Chapter Six.

The things this young woman did to him couldn't be defined or explained. His need was simply there, undeniable, be it that he'd craved her for a year or because her vulnerability appealed to him or that he had a desire to cast the shadows from her gaze and show her what a sexy creature she was.

Reasons were unnecessary. She made his heart race, bringing to life every sense; the world was brighter, more focused, intense. He wanted her pleasure completely.

Lincoln pushed a wall panel and a hidden closet door popped open. He withdrew the selections he'd purchased earlier in the day and placed her folded skirt and top on the bureau tucked inside the cubby.

He turned to find Natalie once again covering herself with her hands. Ineffectually of course. He had no clue how she could be unaware of her allure. But then, in his experience, most women, no matter how close to perfection, always managed to find some flaw. If he did nothing else tonight, he would prove to her how utterly gorgeous and desirable she was.

"This is what you will wear." He laid out the pleated skirt and plain white blouse on the sofa, then the undergarments, and finally the shoes and socks.

She stood at attention, feet together, eyes wide, a slight lift to her lips. "A schoolgirl uniform?"

"A little role play seemed in order. The schoolgirl being debauched by the headmaster." All yesterday afternoon in his office, he'd played with the image. Shopping for her today, he'd perused leather and bustiers, tight shorts that would barely cover her butt cheeks, lacy lingerie, and sexy evening wear. In the end, the schoolgirl still appealed most to his mood.

She shook her head at him. "Naughty, naughty Mr. Masters." She threw his own words back at him, and he was sure the last of her nerves melted away with her smile.

He waggled his eyebrows. "I'm a dirty old man."

He'd envisioned her dressed like that when he'd called last night. Lying on his bed, he'd stroked his cock to the sound of her voice and the images in his head. The resulting orgasm took the edge off. He hadn't wanted to be so jacked with desire for her that he missed a single nuance of her pleasure. Now he couldn't wait to see her wearing his purchases.

"First the panties."

She stepped into them. Her skin glowed against the plain white cotton, the high cut accentuating the womanly flare of her hips.

"Now the bra." He held out the sturdy cotton lingerie, the only adornment, a small pink flower between the cups. "Turn around, I'll put it on."

He allowed himself a close brush of his cock along the crease of her ass as he slid the straps up her arms. She smelled of gardenia, subtle enough to be lotion or soap rather than perfume. The back clasp done, he dropped a kiss on the delicate skin between her neck and shoulder, her hair caressing his cheek.

He hadn't kissed her lips or licked her nipples. He hadn't sipped the sweet nectar straight from her pussy or buried his cock deep in her. Yet he'd dreamed of these things. She'd given him a wide-eyed, shell-shocked gaze when he verbally staked his claim, the word no rising to her lips before he stalled it. The truth was in the scent of her arousal drifting in the air, the peak of her nipples.

"The blouse," he said, taking one more breath of her to fill his head.

She slipped it on, buttoned to the top, then stepped into the short black pleated skirt, zipping it up at the side.

"Socks and shoes."

She sat on the couch, turning over the tops of the bobby socks, then lacing the black-and-white saddle shoes.

Holding out his hand, he helped her to stand once again. "Oh yeah, you are fucking hot, Miss Beaumonde."

Playing her part, she giggled like a little girl. "Are you a dirty pervert playing with little girls?"

People assumed that if you played the role, you craved the reality. He didn't have a thing for children. He had a thing for Natalie Beaumonde. "I'm most certainly a dirty pervert." He pulled her close, lowered his voice, used it to seduce and tantalize. "I'm dying to see the innocent Natalie debauched, doing things she's never dreamed of because I've ordered her to do them. Dirty, nasty, filthy things that will make you so hot, you'll beg me to fuck you."

She trembled, drawing in a shaky breath, her eyelids drooping. Sexy, dreamy, hot as Hades.

They were in the bowels of his home, yet the jingle of the front doorbell drifted down the stairwell.

Natalie jerked, swallowed, stared at him.

"It's time, Miss Beaumonde."

Good Lord. She was trembling. Mr. Masters had gone upstairs to answer the door. She'd managed to forget all about Van, the supposed reason she was here. How could she have agreed to this? She was stark raving mad.

But she felt oh so damn sexy in her schoolgirl uniform. And so in control. Van had actually done what she'd told him to, driven over forty-five minutes to a house deep in the woods, no questions asked. Was it possible he'd been telling the truth, that he'd do anything to get her back, that the woman truly had been some sort of sex therapist or surrogate?

Hah, and she was a gullible fool. Better to keep her anger up and her wits about her.

With their footsteps on the metal stairs, Natalie's skin began to prickle. She grabbed her forgotten wine from the table where it was surrounded by all the sex toys she'd chosen and slugged back a swallow to wet her throat.

Mr. Masters appeared first. When Van came off the last stair right behind him, Mr. Masters' height and toned body eclipsed him. Maybe he sensed the same thing because he stepped around the bigger man.

