The usually graceful Ms. Araceli was out of her element, but to her credit, she didn't protest. When she stood in front of him, head bowed slightly, he said, “Good girl.”

She glanced up long enough to glare. He grinned. His partner, his submissive, was a complex woman who intrigued him immensely. She had natural submissive tendencies, and she was clearly a masochist. But she was still a highly trained operative accustomed to being large and in charge. Apparently the three facets sometimes collided. The mix intrigued him.

“I—”

“You look lovely.” He didn't think his cock had ever been harder.

He wrapped the leather cord around his wrist several times, then gave it a light tug. She was pulled off balance, and her eyes opened wide.

He liked having her at his mercy, on his leash, the black collar tight and stark against her delicate throat. She'd goaded and pushed until she got what she wanted. But if she wanted to be in control—top from the bottom—she'd chosen the wrong man.

At a fast pace, probably uncomfortable for her in those fantastic-looking, do-me-now shoes, he led her downstairs toward the Medieval Room.

Once inside, he closed the massive door, sealing out everyone but them. There was a window for voyeurs, and he figured Xavier would check on them at least once.

As much as he hated the idea of anyone seeing her, watching her receiving his punishment, he also had to respect the club's policies and Xavier's pronouncement.

And truthfully, she didn't mind, so why in God's name did he? If she wanted to show her cunt to the world, it was technically none of his business.

So why couldn't he convince himself of that fact?

She'd fired a protective streak in him, one he'd never had for another woman.

It was more than just their being partners—something much, much more. The idea of her willingly exposing herself, asking another man to flog her, infuriated him.

“Let's keep the rules straight,” Torin told her. “In here, you're the sub, I'm the dom. There will be no topping from the bottom. Your disobedience, your questioning, your testing were left outside. We're both clear that when we're training or on duty we're partners, and I will respect you as such. For the rest of this evening, you have my permission to respond with a 'yes, Sir' or 'no, Sir.' Or if you prefer, you may say 'yes, Master' or 'no, Master.' You will answer direct questions, and you will not speak without permission. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir. You made your point.”

Good start. He gave the leash a little more slack and said, “Turn around.”

This time she didn't hesitate at all.

“Keep your gaze on the wall.” The walls of the Medieval Room were made from stone. Shackles were bolted into them. He wanted her to focus on the shackles, imagining what he had in store for her.

He removed the bindings from around her wrists, and then he went to work unfastening the dozens of tiny hooks and eyes that held her dress closed. He gave silent thanks that women didn't dress like this anymore. As it was, it took all his restraint not to whip out his pocketknife and go barbarian on her, slicing her out of the yards and yards of material.

“I—”

“You crawled into my bedroom,” he said against her ear.

She trembled slightly, responding to him. The knowledge he affected her was heady stuff. “That was different.”

“Because you were in control.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. He saw a flash of fire in the dark depths of her eyes, and he didn't see a sub. Instead he recognized the woman who showed up for their training exercises, the woman who ran five miles a day, adding punishing sprints to increase her endurance, and who pounded out fifty noncheating push-ups, five more than he did. She could outshoot him, outthink him, and she had never rubbed it in.

She wiggled, trying to turn. “Stay still,” he ordered. “I want you looking at those shackles.”

He heard her sharp inhalation. Her training as an operative helped her be a better sub, he realized. She had self-discipline that she could call on from the bottom of her soul. Tonight, and others, would be a treat.

He drew the dress off her shoulders and let it fall to her waist. “Good girl,” he said when he saw she wasn't wearing a bra. His cock was hard, demanding. He reached around to cup her breasts.

“Torin—”

“Master Torin. Here, I'm your master, and you're my sub. I want you naked, and I'll have you naked. Any questions?” He flicked his thumbs over her nipples.

They hardened instantly, and her knees weakened a little. “Stand up straight.”

The bass from the music outside the room reverberated through them.

She supported her weight, and he rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. “You brought me a belt two nights ago,” he reminded her. “In your mouth. That was bold.”

She didn't say anything.

He squeezed her nipples.

She moaned ever so softly.

He increased the pressure on her nipples until he knew it was painful.

Her knees buckled again, but she caught herself and stood up tall before he had to remind her. “Quick study.” Not that he'd expected anything less. “I assume that means you like pain.”

She didn't answer.

“Mira?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I didn't hear you.”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, Sir. I like pain.”

He tightened his grip on her nipples.

She moaned, but she didn't protest.

“Tell me.”

“I like it,” she said. “It hurts. S-s-sir!”

He finally relented, releasing her. His cock throbbed behind his jeans. He wanted to be naked, buried inside her.

He unfastened the final hook and eye that secured the dress at the small of her back. The fabric pooled on the Medieval Room's floor. He noticed her ass was slightly red from the force of Blake's blows, and it took all his self-control not to go after the man and finish what he'd started. He reminded himself that Mira had asked for it, but it didn't take the edge off his anger; it only fueled it. “Step out of the dress.”

She did.

Little vixen. While he'd been outside chopping wood for the fireplace, she'd been getting ready. She'd spared no detail.

