Excerpt

He turned on his heel and strode through an archway at the back of the library. Becca glanced at Glynnis, who nodded and made shooing motions with her hands. Go ahead, her eyes said. Enjoy your weekend, and find what you’re looking for.

Becca hurried through the doorway into a far more Spartan room. Dim recessed lighting barely illuminated polished oak floors, benches with no cushions, bare walls. Two men stood one on each side of a thronelike wooden chair, a gloved hand on the back slat. Immediately she lowered her gaze to the floor, but the sight of them registered vividly in her mind’s eye. Both looked to be a shade under six feet tall and in good physical condition. Both wore black leather pants, black long-sleeved turtlenecks.

And black hoods that hid all but mouth and chin.

The giant sat on the chair, which had apparently been built to his specifications, as it accommodated his size and girth with room to spare. “Come stand before me.”

She did.

“The first part is always the hardest,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle for a man so huge. “But it must be done. And done quickly. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good. Take off your blouse and skirt.”

Her breath caught. Dear Lord, this was the acid test. If she could take the first step, she might be able to recapture—

A crack like a rifle shot sounded in the air around her. Becca dared a glance up. The giant held a long, supple whip in his hand and had apparently just wielded it. “You are to obey your Master without question,” he boomed, his deep voice echoing across the bare floors and walls.

With fumbling fingers she reached for the buttons of her beige silk blouse.

“Because you are a novice and this is your first offense, I’ll let you off with a warning.” The giant leaned forward, arresting her fingers at the second button. “Whenever I issue you an order, you are to acknowledge it.”

“Yes, Master. I’m sorry, Master, I didn’t know.”

“The next offense will incur a punishment.”

Becca bit her lip but resolutely nodded while working open the third button.

Without warning the giant jumped to his feet, tucked a massive hand around her jaw, thumb on one side and fingers on the other, and lifted her face to look at him. “You did not,” he murmured, “say, ‘Yes, Master’ that I would know you heard me. I can only assume you wanted to be punished.”

Unbidden, her eyes flared at that outrageous statement then, realizing her mistake, she bit her tongue to stifle any comment. She was an intelligent woman, a lawyer in fact, so she should have been able to follow directions the first time. She wanted to be a sub. She had to obey her Master, not contradict him or argue with him.

She lowered her gaze. “As you wish, Master.”

Underneath her lashes she could see his posture relax, as if she had pleased him. Tiny tingles skittered up her spine. Until his next words.

“One of my assistants will be assigned to keep track of your punishment. And, who knows? Maybe to dole it out.” He turned. The man to his right took a step forward and nodded, the ghost of a smile just visible in the soft lighting.

“Please continue disrobing,” the giant said, returning to his throne.

You can do it, she urged herself. For years you’ve dreamed of flaunting yourself before a roomful of men. She would never have admitted it to anyone, but she admired strippers and go-go dancers, women who displayed their perfect bodies so as to arouse lust in their audience, sexpots who allowed men—and women—to stuff bills in their G-strings giving them the opportunity to surreptitiously fondle them in public. But Becca’s daydreams had stopped there. She’d never had the body to be really sexy. Never had the guts for it, either.

That’s why you’re here, she reminded herself. To see if she could be a sub who fired a Dom to lust.

As she unbuttoned the fourth and fifth buttons, she let her gaze creep up the legs of the assistant who would keep track of her punishment. Was it her imagination, or did it seem his cock had grown to push against the leather at his groin?

At last the blouse was free of its restraints and she slipped it off her shoulders and let it slide down to her feet in a puddle. She could feel her nipples harden beneath her plain white nylon bra, knowing that three pairs of male eyes were watching. Sure, some men might like the abundant top of her—she wore a 38-DD—but her waist and hips also held the same kind of extra padding, making her less than runway-model caliber.

The giant raised the hand holding the whip, its flexible length gripped along with the long thick handle, tail skimming the floor, and flicked the resulting loop of leather up and down over one nipple.

Becca gasped as the sensation shot straight down to the point where her legs met.

“Now the bra. The whip wants to feel bare skin.”