Hard Hand

Cole Stewart.

Breathing in jagged hiccups, Avery glanced again at the tuxedoed gentleman. No one else was that tall and imposing, hardened by numerous tours of duty overseas, and—if rumors were correct—some sort of undercover work. He moved his head to study the stage, and the light caught the scar on his cheek. The jagged white line arrowed downward, ending dangerously close to his jugular. Her last doubt vanished. It was definitely Cole Stewart.

She curled her toes in her too-high, too-expensive designer sandals. What is he doing here? She’d been over the guest list for her great-aunt’s eightieth birthday extravaganza dozens of times. The Sensational Miss Scarlet had been a mainstay in Las Vegas for more than six decades and had made hundreds of friends. Because she wanted everyone she cared about to attend her Saints and Sinners masquerade ball, the names of the invitees had been studied and restudied for more than a year.

A man wearing a security guard uniform emblazoned with the Royal Sterling Hotel’s logo, entered the room and stood next to Cole.

Since Avery was behind the elaborate champagne fountain wearing a fabulous ornate black mask, she was free to feast her gaze on Cole, the Dominant of her fantasies.

His dark hair was longer than she remembered. It was no longer tortured by a military buzz. Instead, strands teased the collar of his jacket. The look didn’t tame him. It simply made him more roguish.

Although Cole wasn’t classically handsome, he was rugged in a don’t-fuck-with-me kind of way. His physique was more sumptuous than ever. Everything about him from his size to his stance promised he was capable of protecting his woman. And she knew he could make one scream from pleasure.

A memory of watching him interact with a submissive lanced through Avery, and she squirmed.

Two years prior, she’d been at a BDSM play party at the home of her friends and renowned legal eagles, Diana and Alcott Hewitt. Cole had entered with his submissive, Gia. Most times when Avery watched scenes, the partners appeared to be in sync, maybe a little in love. But Gia had goaded him. In addition to addressing him disrespectfully, she chose to ignore some of his commands. He never raised his voice or lost his temper. Instead, he’d continued to state his wishes without emotion. Gia had responded, however, to his gentle caresses.

Once he’d taken her down from the Saint Andrew’s cross, he was tender, and Gia leaned into him.

Avery longed to be with a man as patient and firm as Cole.

Many times, she masturbated to thoughts of him. Once, when she’d been with another man, she pretended she was with Cole.

About six months ago, she’d seen him again at the Back Room, an upscale BDSM club. This time he was alone. He kept to himself, brooding, detached.

She’d been alone for year, and she craved a hard hand to soothe her. But the breakup with her Dominant had left her emotionally uncertain. As she watched Cole across the dungeon, she mentally rehearsed and discarded a dozen openings. Walk up to him and kneel? Meet him as an equal? Ask mutual friends for an introduction? Hope he would notice her interest?

After more than an hour of indecision, she convinced herself to say hello. But the moment she’d gotten close to him and their gazes met, she froze. Even though she was an experienced BDSM player, she’d never had a visceral reaction like she did to Cole. His eyes—charcoal and intense—pierced her submissive soul. Nerves trumped courage. She started to tremble. In the end, she couldn’t force herself to take the final steps.

Ever since, she regretted that night, and she’d vowed to be braver if given a second chance.

Now that she was in the same room as him again, she understood her own cowardice. With his arms folded across his chest, legs braced apart, he was a force of nature.

Perhaps sensing scrutiny, he turned in her direction, and his powerful gaze locked on her. He scanned her body, starting at her shoes and sweeping up. Cole took so much time that her internal temperature spiked. When he reached her face, he quirked an eyebrow, as if in recognition. That’s not possible. They’d never met, never spoken. Even if they had, she was still hidden behind a mask, and she’d traded in her long light-brown hair for shoulder-length blonde with bright-pink streaks.

Still, just like that night, she trembled.

Marie, the party planner, strode through a side door. Electronic pad clutched in her hands, she made a direct line to where Avery stood. “Does everything look all right?”

Grateful to be jolted from the nerve-wrecking memories, Avery replied, “It’s perfect.” And it was. The stage was set in a retro manner, including oversize square microphones. The band members wore tuxedos. Several food stations were in place with hors d’oeuvres for the wine hour. Around the periphery of the room, tall tables were draped with black or silver tablecloths and decorated with soaring centerpieces crafted from flowers, masks, and peacock feathers. And there was dazzle everywhere—sequins and crystals strung from the ceilings, tacked to the walls—all befitting one of the country’s most accomplished and scandalous burlesque dancers.

