"Forgiveness has to be earned," she stated. "So what are you going to do to earn it?"

"Whatever Mistress demands."

Jonathan took a step forward, pressing himself against Violet's back, latching his hand onto her waist. "I think it's time you back off, Mac."

Mac thought how pleasurable it would be to seize that wrist and break the finger bones one by one while Powell screamed for mercy. He glanced at Violet's startled face. Even in a secure environment, it was unsettling to be a woman weighing less than a hundred and twenty pounds caught between two men with the potential for violence emanating off of them.

"I think you've made a mistake, Jonathan," Mac said coldly. "Most Mistresses don't take kindly to being topped by a sub. She's not that green."

Violet closed her hand over Jonathan's at her waist. Mac had a moment of trepidation, then her fingers curled in his well-manicured ones, twisted, and put his hand roughly from her.

"You're making me uncomfortable, and I'm not interested any more." She glanced at Jonathan. "You can leave."

The blond Norse god gave her a disdainful look. "I'd rather have someone who knows what she's doing anyway, rather than a little girl playing dress up. Little bitch cunt."

"Son of a-" Mac started forward, but Violet lifted a hand so her knuckles slapped against his chest. He could have easily gone past her. Though Jonathan was beating a retreat, it wouldn't have been a bad idea to make sure he scampered all the way out to the parking lot. But there was another reason Mac didn't do that.

He swallowed. She'd got him. There'd been an unmistakable order behind her quelling gesture, and his body had instinctively reacted to her wish, voiced or unvoiced. The nerves quivered under his skin, recognizing it, and he forced himself to keep his voice rough, afraid of showing that to her.

"You should let me follow him and put his pretty face under a Bridgestone."

She cocked her head, and there was so little space between them he ached with the need to touch her. "I think it's time you let me decide what should and shouldn't be done. Don't you?"

He stared at her. He was here on an assignment, but his assignment required that he be an active player. For that he needed a partner, a well-connected one. She'd been here awhile and had made a lot of friends, if the waitress was right. The only problem was the one his sergeant had pointed out. Even though he ruled her out as his suspect because she was too inexperienced, she could definitely play with his head, distract him. He had enjoyed the company and demands of Mistresses, but she was a different animal from those he'd been with before. It was a fine line to walk.

He'd take it one night at a time. After all, he might blow it with her tonight and have to hook up with someone else. His gut clenched at the thought. He wanted this one. He wanted her.

"Yes, Mistress," he said.

Chapter 4.

She didn't know what to make of him. Tyler had counseled her to keep it light and easy her first night on her own, and here she was, in the deep end of the pool.

He followed her to the lower level, to the door of the room she'd reserved, a room with polished wood paneling and carved rafter beams, the trappings of a stable for a prize thoroughbred. The large stall area was mounted with a variety of stainless steel polished rings to cross tie at different heights and distances. On a sawhorse made of finished maple with antique hinges, a saddle had been mounted. Bridles, tethers, crops and buggy whips hung on a wall rack, as well as a few things she'd requested provisioned as extras that one wouldn't normally find in a barn. "Stand there," she pointed to the middle of the floor outside the stall and went to a control panel in the wall. "I'd like privacy for our first time together," she said, watching his face.

No flicker of disappointment, or of relief. Based on his unassuming mode of dress, she suspected her prize was not an exhibitionist. However, that wasn't to say he wouldn't be turned on by being displayed at his Mistress's command. He might be the type of sub that got turned on by whatever turned his Mistress on. Taking a deep breath with her back turned to him to calm her reaction to the thought, she still felt his intensity like hands running over her neck and shoulders, her bare back, the curves of her ass, the delicate skin of her inner thighs. She could imagine the press of his lips in those places, chaste, light kisses where his mouth would quiver with the restrained desire to open wide and devour her, one taste at a time.

Some subs-she liked to think of them as bottoms-didn't care who the Mistress was, as long as she delivered the gratification the sub sought. But the subs for whom the desires of a specific Mistress were the gratification, those subs sought to serve in whatever manner commanded. Some were instinctively protective as well, as if they were reincarnations of palace guards for ancient queens. She thought of the look on Mac's face when Powell had insulted her. The nasty comment had delivered a blow to her ego, but Mac's reaction had kept it fully inflated.

She engaged the darkening feature of the ceiling glass so the club visitors could not watch them. She knew the staff security could still monitor them through the discreetly placed mirrors, but no one else would be privy to this evening's entertainment.

"Mac. That's your name?"

"Yes, Mistress. If it pleases you."

"I'm having a hard time finding anything about you that doesn't please me, Mac. What's your given name?"

He hesitated, those silver-gray eyes shifting. "Mackenzie."

