Page 53 of Dare to Love Again

She watched his fingers move over the small buckle, and he heard her throaty gasp when they lightly brushed her skin. He didn’t miss when her nipples hardened into peaks and silently thanked the dress designer who made wearing anything beneath it impossible.

He set the first shoe in the bin and reached for the other. Nudity was one of the many benefits of operating a private club, and at Decadence, bare skin was pervasive. He’d shamelessly enjoyed the flaunting of the female form that went on nightly, and like most everyone, had no problem revealing the sub he was with, or himself during a public scene.

With Esme, he was feeling unusually possessive. Their first scene hadn’t ended how either of them had expected. This time, when he touched her, stripped her slowly, teased her body until it hummed with desire then drove inside her for the first time, he selfishly didn’t want to share it with the world.

But after so long, she was ready, and it was up to him to make this return to public play good for her.

“My claim ticket.” Esme’s call as the attendant moved off with the bin containing her shoes, pulled him back into the moment.

“No need, lass. Deanna has an excellent memory.”

“With so many people here, how can she possibly remember whose belong to who?”

“I have this thing for shoes,” the blushing young woman said when she reappeared. “I never forget a color, or style, which makes this a perfect assignment for me. And I live for the designer one-offs to come in. Yours—ohmigod—stunning! There’s no way I could forget Louboutin or afford them.”

“Neither can I if they’re new,” Esme said with a smile. “I shouldn’t give my secret away, but I got those on consignment for one hundred dollars and according to the shop, they’d only been worn once.”

“That’s amazing. Where?”

Keiran didn’t know Louboutin from Adidas, but as the women discussed the prices of this “little gem of a store” and their generous return policy, he was seriously regretting the club’s rule of no shoes in the dungeon because he’d like to see her wearing nothing except the sexy-as-fuck high heels. Even better, feeling them digging into his backside while he took her.

Not having a shoe fetish, he was gaining a little insight into it.

With his erection pressing painfully against his zipper, he decided whoever coined the phrase, “fuck me shoes,” must have had a beautiful redhead with creamy skin wearing ridiculous-yet-sexy translucent-pink, opened-toed strappy sandals in mind.

He needed to get her off the counter, inside the dungeon, and the scene started before his rapidly rising libido changed him from the controlled, patient, experienced dom he strived to be into a grunting, chest-thumping brute who wanted nothing more than to throw her over his shoulder and carry her off for a night of endless, carnal rutting.

Going caveman was his first inclination whenever he was around Esmerelda Spade, but he didn’t want to scare her off. Considering she’d been ready to flee only minutes before, if he swooped in and claimed her like a hungry predator, he could blow the slow buildup he’d put so much effort into. Except telling her everything he wanted to do to her tonight may have been pushing it. Instinct told him she needed finesse and a lot of romance before he commenced with the rutting.

“Deanna...” Keiran interrupted, intent on getting his sub inside fast. “You may grill Esme about her shoes another time.”

“Oh...” Her exuberance evaporated. “I’m so sorry. Master Eric warned me about gushing over the sub’s shoes. You won’t tell him, will you, sir?”

“I won’t, but you will.” Her expression went from dismay to despair, like he’d pulled out a gun and shot her puppy. “You’ll tell him the truth, should he ask,” he added.

Her eyes got bright, and she whispered, “Thank you, Master K. You’re the best.”

“That’s what you keep telling me,” he chuckled.

When he lifted her down, Esme also murmured her thanks. “You didn’t have to help me with my shoes, but without a chair, I likely would have fallen flat on my face. Thank you, sir.”

“As a dominant, it’s rare when I have to do anything. I get to do what I want, when I want, and with whom I choose 99.9 percent of the time.” Tipping her eyes up to his, he watched as heat suffused her lovely face. “Are you ready to play, Esme? Because that is something I definitely want to do.”

“Me, too, sir.”

Taking her hand once more, they entered the heart of Decadence. A half hour later, he pondered his dilemma. As he’d predicted, all the spanking benches in five different styles, which accounted for a third of the stations, were in use. Facing away from the continuous flow of spectators would have provided a degree of privacy in this very public venue. Unfortunately, with all of them taken and a long line of players waiting, it left mostly unacceptable options. The standing pillory was open as were the kneeling stocks. Both would provide the strict bondage her file indicated she enjoyed but were too cold and impersonal for his taste.

The one vacant whipping post in the rear of the huge play space would have to wait awhile, at least until she felt comfortable enough with him to downgrade it from a hard limit.

This left an open chain station, but its location would leave her exposed from all sides and make their scene rather like a 360-degree theater in the round. He’d have to minimize the distractions of the crowd and had the perfect tool to do so in his bag.

He led her to the velvet rope, opened it, and let her precede him inside.

“Wait in the center,” he ordered. “I’ll need a moment to get ready.”

“Yes, sir,” she answered softly and moved the few feet to the middle of the ten-by-ten play space.

He set his bag on the table provided for implements, watching her from the corner of his eye the entire time. When her hands rose to her shoulders, and her thumbs slipped under the thin straps of her dress, he didn’t miss when they trembled. This prompted him to leave his prep and calm his skittish submissive.

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