Free Breathe by Lauren Jameson Page A

submissives are expected to dress as they do is to strip away a layer of their control, Samantha.” She looked up to study him as he spoke to her. In his own dark eyes she saw a hint of that same dominance that Elijah wore so easily, and she suddenly found it hard to believe that this man in front of her was the same one who had cooked her tortillas and eggs on so many occasions.
    Responding to the command in his voice was one thing, yet she still didn’t feel the desperate desire for him that she had for Elijah. She’d assumed she would, that any dominant man would fill that hole inside her.
    And that was something to think about when she was back home, and not surrounded by people who were either naked or dressed in fetish wear.
    “All right.” Slowly Samantha unbuttoned the front of her cardigan, slipping the knit fabric down her shoulders. Angelo reached out to help her. She blushed as his eyes raked over her.
    “Very nice.” Angelo’s voice held more than a hint of appreciation. Samantha was mortified. She was now wearing nothing but a fawn-colored lace nightie that barely covered her butt and the same red high-heeled sandals she’d had on the night she’d met Elijah.
    Angelo had told her that many clubs frowned on lingerie as club wear, but that Pecado would accept it for a guest new to the lifestyle.
    When a woman wearing nothing but a thong and a blindfold walked by her, she wondered if she hadn’t gotten off rather easily.
    Then his fingers were under her chin, forcing her head to turn. She tried to shrug away with irritation, but the fingers held firm.
    “When I compliment you—when I say anything to you—you reply, ‘Yes, Master Angelo,’ or ‘Yes, Sir.’ Understood?”
    She wasn’t nearly as comfortable with Angelo as she was with Jorge, and she didn’t much care for him manhandling her. He looked back at her, patient, and she caught her breath, remembering.
    This was the reason she was here. Right now he wasn’t Angelo her buddy. He was a Dom, and he was here to introduce her to this club because she’d asked him to.
    She worried her lower lip between her teeth for a long moment before managing a reply.
    “Yes, Sir.” The words tasted strange on her tongue. She wasn’t sure she liked it, and her eyes were wary as she looked at his face.
    The fingers still holding her face tugged, urging her gaze down. She resisted reflexively, then forced her muscles to obey.
    “Don’t look a Dom in the eye unless you are given permission.”
    Samantha shifted uncomfortably. This wasn’t exactly what she’d imagined, though if she was honest with herself, she hadn’t had a concrete picture of what the evening would hold.
    “Very nice.” Angelo released her chin and circled her as Samantha stared down at her toes. He smelled much as his brother did, like spices combined with a hint of musky aftershave.
    She had thought that just being in the presence of a Dom would offer her some relief from her ever present stress. But instead of relief, all she was feeling at that moment was uncertainty.
    Angelo passed a clipboard into her line of vision. She started to look up to ask him what it was, then remembered that she wasn’t supposed to look up without permission.
    Feeling incredibly silly, she kept her eyes downcast, accepting the clipboard and pen from Angelo.
    “These are the forms that all new members and guests of the club have to fill out.” The name of the club was spelled out across the top of the form, and Samantha started reading, finding the usual personal information at the top: name, birth date, gender. Then the questions turned to preferences. Was she interested in men or women? Was she hoping to find a Dom or a sub? Was she open to encounters with couples?
    Then she came to something called the Limit Checklist. Cocking her head, she continued to read—and sucked in her breath as she saw some of the items listed.
    Violet wand? What the hell was that? Fisting? If that was what it sounded