OnlyatTheCavern (7 page)

She sat like a queen with her shoulders back, hands in her
lap and her head held high, delicately perched atop her slim neck. Her dark
hair was in a low ponytail with the smooth ends sweeping along the pale column
of her skin to curl against the curve of her breast. The sleeveless black
cocktail dress she wore was cut in a deep V, exposing a generous amount of
cleavage. Man, he couldn’t wait to get his hands on that milky-white skin, or
his mouth, or to bury his face between those soft mounds and fall into the
scent of her flesh. God, he could almost taste her.

Damn, he mentally cursed as his cock kicked. He knew he
should have taped the thing to his thigh. How was he supposed to concentrate
with all of the blood in his body shooting straight to his groin? All she had
to do was be in the same room and he was ready to blow. What was going to
happen when she finally touched him?

A grin tugged at his lips as he realized that soon, he was
going to find out.

With one solid step after another, he made his way to her
table, all the while reminding himself to be cool. He wasn’t a hormonal
teenager or a bumbling virgin. He was a man. A total badass. He could handle
one petite woman.

As he drew near, she broke off her conversation with the
pretty redhead who stood near her table and looked up at him with that look he
dubbed the princess face. Her lips remained in a straight line, but her big
brown eyes lit up with joy. She liked what she saw, but damn if she was going
to let you know.

The redhead, who was the bar’s manager, turned to follow
Jasmine’s line of sight and propped her hand on her hip when she saw him
standing there.

“Marco,” Ari said in that annoyed, you-are-my-nemesis way
she always did when they crossed paths. She still hadn’t completely forgiven
him for tricking her into confirming that her boyfriend was the vigilante he
had been tasked to hunt down. The girl could hold quite a grudge.

“Ariel,” he replied, knowing how much she just loved her
given name. “You look nice tonight. Lavender is your color.”

“Always the charmer.” She shook her head with a sigh. “Bale
isn’t here tonight.”

“I’m not here to see Bale.”

“Oh.” Then she noticed how his eyes kept sliding to Jasmine
and those incredible lips. Her eyes rounded and she gasped. “Oh!”

The giggle she hid behind her hand confirmed that she had an
excellent idea of who Jasmine was and why he would be meeting with her. His
face grew hot, but he refused to let embarrassment lower his head. Jasmine was
watching and the last thing he wanted was to appear like a stammering fool.

Ari caught her breath and batted her lashes. “Can I get you
anything, Marco?”

“Stella will be nice.”

“Coming right up. Anything else?” She looked towards
Jasmine.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Then I’ll bright back. And thanks for those links, Jasmine.
I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“I’d love to hear it.”

Marco waited for Ari to depart, then pulled out the chair to
Jasmine’s left. He moved to take a seat then paused. Was he “on” now? Was he
supposed to wait until he was invited to sit? Or was he just standing there,
looking like a big dork?

He decided to err on the side of caution and wait for her to
make the first move. The longer he stood, the broader her smile grew until she
nodded at the chair. “Relax, Captain. Please, have a seat.”

He released a small sigh and sat down. “You look absolutely
stunning.”

“Thank you. You’re looking quite handsome yourself. I like a
man who makes an effort in his appearance. I’ve always found you to be a very
good-looking man.”

Appreciation warmed her gaze and she reached for her glass
of wine. The plump pillows of her lips were painted a deep red, and when she
pulled the glass away, a perfect imprint of her lips remained on the glass.
Immediately he began to ache, desperate to see that color smeared on certain
parts of his body.

“Captain, are you all right?”

“Truthfully, Doc, I don’t know. Shit.” He swiped a hand down
his face. “I mean, ma’am, or Mistress. Hell, I don’t even know what to call
you.”

“Jasmine is fine, for now.”

A server appeared by their side and set a chalice of beer on
a napkin before him. He murmured thanks and before the liquid had a chance to
settle in the glass, he snatched it up and took several healthy swallows. The
brew was cold and burned a bit as it slid down his throat. Jasmine watched him
with that princess look on her face, making him wish his chair were equipped
with rocket packs to fly him out of there before he made a bigger ass of
himself. God, why didn’t he just turn in his man-card now?