Backstage, a number of entertainers wore gold or silver body paint and nothing else. They represented sinners for the evening. Others were dressed in nuns’ habits or monks’ robes. A couple of women even wore halos.

“Have you tried the champagne?” Marie questioned.

“Not yet. Should I?”

“Please.”

From a nearby table, Avery grabbed a flute and held it beneath a stream of the flowing pink bubbly. Of course Miss Scarlet had selected a rosé. It had been a favorite since she saw An Affair to Remember with Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr. Miss Scarlet said she’d once shared a glass with Cary himself. Though Avery wasn’t sure about that, she didn’t doubt it was possible.

She took a small drink, expecting it to be overly sweet. She was surprised by complexity. “Wow. It’s fantastic.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Seduced, Avery savored another sip before putting the glass down. “I’m betting this isn’t the fifty-dollar-a-bottle stuff that I approved?”

Marie winced. “Miss Scarlet was at the tasting, and when she sampled this stuff…”

“Say no more.” Even though Avery served as her great-aunt’s financial advisor, Miss Scarlet controlled her own fortune. If she wanted to drop five hundred dollars a pop for the best bubbly on the planet, that was her choice.

“I’m sorry to say we didn’t save any money on the dessert either.”

Avery sighed. “I’m not surprised.”

“You will be,” she replied cryptically.

“Oh?” Avery arched her eyebrows.

“Your aunt is planning something extravagant. With a cake. Of sorts.”

“You don’t think I should have been warned?”

“I promised secrecy.” Marie pantomimed locking her lips and tossing away the key. “But I can tell you the changes have thrown us about fifty thousand dollars over budget.”

Stunned, Avery blinked. “I assume she knows that?”

“Yes.”

“In that case, we should enjoy every moment.”

A door closing at the back of the room made her turn around. Cole was gone. She sighed in relief, but then a stab of restlessness went through her. “Were there last-minute additions to the guest list?”

“Not that I know of.”

“I saw Cole Stewart a few minutes ago.”

“Who?”

The most gorgeous man on the planet. “He’s the billionaire security tech genius who sold his first company to Julien Bonds.” According to an article in Scandalicious, her favorite online gossip site, Cole’s groundbreaking software package was now installed on every new Bonds device.

Marie typed the name into her pad.

“He was talking to someone I assume was with security.”

Marie shook her head. “He’s not on the list. No one will get in without an invitation. I’ll chat with Lucy and see what’s up.”

“Thank you.”

Lucy Pine was the Royal Sterling’s head of security. The petite woman might reach five feet tall in her heeled boots, but she was badass enough to take down the hardest of criminals, all without her braid coming undone.

“Anything else?” Marie asked.

“You’ve done a great job. I’ll go check on my aunt.”

“The doors will open in about twenty minutes. Make it quick?” Marie pleaded.

“Promise.” Avery headed toward the elevator that had access to the building’s top floors.

Maybe because of the alcohol or her stupid-high heels—but definitely not because of Cole Stewart—she had to steady herself on a railing when the car rocketed past the spa level, then the hotel floors.

With a soft ding, the car arrived, and she exited into a gorgeous long hallway. She made her way to her great-aunt’s condominium that had an awe-inspiring view of the Strip. Miss Scarlet said she loved lording over Las Vegas. Over the years, she’d seen a lot of changes and mostly liked them. At times, though, she sighed wistfully, still missing a particular dark and dangerous mobster she’d had a mad affair with.

Avery knocked on her great-aunt’s door, and the summons was answered by none other than Mademoiselle Giselle, a New Orleans shop owner and ballerina of international renown.

“I had to see Miss Scarlet in her outfit,” the woman admitted after accepting Avery’s gentle embrace. “We’ve got a busy night, but I couldn’t resist bringing her some flowers.”

There were at least a dozen more bouquets than there had been earlier this afternoon. “Are you dancing tonight?”

“Oui. It’s my honor.”

Mademoiselle and Miss Scarlet had been friends for at least half a century and shared secrets that would only be revealed in a posthumous memoir.

Once Mademoiselle said goodbye, Avery made her way to the living room.

Miss Scarlet was standing on a platform where a seamstress was making final alterations to her costume. A headdress sat off to the side, waiting to be affixed.

Even at eighty, she was a bombshell, with a radiant smile, a fit body, and long legs shown off by slits that ran up the sides of her skirt, almost to her buttocks. A number of feathers had been applied in strategic locations, and a pair of long black gloves were draped over the cheval mirror.

As she’d done almost every night for decades, Miss Scarlet had applied false eyelashes and glittery stage makeup. She completed her ensemble with an artistically placed beauty mark.

