Why am I here? I've asked myself this question since my plane landed in California. This woman is driving me insane. I wake up almost nightly from dreams where my fingers are caught in her incredible hair, her head tipped back, and my lips a whisper from hers. My hard-on pulses to some unknown beat that only this woman orchestrates.
I'm Damian Collins. I have everything-more money than I could spend in several lifetimes, friends who support me, and women to dominate and fulfil my every fantasy. Actually, it's a dangerous combination. The amount of personal wealth I've amassed means the world is my playground and I can buy anything, and I mean anything. I have a friend who fights against human sex trafficking because of men in my situation who don't hold themselves to higher principles.
The flurries of Mistress Lydia entered my private world and I've been on a mission since. I admit I was only intrigued at first. Then, I wanted her working for me. Now, for the damnedest reason, I just want her. It makes no sense and this type of obsession is dangerous.
Hell.
Seeing her kiss the sub sent a wave of jealousy trough me. I'm never fucking jealous. I have over twenty photos of Lydia, collected by my private investigator, while she's in the club and when she's away from it. I've stared at them for hours trying to figure out what it is about her that makes me want her so much. Meeting her in person only proves that every Goddess rumor is true. Her reputation as a beautiful dominant who can bring almost anyone to their knees is also true and I resent the fact that I want to drop to mine. This isn't me. I put the gear shift in control freak and I dominate, period.
Oh, I've played the other card because a true dominant needs to understand what it means to give up control. I wasn't very good at it then and I wouldn't be now. Even for her. So why the hell do I want her?
Female dominants have it hard enough. I know this and have seen it with my own eyes. They aren't taken seriously in so many circles. This woman breathes exactly who and what she is. So, again, why the fuck is my cock hard and my brain begging for a chance to slip my dick in between her hot lips?
My thoughts return to the sub who left. I'm a man. Two women kissing is fucking sexy or at least usually it is. I wanted to tear that little subby away, rest my head in Lydia's lap, and grind her lips down against mine. The second kiss Lydia gave the sub didn't matter. That was for show. And why did Lydia feel the need to show me anything?
I read the contempt in her eyes. I also see something else. I would be stupid to consider it desire. So what the hell is it? I can't believe she gave in this easily. I inhale deeply as she walks by. My cock chimes in with a sudden jolt at her scent. Sweat and desire are mixed with a unique fragrance that is hard to place. They say the sense of smell is the last to go. I will never forget this combination and will fucking jack off to the memory as soon as I have the chance.
"After you, Lydia," I say when she hesitates to enter the club proper. I want to see her ass. I want to imagine driving my cock deep and listening to her moan. I want to think the scent of desire she carries is for me. I just plain fucking want this woman.
***
Lydia
I keep my office brighter than the low-to-no light in the main part of the club. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust after I walk in. Unfortunately, this isn't a good thing. I often think blindness would be better than looking at these crappy surroundings. The darkness does nothing to hide the sleazy atmosphere.
I figure Johnny shopped at the BDSM equivalent of a garage sale or he gathered donations off curbsides where people hoped someone could benefit from their castoffs. Slimy surroundings go hand in hand with my slimy ex-boss.
I'm finished with putting up with his shit and finished wondering why I stay. He basically sold me. I don't care if we have a working relationship-nothing I've done would give him the audacity to think he could sell my time. But he did, the bastard.
Damian doesn't touch me as I walk past, but he uses his large frame to crowd my body on purpose. The man has nerve and entirely too much alpha sex appeal. I cast an angry glare at a group of subs sitting on a garish couch with their mouths hanging open while they watch the man behind me. Too bad I won't be around to give a little discipline. I notice one of my regulars, Molly, sitting with them. Like a good sub, she keeps her eyes down. She's pretty and overweight by about fifty pounds. I'm sure she wouldn't make it past the door of Mr. Edible's exclusive, ultra-rich, private club. If I still weighed over two hundred pounds, I wouldn't be in this stupid predicament. Mr. Crocodile Teeth would want nothing to do with me. Maybe I'll eat a cherry tart tonight. Hell, maybe I'll eat two.
I take a deep breath and as much as I hate to admit it, I am pissed at being forced to leave this smelly, seedy place that is my second home. It's where I can be myself and not worry that I'm too brash for a woman or even too smart. The club might be the sleazy equivalent of a porn arcade but it holds all the memories of finding my niche in this world.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Johnny. I turn toward him, but a strong hand wraps around my forearm. Electricity pulses across my skin. Damian's hand is hot and dry on my sweaty flesh. He not so gently leads me away from the hairy balls that need my knee. "I'd like a word with my boss," I say while trying to unobtrusively pull away. The subs are watching and the fact only pisses me off more.
