True, she hadn't used the evocative words, creating the down and dirty, explicit image she'd witnessed.

He lowered his voice. "Say it like it is, Miss Beaumonde. What was she doing with the toy?"

She knew what he wanted. The crude description. The lowdown on Van's needs. Why was Mr. Masters pushing her? Fine. Whatever. He wanted it; she'd give it to him. "My boyfriend was on his hands and knees letting some thin, sexy dominatrix"-she laced the word with all the disgust she could muster-"dressed in a tight black leather outfit fuck him in the ass with a dildo while he sucked on a fake cock suction-cupped to the headboard. And he loved it. He called her his sex therapist." She allowed herself a sneer as she glared at her boss. "There, satisfied?"

He didn't show even the mildest reaction. "Neither of us has been satisfied yet."

She stood, jammed her hands on her hips. "Just what are you saying, Mr. Masters?" Was he somehow disparaging her or the spanking or that she'd climaxed for him? Just like Van, was Mr. Masters saying she hadn't done something right? She might very well be sick of men. Somehow, that emotion was so much better than the humiliation and hurt she'd felt as she'd watched Van.

A sexy grin spread across his face. She'd never thought of his smiles as sexy before, but now it was undeniably true.

"What I'm saying, Miss Beaumonde, is that perhaps you should consider giving your wandering boyfriend exactly what he's asked for." He was close enough to trace a finger down her nose. "But on your terms."

Chapter Four.

Natalie subsided into her chair. "What do you have in mind?" Her first thought at his suggestion had been about turning herself into a dominatrix. Only it wasn't Van she was envisioning. She willed her cheeks not to give away her thoughts with a telltale flush.

Maybe Mr. Masters was saying she should let Van have his cake and eat it, too, as the old saying went. Take him back and let him keep the other woman.

Oh no, not Mistress Divine.

"Your boyfriend would like to get back in your good graces." Mr. Masters crossed his arms over his chest once again and tapped a finger on his elbow. "And he wants you to accept his so-called needs. You can give him both."

She pursed her lips. "I'm still not getting it."

He leaned close, bringing his face on level with hers, and lowered his voice. "Tell him you will wield the dildo and he will be restrained while you do it." He leaned back once more. "And that I'll be there to supervise."

She laughed, not much more than an embarrassing shaky squeak. "You?"

"I have a dungeon, and I have experience. He's obviously into submission. I'll help you."

This time she couldn't help the flush of her skin. She might be vanilla in the bedroom, but she didn't wear blinders. She knew about bondage and submission and sadomasochism. Good Lord, Mr. Masters was revealing he was one of them. Her heart didn't beat faster; she was simply able to feel it whereas a moment before she'd lacked awareness of her breath, her heart. Even the tingling on her spanked bottom began again.

"Do you have whips and cat-o'-nine-tails and all sorts of weird stuff?" she asked.

He dropped his chin to his chest, shook his head, sighed, and then lifted his eyes to meet hers. "This isn't about getting off on causing pain, Miss Beaumonde. There can be great pleasure in giving over your will to another. Trusting them to take care of you." He paused, giving her a moment to ponder that, then came back with the real whammy. "Tell me, did you enjoy your spankings?"

Locking gazes with him, her flesh prickled, and a delicious shiver ran up her spine. She'd relished his spankings more than she could say. There was something enticing and tantalizing in having to submit, in not knowing how far he'd push her.

Is that what Van felt?

It was difficult to separate her anger and sense of betrayal and, yes, her jealousy, from the bare-bones fact that perhaps Van did have needs he feared she'd reject him for. Just as she was torn between her two years with Van and her newfound fascination with Mr. Masters. Emotions were not black and white.

"I did enjoy it," she said, her voice low.

"So did I," he said in an equally low tone that stroked all her nerve endings from her fingertips to her clitoris. "You see how exciting these things can be," he went on in that same voice, seducing her, mesmerizing her. "So show your boyfriend your willingness to give him the full measure of what he asks. And you will figure out whether he's telling the truth." He spread his hands. "Does he need his dominatrix? Or will he allow you to dominate him?"

He'd gone right to the heart of it. Natalie could no longer be sure Van truly wanted her. "So this will be a test." She chewed on her inner cheek a moment. "Is it the dildo or is it her he really wants?"

"Exactly." His lips curved in the slightest of smiles, as if she were an obedient student.

She tipped her head, spelling it all out for herself. "If he really wants me to accept his needs, and I do, then he can get rid of his sexy little therapist. But if he's lying to cover up my walking in on him, then he still won't get rid of her. And I'll discover his true feelings for me." It was better to know the truth so that if it was bad, you could heal and move on. It was not knowing that kept a person hanging on, waiting, hoping, and praying.

