see, like that scene at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark. Only without the Nazis leading into it.”

“Or the snakes.” Lindsey was only a tiny bit regretful about that. Unexpected snakes in enclosed spaces were not nearly as cool as the ones you went out in the desert looking for.

“This is Phoenix,” Samantha pointed out. “You could easily score a snake or maybe a scorpion in there. Or some kind of horrendous spider. Would that be a plus or a minus?”

Lindsey pondered that for a moment as they secured a just-vacated table at the bar and hailed a waitress. “Snakes, a plus unless I step on one or something and get bitten. Scorpions would be a minus, because they’re creepy. Spiders, it just depends.”

They ordered beer and then Mitch repaired to his and Samantha’s room for some documents.

“A waiver, I suspect,” Samantha mused. “He’s a lawyer. They’re very hip to situations where liability needs to be waived. Not that I think it’s necessary in this case. So since it’s just us right now, I have to ask. Have you done anything like this before? I can’t decide if I think you’re in the lifestyle or not.”

“I’m not.” Lindsey had no desire to lie about it, either, because she was sure “Sadie” would figure it out soon enough. “But I think I might want to be. And that’s kind of the first time I’ve said that out loud. It’s why my last boyfriend and I broke up, maybe? I can’t believe I’m telling a stranger all this.”

“I have that effect on people. I’m a therapist.”

“Oh. I wouldn’t have—really?”

“No, I know. I don’t normally work in this outfit, of course,” she pointed out. “And I’m way more hyper at conventions than I am in real life. I don’t get out much, sad to say. So what do you do, Lindsey?”

“Grad student. PhD candidate in ecology.”

“You’re kidding me. Amy’s a research biologist. The girl who’s normally Sub Red, I mean. Talk about typecasting.”

“You said the character was based on her?”

“Sort of. Yeah. Yes, actually. We don’t usually out ourselves all over, but yes. The whole comic has a horrible amount of basis in fact. Andy really just records what he observes, then hyperbolizes. It’s kind of scary to know how he sees us all, sometimes. He’s so meta.”

“So y’all are really Rick and Sadie? You do this stuff for real, I mean?”

“Oh, peanut, you’re making puppy-dog eyes when you say that. And you said you’d let Mitch flog you in public. You’re not just mildly interested in the lifestyle—you’ve got it bad, don’t you?”

“I’d kind of like to hear the answer to that myself...Red.”

Ben had risen from the next booth like a genie from a bottle, only his head and upper body showing over the back of Samantha’s seat. He’d crossed his arms on the divider, and was looking at her sternly.

Oh God, the eyebrow thing again. It would get old at some point, she told herself. But it hadn’t yet.

She opened her mouth and nothing came out. Fitting, because her brain was short-circuiting. She did have it bad. She didn’t want to tell Ben that. He wanted her to ‘fess up. The eyebrow of power made her want to confess, even in front of her new acquaintance. Samantha was a stranger, but she was in the kink lifestyle. Would she buy the idea of Ben as a Dom? Would she work out that he was the ex-boyfriend?

Samantha took a long look at Ben, looked back at Lindsey’s flustered face, and slid out of the booth. “Gosh, Mitchell is taking a long time with those documents. I’m going to go make sure he didn’t get stuck in the elevator or something. Back in ten, Lindsey, okay?”

Lindsey nodded and then kept on nodding, feeling like a bobblehead. “Yeah. Sure. That’s...go. Thanks?”

“Yeah, that’s about what I thought. Knock ’em dead, champ!”

Samantha disappeared, and Ben took her seat.

“Was that knock ’em dead for me or for you?” he wondered aloud.

“I don’t know. How much did you overhear?” She already knew, because he must have been sitting there when she sat down. It wasn’t like he’d snuck into the booth at some point afterward, under her radar. But asking him gave her something to say, instead of just flapping her jaw and going buh-buh-buh like a fool.

“Enough. It’s not a complete surprise to me, though.”

“Well, I figured.” The memory of humiliation ghosted over her, the shame she’d felt, the feeling that Ben had left because he suspected her of deviance. “That was why you walked out, wasn’t it? Because you thought I wanted to do all this freaky stuff, while fantasizing about Ivan?”

“That’s what you thought?”

She shrugged. She wasn’t really sure what she thought anymore. He was still giving her the stern look, and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“I left,” he clarified, “because I felt like you weren’t going to be happy with me. You seemed like you were keeping something back, like...like you wanted something but you wouldn’t tell me. You wanted me to guess what it was, and you resented it when I couldn’t guess. And I couldn’t be happy with that. It took me a while to work all that out, though. So at the time, sure, I just blamed it all on the jealousy.”

“I...” Lindsey looked down at her hands, which seemed to be shredding a damp cocktail napkin. It wasn’t like Ben was telling her anything new. There had been a certain amount of the dynamic he described. On the other hand, the fact remained that he was the one who called it quits when she was still willing to work on it. “I did tell you. I tried to, anyway. But you got all judgmental about it. Instead of listening to what I was saying, you made all these assumptions about what you thought I meant.”

Great. Now they sounded like a case study from a cheesy self-help book about relationships.

“All you did was hint, you never came out and said ‘Hey Ben, I want to try this. Spank me!’ And after that one time you never tried again. Neither of us was blameless.”

“Now you’re just trying to score points. It was never about who was at fault, and it wasn’t just about this. And I was happy with you.” She sipped her drink for courage, then added, “Remember, I wanted to do all that stuff with you.”

“Look who I found in the lobby,” Samantha said, bouncing back to the table with Mitch in tow. “Sorry you didn’t get the full ten minutes, but we remembered we do have to get back to the booth. Poor Andy’s all alone.”

Lindsey felt a blush climb up her face as Mitch handed over a thin sheaf of papers. She’d kept them waiting, bringing personal stuff into what was supposed to be a business talk. Well, sort of a business talk. And she hadn’t even made introductions.

“Right. I’ll take a look at these and bring them by the booth when I’m done, that way y’all can get back to work. Oh, and this is Ben, by the way. A friend from home. Ben, this is Sadie—I mean Samantha, and her husband Mitch. They asked me to help with the Balls ‘n’ Chain booth because their usual Sub Red couldn’t make it.”

Ben half stood, the booth making courtesy harder than usual, and shook hands. He didn’t look thrilled. “So what exactly are you asking her to do at the booth? Because I’ve seen part of your act over there and you take it pretty far.”

“Ben.”

Mitch leaned in a little, and Lindsey could have sworn he got bigger as she watched. More imposing. “Are you someone whose permission she needs?”

Ben tried staring him down, but broke first because the facts weren’t on his side. “Not at the moment, no.” But he shot Lindsey a this-isn’t-over-yet look that made her melt into the seat, thighs first. Not at the moment, but I want that to change, he seemed to be suggesting. But she’d gotten in trouble before with making assumptions. With not being perfectly clear. So had he. Lindsey wasn’t ready to be that clear on this new development yet. She steeled herself against Ben’s gaze and the eyebrow of power, and tapped the pages together on the table briskly.

“I’m going to my room to look these documents over. If I like what I see, I’ll sign and come back down to the booth in costume, ready to go. If not, or if I have questions, I’ll come down anyway and we’ll talk about it. Sound good?”

Samantha and Mitchell agreed, thanking Lindsey again profusely on her way out of the bar. She escaped with her waivers before Ben had a chance to follow.

* * *

Ivan obviously knew his shit. It was almost daunting, the scope of the resources he’d managed to include in that one hasty email. Ben purchased two manual-style ebooks on BDSM, plus ebook versions of the back issues of Balls ‘n’ Chain. He paid an exorbitant amount for some extremely eye-opening niche market video porn, and waded through dozens of articles, blog posts and discussion threads over the course of a few hours.

He expected to feel guilty and filthy, steeping himself in all that deviant information. And to some extent, he did. To a greater degree, it was liberating to discover that he wasn’t alone. It was okay to like this freaky shit. On the relative scale of things, his preferred perversions were still pretty minor. Even the guilt became a turn-on, once he decided to indulge its source. The filth had always turned him on.

He knew that Lindsey would end up at the Balls ‘n’ Chain booth, in costume. He’d have bet any amount of money that she’d made up her mind before leaving that table. She wouldn’t be available to talk once she was doing that, and he wasn’t going to horn in on her once-in-a-lifetime experience. So he’d taken the rest of the afternoon off for research.

And masturbation.

And then more research. Then a bit more masturbation, followed by a final round of research that ended when Lin and Ed barreled back into the room, bursting with news about Lindsey’s transformation into the hottest booth babe at the convention.

“Yeah, I already know.” As the pair waxed eloquent on the subject of Lindsey’s many charms, Ben continued to lounge on the bed, swiping pages over, pretending to read as he struggled to ignore the cell phone picture Lin was waving at him. “We talked about it in the bar earlier.”

“That costume is amazing!”

“Yeah.” Of course it was amazing. One of his jacking sessions had been prompted solely by picturing Lindsey as he flipped through the issue of Balls ‘n’ Chain where the infamous strappy dungeon outfit made its debut. She really did bear an uncanny resemblance to the character, so it wasn’t as though it took a lot of mental effort to visualize.

Now, because he’d taken the edge off, he could consider more important things. Like putting together a Balls ‘n’ Chain costume of his own. It would take some doing, but there were two full days left before the costume contest. Plenty of time to work something out. For the moment, he tried to focus on his other important task, memorizing everything on the crib sheet he’d been developing. Key tips for fledgling Doms. When in doubt, make her wait, and establish a safe word before play. The most important fuck is the mind fuck. He had about a dozen things written down so far, but best of all, he thought he grasped the tone he needed to set. His mind was still reeling from all the new information, of course. But at least his dick had settled down. Somewhat.

That night was the Steampunk Shindig, a steampunk/space western party extravaganza. The whole group planned to attend, in costume, and Ben started donning his faux Victorian togs as he pondered what approach to take with Lindsey.

Ivan had sent him another email—possibly prompted by Cami—that suggested he treat his venture into BDSM as a science experiment. Ben was a historian at heart, but he liked the idea of using that theoretical framework. Forming hypotheses, testing things out, observing and making inferences. Drawing conclusions all over Lindsey’s hot little body.

His first hypothesis, which he planned to start testing tonight, was that Lindsey got wet when he acted like a cross between Mister Spock and Professor Snape. If he could pull that off and sustain it, he’d be off to a strong start.

“For science!” he muttered to himself, snapping his suspenders into place.

“What?” Lin was dressed like a steampunk Borg. Creepy but effective. Ben knew there was an official Steampunk Borg Collective waiting downstairs for Lin to join them.

“Nothing. Nice costume.”

He tucked his crib sheet into the watch pocket of his trousers, laced up his Doc Martens, and donned his time-traveling bowler hat. He was as ready as he’d ever be.

* * *

“Middle school was never this bad. Seriously, it’s...ugh. Does he like me, or does he like me, like me? Yes, you can pull my cord. Not too hard.”

Lindsey pasted on a smile as the tenth person of the evening clasped the handle on her chestplate and pulled the ripcord back, spinning the flywheel into motion to set her wings flapping.

Cami, in a much simpler Victorian-style lady explorer’s costume, tucked a stray wisp of hair back under her pith helmet. “It really wasn’t like that. I think he was just curious, which you can’t really blame him for. He’s curious, you’re curious...”

“He’s clueless, I’m self-conscious. This doesn’t sound like a match made in sexual heaven to me, Cams.”

“If you say so. Wow, is that the guy from Chronicles from Beyond? Did you see the trailer? It looks like it’s going to be amazing. I want to go to the panel tomorrow.”

“The special effects were unreal,” Lindsey agreed, thinking of the clip she’d seen for the newly announced science fiction show. “I don’t know about the dialog, though. Do you know who’s doing the writing?”

As Cami rattled off some names and the bartender worked on her order, Lindsey sipped cheap white wine from a generic plastic cup and scanned the room, taking in the human scenery. The costumes ran the gamut from cheap efforts with spray-painted plastic gears affixed at random to works of functional, wearable mechanical art. There was a sepia photograph mood to the whole affair, partly due to clever lighting but partly due to the prevalence of brown clothing. Even the rough-edged whimsicality of the live band had a certain period flair, though of precisely what period Lindsey couldn’t say. God knows it wasn’t Victorian, but it was fun anyway. Almost as much fun as she’d had at the booth that afternoon, becoming Sub Red for the first time. Even if she had just been handing out flyers and wrangling the fans in the line.

“Can I have a yank, for old times’ sake?”

She hadn’t seen him coming. Ben’s fingers were already wrapping around the handle of the ripcord, brushing against her bare sternum along the way. Instead of pulling, he held his hand there and looked toward Cami with a polite smile.

“My cue to leave,” she said, lifting her hands to display a precariously balanced cluster of four cups. “Is Ivan still at the table, do you know?”

“Last time I saw,” Ben confirmed, sidestepping to get out of the bar crush, while never taking his hand off Lindsey.

When Cami disappeared into the crowd Ben directed his attention back to his captive steampunk fairy, scanning her up and down. Lindsey tried to see herself through his eyes. He’d seen earlier incarnations of the outfit, but she’d made changes since then. More accessories and a short fluffy skirt. Fishnets with a garter belt.

“I couldn’t help but notice you’ve had a parade of guys grabbing the front of your costume tonight.”

“There’ve been girls, too,” Lindsey pointed out, trying to ignore the delightful sensation of his index finger sneaking up to stroke the sweat-damp skin at her neckline. “What are you doing, Ben?”

“Continuing our conversation from earlier. Did you go to the Balls ‘n’ Chain booth?”

She nodded, looking down at his hand for a second and wishing he’d move it. Either pull the cord or just give up the tease and go for a grope. She’d probably allow it; she was still keyed up enough from the afternoon’s excitement to excuse a few stupid decisions. “I did, yes.”

“Enjoy yourself?”

“Yep.” Seriously, what is he doing?

“Did ‘Rick’ enjoy himself?”

“Are you asking if I let him paddle me or something?” Even with the ridiculous contraption on his hat, Ben looked far from goofy. And nothing like his usual self. He looked serious and determined, and it was hot. A thought raced through Lindsey’s mind, a fleeting daydream of the spanking horse and hot, serious Ben with a flogger. The tops of her thighs started to feel warm and dangerously exposed in the tiny skirt and open-air stockings. “I’m surprised you didn’t come down and see for yourself.”

“I was busy. Are you going to tell me?” He tipped her chin up with his other hand.

“Maybe I want to know what you’re planning to do with that information.”

“Maybe I want to become somebody whose permission you need.”

A tug on her chest drew her attention, but he didn’t let her look down. It took her a second to realize he was slowly drawing the ripcord out, too slowly to spin the wheel, and wrapping it around his hand. Using it to hold her there. A shiver went through her, despite the heat of the crowded room. He grazed her chest with every turn of his hand around the cord, and it wasn’t nearly enough. She knew if she looked, her nipples would be showing through the flimsy lace bra and flimsier camisole she wore under her wing harness and leather cincher.

“If you break my wing flapper this conversation comes to a halt.”

A smile tried to work its way onto his face, but he clamped down on it with visible effort and shook his head, never taking his eyes off hers. “I won’t break it. And this conversation is not even close to over. Look at you, look how much you like this. Your heart is beating a mile a minute and your pupils are so huge you look stoned. You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

Every girl’s dream, to have Mr. Wonderful come crawling back, right? Except he wasn’t most girls’ idea of Mr. Wonderful, exactly, and he wasn’t crawling. She wasn’t sure that was a dream of hers anyway. Crawling wouldn’t have been nearly as good as this...whatever Ben was doing now.

“Did that guy paddle your ass? Or spank you, or flog you, or any other variation of that?”

Lindsey shook her head against the tug of his fingers, her mouth suddenly too dry to speak. She was breathing too fast, practically panting. If Ben slid a hand between her legs right now she’d go off like a bottle rocket.

He seemed to give a lot of thought to what he said next, stating it slowly and clearly as though he wanted there to be no misunderstanding.

“I can’t stop thinking about doing all that to you. Not just the spanking, either, a lot more. A lot. If anybody is going to do that stuff to you, I want it to be me. Nobody. Else.”

She was so accustomed to thinking of him as cute, as harmless. The kind of man who would never hurt a fly. Softly focused, with his sandy hair and indeterminate hazel eyes, vacillating about his career. She’d never seen this version of him until last night’s assertive kiss, this razor-sharp Ben who knew what he wanted and seemed potentially ruthless about getting it.

