“Another drink, Sir?”

Startled out of his reverie by the softness of a woman’s voice, Niles Malloy looked over the rim of his empty glass.

Brandy, one of the house’s submissives, stood in front of him, her legs close together, her chest thrust forward in an oh-so sexy way.

Had he been so lost in thought that he hadn’t heard her approach?

Or were her movements so graceful and perfect that she’d managed to silently cross the Den’s patio?

Given her seductively high stilettos, he doubted the latter.

Her long blonde hair flowed over her shoulders and tumbled down her back. Her short, slinky black dress covered everything, and she seemed more intriguing because of it. The material clung to her, highlighting her ample breasts, trim waist, and curvy bottom.

This woman—sub—appealed to every one of his masculine sensibilities.

Her legs were alluringly bare, and her black heels emphasized the feminine shape of her ankles.

For a moment, he fantasized about placing her on her back, removing her shoes then stroking his fingers against her instep before applying a cane to the soles of her feet.

He shook his head to banish the image.

It had been years since he’d played with a woman in anything other than a detached way. In fact, it hadn’t happened since the death of his wife and the unraveling of the devastating secrets she’d hidden.

But right now, he was thinking about touching Brandy in a way meant for their mutual satisfaction.

“Sir?” she asked, tipping her head. “Master Niles?”

The motion swept her hair to the side, snaring his interest.

Her locks were long enough to be used as part of a hot bondage scene.

“Would you prefer to be alone, Sir?”

“Actually, no.” His answer surprised him.

A month ago, he’d declined the invitation to tonight’s party.

Every fall, Master Damien hosted a get-together for Doms and Dommes who had been members of the Den for at least seven years.

The group was small, select, and they gathered to play poker, sip the finest single malt on the planet, enjoy conversation and, if they chose, scene with house subs.

Not many people availed themselves of the playrooms, however, as most were in relationships, and this exclusive gathering focused on socializing, which was not his strong suit.

This year, Damien had pestered Niles to the point of annoyance.

Despite his reluctance and tired of too damn much time at home by himself, Niles had agreed.

But after half an hour of mindless white lies, telling his friends and acquaintances that he was well, he’d made his escape to the solitude of the patio.

He’d dragged a chair close to the crackling firepit to enjoy the sunset. Today had been a mild day, and summer was breathing her last gasps before surrendering to the inevitable shorter, colder, bleaker days.

Brandy, a natural submissive, rather than one who’d been trained for it, cast her gaze down at the ground before looking up at him. “I never said thank you for what happened at the last Ladies’ Night.”

“No thanks necessary,” he assured her. “Any Dom would have done the same thing.”

There was an occasional assumption among new Doms that subs wearing the house’s purple wristband welcomed any attention. A first-time visitor had made that error with Brandy.

Master Damien had not served alcoholic beverages at Ladies’ Night, opting for froufrou, sugar-laced, umbrella-topped drinks that the women seemed to like. But that hadn’t stopped the guest from drinking before he’d arrived.

Even when Brandy had used the Den’s safe word, the asshole had continued on, forcing her to her knees and shoving his dick in her mouth.

Noticing her distress, Niles had stepped in.

“You were my hero, Sir.”

“I don’t know about that.” He’d enjoyed throwing the sonofabitch out the front door. The physical altercation had dissipated some of the angst churning in his gut, emotion he wouldn’t have been able to get rid of otherwise.

If Master Damien or anyone else had witnessed the uppercut Niles had delivered to the guy’s jaw, no one had mentioned it.

Seeing his own bruised knuckles the next day had satisfied Niles deeply, but it wasn’t nearly as rewarding as seeing the current, exquisite expression of gratitude on Brandy’s face.

He rolled the empty glass between his palms, keeping his hands busy so he didn’t yield to the temptation to reach out and touch her.

After all, he didn’t have the right.

Cocking his head to one side, he studied her.

Though he’d seen her around the Den for years, he knew next to nothing about her. She was always unfailingly obedient, but she didn’t stand out. No wonder Damien continued to have her at his events.

She met his eyes, then she shifted.

Very much not like her.

“Something on your mind, Brandy?” he asked.

Gently, she released a breath. “If you’d like to go to one of the private rooms, Sir, I’m available.”

His cock hardened.

Her pretty blue eyes were wide open, and she gave him a quick smile that slammed into his solar plexus.

Fuck it all.

Why had he never appreciated how attractive she was?

Maybe because you’re not the type I usually go for.

Niles stood over six feet tall, and his deceased wife had looked him in the eye when she had donned the heels he liked. She’d been runway-model thin, with deep brown eyes, and raven hair styled in a sleek, no-nonsense bob.

The two women couldn’t have been any more different.

Hopefully in many more ways, as well.

Suddenly, the thought of bending Brandy over, making her scream as she came, stoked every one of his dominant urges.

Still, he didn’t want to scene just because she had a misplaced sense of gratitude. “You owe me nothing.”

“I think you misunderstand, Sir. It’s an invitation.” She linked her hands at her back.

Interesting. If he wasn’t mistaken, she’d tucked her hands out of sight so he couldn’t see the way she was fidgeting.

“I’m afraid I am being too bold,” she said, momentarily casting her gaze at the ground. “Forgive me.”

So she was nervous, and he understood why.

Though she was often summoned to the dungeon to play, he was certain she initiated few, if any, of the scenes, and suddenly he wanted to soothe and reassure her. “I respect a woman who asks for what she wants.”

As he stood, he put down his glass.

Brandy—so very perfect—didn’t glance up.

He placed his forefinger beneath her chin and gently tipped her head back, and their gazes met in a collision of need and desire.