"Or you can look at it as his punishment for cheating on you."

She focused on Mr. Masters, his handsome looks, his enticing smile, the memory of his hand on her bottom and his touch bringing her to orgasm. "What do you get out of this?"

He held her gaze for three heartbeats. "After you punish him, I punish you while he watches."

He managed to steal her breath. Here was the source of her confusion. How could the thought of Mr. Masters' punishment set her skin on fire, make her body burn? How could she have all these emotions about Mr. Masters and Van at the same time? There was something wrong with her.

But God, how she wanted to say yes. The thought of his next punishment consumed her, sending hot and cold flashes up and down her skin. The very degree of her desire was terrifying. It was vengeance and submission all rolled into one until she couldn't distinguish which she needed more.

"What do you say, Miss Beaumonde?"

Saying yes to Mr. Masters was, to use a tired cliche, like jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire. She was as likely to get burned in a bad way as she was in a good way. Think, think. She stalled her answer. "How will this affect our working relationship?"

"It will have only the effect you want it to have. I will treat you no differently at work; expect no more, no less. If you wish our little sessions in my office to discontinue, you won't make mistakes." Then he smiled wickedly. "But if I keep finding the wrong folders on my desk, I'll know how badly you want it."

Well, duh, of course he knew she'd done that on purpose.

Their working relationship had already crossed a line they couldn't rub out like chalk on a playground. If she did this, at least in the end, she'd know Van's feelings for her.

"All right." She clasped her hands primly in her lap to hide the slight tremble. "I agree to your terms."

She thought she heard him sigh.

"This weekend. Make arrangements with him for Saturday night at nine. I'll provide directions to my house. I want you to arrive an hour earlier to prepare."

Her heart galloped. He was authoritative. A decision made, he acted. She was prone to thinking and rethinking. Right now she was thinking about what would happen in that hour before Van arrived.

Was she agreeing to this because of Van? Or was the ultimate reward the punishment Mr. Masters offered?

With a combination of both ire and embarrassment, her face had turned as red as her spanked bottom when she recited her boyfriend's misdeeds.

Yet her obvious emotional pain had gotten under Lincoln's skin. Her boyfriend was a complete ass for making her feel less than good enough. He deserved a pummeling. But that wouldn't do much to rebuild her. Lincoln had offered her the only solution he could come up with. To regain her sense of self-worth in the same way it had been stolen from her, by doing to her boyfriend the things that he'd denied her. And seeing for herself how much she could make the guy love it.

Lincoln had to admit his solution was also self-serving. The image of Natalie in tight leather working the dildo set his blood rushing. He wanted to give her that pleasure. He didn't peg her for the dominant type and doubted that her relationship with a submissive man could actually work. Her desire for dominance in this situation stemmed more from her hurt and betrayal. She wasn't quite a submissive either. People were not necessarily one or the other. There were gradations, and some were switches, enjoying the submissive or dominant role equally.

As for Natalie, he had the feeling she wouldn't even consider submission or dominance if she hadn't first seen her boyfriend in action, followed by Lincoln telling her to bend over the desk. Yet she had obeyed like a natural once she ascertained her job wasn't in jeopardy.

Lincoln, on the other hand, had always liked to be in control, but he hadn't realized his true desire for dominance until his late twenties when a lady friend had taken him to a club. He'd found it fascinating. Manacling her to a wall and having the freedom to do anything he wished had fueled his desire to heights never before achieved. Over months, they'd experimented. He took pleasure in a good spanking. He did not like flogging, whipping, drawing blood. He loved all manner of restraint, from scarves to manacles and spreader bars. And zip ties. He had to laugh. That had been a moment of genius.

As far as multiple partners, he enjoyed directing another to give pleasure while he watched. He choreographed and orchestrated. His submissives were generally female, though he'd been known to dominate males in conjunction with their significant other. He'd found some women appreciated a little help domming their men.

He did not consider himself part of the so-called lifestyle because he didn't adhere to all the tenets. He liked what he liked and found that some in the lifestyle were far too rigid in their thinking. He made up his own rules as he went along. Which allowed him to change them as he had with his dear Miss Beaumonde.

He'd never married. He doubted he ever would. He was incapable of monogamy, and he didn't want his very own submissive. The women he'd met were marvelous sex partners, but he had to admit his own failing. He became bored easily.

Despite his odd benevolent emotions about her, he was sure the only reason he hadn't become bored with Natalie was that he'd prolonged his desire for more than a year. Wanting what you wouldn't allow yourself to have eradicated boredom and raised the hunger to an explosive intensity. He admitted to a heightened level of excitement contemplating how she'd handle her cheating man. She was like a diamond with multiple facets: the efficient no-nonsense executive assistant, the betrayed lover, the horrified prude, and the eager submissive. She'd surprised him today. He'd expected her to make another mistake, but only after days or even weeks of pondering, thinking, planning, until she'd driven herself mad with need. Instead, she'd planted an incorrect file the very next day and even hurried to the ladies' room to remove her panties.