"Your guest has arrived, Miss Beaumonde."

Several inches shorter, slighter in build, next to Mr. Masters in black T-shirt and jeans, Van appeared unkempt with baggy corduroys, wrinkled shirt, and long hair. He glanced at Mr. Masters, then Natalie, a question in his gaze. Whatever he'd expected, it certainly wasn't a man like her boss.

"What's up, Nat?" he asked, taking in her schoolgirl guise, from white blouse to saddle shoes, with a slight sneer.

He was giving her attitude. With Mr. Masters looking on, she couldn't allow Van to take control. She was on top now. "For tonight you are my slave, and you will call me-" She glanced at Mr. Masters standing two feet beyond Van. He mouthed the word she needed. "You will call me Mistress. And you will refer to my friend as Master." She widened her stance and put her hands to her hips. "You don't need to know how I met him or who he is or where he's from. You only need to know that he is here to help me administer the punishment you so richly deserve. Do you understand?"

Van's eyes widened, his nostrils flared like a stallion ready to rear, yet he didn't say a word as his gaze flicked between them, his eyes finally settling on Natalie. After another moment's thought, he smiled slightly and gave her what she wanted. "Yes, Mistress."

"Good boy." It had taken him long enough to decide, considering he had supposedly submissive needs. Her distrust welled up again. She tamped it down with an extraordinary effort, snapping her fingers at Mr. Masters. "Put out the table," she demanded, pointing to the folding massage table.

Mr. Masters blinked slowly, then grinned and did as she ordered. God, it felt marvelous. Her body vibrated with power. Two men jumping to do her bidding. She knew Mr. Masters would make her pay later, but for now, she didn't care.

"Don't push it," he whispered as he passed her, his aftershave blowing by.

But she knew he liked her take-charge attitude, at least as far as it was directed at Van.

When the table was in place to her liking in the center of the room, she turned once more to Van. "You will ask no questions. You will not meet your Mistress's eyes or those of your Master." This was kinda fun. She thought up some more instructions. "If you do not immediately execute my request, you will be punished. If you make any comment or sound I do not like, you will be punished. If you give me attitude, you will be punished. However"-she tipped her head, scrutinizing him-"if there is something you truly do not wish to do, you will say..." Okay, there was always a safe word, right? "You will say, 'Mistress, may I please disobey?' In which case, I will stop. But you will still be punished. Am I clear?"

His Adam's apple bobbed, yet there was a hot flame in his blue eyes she'd never seen before. "Yes, Mistress."

"You are, however," she went on, "allowed to say that you like something I'm either doing or asking you to do."

"Thank you, Mistress." She sensed enthusiasm in his quick answer.

Would he utter those sounds he'd given his dominatrix? Inanely, Natalie wished he'd shaved. After gazing at Mr. Masters' clean-shaven face up close and personal, she no longer cared for the perpetual two-day stubble.

Sensing his warmth behind her, she wanted to turn and give Mr. Masters a meaningful look. Had she detailed it all correctly? But the very act of eliciting his approval negated some of her power. This was her show.

Lifting her arm straight out, she snapped her fingers at Van. "Get naked. Now." She didn't need a sensual striptease.

Van hopped to, popping off a button in his haste. His bare chest didn't have the power of Mr. Masters' broad pecs. Kicking off his leather sandals, Van shoved his cords over his hips without even unzipping all the way. She preferred tightly fitted over the hanging-off-the-rear look. His boxers came off along with everything else.

Then he stood naked before them. Natalie sucked in a breath. He was hard. Lord, was he hard. Stiff, straight up, rising out of a trimmed bush of blond pubic curls. Somehow, he seemed larger, thicker than she remembered. Or perhaps he was more excited than ever before. At least with her. Her stomach turned over. It was both disheartening and exhilarating-the former because she'd never affected him that way, the latter because she had a huge effect on him now.

"Turn around. Face the wall. I want to see your ass." She liked the word. It was naughtier than any other euphemism.

Mr. Masters heated her back as he stepped up flush against her while she considered Van's rear view. "Contemplating what you're going to do to that ass, my dear?"

"Yes." Every time he was close, her body reacted. A tingle ran up her spine, her skin warmed.

Van tensed his shoulder blades, flexed his butt muscles, hardened his thighs, giving her a show. She remembered the toy he'd been sucking, a big cock suctioned to the headboard. Maybe the show wasn't just for her. Perhaps Van's needs included a little help from Mr. Masters.

She rubbed against his chest, tipped her head back slightly to look at him. "What shall we do to him, Lincoln?" she said softly yet loud enough for Van's ears. She'd always mentioned him as Mr. Masters to Van, never Lincoln. Van wouldn't know he was her boss.

Mr. Masters raised a brow at her use of his name, then his lips quirked. "First, he needs the cock ring." His eyes darkened as he gazed at her. "We don't want him coming until we give him permission."