But still. “Just because you think that’s what I wanted you to do before?” The music shifted gears, growing louder, and the bass drum throbbed through her bones in a maddening primal beat.

Ben shook his head and leaned closer, until their lips were almost touching. “No. Because the thought of putting you over my knee and smacking your perfect butt until it looks like my handprint’s tattooed on there makes me so hard I can barely walk. It made me hard before, too, but I was a fucking idiot and thought I had to feel guilty about getting turned on by shit like that. I’m willing to work on my guilt issues if you’re willing to let me take you up to that hotel room right now and violate you eight ways from Sunday.”

Oh, oh, oh...

“Does that hat let you travel in space as well as time? We’d get up there so much faster.”

Chapter Six

Ben’s grand vision of nailing Lindsey against the elevator wall was a complete nonstarter. They had company all the way up, people coming in and out, a few of them barely humanoid. Three other conventioneers got out on their floor, so even an extended grope in the hall was out of the question. They had to forbear, all the way into the room.

The cardkey took half a dozen swipes to work, Lindsey’s fingers trembling harder with each attempt until Ben finally slipped it from her grasp and got the green light on his first try.

Smooth. It might be the last smooth move he made all night, if his nerves were any indication. He was starting to wish he could have managed one more quick discussion with his johnson before the party, because it was hollering for attention despite all his earlier efforts.

But he knew patience would pay off. Making Lindsey wait meant he had to wait, too, but it would make everything better for both of them. Delayed gratification is everybody’s friend. He had written that right on his crib sheet, so he wouldn’t forget.

The door clicked shut behind them and he spun Lindsey back toward him, pulling her in and cupping her face. Her little whimper right before his lips landed on hers hit him in the gut, a punch of visceral need that went way beyond sex. He’d been so, so stupid to walk away from her. What the hell was he doing with his life?

It wasn’t the time for self-examination, however. It was time for hungry, desperate kisses while Lindsey struggled out of her wings. Goggles and ray guns slid to the floor, then Lindsey’s leather belt thing and barely-there shirt and oh I missed that bra so much and fluffy excuse for a skirt.

He stopped her at the garter belt. “Can the panties come off and that thing stay on?”

She nodded and hooked her thumbs around the lacy hip straps, ready to push them down, but he nudged her hands out of the way and took over. A slow tease, kissing his way down her stomach then flicking his tongue under the lace waistband before he knelt, taking the panties all the way down. What God should he thank for the practicality of a girl who knew to wear the panties outside the garters? Because it was so much more practical, but Lindsey was the only one he knew who seemed to wear them that way, not that his experience was all that extensive, and—

“Oh, holy fuck, you actually did it.”

The little steel balls gleamed among the folds of pink. She’d waxed everything, even though it wasn’t summer yet, and there was no mistaking the clit piercing for anything else. Entranced, he leaned in and pressed an almost reverent kiss there, marking his place for later. Even at that light pressure, a shiver ran through Lindsey’s frame and her hips flexed toward him, her fingers gripped his shoulders tighter. Ben looked up to see her eyes closed, lips parted, face flushed. Yearning. This time he knew what she wanted and wouldn’t disappoint her. Or he hoped he wouldn’t.

Crib sheet. Priorities. Focus, dude. “You need a safe word.”

She blinked, coming out of her haze a bit, and nodded. “Not fluffy purple unicorn, it’s too long.”

He grinned, forgetting he was supposed to be all serious. Fluffy purple unicorn was Sub Red’s safe word, but Ben agreed it was too long to be practical. “OhfortheloveofgodstopbeforeIkillyou?”

She whacked him on the shoulder, but only gently. “Red light.”

Spock. Channel Mister Spock. He raised one eyebrow. “Red light. Fascinating.”

Too much, she’s gonna catch on. If she did, she didn’t let it show. Ben stood and took a step back, eyeing her from head to toe. Taking his time, admiring her in her nearly transparent peach lace bra, and the black garter belt that held up slinky fishnets. Her sleek pussy, those dots of tempting silver...he needed to sit down soon, he was getting lightheaded. But he was also a glutton for punishment.

“Take your boots off.”

“Oh, sorry. I forgot.” She flopped on the bed, bent over and started to untie them, but he stopped her again with a slow shake of his head.

“Not like that.” He walked over to the corner and pulled a chair away from the tiny table, turning it before sitting down to watch her.

Lindsey blushed redder, almost to that blotchy point he knew she hated, and hesitantly lifted one foot to the bed, angling to face him as she untied the boot slowly. He could see everything, could even see she was already wet.

“Nice.”

She favored him with a shy, swift smile before switching legs and repeating the performance. Boots finally off, she drew both feet under her and knelt on the bed.

“You’re sure about this?”

He snorted. “I think I’m the one supposed to be asking you that. Are you sure?”

She nodded. “Very sure.”

“Then come here.”

* * *

It’s just Ben. Even so, Lindsey’s knees trembled as she slipped off the bed and walked the few steps to the chair. It was one thing to propose a spanking, another to bend over, awkwardly arranging her weight on Ben’s lap. She felt approximately ten times more naked than she’d ever been in her life, a feeling not mitigated by the arousal that came with it. He hitched her closer, one hand closing on her shoulder and one on her hip to pull her in. Getting comfortable.

She was so primed that she gasped when he slid a hand down to the back of her thigh. He splayed his fingers over the crease between leg and ass, tantalizingly close to the center. Time slowed down, a sticky silence, then Ben took in a deep breath and released it slowly. Released her leg. Doubt filled her brain—had he changed his mind? What if—

Smack!

“Ow!”

She’d been so panicked, she hadn’t sensed it coming.

He popped her again, harder this time, pulling a hiss from her. That one stung. What else had she expected? She hadn’t realized how big Ben’s hand would be, how heavy and warm against her skin. Another few spanks, alternating sides, and the growing heat started to spread. Tingling, seeping in. Filling in the spaces he wasn’t hitting, the spaces she wanted him to touch.

Strong, flat hand on her back, gentle between her shoulder blades. “Okay so far?”

“Yeah.” Awesome so far. She wished, though, that she’d thought about how they transitioned from this to whatever the next thing was.

“Your ass is already all pink.” He brushed fingertips over heated flesh, and Lindsey couldn’t help but squirm. “I thought that would bother me, seeing where I’d spanked you, but it doesn’t. It makes me want to leave more marks there. Makes me want to go harder.”

“You’re already hard,” she pointed out, wiggling against him. She earned a swift series of smacks, harder and faster this time. Then he concentrated on one spot until it glowed with pain. Lindsey thought his handprint must be emblazoned there like a brand. Muscles in her neck and shoulder pinched, flexed, as she tried to withstand the growing agony. But when Ben finally shifted his focus to a new spot, all that tension drained out of her at once, leaving her light and lightheaded, taking in the fresh pain with a new appreciation.

The sting was melting into something else, even as he layered on more, and her clit had started to throb where she pressed it against Ben’s thigh. She shifted her weight forward, bracing her fingertips against the floor, and spread her legs shamelessly in hopes of catching a glancing blow from his fingers against her pussy. Any kind of attention she could get.

“Settle down!” he growled. Growled. She’d never heard his voice like that. “I’m not done yet.”

She’d created a monster. Who set up a rhythm now, his big hand clapping her butt in a merciless beat that short-circuited her brain. He’d tightened his grip with his other hand, preventing her wiggling. Lindsey palmed the floor, legs flailing in space, all her thought reduced to the scorching pain and searing need Ben was inflicting on her. She wanted the monster. Wanted his fingers inside her, his cock inside her.

A second later she got her first wish. Ben stopped the spanking and slicked two fingers into her channel, meeting no resistance along the way. Lindsey wailed like a cat and pushed into his touch, but he pressed her down again.

“I’ve never felt you this wet before. God, you’re so ready.” He teased one finger down to her clit, and the jolt of pleasure nearly lifted Lindsey off his lap. If he’d pressed there a second longer she’d have come, but he didn’t. Just one swirling caress, then he stopped. “I’m not ready to fuck you yet, though.”

“Yes, you are,” she protested. She could feel it, right there, extreme readiness pushing into her hip. Want, want, want. She was made of it, like a mindless sex-bot.

“I beg your pardon?” He whacked her again and she cried out, startled into remembering what they were doing. What she’d gotten herself into, and the part she wanted him to play. Until that moment she hadn’t really believed it, that Ben would follow through. But he was, and it made the wanting ten times worse.

“I’m sorry.”

“Master.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Why did that seem like a big step? It was, because names and titles had power. Even a small amount of science fiction or fantasy reading taught you that. Heck, religion taught you that. If she did this, she’d be granting him power. And he already had more than she’d expected him to take. It’s just Ben, she tried to tell herself. It didn’t work, though.

“I’m sorry, Master.”

“That’s better. Now get on your knees and show me how contrite you are.”

She would have fallen off his lap at that point if his hand hadn’t been steadying her. Twisting her torso, she gaped up at Ben’s face. He was holding it together, looking absolutely serious. A pang of anticipation-tinged pleasure arrowed through Lindsey. She slid off Ben’s thighs, landing none too gracefully in a kneeling position between his feet.

“Yes, Master.”

He scooted forward, unbuttoning his trousers as he went. He’d shrugged the suspenders off already, and the loose cut of the pants allowed him plenty of room to free his erection. Allowed Lindsey plenty of space to work her hands around his girth and stroke the base of his cock while she flicked her tongue over the tip. Leisurely, like she always had.

“No.” Ben’s hand fisted in her hair, pulling her away an inch or two. “Suck it. Take it all the way in.”

He pressed her back down, not roughly but not gently enough that she could do anything else, either. She opened her mouth and licked to wet his cock, slicking her way as far as she thought she could go. Ben seemed to think she could go farther, and proved himself right, guiding her down just past the point of comfort and holding her there for a second.

“Like that.”

She swallowed around him and dipped lower still, a strangled moan marking her surprise and a soft curse marking Ben’s.

“Oh, good...so good. Do that again, keep doing that.”

He guided her head up and down, giving her little choice but to comply. When he thrust up to meet her, Lindsey struggled not to gag around him. She realized he was using her like a sex toy, fucking her mouth. But her pussy throbbed with each stroke, and her muffled whimpers of need were no act. This was what she’d wanted from the first time she’d read the comic that started it all. And it was the hottest experience of her life, no contest. Her hips ground in time with her strokes up and down his cock. She wanted him inside her, and needed to come, and the slow burn of her arousal had somehow turned into a bonfire. At the same time, she never wanted this to stop. This, allowing Ben to use her as the instrument of his pleasure. Something ancient and basic in it appealed to some long-buried part of her psyche, perhaps. Or maybe she was just a simple pervert, which was also fine.

When he tugged her off him, she growled in complaint and struggled to get her mouth on his cock again. Possessive, greedy, craving.

Ben was already standing, though, grabbing her hand to pull her up with him, then picking her up by the waist and depositing her on the bed. She expected him to pounce, but he waited by the end of the bed and eyed her speculatively.

“Hmm. Lie back and spread your legs. Wide. I want to see everything.”

Hadn’t he seen enough already? But she complied, falling back and spreading her legs, knees slightly bent.

“Wider.”

She slid her feet out another few inches, until she felt the strain on her inner thigh muscles.

“Now wait there. Don’t move.” He tucked himself in and re-buttoned his trousers.

“What are you—”

“Shh.”

His hand was already on the connecting door, and Lindsey held her breath in anticipation of hearing voices, but the other room was silent and dark. Ed and Lin were obviously still out partying. Her relief lasted only a few seconds, until Ben returned with a handful of stuff that had the potential to be intimidating if he got creative. She suspected he was more creative than she’d ever given him credit for in the past.

She was right.

“Is that...Ed’s Gandalf staff?”

Ben locked the door behind him and twirled the long staff around his hand once. “Yup.”

He also had a rope, probably a costume belt for one of the guys. And a necktie. Why the heck does one of them have a necktie here?

“Do they know you’re using their stuff to...you know?”

“I could tell them.” He wasn’t even cracking a smile. “You think they’d mind, if they knew what I’d used it for? ‘Hey, Ed, there’s this thing called a spreader bar, but I didn’t have one and I’d seen some cool alternatives with bamboo poles. So I borrowed your staff,’” he said, sliding the slender shaft of wood behind Lindsey’s feet, “‘and tied Lindsey’s ankles to it, while she was mostly naked.’” He slipped the length of coarse rope around her foot and ankle on one side, securing them to the staff, then picked up the tie and teased the inside of her thigh with it.

“But I couldn’t have done it without Lin’s belt from his lame-ass monk outfit. Or my interview tie.”

“Interview?”

“Quiet.” The tie was already in play, as Ben carefully wrapped and tied it with an expertise that surprised Lindsey. Hidden talents. “‘And then, once I had my sweetie’s legs spread nice and wide, and tied up tight so she couldn’t get away, I had her at my mercy.’ Ed can use his imagination for the rest.”

Lindsey’s own imagination was in overdrive, picturing every possible approach Ben might take to her bound, vulnerable self. He wasn’t taking any of them right away, though, which was driving her insane. He was just standing there, looking at her. Admiring his handiwork. And finally, finally taking off his clothes and rolling on a condom he must have retrieved when he went for the staff.

“Oh, thank God.”

Another huge grin broke out on Ben’s face—the old, familiar, engaging grin—and Lindsey grinned back, giggling as the weirdness of the whole situation broke over her. His smile widening, he flung his clothes aside with a graceful sweep of his hands and moved forward, kneeling between her legs in the triangle completed by the makeshift spreader bar.

“Next, I put on my robe and wizard hat—”

“Right? Oh, baby, your stats are so high.”

“I got your critical hit right here!”

“Ben...” she pleaded through her laughter, reaching toward him. He took her fingers, twining his through them playfully for a moment, then withdrew them and shook his head.

“Master,” he reminded her.

“I will call you Lord High Emperor of the Universe if it means I can have an orgasm in the next two minutes.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be trying to make deals and set terms, Linds. Pretty sure there’s a name for that, but I’ll have to look it up later.” He leaned over her and backhanded one of her nipples with his fingertips, hard and fast and startling.

“Fuck!”

Just as sudden, just as startling, his hot mouth covered the stinging flesh. Lindsey jerked at the warring sensations, but couldn’t go far. She wrapped her fingers in Ben’s hair instead, combing through the soft curls and trying to catch her breath.

“Next time I’m cuffing your hands, too,” he mumbled, lips never quite clearing her skin.

The prospect sent another bolt of need through her, and Lindsey felt a hot trickle of fresh fluid between her legs. It occurred to some tiny, detached part of her mind that she should be embarrassed about generating a wet spot. Then that inner voice had an argument with itself about “shoulds” and society’s arbitrary double standards and slut-shaming and a number of other distracting concepts.

“The whole point is to externalize that shit,” she muttered, annoyed with herself.

“Huh?” Ben’s eyes were glassy and dark. He looked near the edge of his control, though Lindsey wasn’t sure how she knew that; he was already so far past the control she’d seen him exercise in the past, she was no longer sure she knew this Ben at all. Wasn’t sure she’d ever known him. She wanted to, though.

“Master, please.”

“I guess I could be magnanimous.” Scooting back off the bed, Ben grabbed the staff and raised Lindsey’s legs, pressing until her knees were almost in her armpits. With one hand on the bar to keep her in place, he used the other to tease through her folds, tracking the slick evidence of her readiness from the top of her slit all the way down to her ass. He smacked her butt, not very hard, then smoothed his hand over the curve and teased his thumb over the pucker of her asshole. Lindsey shivered at the wicked pressure. “Damn, I wish I had lube.”

She shook her head, not a protest of that notion but of his failure to touch her anywhere else. His hand moved away from her ass, denying her even that sensation. Unable to so much as move her hips, she felt genuinely out of control for the first time that night. True, she could have reached down and taken matters into her own hands. But she couldn’t kid herself; Ben was offering more than she could do on her own right now, and if she wanted that she would only get it on his timeline. That limitation was a feature, not a bug, of this encounter.

“Open your eyes,” he said softly. “I want you to see what I’m doing to you.”

