__________.

Katrina threw her briefcase into the backseat and sighed to welcome the end of another draining day. She wanted to go home and curl up with a bowl of her mother's homemade ice cream and a Sandra Bullock movie. If she couldn't be happy, then at least she could watch the evolution of someone else's happiness. As long as it was fictional, it wouldn't compete with the sad state of her life.

She started the engine and turned the air-conditioning to full blast. Her blouse clung to her damp skin, so she pulled it away and leaned forward to let the cool air blow down her shirt as best she could.

A series of chimes from her phone let her know that her mother was calling. Her jacket, which she had shed for the walk to the parking garage, lay on top of her briefcase. The phone was in the pocket. By the time she got to it, the thing had gone to voice mail. It was probably for the best. M.J. and his wife were heading out of town this weekend, and their parents had the grandkids for the weekend. No doubt they wanted Katrina to come over and relieve them from the rambunctious duo. No, thanks. Katrina hadn't yet vacuumed out her car from the last time she'd spent time with her nephews.

While her standards of cleanliness and behavior might be higher than her brother's, she didn't think they were impossible to achieve. She loved her nephews, but she liked them best in small doses.

She shifted the car into reverse and froze. Something wasn't quite right. With a frown, she glanced at her pa.s.senger seat. Empty. The cup holder that divided the two front seats held her cell but was otherwise unoccupied. She could have sworn she'd left an empty bottle of iced tea there. A quick survey of the backseat confirmed her suspicions. While nothing had been vacuumed, it had definitely been cleaned up.

It was unsettling to know someone had gone into her car and cleaned it out without her permission or knowledge. This threw last night's scare, which had faded from her mind in the course of the busy day, back into the spotlight.

n.o.body else had keys to her car. They'd spent the day with her purse, locked in her desk drawer. The extra set hung on a rack in her kitchen.

An eerie feeling crept up her spine, crawling with agonizing indolence and caramelizing into a bone-chilling fear. Who the h.e.l.l had cleaned up her car, and why?

Lists of people ran through her mind, but she could think of n.o.body who would do it. She'd complained to Aaron, but he'd laughed at how uptight she was about those things. Keith knew she didn't like a mess-neither did he-but he didn't know she had one in her car. Did he? No. And he didn't play head games. He wouldn't do that to her, especially not after seeing how freaked out she'd been the night before.

Her phone rang again, startling her out of the fear cage that had enveloped her body. She s.n.a.t.c.hed it up, glad to have the pseudo company. Right now, she'd take a telemarketer, anything not to be alone. The display indicated Keith.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Kat? Are you okay?" His voice sounded hesitant, like he'd planned to say something else.

No sense in telling him anything. He would advise her that she was working too hard, or worse-accuse her of manufacturing a reason to see him. She backed out of her parking s.p.a.ce. "Fine. You?"

He didn't answer immediately. She heard the radio in the background, so she knew the phone hadn't disconnected. This parking garage had amazingly good reception. At last he exhaled. She wouldn't call it a sigh, exactly. It had too much determination. "We need to talk."

The frosty fear turned to leaden fear, the kind that pooled low in her stomach when she knew she'd displeased somebody. From his tone, she inferred that he'd realized she'd approached Dustin. Or he had more to say about last night.

After the deposition, Dustin had lingered to talk to her. He hadn't reversed his decision, but he did tell her that he admired her courage in pursuing what she wanted, and he'd help her find a suitable Dom. She'd felt nothing but relief-and sadness-for the rest of the day. Finally she was making headway with her quest. One day Keith would find her good enough.

She gritted her teeth. "I think you said everything already." It was too soon. She wasn't trained. She had only a theoretical knowledge of domination and submission. And he still thought she'd lied about last night.

"I'll be at your condo when you get home. Don't be late."

With that order, he ended the call, giving her no chance to tell him off. Did he seriously think he could talk to her like that and get away with it? What the h.e.l.l had crawled up his a.s.s and died? Malcolm had talked about Keith having his "moods," but she'd always a.s.sumed her brother was exaggerating. After all, Mal wasn't the most easygoing guy in the world. Look at how long he'd held a grudge against Keith for doing his job.

The drive home seemed to drag on forever. She hit traffic coming out of the city that made her want to bang her head on the steering wheel or shout insults out of her window at the top of her lungs. She settled for swearing at her fellow drivers with her windows safely up.

Keith's car was parked in the visitor's s.p.a.ce outside her condo, and it suddenly seemed like her drive hadn't taken nearly as long as it should have. She grabbed her courage and her briefcase. When she rounded the corner of her building and spotted him sitting on her stoop next to her potted flowers, wearing the same suit he'd had on earlier, she wondered if she'd jumped to the wrong conclusions. After all, he might be here because he wanted help with Malcolm. Or perhaps he wanted to apologize for last night.