Or he could stop being a pussy and come clean.

He set the glass on the table and leaned forward. “Jasmine,
can I be honest here?”

“Please do. Lying or concealing your thoughts and feelings
will not work in a relationship like this.”

“Good. Good.” His thumbs tapped a staccato beat on the
tabletop. “The truth is, I have no idea what I’m doing here. I’m a very focused
guy. My work is everything to me, and yet I can’t stop thinking about you,
about Mistress Jasmina. I’m the guy that gives orders, not takes them. In fact,
I hate being told what to do. But for some reason, when I see you, I want to
fall at your feet and do whatever you wish. I don’t understand.”

In an instant the princess look was replaced with one of
compassion and her posture softened. Mistress Jasmina disappeared and Dr.
Jovanovich was there, sliding her chair closer and placing her hand over his.

The heat of her palm against the back of his hand made his
breath catch at the same time his heart rate slowed behind his ribs. Magic was
in her touch and he gripped her fingers to capture the calming sensation.

“What you’re experiencing is perfectly normal. Even in this
day and age, society tries to dictate what is considered strength and what is
weak. What is male and what is female, and the reality is that it’s different
for everyone. Being a submissive is not a sign of weakness. And being a
submissive does not mean you are any less manly. Believe me, Captain. You are
all man, and once I get my hands on you, you will never question just how much
of a man you are.”

Her fingers tightened around his and he felt his lips curl
to match her smile. “I didn’t really get what you meant when you said it wasn’t
about sex. Then I saw you with that whip and got more confused. I should have
been horrified to see that guy humiliated that way.”

“But you weren’t.”

“No. I don’t know what I was, exactly, but I was…”
Fascinated. Turned-on. Shocked. All of the above and more. “I don’t know how to
explain it.”

“You and I work in a similar field. People rely on our
leadership, our ability to maintain in control during chaotic situations, to
make life-or-death decisions every day. To live with that level of stress day
in and day out takes a toll on the human spirit. No one can sustain that
lifestyle forever. So to compensate, a person will turn to different vices to
find a balance. Some may choose exercise, or they may turn to alcohol or drugs
or begin overeating. As I said, it’s different for every person. In our case, I
refocus my need for control in another direction, and your subconscious seeks
to disengage altogether. I think you’ll find that if you feed that need to give
up your control, when it comes time to step back into that leadership role, you
will be able to do so from a fresh perspective and with the knowledge that you
will have a haven to step away from the madness. Sometimes that thought alone
brings people great comfort.”

What she said made so much sense, he felt the angst of the
last few days dissipate. The sensation almost made him giddy and a chuckle
burst from his lips. He sandwiched her hand between his. “So you’re saying I’m
not crazy?”

“Did you really think you were?”

“Sometimes. But I guess it would be a sign of craziness if I
didn’t question my reactions.”

“I suppose so.” Her lashes fluttered in that distinctly
feminine way that was sexy without being cutesy.

“So what made you become Mistress Jasmina?”

She glanced away and her tongue flicked over her lips as she
reached for her wine. The pace with which she lifted the glass and took a slow
sip made him wonder if he already hit upon a delicate topic.

Just as he wondered if she was going to answer the question,
she spoke, “I come from a very old-school family. Eastern European. The men
ruled the castle, women were—are—expected to stay home and raise the children.
I fought against that tradition in the ways a young girl does. Staying out
late, going to college, moving out on my own the moment I was old enough. But I
never thought of myself as dominant. I had boyfriends, lovers, nothing really
serious. And while the sex was never bad, it wasn’t spectacular. The
relationships just fizzled out and whenever the parting came, I was never
crushed by it.

“I was in my first year of residency, and a man came in with
symptoms of cardiac arrest. We went to work on him immediately. He made it
through surgery magnificently; all was looking well. But he died in recovery.
No reason. No medical explanation. It was as if he had given up the will to
live. And that made me angry. I did everything right to save his life, yet in
the end, I really didn’t have any control over the final outcome. When I got
home that night, I took my frustration out on my then boyfriend. I wanted to
forget. I wanted it rough. I wanted to take back control, and I used his
pleasure, his responses to regain that control. It was the best orgasm of my
life.”