She forced her eyes open, made herself look down her torso to where Ben was positioning his cock to take her. One hand on the ridiculous Gandalf staff, the other on his own staff, two fingers tipping his erection down to angle it into her. Wet as she was, he could have slid in to the balls with no resistance. She knew that. She wanted that. He gave her an inch or two instead, just enough to seat himself so he could free up his hand to tease the metal bar that snuggled against her clit.

The sight of his cock disappearing inside her pussy, the sweet pressure of him stretching and filling her as he fingered the piercing, was so erotic Lindsey nearly came on the spot. Trembling, breathing hard, she forced herself back from the precipice and watched the subtle movements of flesh against flesh as he worked himself deeper. When he broke his rhythm to give one of the steel balls a sharp flick with his fingers, desire flared up her spine like fireworks bursting. It was unbearable, and she wanted more of it, less of what she wanted and more of whatever Ben deigned to give her.

So fucked up. So much hotter than she’d ever let herself dream.

“Watch.” He sank down in one smooth drive, forcing the last half inch or so with a determined grunt that conjured an answering moan from Lindsey. His weight bore down on her bound body, pressing her legs even closer to her chest. His pubic hair rasped against her swollen clit, arousing her to insanity but not giving her quite enough stimulation to come.

“So deep,” she whispered.

“Fuck yeah. I’m gonna give you more, though, and you’re gonna take it.”

He shifted again, bracing both hands near her waist and using his weight to keep the staff pressed down, holding her gaze...and then he moved, fast, pulling away and slamming back inside Lindsey’s body so hard it drove the breath out of her. So deep it almost hurt. And then again and again, a fresh sort of punishment, but it was just as arousing as everything that preceded it. His balls slapped into her, his pelvis ground out a filthy beat against her clit, and Lindsey was over the edge before she quite knew what was happening. A free fall, a climax that didn’t climax, as if her atoms were reassembling themselves and weren’t quite sure what to become next.

Oh, and then it was pleasure, but not a kind she knew. The sharpest, most brilliant, biting bliss she’d never imagined, roaring through her body and claiming it just as Ben had. It ebbed, then rose and had its way with her again, finally leaving her limp and senseless and wondering what the hell had just happened to her.

Ben came seconds later, shaking his way to a gasping halt. She opened her eyes, still breathing hard, to see him hovering over her in the last second of orgasm. His entire body clenched, then it all drained away as Lindsey watched, until he looked as floored as she felt.

Maybe a little less floored. He had the presence of mind to sit up and untie her, shoving the equipment out of the way and massaging her legs with shaky hands.

Aftercare, she thought. He really has been studying up.

She would have commended him for it, too, if only she’d stayed awake long enough to form the words.

* * *

The morning had dawned as it usually did at a convention. Blurry from a slight hangover, woozy from oddly broken hotel sleep, and mindless except for a ruthless focus on the procurement of coffee. In Ben’s case, he was also suffering from a case of the surreals. He knew it wasn’t a dream, what had happened the previous night with Lindsey. But in the cold light of day, as he tried to will away his morning wood, he couldn’t fully believe it either. So improbable, so hot. And he’d felt like a supergenius giant when everything was going smoothly.

He’d felt like a dork, however, whenever things had gone awry. He’d made a plan, in the night, because he knew only one thing that would help him achieve and maintain that glorious feeling of mastery again. Overpreparation. It worked for tests, it worked for important business presentations, and it would help him woo Lindsey back like a BDSM boss.

Fortunately, his trusty smartphone had come to the rescue and he had all the information he needed to get his nefarious overpreparation plan started: an address.

An hour and one overpriced breakfast later, Ben parted company from Lin and Ed with the excuse that he’d left something back in the hotel room. Once they’d wandered safely off into the gathering crowd, he turned around and headed straight to the nearest coffee shop for a stronger caffeine infusion. At nine-thirty, he was outside again and ready to rendezvous with the cab he’d ordered. His next step along the road to greatness.

The bright green taxi smelled of disinfectant and despair, a mixture that was one of the less offensive ways a cab could smell. It was a lovely clear morning, too, perfect for sightseeing. Another time, Ben might have hunted down a museum or two, explored some historic sites. Appreciated the blend of old and new architecture, the history written on the face of the city. Today, however, his mind was too full of Lindsey—who was probably at the Balls ‘n’ Chain booth even now, possibly strapped to the spanking horse and undergoing some sort of sensual torture at the hands of that “Rick” guy. So here he was, headed down a generic freeway through miles of commercial districts and airport outliers. Over to Tempe, to the closest place he’d been able to find that didn’t absolutely terrify him.

He tried not to think about the store he was headed toward, the address he’d been so leery to give the cab driver. He wondered whether he should have asked to be taken a few blocks away, instead, and walked the rest of the way. Probably the guy knew, though—he’d probably been to the place so many times he could smell those fares a mile away and knew every address within walking distance.

Or possibly Ben was experiencing some guilt and shame-induced paranoia. The cabbie pulled up to Ben’s final destination like it was no big deal, and reassured Ben he’d be there upon his return. With the meter running, naturally.

Ben allotted fifteen minutes to spend inside the store. How long could it take, really? The sign was lurid, an almost explicit pink on white. The place wasn’t subtle, that was for damn sure. But Ben didn’t need subtle, he needed equipment, and the internet had directed him here, so here he was. With a deep breath, he pushed open the door.

Inside was, if possible, even more luridly pink and white than the sign had suggested. But the store was also clean, well-lit, and oddly cheerful. It looked nothing at all like the suspicious-smelling back room at the video store Ben had entered a few times in college. He’d usually gone in with buddies, and they’d spent most of the time there snickering at the titles and trying not to act too turned on by the covers. This brightly colored establishment looked more like one of those high-end beauty supply stores. Only with very different products on the shelves and racks.

Very different.

“Morning,” a voice as cheerful as the decor called out. A woman of indeterminate age bustled past, arms full of boxes. Ben did a double take when he realized they were boxes of butt plugs. Nice ones, too, from the looks of the packaging. “I’ll be with you in a minute, hon.”

She disappeared behind a counter, only the top of her platinum-blond hair peeping up as she stashed the merchandise somewhere out of Ben’s line of sight. He flashed back to his first condom-buying experience, the pleasant pharmacy assistant who’d unlocked the case for him and checked him out. He’d been mortified, but she was kind enough to pretend not to notice. She’d looked a lot like the woman who popped back up from behind the counter now, actually. Very different store, however.

Very different Ben, too.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”

Old Ben would have stammered out something stupid, like flavored lube, bought the first thing his hand touched, and skedaddled. But Ben reminded himself he wasn’t that guy now. He was Ben the Dominant. He was going to be the kind of person who knew what he wanted and went after it.

“Bondage stuff.” He’d said it a little too loud in the quiet space. The nice saleslady’s eyebrows went up and she looked, for a second, like she was suppressing a smile.

“Right in that corner.” She pointed. “You’ll see the sign.”

He could hardly miss it. Fetish and Bondage, hanging from the ceiling in shocking-pink letters two feet high. Feeling like an idiot, Ben the Dominant strode over to the corner in question and took mental stock of everything he saw.

Choices, choices, far too many choices. None of it was hard-core, that he could see, but he didn’t think that was necessarily a bad thing. He was freaked out enough at the fur handcuffs—he wasn’t sure he could’ve handled metal collars and cock gags.

Just then he spotted the cock gag, of course, right next to the fishhook one, alongside the numerous species of ball gags. He decided the answer should be none of the above, and selected a sturdy-looking bit gag instead. The image swept over him of Lindsey opening for it, biting into it as she writhed in agony or ecstasy...lightheaded, Ben struggled for a moment to regain his focus. Bondage. He needed to improve upon the Gandalf staff and his interview tie.

A set of thigh and wrist cuffs caught his eye. Some versatile nylon tethers. Ideas started to crystallize, and the stack of products at Ben’s feet grew. An ingenious set of straps that ran under a mattress to provide attachment points. A blindfold. A real spreader bar with a set of neoprene ankle cuffs, just in case. A smooth, flat leather paddle the approximate size of a ping-pong paddle. A black collar with a chain leash. And, despite Ivan and Cami’s warnings about lesser-quality whips, a black riding crop.

“You look like you could use a basket.” The smiling cashier held out a handled plastic basket just like the ones in grocery stores, and Ben gratefully dumped his loot into it.

“I think I’m ready to check out, actually.”

At the counter, his mind circled back to the boxes the clerk had been carrying, now secured somewhere out of sight, but presumably still for sale. But the cab was waiting, the clock was ticking, and he didn’t have any more time to stand around the store looking for stuff and feeling overwhelmed. He needed to make other stops on the way back to the hotel, acquire other vital components to bring his plan to fruition. Time to man up and take the shortcut.

“I’ll also take one of those stainless steel butt plugs you were stocking earlier. And a big bottle of water-based lube.” Words he never thought he’d hear himself saying.

The lady who was old enough to be his mother and reminded him of the kindly pharmacy clerk just smiled and whipped out an array of plugs, each shinier and more intriguing than the last. “You gonna need any condoms with all that, hon?”

* * *

The spanking bench was more comfortable than it had any right to be. Lindsey pressed her cheek against the cool vinyl, concentrating on the swish of air over the back of her thighs. A bizarre way to become aroused, she mused, having hundreds of strangers’ eyes fondling one’s butt. But there it was, undeniable arousal. And there she was, as contradictorily happy in her embarrassed response as a proverbial pig in mud.

“Oh, she found it. Nice work, Sadie!”

Mitch’s “Rick” voice was louder and more abrasive than his regular one, and edging on the obnoxious. It grounded her, though, helping her track where he was behind her. She wasn’t sure what Samantha had found for him, and for a mad, wonderful moment she let herself fall into the fantasy that it was a paddle or a flogger. The next sensation she felt on her exposed thighs and the barely covered curve of her ass would be the sharp, biting pleasure of—

“Eek! That tickles!”

“It’s supposed to. It’s sensual torture!” Mitch rounded the bench and waggled a long white plume in front of her face, brushing the end of her nose with it. “Since The Master would probably not care to have me paddling you, I needed some sort of implement of destruction to wield against you.”

“Destruction? With a feather?” She dimly recalled something about tickling as a torture method in the history of some country or other. But her brain kept circling back to the Monty Python version of the Spanish Inquisition. “Is this the Comfy Chair?”

Sadie giggle-snorted, just out of view. “Poke her with...the Soft Cushions!”

Mitch prowled back around the spanking bench and assaulted Lindsey’s feet with the feather.

“Have at you, Sub Red!”

“Oh, no, sir! Not the feather! Anything but the plume of doom!”

Lindsey would never reveal her secret, that the soles of her feet weren’t all that ticklish. She put on a show, wriggling and mock-shrieking with laughter, until Mitch caught on and muttered something about needing to alter his approach. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the crowd turning, getting into the performance, a few spectators lingering by the rope. She hadn’t had such a rush since the last time she’d done a community theater show.

A brush of silky plumage over one calf, and then the feather swirled around the back of her knee, causing a sudden minor meltdown of her control.

“Oooohhh...”

“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.”

Every nerve ending from her ankles to her hips lit up as Mitch dandled the feather along from one knee to the other. Lindsey found herself pulling against the restraints, trying to tug away from the stimulation. It felt far too good to be happening in front of all these people. Then Mitch changed tactics again, slowly trailing the plume up the back of her thigh from knee to ass.

“She’s turning the cutest shade of pink. It totally clashes with her hair.”

Lindsey could just see Samantha, who hovered near the end of the line for the comic artist’s signature handing out the promotional item for the day. Miniature flogger keychains, black and red leather, completely adorable. Lindsey had already secured one for herself and one for Cami. They were going fast, much faster than the previous day’s promotional postcards.

Remembering she was supposed to be in character, Lindsey stuck her tongue out at “Sadie.” In the comic, the two characters had a friendly banter thing going on. Sub Red was often bratty to other characters, though never to The Master who owned her. “Jealous much, Sadie?”

“Nope. You’re just warming up the bench and helping Rick loosen his arm for later when the real show starts. We all know whose ass the people really wanna see.”

Sadie was bratty to all the other characters.

“I don’t hear any complaints.” Within the limitations of the snug restraints, Lindsey waggled her ass. The crowd broke into laughter as “Rick” began a brutal whipping...with the feather.

Getting into it, Lindsey faux-moaned with every fluffy stroke, behaving as though Mitch really were flogging her. As though Ben really were flogging her. Or even tickling her with the feather, which Mitch proceeded to do when an accidental blow with the plume revealed a sensitive spot on her left flank. Lindsey squealed in earnest, giggling and pleading, unable to pull away from the secure cuffs. The restraints made everything keener, her lack of control a savory spice to even pedestrian sensations.

She’d expected it to be fun, this gig at the booth. A little embarrassing, maybe, and a source of many great stories later on. But the strength of her own reaction to being bound and teased astonished her, left her breathless even after the tickling stopped. It wasn’t just the mechanics of the thing, the technical details of what Mitch was doing and her physiological response. Her body didn’t respond to Mitch the way it did to Ben, and she couldn’t imagine losing herself in the scene as she had the previous night. But she was still floored by the psychology of it, the sense of rightness, the way her mind and body sank into the situation like a warm bath. Ah, at last. This is how it should have been all along.

She realized she had been missing this, needing it, without ever knowing it. And now the idea of going back—of doing without this sensation—terrified her. She could never go back to plain vanilla again.

But what if Ben was just playing along because he thought it was what she wanted? He’d never been kinky before. He seemed into it now, but he’d been tolerant of the comic at first too. Until he suddenly hadn’t been, and turned it into a topic of shame for her. Sometimes Lindsey was frustrated because Ben didn’t seem willing to go after the things he wanted in life, but other times she wondered if he just didn’t know what he wanted. Not until after the fact, when it was already too late. He’d left academia for the money in IT, only to discover his happiness had stayed behind in the history books and classrooms. He’d hooked up with Lindsey and seemed to enjoy her quirks, until one day he’d realized he saw her as too quirky, too different, for him to build a life with. Not that he’d said it out loud, just implied it those last few unpleasant weeks they were together. You’re dyeing your hair again? You want to get what pierced, now? What do you see in that comic, anyway?

“You still with me, Red?”

“Yeah,” she assured Mitch. He’d come around to the face side and leaned over so she could look him in the eye. It was a little freaky to do that, given the leather hood he wore. She tended to forget it was there when she wasn’t looking at him, so it startled her anew every time she saw it. “I’m good. Mind just wandered for a minute.”

“You were a little spacey. That’s a good thing, cupcake. Let’s see if we can get you to your happy place.”

“Using only the plume of doom? You think you’re really that talented?” She knew he wasn’t talking about an actual orgasm, but she was still shocked at how close she’d felt to that point more than once that morning. And she thought Mitch might well be that talented, despite her bravado.

“Oh, you have no idea, little girl.” Mitch stood and ran his thumb and forefinger along the feather’s spine, brushing the fluffy strands in a wave from base to tip. “Challenge accepted, Red. Game on.”

Chapter Seven

“Topping from the bottom,” Ivan repeated, supplying the term Ben had struggled to recall the previous night.

“Yeah. That’s what it was. I knew there was a thing.”

Ben was only listening with half of his brain at most. His real focus was on the booth in front of them, and the sight of Lindsey’s taut ass displayed to perfection across the spanking horse. Black straps framed her shape, revealing just enough to torture anybody watching with the knowledge of what she’d look like without those straps. Her husky giggles rose from the other side of the apparatus, unseen from his current angle, but still potent enough to hit him in the nuts.

“Rick” wasn’t spanking, paddling or flogging her, though it was small comfort to Ben. Instead he was teasing her with a long white plume, tickling her inner thighs and pretending to lash her with it. They tried to keep things light at the booth, the Balls ‘n’ Chain crew had explained, because any heavier BDSM play ran the risk of putting the crowd off. Or, as had happened at one of their earliest appearances, getting them banned from the convention premises entirely.

Samantha sauntered over on her improbably high red peep-toes, a slutty blonde Betty Boop. “Ben, nice to see you again. And who have we here?”

“This is Ivan. Ivan, Samantha.”

Ben watched as Ivan did that thing again, projected that vibe at Samantha as he extended his hand to shake hers. He looked like he was sizing her up, right down to the subatomic level, and “Sadie” responded accordingly by going all soft and shy and coy.

“My, my. We could just hang a Dominant sign on you and call it a day, couldn’t we?”

“While it would be accurate, I doubt it would be necessary,” Ivan said solemnly, returning his regard to Lindsey on the horse.