Oh hell. You are perfect.

She smelled of cinnamon with a tangy undercurrent of arousal. The spicy scent intrigued him, consuming him with sensual fire. “I’d be honored.”

The answering slow, sensuous curve of her lips melted ice from his emotions. “After you,” he encouraged, dropping his hand.

Once she’d scooped up his glass, she started toward the main house.

Her curvy hips swayed from side to side, not in an exaggerated movement, but with a natural, feminine grace.

He couldn’t look away.

Responding to a male instinct as old as time to mark her as his, he placed his fingers against the small of her back.

Gregorio—the Den’s caretaker and Damien Lowell’s second in command—opened the patio doors for them.

“We’ll be availing ourselves of one of the playrooms,” Niles informed him.

Obviously surprised by the news, Gregorio drew his dark eyebrows together.

“I see.” He accepted the glass from Brandy and spoke directly to her. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Niles gritted his teeth. “I’ll take good care of her.”

“See that you do,” Gregorio replied, sparing Niles a glance.

The man’s overt concern annoyed the hell out of Niles. He might not have participated in a personal scene in years, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be trusted.

With a nod toward the watchful Gregorio, Niles guided Brandy through the kitchen then down the stairs that led to Damien’s elaborate dungeon.

Then it occurred to him that there might be something he didn’t know.

He’d been so lost in his own past that he wasn’t being considerate enough of Brandy. “Gregorio is very protective of you,” he observed once he’d guided her to private corner.

“I’m a friend, in addition to being an employee he’s responsible for,” she replied.

Niles studied the emotion in her eyes. “Anything special I need to know about?”

“No, Sir.”

“Any preference on which room you’d like to use?” Niles owned a production company that often filmed at the Den. He knew the rooms well, all the apparatus that was available in each, as well as all of the implements he could use on her pretty body.

“Sir?”

Clearly she expected him to make the decisions.

Under normal circumstances, he would. But this evening was anything but ordinary. “This was your suggestion,” he reminded her. “So I’m betting you have an idea or two about what you’d like to have happen.”

“In that case, Sir…”

Her soft smile knocked him on his ass.

“First door on the right,” she finished.

Pleased with her answer, he grinned. “Most excellent.”

Because of its sparseness, this was one of his favorite playrooms. A hook hung from the ceiling, and a chair stood off to one side, tucked beneath a padded bench. The far wall was dominated by crops, whips, floggers, and a tawse handcrafted by Master Marcus.

As with all the rooms, there was a small sink and counter, and a cupboard stocked with necessities, including wipes, lube, condoms, and towels.

After he’d grabbed them each a bottle of water from the bar, they entered the space.

He paused to close the door, sealing them in relative privacy.

At the Den, all private rooms had a small, square window so that Gregorio, Damien, or a House Monitor could observe any scene.

The lack of total seclusion added a layer of security that Niles appreciated.

When he turned back to her, Brandy was kneeling in the middle of the room, head bowed, hands on her thighs.

Niles owned a production company, and he was one of the Dominants that was often on screen for the scenes.

The subs—male and female—that he professionally topped were actors and models. Each act was scripted and choreographed, and every response was exploited to ensure maximum effect.

Screaming, whimpering, and begging were all expected from the participants—after all, no one wanted to pay money for a download in which the spankee was silent.

Brandy, too, submitted for a living, but there were no cameras, directors, or second takes now.

Whatever happened in here was between them, for no reason other than pleasure.

This was all-too real, and so very damn special.

How long since a woman had done this for him, because of a desire to please?

Jesus.

For a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

Hands balled into fists at his sides, he took her in, savoring, appreciating the moment.

Finally, he expelled hot air from his lungs.

When he was fully in control of his emotions again, he offered to help her up as he said, “Stand for me, beautiful Brandy, with your hands over your head.”

Trustingly she slipped her small palm against his, meeting his gaze as he drew her dress up, exposing her body, inch by perfect inch.

She wore a scrap of material that served as panties, and she had on a black shelf bra that lifted her breasts.

“I’m a fortunate man tonight.”

“Thank you, Sir. I feel lucky that I get to be with you.”

Do you really? Or is this part of your role-play?

Either way, it shouldn’t matter.

So why does it?

He extended the garment to her. “Fold it and put it on the counter, then come back here.”

Wordlessly, she accepted.

Moments later she returned to stand in front of him, her legs spread slightly, and her hands looped behind her back in a show of perfect submission.

The rapid rise and fall of her chest indicated she was not as relaxed as she appeared. Perhaps this was more than role-play to her? “I’d like you to leave on the heels for now.”

“Of course, Sir.”

As he unbuttoned his cuffs and folded back his shirtsleeves, he asked her, “How expensive are your panties?”

“Very,” she said.

“Sorry in advance.”

A small smile played with her lips. “Occupational hazard, Sir.”

He crossed to one of the drawers and took out a pair of safety scissors.

Almost every week, he cut the material from an actress. This, however, was different. She wouldn’t be turning in an expense report for replacement lingerie. Well, at least not to his company.

She stood still as he slid the blunted end between her skin and the lace. “Ask me to do it.”

Brandy met his gaze. “Do it,” she encouraged. “Cut the panties, Sir.”

He did. The useless scrap pooled to the floor.

Then he took in her shaved pussy. “My preference, pretty sub.”

“I’m pleased you approve, Sir.”

She’d given him a stock answer. Any sub, any time would reply with a variation of those words. From what he’d observed, her training had been complete, exquisite even. But something in the pit of his stomach yearned—demanded—more from her.

Honesty?

For this to be real.

Away from here, in a private scene—a date—do you behave differently?

Where the fuck had that question come from?