“And Mistress Jasmina was born,” he said, enraptured by the
way her eyes lost focus as she remembered the journey.

“Not quite.” A bittersweet wistfulness flicked across her
face. “I knew I had stumbled upon something, but I didn’t know what it was. So
I did some research. Secretly went to clubs to observe. And I found a Master
who was willing to take me on as a protégé. Then Mistress Jasmina was born.”

“And what of the boyfriend?”

“He went away. He wanted to be the one to wield the whip and
didn’t understand why that wasn’t going to happen. I don’t blame him since I
was trying to make sense of everything as well. After that, I have come to
realize full-time boyfriends and being a Mistress don’t mix.”

“What happened with your last sub. Army?”

Again she reached for the wine. “There were several things,
but the most important was the realization that he was looking for more in a
Mistress than I was willing to grant him.”

A spark of curiosity jolted his senses. “Like what?”

She gazed off into the distance. Her eyes flashed and her
brow furrowed, and he wondered if she was crafting an answer or figuring out a
way to dodge the question.

A short, indrawn breath preceded her answer. “The Dom/sub
relationship can take many forms. Some subs require twenty-four-hour guidance,
some couples marry, while others are looking for a shorter-term commitment.
Personally, I don’t have the time or patience to care for a live-in submissive.
It wouldn’t be fair to him when I know a lot of time I will be called away.
Army was much like you. A new sub who knew he had a submissive nature but
didn’t know how to feed it. I agreed to train him, and we worked well together.
But he wants more. He needs more than the attention I can provide, and he
deserves to find the Mistress who can feed that need. So I’m helping him with
his quest.”

Part of him was relieved to know the split was amicable,
while a stab of disappointment poked him in the chest. Several times she
mentioned the word training, as if her role was to break in new recruits and
then send them out into the world. He didn’t like the thought of her sending
him on to another Mistress or having another sub take his place, although what
was he expecting?

He liked what he saw in Jasmine. A lot. And he wasn’t
opposed to getting to know her on a more personal level. Well, more personal
than just sex, anyway. But she was right. Neither of them had time for a serious
relationship, and once he had a taste of this entire BDSM lifestyle, he might
discover that it was not for him after all. Hell, even the contract stipulated
a trial period for just such a situation.

He cleared his throat and reached for his own glass. “I said
it once and I’ll say it again. He’s lucky to have a friend like you.”

“Thank you, Captain.” She sat back, straightened her
shoulders and lifted her chin. Bam. Mistress Jasmina had returned. “Did you
bring the contract with you?”

“I did.” He withdrew the tri-folded pages from his inside
jacket pocket and set them before her.

On the surface, Jasmine was like a serene lake. Quiet,
tranquil, nary a ripple disturbing the placid scene. But as he sipped his beer
and watched as she read over the pages, he saw a range of emotions cross her
features that were so slight, only his knowledge of micro-expressions caught
the movements.

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly in concentration. When
pleased, she tilted her head with a tiny nod. The briefest flicker of a brow, a
tic near the corner of her mouth when she was amused, all of her thoughts
played out across her beautiful face.

Then she came to the page of the long list of acts he was
willing to engage in. He sat up in his seat as she ran her finger down each checked
box. Occasionally she would glance his way with a calculating eye, and he felt
sweat began to gather on his upper lip. What was it that made her look at him
as if she already imagined him at her mercy?

She tapped at the paper. “You have no desire at all in a
homoerotic encounter?”

At the mention of the word, his ass clenched tight and his
heart skipped a beat. “Nope. Not in the slightest.”

“Are you certain? It can be quite invigorating to feel the
strength of a man at your back. Feel the soft pelt of his chest hair brushing
against your spine, or the back of your thighs. Then there is the rasp of a
calloused palm as he strokes your cock or the way he sucks at the crown. No one
knows how to suck cock better than another man. Wouldn’t you like to explore
that opportunity, Captain?”