“You got that right, sir. So, Ben, what do you think? I gather you and our new Red continued your conversation last night after the shindig.”

“Did Lindsey tell you?” Ben wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He hadn’t even told Ed and Lin, had taken pains to be back in their room pretending to sleep by the time the guys returned. Ivan knew, he figured, but Ivan didn’t really count. Ben didn’t know if they were back together, if Lindsey wanted to be back together, or if this was a convention hookup. He didn’t know what he wanted, except more of what they’d been doing last night. All he could think about, really, was wanting more and more and more of that. And more and more of Lindsey in general. He’d missed her so much, and hadn’t even realized it until spending so much time with her again had jogged his brain awake.

Of course his shopping expedition had jogged some things awake, too. He was full of ideas, after that round of fresh inspiration, and had to caution himself to remember the plan and stick to it.

“She didn’t have to tell me. Somebody had to have left those pretty marks on her ass, unless she did it herself, which seems unlikely. The costume doesn’t quite hide them when she’s bent over and you’re looking from up close. And also that nice set of fingertip bruises next to...is that an octopus or some kind of dragon on her hip?”

“Cthulhu,” he corrected. Had he gripped her that hard? Probably so, at some point, and Lindsey’s skin marked up if you looked at her crosswise. She always showed it for a day or so after they made love, faint bruises and stubble burn lingering as reminders. That had always kind of gratified him, another impulse he’d felt guilty about and stifled, but it hadn’t occurred to him that it was as good as a brand to other people who knew what to look for. Maybe that was why the guy playing Rick was soft-peddling, sticking to a feather instead of a flogger. He was hedging his bets in case the marks meant Ben had staked a claim.

“‘Iä! Iä! Cthulhu fhtagn!’” Ivan recited quickly and softly, like he couldn’t help himself.

“Word, man,” Ben agreed.

“What now?” Samantha looked at them both like they were nuts.

“Uh...rejoice that Cthulhu sleeps. You’re not a Lovecraft fan, I take it?” Ben wondered how often that happened in the real world in a crowd this size, that the person who didn’t have a clue about Cthulhu was probably in the minority.

“This is a nerd culture thing?”

“Not exactly. Kind of. I guess. Wait, that’s a paddle. He’s getting a paddle!” A pressing rage, possessive incoherence, threatened to swamp Ben’s vision. Not his Lindsey’s ass, not some buttmunch in a leather freak mask. He’d marked that ass as his own, goddammit!

“Relax, sweetie.” Sadie patted Ben’s arm. “I’m up. It’s her lunch break, that’s why you’re here, remember?”

Chagrined but still seeing red, Ben stood down and retreated a few steps while Samantha helped Mitch uncuff Lindsey and lift her off the horse. She was grinning and giddy when she joined Ben and Ivan, after taking a quick perky bow for the smattering of applause the crowd gave her. “You guys ready? I’m starving!”

So am I, he thought, even though he knew Lindsey meant just for food. She looked hazy and flushed, though, almost like she’d been freshly fucked. She’d liked it up there, on display for the crowd, while “Rick” teased her for hours.

He reached down and grabbed her hand, squeezing her fingers tight, then felt another flash of unreasonable ire when Mitch chuckled at him. He felt like a skinny math geek trying to establish a hold on his girlfriend in front of the football captain.

“You kids enjoy your lunch. Okay, Sadie babe, let’s warm up that sweet ass!”

“Everyone else is already at the restaurant, securing a table,” Ivan explained as he led the way between the booths and out of the main exhibition hall. “It’s about five or six blocks, so we need to hurry.”

“Ed wanted Thai,” Ben added, pulling Lindsey along the sidewalk at a brisk clip. She was nearly a foot shorter than him or Ivan, and she had to trot to keep up.

“I’m going out for Thai in this?”

“There are people in costumes all over the downtown area right now,” Ivan pointed out. “The normal rules don’t apply.”

A hefty guy in horrifically revealing anime drag sauntered past them, proving Ivan’s point.

“I really don’t think anyone will care, Linds,” Ben said, though a sliver of doubt pricked him as a group of stormtroopers, no doubt sweltering in their white plastic cases, slowed down to eye Lindsey appreciatively when she passed them. Or it looked to Ben like they were eyeing her; it was hard to tell for sure under those masks.

“It’s Phoenix. Not exactly a bastion of open-mindedness.”

“The costume covers more than your bathing suit.”

It covered differently than her bathing suit, perhaps. Not necessarily more, Ben acknowledged to himself even as he spoke. He supposed if he were seeing Lindsey like this for the first time he’d have been more aware right away. But he was used to her, they’d dated for months, and she’d never been particularly shy about her body. Nor had he minded being the guy with the girl in the casually revealing swimsuit or figure-hugging tank top. She didn’t dress like a sexpot, just like a very pretty girl who was comfortable in her own skin. So he didn’t bat an eye at seeing that much of her skin out in the open. Today’s outfit, though, was another story, and he suddenly saw her as if through a stranger’s eyes.

The straps covered everything important, technically. But they also seemed to cling to her trim, slight body through magic, holding themselves in their strategic horizontal positions as though they were painted on. Each strap was no more than two inches wide, though they overlapped in a few spots. And between the bands of glossy, leather-like ebony fabric, Lindsey’s skin gleamed an almost unearthly white. If you knew where to look—and Ben did know, because he was no stranger—you could spot the faintest trace of freckles dusting the tops of her shoulders, her forearms, and the bridge of her nose. From more than a foot or two away, however, the illusion of snowy perfection was complete.

It should have looked pallid, pasty, unappealing. But especially now, with the heavy-rimmed eye makeup and the shocking hair, it just made Lindsey look like a cartoon fantasy come to life.

“Whoa,” a guy in steampunk cowboy gear murmured as if it were involuntary, stopping in his tracks on the sidewalk to gape at Lindsey. At Ben’s girl. “You’re from that comic with the sex fiends.”

She giggled and waved her fingertips at him, putting a little extra sashay into her step. The high-heeled ankle boots made it easy, and made her legs look several miles long. Ben wasn’t sure whether the rush of emotion he felt was pride or jealous rage.

“Here we go.” Ivan held the restaurant door for them and Ben felt a blast of icy air before he stepped out of the overbright Arizona noontime, motioning for Lindsey to precede him into the relative gloom of the Thai cafe. Ed was waving from a table across the room, but his hand faltered and his jaw dropped when he saw Lindsey in the Sub Red costume for the first time. Then a broad grin split his face. He shot them two thumbs-up. A few heads turned to the entrance, and eyes widened as Lindsey stepped into view around the hostess’s podium.

Male eyes. Non-convention-going, lustful male eyes, crawling all over Lindsey’s skin. And Ben identified the emotion as jealousy, clear as day this time. A hot pressure thumped in his ears, wanting an outlet and finding none.

Before Lindsey could walk over to the table he grabbed her wrist, encircling it snugly with his fingers.

“Wait.”

“Huh?”

“You’re with me. You wait for me.”

She tried to cross her arms, pulling away from his grip, but he refused to let go and she ended up fumbling awkwardly by her chest before giving up the effort. Ivan stared at their hands for a moment then skirted them, making for the table without another word.

“This isn’t the bedroom,” she hissed at him. “And I don’t know if I’m with you again or not.”

“In that outfit you’re with me,” Ben insisted, even though he knew stubbornness was a bad way to go.

She tilted her head and sighed. “Why don’t you just lift your leg and pee on me so all the other dogs will know whose tree I am?”

Taken aback, he let her go when she tugged her arm away again, and watched as her gorgeous body drew half the room’s attention on her walk to the table. His eyes had adjusted enough to the lower light that he could see the faint bruises on her hip; the costume covered most of her tattoo, but a gap between straps revealed the entire row of fingertip-sized marks he’d left behind when he fucked her silly.

Branded as his, whether she realized it or not. Jesus, he had lifted his leg and marked his territory, for those who knew how to sniff it out. What the fuck was happening to him? That had never been who he was before. This wasn’t who he’d planned to be.

But a long-stifled part of him was already clamoring for more. He wanted to see more pink marks on that white skin, marks from a paddle maybe. Or a big tattoo of his handprint with a caption reading This Ass: Property of Ben. Fuck Off!

Satay with peanut butter sauce did little to help. It was as appetizing as sawdust. All Ben could think about was getting Lindsey back to the hotel and persuading her to bail on her afternoon commitment to the Balls ‘n’ Chain booth. A few seats away across the table from him Lindsey was absorbed in her own meal, and seemed unaware of the glances she earned from around the room, or even the lingering gazes of speculative appreciation.

She noticed Ben, though—he could tell. He realized he was probably giving her a psycho killer look now, but didn’t really care. It was all he could do to keep himself from whipping the tablecloth off the table and wrapping her up in it, spiriting her back to the hotel to lock her in a room away from prying eyes, because mine mine mine. And then spanking her some more, followed by fucking her until they both passed out. Mine. Not yours.

But she’d worked it a little for the cowboy on the street, and she’d spent the morning being ogled at the booth by every visitor to the conference. She’d let Mitch do wicked things to her with that feather, a feather that had touched places Ben felt should be his own exclusive playground. She hadn’t gotten his permission to do any of that. He hadn’t come out and demanded that of her, so she had no reason to, but he still wished she had. He didn’t want to feel this way—infuriated, possessive, Neanderthal. He just couldn’t help it—it was like he’d unleashed a demon last night and now he couldn’t get it back under control.

Lindsey peeked at him over her curry, giving Ben a look he couldn’t categorize. A little tense, a little shy, a little needy, a little...it wasn’t a happy look, especially, and he wondered why that was. Lindsey should be on top of the world, shouldn’t she? She was getting to explore something she’d been interested in, wallowing in all kinds of attention at the booth, and living out every fan’s fantasy of being discovered and recognized by the artist they admired. Elevated to semi-stardom just because she was the best Sub Red around. It ought to be a dream convention for her. So why was she blushing and looking kind of miserable?

And who the fuck was that asshole in a business suit?

“Are you folks here for the comic book convention?”

Ben hated the guy instantly. He had sidled up like an oily used car salesman to loiter next to Lindsey’s chair, acting like she wasn’t his destination but all the while sneaking glimpses down the front of her costume.

“Yep. Drove in from Houston,” Cami replied, polite but not over-the-top effusive. She didn’t say, “Duh, obviously we’re here for the convention,” which Ben would’ve been tempted to do.

“That looks like a lot of fun. I keep meaning to check that out one year. It’s cartoons and that Japanese animation, right? Some of that stuff is hot. Really great artwork. So are you all staying at the convention center hotel, or...?” He was angling toward Lindsey now, directing his question her way and shooting her a private smile. Then the suit asshole leaned toward her, and Ben clenched his fists.

“We’re about to head back to the convention. We don’t really have time to chat,” Ivan said firmly, shutting the guy down. Ivan looked strained, more uncomfortable than annoyed, which Ben suspected had more to do with Ivan’s aversion to strangers than his perception of the guy’s intentions toward Lindsey. He was sending very clear “fuck-off” signals. Not his Dom vibe, but not one Ben would’ve chosen to ignore. The jerk ignored it, however.

“I work a couple blocks from here. If you’re at the hotel, maybe we could—”

“I’m not interested,” Lindsey said. For the first time since the jerk had walked over, Ben looked her way. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, her face looked pinched and pale.

“I’ll leave you my card. If you want to give me a call, you—”

Ben’s chair caught on a loose tile and fell back when he stood up. Not the statement he’d planned to make, but it certainly grabbed the asshole’s attention. Ben wasn’t sure why he’d risen, except that the pressure to do something was too great to withstand. It had unfolded him, propelled him out of his chair, and if he wasn’t careful it would propel his fist right into this dickwad’s face.

“She said she isn’t interested,” he repeated softly and very carefully. “She’s also not available.”

“Ben.” Lindsey sounded mortified, but he couldn’t spare her a look. He was too busy staring laser beams into the jerk’s face, attempting to make him explode through the sheer force of his dislike.

“Didn’t realize she was taken, man.” The suit guy held up his hands, placating. “Chillax.”

“Nobody says chillax anymore except ironically. I don’t think they ever did. Now go back to your table and leave her alone.”

It took the guy a second to figure out what Ben had said. Offense and common sense warred on his bland, tanned face for a bit, then he uttered a face-saving curse and returned to his two besuited cohorts.

The waitress and the restaurant manager were hovering, faces grim but adamantly courteous. The manager had already swiped the credit card Ivan gave him earlier, and now he pushed the receipt tray and a pen into Ivan’s hand.

“Heading back to Houston soon?” he asked hopefully. The message was clear: don’t let the door hit your troublemaking asses on the way out, comic convention freaks.

The waitress glared at Lindsey, who looked ready to melt into the floor from embarrassment.

“Let’s get a cab back to the hotel,” Cami suggested to her. Lindsey nodded and the two left without another word.

Ed and Lin were still too stunned to do anything other than stare at Ben. For his part, Ben was as horrified with himself as Lindsey had seemed to be. He didn’t even argue with Ivan over the check, but let his friend settle up and lead the way back to the hotel in silent compliance.

* * *

“Testosterone,” Cami declared. “It makes them crazed, poor things. So I take it you and Ben are, ah...”

“Acting like idiots? Yeah, we are.”

“Idiocy plus testosterone. Sounds volatile.”

Lindsey shrugged, the motion causing the straps of her costume to shift into indecent territory. Adjusting herself, Lindsey considered all the implications of volatility.

Unpredictable. Unstable. Dangerous. Explosive.

“Yep, volatile about sums it up. Jesus, I’m never going to be able to come back to Phoenix again. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. And I didn’t even want to go out in this outfit.”

“Don’t victim-blame,” Cami scolded. “I don’t care what you were wearing, that guy was a total jerk, and just because Ben was kind of a jerk right back at him doesn’t mean you were asking for any of that. You said you weren’t interested, you obviously didn’t look amenable to a come-on. You’d gone all hedgehog, all wrapped up and prickly. He should have backed off.”

“I know, I know. It’s just...”

What was it, exactly? She wasn’t sure. She wanted to be unreservedly angry at Ben for his macho tomfoolery—knocking a chair over, really? What was that about?—but found herself absurdly flattered by the display at the same time. And not just flattered, impressed. He’d been like some angry fighting fish, flaring out when it catches a glimpse of an opponent. Or a territorial bird, maybe, fluffing its plumage out to look more intimidating when predators threaten the nest. Possibly even like a protective alpha wolf. All of which was ridiculous, because she could have handled the guy on her own. She’d handled worse in her time, to be sure, and she was hardly in any danger sitting in broad daylight at a table full of friends. Pushy jerks weren’t insurmountable obstacles.

You should have let Ben escort you to the table like he wanted, a seditious voice in her brain suggested. You would have been safe if you’d let him pee on his tree in the first place.

So why hadn’t she? She wanted him more assertive—maybe not assertive enough to be flinging furniture to the floor in public places, but at least he had made an effort to take a stand. Then, sadly, he’d backed down. Let her have her way.

“It’s just confusing,” she finally offered, unable to dig deeper in front of the cab driver.

The cab swung to a halt in front of the hotel doors and they exited, making for the convention hall. Cami chucked Lindsey on the shoulder. “It can be confusing. And if you need to talk about it, you know I’m always willing to listen. But that part does get easier once you let go of your preconceived notions about what you’re supposed to want, and just...you know. Want what you want.”

“For Ben to drag me to his cave by the hair and take me hard on all fours?”

“Mmm. Caveman style. Nice! But sure, if that’s what turns you on and Ben wants it too. Why not?”

“I don’t know if he wants it, or just wants me and is doing this because it’s what I want.”

“Look,” Cami said, stopping them a few aisles shy of the Balls ‘n’ Chain booth. “When Ivan first told me he was into this stuff, I admit I mostly agreed to try it because I was curious and he was hot. But I realized pretty quickly that I’d wanted a lot of it all along. I just hadn’t had the vocabulary, the conceptual framework, to ask for it. I didn’t even know to ask, but it was still in my psyche somewhere and, when he introduced me to it, it was like a lightbulb going on.

