At His Mercy (Masters Club 1)

Because in his other world, she wasn’t a submissive, naked and vulnerable, her back and ass streaked with marks from the lash. She was Jessica Cooper, one of the newer associates at his law firm. While he’d never worked directly with her, she had recently done a good job in a support capacity on a major deal for one of his top clients.

His brain tried to combine the two disparate images of this young woman. And failed.

Cameron liked the compartments of his life to be neat and orderly, with no bleed between the two. He chided himself for the brief fantasy that had leaped full-blown into his mind: Jess kneeling naked before him, eyes on his erect cock… He shook his head slightly to clear away the unacceptable image. Though there was no specific rule at the firm about colleagues becoming involved outside the office, he’d made it a personal rule never to engage. He didn’t have time for a relationship, anyway. He got all the release and satisfaction he needed at the Masters Club.

As if feeling Cameron’s gaze on her, Jessica lifted her head. As they stared at one another, her mouth opened in a small O of surprise, her eyes widening. Her hand fluttered to her chest as color washed over her throat and face. Clearly, she had recognized him as well.

He offered her the hint of a smile, not surprised at her discomfiture. He should have turned away at once, before she’d had a chance to see him. “Don’t worry,” he silently telegraphed. “I’ll keep your secret.”

She didn’t seem to receive the message, however. Snapping her mouth closed, she whirled away. Grabbing a discarded robe from the mat, she draped it over her shoulders. She remained with her back to him. It was clearly a dismissal.

Not wanting to embarrass her any more than he probably already had, Cameron walked away from the scene station, the smile still playing over his lips. What an interesting turn of affairs.

The question was, what should he do about it?

If he were prudent and properly cautious, he’d do nothing. Nothing at all.

But Cameron Lord hadn’t gotten where he was by shying away from risks. Why start now?

~*~

The next morning, Jess arrived at the office later than she liked to. She’d left the club right after the aborted scene, too shaken up by the encounter with Cameron Lord to remain. New York City was a huge place. It was bad enough to run into her boss at a BDSM play club. But did she really have to be bare-ass naked at the time?

Just the memory of those clear gray eyes watching, assessing, judging, brought heat flooding into her face.

The only thing that had kept her from dying of mortification on the spot was the fact he’d been there, too, dressed in leather, gear bag slung over his shoulder. He couldn’t very well accuse or judge her, unless he accused and judged himself as well.

She was grateful he hadn’t tried to approach her. Hell, it was possible he hadn’t even recognized her. After all, at work she was just another second-year law associate, beneath the notice of an equity partner.

On the other hand, she had been getting more involved in the mergers and acquisitions side of the business lately, which was his area of expertise. She’d done a ton of work on the Atlantic City-based Lansing Hotel and Casino merger with the smaller, super high-end hotel chain, Veranda Esplanade, which threw off plenty of cash. Mr. Lord had brought in the business for the firm, though she had no idea if he even knew of her contributions.

He was in what she thought of as the equity partner bubble, protected by a flank of managing partners and his support staff. Now, she was glad she’d only had indirect contact so far on the Lansing deal. She just had to hope that peculiar look he’d given her had been not one of recognition, but perhaps commiseration because of the botched scene.

She’d examined herself carefully in her bathroom mirror upon arriving home, providing her own aftercare. Most of the marks were already fading, but there was a nasty welt still visible over her hip, where the whip had missed its mark.

The guy she’d chosen for the evening’s play had had definite potential. He’d been around her age and good looking, too, though it was apparent he knew it all too well. Too bad he had turned out to be such a dick. It wasn’t that she faulted him necessarily for the painful miss with the lash, but rather how he’d handled it—blaming her, and then ignoring her safeword.

She didn’t normally even go to the clubs on a Thursday, usually still at work until eight or later. She preferred weekend play so she could sleep in the morning after. Last night had been her gift to herself, after three weeks of nonstop work on the Lansing deal. She had desperately needed to decompress with a mind-clearing, purifying BDSM scene.