Even though she couldn't have known it, her choice in lingerie was perfect.

Her black lace garter belt and silky, sexy stockings were the stuff of his fantasies.

Her high-heeled, fuck-me shoes could not have been fashionable in the Victorian era, but they sure as hell turned him on now.

If he weren't careful, she'd bring him to his knees.

He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on top of a bench. He then moved around to the front of her. “Remove my belt.”

Her eyes opened a bit wider, but she reached for the buckle. “Master's cock is hard.”

And getting harder.

She took her time drawing the leather back through its loops. Torture. Pure torture.

She offered the belt to him with one hand, and with the other, she grabbed his cock, squeezing hard.

He curled a hand over hers. “Later.”

“But—”

“No topping from the bottom,” he reminded her.

She obediently dropped her gaze. He could have come instantly.

After taking his belt from her, Torin detached the leash from the collar. “Now that the dress isn't in your way, you can crawl to the wall.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Crawl?”

“Do I need to repeat my order?”

She shook her head. “My stockings—”

“Can be replaced. Crawl. Now.”

She sank gracefully to her knees before moving onto hands and knees, doggy-style. He fully intended to take her that way. Soon.

She moved across the uneven stone floor with a flawless class that made his dick physically ache. Her pert rear swayed slightly. He admired the length of her leg muscles, and he wondered how her thighs would feel wrapped around his waist.

When she arrived at the wall, she stopped and waited for further instruction.

“Stand and face the wall. Arms above your head. I want you totally flat against the wall; press your breasts into the stones.”

She hesitated only seconds.

“Legs shoulder width apart.” While she stood there, held only in place by the force of his will and her obedience, he grabbed two sets of restraints from the pegs on the adjoining wall.

He moved in behind her. “You've got a hot body, Mira.”

“Thank you…Master.”

Master. He liked the sound of that much better than “Sir.”

He crouched to wrap the restraints around her ankles and then secure them to the hooks in the floor.

He trailed his fingers up the inside of her right thigh. Her legs trembled. “Are you still wet?” He drew a finger across her pussy lips.

She jerked and gasped, dropping her hands beside her.

“Keep your arms above your head,” he instructed her. “You are wet, Mira. Will you still be that damp after I whip you? Or will you be wetter?” He then parted her pussy lips. He pressed the pad of his thumb against her clit. She jerked convulsively.

“I… Please. I need…”

“On second thought, drop your arms. Reach behind you and spread your ass cheeks.”

“Master?”

“Do it.”

Slowly, she brought down her arms, then reached back to grab her buttocks.

“What's your safe word?”

She spread her buttocks apart. He closed his eyes momentarily to get control of his libido. He wanted to plunge deep inside her, slamming her against the wall, pounding out his orgasm, and taking her with him. “Mira? Your safe word?”

“Sangria.”

“Sangria?”

“Sangria,” she said. “It's red.”

And it was a drink her country was famous for. Of course. “Anything off-limits?”

“Permanent injury. Strangulation. Knives. Unsafe sex.”

“Nothing else?”

“No.”

“You're an extreme player, Mira?” Or she just thought she was.

“I like to push the edges. I have a safe word.”

Fair enough. Unable to wait any longer, needing to possess her, he plunged a finger inside her damp pussy.

She jerked.

He felt a moment of pure male satisfaction. He liked having this woman respond to him so completely.

Torin drew a deep breath. He was in control of the scene, and he intended to control himself as well. “How close are you to orgasm?” he asked softly. He moved his finger, feeling her internal walls constrict around him.

“It's been a long time,” she said, her breaths becoming more and more shallow as he explored her insides. “M-Master Blake warmed me up.”

Torin growled and impaled her with a second finger. The idea of Blake taking any liberties with this woman, his sub, infuriated him. “You're here with me now.

You'll not come without permission.”

When she didn't respond, he asked, “Am I clear?”

“Yes, Master. But…”

“Problem?”

“I come easily.”

“You'll come when I say you'll come. Keep your ass cheeks parted!” He knelt to lick her while he finger fucked her.

“Master!”

He stopped short of letting her orgasm.

“Master is a beast.”

He grinned but was glad she couldn't see him. She delighted him, made him want to please her. “Did you have permission to speak?”

“No,” she said.

“And…?”

“The sub apologizes.”

“Apology accepted.” He loved the way she referred to herself in the third person; she was suddenly getting into the scene as much as he was. “We'll just add another two lashes for insubordination.”

She made a funny sound, somewhere between a mewl and a protest, but didn't say anything else.

He stood then pulled out his fingers from her cunt, trying hard not to think about how badly he wanted to replace them with his cock.

He pressed a damp finger against her anus. Her muscles tightened, but instead of pressing forward and into the wall, trying to escape from him, she took a breath and pressed back in silent invitation.

Lust filled him.

He wanted her. “Bear down,” he told her.

“Yes,” she whispered.

As she followed his instructions, he pressed his finger deeper, past his first knuckle. She moaned and wiggled. Could she be any more perfect for him?

“More,” she begged softly.

He entered deeper, stretching her wider, sinking his finger all the way to the hilt.