“We’re programmed by society to think this stuff is wrong and deviant, because these days there are more important factors in mate selection than who’s the biggest and strongest, or who’s the smartest mind fucker, who can build a better animal trap. But that doesn’t change the fact that thousands of years of human evolution are probably behind that ‘dragging the girl to the cave’ model. Physiologically we still respond to that, and for some of us that physical, chemical reaction leads to a very strong emotional and psychological response to archetypal male dominance behaviors. Some of us just want someone who can show they’re still capable of that. It’s really very simple.”

To their right, a graphic novelist was signing copies in front of giant posters of her work, lurid fairies in a psychedelic woodland. Across the aisle, vendors were hawking everything from complex tabletop games to the detailed technical blueprints for famous spacecraft from the movies. A girl wandered by in a leather bikini top and skirt, carrying a lifelike heart dripping “blood” that smelled strongly of vodka. Her companion was dressed as Neptune, complete with giant foam trident. Nobody batted an eye. It struck Lindsey that perhaps she and Cami had a skewed idea of what “simple” meant, if this was their idea of a fine few days’ entertainment. Still, Cami had a point.

“We’re programmed to get all wet for alpha wolves?” She grinned.

“Lord knows I am. For weird, kinky dominant loners, at least. Ivan would have definitely been the caveman building the better antelope trap, not the one wrestling water buffalo. Caveman thinker, not the muscle-bound caveman asshole. Heh. Cavehole.”

Lindsey started toward the booth again, not wanting to be late for her afternoon gig with Mitch. “So you’re saying I should have gone with the impulse to let Ben manhandle me over to the table at the restaurant?”

“No, because that wasn’t your impulse. Think about it. What did you really want to happen?”

It took her a few seconds, then Lindsey frowned at herself. “You’re right. Ew. I was testing him. Because really I wanted him to make me, then I was disappointed when he didn’t.”

Cami nodded. “I did have that thought, yeah. Because you don’t really trust him yet, I think. I mean you do, but you have doubts too. You want him to prove himself.”

“Wow. He said that about me, kind of...but I didn’t mean to play games like that. I try to never do that passive-aggressive shit. I don’t know—I guess you’re right. I want him to prove he means it. Alpha cavehole has to grip on tighter and keep dragging the girl if he wants to get her to that cave. You wouldn’t want to be with the one who’d let go as soon as you started to kick and make a fuss.”

“Right. Primitive, isn’t it? But it makes the sex amazing. Oh. That’s you.”

Cami was pointing to the Balls ‘n’ Chain booth, and Lindsey looked in that direction only to see another Sub Red on the spanking bench. Mitch was going to town on this one’s butt with a wicked-looking paddle, while Samantha cheered them on from the sidelines. She waved when she saw Lindsey.

“Amy came! She managed to get a deal on a standby flight! Amy, this is Lindsey, this is Replacement Red.”

Replacement Red. Ouch.

“Motherfrrrrrrr...” Amy hollered, as Mitch snapped a particularly evil pop against the flesh of her upper thigh. “Oh, hi. Pardon me if I don’t get owwwwwwwww!”

Amy was larger-framed than Lindsey, not quite as pale, but the hair was a match. Lindsey took a moment to envy the girl’s more substantial curves, although they must have made her costume a trickier proposition than Lindsey’s had been. Lindsey might occasionally wish she had more up top, but at least she never had to worry about covering enough of the girls. In her case it didn’t take much fabric to accomplish that.

Not that Amy looked worried about her costume or anything else. Her eyes were starting to glaze as Mitch worked her over, both of them apparently forgetting to hold back for the convention crowd. Mitch’s lascivious approval of Amy’s squirming and yelping was evident, and Lindsey wondered if Samantha was jealous or looking forward to reaping the benefits later.

“So I guess I have the afternoon off.” Lindsey couldn’t hide her disappointment.

“I’m sorry we’ve messed your con up, hon. Amy didn’t tell us she was trying to come, in case she couldn’t make it. She surprised us or we would’ve planned better, obviously. On the bright side,” Samantha pointed out, “you’re eligible for the costume contest again since you’re not an official member of our team. And you still got a free conference ticket and some meals out of the deal. Between you and me, I think Andy was torn about maybe asking you to alternate with Amy. Just because you have the look down so well. It would’ve been awesome in the publicity photos. But he couldn’t bring himself to have that talk with her when she’d just come from a funeral, so...but we will definitely call you again. And email you, and generally bug you. Besides, we’re Twitter friends now so you can’t ever escape me.”

Cami snorted. “I don’t get Twitter at all.”

After a flurry of Twitter proselytizing, Lindsey and Samantha said a fond farewell and Lindsey was free for the afternoon. She felt adrift, at loose ends. She’d given up her expectation of attending any sessions, and now the prospect of returning to her intended schedule felt like work, not play. Even the best panel of favorite celebrities paled next to the idea of folding herself over the horse and hoping she could talk Mitch into taking things a notch further, while dozens or even hundreds of people watched.

She begged off the next time slot’s presentation on female superheroes and told Cami she wanted to change out of her costume. That was true, but even more she wanted some time alone. It was all too loud and crowded, too many people and too much social interaction. She’d loved the audience but performing had also taken a lot of energy.

The hotel lobby was busy as usual, and there was a queue milling around by the base of the elevators. She decided stairs were a better idea, and after a few minutes she found the door to the stairwell and started the trek.

A few floors up, she heard the door below open and slam shut again, the heavy metal clanging into place with an echo. She paused by the next landing and glanced behind her, suddenly nervous and ready to bail if need be. On second thought, it had probably been foolish to take the stairs alone, even in the middle of the day. Who knew what weirdo might have followed her?

“Linds?”

Chapter Eight

Hearing Ben’s voice relieved Lindsey’s mind but did nothing to ease the frantic thumping of her heart. She started up the next flight, not sure she was ready to see him again yet, but froze when he spoke again.

“If I have to chase you all the way up to the room I’ll be so tempted to lead with the paddle.”

“You have a paddle?” She leaned over the metal railing and watched him approach.

“Yep. Paddle, cuffs. More condoms. Lube. I went on a shopping expedition this morning, but I couldn’t exactly tell you in front of everyone at lunch. Why aren’t you at the booth?”

“They let me go. Their original Sub Red came back. Why aren’t you off stalking Stan Lee or something?”

“I’m liking some of the modern indie artists more, these days.”

He joined her on the half landing between floors and walked into her, raising her hands over her head and backing her up until she hit the wall. She gasped at the icy shock against the exposed skin between her costume’s straps. The wall was cold cinder block, hidden under layers of thick paint the color of a mid-nineties computer. The least sexy place imaginable. Ben’s penis seemed to feel differently about the atmosphere. It was already hard, and he pressed it against her like he meant business. She didn’t even try to wriggle her hands free.

“I owe you an apology,” Ben said, to her surprise.

“What? For what?”

“In the restaurant. I should have—”

“Oh, I know you were just beating on your chest to show you were the stronger gorilla. I was embarrassed but I got over it. I would’ve been fine, though.”

“No, not for getting in the douche bag’s face,” he corrected. “I’m not sorry for that. He was out of line and I didn’t want him anywhere near you. I meant for earlier.”

Lindsey arched her back and tried to get closer to him, her body craving more contact even as her mind dithered about the advisability. She didn’t want to have this conversation with him now, or any conversation. She was still keyed up from being teased to insanity that morning on the horse. She was tired of thinking about things—she wanted to do them. Him. “Earlier?”

“I let you go. I should have held on.”

Awareness seeped into her horny brain. He meant the part when she walked away before he could mark his territory. “I told you to let go. You were just doing what I said.”

Ben shook his head and leaned in, nipping at her bottom lip. “Hey. Look at me.”

She looked and saw his familiar, amiable features transformed by determination. Despite his serious tone, she shivered with need. He was hot when he was bossy. Inappropriate, but undeniable. And he was still firm and insistent against her belly, his own body perhaps betraying his higher intentions.

“Lindsey, I should have held on anyway. I should’ve stuck to my guns until we worked something out. That was what you needed from me. I was an idiot.”

He wasn’t just talking about the restaurant.

She shrugged, at least the small amount she could with her hands trapped against the wall. “You can’t be expected to read my mind. If I’m saying something that’s the opposite of what I really want, then that’s my fault, not yours. Like you said, I was resenting you for giving the wrong answer when I wasn’t asking you the right question. Or something. Neither of us had all the information we needed.”

This wasn’t the kind of discussion featured in sexy comics. Too many panels, too many words. Lindsey twisted her wrists against Ben’s grasp, but he only shifted to a one-handed grip and held her tighter. The free hand let him get up to all sorts of additional deviltry, starting with slipping his fingers between the straps of her costume and sliding them out of the way to expose one breast.

“Oh, you shouldn’t.” But her eyes slid closed at the divine pressure of his fingers on her nipple. The costume didn’t allow for a bra. She wondered how long it had taken him to figure that out. Probably about a nanosecond.

“I’m standing between you and the door. Nobody can see. You think I’d let anyone else see you like this?”

“Not after what happened at lunch.”

“I want us to be back together again, Lindsey. But I should have set ground rules, I get that now. The first rule is I will be acting like your big scary boyfriend if we’re out in public. No more letting random buttmunches think they can hit on you. I’m planting my...flag.”

“Does it wave around in the breeze?” She pushed herself into his erection, unable to resist, and received a sharp tweak on the underside of her breast for her flippancy.

“I’m not planting it in a smartass, I warn you.”

“Too late.”

“True. I guess I’ll have to deal. Since it’s such a great ass. The second rule is, you dress like that in public and I’m going to act like more than your big scary boyfriend. I’m going to act like your Master if you’re dressed like my sub.”

He’d been reading up some more. The words still sounded new on his tongue, alien to her ears, but he was getting it. She still wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t just putting on a good act for her benefit, though.

“I’ll think about it. Anything else, Master?”

“Just this.” He slid his hand down, fingers playing along strap edges, until he reached the bottom hem of her costume. The lowest strap hit at crotch level, at the bottom of her ass. He pulled it up almost to her waist and tugged on the black low-rise swim trunks she wore as a bottom layer. “Sub Red doesn’t wear this much under hers. And she rarely keeps even that much on for a whole issue. Her Master has access to her pussy at all times. It says so right in the comic. So take these off.”

The idea was equal parts insane and swoon-inducing. “But what if—”

“Take. Them. Off.”

He gave her that look, the one she hadn’t even known he could pull off. He was pulling it off now, and it licked over her from top to bottom, stern and arousing.

He’d said he wouldn’t let anyone see her like this. It was a short trip the rest of the way up the stairwell, and the stair door was near the hotel room. It could work.

Slowly, she hooked her thumbs inside the hips of her trunks and slid them down and off. Ben held out his hand expectantly and she passed the tiny black garment over. Even after she tugged the costume back down she felt naked, exposed, painfully hungry to be touched. He obliged her with a quick stroke of his fingers over her labia, ending with a tug to her clit ring.

“Good girl. Now come on, and for the love of god keep me between you and the closest door at all times.”

Wetness crested, dampening her upper thighs as Ben turned and started climbing the stairs. She followed a few steps behind on trembling legs. Fear of being discovered warred with desire, and by the time they reached their floor she felt ready to do anything Ben asked. Crawl, beg, roll over, fetch, anything.

They struck it lucky, and for once the hall was as deserted as the stairwell had been. It was an uneventful trip to the room, despite Lindsey’s exciting mode of dress. When the door closed behind them, Do Not Disturb sign firmly in place, things got more interesting in a hurry.

* * *

“You can keep the boots on this time,” he told her magnanimously, guiding her by the shoulders to stand near the foot of the bed. “Just the boots, though. Don’t move yet, I’ll be right back.”

Ben had stashed his morning’s purchases between the two connecting doors earlier. Now he unlocked Lindsey’s side and retrieved the bag he’d tried to feel proud and badass about carrying up to the room. It was tough. The bag was extremely pink and white, and full of questionable items. But he comforted himself by thinking about using all those items on Lindsey. Now that moment had arrived, and his cock was thrumming with anticipation. It strained against his zipper like a ready horse at the starting gate.

He had to ignore that. More mightiness. He pulled one purchase out and tossed the bag to the floor by the bed. Lindsey’s eyes widened at the satisfyingly heavy thunk it made, then got bigger still when she recognized the crop sticking out the top of the bag.

The plan, stick to the plan. To cut her visual input off—and lend him some cover while he figured out the bed strap things—he secured the blindfold over her eyes. After about a second of intense debate with himself, he carefully tugged her costume up and off, revealing Lindsey’s body with a faint grid of impressions where the stretchy fabric had lain snugly against her skin. The upside to undressing her was that he could ogle her while he got everything else ready for their scene. The downside was that he wouldn’t be able to help ogling her, and she was already pushing him to the brink of his patience just by standing there being herself. Herself, naked, was almost too much for him to withstand.

He had his own form of masochism, however. Taking Lindsey by the shoulders again, he turned her to face the bed. “Feet apart. Lace your hands behind your neck.” He planned to learn all the official positions at some point, geek out on protocols and role-play some John Norman novels. But for now he relied on stuff he’d seen in kinky pornos. It seemed like a great pose, though, and he hoped it made the official list. With her arms up, Lindsey’s small champagne-glass breasts rose even higher and looked more rounded. He noted with approval that her nipples were erect, rosy and full. The room wasn’t cold enough to account for most of that. And he could see her cunt, sweet and flushed and, if he wasn’t mistaken, already wet. For him. Because he was frickin’ Superman.

Or maybe just Clark Kent. Superman probably wouldn’t have had to resort to a pocketknife to get the bubble pack open on the kinky bed straps. The blindfold was seeming like a better idea all the time, because he could remain Superman as far as Lindsey was concerned. She didn’t get to see Clark bumbling around and accidentally popping the fitted sheet off first one corner of the mattress, then the other. Or observe how his hands shook when he brought the cuffs out of the bag and laid them out on the foot of the bed, imagining all the while what Lindsey would look like wearing them.

He pulled out the paddle but left the crop in the bag. It was for a later phase of his plan, and he wouldn’t need it this afternoon. Lindsey gave an adorable squeak when he patted her butt with the paddle, a gentle tap of leather against skin.

“Do you know what that is?”

“Yes, Master.” She sounded like the most expensive phone-sex girl in the world. Her normally throaty voice had gone even softer and richer from arousal. Ben had to stifle a whimper and beat a hasty retreat instead of continuing to tease her with the paddle. All in due time. Next on the agenda was dirty talk.

“I’m going to enjoy turning that ass bright red before I fuck it, slave.”

Slave? He hadn’t planned to call her that. He’d picked it up from the comic, he supposed, as it was what The Master called Sub Red. But it felt right somehow, too. Weird but right, like all of this. Like things clicking into place that he hadn’t known were out of joint. Not all the time, maybe, but in this situation at this moment...yeah, slave worked.

“The bed is about three feet in front of you. I want you to crawl over to it, climb up and get on all fours.”

Hesitant, fumbling, Lindsey knelt and crawled the few paces to the bed, oriented herself to the edge and climbed up. He thought it had to be on purpose, the way she lifted her legs so slowly and carefully, arching her back to show the maximum amount of pussy with every move. His little geek girl, the secret sex kitten.

Not so secret at that, he mused, thinking about her performance at the booth earlier. Every straight guy in the crowd wanted Lindsey, he was pretty sure. If they could see her now, settling obediently on hands and knees in the middle of the bed like a submissive vision, they’d all want to hit that. Some of them literally, but probably all of them figuratively.

And he was the one who got to. He heaved a sigh of relief that nobody had snapped her up in the interim, that she hadn’t gone and found herself some Prince Charming as a rebound guy while Ben was off being an idiot. He’d gotten lucky with this second chance, luckier than he ever deserved, and this time he wasn’t going to fuck it up for himself. Or for her.

Ben panicked for a second or two, unable to recall whether he’d planned the cuffing and tethering for before or after the paddling. The paddle was already in his hand, which settled things pretty quickly. He stalked up to the bed, losing a smidgen of his Domly mojo when he had to climb up there himself and kneel behind Lindsey to reach her ass because his arm wasn’t long enough to reach if he stayed on the floor. But the first test-whack restored it and then some. Her whole body reacted, a ripple of movement that spoke of pain and lust. And she made a sound...dear God, that sound. Another whack, another moan, and he remembered another part of the plan he’d missed.

“Getting a little loud, I think. Good thing I’m prepared for that.” Climbing off the bed again, he dug around in the bag, returning to Lindsey’s side with the bit gag. Because of the blindfold she was confused at first, and his cock throbbed anew when he finally had to order her, tapping on her chin to reinforce the message.