God, she really did love the we part. Her body seemed to liquefy, and her breath caught in her throat all over again. She ordered him to do the unthinkable. "You put it on him, Lincoln." She used his name the way he loved to use hers, over and over for effect and impact.

Before her, Van went utterly still, every muscle tensed, and she was more than half convinced it was desire rather than fear.

His face close to hers, Mr. Masters shook his head, a lift to only one corner of his mouth. Then he put his lips to her ear and spoke for her alone. "Oh you do so want me to punish you later, don't you, Miss Beaumonde." It was not a question.

She wanted to push him. This night had become about him, not Van. But before she let that fact tear her up again, she pointed to the countertop beneath the cabinet where he'd laid the toys and tools they'd chosen. "The leather snap-on, I think."

"Christ," he murmured, again just for her, "how I will love making you pay."

Natalie trembled as he crossed the room. She left Van facing the wall, unable to see them, but closed the distance until she was less than a foot from his naked body.

She had to admit that while he was lean and lanky, shorter and less bulky than Mr. Masters, he still had a nice physique, firm, strong. At one time she'd loved the feel of his skin, the hardness of his muscles. Was it her anger and sense of betrayal that killed her physical desire for him?

Or was it all about Mr. Masters?

She was in danger of putting too much stock in what Mr. Masters could give her. Because he hadn't really offered her anything beyond tonight.

Monday, he could decide to fire her.

Chapter Seven.

No, not Mr. Masters. Lincoln. She would call him by his first name for tonight, not just aloud but in her mind as well. She would not think of him as her boss; she would not think about Monday or her job. There was only tonight.

He returned with the simple leather strap they'd picked out. "Hold his cock, Miss Beaumonde."

Natalie put one hand to Van's butt cheek and wrapped her fingers around the crown of his cock, holding him aloft. Oh my God, yes, he was hard. She knew the feel of his erection intimately, and this was more than ever before.

It wasn't just the woman he'd been with. Perhaps Van wanted other things, things he truly was afraid to admit to Natalie.

Wrapping the leather around the base of Van's cock, Mr. Masters-Lincoln, dammit-fastened the snaps. His fingers brushed her hand, a glint in his gaze when he met hers that made her tremble. The act was completed with an economy of motion, yet Van's cock swelled, his balls plumped, and a groan passed through his lips. Natalie felt the same reaction in her female erogenous zones. Her face flamed as Lincoln backed off to admire his handiwork.

"He can't come until you release him, my dear."

Lincoln gave her all the control, all the power, just as he'd promised her yesterday in his office. It was simply...exhilarating.

Natalie stepped fully into the game they played, running her finger up the crease of Van's ass and along his spine. He shuddered, gritted his teeth, but just as she'd instructed earlier, he kept his gaze down. She couldn't quite tell if it was centered on the front of Lincoln's jeans.

And Lincoln was hard. But then he'd been that way since he'd had her remove her clothes.

She cupped Van's butt and squeezed. "I'm going to put you on your hands and knees, Van, cuff you, restrain you, spread your legs." Blowing against his ear, she lowered her voice. "Then I'm going to fuck your ass."

She'd used it rarely, but now she loved the word. Fuck. It was naughty, nasty, and exactly what she wanted. A week ago, she'd never have guessed she could enjoy these things. Lincoln had opened a whole new and exciting world to her.

This time Van's groan rose from deep in his belly, his legs shook, his buttocks tensed. Then he managed to say, "Yes, Mistress, please. I would love that."

She'd said he couldn't ask questions, but he could give her compliments. His moan, his words, and his body's reactions were the highest of tributes. More than he'd given her in their vanilla sex life.

"Good boy," she whispered, because he deserved the reward for the here and now, not just punishment for past transgressions. "Now get on the table." She patted the top.

He climbed agilely and assumed the position she'd described, hands and knees, feet spread, eyes on the table. His cock hung down, engorged, the crown purple with need, his testicles bulging.

Standing close behind her, Lincoln caressed her spine from nape to butt, so very there. His light touch kept her on edge just as she'd been every half hour since last night.

"What now, my dear? Direct me to the device you'd like next."

A breathless smile rose helplessly to her lips. "Take off your shirt and bring me the spreader bar."

"Whatever your heart desires," he murmured, his voice a sultry, sexy stroke along her nerve endings. Then he stepped back and to the side so she could see him fully. Pulling his T-shirt from the waistband of his jeans, he yanked it over his head and tossed it in one smooth motion.

Oh my Lord. The blood rushed to her head. Lincoln Masters had the most magnificent torso, defined muscles, flat nipples, a smattering of dark hair arrowing down his abdomen to disappear beneath his jeans.

Van's sharp intake of breath matched hers.

Lincoln didn't preen. He held her gaze, slid a hand down his skin to the bulge of his cock. "Shall I take off my jeans?"