"Mackenzie. I like that." She stayed at the wall, watching him, making no attempt to move closer. The air was getting still and warm.

"Take off your shirt, Mackenzie. And next time you come into this club to meet me, you'll take it off at the door."

Mac slipped the buttons of the shirt. Violet watched him, studying the lowered eyes. He was not trembling or hurried, but somehow she felt an explosive tension coming off of him. If she had to bet, she'd say that she made him nervous. Very nervous, but he was very, very good at not showing it.

Why someone like him was nervous about someone like her, she didn't know, but she knew D/s went deep into the psyche of each individual, with often unpredictable reactions.

She wouldn't let herself fill with doubt or fear of not doing the right thing, or let Jonathan's mockery come through and unbalance her. Mackenzie might just be showing kindness with his attentiveness, but even so, she was going to make him wish for another night, and then another.

Like any art form, if she focused on performance, end results or audience reaction, she'd lose the edge, pull herself out of the spiritual undercurrents driving the sensual process. Nature would take them to the right destination, though she enjoyed having the freedom to play with the right amounts of water, sustenance and light to make Nature's beauty thrust its way eagerly out of the ground.

He removed the shirt from his shoulders and she drew in a breath. Speaking of Nature's beauty. He was as beautiful as she had expected. A furred and powerful chest, with that same silver, white and black pelt he had thick on his skull. Sleek muscle, curves and angles that meshed in perfect imperfection. A couple of scars. The hair narrowed down to its delightful indicator point on his flat belly and disappeared into his black jeans, which she noted had a tighter fit now, due to his erection straining the denim. She made an effort to keep her face impassive, not lick her lips and dance for joy as she wanted to do.

Choosing a soft-bristled grooming brush from the wall, she moved toward him at last. One step, two steps. Her booted heels were loud in the silence between them. He kept his eyes down as she approached, circled behind him and laid a palm on his bare back between his shoulder blades.

"Someone trained you well," she said, noticing his hands stayed loose, undefensive at his sides. His skin was smooth and hot beneath her touch, but she resisted the urge to tighten her grip. Whether he was advanced level or not, he was a beginner with her as his Mistress, and she knew the importance of establishing the ground rules.

Plus, she wanted to take it slow, savor these very first touches the way a first kiss was supposed to be savored. One never knew if that first kiss might be the first kiss with a soulmate, such that everything done with him after that point would be the ultimate choice of a lifetime.

Violet lifted the brush, slid it over his skin, watched the bristles bend and mold over the muscles in his shoulders, his shoulder blades, his back. The bristles were soft, but still worthy of being called a brush, so they made faint trails in his skin, stimulating it.

"So what's your safe word, Mackenzie?" she asked, passing her hand down the same trail, using her nails a bit.

"I don't use one. If I can't take it, I don't deserve you."

Violet stopped. "That's a pretty high risk to take, Mac, with someone you don't know." It genuinely concerned her, for he obviously came to these clubs on his own, and he was not a regular at The Zone.

"Nevertheless." He kept his gaze on the floor. "I serve my Mistress's pleasure, whatever that pleasure might be. I don't have one, and I don't want one."

"I'll set the rules, Mackenzie. What if I make you watch me while another man fucks me?"

He stiffened and she smiled, rubbing her brush down the other shoulder. His skin was getting damp. "That would bother you, then?"

"Only because I know I could do anything he did for you, better."

Violet pressed her lips together against another smile, even as she felt her knees quake. She'd no doubt he could. His voice alone, the shift from sensual deference to impudence, was making her wet.

"Arrogant slave." She laid down the brush, chose another, this one with stiffer bristles. "I'll bet those jeans are getting very uncomfortable."

"Shall I take them off?"

"Not yet. I like to see your cock straining against them for me. I'm not ready to let you be comfortable."

She loved the feel of his skin beneath her palms, his heated stillness. When she caressed his nape with her long nails, he bent his head forward, making it easier for her to stroke him there.

A breath drew in his muscles, his buttocks tightening in a very appealing manner as she returned to her brushing, increasing the pressure of her strokes with the stiffer brush, raking his skin, bringing the blood to the surface to sensitize him further. She alternated across, varied from light to hard, so his skin would not get numb to the stimulation. His breathing grew labored. Though she wanted to do so, she didn't have to look to know his arousal was increasing.

"You seem to be getting a bit fractious," she murmured. "Follow me."

Putting down the brush on a ledge of the stall partition, she lifted two tethers of soft nylon from where they draped over the doors. Turning so she could see him come toward her, she suppressed a shudder of reaction at the sight of that muscled body, lightly perspiring with nerves and heat, the silver eyes, intent with desire. The awkwardness of his gait drew her attention down to his cock, now clearly outlined against the front panel of his jeans.