Avery leaned in to kiss her great-aunt on the cheek. “Happy birthday.”

“I never get tired of hearing that! In fact, I think I should have two birthdays a year now. I love the attention.” She batted her eyes. “And the gifts.”

Avery grinned.

“Move over there, into the light where I can see you,” Scarlet ordered.

Though Avery shook her head from mild embarrassment, she did as she was told. She spun around then offered a little curtsy.

“Bravo! As I imagined, your dress is perfect, and you are magnificent.”

Avery struggled with the compliment. When she opened the gift from Miss Scarlet, Avery had stared in shock. She’d never seen anything like the gorgeous clingy black gown. It was cut asymmetrically across her chest and had only one strap. The open back plunged to the base of her spine, leaving her exposed. Since the dress was tighter than most of her clothing, she’d promised herself that she would lose five pounds before the event. Those plans were dashed when the Royal Sterling installed a cupcake-dispensing machine in the hotel’s lobby. Willpower had been defeated by a single swipe of her credit card. Still, she was glad she’d worn the dress. It gave her confidence and made her feel sexy.

“Did you try the champagne, darling girl?” In the mirror, Scarlet’s gaze found Avery’s.

“It’s amazing.”

“Isn’t it? Highly recommended. An online review says it has an evocative finish.”

Avery wasn’t quite sure what that meant. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Don’t worry about the budget.”

“Aunt Scarlet, it’s your money. You should spend it on anything you want.”

“That’s not what I meant at all.” She waved a hand. “I’m going to get Rafe Sterling to pay for it.”

“Are you?” Avery had met the CEO of Sterling Worldwide on a couple of occasions. Though he was an excellent businessman, he wasn’t involved in the day-to-day operations of each property. “How are you going to manage that?”

“I pack this hotel every night that I perform. And I’m sure he’d like me to sign another contract. All part of the negotiation strategy, my dear.” Miss Scarlet winked, and her eyelash twinkled from the glitter dabbed on it. “I won’t squander your inheritance on rosé, no matter how good it is.”

“You’ve worked hard every day of your life.” The familiar refrain made Avery sigh. “It’s you I love, and I want to enjoy your company. That’s the only thing that matters.”

“Good thing, since I intend to live another forty years.”

With no plans of ever retiring. Not only did Miss Scarlet own a studio where she taught dance and exercise classes, she’d recently opened a museum for cabaret memorabilia. Even now, she was choreographing a new burlesque show to debut in the fall.

“Get the party started, will you?” Miss Scarlet suggested. “I’ll be down just as soon as I can.”

“Marie mentioned a surprise. Anything I should know?”

Miss Scarlet’s sculptured eyebrows arched higher. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, darling girl.”

“That was what I was afraid you’d say.” She shook her head. “I saw Cole Stewart downstairs.”

“Delicious, isn’t he?”

“Is he your guest?”

“He’s consulting with hotel security.” She hesitated. “He’s a…VIP.”

“A…” Avery’s heart plunged.

“Yes.”

Why am I not surprised? Though she was an ordinary person living a very ordinary life, her aunt had found a place in the upper echelons.

Avery had learned about the Zeta Society early on when she’d picked up an owl from her great-aunt’s shelf. For years, the statue with its emerald-green eyes had fascinated her, but it wasn’t until she was a teenager that Avery questioned its meaning.

Scarlet swore Avery to secrecy about the Zetas—whose members were known as Titans. Politicians belonged, as did royalty, entrepreneurs, writers, Hollywood A-listers, scientists, prize winners in every field, and even members of the Mafia. Initiation fees were astronomical, and yearly dues were equally onerous. Still, the wait list to join was several years long.

“You’ll have Marie add his name to the guest list?”

She sighed. “Of course.” After giving her great-aunt another quick kiss, she made her way back downstairs. One of the security guards opened the ballroom door for her. She was grateful that Cole wasn’t there. Part of her wondered if she’d conjured him from a very vivid imagination. Or maybe an unstated need. It had been forever since she played with a Dom, years since she’d been in a committed relationship.

The banquet captain stood in the middle of a circle of hotel employees, issuing final instructions. Marie was speaking with the head of security, and Avery joined them.

“Marie tells me you were asking about Cole Stewart,” Lucy said.

“Miss Scarlet filled me in. Thank you.”

“Good. Then it’s not a problem if he checks in from time to time?”

Only to my libido. “He’s an invited guest.”

“Let me know if there’s anything you need.” With a curt nod, Lucy excused herself.

