on edge.
It reminded him, as nothing else could, what an eternal pain in the ass she was and always had been.
“Oh,” she said carelessly, as if this was a chance meeting at some desperately boring society event. Some overdressed, overstuffed ball or other. “Hi, Dorian.”
He knew distantly how he ought to feel about this. Unamused, certainly. Even annoyed, because this was a complication he hadn’t foreseen and Dorian liked surprises only when he could control their outcome. Which was to say, he didn’t like surprises. His childhood had cured him of that. He should have been thinking through how best to break the news to Conrad—and, of course, how quickly he could bundle Erika out of the club, into some decent clothes, and then dispatch her back to wherever it was she had come from. He knew that was what Conrad would have wanted.
He knew how he should feel, but instead, the things that beat in him were all too familiar…for very different reasons. She looked flushed and ready, her feet bare and her skin exposed, her pretty breasts thrust toward him while she fought to catch her breath. She looked like a brand-new submissive in the grip of the frenzy that often made them adorably reckless. She looked good enough to eat.
And Dorian might have found himself jaded and restless of late—wondering if it was time to stop playing and start thinking about settling down into the life his grandfather wanted for him, and wanted to see before he died—but a pretty blonde submissive with that particular hot awe in her eyes and a slight tremble to her lips…
Well. He wasn’t dead yet.
“Try again,” he suggested softly.
She shifted from foot to foot again, and it took every bit of his considerable willpower to keep his hands to himself. But Dorian was anything but newly minted. He knew very well the power in simply…waiting. Expectantly.
He studied her as he did, wondering how it was he’d never paid such close attention to Conrad’s little sister before…
But even as he thought that, he knew that wasn’t true. He’d certainly seen her when she’d turned up in a backless gown at his grandfather’s charity ball in Athens one year, enlivening an otherwise staid and boring gala. There had been that split second when he hadn’t known who she was, but he’d wrestled that under control. And done nothing more than chastise her a little.
He certainly hadn’t let her get him hard.
The Conrad’s-little-sister part, of course, had always governed his reactions to her, as well it should. He had to be ten years older than her. But when had she become this lush? With all that smooth, apparently blemish-free skin that made his mouth water as he considered how best to leave his mark—
No. She’s Conrad little sister. She might as well be yours.
But that thought didn’t really land. It certainly didn’t impress his cock.
Because he could remember that dress much too distinctly. Erika had worn it for the precise purpose of rendering her brother apoplectic, that much was clear. Dorian remembered murmuring something soothing to his friend, likely about the established brattiness of younger sisters—not that he had any personal experience in that area. Then he’d glanced over and found his eyes drawn to the mouthwatering line of a beautiful woman’s graceful back, bared entirely by a dress that flirted with the curve of her ass.
He could remember it in stark, unwavering detail. Even now, years later.
Maybe he’d seen Erika all along.
That night it had taken one second, maybe less, before he realized he was looking at precisely the dress that had his friend in fits. One second before he’d understood he was looking at Erika. He’d sternly reminded himself that Erika was ever and only a brat. Ungrateful, immature. Forever embroiled in her juvenile attempts to poke at Conrad. Pigtails. Freckles. Stuck in amber at ten years old.
That was how he knew her. It was the only way he knew her.
But now his cock was heavy, she was in his club, and he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t eyed her then exactly the same way he did now. Like a dessert he couldn’t wait to get his teeth in.
A sweet little bite he wanted to taste. Over and over again.
Some men saw a pretty thing and wanted to lock it away in a tower somewhere. Dorian, on the other hand, wanted to mess it up. But only if she begged.
He almost had to adjust himself.
“This is so funny,” she was saying, brazening her way through this in a way he almost had to admire. She squared her shoulders and held his gaze boldly, as if she was up to any challenge he might put to her. Which he doubted very much. “What a surprise to run into you, of all people. I’m in town for the weekend. One of my friends was talking about his favorite clubs a month or so ago and I couldn’t resist checking them all out. There’s one in Singapore that—”
“Do not lie to me, please.” His voice sliced across hers and stopped her dead. “You’re well aware I live in Berlin.”
She dared to roll her eyes at him, and Dorian’s brows rose in sheer astonishment. He couldn’t recall the last time a submissive in this club—or anywhere else, for that matter—had presumed to treat him with such blatant disrespect. They were usually far too intimidated. He should have been furious. He was. But even so, that spark in him bloomed into a hotter, darker fire.
“It’s a big city, Dorian,” she declared, lifting the stubborn chin that anchored her heart-shaped face—and he really should not have been noticing things like that about her. “I had no idea that if I wanted to find you, which I didn’t, all I had to do was poke my head into the nearest den of iniquity.”
“No one pokes their head into Walfreiheit. You had to wait in line. You had to be dressed appropriately, yet evocatively. And then you have to make it past Mistress Olga, who has an unerring eye for posers and too-casual visitors. Would you like to try telling the truth?” Her lips parted, and he enjoyed watching her cast around for an answer. And enjoyed it even more when she didn’t. “My mistake, Erika. I assumed this must be some kind of social call. That you’d come here to seek me out specifically.”
“Of course not.” But the pulse in her neck told him otherwise. Interesting. “Why would I? I already know that you’re Team Conrad. I prefer to avoid his minions whenever possible.” Again, that reckless smile. “You know how it is.”
He understood she was trying to provoke him. And she was—only not in the way she likely imagined.
“How fortunate, then, that you should run into a familiar face,” he said quietly. “In the midst of your heretofore unknown exploration of power exchanges in all their glory. I had no idea you were hiding a thirst for submission beneath your fluffy, spoiled exterior.”
Her eyes widened further. She started to say something, but it came out as a breath instead. He liked it. Poor little submissive girl. So afraid of what she wanted.
Dorian needed to remind himself that she wasn’t just another new submissive. She was Conrad’s baby sister. And this couldn’t happen.
But he didn’t walk away.
“Well,” she said nervously. “I mean, I can’t say that I wanted to see a familiar face here. Nobody wants to see a familiar face when they’re watching a grown man whip a naked woman until she…”
Her voice petered out. Dorian only watched her, keeping his expression just this side of a scowl until she flushed again.
“Until she came,” he supplied. “And so did you.” He smiled faintly when her throat worked, but no sound came forth. “If this is not a specific social call, that means you are here to play like anyone else. And I regret to inform you that you have already shown me entirely too much disrespect.”
“What are you talking about? You’re the one who followed me down a dark hallway to loom over me and frown dramatically. Maybe you should