Free Pleasure's Edge by Eve Berlin Page B

afraid, not real y. But a little fear, some nervous anticipation, was a chal enge he always enjoyed. And she was so damn gorgeous like this, with her hair a wild mass of curls around her pale cheeks, her eyes enormous, glossy.
    He led her to a shadowy corner of the room, to a large red leather chair with a wide seat and no arms. He set his black bag, fil ed with the implements of BDSM play—paddles, canes, floggers, cuffs—down next to it.
    “What is this?” Dylan asked, looking at the chair.
    “Did you want something more extreme for your first experience?” he asked her, taunting her a bit. He already knew the answer.
    “I don’t know.”
    Her face was absolutely serious. He could see the muscle working in her jaw. She was trying so hard to intel ectualize her way through this. She would have to learn that didn’t work in this arena. He had to take her past the wheels churning in her mind.
    Had to disarm her.
    “Don’t worry. I do. Now take your clothes off.”
    “What?”
    She actual y took a step back from him, which made him grin.
    He couldn’t help it.
    “Come on, Dylan. Surely you didn’t think to play ful y dressed?” There was no real surprise on her face. Only a little shock that it was happening to her . She was silent a moment, then, without saying a word, began to pul her shirt over her head. She kept her eyes on his, but they were no longer the usual cool gray. A storm was raging in there, despite the firm line of her mouth, the stubborn set of her shoulders, her silence. But that was part of her process.
    He’d expected it from a woman who held herself so strictly in control. And it made her even more attractive to him: the battle he knew was going on inside her. Her wil ingness to do this, anyway.
    He crossed his arms and waited while she unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it, and didn’t say a word when she handed her garments to him. He was too busy looking at her in her sheer black bra and panties, the long line of her legs in her high black heels.
    The graceful branch of the plum blossoms tattooed over her right hip. The design was delicate, sinuous, like her. The blossoms were white, edged in a deep pink. So innocent-looking on a body he wanted to do very dirty things to.
    Fucking gorgeous.
    She lifted her chin, a smal show of defiance, and his fingers tightened around the fabric of her clothes. They smel ed like her, pure female. Stil watching her, he lifted her top to his face, inhaled deeply. Grinned when she blushed.
    This woman had absolutely no idea how keenly responsive she was. But he saw it. And knew it was going to be good.
    “Dylan,” he said softly, “stay right there. Just hold stil .” He hung her clothes on one of a row of hooks set into the wal and bent to open his bag of toys. Not that he planned to use any of them just yet. This was her first time at the club, and anyone new to BDSM had to be introduced at a slow pace. How slow depended on the individual, and things were going fast enough with Dylan.
    But he didn’t mind seeing her squirm as he withdrew each item, placing them on the low wooden table next to the chair: a wide leather slapper made of two flat lengths of thick leather, a wooden paddle, a short riding crop, a coiled three-foot-long single-tail whip in black and white woven leather, a vampire glove, a clear Lucite cane. Some of his most wicked-looking pieces.
    Her eyes were wide, the pupils enormous, but she remained stubbornly quiet. He let his gaze lower to her breasts. They were smal and firm, the rounded flesh just spil ing over the top of her bra. And through the mesh he could see her nipples. They were going hard as he watched.
    Perfect breasts.
    He had to ignore the erection growing between his thighs.
    Concentrate.
    He brought his gaze back to hers. “Come here, Dylan.” She took one wavering step forward, and paused. He wrapped a hand around her slim waist and pul ed her in. She let out a startled gasp.
    “Dylan, if we are to work