When they were alone, Marie tapped her electronic pad. “Everything’s checked off. Ready?”

“Yes.” Avery straightened her mask. “Let’s get this party started.”

Marie signaled to the band, and they began their instrumental rendition of Frank Sinatra’s Luck Be a Lady while servers moved into position. A couple of the painted entertainers stood still, appearing to be statues. One perched on the grand piano while another linked arms with a nun in a stunning juxtaposition.

When Marie nodded toward the security guard, he signaled to have the doors opened, and the guests began to file in.

Some headed for the bar, others to turn up chairs and lay claim to tables, and a few made their way toward the food.

For the next thirty minutes, Avery greeted guests while wondering what was keeping her great-aunt. Part of the surprise?

The moment Cole entered the ballroom, she knew it, even without seeing him.

Wisps of hair rose on her nape as the recognition of his power over her danced down her spine.

Avery desperately wanted to turn and look at him, but she held off, continuing to smile and talk with attendees, pretending an interest she suddenly didn’t have.

A tall, thin, gorgeous Black singer stepped onto the stage in a catsuit and started to belt out the words to Fever.

Avery watched, entranced as the performer strutted down the stairs to lean against the grand piano. At least a dozen men, snapping their fingers, emerged from behind the curtain to add to the seductive chorus.

She had to admit, Miss Scarlet had done a spectacular job with the music and entertainment selections.

Drawn by the pulse of primal energy in the room, Avery could no longer resist. She glanced over her shoulder to where she instinctively knew Cole was standing.

That familiar spark of fear snaked through her, leaving her rooted to the spot, even though she wanted to go to him.

A waiter passed by, and she snagged a flute. As she sipped, bubbles tickled her nose and heightened her senses. Avery watched the band and performers, trying to shut out thoughts of Cole.

But the harder she tried, the more he occupied her mind.

Every part of her yearned for a Dom. And tonight, not just any Dom. Cole.

So, what am I going to do? The longer she thought about it, the more adrenaline flooded her body, making her jittery.

He could have a girlfriend or submissive at home. Even if he didn’t, he could still reject her, but since he wouldn’t know who she was, her ego would remain intact.

Since her hand was shaking, she crossed the room to put down her mostly untouched glass.

This was her moment. If she deliberated too long, she might lose her opportunity.

Her stomach dancing with butterflies, she traced the curlicue outline of her mask, drawing courage and reassurance from its anonymity. For tonight, if never again, she wanted to be the woman she was in her dreams.

Avery chatted with some of the guests as she made her way across the room. She smiled until she thought her makeup might crack, all the while keeping an eye on him.

Eventually—too soon and simultaneously not soon enough—she reached him.

For a moment, her words lodged in her throat.

The passage of time had only made him more attractive. The cut of his expensive tailored tuxedo should have made him look civilized. It didn’t.

Her nerves doubled.

“Evening.” His voice was like the finest liqueur, rich and deep with a hint of sweetness laced through the danger.

Rockets of arousal shot through her. She forced herself to pretend she didn’t know who he was and that she wasn’t a bundle of apprehension. “Glad to have you at Miss Scarlet’s birthday party.”

“Cole Stewart.”

“A pleasure to meet you. I’m—” She thought for a moment through the onslaught of apprehension. Finally, she seized on a name. “Layla.”

He extended his hand, and his ring caught the light. An owl, with inset emeralds for eyes.

Avery slid her palm against his much larger one, and her knees buckled. Instantly, she caught herself, but she was stunned by the strength of her instinct to kneel for him. No doubt, even women who weren’t into BDSM would recognize his authority.

“Layla,” he echoed with a slight mocking smile, as if he didn’t believe her.

He continued to hold her, and his grip was as powerful as she’d expected. It wasn’t crushing, however. Cole clearly knew his strength and harnessed it.

“And what do you do?”

“I’m a project accountant for a construction firm. Not very glamorous, but I enjoy it.”

“You like having everything neat and tidy?”

“I’ve never looked at it that way.” She shrugged. Even without knowing her, he’d made an accurate guess, not that she was surprised.

“But?”

“You’re right. Math is absolute. And I do enjoy chasing down discrepancies so that the numbers add up.” How much was he willing to reveal in return? “And you, Mr. Stewart?”

“At the moment, I work as a consultant to Hawkeye Security.”

“I’ve heard of them.”

He inclined his head to one side. “Have you?”

“The company I work for has just signed an agreement with them.” Curiosity drove her next question. “Are you in Las Vegas permanently?”