“Open for me, slave.”

She did, and the gag went in, and after a second she groaned again. Muffled, this time, of course. A second later, Ben groaned in a different way, slapping his palm to his forehead.

“Crap. With that in, how will you—”

Say her safe word? The pornos hadn’t covered that. The technical manuals probably did—some of the level of detail was downright clinical—but he hadn’t had time to read that far yet. And now he was tipping his novice hand to Lindsey, big time, and he knew he wasn’t supposed to do that.

She tapped his arm and held up her hand, waggling her thumb up and down. An obvious solution. A brilliant solution. His wickedly smart pixie.

“Like the Romans. Got it, thanks. Sorry.”

He heard a thwarted “eh” noise, and she waved her hand dismissively then swirled her finger in a “moving right along” sort of way.

She slammed that hand down hard to brace herself when he slapped the paddle against her butt again. And again and again, until Ben was breathing almost as hard as Lindsey, and her lily-white skin bore a set of mottled dark red and pink imprints from the crest of her ass all the way down to her upper thighs.

Pausing to admire his handiwork, he could hear Lindsey snuffling, crying into the pillow. Probably drooling into it, too, because of the gag. A complete mess, and utterly beautiful.

“That looks perfect. I think you need a little more bling, though.”

He moved to the bag again, ready to amp up his implementation. He’d already opened the next package once, so he could clean the toy inside thoroughly before it was used. Now he pulled it free from its shaped foam cradle and ran the chilly metal over the reddest part of Lindsey’s thigh. The cold seemed to jolt her out of stillness, get her moving restlessly again, hips working against the air.

“Settle down. Be still,” he warned her. He ran his fingertips lightly, soft as butterfly kisses, from the small of her back down to her tightly puckered hole. When she tightened her legs at his touch, he gave her a careful slap on the abused skin of her rear. “Stay open for me. Relax.”

They’d experimented with back door action before but not often, and it had been a while. And there hadn’t been a costly hunk of metal to smooth his path and stretch the way for him. This was another second chance, and he’d done enough research to feel more confident about his performance at it this time.

Ben applied a liberal dose of lube to the toy, then teased his way down to Lindsey’s asshole with the cold, slippery tip. He pressed it against her and reveled in her humming grunt, in the flex of her hips toward his hand as she bent from the waist, lowering herself to her elbows. Making herself even more accessible. Ben couldn’t resist touching her with his other hand, sliding his fingertips along her folds, which were slippery with lube of their own.

At a glacial pace, he worked the fat bulb of the plug into place, biting his lip to refrain from cursing out loud and giving his impatience away. It nearly did him in, the sight of her snug hole stretching to take the sleek metal then contracting around the neck when it finally slid all the way in. Only the large, sparkly blue faux gem showed outside her body. It might have looked ridiculous on anybody else, or to anyone who wasn’t so aroused he could see the outline of his dick head against his pants. To Ben, it looked like the sweetest invitation to sin he could imagine, a jeweled door to paradise that only he could open.

Except that at the moment Lindsey could also open it, technically. Time to see to that. The cuffs and tether straps were the last thing out of the bag for the evening. A full set, once he added the ankle cuffs that had come with the spreader bar. He started at Lindsey’s hands, securing them snugly but leaving some slack in the tethers for the moment. The cuffs on her thighs looked starkly obscene, black against white skin in front and black against paddled red in back. They framed her pussy and ass perfectly. He attached the cuffs around her ankles next and gave a hard tug towards the foot of the bed, chuckling cruelly as Lindsey flattened out in one quick slide with a startled “Mpfh!”

When he’d fastened one ankle cuff to each corner of the bed, he went back and clipped tethers to the thigh cuffs as well, but hitched a pillow under her hips before finalizing his bondage arrangements.

“There. You’ll never escape me now,” he said in his best evil-genius voice. “Your ass is mine! Bwa-ha-ha!”

She giggled, sounding breathless and slurpy around the gag. And shot him a thumbs-up. Her ass, it seemed, was indeed officially his.

Time for clothes to be off next. He shed everything in record time and ripped a condom package open with his teeth. A little too much zeal rolling it on—he caught some hair in it and had to rewind, cursing frantically to himself, before finally getting it situated. He jumped on the bed, lined himself up below the lodestar of the sparkly butt plug, and thrust for home.

Chapter Nine

Lindsey had never realized heaven featured cuffs and paddles. But when Ben pushed into her eager pussy and his body slapped against the sore skin of her ass and thighs, she knew she’d found her own twisted version of paradise. He felt huge, insanely hard inside her, and each rough thrust made the butt plug move as well for an added thrill. She was becoming more aware, coming down from the pain high she’d coasted on during the paddling. But she still didn’t feel quite lucid. The pain, the arousal, the combination was powerfully intoxicating. She was drunk on what Ben was doing, and eager for another round.

She struggled against the tethers, trying to move with him. He’d done a good job, though, with the fastening. The thigh cuffs were an especially nice touch. Lindsey was restrained, exposed, splayed open for her Master’s use and completely unable to resist. With the gag in, she couldn’t even speak a word of protest. No choice, no agency...a delicious fiction she could bring to a halt at any time she chose. She couldn’t imagine that happening any time soon, although if she didn’t get some stimulation on her clit she might well explode from unappeased lust.

Ben slowed down, taking his time now that he had adjusted to the heat and friction of fucking her. He’d explained it once, the way the first minute or so was the biggest challenge to his stamina in bed. The sensation of sliding into her pussy—any pussy, she supposed, but hers was the specific one under discussion at that time—almost tipped him over every time. When she was already hot and slippery with need, and he’d been pushing himself to wait while he teased her to a frenzy, it was all he could do not to rut into her like an animal. But he’d found, through experimentation with previous less-fortunate girlfriends, that he could forestall his climax if he pushed through that initial danger period with thrusts that were either faster or slower than he really wanted. Either too much or not quite enough to put him over. Tonight he’d opted for fast and rough, which made it all the sweeter when he finally slowed to a languid, fluid pace and let her feel every inch of him sliding in and out. Despite the cuffs, she felt like she was floating, anchored to the world only at the one place where she and Ben were joined.

“God, you feel so good on my cock. You’re so tight and wet, like you couldn’t wait for me to fuck you. You love being my little sex slave, don’t you?”

She groaned an affirmative around the gag, biting down in frustration as he shifted his angle and pushed more firmly against her G-spot. Dirty talk. Who knew Ben had it in him? He was shockingly good at it, and if he was this good as a mere beginner...

“You’ve been a very good girl so far, too. I think it’s time for a reward.”

Ben worked his hand under her hip, finding her clit with the ease of familiarity and pinching the ring. He held it in place as he thrust into her, and the subtle tugging was the final element Lindsey needed. What put her straight over the top, though, was Ben’s voice.

“Come for me, slave. Come on my cock.”

Her arousal flew out of control, racing rampant down her legs and up her spine, then pierced straight through her, where her body was open to his. Sharp and sweet, coaxed into wave after rippling wave by Ben’s insistent fingers on her clit and the perfect weight and heft of him fucking into her in that slow and steady beat.

He drew it out, stroking with cock and fingers until her shudders began to ease and her body relaxed. Then he shifted his attention to the plug in her ass, rocking it in and out in time with his thrusts a few times. When he tugged it from her body, Lindsey felt the absence like a keen ache, a new species of longing. She tried to think what she looked like from Ben’s point of view. So open, so ready. He slicked another dollop of lube inside her, then pulled out of her pussy and positioned himself at that other, strangely more significant entrance.

Slowly, slowly. The only other time they’d taken their play to this stage, Lindsey had been vaguely disappointed. They’d been careful, used lube, and she’d enjoyed Ben’s enthusiastic reactions. But there had been some unpleasant friction, too, a sense of wrongness that wasn’t exactly delightful. This time Ben eased his way along so incrementally she almost wanted him to hurry. Her body stretched to accommodate him, and dark arousal flared between her hips and along her back. Electric, unfocused, primal. By the time he seated himself inside her with a final push, she was on the brink of another orgasm.

“Oh, god, Linds...so good. God, and it looks so amazing.” His fingers brushed around her entrance where they were joined, firing nerve endings with every soft touch. “Love the way my cock looks fucking your ass. Love the way it feels with you tied down like this.”

If she could speak she’d tell him much the same thing. Instead she whimpered around the gag as he started fucking into her more steadily. He was close, she could tell. But his thrusts were also pressing her sensitized clit against the pillow, and it was all she needed. The orgasm built slowly, a groundswell of zinging, nebulous pleasure that gradually took over her body and brain. Slow, sweet bliss that seemed endless, made all the sweeter when Ben began to swear softly and pump faster, finally shuddering and stiffening as he came. And then silence, except for their breathing and the soft whoosh of the air conditioner coming on.

Eventually he had to move. Of course he had to—they couldn’t stay like that forever. There needed to be cleaning up and all the usual things. But all the same, when he vacated her body Lindsey felt like he was taking a piece of her soul with him.

She ached all over, she realized as the endorphins and excitement ebbed away. Not just the paddled skin of her butt and thighs, though that was certainly stinging from pressure and sweat. And not just the leg muscles subjected to stress from the restraints, or the jaw she didn’t realize was killing her until Ben took the gag out and pressed a tender kiss to her lips. Her entire being was exhausted, depleted. It felt good, though. Like something she’d needed for a very long time.

Ben removed the cuffs gently, rolled her over, and scooped her up.

“Hot shower time.”

“I still have my boots on,” she reminded him, her voice slurring as though she were three margaritas into an evening.

He settled her back on the bed and unlaced her boots, removing them as efficiently as a Victorian ladies’ maid, then picked her up again and carried her into the bathroom.

It wasn’t until later, after they’d napped away the rest of the afternoon, that Lindsey realized the danger in needing this particular thing. In having Ben provide it, in falling into the seductive comfort of familiarity with him again. Because he liked to try all sorts of things, but he adopted and dropped new hobbies in the blink of an eye. Only a few of them stuck. He’d given up on going for what he’d always said was his dream career, based on what seemed to her like a spur-of-the-moment decision. And he’d left her, she thought at the time, over this very topic, her interest in things that deviated from his idea of the norm. Things he might dabble in, but never adopt for his own.

She’d been heartbroken when he left, and was only just getting over that. This convention hookup was probably an all-time low on her personal Bad Idea Scale, because it had made her realize she was still in love with Ben. And, frankly, because it had been so good, so promising. If they got back together officially, if she let herself come to depend on him as a Dom, and felt like they were embarking on this journey of discovery together...how devastating would it be to lose him a second time, if he decided one day that he wasn’t into this sort of thing anymore?

She wasn’t sure that was a risk she was willing to take.

* * *

It was too bad, Ben reflected the next morning, that Lindsey wasn’t spending the day in her Sub Red costume. At least her butt would require no makeup for that night’s costume contest, after the previous day’s paddlings. Most of the pink had faded but her skin was still marked here and there with red welts and a few bruises. She winced every time she sat down...then smiled at him, eyes going a little glassy. He spent the morning fighting off a hard-on and trying valiantly not to think of all the ways he could be fucking her instead of sitting in a series of hotel conference rooms listening to people talk about comic books and the finer details of cosplay.

Oh yeah, I paid good money to do that, he reminded himself. But he’d pay twice that much and more to skip out on the whole thing and retreat to the hotel room with Lindsey for more insanely hot, kinky, back-together sex.

Or just to cruise around the con holding hands and occasionally making out, as they’d done at last night’s round of parties and impromptu hotel room gatherings. He’d forgotten what it felt like, how much he enjoyed being part of a couple with Lindsey. Having his touchstone with him from the moment he walked through the door, knowing when he left that he wouldn’t do so alone. The sex was just icing on the cake, really.

Of course, he had always liked the icing best. The cake was great, sure, but the icing...that was really the point of cake. It was simply a vector for icing delivery. Just as salad was a vector for dressing delivery.

Lindsey, he recalled from somewhere out of his store of old boyfriend knowledge, preferred pie to cake. This recollection confused Ben, messing with his metaphor and making him edgy. How did pie fit in? And she liked the crust best, saved it for last and everything. Was that even compatible with his icing preference? Wasn’t pie filling analogous to cake icing, the crust analogous to the cake?

Next to him, Lindsey sighed and crossed her legs. Shifting her weight, she leaned into him. He caught a whiff of her perfume and lost track of everything else—the guys on the panel talking about a cancelled TV show, his tortured pastry metaphors, his sanity.

“It’s almost lunch,” he whispered. “Nooner?”

She chuckled, the husky sound tickling down his spine like teasing fingers. “I guess. The conference is almost over. Might as well make the most of it.”

He heard the “I guess” and the rest was barely a blip on his radar. But her words and tone lingered, nagging at him from the back of his mind, for the rest of the session. In the hotel elevator afterwards, the curiosity bubble finally burst.

“What did you mean by ‘make the most of it,’ before? Because if anything, I feel like the con is taking up time we could be spending in bed.”

The other two occupants of the elevator, a middle-aged couple who looked unrelated to the convention, shuffled their feet and coughed ostentatiously. Ben continued in a whisper, letting his breath tickle Lindsey’s ear in the way he knew she liked.

“Besides, I’m looking forward to doing this in the comfort of my own home. And your home. Whoever’s home. I’m thinking about all the places I can install ring bolts to tie you to. And how sturdy your dining table is.”

No chuckle, no giggle, no heated sigh from Lindsey. Instead she bit her lip and looked to the side, and a sick heavy lump began to form in Ben’s stomach.

“Let’s talk about that later. Like I said, make the most of this.”

“Later, like when we get to the room?”

“Well, I meant later, like...I don’t know, maybe tomorrow? Or when we get back to Houston?”

The bell dinged for their floor, forcing a pause in the conversation. Silence hung over them on the walk to the room, thickening as Lindsey found her cardkey and swiped it. Ben’s mind was a blank, a frightening empty space. He was afraid to let his thoughts coalesce. He suspected Lindsey would clarify things all too shortly, and that he wouldn’t like her clarification at all.

The door closed behind them with a loud snick, highlighting the quiet. Just when Ben was about to break, Lindsey spoke again.

“We probably should have talked about it from the start. It makes sense that you’d assume...I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Not with my head, anyway. Obviously.”

“What are you saying, exactly?” He knew what she was saying, but needed to hear it. And needed time to figure out how he felt about it, other than panicked.

She wandered over to the dresser, flipping her cardkey down in front of the mirror. “Just because we’re doing this here doesn’t mean we have to get back together. I wasn’t assuming that.”

“You were just using me for sex? Why doesn’t that sound as great as I always thought it would be?” Good. He was starting to get angry, a better feeling than panic. More useful.

“I wouldn’t say just using you. And I wouldn’t say just for sex.” She finally turned to face him, leaning back against the dresser. He could see her back in the mirror, the full scope of her outrageous hair, the vulnerable nape of her neck and the way her shoulders flexed back as she rested her weight on her hands.

“Special sex.”

“Very special. But...I don’t want it to be special sex, Ben. I don’t just want this stuff for fun during a con when everything is crazy. I think I may want it all the time. As the norm.”

Ben stalked to the edge of the bed and sat down, poleaxed. “I see.”

“You’ve been amazing these past few days. But I don’t see you as somebody who would be in a long-term relationship that involved this kind of thing.”

“This kind of thing? What kind of thing? Sex? Because it’s all just sex, Lindsey, whether it’s kinky or not. And it isn’t what the whole relationship is about.” Anger plus righteous indignation. Great. Perfect. Fuck. “Were you seriously just planning to do this for the convention and then walk away? You thought I was playing around? I want you back, Linds. Not just because of the sex. I’ve wanted you back since I walked out, and doing this just made me acknowledge that. Besides, I’m the one who was talking about putting fucking ringbolts all over his house, did you think I was talking about hanging some lamps?”

“Ben,” she sighed, then stopped as if to consider her words carefully. “Do you remember when you were going to get a tattoo?”

He shrugged, not sure why she was asking. “I guess so. When you got Cthulhu. Why?”

“But you didn’t. You spent weeks talking about it, looking at designs. You got so excited about it, like you were really into the idea. Let the guy test the needle on you when you went with me to the tattoo parlor, so you could see what it felt like. But you never made the appointment.”

“Okay. So...?”

