Page 10 of At Her Pleasure
He was playful and had a mouth on him. He never let a little pain—or a lot—stand in the way of using it. Those beautiful upper body muscles were honed by being a talented drummer, doing gigs on Bourbon Street and in the Frenchmen Street clubs. He’d also served some time for assault, bar brawls getting out of hand. He didn’t take shit from anyone and he liked a fight.
He was absolutely her type of sub. Their session was scheduled forty-five minutes from now, so she’d let things build while she caught up with the others.
The booth inhabited by Ros, Abby, Vera and Skye had a good view of the dance floor and the public play stations. Acoustic tiles buffered the VIP area, so conversations didn’t have to be yelled over the music.
Rosalinda Thomas was her boss, CEO and co-founder of Thomas Rose Associates, a successful boutique marketing firm that attracted clients worldwide. Abby was CFO and the other founder. Skye did tech and communications, and Vera handled HR and legal matters. Cyn was VP of accounts.
The five of them made up the company’s executive team who, with TRA’s nearly fifty employees, kept the successes coming and the waiting list for their services expanding.
The women were also all Dommes. Anyone who knew this world would look at them and recognize it.
Cyn slid into the booth next to Vera. The HR exec wore a vintage plum purple suit, the fitted skirt above the knee. Perched on her head was a pill box hat with a half-veil. A double strand of pearls, matching earrings and crocheted lace gloves completed the look. She looked like a black woman prepared to go to church—in the 1930s.
She’d recently let her fade grow out, so her black hair was curly and thick around her face, and fell to her shoulder blades. A half dozen silver rings lined the shell of one ear. Cyn checked out her shoes, purple and white checkered pumps. She wore seamed stockings.
“How many hours did all that take?” Cyn asked.
“When dressing well is a habit, it doesn’t take long,” Vera sniffed. “Though having twenty versions of the same outfit makes it pretty quick, too.”
She angled a pointed glance at Cyn’s silver lace nylon tank that clung to her fit upper body, and black slacks over square-heeled boots. The right boot had an anklet that looked like a pronged choke collar—it was. The boot toes had silver tips.
“Careful, Vera,” Ros said, amused. “She looks in a biting mood.”
“Some serial killers bite,” Vera responded.
“Which is why I never tell you bitches what I do when I’m not here or at work.” Cyn signaled the waitress and the woman acknowledged with a thumbs up. She knew Cyn’s preferred drink. “No accessories after the fact.”
“She’s always looking out for us.” Abby’s catlike eyes twinkled. Her Hollywood starlet beauty—red hair, hourglass body—was a contrast to her head for numbers, which belonged on the neck of a pasty accountant type.
Cyn made a face at her. “So how was the presentation?”
“There was a slide show. With very stimulating graphics.”
With a wicked grin, Skye signed the first statement, using the voice software on her phone for the rest. No one at TRA considered it ironic that a woman who was mute was their tech and communications guru. Skye whimsically traded out celebrity voices on the digital method. She also had a throaty Southern female voice she considered “hers.”
Her looks leaned toward computer hacker sexy. She had a moon-shaped face, and her spiky blond hair, cut short on one side, a straight silky fall on the other, framed sharp dark eyes. She wasn’t fat, but she liked spending time in front of her screens, so her curves had a lush softness.
They’d all learned how to sign with her. When she tag-teamed subs with the other women, it was a useful way of communicating without tipping the submissive off, if they didn’t want him in the loop.
“Some of the public sessions they’re planning are heavier on the pain side,” Ros added. “Mick, the event coordinator, recruits his planning team and volunteers from the membership. I suggested he get your thoughts.”
Cyn frowned. “I’m busy.”
“You can talk to him later this week. There’s time.” Ros lifted a brow. “I thought you’d want to contribute, since you gave that guest presenter on Sadism such a hard time.”
“She said you should stop a session when the sub starts to cry.” Cyn rolled her eyes. “For some subs, the session doesn’t really begin until there are tears.”
“Psychopath,” Vera said pleasantly. “You’ll want to talk to him. He’s nice to look at.”
“A sunset is nice to look at. It’s function that makes a man worth the time. Dom, sub or switch?”
“We couldn’t tell.” Abby rotated her glass of non-alcoholic mango juice, drawing patterns on it with wet fingertips. A toothpick speared through three blackberries served as a garnish.
Cyn lifted a brow. It was rare this group couldn’t recognize a person’s power exchange preference.
“The information wasn’t offered.” Ros’s blue eyes gleamed with speculation. Those eyes could make a man lose his train of thought or turn his balls to ice, depending on her mood toward him. Her intimidating professional demeanor, the successful CEO who’d come to New Orleans from the New York corporate world, only added to it.
She also adored shoes. Her shoe closet was a bigger investment than her Garden District home. Cyn might tease her about it, but damn, the bitch wore some great ones. Tonight’s were pointed-toe slingback stilettos, with color blocked ivory and black squares that matched her snug black skirt and ivory blouse. Her white-blond hair with dark tips curled up at the shoulders.