“I have a home here, but I don’t spend much time in it. As you said about your job, it’s not very glamorous. I make recommendations that people don’t want to follow.” He gave a wry grin, and then the conversation hit a natural lull.

What the hell should she say next? I can’t help but notice how commanding you appear. Are you a Dominant?

“Which are you?”

Perplexed, she frowned. It was as if he’d read her mind. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s a saints or sinners masquerade.” He traced a finger around the corner of her mask. For a heart-stopping moment, she thought he might try to take it off her. “I’d say a saint?” He swept his gaze over her. “But in that dress?”

“Ah—”

“There’s something innocent about you, but you didn’t answer immediately to tell me you were a saint. So that makes me wonder.”

This was her chance. He’d offered the opening she hungered for, but her boldness wavered.

Cole leaned forward, indicating his interest in her answer.

Then abruptly, the music ended. Shocked, she turned toward the stage. Whatever was happening wasn’t on the program she’d approved a few days ago.

In true gentlemanly form, Cole steadied her by placing his hand on the bare skin of her back. Electricity arced up her spine to settle at her nape. If she had this kind of reaction to his touch, what would it be like to submit?

A spotlight hit the stage, and the band struck up a fun version of Happy Birthday.

As she watched with Cole’s hand still firmly on her spine, four men in skintight clothing wheeled out a gigantic cake. The thing had numerous layers and a great big candle on the top.

Cole leaned closer, his breath warm on her ear. “Where’s Miss Scarlet?”

“No idea,” she whispered back.

A chorus line of women in feathers and little else began to sing as the band launched a second run-through of the song.

When they reached the happy birthday, Miss Scarlet part, the top of the cake exploded open, and Miss Scarlet emerged.

The crowd cheered. Avery clapped wildly. She should have suspected her great-aunt would dazzle, but Avery had never guessed she’d make such a stunning entrance.

The song ended, and Miss Scarlet blew kisses as she waved. A hundred cell phones were pulled out, and guests snapped pictures.

Men, in their gold paint, lined up in front of her. Then, in the silence, she dived forward.

Stunned gasps rippled through the guests as she hung suspended in midair, her chin cupped seductively in her palm and her knees bent in a way that made her gown billow about her.

As one, the men undulated, reaching to guide her down, and a spotlight reflected off the silver wire Avery hadn’t noticed until now.

As she’d been doing for more than half a century, Miss Scarlet commanded the room while wearing a towering headdress and elaborate costume.

“Isn’t she fabulous?” Avery asked Cole.

“She is indeed.”

Rather than leaving the stage, Miss Scarlet took a place in front of the chorus line.

A song Avery didn’t immediately remember began to play, and a man in a top hat sauntered onto the stage. He stood there, appearing mysterious as a woman strolled in front of him.

Several seconds in, Avery recognized the tune, I’m a Good Girl, in which the performer was anything but.

Toward the end of the song, Miss Scarlet was plucked from the stage. In her glittery stilettos, she wrapped herself around the guidewire and made a sensual writhing motion before turning to shake her backside at the crowd.

Several dozen more female cast members exploded onto the scene, wriggling their feathered rears while the male performers raised their eyebrows as well as their top hats.

The full-on burlesque number rocked the room.

Cole said something, and Avery leaned in to hear him.

“She’s amazing,” he repeated.

“Every day she wows me,” Avery confessed.

As the song segued into a new one, a spotlight hit the stage, and a curtain was pulled back. A showstopping rocking horse dominated the scene, at least ten feet tall and ungelded. On his back was a woman dressed in a corset and tulle skirt. As the stallion moved back and forth, the woman undulated her hips provocatively.

Avery watched, shocked and riveted, aware of the way Cole was still touching her and the heat that was flowing through her. It wasn’t just from him, but from the raw sex oozing from the cabaret show.

“What do you think?” Cole asked against her ear.

A tremor splashed through her. This was the opening she’d wanted.

Avery turned slightly, grateful she was incognito and could be someone she wasn’t, even if it was just for this moment. This time, she prayed courage didn’t desert her.

Cole narrowed his eyes and wondered what the hell game Avery was playing.

No matter how clever she thought she’d been in not using her real name and hiding behind a mask, he would know the beauty anywhere.

Her eyes were wide and luminous, innocent yet provocative. She’d cut her hair, changed from brown to blonde, and added streaks of color.

And none of that mattered.

Her curves were the kind he remembered. His reaction to her was visceral, the same as it had been six months ago when he’d seen her at the Back Room.

He’d thought she might approach him that night. Instead, she vanished.

The next day, he asked mutual friends about her. He learned she was single and that she’d had a bad experience with a Dominant.

