“Are you ready, my pet?”

It was one of those questions not meant for me to answer, but to serve as a warning than a question. I am never ready for His power; it overwhelms, yet I am always ready for the joy of Him.

Suddenly there is a hot dart on my breast. The next hot drip of liquid is on my nipple. So hot. An indiscernible moan escapes my lips, and I feel His grin against my neck. Three more drops. I smell a wick burning; I realize it is candle wax being dripped on my body. First it burns and then it tightens, almost deliciously. The mix of different sensations is intoxicating and threatens to send me over the edge into bliss far sooner than I intend to go.

He moves carefully and deliberately to the other nipple. Ice first and then the hot drip of wax hugging my skin. The wax is holding my body hostage, suspending the release that I so long for with its grip.

Each maddening drip possesses me more and more. He leaves a trail with it, on the small of my throat, the underside of my breasts, making a line down my stomach. Suddenly the sweet torture stops. There is nothing, only the sound of our heavy breathing filling the space in the room. His finger finds my cleft and plunges deep inside.

“You are so wet for me, my pet. You like this, don’t you?”

I am unsure of myself, and I doubt I can find the words, so I just moan, “Yes, Master.”

His voice is calm, steady, and erotic. “Your body is on fire, my pet, in more ways than one. You love what the wax is doing as you dance between pleasure and pain.”

Charlie’s phone vibrated off the windowsill, and she barely caught it from slipping into her warm bath where she had been reading the manuscript Declan gave her.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Her voice echoed through the empty bathroom. “Almost seven. Crap. Holy crap!”

Throwing the manuscript on the floor, Charlie climbed out of the white claw-foot tub in the huge bathroom. One of the perks of living in an older home, giant bathtubs to soak the day’s tension away or read salacious books and drink glasses of red wine in. Charlie adored bubble baths, but it wasn’t something she usually had the time or privacy to indulge in. Fortunately, the house was still empty, and she made time for one. Declan was picking her up at eight this evening for the research field trip he insisted she accompany him on. She grabbed a bite to eat with Natalie after work, but when she got home, she still felt edgy, as though an electrical current was running under her skin, and she couldn’t relax.

It wasn’t the bathroom atmosphere. She knew what was bothering her. She read the manuscript dutifully, trying to extricate Declan from her thoughts, but the more she read, the more his image, his voice, and that damned sexy smirk danced in her mind. When she picked up Controlled Burn, she figured it offered some watered down version of sex using all those purple prose phrases, and then she would put it down and move on with her evening. Instead, the outside world slipped away as the words tattooed erotic images in her mind. She lost track of time. It was as though she had become the submissive, willing partner, and the Master was Declan. My God, Declan. She shivered as the sensations whispered through her, imagining his masterful domination of her willing body, mind, and soul.

Damn. There was no time to indulge the fantasy further despite the fact her clenched muscles were in a never-ending Kegel. If she did, she wouldn’t give herself much time to get ready, and disheveled, turned on Charlie wasn’t the look she wanted to go with tonight. No, tonight she would be demure and devastating. She padded her way to the bedroom and dropped her towel. She stroked her fingertips reverently over the ensemble she had laid on the bed before her bath.

The elegant dress she’d purchased today might have killed her credit card, but it would be worth it. It was midnight black and crafted from an amalgamation of lace, brocade, and appliqué. A pencil, silhouetted dress with lace panels on the sides and sin slithering down the entire length of the front of the dress in the form of dozens of lingerie eye and hook closures.

***

The bell rang as Charlie was slipping on her shoes. She answered the door with confidence, feeling very Joan from Mad Men in her buttoned-up, retro, seductive dress.

“Come in, please, Mr. Pearse. I will be just a moment,” she offered politely to Declan.

He was wearing a dark gray charcoal suit. It didn’t matter what he had on, Charlie was sure the man would look smoldering no matter what he wore. His thick dark hair was calling to her, begging her fingers to run through it.

“Thank you, Ms. Flynn. You look quite stunning this evening.”

Just breathe, Charlie. You can do this. “Thank you,” she managed to choke out.

She gathered her wrap and clutch and walked slowly toward him. She noticed his eyes darken as he looked her over. No matter what reservations she had about possibly being attracted to her boss, the look he gave her, like he was about to devour her, made the dress worth every blessed penny.

Declan opened the front door. “Shall we?”

As they walked outside to his warm and waiting car, Charlie decided she was nervous. It was starting to feel a bit too much like a date.

Declan’s gaze traveled over her body again, and her skin pricked up at the base of her neck. Her breath quickened.

“Are you well, Ms. Flynn?” His eyes met hers. “You’re quite flushed.”

“I … I rather like the way you look at me,” Charlie blurted.

“Tell me why, Charlotte,” he said as they reached his car. He stepped in front of her, his stare holding hers captive.

“It’s strange really. It feels like a caress and a possession at the same time,” Charlie related quietly.

Acting every bit the gentleman, Declan opened the door for Charlie. The autumn air was crisp, but Declan had left the car running, and a rush of warmth greeted her as she sat in the passenger’s seat. Before closing the door, Declan pulled the seatbelt across Charlie’s breasts and leaned over to secure it.

Good God. It’s a good thing I’m seated, or my knees would have given out. His fingertips brushed against her lightly as he secured the seatbelt, cinching her tightly in place. He smelled of spice and tobacco.

Before withdrawing from the passenger’s side, he whispered, “I like the look of you restrained, Ms. Flynn.”

Charlie decided it best to pretend she didn’t hear the comment and instead smiled. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Pearse.”

As they made their way to the gallery, the strains of a familiar voice filled the interior. She recognized that it was Garbage, but the tune was something she had never heard. She listened intently to the words.”

Charlie fidgeted in her seat, a little uncomfortable with the way things were progressing for the evening.

“What kind of music do you like?” Declan asked as the car turned onto another road.

“This is fine,” Charlie lied. The lead singer’s voice was breathy and hypnotic. It was making her more aware of her attraction to Declan.

Declan pulled up to what looked like an old factory remade into an art space. Bright lights lit the outside, and there were several people gathered near the entrance. A valet took the car when they arrived, and they walked into the building together.

The space was a bit different than she expected. Instead of being awash in brilliant white, the walls were a blood red, and the flooring dark. It had a gothic feel to it, and the music in the background added to that feeling. A bar to the left of the entrance showcased a variety of liquors and beers; the wait staff served champagne and petite hors d’oeuvres.