"No." His fingers tighten. "And if you cause a scene I'll pick you up and carry you over my shoulder. Your choice." His words leave no way to misinterpret the meaning. He's using his Dom voice too.
I come to a sudden stop and his grasp on my arm actually hurts. I look up into the dark eyes that hold a promise-he would enjoy my humiliation. No one tops me outside of my bedroom. This Neanderthal Romeo can't know that. He has no idea what my sexual peculiarities are. He only knows I'm dominant. Why does he think he can control me? I'm completely fed up and if Johnny is getting rid of me and won't send backup to help, I need to handle this myself.
Using my body, I step into Mr. Deluxe Dimples, and in perfect textbook Self Defense 101, I grab his arm, tip my shoulder, and bend at the waist. Taking another step in, I twist and lean to the side sending Mr. Tall, Dark, and Airborne flying. The entire move takes less than two seconds. Before he makes a solid thump against the cheap carpet, I'm heading out the front door just daring the bouncers to stop me.
I clear the entrance, debating if now is a good time to run. I'm not concerned about what's ahead of me-I'm terrified by what I left behind. I cast a quick look over my shoulder.
"Are you Ms. Simmons?"
Shit. I can't help my startled squeal. Two hundred and fifty pounds of double trouble stands before me leaning against a black limousine. I am so fucking screwed. At that moment, Mr. Maniac comes through the door. His dimples are no longer on display. I'm guessing he didn't enjoy looking like a fool in front of a bunch of subs.
His voice is deadly. "If she gets away, you're fired."
There isn't time to run because ham hocks wrap tightly around my arms and lift me off the ground.
"Toss her in the back seat," Mr. Airborne snaps.
"You son of a bitch, this is kidnapping," I yell. It's not like anyone will notice, but I'm too upset to think past what's happening. I'm scared and it pisses me off more if that's even possible. I kick my foot back and Mr. Muscleman Number Two lets out a grunt.
The car door opens and a not-so-gentle hand pushes me between my shoulder blades. I'm wearing knee-high black boots and a short black leather mini skirt with a red thong beneath. My knees hit the side of the limo and I fall forward with my ass in the air. A solid hand slaps down across my displayed cheeks and I scramble inside. I crawl to the far corner and sit on the same aforementioned body part.
I am beyond furious and like many women would be, even a dominant one, I'm at the point of tears. Things are not pretty when I cry. Biting my tongue finally causes enough pain to hold back the emotion. I think about screaming at the top of my lungs to release the panic eating me alive but Mr. Moron and his muscle-bound sidekick would only get pleasure out of my loss of control.
The front door of the car slams and we immediately roll forward, picking up speed as we turn out of the parking lot. I catch a quick glimpse of Raul rushing out the door and watching the tail end of my kidnapping. I turn my head toward my nemesis. If this is his idea of a job interview, he's insane.
I have repeatedly turned down the offers to work at Club El Diablo even though it's the most exclusive private sex club in the country. Raul thinks I'm a fool but at the MC, I run things my way. I choose my subs based on my needs and theirs. I also understand that poor self-esteem brings many men and women into this lifestyle. I meet the desires of the needy and I put up with fast-fingered Johnny because the MC fills an empty hole inside of me.
I want nothing to do with slapping my whip against the asses of the rich and lazy who think their shit doesn't stink. I sit in my corner of the limo fuming for about sixty seconds.
"Where are you taking me?" I finally demand grudgingly.
He doesn't immediately answer. A typical Dom response-build the tension and let the little sub know who's in charge. I grit my teeth and breathe deeply through my nose to control myself.
I can't see his dark eyes in the shadowed back seat, but his tone when he speaks sends shivers down my spine. "My plan was to take you to dinner, but quite truthfully I'm now thinking my private suite would be the best place to put you across my knee and redden the rest of your sweet ass."
I inhale sharply, unable to keep the sound from escaping. Damn, my panties will start leaking soon. They're barely a scrap of material as it is. I'll leave a huge wet spot on the car seat and Mr. Beckoning Balls will see exactly what he does to me.
I sit up straight and clench my fists so hard I know my fingernails will leave marks on my palms. "You seem to have me mistaken for one of your subs. If you think you can beat me into accepting your job offer, you'll be disappointed."