Once, she bumped against his hand, and he slapped her mound. “Oh no you don’t.”
She arched a brow. “What’s wrong, Kit? Are you afraid if you wet your fingers, you’ll want to dampen that little willy, too?”
Kemper snorted at that.
Kit actually snickered as well. “I’ll show you a small boy’s toy a little later, babe. Right now, I’d rather torture you.”
“Torture, huh?” She shivered on purpose, going as far as clattering her teeth. “You frighten me!”
“Smart-ass.”
“You wouldn’t have me any other way,” she told him, noticing how the lust darkened his hooded eyes. Kit got off on this, and she got off on men like Kit when they acted like a Dom in heat.
Kit shoved his hand in his pocket again. This time, he retrieved nipple clamps with shiny little silver bells. She was beginning to like it when Kit’s hand disappeared. He always withdrew a new intriguing gadget from his jeans.
“There you go again, hiding behind your toys and making excuses for acting like such a little boy.”
Kit snarled. “Are you insulting me, sub?”
She hoped so. She’d needed a good spanking all day.
“I’m so sorry, Master,” she drawled, her eyes downcast. Immediately, she lifted her gaze and shifted her feet. She needed to watch herself until she decided whether or not she wanted her lovers to know she’d been involved with a Dom in the past.
“Good,” Kit replied, taking his finger and tweaking the bell. The little ding resounded around them. “You’re forgiven. This time.”
“Perfect,” she muttered, realizing then Mrs. Daniels would come running when she heard them walking downstairs.
“All right, then,” Kit said, standing behind her. “March, sub. Keep your head high and don’t look to either side. If you mind us, you’ll be rewarded when you reach the basement.”
“Perfect,” she said once more, put out but also highly aroused. God, she needed sex. What was wrong with her? All she thought about was screwing. It was her first thought in the morning and her last thought at night.
She needed that erotic balls-to-the-wall, fucking-like-crazy kind of sex. But she didn’t want witnesses, unless of course she was in Times Square and then everyone could watch. Why not? If she gained her shot at ten seconds of fame, she wanted the world to know where she excelled.
In her short life, she’d heard about her talents often enough. She once had a professional athlete pay for her service, and he really stroked her ego, not to mention every opening she possessed. He’d paid her a bonus because he said a woman with a golden pussy deserved to spend the money her treasure earned her.
Maybe that’s why she spent so much Keesling dough. She’d been taught to use her assets for benefits.
Kit guided her forward, taking hold of her shoulders and pushing her into a slow stroll, holding her back whenever she tried to pick up the pace a notch or two.
They reached the second floor landing, and Holly heard voices beneath them. “Damn!” she ra
sped. “Morgan is down there.”
“And Morgan has been required to do some of the very things we’ll expect from you.”
“I doubt Blake and Grant humiliated her and made her walk in front of you.”
“Of course they didn’t. She’s our sister.”
“My point exactly! I don’t want her to see me like this!”
“She won’t,” Kemper assured her.
“Morgan is a sub,” she whispered, still processing. “Are you kidding me?”
“You’d be surprised at how many strong women are actually subs and sex slaves,” Kemper said.
No, she wouldn’t. Kit might be shocked to learn how many strong women she’d seen at lifestyle clubs, chained and gagged one minute and toting briefcases the next. She’d watched many of them hurry off to a meeting after an afternoon of bondage and submission.