He rose and held out his hand. She looked at it uncertainly. Did he expect her to hand over the house keys or her briefcase? The problem was solved when he took her jacket and the leather bag. The steel in his eyes matched his grim expression. "If you have plans this weekend, you have five minutes to cancel them."

She honestly didn't know how to react to that. n.o.body had ever said something like that to her before. "Why would I cancel my plans?" Other than Sunday brunch with her mother, Layla, and Aunt Cindy, she didn't have anything big planned. Sat.u.r.day was for errands.

He leaned close, stopping with his face so nearby that her eyes wouldn't focus. "Because your Master told you to. You asked to be trained. Apparently I failed to understand how serious you were. Your training begins now."

She trembled, antic.i.p.ation mixing with outrage. This wasn't the Keith she knew. That man didn't threaten or bully. He might coerce every now and again, but his intentions didn't vacillate wildly from one day to the next. It took courage she didn't have to push him back, so she sidled out of his way and tried to fit her key into her dead bolt. Lining up the key with the hole took more dexterity than she had right then. Her heart pounded, and blood roared in her ears. She'd asked for this, but she wasn't ready for it. Was his goal to scare her off? If so, he was doing a d.a.m.n good job. She'd never seen him like this.

As her heart beat the rhythm of her fear, heat rushed between her thighs-just as it had when he'd kissed her last weekend. She felt him press against her back, crowding her to the wall.

"Kitty Kat, bad slaves are punished. Turning your back on your Master and refusing to obey a direct order is definitely grounds for punishment." His breath spread warmth behind her ear and down her neck. More heat radiated through her abdomen. He'd called her by that name once before, the same day he'd kissed her. The way he said it made her sound wicked, completely decadent, something she'd never been.

"I didn't agree to let you be my Master." Her voice came out husky and a little hoa.r.s.e, as if she'd been doing a lot of screaming. If she went along with what he asked, she probably would be doing a lot of screaming.

"'Red,' my sweet slave, is the word you're looking for. Say that, and I'll stop whatever we're doing and we'll talk. 'Yellow' pauses the action. We talk and decide where we want to go from there. 'Green' is the all-clear signal." He didn't move an inch.

The pulse in her neck ticked hard against her skin. She had the sense he was waiting for her response. "You said we had to talk. This isn't talking. You're scaring me, Keith. I've never seen you like this."

"This is what you asked for, Kitty Kat." He took the keys from her shaking hand, moved her to the side, and disengaged the lock. "And you asked it from more than just me, didn't you?"

He released her and motioned to the opened door.

She looked at the portal, knowing it led to either an escape from this strange encounter or entry into a foreign world. "You weren't supposed to know that. Dustin said he'd keep it between us."

"He did. I'm just f.u.c.king awesome at putting together the little clues." He looked her up and down, never altering the impa.s.sive expression on his face. "Like the fact that you're incredibly turned on right now. Yes, you're afraid. I see that too. You're a smart woman. You should be afraid."

A bead of sweat trickled between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Sometime between his deposition and now, she'd loosened the top three b.u.t.tons on her blouse. Cool air came through the open door, but she made no move to enter. She regarded him warily. Perhaps she thought that if they went inside, the negotiation portion of the evening was over. He wasn't much for negotiating anyway. Generally a sub either consented to doing things his way or he moved on.

Or maybe she was rethinking the entire dynamic. Part of the reason he'd walked away last weekend was because he knew she didn't understand the scope of her request. Maybe tonight she would realize that she was better off not knowing this side of him.

He hooked his arm around her waist and pulled her over the threshold. "We're letting the air out, Kitty Kat. We'll talk over dinner. I brought food." After giving back her briefcase and coat, he grabbed a grocery sack and his gym bag from where he'd set them on her porch. Then he closed the door and locked it.

She stared at the gym bag, no doubt wondering at the caliber of torture equipment hidden inside. "What's for dinner?"

This wasn't the time to let her change the subject. He inclined his head toward the stairs. "Up you go. I think we'll discuss expectations, and then punishments. You're racking them up."

Without further protest, she turned. He wished she'd protest. If she refused a punishment, he could call the whole thing off. Nevertheless he enjoyed the view as they headed up the stairs, and he counted the minutes until he could have her naked and over his lap.

The stairs terminated in a large area that served as the living room, the kitchen, and the dining room. It wasn't as private as his house-he had a dungeon; she had a downstairs neighbor-but it would suffice for tonight.

He set his bag down on the living-room side and carried the grocery sack to the kitchen. "What plans will you be canceling?"

"None. I have plans to meet my mom, Layla, and Aunt Cindy for brunch on Sunday. I'm not canceling on my mother. Her wrath scares me more than yours."