There was so much more to Miss Natalie Beaumonde than he'd ever imagined. And he wanted to expose every facet.

After leaving Mr. Masters' office, Natalie called Van's cell phone. He didn't answer. She left a message. By the end of the day, he hadn't returned her call. She left work and headed to his apartment. He didn't answer her knock. It was Friday evening; he was probably out at one of his favorite haunts. She refused to troll bars looking for him.

What if he was inside with that woman doing those things?

The thoughts were debilitating, sapping her strength and her self-esteem. She was thirty and still attractive, smart and good at her job, sexy and...gosh, was she fun loving? Van liked fun loving.

Mr. Masters loved naughty. She'd certainly been that.

Rather than put her ear to the door listening for any sounds from inside, Natalie ran down the stairs and drove home.

She'd just inserted the key in her front door when the blood rushed out of her head, leaving her faint.

What would she tell Mr. Masters if Van never called back?

It chilled her that she was more worried about his reaction than what Van was doing with whom.

"Will you stop? You're making yourself crazy and guilty over a man who isn't worth it." That definitely needed saying aloud. Natalie shoved her key home and opened the door.

Her computer sat on a small desk in the corner of her family room. She booted up, then closed the front blinds, slipped off her high heels, pulled off her blouse and skirt, and left it all in a heap on the floor. She'd pick up later. On the chair, her bottom was still tender enough to warrant notice. Deliciously so.

That was her problem. The things Mr. Masters made her feel. The offhand thoughts that struck her. The way his face popped into her mind, and she immediately wanted to touch herself. It was newness and infatuation as much as the power of the man himself. She didn't fool herself into thinking it was more or that he would ever feel anything significant for her. Yet when his name suddenly appeared in her inbox, her heart just wouldn't be controlled. Her palms perspired as she tapped the keyboard. No, she would not open his email first. Instead, she answered her mother who lived back in Chicago, her college roommate who was coming into town, and her best friend, Diana, who wanted to schedule dinner next Wednesday.

Then she clicked on his email, and her heart slammed against her chest.

He provided directions to his home in unincorporated Los Gatos in the Santa Cruz Mountains, and reiterated that he wanted her there at eight. "I will dress you as I choose when you arrive." The thought was ominous, terrifying, excruciatingly exciting.

She typed back two words. "Yes, sir."

He sent back, "Good girl."

Her body flushed that they were emailing in real time. Had he been waiting for her to arrive home? She resisted replying. She would email again only if Van didn't call or said he wouldn't come.

What if she arrived at Mr. Masters' home only to have Van never show?

Oh, how Mr. Masters would punish her. The idea immediately dampened her panties.

After pouring herself a glass of wine and preparing a plate of fruit, cheese, and crackers for dinner, she ran herself a bath. She was drifting in pleasant sensations and fantasies of her boss when her cell phone chirped. She'd laid it by the tub in case Van called.

"Hello?"

"Put your hand between your legs and stroke yourself."

Chapter Five.

Mr. Masters' deep tones were unmistakable.

Natalie's nipples swelled above the bubbles. "Yes, sir," she whispered, barely able to find her voice. Her pussy was creamy, her clitoris already beating with a pulse of its own.

"I want to hear you moan, Miss Beaumonde." He didn't ask where she was, what she was doing, who she was with. He simply demanded and that made his order all the more titillating, as if he expected her to do herself for him at a restaurant table or on a bar stool or in a darkened theater.

She writhed in the water, gasping, moaning. "Oh, Mr. Masters." She loved the formality of Miss Beaumonde and Mr. Masters contrasted with the naughtiness of what she was doing.

"Circle your clit with your index finger."

"Oh yes, yes, sir. Ooh." She circled and gave him more of the sounds he wanted.

"Slide two fingers inside, and tell me how tight you are, Miss Beaumonde."

"So very tight." She sighed. "And wet." She raised her hips above the water, seeing what he would see if he was standing in the corner watching her. "That feels so good, Mr. Masters."

"Now go back to that hard, delicious little clit of yours." His voice deepened, caressing her nerve endings even as she stroked herself.

She panted. "Oh my." Heat spiraled down right to that spot.

"Pretend I'm licking you, Miss Beaumonde," he murmured, his voice husky.

She couldn't take much more. His voice, his words, the images and sensations. She moaned for him, long and low.

"How close are you, my dear?"

"Oh, oh, I'm almost there." She rubbed harder, her body moving sinuously, matching her hand's rhythm.