“You have an amazing crop collection, looks like.” He nodded toward a wall where at least twenty different riding crops hung.
“I do. Go get one for me. Any crop you like. I’ll show you a trick.”
He rose and went to the wall of riding crops. Nora watched him as he scanned the options.
“Do you mind if I...?”
“Be my guest.”
He pulled a crop down and held it in one hand flat on his palm. Then with both hands he gripped either end and bent it. He hung it back on the wall and did the same thing to the next crop. Interesting. He was testing them for their give. The looser the crop, the less it hurt when struck with it. The tighter the crop, the less yield to it, the more it hurt. She had some crops that were a step up from a wet noodle and others that were barely a step down from a rattan cane, a toy that could split the skin and put a sub in the hospital if used incorrectly. Not that she would ever do that. Not unless someone prepaid for it.
“That black one with the white braiding has a steel spine under the leather,” she said. “Hurts like fuck. So does that solid red one. Both of them are vicious.”
“I like vicious.” He pulled down the solid red one and tried to bend it. It had almost no give to it.
He brought it back to the throne and sat again at Nora’s feet.
“My lady,” he said and handed her the crop.
“Lady? In here? No ladies allowed in my dungeon.”
She took the crop in her right hand.
“I would never argue with the Mistress,” Lance said, watching her twirl the crop like a baton over the right arm of the throne. It had taken her three solid months of practice before she mastered the twirl. “But I do see a lady in this room, the most beautiful lady I’ve seen in a long time. She’s strong, smart and completely comfortable with who and what she is. She also understands the men who want to serve at her feet.”
“I’m going to beat the shit out of you tonight and fuck you. And then probably fuck you again, and you call me a lady?”
“Yes, Mistress. Nothing unladylike about any of that. Not in my eyes.”
Nora caught her crop and let it slide down between her fingers until she caught it by the handle.
She leaned forward and put the end of the crop handle under Lance’s chin, forcing his mouth to meet her mouth. Their lips hovered only an inch apart.
“You know what, Lance? I think I like your eyes.”
Just to be sadistic, Nora stayed there for a few unnecessary seconds, letting Lance feel her breath against his lips before she moved forward, closed the gap between them and kissed him. The kiss started soft and careful but quickly turned passionate. She slipped her tongue into his mouth and bit his top lip. Even as the kiss deepened, grew hungrier, Lance stayed on his knees and kept his hands to himself. He wouldn’t touch her without permission. Someone had trained this man and trained him well.
With reluctance she pulled back from Lance. She’d almost forgotten how much she loved kissing a man. She had sex mostly with women lately, a nice break from the male clients she dealt with all day long. When was the last time she’d even kissed a man on the mouth? A month ago? Two? It would have been Kingsley, right? The last man she’d kissed? And he hadn’t had a session with her in weeks. Kissing Lance, she realized how much she missed the feel of soft stubble on her skin, missed the sense of power restrained. If she didn’t stop kissing him now, they’d end up making out all night instead of doing what she really wanted to do.
“Take your shirt off,” she ordered. Lance hesitated. “Shy?” she asked.
“Not really. But I have some scars. Fair warning.”
“I don’t mind scars. Show me, Sailor. That’s an order.”
He sat back on his heels and with one easy tug pulled his shirt up and off. Any other man would have simply tossed it on the floor, but he took the three extra seconds to fold it neatly before setting it at her feet like an offering. If she hadn’t known he was military before, that would have done it.
“I don’t see many scars.” She looked and saw only a few random healed cuts here and there.
“Wrong side,” he said.
Nora raised her eyebrow. She gripped him by the back of neck and pulled him forward. At the base of his spine she saw a thick mass of scar tissue.
“Damn. Bullet wound?” she asked.
“IED. Got hit with shrapnel. Looks ugly but it didn’t hit the spine.”
“Does it cause you any issues I need to know about?”
Lance narrowed his eyes at her.
“The scar doesn’t bother you, Mistress?”
She shrugged. “One of my best clients is riddled with bullet wounds. I just need to know if it gives you any pain or other issues that would impede or change our play.”
“Just a little nerve damage in that area.”
“Understood. I won’t play anywhere near the scars then. Easy enough.”
“I’m glad you’re okay with the scars. I haven’t really been...it’s been a while.”
“You have a gorgeous body, Lance. I don’t say that to everyone. Just people with gorgeous bodies. I am a little shocked by one thing, however. Where are your tats? I can’t believe I have a seaman in here with no tattoos,” she teased as she caressed his bare chest with her fingertips.
“I don’t need ink to advertise my service, Mistress. I know what I am. The Navy knows what I am. You know what I am. No one else needs to know.”
She raised her eyebrow at him.
“Well, damn,” she said.
“Something wrong, Mistress?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
The caress turned into a scratch as she ran her fingernails over the sensitive skin of his upper chest. She dug in a little deeper and left four red trails in his flesh. As she scratched he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, offering more of himself to her touch.
“Stand up. Go to the cross. Face it.”
His years of military service had turned the man into an order-obeying machine. He came right to his feet, swiftly but without unnecessary or graceless expediency. He walked to the cross and stood facing it.
“So obedient...I need more of you boys in my life. I only have a couple military clients. One Air Force pilot. One Marine. Some kind of officer. Nice guy. Loves getting his balls flogged.”
“Sounds like the definition of being in the Marines to me.”
“I need a Coastie. I haven’t done nearly enough boat kink.”
“I have a friend in the Coast Guard. I’ll get you his number.”
“I’d rather have your number, Lance. Pick a number between one and one hundred. Take your time to decide. I need to pick a whip.”
Nora left him standing in front of the cross as she perused her single-tail collection.
“You’re not going to tell me what I’m picking, Mistress?”
“Nope.”
“Fifty.”
Nora smiled as she picked out one of her heavier single-tails.
“Smart. Split the difference. I might be having you pick out how many minutes we play in my bed tonight or I might be forcing you to choose how many lashes you get with this nasty bitch.” She let the whip flick the cross about six inches from Lance’s shoulder. She missed on purpose, hoping to see if he’d jump.