She'd delivered her refusal with the appropriate gravity. He nodded. "I'll allow that"

He unloaded fixings for a spinach salad and a bechamel sauce that would go over penne.

"I didn't have any other plans. I was going to get some work done."

Shaking his head, he rounded the counter and took her briefcase. "Work will wait until Monday. Don't worry. When you get to the office, more will be waiting for you."

She didn't move, but she did look down the hall anxiously. He remembered the fear in her voice when she'd called the night before, and he frowned. What if the call hadn't been designed to get him over here? What if something had actually happened?

Abandoning the food prep, he did a visual sweep of her apartment. He checked every room. She didn't follow him, but she appeared vastly relieved when he returned with no news to report.

"Keith, I...I... You said..." She trailed off and licked her lips.

He put her briefcase in the hall closet and closed the door. "Get undressed. You can put your clothes in the laundry."

She didn't move, but he expected that. The first time a submissive must present herself naked to her Master was, in some ways, the most difficult step. He set a pot under the tap and turned the faucet on.

"I...I... You want me to eat dinner with no clothes on?"

Now he gave her all his attention. There could be no mistake in her mind about the way things would be. "Yes. You will be naked until I tell you to put on clothes. Should someone come to the door, I will allow you a bathrobe, and you may tell them you just got out of the shower. Or, if you're sweaty, you can tell them you were about to get into the shower."

Her eyes widened, her mouth formed a cute little circle, and a blush crept up her neck. "But you're keeping your clothes on?"

He grinned. "Yes, Kitty Kat. I am the Master, and you are the slave. You exist to please me. It pleases me to have you naked. Now."

The steel in his eyes thrilled Katrina to no end, as did the wicked way he said her name and the iniquity of what he'd told her to do. She'd known he required his submissives to be naked, so why did his order shock her so much?

Because I thought he would be different with me. And didn't they need to talk first? At the munch, Kirk and one of the other submissives had talked a great deal about negotiating, debating how much say a sub should have in what could or couldn't happen in a scene.

But she didn't know what, exactly, any of that looked like, and Keith wasn't really flexible on a lot of things. This probably was no different. If she refused to undress, then he'd probably go back to being just a friend, which she didn't want. She reached for the remaining b.u.t.tons on her blouse, intent on giving him an erotic eyeful. He watched for a moment, approval registering in his eyes, and then he turned away to attend to the pot filling with water behind him.

His apparent lack of excitement left her more than a little discomfited. Didn't he want to see her undress for him this first time? Since he wasn't paying attention, she sped up the process, stripping away her clothes with neat efficiency.

With equal efficiency, he extracted a cutting board from her cupboard and put it next to the sink. "Slice some squash and zucchini for the pasta." He glanced her way, lifting a brow to ask for her response, but he didn't seem to notice her nudity.

She nodded, her movement tight, and obeyed his order. Cutting food while wearing nothing had never been on her top-ten list of erotic fantasies. The man had no clue about the times when he should be romantic or appreciative.

He caught her arm as she slid past him. "Yes, Master."

Surprised, she glanced up, momentarily forgetting her pique and her lack of clothing. "What?"

"When you answer me, you will reply with 'Yes, Master.' Failure to address me respectfully will result in punishment."

She remembered that she'd already earned a punishment for turning her back to him in a display of willful disobedience. Not even his submissive for ten minutes, and she'd already earned two punishments and nothing approaching s.e.x. Dropping her gaze, she strove for a respectful att.i.tude. "Yes, Master."

He released her arm. "Thin slices. You know how I like them."

Yes, she did know those little things about him. They'd done this ritual before, only then the silence had been broken by more than the sound of water washing vegetables or the rhythmic shick of the knife shaping dinner. And she hadn't been naked.

She didn't know if this new development was a good thing or a bad thing. Right now, it didn't seem to be any sort of thing at all.

Chapter Three.

A deep red cloth, a housewarming gift she rarely used, set the backdrop for the candlelit meal waiting on her dining room table. Keith had directed her to put together this romantic tableau, but nothing he'd said or done had acknowledged the changed circ.u.mstances of their relationship since he'd told her to undress. If he were the one walking around naked, she'd definitely have a problem keeping her eyes and her hands to herself.

How could he not notice?

From her position kneeling on the floor next to the table, she double-checked the details. Silver candleholders with red tapers. Knives, forks, spoons. Water and winegla.s.ses, though he'd brought sparkling cider. She knew he never touched alcohol. His parents and his sisters were alcoholics. He wouldn't take the chance he'd end up like them. Her best plates were piled high with steaming food that smelled sinfully delicious. Lunch had been a long time ago.