This evening, her attempt at casual conversation had charmed him. She’d been seeking out information about his job and where he lived. He didn’t need a background as an operative to figure out she was interested in him.

Cole glanced at her ring finger. Bare. But her necklace intrigued him. It was bold, made from interlocking pieces of silver that snuggled against the base of her throat. It didn’t appear to be a collar, though it was close enough that he couldn’t be certain. Of course, no one who wasn’t in the lifestyle would even question the piece of jewelry.

The song ended, and another began, the routine something like the world-famous Rockettes would perform, with high, exciting kicks and energy.

The adorably submissive Avery shifted her weight from one foot to the other, radiating her discomfort. If his guess was correct, she wanted to be on her knees with his hand tangled in her hair, awaiting his command. Right now, if he had a choice, that command would be to suck his cock.

The burlesque show ended, and the performers received a standing ovation.

As the stage was cleared, the band segued into another Frank Sinatra signature song, making it a bit easier to talk. A few couples wandered onto the dance floor, and he had no intention of letting her vanish a second time. “Shall we?” he invited.

Her mouth parted slightly, and he was tempted to kiss away her hesitation.

Where the hell did that thought come from? The tender impulse shocked him. He was not a man given to romance. To distract himself, he held out a hand.

A few seconds later, she accepted.

It was the first step toward dominating her.

On the parquet dance floor, he led to the slow beat, and she followed in flawless moves. Her skin felt luxurious. No matter what he asked for with his body, she responded. Would she behave the same way in private? Suddenly, he was anxious to get her out of that dress.

The tune ended.

By unspoken accord, they crossed the room to stand near a group of people flocked around Miss Scarlet. She held an open black fan emblazoned with a sequined kitten, and as she spoke, she waved the thing around.

Avery remained close to him, as if they were a couple. It surprised him how much he welcomed that idea.

A waiter passed by with champagne, and Cole asked if she would like one.

“Thank you. No.” She shook her head. “I think I’ve had enough.”

“Good.” He wanted her sober enough to play with him later. “Tell me about your jewelry,” he invited.

“Sorry?”

“Your necklace.”

Behind the mask, her eyes widened. She fingered one of the links, probably without being aware of the act.

“Does it have any significance?”

“Something I bought myself recently at an art festival downtown.”

“Intriguing,” he said.

“How so?”

He was done allowing her to hide. “I wondered if it might indicate an interest in bondage.”

“Bondage.” She dropped her hand. “Is that something you’re into, Mr. Stewart?”

“I generally don’t discuss my personal life in a public setting.”

“But you’re the one who brought it up.”

He wondered if she had any idea how breathless her voice was. “So I did. And the answer is yes. Do you know anything about it?”

She was saved from an answer when Miss Scarlet breezed over in a cloud of perfume.

“You were marvelous,” Avery enthused.

The woman’s smile dazzled, and it encompassed Cole. “You are more handsome every time I see you.”

She offered her gloved hand, and he raised it to his lips.

“Always a pleasure, Miss Scarlet. Your entrance was spectacular.”

“I do enjoy leaping into the arms of strong young men. I’ll be doing that for my ninetieth as well.”

“I believe it.”

Her attention was claimed by admirers wearing old-fashioned black-and-white-striped prison garb. Sinners, no doubt.

“If you’ll excuse me?” Miss Scarlet didn’t wait for an answer before flipping open the kitty fan and moving off, leaving him alone again with Avery.

“Where were we?” He figured he’d give her the opportunity to pursue or avoid the question he’d asked her earlier.

“We were talking about bondage.” Despite her comment about the necklace not being a collar, she absently touched it again. Then, as if realizing that she was fidgeting, she stilled and lowered her hand. “And yes, I’m familiar with it.”

“You’re a submissive.”

“What?”

Cole often worked undercover, and he was skilled at blending in. He could adapt to any environment, appear to be anyone. But a one-on-one relationship was different. After the emotional turmoil left behind when Gia moved out for the third time in a fit of hysteria, he wanted honesty, even if it was uncomfortable and ugly.

For this moment, he’d let her shield her identity, but his tolerance wouldn’t last. “You’ve ascertained I’m a Dom.”

“I…” She licked her upper lip.

“Admit it.” He leaned in a little closer to her, not enough to intimidate her but enough to let her know that, to him, there were no other people in the room. “Something in you responds to me intuitively, female to male. You won’t deny that.”

Avery lowered her gaze before shaking her head and looking back up at him.

“What color is your thong?” he asked.

She choked. “Excuse me?”

