Claiming Cleo (Masters Club 2)

Up until now, he had only ever scened with Cleo within the safe confines of a Masters Club. While she was grace personified when it came to intense physical BDSM play, he’d found a weak spot in her training. She was clearly out of her comfort zone.

This subtler form of submission was evidently quite difficult for her. Her throat and cheeks were stained with a dark pink flush of embarrassment. But her erect nipples and rapid breathing gave away her underlying arousal. He was certain if he slipped his hand between her legs right now, he’d find that she was soaking wet.

Reaching for Cleo’s salad fork, he speared a bite and held it to her lips. Her eyes fixed on his, she allowed him to place the food on her tongue. As she chewed, her eyes closed for a moment, a look of pleasure moving over her delicate features.

A rush of alpha power coursed through Jack’s veins. One of the things he most enjoyed about the D/s dynamic was the complex, sexy dichotomy of discipline versus nurturing. By taking over his slave’s most basic needs, he asserted his dominance with loving but strict control.

He alternated, taking a bite of his salad, and then serving her across the small table. He held the large wine goblet to her lips. She sipped delicately, licking her lower lip afterward in a sensual way that made him bite back a groan.

Several people at nearby tables were watching them openly now as he fed his half-naked girl. Though she managed to hold her position, he could see the struggle in Cleo’s face, her gaze flitting anxiously over the room from time to time.

“Keep your eyes on mine,” he said gently, reaching out to stroke an errant tendril of hair from her face. “You exist at this moment to serve and please me. Nothing else.”

As their eyes locked, something softened in her expression, some of the anxiety slipping away.

“That’s better,” he said approvingly, smiling at her. “You’re doing very well, Cleo. Remember, I’ll keep you safe.”

He was sincere in his praise, as it did indeed take an act of faith to submit in this way in what she no doubt believed was a vanilla venue. The fact that everyone in the place was involved in the BDSM lifestyle, including the wait-staff and kitchen crew, was something he planned to keep to himself. Presumably, she would figure it out as the evening progressed.

Both serving waiters returned to the table, one removing their empty plates while the second placed small, steaming bowls of creamy tomato soup with homemade herb croutons in front of each of them. Cleo’s tension was palpable, her posture rigid, her face again flaming with heat. While this wasn’t true submission, she was at least managing to white-knuckle her way through it. To her credit, she didn’t try to cover herself.

The waiters were both young men in their early twenties. Despite their youth and obvious interest as evidenced by the bulges at their groins, they showed no overt awareness that a beautiful petite young woman sat with her hands locked behind her back, her lovely breasts on display. They did, however, linger overlong at their tasks, their eyes sliding repeatedly to Cleo’s exposed breasts as they refilled the water and wineglasses and brought fresh napkins to the table.

Once they had departed, Cleo relaxed a little, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. “Permission to speak, Sir?”

He regarded her appraisingly. “Very well.”

“What is this place? Why haven’t we been arrested? How come those guys didn’t totally freak out just now?”

“They’re trained professionals,” he said lightly, biting back his smile. “They’ve been trained to focus on nothing but their duties. Something you’d be wise to attempt, sub girl. I have yet to see true acceptance from you this evening.”

She blushed. Tears appeared in those jewel-like blue eyes. “I’ll do better, Sir,” she whispered.

“You will,” he agreed. “I’ll make sure of it.”

The soup was cleared away, again with much lingering and surreptitious glances by the young men, to Jack’s amusement. Plates of sliced duck breast in an orange juice-Port wine reduction sauce over mushroom risotto was placed before each of them with a flourish. The last of the wine was poured. Jack declined the return of the sommelier, as he didn’t want either of them drunk. The night, after all, was still young, and he needed to be fully alert for what he had planned.

Jack marveled at how long and how deeply Cleo could blush, her fair skin a constant, mottled pink as he fed her with deliberate slowness. When they were done with the main course, he gave a nod to the overly attentive waiters, who instantly cleared the plates.

Jean-Pierre appeared, no doubt to get a better look at Cleo’s beautiful, exposed breasts. More discreet than his younger counterparts, he didn’t appear to be ogling Cleo as he told them about the milk tea crème brûlée topped with marinated peaches and fresh basil tips. Jack was pretty sure the guy was getting an eyeful, along with the still hovering waiters.