She heard him returning from down the hall and dropped her gaze, hoping she hadn't noticeably altered her position. The idea of a third punishment didn't appeal to her, mostly because she didn't know what it entailed. Ignorance was not bliss. She preferred to know what was coming so she could be mentally prepared.

He spread a towel on the cushioned seat of her chair. She watched as the powerful muscles in his thighs strained against the fabric of his pants.

Then he turned back to her suddenly, no doubt catching her not looking where he'd told her to look. He held out his hands. "Stand up."

Accepting his help, she placed her hands in his and followed his order. Automatically her gaze lifted to meet his. As it had been the entire time they'd prepared the meal, his mouth was set in a tight slash, and his eyes glittered hard. She shivered at the repressed emotion there. Keith had always been intense, but he'd never been mean. She wasn't sure what to expect.

"I can see I definitely have my work cut out for me, Kitty Kat. I wasn't gone a full minute, and you failed to follow a simple order."

Katrina wouldn't pretend she didn't know what he was talking about. He'd been clear when he'd put her into position and told her exactly where to keep her gaze to avoid moving a muscle. "I'm sorry, Master."

He released her hands. Tangling one hand in the hair at her nape, he urged her head back. She didn't know what to expect, but his gentle kiss took her by surprise. He moved his lips over hers, ma.s.saging and caressing, letting her know without words that he wasn't disappointed. Katrina instinctively understood that he wasn't comfortable saying tender things, but demonstrating affection was a different thing altogether.

When he ended it, he rested his forehead against hers. "Apology accepted." He closed his eyes, squeezing them tight and exhaling hard. She waited for him to say something more, but he only pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose and released her. "Sit. We'll eat and talk. After dinner, I'll ask you to reevaluate your request."

Starving, she slid into her chair and dug in. Keith had cooked for her several times before, and she'd loved his food each time. He definitely had a culinary arts gift. Growing up in an Italian household, Katrina was well versed in those kinds of dishes, but Keith seemed to know a little bit about everything.

"It's delicious, Master. Thank you." She congratulated herself on remembering to use his t.i.tle. It wasn't easy, and it didn't come naturally.

"You're welcome. Tell me what you're expecting from this relationship."

His direct question kept her on edge, which was probably his intent. She stalled, not sure how to answer. Finally, she settled on an honest a.s.sessment. "I don't really know. I know about D/s and bondage, but my understanding is largely theoretical. I thought you would show me what to expect."

"Did you expect to be naked, eating dinner with me?" He inserted that question smoothly between bites of food.

Katrina shook her head. "I thought you'd wait until we were in the bedroom doing a scene." She'd been to his house before when he'd been in a relationship. None of his girlfriends had ever been naked, and none of them had looked like they'd hastily dressed. Her knowledge about that preference came from her brother and from random comments some of Keith's exes had made.

"I won't keep you naked all the time." Another forkful disappeared into his mouth. His eyebrows drew together. "Just most of the time. If we're expecting company, you will be instructed to dress. I won't pick out your clothing unless it's lingerie or an outfit for a scene. I sometimes like to role-play in the dungeon."

With her mind reeling at the way her life was going to change, she didn't answer immediately. She thought while eating. It seemed to her that he hadn't exerted overt dominance over any of his submissives in front of other people. If he wanted to pick out her lingerie, she had no problem with that. But she had no idea what he meant by role-playing. Did he have Princess Leia and Han Solo fantasies? "Tell me about this role-play thing. I didn't think you were into LARPing."

He laughed. "It's a sort of live-action role-play. Most of the time, you'll end up bound or tied to something. You'll inevitably end up as a s.e.x slave."

The fact of her nudity had slipped her mind, but now awareness returned. She sipped her cider and studied him over the rim of the gla.s.s. He'd shed his jacket, loosened his tie, and unb.u.t.toned the top two b.u.t.tons on his shirt. His shirtsleeves were rolled up as well. Despite the casual nature suggested by his attire, he exuded strength and confidence.

At last, she mustered enough courage to be direct. "As long as I'm the only s.e.x slave there. I understand that training me doesn't mean you'll stop seeing your other submissives." Though she wished it did. "I mostly have tame fantasies, I guess. Honestly, I don't know what I'll like. I think about being overpowered and held down. Spanked. Having my hair pulled." In her fantasies, he was always the one topping her. "I've messed around, but I've never done any of those things with a Dom, so I don't know if I'll like the reality of it."

He nodded thoughtfully. "So you're asking me to show you different things to see what you'll like and what you won't?"

"Yes. I'd like that. Master."

He grinned to acknowledge her belated use of his t.i.tle, and she realized he didn't mean for her to constantly use it, not in conversation. As a response to an order, especially when she was on her knees, but not all the time.