Page 27 of Crushed
CHAPTER 8
Cormac
Scarlett stood on the ground before the stage, watching Iris move equipment to the center. With her hair in a low ponytail and wedges adding to her height, Scarlett was dressed in a cotton white lace set, immaculately bright against her skin, her nipples faintly visible through the fabric. Her red lips stood out in the dark atmosphere, calling all eyes to her. She wore little else in regards to makeup, but she didn’t need to. With those red lips, she demanded attention. Those lips instantly brought me back to the last time we were together, her lips quivering as she reached her peak.
I still needed to test whether or not Scarlett would be an acceptable guest to take to Decadence Revelry.
Iris said something to Scarlett, then pointed to me. I lifted my glass of scotch, and Scarlett smiled. She walked elegantly. That surprised me. The same woman who clearly preferred tennis shoes and sports bras, had no problem walking in heels.
“Cormac,” she said.
“Scarlett.” She leaned on the table in front of me, her toned thighs strapped in nude stockings. She was trying hard to fit into the Dahlia District, to seem like an authentic server, but I wanted to see her in the sports bra and booty shorts that she preferred, to see her in her natural element. It was so much easier to break down a submissive when they were already uncomfortable, trying to be someone they were not. It was much harder to break them when they were comfortable and at peace with themselves.
I preferred the challenge.
“Decadence is coming up,” I said. I motioned to the seat next to me and she followed my silent order. I fixed the sleeve of my dark wool suit. “I need to bring a guest. Someone who can follow my rules.”
“You need a submissive then.”
I stifled a grin. Just because she used the terminology, didn’t mean that she would fit into my chains. “More than a submissive. I need someone who can act as my property for an evening.”
She drew her head back quickly. That response had caused shock. Good.
“Your property?” she asked.
I turned my bucket chair to face hers, and we sat like that, across from each other, face to face as equals.
“Have you ever heard of TPE?” I asked. She shook her head. “Total power exchange, or TPE, is ultimately determined by each party, but it comes down to the same basic principle. The dominant, the master, or the owner, whatever you want to call them, controls every action of the submissive, or the slave.”
“Or the property,” she murmured.
I let a smirk cross my lips. “I prefer the titles of owner and property, that way, there’s no mistaking what’s expected of the exchange.”
“You think master and slave have too much liberty to them?”
She might have been new, but she picked up concepts quickly. “Perhaps,” I said. “Slave has a nice ring to it, but what I want requires less humanity. Less identity.”
Her lips opened then, her bottom lip wet with moisture, stuck on those heavy words. She ran a hand through her hair. A nervous tick. A gentle flush trickled over her neck and cheeks.
“Slave has force around it,” I continued, “showing that the slave was pressured to submit until she did with her entire soul. But an object, a piece of property, isownedby the owner. Property doesn’t have a will. Perhaps it has agency and desire, but the term ‘property’ does not allude to force. That propertywantedto be there. Desired it. That property doesn’t mistake the exchange for anything other than what it is: an agreement between two individuals for complete and total trust.”
She studied me, letting the words flow through her and settle into her psyche. “You want to trust someone like that?” she asked quietly. “Completely and totally?”
“I want someone to trustmelike that.” She nodded, acknowledging the correction. “I want a partner who trusts me, no matter what I say.”
There was a world within that kind of trust, the kind of emotional place where an owner could show the property the depths of the darkness, and bring them back alive, and thriving. But what I wanted was a dream that might never be realized. Still, I had to try, even if it was only to prove that Scarlett could only handle the event as my guest, nothing more. “Try it with me,” I said. “Think of it as an audition.”
Scarlett’s eyes traced me, undressing me underneath the tailored suit. My green eyes were usually the main attraction to others; they had a hardness to their deep jade color. But Scarlett was always searching, always trying to unravel me, to see what was beneath that hard gaze. What was it that she was searching for, when it came to me? What was she trying to uncover?
I had this inkling that someone had sent her. Perhaps one of my competitors had hired her. But that didn’t matter; I could have fun with her while she tried and failed to get information.
“I’ll do it,” she said, her eyes fixed on my lips. “I’ll try it, anyway. I want to try it.”
‘Try’ was a good word. It respected the seriousness of the situation.
“You don’t have many experiences with power exchange, then.”
“Except with you.”
