Page 14 of At Her Pleasure
She didn’t turn around, but she tilted her head in his direction without capturing him in her gaze. “I have a session,” she said.
His breath fluttered against the side of her neck. “I’ll wait for you, Mistress. As long as it takes.”
She walked away.
* * *
Well, goddamn. Mick watched her go, with hip action a mermaid would envy and the don’t-fuck-with-me attitude of a mob boss.
When Rosalinda Thomas had said he should talk to one of Progeny’s sexual sadists, Cynbad Marigold, a shiver had dragged up his spine like female fingernails.
Until he’d left Jersey himself, he’d tended Cissy’s grave. Cissy Marigold. It hadn’t been hard to find her sister’s name. Cynbad “Cyn” Marigold. She had a sheet, but not as extensive as he’d expected. One offense. Stealing, age eleven. She’d taken off from a mini-mart with some groceries, including baby formula.
In the desk sergeant’s notes, a handicapped older sister— mildly mentally impaired and with an underdeveloped arm, half the size of the other—had come to get her. Cissy. She’d brought the store’s owner with her. Maybe because of that and Cyn’s age, and the precinct having way bigger crimes to handle, Cyn had been released.
Nothing else after that. And nothing after the night Mick met her, confirming his hope she’d left the area.
He'd never expected to cross paths with her again. He’d contented himself with the potential and possibilities of her happily-ever-after. With what he’d done with his life since then, it was better to leave it that way.
But seeing her again? She’d surpassed his best fantasies.
When he came up behind her in the hallway, he had his first close look, though he’d caught tempting glimpses of her on the dance floor, winding among the sensual sea of humanity. Pressing up against a man who made Mick’s hackles rise in territorial reaction.
She wore black slacks and a snug silver lace tank with a mesh back. Black bra. He bet during a session she stripped it off, letting the tight points press against the lace. A sub would be tempted to look without permission, giving her a reason to swoop in and tear him a new one.
When he’d patted her down in her loose jeans, she’d had a narrow ass. It was still narrow, but the cheeks had rounded and looked damn good. Two nice handfuls for a man with palms his size.
Her dark brown hair now shone, the abundant curls falling to her shoulders in artful disarray. He couldn’t see the gang tattoo, but he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d had it removed, no trace left other than some subtle pigment difference. A person would have to know about it to realize anything had been there. Had the scar on her stomach faded as she’d said it would?
When she’d tilted her head in his direction, he’d seen a flash of a brown eye through the strands of those curls, and a pert, fox-shaped face. He remembered her feral look. Seeing a hint of it still there made his body hot and tight. He wanted to go after her, get on the hunt.
And goddamn, she still used baby shampoo. Or something that smelled an awful lot like it.
If she’d grown up soft and girly, he wouldn’t feel so gut punched. But everything he’d imagined her becoming, shaped by his own selfish desires and needs, she’d become.
She looked like she could give a man the fight of his life.
The room she disappeared into was private, no viewing window. He couldn’t watch, couldn’t see the kind of Domme she was. Fuck, he didn’t really need to, did he? His throbbing dick already knew.
She hadn’t turned around. He wanted her to see him. Look at him. Before the night was over, he was going to make sure she did.
Then he’d know what to do next.
CHAPTER FOUR
Since her preferred submissives were hardcore masochists, Cyn could be in a bitch of a mood. It made the session more of what they both wanted. She could feed off the man’s willingness to take it, to please her, and bring herself balance again.
As she pursued all the things she’d anticipated doing to Sy, like any good session, it expanded into even more. When it was done, he was quiet and hazy, the smart mouth conquered like his body had been.
She sat in a chair, him on the floor next to her, leaning against her leg because she’d decided to allow that. She wanted hard male flesh against her strumming nerves. She hadn’t given Sy the privilege of her orgasm tonight.
She’d dropped a damp towel on his thigh and put a bottle of water next to him, as well as a small cooler. She watched him clean himself with still trembling fingers.
If she did a session with someone who needed more touchy-feely aftercare, she had backup Mistresses willing to do that. Before Tiger, Skye had been her go-to, since she liked cuddling. Now Vera handled it, if she wasn’t otherwise occupied. If she was, there were staff subs Cyn trusted for the task.
To the unaware, it might not make sense, the type of sub who wanted the meanest Domme for his session, but craved aftercare in the opposite direction. But if a person tried to make sense of everything that drove people to be what they were, that shit would make them crazy.
The point wasn’t figuring out why; it was accepting it and determining which man’s interests best matched her own. If he challenged Cyn how she desired during a session, did his job and satisfied her, she’d ensure he had what he needed, too.