“So...you do this. You know you do. You get all excited about a new thing, a new game or an idea. You’re going to get a tattoo or learn to do crazy complicated yo-yo tricks, or ride a unicycle or spend a year living as an extreme minimalist. You halfway plan and you make little moves, practice moves. But nine times out of ten you lose interest. You don’t follow through.”

“This isn’t like that.”

“Honey, everything’s like that. You always think it’s different, but it hardly ever is. And I love that about you, your enthusiasm and how broad your interests are. But I don’t want to be the next unicycle. I can’t take that. I can’t go to the hardware store with you for eyebolts and chains and whatever, then wait and wait until I finally realize you’re never going to install them. This is new to me but I can tell it’s something I need, something I’ve maybe always needed. It’s a deal-breaker now. I can’t go back.”

“I never said you had to go back. And you would never be the next unicycle.” His throat was tight, his head throbbed. He felt dumb, helpless. Because she was right, if not about this particular thing then about his pattern in general. Her fear was well-founded, and he had no idea how to overcome it. “What can I do to prove it to you?”

Her face was a mask, cool and pale. If he hadn’t known her so well he would have assumed that expression meant she didn’t care. But he did know her, and he knew it meant she cared too much. It was the expression she got right before she burst into tears.

“I’ll do anything you want me to do,” he promised.

For a second she wavered, and Ben let himself hope. It was only a second. Then the mask settled into place again.

“I’m sorry. I can’t think of anything that would convince me.”

* * *

They did not end up having sex, special or otherwise. Instead they had a movie moment, not one of the good kind—”Do you want me to leave?” “I think that would probably be best”—and Lindsey kept her calm face on the entire time. She was being reasonable, she told herself, and bringing emotion into it would only confuse things.

That resolve lasted thirty seconds or so after the door shut behind Ben. Then the still, cool air in the hotel room started to smother her like a killing fog, and before she realized she was only crying she thought she might be suffocating. She couldn’t take a breath. And when she finally did, it was only to sob as if she would never stop.

She might have thought “sob harder than she could ever remember,” but she did remember exactly when she’d last cried that hard. It was the breakup all over again, all those hurts that hadn’t healed but only scabbed over. It felt just as fresh and raw as it had months ago, and that made her doubt every decision she’d made since that time. She’d been fooling herself to think she was okay, and must have been crazy to imagine she could hop into bed with Ben again and not suffer the same consequences. Or possibly crazy to throw away another chance with him. He was a great guy and she still loved him, trusted him, could picture a future with him. Most of a future.

It was just that in that same few months, her picture of the future had grown both broader and sharper. The BDSM stuff wasn’t just about sex—it was philosophy. Learning about it had been a revelation that spoke to her soul. She didn’t need proof from Ben that he would always be kinky; she needed proof that he understood why it was important to her for him to follow through. The whips and cuffs were nice but they were only accessories, afterthoughts. Props.

At least this time she was the one shutting it all down, the dumper instead of the dumpee. She wished that were any comfort at all, but it really wasn’t.

Chapter Ten

Mitch or Rick or whatever his name was stood behind the spanking bench, casting an appraising gaze over Other Sub Red’s ass.

It was a nice enough ass, Ben had to admit, but not as nice as Lindsey’s. The livid marks didn’t flatter the current Red the same way, and the strappy black costume looked...off, somehow. He could see why the artist and his friends had jumped at the chance to conscript Lindsey into their show. This Amy girl was good, but Lindsey had walked straight out of the comic book. She had glowed, seemed larger than life, for all her daintiness. Star quality.

He had always found her beautiful, of course. She just was, even if she wasn’t the beautiful type. It often showed in pictures or videos of her, though, that shining extra something. “Who is that girl?” people would ask, and take another look. “She looks like somebody famous, but I can’t quite place her.”

This week—on this spanking horse in front of him—was the first time he’d seen that something take her over. The first time he’d seen her become that amazing person he’d only glimpsed before. It hit him like a ton of bricks then, that it might be the first time she’d really been completely, truly herself. She’d blossomed into what she was always meant to be. This wasn’t just an act, trying this stuff on for size. This was Lindsey. And he wanted her more than ever, because with this Lindsey he’d become more than he’d ever imagined. Superman.

“You done this yet, kid?”

Mitch flicked the flogger at Other Red’s butt, gauging his distance perfectly to crack only the wicked tips against her tortured pink skin. She jerked and moaned, but Ben suspected it was mostly for show. He got the impression it took a lot more than a light flogging to get Amy moaning.

“No, no whips yet. Waiting until I can afford the real thing.”

“You have friends in the lifestyle, though, yeah? Get them to show you the ropes. If there’s a club nearby you could probably get some training, try out some different things before you invest.” He landed another blow, and Ben had to admire the flow and tension of the movement, the way the other man’s body curved into the motion as if the whip was an extension of his arm.

“You’ve been doing this a long time, haven’t you?”

Mitch snorted. “Yeah, I have. This isn’t my weapon of choice though. Just like Rick, I’m usually a single-tail man. It’s just too dangerous to use one in a space this tight and crowded, so at the cons we stick with the flogger and paddle.”

Samantha sauntered by, fanning herself with a dwindling stack of promotional postcards. “Boys.”

“Darling,” Mitch replied. “You’re up next.”

“So soon? My, how time flies.”

Ben expected Amy to get off the horse, but to his surprise Samantha traded places with Mitch instead. Her first strike with the flogger was hard, sharp, and seemed to get Amy’s attention. The sub peered back over her shoulder, mumbling a curse.

“The flogger does happen to be Sam’s weapon of choice,” Mitch remarked.

She was clearly a master at it, and Ben despaired for a few moments. There was so much to learn—all the terminology, all the safety precautions, all those knots. Would he ever get there? Would it ever be enough to win his Lindsey back?

“There’s training?”

“Oh, hell yeah. Well, depends on where you are. But I’ll bet Ivan can tell you where to go and who to call. So where’s Lindsey, anyway?”

Ben shrugged. “I don’t know. Not with me, at least.”

“What’s up, man?” To Ben’s relief, the big man took off his leather mask, making him appear red and sweaty but human again.

“She broke up with me.”

Ten minutes later they were stationed at the hotel bar, tap beer in front of them and a few hard truths behind them.

“I have to admit, you don’t exactly scream Dominant to me, kid,” Mitch pointed out. “That might not be definitive, though. One thing this stuff teaches you, you can’t always judge by outward appearances. Scariest pro Dominatrix I ever met looked like a debutante turned society belle. Soft southern voice, that sweet Charleston accent. Demure little smile. That woman would rip the skin right off your back if you let her, and she’d wear that smile the whole time. And her owned slave was a six-foot-five former professional linebacker who was into puppy play.”

Ben opened his mouth to ask, then shut it again. He didn’t need to know everything at once. He tried to focus on the first thing Mitch had said. “But Ivan screams Dominant, right? Samantha saw it right away. So what’s he doing that I’m not?”

Mitch shrugged. “Sam has great Dom-dar, for one thing. But also, from what I can see, Ivan seems decisive. He seems like he has a plan, he will carry it out, see it through to the end. And he’s confident he’ll be successful. Maybe even a little arrogant about that.”

“So just be confident and have a plan? Pfft, I do that.”

“You’ll notice I said seems.”

“So the goal is to fake it?”

“Not really. The goal is, it’s a mind fuck. That’s the most important element. Your ability to remember at all times that the whole thing is a kind of elaborate hypnosis experiment. She trusts you to put her under, keep her there awhile, and then bring her back intact. If you seem like you don’t know what you’re doing, or you aren’t sure you want to be there, that’ll register and she won’t be able to let go like she needs to. I suspect that’s what she’s scared of. That you won’t follow through, and you’ll leave her hanging.”

Ben considered his last few encounters with Lindsey, the rush of power when he’d put the mask on her and she couldn’t see his idiotic blunders. He’d never felt that way about the unicycle, that was for damn sure. What’s more, now that he’d experienced it, he wanted more. Even without Lindsey, he planned to talk to Ivan about the club he went to. “I do want to be there. Not just because of Lindsey, either. I’m hooked on this now—she’s got me hooked.”

“I know the feeling. It’s heady stuff.”

“So to speak.”

They shared a juvenile snicker.

“It’s tough, though. There’s a reason I play both sides of that particular fence.”

“No interest in the other side,” Ben assured him, then sighed. “The weird thing is, she’s worried about this right when I’m starting to pull so much other stuff together. I mean like planning to quit my job, and—”

Mitch sputtered, nearly spraying beer. “That’s your idea of getting stuff together?”

Laughing, Ben offered him a napkin. “No, no. Because I’m finally going back for my PhD. I was admitted to the program I wanted last year, but decided to go make money instead. I had to put on my best potential-professor suit and practically get on my knees to beg the dean for my spot back, but I did it. Got the thumbs-up last week.”

“Gotcha. Congratulations. PhD in what?”

“History. Used to be focused on medieval England but now I’m more interested in—”

“I’ll take your word for it. No offense, history class always made me fall asleep.”

“None taken. It’s not for everyone. But I’m excited. I left it for the money, you know, but it just wasn’t worth it. It was a huge mistake, probably the second biggest mistake of my life. It’s turning out to be a lot easier to fix than the biggest one, at least.”

“And the biggest mistake was?”

“Leaving Lindsey,” Ben confessed. “Not just that, but the way I did it. I let her think it was about her, but it was all about me. It was getting serious and I was a chickenshit.”

“Well, you know that about yourself, though. That’s good. You’re capable of learning.”

“You are paying for this beer, right?”

“You’re not a starving doctoral candidate yet, kid.”

“I’m not exactly a kid, either. But it’s true, realizing you’re a chickenshit is the first step to recovery.”

“Okay then,” Mitch continued, “so what’s your plan? For tonight, I mean, not the rest of your life. She says she doesn’t want proof, but if you’re doing this anyway you must have a plan. If you do, I suggest you go ahead with it. If you don’t, then make one and go ahead with that.”

Ben thought about the shopping bags up in his room, hidden in his suitcase away from potentially prying roommate eyes. Thought about the interview suit, and the tie he’d never unpacked after that day when he’d used the case to smuggle the clothes into work. He’d taken an early lunch, gone to the interview, and used the downstairs bathroom to change back into jeans and a gimme T-shirt afterwards, with nobody at his office the wiser. He hadn’t told Lindsey about his reacceptance yet because he was embarrassed to admit she’d been right all along. But then, up until a few days ago, he also hadn’t been in a position to talk to her about his life plans. Somehow, now it didn’t seem like an embarrassment.

And neither did the costume he intended to wear to the contest. He did have a plan, he just hadn’t considered going through with it without Lindsey. But Mitch was right. If he was going to do this, he needed to do this. The only person he had to prove anything to was himself.

* * *

Lindsey smoothed the black straps into place, wincing as she brushed across the bruised flesh of her hips and butt. It didn’t take her long to prepare for the contest, just a little extra eye makeup and she was ready to go. Alone. A sub with no Master.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she acknowledged the brilliance of the costume but also the lack of spark in her own eyes. The dull ache in her heart showed all over her face, in the set of her shoulders. She was straightening herself up, practicing standing tall, when the knock on the door interrupted her.

If she hadn’t known Ivan and Cami, she might not have recognized them. Cami in particular was transformed by her costume, the kitty ears and fluffy tail not nearly as big a change as the unexpectedly good figure displayed in the white corset and matching tiny boy shorts. Her hair fell over her shoulders in a tumble of golden curls, and her eyes looked luminous with smoky, cat-tilted liner to bring them out. Luscious, pouty red lips completed the look.

“You look amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in makeup before,” Lindsey admitted, stepping aside to let them into the room. “And I know I’ve never seen you in makeup before, Sir Mansome. Holy crap.”

Ivan was wearing almost as much eyeliner as Lindsey herself, and she allowed herself a moment of sharp jealousy because he was absolutely beautiful. Sir Mansome was the pretty-boy Dom of the Balls ‘n’ Chain crew, and Ivan’s chiseled features and surprisingly ripped abs made him the perfect live version. The leather pants he wore seemed molded into place, and he could have easily looked like a leatherman’s plaything, but somehow he didn’t. His beauty was cold, unattainable, almost angelic, and slightly chilling. Exactly like the character he was portraying, right down to the dainty leash on which he led his Kittycat slave, and the clearly top-of-the-line flogger hanging from a loop on his belt.

“He’s prettier than I am.” Cami sighed. “But we all have to make sacrifices.”

Lindsey laughed, but privately she disagreed with Cami. They were both so pretty, so perfect, the ideal couple. Their getups looked like the real thing, not costumes. She suddenly felt much shorter and sadder and more alone than ever before.

“Are you sure you want a third wheel?”

“Pfft.” Cami tugged at her corset, ensuring she was covering everything she needed to. “You’ll be the making of us. It’s just too bad we don’t have an extra leash, or Ivan could lead us both.”

“About that...” Lindsey started, then cleared her throat, feeling a flush rise over her face.

“About the leash?”

“No, no. Leading. Sort of. I was wondering if, when we got back to town, y’all could maybe...um, show me the ropes? Not literally. I mean—well, maybe literally, but I meant—”

“Take you to some munches and to the club, and introduce you to some people?” Cami offered, her grin putting Lindsey at ease.

“Exactly. Be my mentors. Especially at the club, I’m jumpy about trying that alone.”

Lindsey hadn’t heard the connecting door open, and Ben’s voice made her jump.

“Not without me, you’re not going to any bondage club. I thought I already made that clear, slave. If anybody is going to wreak havoc on your person, it’s going to be me. And only me.”

His growl hit her low in the belly, and somehow she knew what she would see before she even turned around. She was right, and there he stood in black jeans, wicked black cowboy boots and a half-unbuttoned white dress shirt with unfastened French cuffs, a tie hanging loose around his collar. The riding crop that swung from his hip was hardly the quality of Ivan’s flogger, but it wasn’t bad either.

It was the expression on his face, though, that sold her. He was owning the character.

Then he dropped the mask for a second, taking one end of his tie and bopping her nose with it. “You needed a Master, right? For the costume contest?”

She saw the collar in his hand a second before he stepped over and buckled it around her neck. The leash was already attached. His hands left trails of tingling warmth where he touched her, but she still had a moment of sick dismay, thinking she’d been wrong again, that his act was only that—an act. For the contest, for the convention, a favor he thought he was doing her.

Ben’s whisper in her ear was too quiet for Cami and Ivan to hear. “If we were in a different setting I wouldn’t need the collar. I’d attach the leash to that clit ring. And you’d be wearing a whole lot less.”

“It’s a barbell, not a ring,” she pointed out, voice shaking.

“I know where to get a leash with a very small clip designed for just that purpose.” His response was at normal volume, and Lindsey automatically glanced at the others. Ivan was frowning at them, looking puzzled, while Cami pretended great interest in her corset ruffle until the lull in conversation became too much to bear.

“So, are y’all ready to head for the contest?” she asked brightly, with a final adjusting yank to her costume.

Lindsey wasn’t sure she was ready to do anything, but she nodded and returned Cami’s smile. “Let’s do it!”

Humor and excitement crackled in the halls and on the street between the hotel and convention center, as costumed participants converged for the parade that would precede the contest. It was the social capstone of the convention, and most of the revelers seemed to have started their celebration early. Too focused on her own concerns, Lindsey almost failed to notice that Ivan and Cami had dropped behind in the convention center hallway, until Ben slowed beside her.

“Don’t want to lose them in the crowd,” he explained over the din, pulling her along as he started to backtrack. “We’d never find them again.”

They’d fallen behind because Ivan needed a moment, it turned out. Not a moment to exert his dominance, but to duck down a less-crowded corridor and breathe into a paper bag that Cami produced as if by magic from somewhere inside her costume. She held up a finger to her lips when Ben and Lindsey approached, shaking her head to reinforce the gesture. They stopped several paces off, not wanting to intrude.

Cami wasn’t comforting Ivan, Lindsey was surprised to see. Wasn’t touching or talking to him, just crouching next to him as he slowly regained his breath and reconstructed his composure. Something in her demeanor told Lindsey this wasn’t a novel event for Cami. That, and the fact that she’d known to stash the paper bag somewhere, somehow, in the cleavage of that tighter-than-skin-tight corset.