Avery—Layla—lifted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray, but Cole took it from her. “You said you’d had enough. If you’d like this conversation to go any further, you need to drink something nonalcoholic. Your choice.”

For a moment, she was contemplative. In her eyes, her struggle played out. She clearly wanted to go forward, and she seemed to be fighting for nerve to say so. When she answered, her voice was barely discernible over the band. “Sparkling water.”

“Lime?”

“Yes. Please.”

He left her long enough to head to the bar and fetch her a drink. When he returned, she hadn’t moved, and she was again tracing the interlocking links on her necklace. He offered her the glass. “I’m waiting for your answer.”

“How do you know I’m wearing a thong?”

“No panty lines. And you don’t strike me as a woman who would skip her foundation garments unless her Dom told her to.” He grinned. “How was my guess?”

She traced the rim of her glass before meeting his gaze. “It’s black.”

“Lacy.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“Take it off.”

She blinked.

“You can do it here, or you may excuse yourself to the ladies’ room.”

“I didn’t bring a purse down with me.” She blinked, then took a deep drink.

“Do you need me to problem solve this for you?” He fought to suppress a smile. There was no doubt he’d shocked her. But she hadn’t refused him. He let his question hang for a few seconds before adding, “Or are you going to do as you’re told?”

Avery hesitated for a moment, opening and then closing her mouth.

“I’ll go with you,” he decided.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“On the contrary.”

He saw the question in her gaze. Then he noticed the way she glanced around the ballroom, seeking out her great-aunt.

When she saw that Miss Scarlet was occupied, Avery nodded.

They left the party to make their way down a long, almost deserted hallway. When she placed a hand on the restroom door, he snagged her wrist to guide her toward a different one, intended for families. He followed her inside, then turned the lock with a decisive click. She gasped but didn’t protest. Part of him was pissed that she’d come in here with him. “Leaving with a man without telling anyone could be damn dangerous, Layla.”

Avery met his gaze with trust he didn’t deserve.

Cole longed to rip off her damn mask and have no pretenses between them. “Don’t do anything this stupid ever again.” Why it bothered him so much, he didn’t know. This need to protect her stunned him. “What’s your safe word?” His tone had a bite, and that didn’t seem to scare her either.

“Red. And I use slow, rather than yellow.”

“What’s on your limits list?”

“The usual. Permanent markings. Well, I mean, unless there was a long-term relationship in place. Then it might be open to negotiation.” She paused. “No breaking my skin. Or humiliation.”

“Agreed. There are condoms in my room. If we get that far, it will be completely your choice, and we’ll be practicing safe sex.”

She nodded. “I’d like that.”

His cock was heavy with arousal.

Without him needing to prompt her, she removed her thong. A deep red stained her cheeks when she held out the material toward him.

“Put it in your mouth,” he said, rather than accepting it.

She gasped, and the room pulsed with her fear-induced excitement.

With any other woman, he’d go slower. But he was unaccountably annoyed with her pretense. “When I give you an order, sub”—he took a step toward her—“you will obey.”

She shivered.

“Unless you need to use a safe word, your acceptable replies are ‘yes, Sir,’ or ‘yes, Cole.’” He dropped his voice. “Master works fine too.” That, he wanted to hear.

“I…”

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, Cole.”

“From here on, hesitations will be dealt with appropriately. Questions?”

She stuffed her panties into her mouth.

Blood rushed to his dick. She was perfect. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed playing with a sub. “Now I want you spread-eagle, hands on the wall.”

Slowly she pivoted and followed his instructions.

“Is your pussy wet?”

Her mumble was hard to hear, but absolutely delightful. “Yes, Sir.”

“Do you like it when you’re told what to do? When to do it? Do you like being naughty, wondering who saw you walk in here? Are you anxious about what might happen?” He came up behind her, close enough that he inhaled the sharp and unmistakable scent of her arousal. “You should be.”

She spread her fingers farther apart.

“I’m going to check to see if you’re wet. Am I going to be disappointed?” With the back of his hand, he brushed hair away from her neck. “Or is your slit going to be so damp that I’m pleased?” Her arms trembled. “What will I do if you’re not properly responsive? Pinch your thigh?” Through the dress, he did.

She swallowed deep but didn’t protest.

“Perhaps I’ll lift your dress and spank your bare ass just because I want to.”

Avery whimpered, the sound soft and pleading—everything he wanted.

“Perhaps I’ll just put one finger in your pussy and another in your ass.”

The little sub squirmed.

“I’m not known for my kindness. You should understand that.”