"If you could do anything you wanted to do right now, Mackenzie, what would it be?"

The path of his eyes coursed down the front of the velvet dress, but he took another step closer, so close she felt his hand brush her hip. Felt his fingertips take the liberty of caressing the lace top of her thigh-high, seeking to trace the bare skin just above it, below her dress's short hem.

"I'd kneel at your feet and eat your pussy until you came in my mouth, your hands clutched in my hair, nails digging into my skin. I'd listen to you scream my name. Mistress."

His fingers inched higher, his eyes gauging the rise in her pulse rate, which she felt beating against her throat as clearly as she knew he could see it.

"You need to learn some manners." She caught his wrist in a firm grip.

The tether was similar to the nylon ropes found in a horse barn, only this one had a cuff at the end of it. She fitted it around his wrist. "Turn outward so your back is facing the back of the stall, and put both arms behind you, crossing your forearms."

His fingers flexed as she laced the cuffs on his wrists securely, making sure he had blood flow, but tight enough that he could feel the restraint, send the message to his mind that it was the first step toward the total domination she intended to exercise over him tonight. As she did the lacing and checked the pressure, her knuckles were brushing the ass hugged by the denim. It was too tempting. She allowed herself to free one hand, close it over the curve of one buttock, grip it hard, enjoy the feel of it flexing tensely under her touch. The fingers of his cuffed hand reached, found her other hand wrapped in the loose end of the tether, and he caressed her palm, seeking a grip.

She drew out of his reach, wrapped the slack of the ropes around her fingers and tugged him further into the stall. He turned his head, meeting her gaze as she moved him, her palm sliding around to press against his stomach just above his waistband to guide him backwards. There was no escaping the mental comparison of leading a stallion within proximity of a mare, his eyes dangerous and intent on hers.

Steady, girl. He's big and strong, and he knows what he's doing, but you can handle him. You know what he needs, even before he does. That's what a good Mistress did. Break him down to the core, so he was open to her, both finding ultimate completion in a total connection of the mind with the body.

Tyler's words, but her pounding heart had a different name for it, which went beyond words to pure feeling.

For a Mistress like her, it wasn't about getting off. She knew true Doms were artists who used a variety of methods to break subs down to the bone and drive them to a level of fulfillment they never could have experienced with their emotional and physical shields in place. For such a Master or Mistress, the stimulation came from that successful breakdown of a sub, so that he was completely linked with the Dom's desires. At its heart, that was what she hungered for, getting the sub she wanted to willingly surrender all to her, more than he even knew he had to offer. She wanted to tame the stallion that could not be tamed.

"I didn't give you permission to meet my gaze," she said. "Face forward and eyes down."

Mackenzie held her eyes one more moment than was appropriate, then shifted his attention to the floor. His bare, broad back faced her, the smooth taper to the firm waist just screaming for her touch.

She threaded the loose ends of the tethers through a ring above her head on the stall wall and drew the ropes tight, drawing his shoulders back and up so that she crossed his arms as close to the elbows as she could, a just short-of-uncomfortable posture that got his attention. It bent his body slightly forward, which she could tell he didn't like, for it put him off balance. He was going to be a lot more off balance when she was done.

It was an effective method of restraint, because with his arms crossed nearer to the elbows than the wrists and pulled up at that uncomfortable angle to his shoulders, he could not move back. The lack of slack kept him from moving forward.

"I want you uncomfortable, but not in pain," she said, testing the ropes, drifting her hand across his back. "You'll tell me if you begin to hurt. Answer me."

"Yes, Mistress," he said roughly.

"Good." She moved around to his front, stepped back five paces and then simply stood a moment, enjoying him. "You've got a beautiful chest," she noted. "Those incredible shoulders, the cords of muscle at the neck. Long thighs, impressive cock."

Standing in the shadow of his body with her spike heels, she was a bit taller than she wanted to be. She bent over, her back to him, to lift the hem of her short skirt and take down the back zipper of the first boot, well aware that he was seeing her thighs all the way past the top of the thigh-high. The posture revealed the elongated almond shape of her pussy in the green satin thong, the base of her ass cheeks.

The rings clanked as he tested how much slack he had, and she hid a smile when he came up just short, as she knew he would. She unzipped the other boot, stepped out of them and kicked them out of her way, turning before he could get the bright idea to try to use his legs to rub a knee up the seam of her thighs. She wouldn't put it past him to be so brash.

