Jonathan chuckled and I was glad to hear the sound. “One thing I know, Freya. It’s never dull when you’re around—it’s a gold-plated surprise a minute.”
I wasn’t sure if Jonathan had been turned on by my outburst at the courtroom or if he’d decided I needed taking down a peg or two. But when he whispered in my ear at clocking-off time that we were going to The Dungeon, I didn’t complain.
In fact my heart leapt at the thought. My ass tingled too, as I remembered his promise of a flogging.
And now, standing at the entrance, wearing a little black dress, high-heeled boots and the tiniest pair of panties I owned, I could hardly contain my excitement at the thought of the orgasms he could give me.
“Here,” he said, drawing a small, black velvet eye mask from his pocket. “You need to wear this again.”
“Okay.”
He was already wearing the same style mask. He always did, he’d told me it helped with anonymity. And it didn’t hurt to be anonymous when kinky and in public.
Not that The Dungeon was particularly public. Madam Gutard privately owned it, and all members thoroughly vetted. As a guest I was to stay with my Master at all times, and if asked to leave do so without question. Getting down and dirty in The Dungeon required rules and trust, whether it was in the arena or a private booth.
“Comfortable?” he asked, tying the mask into place beneath my high ponytail.
“Yes.”
“You left your phone in the car?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He paused. “But don’t forget this.” He pulled a small leather collar from his pocket. It was one I’d worn before.
I nodded. “Of course not.”
He slipped it around my neck, his big fingers taking a moment to fasten the small silver buckle. I understood the significance of it. Now I was under his command. Now Iwashis.
“You’re all set for pleasure and pain, my sweet little sub.”
A tremble ran down my spine as he took my hand and led me through the doorway. I was happy to let him lead me, when so often it was me shouting the commands.
The lighting was low and complemented by candles perched on ornate wall sconces. The carpet and walls were a deep burgundy. Behind a polished reception desk sat a woman with a sharp, glossy-black bob and huge gold-hooped earrings.
When she spotted Jonathan she sat a little straighter and licked her bottom lip which was painted matt purple.
A kernel of jealousy stabbed at my chest. Had Jonathan dominated her in the past? Was she a submissive who hoped for his attention?
He tightened his hold on me, squeezing my fingers, and I was glad of the reassurance, even if it was unspoken. Jonathan loved me—he’d told me only a few days ago that he did, and many more times before that.
“It’s good to see you, Sir,” she said in a heavily-accented voice. I recognised the accent—it was similar to Balko’s.
“Anouka, you too,” he said, reaching for the pen she handed over.
Her attention turned to me, and her gaze dipped to my exposed cleavage.
“Where are you from?” I asked.
She appeared a little taken aback. “Originally from Slovakia.”
I nodded, tucking away the information about my new colleague. He must be from there, or at least a country close by.
“Thank you,” Jonathan said, placing the pen on the register.
“Have a fun evening,” Anouka said, fluttering her eyelashes several times.
“I’m sure we will.” Jonathan slipped his arm around my waist and steered me down the corridor.