In silent challenge, she stuck her ass out a little.

Enchanting, if reckless. “You’re much more of a sinner than a saint, aren’t you, Layla?” He grabbed a fistful of her gown and yanked it up to her waist. “That’s it—push your butt out toward me even more. Give it to me for a spanking.”

She didn’t hesitate. Instead, she braced herself on the wall, then thrust back, a woman desperate to receive what he was desperate to give.

“Has it been a while?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir.” A second later, she confessed, “Too long.” The words were garbled by her makeshift gag, but her response was clear, her plea impossible to deny.

“What do you want?”

“Spank me, Sir.”

Rather than delivering what she requested, he worked his hand between her legs to find her hot cunt.

She moaned and let her forehead rest against the elegant wallpaper.

He rubbed three fingers across her shaved pussy, using her dampness to prevent friction. He stroked her clit quicker and quicker, making her legs shake, driving her toward an orgasm before pulling his hand away.

Then because she was so wet, he put one finger against her rear entrance. “Do you like it dirty?” he asked against her ear.

“Yes. Yes, Sir.” She groaned.

He loved that she’d shown no hesitation when he’d bared her, toyed with her, pressed a finger to her anus.

When he saw her at the play party, she’d been so much more restrained. Now he realized that was more a result of the man she was with. “Whatever you want,” he promised. “Whatever it is. I’ll be sure you get it.” He eased his finger into her a little.

She inhaled and allowed the wall to support more of her weight. So fucking hot.

He pushed past her sphincter and breached her anally. It wasn’t as comfortable as if he’d used lube, he knew, but she didn’t protest.

Cole worked his finger all the way in, then brought his other hand around to play with her pussy for a couple of seconds. “I’m going to enjoy fucking you later, when your ass is so sore that the sheets hurt your skin.”

While holding her still, he spanked her left ass cheek hard.

She went rigid.

“More than you expected?”

“Yes, Sir.” Avery turned her head to the side, and he saw that her bright-green eyes were wide, unblinking.

“Less than you can take?”

She squeezed her eyes closed and nodded.

“Less than you hoped for?”

He saw her fingers curl.

“Yes, Sir,” she admitted around the lacy fabric.

With his finger still in her ass, Cole spanked her again and again until she tapped her heels on the marble floor.

She was getting hotter, wetter. And that was the time to stop, when she was frustrated, his to command.

Cole fisted her hair and pulled back her head, forcing her to look at him. “Any doubt who’s in charge, sub?”

“You.” Her voice caught in a sob. “You are, Sir.”

“Correct.” Cole slowly extracted his finger, then flipped down her dress.

While he washed his hands, he left her there, frowning but not questioning. At this point, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she was furious or puzzled. But one thing was certain—she knew he would control the scene, and she also knew she was safe with him. He’d read her responses, left her wanting.

He dried his hands on one of the cotton towels, then wadded it and tossed it in a wicker basket. “Put your thong in the inside pocket of my jacket.”

She pushed away from the wall, then faced him. He offered an arm for her to brace herself on while she rebalanced on the strappy fuck-me sandals.

Slowly she pulled the fabric from her mouth. She locked her gaze on his face, never severing eye contact as she pulled back his lapel, then skimmed her fingers across the fabric, searching for the opening in the lining.

A few seconds later, she tucked her underwear inside. She allowed her palm to linger on his chest.

“Bold move for a sub who didn’t have permission to touch her Dominant.” He captured her wrist, even though he liked what she did.

“Yes, Master Cole.”

“And brave, looking me in the eye.”

She didn’t take the hint to glance away.

“No apology?”

She didn’t respond.

“Are you a brat, Layla?” He flattened his hand on hers. “With me, you don’t have to be. I told you I will ensure you get what you need. You can tell me. Talk to me.” Again, Cole was tempted to rip off that damn mask. “Be real with me. Trust me with your secrets.”

“Thank you for the offer. I appreciate it.” Her cheeks were captivatingly pink. But she hesitated before going on. “And thank you for the spanking, Sir.”

He sighed. One step at a time. “More to come.” He released his grip, then straightened his cuff as she dropped her hand. “We should get back.”

“What?”

“The food here—even banquet food—is five-star. You need energy for the night ahead.”

“What? We just…” She drew her eyebrows together. “You want to eat?”

“Absolutely. I understand steak and lobster is on the menu.” He offered his arm.

He watched the war, the frustration in her eyes. She wanted to protest, but she’d heard him, and she’d agreed to obey him.

Even though she pursed her lips, she composed herself, then placed her hand on his arm as they left the restroom together.