N is for... (Checklist Book 14) by L DuBois (best classic books TXT) 📕

jewelry. In her mind, nipples deserved to be adorned with delicate beauty. Not that she didn’t occasionally use thicker bars, especially if she was wearing nipple shields that required a heavier, longer bar in order to stay in place.

She took another deep breath, watching him watch her breasts rise and fall.

“Get rid of the skirt,” he commanded.

She wiggled the roll of fabric down and off. Though it hadn’t been covering more than a one-inch band of skin around her waist, removing it made her feel more exposed. She was naked except for the black thong, which was soaked from her own arousal, and felt like it was stuck to her labia.

“You have lovely breasts.” Daniel sat back. “Hands on your head. I want to see them lifted.”

Lacing her fingers together and resting them on the crown of her head, her breasts now raised and exposed, made her pussy clench with need. It was a little shocking how turned on she was given that he’d barely touched her. Usually it took more physical touch to get her to this point.

Maybe you’re more turned on because this isn’t just a scene. You’re subbing for a man you like and are attracted to.

The thought, the words, made her flinch, and stole some of her pleasure. Embarrassment, and not the fun, sexy kind, took big bites out of her arousal.

“Cold?” Daniel had, apparently, noticed her shiver.

“A little,” she murmured, focused on an internal battle not to fall out of the moment.

“A little what?” he asked.

She missed the warning note in his voice.

“A little cold,” she replied, distracted by panicky thoughts about her attraction to him.

Daniel surged to his feet, his eyes hard and glittering even in the low light of the courtyard. Her own eyes widened as she realized what she’d just done.

He’d been prompting her to add a “Sir” onto that sentence. Not asking her to clarify what her “a little” comment had been in reference to.

Daniel gripped the back of her neck. The tip of his thumb and one finger pressed into the soft spots just under each ear.

He jerked her forward, and in a bid to cool his irritation by being extra submissive she kept her hands on her head, even as he used his hold on her neck to push her down so she was kneeling on the seat of the wide chair.

He forced her upper body forward, and when she tried to angle it so her upper chest and shoulders rested on the back of the chair, he jerked her further forward, so it was her waist that rested on the top of the chair, her upper body extended over the back, breasts dangling. Unable to keep her balance with her arms up, she unlaced her fingers and grabbed hold of the chair, elbows tucked in at her sides.

He released her neck. She took a deep breath, fighting the mingled alarm and excitement that coursed through her.

“I’m sorry, Master Daniel. I was thinking about something else.”

He didn’t reply.

She craned her neck to look at him where he stood beside the chaise, his expression mildly disappointed.

For most subs, that was probably a look men gave them only when they were in a scene. But for her that mild, almost disinterested expression triggered some bad memories. Memories that had nothing to do with this moment, and everything to do with her submission.

Shit, shit, shit.

She closed her eyes and tried to focus on what was going on around her. Let the ambient smells and sounds of the club remind her of where she was and what she could get from being here. It would have been better if she’d been able to see the scene on the stage, but right now all she could see was a massive pot filled with succulents, one of the posts around which the desert roses climbed, and the hard-packed sandy ground.

The sound of a belt being whipped off shocked her back into that needy, submissive place. She twisted in time to see Daniel folding his belt in half, the buckle and tail ends held in his fist, the needy fear of a punishment chasing away her ghosts.

“I’m sorry, Master Daniel.”

“I’m sure you are. And I know you weren’t looking for a punishment, were you? You weren’t trying to be a brat.” He stroked her ass with the belt, gentle caresses with smooth, slick leather.

“I wasn’t, no. I don’t play brat.”

“I didn’t think so. Which almost makes it worse.”

She shifted a little, putting her hands under her stomach so she was resting on them rather than directly on the narrow wooden back. “You prefer brats?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. You weren’t paying attention. You weren’t in the moment, and you should have been.”

Autumn put the tip of her tongue between her teeth to stop herself from saying something that would not help the situation.

He came closer and crouched so he could see her face, and she could see his. His lips twitched. “Does it hurt? Holding back whatever sassy comment you clearly want to make.”

“I said I wasn’t a brat.”

“Brat and sass are two distinctly different things.”

That surprised her. “You think so?”

“I do. And anyone who doesn’t is an idiot. Sassy comments can be done in a bratty way, but pure sassy is rarely also bratty.”

“You’re a connoisseur.”

“I am. And if you’d said ‘a little cold’ in a different tone I might have thought it was brat. But you were distracted. Not in the moment.” He stroked the side of one hanging breast with the back of his finger. “That is as much my fault as yours.”

She never really considered the side of her breast a major erogenous zone. Nipple, of course. Underside? Yes.

Daniel had just proven she was too narrow minded. She felt that gentle stroke, his first time touching her bare breasts, in every part of her body.

“I’m paying attention now.” She’d meant the comment to be dry. It came out breathless.

Daniel laughed as he stood, and it wasn’t some menacing dark chuckle; it