Page 57 of Brave
“Give me a minute to slap your submissive and I’ll get right to it.”
Erupting out of his chair, Spencer charged after him, whipping around the corner into the hallway so fast that he nearly plowed right into Carlson, who stood waiting for him with hands thrown up in surrender.
Giving his boss time to come back off that instant temper high, Carlson said, “Point taken?”
“Like I said,” Spencer breathed, rolling his shoulders in an effort to self-soothe his thoroughly ruffled dominant feathers. “It wasn’t like I had a plan to follow.”
Lowering his hands, he nodded. “I realize that. Thank you for what you’ve done for her. I wasn’t expecting all that, but I’m grateful.”
Rolling his shoulders again, he visibly let it go. “Sorry I swatted her hand. When I saw her bleeding, I just reacted. Wasn’t my place.”
More than willing to let it go now that he’d made his point, Carlson stuck out his hand.
All but rolling his eyes, Spencer shook it. “God, I hate the mushy shit. Can you please get to work already?”
Chuckling, Carlson turned and headed back out onto the main dungeon floor, but Spencer stopped him again.
“Hey.”
He turned to find Spencer standing half in and half out of his office, holding a familiar backpack purse aloft.
“Your girl forgot something.”
“Right, thanks.”
As he came back to collect it, Spencer unzipped the bag and dug inside, pulling out her cellphone. “I didn’t notice it until it started vibrating.” Handing over the bag first and then the contraband phone, he said, “Make sure she knows if she does this again, she’s fired on the spot.”
“Right,” Carlson said, already making that mental note before he noticed the blinking blue light that signaled a missed communication. It was a text message. “Crap,” he sighed, reading who it was from.
“Ethen,” Spencer guessed.
“Nope.” It was worse than that. It was Pony.
His shoulders slumped. Swearing under his breath, he took both the phone and the pack and headed out in search of his submissive. Every time he managed to get Cynthia out of that place, Pony always found a way to pull her back in.
He found Klara behind the bar, but not Cynthia. “Is she back there?” he asked, trying to see into the little closet he knew was behind the bar.
“I’ve got her cleaning the suck and fuck rooms,” the bartender said. “Not that I don’t trust her with the bottles, but I’ve already stocked.”
Not at all looking forward to turning the focus of their evening back to Pony, he made his way through the dungeon to the semi-private cubicles that offered more privacy for sexual escapades than any other station in the place. He found her on her hands and knees in the second one, busily searching under the bed for anything that shouldn’t be there. She was humming, her bottom moving back and forth before she re-emerged with an unused condom packet clutched in her hand.
He’d never heard her hum before. He’d never heard her sing either, and it was still such a rare thing when she let anyone catch her in an unguarded moment. Hell, she was even smiling. She had a pretty voice, but it was her smile that he loved the most.
He almost smiled too, except that’s when she saw him. It was his instinct to think it had just gotten awkward, except awkward wasn’t exactly what he felt when he saw the smile fade from her lips. She watched him, a hint of pink touching her cheeks before she looked away. She looked at the bed, and then the condom packet, and then, almost hesitantly, her smile returned.
“What,” he said, liking the obvious direction her thoughts had just taken as she got down on her hands and knees, “is going through your head right now?”
“I-is this wrong?” she asked, hesitating.
“Not in the slightest.”
She crawled to him every bit as sinuously as any kitten he’d seen playing down here. Oh now, he liked this. Standing in the doorway, he watched her come until she’d settled on her knees directly before him.
She reached for him but stopped, her hands just shy of his belt.
“You’re all right,” he assured.
She leaned in, pressing her lips to the bulge already growing quickly in the front of his jeans. Looking up at him, she stroked her bottom lip ever so subtly back and forth across his fly. God help him, but he could feel that touch burning all the way through his jeans into the head of his cock.
