Page 79 of At Her Pleasure

Moving to the table, Cyn picked up a bottle of water, cracking it open and taking a drink. When she lowered the bottle, Mick stood outside the Pit, watching her.

Magnetism was the only way to describe how drawn she was to him, and him to her. It had been there from the first, and it was even stronger now. Call that whatever anyone wanted to; she couldn’t explain it, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to deny it. Or deny herself.

Sexual tension had taken a hit on the patio, but the chance she could have called this off and hadn’t, had twisted itself into the mix, bringing it back up again. She wanted him at her mercy, but had no intention of giving him any.

Give me a fight I can win.

You won’t win this fight.

In this mode, her instincts were heightened. He wanted to be here, wanted to give her more, but he was going to try and hold part of himself back.

Too late, motherfucker. When you get into the ring with me, nothing’s off limits.

“It’ll be fine,” she murmured, to no one in particular. “I’ve got you.”

Anticipation overflowed. While yes, she mostly shut out awareness of her audience, the energy of their expectations enhanced her own. They weren’t sure what they were going to see, but knew it was going to be intense.

She gestured to him to come over the wall and join her.

He was evaluating her body language, same as she was doing to him. They circled one another, two cats prowling. It reminded her of the straw maze primal play. A faint smile touched his face, as if he was remembering it, too.

No wrestling tonight. She came to a stop. So did he. She crooked a finger at him to bring him closer as she stopped her music player.

“What scares you, Mick? Tell me.”

The scene wouldn’t officially begin until she gave Olivia that cue. Regardless, the seating area outside the Pit quieted down, people straining to hear the exchange.

His blue eyes held hers. “You don’t give a shit what scares me, Mistress. You want to know what hurts. What will hurt me the most.”

The jagged edge was there, like the glass she’d cut him with. Yeah, he was ready for a fight. Some of the most volatile ones happened with only words, a look. A touch.

“Pain can be enhanced by fear,” she noted. “Salt and pepper to my food, adding to its flavor.”

“You don’t need my help to do your job.”

She tilted her head toward the cross. Not a St. Andrew’s X. This was like the kind they wore. Bolts welded to the arms were attachment points for restraints.

He’d picked up on the symbolism, his gaze moving to the only jewelry she wore tonight, her skeleton necklace. “Going to keep me on it until I’m nothing but bones?”

“If that was a concern, you shouldn’t have entered the circle. Stand before the cross, facing it. Put your hands on the horizontal piece, arms out.”

A tip of his head and he headed that way. His insolent swagger had the crowd murmuring, exchanging amused or perplexed looks, eagerness building.

The challenge was intended to goad her. It did. He was saying he could stay ahead of her.

Keep telling yourself that.

She affected disinterest in the attitude as she moved to the table and removed the covering over her tools. Several knives were there, plus some of the items she’d had at the warehouse and other options she hadn’t.

Her hand moved over her favorite strap-on. The front panel was studded with quarter-inch spikes. As she shoved the phallus into a man’s ass, they would puncture his buttocks, forming a grid of small wounds.

She likely wouldn’t fuck him in front of an audience, but the table was within his view to drive his reaction. She let the creative process kick in, considering each item’s impact upon Mick, how his body, mind and deeper levels would respond to them.

Seeing a man waiting for her, fully dressed, ready to be bound, raised the heat. It was almost time to ring the bell and let the fight begin.

He was humming. “Gone, Gone, Gone” again. His hands rested along the cross’s horizontal piece as she’d ordered, arms stretched out straight, fingers gripping the top edge. He had his feet aligned on either side of the anchored bottom post, about a foot between them.

With a half smile, she fished out her ear buds and put them in his ears, tucking her phone in the top of the corset, against his flat pectoral, caressing him there. She backed it up to “Where the Devil Won’t Go” and adjusted the volume down. He could hear the song, but he could also hear Cyn.