The collar tugged around Lindsey’s neck as the leash swayed, reminding her that Ben was still keeping a firm grip on the leash handle. When she turned toward him he was studiously looking elsewhere, scanning the crowd as he leaned back against the wall with crossed arms, one knee cocked. His expression made it clear that no one should fuck with his hyperventilating friend.

He looked bigger, more intimidating. Lindsey told herself it was probably an optical illusion caused by the white shirt, which flattered his shoulders and made them look broader. Then her gaze caught on his tie, the same dark red-on-red stripe he always wore whenever he had to wear his suit. His power tie, he called it. As opposed to his Christmas tie and the one with computer circuits printed all over it. The fabric was creased where he’d knotted it. She reached up to finger the silk and Ben glanced her way for a second before resuming his vigilant watch on the crowd down the hall.

“Why did you have your tie in your suitcase?” she asked, vaguely curious and trying to make conversation. She didn’t expect Ben to look at her again, a look filled with complicated ideas she couldn’t begin to sort out.

He paused a long time before finally answering. “I had to change in and out of my suit at work a few weeks ago and I forgot to unpack the tie when I was done.”

“Oh.”

“I was interviewing with Dr. Schrader, and he still always wears a suit so I figured it might help. He’s giving me my slot back. I’ll be starting the PhD program in September. Back on track.”

She opened her mouth but nothing came out. It was too much to process, all the implications of what he’d just told her. And before she could answer, Ivan recovered and they all set off into the crowd once more.

Chapter Eleven

In the end, the Steampunk Borg Collective won. They deserved it, though, Ben had to give them that. The costumes weren’t just nicely done, they were stunning, not to mention creepy as hell.

“Second place is good enough for me if it means we don’t have to be assimilated,” Lindsey quipped, admiring the silver medal Cami was dangling over their table at the afterparty. “I know they’re Lin’s friends, but those guys gave me the cold willies.”

Ben snickered and leaned in to nip her earlobe. “Better than a Wet Willie.”

Not his most Dominant moment. He’d fallen badly out of character once the contest was over. Lindsey didn’t seem to mind, although she’d been unusually quiet since his revelation earlier. Not upset, he assessed, just thoughtful. She kept sneaking looks at him when she thought he wasn’t looking, almost like before they started dating. It was extremely fetching, especially given the contrast between the coy glances and her nearly naked state of dress in the Sub Red costume. She looked like a girl with interesting secrets yet to discover, and he was eager to go exploring. Mostly with his penis, because nearly naked was beginning to outweigh coy on the appeal scale.

On the other hand, she’d pushed him away earlier. He had to remind himself of that because she wasn’t acting standoffish now, so he wasn’t sure where they stood.

“What time are we leaving in the morning, again?” Lindsey asked Cami. It was barely ten o’clock, but she was yawning over her drink.

“Six. Ivan’s being magnanimous and letting us all sleep in.”

“Fuck,” Ben groaned. “How’s he doing, by the way?”

Cami shrugged. “Asleep right now, probably. But overall he’s better than I thought he’d be by this point. Honestly I’m amazed he didn’t reach his limit sooner. Good thing we’re going home tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Lindsey agreed, “I’m ready too. This was so much fun but now I’m completely over it.”

“Exactly.”

“Completely over it?”

Lindsey turned to look at him, a poorly suppressed smile tweaking the corners of her mouth. Ben’s body responded to that hopeful sign even before he registered her words.

“I probably have a few scraps of enthusiasm left somewhere. Master.”

He tried to keep a serious face, but knew he likely failed. “Bet I can root those out for you.”

“I’m counting on it.”

“Y’all, I’m still sitting right here,” Cami reminded them.

Chagrined, Ben offered to walk Cami back to her room, and she accepted. So there were no elevator or hallway shenanigans, but Ben didn’t mind. He had a longer-range plan, and it started as soon as the door had closed on Cami and Ivan’s room, leaving him and Lindsey alone in the hall.

Lindsey had kept the collar on, but the leash dangled from Ben’s pocket. He took it out and clipped it into place, pleased that she didn’t object. He loved the way she tipped her chin up to allow him easier access, loved the visible shiver that swept over her when he trailed his fingers from her neck down past her collarbones. Unable to resist, he slipped one finger farther still, right under the black band covering her nipple. Lindsey’s gasp, the perfect shape of her mouth as she responded to his touch against the tight bud, hit Ben like an erotic punch.

But the hall wasn’t nearly private enough for what he had in mind, so with iron determination he pulled his hand away from Lindsey’s deliciously willing body.

“Follow me, slave.”

Down the hall they went, but they didn’t stop at the door to Lindsey’s room. Instead he kept going, past the ice alcove, all the way to the stairwell. Pausing as he opened the door and held it for her, he dared her with a look to ask what his plan was. She bit her lip instead and cast her eyes down, the picture of obedience as she passed through the doorway.

The stairway was quiet, no telltale echoing of fellow guests’ footsteps or voices. Perfect.

“Take these off,” he told her, tugging at one leg of Lindsey’s tiny black swimsuit bottom. It was risky, they had many a flight to climb, but he was feeling lucky. Extremely lucky.

After a second she nodded and dropped the trunks, scooping them off the floor gracefully and holding them out for Ben to take.

Three flights up, Ben was beginning to wonder whether he should have opted against the element of surprise and taken the elevator instead. Eight flights, and he and Lindsey both broke into exhausted giggles.

“Ben, seriously.”

“It’s Master, dammit! Keep climbing, we’re almost there.”

“Will there be a masseuse waiting at the top to handle the cramping in my legs?”

“Oh my God, I so fail at this.”

“No, you don’t,” she protested, “you’re awesome! You’re new at it, that’s all. But you’re doing great for a beginner. I mean you managed to get equipment and everything. Where did you even find all that stuff?”

“A store. Please don’t make me go back. It was so pink in there.”

“We’ll find you one that’s less pink.”

“We will?”

She bit her lip and pointed to the Roof Access sign on the landing above them. “Almost there.”

At the top they turned in unison, collapsing on the highest stair to recover.

“Are we going out to the roof?”

“No, this is it. I figure nobody’ll be up here this time of night, and I’ve wanted to bang you in this stairwell for the past day and a half.”

“That is so romantic.”

He shrugged. “I aim to please.” But at Lindsey’s hesitant smile, he shook his head. “But that’s not why I’m doing it. I mean I do want that too, I want you to be pleased, but—”

“Ben.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you really going back to school in the fall?”

“Yep.” He ran a hand through his hair, then sank back on his elbows, contemplating the grayish-beige ceiling at the top of the stairwell. “It’s gonna suck to be poor again, but at least my car’s paid off.”

“So eventually you did follow through on your plans...what changed your mind?”

Ben thought through his answer carefully before he spoke. “When I looked ahead, I didn’t like the person I saw myself turning into. And it seemed like that feeling dated back to the moment I opted for instant gratification and money instead of working harder and waiting for what I really wanted. Not just the job and school, but the way things went with us, too. I was just...not happy, and looking for any reason other than the real one. And I’m sorry I tried to blame that on you. I’ve regretted it ever since.”

Lindsey leaned back next to him. “Heh. Me too. Has this weekend been your way of apologizing?”

“Never accept an apology that somebody makes with their dick, Linds. That’s hardly ever gonna be sincere.”

She snort-laughed, leaning into his shoulder, and Ben felt his world click into place. Back on track.

“I think...I think you just convinced me.”

“The school thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Not the part where I got all duded up and paraded around in front of God and everybody with you half-naked on a leash, so you’d know I was down with the kink and didn’t care who knew it?”

Lindsey shook her head. “No, pretty sure it was the school thing.”

“I love you.” It came out easily, that thing he used to struggle to say. He was no longer second-guessing himself.

“I love you, too,” Lindsey mumbled into his shoulder, still laughing.

“This weekend wasn’t an apology, though. More like a plea for—no, not a plea, that’s not masterful. A demand for readmission. You will take me back.” He performed a Jedi hand-wave in front of Lindsey’s face.

“I will take you back,” she echoed, in the time-honored fashion.

“You will let me escort you to the secret sex club when we get home.” His tone was light, but his intent wasn’t.

Lindsey tilted her head toward him, then half turned, stretching one leg over his lap. “Yes, I will. I’m going to insist on it.”

“Oh, you’re going to insist, slave? I don’t think that’s how this thing is supposed to work.” He ran his hand up her thigh and around the curve of her ass, loving the lack of impedance. Confiscating all Lindsey’s underwear was high on his agenda for when they got home.

“I’m thinking I might turn out to be a bit of a bratty submissive, rather than a slave,” she confessed. “Go figure. We’ll have to figure out new pet names.”

“I think I might not be much of a Master, but I still plan to enjoy punishing you for that brattiness every chance I get, regardless of what we call each other.”

“You promise?”

His fingers roamed, finding her sleek, willing wetness. “I promise. I really do get off on whacking your ass. And you’ll never be a unicycle to me, Linds.”

She looked ready to deliver a witty reply, but words failed her when Ben slid two fingers into her body. He captured her gasp with a greedy kiss, growling impatiently as his physical and psychological needs began their dance. One urged immediate action, the other counseled patience for a greater payoff at the end. He was learning to trust that second voice, the one that spoke to the vein of darkness inside him. The slightly off-kilter, twisted heart of him that he’d always tried to suppress. The part that made him so painfully hard when he spanked his girlfriend, the same part that dreamed of chaining her to his bed and forcing her to read his dissertation drafts to earn her pleasures. The part that wanted to take her in the hotel stairwell just because he knew he could.

* * *

Lindsey melted under Ben’s kiss, his touch, actually forgetting where they were for a few moments. Then the cold of the concrete step registered on the exposed skin of her hip, and she levered herself up to straddle Ben’s lap fully. His thighs felt hard and strong under her bare butt. The movement had ruined what was left of her modesty, hiking her costume up and exposing her completely.

Ben’s fingers played in and out, spreading her wider still. It wasn’t nearly enough. He used his teeth to yank a costume strap down, exposing her breasts and sucking hard on one nipple. Still not enough. But his arm was in her way when she tried to reach his zipper.

“Patience,” he reminded her, after freeing his mouth with a pop.

“Someone could still come up here,” she countered. “It isn’t that late and we’re probably not the only ones with this idea.”

“Fair enough. At least tell me what you’re impatient for, then, if you want me to give it to you. Go on, talk dirty to me, little slave girl.”

She sighed, pouting like the brat she was toying with becoming. “I’m too embarrassed.”

Ben smirked, flicking his eyebrow up in the delicious Spock move she loved so well. “Get over it. If you want some of this you’re gonna have to ask for it. Not nicely, either.”

“Fine.” Fine. “I want sex.”

“Body parts, Linds.”

Despite her reluctance, his insistence was wearing her down. She didn’t want to admit it turned her on, being ordered to say stuff she hated saying. But it did. And strangely, not wanting to admit it was part of the appeal. That, and having to finally break down under pressure and say it anyway.

She ground against his hand, whimpering when he crooked his fingers into her G-spot. “Okay, okay! I want cock. I want your cock, inside me repeatedly, in a sex-like fashion.”

“Good to know. Inside where, exactly? Your ear? Belly button? Please say it’s not the nose.”

Oh, he knew she hated saying all the words he was fishing for. But the pressure of his fingers was maddening, almost as maddening as the smug look on his face. “You’re just being cruel.”

“And now that I know you love it, I’m going to do it all the time. Say it. Or we go back to the room and you get a cold shower.”

He was rock-hard under her and must be ready to explode. Where he got the forbearance, she had no idea. Lindsey was dizzy with lust, with unsatisfied need. Finally she forced the words out of her lips, going for broke.

“I want your cock in my pussy. I want you to fuck me. Please?”

“You’re on the right track. More begging, though. And you’re sounding a little self-absorbed about it.”

Bastard! Sexy, sexy bastard. “Please fuck me, Master? Please, please let me make you feel good!”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He had his jeans and boxer briefs down in seconds, just far enough to let his cock spring free into Lindsey’s grasping hands. A condom flew into play from somewhere—she never noticed where he’d stashed it—and together they rolled it into place with eager haste. Another second, and she was rising to take him inside her, sinking down onto him in relief and anticipation. Giddy bubbles of excitement threatened to burst forth as giggles. Lindsey bit her lip to stop them, then gave up and let it all out.

“What?”

“I can’t believe we’re bonking in the stairway.”

“Believe it, slave. I’ll bonk you anywhere and any time I choose. So be ready...oh, Jesus fuck that feels good!”

Giggles turned to laughter, then to gasps of delight. Her orgasm took her by surprise, came on fast and hard, stealing her breath away. But she was still aware enough to feel Ben tensing beneath her, using her hips to lever himself into her for a final thrust that joined them more tightly than ever before.

* * *

Cami was astute in some ways, not so much in others.

“Ouch, you have bruises on your knees,” she remarked as Lindsey mounted the steps to the RV. “Where did those come from?”

“She just bruises easily,” Ben said as he followed her into the vehicle and ushered her toward the banquette with a firm hand on the small of her back.

It was still hot inside the camper, and after days in the parking garage it smelled of over-warm upholstery and carpet. Stifling, really. Lindsey was actually looking forward to getting back to Houston for the weather, a genuinely rare feeling.

Not that she dreaded the ride home the way she’d dreaded the ride to Phoenix. A few rough days and insane nights had made all the difference in the world to her outlook, and she was going back home a different person than she’d been when she headed out for BeastCon.

Lindsey knew what she wanted now. And, just as importantly, so did Ben.

She’d awakened that morning a few seconds before the alarm, startled from sleep by a wash of cold air on one foot. Ben had rolled over, taking the covers with him. She supposed she would have to get used to that again. But it was a small price to pay for the warmth, the rightness of falling asleep with his arms around her, his breath soft on her hair.

He woke up when the alarm clock buzzed, and was immediately adorable, giving her a sleepy smile as he rubbed one hand over his already ruffled hair. Then he reached for her and pulled her into a hug, snuggling her into his embrace like a teddy bear. Like he wanted nothing more from that moment than to cuddle her. And he was going back for his PhD.

Then he told her he wanted to wake up like that every day for the rest of their lives. So as far as she was concerned, he could steal all the covers he liked.

There were other, new things to get used to. The way Ben smiled at her now, more self-assured than before, and also more appreciative. His hand on her back, nearly always in contact from the moment they left the hotel room. Ben, who’d never been more than moderately attentive, was ushering her around like an old-school gentleman. She thought that would be easy to get used to, actually, as she enjoyed it quite a bit. She enjoyed seeing Ben act like a grown-up.

He handed her into the banquette seat facing away from the others and slid in next to her, his thigh pressing along hers.

“Nineteen hours,” he remarked, craning his head to watch the rest of the exhausted bunch clamber aboard and find seats. “That gives us plenty of time for some hanky and possibly even a smidgen of panky between here and Houston.”

Lindsey snickered. “But sadly, no spanky.”

“That’s just terrible.”

“Do you think they suspect?”

He followed her gaze to the to Ed and Lin slurping coffee and opening laptops as they warmed up for their first argument of the ride.

“Innocent as lambs” was Ben’s assessment. “But then, I would have thought the same thing about Ivan and Cami before this weekend, so I guess you never really know.”

“True.” She turned to regard him through narrowed eyes. “But you wouldn’t have thought I was innocent as a lamb?”

“Oh, Linds, you were never innocent as a lamb, even with those big blue eyes.” He grinned at her, his eyelids crinkling in that way they did, and her stomach did a flip-flop. She wondered if it always would, when he looked at her like that. She hoped so. “I always knew you were a pervert. I just needed to grow up enough to realize that was a feature, not a bug.”

Nineteen hours could seem like a miserable lifetime or an all-too-short romp in the park. But short as the ride home seemed in comparison to the last trip, there was still time for both hanky and panky.

But no spanky. Until after they got home.

* * * * *

About the Author

After earning two graduate degrees, practicing law awhile, then working for the public school system for more than ten years, Delphine finally got a clue. She tossed all that aside and started doing what she should have been doing all along—writing steamy novels!

When not writing or doing “mommy stuff,” Del reads voraciously, noodles around with designing websites, and plays computer games with her darling (and very romantic) husband. She is fortunate enough to have two absurdly precocious children and two delightful mutts. Del and her family are all Texas natives, and reside near Houston in unapologetic suburban bliss.

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ISBN: 978-14268-9580-7

Copyright © 2013 by Delphine Dryden

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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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Table of Contents

- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- About the Author
- Copyright