Taking up the brush with stiffer bristles again, she ran it down the center of his chest, tugging the bristles through the curly hair there, down the abdomen, tickling the waistband of his jeans, her fingers playing in the area between denim and hard muscle. She placed the brush at the juncture of his shoulder and neck area, and this time brought the brush down over the nipple. The area drew taut immediately, and she felt his muscles clench against the pain as the hard bristles scraped over the sensitive skin. She alternated as she had before, going down one side, then the other, letting her fingers trail behind so the harsh scratch was followed by the soft caress of her fingertips, soothing him.

It also allowed her to note the increased rise and fall of his chest, the thunderous pounding of his heart beneath her palm, the instinctive moistening of his lips, the shift of his body to relieve the pressure between his thighs.

"Be still," she commanded. "Keep your eyes down."

His lids flickered. "But I like looking at you, Mistress."

She ran a hand along his jaw, the smoothly clipped line of his beard, wondering how it would feel against her most erogenous areas. "I'm glad to hear it, but I'll decide when. Are there things you're not comfortable doing that I should know about?"

"With respect, same answer as before, Mistress. I'll do all you ask of me, or I'm not worthy to be your slave." His gaze briefly flicked up to hers, then quickly back down before she could chastise him. "You choosing me to serve you, bring you to the highest level of pleasure, those are my only desires."

It was so close to what she wanted to find in a lover, she barely managed to control the shiver of reaction that went through her vitals at his words. She knew of subs who would let a Dom do anything to them. Most clubs revoked their memberships once they found them, because the wrong Dom would push them past physical and emotional endurance, and could cause them serious physical harm. But Mac didn't strike her as that type. He had limits in there somewhere; he had just somehow managed to keep Mistresses from running up against them. The strength of her concern surprised her, as did the wave of protectiveness that barbed her words.

"That's stupid, Mackenzie. If I have you gagged and decide to ram a railroad spike up your ass, it's going to be a little hard for you to change your mind."

"I trust you'll do what's best for me, Mistress. Whatever you feel is appropriate."

A good kick in the ass for being that unsafe. However, she suspected now was not the time for a lecture. Maybe if they spent more time together.

Whoa, hold on, girl. This might be just a one-night flirtation for him. She knew subs who played 100% in the dungeon, but once they walked out, they didn't look back. They had no plans to pick out curtains with their Mistresses. Ever.

"Well, I'm giving you a safe word. Water. You ask for water, I ease off."

"I'll die of thirst first."

This time he met her gaze square on, and she felt the impact of it to her toes. He didn't just look at her; he ravished her. She'd always thought it was a cheesy word, but the way his attention moved over her, dragging her into him, making her weak, made her picture Victorian heroines swooning in a lover's eager arms. Ravished was exactly the right term for it.

"You've been a sub for a lot of women, haven't you, Mackenzie? No, I don't want an answer to that." She placed a finger on his mouth, held it firm there for only a moment, so he'd get the message, but she wouldn't be putting her knuckles within prolonged proximity of those clever lips. "But I don't think you've ever had a true Mistress. You're still setting the rules, holding up the shields. Let's start by removing some. The rest of your clothes first."

That surprised him, she could tell. He hadn't expected her to move that quickly, and truth be told, she had not intended to do so.

"Your shoes," she said coolly. "Toe them off. You don't expect me to remove your shoes."

"No, Mistress." He awkwardly managed it, using the leverage of the tethers binding him, grunting a little at the increased pain on straining tendons.

"And the socks."

He stepped on the toes of his thin dress socks, worked them off his feet. More bare skin. She was eager for all of it, but she kept the pace slow, teasing, as she approached him. As she stepped directly in front of him, she saw the angle would give him an excellent view of her cleavage. There was an incentive to keep his eyes lowered, she thought with satisfaction.

Violet forced her fingers not to tremble as she reached for the button of his jeans. She deliberately let her touch slide over the hard length of him, nearly groaned at the steel heat she felt. "I hope you're not one of those who can't hold back," she observed. "You're pretty hard now. I'm not sure you've got the stamina for what I have in mind."

Mac brushed a smoldering glance over the top of her breasts. "You're hard to resist, Mistress, but I think I can please you."

The taunt was there. Oh, he had pride. She delighted in it. She firmed her lips. "We'll see," she said indifferently.

She slipped the button, took the zipper down. Slow. She was hyper-cognizant of his breath on her neck, the tension of his body, the muscles pulled back to restrain his movements. She reached in, slid her hand beneath the waistband of his dark underwear, leaving the jeans open in front but otherwise unadjusted, and closed her hand around him.

He made a noise, a catching of his breath, but she had closed her eyes, inhaling him through all her senses. The powerful organ in her hand, pulsing against her palm, the wetness at the tip like a tiny kiss against her wrist. She was aware, even if he was not, that he had moved impossibly further against his restraints, straining toward her, toward her grip.